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Stories Write a story to catch Pokemon. A Grader will then decide if it catches or not.

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Old 08-25-2009, 02:29 AM
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Default Future (for lack of a batter title)

Patrick gazed across the harsh landscape before him. A thick layer of black sand covered the once green Earth, and the blue sky had been obscured by dark brown clouds. Sandunes were scattered here and there with some small piece of rubble sticking out of it. Small mounds of twisted steel, and concrete were littered across the sand. It was a massive desert that stretched across the entire planet, filled with horrible lifeless sand.

Sand. That’s all that was left. Sand made up pumice; volcanic ash. There wasn’t much alive above ground anymore. The air was unbreathable. It was mostly carbon dioxide, and had a little bit poisonous carbon monoxide. The heat that had been building up for the past years was unbearable, reaching up to 150 degrees Fahrenheit during the day. Ultraviolet radiation skirted through the clouds killing just about anything alive on contact. During the night freezing winds raced across the landscape at hundreds of miles an hour.

There were only two times during the day where one could think about venturing out from underground. Right before night fell and right before daybreak. It was almost night now, and Patrick was outside. He was covered from head to toe in heavy ski equipment, made from a special fabric that blocked out radiation. He wore thick glasses, a yellow oxygen mask, and thick gloves, and carried a large black backpack.

He began to walk into the sand, over to a small pile of black debris. They were things that had been uncovered by the winds. To a normal person it just looked like a twisted mass of steel that stuck out of the ground. However, to Patrick this was a great find. He approached the knot of steel rods, and stuck his hand in gap. Seconds later he pulled out something small, and looked at it, smiling, and put it into his pack.

He turned and began to scan the wasteland for more piles like the one he had. This is how his days went. He scavenged around for anything useful stuck it into his backpack and then went back underground to wait for the next time he could go outside.

Patrick quickly spotted a pile that looked rather unusual. It was long, and quite thin, rather than the usual spherical or box shaped things that he found. He approached it slowly. The first thing he noticed was a jacket. A thick blue jacket, much like the one he was wearing.

“A body,” he thought instantly. One that was lying on it stomach, its face stuck into the sand. He still went toward it. An extra jacket was always useful, and this person might have had something else useful, like batteries or a working cell phone. It looked pretty well preserved though. Patrick hadn’t seen a live human for almost two years, and this person didn’t look like they had been dead that long. The jacket was relatively clean. It certainly didn’t look as though that it had been thrashed by high speed winds at all.

Patrick frowned and kneeled next to it. He flipped the body over onto its back, revealing a face wearing grayish plastic mask. A thick, short tube was coming out the part where the mouth should have been. The front of that was covered with tiny holes. There was a round piece of plastic infront of each eye so the wearer could see. Patrick grinned. It was a gas mask! He had been looking for this for years. It was much more effective than the oxygen mask that he had now.

He went to remove the mask, unclipping it on the side. The mask was too large for this person. It wasn’t keeping the harmful chemicals in the air out of their lungs. As he was examining it, he felt something hit his leg. He ignored it, assuming that he had just kicked the body. Thick locks of dark hair fell out of the mask. ‘It’s probably a girl,’ thought Patrick, though this information made no real difference to him. Ask he continued to try and take off the mask he felt another strike on his leg. This time, he immediately turned his head, looking at the spot. There was nothing abnormal there, until he felt it again. Patrick gasped. The person had moved, and hit him, in some sort of odd twitch. She was still alive.

Angela Stod woke in a dark hole, on her back staring at a cold stone ceiling. How did she get here? She didn’t really know. In fact she could remember anything, of what she had done or where she had been. Her name was Angela, she remembered that. She also could remember the year. It was 2053, April. She knew she was thirteen years old. But how did she get here? What had she been doing? She strained herself, scowling at the rocky ceiling. Blurry memories started to come back. She remembered a project for school. It was on something to do with motion, for her physics class. She couldn’t remember exactly. Friction maybe? Inertia? Maybe just motion in general… It didn’t really matter. She had finished it and was going to turn it in later, to Mr. … something. She couldn’t remember. All she could remember is having the project when she boarded the big yellow car that took her to school. It was as if someone had turned off the lights when she stepped through the doors and then she had been taken here. She scowled again.

She began to look around the cave she was in. It was dimly lit; two light bulbs were suspended from the ceiling over to her left. The cavern was long and narrow, wide enough for about two people to walk by each other, only brushing against each other slightly. It was filled with a bunch of odd things. There was a small garden growing underneath a faint orange light, against a wall. Many green plants lingered underneath it. Some she recognized; there were orange carrots and heads of green lettuce and a couple of yellow orchids. There some other strange leafy vines draped across the floor. Why would someone grow plants in a cave?

Next to the mini garden there was a small, beat up, refrigerator, with a large orange jug that was filled with sports drink at football games. Then there was a huge grey box, with hundreds of wires sticking out of it, of all different colors. A large copper tube tan from this machine to the ceiling. There were a bunch of flashing screens, odd dials and complicated looking buttons. She frowned at it. She had no idea what it did.

A bench with a lot of metallic pieces were laid out next to the odd machine. There was a small wooden chair there and some tools, like wire clippers and screw drivers. It looked like someone took a bunch of old computer parts and was trying to make a new computer out of it. There were some completed things that she recognized like a small grey cellphone and a dusty, brown Ipod. In the far corner there was a ladder that went up to the ceiling. Set next to it were three large machines that Angela had seen on TV. They were supposed to clean the air, and get rid of any airborne particles.

The other wall was lined with boxes. A gas mask and two giant ski jackets had been placed on top of one of the boxes a long with some large boots, a pair of thick wool gloves and a yellow oxygen mask, like you see in an airplane’s safety manual. There was a tiny little table places, where the mound of boxes ended. On the other side of it there were piles and piles of junk, most of which Angela couldn’t even identify.

However on the table, there sat a pale skinned boy, who looked to be almost sixteen. He was wearing a dirty t-shirt that might have been green before, and a very old pair of jeans. He had dirty blonde hair that looked like it had never seen comb. It was rather long, covering the boy’s ears forehead. He had sharp, bright blue eyes, and a short, stubble of a beard. Right now, he was shoveling some brown liquid into his mouth with a plastic spoon.

Angela, herself was lying on top of a lumpy mattress and covered with a small, thin blanket that was set up against one of the shorter walls.

As soon as he looked up he caught sight of her looking at him. “Awake, are you?” he croaked. He put the food down and walked over to her.

“Who are you?” said Angela, bluntly. Her voice was raspy, like it had been suffering from underuse.

“My name is Patrick,” he grunted. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine, why shouldn’t I?” said Angela in the same raspy voice.

