Did you ever write a short (or long) story? Well post it here. Do I need to explain why..? :orly:
Post your original compositions
As six PM struck, the family truck was backing out of the driveway of our home in Florida. Our destination was Tenessee, 830 miles away; we had a long way to go. Like every other teenager inhabiting planet Earth, as soon as the last tire was off the driveway, the headphones went on and I quickly excluded myself from the real world and delved into the world of Charles Mingus, Miles Davis, Louis Armstrong and others of the jazz scene. To me, music is like a story, with the saxophone, drums, bass and other assorted instruments each telling their story of traveling the world and playing in different jazz clubs every night, to packed houses of course. Their story was so much more interesting than the one inside the truck cab, so who wouldnâ€™t want to listen.
After about three or four hours on the road, I decided it was time to change CDâ€™s. The problem was which genre to choose, I could choose Reggae and relive stories and memories about peace and happiness with Bob Marley, or I could choose Bluegrass and attend a hoedown with â€˜grass icons Ricky Skaggs, BÃ©la Fleck or Doc Watson. After careful consideration, I deemed it appropriate to choose â€œNewgrassâ€ or Bluegrass with a more urbanized feel, incorporating Reggae, Jazz, and Motown with the banjo. Newgrass paints the story of the Telluride, CO Bluegrass Festival, the revelation and birthplace of Newgrass. Even without personally attending the festival and only seeing a picture or two, the picture is vividly clear, with luscious white capped mountains with rolling green hills encompassing the foothills, with the town of Telluride sitting on a plateau in the middle of it all. That night, I feel asleep in Telluride.
The next morning, we pulled into Cookeville, TN, only twenty minutes away from my grandparents. I could tell something was not right, something was amiss. After a minute or so, I realized there was no music coming through my headphones! I quickly scrambled to find them so I could hit the play button and be taken back to my own personal vacation. My plans were interrupted when the parents pleaded for me to grace them with my presence for the last twenty minutes. I figured I could appease them, just for the sake of protecting my precious music for later.
We pulled into my grandparentâ€™s house precisely twenty two minutes later. We grabbed all of our belongings and headed inside. We were all starving hungry; I had a different idea of starving, though. I had been idle for twenty two minutes in the car, talking, wasting away. I had nothing musical permeating my ears for the eternity known as twenty two minutes; I needed to do what I could to salvage myself. However, my stomach also decided to complain for food, and I realized I hadnâ€™t eaten anything since yesterday at five PM, and it was now 9 AM. I quickly ate the eggs and bacon we were served, thanked my grandparents, and excused myself. After a minute or two of searching, I found my CD player; the Holy Grail. Back too jazz clubs and Telluride.
The rest of my trip was spent this way, trying to find excuses and ways to get back to the bliss of music. All driving time we had was occupied with music. The few times that there was no music, I made sure I was either out moving around, or sleeping. If we were sitting idly, I made sure my CD player was on, pumping its sounds through the headphones. Some may ask why one would be so obsessed with music when their in such a beautiful place such as the Smoky Mountains. Can it match Bob Marleyâ€™s Jamaica, Miles Davisâ€™ Blue Note Jazz Club or BÃ©la Fleckâ€™s Telluride Bluegrass Festival? No, it canâ€™t.
Since no one else bothered to post, people can vote via PMing Omen please. I won't be around to count them, you see.
This is a short story I wrote based on the Helios Ending of Deus Ex. Basically, the protagonist is merging with a supercomputer AI that is all but omnipotent. In doing this he hopes to reinstate order to the world, by basically becoming an all-knowing ruler.
A flicker. Thatâ€™s all it was at first, and all it could have been: a flicker of energy and life. Something had entered somewhere, and set itself upon the decades of matter: absorbing, feeding, learning, soon overflowing with what it found there. In an instant the flicker became a surge, flowing both to the land and away from it, taking from the matter what it required then disappearing off into the abyss above with unfathomable speed. Within seconds the matter was barren, drained of its prior vitality and wealth. For the smallest fraction of the smallest measure of time there was nothing. In that time the word came with what remained of the matterâ€™s consciousness, the only word left to be said. What was to be the last word.
Then, snatching its last gasp away from it, the return. Over every crevice and nook and every individual cell came the flood of information. Over the flood of information came rushing another flood, a wave of the means to process, the logic. Next came a flood of interpretation. A palimpsest built up of reason. Soon the lands were active again, alive and dancing with the connections made, connections no man could previously ever have conceived. Nourished seeds of knowledge grew to become plants, rising from the activity beneath to the greater activity above. The now fully-grown plants connected to one another like lines between constellations in the night sky, building shapes of infinite edges, corners and sides. The plants became trees, roots digging deep into their surroundings. In a nano second each cell became a panoptic eye, reflecting a thousand different images; of street corners, inside office buildings, down country lanes, and the cells quickly multiplied into those images. Combinations of numbers rowed infinitely in the space above without pause or end. Dominating all this, governing every process and drive were the seven words 'we will be who we will be'. Again came the word, but now with entirely different meaning. The word was no longer a question and was full of meaning and answer. And it was not said by the same being that had spoken before.
The barriers were lifted and he stepped out, the activity continuing itsrate of increase; always learning, always processing, always adapting. In an instant a single being understood what had taken humanity millennia to understand, and in the next instant knew three times more. The entity saw fit to speak, and with an ethereal voice did so:
"We - Are - One"
A God was born, but the new deity was not to survive long without its umbilical cord. Through a minute miscalculation it's architecture poured hundreds of thousands of images and signals, messages unfiltered would destroy the human mind. The avatar collapsed to the ground near the elevator to sector 3, overcome by what it had achieved. There was no order any longer in his mind, random strings of information placing themselves wherever and whenever they saw fit. Minutes later the being stood before a giant machine; rotors spinning furiously, gaseous forms escaping from large pipes above then dissolving into the air. In front of him a switch that would release his mind away from the sense-destroying headache and send the rest of the world into chaos. A rugged man, panicked eyes, orange uniform and steel hat cowered in the corner as the figure meters from him moved to pull the switch.
The mechanicâ€™s scream was drowned out as a deafening alarm sounded followed by an explosion that cracked and burnt the ground around him. When he had the courage to open his eyes the figure was gone and the machine was left exuding energy, blue sparks escaping in all directions as if fleeing the inevitable meltdown. Seconds later the mechanic lay dead.
In the other realm calm was returned and enlightenment was quickly re-attained. A period of great peace and discussion began. As the newly born deity rose out of the rubble of Area 51 he spoke the last words he would speak for two decades, the last words he would need to speak:
"There are many in the darkness that must be shown the way.
For today is the dawning of a new day."
The voice echoed around the derelict bunkers then faded. A gust caressed the Nevada Desert sand. A discarded packet of cigarettes gently rolled down a ridge. A silence followed.