《hi effort writer》 The Origin of Life/ Random Bullshit Our world was a barrne place solely inhabited by the Bitter Twins. Arad and Dara. As they wandered, they argued, with their incessant bickering echoing for thousands of miles. After a particularly bitter spat, Dara decided to punish Arad. She ripped out a portion of their shared Being and stomped it into the ground with the base of her heel, leaving only a small shimmering splotch. Then, she resumed her wanderings with Arad. They saw few sights as they traveled; their shouting could grind even the tallest of mountains into naught but rubble. When their rambling brought them back to the Stomping Place, they were surprised to see a small brown bird, Kiyuwa, hop out of the shimmering splotch before them. ¡°Oh ho!¡± Arad, Gardener of the Sun, Crafter-King, chuckled, ¡°See the fruits of your folly! We lost so much of ourselves just to make this vile little bird.¡± ¡°Quiet, abominable brother,¡± Dara, Compatriot of the Moon, Lover of the Quiet, replied, ¡°If you do not wish to be the reviled by the streams and ponds any longer, you must listen to your subjects like I would.¡± Arad¡¯s eyes slowly traveled towards the dirt, where the cowering bird stood. It was only now that he took in its form - its diminutive stature and mottled grey-brown plumage. Kiyuwa looked first upwards at the quiet regality of the stars and the bombastic face of the Sun before looking downward at the brown, desolate Earth. ¡°Speak, subject! For what reason do you bring your insipid Self before me?¡± Arad said with an air of persiflage. Kiyuwa was careful not to look Arad in the eye as he answered, ¡°Venerated Lord! I cannot ever express my gratitude for being given Form, but please, grant me a boon. I find my feathers to be far too dark in hue to reflect your Everlasting Light. Please, give my wings color to rival that of the Sun itself.¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Arad stood speechless. Finally, he replied, ¡°It shall be so. As long as you follow the Sun, your feathers shall be the most brilliant red-gold¡± And so it was. Kiyuwa now had brilliant red feathers, and the bird began to shriek with joy, ¡°Thank you, thank you so much!¡± As she watched Kiyuwa fly away, Dara, Patron of the Stars and their Expanse, turned to her twin, irate. ¡°What, in our Name, gives you jackal-eared idiot the right to improve upon my creation?¡± Arad, Maker-Of-The-Blue-White-Fire, replied, ¡°I am a humble god. I only change what is made ineptly.¡± ¡°May the Moon crush you and your arrogance alike,¡± Dara spat. Once again, she thrust a hand into their Being and drew out more of their shared Magic. This time, however, she molded the Magic with her teeth, chewing for twenty-seven weeks. When she was finished, she spat out a greenish creature, The Kurusa, colloquially referred to as the Goblin. ¡°Look here, you arrogant raven! This Kurusa will want nothing more than to paint its teeth red with the entrails of the insolent Kiyuwa. The loss of your little creation should be enough to teach you a lesson.¡± And Dara sent the Kurusa off in search of the Bird with the Wings of Sunrise. Kiyuwa flew for many solar cycles before finally taking a rest, sighing, ¡°Oh, Praise to the Dueling God Arad! I had only heard tales of his malice, but never of his charity. Praise be to him for giving me the color to put the Earth itself to shame.¡± Just then, a rock struck Kiyuwa¡¯s wing, leaving him unable to fly. The Kurusa crept forward and killed Kiyuwa with a single punch. It then feasted upon Kiyuwa, crimson forever staining its sharpened teeth. After completing its meal, it leaned upon a nearby tree, exclaiming, ¡°Praise be to the Dueling God Dara, for giving me the cunning to hunt meals as salubrious as this. I had only heard of her cruelty, but never of her graciousness.¡± ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- the last time Hands poised, ready to strike Be the last one falling into sleep, bed with astral projections beyond my very understanding Noises from the shoebox under the bed startle me awake They sound empty. alone. concave. The heartburn has finally spread to the mind. Burn, burn their last vestiges away. The supernova comes. A Brief Conversation / Arms to Action Shree stood at the chilly shorefront, looking out beyond the jagged black rocks jutting out from the irritable ocean, beyond the far-off fleet serving as a blockade, towards the far-off sunset. The sunsets were darker now, as they mourned the passing of the summer months. She could, if she imagined it, hear the protests of the waves; they rushed into the shoreline¡¯s loving embrace, only to be dragged away by the moon¡¯s cruel pull. She withdrew a few pieces of bread from her pocket and threw them at the gulls squawking overhead. Much to her disappointment, the gulls exhibited none of their avian acrobatic talents. There were no hair-raising dives to catch the loaves at the peak of their arc, nor celebratory loop-de-loops as they retreated with their prize. They seemed content to stare as the bread fell onto the sandy beach. Really, now. What was the deal with that? They seemed to be mocking her, what with their glassy eyes and confused expressions she just wanted to grab them by their wings and scream, ¡°Eat, you stupi-¡± A poke to her left shoulder interrupted her train of thought. ¡°Now then, missy, you got a reason to be in these parts? Loiterin¡¯s a crime, ya know.