Welcome to Gaia! ::

Me too, things have just gotten a bit hecktic over her for a little while. Lol. Don't worry...I should be back, and I'll help get the rps going once again.

They make it really fun, you know?

apparently at

http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g276/ayame_fire_goddess/kitsune-fox/thNinjaFox.gif

I hate to double post but....

I'm on vacation next week up north (Seattle) so I won't be able to post very much, if at all. Back next Sunday or so.

I'm still here peoples o.o;;;

Here's a story I wrote recently. You might like it... mrgreen

Reverse Day
By Winter Trabex

Jason Cross woke up at night, feeling disturbed. He wasn’t sure what the problem was, but he knew there was a problem. He turned over on his bed and saw clothes laying on the floor. He felt that part of him must still be dreaming; the clothes looked darker than they should have. He stepped over them, out of his bed, and turned on the lights. The clothes, he saw, were stained with blood.
He picked his white shirt off the floor, surprised to see that it was splotched with red. He felt around his stomach and his back, urgently trying to find signs of a wound somewhere, but he could find none. His pants, too, were stained with blood, but he could not find any wounds, or even scars, on his legs. Someone else’s blood had got on his clothes, then, but he could not remember how they had got there. The last thing he remembered was going to sleep at one in the morning- a bit too late for a school night. Now, it was eight at night, and he must have slept eighteen hours. Or, his mind had slept. Judging from his clothes, he had been out and had done something. He just couldn’t remember what he had done.
Jason stumbled out of his room, grasping on the washing machine in the hallway to keep steady. His head was swimming with possibilities. The amount of blood on his clothes suggested a massacre. If it wasn’t his own, if he hadn’t been wounded at all, then he had torn somebody- or somebodies- apart. His conscious mind had shut itself down while the rest of him had done the work. His hands had perhaps cut apart flesh, bone, and….
But no. It wasn’t worth thinking about. He had either done it or he had not. Though he could not imagine how so much blood had got on his clothes if he had not been wounded and had not dissected someone’s anatomy, the deed was done, and he had to plan his next move.
He labored his way downstairs, found the refrigerator and pulled a jug of orange juice out of it. He took a deep swallow, letting his mind come awake. Somewhere in his memory was the incident or incidents that had shaken his life to its core. Somewhere in his mind was a secret he needed to discover. He put the orange juice down.

Jason sat on a bench, his head in his hands. It was afternoon by now, and the school day was over. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to cry or yell. Something so outrageous, so impossible had happened, and everything he had known, everything he had thought he believed in had changed. Now, there were different beliefs. There was a killer, and Jason hated the killer. There was a man who had spilled blood, and Jason could not abide him. Red lights flashed all around him. There were policemen and EMTs all about. The dead bodies were beyond number, too many to count. A fully automatic rifle lay on the ground in the distance. Jason raised his head and looked at it. He knew there would have to be a reckoning. The killer would not last. He would have to pay for what he had done.

