My Painting, and News of Course!

Whelp. Here's what I've been occupied with. Also, I'm widening the short story I posted a few days ago! Stay tuned, and don't miss me too much in the meantime! ;)

~Josh

Slight Absence, and a News Update!

Hey guys, Josh here. I've been at a bit of an absence. I know, I know. Pipe down. You missed me. But on a more serious note, I've been working on the story whos teaser I released a few days ago. I must say, it's going quite well! Along with school, and a stunning social life, life's been rather... Exuberant! Either way, as usual, share my blog with your  family and friends so you can help me achieve my goal of publishing an award-winning novel! Thanks for your time!

~Josh

Hope

I felt the train shudder as the wheels locked up, sparks being tossed from underneath it's metal hull. The steel prisoner transport, fitted with over twenty box cars packed to the brim with grey jumpsuit-clad detainees, was approaching the prison. Soon enough, each of these poor souls would be ripped from their steel benches, handcuffs biting into their flesh as they're dragged ruthlessly down the concrete hall, and eventually crammed into a small cell no bigger than a broom cupboard. How do I know this? Well, I've been through this process twice... In a prison that's said to be 'inescapable.'

"Saint Mary's Home for the Socially Unstable." What a joke. It's almost like they were scared to say the word 'prison.' Whatever they called it, it's inhabitants labeled it 'Tartarus.' This place was as isolated as it gets. It was as if you were plunged into the depths of hell itself and locked in a cell of fire, doomed to never see another human for the rest of your miserable life. Some-- Most people go insane from the solitude, others? Well, they simply just die. They fall asleep one night feeling just fine and dandy, and the next morning, never wake up to tell themselves about how lovely of a nap they just had.

The riots broke out around the 23rd century. Banks were robbed, schools were bombed, churches were burned right down to the very foundations they stood upon. Hundreds of thousands of people died during these violent revolts. Some innocent, others criminals of the nation... Honest, hard-working citizens were lead to believe those were the 'Sinful Days.' Of course, The Righteous rose from the ashes of the chaos like a Phoenix hell bent on rage. They quickly 'Liberated the Sinful from the Earth, forming a safer haven for the rest of us.' Thats fancy words for, 'We gunned down the innocent, and spared the ones who kissed our boots.' The rest of us know better, we aren't blindly herded into believing false truths like the rest of Britain. The Rebellion, we know the revolts were more than that. They weren't just the darkest days for Britain... 'The Glorious Revolution', as the rest of us title it, was a demonstration of true power. We wanted a republic, and yet, we received a tyranny.

I let traces of a smirk creep onto my lips as we arrived at the unloading platform. "Show time." I mumbled to myself, shifting it in my cuffs. A guard, fully clothed in black riot gear, stood in front of the automatic doors. His metal plated gloves clutching automatic assault rifle as though it were the only thing that stood between the him and the prisoners. In all reality, his thoughts were slightly true. If a single prisoner tried revolting, he'd shoot him down as though he were nothing but a horse with a broken leg. It's not true in the sense of if the whole train rushed him. There couldn't be more than thirty rounds in his clip, where there were over two hundred prisoners... Sure, many would die, but the guard would be dead as well. There's power in numbers.

As always, there was no revolt, only cocky teenagers shouting jeers and insults at the guards. Most of which included some obscene remark about their mothers. Each one of us slowly herded from our packed box cars, and lead out onto the cold concrete platform. One teenager, larger than the rest, grunted as the guard shoved him against the wall, grinning maliciously behind his steel faceplate. The teenager simply grinned back, pausing a moment before spitting a wad of saliva directly into the eye-slit of his mask. The guard let out a stream of obscenities as he brought up the barrel of his rifle. He didn't hesitate a second as he pulled the trigger, several sharp cracks sound as the wall behind him painted in a fine crimson mist. A small mumble sounded beside me, turning I met eyes with an old man, old enough to be my grandfather.
"What?" I ask, my tone sounding harsher than I intended it to.
"Some would say he's the lucky one..." He replied.
"And what do you think?"
The old man pauses a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as he contemplates my question.
"Life is precious" He finally mutters, his wise old eyes drifting along the track, "wether you're suffering from cancer, or researching ways to cure it..." He pauses once more, his eyes meeting my own, "That includes being locked in a cell for the rest of your life..." With that, the old man goes silent.

Hope... It's all this man had left, and it's what would keep him alive for the remaining years of his life. Hope is the nectar of like that drives each and every one of us to get out of bed in he morning, and pray that we'll have the strength to walk through the lifeless void we call reality. Hope is a necessity of life. Hope, is what's running dangerously low these days.

An ear-shattering crack broke the silence of the platform. Before I knew what was happening, the head of the armored guard in front of us turned to a fine pink mist, his body crumpling over in a heap on top of the tall teenager from before. A split-second, deafening silence fell over the platform like a shroud, it's inhabitants unsure of whether to cry out in horror, or scream out in fits of joy. I guess a little of both filled the silence.

