posted
It was hot and muggy that afternoon, the world so hazy and stinking with low sweat that I'd come out to the lake to try to shake off the doldrums. Or so I'd told everybody. But I knew, lying there, that I was going to go lie in the swollen, bloated sun that afternoon, like every other afternoon since I'd come out here, to let the heat bake the life out of me. There weren't any vultures here if you didn't count Graff, but that didn't stop me from hoping.
I was done, overdone, way past cooked and on my way to crispy, and so it fit right into my train of thought around two o'clock when a voice like strawberries and cream -- with just a hint of vinegar -- purred from behind me, "Turn over, hero."
I rolled onto my back and held up a hand to my eyes to make out her face. Not that there was any need; I knew her body just as well in silhouette. My heart sunk so low that I figured my cardiologist was going to have to start golfing with my proctologist if I ever made it off the lake alive. It was her, of course. Valentine. They'd made her into their patsy somehow, found some button or gotten something on her, and sent her here to soften me up or toughen me up or whatever kind of up they thought I needed. I wondered how they'd done it, what dirt had stuck to that perfect skin, and hated myself for wondering -- but if I'd learned anything in all those years at Battle School, it was that nothing dies faster or harder than innocence under the gun. And as hard as Battle School had been, she'd been shacked up with Peter the whole time.
She adjusted her skirt and kneeled down next to me -- man, those knees! -- and I felt a rush of something that could have been love, but wasn't. "How's it going, Ender?" she asked.
"Don't 'Ender' me, doll," I snarled, downing my last finger of Yoo-Hoo and tossing the sticky bottle backhand across the water. It skipped twice, then floated for a second before something seized it from below and dragged it under. Like me. "Don't pretend like you give a damn."
Her bottom lip threatened to pout, but she stopped it in time. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You think I'm a dummy?" I said. "Me, the guy they actually picked for the brain trust? Years without a word and suddenly you show up here, on my lake, in that dress, calling me 'Ender?'" She went to answer, but I cut her off. "You and me both know why you're here, and it ain't going to happen."
Her eyes narrowed, and her hands balled into little fists at the top of her hips. Long red nails bit into the bottom of her palms. "Okay, Andrew," she said, and the name was like a knife in my back, "we'll play it your way. Sure, they asked me out here. But I was glad to come. I came as soon as they told me where you were. It hasn't been the same without you, you jerk."
Still squinting against the sun, I watched her face move through its old routines. "Right, babe. You missed me so much you wrote every day, I bet."
"Every day. Every day," she said. And I realized she meant it. But she saw my look and her mouth dissolved into a lolly-pop "o" of horror. "You never got them?"
"Not a one." I turned away again, seeking comfort in the shadows of the far bank. "Every one you sent."
posted
A mockery of "A Farewell to Arms", my least favorite of any book I've ever read: Ender was born. They got drunk. He went to school. They got drunk. He beat up a kid. They got drunk. He met Graff. They got drunk. He went to another school. They got drunk. He beat up another kid. They got drunk. He went to a third school. They got drunk. He blew up a planet. They got drunk. He went far away. They got drunk. Everyone dies. The end.
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posted
Yeah, AC. I was hoping it sounded enough like Chandler that someone could guess without my having to say (or actually quote any lines verbatim from any of his books.)
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There are many schools of thought when it comes to understanding the universe. Plato likened it to a shadow play, with all of the forms that we encounter throughout life being merely projections or imitations of the perfect Forms that exist in the great ethereal void. Others, like Stephen Hawking, believe that everything is made up of little lengths of string, each vibrating like mad and doing its part to contribute to the Great Guitar Riff of Life. Einstein conceived of a universe entirely run by mathematics.
They are all, of course, completely wrong.
In fact, there is only one person so far who has managed to get it right: the renowned Brazillian inventor Godofredo Cartão, whose brain is so receptive to inspirations* that, for the good of society, he was almost imprisoned for life in a mental institute**, lest the uninterrupted flow of ideas lead to the invention of, say, a coffee maker that would also serve as a launch mechanism for an unguided atomic warhead. Cartão imagined that matter (most importantly, living matter) might in fact be willed into existence, by small packets of will called philotes. Particularly strong philotes, those capable of serving as the basis for living beings, he called aiuas***. Aiuas have the ability to twine together, forming very real connections between any two living beings who have emotionally bonded in some way.
