Ten Things to Write



Yes– another list.  Ah well, lists are fun.

Here are ten things that I want to accomplish (and have accomplished) as a writer:

1.  Write an entire short story in future tense.

2. Write a story about someone transgender. (I even posted this one, that’s

Non-Sequitor One: Unfixable)

3.  Co-write a story (if you wanna help with this one, comment!!!).

4. Write an epic.

5. ACTUALLY complete a graphic novel.

6. Write a book that’s at least 200 pages long (I seem to lose interest at around 140 or so).

7. Illustrate someone else’s book.

8. Build a book like a town, populate it, make some drama, and KILL OFF NEARLY EVERYONE!!! (to help stress)

9. Write a holy text or a collection of myths for an invented religion.

10. Finish this list.

If you want to help out with any of the above, especially the co-writing or illustrating stuff, (keep in mind that I’m twelve, though 😉 ), then comment! 😀





Ristleton: Beulrgh, I can’t go back to sleep.


Besides, I need to go to the bathroom-


What is that??!




I’ll go back to sleep.

.•*°*•. Morning:


Dr. SquiggleEyes: Hey, Ristle! Wake uuuuuup!


Ristleton: No.


Dr. SquiggleEyes: Let’s watch that same cartoon again!


Ristleton: Augh!


*cartoon playing*


Dr. SquiggleEyes: Hey, Ristleton!


Ristleton: Ugh, what?


Dr. SquiggleEyes: Are these your underwear?


They’re cool!


Huh?  Huh?


Ristleton: Ugh…


Dr. SquiggleEyes: Now they’re a hat!


Ristleton: Hurk- wait-


What was that noise?  That weird bang?  Do you think we’ve… landed?

Dun dun dun…

Non-Sequitor One: Unfixable

She could see her own scared reflection watching her through another layer of reality.     Focusing in, she could see through the glass behind it, people walking by in their suits and skirts, carefully defined in the semidarkness of the unit.

Her blue eyes looked determined, if not scared.  Lights glistened in the corners if she opened them wide enough, and the bottoms of the colored parts looked light as the sky outside.

Her slightly flattened nose didn’t look baby soft anymore, like it had been when she had last studied her reflection.  The pores stood out more now, and a few red, scabby zits poked out from the light skin around his nostrils.

Her lips were kind of wide, with a slight purple tinge.  They, perhaps, were the only things about her face that he recalled from four years ago.  But they were scabby and chapped, not unexpectedly.  They matched the rubs of dirt under her eyes and the scuffy patch of scabs, pus, and blood that near his sweaty scalp.

Her face was oval shaped in its entirety. Her cheeks were pink under the smudges of dark dirt and golden dust.  Her greasy hair framed his fine, oily features, glinting and dark brown.  The haircut had been strange.  Why crop her hair just below his ears right before killing him?

Her eyes moved silently up to the single laser machine pointing directly at him above the window.  They had asked her which window she wanted to sit at… and which unit… and she had chosen this one.  If she still worked here…  She did. There she was.

Her mother looked ruffled in her pale yellow skirt and white blouse, high heels clinking against the shiny floor.  Her short hair was perfectly parted at the side, nearly smothered in gel, and her make-up was spotless.  She didn’t look any older than the last time he had seen her.

Notice me, she desperately thought, gripping the edges of the dismal gray chair to which she was shackled,  Notice me and recognize me as your daughter.  Your little baby boy survived.

She didn’t.  Adjusting her lip-gloss with a single, slightly muscular finger, she continued walking, glancing into a few other windows at a few other unfixable prisoners.

“Your baby boy didn’t die!!!” she wanted to shout, but he didn’t.  She couldn’t.  The thick gray collar tightened about her neck wouldn’t have allowed it.  She looked down at her hands, her thin wrists chained to the arms of the death chair.  She looked down at the stained skirt that looped downwards between her legs.  The light green blouse and the last remains of eyeshadow were still present in her reflection.

She was going to die.  Like all the others, the laser machine would click on soon.  They would scoop up her unworthy body and bury her in one of the mass graves just outside of the city.  The graves that officially eliminated the unworthy.  The unfixable.  People like her.  The ones who weren’t right.  Did people know that they walked upon meaningless death as they came into the city?  Did they care?

She had escaped the fixing.  They had discovered her at age eleven, and chased her across the country for four years.  And now it was time.  They had decided that she simply couldn’t be fixed.  Well, not in life.

The laser machine clicked menacingly.  She would be buried in an unmarked grave.  Her parents wouldn’t know.  And she would never be here again.  Maybe it was for the better.  She hated this life, after all.

Her heart began to beat so quickly that it seemed like it would leap out of her chest.  As much as she used to consider suicide, this was much, much too real.  She wanted to scream, and to tell them to turn it off, but she couldn’t.  She had been deemed unfixable.  In life, she could not be fixed.  She was not normal.  Distinct.

The laser clicked again.  Her mouth opened slightly, but she closed it quickly.  She smiled then, with a look that seemed to say, So be it.  Death sped towards her in the form of a single red beam that aimed itself straight at her small chest.  She shook slightly when it hit.  Her head lolled over onto her shoulder.  She was instantly dead.  They had solved another problem amongst a million.  And none of the people beyond the glass noticed or cared.

• ❤ •