Sunday, August 25, 2013

Curating Small, Emotional Story Gears

A Fabulous night to the curious Gears!

Tonights story focuses on the fantastical, using a shitton of big words I'm willing to bet most of you haven't heard of before. Perhaps you'll think I'm a dick but you'll need a dictionary (or Google. Let's be serious here) to fully enjoy this little story nugget. Surprisingly, I'm going to make you work for the beautiful eloquence I've written into this story. Unsurprisingly, I suspect I'm being a little peacockish to which I have no issues with. 

Prompt: Here's the scene:  A 6'2", 250 pound man, long haired, goatee, covered in tattoos walks up to a cash register at Wal-mart with only 3 items: One can of tuna, one box of body sugaring wax and one can of deodorant. 

It's up to you to tell the story of his night after the purchase.

500 word max please!

Turning Corners


What purpose could possibly be served by stopping me? asked Drake to himself. He sat on his Harley, the engine idling loudly while a group of scholarly thugs whispered amongst themselves in the moonlight. Growing impatient, he cracked his knuckles, snapping all eyes back to him. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

The ring of men & women noticeably bristled, clearly antagonized that Drake would command them with such authority. A Dean sniffed at him, her feathers ruffled by his brutish nature. She stepped forward.

“You have no cause or concern to bring you here, Drake Varro. Your kind is not welcome on Harvard soil, all previous accomplishments withal.” declared Madame McGonavale, voice dripping with venom and condemnation. The wrinkled corners of her eyes crinkled with barely contained rage at his grossly exhibitionist behaviour. The others clearly mirrored her sentiments.

Drake stared down each scholar, curling his face into a scornful sneer as he considered the gang of intellectual peacocks. Sure, each one had elevated his mind beyond anything a thug like him would have considered possible but… History did nothing to redeem their current behavior. Since he’d graduated as valedictorian eons ago, his mind had sharpened considerably.

“The judgemental abjurement of me is duly noted, Sasha.” sneered Drake as he stood at his imposing 6’2” height, snarling at each of the impossibly atrocious imposters. Most of the scholars, meek in stature, simply withered under Drake’s massive bulk. Madam McGonavale however, stood firm, matching his fierce glare with her own.

The engine idled, gripped between Drake’s massively tattooed thighs as he held out his middle fingers to his dusty predecessors. “Luckily, I find the drivel you preach to be the paragon of loathing! You aren’t worth a thought!” spat Drake in Sasha’s face, the disdain in his voice acidic enough to melt her bones. Reaching into a plastic Wal-Mart bag, he revved the engine and shot forward, shouting “Bovine lummoxical bitch!” to Sasha as he sprayed the shocked quacks with a can of deodorant he’d pulled from the bag. They shrieked and jumped away, covering their eyes.

Tossing the empty can at the humiliated scholars as he rounded the corner, he gunned the bike and whooped for joy, roaring off to the Divinity Sewers where he hoped to meet delicate little Vuri. Within minutes, Drake pulled up to the secluded grove, killing the engine. Darkness blanketed the area, silence a companion to coax demure Vuri out. To help, Drake laid out the sugar wax and canned tuna he’d bought, as a gift.

“I have simple wax that believes it’s a fantastical ship in a bottle and chopped tuna that believes it’s a dragon,” whispered Drake. He waited.

Before long, Vuri materialized, her slender body gliding with unmatched grace. Her face was bright and full of life, framed by wispy thin hair that shimmered blonde in the moonlight. Her eyes appeared yonderly and wise though she couldn’t have been much more than a girl.

“Most clever objects realize they are fantastically unrealistic,” opined Vuri, her voice soft as wind chimes on a breeze.

“Cleverly, unrealistic objects hire a recherché young lady to keep tabs on their fantastical musings.” He beamed at her, his composure softening considerably upon seeing his elusive daughter. He attempted to step towards her, forgetting the rules.

Vuri shook her head, her hair following the motion as if underwater. She looked despondant, unsure how to convey her complex emotions.

“When you lose minds and become komorebi…”

She vanished, whisking the small gifts with her and leaving a sharp void in Drake's heart...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As always, feel free to provide feedback! If you don't know what kind of feedback I'm (cue: EVERYONE) looking for, read a few posts back and you'll discover some exquisite examples! 

Okay, that last bit was a lie. I had one example. Just one. It was definitely exquisite though. No joke. I also broked the prompt as my final word count was 589. 

I don't feel bad and I'm positive you didn't either.

