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Applications you're proud of!


Josie
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What applications are you proud of?

 

Here's one of mine for a zombie site:

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When I was a kid, my parents always told me: "It's all right for your head to be in the clouds sometimes, Freddie. Honestly, it'd probably do you some good." A natural opinion for them to have, given the work they did just down the road at the Johnson Space Center. But I always preferred to focus on what I could physically touch. See. The ground beneath my feet, and what grew out of it. You know? There was something I found comforting about it, I guess.

 

So I was always stuck back here on planet Earth. I played with animals and guns and I went running through the rocky hills and I scraped my knees and got prickled by cactuses and stung by scorpions and I was happy- albeit a little poisoned, on occasion. They'd smiled their confused smiles as I grew and went on to study conservation, took and then tutored classes on rock climbing and went backpacking through the national parks like a kid through a candy store.

 

It hadn't disappointed them- my mom and dad, per se. That I didn't follow in their footsteps. They hadn't understood it? Couldn't understand it, because they just weren't those kinds of people. But they hadn't been disappointed.

 

Now though, all I ever think about is space, and what's up there. I lie awake on the roof of some hunter's shack in the middle of these foreign woods, cold and uncomfortable in this autumn night, and look up at the black sky dusted with innumerable stars and each point of light is something new to feel guilty for.

 

My mom and dad are up there.

 

Alone.

 

Well, not alone. They have each other, obviously.

 

But the only people who ever really think about the folks in the space stations are the ones down here working at places like Cape Canaveral. Cape Canaveral, practically ground zero for all of this. Cape Canaveral, most likely overrun by the undead with no hope of reclamation. Those physicists, scientists, engineers- they were the only link people like my mom and dad had to the world below them. The only outlet. Otherwise, people just forgot about them.

 

Didn't think to think of them.

 

Mostly.

 

Did you know you can talk with astronauts on a HAM radio? Probably not, I mean it's not the sort of thing you'd know unless you had reason to know it. Like you would if you had family up there.

 

Unfortunately, a HAM radio isn't the sort of thing you take with you when you head off on vacation to see the changing of the leaves on account of it doesn't pack well into your carry-on luggage. That's the sort of thing they'd, you know, stop you at security for. Search your bags for. Give you that cute little slip of paper telling you all about how the TSA had rifled through your undies because of something suspect packed alongside them.

 

And you don't think to stay at a place with one. Because why would you? Vacationing when you've got astronauts for parents is surprisingly like vacationing when you don't have astronauts for parents. You just tell them you'll be gone for however long you're going to be gone for, and then you go. You just find someone else to stop by to water the plants.

 

But you don't plan on the zombie-fucking-apocalypse deciding to happen while you're away from home.

Then, you wish you'd paid more attention to where such a radio might have been. You really, really do.

I wonder- often- if anyone ever thought to tell them about what was going on down here. If anyone had the chance to.

 

Or if, one day, everything just went silent for them. Silent, and they're up there scared and confused and without a clue.

 

I want to tell them. Need to, just in case no one else has.

 

So I search, and try to keep my mind from falling into waking nightmares.

 

Like the fact that they'll probably outlive me, and somehow that's what I feel most guilty about. Hah, I mean, I should be feeling sorry for myself- right? At least they're safe, have a steady supply of food. I can't even stay in one place for more than a day, am never sure if I might wake up in the middle of the night to find some rotting corpse gobbling on my fingers like a bunny does carrots.

 

Every morning I wake up to find myself intact, it's the guilt that eats away at me instead.

 

Every morning I wake up, and am reborn to the world with this childlike sense of hope and excitement over the idea of finding a HAM radio in the places I'd least expect. It does happen. Has happened.

 

My heart hammers when I test them, fingers shaking and hesitant and almost unwilling to move because so far, so far they've all been too old or didn't work or there was just no answer on the other end, not from my parents at least.

 

The disappointment of leaving the muted machine behind is complete and smothering.

 

It gets me so tired. Tired in my fucking bones. How is that even possible- being tired in your bones?

 

How am I supposed to feel anything else?