In a bathroom in the school, the killer assembled the rifle. He had brought it in piecemeal, a piece at a time, one piece a day, so that if he had been caught with it in his locker, the principle or the police or whoever would only find gun parts in his locker, unassembled. He could always claim that he had never intended to use them, but had just kept them in his locker. No one had checked, and, after waiting two days to make sure, he had brought the final piece of the rifle, along with its ammunition in his backpack. He knew that piling all the parts in his backpack at once would look two suspicious, but one part at a time would not cause that much of a bulge in his backpack, especially if he placed it between his back and his books. The bulges, however small, were not that evident. Only a close inspection would reveal what the shapes really were. No one had looked that closely, and now the killer had a weapon.
Jason saw the killer in the bathroom mirror. He did not know what he was seeing at first, but then it came to him. He remembered how this had happened. He didn’t understand how he remembered, or why, but he could see clearly the killer with his gun, firing at students, teachers and parents alike on the last day of the spring semester. Jason saw himself in his bedroom, looking at his bloody clothes and staggering around, trying to get a grip on reality. These things had already happened, but, at the same time, they had not occurred.
Jason asked, “Don’t do it.”
The killer responded, “It’s already been done. You know that. It’s time for you to wake up and face the truth. I am a part of you, I am your conscience, you might say, trying to get you to come out your coma. You were hit on the head pretty hard, you see, and you’re laying in a hospital bed- right now. It doesn’t matter to me if you wake up, because I’ve got people to kill. Only, the thing is, you shouldn’t be here. You weren’t here when this happened.”
“Then it’s already taken place,” Jason said, hesitating to speak what he knew could be the truth- that he and the killer were the same person. The killer looked different from Jason, though. Physically, they were two different people. “But, if I am dreaming, and this is all not real, what am I doing here?”
The killer snapped parts of the gun together before responding. He took a moment to think about it and said, “This is the last memory you have before you were knocked unconscious. You’re trying to re-establish a foothold in reality, except it’s hard to do, because you don’t think that you killed all those people. You think it was someone else. That’s why I don’t look like who I really am- Jason Cross. I look like Henry Mouvain, one of your classmates. He’s in your English class, I think.”
Jason paused. He expected the scenery to change, but it didn’t. “Why am I still here?”
The killer finished assembling the weapon and responded, “You don’t believe me. Not entirely. But I will tell you something. Henry Mouvain was here. He was trying to talk you- us- out of it, and you shot him. Right in the chest. Like this.”
The killer raised the rifle and fired at Jason.

Jason got off the school bus. He could feel the extra heaviness in his backpack. There was more than books in his backpack, he knew, and he felt guilty for even having them there. There was bullets in there, along with something else. Hundreds of bullets, and a part he didn’t recognize, but which he knew was part of something bigger. He knew there would be a shooting today, he and figured his only chance to stop it was to take on the delivery himself and withhold the bullets from…somebody. Jason’s mind felt clouded, and he had trouble remembering who he was supposed to deliver the stuff to. He went through periods of forgetfulness sometimes, so this was nothing new to him.
He walked into the school, feeling alone amongst the crowd of students. How many of them would die today if he couldn’t stop the plan from going forward? How many of the bullets would be fired if Jason couldn’t find a way to stop all of this from happening? He didn’t want to think about that, so he kept going, into the school and into the lunchroom.
The first thing he had to do was get some breakfast and think things over. Homeroom started in forty minutes. After the first class, it would happen. Either…someone…would track him down and take the bullets and the part, or Jason would dispose of it, put it in a dumpster, or give it to a teacher. The second option seemed like the best one, since a teacher could call the authorities, and they would stop the madness before it ever happened. Jason was eating his breakfast when Henry Mouvain sat down across from him.
“I know what you’re going to do,” Henry said. “Don’t do it, Jase.”
“There’s no other choice,” Jason said. “If I don’t do it…” He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence. Henry did know, all right. Something in Jason’s mind told him that it was true. There was a memory that didn’t make sense to him. He had been shot, but before that, there was the truth. Henry had tried to talk him out of it, the memory said. That was happening now, except that Henry was trying to talk Jason out of stopping the shooting. That didn’t track with what he knew- what he had been told…by someone. He had a feeling that this someone was the same person who did the shooting. Why couldn’t he remember?
“But you have to stop,” Henry said. “There are other ways of dealing with things. This doesn’t have to happen. You know it doesn’t. Please don’t do it.”
Jason quickly realized that something was wrong. Things were not playing out as Jason had been expected them to play out. He knew that a pile of dead bodies awaited him at the end of the day, but the day had just started, and he had a chance to stop it. “I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do,” Jason said. “There’s no other way. Not today.”
“I’m sorry to hear that Jason, I really am,” Henry shook his head. “But I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do too.”
Henry got up and left the cafeteria. Jason finished his breakfast and made his way to the principal’s office.