~ Storyteller

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Story Gears | Most Despicable Human Being

Afternoon Gears!

Some prompts are challenging and others make you feel like the absolute worst human being on the planet. Today, I wrote a response to the latter. 

The prompt: To write about someone who is completely and utterly awful in every way imaginable. Then, I want you to throw in a Unicorn or Narwhal or something into the story. Somehow. No more than 1000 words.

I want everyone who reads this to know one thing: I do not, in ANY WAY support the actions of the character I wrote. Instead of thinking that I have some serious shit to fix in my life, instead, remember that I wrote about the absolute worst person I could imagine. To me, this character embodies that meaning. 

Find comfort in that fact. 


Despicable Human Being

“You are the most despicably disgusting person to have ever lived.”
 Imagine being told that by everyone you encounter. You find no remorse or sympathy in their face or voice for what you’re going through. None. Honestly, I suppose I can’t blame them for it. I am, after all, what the world thinks I am…

“Dart, you filthy fucking asshole! Wake up! WAKE UP!”
My eyes flashed open and closed shut immediately, the morning light far too bright for my splitting headache. I groaned and rolled over, seeking solace in the sleek, purchased warm body next to mine to escape the recurring dream I’ve been having lately.
Wait a second…
“Melissa?” I called out, stumbling as I rolled off the bed. The whore I’d paid for last night didn’t stir. How odd. Melissa wasn’t supposed to be home for another day at least though!
“Fuck you Dart! Fuck you and your disgusting lies!” You said you were changed!” shrieked Melissa from a different room. I could hear glass shattering and stomping. Melissa seemed to be making her way through the house destroying what few valuables I had. As always, the incessant chanting could be heard outside. It never ceased, no matter the season or day.
“Melissa! What are you doing home?” I asked, struggling to think through the morning haze that clouded my mind. I gripped my head and tried to will the pain away.
“That’s it? Fuck you bastard, you want to know WHY I’M HOME EARLY?” she screamed, hurting my ears. She came into view from the kitchen, her body blanketed with fury. “Once, I said, fine. Maybe there’s something I’m fucking doing wrong. Twice? I still fucking forgave you, even though you sired a child! But a third time? Ohho no! You’ve got some fucked up, twisted little pattern going on that you won’t fix. And after I loved you, despite the heinous crime you’re loathed for around the globe! I saw good in you you tiny little prick!” Spit was flying from her mouth as she screamed. An odd thing to notice, considering the fact that she was marching towards me with a dangerous, threatening posture.
Oh.
A switch flipped when I saw her like that.
“Come off it bitch. You’ll always love me, no matter what I do,” I said, meeting her furious stare with my own.
“No Dart. I’m done. You’re done. We’re done!” she said, her voice cold as steel and her eyes moreso. “You are the most despicably, disgusting person to ever exist.” No remorse or sympathy. She turned around to leave.
“You piece of shit whore!” Snapping my head out, I twirled her around to face me before connecting my first to her cheekbone. She cried out before finding herself sprawled on the hard tile floor, dazed.
With the same lack of remorse, I kicked her pregnant belly, hard. Several times. Each time my foot connected, she whimpered and curled up into a smaller ball. Seven times I kicked her before tears flowed out of my eyes and I stopped.
“You don’t deserve my baby. You’re nothing but a pathetic excuse for a woman! You know that I took away the ability of reproduction in women all over the world! You know that I commited genocide, killing the world’s Chinese population without a thought! You know that my beautiful engineered virus is loathed and feared throughout the world and you dare to defy me?!?!?” I reached down and yanked her fiery red hair hard enough to pull some out. Seeing her face bruised and crying, I couldn’t take it. I slammed her head into the tile floor, knocking her out cold.
As I stood up, I saw her belly ripple, the first signs of a violent miscarriage. I began to sob, hating myself even more for the despicable man I’d become!
The chanting grew louder as a crash sounded down the hallway. Seconds later, a young black woman with a revolver came into view. I started to but found instead, found myself lying on the floor, a horrendous migraine starting to blur my vision. I blinked for a few second, watching the woman pick up Melissa and help her stand before I closed my eyes…

