Friday success!

        As the week draws to a close, and Spring break comes to an end, I contemplate what lies ahead and realize only one thing. "Crap, I'm going to have to wake up at a reasonable hour for class this month!"
        In all seriousness, I'm really looking forward to this month (even if class starts at 9 am, ugh). And a little more insight on that secret project I mentioned, here's a clue! The project is going to be an adaptation of a story that wasn't given proper respect in the past. Hmm what could it be? Well hold your dang horses and you'll find out! Peace in the Middle East until next week, with hopefully, a sample!

I'm horrible I know.

        I know, no Friday post again, sorry! I'm still on spring break until next Saturday so I'm going to my best to make sure that there's an actual Friday post this coming week. In the meantime, please know that I've seen Your Name. three times now in theaters now, and each time it hits me right in the feels. I honestly believe that, as a screenwriter, you should study what's out and why it does well or not. I've gone into this movie three times and I've decided that it's going to be the benchmark for my writing from here on out. Any original projects that I do, will strive to meet the quality that is Your Name.

        That being said, I do also have a project that I'm working on currently. It's very under wraps until I get a little farther along, but I know a good deal of my friends will enjoy the idea. I can give you one clue though, it's not my story, but one that deserves to be done some real justice. More on that at a later date, and this time, a post on Friday, woo!

I realized there was no Friday post...

        And that's because I'm on Spring Break so I'm working on a weird schedule this week! But today, I was reminded why I love writing so much. My lovely lady and I went to go see the newest Funimation dub in theaters, Your Name. And it was amazing.
     
        If you have some cash and free time, I highly suggest going to see this movie on the big screen, because this movie has a beautiful story. It really reminded me why I do what I do and to keep trucking forward, and to be honest, it's just got a really satisfying story arc over all with solid character development and a REAL huge obstacle. It takes everything a story needs and amps it up to the extreme without going over the top. I'll try and have a story this Friday, but right now, my emotions are still getting brutalized by the wringer this movie put them through!

Flash Fiction: The Urn

  Another flash fiction this week, this time about a mystery box. Or urn rather! Enjoy.

Tuesday, December twenty-ninth, I received a package from my sister, Dora. She had been away for work, on an archaeological dig, somewhere in Greece since before Christmas, so it was nice to get something from her so I knew she was alive. Inside the white FedEx box that came to my door, was an intricate urn, topped with a wooden lid. The paint was faded, but it was easy to tell that at one time, the outer shell was covered in purple and blue paintings. Around the neck of the urn was a rusted, gold ring, chips missing from the precious metal. I absolutely adored it. I called my sister to thank her, but she never answered. I hung up when I got her voicemail, and began carefully turning the urn over in my hands. It was then I noticed a note, taped to the wooden lid that read “Do not open,” in Dora’s handwriting. I figured it must be some prank. I decided to play along, and set the urn carefully on the dresser in my room. It was that night the voice started.

            “Open… lid…” I heard in the middle of the night. I sat bolt upright in bed, searching for the voice’s origin.

            “Open the lid…” I heard again. The voice was muted, as if covered by a cloth, or some foreign object, but obviously, that of a young child.

“Hello,” I said. “who’s there?” I sat timidly in bed, expecting to hear some crashing of a burglar in my living room, but no noise came. A quick lap around my apartment with my favorite nine-iron yielded no results either. The door was still locked, everything was in place, and no windows were shattered, or even opened. I went back to bed, but every hour or so, the voice haunted my dreams.

Wednesday, December thirtieth, I realized that the year was ending. My phone rang off the hook, friends calling and asking what my plans were for the following night. I told them I wasn’t feeling well, and that I was staying in this year. I just wanted to sleep soundly, late into New Year’s Day, as it was my day off. I tried to call Dora again that day, still no answer. What in the world is she doing, I wondered to myself. That day was uneventful, but at night, the voice started again.

“Open the lid. Let me out,” It said. “I’m all stuffed up in here.”

This time, the voice sounded nearer, louder even. I slowly stepped out of bed and crept around my room. As I passed my dresser, I heard it clearly.

“Open the lid, let me out. Please,” The voice said again. There was no mistaking it, it came from inside the urn.

Thinking that this was one of Dora’s jokes, I picked up the urn and shook it gently. No sound came from inside, it seemed empty. “What is this?” I asked.

“Pandora’s pithos,” The voice replied. “I’m Hope.”

Startled, I shoved the urn into my closet, behind some thick sheets, but through the night, I heard Hope call out.

“Open the lid, please.”

Thursday, December thirty-first, I realized I hadn’t actually slept in the past two days, more like passed out from exhaustion. The day blurred by without any notable instances, and night came once again. Party-goers out in the streets sang about the new year, hoping it would prove more fruitful than the last. I sat inside, staring at an urn.

“Open the lid,” called out the voice once again. “Please.”

I thought insanity had finally set in from my lack of actual sleep. I began talking back.

“You’re Hope,” I asked

“Yes.”

“What are you doing in there?”

“An angry god put me here, centuries ago.”

“And this is really Pandora’s…”

“Pithos. Yes.”

“Not Pandora’s Box?”

“There was never a box. Just this pithos. And me.”

“And you’re Hope.”

“Yes,” The voice said, curtly. “Would you be so kind?”

I stared at the markings on the side of the urn. I smiled, thinking that the world could always use a little more hope. Without another thought, I lifted the small wooden lid, and out seeped a dark, oily cloud of smoke. It burst forth with maniacal laughter on its heels and malice in its wake.

“Freedom,” Hope screeched. “After millennia, freedom!” The smoke burst through my window and into the night. I looked around, stunned, and saw my phone lit up on my nightstand. I had missed a call from Dora during my conversation with Hope. She left a message.

“Don’t open the urn! Hope isn’t what she says she is! After millennia of isolation and loneliness, hope turns to fear, fear to hate. She’s not Hope anymore, she’s Hate. Don’t open the urn.” The message ended with the sound of a wooden chair striking the floor, and rope tightening. Through the broken window, I heard cheers of “Happy New Year!” Two-thousand sixteen had begun.

I started seeing Hope in the news. In the eyes of politicians, she was there. I heard her in the voices of people around the globe. She consumed whole countries at the drop of a hat. Hope had turned to Hate, and I had unleashed her on the world.