MoKa91's Xanga

mwahahaha for teasers

Tue, 12 Dec 2006 03:43:03 GMT

During the duration of one's life, one must undergo an experience that will change them forever. This can be as small as an action seen on the street, something one has read, or a meaningless comment said by someone else. On the other hand, this can be as big as a trip such as a church retreat, family vacation, mission trip, or adventure somewhere. I cannot say that I have undergone any of these, but I do remember a prominent person that has helped to shape me to who I am.

She was an interesting woman with eyes spread apart and wide. Her height was above normal and her body was unusually thin. The lack of a chest always caused me to stare in that general area, almost like if I willed hard enough something will appear and she'd look proportional. Bony elbows and lack of any hips added to this. She wasn't given much of a figure, but it suited her nonetheless. What she lacked in body fat, she made up for in mystery and spirit.

Her spirit was as mysterious as her aura, always reliant on one's imagination, but the imagination wouldn't come close to how her true spirit was shaped. Through the test of time, only she would be the one to know how her spirit was shaped. Even then, I doubt she came up with a definite form. Always quiet, always to herself, and always off on some world she was. I wanted to know her more, but I wasn't sure how to accept her in my mind. Maybe she wasn't sure how to accept herself. She certainly was unique in her own ways, and I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

She also had a special ability. I never understood what it was, but there was something about her. My finger searches to press it so I can understand what it was, but it never found it. Not even after she left us, walked away one evening and never returned except in our memories. I want her to return, so I can see her again; that will never happen. At least, that's what everyone said once she was gone. It was natural for them to think as such. There's something in me, however, that states otherwise. Can she really return from where she's gone. Science says she can't, but I believe she still lives on. She still breaths the same air as I do, and that's comfort enough to keep living.

Been a while . . . .

Thu, 26 Oct 2006 23:14:07 GMT

The ship was attacked, but it was still able to fly. In the aftermath of the battle, a few survivors search for the core of the ship. Deep they descend to the depths of the ship until they come across her, the core. An android with human capabilities and emotions, she watched over the crew with a fondness and motherlike sense.

When the survivors walked into her room, they stopped short. The core lay in her chair, eyes closed. Attached to her limbs were cords and wires that connected the ships systems to her. She had been connected during the battle, which did not bode well for the crew or her.

A teenaged girl ran forward, concerned about the core. Living in the ship the majority of her life, the core had become a mother figure to her. The core even allowed the girl to address her as a daughter would address a mother.

"Mother!" she yelled as she approached the core. "Oh god!" She lightly touched the core's face with her hand. Her eyes opened and they focused on the girl.

"Oh," came a raspy whisper. "It's you."

The girl's words were caught in her throat before she swallowed them. Tears formed in her eyes, but she wiped them away.

"I'll disconnect you," she muttered. She ran to the computer console at the base of the chair. Turning on the system, she was about to start the disconnection when an error appeared on the screen.

"You can't," the core said. "Because the ship was destroyed in places, I am unable to disconnect. Even if the error is overridden, I would be unable to move. Too much has been torn away. . . . It hurts so much."

"Mother. . . ."

The other survivors stepped forward; their leader only an ensign. Other survivors included a mechanic, a kitchen worker, and some other passengers. One was a doctor, another a physician. The ship was one of the transport ships to a colony in an unexplored galaxy. They would have to send a message saying that they won't be able to make it to the colony in time. In reality, they may never make it.

"What can we do?" the ensign asked. "There's no where to go, nothing we can do to help you."

The core looked to the ensign. "You cannot help me, but I can still help you. Some of the bridge systems are still working. We still have our back-up weapons systems I can restore. There are the navigation systems, the communications systems, radar, sonar. If anything, we cannot move. But we are still drifting from inertia. Our food supplies are still good, but for how long? You have always been resourceful; use what you have."

The ensign looked at his feet, almost ashamed he can't help the core. She's helped them so much, he felt it was their turn to help her. But the tables were turned. She's still helping them out. When will they be able to return her help?