He knew it was the point of no return. The rifle part under his bed told him as much. The boxes of bullets lay on his bed, each one a harbinger of grim death. They were repulsive boxes, even if he could hold one of them in his hand. He wanted to throw them away, to hide them in his bed or do anything besides take them school. However, he also knew that the killer would find another supplier, another way to get the ammunition and the part needed to complete his rifle. It wouldn’t happen for months, since this was the last day of school, but it would happen. Jason had a chance to stop it, here and now, for good, and not for a few months. He knew that the plan had been planned out too well- parts of a gun in a locker would get a slap on the wrist. An assembled gun with bullets would be a different thing. If he let this chance go, the killer would have another chance, eventually, to carry out his plan. He tucked the bullets and the gun part in his back along with two books, arranging the boxes that they didn’t bulge. He zipped up his backpack and his mother came into his room.
“Going to school today?” Jason’s mother asked.
“Yeah, I have to.” Jason replied.
His mother gave him an odd look.

The principal was a balding man who looked like he’d belonged in the age where teachers were allowed to spank kids if they got out of line. He was a harsh man, and took absolutely no flack from anyone. Jason felt fear for the first time in the day as he entered the principal’s office. How would it look if he just started laid a box of bullets on the principal’s desk and started talking about a plan to kill the majority of students in the school? Yet, he had to do it, no matter how much it frightened him to have this hard, stern man look him in the face as if he just broke wind in a church.
“Mr. Cross,” The principal said, putting down papers he was working on. “What can I do for you?”
Jason didn’t like it that the principal remembered his name. A week worth’s of detention wasn’t that common a thing, after all. “Sir, I have something I want to tell you.”

Henry Mouvain opened a school locker and looked inside. The weapon parts were still there. When all the students had cleaned their lockers in preparation for the summer vacation, this locker had gotten fuller and fuller. Jason was a person that Henry been counting on, but, judging from the contents of the locker, Jason had not come through. Henry had planned for this eventuality too, but he had to work fast. He didn’t know how much Jason knew, and if Jason went to the principal, things would get complicated.

“So what you’re telling me is that someone, you don’t know who, has a plan to go on a shooting spree?” The principal asked Jason.
Jason saw the principal’s hand on his phone. The man was ready to make the call, Jason saw. That was good. Only a little further and the deal would be sealed. “That’s right, sir. I’m having trouble remembering who I’m supposed to give these to, but I know they’re intended for somebody. And that somebody is going to kill people. I remember it happening. I know that sounds weird, but maybe it’s a premonition, something like that, like I’ve seen something that it’s going to happen. I know I’m asking you believe a lot, but if you check all the school lockers, you’ll find an unassembled rifle in one of them. It’s there, I know it is.”
“How do you know that?” The principal wondered aloud. “Have you seen it, this rifle?”
Jason wanted to say that he had seen it in perfect working order- it shot bullets just fine, if that was what the principal meant- but he stopped himself. That was an even weirder thing to say. “I have one of the parts here,” Jason declared and produced the black part that he’d been given the night previous.
“What you’ve got in your hand is a grenade launcher attachment to a FAMAS rifle,” The principal said in shock. “My son is in the Marines, he talks about this stuff all the time, but I never thought…Never mind that. I’ve got to call the authorities. The rifle you’re talking about- it doesn’t need that part to work properly.”
At those words, Jason gathered up the bullets, the rifle attachment, and raced out of the principal’s office.

