Stanley – 32


 STANLEY

Season 2

Part 32

Rated M for mature content.

Previous Chapter


She had the impression they had been running for hours as they finally slowed down to a normal walking pace. They entered the fast food, trying to act as normal as possible despite their heavy breathing and the fact that both of them were drenched in sweat. They sat down at a table after ordering something to eat; Michel had insisted he “fill his belly with the sweet delight of fast cuisine” and she hadn’t had the heart to say no, her stomach rumbling at the smell of those delicious fries. Her partner started devouring his meal immediately and she followed in turn, both famished after having to run away from that horde of cops.

They had been halfway through the second rooftop when they had heard the shouts of police officers telling them to stop coming from the stairway behind them. How they had managed to get up there so fast was something Stephanie couldn’t explain but they had managed it. Of course neither of them had hesitated even a single second before starting to run faster, she couldn’t get caught, especially not after what she had done. She didn’t manage to stop herself from cringing at the thought, it had all been for naught… Plus she didn’t have a very fond memory of prison cells. Apparently Michel wasn’t too keen on letting himself get caught either because he lead the way without slowing down.

Where the shouts of the police officers had not even fazed her a bit, the first gunshots had almost made her freeze on the spot, almost. It had been surprising, she had never heard a gunshot from such little distance and the whizzing of the bullets as they rushed past both of them was quite surprising too but, since Michel didn’t skip a beat in his run, she didn’t stop and kept running. They had cut it close, very close even, she had to admit that. Even with all her good will and the energy she put into moving her legs one in front of the other at the highest speed possible she couldn’t help but being a little scare, or, more precisely, a bit apprehensive. Being on a rooftop wasn’t that dangerous in itself if one knew how to keep one’s balance and not to do anything stupid. The problem is that they were doing all the stupid possible at that moment: running at full speed, not caring where they stepped, running away from cops and being shot at. Not the most clever thing she had done in her life…

She had barely felt anything as the bullet had grazed her on the right side of her chest, making a hole in her jacket, it had been the feeling of wetness and the dizziness that had come after that had alerted her that something was wrong. She hadn’t said anything though, not before they had managed to get back down to the street. Then, and only then, as the cries of the police officers on the rooftops could still be heard, she had told Michel.

“Let’s get to the car first , we’ll see that then,” she had replied as he had advised to check her wound.

They had driven off as quickly as possible, somehow evading all the police cars on the way and had finally ended up in the commercial zone. Michel had parked the car near a mall and had bought a few supplies to treat her wound while she was evaluating the damage. In the end it hadn’t been to serious, a gash on her side and nothing more. Still hurting but with a clean wound and a reassured mind, they had walked in the nearest fast food to grab a quick bite. And here they were, unsure of what to do next, if they had been tracked by the police or if they were now fugitives. After all, the cops hadn’t been close enough to get a look at their faces so they most likely were safe, but one never knew. Stephanie was starting to relax, thinking back to the apartment and the clues they had found as she ate her chicken burger, when she saw the three men in black suits walk in the room.

To be continued…

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Stanley – 31


 STANLEY

Season 2

Part 31

Rated M for mature content.

Previous Chapter


The dark-haired young woman and her more-light-colored-hair friend were about to move out of the apartment towards the staircase when they suddenly heard the police sirens that had been in the background since a few minutes ago ring out much closer and tires screeching as cars came to a halt in front of the building. They both stopped in their tracks as they were about to walk towards the elevator and looked at each other.

“Do you think we should go check it out très chère?” Asked Michel after a few seconds spent trying to figure out what was indeed happening.

Stephanie simply nodded before rushing back into the apartment and looking out the window. She immediately froze as she saw almost a dozen policemen in uniforms rush out of their cars and enter by the front door. The young woman somehow immediately knew they were coming exactly where they were, how she knew that would remain a mystery but somehow she did.

“Damn it!” She swore as she backed away and looked at Michel who had looked out the window too.

“What do we do maintenant?” He asked with a tense expression.

“I don’t know…” Replied the young woman as her brain fumed, trying to come up for a solution to get out of the hellhole they were trapped in.

They couldn’t leave by the front entrance, it would seem to suspicious but they couldn’t very well stay there either because it would almost certainly insure their capture and their prosecution as The Duck’s murderers. No one would believe them if they tried to explain what they were doing here, especially not her. Plus everything would come to light, everything she had had to do. The young woman shivered at the thought. No, it couldn’t happen, they had to get out.

