Ladies and gentlemen... the WrongPlanet writing showcase

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Here are some links to a few of my stories (you can also find them on my deviantART account - link here --> JustAnotherCecilFan )

Just to let you know, the story titles are clickable.

Light of Destiny - The first chapter of my Baten Kaitos/Fire Emblem crossover fic featuring Marth and Kalas.

Dragon Quest IV: Solo's Journal - The first chapter of a story based on the events of Dragon Quest IV.

Shards of Darkness and Light - The first chapter of a post-Final Fantasy I fanfic.

Mars Ohtani: Heavenly Fire - The first chapter of an original story.

The Cycle of Magic

There was a small boy,

Who aspired to be a magician,

And practiced every day.

Up in the sky,

Where he lived,

He would always look down in wonder.

As he honed his magical talent,

He kept an eye observing,

Never missing his chance.

Several trains at the station,

Heading down, down below,

To a strange place called Earth.

One day he boarded one,

Covered in snow, sprinkled with frost,

The destination Nor-way.

The tiny magician had never heard,

Of such a place, such a strange name,

His curiosity awakened.

The train lurched,

Departed,

Steam coming out of the iron engine.

A loud whistle sounded out,

A bidding of farewell,

As they left the station in the sky.

For a long time the tracks clacked,

The sky growing lighter,

And the air getting colder.

Adventure gripped the little boy,

On the edge of his seat, excited,

As the final stop came in sight.

When he stepped off,

The engines, the cars,

They disappeared.

He was left all alone,

Confused, hungry,

He immediately set to work.

The magician began his amazing tricks,

His amazing illusions,

His pure magic.

Eventually he gained an audience,

They stood in awe, in wonder,

At the tenacious little boy.

When he had finished,

An old woman, carrying a basket,

She handed him a warm pastry.

She said words of thanks,

In her unknown tongue,

But the meaning shined through.

The boy traveled Earth,

Learning, sharing,

Spreading the magical joy.

He soon grew from boy to young man,

Dashing, charming,

There was no one he couldn’t please.

Alas,

He was a child at heart,

And magic was still his way.

He made his way to a difficult place,

Ol’ Am-rica,

Last place he stayed.

No one believed in his magic,

Despite his tricks, his illusions,

They called his magic fake.

The magician kept a stout heart,

Believing,

That there were open minds in Am-rica.

One day he met a group,

Small children, cautious mothers,

Defensive fathers.

He showed them all of his magic,

His tricks, his illusions,

The purity of magic.

The children were delighted,

At every flower pulled,

At every coin summoned.

The magician summoned many things,

Bringing forth laughter, smiles,

Raising happiness.

The parents joined in as well,

Seeing, joking,

Believing.

Satisfied that they believed,

The magician packed his things,

But was stopped.

One small child,

Orphaned, alone,

Face vacant of any smiles.

The magician donned his top hat,

That he had kept,

On her tiny head.

“Wear this,

Spread merriment, little one,

Before it’s too late.”

The magician held her tiny hand,

Kissed her palm,

And gently withered away.

In his place,

Covered in his dissolved remains,

Was a train ticket.

The little girl,

Seeing a purpose, a goal,

The pure magic.

She boarded the train back,

To the heavens,

And began the cycle again.

Here's an idea for something that I just came up with. Be ready:

Survivor: Detroit

My name is Harold Darvy, and I think that I might not be on this Earth tomorrow.

I know, the title sounds like this is going to be completely lame thing about that reality show, but this time, I seriously think that this is horrifying.

So, I was flipping threw the channels and tread across the new survivor show, and it said it was going to take place in Detroit. That hooked my interests, as that was NOT typical of these shows. I watched it.
The people on the teams, which had been named something finally good (The 'Insomi' and the 'Grey'), I also noticed that nobody was really attractive. However, I continued watching.
The first challenge was for each team to repair a house faster. In that one, Grey won. Insomi lost mainly because one of the guys fell off the roof and broke his leg. It was almost heartbreaking. When the voting happened, the next thing I saw, I will not forget.
The rest of the team voted on the guy who broke his leg. They then were handed baseball bats. The unfortunate man screamed in horror, but it was too late. Oh god, what they did was horrifying. They just all sorta converged on him and is head was just...smashed open. So much blood and brains and skull material...I think I both puked and then fainted at the sight.