Henry sat in the bathroom, assembling the rifle. He had been hoping to be able to use the grenade launcher option on it, but now that was out of the question. He had one box of bullets, instead of five. That would have to do. It wasn’t as much as he wanted; he wanted as much ammunition as he could get, the FAMAS rifle could fire a boatload of bullets in a short amount of time, but it also had an option for three-bullet burst fire, or single shot fire. He could conserve his ammunition to take out as many people as he could. When he saw Jason enter the bathroom, a smile spread across his face.
“Came to your senses at last, have you?” Henry asked with a grin.
“I have,” Jason spilled the stuff out of his backpack and onto the floor. “I was just with Principal McDougal. He told me what this is. It’s a grenade launcher attachment. What do you need with such a thing?”
“I’ve wanted to demolish that damn flag pole out front, you know?” Henry said, locking the barrel of the rifle in place. “I only have one grenade,” Henry stood up to show that he had been sitting on it, “And that’s all I want it for. The American flag has no place in a school such as this. They teach us methods, not ideas. They teach how to behave, not how to think. Well, I’m tired of the illusion. I’m tired of everyone pretending this is part of America, because it isn’t. It’s not America, it’s just high school. This grenade will tear that illusion away.”
“You’re crazy,” Jason stared at the gun, not believing what he was seeing. To him, this had already happened, but it was happening again. “This is crazy. I’ve already been here, I’ve done this before. Here we are again, arguing the same issue. Except the sides have changed. You want to shoot people, not me. I’m the one trying to talk you out of it, not the other way around. This isn’t how I remember it.”
“Having another one of your psychic days, Jase?” Henry joked. “Of all the days to have it, it has to be today.”
“What do you mean, ‘one of my psychic days?’” Jason asked. This was not something he could remember. Something like having a psychic power would not disappear from his memory easily.
“This has happened before,” Henry said. “It comes with loss of memory, disorientation, the feeling that you’re not where you’re supposed to be. You told me before that it’s a consequence of seeing things that have yet to take place. You don’t see the whole picture, you just see parts of it, and you think you’re living the day backwards. Until, that is, things start going forward again and you talk about ‘being here before’ or some such thing. It’s happened five times this year already. The last time it happened, you got a week’s worth of detention for your trouble.”
Jason could remember that detention. The memory had come to him in the principal’s office. “Am I really…going crazy? Do I have the ability to see the future?” Jason asked Henry.
“Dude, you’ve already seen it. I know you have. The last time, you were talking about a bomb, saying that it’s already blown up, and you don’t know why you still have your left leg ‘cause it got blown off, but one of the teachers overheard you and reported it. They called in a bomb threat. The police brought some dogs in and they found the thing- planted on the side of the furnace. You were absolutely right about it then, and I think you’re right now. I think you’ve seen the shooting happen, and you don’t know what to do. It must be disorienting, but try to focus, okay? You’re a part of this. You have been since day one. May 14th of this year- that’s when we decided we would do this. You had got a week’s detention because they thought you had planted the bomb was, except, during your detention, the police found someone else’s fingerprints on the bomb.”
“Jake Castell,” Jason breathed. Jake had been his best friend before that. The assumption the school had made was that Jake and Jason were in on it together.
“Yeah, Jake’s in juvey now,” Henry finished putting the rifle together. “’Kill the bastards,’ that’s what you said. You were angry at them, and I had found a way to bring a gun into the school. It was my old man’s service rifle from when he served in the Gulf War, remember? He never used it or anything but he cleaned it every Sunday. I even helped him do it. That’s how I knew it work. Any of this ringing a bell, Jase?”
“Yes, it is,” Jason said, the fog beginning to clear from his mind. “But you said I was in a coma.”
“Same as last time, too,” Henry started putting bullets into a clip for the rifle. “I don’t know why exactly that is, but it seems like your brain interprets your psychic visions as being in a coma. You think you’re dreaming, but you’re not. Your mind is trying to cope with something it doesn’t understand, so it associates it with the closest thing it thinks is really happening.”
“I’m the killer,” Jason said, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s me, always was. I’m responsible for it, and now I know what I have to do.”
“What are you-”
Before Henry could finish, Jason had clubbed him on the side of his head with the grenade attachment. Henry cried out in pain, and Jason grabbed the rifle. “If it’s already happened,” Jason said, “Then it doesn’t matter.”
He pulled the trigger and fired all the bullets into Henry’s body. Then he sat down and re-loaded the rifle.

Jason woke up in the morning, feeling disturbed. He knew it was the point of no return; the rifle part under his bed told him as much. He could feel it there, just like the tell-tale heart in that weird story he’d read for English class.
Jason’s mother entered the room. “Are you going to school today?”
Jason, understanding that everything he had seen, shook his head. “No, I don’t think I will. There’s nothing I have to do there anyway.”

well, looks like one RP is underway