The answer would have to wait. For now, their concern would be their adventure drifting through the dimensions of space.

Saturday, August 19, 2006

Sat, 19 Aug 2006 04:12:32 GMT

just got tired of white . . .

Katrina/Valkner 1

Fri, 18 Aug 2006 03:58:14 GMT

I still remember the first time I saw him. He was stoic with his brow furrowed in a constant glare. That was on Earth, when I was cheuffered around town all the time. It was in the middle of the school day, and I had just gotten back from a lunch date with my father. He was a main man in the government and one of the highest payers for my education in the private school I attended. Therefore, I had special privledges like these lunch dates.

That day, when my car pulled to a stop in front of St. Margaret Mary's Private School, and I stepped out of the vehicle, I noticed him. He was leaning against the brick wall of the building, arms folded and his shoulders hunched. It was obvious he was unfriendly, but he was still intriguing, like a person who sees a spider and wants to get a closer look even though they know that it is poisonous. His clothes were not the dress pants and sweater vest of the boys' uniform, but a black tee shirt with a foreign writing on the front and a pair of baggy shorts that were not fashionably ripped. His hair was thick and brown and covered the top half of his face when he leaned his head forward, which he was doing. Despite the unfriendly and mysterious demeanor, I still started to start a conversation when I walked past; mostly to kill time until the next period.

"What are you doing out of school?" I hoped my voice was polite enough. He seemed like he would anger very easily. "Decided to skip?"

I waited a moment for him to respond, but h didn't budge. Like talking to a rock, I though to myself.

"Hello? Did you even hear me?"

But still Rock-boy didn't even twitch. Without warning, the bell signalling the next class rang and I felt myself jump into the air. My eyes glared at the school building before turning to Rock-boy again. He had moved out of his slouched position and stood up straight with his face still hidden. That's when I heard the motorcycle over the droan of the students inside the building. I watched as he approached the road and waited for the motorbike to pull up beside him. The driver gave me a wave as Rock-boy boarded before zipping off into the noontime air like a gust of wind.

I saw this same scene several times during that school year. Usually when I returned from lunch dates with my father. Everytime I saw him, I would saw something new to Rock-boy, and even openly named him so.

"That's what I've named you in my mind, I hope you don't mind," I told him one particualarly hot day. I had wanted to return to the cool air conditioning of the school, but I just had to tell him what I thought of him. Maybe then he would liven up.

"Now, whenever I see you, I will calling you Rock-boy," I concluded to him. As usual, he didn't say a thing if he actually heard me. But he did hear the motorcyle, because everytime I heard the distant sound of it, he would straighten up and walk to the side of the road. The driver of the motorbike always waved at me. By this time, I waved back to him or her; I had never seen a good view of the driver.

***please hold any minor editations, like grammar and use of words. I can always go back and rephrase everything, but editations towards the actual story would be much more helpful.

While you wait . . .

Fri, 18 Aug 2006 03:44:41 GMT

I shall be writing blurps of other thingys and doo-hickies until things can get cleared up and The White Lady could be edited by someone who actually wants to do it and finish it within two weeks of recieving. I'm not ratting on this person; I'm just saying that I would like it finished so I can get back into the swing again.

Until then, I entertain with other stuff I write. Like the one in the next entry.... ^__^

Saturday, July 22, 2006

Sat, 22 Jul 2006 19:37:13 GMT

The story is finished and editions are underway! So this is how you will see the story on the site.

The story will start with the first entry seen on the site being the prologue. Five entries per page, as xanga goes by, so that will be five chapters per page. I will post one chapter per entry. There are about fifteen or so "chapters", which are sort of small -- some barely took up a page in the word document. Therefore, it would be about three web pages or so.

If you see the story as I have it, you won't see the chapters. They're separated by a space.

The story will start with the first entry seen and will continue until the end. I hope you enjoy! ^___^

Any questions, please comment. My mind is running a blank, so I don't know if I missed anything or not.