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The Great Library

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The Great Library

Post by battlefieldCommander on Wed Sep 12, 2012 1:05 pm

Hey guys. I'm making a library for my Minecraft server since they implemented writable books. I need some books to fill it with, so if you guys have any stories or articles you want in it, post 'em here! I'm taking pretty much anything, as long as it's longer than one paragraph and isn't offensive/inappropriate.
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Re: The Great Library

Post by ShieCatonaka on Wed Sep 12, 2012 6:56 pm

Sometimes Karkat wondered if he had done it on purpose.

It bothered him, on those long, dark nights when he tossed and turned in his narrow bed, trying to not hear the sound of her whimpering and crying in the corner. She always cried more at night than during the day, like the darkness and the shadows held things for her that they didn't for him, like she saw things he couldn't, leaping and gamboling in the shadows. He would wrap his thin, flat pillow around his head, trying to drown out the sounds of her weeping, knowing that he should go over to her, should try and comfort her even though he knew it wouldn't do any good, that he could rock her to sleep and she'd just wake up twenty minutes later and start crying all over again. It was better to let her get it out of her system, let her weep herself into exhaustion and emptiness and a deep, almost drugged sleep that would sometimes last the whole night through, if they were both lucky.

They weren't lucky very often.

And in the morning, he knew he'd have to get up and wash her face for her, scrub away the dried tears from her cheeks, clear the crusted mucus from her nose so she could breath easier, and she'd struggle weakly against him, trying to push him away, and he'd wonder. He'd wonder if anyone could be cruel enough to have done this on purpose.



Sometimes, she had good days, days when she almost seemed like herself again, days when she roamed the hallways with her awkward, stilted gait and tried to catch light between her hands. On those days, he'd pretend that she was just a wiggler, that she acted this way because she was young, because she didn't know any better, and she'd get older, more mature, that she'd turn into the friend he remembered. He'd watch her--he always watched her, the one time he hadn't, she'd wandered off and fallen down some stairs, and he'd felt like the worst troll in existence as he'd gathered her up and tried ineffectively to stop her tears--and try to imagine that she was just roleplaying, that if he called her name she'd turn around, smile, and snap out of it.

Once, he'd tried it, and she'd jumped at the sound of his voice and, her balance precarious at the best of times, nearly fallen over, and she'd looked at him, her face hurt, like he'd frightened her on purpose. She didn't even recognize her own name anymore.

He hadn't tried again.


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


It would have been better if she didn't remember anything, he thought; but she did, some things were so much a part of her that even now, in her shadowy, twilight existence, she tried to do them. She couldn't manage a paintbrush anymore, but if she used both hands, she could grasp a crayon, and she left huge, scrawling shapes across page after page of paper. He was pretty sure she couldn't see colors anymore, and that the bright red she used most often was just a coincidence. It had to be a coincidence.

Sometimes, her scrawls would start to resemble letters, almost like she was trying to write, trying to communicate with them. He'd sit beside her on those days and point at the scratches on the page and ask her, over and over, what it meant. She'd sit next to him, happy with his presence, and stare off into space, making low gurgling sounds in the back of her throat, the only sounds she could make that weren't crying anymore. He was always ashamed afterwards, but sometimes he'd get so frustrated with her, would shout at her to just fucking tell me what it means, already, and then she'd crawl away, olive green tears streaming down her cheeks, and she'd hide somewhere and wouldn't come out again until he'd calmed down.

He'd shown her drawings to some of the others, to some of those left behind, and asked if they could see it too, if they could see the letters starting to take shape, the words slowly emerging from the chaos. They'd turned away, averted their eyes; only Kanaya had been honest with him, had asked gently if he wasn't seeing something there because he just wanted to see it so badly. Then he'd blown up at her too, forgetting for a moment what she'd become, forgetting, in his towering rage, that he was afraid of her now, forgetting everything for a few sweet, short minutes. But then the tantrum was over and it all came rushing back, and he'd fled, the drawings that just looked like scribbles again clutched in one fist.



