Incorrect | A Short Story (Contains Mature Themes)

    It wasn't whimsical nor was it fallacious. The hour was indeed somewhere between falling asleep and waking to a dull day where one almost man laid with his head plumped on the hard-cushioned corner of the discolored couch facing a chattering box legs spreading to his farthest reach and perhaps even beyond coming so close to making contact with the slightly older almost man who sat on the end mumbling about the angers of the gaming life. 

Neither knew why they stayed up to the untimely hour on the weekends they spent their very different lives together and this was so because they never questioned it. It was natural. Without disturbance and quaint. Peaceful. Their conversations opposed the apparent atmosphere of the situation more often dwindling into arguments over if abortion should be legal and other social humdrum. This ordinary night would be no different, you were warned. And it is in fact ordinary.

The television transitioned from a story neither cared much for to one that concerned one of them. “I hate them, I could tear apart every last freakin’ one of them,” Antonio said. 

“Huh?” He said without a glance away from his handheld. 

“TV,” he responded pointing knowing the glow shined only brightly enough to reveal their cloaked faces. 

Shutting his handheld whilst scratching his head he scotched his eyes and subsequently rose to read the headline as images of photos of a melancholy woman fluttered by and mouthed, “WOMAN (NAME NONDISCLOSED) ACCUSES HUSBAND OF RAPE THE WEEK OF 4/2.” His response was an expedited breath in which he rolled his eyes then continued to play his game. 

“Seriously, I want to kill them, and I know it’s wrong, but they fuck up our society and ruin everything for everyone,” Antonio grunted furiously. The sound of footsteps could be heard distantly from the back of the house. “All of them should be arrested, right Kyle?” 

“Yep.” The sound of smashing echoed in Antonio’s mind. 

“It just pissed me off is all and it makes me so angry… I’d kill them. I would.”

“I bet you would,” Kyle responded. 

“If I ever encountered one I’d need someone to hold me back. I’d end them. I’m of the opinion that if you commit that crime you lose the right to life, as a concept.” He said calmly with his hands flailing about like a balloon man then hitting himself. Antonio placed his damaged hand to the forefront of his eyes and stared at it as much as possible with droopy eyes. 

Kyle settled his shoulders into a comfortable position and breathed until facing what he thought of as his friend. “Would you end me?”

“Yes,” he said swiftly, “if you were convicted and escaped the law, I suppose I’d have no choice.” A swallowing guttural pain emerged having realized what he said, and he anticipated how Kyle would respond. He was even sweating and turned his head to avoid eye contact and perched his left arm on his chin feeling his growing hairs.

“What if I was falsely accused, huh? And they were going to send me away and I had to escape, and I decided to rely on my friend and he then turns around and stabs me in the back, literally! Would you then?”

Antonio’s composed face slowly rotated, and his eyes rose to great heights. “Which scenario?”

“What?” Kyle hissed.

“You said a scenario where I did kill you then asked what I would do. But you initially started in the scenario where you were falsely accused which presumably, I wouldn’t kill you which makes two different scenarios and I don’t know which one you’re asking about.” The guttural feeling squeezed and reached to his groin. 

“Would you kill me if I was falsely accused?” He said trying oh so very hard to stay calm. 

“That’s a ridiculous question. In this scenario do I know that you were falsely accused? If I didn’t, I would have no reason to suspect otherwise and if I did of course I wouldn’t because… wait for it… you wouldn’t be a rapist.” He blew a laugh of condescension and twiddled his figures in his hair scratching the back of his neck. 

Kyle’s eyelids were half closed and waxing. “Fine. What if all the evidence was pointing to me and I was convicted, and I could talk to you and I telled you---

“You telled me?”

“I told you that they were wrong and that you had to believe me in that scenario would you kill me?”

“If you were on the run and I was convinced? Yes. Unless someone was there to stop me.”

Kyle’s frustrations remained in his tone. “What would convince you? How would you even know that I did?”

Antonio felt less defensive and dropped his psychological mechanism. “Why are you concerned about being accused of rape?” His tone became mocking. “Kyle, did someone say no to you?” 

His body became rigid and stern and he forced attention on himself. “No Tony. I did not rape anyone. Why would you say something like that? I just know that there are some women who accuse men for whatever fucked up reason.”

Antonio abruptly arrived at a sitting stance and planted his sock covered feet onto the hardwood. “And what reasons are those?” He said concealing his anger.

“You know like what everyone wants. Money, glory, power. The whole lot. Just on the chance that I’m one of the victims of a vindictive woman or even man I don’t want to be killed because you don’t believe me. Is that all right with you?”

