[CENTER]_________________________________________________
Chronologie IV: School's Out
[CENTER]An on-going sci-fi series inspired by action movies, video games, and this one British chap with a strange fetish for silly looking hats.
[/CENTER]
_________________________________________________[/CENTER]
One thing Creative Composition class taught Neal about language was that metaphors were invented by immature (but, in all likelihood, older) men solely for the purpose of describing female breasts. He imagined the conversation that gave birth to the amoral folly of modern linguistics to have went something like this:
"Greetings, my caveman comrades! Did you notice the phenomenally attractive physical attributes of our female colleague?"
"Yes, indeed we have! These attributes of hers are like… Like… Like two giant watermelons, bouncing up and down on an improvised trampoline!"
"LOOK OUT FOR THE LION!"
Admittedly, the class' teacher played a major role behind the fifteen-year olds' philological discovery. While not much of an orator, she was both young and charming, and most importantly, had quite the remarkable figure.
Neal glanced at his PDA screen. It said:
The dinosaur eats you. Would you like to try again?
Y/N?
"Mister Stephens!"
"Em, yes, sensei?" he said, promptly switching off the device.
"Tomorrow's the last day of school, and you still haven't turned in your assignment! You're way overdue. You don't want to fail Creative Composition, do you?"
"No, sensei. Of course I don't."
"Then I expect to see at least a thousand words of original prose on my desk tomorrow first thing in the morning. And I am going to see it, correct?"
"Yes, Asakawa-sama! You will!"
"Very well then, Mister Stephens. Class dismissed, ladies and gentlemen. See you tomorrow."
To paraphrase a great philosopher, 'I'm pretty much screwed,' Neal thought as he left the classroom. Creative Composition was his last class for the day, so he had the entire afternoon to ponder his failure as a writer, never mind a creative one. He got to his locker down the hall, and threw his backpack in. Maybe I should've taken Creative Chemistry with a specialisation in Creative Ways to Make Crap Blow Up instead, he thought, closing the locker.
He jumped when he felt somebody slap him on the back.
"Oye, Neal!"
He turned around - it was his friend Kenichi, the coolest kid in 9B (according to Kenichi, of course). The coolest kid in class looked especially unkempt today, even by his own standards. His uniforms' tie was thrown across his shoulder and had what appeared to be scorch marks on it, his unbuttoned jacket was missing a sleeve, and Neal could've sworn there was smoke coming from Kenichi's spiked hair. He, of course, actually did take Creative Chemistry.
"Woah. What the hell happened to you, man?"
"Potassium," said Kenichi simply as they headed towards the exit.
"Potassium?"
"Yeah. This kid in class, what's-his-face, he was making a presentation today and he was like, 'This isn't working! I need more potassium! It's not my fault!' So naturally, I give him more potassium. In retrospect, this might've not been a very good idea."
"Hah! You're nuts!"
"Remember, Neal – the difference between genius and insanity is only measured in success. Anyway, how was your class?"
"I'm doomed, man. I've until tomorrow to write a short story, a thousand words minimum. And I'm stumped. No ideas whatsoever. I wanna be a writer, you know? But aren't writers supposed to be inspired and stuff?"
"Inspiration's overrated, my friend," said Kenichi, "And if I were your muse, I'd kill myself too."
"Very funny."
"Kenichi – The Greatest Comedian of the Empire of the Sun. Hey, what do you know, maybe I'll even score an audience with the Emperor one day."
"Yeah. Being beheaded for a crappy sense of humour would surely make for a nice pinnacle of any comedic career."
"Well at least I don't use stupid-arse words like pinnacle in my everyday speech. Anyway, what are you gonna do about the story?"
"Don't know. Any bright ideas, oh Entertainer of the Masses?"
"Oh, shut up," he said, "And yeah, as a matter of fact – there is one. I had to come up with a solution for Creative Chemistry one time that would, when in contact with Lizarian frogs, make the frogs auto-combust. Pretty sight like you-wouldn't-believe-it. Anyway, Lizarian frogs? The heck, right? I haven't even heard of the damn things before. So you know what I did? I went to the Imperial Museum of History and Exploration, no less. Learnt all there was to know about the little bastards."
"Kenichi, that's great and all, but I need to write a short story, not set alien frogs on fire!"
"Well, you could write a thousand-word essay on what a badarse your friend Kenichi is, you know."
"No, not really," Neal said – they were by now standing in front of the automatic double door, little packs of students rushing to get off school property on both sides of them.
"Then – to the museum!"
"I'll think about it. Anyway, man, see you tomorrow."
"Last day of school, aye?" Kenichi said, "See you then. Good luck with the story and all."
Kenichi raised his hand in a mocking salute, and walked off. Neal watched him leave through the see-through door for a while, and then stepped outside. To the museum it is then, he thought, not like I've many options anyway.
