(no subject)
So, I wrote something for Comm Arts.
It's not even in the same galaxy as what I usually write.
I'm looking for
A) Typos.
B) If I should trash it or not. I'm not going to change much, maybe a few places where it be smoother, but honestly I just don't want to.
EDIT: Might help if I remember to copy and paste it in here.
EDIT 2: CUTS ARE A GOOD THING.
Ethan and his universe belong to me. You steal them -> I hurt you. Through the internet. I have hacker friends.
~~~
It’s not alive, precisely. It’s aware, and it has simple intelligence, but fire isn’t alive, even in the minds of the people who can summon it.
It fights them, though.
~~~
Ethan doesn’t like the city. It’s his father’s domain, and has far too many people for someone who prefers to be alone. (There’s more to burn…)
Ethan really doesn’t like his Social Studies teacher. Perky and bright with a brain the size of her fist, Mrs. White had decreed that anyone who didn’t come would (suffer the consequences, Mr. Barton, I’m talking to you) have to do ten times as much work to make up the point difference.
Ethan hates his father, (not the petty dislike most of his classmates talk about, annoyances over outfits and boyfriends and rules, but genuine, soul-searing hate) and the only reason Ethan hasn’t been sent away (locked up) yet is that his father is never there, away on business 95% of the time.
He likes museums, though, even more now that he’s in high school and can wander away from the group without much trouble. They’re (cool enough to chill his temper) soothing and safe. His father has no interest in history, in the past, beyond what he can use to (manipulate people) his advantage, while Ethan enjoys the knowledge of what came before.
~~~
It’s bothering him.
One of the regional headquarters is (close enough to destroy, it’d be so easy) right next door, and he’s been there, he knows what (gets decided in off-white rooms about the fates of experiments, of people) happens there.
Not everyone in the building knows about the other side of the corporation, though; most of them are only desk jockeys. Ethan may want to (burn them slowly to ash) stop the top ranks of BarCorp, but he won’t hurt innocents, and it’s enough to keep him away, though not enough to keep him focused on the exhibits he’s supposed to (waste time on) write a paper about.
And then a large hand settles on his shoulder, not violent but (holding him in place) firm. A ring glints in the corner of Ethan’s eye, and he (is scared, doesn’t want to go back) recognizes it.
“It may be best if you are not ‘ere in eh few moments,” An accented voice (threatens) rumbles quietly in his ear.
One of his father’s higher (paid) up thugs, the one in charge of anything (illegal) that might hurt (maim, if only the public knew) BarCorp’s reputation.
The fire inside takes notice, curls up ready to defend (burn) if needed.
Ethan’s response is as soft as the other man’s had been. “All right.” It’s a fight to not (burn) try and remove the hand, but Ethan waits it out, doesn’t pull (run) away until it’s gone and he can turn around.
(burnburn)
“How far away do I need to be?” His voice is calm and steady, (not showing his fear) despite the power fighting his control.
(burnburnburn)
“As far as you can get.”
(burnburnburnburn)
The thug melts back into the crowd, and Ethan waits until (he can move without shaking, there’s going to be nightmares tonight) he’s sure he’s gone before moving on.
There’s too many people (who might die because of casual cruelty) to try and get them all out, and he’s near an outside wall. An explosion is (that particular thug’s favorite) most likely, and even if he empties the room that won’t (help anyone outside) be enough, if he’s interepting the warning correctly.
So.
Look for something that could (make a dent in the human population) explode.
The fire is (unruly) confused.
(find)
Tiny rolls of (careful) heat, looking for something to burn.
(burn)
(find)
One of the visitors has a gun (not it) and Ethan absently steals the spark (life) out of it as he goes.
(burn)
(find)
(find)
There. Under an empty display case in a dark niche.
Ethan has no way of knowing how much time is left on the countdown, can’t (sense it, electricity isn’t part of him) see it, so all that is left is to wait for the milliseconds between ignition and explosion.
One second.
Two.
Looking with his eyes now, he sees (the figures in his dreams) men he knows work under BarCorp sliding efficiently through the crowd. Ethan know their (petty minds) operating procedures, he has little more than four minutes left (to live) before it goes.
Three minutes.
One of the (murderers) men is frowning at him.
Two and a half.
Ethan spares him (torturer) a cool glance.
Two.
The (monster) one who noticed Ethan starts to move toward him, then stops abruptly. Not his job.
One minute.
(burn)
(no)
Thirty seconds.
(noburn)
Four minutes (time to die).
Any moment.
And it sparks. Ethan is ready, snuffs the tiny flame before it can (live) kill them all.
Time snaps back to normal, and Ethan is suddenly aware of how loud it is, the hundreds of people chatting in the large, echoing chamber. It ‘s (a relief) enough to give him a headache, or at least worsen the one that is always hovering in the back of his skull.
His teacher is across the room, and teenagers are scattered all over the place. Some of them are giving Ethan odd looks, but he can't bring himself to care what they think. Considering, he almost waits for the security team to retrieve the bomb, but (it could be useful) somehow he doubts that it will stay there long, so he slips it into his bag when the flow of visitors takes him close enough.
Ethan will face his father’s wrath later. He’ll need every edge he can get.
