Scratch

Yes, the most useful translating I have seen of such ROTs

That is completely under the assumption you have a preexisting code in use!

I wrote a vignette about myself.

Me. BitterToast. Why is it some of us are doomed to gray storm clouds and the never deliquescing taste of lemon, like ash in the mouth, like others have a perfectly smashing life full of sparkly rainbows and daisies and also watermelons that seem to have sugar and other natural preservatives? The bitterness envelopes some of us like cotton clouds. It’s so unsmashing and I just wish that

Here I broke off, feeling too unsmashingly bitter to continue

BatterToast wrote:

BitterToast wrote:

I wrote a vignette about myself.

Me. BitterToast. Why is it some of us are doomed to gray storm clouds and the never deliquescing taste of lemon, like ash in the mouth, like others have a perfectly smashing life full of sparkly rainbows and daisies and also watermelons that seem to have sugar and other natural preservatives? The bitterness envelopes some of us like cotton clouds. It’s so unsmashing and I just wish that

Here I broke off, feeling too unsmashingly bitter to continue

Why, that's a smashing vignette you wrote. You have real writing talent!
True artists translate their pain into art.
Unlike me. My English grade wasn't the best, hoo hoo hoo!

Stop being such a smashing optimist. It's so nice it makes me feel sick. 

veggieman001 wrote:

BitterToast wrote:

I wrote a vignette about myself.

Me. BitterToast. Why is it some of us are doomed to gray storm clouds and the never deliquescing taste of lemon, like ash in the mouth, like others have a perfectly smashing life full of sparkly rainbows and daisies and also watermelons that seem to have sugar and other natural preservatives? The bitterness envelopes some of us like cotton clouds. It’s so unsmashing and I just wish that

Here I broke off, feeling too unsmashingly bitter to continue

How wonderful. Wicki?

What do you mean
I don't frequent wikis 

BitterToast wrote:

BellijerintToast wrote:

BitterToast wrote:

I wrote a vignette about myself.

Me. BitterToast. Why is it some of us are doomed to gray storm clouds and the never deliquescing taste of lemon, like ash in the mouth, like others have a perfectly smashing life full of sparkly rainbows and daisies and also watermelons that seem to have sugar and other natural preservatives? The bitterness envelopes some of us like cotton clouds. It’s so unsmashing and I just wish that

Here I broke off, feeling too unsmashingly bitter to continue

Ohmigawsh.

B a bit mor happy, somtime, Bitter.

I feel optimistic about my pessimism.

That's an oxymoron but I'm not sure about the oxy

BlatantToast wrote:

BitterToast wrote:

BellijerintToast wrote:

Ohmigawsh.

B a bit mor happy, somtime, Bitter.

I feel optimistic about my pessimism.

That's an oxymoron but I'm not sure about the oxy

That's the spirit, Bitter! Well...almost.
Oh, Blatant, that's unnecessary.
You know he's sensitive about this kind of stuff.

Please try to refrain from spamming the forums and stay on topic.

Remember - posting for the sake of posting is never OK.

Maygenr wrote:

Hmmm... now that I've read this whole thread I want to write a story...    Maybe I will, maybe I won't. Any way, I have to finish my home work first... UGGGHHHHH.....

I will. IF Wiki edits it...

Okay, here's the first bit of a book I'm writing.  I want this to be long enough to be a novel, and possibly try to publish it.