The hot afternoon sun of New Tokyo certainly wasn't adding much to Neal's overall less-than-jolly mood, never mind that the thousands of electronic billboards and advertising holograms covering almost every surface as far as eye could see promised an epileptic seizure to anyone smart enough to stare at them for more than five seconds at a time. Neal thought he would've been used to the Empire's capital planet being so heavy on the senses by now, but the planet clearly disagreed.
He got to the Imperial Museum of History and Exploration in but ten minutes' time - it was only three metro stations away. The building towered above everything in the vicinity, its modern architectural design a testament to the rapidly progressive Imperial thought. Or at least, so said the brochures.
Neal walked inside, and found himself standing in something akin to a reception area. A sky-high ceiling and a myriad of doors in a semi-circle in front of him. As if this wasn't intimidating enough, the interior designer apparently suffered from an unhealthy love for artificial silk and decided to painstakingly cover every visible surface in pompous red. The effect of grandeur was absolute: when you walked into the Imperial Museum of History and Exploration, the Imperial Museum of History and Exploration walked into you, took a look around, and then smacked you across the face with a titanium crowbar with your name written on one side and "INSIGNIFICANCE" on the other.
The only thing missing here's a ghastly voice recording saying, "Bow down, mortal!" when you walk through the doors, Neal thought.
"Statement," said a cheerful robotic voice, "Greetings, visitor!"
Neal looked up - a spherical drone floated down to him, blinking its many sensor and indicator lamps in what Neal hoped to be a friendly manner.
"Statement: I am FU-47, and I will be your guide for the duration of your tour. Warning: I am authorised to use non-lethal force if you temper with the exhibits. Query: How may I assist you?"
"Non-lethal force?"
"Statement: If you behave in a manner that I will find to be endangering to the museum property, I will send a short burst of electricity through your body strong enough to fully incapacitate you."
"And... You often have to do this to people?"
"Exclamation: You'd be surprised! Query: Now, how may I assist you?"
"I'm looking for... Inspiration."
"Statement: I'm afraid inspiration is not listed in our catalogues. Query: Would you maybe find an electric shock inspiring?"
"I doubt it. Listen, eh, FU, my friend's been here, looking at some Lizarian frogs or whatnot. Maybe we can start from there?"
"Exclamation: Follow me!"
FU-47 sped off and dived through one of the doors. Neal followed. He lost count of the turns they had to take before the corridor finally lead them into a wide hall.
"You are now entering the Hall of Cosmozoology," said a female voice.
Exhibits were standing across the room in cases of reinforced glass, and the walls housed niches with holograms of alien animals, plants, and sentient species.
"Statement: To the right, dear visitor, you can see the so-called brahmin, a two-headed cow native only to the planet Xxxx. It is speculated that..."
"Hey, what's this?" Neal interrupted, pointing at an encased human-sized purple cone.
"Statement: This is a mutated tentacle from Sigma VI that became sentient and attempted to take over the galaxy. Query: Are you familiar with the human saying, 'It's all fun and games until somebody grows a tentacle?'"
"No, can't say that I am. What about this?" He pointed at a hologram of a grey disembodied arm covered with scars and runic tattoos.
"Statement: This arm was an accidental geological finding on one of the moons orbiting Epicurus. Statement: Its owner could not be named. Query: Would like to know more?"
"And this?"
"Statement: This is a homicidal lagomorph from Samux I."
"And?"
"Query: And what?"
"Que- Dang. I mean, and what about it?"
"Statement: Nothing."
"So... Just a 'homicidal lagomorph?'"
"Statement: Correct. A homicidal lagomorph from Samux I."
"Riiiight. Listen, I'm sure some people find killer rabbits awfully exciting, but for me it just doesn't click, you know?
"Statement: No, I do not know. Query: Would it 'click' if I administer a brief electric shock to you?"
"No, FU, you are not zapping anybody today. For crying out loud, who programmed you? Now, show me something... Hmm... There are weapons in this museum, right?"
"Exclamation: Follow me!"
The next morning Neal was sitting in his last Creative Composition class of the year. He just couldn't stop feeling so damn good about himself: next to his PDA lay a miniature memory card with a two-thousand word short story about insane robots, sword-wielding tentacles, and homicidal lagomorphs from Samux I. It wasn't exactly his ticket to a literary career - but he was proud of it nevertheless. Last day of school, last overdue project, last glimpses at Asakawa-sama's physique. Tomorrow, school was out.
Neal looked at his PDA. It said:
The dinosaur eats you.
Would you like to try again?
Y/N?
>>Y.
>>Eat dinosaur.