“Dart Repo”
I stepped forward. I must be dead, standing before the judgement.
“You are hereby given a chance to heaven,” declared a hooded Angel in black garb. His voice was dark and deep. The sheer menace I felt sent a shiver down my dead spine. “Your task is to save this Unicorn. Do that, and you may appear before Christ for redemption.
I glanced behind the Death Angel and saw a bleeding Unicorn that was clearly suffering. Nodding my understanding, I walked through the low mist to a rack with several different tools. Some for life, others for death, and still others for worse. Taking a knife, I walked over to the Unicorn and began my work.
Slowly, carefully, I skinned the beast. I watched in horror as my body and limbs seemed to move of their own accord to maximize the suffering of this magnificent beast. I sobbed uncontrollably as time passed indefinitely until the animal finally died, shuttering as it breathed a final breath.
An opening yawned before me as I stood, still covered in blood and gore. The creature that came from the opening was terrifying, the worst horrors imaginable! I cringed and cried, knowing I hadn’t passed the test.
“I am Satan. Welcome to Hell, Dart. You will make a fine toy for eternity!
Alas, I am what everyone thought I was.
Disgusting, despicable, rotten.
Destined to an existence of pain, rot, fear, loathing, torture, and suffering. Exactly what I deserve for what I’ve done.

I nodded silently and shed a single tear, knowing my existence, was over.

~ Fin

I had trouble writing this because I feared judgement from everyone. After thinking about it though, I figured out that I feared judgement of myself and 'me' thinking that I was this kind of person. If I could write about it, that meant I could relate, even recreate this kind of scenario, didn't it?

That's what went through my mind. I thought I was fucked up in the head even though I would never, ever in a million years injure my wife or children in ANY way!

Alas, I came full circle and realized that I'm not any more fucked up than you are, and most importantly, that I'm not this kind of person or ever will be. I also realized that what I wrote is, as I mentioned in the beginning, the worst person I can think of. That's right: The worst person I can think of is a genocidal, racist wife beater that aborts babies through brutality. If you want to judge me for thinking this is the worst kind of person, go right ahead. 

Just know you are judging the wrong person.

~ Storyteller

Friday, August 16, 2013

Curiosity Gears | Feedback: Part 1

Digging into Feedback

Let's dive straight into the nitty gritty: I'm willing to bet that most of you can't accurately describe what "Feedback" is. Don't be thinking about radios! Or televisions for that matter... To help repair some of that bruised pride, academics seem to have trouble describing what feedback is as well. I wouldn't be surprised if you were thinking about your boss and the horrifying review you received last year detailing how shitty you were at your job (perhaps it was a poorly veiled attempt for everyone to tell you how much they hate your guts). Or possibly, you were reliving that great moment when you were praised upon the clouds of God and Zeus for the amazing job you did just before getting your promotion. You're thinking, these must be moments where you received negative or positive feedback, right? Wrong.

Newflash! These thoughts or memories flying through your mind aren't feedback. Not even close. These memories are actually opinions, advice, or praise. Which, decidedly, is not feedback. 

In a series of explorations, we will analyze just what feedback ACTUALLY is, explain both good and bad examples, discuss the different types of feedback and finally, provide you with tools necessary to start receiving and producing meaningful feedback. I will also strive to equip every single one of you with resources and a deep well of knowledge to call upon so you can teach others about proper feedback. This is my way of helping the world be a better place!

What the hell is 'feedback' anyway?

Fact: Everyone on the planet has experienced some sort of feedback, whether positive of negative during this adventure we call life. Additionally, many folks have experience with neutral feedback, criticism, and any other fancy words an organization might come up with to describe what is essentially the same thing. 

A question though: Just what the hell is this stuff we're calling feedback? Providing the textbook definition gives us "information about reactions to a product, a person's performance of a task, etc., used as a basis for improvement." (Dictionary.com).

Unfortunately for many of you, this definition leaves a very significant amount of room for interpreting what kind of 'information' is useful as a basis for improvement. Most of which, just isn't terribly helpful. Let's simplify the definition with terms that are clear and concise.

feed·back | /ˈfēdˌbak/ | Noun --- Goal oriented, neutral information regarding a reaction to a person or products performance. 

Much better, no?

Strangely enough, true feedback is neither positive or negative but simply is. Grant Wiggin stats the essentials of feedback are "goal-referenced; tangible and transparent; actionable; user-friendly (specific and personalized); timely; ongoing; and consistent." (ascd.org)

In a nutshell, Grant is describing great, helpful feedback. It keeps the goal in mind (not always implicit). Stellar feedback is also clear in what the specific reaction was while simultaneously providing concrete evidence for what caused said response. Feedback will also provide a distinct (or tangible) roadmap towards immediately actionable improvements simply because the feedback was actually useful! Additionally, meaningful feedback is given in both a timely and steady manner (not always immediate, mind) while being consistent in both tone and critique. Last but not least, feedback is friendly; taking into account who the audience is and tailoring responses appropriately. 

