Young Writers Society

Lance sat down on the bridge, admiring the pleasant scene before him. His feet dangled off the edge as he started counting the lily pads in the pool beneath him. A gentle breeze carried through the willow trees.

"This is a beautiful place," Kyla said, standing on the bank. "I didn't think you'd choose this place for a meeting."

"I guess I'm a complex person. Monet was always good with his bridges and his lillies."

"So what did you want to talk about?" Lance looked down at the lily pads.

"Delilah is starting to become suspicious. She's asking lots of questions."

"Go ahead and tell her then." Lance looked at her.

"You think I should?" Lance said.

"You'd have to tell her sometime. Besides, she probably wouldn't believe you anyway. I would have called you crazy before I became a runner."

"It would sound lame though," he said, looking back at the lily pads.

"True, but the inevitable 'I told you so' is worth considering."

"Thanks Kyla."

"No problem," she said, turning to look around. "This is a pretty place. I might come back here sometime."

And with that, she jumped out of the painting.

Carla

"Hello Terry," Carla called, causing the man to jump. He turned and observed her with deep, blue eyes.

"Carla. How can I help you?" He asked. She tilted her head to the side and approached him, following the sound of his voice.

"He's getting closer to the truth, isn't he?" Carla noted, her sightless eyes gazing out at the man before them. Terry too turned to observe Max. The human's brown eyes glanced at the screen in front of him and then his fingers typed yet another web address.

"How do you watch him?" Terry wondered as the scenery around them changed.

"Vibrations in the air," Carla replied. "What site are we on?"

Lance jumped out of the painting into the museum. It was after hours and the halls were empty.

Security systems never sleep. Silent alarms had all ready been activated and security gates had come down in the gallery, blocking all exits.

Or so they thought. Lance smiled. He couldn't help it. There was something about being able to do things that normal people could not.

He could have jumped into any of the pictures of course, but he wanted to try something new.

He looked up and saw a security camera. Lance couldn't help but smile for the camera. He turned and went for the far side of the gallery, he would need all the distance he could to build up speed.

He turned to face the camera and ran straight towards it. He leaped onto one of the benches and then leaped again, before jumping into the camera.

Everything turned black and white as Lance made his way through the camera network. They hadn't upgraded to color yet, or perhaps it was just night vision. He peered through one of the cameras. Security guards were racing past on this view. The view was fuzzy, the cameras weren't the best quality.

Lance looked out of all the cameras before he jumped out of the security monitors. He found himself in the security station. It had been abandoned quickly, a half eaten doughnut was still there. It wouldn't take long before they returned. He turned and saw it: a digital video recorder. He popped the disc out and pocketed it.

He left the room and went to the nearest restroom. There he washed his hands before jumping into the mirror.

Max used the sleeve of his coat to wipe away some of the grime from the name-plate on his door. The brass plate was old and dirty, but the name inscribed on it still stood out clearly.

“Maximilian Montague: Private Investigator,” he muttered. He hated it. An important name, for such an insignificant man.

He entered the room and shrugged off his heavy coat. The beige shell crumpled as it fell to the floor, but Max left it there. He pulled off his brown hat and threw it across the room, landing it perfectly on the hook.

Sliding into a chair next to his computer, he powered up the machine and scratched his chin as he waited.

He hated it. The constant waiting. The way everything always seemed to be ‘almost there’ but never ‘already there’. He also hated the technology, it was sure to be part of a government mind control system, but Max knew it was his only way of fighting it.

The desktop appeared briefly before the computer promptly turned itself off.

“Gah!” Max stood and violently shook the monitor, “Argh! Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

Once he’d vented his anger he calmly pressed the power button again and stomped off to the kitchen area of his room to make himself a sandwich.

Terry watched the man tap the web address into the url bar and frowned. For months now, nearly a year even, Maximillian Montague had been searching. Searching to uncover the truth about the “miracle” he had witnessed in downtown New York, among dented dumpsters and desperate drug addicts. Terry had to admit that the incident would have been unprecedented to any normal human being. It would have validated any faith, any belief in a higher power. It would make any natural dreamer want to shout his new-found insight from the highest rooftop. To scream out a lifetime of pent-up doubt.

But Max was different.

He wanted to believe, Terry was sure of it. The man had been a Christian his entire life. In a world of tangible facts and obvious proofs, something as flighty and untouchable as mere faith was a hard thing to hold onto. This experience would have solidified a lifetime of scanning the King James, kneeling by a bed side, wanting to know, but not quite ever attaining that blinding understanding. That fiery revelation preachers roared about over a pulpit.

But Max was different.

That’s why God had chosen him to witness the “miracle”.

Terry smirked. People thought they were so clever.

“Vibrations in the air,” Carla said. “What site are we on?”

