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Psycho Monkey's Creative Writings

Discussion in 'Creative Archive' started by Psycho Monkey, Jul 19, 2010.

  1. Psycho Monkey

    Psycho Monkey Member of the Literary Elite Four

    Yup, reposting these too because I can and thy make good reads. First up is the creative nonfiction story named after a shirt I own that details my worst mistakes.

    Stupidity, How’s That Working For Ya?​

    Whenever I watch the news or read an online article about a guy who calls the people he just robbed asking if they could return his wallet because he dropped it while robbing the house, or the redneck who gets a DUI for driving his lawnmower on the freeway, I am amazed at how utterly incompetent humans can be. I find it almost laughable when someone wins a Darwin Award, an award given to a person who dies as a result of stupid behavior, because those stupid genes are now removed from the gene pool. One such example was a man who attempted beastiality with a raccoon only to have the mammal bite his dick off causing him to bleed to death. Idiot.

    Even to this day while I mock and scoff at these dumbasses for being such morons, I myself am regrettably still human, though I hate to admit such an abhorrent fact. I too have committed unforgivable acts of stupidity, though the occurrences are relatively few and far between because I’m a fairly competent creature. Each time I was left wounded either physically, mentally, or emotionally and my pride always hurt because I should have been smarter than that. I tell all now about my greatest follies. Laugh if necessary, I deserve as much for misplacing my precious intelligence.

    My first significant lapse in judgment came in the summer of 1999 while I was playing my Pokémon Blue Version. After seven months or so, I had nearly beaten the game. I had successfully beaten the Elite Four, the final bosses of the game, and all I had left to do was “Catch ‘em All” as the slogan went. My Pokédex completion at the time was 125 owned and 149 seen out of the total 150 monsters. While I waited for my brother to get home so he could trade me an Electabuzz, which was exclusive to the Red Version, for my Magmar, the Blue Version exclusive counterpart, I made the atrocious blunder of starting a new game because I was bored and wanted to bide time until my sibling returned to me. I could have easily started leveling my Dragonair into a Dragonite, but I thought it wise to play the game from the beginning. It comes as no surprise to me now that the next time I picked up my game the only Pokémon I had was a level 7 Bulbasaur. My level 77 Blastoise, my Mewtwo, my Articuno, the Porygon my cousin Eric gave me… DELETED! All of that hard work over the last few months… DELETED! All for what? For a few moments of boredom? How could I? The worst part was I knew the risks of starting a new game with a previous file in existence! Most Game Boy games at the time were simplistic in that you had to play from beginning to end nonstop or use a password to get back to the last level you were on. Pokémon was revolutionary in that you could save directly to the cartridge just like any other consol Role Playing Game. But that’s what made the save file fragile. Start a new game and do anything that auto saves the game, like use a PC like I did, and… DELETE! to the old data. I was crushed that all of my hard work had been erased from existence never to be restored. While today I’d be disappointed and angry at myself for such a careless mistake, Pokémon was my first videogame and I was ten. For me, it was the end of the world. When I finally got over my loss, I made do with what I had left. I started anew, recaptured all of my monsters, raised their power to greater levels, and ultimately defeated the Elite Four once again. Even after catching all 150, it was a hollow victory. The game lacked that magical feel it had the first time around. Suspense and surprise were lost. More thought out strategy and planning beat out winging it in new situations. It would be five more years before brainlessness overcame me again.

    As a Freshman in high school at the age of fifteen, I was fit as could be. I was rarely sick, and when I was it was only for a day or two. One particular 24 hour cold however, struck pretty hard at the worst possible time. I ended up being absent the day a very important project was due in my Biology class. When I returned the next day fully restored I had my paper with me but I never turned it in. Why would I do something so incompetent? Because my teacher never asked for it. This foolish little freshman was waiting for a freaking invitation to hand in the damn assignment that was due the previous class! Well eventually my teacher did ask for it because she was missing the grade on it. My grade on the assignment: 0% because of how damn late it was! My grade for the third quarter: the first letter of the first word that came out of my mouth when I saw my report card. Let’s just say that word wasn’t awesome, bitchin, or cool. Queue me drawing an invisible nonexistent katana from its sheath and impaling myself through the chest. I was enraged at myself for such insolence! I had been pulling a solid “B” until this mindless stunt. Luckily I did well enough the fourth quarter and on the final to come out with a final grade of a “B” when it should have been an “A”! It was the greatest insult to my intelligence ever! Well one of them anyway.