“You were unconscious up there,” he said flatly. Patrick paused, as though he expected some sort of snappy answer from her again. When Angela said nothing, and just looked at him, with her eyebrows raised, he continued. “Do you have a sore throat, headache, itchiness stomach pains, or trouble breathing?”

“What?” she said. Angela sat up, tossing the blanket to the floor and cleared he throat. “No everything is fine. Why am I he-”

“Good, good,” Patrick said, cutting across her inquiry. “You must not have been out there long. Are you hungry?”

“Out where?” she half-yelled, scowling. “Where am I? How did I get here and why are you and all this crap in this cave?” Patrick was being annoyingly vague, and not really telling her anything. She wasn’t really scared of him. He looked like he had been genuinely concerned with her health, so he couldn’t have been a bad guy.

“I guess you’re not hungry. Where do you think you are, Angela?” he said.

Angela’s frown grew. “I don’t know! The bus, maybe? My house? School? And how’d you know my name?”

Patrick laughed. “Funny,” he said. He kept chuckling until he saw Angela’s face, angry and confused. Patrick looked slightly confused too, but he didn’t say anything. He just stared at her.

“Answer my questions!” she shouted.

Patrick sighed and pulled the wooden chair up next to Angela’s bed. He sat down and said, “What is the last thing you remember?” Angela took a deep breath. Finally it sounded like this guy was going to give her the answers she deserved. She calmly began explaining about the bus and her project. How when she got on the bus she couldn’t remember anything.

When she had finished, Patrick didn’t comment right away. He had his hand on his chin like that famous statue, and his brow was furrowed. “Well?” she said impatiently, starting to get annoyed again.

“How old are you?” he said simply.

Angela scowled, but answered. “Thirteen.”

Patrick didn’t have to think before he gave her an answer this time. With no real emotion, he said, “No, you’re not.”

Angela was very confused at this point. What was wrong with this guy? Of course she knew her own age, what kind of idiot got that wrong? “What do you mean, I’m not thirteen?” she said angrily.

“You’re not thirteen,” he repeated bluntly. He got up strolled over to the pile of clothing where, the jacket lay and picked up something small, dark, and square. “Look at this,” he said, tossing it to her.

Angela caught it without thinking. Then she frowned. How did she do that? She hadn’t played sports before, and her hand-eye coordination was pitiful. Disregarding it as a lucky catch and that it wouldn’t happen again, she looked at the object. It was a little blue book, with the word, Inchusa written across it silver letters. There was a symbol underneath it, like the symbol for the Olympics, except silver five-pointed stars replaced the customary rings.

“What is this? What does Inchusa mean?” asked Angela.

Patrick responded quickly. “No clue,” he said. “I found it in your jacket. I was hoping you knew.”

“I never had this,” said Angela quickly.

“Yes you did,” said Patrick flatly. “Open it.”

“Prove it!” shouted Angela. The words sounded childish, but Angela was annoyed. This guy was crazy, and purposely avoiding her questions.

Patrick scowled. “Open it,” he said again.

Angela muttered darkly under her breath, but did what he said and opened the little book to the first page. The inside cover was laminated, and there was a picture of a young woman’s face. She had long, stick-strait dark hair that she had tied back in a ponytail. She had black eyes that looked like tiny coals that had just come of the fire, which rested just underneath her thin black eyebrows. Her face was tanned, and she had a huge white toothed grin on her face. Underneath the photograph, the words “Age:15; Date taken: August 6th, 2055”

A list of some simple information was listed next to the photo. There was a date of birth, June 24th 2040, (“She has the same birthday as me!” thought Angela), a gender, female, a location, someplace called Euroville, and a name: Angela Stod.

Angela stared at that name for about a minute. Those little black symbols on the page couldn’t possibly be true. This girl was older than her. Fifteen years old. But both Angela’s had the same birthday. But Angela never remembered getting this photo taken. And she didn’t know what Euroville was. Or what Inchusa was. And the date was wrong. It was set two years in the future. But it was her name right there. How many people were named Angela Stod and born on the same day?

“Is this really me?” mumbled Angela. Patrick said nothing, he just tossed her something. Again she caught the little pink object without thinking. It was round and a little fuzzy. She opened it, to find an empty grey basin on the bottom and a dirty mirror on the top. Angela looked in the mirror. The girl from the photograph stared back, except slightly paler, and thinner.

This was not the girl that Angela had remembered. She thought she was a little bit overweight, and she wasn’t nearly this pale. Angela worked hard on her tan, and now, all of a sudden it was gone. She was no longer a little pudgy like had thought before. She was wearing a plain tan t-shirt that she didn’t remember buying. Poking out of the short sleeves were two arms that had no fat on them at all, and maybe, some muscle. Angela had not really gone to the gym much before, but apparently she did now. Her stomach had shrunk as she last remembered it, no longer flabby.

She stood up. She was taller than she remembered, a good three inches taller, at least. She felt the top her head. Her hair was greasy. Angela frowned. She hated feeling dirty, and now she felt like she hadn’t bathed in weeks. He hands followed he hair until it tapered off in the middle of her back. It was longer than before. She had her hair cut about a week ago, (Or at least, a week before the last thing she could remember) and then it had ended just above her shoulders. It was darker too. Before it looked more like dark brown than black.

She sat back down. She was obviously missing big. “What’s the date?” croaked Angela.

“September 9th, 2056,” said Patrick simply.

“But I thought it was 2053,” she said, thoroughly confused.

“Well it’s not,” Patrick replied bluntly.

“Any recollection about a terrible disaster?” he said. Angela shook her head. Patrick sighed. “I’d better tell you then. You won’t start screaming at me?” Angela shook her head again, and Patrick began his tale.

“Well,” he started, speaking more to himself than to Angela. “I expect that you’re suffering from some sort of amnesia. I can’t imagine why, though. Doc never mentioned anything like this coming from the air outside. I was thinking that you collapsed out because your mask wasn’t fitting right, but maybe something hit your head had made it come loose. You don’t have a bruise, though….”

“Anyways, so you said you thought it was 2053, right?” he said. Angela nodded and Patrick continued. “Mhm, what month?”

“April,” she replied quickly. “But you said it was September.”