Surprise surprise! Not once does he mention the negative bullshit that most of us are accustomed to in a corporate workplace or venomous relationship. 

And! Try this out for size! I've provided an example of true feedback: "I was riveted from the very beginning on this post because of the catchy title and engaging first few paragraphs. After that though, I lost interest because I felt the post became too robotic and not human enough." 

Let's break it down. Don't forget our (my) definition and the Essentials of Feedback! 

--- First, my feedback is neutral because I didn't tell myself what I did 'good' or 'bad'. There was no 'help' or 'advice' and no one told me what to improve on or do differently or remove from my habit list. I simply told myself the reaction I had to my own post and provided feedback based on that reaction. 

--- Second, my own response was goal oriented. The information I provided describes what I did well and roughly where I lost my own interest. I can utilize this feedback to either make my second post better or go back and edit the original post. Either way, I am armed with neutral, goal oriented information that helps me determine where my strengths and weaknesses are. 

Let's break this feedback down even further and apply the rest of the essentials. 

--- Is the feedback actionable? Fuck yea it is! I know immediately where the problem area was for this reader. For an added bonus, I know what his issue was: I wasn't human enough after the first few paragraphs. Check. 

--- Am I being user-friendly? Definitely. I understood exactly what this reader was saying to me and didn't feel overwhelmed by flowery words or a tsunami of shit flinging. Check. 

--- Only time will tell if this reader will give constant and consistent feedback so we'll skip these for now. Let's revisit in a few posts to see if this reader keeps his end of the bargain. 

Hang in there: Almost done!

Can we have examples of atrocious feedback?

Of course you can! The best part is, this won't take long. An important key component to remember: Atrocious feedback is likely not feedback at all!

After all the information puked on you earlier, you might be scratching your head wondering what an example of atrocious feedback might be. Look no further! Below are some ghastly statements passed off as feedback. Hint: they really aren't.

--- "A+"

--- "We noticed that you don't appear to be performing up to par with our standards and therefore, we feel you aren't doing you job properly."

--- "Too vague"

--- "Great job on this report! Keep it up!"

--- "You missed the fucking ball asswipe! Swing to the left next time!"

--- "Filling out report XYZ is something your peers have acknowledge you don't do very well. Management is expecting to see a significant amount of improvement or else you mind find the pink slip on your desk come next week."

--- "This game sucks. This studio sucks. Your mom sucks! I hate life."

So on and so forth. We've all seen it slash heard it. We've all had encounters with criminal faux feedback. Make no mistake, people may think the above statements are feedback... With a simple reality check, you should realize they aren't. They're great piles of decomposed whale shit that's been rotting in the sun for a few days. And just like that whale shit, these statements aren't helping anyone. 

Why are the above examples of atrocious, faux feedback? Ask yourself the essentials: Is the feedback goal - oriented? Some might be, but keep going. Is it actionable? Timely? Consistent? Useful & specific? Friendly? Neutral? 

If you answered NO to any of these questions, that should be all the proof you need. 

The Future and Practice!

Next time, we'll discuss more examples of good and bad feedback as well as some surprising research regarding feedback that you might not have known. Look forward to it!

For practice, try providing some feedback for this post and any others you read. Keep in mind that not all situations need feedback, especially on the internet. Just this once though, I'll let you practice. 

Feel free to share what you've learned about feedback in the comments below! Anything to help others learn more about this elusive communication skill can only be a good thing for humanity!

~ Storyteller

Sources for further reading:

>>> http://www.ascd.org/publications/educational-leadership/sept12/vol70/num01/Seven-Keys-to-Effective-Feedback.aspx

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Prompting the Mind Gears

Early Evening Well Wishes Gears!

I'm well aware it's been a handful of days between this post and my last post. Even more discouraging, I'm also aware that there isn't stellar, interesting content between the two posts. Well, interesting for me but possibly not for you. 

Don't fret or lose sleep over it though! I'm currently hatching a diabolically compelling article that I haven't started writing yet so be prepared! In the meantime, I've gone and written a response to another writing prompt. 

This one won't get revised because frankly, it was way too fucking hard to fit the story I wanted into 500 words. I'm serious! I felt like I was shoving a brand new tent that I used over the weekend into the bag from which it came. You all know EXACTLY what I'm talking about! Fucking tent bags. 

Here's the story. Attack my tent bag writing all you want. Prompt I followed is after for those that are interested.