[CENTER]_________________________________________________
Next in Chronologie IV: Cat on a Hot Tin Roof [/I][/CENTER]
[/SIZE] [/SIZE][/FONT]
Chronologie IV: School's Out
[CENTER]An on-going sci-fi series inspired by action movies, video games, and this one British chap with a strange fetish for silly looking hats.
[/CENTER]
_________________________________________________[/CENTER]
One thing Creative Composition class taught Neal about language was that metaphors were invented by immature (but, in all likelihood, older) men solely for the purpose of describing female breasts. He imagined the conversation that gave birth to the amoral folly of modern linguistics to have went something like this:
"Greetings, my caveman comrades! Did you notice the phenomenally attractive physical attributes of our female colleague?"
"Yes, indeed we have! These attributes of hers are like… Like… Like two giant watermelons, bouncing up and down on an improvised trampoline!"
"LOOK OUT FOR THE LION!"
Admittedly, the class' teacher played a major role behind the fifteen-year olds' philological discovery. While not much of an orator, she was both young and charming, and most importantly, had quite the remarkable figure.
Neal glanced at his PDA screen. It said:
The dinosaur eats you. Would you like to try again?
Y/N?
"Mister Stephens!"
"Em, yes, sensei?" he said, promptly switching off the device.
"Tomorrow's the last day of school, and you still haven't turned in your assignment! You're way overdue. You don't want to fail Creative Composition, do you?"
"No, sensei. Of course I don't."
"Then I expect to see at least a thousand words of original prose on my desk tomorrow first thing in the morning. And I am going to see it, correct?"
"Yes, Asakawa-sama! You will!"
"Very well then, Mister Stephens. Class dismissed, ladies and gentlemen. See you tomorrow."
To paraphrase a great philosopher, 'I'm pretty much screwed,' Neal thought as he left the classroom. Creative Composition was his last class for the day, so he had the entire afternoon to ponder his failure as a writer, never mind a creative one. He got to his locker down the hall, and threw his backpack in. Maybe I should've taken Creative Chemistry with a specialisation in Creative Ways to Make Crap Blow Up instead, he thought, closing the locker.
He jumped when he felt somebody slap him on the back.
"Oye, Neal!"
He turned around - it was his friend Kenichi, the coolest kid in 9B (according to Kenichi, of course). The coolest kid in class looked especially unkempt today, even by his own standards. His uniforms' tie was thrown across his shoulder and had what appeared to be scorch marks on it, his unbuttoned jacket was missing a sleeve, and Neal could've sworn there was smoke coming from Kenichi's spiked hair. He, of course, actually did take Creative Chemistry.
"Woah. What the hell happened to you, man?"
"Potassium," said Kenichi simply as they headed towards the exit.
"Potassium?"
"Yeah. This kid in class, what's-his-face, he was making a presentation today and he was like, 'This isn't working! I need more potassium! It's not my fault!' So naturally, I give him more potassium. In retrospect, this might've not been a very good idea."
"Hah! You're nuts!"
"Remember, Neal – the difference between genius and insanity is only measured in success. Anyway, how was your class?"
"I'm doomed, man. I've until tomorrow to write a short story, a thousand words minimum. And I'm stumped. No ideas whatsoever. I wanna be a writer, you know? But aren't writers supposed to be inspired and stuff?"
"Inspiration's overrated, my friend," said Kenichi, "And if I were your muse, I'd kill myself too."
"Very funny."
"Kenichi – The Greatest Comedian of the Empire of the Sun. Hey, what do you know, maybe I'll even score an audience with the Emperor one day."
"Yeah. Being beheaded for a crappy sense of humour would surely make for a nice pinnacle of any comedic career."
"Well at least I don't use stupid-arse words like pinnacle in my everyday speech. Anyway, what are you gonna do about the story?"
"Don't know. Any bright ideas, oh Entertainer of the Masses?"
"Oh, shut up," he said, "And yeah, as a matter of fact – there is one. I had to come up with a solution for Creative Chemistry one time that would, when in contact with Lizarian frogs, make the frogs auto-combust. Pretty sight like you-wouldn't-believe-it. Anyway, Lizarian frogs? The heck, right? I haven't even heard of the damn things before. So you know what I did? I went to the Imperial Museum of History and Exploration, no less. Learnt all there was to know about the little bastards."
"Kenichi, that's great and all, but I need to write a short story, not set alien frogs on fire!"
"Well, you could write a thousand-word essay on what a badarse your friend Kenichi is, you know."
"No, not really," Neal said – they were by now standing in front of the automatic double door, little packs of students rushing to get off school property on both sides of them.
"Then – to the museum!"
"I'll think about it. Anyway, man, see you tomorrow."
"Last day of school, aye?" Kenichi said, "See you then. Good luck with the story and all."
Kenichi raised his hand in a mocking salute, and walked off. Neal watched him leave through the see-through door for a while, and then stepped outside. To the museum it is then, he thought, not like I've many options anyway.