One of the human alchemized some toys, brightly colored baubles made out of a material called plastic, and she picked through them, her eyes wide and curious. She sat on the floor with the toys around her in a circle, trying to pick them up with hands that shook outside of her control, and some squeaked when she dropped them on the floor. Karkat watched her, watched her fumbling attempts at playing, and made the mistake of leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. He was just so tired, so very, very tired, all the time now.

He must have dozed off, but he woke up to something bumping up against his leg, something insistent, and the sound of soft weeping. His eyes fluttered open--dammit, he'd fallen asleep, been dozing while she was left alone, she could have hurt herself, he was a terrible caretaker, the absolute worst--and she was crouched on the floor beside him, holding something in both hands, pushing it against his knee while staring at him with huge, tear-filled eyes. He tried to take it from her, but she pulled it away as he fumbled for it, clutching it against her chest and whimpering, all the while watching him.

He'd gotten irritated then, demanded to know what it was even as the rational part of his mind told him that she couldn't tell him, that she didn't understand what he wanted and that he'd only frighten her, but he couldn't help it; trolls aren't supposed to be caring, aren't supposed to let ones like her survive, and he had no reference for how to deal with her. She'd started to crawl away from him, still holding the toy against her chest, and he'd followed her, now thinking that it was something she wasn't supposed to have, something that might hurt her, and he'd wrestled it from her clumsy fingers and held it out of her reach to examine it, while she pawed at his legs and just cried and cried.

It was a figure, molded out of plastic, inoffensive and harmless. He saw what it was, and was suddenly, hugely ashamed of himself, and he crouched down and gave it back. She took it, held it tightly, and looked up at him, making a high-pitched keening sound that, if he listened just right, almost sounded like a question.


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



"I'm sorry," he told her, his voice cracking. "I don't know where he is."

She kept staring, kept keening, kept weeping, all the while holding the little hoofbeast figure, colored bright blue, right over her heart.



As time passed, she got quieter, more subdued, until she stayed in the basket he'd made for her in the corner of his room. Karkat had tried to get her to sleep in a bed, had even pulled her into bed with him a few times in a desperate, futile attempt to get her to remember, but she wouldn't stay. She might lay there, stiff and unmoving, until he dropped off to sleep himself, or even curl up beside him like a wiggler cuddling its lusus; but then a few hours later, always, he'd wake up to the sound of her crying from her basket in the corner. Eventually, he'd just given up, had let her sleep there, where she felt safest.

Now she spent all her time there, with the hoofbeast figure, dirty and battered from constantly being dragged around, now more of a dingy grey than blue, held against her cheek. He had to bring her food, had to force her to eat, and she stopped making her gurgling noises, and only stared at him with enormous, pain-filled eyes.

One of her eyes started to fill with blood, the eye on the same side as the dent in her skull, the same side where she was missing a horn, and she wouldn't let him touch that side of her head anymore. The other side of her body, the side where, in the right light, she looked normal if he saw her in profile, began to droop, to sag, and one morning she couldn't move that side at all. Her skin was cold and clammy to the touch all the time now, and one day she dropped the toy hoofbeast and couldn't reach over the side of her basket to pick it up again, and she cried and cried until he came and got it for her.

He sat next to her then, on the floor beside her basket, his shoulders tense and shaking with grief, with all the pent-up pain for what had happened to her, and he wished, oh god how he wished, that the Subjugglator had just killed her and finished the job, instead of leaving her like this. Instead of leaving him with this horrible, heavy responsibility.


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



One of the humans helped him, came to Karkat himself and slipped an alchemized vial into his hand. He'd looked at the clear fluid inside, shaken it a little, and the human had told him it was something called morphine. It makes you sleep, the human explained, his eyes hidden behind the glasses he always wore, and enough of it... it makes you sleep forever.

Karkat demanded to know why he'd want something like that, why something like that even existed, and the human had shrugged his shoulders. It stops pains, the human said, stops pain and lets you just remember the good times, and then he was gone, leaving Karkat alone in the hallway, staring at the vial.