He continued. “It is. So we can say that you don’t know what happened in October of that year, right?” Angela nodded again. “So you know that Yellowstone was a gigantic, enormous volcanic that could kill just about everyone if it blew up, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer this time. “Well that’s what happened. It blew up. Killed just about everyone. Until I found you, I thought only three people had survived. A thirty year old dude, that I called Gizmo, a doctor named Samuel Kinnin (I called him Doc), and me. This is Gizmo’s cave you see. So anyways, before the big explosion there some smaller tremors. Earthquakes, across the globe. First couple tremors hurt some people in the mines near here so Doc came to help them. He went into the wrong cave, though and ended up here, in Gizmo’s instead. Gizmo and I were friends so I was here, too. Then there was another quake, and the entrance collapsed. Lucky that it did, too. When Yellowstone exploded, the entire mountain around use was blown apart. It messed up most of the equipment here. Luckily the fridge and Gizmo’s stockpile of food was unharmed, so we survived for about four months, fixing up Gizmo’s stuff that had been broken. Those two were geniuses. Gizmo could make anything out of metal. Made that generator right there. Doc was brilliant too. The two of them made a jacket that blocked those UV rays outside. Doc knew pretty much what had happened. Ozone gone, hot as hell since there is no way for the heat to leave, huge dunes of black sand, and an atmosphere with hardly any oxygen, just thick black clouds. He was right, too. He They got that door made somehow, so the outside air would get in when we opened it. I have no clue how they did it. Doc kept making medicines, keeping us alive. They were able to make that hi-tech door, and mount it on the ceiling. Soon we could go outside for about half an hour. Only one at a time though since we only had one mask, and only at night, since it was too hot in during the day.”

“What happens if you’re outside too long?” asked Angela.

“You die,” said Patrick simply. “Doc did that. He was out for three hours. He got lost, and came back coughing really badly, and he died that night.”

“I’m sorry,” mumbled Angela softly.

Patrick ignored this. “That was a year after the Yellowstone explosion. Doc said it would be about six years until the air is outside is breathable for short periods of time, and about eight years until we could breath normally all the time, and about thirteen years until the ozone will come back. Some sort of reactions with the pesticides in the air made the healing process of the Earth speed up according to him. So Gizmo and I took to scavenging for things that we could use. Fit a panel that can turn UV rays to electricity to the generator, to power everything better. Before we were using some sort of nuclear thing, that Gizmo didn’t like. We started growing some plants, from charred seeds we found. We found this other weird seed that grows a plant that produces a crapload of Oxygen too. We got that early on, Doc had it. So yeah we fixed up this place. We found a crashed plane a little ways down, so we got more masks from that. We went into a building, too. Stupid thing to do, since we quickly wore out the walls. Gizmo got trapped inside, and I couldn’t help him since the sun was coming up. I couldn’t hear him anyways. I would have fried if I had stayed.”

“That was around January 2055. So I’ve just been running around, collecting things to keep myself alive, waiting for the world to get better so I could find things. I think I might have gone insane a couple times, but then snapped out of it. Then I found you unconscious in the sand and brought you back here. I found that passporty thing and that got me curious about what Inchusa was, and I think that’s what we need to find next.”

He finished his story. He was a bad storyteller, Angela thought, but he had given Angela a shrewd idea of what was going on with the world. Angela sat back against the cold rock wall, breathing deeply.

“So everyone’s dead?” she asked.

“Well no,” replied Patrick, “Doc said there could be about a thousand people left about ten years when the ozone would come back. There’s obviously those Inchusa people too.”

“Oh,” said Angela. “How do you get food and water?” she asked.

Done: 8680

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Old 08-25-2009, 02:32 AM
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Default Re: Future (for lack of a batter title)

“That orange jug has a water crystal in it. Like ones found in those red, Australian octopi., that makes water. Most of the food I’ve got are nonperishables that Gizmo had. I try to grow food, but it’s not really fast enough. Especially since there’s another mouth to feed now. Are you hungry?” he said.

Angela said yes. Patrick strode over to the fridge and opened it. Angela didn’t see what was inside, and Patrick didn’t ask her what she wanted. He pulled out three buckets filled with cubes of different color, and a yellowy-orange bag. One of the buckets was filled with white cubes, one was orange and another was light brown. He dumped a good amount of each into a small, chipped white bowl, and returned the buckets to the fridge. He filled up the rest with water and put it on to a small gray box. He pushed a small button on it and the box glowed orange.

“It’s an onion-carrot-potato soup,” he explained. “Bland but edible. I’ll toss some cheese in there and some salt. No pepper though.”

Angela didn’t have a real response to this. She just nodded. Patrick was still talking about how he could get more food in here, but Angela wasn’t listening. She took her soup and wolfed it down quickly. Like he had said, it wasn’t delicious, but she expected she had to get used to it.


She had become a lot quieter since she had woken up in the cave. Patrick began talking a lot though. Every day he seemed to get more and more talkative. He was always rambling on about what he, Doc, and Gizmo had done. She usually didn’t listen to him. As long as she said something small every time he paused to take a breath, he seemed satisfied. Over the last few days she had picked up a couple interesting tidbits of information. Patrick was born exactly one month after her, in August 24th 2040, and that he had been trying to grow a sugarcane plant for years, but only found the seeds for it once and then lost them in the hole. She also heard that they were right now in central Quebec. He did all this talking while he was tinkering with the ugly scraps of metal he had piled up on the bench.

“What are you fixing?” asked Angela suddenly when Patrick had finished a monologue about a funny looking skeleton that he had found last month.

“Nothing, I’m making things,” he said. Angela didn’t even have to ask what he was making. “Now I’m working on two things,” he explained. “There’re these walkie-talkies that I’m trying to turn into this sort of communication system. So when we go looking for things we can communicate. Simple enough, right? The other thing is this device that when you chuck it at something, it’ll absorb it, and then come back me. Just incase I find something inside a worn down building or, out of reach or whatnot.”

“That sounds pretty hi-tech,” commented Angela, obviously skeptical as to whether or not it could be done.

“Oh it is, look!” replied Patrick, pulling out a metallic black sphere about the size of a baseball. “Gizmo started it, but he never finished it. He got the whole boomerang thing done, so when I throw it at something it’ll open up for a few seconds, then close and come back.”

That was good and understandable, but Angela still didn’t get how he was going to do the second part of it. “So…” she began, but Patrick, anticipating the question, cut her off.

“They’ve already got those lasers that can confine a large amount of matter into a small defined space. The trouble is mounting it on the ball, and getting it to do that instantaneously,” he explained. “That’s what I’m working on at this time. After that I’ve got to get it to aim properly. I can’t just have it open up and fire at something random. That would be disast-”

“Don’t you get bored?” asked Angela, cutting across Patrick. “With all of this techy buildy stuff?”

Patrick paused in his speech. He thought for a couple seconds, but then answered, “Not really. It’s all I’ve been doing for the past year and a half. Besides, what else am I supposed to do?”

Angela didn’t really have an answer to that question. She just turned to her bed and laid down on it, staring up at the ceiling. As far as she remembered, she was no good at inventing things.

“Anyways…” said Patrick, fully intent of finishing his explanation of the silly ball he had. Angela sighed.


