Dinosaurs In Hats

(Title)

Chapter One: Of Dinosaurs and Hats

Will spotted the dinosaur wearing a hat first. Initially thinking he was hallucinating, he rubbed his eyes in disbelief but the creature didn’t disappear. It remained, a slender-necked creature balancing on two legs with three claws on each foot, and a back and arms covered and feathers. It stood roughly about as tall as the car, studying it with alert eyes from the shadows of the trees. It sported an old-fashioned top hat - the kind that he’d seen pictures of Abraham Lincoln wearing in his history textbook. It was so surprising, in fact, that he nudged his brother, Tony, next to him.

“This had better be good,” he said, pulling out one of his earbuds.

“There’s a dinosaur in a hat out there,” Tony said.

“Yeah, whatever, dweeb.”

“I’m serious.”

But his brother ignored him, plugged his earbuds back in and closed his eyes Will pressed his face to the glass, craning his head until the dinosaur disappeared behind a bend. The car rolled on down the road. Looking ahead didn’t look all that promising - more forested hills and a seemingly never-ending ribbon of asphalt. That was when Will spotted the next unusual thing - even more so than the dinosaur wearing a hat, if that was even possible. The road was somehow shifting, subtly changing direction and taking someplace entirely unexpected. Up above, the slate-colored sky looked like rain.

“Dad,” Will said. “The road’s moving.”

His dad, who had been listening to classic eighties rock music that had been blaring out of the car stereos for the past four hours, glanced back at him.

“What?”

“The road. It’s…moving.”

“I think you need a nap,” he laughed. “Just relax. We’ll be in Grantsville before you know it.” Will shook his head and leaned back against the seat, mutinous. He knew what he had seen - could still see in fact. It was hard to notice but it was there. The road was gradually shifting a little further to the right, a a bend slowly bending further, even as they traversed it. How was nobody noticing this?
He looked out the window again whenever the car jolted, as if it had somehow hit something heavy, the engine spluttering in protest. The music blasting through the car speakers cut out, replaced by static and a grainy announcer’s voice speaking in a language he didn’t recognize and could barely hear. Tony sat up, pulling one earbud out.

“What happened?”

“I don’t actually know,” their dad said with a frown, pulling the car off to the side of the road. “It felt like we hit something but…I think I’m going to take a look. Make sure there’s no damage.” The radio continued to flicker with its static and alien language until their dad killed the power.

“That’s enough of…whatever that is. This shouldn’t take long.”

He climbed out of the car and popped open the hood to the engine. Now at a standstill, Will felt once again a prickle of unease. He peered through the woods whenever he saw the dinosaur again - though now there were two of them, both in the same ridiculous stovepipe hats and both studying the car with bright disaffected eyes.

“Look,” Will said in a hushed voice. “Tony, seriously.”

“This isn’t your stupid dinosaur wearing a hat again, is it?”

“They’re right there! There’s two of them now!”

“Look, I don’t want to be here in the first place on this dumbass camping trip. I don’t want you bothering me about…whatever. Dinosaurs in hats. That sounds stupid.” He mumbled to himself, thumbing through the music playlist on his phone, paying him no more attention. Will, however, was beginning to feel serious anxiety. The road shifting, taking them somewhere else entirely. The dinosaurs. The radio. Something was very wrong.

As if on cue, the two dinosaurs turned and disappeared back into the forest. His dad stepped back into the driver’s seat.

“I can’t find anything wrong,” he said. “No sign that we hit anything either. So I’m not sure what all that was about. Oh, well. That’s road trips for ya!” he started the car, blasting Billy Joel through the stereo speakers as they pulled back onto the road, which almost immediately began redirecting them yet again. Will didn’t say anything for a long time but he felt ill. He eventually stopped trying to follow the contours of the ever-shifting road. It gave him a headache to watch and it just brought to mind more anxieties about what, exactly, they were walking into.

“Dad,” he said. “Are you sure you know where we’re going?”

“Of course I do,” he said. “And if I don’t, the GPS knows where we’re going.” Will turned his attention to the dashboard.

“Uh - Dad?”

“Hmm?”

“The GPS says we’re driving through the middle of town.”

“What? No, that can’t be.”

His dad glanced at the GPS on the dashboard and frowned.

“That’s definitely not right. I wondered why I hadn’t heard it give out any directions for a while.” Will didn’t say anything. Outside the forest rolled by. More and more, he caught quick glimpses of more of the hatted dinosaurs running alongside the road, keeping pace with the car. The road had stopped twisting and shifting around.

Something’s wrong…

“We’ll figure it out. We’ll see if there’s a rest stop or something and we’ll get it figured out.” A silence fell over the car.

“No Internet,” Tony grumbled. “Great…”

Will didn’t say anything. That there was apparently no Internet - way out in the middle of nowhere - came as no surprise to him. He’d barely touched his own phone in his pocket for most of the trip. The radio flickered again, going back to the eerie static and the grainy announcer’s voice in the foreign language.