“This way?”

She turned towards the bearded man as she heard his voice, he was pointing towards the window. As her eyes followed his well muscled and tanned arm she imagined herself being wrapped in it and relishing the moment as her mind went back to the previous night. Then she saw the staircase and it all became clear, the fog clouding her mind seemed to go away and she let a smile spread across her face as she understood what he meant. Of course! She thought. The emergency staircase! 

“Yes, you’re a genius!” She exclaimed as she gave him a kiss on the cheek before rushing towards the red metallic structure outside the window.

Michel followed her closely after closing the window as best as he could behind him. They ran as fast as they could up the stairs, hearing the sounds of policemen entering the apartment soon after they had exited it. The young woman thanked the upcoming summer and all those sessions at the gym for her cardiovascular system’s good shape. They finally arrived on the roof after a few seconds of silent effort and she didn’t have time to catch her breath as they started moving again.

To be continued…


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Writer thoughts about writing

As a reader, or perhaps a writer your self, you may have a certain idea of what an author’s vision about his story is like. A few years ago, before I really started to work on my ideas and try to put them down on paper, I had such a vision (which I kept for a long time and only recently realized it might not always be the case): to me an author (but it also applies to any other creations) is the master of his world, everything they say is considered ‘canon’ in the story, no matter if it is good or bad. They are the ones who imagined the universe, the characters and the whole plot of the story they tell (whether it’s inspired by real events, like historical books, or based off another story or completely made up, doesn’t matter) and so they are the ones who can whatever they want about the story, and that despite all that other people might say.

A few examples of this are when J.K. Rowling said that in her mind Dumbledore was gay, fact that was not ever mentioned in the stories though it may have been implied a little. It was quite a controversial announcement and many people were not okay with that. The fact is, however, that it’s her universe, whatever she imagines in the books is her decision and cannot be contested. Criticized yes but never contested. It is fact. Or when George Lucas imposed his changing vision of the Star Wars franchise on his fans, changing beloved details to satisfy the image of the movies and the universe he had. Perhaps it’s not exactly the same but to me they have the right to do that, it is, after all, their universes and their creations. I, myself, don’t condone all the decision Lucas made for example, a lot of the CGI that was added afterwards takes out the nostalgia and the charm of the original movies, but I respect it is his decision to offer his ‘true’ vision to his fans. However I also support the fact that he should allow people to have access to the ‘original movies’, when they were still untouched or barely changed. Not just to please them but also because it feel right because they were still good at that stage, perhaps even a bit better than before being changed. Plus it might be financially very profitable to the owner of the licence.

Anyways, this is just to say that an author is the reigning decision maker about his own stories or universes! But one cannot forget that it is also the fans that make the story popular and give the author credit by loving it and making it known. The fans take the universe and make it their own, each person takes it for themselves, that cannot be denied. Still, the author is ultimately the one who decides what comes out in the end, and that should always be independent of the fans, it should his or her own decision. As a fan you have to respect that. I know it’s hard, I for one had trouble accepting that when I read the end of the Inheritence cycle, I was so frustrated by how Paolini had decided to end the cycle, it didn’t feel right because there were still so many questions and things that hadn’t been explored… Or when I read Incarceron, a very good book in two parts by Catherine Fisher, and I found out at the end of the second book that the story ended like that despite me wanting something else so desperately… Yeah, it was hard. It took me time to get over it but, and I think starting to write my own stories helped, we all have to understand that an author has a precise vision for what they want to create and there is nothing we can do about it (especially when it’s already done), it is how it is. Just like real life. You can’t always get what you want, despite how hard you wish for it, so you come to terms with it and keep moving on.

This leads us to the point I wanted to make here. As and author I have realized that I have a precise vision of what I want to make but also that I don’t know everything about my story. In the general public’s idea, an author is thought to have a very precise idea of everything he writes, to know all about his story. As a writer, thought amateur, I can tell you it is very far from the truth, for me at least. I know what I want to create for my stories, I know what will be liked and what might not be, and I know I don’t care because this is what I want to write. But I also know that I have blanks and things that are blurry all over the place. You see, I don’t really feel, like you might imagine, as the creator of my stories in a sense. What I mean is that I am at the same time the ‘god’ reigning over the universe I imagine, knowing everything and capable of anything I want, like bending the rules or creating new ones. I don’t really feel like that. Of course I am the one who imagine the universe and the characters and the plot, and perhaps I was such an entity at the beginning, when I was still playing ‘who has the most Super Sayan transformations’ with my brother in our garden, but now I feel different.

