(Meta Post Follow Up) Prompt Submission Winner – Sailtheplains

The winner for end of July prompt submission contest is YouTuber and friend Katie at https://www.youtube.com/user/sailtheplains. On her channel, Katie does “Let’s Plays”, reaction videos, and video game and media reviews. If you’re into Gravity Falls she often has discussions and reaction videos from current episodes. She is also the script writer over at GF Public Radio which is a homage to the show done in a similar vain as Nightvale. They are currently coming out with an or 2 every month but there is a want for more episodes to come out. So if you video games, media review and a pretty unique and lively youtube persona, give Katie a chance!

She sent me the prompt via my personal facebook page which is my current hub for Writing by Ender in the Facebook world. The prompt will be revealed on Wednesday when I submit the weekly short story.

Until Then,

Austin Wiggins – Writing By Ender

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(First Meta Post) A Big Thanks, Future, and Prompt Submission

I wanted to first extend my deepest gratitudes to you all out there who have help me on the way to getting 250 views in just under 2 weeks. It might not seem like much but I never thought I one would want to even look at the things I write. So again thank you so much.

Now as for the future, I have a few things in store for my followers. The first thing is I plan on writing a type of episodic story for you all to follow. I’m thinking it’ll be a mix of sci-fi and fantasy but I’m not sure on the exact details quite yet. Plus if I write it this way it’ll be easier for me to put it in novel form if I so desire. On top of that I think I can write it in such a way to have you guys hooked.

Now I guess it time to talk about the prompt submission. So if you don’t know by now, I write all of my stories based on a prompt that I found somewhere else on the internet. I thought that it would be a fun/unique idea to let my followers and those who read this to post the prompt for me to write. Followers have from Today (7/23/15) until Sunday (7/26/15) to submit a prompt in the form of anything you want it in. It could be a youtube video or just a lyric from a song. Get creative with it and have some fun. On sunday I’ll pick the winner and I’ll do something for the winner but I haven’t found out what yet. (Maybe A feature in my blog?)

Well, that’s all I have to talk about, I hope you all have a good day!

Austin from Writing with Ender

Phoenix?

“I can be better than this,” he thought out loud as he watched an assortment of items burn. In the fire was an old bed frame, a desk, photo albums, a few notebooks, and he had this all tallied neatly in a black journal titled ‘Burn Book’. He looked at the fire as it softly danced on things that once used to be his, and as this was happening he thought again, “I have to be better than this. I can’t fight the urges anymore but I have to be better than this.” Despite his hatred at what he had done he couldn’t help but marvel at the ballet of flames happening in front of him.

The flames slowly started to die; the items of the fire were reduced to ash and as the fire died he couldn’t help but feel a bit of sadness that it had gone. He sat there for another moment and looked at the pile of ash, “I’m sure going to miss that stuff,” he thought at last before he got up. To get the thoughts of burning things out of his mind he decided to sleep for the night. He had never dreamed about burning things before, so it seemed to him like it would be a good escape.

In his dreams however, his home was one fire. Somehow he knew that he had caused the fire and it looked massive. To him it looked beautiful and the way that fire raged on while still seeming peaceful was astonishing to him. Moreover he didn’t even feel a single ounce of sadness at knowing that his home was burning. The importance of the flame was encompassing all of his attention; nothing else mattered, not the fact of losing his home, not the fact of losing all the things he had inside. At that moment he felt the pang inside of his chest. He was asleep but he was all too familiar with what that pang meant. He was fixating on burning something again.

He woke up in a sweat and looked around and his house but everything was fine. It was still pretty late at night when he woke up but he couldn’t get back to sleep and all through him trying to sleep again he felt the constant nagging of wanting to burn his own house down. “I’m better than this,” he thought as he felt the urge increasing. He tried everything he could to win out over this feeling but it simply wouldn’t go away and it began to devour him.

He went to into his back yard to the shed and grabbed the gas canisters he had been using in previous burns. He was no longer conscious of what he was doing, it was like he was the puppet and his urges were the puppet master. He was only bound to follow his overwhelming desire to see the massive fire he saw in his dreams. He began covering every inch of the house he could in gas and he spared no surface. This fire was going to be at least as good as he dreamed. The house was primed to burn and the man had his matches in his had. He was absorbed in the sole thought of lighting the match and even fantasized about the moment where he would strike the match and a massive fireball would be created.

For a moment he started to fight back of control over his primal urges. He knew these urges well as he has tried to fight them before but he had never succeed and yet he tried anyway. For a the split second of control he was able to muster he decided to light the match while he was still in the room. He knew that if he lived through this fire he would go on a spree of destruction ending in his ultimate arrest. If he died with this fire there would no longer be anymore trouble.

He felt the strike of the match on the match box and a wave of pleasure rushed over him before the inferno spark up in the home. Nothing was saved from the fireballs destruction. The entire house caught up in flames so quickly that by the time the firefighters arrived it was already an uncontrollable inferno and so they had no choice but to merely contain it and let it burn out. The fire had slowly died and as it took it’s final breath the sun began to rise, and as if to coincide with that sun rise a man now naked rose from the ashes of his burning home. The firefighters rushed to the man who had risen from the ashes but the only words that came out of his mouth were, “I need help.”

