Genesis 2 A Masterwork.

By: John Stephens. Copyright John Stephens 2010, Blog, Post, Reverse Engineered by C.S. Gilmore

Original: 2 poster image by John Stephens

I first came across this poster when I was shopping for Christmas gifts for my family, and since this uses the principles of design so masterfully I decided to use it for this reverse engineering project.

Proximity Genesis 2 poster image by John Stephens

Proximity was used in this piece in numerous ways. We have the pillars together in two groups, plus the stones in the lower half close to each other and creating a transition between the land and space scenes. There is also the mountain in the center, which is placed so as to appear behind the pillars, helping to create a sense of depth. Besides the layers of object groupings from top to bottom there is also a grouping of things on each side, creating a channel down the center of the image for the flowing water to lead the eye from top to bottom and far to near.

Contrast Genesis 2 poster image by John Stephens

Contrast comes to mind primarily in the use of color. There is the dark of space at the bottom, transitioning into a middle level of color richness in the area of the stream, trees, and rocky hills. The transition and contrast deepen further with the brightness of the pillars before darkening again a little with the sky above. In addition there is also the brightness of the black hole compared to the dark of space around it. There is also the nearness of the lower image in contrast to the larger size but greater distance feeling given by images further up, such as the cathedral.

Repetition Genesis 2 poster image by John Stephens

Repetition is used throughout the image as well, easily seen in the varying shapes, sizes, and colors of the rocks in space and the stream. It is also visible in the pillars as they shift in angle and nearness, as well as in the shape of the arches and in the fact that they are mirrored in the water. The Image itself is also almost but not really mirrored in its two sides.

Alighnment Genesis 2 poster image by John Stephens

Alignment is also used to great effect to clearly define different zones, such as space, the stream, the pillars, and the sky, helping the eye to recognize the different layers of the painting and the relation of objects in those layers to each other. Most notably the alignment of objects along the sides creates the tunnel effect that serves as the central point of the image with the water flowing down, which adds a lot to the sense of image depth.

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YouTube Moving Along Nicely

The YouTube Channel is coming along nicely now and I’ve come a long way in knowing what I am doing with it. Some aspects of the channel still need a bit of work, but for the most part everything is up and running as it should at this time.

Here is a link to the channel. I recommend using the playlists for ease of finding videos in their proper order. I have a good bit of content up now, over 100 videos, and several playlists covering several games, including a few that are still in progress of being recorded and released, though don’t let that stop you from watching what is already out. Enjoy.

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YouTube videos

So I’m taking some time to practice my video skills as well as transcription writing. Also it is kind of fun all around, so here is a link to my YouTube channel and the Darkest Dungeon game series I am making play videos of.

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For those Liberal sorts out there who are now interested in gun ownership.

This article isn’t mine, it was made by Larry Correia, who knows way more about this sort of thing than I do, seeing as he has been a firearms instructor. He does not let the left go without a healthy reminder that your side has made gun ownership more difficult, but if you can get past being offended by that, his advice is really good, hence my deciding to share it here, just click the link provided below and it should take you to Correia’s article.


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Child of Snow- a short story

This is another short story, in the third draft or so. Inspired by Eowyn Ivey’s The Snow Child, with a bit of a lovecraftian tilt. It is a fail in regards to horror, which is what I intended, but I got a lot of really good feedback and it is undergoing another big revision that changes a lot and hopefully will bring it into more of an understandable, and yet horror styled story.

Child of Snow

By: Charles S. Gilmore


Piece by piece, the body was formed, shaped by hands both calloused and worn.

That was how the child came to be, not born of a woman, but shaped by parents whose child bearing days had long since passed. They were an older couple, carving a snowman with the first fallen flakes of the year. How little they knew, how little they suspected. It had been years since their last child moved away, formed a family of her own, and bid farewell to the Canadian landscape in favor of the warmer climes of the United States.