“What’s up with that?” he asked. “Dad…”

His dad reached out and turned the radio off. Silence fell.

“Trying to drive, kiddo We’ll have to do without music for now.”

Will slouched back in the seat again, arms folded across his chest. Nobody wanted to listen to him. And he hated being called ‘kiddo’. He’d just turned fourteen last week. They hadn’t driven much longer than that whenever the radio turned back on, the eerie static and the announcer’s voice permeating the car.

“I thought we were done with the radio,” Tony complained. “Bad enough I can’t get on the Internet, now I have to listen to this…!”

His dad didn’t answer, merely reaching over to flip it off. It didn’t work. It stayed on, the hissing static filling the interior of the car.

“This is like something out of a horror movie,” Will said, his anxiety continuing to build.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” his dad replied, though he sounded worried. “But we can’t really stop in the middle of nowhere.”

And then Will spotted the stranger. He was standing off to the side of the road, dressed in fraying brown robes, head bowed and hidden behind a hood. His dad had seen him too, doing a double take. The static in the car increased in volume, until Will could barely hear himself think. The announcer’s voice in the eldritch tongue began to come through clearer. His head hurt and he had a strange idea - an impossible idea. This man, whatever or whoever he was, was using the radio to communicate.

And then he noticed the dinosaurs again. More and more of them lining the woods, their eyes bright and intense - so bright that they were virtually glowing with blue and red light. All of them sported the same identical stovepipe hat and they were all following the car.

Will shrank back in his seat. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so terrified, so incredibly alone. Neither his brother nor his dad appeared to have seen the creatures, his brother busy with his phone, his dad with his eyes on the road.

“Dad - that guy on the side of the road,” Will said.

“What guy?”

“You didn’t see him?”

“Will, what’s gotten into you? It’s not like you to be so twitchy.”

“There’s just…something wrong,” Will said. “I don’t know what.”

“Oh, I know,” Tony called from next to him. “Maybe it’s the stupid radio. God, it’s like something out of a horror movie.”

“We’re okay,” he said. “Maybe a little lost because the GPS is malfunctioning, but it’s alright. You’ll see.”

The car whined and began to stall again.

“Again?!” his dad said. “I hope we don’t have to wait for a tow truck.” He pulled over to the side of the road, just as the mysterious ragged cloaked figure appeared once more. 

The Witch in the Woods

I'm thinking about doing like a serialized story or something on here, just kind of kicking around ideas and seeing what sticks. I was rummaging through my extensive list of projects and found this and thought it might fun to re-do and then extend out into a serialized story? Hmm.

I do kind of like the notion of the setting, though. I get a Spirited Away sort of vibe from it. And the Witch is actually a character I remember...

Chapter One

Jeron stood in the large courtyard, sitting before the stone fountain, as he waited for his father to emerge from the merchant’s shop. It was one of the myriad old villages, one that had no doubt stood for generations – going from the old, mossy stone well, the ancient temple with its statues, so weathered that their facial features were barely recognizable or the age of the population: most were elderly, with gray or white hair, talking to each other in slow ways about methods that sounded especially dull.

His father emerged moments later, heavy sacks of grain on his back. “Right. There’s more inside. Go get them.”

Jeron leaped up, just happy for something to do and stepped inside the dim coolness of the store, where the innkeeper stood polishing the counter. He looked up.

“Ah. Blessings to you. Your items are there.”

He pointed to the heavy pile of sacks of grain and supplies. “And, lad. I would be wary if I were you. Beyond the ancient gates lays grave danger.”

“Uh – thanks,” Jeron said. “I think I can take care of myself, though.”

“Do not stray from the path,” the storekeeper said. “The old spirits will strip you of your flesh, devour your bones and you will become one of them, haunting the woods.”

“Okay? I’ll keep it mind,” Jeron said, not really listening. “Pretty sure that there won’t be anything – we didn’t see anything on the way over and we passed through the gates without being decapitated.”

“But the Days of Shadows began while you were in the village. Go now, tread carefully.”

Shaking his head, Jeron picked up a sack full of grain and headed outside, loading it into the village. He continued this for some time, his father, no doubt, was patronizing the local tavern, enjoying a cup of ale before they headed on home.

“You are the traveler’s son, boy?” an ancient woman now stepped in front of him and Jeron stopped, staring.

“Yeah…who are you?”

“The priestess of the Shrine,” she said. “You should wait to return.”

“You may want to take that up with my dad…” Jeron said. “He’s kind of the one in charge of when we leave…”

“I tried. He would not listen.”

“Well, he definitely won’t listen to me,” Jeron said, aware that he was probably being rude. “So if you don’t mind…”

“Take this for the journey home. You will need it and all of your wits.” She handed him a slender flower, a pale orange and red in color, with a slender yellow stalk.