Tony’s eyelids were fully waxed, and he inhaled every atom of oxygen in the room. Contemplation over how he could convince Kyle that he was right over the subject that had yet to be fully addressed perplexed him. Coordinately he slipped a beat of antagonism out of his puffy lips. “Out of all the men to be accused of rape why do you an innocent man think you’ll be selected? Why such a worry for something most likely to never happen? I’m under the impression that if you don’t rape you won’t be accused of rape.”

Kyle swirled his head opening his mouth to a gape and then shut. “If you’re under that impression are you saying all men accused are in fact guilty? That’s what it appears to me you’re saying.”

“No—”

“Then what are you saying? Please, inform us.”

“I’m staying out of this,” the youngest of the three men spoke as he walked out of one of the two doorless exits. They waited until the room door shut to continue. 

“Kyle, it’s obvious.”

“Then I must be so stupid to be missing it.”

“That wasn’t the end of my sentence. It’s obvious to me that our gender feels like we have some righteous power over women. Not all of us, obviously. We as a society have decided that rape is wrong and punishable. You believe rape is wrong, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And we’d all say that, because it’s the right thing to say. But it’s my experience that when it happens, we just love to brush it under the rug and say that the woman is lying. And you know why? Because it’s easier. Liars are everywhere and we accept that. Most of us are liars ourselves. So when a woman or even man comes along claiming that they were raped we can call them a liar and then we don’t have to deal with it. ‘Oh she’s just lying because he’s rich.’ ‘It’s all about glory for them.’ ‘She doesn’t want to admit she lost her virginity willingly.’ It’s heard all the fucking time. And now in the modern-day women are finally willing to bring it up at a major cost. It’s a sacrifice they make and then people like you invalidate everything they’re fighting for. You say, ‘It’s all SJW bullcrap. The feminazis strike again.’ If they bring it up it could prevent the next rape. And you the general… you are allowing it to continue.”

Kyle felt hurt. His feelings told him he was being accused of the very act. He really felt like rape was wrong and now he was being lectured about something he already knows. “We’re done talking about this.”

“Like always. Right when I make my point you shut me down like none of it mattered. What about her?” He struck his finger at the TV. “Do you think she seeks ‘glory’? What fucking glory is there to admit you were forced into sex? What fucking glory is it to say a man hurt you and made you possibly orgasm against your will? Huh? To bruise you and violate you on the deepest level?  Do you have any idea, at all? Or did your father tell you women like being raped? Do you have any conceivable notice of how it feels to then after all of that to tell someone? To tell someone what a man did to you and then AND then them tell it’s a lie? That you made it up?” Antonio was now standing and hadn’t the slightest idea how long his legs were cramping. His words wet and his eyes wetter he gulped. He fell silent for a little while and fell to the couch breathing heavily. 

The news moved on. Both went to ignoring the words spoken. When they unclogged their fuzzy heads the sounds of crying became louder. Soon the familiar voice of one who they share an unequal relationship arrived. “You gotta be kidding me. I told you to be quiet you woke the girls up, Kyle. Not to mention me.”

“But I—but I…”

“It was me,” Antonio stood addressing his step-mother he saw two to three times a month. “Sorry, I got angry and was screaming at Kyle. I completely forgot what time it was. I should go to bed earlier. I can help get them back to sleep. I’ll get them some water. Again, so sorry. I’ll be better.”

She had an expression that Antonio knew very well, and it said, “Oh, now I feel bad because I thought it was Kyle and it was you. And I like you and feel like I don’t have the authority to be mad at you because you’re not my son. But regardless I am still mad but I don’t want you to know I am.” In the closest thing to reality she said, “Oh, thanks. You gotta keep it down though.”

“OK,” he responded heading to the kitchen. 

An hour later the girls and the step mom had managed to fall back to sleep and Antonio returned to the room to find the TV off and Kyle gone. In bed, he thought. The decision was to sleep on the couch instead of the room where his sibling and step-sibling were to avoid waking them, and so they wouldn’t hear him cry. 

Virtually, Emily | A Short Story

 Time’s arrow has struck. Once I was a child who played with my friends online and loved to listen to podcasts about future worlds and the evolving nature of humanity. Never would I have imagined that I would age to the point where I am now living in the future. Where did all the time go? How did I go from a time where video games became portable to now waiting in an office for a psychological consultation about sending my mind into a virtual world where I can live out for the rest of time? I wish my children cared about me enough to be here for me in this moment. They care so little for me as their mother that they call me by my name: Emily. And the worst part is that I deserve their neglect. I was a horrible mother. And now I am reaching the time of my death and one is here to comfort or hold my hand.