Don your aiua-viewing glasses, and look upon the Earth. What you see resembles nothing so much as a plate of angel-hair pasta, but without the cheese, strands going every which way, criss-crossing and forming a tight, knotted, and impossibly complex clump about the planet.
Now, pull back a bit, and relax as we move through the cosmos, zooming from star to star, and planet to planet, until we come across one very special world, where the strands do not clump and in fact bear no resemblance to pasta whatsoever. Here, the strands are orderly, forming brilliant patterns expanding in a spider web across the surface of the planet, and extending out across the vast reaches of space to connect even more worlds like some great cosmic high-school molecular model. The pattern is vibrant somehow, and quite beautiful.
And very soon now, in but a few short years, it will be gone.
*Inspirations are high-energy particles, like photons, that can pass through most objects. The human brain has certain receptors for inspirations, and when an inspiration strikes, it has the effect of causing the brain to pour forth new ideas. They have an unfortunate tendency to strike just when one is taking a bath. This has often led to critical advances in science, and the occasional philosopher running naked through the streets shouting "Eureka! Where's my towel?"
**Shortly before that decision was made, Cartão took on a job as a software developer at a video game company, so really, there was no need.
***Aiua is Portuguese for "Eureka."
Posts: 293 | Registered: Jun 2004
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posted
Okay, I know it's not perfect, and it doesn't have Death in it (I thought about doing the Stilson scene or the Bonzo scene), but it's the best I could come up with for now. Maybe more later....
Posts: 293 | Registered: Jun 2004
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Ender Wiggin fled across the shower, and Bonzo followed.
The shower was the apotheosis of all showers. Slippery and wet, and tile floor stretching out for what seemed like eternity in all directions
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posted
OSC as (I'm sure he'll hate this) FPS/RTS player, age about 14 :
Stils0n : OMG u so lame! 3nd3r : STFU n00b. Stils0n : quit being such a l4mer! 3nd3r : D00d, guy, im warning u. Stils0n : u so l4m3 u cant touch me 3nd3r : <Enters duel mode> Stils0n : OMG u use teh hacks! Stils0n : ok ok i sorry peace ok? Stils0n : <Stilson has left the game> 3nd3r : Pwned!
Ack, I was going to write the confrontation with the bugger queen in the same style, but it's just too annoying. Consider yourselves lucky.
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Sitting in commander's station Watching fleet reach destination On a tour of bugger stands something something close to hand and every battle neatly planned for the genius and his brother-band
Homeward bound I wish I was Homeward bound Home, where my thought's escaping Home, where my music's playing Home, where my love lies waiting Silently for me
Every day's an endless stream of orders given, filled magazines each battle looks the same to me the buggers with their factories and every adult's face I see reminds me that I long to be
Homeward bound I wish I was Homeward bound Home, where my thought's escaping Home, where my music's playing Home, where my love lies waiting Silently for me
Tonight I'll win for them again I'll play the game and pretend But all my victories to me are shades of mediocrity Like emptiness in harmony I need someone to comfort me
Homeward bound I wish I was Homeward bound Home, where my thought's escaping Home, where my music's playing Home, where my love lies waiting Silently for me Silently for me Silently for me
Hmm. Actually, you don't need to change it that much. Which is a pity, really, because I'm not actually doing OSC as S&G, I'm doing S&G with Ender-references. Better luck next time.
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posted
No, I never read House of Seven Gables. I was too bust having crappy books no one's ever heard of shoved down my throat by high school English teachers. Should I read it?
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Peter sat under a leatherleaf true. Around him, the copse of leatherleaf and pine stood, some of the leaves already turning brown from the approaching winter. Green-brown creeper vine ran along the top of rocks that looked suspiciously like paving stones. At one time, a road had run through here, ferrying users from what was then Green's Hill to Charle's Town. A long time ago. But he remembered. He made sure.