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




He went to her then, gathered her up out of her basket. She was so small now, all her muscles gone, frail and weak and curled in on herself, and he lifted her without difficulty and carried her to the bed. Her good arm moved, and he wanted to believe she was trying to put it around his neck, that it wasn't just a spastic reaction, and helped her loop it up. She leaned her head into the side of his neck, and he felt the toy hoofbeast, pressed up between them, against his chest.

He sat on the bed with her, cradling her in his arms, holding her like she was his wiggler, like he was her lusus, and she looked up at him with blind eyes that wept blood onto her cheeks. Gently, he pushed her mouth open, uncorked the vial with trembling fingers, and spilled it across her tongue. She didn't like that, gargled and almost spat the liquid out, but he stroked her throat with careful fingers and whispered soothingly to her, and she calmed down and swallowed. Her hand flexed once, twice, and he made sure she was holding her hoofbeast as she started to drift off.

Then he rocked her, slowly, tenderly, more gently than he'd ever done anything before, as she went to sleep for the last time, and red tears like blood rained down on her upturned face.
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Re: The Great Library

Post by spessman on Wed Sep 12, 2012 7:00 pm

WuinnQenkard wrote:Sometimes Karkat wondered if he had done it on purpose.

It bothered him, on those long, dark nights when he tossed and turned in his narrow bed, trying to not hear the sound of her whimpering and crying in the corner. She always cried more at night than during the day, like the darkness and the shadows held things for her that they didn't for him, like she saw things he couldn't, leaping and gamboling in the shadows. He would wrap his thin, flat pillow around his head, trying to drown out the sounds of her weeping, knowing that he should go over to her, should try and comfort her even though he knew it wouldn't do any good, that he could rock her to sleep and she'd just wake up twenty minutes later and start crying all over again. It was better to let her get it out of her system, let her weep herself into exhaustion and emptiness and a deep, almost drugged sleep that would sometimes last the whole night through, if they were both lucky.

They weren't lucky very often.

And in the morning, he knew he'd have to get up and wash her face for her, scrub away the dried tears from her cheeks, clear the crusted mucus from her nose so she could breath easier, and she'd struggle weakly against him, trying to push him away, and he'd wonder. He'd wonder if anyone could be cruel enough to have done this on purpose.



Sometimes, she had good days, days when she almost seemed like herself again, days when she roamed the hallways with her awkward, stilted gait and tried to catch light between her hands. On those days, he'd pretend that she was just a wiggler, that she acted this way because she was young, because she didn't know any better, and she'd get older, more mature, that she'd turn into the friend he remembered. He'd watch her--he always watched her, the one time he hadn't, she'd wandered off and fallen down some stairs, and he'd felt like the worst troll in existence as he'd gathered her up and tried ineffectively to stop her tears--and try to imagine that she was just roleplaying, that if he called her name she'd turn around, smile, and snap out of it.

Once, he'd tried it, and she'd jumped at the sound of his voice and, her balance precarious at the best of times, nearly fallen over, and she'd looked at him, her face hurt, like he'd frightened her on purpose. She didn't even recognize her own name anymore.

He hadn't tried again.


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


It would have been better if she didn't remember anything, he thought; but she did, some things were so much a part of her that even now, in her shadowy, twilight existence, she tried to do them. She couldn't manage a paintbrush anymore, but if she used both hands, she could grasp a crayon, and she left huge, scrawling shapes across page after page of paper. He was pretty sure she couldn't see colors anymore, and that the bright red she used most often was just a coincidence. It had to be a coincidence.

Sometimes, her scrawls would start to resemble letters, almost like she was trying to write, trying to communicate with them. He'd sit beside her on those days and point at the scratches on the page and ask her, over and over, what it meant. She'd sit next to him, happy with his presence, and stare off into space, making low gurgling sounds in the back of her throat, the only sounds she could make that weren't crying anymore. He was always ashamed afterwards, but sometimes he'd get so frustrated with her, would shout at her to just fucking tell me what it means, already, and then she'd crawl away, olive green tears streaming down her cheeks, and she'd hide somewhere and wouldn't come out again until he'd calmed down.