Marblewood Dream Home

The crisp evening air beckoned to be inhaled.  Stars twinkled brightly on the black sea above his head.  Jack could hear the occasional faint hum of a  car passing on the highway miles north of him, but otherwise it was only the sounds of nocturnal nature and bated breathing that broke the deep silence of the night.
The thick hair on his arms stood on end and a tingle brushed down his spine.  His long, generational wait was finally coming to an end. It was time. He licked his lips and a dark smile spread across his lips as he hoisted an ancient ax onto his shoulder. This ax had been passed down for uncountable generations, working tirelessly to bring honor and fame to the Wilkiker family name.
“You ready for this lawyer Jack?” asked Anise, straightening Jacks jacket.
“Course I’m ready sweetheart. No tracking for 35 years doesn’t mean I don’t got talent,” said Jack, pulling her in for a kiss.
Suddenly, an orange flare light bathed Anise’s face, signaling the start of the contest. Jack bolted into the pitch black forest, searching for the elusive Marblewood tree to be used as a center column for the contest winners new dream home. He was one of 67 total black men entered into the Generational Black Mans Lumberjack Dream Home Contest. Jack didn’t understand why it needed such a long, ridiculous name...  

Several hours later, Jack founda trail.
“Stunted growth indicates a nearby Marblewood...” muttered Jack as he approached a stunted Pinebark sappling. The trail was hot.
“Yo, citynigga, you lost?!?” taunted a voice in the distance.
“Ignore him. He’s not worth it,” Jack told himself. Jack hated Tony with every fiber of his being, and always had. Slipping between some trees, he followed the trail he’d picked up, feeling the Marblewood was close. Branches snapped from behind. Menacing snaps. Jack picked up his pace.
“ Little Jacko can’t handle a man taunt?” chortled Tony. He wanted that dream home too. Some men might even kill for it...
Rounding a tree, Jack saw it. A beautiful, 8 foot wide mature Marblewood tree, almost sixty feet tall! Jack snatched his radio to call in the find when Tony stepped into view.
“Ain’t nobody out here to monitor what happens to tiny baby Jacko though. Coulda been a bear or tiger er somethin,” threatened Tony. He had a small pistol pointed at Jacks chest. “Move ‘nother inch and I’ll kill you.” He cocked the gun.
“No you won’t Tony,” crackled a voice from the radio. Tony jumped and fired the pistol, narrowly missing Jack’s shoulder. On instinct, Jack tackled Tony to the ground and wrestled with the big man. Frantic for anything to knock him out, Jack grabbed a nearby log and smashed it into Tony’s head, turning the lights out.
“Jack?”
“I’m okay. Tagging the tree now!”
“Excellent. Sending an extraction team while you cut it down. Make sure Tony is tied up for custody.”
“Roger”
“Congraulations Jack. Seems you’ve won again!”

Like I said, a tent bag story. Now that I've thought about it, perhaps I should go back and edit sometime in the distant future (after my bad feelings have melted away...) and practice fitting a coherent story into 500 words or less.

Questions: Did this make sense? 
What do you think could be done to improve the story/writing?

Prompt I Followed: Really simple stuff here (NOT!!!)

PLEASE READ DIRECTIONS CAREFULLY :)

I'm going to write the start of a story below and I would like you, yes YOU! to finish it.  I'll set the stage, and give you the rough draft of a characters to work with, you provide the conflict and resolution and most importantly, the end of the story.

-Try to keep it under 500 words please :)

The Story: 

The crisp evening air beckoned to be inhaled.  Stars twinkled brightly on the black sea above his head.  He could hear the occasional faint hum of a  car passing on the highway miles north of him, but otherwise it was only the sounds of nocturnal nature that broke the deep silence of the night.

The thick hair on his arms stood on end and a tingle brushed down his spine.  His long wait was finally coming to an end, it was time. He licked his lips and a dark smile spread across his lips....

Take it from there folks!


In the next few days, I'll have something more substantial for you Gears. In the meantime, tata!

~ Storyteller

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Gears of Editing: The Final Draft

Evening Fellow Gears!

I'm a man of my word and so, as promised, here is the edited, potentially final (possibly second) draft of the story I wrote a few days ago. 

Some thoughts about the story: I mainly wrote this as an exercise and response to a photograph I witnessed on deviantart.com. As of this writing, I seemed to have misplaced the location of the photograph so no, you can't see it. But hopefully, by reading the story I've written, you'll generate a vivid imagination that will create your own version of the photo! Isn't that so much better? 