Anyway, when I searched it up, the computer screen froze. Suddenly, the screen went black, and then, some words appeared in the center of the screen in small, white text:
-0SEE YOU0-

I don't know what to do, or who is seeing me. I think I'm done now. Please, I hope that there is a merciful god who will strike me with amnesia so this horrifying sight would not appear.

Bye. I hope I will still be alive to post again.
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What was your thoughts on this story? And should I make a sequel?

Here's the most I have written on my newest story:
Chapter 1
Scene 1

A strange, violet-haired girl wearing a striped shirt with long, plain sleeves and black pants sat in the well-light small cafe where hipsters usually go, drinking cappuccino. Her pale blue eyes, while strange, didn’t seem unusual compared to the hair. It was done in a ponytail.

She put on some glasses. The violet haired girl muttered some random line from one of those old Kaiju films that she watches sometimes. Man, those things are great, she thought to herself, or at least in an ironic, cheesy way. The violet-haired girl then got a call from her friend, Vesla.

“Hey, Veronica, is your day off?”said Vesla, in a cheery voice.

Veronica, the violet-haired girl, replied, “Yeah. So, what do you want to do with me?”

Vesla answered, “have a sleepover at my house. I think that would be fun.”

Veronica replied with, “That would be great!”

Veronica had always been good friends with Vesla. She had many sleepovers at her house, all of which involve playing video games, eating candy, and trying new things and (probably) failing at them.

Veronica leaves the Cafe, and gets a bus to Vesla’s neighborhood.

Scene 2

It was 3:00 pm. A young teenage boy wearing a t-shirt and cargo pants sat across from a formal looking man dressed in a plain red suit with blue tie. He wore yellow spectacles. He had short, brown hair. his eyes were green.

The room was a ghastly yellow, and the floors were wood, which is usually nice, when it isn’t half rotten.

“So,” said the man in the red suit, “Let me understand, Mr Greyille: You are, a werewolf?”

The boy said, “not exactly, as a don’t transform into a wolf at full moon. More or less, I become, between 8:00 pm and 8:00 am, instead of an awesome, actual wolf, an anthropomorphic wolf. What can be lamer than that?”

The man answered, “I know this might be stressful upon your brain, but I don’t think I can help you. Just, try to ignore it.”

The boy responded, “Yes, well, this already is starting to make my life suck. I’ve been called these things:fur-fag, crime-against-god, beastiality-lover, and thing-people-should-burn-to-death. And I really can’t do much about it, since I am one of the best Cross-Country Runners on the team.”

The man said clearly, “ignore them, then. They will probably get some low-down job as a bureaucrat or, even worse, reality TV contestant, the lowest form of being.”

The boy said, “thanks. Bye the way, my first name is Jason.”

The man told the boy, “well, Jason, you have nothing to worry about. Now, be off!”
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What was your thoughts on this?

Just wrote this, could be poetry or lyrics. its ASD inspired.. hope you enjoy.

Raindrop :

Like a raindrop, on a rainy afternoon
I was feeling, that i lost my way,
for believing, I had found my day,
In the mirror, of your smile

How wildly does the rain fall,
when the wind blows your way,
unable to hold my gaze,
feeling lost in my ways,

how could i know, whats strange to me,
its just the way.. its meant to be,
sleeping the days away,
on a rainy afternoon,

on a rainy afternoon,
alone without you,
how could i know?,
if its raining there too,
how could i know?,
The raindrops truth.

Who do I Feel Sorry For? (Based on a true event.)

Someone has a crush.
This person is disabled and should of kept a hush.
Heart chained up and unable to soar.
Who do I feel sorry for?

I see a disabled mind smashed against a pretty face.
What a disgrace.
Thrown and slammed to the floor.
Who do I feel sorry for?

What an embarrassment to the normal mind.
They treat them like a different kind.
A normal minds reputation ruined more.
Who do I feel sorry for?

Why can't they see disabled light?
How their heart is constantly out of sight.
Laughed at and slammed at the door.
Who do I feel sorry for?

To embarrassing to understand such disabilities.
Unable to see there abilities.
The most disgusted attention at its core.
Who do I feel sorry for?

