January 18, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — sssssz @ 5:27 pm

Canned champagne.

You have gained (a) Canned Champagne!

Someone’s life comes to an unkind end.

January 2, 2007


Filed under: Silly Nothings — sssssz @ 12:10 pm

I wonder why I can’t write anything about myself without going dramatic. Dissatisfaction?

Well, anyway, I had another idea the other day. Maybe a story, I don’t know. I was thinking “what if a story was told entirely from a viewpoint of objects?” which turned into “What if a band of serial killers gathered up in an antique shop at Budapest?” I figured it might make create interesting protagonists… Abandoned objects of the past age, actively continuing to do what they were meant to; kill. The famed swords of El Cid, the needle heart of Koschei, the bullet that started the First World War, and such strange objects with a history. Then, I had an idea for a theme–“should one change?” If I do decide to write it out, it would be in an episodic format, most likely, with the episodes approaching the overarching plot… The killers might choose to move on, some might choose to remain where they are. That’s what a history does, isn’t it?

Eh, you know, that didn’t really help. Bah.

December 30, 2006

Be Proud

Filed under: Light and Sound, Translations — sssssz @ 5:43 pm

In this world, one another unique life.


December 18, 2006

Character Design: Isaya

Filed under: Pseudocreativity, White Wolf — sssssz @ 10:29 pm

How does she look like? Well, let me recall how she looked like, it’s been a while since she came down this corner of the city…


December 15, 2006

L9, Part 1

Filed under: Light and Sound — sssssz @ 7:24 pm

As I enter the fantasy, I feel the sky-blue sparks dashing around my body, carefully zapping at my nerves as if they are checking if they all still function. Senses soon come back to life, and I realize that I must be dreaming or I have lost myself in a pastel-tone madness. It is all… unreal, too distant from what everything should feel like. The mineral scent of emerald green fills my nostrils, too much like that of a crayon. My skin feels the gentle breeze of an electric spring, or perhaps the soft breath of a heartfelt statistics sheet about a distant fairy land. With the wind, the taste of simple satisfaction smothered with rationalized hope crawls up my tongue, so cloyingly sweet. I lift my eyelids, and the piercing spikes of custard-yellow sunlight shatter through the spotless sky and emblazen themselves on my optical receptors. First, my attention is stolen to the sun in the sky that explodes in its white brightness, but I soon lower my eyes to the green ocean of trees, tiding loudly along the wind. Their leaves are so young and unscarred, they appear almost transparent to me. With their tides and bristles, they sing a calculated chorus to my ears, talking about joyful secrets that my mind is yet too tired to comprehend.

Gazing at the coordinated choreography of this emerald forest, danced with a thousand crystal woods and a storm of programmed butterflies, I breathe in the arcadia that was hidden deeply within my own heart and accept it.

This is what I feel.

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