Her grip tightened around his arm, showing surprising strength for an elderly woman. “Promise that you will not let the flower leave your person. It is your only hope.”

“Okay, okay,” Jeron said, now somewhat alarmed. “I promise.” Her grip relaxed and she nodded, accepting his assurance.

“Good.”

She turned and left. He examined the flower carefully, before he shrugged and put it in his pocket. An hour later, they were ready to leave, his father climbing on top of the wagon, slightly tipsy from one too many ales.

“Why do all the villagers think that we shouldn’t leave?” he asked suddenly.

“One too many superstitions is all.” His father grunted in reply. He flicked the reins and passed beyond the gates. As the darkness fell, mist began to creep in. It grew thicker and thicker, weaving among the dead or dying trees.

“I don’t like this…” Jeron said. Water dripped from the trees.

“Bah. Calm down. It’s just a bit of fog.”

“There’s no sound either,” Jeron said. “I think we should turn back.” He looked longingly back towards the village. But it was gone, lost in the trees and mist. The path was gradually swallowed the further in they went, until at last they could no longer see anything.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move, rustling through the thick underbrush and he found that he clutched the flower in his pocket. His father, however, took no notice and kept driving.

The fog grew denser, coiling steadily around the pair of them. Things rustled and moved in the forest. Twice more, he saw the thing out of the corner of his eye.

“Home is right ahead. See? Nothing to worry about,” his father said. Jeron looked ahead. There was nothing but the trees. A vile looking raven landed on a branch, and let out a harsh caw. Jeron bit his lip.

“Dad, there’s nothing there. Just more forest.”

“Don’t be stupid, Jeron. We’re here now.” And he stopped the wagon, in the middle of the road and climbed off. “Just take the grain to the granary. I’m going to check in with your mother.” He walked right towards a tree and disappeared suddenly, into it.

“Dad…!” but there was nothing. He was gone. Jeron was left alone with the cart.

“So, dear boy. You’ve lost your way and now have nowhere left to turn. Well, well, well…” a hissing, clicking noise filled his ears as a giant spider appeared in his vision, a hump-backed witch, her eyes pointing in opposite directions appeared.

“I…uh…” he said. “Who are you?”

“I am the Witch Who Lives In the Woods, of course. What is your name?”

“J-Jeron.”

“Hmm. A human name. The Days of Significance must be upon us.”

“The what?”

“Oh, never mind. You’re just a silly human. I forgot. In any case, you’d best climb on.” She tapped the spider and it obligingly lowered itself to the ground. As little as he wanted to, Jeron slowly, reluctantly climbed on the back of the creature.

“And off we go!” the king-sized spider climbed and scuttled through the trees rapidly, the Witch Who Lives in the Woods appeared to be enjoying herself immensely.

“Do you have an actual name?” Jaron asked.

“Eh? I told you my name. Though if you feel like giving me one of your silly human nicknames, you may. I’ve picked up quite a few of them from various villages, who worshipped me as a goddess for some reason! Here we are…”

They had arrived at a rather pleasant looking cottage. The forest looked slightly more alive here, with buds on the bare branches, and bits of green beneath the yellowing grass.

“Um – what’s going on exactly? I mean, no offense but you just kind of took me for a ride on the back of your giant spider and, um…”

“You haven’t guessed? You’re in the spirit world now! Right when you passed through the gates.” She studied him.

“Everyone, of course, already knows you’re here. I must have passed a good dozen debates on whether or not we should eat you and your father or if you would be edible at all.”

“Uh – do I want to know the verdict?”

“Well, you certainly aren’t on the menu. They know better to eat a Witch’s assistant, after all!” Jeron choked.

“What – but, I can’t stay here and be your apprentice!”

“Certainly you can! And you must! After all, I didn’t eat you, argued for you in fact. And I need a human. It gets rather dull among the forest creatures, you see.”

“Er…” she smiled at him and he realized uncomfortably there wasn’t much of a choice here. She was clearly a witch. With a giant spider at her command.

“Okay. Okay. Not saying I like but I obviously don’t have a lot of choice at the moment. Do you know what happened to my dad?”

“Hmm? I do not.”

“He – he thought we were home, but we clearly weren’t. And he walked into a tree and disappeared.” The Witch thought for a moment.

“He’s probably in the hands of some spirit or another. Bewitched, more than likely. He’s likely safe, but I’ll find out for sure.” She patted him on the head.

“Why don’t you tie up Violet for me, then meet me inside. I’ll go brew up some potions.” She walked inside the hut and Jeron stared up at the huge spider, his heart in his throat.

“Tie up the giant spider,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “Right. I can do that. Uh, come here girl?”

The spider approached him, its eye lidless eyes staring at him, sending his reflection back at him.

NaNoWriMo Subject?!