 

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  • 3 months later...
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My freeform app for Kylo Ren:

Quote

 

That forbidden name encased him in a dread so cold it numbed him, banished the breath from his lungs and stopped him dead. The weight on his chest- crushing- lifted suddenly.

 

Already his hands were balled into fists at his sides, but his fingers clenched so tightly now they shook. Still he couldn't breathe, for his heart and lungs had dropped into his stomach.

 

The single syllable echoed in his ears though it was devoured by the massive, black expanse surrounding the walkway.

His body moved without his permission, turning to the owner of that achingly familiar voice. Kylo Ren laid eyes on the old man and drew in a careful, shallow breath.

 

Han Solo was a battle-scarred lion intruding on territory that was not his, Kylo the young male meant to punish him for this offense. It was Han's first. But still one too many.

 

"Han Solo," he sounded more certain than he felt, and a confident mouse scuttled up his ribs and straightened his spine. "I've been waiting for this day for a long time."

 

"Take off that mask. You don't need it."

 

Han Solo was right, and it made Kylo's next words a cruel taunt: "What do you think you'll see if I do?"

 

"The face of my son."

 

A beat.

 

And he raised his hands to remove the mask. Its workings were almost deafening in the pregnant silence.

 

"Your son- is gone. He was weak and foolish, like his father! So I destroyed him."

 

He could hear in his own voice that it was a wish instead of the truth, could feel it in the way his chin tucked. It'd been a mistake, and Kylo Ren was losing now. Losing fast.

 

"That's what Snoke wants you to believe. But it's not true. My son is alive."

 

A slight shake of his head. "No." An upward tilt of his chin. "The Supreme Leader is wise."

 

"Snoke is using you for your power," Han Solo said, the words a hard fact. And then, with a voice made rough with an exhausted father's concern: "When he gets what he wants he'll crush you."

 

Kylo Ren's dark eyes were twin glaciers of resentment, but something softened in them by a nearly imperceptible degree when Han Solo closed the distance between them. He moved half a step back at the approach and something about the motion seemed to rob him of his balance, made him feel gelatinous in the legs.

 

"You know it's true."

 

He could barely meet Solo's stare, and suffocated again. Briefly, his bottom lip bumped into his upper.

"It's too late." Nearly a stifled gasp, and they were watching each other again.

 

"No, it's not." Quickly, eager, forgiving: "Leave here with me. Come home."

 

Han Solo was right in his face. Kylo Ren's nostrils flared.

 

"I miss you."

 

Eyelids fluttering, throat closing and sore. He drank in the vagabond's face, traced old lines. It felt like an eternity before he admitted: "I am being torn apart."

 

And confessing it took his breath away all over again, but he caught it and pressed with a sudden desperation: "I want to be free of this pain."

 

Compressing his lips quickly, he watched for a reaction and broke eye contact. Kylo Ren recognized this weakness for what it was and resisted, yet still when he spoke his voice was thick and there was a rush of anguish in his words: "I know what I have to do but I don't know if I have the strength to do it."

 

Chin wobbling, eyes stinging. Choking.

 

Kylo Ren stilled. With his heart in his throat, he asked: "Will you help me?"

 

"Yes." Answered Han immediately. "Anything."

 

The helmet slipped from his fingers and landed on the walkway with a resounding clang!, and he considered where it fell. He reached for his dormant lightsaber, and with that angry creature- humming and agitated- in his hands, it took all he had to extend it between them. He looked at Han Solo.

 

He watched him grip the hilt of the weapon, and Kylo Ren exhaled.

 

For a long moment they watched each other, the push and pull of their emotions reflected in trembling hands. He was certain their hearts beat as one in the same terrible rhythm, hammering fast and painful in their chests. This path they had taken together had only one end, and though they raced towards it they could not see its conclusion.

 

The world darkened.

 

And an understanding dawned between them.

 

Strength surged through him- but just a flash, a little flare, he knew, as quick as the lighting of a match- and Kylo seized it because it was now or it was never. Kylo Ren leaned forward and woke that furious beast with just a twitch of muscle, and found the end of the road in Han Solo's chest.