I feel like I am more of an observer, a semi-omniscient narrator/viewer of the stories I create. I have scenes and ideas that pop into my head but it is difficult to say if I really decided to imagine them or if they came to me, created by the world itself. It’s complicated to make the difference at this point. Of course I still make decisions from time to time, like in Echoes of Power, which is a story about a teenager discovering he can use magic, where I consciously decided what the main character look like to sort of make a point, instead of simply let my imagination follow its own course. I, as a writer, am more of a historian, glimpsing moments and scenes of the story and discovering it piece by piece, than a true godly creator. At least that is how I feel. And I think that I am not alone, I think a lot of other creators are like this. That idea came to me when I was thinking about an eventual interview I might give one day, when I have become rich and famous and people want to know all about my stories, I asked myself: what if they ask me a question I don’t know the answer to? Like, what happened to this character to make him become like this? What if I know that something happened but I can’t say what exactly…? Will it make me look like a bad author? And I realized that no, it wouldn’t. I might be looked at weirdly but what i have created and written doesn’t need to have answers to everything. Realism, making the story believable doesn’t necessarily mean to be able to explain everything, just like with History. Which, ironically, makes this more realistic, more life-like…

Anyways! This is a rant I wanted to get out to you readers and authors, ask as many questions as you want but if you don’t get an answer or don’t get one that satisfies you because you are not okay with what the creator of your beloved story made something different from what you had hoped, remember that in the realm of the story, the author is king. and if he doesn’t have the answer it doesn’t mean something has no explanation, that is where ‘canon’ ends and ‘fanfiction’ begins, where you make the story’s universe your own. Respect the bad and blurry sides of what you love and enjoy, imperfections are what makes something perfect! (Such cool, very philosophy, so wow!)

Okay, that’s all! Thank you for taking the time to read, and sorry if I wasn’t very coherent or clear, I wrote this in one go… Alright, see you people later!

Soar Vandergeid out!


tldr; An author always has the final word, no matter what, even if he doesn’t have an answer.

The rider in the storm

Image source unknown


Night. The darkest hour. When all hope disappears. Thunder is rumbling, the wind is howling madly. The grass on the hills is bending under the power of the storm. Rain is falling hard on the ground, plundering the earth. A dark shadow is moving. A horse is running, a rider on its back. Running as fast as it can, as if its life depended on it. Running as quick as the wind. He rides, never looking back, hoping they are okay. Praying to reach them in time. The world seems against him; as if the gods were mad at him. As if they had unleashed Hell on Earth. Droplets of water, as cold and hard as ice hits him in the face, rendering him unable to see more than a few meters in front of him.

Lightning strikes, once, twice, giving shape to the shadow of a ghost. A ghost from the past that is catching up on him. He knows he should run away but he can’t. He has to cope with that growing unease growing inside him. They need him! He has to get there at all cost! He has to make it, his steed knows it also. The mighty stallion gains speed, outrunning the heavy gusts of wind. Its mane buzzing frantically as it gains more speed, sparks forming around its legs. Getting bigger and more frequent with each new step. Suddenly it lights up in a thunderous boom, thousands of tiny lighting bolts coming out of its mane and its tail, covering its entire body. It gains even more speed, running so fast it outruns even the heavenly flashes. Cutting through the mad rain, leaving a burnt trail behind it. He runs an impossible race. A race for his friends. A race against time, against himself. A race against death…


Here is a text I wrote some time ago, a scene from one of my stories that I have had in mind for some time.

The wait

Quickly spreading, digging its roots ever deeper,

Slowly dripping out of your veins, draining all life.

And drop by drop, second by second, the sand falls,

The clock keeps ticking, forward, never going back.

.

The narrow edge of life slowly begins to crack,

Over the endless pit, and where the darkness calls.

All longing for love and eternity, we strife.

Fighting against the path getting ever steeper.

.

Nothing is to gain from this pointless struggling,

Nothing but a few moments of true happiness.

There might come some times when we are not capable,

.

There might come some times when we are all crumbling,

But we keep on walking towards our success.

Time is a curse, deadly and unavoidable.