We're about a month out from the beginning of NaNoWriMo. I want to participate this year and (hopefully) actually win this time around - though we'll see. I'm going to try laying some groundwork this year and I have two distinct ideas for the projects I'm going to tackle this time around. I'm torn between them.

The first is sort of this adventure, but set in a fantasy setting that sort of looks like like the 21st century - skyscrapers, smart phones and social media and so on, but it also has all these standard fantasy stuff co-existing with it - elves, dwarves, wizards and the like. The idea is essentially 'what happens if a stereotypical fantasy world actually modernizes' and the plotting sort of addresses it. I have some fun ideas for it - like you go to a zoo to see dragons or gryphons or unicorns. Arthurian castles and ancient wizard's towers and so forth have been converted into historical landmarks and museums.

(This whole notion, incidentally, is loosely inspired from a weird-ass dream I had a while back where Walmart had, of all things, a flippin' Magic department.)

The other idea is sci-fi in flavor and is inspired more from my childhood TV watching (or book reading)- drawing from stuff like Voltron, Power Rangers, Animorphs etc - you know, a group of kids/teenagers get their hands on advanced alien technology and end up drawn into some sort of large-scale, high-stakes war against alien foes.

The premise is basically this: the Earth is invaded by alternate reality humans allied with eldritch creatures from another dimension. A mysterious being gives the protagonists strange futuristic devices that scans animals and creates robotic templates based on those animals that they can then summon to help them fight back. The Earth, quickly conquered, sends them on the run from all that they have known and they find themselves drawn into an epic conflicts, while having character growth, large-scale battles, solving the mysteries of the setting and all that good stuff.

I really like both of these ideas - the sci-fi one has more of a plot going for it but the fantasy already has more of the world-building going on. So help me choose!

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child: A Review

Well, ladies and gentlemen, it is now the time you've been waiting for! That's right...some nobody's opinion of the latest Harry Potter book! Let's have a round of applause! Woohoo!

Okay, silliness finished. So, let's firstly get into our TL;DR version of this review. It's good. You should read it. The end.


...I should say before you continue reading here, there are spoilers of the play ahead. So if you don't like spoilers, leave now! I'm not going to spoil everything or major stuff but still.

You have been warned.

Okay.

Spoiler-Phobhic readers gone?

Anyone left either doesn't care about spoilers or has already finished the play?
...

...

...


Right. Here we go. 

To elaborate on that, Cursed Child is a script - its not a proper novel. It picks up with the Epilogue of Deathly Hallows and takes us forward four years over the course of the first act. Admittedly, this is an odd choice of medium to continue the story of a series of novels, but is eminently readable and I was still thrown back into the Harry Potter universe - the hidden magical corners of London, the sprawling grounds and floor of Hogwarts Castle and so forth. My only major regret with this choice of format is that the chances of me ever getting to see this performed are basically non-existent. But I digress - we're getting off topic.

At its core, it's a story about the strained relationship between Harry Potter and his youngest son, Albus Severus. Initially, I didn't care for Albus. He came across like an emo brat. You know - the ones that actually have it really good but keep crying about how nobody understands their pain and you just want to punch them? However, he did get better as the story went on, mostly because he was too busy being occupied with the plot to whine. And, to the story's immense credit, it did have a character call him out on his behavior about halfway through. Intriguingly, Albus is very clearly not a copy of Harry. He's a Slytherin for one thing, and his best friend is the Scorpius, the son of Harry's old rival Draco Malfoy.

On Harry's end, he is now an overworked government employee dealing with a very thorny problem: a former Death Eater was caught with a Time Turner - a more advanced version than we saw in Prisoner of Azkaban. This one can go back years into the past, instead of just hours. Which means that it could be used to restore Voldemort back to full strength. Add that to constant whispers of Voldermort's child (!), Amos Diggory demanding that the Time Turner to be used to restore Cedric Diggory, Triwizard Champion and first victim of Voldemort's return in Goblet of Fire. 

Naturally, Harry declines - as he should. Because messing with the flow of time never under any circumstances ends well. But, of course, the Time-Turner ends up in irresponsible (though well-meaning) hands. Attempts are made to save Cedric Diggory from his death at Voldemort's hand, by disqualifying him from the Triwizard Tournament. This results in some various bad futures, including one where Hermione is the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and acts like Snape (!) and another one where Voldermort rules the roost with over-the-top evil things like the Blood Ball. And Voldermort Day. (seriously.). And Dolores Umbridge is Head of Hogwarts.

Of course, if we're really going this Time Travel business, this does beg the question of why nobody just went back and provided a list of the Horcruxes and their locations to someone in the past to destroy. Or killed Voldemort before he made the Horcruxes and was all powerful. Which, honestly, is why I think JK wrote the Time Turners out of continuity in the original seven novels.