I strived to create a reflection of the feelings I've had while trying to overcome my own self devaluation, something I know everyone on Earth struggles with. If you don't, then you're lying to yourself. And you probably hate me right now. Good! You should be the one to read on first! 

My focus was an emotional connection, a struggle to recreate the feelings and emotions I've had with the struggles I've faced and to reflect them back to you. I'm hoping that for everyone that read this, you'll find that connection. Feel that mirror staring you back in the face and reflecting what you see of yourself.

As always though, be as brutal as possible in your comments! I'm still working on my bear hide of dragon scales that will protect me from all the haters and negatists (negative people. Yes, I made it up. Get over it) this world will throw at me, my family, and my companies. 

The gates are opened!

P O I S O N E D  L E N S
If I stare hard enough, I could just barely make them out beyond the reflection of my own eye. Tiny floating mirages of blurring images that seemed to drift up from the depths of the mirror shard before stealthily fading away.  Almost as if the shard was a lurid, eerie catacomb, a grave for the stories of people past who longed to find a little something of themselves in the steady reflection but instead, left a fragment of themselves behind. Maybe if I moved it a little bit to the left?...
“Jenny!”
Blink! I’m back in the real world now and looking around. Who did that sound like?
“Amber?” I called out, idly glancing around for a face I might recognize. I smoothly slid the shard into my handbag so nothing would seem out of the ordinary.
“No ho silly! It’s me, Grace!...” said a pretty red head waving frantically as she walked up, seeming to materialize from thin air. I set my coffee down and focused on her face, trying to place her. “From our Gathering days?” said Grace, slightly annoyed. She must have gotten impatient but I still didn’t recognize her.
“Oh! Grace! I think I remember you now!”
No... I didn’t remember her at all. Better to pretend though.
“I’m so glad you do! Mind if I sit down with you?”
“No no. Not at all. Let me move over some for you,” I said while scooching my chair around the table to make room.
“Excellent. I haven’t seen you in so long Jenny! How long has it been? Maybe six or seven years?”
“Grace! Please! You can’t bring that up! I’m in denial about anything that happened closer to ten years ago than one,” I playfully snapped while flicking my hand at her. She laughed as well then ordered an unusual drink.
Really though? I did hate it. Hated being reminded of how old I was.
“Don’t worry Jenny, my lips are sealed.” giggled Grace as she smiled and zipped her lips shut. She gave a sudden sigh, closed her eyes, and leaned her back into the iron mesh chair and seemed to enjoy the clean outdoor air for a few moments. I noticed that her body seemed to relax with every breath she took so I attempted the same.
Turning my gaze up at the gray sky, I vividly noticed the leaves from nearby trees pulsing with life, a subtle reflection of my own breathing. Though... Instead of experiencing a calming sensation spreading through my body, I felt a soft pull, a persuasion, toward the ground. As if a great hand was lifting me down towards something and I didn’t have a choice where I went.
“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” asked Grace quietly. Reverently if I hadn’t known better. Maybe I didn’t. I still can’t remember this woman. She was sitting up straight, her drink in hand and her focus on me. At least, it felt that way since I hadn’t stopped staring at and relishing the clouds. Her focus felt like the insistence of a child lightly poking you with a silk stick for attention. Obvious, but still considerate.
Myself flashed from the shard. A brown eye. Cold. Menacing.
“It is, Grace,” I answered with the hint of a smile. Rolling my head so I could see her better, I tried to recognize her again. Something tugged, somewhere, but clearly didn’t want to come loose. “Which Gatherer group were you in?”
“Abby’s. We often covered the far north side of the Yard.”
“The North Side?” I perked up. I knew Abby and I also knew the North side of the Yard. And what that meant. Silent whispers caught here and there named it the Crypt.
Strictly rumor though.
“That must have been terrifying!”
“Maybe a little,” teased Grace with a sneaky fox grin. Her eyes seemed to glint with amusement at my curiosity.
I stayed silent and nonchalant, not wanting to rise to her obvious bait. A thought flitted through my mind: The shard and... honeycombs? Grace started to laugh and took another sip.
“You sure are patient Jenny,” remarked Gace after a few moments. She leaned forward and put her elbows on the table, nestling her head in her hands. “It actually wasn’t that bad. The worst part was the Artifacts. Little trinkets and junk scattered all around that you absolutely had to avoid. Who knew what horrors they could do to you!” She took another sip and delicately licked her lips, all grace. “Avoiding anything that wasn’t whole was the only way to stay safe. To stay sane even.” Falling silent, her face contemplative, Grace took another sip. A pleasantly chill breeze snagged strands of our hair and tried to pull them along.
From out of nowhere, stupidity took over and I blurted “I have one!” in a tight, hissing whisper. I gasped and clapped my hand over my mouth, horrified at my admission!
“I know.”