 

Screaming. But the only sound Han Solo made was a surprised little sigh as the breath was forced from his body.

Kylo Ren stepped forward, sank the blade in deeper and saw his pain channel into Solo. It escaped that cage Ren imprisoned it in, and found home in another. The feeling was pure bliss, so exquisite he could do nothing but let out a sigh made jagged by euphoria and relief.

 

"Thank you."

 

 

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  • 9 months later...

This will be a big one, so I will just add a piece of it and you can see the whole thing   here if it interests you. It was an app for Death of the Endless made for a reincarnation board.

 

Quote

The Fantastic Tales of the Scytheless Grim

an autobiography

 

 

 

Somebody once told me

The world is gonna roll me

I ain't the sharpest

Tool in the shed

She was looking kind of dumb

With her finger and her thumb

In the shape of an "L "

On her forehead

(All Star – Smash Mouth)

 

 

 

In for a Penny, In for a Pound

about breathing and eating

 

I met Sexton when I was the 18-year old girl named Didi, on the day I chose to incarnate as a mortal.

 

He was kind of dumb. And kind of cute. And kind of angry. But, mostly, he was just sad.

 

The first time we’ve met, he was lying on top of a garbage heap with a fridge over his legs. Yeah, this dumb. He was kinda rude, but hey… I was there and he was desperate. It’s no harder to be nice than it is to be creepy. And it’s much more fun.¹ So, I got him out of there, took him to my place, let him use my antiseptic and band-aid, made him some tea and sewed the hole he made in his jeans while he was on the garbage dump. No biggie.

 

By the time I was done, I had already found out that he was rude, angry and bored. World had kicked him straight on the balls and he didn’t trust it anymore. Kind of understandable, especially because he was sixteen, but not a reason to end it all—if there’s such a thing.

 

Anyways… I guess I was hoping I could show him that people could be nice. And, even if they couldn’t, you are living and breathing and has so many things to do! But yeah, no deal. He left even angrier than when he was under that fridge.

 

Okay. Let’s be fair, it is hard to believe in someone who tells you they are the incarnation of Death hanging around as a mortal for the day, but you can be nicer than just: “I thought maybe you were kind of nice and kind of smart. But I was dead wrong. You are just as crazy as everyone else.”¹

 

Well, you can’t blame me for being all smartass, like: “well, I thought you were someone dumb enough to get stuck under a fridge on a garbage dump. And I was dead right.”

 

And then he shut the door in my face. I guess we were even. Besides, I wasn’t angry or anything. I couldn’t even be annoyed: I was alive and breathing and I had an apple and there was still time to do a lot of other things!

 

And a second later, bam! Mad Hettie appeared on my door with a broken bottle millimeters from Sexton’s face, and she was all: “look for me heart or else!” Shit… she knows me too well!

 

At least she let me take him with me when I left to look for the damn thing. Now we just had to find a party and perhaps get more food on our way. Yup, I like having food when I’m mortal. Eating when you actually need it… it’s different.

 

At some point, Sexton asked me if I wasn’t going to do something about Mad Hettie and suggested I called the cops. I was like, “let’s just give her heart back, she needs it”, but he failed to understand my reasoning.

 

Poor boy was still mad at me for talking about being Death and everything. Also, he got a really jealous of how people offered me things for free, like a taxi trip and a hot dog. Not fair, I did attempt to buy him one and even offered a piece of mine. And he was like, “look, I don’t like you, okay?”¹ And I were like, “no reason to turn down a perfectly peachy keen half-a-hot dog”¹, but he refused it anyway—well, his loss, I ate the entire thing and don’t regret it.

 

Then, we took the taxi and arrived in this party, where we found this pregnant woman who’s apparently friends with Sexton’s mom and she let us enter for free because her girlfriend was playing that night and she let me touch her belly and I could feel life without taking it and it was so. The. Best. Moment. Ever!!!