A jab in the side, more uncomfortable than painful, then another as a second stick was planted opposite the first. The child endured, unmoving and silent as the ice it took form from, it knew its task, its mission, its life’s work, short though it may be. It could not risk the humans learning of its true nature yet, it was already at risk thanks to the canine they kept, growling at the child, well aware of the danger it presented. The beast was even so bold as to urinate on the child’s snowman cocoon. Though not yet fully formed, the child delivered a strong kick to the beast’s side while the couple was not looking, a necessary risk to end the searing pain of the dog’s warm liquid. The dog yipped and jumped back out of reach, as the urine-stained snow crumbled from the snowman’s base from the movement of the child within. The couple smirked, and joked about the dog being a coward, before replacing the fallen snow with clean snowfall. The child grinned beneath the snowman’s blank stare.

The snowman was complete, and the couple gazed on their work with approval, retiring to their cabin to warm themselves before bed, leaving the dog to return to its own resting place in the nearby barn, though it kept a watch on the child for many hours still.

Darkness descended with the setting sun, a gibbous moon reflecting only a remnant of light upon the snow. The child grew strong with the cold as warmth left the land and more snow began to fall with the arrival of a fresh storm.

Without words the child spoke to the wind, gathering valuable intelligence. Eons had come and gone, changing the land and its rulers. The beings of warmth and fire now slumbered, deep within the earth where their heat could not escape. The wind though, it never slumbered, it was not in its nature, neither did the wind care who ruled, for it maintained a freedom of its own no matter the state of the earth. The wind spoke of those who had formed the child, humans they were, an interesting race, weak and yet strong. The rocks might speak of humankind’s appearing, their births and deaths, but the wind knew more. Humankind was complicated, beings of light and dark, of their own choosing. Even in death they lived on, shedding mortality and continuing to grow into something more. The child cared little beyond that, its task involved only these two mortal creatures, beyond that was the concern of greater powers.

Soon the moon neared its zenith in the cloud ridden sky above. It was time. Slowly the child of snow shook itself free of the excess material that had sheltered its birth into the material realm. The cabin stood before it, holding the key to the child’s mission in its depth, a mission given it by a greater being of cold yet sleeping, yet stirring, the mortals would be the key to the end of the long sleep.

The child neared the cabin, silently moving through the snow, and peered in through clear glass windows. It would need to use caution to complete the deed entrusted to it. Though the child was not truly a child, being since the world was formed and only taking the shape of a human child at this time for its mission, guided by the will of the sleeping great ones. It must not fail.

Inside, the cabin was polished pine, rich with the scent of amber, and warmed by a fire contained in a stone furnace, around which sat the couple. They gazed into the flames, occasionally tossing a fresh log into the blaze, stoking the fire for the night as they shared each other’s company.

The child ducked from sight upon noting the fire, lest the conflagration should inform its masters and doom the child’s plans to failure, but soon it realized this flame had not even the presence to do that much. The fire in the cabin was weak, no more than an animal, tamed by humans and given life at their will, and returned to sleep at their will as well.

The humans themselves were old as mortals went, but still had some strength to them. While their skin was wrinkled, and brown as dirt from the cursed suns burning rays, their limbs held the strength of daily labors, mostly involving the care of some dumb beasts in the nearby barn, and the feeding of the pet flame, or so the wind whispered.

The wind cared nothing for the humans, they came and went, they dwelt with the wind, and they hid from it as any creature of mortal make.

The child observed a while longer, changing appearance now and then until it believed itself fit for its role. It could not hide its nature entirely, only wear a mask of sorts. To the touch it would ever be cold, formed of ice and frost, pale as the fallen snow it had made its physical self from, but it could take on a little color, and shape itself so as to appear to wear the garb that the humans seemed to favor. The clothing would do them no good in time, the cold would win this night.

Stealing itself for the torture that awaited before it could complete its task, the child approached the door, making sure to blink its ice blue eyes and take in air, though it had no lungs to require it. The child knocked.

A minute passed, and it knocked again, unsure if the humans had heard. Then the door opened, and the man stood before it.

“What is this? A child? You must be frozen half to death. Come in and warm yourself by the fire, and tell us where you came from? Are their others caught in this storm with you?”