That was all she said! She went on as if I hadn’t just admitted to owning a Devil’s Artifact. Within a few moments though, I had regained my composure. Imagining my eye in the shard had helped, tremendously. The feeling of being pulled had upgraded to feeling like I was being dragged.
“How?”
Waiting. The chill breeze picked up, tugging harder at our stray hair strands.
“I have one too, Jenny,” she admitted. She turned away from her drink and stared at me. As our gazes locked, her focus on my eyes, I truly saw her. It was right then that I knew her, knew where she’d come from.”
“I know you!” Grace only nodded gravely. “Get away from me witch! I won’t do it!” I tried to stand up but had to sit back back down breathless, my courage straggled by fear. My vision swirled though I could clearly see Grace’s brown eyes, my eyes at the center.  “No... Don’t. You can’t do this!” I pleaded, whimpered. The pull was stronger now. Irresistable even. Irrationality gripped me and before I knew it, I’d pulled the mirror shard out and was holding it up to the sky. I leaned my back and stared at my own eye, the eye of grace and snarled. A moment later, I smiled and saw wrinkles gather around my eye, accenting the gray clouds and pulsing leaves behind my withering hand, in the background. A pure black tar began to bleed into the mirror shard, engulfing the reflection entirely. My silent scream of terror echoed in the catacombs.
“I look tired,” whispered Grace. She laid a soft, warm hand on my arm. A beacon of hope! I struggled feebly, unable to tear my gaze away from me as I was swallowed whole...
Slowly my reflection began to come back, though I was no longer sitting in a cafe next to Grace. I jerked my head from side to side, panic welling up in my chest as I tried to find anything, something! All I saw was the void though. I screamed until my throat was raw, and then screamed some more, knowing I was trapped! Frantically, I held up the mirror and was relieved to find my own reflection staring back at me. I laughed nervously, happy to find something normal. Without warning though, my reflection began to fracture, leaving deep crevices in my face. My eye began to droop, the pressure of lying to myself finally materializing into a physical burden I could not carry. From the fractures drifted an outpouring of all the fears I had. My once fierce brown eye began to wilt as the slime of dread consumed who I was.
I reached out and found resistance all around me. A slight shimmer outlined my prison, revealing a somewhat familiar shape. A honeycomb.
“Poisoned Honeycombs. That’s what we call them dear! Welcome to your prison Void Jenny. Where you fill your own prison with sludge until you drown in your minds decay and disgust! Your own doubts and fears fill this abyss!” boomed a heartless voice in the distance. Laughter surrounded me as I struggled to come free, the slime oozing from my pores to stream down my body and pool at the bottom. My sludge was the shimmering dark purple of poison, slowly, and inevitably rising. I clawed at the walls of my prison, screaming and crying at the same time, trying to fight but not knowing how. I could feel my fear being leached from my body only to cover me from the knee down in a fatal mixture. The higher my sludge rose, the harder it become to move. I began to give up, watching as my reflection showed a gaunt, weak woman unwilling to fight much longer. I looked poisoned, tired... Dead. That was who I was and so I stopped struggling, letting my fears gush out of me to swallow me and my reflection. I closed my eyes, and opened my mouth, the dismal sludge reaching my chin.
“Now. Fight!”
I closed my mouth just as the oil reached my lip. Minute traces seeped into me but I closed my mouth tighter.
“My reflection is me! I can’t fight that!” I screamed in my mind, the terrors of my life and fears threatening to devour me with a ruthlessness only I could enact on myself. I could see my light winking out, the honeycomb nearly full with my own fear, doubt, and crushing despair. I thrashed and kicked and scrabbled weakly but the sludge was too thick. I knew I was embracing my own defeat. I could already see my light, my fire, being snuffed out.
“Let me help you.”
Frantically, I opened my eye and saw my pupil dart back and forth in the hazy reflection, the gelatinous prison holding me firm. That wasn’t me who said that! I was holding my breath, trying so incredibly hard to keep my mouth shut.
“Your reflection is the you you see.”
Again! I doubled my efforts, fighting back failure and embarrassment to find that strong, kindly voice. The weight of my fear was still consuming my light and crushing my air, blotting me out with the ink of my own disgust. I didn’t give up though. I continued to struggle, despite the pressure building in my chest.
I search around, knowing that if I could find the voice, I would be okay. Up, down, and around I search, desperate for even an inkling of what the voice offered. Moving was nauseously difficult, the tar making every moment sickeningly hard. I began to panic, my mouth opening barely enough to let another trace of the paralyzing fear drip into me as I fought for a breath. I closed it tight again, knowing I was drowning, drifting in hopelessness.
I was alone! Alone with my corrupted soul as I drowned myself! My eyes began to crack, a slight, little shattering that fragmented my very being. I can’t do this! I can’t voice my most tainted and deepest fears! My mind will break and my soul will shatter, leaving little remose or memory of who I’d hoped to be!
The Breaking had begun.
Finally, my own soul own consume itself and the fight would be done. My lips began to drift apart, ever so slightly.
The Shattering progressed.