A bluefinch chirped in the distance. Peter immediately took note of it and sat up. Bluefinches were not common to this area. But the approaching person was not the reason he tensed. Or, at least, was not the source of the tension.
A small squeek pulled his eyes down. There, a squirel lay prone, its feet staked out between four small posts. Where soft white fur should have covered its belly instead was dead white interior skin. The fur had been cut back and flies buzzed around the wound, already laying eggs.
Peter stifled a desire to laugh. He was the husbandman of pain. He had sowed, harvested, and was now eating. A giggle rose in his throat, but he ruthlessly put it down. It must be savored, the pain, and enjoyed, the demons in his soul appeased.
He picked up his knife and looked at the now drying blood on the blade. It glinted in the setting sunlight. It was beautiful, a reflection of life. Blood on a blade. He was lost in its perfect beauty.
The tramping of leaves anounced his visitor, pulling him out of his reverie. For a moment, rage exploded in him. How dare Val interupt his contemplation of perfect death. But then it vanished. There was more pain to harvest here. Pain of the mind. Pain from her empathy. Yes, he could still appease the hunger in his soul. Suddenly, a small giggle took over him. He never even noticed...
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“Ender”, Bean said one evening, “do you think that the Buggers are still alive?” “They ain’t called buggers, Bean. They’re formics. And right-o, they’re still alive.” “How do you know that?” "Heck, that’s already two questions. I ain’t Dewey Decimal, ya know. Oh, looka yonder! What’s that?!” “It’s a Bessy, Ender. They go moo.” “By golly!”
The boys sat in silence for a while, absorbing the outcome of their emotionally darned difficult conversation.
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posted
KOM, S&G with Ender-references was pretty good! (if you will accept that compliment from an ignorant Norwegian-American ;-)
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quote:Originally posted by Jonathan Howard: OSC as Chaucer (rough meter):
Whan that Ender with hiſe Dooctour ſote The Buggern foreygn beeteth to the rote, Celebrateth with much ſwich licour Of which vertu enteangeled in ſour; Whan Petra fainteth eek he looſeth breeth, Whilſt playyng "Admiral" on battelheeth, He ſeeeth how he was the yonge ſonne And why from home he hath to ſwyftlie yronne.
Not bad at all. You forgot to use the thorn character, though.
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Ender, ender of worlds, bid his companion good night, and swept toward the door.
"Ender," said Petra. An afterthought.
"Something Else?" said he.
"The stars are lovely tonight."
"I wouldn't know. Me being here and they being --" he gestured. "Out there."
She turned red. "I can see them on my screen." She indicated her desk.
Ender considered her, then. Her features were delicate in the soft gloam of computer light. She didn't want him to go, he knew. But there was to be a battle tomorrow, and he wanted sleep. He weighed the two things in his mind -- and grinned.
"The stars," said he, "are lovely always."
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"What a dreadful surprise," said Beatty. "For everyone nowadays knows, absolutely is certain, that nothing will ever happen to me. Others die, I go on. There are no consequences and no responsibilities. Except that there are. But let's not talk about them, eh? By the time the consequences catch up with you, it's too late, isn't it, Montag?"
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"Ender," Jane said cheerfully, "We've come to the new planet. This is where you're s'posed to speak for the dead King of the Minkelstickers."
Ender smiled and his blonde locks brushed the back of his blue velvet smock, the one that had been given to him as a gift by the lovely Princess Ixmia of Ixin. He gazed happily out of the window of the ship, onto a landscape of strange, glittering buildings and busy little beasts of burden trotting through fields of enormous white blossoms.
"Golly, Ender," said Jane. "This sure does make me nervous."
"Don't worry, Jane," Ender beamed. "It looks like a great adventure!"
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Ender:Look, matey, I know dead buggers when I see them.
Petra: No no they're not dead, they're restin'! Remarkable creature, Buggers, idn'it, ay? Intresting skin!