The child said nothing, not knowing how to speak with a human voice, only understanding the words with the winds translation. It nodded in the negative, chastising itself as it did so, because if one or both of the humans went out in search of others, it wouldn’t have to enter the sweltering cabin to deal with them, too late now though.

Perspiration broke out across the child’s body as the heat of the fireplace encircled it. Even the dumb flame recognized an enemy when it saw one, though the humans were clueless. Strange creatures to have survived so long with so little sense. The man guided the child closer to the fire, mistaking the perspiration for melting snow and potential frostbite. The child gritted white teeth against the pain of warmth, regretting its choice of form, realizing that the humans were fitter than it had at first thought. It would need to handle the humans separately, instead of together as it had at first planned in order to accomplish the sacrifice for the great ones, first the male, then the female. Sacrifices for the waking of the child’s masters. The seal of time must be unraveled.

The couple questioned the child, their faces creased as they sought to understand what had brought it to their place in the night, and where it had come from. They gave up when no answers were forthcoming, and instead brought the child a warm drink and food. Grimacing, the child accepted so as to dispel their worries and suspicions, though it left the drink untouched, it could not endanger its mission by destroying its form with such hot fluid. The food it ingested, but only after letting it cool considerably, taking the risk of worrying the couple more with its hesitation in favor of what little comfort could be gleaned from the present circumstance.

The child plotted what to do next, but the heat was so great that it had to focus its strength into not melting on the spot, leaving little thought available for more sinister thinking. It was also true that the humans were as interesting to the child as it was to them. How had such creatures come to roam the world, to survive with such fragile forms and short lives?

Above the mantle sat a row of framed pictures, showing more humans with the couple. Their family? The concept was not one the child knew, it existed and did the greater beings wills, or else it suffered at their wrath. United, these pathetic mortals had survived far longer than it seemed possible. That unity would have to be undone.

A part of the child wondered though. What a family might be like, how might its existence differ if its own worked as one by choice, rather than by force of the mighty, the lesser, like itself, always vying with each other for approval of the powerful? Could the lesser ones accomplish something like the greater did, simply by working together and uniting their strength?

It silenced such thoughts, the sleeping masters might hear and be displeased. They did not tolerate rebellion, and it had worked so long just to be chosen for this mission, to have the glory due one who undid the sleep of ages.

The couple spoke with each other quietly, features creased in a manner bespeaking concern. Had they seen through its guise? It listened intently but couldn’t make out the words, and the wind offered no aid this time. Then the man arose and brought a heavy blanket. The rough cloth was hell to the touch, trapping the fires heat and holding it to the child’s body. The couple left then, retiring to another room for their rest. As soon as they had gone, the child removed the cover and fled to the nearest window to draw strength from the cold outside. It could not complete its duty while so weakened by heat. The fire must first be slain.

The couple had shut a door behind them, leaving the child alone, it could act without giving away the element of surprise, so long as it acted quickly. The fire sputtered and spit as the child threw the cup of water on it, but even this weak flame was strong enough to endure so small an attack. Opening the door, the child called to the snow, drawing it in through the doorway with the winds aid, reveling in the rejuvenating frost that came with it. Soon the fire was smothered. Leaving only cooling coals behind. Now was the time to act, the humans would notice before long as their home lost the warmth the flame had provided.

The child drew together the melted snow from extinguishing the fire, infusing it with an iota of its power in order to freeze the liquid into a blade of ice, a sacrificial dagger to awaken the masters.

With weapon in hand, the child opened the door the couple had left by, dagger at the ready to rend and kill, but the door only opened on a hallway, with other doors leading from it. The couple must have gone through one of them.

The nearest door first. Just a closet. The second paid off though, opening on a bedroom. Unease filled the child as it neared the bed with steps made silent by a layer of snow pushed before it, the child raised the dagger, freezing the snow in the doorway with its power, the humans would not escape that way easily should they survive the next moment.

“Henry, close the door would you, your letting the cold in, go throw another log on the fire would you.” The woman grumbled from the bed without looking, drawing the covers more tightly around herself. Where was the husband? That feeling of unease had come because it had not confirmed the presence of both of the humans, and the man was gone.