The acid rain hammering the outside world subsided three days later. By that time Patrick had completely finished his two-way radio system he was fashioning out of his walkie-talkies. The hours before they left, Patrick jabbered on excitedly about all the odd experiences he had had outside. Most of them involved finding parts to things that he was building. Angela paid no attention to this; however she was very excited as well. She had never remembered going outside, was very keen on figuring out what it actually looked like. If it was all desert with the volcanic black sand, it cemented the fact that she had completely forgotten the last three years, and Patrick wasn’t just a delusional hobo. She was still hoping for the latter, but there was still no way that her appearance had changed like this overnight.

Patrick advised her to put on a jacket that he had. (He kept referring to it has ‘hers’, Angela was a little hesitant to call it that.) Still the jacket that she got was a lot different looking that the one he was wearing. It was a bit thinner than his jacket, breathed easier, and covered with a metallic coating. Patrick’s however just a thick blue ski jacket, with no fancy alterations. He had already explained that there were cloth pads inside that absorbed UV radiation.

Angela also got a gasmask fitted with a small microphone one the inside and a speaker where her right ear was located. Patrick had tiny yellow oxygen mask, and had taped the speaker on his thick goggles. The put up their hoods, and gloves and began on their way.

Patrick went up to the large glass door in the ceiling, and pulled it open. A small pink screen of light appeared where the door had been. Patrick climbed through it, and came out on the other side unharmed. As he went up he was explaining exactly what it was.

“This is an anti-net. It’s like the opposite of a net, large things can go through while all the small particles in the air and radiation and whatnot, can’t. Gizmo had it first. I have no idea how it works though.”

Angela shrugged. Since Patrick looked unharmed, Angela quickly climbed up the ladder and through the pink anti net. She stood up outside, and Patrick reached down to close the door, by pressing a small button on the side of the opening. This world was just as Patrick had described. Black sand made from ash covered the landscape, and thick brown clouds hung in the air. Fragments of human civilization littered the landscape. Angela could see bits of charred metal and chunks of concrete tossed around. And it was hot; she thought it was almost 100 degrees in there.

Patrick got up and said, through the walkie-talkie,” We’re gonna go to that park over there today.” He pointed off to large grey mound. Angela assumed that these used to be the metal play sets for the children. He swung a brown backpack over his shoulder and began walking. “I’ve never actually been there. It’s usually covered by the sand, but today, for whatever reason it’s not….” And he continued to talk about this nonsense until they reached the landmark.

“So, what are we looking for?” asked Angela.

“Anything useful,” said Patrick, sounding slightly annoyed. “I just told you that. Like this…” Patrick bent down and picked up a long flat rod that curved at the end. “See, it’s a crowbar. It can be useful in all kinds of situations, like if the door gets stuck or if we get attacked by zombies, (since my gun won’t work on them), or if alien come and try to abdu-“

“Yeah, I get it, it’s useful!” shouted Angela through the walkie-talkie, and she turned and walked towards something that might have been a jungle gym. Patrick stopped talking immediately. Angela scrutinized the decrepit structure. It was charred and black. It had collapsed years ago, and now looked like piles of bars twisted together on the ground.

However, as she turned to go to something else, she noticed something. It was bright red, round, speck, lying on the far side of the twisted hunk of bars. She walked over to it and picked it up. It was a metal ball the size of a baseball that was half red, half white separated by a thick black line. There was a round white button in the center. Angela wanted to press it, but eventually decided against it. She stowed it into one of her pockets and continued searching.

The day had turned out to be relatively fruitless. Besides the crowbar, and the ball, Patrick had only managed to collect a single white pebble that he thought was a seed that had somehow survived the Armageddon. To Angela, it looked like a pebble. The second they got back to the cool underground hollow, and removed their protective gear, Patrick leapt to his little garden and planted the seed. He then began to babble annoyingly about what kind of plant the seed would become. Angela, on the other hand pulled out the little sphere, and pressed the little button in the center.

There was a brilliant flash of silver light. Angela shrieked, stumbled backwards, and felon the ground. The light dissipated as quickly as it had arrived. Angela blew her hair out of her face, and looked around. She saw Patrick standing stick-straight, clutching his new crowbar, looking wary. “What the hell was that?” he asked slowly, glancing around the small room warily.

“Just this ball I found,” grumbled Angela.

“Oh.” He lowered his crowbar slightly, until he saw Angela on the ground. He grinned and extended a hand to help her up, but instead Angela pulled herself without it. “Where did the ball go?” he asked.

“No idea,” replied Angela. She felt a slight tug at her ankle, so she looked down to see what it was. To her surprise, she saw a little weasel. Its back was covered in sea green fur, while its stomach was a light yellow. It had two small pointed ears, and piercing red eyes. There were five large orange dots on its head and on its lower back.

“Found it!” yelled Patrick, triumphantly.

“Hey Patrick,” said Angela, nervously. “Do you have any pets?”

“No, why?” he asked.

“Look,” she said simply.

When Patrick came to stand next to her, and look at the little animal, he just stared. The little animal stared back at them. He tugged at Angela pants again, with his mouth, and said, “Quilaaaaava.”

“That’s weird,” he said plainly. “He shouldn’t be here.”

“Really? I had no idea,” said Angela sarcastically. “Get off my pants,” she spat at the little weasel.

Patrick ignored her, and leaned down and picked up the little animal. He then walked to the fridge pulled out a small orange carrot and gave it to the animal. It greedily gobbled up the carrot, and Patrick placed it down on top of the bed.

“He’s really hot, like ninety degrees Fahrenheit. Maybe some sort of mutation of a weasel that is able to survive outside and breathes carbon dioxide like some sort of plantlike thingy. Or, he is just used to having low oxygen in his environment, and doesn’t mind UV radiation! I wonder how he came in, though. I didn’t see him come in, maybe he dug a hole to get in he-,“

“I think he came out of that ball I found,” said Angela cutting across Patrick’s speech.

“What?”said Patrick, blankly.

“Yeah,” replied Angela. “It wasn’t here until that ball exploded.”

“So, sort of like the capsule-ball I’m working on, right?” said Patrick slowly, staring at the red and white ball in his hand.

“Yes,” replied Angela.

Patrick pressed the button in the center on the ball gingerly. There was another flash of brilliant white light. Angela threw up her arms to block it from her black eyes. Seconds later, the flash had subsided, and Angela stared across the room. The red and white ball was floating in the air for a few seconds, before it fell to the ground where Patrick had stood. The annoying sandy–haired boy was gone. He had just mysteriously disappeared in the few short seconds that the flash had blinded here. She looked at the little weasel. He sat on the bed as if nothing had happened and continued to munch on its little carrot, happily.

She glanced around the room again, looking under the desk, behind the spot where Partrick had stood, but there was another other than dirt, and broken pieces of metal. She turned left to look under the bed. He wasn’t there either. Just large plastic boxes.