On the bright side, the waiting room is well built and clean. The walls are mahogany brown, and the chairs are well cushioned. I suppose they must be considering the age average age of their clientele. Otherwise, my bottom would be aching. I see many employees pass me by as I wait for my name to be called. The clerk at the front desk is busy typing away at his computer and there are a few patients ahead of me in line. I could be waiting here for a long time.

I look down at the table in between the line of chairs and see a magazine. The front page shows an elderly woman carrying what appears to be her grandchildren. One boy and one girl. The image sends a shiver down my arms. I have not seen my own grandchildren in almost two years. My kids won’t let me see them. Maybe when I enter the virtual world, I will be allowed to visit them in other ways. Perhaps a part of the package deal lets us have virtual time with those in the corporeal world.  I am going to have to ask Dr. Harper about that when they call me in to see him for my consultation.

Wait a minute… if I enter the virtual world, will it really be me? If it is not really me, seeing my children and grandchildren will not be real. I would be dead, and they would be talking to a copy. I am beginning to feel quite anxious about this process. Maybe this isn’t the right decision.

I hear a ding sound. “Patient 112, please step into Dr. Harper’s office. Patient 112, Emily, please step into the office.” I take a gulp as I slowly stand up and then face the door. What is going to happen there? My heartbeat increases and I start to sweat. I tell myself, “Everything will be okay. Just step inside and everything will be okay. You can do this, Emily.”

S​hin Megami Tensei V Gameplay Review (Spoilers)

S​hin Megami Tensei V from Atlas is the latest game in the mainline Megan Ten franchise. Highly anticipated and long awaited the game was released two years ago. Given the time it takes to get the full Shin Megami Tensei experience we here felt that it was needed that a dedicated player grind her teeth into the game and see what makes it tick. 

With the best graphics the franchise has ever seen, dynamic lighting, and open zone exploration SMT V manages to show that Atlas took no short cuts when developing their once flagship series back into the public eye. The game begins with your anime femboy protagonist dressed in his school uniform living in an all too familiar dreadful but hospitable Tokyo. Asking my wise younger brother for what to name the character he chose... Potato Boy. After a little too much introduction to less than interesting characters Potato Boy is thrusted in Da'at; a region in the netherworld that is reminiscent of the series' past post- apocalyptic Tokyo. In fact, that is what Da'at is. We learn later into the story Da'at is the original Tokyo that sunk into the Netherworld 20 years ago. But do not worry! Knowledge of game's past is not needed to understand the story.

S​oon after entering the Netherworld we are introduced to the new movement system. With the ability to run comes the new ability to glide down the sandy slopes of the Netherworld. While fun to engage with the mechanic, it has little functionality other than to look cool.

S​eries' staples make their return in the form of the famous press-turn system that was introduced in SMT 3: Nocturne at the turn of the century along with the iconic demon recruitment system and the introduction of Pixie: the first demon you acquire. The JRPG combat comes into swing with a rocking battle theme that leaves little to be desired as we are reintroduced to how to gain extra turns from the enemy. Slime, another iconic demon of the series, acts as a tutorial enemy. The disgusting green puke demon is weak to every basic form of combative magic making it easy to strike one of its weaknesses. Potato Boy, otherwise known as the Nahobino, has immediate access to Zio moves: SMT's electric magic. Due to having two members in your party you start with having two moves as indicated by the icon on the top right of the screen. When you gain four party members you reach the maximum amount of base terms: four.

By using Zio on Slime and hitting its weakness the press-turn icon will begin to glow. This indicates that you have gained an extra turn. By continuing to take advantage of enemy weaknesses you can up to double the amount of turns you get during battle. However, if you miss an attack by lucking out or having the enemy void your attack through immunity or other means you not only lose the missed turn but also an additional one. The trick of the game is that every one of these rules applies to your enemies as well. But where SMT V decides to innovate on its formula is the magatsuhi gauge.

