Time for week two!
If you don’t know what’s going on, read last week’s post!
Here we go!
Day 6: Grumpy
“Do you want a snack?”
“Do you . . . want some juice?”
“I can read you a story.”
“What about your doll, do you want that?”
“Here’s a little bear, do you want the bear?”
“Blanket. Come on you gotta want your blanket, looks it’s got pineapples on and everything.”
“Are you tired? You can go lay down and rest if you’re tired.”
“Gosh, okay, calm down. Goodness me you’re three years old I thought we were past this.”
Day 7: Invent
Owen bent over his workstation, blinking against the blurriness obscuring his vision. Why was it so hard to see all of a sudden? Oh. His lamp had gone out. He reached for the matches to relight it, then his hand froze as he realized that pale daylight was coming in through the small window.
He really hadn’t meant to stay up all night. His mother was going to be upset.
But he looked over the progress he’d made in the last few hours and he didn’t regret it.
Gleaming even in the darkness, looking fantastical and awesome and more than a little creepy, was Owen’s automaton. Parts of it were still exposed metal skeleton and nerve-like wires; he hadn’t found enough scrap metal for the entire ‘skin’ yet. The electric lights that served as its eyes were unlit, giving it a dead look. Owen didn’t like thinking of it as dead.
It just wasn’t alive yet.
He picked up a tiny spring and blinked at it. This one was supposed to go in the jaw, so his automaton could talk.
His mother always told him he was a great inventor, that he was a clever boy and he could do anything he set his mind to. But Owen knew that even Mother didn’t believe his automaton could learn to talk.
Owen knew that it could.
One day, he’d seen Alexander Graham Bell. He’d seen him, just walking about, as if he were a normal person like the rest of them. Mother had told Owen all about the telephone, how Alexander Graham Bell and his friend had made a a machine, a machine that could carry voices through wires over miles and miles.
If a man could make voices travel through wires, then why couldn’t a boy make an automaton talk?
Owen stood up, stretching his stiff arms. Maybe he could get a couple hours of sleep before Mother needed him. Wouldn’t she be proud, to see his mechanical man nearly complete.
Day 8: Panorama
“This is pointless,” Cassandra whined.
“Just wait,” her grandfather said, hiking his backpack higher on his shoulders. “You’ll see.”
Cassandra continued grumping. Her legs hurt. She was sick of climbing this stupid mountain. It was cold out, sun was barely up.
Her grandfather good-naturedly ignored her, taking in a deep breath of cool, refreshing air.
“I’m tirrrrrreeeeeddddddd,” Cassandra moaned.
A bird chirped hesitantly as if he weren’t quite sure if he was meant to be singing yet. Then a few more backed him up and he grew in confidence.
Cassandra tilted her head back. “I want to stop walkinnnnnngggg–”
“Hush and look over there,” her grandfather interrupted, pointing.
Mountains, all with with varied heights and peaks and colors, swooped down together in a lush valley. The rising sun sat squarely between two peaks, spilling reddish-gold light down into the hollow. Fluffy summer clouds were painted gold and rose. Mist swirled above the valley, glowing with the tones of the sun as it melted away.
“Wow,” Cassandra whispered.
“Yup,” her grandfather replied. “Apology accepted.”
Day 9: Hunt
Spacebar. Control. Hold control, spam spacebar. Left. NO, no, right, avoid the tree. Is that a pig? Smack it smack it smack it. Left-click, place blocks, jump. Why does Dream make it look so easy!?
I suck in a breath, hitting F5 to check behind me. Yup, she’s back there.
“C’mere Ace,” I hear in my headphones. Maniacal. Laughing. “C’meeeeeeere!”
“Nope,” I yell, hitting F5 again and pillaring up, eating a raw porkchop to restore some hunger bars. I need to get somewhere safe, far enough ahead to make a furnace, get some proper food. I have a stone axe, she apparently has a wooden sword. I smirk. Of course she would make a sword.
She circles the base of my pillar, shifting and waving her sword uselessly. “Man, if I had a bow you’d be so dead right now.”
“Why don’t you go get one?”
“Nah, I’ll just wait til the sun goes down and the skeletons start shooting you for me.”
I peer down from the pillar, waiting for the perfect moment. She doesn’t have any cooked food either; been too busy chasing me.
I wait. Three. Two. One.
I jump down, hitting right-click at the exact moment to deal a crit hit with my axe. She yelps, instinctively backing up and spam-clicking with her sword. I take a few hearts of damage but with one more hit she vanishes. In the chat pops up: EmmyPlays was slain by AceofHearts.
“Let’s GO!” I shout, immediately pillaring back up and crafting a couple furnaces. I hear an angry desk-smack.
“You’re not that far from spawn,” she grumps.
“But I will be.” Health and hunger bars fully restored, I head for a cave to find some iron.
So far the knock-off Minecraft Manhunt is going well.
Day 10: Glass
Most stained-glass windows are pictures. They depict something, a scene from a story, a person, some important symbol. This one wasn’t a picture, just some discordant, jagged mess of blues and purples and greens in no particular pattern.
Elliot liked this one the best.
The picture ones were nice, of course, but they were always the same. This window, though, this window was different every time you looked at it. When the sun shone through it, its colors splayed crazily over the scuffed wooden floor and rows of benches. Elliot loved to stare at it, find new patterns and secrets in it every day as he listened to his lessons.
Today he watched it as his commanding officer droned on about something, he didn’t know what. Something about how bad the enemy was and how they were going to destroy those scum-buckets, on and on. Elliot didn’t care. Right now, he only cared about studying his window, soaking in the colors and shapes for the last time. Maybe when he was gone some other boy would watch the window as he did, love it as he did.
The stained glass shone on after he left, but some people whispered that after that day the colors grew dim and there were no more secrets in the shapes.
Day 11: Murky
“Ewww, there’s slimy stuff in here!”
“ACK SOMETHING TOUCHED ME SOMETHING TOUCHED ME!”
“That was my foot, galoot.”
“It’s too cold . . .”
“You were complaining about being hot earlier!”
“The mud is so squishy I love it.”
“Hey guys watch this!”
“Can everybody be quiet I want to relax!”
“I can’t even see my legs!”
“Ughhghghgh there’s algae in my haaaaaaaair!!!”
“Stop SPLASHING ME, CAEDMON!”
“Squish, squish, hey think I’ll start sinking in the mud?”
“Oh my GOSH guys LOOK a TADPOLE!”
“I made a lil boat lookit I made it! No don’t sink it!”
“Can we come to the pond again tomorrow Mama?”
Day 12: Oar
An oar can be many things in dire situations.
— A paddling device
— A shovel
— A weapon with which to fend off hungry wild dogs
— Tool for shoving driftwood into a fire
— Makeshift tent pole
— Walking stick
— Blunt machete for underbrush clearing
— Device for knocking fruit down from a tree
— Spear (when sharpened)
— Measuring stick
— Fuel for signal fire
Hope you enjoyed! See you next week! Like! Subscribe! I’ve not much else to say! Bye!