The hot afternoon sun of New Tokyo certainly wasn't adding much to Neal's overall less-than-jolly mood, never mind that the thousands of electronic billboards and advertising holograms covering almost every surface as far as eye could see promised an epileptic seizure to anyone smart enough to stare at them for more than five seconds at a time. Neal thought he would've been used to the Empire's capital planet being so heavy on the senses by now, but the planet clearly disagreed.
He got to the Imperial Museum of History and Exploration in but ten minutes' time - it was only three metro stations away. The building towered above everything in the vicinity, its modern architectural design a testament to the rapidly progressive Imperial thought. Or at least, so said the brochures.
Neal walked inside, and found himself standing in something akin to a reception area. A sky-high ceiling and a myriad of doors in a semi-circle in front of him. As if this wasn't intimidating enough, the interior designer apparently suffered from an unhealthy love for artificial silk and decided to painstakingly cover every visible surface in pompous red. The effect of grandeur was absolute: when you walked into the Imperial Museum of History and Exploration, the Imperial Museum of History and Exploration walked into you, took a look around, and then smacked you across the face with a titanium crowbar with your name written on one side and "INSIGNIFICANCE" on the other.
The only thing missing here's a ghastly voice recording saying, "Bow down, mortal!" when you walk through the doors, Neal thought.
"Statement," said a cheerful robotic voice, "Greetings, visitor!"
Neal looked up - a spherical drone floated down to him, blinking its many sensor and indicator lamps in what Neal hoped to be a friendly manner.
"Statement: I am FU-47, and I will be your guide for the duration of your tour. Warning: I am authorised to use non-lethal force if you temper with the exhibits. Query: How may I assist you?"
"Non-lethal force?"
"Statement: If you behave in a manner that I will find to be endangering to the museum property, I will send a short burst of electricity through your body strong enough to fully incapacitate you."
"And... You often have to do this to people?"
"Exclamation: You'd be surprised! Query: Now, how may I assist you?"
"I'm looking for... Inspiration."
"Statement: I'm afraid inspiration is not listed in our catalogues. Query: Would you maybe find an electric shock inspiring?"
"I doubt it. Listen, eh, FU, my friend's been here, looking at some Lizarian frogs or whatnot. Maybe we can start from there?"
"Exclamation: Follow me!"
FU-47 sped off and dived through one of the doors. Neal followed. He lost count of the turns they had to take before the corridor finally lead them into a wide hall.
"You are now entering the Hall of Cosmozoology," said a female voice.
Exhibits were standing across the room in cases of reinforced glass, and the walls housed niches with holograms of alien animals, plants, and sentient species.
"Statement: To the right, dear visitor, you can see the so-called brahmin, a two-headed cow native only to the planet Xxxx. It is speculated that..."
"Hey, what's this?" Neal interrupted, pointing at an encased human-sized purple cone.
"Statement: This is a mutated tentacle from Sigma VI that became sentient and attempted to take over the galaxy. Query: Are you familiar with the human saying, 'It's all fun and games until somebody grows a tentacle?'"
"No, can't say that I am. What about this?" He pointed at a hologram of a grey disembodied arm covered with scars and runic tattoos.
"Statement: This arm was an accidental geological finding on one of the moons orbiting Epicurus. Statement: Its owner could not be named. Query: Would like to know more?"
"And this?"
"Statement: This is a homicidal lagomorph from Samux I."
"And?"
"Query: And what?"
"Que- Dang. I mean, and what about it?"
"Statement: Nothing."
"So... Just a 'homicidal lagomorph?'"
"Statement: Correct. A homicidal lagomorph from Samux I."
"Riiiight. Listen, I'm sure some people find killer rabbits awfully exciting, but for me it just doesn't click, you know?
"Statement: No, I do not know. Query: Would it 'click' if I administer a brief electric shock to you?"
"No, FU, you are not zapping anybody today. For crying out loud, who programmed you? Now, show me something... Hmm... There are weapons in this museum, right?"
"Exclamation: Follow me!"
The next morning Neal was sitting in his last Creative Composition class of the year. He just couldn't stop feeling so damn good about himself: next to his PDA lay a miniature memory card with a two-thousand word short story about insane robots, sword-wielding tentacles, and homicidal lagomorphs from Samux I. It wasn't exactly his ticket to a literary career - but he was proud of it nevertheless. Last day of school, last overdue project, last glimpses at Asakawa-sama's physique. Tomorrow, school was out.
Neal looked at his PDA. It said:
The dinosaur eats you.
Would you like to try again?
Y/N?
>>Y.
>>Eat dinosaur.
[CENTER]_________________________________________________
Next in Chronologie IV: Cat on a Hot Tin Roof [/I][/CENTER]
[/SIZE] [/SIZE][/FONT]
幻術