Briefly, magatsuhi is the life force that feeds all the Netherworld and its occupants. You can gain magatsuhi by finding it on the ground, attacking enemies, and defeating enemies. When you fill the magatsuhi gauge located above your character's health bar you are able to perform special skills. At the start of the game you have access to only one move: magatsuhi critical which gurantees that all of your combative moves will land a critical hit and function as a weakness to the enemy and gain you an extra turn. The new system while giving you an extra edge is not integral to playing and beating the game. Later in the story via side quests and exploration you will be given talismans for different demon types. This allows demons of the correct type to use their special magatsuhi skill. These moves range from useless to game breaking. The Draco talisman for example allows certain demons you recruit to use an Almighty type move that does colossal damage almost guranteeing a screen wipe of any basic enemy encounters and doing a massive chunk of health to bosses. In some cases even 1 hit killing mini-bosses. Despite this, the limitations of the magatsuhi gauge are fair enough that the game is still balanced. The gauge fills so slowly that most battles you will not have access to these moves. Alongside having to have the right demon active in your party and not in your back-stock to use the moves. Much later in the story you gain the option for the Nahobino to use the demons' magatsuhi moves himself, which leads us into our next topic.

T​he Realm of Shadows is an ethereal location now headed by a Goddess named Sophia

where you fuse your demons together into theoretically stronger demons. Here you can do so much more than fusing. You are given the optional ability of using apotheosis which entails two major mechanics. You can customize your demons moves by using the spirits of other demons collected through battle and exploration as well as the Nahabino's own moves. While optional, this is the only way for you to gain new moves on your character and create the perfect build. The second major mechanic is where you can utilize a collectible called Glory to unlock new abilities for your character. Some of these abilities will become essential to conquering the game and some act as nice add-ons that add to the power fantasy of being a God deciding the faith of the world. Combining both of these power-ups allows you to create a Nahobino tailored to your playstyle. Want a bulky and hard hitting build that focuses on stalling out enemies? Perhaps a healing build that focuses on keeping your demons alive? I personally chose a magic and luck build that aimed to do one thing: destroy everything through weakness targeting and the insta-kill skills spells Hama and Mudo.

D​emons fusing itself is more streamlined than ever before. The system is representative of Atlas's decades of developing Megan Ten games and is perfect for newcomers and veterans alike. The basics remain the same. Pick 2 or more demons, select what moves you want to carry over, and fuse them into a new, stronger demon. The difference is that the game does a lot of the thinking for you. Unlike previous SMT games, every demon can learn almost any move with few exceptions. You don't have to consider what move a new demon can and cannot learn. The drawback being that demons have positive & negative affinities against certain types of move that increase the MP cost of them in battle. For example, series mascot Jack Frost has an affinity for Bufu (ice) skills and a negative affinity for Agi (fire) skills. This creates a risk award system where you can fuse demons that have greater coverage at the cost of more MP spent. In addition, the ability to fuse multiple demons is there from the start and what you can fuse from 3+ demon demon-summoning is laid out before your eyes. No more random guessing what three or more demons make what. The process of demon fusion is better than ever before other than the U.I. being visually boring.

The price of convenience is apparently corporate simplicity.

With no fault to the fusion system itself a problem with the game's player-motivation towards performing it develops. In past SMT games the rate at which demons leveled up was much slower than the player character's. In SMT V this is still true, however the rate has seemingly been buffed. Due in part to the Large Demon Statues scattered across the 4 open zones of the Netherworld that auto-level-ups every demon in your party, your party members will be much closer to your level than games past. This is great in some respects. Gaining a new demon's moves is faster than ever through level up. The issue arises when it comes time to fuse your demons away. Due to being much higher level than usual, the demons available to be fused into existence in many cases will be lower than the demons you are fusing away leaving very little options for higher level demons. One may argue, "Hey, the demons being fused may be higher level but their stats will be lower. So you are still getting stronger demons." This is a sound argument. My monkey brain however, sees the bigger level number and cannot easily fuse away a demon that has a lower number. Suffice to say I would do it anyway with reluctance. The dynamic created frustration with the demon fusion system that was not in previous games.

E​asily the best aspect of SMT V are the four open-zone maps that you explore over the 100+ hours of gameplay found. The first is a desert wasteland, the second a blood-red desert with a scenery change to a fairy forest near its end, the third a blackened abyss, and the fourth an ethereal realm where the heads of different world pantheons reside. Having gone into the game blind I was unsure if the game was open-zone or open-world until around 20 hours of my playthrough when I beat the first zone of the game. Each zone is peppered with fully modeled and animated demons that roam the surface, seas, and skies, sidequests, non-hostile NPC demons, loot, and terrain that will literally having you exploring for dozens of hours to find every hidden treasure. The models of the overworld demons are nothing short of stunning and beautiful. Old returning demons looked better than ever and the few new ones made me eager to obtain them. The models are so good that demons I previously found to be boring I picked up on my team and they became the MVP of boss battles. The highlight being the main bosses that await you at half-way points and end points.