He'd shown her drawings to some of the others, to some of those left behind, and asked if they could see it too, if they could see the letters starting to take shape, the words slowly emerging from the chaos. They'd turned away, averted their eyes; only Kanaya had been honest with him, had asked gently if he wasn't seeing something there because he just wanted to see it so badly. Then he'd blown up at her too, forgetting for a moment what she'd become, forgetting, in his towering rage, that he was afraid of her now, forgetting everything for a few sweet, short minutes. But then the tantrum was over and it all came rushing back, and he'd fled, the drawings that just looked like scribbles again clutched in one fist.



One of the human alchemized some toys, brightly colored baubles made out of a material called plastic, and she picked through them, her eyes wide and curious. She sat on the floor with the toys around her in a circle, trying to pick them up with hands that shook outside of her control, and some squeaked when she dropped them on the floor. Karkat watched her, watched her fumbling attempts at playing, and made the mistake of leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. He was just so tired, so very, very tired, all the time now.

He must have dozed off, but he woke up to something bumping up against his leg, something insistent, and the sound of soft weeping. His eyes fluttered open--dammit, he'd fallen asleep, been dozing while she was left alone, she could have hurt herself, he was a terrible caretaker, the absolute worst--and she was crouched on the floor beside him, holding something in both hands, pushing it against his knee while staring at him with huge, tear-filled eyes. He tried to take it from her, but she pulled it away as he fumbled for it, clutching it against her chest and whimpering, all the while watching him.

He'd gotten irritated then, demanded to know what it was even as the rational part of his mind told him that she couldn't tell him, that she didn't understand what he wanted and that he'd only frighten her, but he couldn't help it; trolls aren't supposed to be caring, aren't supposed to let ones like her survive, and he had no reference for how to deal with her. She'd started to crawl away from him, still holding the toy against her chest, and he'd followed her, now thinking that it was something she wasn't supposed to have, something that might hurt her, and he'd wrestled it from her clumsy fingers and held it out of her reach to examine it, while she pawed at his legs and just cried and cried.

It was a figure, molded out of plastic, inoffensive and harmless. He saw what it was, and was suddenly, hugely ashamed of himself, and he crouched down and gave it back. She took it, held it tightly, and looked up at him, making a high-pitched keening sound that, if he listened just right, almost sounded like a question.


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



"I'm sorry," he told her, his voice cracking. "I don't know where he is."

She kept staring, kept keening, kept weeping, all the while holding the little hoofbeast figure, colored bright blue, right over her heart.



As time passed, she got quieter, more subdued, until she stayed in the basket he'd made for her in the corner of his room. Karkat had tried to get her to sleep in a bed, had even pulled her into bed with him a few times in a desperate, futile attempt to get her to remember, but she wouldn't stay. She might lay there, stiff and unmoving, until he dropped off to sleep himself, or even curl up beside him like a wiggler cuddling its lusus; but then a few hours later, always, he'd wake up to the sound of her crying from her basket in the corner. Eventually, he'd just given up, had let her sleep there, where she felt safest.

Now she spent all her time there, with the hoofbeast figure, dirty and battered from constantly being dragged around, now more of a dingy grey than blue, held against her cheek. He had to bring her food, had to force her to eat, and she stopped making her gurgling noises, and only stared at him with enormous, pain-filled eyes.

One of her eyes started to fill with blood, the eye on the same side as the dent in her skull, the same side where she was missing a horn, and she wouldn't let him touch that side of her head anymore. The other side of her body, the side where, in the right light, she looked normal if he saw her in profile, began to droop, to sag, and one morning she couldn't move that side at all. Her skin was cold and clammy to the touch all the time now, and one day she dropped the toy hoofbeast and couldn't reach over the side of her basket to pick it up again, and she cried and cried until he came and got it for her.