“Henry! I said close the door.” The woman barked, turning to look for her husband, confusion creasing her features as she saw only the child. Then she saw the dagger, and screamed.

Leaping forward, the child plunged the dagger down, cutting deep into the woman. Blood spilled from the woman’s mortal wound, bubbling out to soak the blankets as the child withdrew the blade, readying for a final blow.

The man arrived then, a bellow of rage on his lips as he saw the child’s work. He slipped on the snow in the doorway though and fell to the ground, breaking his charge. The child laughed, its work would be done all the sooner, but then it was on the ground as well, pain emanating from its arm as the couple’s dog arrived and sank its teeth into the child.

The canine had the arm with the knife pinned in its bite, and no amount of pounding with the other arm managed to remove it. Across the room, the man was getting back to his feet, reaching for a weapon with death in his eyes as the woman ceased to breath. The child acted quickly, with a force of will, it severed the pinned arm from its body. It would gain a better one soon.

Caught off guard, the dog hesitated at its seeming success in stopping the enemy. The child took advantage of that pause, and gripped the dog in a one-armed chokehold until it collapsed.

The man hit the child next, wielding a wooden bat he had grabbed from next to the bed. The child rolled with the blow, grabbing its blade from the ground as it went. The man charged, bringing the bat down in a great two-handed blow that would surely have destroyed the child’s form had it hit, but it did not. The child sidestepped the blow and brought the dagger up into the man’s heart, warm blood oozing painfully down the knife and over its remaining arm.

The man collapsed and died.

Now it was time to undo the seal and awaken its masters. Taking the dagger from the man’s chest, the child began to draw with the blood, swooping runes of power long lost to mortal knowledge. The wind helped, gusting about in a frenzied hurricane that spread the blood with masterful strokes. They finished the work quickly, and the child gazed down on the complex design.

The child sensed as the others awoke, their thoughts joining with its own, not bounded by distance as they rose from slumber far away in the North and South, where glacial bodies took on new life, an army to cover the glove in glorious ice once again.

The ground shook then, and the child frowned, none of its kind were so close as to cause such a thing. Running outside. The child questioned the rock and wind. They laughed.

To the South West rose a pillar of ash and fire, which the wind said was from the place named Yellowstone by the humans. The cold’s mortal enemy, rather than falling further into slumber, as they ought to have with the completing of the summoning, were instead rising as well. Great beings of fire and heat, lumbering out of the depths of the earth.

Confused. The child hurried back inside to inspect its work. The great ones would not be pleased if it had done something wrong. No. Everything was in place, and perfectly set. Then the child looked up. There on the ceiling of the bedroom, drawn with the same perfection, were yet more symbols. Betrayal! The wind laughed at the child’s realization before replying, how could it betray one with whom it had never sided? The child served its leaders out of fear. The wind and stone served a greater power.

What power was there that could be greater? The child questioned, but the wind did not respond. Instead, a light grew in the room, not hot or cold, yet brighter than any light the child had ever seen, and within that light a human male stood, not a mortal, but one who smelled of ages, even more than the greatest ice beings.

“So begins the great battle, and the judgement of the world.” The man said, with a voice that while gentle, shook the cabin like the brashest thunder. “Gog and Magog, humanity and the world. A great battle to usher in the millennial reign. You frost born have served out of fear, and been instrumental in bringing this about, a tool in hands you did not even know were there, for your kind have forgotten the one who formed them so long ago.”

The man was gone then, as quickly as he had appeared, and the child did not know what to do, until, from across the world, the great ones spoke, calling it to battle.

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Just a drop- 1st draft short story

This is an example of one of my 1st drafts, which basically means needs lots of work still, though I think I am getting better at having rather readable 1st drafts now, probably because I do a lot of early editing in my mind, and typing makes spelling and little changes easy to make. I mostly made this one as part of a homework assignment. It was an experiment in writing for me, going outside of a more sentient being and into the existence of a drop of water. It lacks characterization and conflict for the most part, but I believe it paints a nice scene, and so might be a comfortable break for someone looking to just relax.