Hydra, the first major boss of the game, shows off Atlas' resolve to increase graphical quality of their games to a perfect T. Having recently played SMT 3: Nocturne Remastered the quality came as a shock and a wake up call: graphics matter too. Until recently I had been an advocate that gameplay should be the only standard at which games are judged. SMT V has shown me that is not the case. The great gameplay combined with the fantastic & stylish visuals demonstrates that great graphics do enhance gameplay. And all of this running on a Nintendo Switch!

U​nfortunately, running on the limited Nintendo Switch with great visuals (possibly the best on the system) came at a price. In many areas of the game the frame rates drops noticeably. While I have never been a big frame-rate nit-kpicker, many gamers want a good consistent frame rate when enjoying their favorite games. While not too bad, this does knock the game down a peg.

The boss fights of SMT games is where the series gets its fame. A good boss fight can push an SMT game to elite status and a bad one can make it plunge into the realms of mediocirity. The build up to every major story boss is great and fills you with determination to slay the beasts and demons that roam the land. Ishtar's being one of my favorites in the third zone. However, the difficulty of these bosses ranges dramatically. While some live up to the franchise's infamy like the 2nd optional Zeus boss fight and challenge the player to think in creative ways in order to triumph, half of the bosses were simply too easy only taking 1-3 tries to beat. When I play a JRPG series known for its difficulty I want to have to use my brain to defeat the bosses beyond utilitizing the game's basic functions. Many of the bosses were more so damage sponges for the press-turn system. Even with them gaining extra abilities when their health reaches half the same basic pattern would repeat: find weakness, exploit, heal, guard, exploit and repeat until dead. This was a disappointment that the great animations could not help. When I think of a great SMT boss fight I think of Noah from SMT III: Nocturne or Elizibeth from Persona 4. However, the half of the bosses that did challenge me offered satisfactory to great battles that had me on the edge of my feet. The Nahobino boss fights at the end of the game being a highlight.

T​hroughout this review there has been no mention of the dungeons. This is because SMT: V does not offer much in the way of them. There are a total of three in the game. There is one in-between zone 1 and 2, one at the end of zone 3, and the end of zone 4. The first one being the high school your character goes to in the real world being very reminiscent of SMT: If. The total playtime of these dungeons was less than 10% of my total playthrough. For two out of the three dungeons I genuinely could not tell if they were proceduraly generated or not. The one that was clearly hand crafted did offer an interesting if not annoying set of wind based puzzles that despite the annoyance the game could have used more of with some much-needed touch-ups. The dungeons may have left much to be desired, but it is clear that Atlas spent much of their resources on designing the fantastic overworlds. It remains to be seen if future SMT titles will go with this overworld-centric level design with less dungeons that the recent Zelda games have. Despite my adoration for the open zones of the game I hope Atlas is able to find a balance between methodical dungeon design and sprawling overworld design in the future.

T​his review while focusing on the gameplay must address the ending of the story as it affects the gameplay. SMT is known for many things, but one of those is the Law, Chaos, and Neutral story routes of the game. Depending on what dialouge options you pick during key moments in the story and what demons you recruit you will find yourself bound to a few different endings that pertain to the franchise's themes of divine order, demonic chaos, and human choice. These choices affect who the final boss of your playthrough is. While in SMT discussion discourse one of the endings is deemed the true ending and thus canon to the story the games themselves emphasize that your ending is the true one for you, the player. The climax of the game centers around a choice of the three major themes where in which you ascend the throne of God to enact the creation of a new world based on your chosen ideal. After much deliberation I chose the neutral route which led to my final boss being the fellow Nahobino: Tsukuyomi. My final boss was a genuine threat to me. He has the ability to Naruto shadow clone himself. And in a game where missing loses you two turns my choices had to be precise. But after a few deaths and very strategic healing and attacking I defeated him. Doing so unlocked the neutral route ending. The neutral route's philosophy entails that neither God nor demon should have control of humanity. That humanity should be left to fend for itself and forge its own path. When I defeated Tsukuyomi I did as was foreshadowed and ascended the throne of God. And when I reached its peak I demolished it: freeing humanity from divine intervention and demonic influence by destroying the means by which humanity can be controlled. While very similar to its predecessors SMT manages to make the choice feel more impactful than ever with great animation and serviceable voice acting.