He sat next to her then, on the floor beside her basket, his shoulders tense and shaking with grief, with all the pent-up pain for what had happened to her, and he wished, oh god how he wished, that the Subjugglator had just killed her and finished the job, instead of leaving her like this. Instead of leaving him with this horrible, heavy responsibility.


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



One of the humans helped him, came to Karkat himself and slipped an alchemized vial into his hand. He'd looked at the clear fluid inside, shaken it a little, and the human had told him it was something called morphine. It makes you sleep, the human explained, his eyes hidden behind the glasses he always wore, and enough of it... it makes you sleep forever.

Karkat demanded to know why he'd want something like that, why something like that even existed, and the human had shrugged his shoulders. It stops pains, the human said, stops pain and lets you just remember the good times, and then he was gone, leaving Karkat alone in the hallway, staring at the vial.


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




He went to her then, gathered her up out of her basket. She was so small now, all her muscles gone, frail and weak and curled in on herself, and he lifted her without difficulty and carried her to the bed. Her good arm moved, and he wanted to believe she was trying to put it around his neck, that it wasn't just a spastic reaction, and helped her loop it up. She leaned her head into the side of his neck, and he felt the toy hoofbeast, pressed up between them, against his chest.

He sat on the bed with her, cradling her in his arms, holding her like she was his wiggler, like he was her lusus, and she looked up at him with blind eyes that wept blood onto her cheeks. Gently, he pushed her mouth open, uncorked the vial with trembling fingers, and spilled it across her tongue. She didn't like that, gargled and almost spat the liquid out, but he stroked her throat with careful fingers and whispered soothingly to her, and she calmed down and swallowed. Her hand flexed once, twice, and he made sure she was holding her hoofbeast as she started to drift off.

Then he rocked her, slowly, tenderly, more gently than he'd ever done anything before, as she went to sleep for the last time, and red tears like blood rained down on her upturned face.
What did you just say to me?
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Re: The Great Library

Post by class cannon on Wed Sep 12, 2012 7:01 pm

One late afternoon, I invited some of my friends to play Sonic R. As we turned on the Sega Saturn we were excited for our racing tournament. As we were at the Character Select screen, I chose the Tails Doll for humor. Most of my friends were laughing as they chose Metal Sonic, Metal Knuckles, Mecha Eggman and Super Sonic. Later I won all the races since I was am expert at this game. We realised time flew by so my friends left.

I still felt like playing video games so I inserted my Sonic and Sega All Stars Racing disc into my

Tails doll
PlayStation 3. Me and my friends played a few races online and a message popped up to my screen coming from a user called 'Tails Doll'. I opened it and it sayed "Thank You". "For what?" I sent him a message back to this user. 'Tails Doll' then sent another message saying "You won 1st place with The Tails Doll, I was watching you." I got freaked out for a second thinking something was watching over us as we were playing Sonic R. Another message from 'Tails Doll' saying "Can YOU feel the Sunshine?" and sent me a friend request but i didn't accept it because I don't even know who this guy is.

I sent all my friends a message saying "Did you see anybody watching us because I got sent a mes

sage from a User called 'Tails Doll' saying he watched me win 1st place with the Tails Doll." My friends sent back messages saying they don't know and with a "O.O" I searched 'Tails Doll"s profile but it said the profile doesn't exist. I immediately turned off the PlayStation 3 and used my laptop to go to the PSN forums. I made a thread a

bout my message encounter with the Tails Doll. Users were replying they also reported getting messages after playing Sonic R with Tails Doll. An Administrator deleted the thread calling it "Nonsense". It was 10 PM so I went to the Bedroom, turned off the lights and slept.

When I woke up the next morning I found a little paper saying "Dear Richard, I am going to kill your friends to show them that they are fools, Sincerely THE DOLL." There was a little blood stain where THE DOLL was read. I freaked out and threw it in the trash and had a 1,000 mile stare until I got to school. I ran inside the cl

assroom and screamed to my friends that they will be killed. The teacher thought I was the Class Clown and I punished me with Lunch Detention for today.