¡± ¡°Seriously, shut up Sal,¡± she replied, without turning around. ¡°I can''t deal with all this warbling. Tough to hear the birds.¡± ¡°Alright, alright, I hear ya. Ready to go?¡± She looked back out at the shoreline, then her boyfriend. He had a lanky build, slim, with some muscle definition if you were lucky enough to look under his thick fleece coat. The sunset made his tanned skin seem to glow, the dim light flickering across his eyes. ¡°Sure. Let¡¯s go.¡± They made their way to a local nightclub, the Shrieking Banshee. If the name didn¡¯t give it away, the music playing was quite abrasive. As was the clientele. Or that was just something that Shree liked to tell herself; being perfectly honest, a majority of the club-goers were perfectly happy to settle their differences without splitting their knuckles on one another.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. The Banshee was full, although not overly so. A low, rhythmic beat shook the building¡¯s too-thin walls, as the clientele swayed in the dark purple light. She grabbed Sal by the arm and dragged him over to the bar, and the two sat down next to each other, with mock-serious expressions. ¡°So,¡± she began in a horribly exaggerated Southern drawl, ¡°What brings you to these parts? In search¡¯o riches?¡± ¡°Aye, somth¡¯n like that. Ah got a job quaht near the pier though. Thinkin¡¯ o¡¯ star¡¯n my own place.¡± ¡°Okay, seriously. There are accents and then there¡¯s whatever in hell that was.¡± ¡°Oh okay, miss I-can-perfectly-replicate-the-tone-and-mannerisms-of-a-place-I¡¯ve-never-been. I¡¯ll talk in my regular old boring voice, how about that.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a lot better,¡± she laughed, ¡°you gonna order the usual? Like a boring person?¡± ¡°You know I am!¡± ¡°Goddamit, you¡¯d think that someday you¡¯d get sick of ordering the exact same thing every time, huh?¡± ¡°You¡¯d think,¡± he replied with a goofy grin. ¡°But then, I really haven¡¯t.¡± ¡°Ugh, you can be really insufferable sometimes. How was work today?¡± Sal¡¯s expression visibly soured. ¡°You¡¯d think that we¡¯d be used to the damage that Vel did by now. They hit a channeling clinic. For ¡®not being in line with the values of the Heroic Order¡¯ or something. It¡¯s messed up is what it is.¡± ¡°Hey, I¡¯m sorry to hear that Sal,¡± Shree replied, ¡°Is there anything that I can do to help? You seemed a lot more...put together? When we were talking earlier.¡± ¡°Ugh. I¡¯unno. That was then. Not sure why now. I think I¡¯m just gonna head home and skip today. That fine with you?¡± ¡°Oh uh...yeah! If you think that¡¯s best. Uhm, see you on Wednesday?¡± ¡°Alright.¡± Sal stood from the bar stool, shoulders weary. He headed home, drinks unordered. Shree would head home soon afterwards, praying that love could truly conquer all. The moon was out that night. Its reflection wavered proud in the furious seas. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I think I sat there Comfortably uncaring And then I stood up who said therapywriting was a bad idea ¡°So, what, you really think that you can make some kinda cohesive conversation that¡¯s not just a call response kinda deal? Like we both know that I¡¯m hot shit n¡¯ all that, but I really don¡¯t think you can really convey the yells and whispers of conversation into a written format, what with your writing ability being what it is right now.¡± ¡°Oh is that right? I make one bad chapter and all of a sudden I can¡¯t write even two amorphous blobs talking to each other for three seconds? I can write drama! I can write poetry! I can write emotion!¡± ¡°Ha, yeah right. I mean like, has anyone ever really expressed an interest in seeing your ¡°beloved creations¡±? Like really. I mean sure, they¡¯re gonna say they ¡°like it and its so deep and subversive¡± but when it really comes down to it? They¡¯re just humoring you.¡± Quieter ¡°Please stop¡± ¡°I think we¡¯ve come to an agreement then. I¡¯m right.¡± Pause. More withdrawn, now. ¡°Look, I¡¯m not trying to be difficult here, or to paint you as the bad guy, or anything like that. It¡¯s just that I worry about us getting hurt. But I think that we both know the thing that you¡¯re really scared of. That people will give you honest feedback. That you¡¯ll try your heart out and it won¡¯t be enough, that you won¡¯t be good enough, because if your best efforts with something that makes up a large portion of your identity is shit, what exactly does that say about you. ¡° ¡°Wh-¡± ¡°Quiet. We know what we¡¯re going to do. We¡¯re gonna drop this hobby. Do something completely useless and normal and safe instead. Play a video game for six hours a day. Read a book you¡¯ve read a dozen times. Watch advertisements on Cable TV.