Guard Duty

I was messing around in a game when I realised that what I was doing made absolutely no sense for anyone to do, much less someone like the character I was controlling. I thought that was actually pretty funny, so I ended up writing this.

I pace the hall for probably the millionth time, something I was told would help with my back problems. Sure, it’s feeling a bit better, but my legs are aching in every possible way, and I’m tired as sin. I amble back to my post and slump down at my post on the end of the staircase leading to the Audience Chamber. I’m almost about to doze off when I hear someone talking to me.

“Are you alright there?”

“Your Highness!”

Standing back up almost immediately, I salute the Crown Princess. She stares back sternly.

“If you can’t stay awake for the entirety of your shift, I advise you tell your superior so they can organise for you to be replaced for the rest of it.”

“I know. I was just jogging around the palace to try and ease by back pains a bit.”

“You managed to get tired out from walking?”

“I’ve been doing it for ten hours straight, Your Highness.”

“...Have you ever considered that you pushing yourself too hard may be the source of your problems?”

“...You may have a point there. I suppose that’s why you’re the Crown princess and I’m th-”

“There is no reason for needless flattery.”

And with that, she walked away. I decide to stay at my post instead of requesting permission to be substituted. It’s bad enough that the Crown Princess herself caught me napping in public, and I don’t need anyone thinking I’m getting soft. Besides, there’s only a couple of hours left in my shift anyway, I’ll be fine!

Realising I’ve been lost in my own thoughts, I look around, making sure nothing happened while I was thinking. I turn to the monument that the staircases circled around to see the Crown Princess swimming in the pool of water in front of the mural. I look to my friend Galdo across the room and while he initially appears to be completely oblivious, I can see that he’s looking at her out of the corner of his eye with the same questioning expression I’m wearing. She eventually gets out, and both of us avoid looking at her completely lest people assume we’re staring at her for other reasons. Finally she climbs up the staircase on her way to the Audience chamber...And then dives back into the pool. She then started examining the mural up close, swimming up to it and running her hand across it. After she's done with that, she then engaged in a lengthy conversation with Galdo. I laugh to myself at how weird that would be. Thankfully for him, his night shift replacement, Galvin, came in, ready to start working. Galdo quickly made up an excuse to leave immediately, which the Crown Princess clearly didn’t buy, but she let him go anyway. As my shift was over too, I follow him and decide to have a go at him.

“So, how’d you enjoy your little chat with the Crown Princess?”

“About as much as you enjoyed being caught slacking off on the job.” He grimaces when he sees how angry he made me.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Than-”

“She might, though.”

“...Did I ever tell you how I hate you sometimes?”

Present tense is weird.

Ships at Dawn

"We move out at first light of dawn"
The captain said, awaiting morn.

This battle was to be his first,

And so his scheme the crew rehearsed.

The novice crew devoured the plan,

And cherished the words said by the man.

So, without any doubt or fear,

To their maiden fight they sallied near.

Their adversaries came in sight,

The very craft they’d have to fight.

A galleon ship the crew espied,

artillery bordering either side.

Dauntless, the captain pressed on forward,

To a battle worthy of the great Lord,

A duel to rival those of the past,

The captain’s first and likely, last.

The ships upon each other fired,

And heavy damage they both acquired,

As holes began to shred the decks,

The boats resembled floating wrecks.

Men were lost from both the crews,

And those left had a few loose screws,

Some panicked and vaulted overboard,

attempting to make their deaths less gored.

By noon the ships were broken planks,

Far from any shores or banks,

Two captains were the ones who survived,

The others either killed or dived,

They agreed to say it was a draw,

And paddled away to search for shore.

But as the captains drifted apart,

The novice shot at the other’s heart.

This is a poem I worked on for a writing competition that The Life magazine was hosting. I presume I didn't win as the winners were supposed to be announced by Term 3 and no one contacted me to give me money. Oh well...

Sam Freeman: The man who won the war.

You know how America and Arrogance tend to be two words associated with each other? I decided to write about what would happen if one of these people got enlisted. Enjoy!

We trudged through the thick marsh keeping us from our enemy. My mind wanders a bit to my family before snapping back to the task at hand. My family know I’m safe. If I wasn’t here, we’d all end up dead. The reason America will thrive is because of me: An average Joe turned deadly soldier. My beginnings are humble, but my deeds won’t be. I will be the sole reason the war is won. America will look at me as a hero. I will-

Sam Freeman was shot in pretty much every spot by pretty much every Russian soldier there at least fifty times. His distracted state led him straight into No-Man’s Land, where died almost instantly. His wife, divorcing Sam after he decided to join the army, didn’t hear of his death. His children were too young to even remember him. The war was won due to the Russians running out of ammo far too soon. However, Sam’s body was now extremely heavy due to the amount of lead pumped into him, so no one could be bothered carrying him into a grave. His body was left to fester until a wave of heat hit his corpse, incinerating his flesh and vital organs and melting the lead in his bones so his entire skeleton would end up coated in metal. His remains were found by a travelling Russian merchant, who, with the help of his many beasts of burden he was planning on pawning off,  sold the bones to the Moscow Museum for quite a pretty pocket.

A small piece on Cirrendale

You stare at the table you are seated at, thinking thoughts that are usually thought of as unthinkable to mention in public. Not because they forbid it, but because they haven’t thought of it. Someone coughs behind you and you stop with your entertaining nonsense for a moment to place an order. You glance at the other seated customers. That one’s igniting sugar packets with a lighter. How has he not been kicked out? The sugar pours out of his latest victim onto the plate underneath, which has now accumulated into a pile of carbohydrates. He then stares at the plate like a professional chess player plotting his next five moves while figuring out how to make his opponent think he’s going to make five completely different moves, which is exactly what he’s counting on. You’re so distracted with making a chess analogy that the waiter needs to tap you on the shoulder. Realising he’s there, you take the order and give him a questionably generous tip for his troubles. You stare at the dish in front of you: A toasted sandwich. You check for odd looks being given to you from the other customers, but the one burning the sugar packets has left none for you, so you dig in.

You leave the restaurant, satisfied with your simple yet delectable meal. You nearly lose your hat as you become accustomed to the fierce gusts today’s weather has brought. Despite that, your spirits are high as you jovially stroll down the street, greeting those who walk past you with an enthusiastic smile. During your journey downtown, you encounter a woman sobbing on the footpath. It being in your gentlemanly nature to help a lady in distress, you ask her what the matter is.

“It’s my father, he’s being mugged!”

At the sound of this treachery, you immediately set forth to bring the man to justice. The lovely lady leads you into an alleyway, where you see a well-dressed individual taking a severe beating from a man who looked as if he had been wearing the same clothes for a decade. You take a moment to figure out your plan of-

Click.

“Take off your clothes and throw your money on the ground in front of  you,” A feminine voice from behind you says. The two men in front of you have stopped fighting and have turned towards you, both sporting wicked grimaces.

This is based in Cirrendale, a fictional mid-19th century city in England. If you've heard of Steampunk, it's basically the most stereotypical Steampunk city in existence. I created it for the purpose of a short story and wanted to expand the world a bit. I plan on also fleshing out the characters described in this piece, so expect to see more of them.

I'm actually using this thing!

This is something I started doing in Year 8, and then promptly forgot about. I felt like I wanted a way to show people my work without going "HEY LOOK AT THIS TELL ME IT'S GOOD PLEASE" To everyone I know over and over, and this is it. I archived the posts that used to be here, and maybe you'll see them again one day, but for now, this is where I'll post the random writing things I have. I'll also be throwing the few things I have up soon.