She stood up. “Patrick,” squeaked Angela nervously. As she began to panic, Angela looked around the room again. She spotted the little white and red ball on the ground, and frowned. “No way. Theres no way it can do that,” she muttered to herself. But since she didn’t know where else he could be, she leaned down to grab the ball. She took a deep breath and put a face, which she thought looked bored. She pressed the tiny button in the center and another flash lit up the tiny, dark room.

Patrick appeared, his pale skin was coated with sweat. His eyes wide and surprised. He hoisted himself up onto his feet, and shook his head.

“Good job,” said Angela. It was with difficulty that she didn’t continue and say ‘moron’. Patrick didn’t say anything. He just stood, in the middle of the room panting. “What was it like?”

“Inside, it was this weird little garden place that I was at. There were a ton of carrots and some smelly meat inside a little pen! I don’t know how they did it! It’s like my ball, except for living organisms!” he exclaimed, excitedly.

“And it works.”

Patrick chose not to answer this, but Angela noticed his eyebrows narrow as he looked down at the ball. Neither of them spoke, as he scowled at the ball. Angela glanced nervously around the little hollow. What she had said wasn’t that insulting, it was a just a small joke. Or at least, that’s what she had meant it to be. He could just copy this one, saving him the trouble of making one on his own. She tried to break the silence. “What do we do with that beast?”

“Let it stay here, I guess. I don’t know how we are gonna keep it alive. We are running out of food already and this guy will starve us even faster,” he said.

“No,” snapped Angela. “I don’t want to starve, and if that’s what we need to do to keep I don’t want to.”

Patrick’s eyebrows narrowed again. “If it really came from that ball, then it might not be able to survive outside with their harsh conditions. It’ll probably die there!”

“No,” said Angela flatly.

“Then you murder it,” he said calmly, stepping back from the bed. The weasel grunted, as if it understood what they were saying.

“Fine,” said Angela angrily. She turned to the weasel, and went to pick it up. Suddenly, yellow-orange flames shot up from its back, and Angela recoiled, he eyes wide in shock. The animal snorted, and the flames disappeared.

“Weird….,” said Patrick, after a second or two.

“Nevermind,” she muttered.

Patrick smiled, leaned over and picked up the little weasel. He began to talk again, “I think that was some sort of defensive mutation cause by the heat. Maybe That’s cool. What do we call him, Angela?”

“Whatever you want, I really don’t care,” said Angela. This was completely true. She really didn’t want anything to do with the little weasel. He might help her be less bored, but she would rather have a pet that didn’t have flames on its back.

“I’ll call him Fred,” said Patrick gleefully. Angela sighed and sat down on her bed, as Patrick walked to the other side of the room to play with Fred.


As the days passed, the two decided that only one of them should go on scavenging missions, and the other would stay in the hollow watching over their new pet. Neither of them knew if he would survive outside nor did they want to test it. Angela felt like this idea was decent, but very quickly into her first watch she realized that Fred didn’t do much. He slept and ate carrots, and not much else. He wasn’t too energetic for his nimble appearance. There wasn’t much Angela could do to change that either. Whenever she got too close to him, the mutant weasel shot flames out from its back, and Angela would rather not get her hand burned to a crisp.

One day, about a week after they had found Fred, Patrick came back to the hollow from one of his scavenging expeditions, holding a long ski pole. The second he took of his mask, he began to speak.

“I think there is a village or something a mile away, due South,” he said excitedly.

“Really now?” said Angela. It could not have been plainer that she really did not care.

“Yeah,” he said excitedly, completely missing the message in Angela’s tone. Setting down the ski pole, he began to continue. “I found this amazing thing!”

“A ski pole?” asked Angela quizzically. ”What’s so great about that?”

Patrick chuckled. “No not the ski pole. Something else. But that’s cool too, right? Now we can-“

“Just tell me what the other cool thing was,” said Angela loudly.

“Okay,” he replied. “Look at this.” He reached into the tattered gray backpack a pulled out a large silver triangle. It was as flat as paper, without a mark or dent on it. There was a tiny light on top of it that was blinking yellow. The top of it was covered entirely with a large screen. Patrick showed the screen to Angela “Scout Plane-Mark 2.13; Objective: 43.40N 79.25W Location: 42.22N 83.02W Base: 42.2 N 83.02W.”

Angela stared at it blankly. “What is it?” she said.

“A scout plane, duh!” he responded. “It says so right there.” He pointed to the screen where those words were written.

“Cool,” said Angela. “What is it?”

Patrick sighed and began to explain. “It’s a plane built by the people who are at 42.2N and 83.02, which is just about a mile South of where we are. There probably is a camera here to. They were obviously using it for recon missions to see if there was anyone at 43.40N 79.25W. Those seem random though, I wonder what was there. Some sort of city or something possibly.”

“Great theory but, I don’t really get it. What do those numbers mean anyways?” said Angela slowly.

Patrick replied quickly. “They’re coordinates. Like latitude and longitude.”

“Oh, right,” said Angela but, this barely made any sense to here. She remembered hearing those terms in school, but she was never any good with geography. “So now that we know that, what do we do?” she asked.

“Find them, hopefully,” he replied, simply. “I’m not entirely sure if we can get to then in an hour though.”

“Oh, ok then,” replied Angela.

“We should try though,” said Patrick. “I think we should stick Fred in the ball again and go. I have to find my compass.”

“You do that then,” said Angela. She had not heard what Patrick had said. She just went to the lumpy mattress that she slept on laid down. She noticed Patrick sit down at his table and begin to tinker again, with the ball, trying to create a copy of the red one. Fred leapt up onto his lap, and curled up on it. Her mind began to wander at and quickly found its way to the people who had created the scout plane. There was an idea in the back of her mind that had been bugging her ever since Patrick had mentioned these other people. Was this the place that she had been before she had lost her memory, Inchusa? It had to be somewhere near here, and this spot seemed like the best bet. Yes, that had to be it. There was no other possible answer that would make any sort of sense. She wondered which people would be waiting for her. Maybe her family, or her best friend, Amy. Or someone else from school. Then again they could have been total strangers that banded together in the face of a crisis… As she thought she became more and more tired. Her eyelids fluttered shut and she slowly drifted off to sleep.
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Old 08-25-2009, 02:34 AM
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Default Re: Future (for lack of a batter title)

“YES!” A yell tore Angela from her peaceful nap. She sat up, straight as a board, to see Patrick standing up, with his jet black ball held up high, as if it were a nugget of gold. Fred was standing on his hind legs, barking enthusiastically like some fire-breathing dog.

“What happened?” mumbled Angela sleepily.

Patrick put his hands and turned around, too look at Angela. “Sorry,” sorry he said. “I got it to work, though! With Fred of course, not something else. Now all I have to do is…“

Angela groaned and fell back on the bed.