All the disabled mind wants is mercy.
Their screams and cries the normal mind can't see.
Their disabilities are instead amusing and never a bore.
Who do I feel sorry for?

The normal mind has had enough of a disgust.
They join in on the insults and ignore there hearts as they must.
The fact that a disabled mind has a crush is gasped upon in horror.
Who do I feel sorry for?

Unable to catch up romantically to there peers.
The insults and jokes creep up to there ears.
Their heartbreaks turn to a bloody gore.
Who do I feel sorry for?

They do not dare deny.
The mind there dominated by.
The feelings in which there crush tore.
Who do I feel sorry for?




A poem that I wrote.

I wrote this poem in a fit of rage while mulling over all the unfairness, inequality, and oppression in the world. If Hell existed, I imagine it would have a special place for the perpetuators of injustice. I had reactionary ideologies like class oppression, racism, sexism, and homophobia in mind when I typed this, but you could probably interpret this poem to address any crimes against humanity.

Red Flames
I want to see you burn.
I want to see red flames
Devour you from inside.
I want to hear you scream.
I want to hear you cry
For mercy you don't deserve.

I want to smell your blood.
I want to smell your insides
Burning into black crisps.
I want you to feel the agony.
I want you to feel my wrath
Which you kindled yourself.

You think you're so strong
When you prey on the weak.
You think you earn riches
When you rob from the poor.
You think your happiness grows
From the misery of the world.

You make fortunes from their misfortune.
You gain health from their sickness.
You pretend you're so much better.
You claim they don't really matter.
You think you can get away
With all your crimes through lies.

Well I won't let you wreak more havoc.
I won't let you spread the plague.
Your wave of evil must dry up.
No longer shall you reign with terror.
No longer shall you build on oppression.
Your injustice must crumble down.

I want to see you burn.

Something short I wrote based on a dream I have from time to time, best to read between the lines

“The Woman in White”

biased on some experience

by

tomas

I see her from time to time, in that hazy few moments sometimes before I am fully awake yet still quite asleep. If I am lucky I get to see her just as the sun rises peeking through my window, her soft blond almost white hair, stunning hazel eyes staring in mine an that quaint smile on her face. She wears white all the time, usually something simple a tank top and a pair of loose long pants the white wings give her away. She always lays next to me on leg half over on mine the other gently caressing my head. I see her and I feel at ease my heart slows down, it feels like everything in the world is just right. For those few simple moments I am at peace with all that's around me,I smile back just thankful for these few precious moments every time I see her. Then the sound of my alarm snaps me from this place of peace, I wake up blinking in the morning light seeing shes not their an I am sad, but look forward to the next time we meet.

Little character sketch for one of my DA OCs...

Neith's Target Practice

Neith nocked an arrow against her bow, aligning its head with her target’s eye. She stretched and tensed her arm muscles as she pulled the string taut. Even though she clenched its grip in a fist, the bow wavered in her hold. The cold perspiration washing Neith’s dark umber skin did not come only from the sun’s baking above.

She slipped her fingers off the string. The arrow zipped over the grassy courtyard until it went thunk into the round leather target. It missed the red dot in the middle by half a finger’s length. Neith moaned and muttered a curse under her breath. Only one arrow out of ten remained in her quiver now, and not one of the past nine came close enough to hitting the eye.

“Well shot, my little lioness!”

So spoke her father, King Djeserka of Nubia. With a beaming smile across his wizened face, he clapped his hands from the arcade of columns that surrounded the courtyard. The sunlight reflecting off his gold jewelry gave the King an even stronger, less welcome radiance.

Neith narrowed her eyes in the glower she returned to him. “You know I don’t appreciate that, Father, ” she said.

“Don’t appreciate what? I thought you liked your lioness nickname, ” Djerserka replied. “You certainly did when you were still little.”

“I meant your praise. How could you call any of these ‘well shot’?” Neith pointed to the arrows embedded into the target. “I can’t even hit the eye after nine tries!”

The King chuckled. “Yet you never stray more than a quarter of a cubit away either. Given that you’re standing so far from the target, you aim better than half the army.”

Neith cocked an eyebrow up, shaking her head. “You know for sure?”