Cedric Diggory, too, bothered me. I won't say too much about it but he's very, VERY out of character. The titular Cursed Child (no, I'm not telling you who it is) also came out of left field.

However, on the plus side of the Time Turner business, we got to see some old friends who were dead in the main timeline, revisit some iconic scenes from a new perspective (seriously, the closing scene of the climax was heartbreaking. No, again, not spoiling. Read it yourself if you haven't yet.).

All in all, it was a good trip back to the Wizarding World once again. And, as I said above, my biggest regret is that I will likely never see it performed.  8/10

Stray observation:
-Hermione is Minister of Magic and Ron now runs Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. The leading politican of magic in Great Britian is married to a man who runs a joke shop. Ron/Hermione shipping forever!

Another Snippet

So, writing is going well. I'm still building up my stamina and today have managed to pull of twenty minutes or so - hopefully will manage thirty or forty before I go to bed. Reading, too, is carrying on as well. I am looking forward to reading the new Harry Potter book here in a couple of day's time.

In any case, I've a new snippet for you to read! Yay! This is from early on in Chapter Two. Enjoy!

But none of it really started to sink it until the sun began to set. He had found a place to camp - by a wide, shallow stream that wound lazily through the grasslands, out of sight. The grass was shorter here and he could see better. He laid out the bedroll and stared up at the stars. The moons rose and the stars emerged. He flinched. Moons. Two of them - a larger blue one, deep blue but striated with bands of paler hue and a smaller burnt-orange crescent, hanging below and somewhere off to the right. He stared up at the sky, suddenly feeling very, very small; very, very lost; and very, very frightened.

Whether it be some scrap of memory remaining, or some base instinct somewhere buried in his soul, he knew. The sky was wrong. There wasn’t supposed to be two moons - just one, silvery, small and distant. Staring up at the sky, his whole situation well and truly began to sink in. He was on another world. Some other planet, some other dimension -

Does it really matter? I can’t even remember where I’m from. But - its wrong. Wherever it is, its so far, I can’t even really get my head around how far away home actually is. 

And he was utterly alone, cut off so completely off from his friends and family that he couldn’t even remember their names and faces. It was a uniquely horrible feeling as he sat underneath the vast, uncaring alien sky.

Reading?!

So, I am slowly but surely re-establishing my old writing habits. It's an ongoing process - learning once again how to silence my doubts and internal editor, trying to maintain momentum by writing every day, focusing on one big story and seeing it through all the way to the end and, most importantly, actually concentrating on writing instead of getting sidetracked by the internet..

All these things take time. Right now, I've started small. I'm writing for ten minutes here, ten minutes there - the plan being to gradually increase the time I spend writing as I continue to build up my focus for projects. It seems to be working so far. I managed nearly twenty minutes today (not counting the time I spent writing this blog - and some time I will probably spend afterwards on the project). One step at a time, I say. It's rather like exercise. You have to do it consistently and, over time, you'll gradually get faster - stronger or, in my case, able to actually concentrate instead of run off to the Internet after ten seconds.

But that's not what I wanted to ramble about today. I wanted to talk about...reading. You see, when I was a teenager I read constantly. All the time. Whatever looked interesting - primarily fantasy and science fiction. I was drawn to book jackets and interesting covers, drawn to new stories, new frontiers, new ideas, characters and settings to process.

And then I sort of...stopped and I suspect that my lack of reading has at least something to do with the decline in my writing habits. Oh, sure, I still read. But it was always old favorites, very rarely anything new. Well, I arbitrarily decided a couple of days ago to charge up my tablet, buy an e-book and sit down and read it. I then followed that up with a couple of graphic novels (also purchased digitally, by the way.). I felt that, afterwards, the writing I did was of better quality than usual: the words came easier and the quality was a lot better - something I was actually fairly happy with.

But what's more? I enjoyed the stuff I was reading. Sure, it wasn't deep masterpieces or anything. But it doesn't need to be. I just have to like it. It just has to appeal to me. So I'm going to start reading again - consistently. It could be old stuff I've read before - but I mostly want to expand my horizons with new books. Fantasy, sci-fi and perhaps a smattering of non-fiction. No quotas on genre or anything like that.

Whatever appeals to me.

I will, of course, have to rely a lot on my local library and Overdrive (the e-book library app for those uninitiated) because books cost money which, unfortunately, I don't have a lot of. I will likely allow myself a purchase or two every payday. And ebooks, unfortunately. I'm generally okay with e-books but I much prefer physical copies. And with the local bookstore in my area going under...

Sad day.

But anyway! That's no way to end this blog entry. Things are looking up. I'm getting back into the swing of things, the new novel is shaping up well and I am enjoying my life.

Till next time!

The Beginning

 I wrote this today. Trying to ease myself back into writing on a regular basis. Enjoy the mindscrew! =D (It's the opening part of Chapter 1.)