Ender: The skin don't enter into it. they're stone dead. Petra: Nononono, no, no! They're resting! Ender:All right then, if they're restin', I'll wake them up! (shouting at the bugger) 'Ello, Messrs. Bugger! I've got a lovely fresh (whatever Buggers eat) for you if you show... Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your nine o'clock alarm call! (Picks up bugger and hits it on the ground throws it in the air and watches it plummet) Now, thats what I call a dead Bugger.
Petra: No, no.....No, 'e's stunned!
Ender:STUNNED?!?
Petra: eah! You stunned him, just as he was wakin' up! Buggers stun easily, major.
Ender: his Bugger is no more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker! 'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! 'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the twig! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile!! THIS IS AN EX-BUGGER!!
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'You are old, Jailor Rackman', young Ender had said, 'And your eyes by now have lost their sight; And yet you instruct me until you turn red - Do you think, at your age, it is right?'
'In my youth', said the one who's compared to a Hun, 'I have strained to utmost reach my brain; And yet now that I am so sure you have none I will teach you, lest you will be slain.'
'You are old', said the youth, 'as I mentioned before, And I'm treated by you as a brat; And you treat me so badly my heart is all gore, Prythee, what is the reason of that?'
'In my youth', said the sage, as he shook his grey locks, 'I was taught not to ever be supple; To achieve utmost glory we must fight as cocks And we two will fight well like a couple!'
Posts: 2978 | Registered: Oct 2004
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posted
Hi, I just signed up here but thought this was a cool idea for a thread & thought I'd give it a shot.
OSC as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Over the course of several weeks, I had acquired a grave concern for my singular friend, Mr. Ender Wiggin. Always solitary, Wiggin had become even more withdrawn of late. He was given to locking himself in his quarters where I can only assume he was watching videos of the Mazer Rackham & the Bugger invasions, his only discernable source of solace since giving up his addiction to the desk game. The depths of his depression, if left unabated, seemed sure to bring about a disastrous end.
I knew the fellow had been pining for his sister (or simply 'the woman', as he called her), who was known to frequent the Demosthenes Club and who, he incredibly claimed, occasionally was the Hegemony; I was unsure if this might be the source of his disconsolation, or if it was the stress of the frequent and lopsided battles that our Dragon Irregulars were tasked with facing, or perhaps some other matter with which I was unacquainted. Having set my determination to either assuage or confirm my fears by confronting him over the matter, I made arrangements to call at his quarters after one of our Battle Room victories and attempted to broach the issue.
After being admitted, I sat heavily in an armchair, acutely feeling the ache of the old injury from my days in Rotterdam. "Wiggin, what bedevils you so? Can it be that you afraid of something?"
"Indeed I am, Bean."
"Of what?"
"Madrid."
I groped for understanding. "In Spain?"
"Bonzo Madrid. The Napoleon of Battle School. He is behind fully half that is evil and nearly all that goes undetected in this station."
"But my dear Wiggin, what do you mean?"
"I think that you know me well enough, Bean, to understand that I am by no means a man given to paranoia or cowardice. At the same time, it is stupidity rather than courage to refuse to recognize danger when it is close upon you."
"But what danger threatens you so?"
Wiggin shook his head and sighed. "You see, but you do not observe."
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"I don't mean to be an alarmist, old chap," Bean said, "but did you really intend to meet a gang of murderous bruisers in the showers? They're armed with but arms, but their arms beat yours hollow. Yours are pretty mouldy, after all."
Ender looked both ways down the corridor. In the one direction waited an undignified if squeaky-clean death, and in the other direction was the house mother, with her rather fearsome lorgnette . . . he shuddered. It couldn't be so bad, being murdered, could it? "Be a good chap," Ender said, looking like nothing so much as a sheep with its head stuck in a fence, "and tell her I love her, when I'm gone."
"Who?"
"I don't know yet. But if she has creamy white cheeks with just a touch of rose, and shell-like ears, with breath like sweet perfume, one can't go very wrong, can one?"
"Stop it this instant," Bean said, his face turning as red as an underdone pudding. "I love Nancy."