The Manuscript (There Are No Words)

The writer finally found the motivation in himself to sit at his desk and write. He always sat at his desk to write because everywhere else felt unclean, everywhere else actually was dirty. This was the first time in months that he found he was able to sit there. He slouched back in the chair getting himself a bit more comfortable and began to day dream. The writer typically tries to day dream about what he writes before he commits anything to paper. So in this quiet, aloof manner he spends the next hour. He had dreams of knights, wizards, and dragons, and the entire world in which they belong. When he woke up from his day dream he was sure of what he wanted to write. It would be a simple story of a knight seeking fame by slaying a dragon. Only the knight finds out that the dragon is an intelligent being and instead seeks knowledge from him.
When he awoke from his day dream he dimmed the lamp to the point of near darkness. Slowly and contemplatively, he touched his pencil to a small dusty notebook labeled “Writing”. At first the writing came to him in slow stops and starts but then all at once his thoughts flowed freely. As time passed he felt the momentum of his craft and moved towards the seat of his chair. Energy filled his face as he reached the climax of his short story. The dragon was just about to reveal his intelligence to the knight. Then all in one fit he finished his story. He felt proud of himself, he hadn’t finished a story in the past few years and even when he did, it wasn’t at this length.
He took one look over his short story manuscript and felt one last ounce of pride before he went to go sleep. He had dreams not about fantastical worlds but this time of success that he had always wanted to attain. He had money, he had notoriety, and more than anything else, he was happy.
He woke up feeling as proud as he did in his dreams and he went over to desk to look over at his work again. He was pleased with what he had done and wanted to bask in the accomplishment. He had put hours of work in to a manuscript and for once his feelings matched the work he put into it. He opened up his still dusty notebook and looked at the blank pages. There were no words on the page. He thought to himself if he had dreamed it all, and he came to the decision that he probably had. There were no words on his manuscript and he was more content with dreaming than actually writing. “But maybe I ripped it out” he thought to himself. He proceded to look around his office to find nothing.
Defeated, the writer decided to take a walk. “It would all make sense after a walk” he thought out loud. While he walked down the green forested path, he realized that he did probably prefer daydreaming to writing. Daydreaming was safe for him; everything he daydreamed was exactly as he wanted it. When he wrote he was always unable to get what he envisioned on paper. Daydreaming also made him happy. He walked some more and passed a young couple. He smiled and took a moment to breath in the fresh air. He was clearly upset at himself, it was all over his aging face. He walked down a lonely little path and thought as he took a moment to smell a strikingly bright red rose,“I daydreamed a moment in my life that was so rewarding I would rather be back in them.” My fantasy worlds were always better than reality. Maybe it’s about time I stop daydreaming and start living what life I have left.”

The Machine Has Stopped

In 1830 No one believed the man when he said that the entire world functioned on clockwork machinery. No one believed him because he was a homeless man who had squandered every opportunity that was handed to him. The homeless man died shortly after making the statement from dysentery and the potential of the general population discovering the truth was ended. Now, close to 200 years after that, a man going by the name of Left Foot Jones discovered the truth denied to the world for so long.

He found the entrance to facility in an old abandoned building. Left Foot Jones, called so because he only had one foot, noted that even though the building was abandoned it didn’t seem to belong to any particular time period. He entered the building to seek shelter from the impending storm that could be seen building on the horizon.

The building was warm unlike outside, kept warm by some currently unknown power source. He took shelter in a darker corner of the building. With his shopping cart of old salvaged goods and his makeshift crutch, he set up his stuff close to him. He typically slept sitting and leaning against the wall from the fear that if he were to lay down his brain would fall out of his ears. Once again, he slept comforted with all of his possessions surrounded by him.

He woke suddenly as he saw a group of rats coming up from the stairwell. Out of curiosity, and with out his shopping cart, he went down into the stairwell. The stairwell was dark and smelled quite distinctly of mold. Although it was dark he was able to just make out the stone cut of the walls, “Seems out of place” he thought momentarily before deciding to descend the stairwell.

The stairway seemed to go on for ever, and indeed it did, he descended for hours with his crutch and his good left foot. “I must have come hundreds of feet by now,” he thought. He reached a platform and saw that there was still a long way to go and so he decided to rest. He slept for what felt like hours and it was the deepest sleep he had in years. He descended the stairs for a few more hours and realized the steps had changed from a cold stone to a neutral but rickety wood.

Finally he saw some light and he back to descend quicker. His thoughts raced wondering what type of marvels he’ll see. There was a large wooden door that read “Engine Room”. On the wooden door were magnificent carving of the Earth. He opened the door and was greeted by a dim but warm light. The room was filled with what seemed like Victorian Era machinery but Left Foot Jones was convinced that this technology was older than that and perhaps since the dawn of time.

He was greeted by an odd machine rolling around on a singular stone ball. The anatomy of the the machine seemed almost human but the proportions were just slightly different. At the area of what could be called a face was a darkened glass, and from that glass came a voice. “Hello, I am Defender II, I am the protector of this machine.”

“What is this machine for?” Left Foot Jones asked in his raspy slightly high baritone voice. Defender II rocked around slightly on his marble roller and responded, “It is the engine room for the planetary body you call Earth. The engine room and the Earth as you know it was designed by the ones that designed me. And the engine room’s entire purpose is to rotate the Earth in a very precise manner. Left Foot Jones looked around at the machinery, not knowing what to believe, and noticed that none of the machinery was operating. “So why is none of it working?” He asked. Defender II rocked around a bit again and responded, “The last maintainer died just a few weeks ago and with out him, all operations were suspended. And thus the rotation of the Earth will stop soon and all life on Earth will end as you know it.”

As surprised as he was and as afraid as he was, he knew exactly what he had to do. “Show me what I have to do, I’ll make sure this machine runs right again”, Left Foot Jones said as confidently as he had ever sounded.