Daniel Stevenson stood alone, surrounded by thick coils of undulating fog that swirled around him like a vast white serpent. He could, at least, see - a sourceless white light illuminated his surroundings, such as they were. Occasionally, the coils of mist parted and he saw beyond. And then wished that he hadn’t. For beyond the white misty tendrils spanned an infinite void. It wasn’t merely empty space, he thought, but Emptiness itself - a blank pale gray stretching on and on to forever. There was no land or sky, no up or down nor left or right.

It felt simultaneously an infinitesimal distance away and, at the same time, so close that he might as well have had his nose squashed up against it. But then, thankfully, the mist covered it and he didn’t have to look at it anymore. He didn’t want to see anymore.

But he was still here, stranded in…wherever this was. He had a dim recollection that he should know - but that memory was getting fainter. Noises drifted to his ears. He had felt certain that he was alone but - now, he wasn’t sure. The sharp sound of a slamming door. Wild raucous laughter mingled with the sound of a flute. An angry conversation in an alien tongue - one he somehow recognized as speech, despite sounding like a three way blend between revving lawnmowers, whistling teapots and guttural dinosaur snarls.

Batman v. Superman: A Spoiler-Free Review

Let me preface this by saying that, going against the grain, I wasn’t particularly hyped for this movie - the notion of Batman fighting Superman I found generally eyerolling. I want to see those two team up to fight bad guys, not battle each other. Which - I don’t think I’m spoiling anything, considering this is movie intended to be setup for the Justice League - they do set aside their differences and work together in the final act. But I’ll get to that. Let’s just jump right in.

Let me start with what I enjoyed before I start venting my dislikes. I really liked Jesse Eisenberg as Lex Luthor. It was a different interpretation of the character that I enjoyed, a smarmy jackass who actually turns out to be quite the chessmaster and has a very elaborate behind-the-scenes plans for evil things. My sister described him as ‘evil Willy Wonka’ which is actually a reasonably apt description. (Of course, Willy Wonka is quite diabolical anyway, but I digress.).

I liked how Batman was portrayed. Whenever Ben Affleck was cast, there was a certain amount of outrage. However, it turned out to not be justified - he pulled off a fantastic Bruce Wayne, one that was easy to get invested in his struggle and understandable in his reasoning that leads him to square off against the Man of Steel.

I also liked how the movie addressed the philosophical and tactical differences between the two - exploring the idea of Superman as a god walking among us, saving the world but still mistrusted and feared because of those powers and the resulting dilemmas. Batman, of course, as the shadowed vigilante of the night - working beyond the law, rarely seen, and striking fear in the hearts of his enemies intentionally.

It’s really interesting setup and really interesting stuff that makes for a more cerebral sort of experience. You understand where both sides are coming from and how these differences could lead them into a fight. Of course, all of that is dropped in the last act for a plot point based on a random bit of trivia - something I think people will either unbearably contrived or actually genius.
But that, alas, brings us to the end of what I felt were the movie’s positives. Now we must turn our attention to the negatives. Let’s start with the minor stuff first. I can’t imagine a more shoehorned setup for the rest of the Justice League. Seriously. The movie actually has to stop everything its doing and show us video clips of them. They are literally attachments in an email.

Secondly - this one is more abstract and my biggest gripe - the tone. DC has had this reputation for a while now of taking everything way too seriously for its own good. There’s literally nothing to lighten the mood - the tone continues to be super grim, super dark and nary a shred of optimism or even a little bit of humor. The Marvel Cinematic Universe - with its much lighter tone - this is not. Everything is pessimistic, grim and the future is bleak. Nobody jokes, nobody laughs - I can’t even remember anyone even having an actual genuine smile throughout the movie.

 It’s that sort of movie: a grandiose spectacle, a vast super serious epic about the Man of Steel and Caped Crusader, worth seeing for the action and excitement but its not particularly fun. It’s really just a slog.

 The tone extends even to the color palate. Everything is gray, sterile and cold. With the exception of one - maybe two - scenes, the whole movie might as well have taken place either at night or on a string of bleak cheerless days in January. Ugh. Give me color! I don’t expect perpetual sunshine and rainbows, but seriously. Lighten up, movie!

You are, at its core, about a billionaire dressing up like a bat facing off against an alien from an exploded planet. Not everything has to be so, flippin’ gloomy.

Finally, the ending. And this is where I have to tread lightly (and I will go quickly and be as vague as I can). I rolled my eyes. I was supposed to feel emotions at what I watching but, really, all I could think was this: I know that this isn’t going to last, because I know how this works. You, movie, know its going to last and every single person in the audience knows it too.
The credits rolled and I left.

All in all, its not horrible. Worth a watch? Sure, if you’re a fan of the characters.

 But I still prefer the MCU over what DC is attempting here. I rate it a 6/10.