Prologue

    Snow drifted through the cold night air, landing silently on the tree branches and the ground, landing on the two figures trekking through the snow.  An owl hooted as it turned its masked face up, towards the cloud-cloaked sky.  The girl looked up, noticing the glint of the owl's eyes.  She tugged on her father's hand.
    "Dad, look!" She pointed her mitten at the tree.
    "Ssh, Cynthia.  You'll scare him off.  See how light his face is?  That's a barn owl."
    They stayed there for a minute, Cynthia standing, her father kneeling, watching the owl's great round eyes glow in the darkness.  Then there was a beating of wings, and the creature rose into the sky, flying off into the trees.
    Cynthia watched until long after the owl had gone, then her father led her to the base of a massive tree that she recognized as maple.  Placing the wooden box down, he began digging with gloved hands in the gentle coating of snow, right down to the ground. 
    "What are you doing?" she asked, kneeling beside him and watching curiously.
    "Burying this box." Her father, named Nicholas, reached into the pocket of his heavy jacket and took out a trowel, then set about digging into the semi-frozen ground.
    "Why?"
    Nicholas stopped his work and looked at Cynthia, meeting her eyes. "When it is time you will understand."
    "When's that?"
    Nicholas resumed his digging. "I don't know, Cyn.  It could be a week from now, it could be in ten years.  It's different for everyone."
    "What do you mean?  What's different for everyone?  And what's this all about?  We're gonna miss the ball drop!"
    Nicholas reached under the hood of Cynthia's heavy coat and brushed a strand of pale blond hair from her freckled face. "Trust me, you'll know when the time is right.  You're an Acer.  You'll know.  We always do.
    "Here, help me cover this." Nicholas placed the box in the hole and began to scoop dirt back over it.  Cynthia paused a moment, apprehensive, then pushed some dirt over the box and patted it down.
     They worked in silence, the cold snow always drifting down over their hunched shoulders.  Cynthia brushed her strawberry-blond behind her ears, studying Nicholas' face as he worked, seeing if this was another of his pranks or a test of some sort.  But his expression was more serious than she'd ever seen, and that in itself she found a bit scary.  Nicholas was always easygoing, joking around even in the tensest situation.  But there was no hint of carefreeness now.
    Eventually the ground was packed firmly over the little wooden box, and snow was rapidly covering the spot, as if it had never been disturbed.  Nick held Cynthia’s hand, pointing with his free hand at the base of the tree, where the box lay. “Remember this place, Cynthia.  Never, ever, ever forget this place.  Your life could depend on it.”
    Cyn’s mouth opened to ask a question, stunned by the last statement, but Nick held up a hand for silence.  “No, no questions.  It’ll all unfold in due course, you’ll see.”
    He gripped Cynthia’s hand and led her back towards civilization.  Cyn looked up as a firework burst in the distance, accompanied by happy screaming of people.  The New Year had come.

Chapter One

    The girl with flaxen hair lay on the ground, the touch of cold stone on her arms making her shiver.
    Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked around and at herself.  She wore a long dress made of rough canvas, her feet bare.  The sleeves barely came halfway to her elbows.  Around her, four square walls of stone formed a cold, lifeless cell.  The silence was broken only by her own raspy breathing.
    Suddenly, she realized that she couldn’t remember a single thing!  She dug into her mind, trying to find something, anything, but there was nothing.  Not her family, not her home, not even her name.  Only herself and the freezing rock cell. “No!” she screamed, standing up and slamming her body against the solid walls.  There had to be more!  There had to be!
    Beneath her, the rock started to shift, moving down!  The girl pressed herself against one of the walls, her fingers scrambling for holds as they scraped down the rough stone.
    When the floor came to a grinding halt, the girl looked up, at the long shaft of rock that stretched yards above her.  She gripped small indents in the stone, hauling herself up.  But she had not got ten feet when the rock beneath her feet crumbled, sending her sprawling on the ground, half-winded.  Wheezing, she stumbled to her feet, gaping at the rectangular tunnel now open in the side of the shaft. 
    Curious, she steadied herself by running one hand along the side of the corridor, gazing around the tunnel of gray stone.  Somehow, she knew she was tall for her age, but to reach the ceiling she needed to extend her arm all the way up.     
    “Dunica.”
    She whirled. “Who said that?” she yelled, her eyes roving over the mottled gray rock.
    “Dunica.  Dunica.  Dunica.” The voice spoke again, deep and almost reassuring.  The girl shook her head, not sure if she was imagining things.
    “You are Dunica.” The voice said.
    Something didn’t quite click.  Dunica…why do I get this feeling that something’s not right here?  But the voice was insistent.
    “You are Dunica, your name is Dunica, your name always has been Dunica, your name will always be Dunica.”
    “No,” the girl whispered, trying to hone her senses on the cloud of doubt that swirled around her mind.  I had a different name, she thought, I just can’t think what it was!
    But because she couldn’t remember it, she decided to go with what she knew. “I am Dunica,” she said.  Then Dunica shook her head. “I’m not…No.  I can’t talk like that.  I am Dunica.  I am.  I am Dunica, have always been Dunica, and always will be Dunica.”
    Dunica still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.  Completely, utterly wrong.
    If only she could figure out what.