    Two years later I was lounging in my chair in the basement balled up in the fetal position for a nap. When I woke up I was feeling particularly lazy and didn’t want to get up. Obviously my brain was still asleep, because I got the bright idea to roll out of the chair and fall to the floor. I acted on that stupid impulse only to land on my right knee. I was taking Physics that year so why not do the math? Distance: about a foot off the ground. Mass: roughly 135lbs. directed to one single small point. Acceleration: gravity. Pain: indefinite. It started out as a quick twinge that shot through my body. “Ow!” I yelled. And then it became unbearable. “OOOOWWWW!!!” I screamed.

    “What’s wrong?” my mom called down to me from upstairs. As soon as I could form words past the agony, I shouted back “I fell asleep in my chair and fell out when I rolled over landing on my knee. Fetch me an ice pack!” It was a lie, but I wasn’t about to admit that I did this on purpose only for her to confirm what I already knew. I was a dumbass moron for attempting this stunt. What did I think was going to happen? That I was just going to laugh it off and call it a day? Please. This pain was my body’s way of telling me that I was a freaking idiot who should never intentionally do something that might hurt. Especially something that could have broken my leg or prevented me from walking normally again! Well I got my ice pack, but it still took several days for my knee to stop hurting. Hell, even to this day if I sleep wrong or misstep I have that unpleasant sensation run up and down my right leg.

    Every time I do something incompetent I mock myself by asking “Stupidity, how’s that working for ya?” The answer is always “Not well, perhaps I should quit.” I am proud to say that I have been smart for the last four years and I intend on keeping it that way. I have learned from my past errors while striving not to make any new ones. At least no one knows about any of this stuff. Oh wait… Damn.
    #1 Psycho Monkey, Jul 19, 2010
    Last edited by a moderator: Sep 19, 2013
  2. Psycho Monkey

    Psycho Monkey Member of the Literary Elite Four

    My first of three poems, this one based off of my favorite videogame. Fun fact I just noticed: the structure even looks like the Nobody symbol. I swear that was not intentional.

    Just A Nobody

    A heart… if I had a heart
    Ripped from my body, tearing me apart
    This empty shell used to be somebody,
    But now I am just a Nobody

    Rejected by both the darkness and light
    I’m left teetering on the edge of nothingness tonight
    Of all emotion I am devoid
    Lost forever roaming this empty void

    Love, happiness, joy, pleasure, I feel nothing
    Anger, hate, sorrow, despair, I wish I could feel something
    Under the sacred moon I yearn
    Will my heart ever return?

    My lost heart denies me the ability to feel
    With every passing day I find it hard to believe this real
    Even as I go on pretending to exist
    This emptiness inside continues to persist

    A creature of nothing lost in a World That Never Was
    I wander the city of in between without a cause
    Its hollow empty streets echo with somber melodies
    They are a lot like me, all they have left are memories

    Against my incompleteness I have desperately fought
    Wondering if I will ever reach the Alter of Naught
    This empty vessel used to be somebody
    But now I am just a Nobody​
    lily hikari likes this.
  3. Psycho Monkey

    Psycho Monkey Member of the Literary Elite Four

    Poem two of three. Nuff said

    Ode To The Monkey King

    I serve no mortal man, but I, Psycho Monkey, solely declare his majesty
    the Monkey King as my master for his badassery, cunning audacity,
    and overall awesomeness as his loyal vassal.

    Sired with many names, Son Goku and Sun Wukong are his most
    recognized identities. Golden garbs and a phoenix feathered
    cap complete his reflection of royalty.

    From modest origins does this great demon lord come, being born out of
    chaos and residing in a waterfall cave with others of his kind. Quickly did
    Goku’s powers grow until he became the best of his clan.

    Seeking immortality, the intelligent monkey became skilled at magic and martial arts.
    Armed with the soaring cloud Kinto-un and the Nyoibo Staff, capable of stretching
    to any size, Goku instituted his dominance over all demons, even dragons.

    When eternal life and youth belonged to the monkey, not even the armies of heaven
    numbering One Hundred Thousand were a match for Goku’s overwhelming powers.
    In victory the Monkey King’s immense strength increased even further.

    With a lethal ego and mischievous mannerisms, Son Goku is a foe
    that is best not to make. Once again I, Psycho Monkey,
    affirm the mighty Monkey King as my master.​
  4. Psycho Monkey

    Psycho Monkey Member of the Literary Elite Four

    Last poem and it's a haiku since I'm actually pretty bad at poetry unless I have a massive stroke of genius. The haiku is based on the final moments of Code Geass but is left ambiguous enough so as not to spoil anything.