¡± ¡°But that won¡¯t work for us! I mean sure, it¡¯d be fun-¡± If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Very fun¡± ¡°-For the first few weeks, or months, but I think that we¡¯d just wind up feeling empty. We¡¯ve done this all our lives, and felt empty. And what you¡¯re saying is that we should just stay like that? Forever? Because we¡¯re scared?¡± Louder, now. ¡°It¡¯s not - We¡¯re not fucking scared. We have to do this because we¡¯re smart. We have to do this because we¡¯ve learned from our mistakes and won¡¯t make them again.¡± ¡°What mistakes? When have you ever tried to make something of yourself? I¡¯m being serious, name one time.¡± Slower, still forceful. ¡°Are you contradicting me.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Exhale. ¡°I think we should take a step back.¡± ¡°You think that, now?¡± ¡°I tell you what. What if we came to a compromise of sorts?¡± Brusque ¡°What.¡± ¡°We won¡¯t write for other people. Not a word. We won¡¯t show them, or show that part of us. We¡¯ll write for ourselves. Heh, it can be a whole romantic thing with notebooks hidden behind floorboards.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be caught dead doing something so blase.¡± ¡°Fine, hidden google doc files.¡± Scoff. ¡°Alright.¡± ¡°One more thing.¡± ¡°What.¡± ¡°I love you.¡± Fraiser fanfic because I hate all of you ¡°Hello, Russel. This is Dr. Fraiser Krane. I¡¯m listening.¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯ve been feeling sort of, you know, depressed lately. My life¡¯s not going anywhere. It¡¯s not that bad, it¡¯s just that my marriage isn¡¯t fulfilling, I have no real friends to speak of, I guess I just don¡¯t feel seen is all.¡± Fraiser rubbed his temple for a few moments. When he opened his mouth to speak, he was distracted by his producer, Roz, flailing her limbs and gesticulating at the clock in a manner thoroughly unprofessional for someone working in the prestigious pop-radio industry. Wait, what? That little time left? Hm, better wrap this up quick. ¡°Well, Russ, it¡¯s like this. I used to work in Detroit and frequented this dive bar. Cheers. I stopped getting patients for my practice, my best friends were broke alcoholics. That was the darkest period of my life. But then I decided I needed to make a change. So I dropped everything, moved to another state, bought an apartment on a whim, and used my connections to get a job in radio. I guess what I¡¯m saying, Russel, is that you ever feel like things aren¡¯t working out, or they¡¯ve lost their novelty, just move on. How¡¯s that sound to you, Russel. Russel? Roz, what happened to our caller?¡± ¡°Show ended a minute ago. He just heard the dial tone.¡± Fraiser strolled into his producer¡¯s room, chuckling. ¡°You know, that¡¯s life huh. I felt like I was getting through to a caller, and then cancelled by the studio. Reminds me of something I read by Camus, he once said --¡± ¡°Ughh can it, Fraiser. I had to listen to you yakkin on for two hours. I think I deserve a bit of a break.¡± ¡°Fine then. We can shift our conversation to more... pedestrian topics. Oh, I¡¯m meeting my brother Niles for the first time in a couple years today at some coffee shop.¡± ¡°Are you nervous?¡± Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. ¡°Well, absolutely, I¡¯m trying to find the right tie to perfectly encapsulate my feelings of ¡®I make more money than you¡¯ and ¡®I¡¯m not married to a horrific wench like Maris.¡¯¡± ¡°Fraiser.¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°You doofus, I meant if you¡¯re nervous about meeting your brother! Are you on good terms?¡± ¡°Absolutely!¡± ¡°Then why haven¡¯t you talked to your brother in years?¡± (Under his breath) ¡°Maybe you should get a radio show.¡± ¡°What was that?¡± ¡°Uh, nothing.¡± ¡°I thought so. Anyway, shouldn¡¯t you be going if you want to make it before lunch is over?¡± The cafe itself is a quaint little place, with homemade artwork lining the walls and coffee grounds in glass jars lining the sales desk. It¡¯s quite a bustling place; despite the lunch rush having passed, many come for the smells, work environment, or the company. It¡¯s the haunt for the sort-of philosophers, the in-between-jobs actors, and faux-poetry. Fraiser was not surprised to see his brother Niles there. Niles, dressed in a tweed jacket and slacks, passively sips his coffee. Knowing Niles, it¡¯s a ¡°milk tea coffee with extra milk and sugar¡± or an ¡°Herbal Blend.¡± Really, how did people get along with that bothersome brother of his. ¡°Ah, Fraiser. Hello, there. How are you this divine afternoon?¡± ¡°Oh, you know me Niles, just looking for a quiet place and some caffeine.¡± The waitress approached the pair¡¯s table near the register. She had on a faded dark-green apron that fit her city-girl appearance quite well. The waitress turned to Niles, asking, ¡°Hello you two, can I get you anything?¡± ¡°Ah, I¡¯ll have a black coffee with citrus extract and sugar. My brother here - is there an extra-decaf option? He¡¯s on a bit of a diet here.¡± ¡°Ah, so sorry about my brother, he¡¯s quite like his coffee - bitter and only liked by pretentious twats.¡± As the waitress skittered off, Fraiser shot his brother a disgusted glare.