"So that's her name?" Ender mused. He'd found the love of his life! Suddenly being left as a bloody spot in a shower didn't seem so awful any more, although it didn't exactly whet the appetite. "What does she look like?"
Bean seemed to be choking. He opened and closed his mouth like a dying goldfish.
"Never mind," Ender said. "I would never interfere . . . but tell her I loved her, won't you? Like the flowers love the rain. Like buggers love eating people's heads, or whatever it is they do. Like pigs love a good wallow."
Bean's rage dissolved into tears. "I can't bear it," he said. "If you love her, you must have her! Can I stand in the way of true love?"
"There, there," Ender said, because that's what one says when a dear friend bursts into tears. It never did make any sense to him, but proprieties must be observed.
[ August 24, 2005, 08:16 AM: Message edited by: Will B ]
Posts: 1877 | Registered: Apr 2005
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1 And it came to pass, in those days, that a great spaceship arose into the heavens, carrying a great people; and the number of them was ten thousand, three hundreds, and five. 2 Amongst them was, Red, son of Stef; to which Pink the shoat bare witness. And Red knew his wife Carol Jeanne (who knew him not at all) and begat two annoying daughters. 3 And Lovelock the capuchin monkey bare witness to Carol Jeanne. And in that spaceship lived many foolish as cattle, 4 Whose gods were their egos, 5 And who must have lied like the devil to the colonization board. Thus it came to pass, as it has been written, For a monkey shall have more sense than all of them put togetherPosts: 1877 | Registered: Apr 2005
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Excellent Ender bloodily beat the brainy buggers horrible home world. He was particularly praised for this awesome accomplishment. He got surrepitously sent on a crazy colony super ship to one of the big bad buggers wacky worlds.
Posts: 19 | Registered: Jan 2005
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posted
Hmmm, OSC as Lemony Snicket would be a bit more depressing:
Day after day Ender participated in the games. In this case, the word "participate" means: to play along when you do not really care for the games, because you know it has to be done. I am very sorry to say that Ender participated in a great many games without once feeling happy about it, and I am even more sorry to say that this tale does not get any happier. If you like happy stories, please put this book down now and go read a story about happy things. I have promised to write this woeful tale truthfully, so there will be very little happiness about it.
One day Ender was late to the games. His teacher, a very old man who has quite a remarkable history that would take too long to tell you at the moment, told the boy, "This is the final game."
To Ender, the word "final" meant: the end of the horrible, awful life he was leading at the moment, and he felt a glimmer of hope. To the teacher, however, the word "final" meant: a last attempt for humankind, and the word "game" meant nothing at all. For, dear reader, I regretfully have to tell you that the games Ender participated in were not games. When he finished the "final game", millions of living persons died.
I warned you the tale of Ender Wiggin would not be a happy story. If you wish to read further, I must caution you again: it is very tragic, "tragic" meaning: to be rather miserable to the point of great sorrowfulness. Our poor Ender was not free of the cruel hands of fate yet.
Posts: 973 | Registered: Apr 2005
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posted
Oh yeah CRash... toatlly hilarious. You can't have Lemony Snicket without the situational word definitions
Posts: 26 | Registered: Aug 2005
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Ender looked across the room at his crew, eating and thinking about the next day. Battle School had put itself to bed hours before, but he knew that the prowl was on.. looking for him.. looking for his blood.
He walked into the shower, urinating on the floor to watch the motion of the drain.. the slow, circling motion which would tell him the magnetic pull of his current location.
Out of the quiet came the maelstrom - Bonzo. Bonzo was no match for him, he knew this. He lacked the training, he moved slow, his reflexes like molasses compared to the cool, trained muscles that he had developed. He thought to himself "is this slag really this stupid?" Even knowing his unique advantage, he also knew that it was better to have your enemy off guard.
"So, is cornering me in the shower some sort of fantasy for you, Bonzo? Can't get enough of the d...."
Before he could even finish the phrase Bonzo lept out at him. The taunt was just right - Bonzo lept out of control and undisciplined. One backwards slap of the head would be enough.. the satisfying crunch as he toppled over told him all he needed to know. Bonzo laid on the floor, bleeding, gasping.