Just a Drop

By: Charles S. Gilmore


Rising, and rising, up into the atmospheric expanse above. Unshackled from the grounds constraints, molecular bonds too loose, spreading mass so thin that gravity could not drag it down. Such was the life of a water droplet in vaporous form.

All around, others of its kind rose together with it. Higher and higher.  Where would they go next? It hoped for someplace new. A frontier beyond what it had seen of late.

For several decades it had been stuck in the amazon, tossed about on rich green leaves, before becoming part of some indigenous plant or creature, or else joining with others in a mighty rush down the amazon river itself, a gurgling thoroughfare of activity. Laboring to carry sediment from one point to another, maintaining the rich soil of the land and shaping the world into something different.

Once it had been caught in the fold of a leaf with some others, until a speckled frog of red and blue coloration had laid its eggs in the waters grasp. It still remembered the tickle of the tadpoles as they sped around and around in their little contained world, watching as they grew legs and eventually were transported away to some larger water gathering by one of their parents.

Another time it had struck rock, rough and porous with age. Oddly shaped into even size with its neighbors, stone upon stone until they formed a mountain of sorts. The rock tasted of age old blood, nearly lost to time and the grasp of other droplets over the many years. Other drops had found the pyramid of rocks and pushed it off the side. It had nearly made it to the ground too, before a thirst patch of lichen had sipped it up in passing.

Dietary tracks, blood and urine, all were familiar sights to the drop of water. Always it had strived to leave what it found better than before, washed clean of contaminants, and supplied with the fresh strength that the water carried in its very being, always giving of itself and yet never running out, for it always gathered too, and what was contaminant for one, was food for another.

The drop continued to rise higher into the sky, the wind steering it away to some as of yet unknown location, for it did not know when it would reform from a cloud into liquid, and begin the cycle again.

Hopefully not too far north or south, were billions of its kind stood sentinel in solid form, held there by the cold, guarding untold secrets from the world. Bored out of mind and waiting for the time when they could once again rush forward and see what had become of the world in less frozen climes. The last ice age had been so dull; even worse than the time it had been trapped in a plastic flask for untold years, stored away for later use and then forgotten in a human’s basement. There it had learned that while spiders were masterful artists, they were not conversational, and plastic made speech difficult even with those drops of condensation that formed in the dank corners of the moldy structure.

Looking down, revealed nothing to the drop regarding its destination, there were too many of its kind in the air to see through, though some whispered of an approaching landmass in the distance. The air got cooler. Slowly the droplets body congealed, first into a liquid and then into a solid. Others stuck to it as they rose and fell on the winds currents, gathering into a ball of ice the size of a gumball. They fell, faster and faster. Would they be doomed to eons at the poles, or perhaps a single season of winter? Perhaps neither.

The air grew steadily warmer as they dropped towards the earth, the others thawed and drifted apart. Descent slowed as the drop shifted into a flake of snow, limbs outstretched to catch the wind. It landed on a mountain, striking out of the earth like the spine of a hedgehog.

All around it others settled to the ground, piling together until a sheet of white flakes had formed. The land as far as could be seen was grey and brown, with yellows, reds, and oranges visible in the trees far, far below, nearly lost from sight due to a wall of evergreens and grey rock that jutted out from the mountains limestone side. A landscape like those the drop had seen many a time, and God only knew how long it would be stuck here, where the temperatures rarely changed due to the altitude alone.

Time passed, below, the trees lost their leaves and became skeletons of themselves for their winter sleep, except for the evergreens of course, soon weighted down by the massed bodies of the drops frozen kin. Sometimes the drop couldn’t even see that much, as others piled upon it, blocking all view save a white sheen. Things got interesting once, when a moose nearly swallowed it, but otherwise all was dull perpetuation.