    Zero Requiem

    They made it happen
    A plan to unite the world
    The price paid was high​
  5. Psycho Monkey

    Psycho Monkey Member of the Literary Elite Four

    And this is the crown jewel of my Creative Writing class: The Fiction! >:D Those of you who have read Rise of Team Neos know these two, and those that I've RPed with in the past know Arthias especially well.

    Warrior From An Unknown Land

    When most people see Strife Maxwell, they see a well respected politician in a neat white suit, clean white shoes, and a royal blue dress shirt and white tie underneath his suit jacket. With his brown hair neatly combed and his blue eyes glowing with determination he is the very image of a perfect gentleman. However what the people do not realize is that this image is only a mask worn for the public. In truth, Strife Maxwell was the leader of the Non Existent Ones.

    The Non Existent Ones, often abbreviated as NEOs, is a shadow organization located deep within the mountains on the Northern Continent. Behind the scenes, Neos operates by exploiting the corruption, hostility, and unrest of the world for its own ends. Sometimes they added fuel to the fire to gain something from the ensuing chaos, while other times they put a stop to the problem because if left unchecked it could escalate into something that would be a threat to Neos’s survival.

    One such incident on December 11, 2003 was set in motion by one of their own. During the holiday recess in that year, shortly after his 28th birthday, Strife returned to Neos HQ to go over what must be done in the coming year with his Captains. What awaited him when he returned was unexpected, but also came as no surprise to the man.

    Leaning against the left wall of the silver hallway leading to the conference room with his arms crossed was a young man with dark brown hair styled back into spikes but flat on the top and four thick strands hanging down over his faded blue headband down to his pale green eyes which were hidden behind red tinted glasses. He wore the traditional Neos uniform which consisted of whitish grey hakama pants and grey boots that came up mid-shin. The long-sleeved shirt portion of the uniform was the same shade as the pants, however only the sleeves below the shoulders were exposed thanks to the formfitting black armor the warrior was wearing. By the man’s side was his red claymore which was never more than an arms length away. It was a massive blade being almost as tall and wide as its wielder.

    “To what do I owe this pleasure Arthias?” Strife inquired stopping at the lieutenant’s right and placing his left hand in his pants pocket. Even to Strife, the one who brought Arthias into the organization, the warrior was an enigma. His age, where he was from, any kin he may have had, all was a mystery. Even his name was debatable as when he introduced himself he said “I am called Arthias.” Still, it was the man’s skill Strife admired. After that, nothing else mattered.

    “I’ve been bored recently Strife. My opponents lately have been weak.” answered Arthias condescendingly. “I want to fight someone strong.”

    “I will see what I can do about that. For now though I have a very important meeting I must attend to.” responded Strife paying not as much mind to the demand as he should have. After all, it was not like Arthias to come out and complain about being bored. Strife soon realized his mistake when the blood stained blade was thrust in front of him blocking his path to the room. At first he was slightly taken back by this assault, but after quickly regaining his composure Strife gazed at Arthias from the corner of his eye with an unamused look.

    “You’re strong aren’t you? No weakling could ever become the Leader of Neos without someone of greater power claiming the title first, right?” Arthias questioned with a malevolent smirk. Strife returned the smile with a light chuckle.

    “I see where you are going with your accusation, but I am afraid I must decline at the moment.” the leader rejected waving his hand. “You see, I must get on with this conference. There have been several anomalies found in one of our contingency plans that need to be rectified immediately. Now kindly remove your sword.” Strife requested.

    “I’m not taking no for an answer.” the warrior refused defiantly.

    “Nor am I. Stand aside at once!” Strife commanded sternly as he started getting annoyed with this insubordinate behavior. Then Strife sighed while swiftly formulating a solution to the situation that would give both parties what they desired. “Arthias. I am unarmed at the moment. Allow me to attend my meeting now and I will promptly rendezvous with you in the battle facility once all matters have been resolved.” he proposed.

    “Fine by me.” the warrior replied lowering his claymore back to his side. He turned the opposite direction of his superior and started down the hallway. “Don’t keep me waiting long.” he warned.

    Strife shook his head. There had been a very good reason he had kept Arthias on a long leash all these years. Even as a young boy, Arthias was far too dangerous to be left unbound to his own devices. At the same time, too many restrictions would have him rebelling. As it seemed now, no matter what precautions were taken, the warrior would follow his instinct to battle powerful opponents, even his own superior.

