This thread will contain whatever miscellaneous creations of mine I decide to upload, whether they be stories, poems, drawings, photos, and what have you.

Entry 1: Short Story - Deadly Truth - Written for a Language Arts assignment.

I have never questioned my existence, or the existence of anything, really. I simply accepted it as fact. One day, however, something happened. A single, bright light penetrating the darkness of my home. It was then I realized that I could see. I rapidly moved forward towards this light, and retreated immediately after being met by a burning sensation. Pain? I had never felt pain before. Come to think of it, I had never felt anything before. A single question filled my mind:

Who am I?

I retreated into the darkness which I called home, away from the harsh light. All thoughts and questions about my existence were abandoned when I realized I was lost. Confusion set in. How did I get lost? How can I get lost? Thinking back to the light, I rapidly determined that I couldnít see in the omnipresent darkness in my home. I had never had this problem before, and only confused myself more. Such questions could wait. A problem had presented itself: I needed light to see. How would I take the light with me into the darkness, without being harmed?

A solution presented itself quickly. Something fell while I was stumbling around in the darkness. Picking it up, I determined it was a small cylinder with a sort of indentation. I donít know how, but I somehow activated the device. A beam of the painful light burst forth onto the wall in front of me, one I could now see as nothing but stone. Curiously, I was unharmed. Experimenting, I rapidly discovered that this light was only harmful if it was directly shown onto me. Glancing around, I found that I was in a sort of natural tunnel or cave network, and two paths presented themselves to me: One leading up, and one leading down. Recalling which way I had come from, I descended deeper into the darkness, with only my newfound lightstick to guide me.

I must have tripped on something, because I suddenly fell. The lightstick fell in front of me, out of my reach, thankfully pointing away from me. I became aware of pain. It felt different than the pain the lightstick inflicted upon me. This one felt like a small part of me was ripped apart rather than burned. Relying not on the lightstick, but the light reflected off the cave wall, I inspected the area. A curious black substance was pooling at the area, the pain falling to a more bearable level. When I stood, the black liquid clung to my body, and was slowly dripping down. I wiped it off and picked up the lightstick, shining it on the substance.

The effect was immediate. What appeared to be black smoke arose from the substance, and I felt the same burning sensation, yet lessened. The mysterious substance had changed. It was now dark red in color, and seemingly less viscous. More questions welled within me. What is this? Did it come from me? How did it change? They could wait. I heard something behind me. Footsteps, eerily reminiscent of my own. The area brightened a notch, without the aid of my lightstick. Glancing back up at the tunnel I came from, I saw the same deadly light which had harmed me earlier.

I ran, without looking back. A strange feeling ran through my mind. I was afraid. All this was new to me, and my previous experiences with light had revealed it as a great danger. Questions ran through me as fast as I was running now. Whatís happening!? Whoís following me!? Even in my panic, I could see an alcove near the ceiling of the cave. Rapidly climbing in, something else occurred to me. What if the other creature was using the light to see, as I had? I realized that my lightstick would likely lead him to my location. Examining it, I realized that the indentation was a sort of slider. Moving it down deactivated the lightstick. I hid, while the footsteps approached, much faster than earlier. The creature must have heard me running.

As the creature grew closer, the area brightened, lit by itsí own light. When it passed, the light dimmed. Risking a glance out, I saw the creature. Once more, a final new feeling ran through me. Anger. It filled every fibre of my being, crushing the many questions I had beneath its might. This new feeling overwhelmed me as the others had, and I could no longer think rationally. The creature called out something I couldnít understand. A warning to others of itsí kind? Perhaps. In my current state, I had no control over my actions. I rushed at it and struck.

In that instant, the rage I felt faded, and my rational mind took over. I realized I could see again, but through two sets of eyes. In that instant, I saw a black mist leave my body and enter the creaturesí. All I felt was familiarity. Memories rushed back to me, and my mind recoiled in frightful remembrance. All my questions were answered in that one instant. I was a mere shadow, harmed by light, yet requiring it to survive. Whenever a creature had found its way into the perfect darkness of my home, I would copy it, almost to perfection. Inevitably, whatever emotions the creature had would overwhelm me, and I would strike down the original, and we would fall into oblivion together. In that instant, I realized I was trapped in an eternal cycle of my own creation and destruction, and I would never be free.[/spoiler]

Entry 2 - Short Story - Unforeseen Consequences - Written for a Language Arts assignment.

Silence dominated my immediate surroundings, only broken by the eternal rhythm of my clock, and by the occasional scrape of graphite on paper. Before me was a book, covered in meaningless words. At least, thatís what I used to believe. The book appeared to be nothing more than a recollection of events, existing only to record history in yet another place. However, I discovered a description of my room on the last page. I discovered the strange properties of the book when I altered that description.

It was a simple change, nothing more. I had a small pile of loose change on my desk. On a whim, I changed the amount in the book to twice what it once was. When I looked at the money, it had indeed changed. Dropping my pencil in shock, I closed the book and left the room. By the next day I forgot about it, but when I reopened the book, the memories returned.

After much deliberation, I decided that since no memory of the changes would remain, there was no reason not to use the book to help me in life. I flipped to a random page, intent on finding a description of myself, and was pleasantly surprised when I managed to find it immediately. I changed some attributes, such as strength and intelligence. Almost immediately, the changes took place, though it took a brief time. Deciding that a physical change was not enough, I wrote that I would obtain a million dollars tomorrow, and retired for the night.

I woke up early because of a loud knocking at the door, a voice identifying itself as the police. It appeared that the book doesnít assume things, and gave me the money via illegitimate methods. For a moment, I considered confronting the police officer, then thought against it, not wanting to be separated from the book. Instead, I flipped to a random page, immediately finding the description, I wanted, and simply tore it out. The knocking stopped.

I was worried that my reckless actions would damage the book, but I didnít consider how I seemingly erased someone from history without a second thought. I flipped to the point where I obtained a million dollars, and removed my previous change. Then, I wrote that I was born into an extremely wealthy family, who obtained their wealth via legitimate methods, and that I possessed some fraction of their wealth. Not seeing an immediate change, I closed the book and went back to sleep.

When I woke up, I found that my entire home had changed. Without going into detail, it was considerably larger and far more ornate. I was caught up in my new life, forgetting about the book, and when I reopened it, I realized that unlike last time, I remembered everything. Instead of replacing my memory, it only altered it to let me fit in, so to speak. However, I never stopped to consider what other effects that the book had, and dismissed the issue entirely.

A year passed. On no less than three occasions, someone broke into my home. Rather than obtain a better security system, I simply removed the pages containing descriptions of the would-be burglars. I noticed a small amount of damage along the spine, but I ignored it. Instead, I wrote that the book repaired itself, and the damage seemingly vanished. Another day passed without consequence. That night, I heard a noise originating from my kitchen. As usual, I simply flipped to a random page and removed it. The noise stopped, and the book just fell apart. As I feared, erasing things from history damaged the book irreversibly. Saddened by the loss of my most valuable possession, but relieved that the changes I made werenít undone, I idly glanced at the page I just removed. There, clear as day, was nothing more than a description of my own brother.