Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → Reaching Out and Touching No One
Gantic has a thread and will weave a cloth. This is a thread brought to you by Gantic & Co. Bringin' change to a constantly changin' world.
The title of the thread will become apparent later, but to start off:
Just to make things clear, there were never three cowboys. Just two. One of them's got the solar-powered laptop, the other's got the rubber ducky, but they're both mavericks, all three of them. It was my idea to throw in the third cowboy, but he's as real as any of the others. The solar-powered laptop and the rubber ducky were my idea, too. So were the two cowboys. To make things clear: There were no cowboys.
In the vast emptiness of the Moobes, a black craft shaped like a horse, christened the Star Straddler, cruised to what was only a small but sparkly blue-and-green marble. The captain had his boots up on the dash as his craft crawled along the moobe that would bring him to the planet that the Moogle Navigator had found. As the craft touched down on the surface, only one thought was on the captain's mind: "The Space Cowboy has landed. In Armor Games."
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Snow was introduced by two lines from my entry in the poetry contest and that snow came from the Amero-Eurocentric demand that there be snow on around Christmas even in Australia. And because everyone mixes up Australia and Antarctica.
The Stranger approached Stallion Man to ask for the artist, but two other people with blue shields approached him first.
One of them said, "Hey, he kind of looks like--" before he was elbowed by the other.
"We have reason to believe that a fugitive recently appeared in this part of the Imaginarium," the other said.
"And how's that?"
"We followed a stink trail left by the fugitive's vehicle that looks like a black horse."
"And you're profiling me because?"
"You are the only one up late at night around this guild and we were hoping you would have seen something. It is hard to miss a black horse on the snow."
"Have you seen anything suspicious lately?"
"No, and I don't know about any snow. there's no snow around here."
The Stranger looked outside and saw nothing but a familiar green grass stretching out to the horizon.
"Thank you for your time."
The two left the guild but the Stranger overheard most of one last statement before their voices were too faint. "You can't tell me that isn't the spitting image of..."
The Stranger approached Stallion Man and asked, "Who's the artist who drew that crayon drawing?"
"That?" Stallion Man asked pointing toward the drawing of a smiling orange fish. "Rabbity looking guy," he said, holding up two fingers to represent a rabbit's ears. "Should still be around if he hasn't left already."
The Space Cowboy was miraculously free of the snow as it had disappeared for the new theme, but the pain was still there. And so was the Star Straddler. He rolled out from under it before it crashed to the ground, alerting the sheriffs who had not yet left the area. The Bullman pulled him up to his feet and activated a hyperlink and was one again pulled away from his ship.
"Sorry, I had to do that," the Bullman said. "See, we're in a bit of trouble. Someone tattled on us about the little skirmish with the Rainbow Gang. And I know it's mostly my fault but I used your ship to escape and they can trace that back to you, so now we're both fugitives."
"This is great. Just... great," the Space Cowboy replied. "I came here looking for a new frontier and in a week, I've been stranded twice and I'm a fugitive! And I lost my ship! How the heck am I going to get out of this one?"
"If it's worth anything, I'm sorry."
"No, it's no worth a... Where the heck are we?"
The Space Cowboy looked around at the tallgrass around them. The grass came up to the Space Cowboy's waist. A lone log cabin stood out some distance away. He saw thought he saw movement beyond one of the windows. The door to the cabin opened and an anthropomorphic horse stepped out, looking in their direction.
"You're never angry for long, are you?" the Bullman asked.
"Where the heck are we?"
"We're at Bad Luck Bronco's. She and Stallion Man, uh,... know each other. I'm pretty sure we're still in Armor Games."
On sunny days, if they happened to coincide with a Saturday, my friend Lena and I would go down to her uncle's shop by the docks and we'd get an ice cream or a soda. Then we would go down to the promenade and watch the boats come and go. Lena's father would let us tag along after his morning ferry round. If we were lucky, we would see blue-bellied dolphins swimming and playing in the water. If we were really lucky, we would see a ridgeback whale. When we returned to our departure point, we would look up the real names of those animals.