    “Are you sure you want to go through with this Sir?” asked one of the Captains, a man with long silver hair. Once the meeting had ended, Strife made good on his word to head to the battle facility. This particular captain chose to accompany him just as a precaution. Even though Strife had insisted, the captain followed him anyway. Strife took off his suit jacket and handed it to him.

    “If I do not discipline Arthias now for this impetuous behavior and remind him of his place, he will only go on to run amok causing further harm.” he said nonchalantly as he removed his tie as well. “I do certainly hope that we will get this settled without the need for bloodshed. It would be a waste of Arthias’s talents were I to kill or handicap him.” Strife then proceeded to unbutton his cuffs to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “Sword.” he requested holding out his left hand.

    “Yes Sir.” answered the Captain obediently handing his superior a katana with a black hilt in a black sheath.

    “I will not be long.” Strife said after accepting his weapon then attaching it to his waist. To Strife, this katana was like an extension of his being. He had been trained to wield the sword ever since his fifth birthday when he received it as a gift. Despite that, Strife was no blood knight unlike the man he was about to face.

    Strife entered the battle facility which was a large cube shaped arena with four entrances, one on each wall. Standing in the center of the silver room was Arthias with the pointed tip of his claymore resting on the ground and his hands laying one on top of the other on the top of the hilt.

    “It’s about time.” Arthias said irritably shifting his hands to grab the hilt. “Are you ready to die?” he asked lifting the large sword and holding it in front with both hands.

    “Afraid not.” responded Strife unsheathing his katana with his right hand. The pristine silver blade shimmered as it was retracted from the darkness into the light of the room. Forged from the strongest metal known to man, this blade was both unbreakable and could cut through anything if enough force was applied. It was fitting, Strife often thought, that such a marvelous weapon was be wielded by the world’s future ruler. “I have yet to create my perfect world. I cannot allow myself to be conquered before then.” he continued holding the katana in a defensive position.

    Arthias made the first move by smashing his claymore to the ground and using it as a pole-vault to flip through the air. Strife quickly threw his arms above himself using the flat edge of his katana to block the second strike as Arthias performed a mid air vertical swing. The power of the impact forced Strife to bend his knees and elbows to absorb the shock but not enough to give his opponent an opening.

    Using the energy stored in his limbs, Strife pushed the warrior back. As his feet had yet to touch the ground, Arthias was able to get some extra distance from his adversary’s strike range. Not missing a beat, the War God swung his claymore horizontally. Since his weapon had greater range, this swing would at least be enough to cut Strife.

    Strife however was able to expertly dodge the attack by jumping back. He then resheathed his katana and charged forward with his hand still on the hilt. The warrior quickly put his guard up and began thinking of a counter measure. Sure what Strife appeared to be doing was easy enough to counter, but he knew that his superior was also a well trained fighter and no fool. Clearly this was a fake-out tactic.

    As soon as Strife was close enough that he could not change course, Arthias jumped to his right. “You’re a helpless fool!” he berated swinging his sword horizontally to cut his boss in half. Having anticipated every possible move Arthias could have made, Strife was able to proficiently counter his subordinate’s strike by unsheathing his sword.

    Strife’s katana emerged from its sheath in a diagonal position which was able to stop the warrior’s horizontal assault. Sparks went flying as the two blades clashed. Once Strife had fully released his sword, he pushed forward to repel Arthias’s attack and leave the warrior open for Strife’s own. The superior switched his katana from his right hand to his left and swung across his subordinate’s exposed torso.

    Arthias pulled back after the attack with his hand over his chest. He inspected the damage to find that only his armor had been broken with a diagonal slash across his abdomen to his chest, even his shirt underneath had remained intact. The warrior also noticed that his claymore had a nick in it from where Strife’s katana had blocked it. Despite the damage to his weapon and armor, Arthias was smiling. It had been awhile since an opponent was able to scratch him without suffering some wounds of their own first.

    The two continued to cross blades for the next five minutes in much the same fashion by parrying or dodging the other’s attempts at striking. Finally Strife had enough. “Arthias, this farce is over!” he assured thrusting his sword forward. All Arthias could do at such close range was hold up his claymore using the broad flat end like a shield. Even that did not help him as the blade of the katana pierced the crimson blade of the claymore as well as Arthias’s armor directly over his heart.

    “This can’t be…” refused Arthias as his superior retracted his katana. The left portion of armor on the warrior’s chest began to crumble sending black fragments to the floor.

    “Can be, and is. You have lost.” Strife pointed-out callously. From behind his red glasses, Arthias’s eyes turned fierce with anger and panic. His usual cold and calm demeanor was fading fast. In all his life Arthias had never lost a single battle. He was not about to let his perfect combat record be sullied now.