“Sorry,” she heard Patrick say, “I’ll tell you about it in a couple hours, when I wake you up, so we can go.” Angela fell asleep just after he finished saying this.

A couple of hours later (though Angela thought that it was far too soon), she was been shaken awake by Patrick.

“Come on,” he said, “Get your gear on, so we can go.” Patrick was already wearing the heavy jacket and had his yellow oxygen mask around his neck.

Angela didn’t argue. She wanted to go and see the place. While she was putting on the heavy jackets and gas mask, Patrick began explaining things that he obviously thought were very important.

“So it might be a little windy up there, for about fifteen minutes or so. I usually never leave here this early. It’s the afternoon one. I’ve got the plane out, a compass and the two balls. Fred is in the red one, and it’s in the side pocket of my pack. The black one is there too, and it works. I’ve got a compass too. The coordinates aren’t exact so if we don’t find anything in twenty minutes we’ll turn back. The plane has a clock, so we’ll be able to access that. You’ll hold onto the compass, and make sure were going directly south, the entire time, unless you want to hold the plane. That might be a little easier. Want to do that?” He ended his monologue. Angela, who actually had been listening to him, responded instantly.

“I’ll take the easier job,” she said. ‘So I don’t skrew anything up,’ she thought, be decided to keep that piece of information to herself.

“Okay then you get the plane,” he said handing the flat piece of silver machinery to her. “If you touch this part, “he said pointing to a spot on the bottom of the plane. “You get the time. Just tell me when we get to the right coordinates. Or if it gets to 6:07. We have to turn back then.” Angela had completely outfitted herself by now, so he pulled the yellow mask over his nose, and pressed a button in the walkie-talkie piece in his ear. Then he continued talking as he moved to the door in the ceiling. “Preferably if you could tell me at 6:00, that would be great, since that way we don’t get killed as the winds pick up and bury us alive.” He began to hoist himself through the antinet, and out into the open.

“Alright,” said Angela, as she pulled herself through the net. Patrick pressed the tiny button on the side, to close it. Then he pressed another button, this one red. A beam of red light shut up from the door, about fifteen feet in the air, and hung there. “So we can find it when we come back. We might be gone pretty long. Without another word, the two began their trek, following the triangle, and Patrick’s old brown compass.

The outside world looked just as it always did. A massive black desert, littered with broken fragments of artifacts that hailed from a long lost age. There was a slight breeze kicking up bits of sand. The only walked for about a minute in silence. They reached a spot in the desert that, Patrick seemed to recognize.

“This is the place where I found the scout plane. I think,” he said. This baffled Angela. She had no clue how he had recognized it. To Angela this patch of volcanic sand was just the same as any other. There was nothing sticking out of it that might give him a clue as to whether or not this was the spot. However, she didn’t bother arguing.

“Yeah,” he said to reassure himself. “This is the spot. It was just floating around, about a foot from the sand, and I picked it up. You might be wondering why I did this, obstructing someone’s expensive, scientific experiment all without any thought as what they think, right.”

“No, not really,” murmured Angela under her breath, but Patrick did not hear her properly and continued.

“Glad you asked,” he said cheerfully. “See how cool it is when you join in on a conversation? Anyways, what would you rather see? More of is stupid sand? Or another person, who can help you survive?” He paused, waiting to get an answer from Angela. When it did not come he cried, “Come on, you should know that!? People of course, because sand is everywhere. I don’t need to see that. Instead these people could help we a whole bunch of stuff…”

That was how most of the journey went. Patrick chattered cheerfully through the walkie-talkie, Angela only half listened. She kept her head and kept walking, staring at the tiny numbers on the scout plane, hoping that they would change. Trudging through deep sand made the journey seem a lot longer that the single mile that Patrick had said it was. She kept checking the clock, as well. Conversely, she wished this one would go slower, because now the numbers were escalating rapidly. At 5:41, she looked up from the plane. It had been almost twenty minutes since they had begun walking, halfway through their prescribed window of time to reach their destination.

“The breeze is gone,” said Angela simply, cutting across Patrick’s speech about crocodiles. (Or something like that)

“What?” he said, sounding a little irritated.

“The breeze is gone,” she repeated. “When we left, it was a little windy.”

“Right,” he said. The two were quiet for a second. “Have the coordinates changed,” he asked.

Angela looked back down to the plane’s screen. Miraculously, they were on track. The location coordinate changed from: 43.22N to 43.21N. Angela grinned and passed this news on to Patrick happily.

He replied with an outburst of excitement, and began to continue on walking forward. Unfortunately he did not see a little round brown rock sticking out of the black sand. He tripped and fell face first into the black sand. The yellow oxygen mask and large goggles were still fixed on top of his head as he sat up, looking dazed.

“Are you okay?” asked Angela smirking.

Patrick groaned, annoyed, but nodded. He stared at the brown rock. It was perfectly round, and hollow in the center, like a bowl. Patrick grabbed it and began to pull it up, but it was firmly wrenched in the ground. Suddenly it shook and began to rise up, out of the ground. Patrick stood up, and stepped back.

“What the hell?” he said, as he stared at the round thing incredulously. The round rock was attached to a large spherical rock like thing. Four stubby columns stuck out of the bottom like legs. A large head protruded out for the side of the spherical body, with two huge round nostrils. It had two round eyes, shut tightly, on the top of its head that looked like coins. At stubby little tail stuck out of it’s behind.

The statue was light brown mostly, but the eyes an nostril were a coppery color. There many splotches of different shade brown on its back, sides and stomach.

“That’s a funny looking statue,” muttered Patrick. “I wonder why it did tha-” Suddenly, it yawned, widely, exposing a gigantic pink mouth and two huge white teeth. Its copper eyes fluttered open. It blinked.

“It’s alive!” said Patrick. Angela scoffed. She could see that it was alive.

“I say we just ignore it, and keep going. If we stay here too long we might not get there,” she said to Patrick firmly.

Patrick nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re ri- ooff!” A massive pink round shape cam hurtling out of nowhere and launched Patrick twenty feet backwards. His dirty brown back pack flew off and two tiny round shapes, one red, and another black fell onto the grayish sand. Patrick landed with a thud behind both of them. His groaning came through clearly in Angela’s radio, telling her that he was alive, as she looked around feverishly at the pink wheel of death.

Angela looked up and saw the huge pink wheel flying towards her. Without thinking, she quickly sidestepped away from the path of it. The wheel like thing flew past her and collided with a short sand dune behind her, sending large plumes of black sand in the air. Angela’s large gas mask blocked any of the debris from her mouth. The sand cleared and in their wake stood a funny looking animal, not the one that really looked like one that had just trampled someone.