“Trust me, in my time I’ve seen hundreds of men who couldn’t hit an elephant if it stood one yard before them!” Djeserka walked down to his daughter and rested a hand on her shoulder. “My point is, you should show more pride in your own skills. It’s like you hold yourself to standards higher than any goddess.”

“You did name me after the goddess of the bow, didn’t you?” Neith tapped a finger on the hieroglyphic cartouche inscribed in her necklace’s ankh. “Am I not supposed to live up to that name?”

“Ah, but even the divinities make mistakes from time to time, and you still have a mortal body. You can’t expect to hit the eye every single time, you know.”

“But one miss can make the difference between life and death, and you know Mother found that out the hard way!” Neith’s eyes dripped wet with tears as her mother’s face flashed in her mind. She wrapped her arms around her father and cushioned her cheek into his chest.

Djeserka patted her woolly crown of hair. “Your mother caught many leopards before that one who caught her, ” he said. “You don’t even dare to try. Maybe what you really need is the opportunity to apply your skills in the field and appreciate them.”

Neith’s blood stung cold and she recoiled from her father with a gasp. “In the field? I thought Nubia stood at peace these days.”

“Peace and war come and go like the seasons. Certainly they will after you take my place on the throne, my little lioness. Or would you rather Kawab inherit it?” Djeserka winked once he invoked the name of his eldest son, Neith’s younger half-brother.

“Anyone but him, ” Neith said with a grimace. “Well, if I’m to follow in your footsteps, Father, I still need more practice at this, if you don’t mind.”

She slid out the last arrow from her quiver and nocked it against her wobbling bow. The perspiration came back to chill her trembling body. Murmuring a prayer to her namesake goddess, Neith drew the string back and then released the arrow.

It struck the edge of the target’s eye.

KATiE MiA/Aghogday: My Perspective on Life

Full illustrated version with photos and music at the link below from my blog:

http://katiemiaaghogday.blogspot.com/20 ... -life.html

Text only:


I think I was born as a kind of classical pantheist, as I saw patterns and connections in things that were more of my thinking process, along with the tactile sensory world, than what I think most people may experience as an internal dialogue of thought.

I still have a vivid memory of connection to everything in the world, as if I had been here forever, before I was able to speak that I cannot fully put into words, from about age 3 looking out into the distance over the river I grew up next to. But I think in some ways I knew more about my existence then than I do now, as I could not separate myself from what seemed like a very old home of nature.

I am glad I had the opportunity to roam desolate pristine beaches as a teenager and young adult, without any fear, and feeling one in being with the waves, white sand, emerald green gulf, sea oats and sea gulls, with no dramas in my head.

But even my ancestors could not experience that with not being sure where their next meal was going to come from. Not likely that many creatures in the Universe could experience a little slice of nirvana like that.

I can remember getting back into my car and being jolted back into the reality of all that is the complexity of modern culture, which at that point in time was so, so limited as compared to today. I was never quite the same after home computers came along, as I drifted further and further from a home of nature.

The people I dealt with in the public at that time, in what was a “Cheers” like environment, was also a slice of nirvana. Cigarette filled, but the emotional contagion of a hundred human beings that are happy that I had the privilege to serve and make even happier, equaled the nirvana of the walks on the sun-filled beaches.

I loved my exquisite sensory experience of life….

It was worth not being able to touch man made texture without goose bumps and an incredible feeling of discomfort.

When I see Landon Bryce’s book “I Love My Own Autistic Self”, the little guy on the front is how I usually felt inside that people could only see in the gleam of my eyes.

People often told me they wished they had what it was I had, or wanted some of the drugs I was taking, but I had no idea what they were talking about because there was nothing I wanted but to exist, for so many years…

It was a powerful feeling that no one’s negativity could take away from me, not even when the rest of the world told me I was not one of their kind.

Sorry, that was quite a tangent, but it is kind of therapeutic for me; I hope you don’t mind…

My point I started off with was religion and classic pantheism, which is all of nature and science for me; the cultural complexity of what has come from human collective intelligence, including all the strange oddities, even the strangest of religious cults and beliefs. But most of all the reality of that beach those waves, and those grains of sand, that do not exist without me.