On other sunny days, we would look up at the clouds and wonder what it would be like to live on one. Or we would sit by the lake in the park and watch the fish and birds and wonder what it would be like to be surrounded by water. It was never productive.
And because everyone mixes up Australia and Antarctica.
I dunno. I hear its cold in Hobart, even in the summer.
I realize I skipped what happened to the Space Cowboy and the Stranger in the time between when the Space Cowboy met the Stranger and the Bullman met Stallion Man, so this next part might not fit in too well.
The rabbity-looking guy? Was it possible? He hadn't had a chance to check his laptop again, not with the Space Cowboy looking over his should everytime he would open it. There was a crash and shouting outside. Everyone gathered around behind the building, in front of a copse that was not there before. The rabbity-looking guy was toward the left side of the crowd. One of the two people who had been talking to Stallion Man earlier addressed the crowd.
"There's nothing to see here. Just go back to what you were doing."
The crowd dispersed slowly and they began hyperlinking themselves back to Armor Game City. The rabbity guy still hung around and the Stranger approached him.
"Hey, you!" the Stranger shouted.
The rabbit guy replied without looking up, "Yeah, what?"
"That picture, the one with the crayon and goldfish. I like that picture."
"Is that all?"
The Space Cowboy couldn't think up what he wanted to say. He wanted to say something but he didn't know what words to chose. What would he ask? What is it like to draw with crayons? What is it like to be a child? What is childhood? Those questions sounded ridiculous.
"If you don't mind, I'll head back to Armor Game City now," the rabbit guy said and he disappeared.
Once more the Stranger was alone in the wilderness. In the Imaginarium, one may be lucky to get one or two people to stop for more than a few minutes if they knew no one and nothing, but most of the time one reaches out and touch no one. It wasn't like the Armor Game City like he had heard about, but he figured it was no different there as well. In a swell of people, as it had been in the past few days, one could still reach out and touch no one. In the past few days in the artist guild, everyone seemed to know each other rather well and were quite friendly, but he couldn't get much out of anyone. He never had much experience talking to people, only the Space Cowboy and he was a bore, but he had to try again with the rabbit guy. Next time, he would be prepared.
Onward at fool speed with horrible puns!
"Have you been to the Nemesis Machine?" Bad Luck Bronco asked.
"No," the Bullman answered.
Bad Luck Bronco hit the Bullman on top of his head with a wooden spoon. "It's always your bull-headedness that gets others in trouble." She hit him on the head again. "You just can't resist a fight or being the hero of the moment. You remember why you and Stal split to different sides of Armor Games? You would have an excuse if you had been to the Nemesis Machine."
"What's the Nemesis Machine?" the Space Cowboy asked warily, afraid that he would be hit in the head by the wooden spoon for being foolish enough to let the Bullman pull him into the mess he was in.
"It's nothing for you to worry about," Bad Luck Bronco said.
The rest of the morning was filled with the sound of utensils scraping on plates. The Space Cowboy's mind was filled with thoughts as to what the Nemesis Machine was. It sounded interesting. It sounded like adventure. But he needed some way of getting there. His craft was probably being held by the sheriffs, since the Bullman used it as a getaway.
"Maybe I can straighten things out with the sheriffs," the Space Cowboy said. "I'm a greenhorn. They'll go easy on me. I just need a way of getting back to Armor Game City to straighten everything out."
"Now that's an idea," Bad Luck Bronco replied. She hit the Bullman on the head again. "Why didn't you think of that instead of pulling him all the way out here? We don't have any spare hyperlinks with us and we can't just let you go on foot. What's your preferred ride? Maybe I can find something."
Bad Luck Bronco slapped the Space Cowboy across his face and he fell out of his chair. The Space Cowboy straightened himself and sat in his chair again, realizing what may have been a misunderstanding.
"I said horse, not wh..."
He was knocked out of his chair again.