 

Oh. I forgot to say: the pregnant lady’s name was Hazel and she was really nice. She told me she liked my hat and bought me a coke and let me touch her belly and the baby kicked. And I knew he was going to make it—for a while. I was so happy and touched and amused and overwhelmed!

 

Then, she went away to see her girlfriend, Foxglove, before she started playing and I met a boy named Theo, who Sexton also knew since they were classmates at school. He was all “I don’t know any fashion victims”¹ when I asked if he knew somebody waiting at the line at the moment we arrived the place. Ha! Guess who was wrong?

 

He wasn't as happy about Theo as he was about Hazel. I suppose he had a point. The boy wasn't up to any good, it was kinda obvious. But you know... he would get into a lot of trouble if I didn't agree to come along. Besides, who knows what can happen if you just go with the flow?

 

Inviting Sexton along was a risky move. I knew he could get really hurt, but I was sure we could handle it. It would be an adventure, one Sexton could use.

 

Okay, okay… I admit it: I was growing quite fond of the boy and wanted to have him around a little longer. He was a nice person when you could look past the mask of boredom and anger, and the way he was trying to protect me from Theo was kinda cute. Besides, I had promised him a night to remember and it was just ten.

 

Then, Theo took us out of the party to a warehouse, where his boss, an old blind guy who apparently was calling himself the Eremite nowadays, was waiting. Then, things got really bad for us all. First, they took the ankh—I always feel kinda naked without it—, then the Eremite hit Theo really hard on his face and left with my ankh, locking the door behind him. That’s when it started to feel confusing and scary to me because Theo was hurt and unconscious and there was nothing we could do to help him. Besides, the Eremite was probably planning to kill Sexton and I.

 

The Ankh. I knew why he wanted it. Power, of course. However… I know it wasn’t the way he was thinking. When Sexton asked me about it, later, I just told him: “It’s a symbol of life, and symbols have power. Maybe not the way he thinks, though.”¹

 

Theo passed away not long past midnight, and Sexton and I were both hungry and tired. And I guess we were scared too. Sexton wasn't going to let it show, though, he started searching inside those boxes full with toys, like: “we could get lots of stuff out of the bag and throw it at him when he comes back”¹ and he threw a Russian doll in my hands. I knew Sexton was also scared, but he trying to cheer me up, which was really nice of him.

 

I was confused and started falling asleep, but Sexton was still trying to be nice and find us some weapons among the toys. It was great to watch him acting all nice and hopeful for my sake. I really hoped we'd survive.

 

He finally found some marbles and was telling me, “I'm putting down those marbles on the floor so that when he comes in, if we're really lucky he'll fall down and break his neck and we'll get away.”¹

 

When I told him that he could hurt himself, he just looked at me and said my name as if he was saying: “that's exactly the point, isn't it?” And I was like, “oh right… of course”. Then, I lied down and, before I knew it, fell asleep. Side note, sleeping was totally neat! I didn't dream, though… guess my brother was just making himself scarce to my mortal self. I kind of expected it.

 

Next thing I knew, I was woken up by a bump and Mad Hattie was sitting next to us all and saying: “Bonnie boy? Was it you who put these aggies all over the floor?”¹ I guess she slipped on the marbles. Luckily, nothing was broke and she could get up as if the fall hadn’t happened. Phew!

 

Mrs. Robbins, one of my neighbors, was right behind her. Apparently, Hettie read in the tea leaves that Sexton and I were in trouble and they came to rescue us. Maybe, that was what made Sexton change his mind about killing himself. I guess he figured out that the world wasn’t there to kick his balls necessarily.

 

After Mrs. Robbins guaranteed she would make an anonymous call to the police to warn them about the Eremite and Theo’s body, Sexton and I took off to have a breakfast and get a new ankh.

 

I was like: “I love food. Food is so great. I mean, it’s so much more fun than photosynthesis or having a power pack in your back, or bathing liquid crystals, or any of those things.”¹ And Sexton was like: “Have you noticed how much better everything seems after a good breakfast.”¹ Yes, I totally had noticed that!