A gift, a wonderful gift that was provided by my father and mother, and their ancestors where there could be no break in the chain of events of human struggle that all my ancestors experienced to survive and reproduce, and their rodent ancestors about 75 million years ago, and all the other ancestors not identified and material substances that came together to make that possible, from the origin of what is, whatever is, is.

That one point that I can only abstractly define because of the human collective intelligence that provides the map to what can be described, as one point that we all share that can never be disconnected, as long as we exist…

Wow, I just realized that sounds kind of like the intro to the “Big Bang Theory” TV show…

And relatively speaking the knowledge that I gained that this is one sliver of conscious existence and what really is a little slice of heaven for some that do exist, considering just the benefit of a warm soft bed, a hot shower, and things now considered so mundane that took billions of years to come into existence that were not here a little over a century ago.

Like toilet paper…

But I could never experience that connection of what is, any stronger than when I was three. I have everything and everyone before me to thank for that experience… Including collective intelligence and the understanding of that one point that still exists in all of us and everything else…

I never met a stranger, not even a grain of sand on the beach…

But I did not feel a category, a religion, a race or even a gender for myself, which at least for me enhanced the ability to find a friend in that grain of sand.

I suppose it is the immune system issues and chronic pain that has taken some of that gleam out of my eyes, but it still exists in the eyes in what I perceive of the anthropomorphic expression of the cat in my Facebook photo.

Who at 18 years old is likely closer to the wisdom of that three-year-old child that only exists in my memory and pictures…

I sense that type of wisdom requires no human intelligence at all beyond the core that is shared.

I think it can be lost so much easier in a human into a little sliver of hell somewhere outside that balance of heaven.

Particularly in lives where instant gratification has become the norm…

I am at the service of my fully inside cat, but he has never had that gleam in his eyes, or the same struggles to survive.

The yellow cat in my Google plus avatar on the “Autistic Hoya” website, was a feral cat that only knew struggles in his several years of life behind our house in the woods.

He became my emotions after chronic pain had removed them from my existence. He gained a gleam in his eyes of gratitude to have a balance in his life when we allowed him a place to gain predictable subsistence.

An identical yellow cat that likely is his offspring, younger and stronger appears intermittently out of the woods and started to injure our now neutered cat, racking up $200 dollar vet bills, every other week so the once feral cat has now been forced to become a fully inside cat.

I am watching him slowly lose that gleam in his eyes, with the call of the wild slowly drifting away, along with all the likely incredible sensory experiences that come with an outdoor world that the other cat that never gets injured in fights at age 18, can still fully experience.

As I sit outside toward the back of my yard, in the afternoon sun, he is pacing back and forth politely, still with a humility of respect for a place of subsistence that keeps him from tearing the screen of the patio.

Perhaps if he could speak and let me know in words what I was taking away from him, I would listen.

But I cannot bear the thought of additional bloody wounds on his face. But still I remember what it means to have that connection and balance…

When I watch him pace back and forth, it is one of the few things in life that will bring a tear to my eye that reminds me that I too am still connected. :)

Other than that, it could be just a word like Synesthesia that seems to trigger something in my brain letting the brakes off the logic to move into figurative space.

At least for me, even one word can be a gift that leads me to a place in words that I don’t often visit.

KATiE MiA
Kind Autistics Taking In Everything Mindful in Awareness

(:@@@:)
Autistic Love
And the Science of Kindology
An Ideological First Identity

AGHOGDAY

Another poem/lyrics kinda related to how i feel sometimes

- Drifting clouds

clouds drifting on a silent afternoon,
no way to remember how long its been,
dreaming away my days,
hidden from everyone's gaze,

how brightly does the sun shine,
While I can't open my eyes,
feeling numb in my daze,
darkness comforting my ways,
never letting me live my days,

Should i go?,
Could I go?,
opening my eyes to see the sun set,
clouds turning to rainstorms,
as another day passes by.
like a stranger in the night.

Something I wrote:

Scar Tissue

My final in English is a custom script from the play A Raisin in the Sun. Since I decided to do the project on my own, I decided to write a monolgue of one of the characters. I got the whole thing written down in about 45 minutes, and the teacher was pretty impressed with what I brought in. Now I don't have to worry about anything but practing my monologue and studying for my other finals.