It was a pink, fat creature, with two short legs, tipped with black feet. Its stomach was white and its back covered with large black spots. It looked as though it was wearing a black Goofy hat, with two long floppy black ears attached to the top of its black forehead. There were two tiny white horns perched on its head too, and a long white tail that ended in a round black ball. All of those put together became this, relatively, unthreatening looking, short, pink cow. Except its eyes, which were a horrible shade of evil crimson, glaring at Angela with extreme loathing.

“Oh, sh*t,” murmured Angela to herself. The cow roared, like a tiny pink lion and began to wobble forward on its stubby legs, quickly jumping into a roll. Angela sidestepped quickly, sending the cow crashing into the sand, and began to run through the sand, something that was extremely difficult in a heavy ski jacket. In front of her Patrick was standing, holding the red and white ball in his hand, scanning the ground for the black one he had created.

“We should get out of here,” she yelled through the radio.

“I have to find the ball though, it might he-, “ With a sickening thud the cow came crashing through his, sending him tumbling over the cow, and onto his back. The red ball flew out of his hand and landed on top of the yellow-brown hippo. The ball exploded, letting out a pulse of bright light, which, when it had left, revealed Fred, standing next to the other little animal, perfectly well. He growled, in a low voice, and looked at Angela, scowling at her, until the little animal next to him opened up its huge mouth, and clamped onto Fred. The little weasel squealed in pain. Angela made a motion to go an help him, when she heard a deafening roar, from behind her.

The mad cow stood inches from her, its eyes blazing red, and angry. Its arms were raised as far as it could, red and ablaze. Thrusting them forward, Angela hopped backwards, out of the short arm’s reach. Infuriated the cow stepped forward. In one quick motion, it lowered its head and thrusted the two stubby horns on its head forward. Angela sidestepped this blow, as well, but not before a horn and grazed her jacket’s forearm.

Angela glanced at it for a few precious seconds to check if there was any serious. This cost her, as she felt a sharp pain in her leg. Suddenly the entire appendage had gone numb and she fell backwards, onto the ground. She glanced down to see the mad cow’s tail flailing around, like a wrecking ball. It had turned silver as if it were made of iron. The cow looked as if it were about to deliver another powerful head butt. It dipped its head, but before it could hit, its red eyes lit up in pain and it let out a shriek.

A red liquid began to drip out of the animals shoulder, and it collapsed to its side. Behind it stood Patrick, with a black handgun in his outstretched arm. “I have no ammo left,” he said, sounding exasperated. He paused for a second., and then tossed the black ball at the cow. The cow turned into red light and that red light was sucked up by the ball, which promptly fell to the ground.

“You didn’t need to do that, I was fine,” said Angela angrily.

“What the ball? I wanted to do that, to see if it wo-“

“No, you didn’t have shoot it!” she said, though this was not true. She would have been a goner if Patrick had not stepped in.

“I’m gonna go help Fred,” he said, not saying anything about her last statement. He rushed off to free his weasel.

She slowly got to her feet, as the feeling was slowly returning to her leg, and she hurried towards Fred. The poor animal was still clamped in the little hippo’s mouth. Patrick reached Fred first, and began to try and to wrench open its mouth, and Angela quickly began to help.

“Ouch,” Patrick muttered, as he tried to open. “Really strong for a stupid cow. It hits like a tank.” He became lost in thought, possibly thinking how the cow had become so strong. He even stopped tugging on the top of the animal’s mouth.

“Pull!” shouted Angela angrily. Fred obviously heard this, as quickly looked up to see Angela. The flames on its back began to burn white-hot. The little hippo screeched in pain as Fred burnt the inside of its mouth, and quickly spit Fred.

Fred landed on the ground with a thud and growled furiously. He shook the spit off his back, and shot himself forward. The flames on top of his head collided with the hippos round nose. A shiny black burn appeared at the place of impact. Fred bounced back onto its feet, as the hippo was whimpering, and delivered a swift kick to the burn, adding insult to injury. The animal whimpered loudly once more, but this time retaliated. He opened his mouth and spat out a plume of sand. Fred did the same, spitting out a stream of flames. The sand was incinerated, and the flames raced towards the hippo. It was covered in flames quickly. The flames hung onto the burning hippo, and slowly disappeared as smoke.

Fred leapt forward and sank his teeth into the animals nose, still growling. “You can stop now!” yelled Patrick. However Fred ignored him and began to hit the animals, closed eyes, with his paws. Patrick sighed and tossed the ball at the small animal. The animal disappeared just like the cow had. It turned red, and was sucked up by the ball.

Fred barked loudly. “Good job, now he’s gonna roast you,” said Angela, with a grin. Patrick rolled his eyes as the small ball shook.

53,773 characters. For a Hipopoatas and a Miltank. Fred’s a Quilava if you didn’t guess, and those red Austrailian Octopi are Octilery. And yes, the physics are off. I don’t care if has no real chance of happening. The last battle is a bit short. Orignally I had it longer, but that way it felt as though I was dragging it on too much. I had Miltank not be captured, and Fred killed it. If you want to give me a better title that’s appreciated too. D: So yeah, grade please.

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Last edited by Leman; 08-26-2009 at 10:39 PM.
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Old 09-10-2009, 07:50 AM
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Default Re: Future (for lack of a batter title)

Story/Plot: Right, I'm gonna start by saying that your long story did sucked me in, which is good. Although this was a plot used commonly by writers (end of world, etc.), I thought that this was very well-thought out and really excited me as the story went on.

However, parts that I disliked about your story was how you introduced zombies to me abruptly. Throughout the start, there was no mention of zombies anywhere but all of a sudden, Patrick revealed that the crowbar can be used to defend off zombies, since his guns won't work on them. From the way you talked about aliens right after that, it made me think that you might have been making Patrick exaggerate/joke about it instead, but when you bracketed that Patrick's guns won't work on the zombies, it became a fact that Patrick knew or even met before zombies on the planet. And if it is that way, it was too sudden, as you should have explained/exposed something about zombies on the planet earlier.

I'm also rather curious about that black ball. From the way Patrick described it, it seemed as if it was a device used to trap the opponent out of desperate measures. But later in the story, it was used to trap Miltank instead, which resembled a Pokeball instead. Sure, it could be that Miltank was captured, but died in the black ball as a result of the bullet wound. Though, I'd have preferred it much more if the black ball was given more details, since I thought all the equipments designed were quite interesting.

In many parts of your story, I also noticed you made use of dialogues to explain the background of the story. That is a good way to cut boredom, since someone is explaining it, rather than narrating it. However, if you're flashing out all the details at once in a huge paragraph, it does get a little confusing and gets a bit hard to read at times. For example...