Island of the Lost Tortoise

Time for a throwback to a few years back!

I was rummaging around on my computer as I do and I stumbled across. Reading through it, I generally liked how it turned out and thought I would share! Yay for sharing! Also, I found it downright intriguing.

Island of the Lost Tortoise

Chapter One

Mark coughed, and opened his eyes. He was lying on glittering white sand, the ocean slapped up on the beach just behind him. The sun glittered overhead; white puffy clouds dotted the blue sky. He was soaking wet. He got up, pushing damp hair out of his eyes and struggled to remember how he’d gotten to…wherever this was. He vaguely remembered thunder and lightning, roaring waves and the ground tilting further under his feet…

So he’d been on a sinking ship evidently. But why? He strained his mind, trying to think of what had happened before that. Nothing. He drew a blank; he couldn’t remember anything before that. It was as though someone had scooped out all of his memories of his life.

He reached into his pockets, looking for anything that might trigger a flashback. A cell phone, screen black and ruined by the water and his wallet. He flipped it open with trembling fingers. Some damp dollar bills, a driver’s license, which identified him as Mark Stephens, six foot, one inch, two hundred and three pounds and a student ID, which informed him he attended Freesmarch University. 

Even these traces of his old life did nothing for his memory. It remained stubbornly blank. He glanced around more closely at his surroundings. He had washed up in paradise. A glittering white sand beach wrapped around a broad bay of perfectly clear blue water. A short distance from the beach, a wall of tropical greenery extended inland. Colorful birds sat on the branches. Seagulls wheeled overhead, screaming. 

“Well,” he said, trying to stay optimistic, though panic – real panic – was already setting in. “There’s worse places to wash up.” He had no idea how to survive in the middle of nowhere, no equipment, or even anyone to talk too. The sun beat down on his head, causing him to head for the trees, looking for some shade.

He had gone maybe a dozen steps whenever his dead, waterlogged phone started to ring. He froze, staring at it wide-eyed. The number on the screen marked it as unlisted. He hit the call button and pushed the phone to his ear.

“Trust the turtles,” a scratchy voice faded in and out, as though the connection was bad. “Trust the turtles and find my tomb.” 

The phone went dead. He stared at it, bemused. Then, before his eyes it began to dissolve into fine black dust, quickly carried away by a strong wind. 

He opened his mouth and closed it again, completely flummoxed.

What’s that even supposed to mean? 

He kept walking away from the beach and towards the greenery, whenever he came upon the path, a series of wide stone steps leading upwards. They were broken and crumbled now, grass grew between the cracks, and a thick tree root had pushed two of them completely apart. But they were clearly manmade. He scrambled up them eagerly, and stepped into the cool, green shade…and what was apparently an old plaza of some sort. A small circular pool stood in the middle, filled to the brim with clear water. 

He gingerly touched it – icy cold. It felt good, and somehow left him feeling cleansed. He drank greedily, cupping the icy water in his hands until he felt he was about to burst. Fresh water. Clean fresh water – this was a good thing, but he still felt incredibly anxious about the situation. And he was still puzzling over the cryptic words the man had spoken over his now disintegrated phone.

He sat down at the edge of the clearing – he could see the beach from here, a distant bar of white and blue, while he weighed his options. The most logical course of action, he thought, would be to get someone to rescue him – which meant, he should try building a large bonfire. Someone would see the smoke. He hoped. 

Of course, he needed a way to build a fire in the first place; he didn’t have any matches or anything. He could try flint and steel – he vaguely recalled that was an alternative way to create a flame – but he didn’t have those either, really. 

After several minutes, he gave up. Everything he could think of required tools that he didn’t have. He turned around, thinking maybe to have another drink from the pool whenever he saw the turtle – or, maybe tortoise was a better word. It stood about as tall as his waist, its heavy green-gray shell ridged and pockmarked. 

It surveyed him with solemn eyes, before it turned around and started to head into the trees. Mark stared at it for a long moment. It stopped, turned around and stared at him again, as if saying ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Move!’

Trust the turtles. 

He moved into the brush, following behind the turtle. It moved surprisingly quickly, at least as fast as he walked. The stone path he noticed earlier continued into the forest. Monkeys chattered from the trees, bright tropical birds fluttered from branch to branch. Here and there, he saw colorful butterflies or other insects moving in the trees. 

The turtle kept walking, and presently they came to a large clearing. The trees vanished, replaced by knee high grass. The afternoon sun shone in the sky, insects buzzed. Directly ahead of him, stood some old ruins: crumbling bits of wall, some old stone buildings with ivy growing on the sides, a quiet secretive, sad sort of place. 

The turtle kept going, walking right up to the walls and then looking back expectantly. 

“You want me to go in,” he said. “God. I’m talking to a turtle. This is the lowest I think I’ve ever sunk.” The turtle didn’t respond, but it looked somehow stern. 