"I know," said Bad Luck Bronco. "That is an affront to our nature."
His attempt to look for the Nemesis Machine was thwarted at the moment by his lack of tact, but he would find it sooner or later, even if he had to search all over Armor Games.
She looked angelic in her light colors and the halo around her head. I didn't imagine halo; the sun was behind her head. The light and shadows in the fog mixed well together into a breathtaking display. All I could see clearly were her lips in that crooked half-smile she does when she's smiling to herself. I realized that I never looked at her eyes for more than a glance, but I knew they smiled when she smiled.
I was about to say, "Hey," when I woke up, still in the United States. The campfire was still burning. I could tell my camping buddy was still awake even though he had his black felt hat over his eyes. The tap-tapping on his solar-powered laptop resumed.
END OF PART I
That's the end of Part I. No more new entries for a while, maybe a month. I'm considering whether or not to start a new series on a new thread, but at the moment, that's all for now.
Haha, I love it how you give some of the characters absolutely no exposition at all. It's just like "huh, should I have read something about that before" then I realise probably not, and maybe just go with the flow. And avoid the wooden spoon.
Haha, I love it how you give some of the characters absolutely no exposition at all. It's just like "huh, should I have read something about that before" then I realise probably not, and maybe just go with the flow.
Not too good with continuity and all that with spontaneous parts intermingling with planned points (also evident with grammatical hiccups), but with practice, it should come more readily.
Longest(?) legit(?) necro-response?
I am resurrecting this thread because it seems that this is older than most of the people who frequent this forum. I don't now why. And I won't be putting more entries up for "Written Nothings" unfortunately.
The Space Cowboy finally found the Nemesis Machine after four months and twenty-one days. It lay in the busiest part of the, cutting deep into the heart of it. No, it was the heart. It was a heart filled with contempt but it did not despise. It was a heart filled with asininery but it was not stupid. It was a heart filled with thinkers, believers, cynics, and toejam but it was none of those. It was a heart, to its very core, filled with something it was not. For every thinker there was a sheep. For every believer, there was a sheep. For every cynic, there was a sheep. For toejam there was cud. If the math was done correctly, there weren't more than half as much as that. This was, after all, Farmer Games.
Lulz... farmer games...
Love the story, Gantic!
And here we go once again on the merry-go-round!
Pitchforks and a haystack.
The Bullman was bored, bored bored, stuck-in-the-middle-of-nowhere bored. It was dull without anyone to help. The Space Cowboy had slipped away four months ago. The nearest whatever-it-was out there was several megabytes away. But he would rather dance with death on the plain of boredom than face the wrath of the wooden spoon.
The Bullman turned to see a black bird swooping down. He sidestepped and drew his rubber ducky.
"No need to be hostile. I'm Crowman," the bird said. "It's nice to see another body out here."
The Bullman holstered his ducky. "Do you need any help?"
"Oh, no. Not really. I was just wondering if you were dead."
"No, I'm still alive."
"Are you dying?"
"Are you sure?"
"Are you sure you're sure?"
"Do you know anyone who's died recently?"
"Do you know anyone who's dying?"
He changed his mind.
Ahahahhhhh crowman!? asdkhfasdkhasdlkjhasdkjha
I am spazzing because...well, it's a crowman.
Seriously. Crows/ravens are among my favorite birds.
The expression is priceless.
It was inevitable that Crowman would show up. Well, it was either a crow or a vulture.
I saw a raven dining on a dead coyote today. It was the color of Lena's hair. I thought it was a crow, but what I had been calling crows were ravens and what I had been calling blackbirds were crows.
I thought I would have been revolted by the sight of a raven eating carrion. The coyote had died recently. It is no surprise why ravens and crows were viewed as harbingers of death. They are also tricksters, shapeshifters, the creator of man. I still can't tell which is which.
The man in the black hat said it was a sign that I was finally beginning to accept the realities of life. Things die, things are born, things grow, things change, things fall in love before they figure out what they want to do with life. Does anyone?
Thread is locked!