T​he other endings: A few months after beating the game I decided to take a crack at the other 3 endings. Using the excellent New Game + feature that allows you to choose what you want carried over I hopped back in and rushed to the throne of God to get the Law and Chaos endings. They were as satisfying as the neutral ending. That is to say: not very good. In order to get the secret ending of the game with the most satisfying conclusion you have to find and fight Hinduism. Yes, that is an accurate sentence. You must locate Shiva and do one of the hardest bosses fights in modern SMT. He will summon the entire available Hindu pantheon to his side to demolish you. Defeating him takes being level 99, a myriad of options in your party to adjust your strategy mid fight, and a little bit of luck. His battle music is the best in the game, however. And at least he got them moves though. (Yes, this man will literally dance throughout the fight.)

B​y defeating Hinduism, you unlock the final boss: none other than Lucifer. This gives you the best ending in the game that is so good I will not spoil it even in a spoiler review.

S​hin Megami Tensei V while not the best game in the series will be remembered as the game that brought the franchise from obscurity to mild popularity as the best-selling game in the mainline series. And not without good reason. The gameplay is refined and streamlined to the point where the average player does not need a guide to start, the graphics are the best the series has ever seen by a long shot, the new demons are stunning, the good boss fights are challenging, and the music is on par with the rest of the series. A great game for series veterans and newcomers alike.

How I Started Writing - A Narrative Guide

I am often asked by friends and family, "Mads, how did you start writing?" I tell them "that is a complicated story." Many aspiring authors with fantastic ideas in their heads struggle to put pen to paper. It is my wish that this story will inspire bright minds to begin their literary journey and let the world of stories engulf their plane..

It was the mid 10s: a time of Feminists Vs. Men's Rights activists, musicals about the founding fathers, political tranquility, and of course, Vine. I was an 8th grade student who rode the bus to school like anybody else who watched a little too much Death Note. In essence, little middle schooler Madeline was the very definition of edge. When I wasn't wearing my embroidered school uniform I could be found in all black. And regardless of uniform, it would be a rarity if I went a single day without mentioning how I had the most noble desire of eliminating the human race. Marked with pimples on my forehead and lounging around with stomach flaps it is fair to say that like many adolescent teens, I was unhappy. Due to the mix of flourishing hormones, I had not the faintest idea of why. Every day was misery. I came to accept that truth. Misery without cause. Wounds unafflicted by the malice of violence or hate, middle school me believed that life was pointless and that we all would be better off dead.

My anger and frustration at the world had no outlet. While I claimed to be a violent psychopath it was clear to my classmates that I had no bite. In fact, I was rather well liked. It could have been to the performative aspect of my rage or that I was the only openly queer kid in the school, but nonetheless I was engulfed with sweet, sweet attention. I reveled in being surrounded by curiosities that dared to examine my nature. I was and am an open book that wanted what any book ever wants; to be read. Yet still, the adoration was not enough. I began to form two alternate personas that I would claim were different people. Their names were Midir (my-der) and Ajason. 

Midir developed first. They were a manifestation of my avarice that I would alternate with to say my nasty opinions about humanity. When my conscious protested, I created Ajason to be the middle ground between my violent feelings and my moral objections. Ajason, who I constructed as a boy, was the combination of Midir's anger and my reservations, thus creating a personality who had violent thoughts but expressed great anguish in conceiving of them. In my disillusioned teenage brain, I was three people inside one body. I began to believe that I had Dissociative Identity Disorder, but that could not be farther from the truth.  

Years after I began writing, my mother and I concluded that my two artificial personas were an outlet for my pain. That pain, of which I never deduced the origin of, funneled through and fractured my identity temporarily. It would take two years to return to a single identity, but it was during my fractured state where I began writing my first book.

In the midst of psychological chaos, my 8th grade English teacher gave my class a writing assignment. The goal was simple and our options were limitless: write a short story. I remarked to my mother that night that I could not do what was requested. I asked, "How can I write a whole story with multiple characters that all develop and have satisfying endings in one short story that I only have one week to write?" It was decided. I would not write a short story. I would write one chapter. 