He walked into the courtyard, stepping across a crumbling, faded mosaic depicting a turtle (of course). He wandered around the ruins, looking at the collapsed columns and broken statues and peered inside the nearest structure – sunlight fell in faded patches on a tile floor. Broken furniture was scattered around, along with a tipped over brazier and a few silver coins. 

Bits of broken machinery stood against the far wall, he had no idea what they were supposed to do. Finding a staircase, he began to climb it, whenever something moved out of the corner of his eye. He paused and headed over to the floor again, wondering if there was something he missed. The scene shimmered. 

The walls repaired themselves. The furniture righted and slid back to where it was. The broken machines began working, humming and spitting out little puffs of white smoke. But at the same time, the whole scene became shimmery and misty, somehow remote and distant, like he was watching a movie of some kind. 

A girl stood there, around eighteen or so – his age- in a plain white dress with gold hoops on her bare arms and her dark hair spilling down her back. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen in his life. She also looked unhappy, as an older man walked in, in a short tunic and pair of pants.

“My dear. You called?”

“Yes. I want to know how the current battles are going.”

“As well as can be expected. The news hasn’t changed since the last time you asked,” he offered a short, stiff bow. “I think that you need to relax, Princess. Perhaps find some way to amuse yourself and take your mind off your troubles.”

“My father is out in the middle of the greatest danger that that the Inario have ever faced,” she snapped. “I should be there with him, helping him save the Kingdom, not…not sitting here off on the edge.” The anger in her voice was obvious. 

“You are too young to face such dangers.”

“Do not speak to me of youth,” the princess snapped. “My father was my age when he assumed the mantle of the Kingdom.” She paced back and forth and let out a sigh.

“Halcon, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap at you – you’ve been nothing but loyal. All the same it’s frustrating to be trapped here, with scarcely any news while our very way of life sits on the brink of destruction.” Halcon offered a stiff bow.

“I am here to serve,” he said. “I know this must be difficult…but your father wanted you safe and secure.” At that moment, the door slammed open. Soldiers in dark uniforms, and holding spears that crackled with electric light burst into the room. The Princess flinched, and then held up one hand. A sphere of light emerged from nowhere, glowing with pale light. 

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

“The King of the Inario is now dead,” they rumbled. “You are now the Queen and must also die…”

They lunged, but as they did so, the scene shifted again. Mark blinked. The room still had that strange misty quality, but the daylight looked different. The room was empty. As he watched, the Princess walked into the room and sat down at the table, scribbling out something on a piece of paper, before sending it away via a message hawk that he hadn’t noticed earlier. 

“This is not right,” she said loudly. “I shouldn’t be here.” The image flickered, stuttered as though it was a recording and there was something wrong with the video player. Then he saw her again, pacing. 

“Halcon! Come here!” 

Halcon entered the room. “My dear. You called?” 

“Yes. I want to know the current battles are going.” 

Mark blinked. The scene replayed itself, exactly as it had just moments ago, down to the last gesture and the soldiers bursting in on the scene. 

“A recording?” he asked aloud, watching the soldiers declare that the King of the Inario was dead, that the Princess was now a Queen and must therefore die. The scene flickered, changed again. The soldiers were gone, the Princess was now walking into the place, Halcon trailing behind her.

“You will be safe here,” he said. “It’s for the best, Princess. Your father is a wise man…”

“I suppose,” she said. “But this is wrong. My father would never send me away like this.” The scene flickered. He saw her again writing her message and sending it off, saw again her demanding to know how the battles were going from Halcon and the soldiers bursting in. Over and over again. 

On impulse, he reached out and touched the Princess’s shoulder. The scene changed, she turned and faced him.

“Who are you? How did you get in here without the guards noticing?”

“I – what?” Mark asked, bewildered. “You can see me?” she frowned at him, as though he was a sudden difficult problem. 

“Of course I can see you, why wouldn’t I be able to?” 

“It’s just…” he fumbled for the right word. “I thought this was a memory.” Halcon stepped into the room. 

“My dear. You called?” 

“You may leave, Halcon,” she said after a long moment. “And you can take the stranger with you.” 

“As well as can be expected,” he said. “The news hasn’t changed since the last time you asked.” 

Now, she looked taken aback, Mark noticed and turned to face him again.

“What sorcery is this?” she demanded.

“Hey, I didn’t do it,” he said, holding his hands. “I just…I followed the turtle.” 

“Followed the turtle…” she muttered, as if aware suddenly how dreamlike the room was. The guards burst into the room.

“The King of the Inario is now dead!” they said, and lowered their spears. They charged. She stepped aside. They charged and passed through the wall. 

The scene faded. The pristine state of the building faded back to ruins. Mark was alone again, only now with the Princess, who looked around at the ruined environment in completely shock and some horror, and then rushed out of the room, leaving Mark by himself.