He continued. “It is. So we can say that you don’t know what happened in October of that year, right?” ... ... ... Only one at a time though since we only had one mask, and only at night, since it was too hot in during the day.”
Just one huge chunk of background information. I think that it'd be much easier to absorb and to read, if you're breaking it into paragraphs with Angela cutting in at times. Angela's character is more of an introvert and gets bored easily, so you can make it that Angela is perhaps looking somewhere else, instead of facing Patrick, or even meddling with objects and not paying attention. Then, Patrick pauses and try to get back her attention, before continuing his story. Of course, if you're simply giving me a huge chunk of paragraph for one time, I wouldn't mind. But if it appears many time, the reader will tend to get bored instead and wouldn't be able to get absorbed into the story completely.

Onto character development, I really liked how you develop your characters very well. It was clear that Angela gets bored easily and doesn't talk much, including getting irritated easily... while Patrick was very talkative (probably from loneliness) and can get so lost in what he's doing, that he is oblivious to the emotions of the people around him. But from the way you wrote it, I knew that not from a simple paragraph of story-telling, but from your dialogues/actions/figurative speeches, so good job.

Grammar/Spelling: To be honest, this wasn't really good, but I didn't care much. Seriously, it was all typos and I'm guessing you didn't proofread through, not even when you've just finished writing a sentence. I also think that you're not making good enough usage of commas.

There were only two times during the day where one could think about venturing out from underground. Right before night fell and right before daybreak.
The sentence that's in bold is what we call a fragmented sentence. It happens when whatever you're writing is not a complete sentence and it becomes awkward when there are too many of these too, which happened in your story. What you can do is, perhaps adding a semi-colon between 'underground' and 'right'.

Before it looked more like dark brown than black.
Another example of a fragmented sentence that should be avoided. However, unlike the previous one, this can be easily solved by making use of a comma, right after 'Before'.

There are still quite a few more of these, which you find by simply c/p-ing them into MS Words. Other mistakes would be typos, like 'skrew', or even 'Hipopoatas'. It should be 'Hippopotas'...

One last thing, Patrick advised her to put on a jacket that he had. (He kept referring to it has ‘hers’, Angela was a little hesitant to call it that.).

That was found in your story. I'm quite sure there's a typo in there somewhere and unlike most of your sentence, I found it hard to understand this. D:

So please, either you proofread through your entire story next time, or just simply read through when you're done with a sentence, it'll really save you many mistakes. I'm not really critical on this section in particular, since your typos didn't really change the concept of your original plot or make me confused throughout.

Length: Yeah sure.

Details/Description: Good, I can visualize your story throughout as I read, which is what you should be achieving. However, I noticed about the way you describe characters. Simply, you pour out all your descriptions and slap them onto my face. In simple statement, you're not describing things/characters in a figurative statement.

However on the table, there sat a pale skinned boy, who looked to be almost sixteen. He was wearing a dirty t-shirt that might have been green before, and a very old pair of jeans. He had dirty blonde hair that looked like it had never seen comb. It was rather long, covering the boy’s ears forehead. He had sharp, bright blue eyes, and a short, stubble of a beard. Right now, he was shoveling some brown liquid into his mouth with a plastic spoon.
That is a perfect example of what I meant. In the beginning, the description seemed to be good. However, if you were to broaden it out, what exactly can you tell from the boy that he is almost sixteen? Is it his pale skin? Definitely not, I would say. But since you linked up the pale skin and the age, it seemed as if you're telling me that he is sixteen because of his pale skin. Need more caution here, please.

But if you were to read through that paragraph without stopping for any thoughts, doesn't it seem as if you're simply telling me what you see? In other words, boring details. I can simply tell you that, I see a brown deer, black round eyes, sharp antlers and dirty hoofs, but what fun would that be? When you're describing, remember to describe not for just the sake of it and pouring out details like a computer. Remember to always try and describe things as the story moves on, or what others call 'figures of speeches'.

She stood up. She was taller than she remembered, a good three inches taller, at least. She felt the top her head. Her hair was greasy. Angela frowned. She hated feeling dirty, and now she felt like she hadn’t bathed in weeks. He hands followed he hair until it tapered off in the middle of her back. It was longer than before. She had her hair cut about a week ago, (Or at least, a week before the last thing she could remember) and then it had ended just above her shoulders. It was darker too. Before it looked more like dark brown than black.
This was actually better than Patrick's description. You described Angela as she felt her hair and thought about how she haven't bathed in a long time, while still describing how her hair felt like, instead of simply saying 'Angela's hair was greasy and dirty. She felt irritated immediately when she touched her hair, as she hated feeling dirty'. So, try to adapt more to these kinds of 'figures of speeches', as it will really spices up your story.

Lastly, I thought I should mention that I really loved how you described the insides of a Pokeball. Obviously, the characters had no idea what ball it was/what it was meant to be, but it was a bit of a comic relief when Patrick got sucked into the ball instead.

Battle: Right... rather short. It wouldn't really have mattered since you have a really innovative and interesting plot, but the way they appeared seemed kinda random to me. They were walking when Patrick tripped onto the Hippopotas, while a hostile Miltank appeared out of where. Imo, it'd have flowed much better if the Hippopotas encounter wasn't so early. Perhaps, you could have made them arrived at a rundown factory or w/e you can think of that survives in such an environment (but without any other human within the building), and Hippopotas appears somehow (you've to think yourself :x).

I don't know... I just don't like how Patrick tripped of it somehow, since it resembles the 'boy goes looking for Weedle in forest' plot, where Pokemon appears out of nowhere as well. But still, your characters were portrayed really well, as they really seemed as if they didn't know anything about Quilava, and Patrick using his shotgun on the Miltank does show how the characters were desperate at that point of time.

A longer battle would have been much preferred, since it is interesting to see characters whom don't know how to order attacks with Pokemon, to actually control a Pokemon. There are thousands of possibilities that can happen, which makes the plot varies even more, which will make your story more fascinating.

Outcome: Well... I really liked this plot and there were adequate descriptions. Even though you had many typos and your description can still be improved further, I believed I'm inclined to say Miltank and Hippopotas captured!

Make sure to proofread your story or be more careful next time, because your typos are just too many. But since it didn't affect your plot much and your plot was really well-thought out, it just didn't feel right to decline you of the captures. :)
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Old 09-11-2009, 04:31 AM
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Default Re: Future (for lack of a batter title)

Thanks a lot Ataro. I'm glad you got the character development in the story, since thats really what I was trying to do. Sorry about the typos. I posted it, and meant to proofread it, but I forgot. I'll work on the stuff you've talked about. Thanks. I might write a sequal here later, so yeah.

eDIT: The Zombie thing was a joke/exaggeration w/e. There are no zombies, and Patrick really has no idea what would happen if he met a zombie. He just assumes that he'd have to bash their heads in.

Done: 8680

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Last edited by Leman; 09-12-2009 at 06:02 PM.
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