"Here's hoping some moron will pay to unstack you" he said "but, until then, here's a going away gift" as he kicked him in the balls and walked away.
What a waste. He'd have to at least wash his hair and feet again.. and he'd need another stall.
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Child genius and committed killer Andrew "Ender" Wiggin has reportedly finished off the entire buggar race.
Well known for his murder of a school-yard bully and later atrocities against fellow battle-schoolers, Wiggin's latest acts look to have ensured the genocide of the only alien race man has yet come to know.
While many in the miliary elite praise Wiggin's ruthless decisionmaking and command style, there are some who question his involvement in the current administrations voluntary war against the buggars. Some, such as Mary Funct, widow of a now deceased fleet commander, question the need for such actions.
"We never stopped to question why. Why did these buggars attack us in the first place? If only we could have understood them better, my husband would not have had to go away for this unjust war and waste his life for the whim of a little boy."
But military strategist Mazer Rackham dissagree, offering this justification for the extreem actions of the Administration's military approach to buggar diplomacy:
"That little son-of-a-b*tch saved our *sses!"
But that is little comfort to the thousands of families who will never see their loved one again, as many who ventured away so many years ago now lay dying or dead in ships that were nothing more than the play things of one Andrew Wiggin.
As for Wiggin, who is said to spend his spare time playing video games in his bunk, the Administration has claimed the boy has dissappeared.
So while many on Earth are left to deal with the trauma of losing loved ones and the terrible guilt we all as a world must endure for our part in the complete destruction of another race, the Administration pledges, "We will bring freedom and democracy to these worlds."
Several democratic senators have questioned the strategy of committing genocide, and have expressed concern over the impact this will have on Earth's resources -- some referring to the occupation as a "veritable quagmire."
For their part, PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Aliens) will be holding candlelight vigils tomorrow at midnight throughout the World.
Did the buggars want peace? Could they have been our friends? What could we have learned from them?
These are questions we'll never have answers to, thanks to one Ender Wiggin and his jeesh of compatriats bent on bloodshed and genocide.
--reprinted by permission.
Posts: 25 | Registered: Aug 2005
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posted
Yeah, but at the same time it's kind of funny. I can honestly see Wolf Blitzer doing that exact news story.
Posts: 21898 | Registered: Nov 2004
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posted
Well Tom, I guess I'm sorry. I honestly thought it was just a good bit of fun. Clearly you didn't.
But c'mon ... if it were today's media and political big-heads covering the same series of events, wouldn't you expect to see a story just like that?
Anyway...thanks Calaban....glad to see SOMEONE recognized it as just a bit of levity.
Besides, wasn't it established in later books (by society in general) that Ender was eventually looked upon as some sort of evil person who committed Genocide (Xenocide)?
As such, I would think that the real reporting would not be too far off of what I quipped about above. It's simple, really -- take a modern political climate and cross it with the ending events of Ender's Game and what would it look like?
Ender's Game as covered by the media. I guess if you find that tastless and unacceptable, then I really am sorry.
I would think that since this entire thread is designed as a sort of mockery or make-fun at other styles, I wouldn't think I had to explain that it was a JOKE.
Well ... sorry. I'll be more sensitive next time.
Posts: 25 | Registered: Aug 2005
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quote: But c'mon ... if it were today's media and political big-heads covering the same series of events, wouldn't you expect to see a story just like that?
No, I actually wouldn't. But, then, as a former member of the media you're demonizing, I might have a slightly different perspective on the issue.
I recognize why you considered that "just a bit of levity," of course. But I think it's a shame that your perspective on the media is so skewed that you take that approach as a given.Posts: 37449 | Registered: May 1999
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OSC as JK Rowling. teeheehee, and I could probably point out the part in that book too.
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I was hoping it sounded enough like Chandler that someone could guess without my having to say (or actually quote any lines verbatim from any of his books.)
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You can't have Lemony Snicket without the situational word definitions
