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May 4th, 2003, 01:16 AM
Hello, none of you probably know me, but along time ago, when I was awesome, I used to post here a bit. You might know me as the benevolent creator of the almighty Grammar Query Thread, conviently stuck at the top of this forum.

So I've decided to post a bit again. I also have a question:

Can authors request that work they submitted a long time ago be taken down since, in their opinion, it "sucks"? Because if so, I'd like to do that.:)

Anyway, nice to see you writing nerd people again. Everyone still looks healthy and nice. I'm happy about that. To end this post, here is a short thing that I wrote the other day when I was supposed to be doing my math homework:


The soft, synthetic voice of the switchboard computer, located four hundred seventy-five stories above the ground in Row F, Station 46B, took off at the speed of light, through 23.7 million miles of high resolution communications cable and out into space, where it slammed into the waiting parabolic grasp of a SpaceTech satellite. The satellite beamed the voice to the opposite side of the planet, where it then arrived at Jax Harker’s hand held computer, answering his inquiry by saying, “The time is, four thirty two PM, standard time.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled insincerely, before plunging into the swarming crowd of travelers. The hover rail stations were always busy on the eve of Holiday. Were it not for his inordinately muscular build, Harker would have otherwise blended in perfectly with his casual attire and overstuffed handbag. Most people crammed too many things into their hand bags, such as makeup, video games, car theft tools, and the like. In his bag, Jax Harker carried a combat knife, a semi-automat laser pistol, and some explosive sticky tape. The screeners would never know it though. Their machines possessed an inability to scan through a carry-on laced with a platinum/lead alloy.

A hundred thousand soft clicking sounds jumbled through the air at Avierna Station. It was the way people’s shoes sounded on the reflective marble surfaces. Sunlight streamed down gloriously through hand crafted crystal skylights, splashing against the marble floors and warming the halls with a rich glow. Square columns over a thousand years old leaned dutifully against the angled walls, providing just the right amount of support for the marvelous structure. Haker moved purposefully through the station, taking no notice of the truly magnificent quality of the premises.

He turned left at the central junction and approached the service desk.

“My name is Jenkins. I’m here on a personal visit,” he lied smoothly to the attendant, a pretty young lady only barely paying attention to him.

“Yes, sir, here is your pass key to the residential compartments. All visitors are required to have proper identification and listed members of…” He could hear her speaking monotonously in the increasing distance, unaware that he had departed with the passkey and was headed for the elevator station.

The noise sucked itself into nothingness as the elevator door closed, replaced by the silent rumble of the elevator. The walls and floor of the compartment were carpeted with a smooth, corporate decorative cover, none of which Harker took notice of as he continued to near his destination. His blue eyes were stationed straight ahead, dull except for the knowledge of his mission. No emotion played across his face, and no emotion lay hidden in his mind. He was neither at peace nor in conflict. He was simply performing his function. He opened his small bag, strapped the knife to his forearm and tucked the pistol and explosive tape in his jacket. The bag fell to the floor, landing quietly, perhaps glad to be relieved its contents. The lift came to a stop, followed by the hiss of the doors retracting. Jax Harker stepped into the hallway.

The corridor was impeccably clean. Curvaceous lights snaked along the walls, giving off a warm, light blue glow, which augmented the likewise colored environment. An occasional botanical specimen or artwork dotted the path through the hallway. Harker trained his eyes left first, then right, then turned right and walked softly down the hall, his feet making the most imperceptible shuffling sound on the soft carpet.

A left turn and a short walk brought him to an unassuming white door, obviously powered down for security. He inserted his passkey and the door’s LED lights came on.

“Please enter your personal security code. If you are a visitor, please enter your…”

The electronic voice was silenced as Harker slammed his fist into the door, causing it to depress inwards at a ridiculous angle. Shouts of alarm could be heard from the other side. He kicked it for good measure, then forced his way through the battered steel into the entryway of a small apartment, casually withdrawing his pistol, expression never changing.

Some one craned their neck around the corner at the end of the entryway, only to quickly dive back the other direction as the corridor lit up with quick bursts from Harker’s gun. The figure poked around again, this time wielding a weapon, but received a blue bolt right between his eyes before he could even aim.
Harker turned the corner at the end of the entryway and moved into the living room. There were two people in the rear of the small room, a terrified woman holding a blanket and a seedy looking man struggling to get his pants back on. Without saying a word, Harker shot them both through the head and left just as calmly as he had arrived.

It was a fine afternoon in the world of hi-tech organized crime.:)

May 4th, 2003, 11:19 PM
Only had a quick glance, but it sounds good. Also, I like your style. Lots of detail in very few words. Keeps it moving along at a good pace.

I, Brian
May 5th, 2003, 05:38 AM
The first paragraph of the story has a terrible over-run. - one sentence of 91 words and 10 commas. Couldn't read anymore.

May 5th, 2003, 02:48 PM
Originally posted by I, Brian
The first paragraph of the story has a terrible over-run. - one sentence of 91 words and 10 commas. Couldn't read anymore.

heh. Ever read "Snowcrash"?:)

So I fixed the run on, although I still think it had a charm of it's own.

I think refusing to read a piece of writing because of the first sentence is like refusing to talk to some one because their hair isn't combed. Granted, a publisher would do the same thing as you, but I'm not trying to get this 1 page story published.;)

I, Brian
May 5th, 2003, 03:44 PM
I think refusing to read a piece of writing because of the first sentence is like refusing to talk to some one because their hair isn't combed.

I rush around surfing on the net, so rarely read anything of protracted length. It's just a habit. The sentence run on simply removed incentive to read on. Wasn't intended to sound insulting. But really, crafting the first sentence is one of the most important aspects of any writing. If someone doesn;t stop to get that right, they're not enticing as well as they could be.

May 5th, 2003, 10:27 PM

I enjoyed this. Your pacing was excellent, the writing was colorful without being overly wordy, the character was interesting. And I liked the opening paragraph. It set the stage with very few words. There were a few odd sentences here and there, but nothing serious. Thumbs up.

May 6th, 2003, 02:14 AM
Were we meant to give citique? Forrest didn't say anything so I figured he was just posting it for our enjoyment.


May 6th, 2003, 03:44 AM
Originally posted by John
Were we meant to give citique? Forrest didn't say anything so I figured he was just posting it for our enjoyment.


bingo. It was just a blurb I wrote randomly; nothing big, nothing needing of a critique. Still, I appreciate the comments.:)

I, Brian
May 6th, 2003, 05:13 AM
If you post something up in a public forum you are inviting public comment. I didn't make a critique - I gave what should have been a useful piece of feedback.

May 6th, 2003, 10:38 AM
Pats Forrest's head as he nods slowly, gregarious smile pasted upon face.