Nearly twenty armed guards immediately filled the corridor, guns pointed at chest level, their fingers tensed on the trigger.
"Nobody move!" One shouts, though his demands were quickly drowned out by the chaos inflicted on the platform. Once more, I let a smile creep over my lips.
"Show time." I mumbled once more.

Authors Note: This is just a 'teaser' I guess, to the rest of my story later on. If you like it, of course, share and comment. :) Constructive criticism is always good.

New Story, New Audience?

     Hey guys, Josh here. I'm working on a new story. This one is based around 25th century London. Society seems to have been taken over by a group of extremists labeling themselves, "The Righteous." This group eventually turns mad with power, and begins to style their government after Nazi-Germany. In this short story, a girl around the age of seventeen joins a force of freedom fighters, in attempts to cripple the government, and destroy the dystopian-based life that the citizens have grown accustomed to. Sound somewhat interesting? Follow me and, if you think someone else will like my writing, share my blog with your friends and family! Thanks a ton for all your support!

~Josh

Just One More Day

     The slow and steady crunching of boot against snow suddenly fills the quiet school-yard-- A gentle breeze slowly began to wind itself between the rusty and torn playground, picking up stray leaves left over from last fall, and tossing them about like rag-dolls. What the snow didn't cover, seemed barren and desolate; Large piles of rubble and debris lay scattered about, long forgotten by time. What used to be the old school house now lay in remains, the occasional desk and chair littering the far fringes of the building.
     Deep inside, snow covered lumps littered the floor, one could only imagine what they were...

Veronica, a nineteen year old girl with a personality seemed almost as stoic as the land around them, gave a small and steady nod to the man next to her. “I'm not sure why I come back here,” She mumbles, her voice trailing off into nothing, eventually stuffing her gloved hands further into her gray woolen jacket. “there's nothing but old memories and dying dreams.” Felix, a black hared man with pronounced features and the comings of wiry stubby about his chin, glanced sideways at her, his silver eyes meeting hers for only the briefest moment.

     “That's how most of the world is now... Isn't it?” He responds, his own voice sounding like a low, rumbling thunder. She didn't have much to say to that, however true it may be, she didn't want to believe it. She's lived in denial the past few years, and she hopes it will stay that way.

They moved across the school yard, and into what looked like an old gymnasium, the roof caved in and faded blue bleachers laying strewn about the snow dusted floor. Four sturdy walls stood around this once active place, now only one wall stands among the fallen debris, it's edges seeming to crumble just by looking at them.

     The ruins scared her more than the war that caused them. To her, schools symbolized a safe, and sheltered oasis from the surrounding world... Seeing it in ruins like this made her heart drop into the pit her stomach, and a bad taste fill coat her tongue. Slowly, she climbed over the rough stone bricks and broken glass, edging her way between collections of small, snow covered lumps, careful not to bump them with her boot. She eventually came to a halt in-front of the last remaining wall, its cloudy face seeming to almost long for her touch. Her eyes slowly drifted across the wall, silhouette snowmen curled up in small balls against the wall.

     They were people, she knew they were. Unfortunate souls caught in the atomic winter that followed the earth-moving bombs. The few lucky souls that weren't burned to a crisp soon after the hell-fire rained from the sky, were killed in the blisteringly cold winter that followed. Adults, teeneagers, and kids, just like her, all caught in the war that they had no part in. Martyrs caught in the crossfire, not knowing the cause they died for... Then again, what's to die for anymore? The war that was to eliminate the threats to the U.S turned from a few missiles launched back and forth, to global thermonuclear war; Earth, or what was left of it, was destroyed in a matter of minutes... Everyone victims of the government's greed and ferocity.

     Before she knew what was happening, she felt her eyes beginning to brim with tears. She reached up with a gloved hand and quickly brushed away the dampness, turning to Felix, her emerald eyes almost glowing in the moonlight. “Let's go” she whispers, her tiny voice echoing across the empty yard, “I don't want to be here anymore...” With a simple nod, he places his hand carefully on her shoulder, guiding her over the rocks and rubble, careful once more not to bump the corpses that lay in peace at their feet.

     They made several more exaggerated loops around the school before stopping in-front of the main entrance. Her eyes slowly passed over the front doors, coming to rest upon a metal sign, the majority of the letters burned off. What was left read; 'Jackpot, Home of the Jaguars. Visitors, please pick up...' The rest of the sign ending in a charred mess of twisted and melted metal. This time it was Felix who spoke up, “No more visitors anymore...” His voice sounding once more like a mid-summer storm. Veronica gives a slow and soft nod, turning and moving down the street, her heavy boots kicking up plumes of snow behind her.

     'There isn't anything you have to worry about anymore...' Veronica tells herself, her own voice echoing inside of her head. 'No taxes... No jobs... No school.. Nothing.' She attempted to smile weakly, though it came off as only a meager twitch of her lips. She missed her family. She missed school, filing for taxes, and waking up every morning at six O'clock to work at a dead-end job that she hated more than paying her monthly electricity bill. She missed it all, the old world, the ways things used to be. She would pay all the money in the world just to be normal, to have everything go back to the way things used to be, for one more day...