"Are we the living to die amongst ourselves?" These were what I believed to be the most philosophical, intellectual, and academic words to begin a novel. (I was 14! Give me a break. At the time I believed YouTubers were the voices of the generation too.) I had completely convinced myself that Midir & Ajason were separate people living in my head. Under that premise I wrote the first chapter knowing that Ajason would appear as the antagonist of the story. A remorseful assassin sent to kill the protagonists via deception and lies, Ajason had no choice but to carry out his mission. A perfect representation of Midir's lust for genocide and my morality. I turned in my hand-written first chapter with pride and determination to finish the story. I started to write Chapter 2 only days after. As each page was filled by my disgusting penmanship they were sorted into a purple folder that they lays somewhere in my home to this day. I would write after school, between classes, during classes, and on weekends. My free time was taken up only by playing videos games and writing my novel. I remember sometimes how frustrated I would be when all of my pages would fly out of my hand and how I had to reorganize them by meticulously reading the beginnings and ends of each page to find their placement. Eventually, I started numbering the pages. For the following months, becoming a teenage author became my drive.

Winter came. And as often comes with winter, a road-block appeared. I had completed writing five chapters and was writing the sixth during winter break. I had left my characters on a cruise ship travelling to an old land in foreshadowed danger. Tation, one of my main duel-protagonists, had dreamed of the ship exploding and his shoulder being thrusted into a spiked door-knob leaving him hanging with the world's largest splinter as the ship plummeted into the sea. In fear of these tumultuous events is where Tation, Shiny, Sylvia, Rama, and Douple would in a sense die. The intention was that they would survive their future, but the reality is I would never return to these characters again. At least not their original versions.

I have a confession. The original version of my book was a fan-fiction. I had been very into video games at the time, but more specifically I loved Pokémon. To those few who are unaware, Pokémon is a video game franchise about catching creatures called Pokémon and battling them with other Pokémon. That's a lot of Pokémon. My book was based on my imagination of what my Pokémon really wanted: to escape me and be free. After I ran into a road-block, I took a long break from writing. Or at least what a long time feels like to a teenager. Somewhere in my 16th year of life I took up the task of writing again. This time, there were to be no Pokémon present. I took a gander at fantasy world creation and made my own fictional land where the same story happened. Instead of Pokémon, there were Animalia that were imprisoned on the island of Malia to pay for the crimes of their ancestors. Instead of them being creatures, they were anthropomorphic animals.  The basic plot was the same: imprisoned race wants to be free and escape to a land where they can be, guided by a mysterious figure named Ajason who offers to help them escape. In the end, Ajason reluctantly kills them. I did not go far with this version of the story. I realized I was not the fantasy-world writing type. In addition, I wanted to completely divorce my novel from having ties to Pokémon. It was then I realized that Ajason was a much more interesting character than the main crew.

It had been over two years since I started writing my novel. I had gone through and failed two versions, dabbled with the concept of spin-off stories, returned to a single identity, and wrote many short-stories separated from my book. I to do this day do not know what inspired me to pick it up again, but this time it would be full-force. One of the spin-offs I had conceived of was an Ajason origin story. I wanted to explore where he came from, what he was like before, and why he kills despite clearly being against it. I had already written three pages of a screenplay of this story and looking back at it made all so clear. My book had to be about Ajason. But it couldn't be connected to any other story. It wouldn't be a prequel, a spin-off, or anything connected to my older idea. It would be stand-alone. A novel that does not rely on information from other stories in order for it to be understood. In order to sever the connection to my tales of old, Ajason had to change. He couldn't be named Ajason. He couldn't be from a fictional world. Ajason thus became... Julio. 

I was engulfed with the flames of the muses. The story was already there. I had been contemplating it in the back of my mind for years. I knew who Julio was and I knew that I needed to tell his story. And thus, I began again. I wrote the first chapter in one day for a total of over 5,000 words. From then, I raised myself to a standard: I had to write 1,000 words a day at least every day until the story was done. I consolidated my original cast into three main characters. Ajason of course became Julio. Tation became Tilman. Shiny and Rama together became Reeva. And the rest were cut and replaced with entirely new characters. I wrote and I scripted and I fabled and I story-told. In six weeks, the rough draft was done. After two to three years my novel had a written beginning, middle, and end. I told everybody I knew and shared it everywhere I could. I knew the book was in dire need of editing, but that could wait. I was an author. Albeit an unpublished one at the time, but still: I had a book!

The story of my first novel did not end there. It would be over three years until my book would be printed, but that is another story for another time. Nonetheless, due to my experiences I believe anybody can write. There will be struggles and road-blocks and times where not only do you feel like giving up, but you must! Giving up is not always the wrong choice. Sometimes choosing to end what you started can lead to renewal and ultimately be better than pursuing something wrong aimlessly. I am glad I quit writing my first novel. If I didn't, I would have never created what I have now. Just remember one thing...

Never be afraid to start over.

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What is The Fabler's Quill?

