Let's flex some creative muscle, shall we?

[theycallmemang]

I've wanted to see how other people saw the little guys in video games. What ran through the Cogs minds when Fenix plowed through and raped the opposition? What about Andross' pilots as Star Fox just zipped around, doing barrel rolls and smashing apart their comrades?

I give to you a short story about the little guy, and I hope to see this grow a bit.



Five days in Afghanistan, and this is what I get. I'm flabbergasted. There are no words for how incredibly silly this is becoming. Sixteen weeks at Fort Knox, two months of "reception" into a new unit, Ranger school, and here I am. Been more than half a year since I could have a smoke, and by God I'd do almost anything to have one now.

You see, in the Army, we have ROE's, we have programs and ways to do things. At least, that's what I thought. But here we are, Afghanistan, just blazed through a twenty minute firefight, rolled into an ambush site on our Hum-Vees, and now we're pushing resistance into a school house.

Oh yeah, I forgot, we've got fuckin' Private Allen. PFC Joseph Allen. How could I forget?

I don't even know where to start. Me, an NCO, I can't even give this guy orders. I'm just following his wake of utter stupidity. His truck sergeant, whoever he is he sounds like that dude who kept telling me to join the Navy and accelerate my life, told him to flashbang the upstairs of the first house we dipped into after I trucks turned into a basket of fuck.

What does this guy do? Oh, yeah, he flashbangs. I follow him up the stairs to make sure he doesn't rough this one up like he did blazing the buildings along the street for a solid five minutes. Oh, he doesn't open up with his weapon like the UN demands us. No sir, he does not.

He knifes them. All six of them. Just walks up, grinning like a tard, and knifes 'em. He then steals their weapons, blazes out three mags (where did he get those?) and then jumps out the window to follow the enemy into the school.

Guy swaps weapons a solid seven times before we're in the door. Like he's in a shopping mall. I look over at Corporal Hayes, who just shrugs in utter disbelief. Here we are, Army Rangers, just about special forces here, and this guys running around knifing, screaming racial slurs, and breaking no less that thirty UN laws on engagement.

Ah, then he decided to toss his grenades wherever he so chooses, shouting more racial slurs and every time, I swear, every single time I see this guy take more lead than his body weight, he just comes out from behind a wall. Grinning.

I didn't sign up for this. The general can take him. Fuck you, PFC Allen.

 

[theycallmemang]

Feel free to add one, Escapists. I'm intrigued to see where this could go.

 

[StarStruckStrumpets]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dTuFnAVjiKw - NOT a Rickroll, I swear it.

Look for my comment (mooglemadness) down the page that has 3 thumbs up. People's responses to it made me very happy indeed. I fancy myself as a bit of a writer, and I have a hell-load of bits and bobs here and there...I also have this if you're interested. It's the first paragraph of a novel I attempted to write at the age of 12.

Spoiler: Read at own peril, it's long

It all started after his mother died, he was left with his aggressive father, who had no care for his own son. Kids at school sorted out his weak spots, and picked at him like vultures, constantly reminding him that he had no blood mother left in this world. His teachers tried to help him deal with his recent tragedy, but despite their best efforts, they could not rebuild his broken mind. Returning home from school he shuffled in his pockets, looking for his house key, but he had lost it. He rang the doorbell, awaiting his father. The door handle turned. The door opened slowly. His fathers bludgeoned face peered through the gap. His father had recently been in a brawl outside the Shadows pub, hence the battered face. His father shouted and bawled as his son ran in. His father grabbed him by the wrist and punched him in the cheek. His father was a drunk, and beat him on a regular basis for entertainment. The boy always hid his wounds, his teachers never saw. He charged upstairs to his bedroom, and brushed everything off of his desk to do his homework. He put pen to paper, but could not concentrate. His father began to curse at his son and walked back into the lounge where he was watching the grand prize fight. The boy slammed his arms onto the desk in anger and frustration. He lifted up the catch on his bedroom window and launched himself from the sill, out into the green. He ran, trying to escape from his cruel nightmare. He ran, hopelessly towards the lake. He reached the embankment, then collapsed on all fours. He cried, it was all he could do. The moonlight bounced off his warm tears. He lifted his head, still crying. At the other side of the lake, were two orange lights, staring ominously toward him. He lifted his body and raced toward the mysterious lights. It was a man, his body stained black. He bowed his head and folded his arms, black wisps of thin smoke drifting away from him. Then, it spoke in a monster like tone. ?you seek freedom from this nightmare yet you throw yourself further into it by seeking revenge upon people like your father. I can give you opportunity to gain such freedom, and revenge.? all the bad events in the young boy?s life came back to him in memories. He nodded his head, then closed his eyes and clenched his fists, ready to embrace the darkness. Only thirteen, and he had already made a decision that would alter the course of his life.

There's a lot more on my computer that I've written recently. This is me now, 3 years on.

Spoiler: Again, long thing.

Becca awoke, blurry eyed and confused. The space around her was an abstract mess of swirling greys and roaring blues, a sea of colour in constant motion; never-ending. Stretching away the fatigue of the new dawn, Becca sluggishly reached for her glasses, always grabbing the ends, but failing to get a good enough grip; as if the glasses themselves had a will of their own, flowing freely through the confines this unusual place provided. Eventually, after a minor struggle, Becca freed herself from the sheets, and grabbed her glasses. As she placed them on her head, the surroundings suddenly became even more sinister and confusing, bearing no set shape, an incomprehensible place for the likes of the human mind.

Coming to grips with the bizarre world around her, Becca rose from the bed, the unusual gravity confusing her. She slowly floated upward; heading towards what she could only assume was the ceiling. Becca bumped against the swirling greys sprawled all over the ceiling, being cushioned by them. Becca looked at her hands and brushed them in front of her face, ensuring that she wasn?t dreaming. After desperately trying to reassure herself that this was a product of her sleeping madness, she came to realise this was not the case. The untamed grey swirls slithered along the dimensions of the room, reaching the floor; then began to spin parallel to each other, until a gaping hole; similar in appearance to a whirlpool was present. Blinding lights painted the room, the gravity becoming stronger. Becca had nothing to hold, as much as she tried to resist, it was futile. She was now this world?s play-thing, and was sucked inside.

There was only so much screaming she could do before her voice gave out. It took her more than enough time to realise this descent wasn?t coming to an end any time soon. Eventually, Becca found herself mesmerised by the colours of this unearthly tunnel. A blue funnel glistened with all manner of exotic greens and gleaming gold slivers, which writhed like vines. A blinding white light proved the funnel to be finite, as Becca fell through it, landing somewhere a far cry from the impressions that the gateway to this world had set. A spongy, yet sticky floor with a patchwork design cushioned Becca?s fall. The ground was pink for the most part, with sun-faded green and yellow square patches stitched into it sporadically. Becca peeled herself from the ground, trying to take in her surroundings, only to be knocked down again by something travelling at speed. Becca raised her head slowly, trying to avoid a similar situation. She peered at the thing moving away from her. A green, floating motorcycle is what it appeared to be. The further she travelled, the stranger things became.

Personally, I think that's pretty darn awful, the best piece I've written recently was for my GCSE English Coursework, and it only got a high B grade.