A blink. A light.
Who I hoped to be...

Another blink. Another light.

Who I thought I was... The woman, I know I’m supposed to be...

Pressure on. Pressure off.
“Reflecture, Jenny. Your reflection fractured!”
A sweet breath in. A sweet breath out.

The shard. The shard stares back at me. I see it. Enrapturing me with the unyielding soul of my fire staring back at me.

My vision blurs. My vision focuses.
That’s me! That’s my eye! My fire! My confident, unyielding fire! I am that strength! I am that soul! That’s me! That’s my soul, myself!

A pulse. A blink.

Who I hoped to be.... “There is always hope.”

A belief. A vow. A breath.
That’s my soul, myself... “I believe in hope. I vow on my soul. I breathe out my fear.”

I flick my eye open and find my own strength staring right back at me. The fractures are gone, replaced by the smooth reflecting glass of the shard. The poisoned honeycomb had drained. Though my body was wrapped in a thin layer of ooze and traces still dripped from the ceiling, my hope has been rekindled. My resolve had resurfaced, lighting the match that would burn away my doubt. I stared right back at me and didn’t flinch, the expected anger and self-loathing charred away in my rebirth.
I study the poisoned honeycomb, my Prison void. As my blaze grows stronger, the walls begin to look like a crippled icicle, rendering a slow dripping death as if melted by the morning sun.
I see the leaves swaying gently overhead, the gray clouds lazily rolling by in the background. Groaning, I sit up straight and look for Grace, There isn’t a trace of her anywhere. Except... The waiter slips into the corner of my eye.
“Excuse me! Waiter? Sir?” I call out, perhaps a little too desperately. He nods his head, fills another patrons glass with water, then saunters over.
“Anything you need miss?”
“Yes. Was there another lady sitting here with me at all?” My voice was shaking, only because I knew I didn’t want to hear the answer.
The waiter shook his head.
“No ma’am. Although... I did notice that you were staring at that mirror shard for about half an hour. Just held it up to the sky and stared without moving... Some of us were getting a little worried.” He sounded disgusted and weirded out. I didn’t blame him.
“Alright, thanks. I’m okay though. Really.” He looked skeptical but walked off. I didn’t even notice. Looking down at the shard, I could clearly see the fragments of those who survived before me and the souls of those who hadn’t. The fog had been lifted. I saw the dark fragment I’d left behind in the poisoned honeycomb drift up from the depths, only to be dragged back down without pity.
Turning the fragment over, I found a pen and wrote something on the back. Before I could change my mind, I put the fragment upside down, message up, on the far edge of the table, closest to the street. I left my money and slipped into the thin crowd without looking back.


Sometime later, a young boy picked up a little brown trinket with some writing on it. Curious, he turned it over.
“A mirror fragment?” asked the boy to no one. He turned it back over and read the inscription:

L E N S  O F  S O U L
If you look close enough, you might see them.
Little poisoned honeycombs
Just beyond your own eye.
The eye that hides them, guards it.
The thing beyond a reflection:

R E F L E C T U R E

If you look... Close enough...

Eh? How was that for a journey! I'm biased though so that might have a little something to do with my confidence in regards to this story.

It came out longer than I desired but the overall effect is very vivid and empowering, I believe. It's possible that I'll go back and do another rewrite to shrink it down for condensing and refinement. But for now, I'm decently happy with how this turned out.

My only question for those that finished: 1} Did you feel the connection?

Thanks for taking the time to read the story! I appreciate your sacrifice as I know this is time you will NEVER GET BACK! I hope the disappearance of this time forever was well worth it.

~ Storyteller