The fire came the following year, orange heat jumping up the mountainside and through the valley below, devouring everything it touched. The drop shivered with excitement, perhaps here was its salvation, the warmth that would set it free to roam once more. The evergreens caught finally, fine needles lighting like thousands of matchsticks, and then they were gone. The fire never reached the snowline, the plant growth died away too soon, and the wind blew the warmth away instead of drawing it in. The drop continued as a flake for another two years, watching as piece by inching piece, life returned to the mountain valley, fresh saplings climbing up from the ashes, and the occasional deer, come to feast on the new grass.

Another summer, the sun stretching down its arms of warmth from the sky above. The drop felt itself loosen, crystalline limbs folding back into a liquid core. It was free!

Down the mountainside it sped with the others, ready to join some trembling stream and seek a new adventure, tearing streaks in the ash sediment that had ground itself into the dirt, carrying its rich soil to a new place, where it would feed some hungry plant.

Everything went black then, and the drop thrilled with the echo of its voice off of confining walls. It had dropped into a cave. Down, down, down, it went, deeper into the earth beneath the mountain, speed diminishing as the cave floor evened out gradually.

Subterranean bacteria hungrily tore the ash from it as the drop joined itself to a pool. The bacteria soon becoming food for some eyeless insect, and that in turn for a white salamander, gills frilling in and out as it inhaled its quarry. The cave was cool and damp, but not so cold as to freeze the water, a fate the drop dreaded to receive all so soon after only just escaping such a fate, even if the depth of the earth, provided a new experience apart from that offered by packed topsoil alone.

How long it remained in the cave it did not know. It was pulled up to the ceiling by the occasional vent of heat from the earth below, it rode down the walls and added to the point of a stalactite that had been forming for ages unseen from the ceiling, dropping down until it nearly formed a pillar with a stalagmite below.

Eventually the drop grew tired of the dark and asked the others about moving on, surely there must be an escape, for more water would come from time to time, yet the cave pool did not grow. Down it is told, further down, into the stone itself, porous and easily worked through, after that the others did not know.

The drop continued in the cave, lingering longer and longer. It did not dare take the risk of endlessly descending, moving from one prison to another. It grew more and more bored with the cave existence though. There was only so many times it could find joy in turning stalactites into pillars, and watching the salamanders feed. It missed the growth of tree’s and animals.

It had enough, so long as it remained in the cave, it is as stuck as if it were frozen as ice.

The next time it arrived at the pool, it dove. Down. Down to the deepest point. Into the fine grained silt that slithered through its being. Down into the rock itself, slow going, but going nonetheless. Something hard all of a sudden, blocking passage. A crystal in the stone. The drop worked around it. Deeper. The expected cold and freezing did not come. It grew warmer instead. Warmer, hotter. Movement became easier, the rock itself was moving. Glowing hot magma, deep in the earth’s mantle. Had the drop gone so far? It didn’t matter now, it was being carried away, turned to steam with no means of escape.

The feeling was not entirely pleasant, expanding, falling apart, but unable to actually spread out comfortably. Where was the magma taking it? Up again? Days passed. The rock changed. The pressure continued to grow, more and more as rock continued to pour in around it, denser than before, crushing it and any other drops together despite the heat.

Then something broke. A crack like thunder, only with a roar that continued for minutes on end. The rock was moving faster now, forcing the drop along at incredible speeds. The earth gave way to sky in a slew of red and black, ash and dirt, vapor and slag.

The drop had no idea where it was, an island, a continent? It was above ground once again, that was what mattered. The wind caught it and carried it away on a burning breeze.

Through the smoke and ash, the drop saw an island, rising out of the sea, displacing waves lake a cannonball dropped from a ship. A city burned on a neighboring island, touched by the molten fragments falling from the sky. The drop wanted to go and help, to cool the fires, but the wind said otherwise and bore it away.

Then came a continent, and the desert. Hills and dales of burning sand, interspersed only rarely by a small oasis.

The wind dropped it.

The drop fell towards the sandy earth, but rising heat threw it back into the sky, only a few other drops touched the ground. Small creatures clawed out of the sand to drink what water they could. The drop fell again and again, and was thrown back, again and again. It hit the ground once, but evaporated at the sands burning touch, then again, falling with several others. They cooled the ground and sank into the grit.