Welcome to The Fabler's Quill! The one-stop blog for short-stories, writing advice, and early looks into my upcoming books. I published my first book Sympathy for the Savage two years ago when I was 19 and have been writing my new book under the code name "Mushroom Story" for the last 7 months. The Fabler's Quill is a database for everything fiction-writing. Here you will find free writing guides, original fiction content, book reviews, game review, recommendations, and more. With daily new posts and exciting sneak peaks The Fabler's Quill is exactly the place writers and booklovers want to be. 

Will Willa Wilford? | A Short Story

     Willa Wilford will encounter an older duo of girls around the age of 14, but it already happened. Currently they stand in between her and her house which is set in a suburban neighborhood in the afterschool hours. Their eyes lunge into Willa’s like an Olympic athlete’s body over a hurtle. It seems they’re thick. Very thick. But who knows? They may have had milk in their cereal. WHOLE milk. 

    “Looky’ what we have here, a rodent.” The skinny one says. However, this statement confused Willa because she was of average height for an 11-year-old girl.

  “Yeah,” the other said, “a little, short maggot who’s asking to be beat.”

She is overweight, Willa thought as she made a non-verbal analysis. Meaning poor and can only afford junk food. Skinny-too skinny. Starved by parents, left alone many hours a day. Finds comfort by the only one who’ll befriend her. Insecure, both. 

Willa subtly glanced upwards and made eye contact with the delinquents for fractions of a second each, then began to walk to the left through the grass of Mr. Who’s front lawn and past the scoundrels to her house. That was how she imagined it. 

  “Look the hungry rodent’s trying to get home to Momma,” one of them said, uncaring to figure out which as they blocked her path. Then Skinny forcibly grabbed Willa’s shoulders. She did not even look up. This angered Large to see her friend try to input fear into the weak and failing; so, she walked behind Willa and picked up her legs. The other put 2 and 2 together and lifted their victim into the air. Skinny had Willa’s arms strapped to her hands and the head laid behind her as the legs were lifted by Large. It resembled parallel pillars holding a staff to the sky. She didn’t struggle or try to free himself. 

They want power. To feel it. To dominate. Human nature. To an extreme. Lift that is weaker in strength. Not logical to feel power. Stop them or not? If done, they lose. If not, they lose. Sadness.

It was as though people did not notice or did not desire to be noticed that they saw two fiendish girls carrying a younger one down the street. Was it because they saw no struggle? Rather yet because they “did not want to cause a problem”?  Or was it because they chose to hide from their own insecurities? 

Willa did notice Ms. What eye the trio from her Garden lawn, she did nothing. As they trekked across the neighborhood this would keep happening. She did not know where they were going to take him, only that she may die. 

It had been around 10 minutes when a bold pencil dropped from Willa’s lingering backpack, she wanted it back. So, with ease, she clamped her legs and bashed Large’s head, freeing them. Then with legs to solid ground, she chocked Skinny for a mere second when she let go. Then she stepped back to retrieve her pencil. Now they were mad, Willa noticed. Really mad. Not angrier than they were, because Willa knew they were never mad to begin with. Now, they were. She had caused this, and she would fix it. 

“This girl thinks she can take us like the little shit she is, man’a, man’a, I’ll take em’.” she was passionately angry. Her voice splashed when she spoke. Almost as if she would cry, if allowed. Willa felt sadder for them. Willa knew she was loved, and that they were not. And that is the greater travesty.

They approached once more; they were prepared to beat her. Willa knew this. They want to feel powerful to compensate. To take that is weaker, such as their situations did to them. Poverty and abuse. Abuse that is caused by poverty. Not excusable. Willa was going to let them bruise her without a fight, without attempt to prevent, she would do. For when she goes home this day she’ll have someone to mend her wounds and tell her that she is special and that those girls are just scum of earth. She’ll live. But if she leaves, which she is perfectly capable of doing, they’ll have nothing to mend them. Not their homes or the satisfaction of control, which Willa Wilford would willingly give. For a day, an hour, or a minute, Skinny and Large will have some form of pleasure, and that is the greatest gift.

It was now sun’s fall and she was purple and black in many spaces. She limped as she came upon her house where her caretaker would see her and immediately begin the healing process. Her eye on the left was shut, but she did not make water. Her backpack may as well be made of mesh, because she had very little things left inside, yet there was no water. Still, she was a mere few feet from the house, and on that moment, was when the muscle strain from the limp gave in and she fell on the concrete. A few later she was at the door, and she pushed.

 Nothing was what she was greeted to, as usual.