At Lunch Detention, one of my peers said that they heard of the Tails Doll after I told them my encounter with it. What made me get chills in my spine is that he told me I'm the Tails Doll's "vessel". Meaning that I pleased the Tails Doll by playing as him in Sonic R. The moment after he said that, the fire alarm rang and we evacuated the school. Smoke was coming from the 3rd floor and it was a real fire. It was coming from my classroom.

I came home early do to the fire, I told my parents about the fire but not the Tails Doll. My father told

me that my uncle and my cousins are coming. Luckily my uncle was a retired veteran so I might have some protection from the Tails Doll for now. A few hours later I told my cousins the entire story and they didn't believe me. Saying that it was a good scary story, but this is reality...

Suddenly my cell phone was ringing and it was my friend saying he was having a party. I got per

mission from my parents and I headed off to my friend's house. As I got there we had a great time fooling around, eating like hell, and watching fights of drunk men. After a while a doorbell rang, the music was so loud we couldn't hear it, so the doorbell rang continuously until I noticed the sounds and opened it. It was my older brother and so he joined the party.

I had a sleepover at my friend's house since it was too late to go home. I woke up at 5:00 AM that morning and found a doll that looks like the Tails Doll from Sonic R. Since I find no interest in dolls I gave it to my little sister when I got home. My guard was down thinking that the doll conspiracy was finally over. I read my dad's newspaper and I jumped out of my chair when I saw the headlines. It read: "Fire started in Eisenhower Middle School by unknown entity, 3 injured". This unknown entity sounded like the Tails Doll and I became paranoid once again. I decided to be a temporary paper boy to end my boredom after breakfast.

An hour later all the papers were the delivered and the days after were quite casual with no school. As I checked the mailbox for letters from my classmates, I stumbled upon a yellow envelope which is quite unsual. I ripped it open with curiosity and it was from 'Your Secret Killer'. It read "My dear friend, I know where you live, I will not kill your friends but burn their houses instead for even more suffering. Will you play with me?". I ran to the nearest trash can and threw it away and I attempted to clear my mind.

Late that night, several fire trucks came to several houses and I realized that letter was actually telling the truth for once. School reopened the next day and what happened last night made it to Fox News that morning. As I entered the classroom when I came to school, everybody was paranoid just like me. And when school was over, as I walked home, I found a paper saying "I will see you, Richard." on the sidewalk. Then, I believed this Tails Doll was actually real.

I ran as fast as I can, when I stopped I saw fresh blood dripping down a storm drain. I suddenly became sick and disgusted by this horrific site. I ran even faster and was inside my home and I locked the door tight. Something was poking on me and so I turned around...nothing was there. I ran upstairs to my room, the door locked for no reason, nothing was inside. The lights went out for no reason, I heard loud footsteps coming from the stairs. A red light appeared, the lights turned on. It was the Tails Doll!!

It told me in a demonic voice "I will show the error of your ways." It took out a knife but turned around and floated outside, I closed my eyes in horror as it was killing innocent people. It came back saying "Are you happy, knowing you can feel the sunshine?". It got a huge machete and was ready to kill me as well. I locked the door, and dropped down from the window. With luck, I landed on the ground.

The Tails Doll was furiously slashing at the door, a piece of the door flew out of the window a


nd the Doll's dark eyes were glaring at me. It threw the knife and it almost hit me. It found a chainsaw and told me it was doing a "sacrifice". I jumped through numerous fences but it was too fast, it has a slight cut from the chainsaw. Dripping with blood, I ran through an alley and floated straight toward trying to slice me into two. Before it was going to kill me, I found a wooden cross and shoved it in front of him. He burned like it was a bomb and exploded.
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Re: The Great Library

Post by battlefieldCommander on Wed Sep 12, 2012 9:17 pm

I'm not writing that. When I said more than one paragraph long, I still meant keep it short. These things aren't easy to write you know.
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