It's not even in the same galaxy as what I usually write.
I'm looking for
A) Typos.
B) If I should trash it or not. I'm not going to change much, maybe a few places where it be smoother, but honestly I just don't want to.
EDIT: Might help if I remember to copy and paste it in here.
EDIT 2: CUTS ARE A GOOD THING.
Ethan and his universe belong to me. You steal them -> I hurt you. Through the internet. I have hacker friends.
~~~
It’s not alive, precisely. It’s aware, and it has simple intelligence, but fire isn’t alive, even in the minds of the people who can summon it.
It fights them, though.
~~~
Ethan doesn’t like the city. It’s his father’s domain, and has far too many people for someone who prefers to be alone. (There’s more to burn…)
Ethan really doesn’t like his Social Studies teacher. Perky and bright with a brain the size of her fist, Mrs. White had decreed that anyone who didn’t come would (suffer the consequences, Mr. Barton, I’m talking to you) have to do ten times as much work to make up the point difference.
Ethan hates his father, (not the petty dislike most of his classmates talk about, annoyances over outfits and boyfriends and rules, but genuine, soul-searing hate) and the only reason Ethan hasn’t been sent away (locked up) yet is that his father is never there, away on business 95% of the time.
He likes museums, though, even more now that he’s in high school and can wander away from the group without much trouble. They’re (cool enough to chill his temper) soothing and safe. His father has no interest in history, in the past, beyond what he can use to (manipulate people) his advantage, while Ethan enjoys the knowledge of what came before.
~~~
It’s bothering him.
One of the regional headquarters is (close enough to destroy, it’d be so easy) right next door, and he’s been there, he knows what (gets decided in off-white rooms about the fates of experiments, of people) happens there.
Not everyone in the building knows about the other side of the corporation, though; most of them are only desk jockeys. Ethan may want to (burn them slowly to ash) stop the top ranks of BarCorp, but he won’t hurt innocents, and it’s enough to keep him away, though not enough to keep him focused on the exhibits he’s supposed to (waste time on) write a paper about.
And then a large hand settles on his shoulder, not violent but (holding him in place) firm. A ring glints in the corner of Ethan’s eye, and he (is scared, doesn’t want to go back) recognizes it.
“It may be best if you are not ‘ere in eh few moments,” An accented voice (threatens) rumbles quietly in his ear.
One of his father’s higher (paid) up thugs, the one in charge of anything (illegal) that might hurt (maim, if only the public knew) BarCorp’s reputation.
The fire inside takes notice, curls up ready to defend (burn) if needed.
Ethan’s response is as soft as the other man’s had been. “All right.” It’s a fight to not (burn) try and remove the hand, but Ethan waits it out, doesn’t pull (run) away until it’s gone and he can turn around.
(burnburn)
“How far away do I need to be?” His voice is calm and steady, (not showing his fear) despite the power fighting his control.
(burnburnburn)
“As far as you can get.”
(burnburnburnburn)
The thug melts back into the crowd, and Ethan waits until (he can move without shaking, there’s going to be nightmares tonight) he’s sure he’s gone before moving on.
There’s too many people (who might die because of casual cruelty) to try and get them all out, and he’s near an outside wall. An explosion is (that particular thug’s favorite) most likely, and even if he empties the room that won’t (help anyone outside) be enough, if he’s interepting the warning correctly.
So.
Look for something that could (make a dent in the human population) explode.
The fire is (unruly) confused.
(find)
Tiny rolls of (careful) heat, looking for something to burn.
(burn)
(find)
One of the visitors has a gun (not it) and Ethan absently steals the spark (life) out of it as he goes.
(burn)
(find)
(find)
There. Under an empty display case in a dark niche.
Ethan has no way of knowing how much time is left on the countdown, can’t (sense it, electricity isn’t part of him) see it, so all that is left is to wait for the milliseconds between ignition and explosion.
One second.
Two.
Looking with his eyes now, he sees (the figures in his dreams) men he knows work under BarCorp sliding efficiently through the crowd. Ethan know their (petty minds) operating procedures, he has little more than four minutes left (to live) before it goes.
Three minutes.
One of the (murderers) men is frowning at him.
Two and a half.
Ethan spares him (torturer) a cool glance.
Two.
The (monster) one who noticed Ethan starts to move toward him, then stops abruptly. Not his job.
One minute.
(burn)
(no)
Thirty seconds.
(noburn)
Four minutes (time to die).
Any moment.
And it sparks. Ethan is ready, snuffs the tiny flame before it can (live) kill them all.
Time snaps back to normal, and Ethan is suddenly aware of how loud it is, the hundreds of people chatting in the large, echoing chamber. It ‘s (a relief) enough to give him a headache, or at least worsen the one that is always hovering in the back of his skull.
His teacher is across the room, and teenagers are scattered all over the place. Some of them are giving Ethan odd looks, but he can't bring himself to care what they think. Considering, he almost waits for the security team to retrieve the bomb, but (it could be useful) somehow he doubts that it will stay there long, so he slips it into his bag when the flow of visitors takes him close enough.
Ethan will face his father’s wrath later. He’ll need every edge he can get.