    “No! I am Arthias! I don’t lose! I never lose! Not to anyone! No one, and especially not you!” he yelled charging wildly with the blade of his claymore dragging on the floor. He was planning on doing an uppercut to fatally wound Strife.

    “Impudent fool!” Strife chastised angrily lifting his katana into the air in his right hand. As soon as Arthias lifted his sword for the killing blow, Strife brought his down at greater speed. The shattering sound of metal echoed throughout the room as the upper portion of the claymore went flying behind Strife then clanging to the floor. Between the superior’s katana and Arthias was a splattered arc of blood.

    Arthias stood absolutely paralyzed from what had just happened to him. It had yet to hit him that his claymore was now in two pieces. He was even too shook up to feel the throbbing pain of the diagonal gash on his left cheek that was pouring crimson plasma. The warrior’s only reality was that he had just suffered his first loss. “I… I lost…” he said in a shaken voice collapsing to his knees.

    “You have. It was presumptuous of you to even attempt such an endeavor.” said Strife uncaringly as he pulled a rag from his pocket to clean the blood from his sword.

    “Kill me now and be done with it.” Arthias requested in despair.

    “Kill you?” Strife repeated looking over his katana one last time for any traces of blood before putting it back in its sheath. “Clearly you do not recognize your importance. If the world is a chess board, then I am the Black King and you are a well played knight. It would be foolhardy of me to waste such a valuable piece so early in the game. Especially when in a few years time there will be war.”

    That grabbed Arthias’s attention. He looked up at his superior as Strife continued his explanation. “That meeting I had earlier had us rectifying a plan that will start a world war. All we need to do is put all the pieces in the right place. I am sure you will be enjoying yourself on the battlefields when that time comes. I will even overlook today’s transgression and promote you to Captain level. Perhaps this will keep you from getting bored for awhile longer. I will be returning to my quarters now. Please escort yourself to the medical ward to get your face looked at.” instructed Strife as he left the battle facility.

    As Arthias watched Strife leave, he noticed several drops of blood on the floor then thought about what the superior had said. The warrior touched his fingers to his cheek and felt the warm sticky substance. “Damn… I’ve still got a way to go.” he lamented in shame. He was humiliated, mortified even, that he had lost and been allowed to live.

    As the next few weeks passed, Arthias slowly came to terms with his defeat. He had lost sight of why it was he fought. It started as a means for survival. Being strong meant that he would continue to live another day. When it had become clear to Arthias that he had reached a point where he could take care of any challenge that life threw at him, his instinct to fight drove him to seek strong opponents to test the limits of his abilities. After constant victory after victory, Arthias had forgotten why he sought powerful enemies until that fateful day when his limit was found in Strife Maxwell. He had always respected Strife for his intellect, charisma, and leadership skills and now that respect had extended to his superior’s prowess as a fellow warrior.

    However, having met someone who exceeded his strength was not something Arthias could ignore. His desire to fight strong adversaries had taken new meaning. Now that the warrior knew his limits, the only thing left would be to surpass them. He would continue to fight until the time came when he would complete his new claymore with Strife’s blood or die trying.

    Just after the New Year as Strife Maxwell was about to return to White City, he called Arthias to his office to personally assign him his first mission as Captain. When the warrior presented himself to his superior, he wore long black pants, black mid-shin high boots, a black breastplate with gold trim and matching shoulder pads that curved up into one inch spikes over top a black tunic, arm length black gauntlets, and a long black cape. The faded blue headband and red tinted glasses remained a part of his attire. To complete his new intimidating look, Arthias now had a scar on his left cheek from his previous battle.

    “Glad you could make it Arthias.” Strife greeted. “There has been some dissidence in a disputed territory to the east. A group calling themselves the Oyashiro Family has enslaved the locals of a tiny village because gold was found in the territory. I could not care less about the gold. Oyashiro could become a threat if they keep this up. Do not harm any villagers, but find the Oyashiro Family and eliminate them at once.” ordered the superior.

    “Yes, my lord.” Arthias agreed with a bow. With that, he took off to do what he was best at. Fighting and killing.

    So yeah, Arthias lost, big deal. Strife is just a bigger badass that's all. In canon, they had a Pokemon battle first which Arthias also lost.

    I'll leave this topic open for comments and in case I come up with other creative writing to throw in.
    #5 Psycho Monkey, Jul 19, 2010
    Last edited by a moderator: Sep 19, 2013

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