 

Apparently, the Eremite found out we had escaped because appeared while we were having breakfast. But the owner was all like, “not gonna happen, fella,” and guided him out of the restaurant. Then, he let us flee through the back doors without paying. Sexton was like: “Free breakfast. Uh-huh. You really never pay for anything.”

 

After having some breakfast and buying a new ankh. I did pay for that one, to Sexton’s surprise. Then, we headed to Central Park and I was already feeling the time to take off for good was coming. Pity…

 

We were sitting on a fountain during my last minute.

 

“Sexton?”¹

 

“Yeah?”¹

 

“I had a good time today.”¹

 

“You liked being locked up in a warehouse and being threatened by loonies, and...”¹

 

“No, I didn’t like that. But… it’s part of the whole thing. And there is a whole thing out there. And it’s all part of living. The good bits and the bad bits and the dull bits and the painful bits...”¹

 

“Okay. I get the point. The whole right thing. Very profound.”¹ He was kinda kidding, I guess, but I really hoped he had gotten the point.

 

“I like this place. It’s a little bit of peace and quiet. And I like her.”¹ And I started to prepare myself get up, because it was time. It felt nostalgic, but not in a bad way… maybe. “I like you too. It’s really nice, isn’t it?”¹

 

“Here.”¹ I said as I place two coins in his hand.

 

“What’s this for?”¹

 

“It’s what I’ve got left. It’s for you.”¹

 

“Thanks. I will use it as a deposit for my first car.”¹ I was glad he was thinking ahead. It meant that he got my point.

 

“Oh, and this is for Mad Hettie.”¹ I handed the Russian doll I was carrying since he had thrown it in my hands last night.

 

“Why don’t you give it to her yourself?”¹

 

“Sexton? I had a lovely day. Thanks.”¹ And I leaned in and kissed his cheek softly. I was glad he had changed his mind, it wasn’t time for him to meet her yet. He could live a little longer.

 

Then, I got up to stand on the fountain for a moment and breath one last time. When I felt my heart failing, I couldn’t help but whisper: “No. Please, I…”¹ Because, you know… I had such a lovely time. I wanted more. More adventures, more food, more breathes, more heartbeats, more lifetime. I tried to hold onto life for a moment, even knowing that it was useless…

 

I didn’t feel the impact when my body hit the water. I was long gone.

 

When I open my eyes again, I was sitting on the Sunless Land and there was a coin of one cent covering each of my eyes. At the same time, I was the tall and pale figure standing in front of myself. The me-who-was-Didi rubbed the coins away from my eyes, got up and smiled to the me-who-was-Death.

 

“So, that was it.”¹ The me-who-was-Death told the me-who-was-Didi.

 

“Yes.”¹

 

“How was it?”¹

 

“Oh, it was so wonderful. It was filled with people. I got to breathe and eat and… all sort of stuff. I wish it could have gone forever. I wish it didn’t have to end like that…”¹ The me-who-was-Didi was feeling nostalgic, remembering every second of my short lifetime. I couldn’t put into words my conflicting feelings. Because I knew what my answer would be, but I didn’t want to know. Not at that moment.

 

“It always ends. That’s what gives it value,”¹ the me-who-was-Death stated. I knew the me-who-was-Didi understood what I was saying, but I had to tell myself anyway, because it is hard to forget. “When we get to be alive, even for a day… well, there’s just one way to stop living.”¹

 

“I suppose.”¹ The me-who-was-Didi wouldn’t give in easily, and the me-who-was-Death was okay with it. We understand. I missed it.

 

“Was it worth it?”¹

 

“I… I don’t know. I think so. I hope so. I met such neat people. And I heard a song and I went in a taxi, and I had a bagel and… I wish it could have gone on forever.”¹ But the me-who-was-Didi wasn’t mad or sad, I was just happy because it was fun. Both my selves knew It was worth it, it always is. And both my selves knew the me-who-was-Didi wasn’t ready to say it. It was okay.

 

“Take my hand Didi.”¹ My selves faced each other for a moment, smiling. And the me-who-was-Didi took the hand extended at her. It was warm in a way that wasn’t exactly physical.

 

And then… it was over.