"Which basically means"
can be substituted with
"In layman's terms"
or the like

Wickimen wrote:

Okay
I gave up on my old thing because it's unoriginal
Now I'm bored
Cool excerpt Pluto 

Thank you!
Which old thing?

Forgive the necrobump, young gents
but I have something to write and I wish to write it here


He had cried himself to sleep that night. His dreams were littered with the dying faces of his friends, their screams seeming to echo through the dim room. 'Soon', he thought, 'everyone in the country will be dead. Including me. And Andrea. I wonder what it's like to die?' His thoughts were all over the place.  They came and went as they so chose, and he wasn't entirely about to try and stop them either.
*Darren White was just an ordinary boy, who lead a very ordinary little life, and had a crush on a very ordinary girl named Andrea. But with a sweeping red cloud came a change in his life- and a drastic one at that. This cloud would soon expand into a fiery mass and destroy everyone in the country.
   'I shouldn't have slept.' He thought sadly. 'Only few more hours on this miserable Earth, and I spend them sleeping. Mum should have woken me by now. She's probably out in the crowds.' He looked at the window at the sea of people who had flooded into the city square, placed conveniently in front of his house. 'Why can't they just die with their families like any normal, self respecting person?'
  When it had been revealed to the general populous that they would die in less then a days time, some people had gone into the city square to spend their last hours with the community. 'Together united, forever united' they had said. Over the last few hours the crowds had grown to an immense size. Almost all of the city was there.
  'I'm sure as hell not dying without her', *Darren jeered as he left the house to find his mother. 'Maybe I'll even find Andrea- you only have few hours to live, and you think of Andrea? Aren't you the moron. ' *Darren had found himself arguing with himself more then he would like within the past few hours. Maybe it had to do with stress.
  He had found his mother in little time at all- she could barely move through the crowds away from her door. The view of their doom was alright from here anyway. Streaks of light darted across the clouds above, and one boy was daring enough to think what was on all of their minds. 
  'We only have minutes to live.'

The crowd had gone silent, watching their dazzling last spectacle, and so everyone heard this boy quite clearly. He was only about 9. He could hardly understand death yet, yet he had acknowledged that it was imminent. One woman began to cry. The boy  darted through the crowds to find the crying woman. When he had found her, he whispered to her softly 'Don't cry. It's okay.'
And then be began to sing.
It was a beautiful little song. The crowds lost their nervous rigidity, and began to slouch back. They were relaxing. This little boys song had calmed the entire city.
A middle aged man joined in. It was a very repetitive and catchy song, it seemed to be a lullaby, and he had no problem finding the lyrics.
More and more people began to sing as their deaths became imminently close.
This song had made them forget all of the horrors in life, the majority created by man.
The city would spend it's last hours singing, remembering instead all of the feats they had accomplished in their simple lives. Darren briefly forgot Andrea. Instead he remembered when his father had taught him to ride a bike. How his mother had taken him to the beach to learn so swim. His thoughts widened. He celebrated all of the feats of humanity as a whole in his final breaths- inventing fire, creating the wheel, everything that had brought our society to it's end.
'We've done it. We've done it together.' He muttered.
Society had prospered, and only in it's dying hours had it crumbled.
Together, this dying city redeemed itself.

The cloud exploded into a sea of flame, engulfing everyone from the center out.
Darren barely had time to think- 'I wonder what it's like to die'.
It wouldn't matter.
Soon, he would be to dead to notice.

*Darren White is a working name. I couldn't think of a better one.