Fear seized the drop, was it going to be buried again? There was something nearby, something solid. The drop pushed towards it, an anchor in a sifting sea of barren earth. It touched the solid object, and the object touched back. Fibrous fingers licked at the drop, drawing it in. The object was a seed. More drops were pulled inside the plant child, as cells fired and spurted to life, fed by the waters nourishment.

The seed grew.

The plant poked its head above the sand, out into the sun. days passed, but the plant endured, refusing to wilt, strengthened by the water it had gathered, its skin growing thick to hold onto what it had. For months the drop circulated through strange bulbous leaves, watching as the plant grew less and less, becoming another fixture in the desert. A new prison.

Months passed, creatures occasionally nibbled at the plant, never where the drop was though. More drops joined it at one point, during a fluke storm that brought more rain with it, and in turn more plants, awakened from their dormant sleep in the sand.

The plant began to change again too, flowers grew on the leaves, great flowers of yellow and orange hue. So delicate. Bugs came next, swarms of them from seemingly out of nowhere, pollinating the flowers, where bulging fruits began to grow.

The drop was pulled into one of these fruits, used to spread nutrients from the parent plant to the new seed. Used to make it appetizing and strong.

A kangaroo rat took the bait once the fruit fell to the ground, nibbling away at the fruits flesh. The drop went with it into the digestive tract with a sigh of relief. A moving animal, however small, was less of a prison than a plant that offered only the same view every day, especially when that view was nothing more than sand and death, and the occasional spout of life under the moonlight, when the heat died down and the animals dug their way out of their burrows to hunt and feed.

The rat soon became food for a snake, who in turn became prey for some keen eyed bird. Then the drop was freed with the passing of the remains, evaporating back into the sky.

It was dropped into a river next, and thought its adventures from the ordinary may be over for a time, but an outside force said otherwise.

Hydraulic pumps, snatched the drop from the river with many of its kin, rushing them through confining pipes and into a vat. Waste, toxic and otherwise was dumped into the drops grasp, chemical mixtures strange to the touch, slimy, acidic. Then the drop was shot out through more piping and back into the river, unsure what had just happened to it, but bearing its new contaminant along. What creature would benefit from such things though? After spending so long in mostly barren conditions, the drop desired the life of a forest.

A young sapling stood on the riverbank and sank its roots into the waters, the drop made for it. The roots grabbed at it and others, pulling it into the plant. Something went wrong though, instead of the plant drawing from the drop and growing stronger, everything that the drop fed grew sick. The drop checked on the other drops for an answer, was it simply the plant, or was something more going on?

Other drops were witnessing similar horror, but not all. Then it understood. All those that made the plant sick were those who had been pulled out of the river, those who had not been taken had not taken in the same contaminants. What had that place done?

The drop tried to separate itself from the toxic materials, to prevent the tree from feeding from it, but it was all in vain, the tree drank, and died.

The drop gathered more contaminants from the trees remains before returning to the river, but the evil sediment remained in great quantity. Another tree root lay ahead, the drop pushed to avoid it, to spare a life. It failed, and another tree died.

A raccoon drank it and grew ill. The drop feared it could never help another again.

Then came the marshland.

The river slowed and spread, and plants became so populous that the drop could not avoid them no matter how it tried. More plants died. New bacteria arrived shortly after that, as the drop languished in the muck of rotting vegetation at the marshes bottom. The bacteria were different from those the drop had seen before, and they came for the drop. It tried to move away, not wanting to kill more. The bacteria were persistent though, and they fed, taking in the chemical residue and everything else. The bacteria did not die though; they broke the chemicals down, releasing gasses that smelled of decay and rot.

The drop was clean again, and new plant life began to grow where the old had died.

The drop laughed at its own foolishness, how had it forgotten the greater picture, the great cycle. There was always something that would feed on what it carried, and the world would go on.

The drop moved on.

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A Second Site in the Works to Inspire Readers

I’m currently working on a new website as part of a class project, this will be my main site still, but check out the new one anyway, as it will have some pieces not found on this site.

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