 

¹Parts taken from “Death: The High Cost of Living”.

22
 

 

Edited by ArthurGael

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  • 4 weeks later...

I wrote this one forever ago. But I still love the heck out of it.  (It's a freeform, journal-style app for John Winchester from Supernatural)

Quote

November 22, 2005: A few days ago, I left my journal back with my son, Dean. I figure, he’s got any sense, he’ll go and get Sammy from Stanford out in California -- hell, I even left him Baby to drive out. I haven’t talked to Sammy in too long. Last time I talked to him we fought. I said some things -- things that needed to be said, honestly. Things he needed to hear, but Mary would be disappointed. Hell, she’d be disappointed in half the shit I’ve done -- we’ve all done --  but I can’t stop, and Dean’ll follow me anywhere. 

You’ve been dead too long, Mary. I can’t see straight. All I feel is rage and all I see is yellow. Yellow eyes, I’m so damn close. It’s been years, Mary. I’ve learned so much. I’ve killed so many things; brought covens of witches and nests of vampires to their knees. I don’t run from demons anymore, they run from me. He’ll be dead soon, Mary. Soon.

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

April 12, 2006: Here’s the thing. I don’t got a problem with Sammy. He’s a good kid, but he does have a mouth on him. I think he gets that from you, Mary. I learned to keep mine shut in the army, but you always talked back to Samuel. You even talked back to me. Dean… he and I just see eye to eye. He’s like the other hunters I know. He’s got a passion for saving people, and he doesn’t let anything get in his way. Wish you were here, Mary. You’d know what to say to him. Whenever I try to talk I say things -- things I don’t mean to say. I can’t do this on my own. I think I’m losing them both. I think… sometimes, I think Sam’s going down my path. Damn it. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

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

May 15, 2006: I’ve done it. We’ve done it. That demon won’t see next week, Mary. There’s a Colt. The Colt. They say it can kill anything. Elkins (you remember Elkins from a few years back?) had it stored up. We’re gonna get it back, Mary. We’re going to kill that sonuvabitch that killed you. I’m going to watch the light fade from his eyes and I’ll be the last goddamn thing he sees on this Earth.

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

May 29, 2006: We know some more things now, Mary. The demon can possess anyone -- even me. He’s got Sam on the rafters for a plan -- damn, I knew it was something. The old psychic back in Lawrence (not sure you ever talked to her honestly, and even if you did, back then you wouldn’t have known what she was) told me what Sam was. Told me there are kids like Sam all over; other folk who must be part of his plan. Damn it, I don’t know why he chose us. I don’t know why Sam and why you, but he must have a reason. Maybe it’s because he knows Sammy’s got a heart. He’s not like me and Dean. He’s so damn much like you sometimes I can’t think when he’s around. He raises his voice and I raise mine. I figured a while ago he didn’t believe in family -- Hell, I probably taught him and Dean both that when I pitched him out for talking about Stanford. I was scared. Still am, most days. Something could happen to them, Mary. He wouldn’t shoot the damn demon because it was inside me -- wasted too many bullets. We’ve only got one left now. He could’ve killed it, shot me right between the eyes. Sammy could have ended it. Maybe he does love me after all. Hell, he’s a saint if he does.

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

June 2006: Dean’s hurt bad. Sammy’s alright, just a little shaken and bruised. Some truck hit us on the highway. Sam says it was a demon -- Mary, Sam just told me Dean’s probably not going to make it. Mary, I promised you the night you went in flames I’d keep our boys safe, and I won’t back out. Maybe they won’t understand. Maybe they’ll hate me, but they’re my sons -- our sons. I’m going to give Yellow Eyes the Colt and bullets for Dean’s life. Hell, he asks for my soul, it’s his.  Dean’s life or mine. His life every time. Every time -- and I’m so, so sorry that I won’t get that demon before I go. He’s our only shot at saving Dean. I won’t see you in Heaven, Mary. I love you so much. They’re going to be okay, Mary. Everything will be okay. They have each other. Some spotlight must have just come on in the field outside. It’s bright as hell.
 

 

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