Inside the computer, Terry closed his eyes and focused, absorbing the present data on Max’s screen. Since cyberspace wasn’t a dimension where words and images were displayed on the “inside” - like they were expressed “outside” on a screen - but expressed by the ones and zeroes of the binary code, Terry had to feel the information instead of see it. It must be easier for Carla. He thought to himself, searching the web site Max was on for important information. She had to feel instead of see on a daily basis. She was so much more sensitive to things like this. In tune with her surroundings. Sight made Terry lazy. It made him take the world for granted.

“Huh, he’s hacked into the CIA database. I don’t how the hell he did it, but I’m seeing classified reports and the top ten most wanted.” Terry shook his head, “Last time I checked it was a felony – an impossible felony – and now everyone and their dog can check out the latest international secrets like they check the soaps. No wonder the government is so screwed up.”

Beside him Carla smiled, “He’s good.”

“Of course he’s good. God isn’t playing pin-the-tail up there with these kind of choices.”

“Never does,” Carla said.

“And yet here we are, in a world where our heavenbound friend can barely keep the nukes from flying.”

Carla smiled again, “Such blasphemy.”

Terry rolled his eyes in the blind woman’s direction, “Hey, I may talk to God on a daily basis, but I'm no saint. Give a guy a break. The world is in my bl...”

Terry suddenly fell silent. A chill rippled down his spine and fell into his stomach. He straightened up, blue eyes scanning the leisurely snow of ones and zeroes around him. Something wasn’t right. Frozen, silent, he glanced at Carla. Her jaw was clenched as she felt the same otherworldly presence steal through cyberspace. Climate in abstract dimensions wasn’t something you came across every day.

Someone else had joined them.

Someone powerful.

Shadows flickered in the distance. Several of them. “He knows,” Carla hissed, “How is that possible? This mission was secret.”

Terry didn’t answer. The dimension was plunged into utter darkness, the binary snow vanishing. He shivered and fell to his knees. So cold, so cold. He could feel his limbs icing over, blood congealing. The devil was behind this. He was stopping Max. Terry swore inwardly and twitched on the ground. This was a new development. An unsettling one.

It meant Max was on the right path.

And then, almost as soon as it had descended, the icy cold vanished and cyberspace’s dim lighting hummed back on. But the ones and zeroes were gone. The computer’s network connection had been broken. Terry scowled and crawled back to his feet, helping Carla up. She winced in his arms. More sensitive, more pain. The downside to being blind.

“We have to go,” She whispered.

Terry nodded. This dimension wasn’t safe anymore. The devil knew. He knew everything.

God wasn’t alone in omniscience.

Carla

"We have to go," Carla whispered weakly, her body still throbbing with the pain. Beside her, Terry nodded. They waited until Max had ducked under his desk to check the various wires and plugs, before fleeing from the monitor.

"The phone," Terry suggested, half carrying Carla across the room.

"Okay," She agreed and they both slipped into the electronic equipment, passing as messages through the system.

Not much later, the two runners casually exited a red, public phone box and crossed the road.

"How did he find out?" Terry wondered.

"I don't know but we'll have to locate the others and let them know how close Max is getting."

"We should warn them to avoid the internet for a while as well."

"Agreed."

Delilah picked up the phone happily when it rang. "Hullo?" She said.

"Del, it's me."

"Hey Kyla, what's up?"

"I need to talk to you?"

"Isn't that why you called?"

"No, I need to talk to you in person. Can I come over?"

"Yeah sure, when will you be here?"

"Five minutes."

"You live over fifteen miles away; how are you gonna get here that fast?"

"I'll explain later." Kyla hung up and Delilah looked around. Her house was a mess. She began running around to pick up.

***Sorry, I don't have much to write at the moment***

Jonah checked his watch. His date, fresh from the internet, was coming any minute. He already knew her – he had been in her house twice since she was foolishly online while he was and well – Jonah glanced at his watch again. She was late.

She was pretty – he had made sure of it. He had flirted with her picture on the internet several times and her picture was quick to flirt back, wrapping him in text in a keen embrace. But the highlight had been when he saw her looking into the screen. At him. Except she didn’t know it was him. Instead, she left her computer on. And he was free to steal into her room while she went to the bathroom, examining her personal items and for anything he could take at home. Thievery? Maybe. But he was desperate and he needed money fast.

A knock came at the door. He glanced through the peephole and, with a jerk of his stomach, refrained from going to the other side to be with her. Instead, he opened the door and glanced at her. Her name was Mandy.

“Welcome,” he said.

She smiled and looked around nervously, examining his place over his shoulder. “Nice digs,” she said, though he knew she was lying. Her eyes told him so. But he accepted the praise anyway and led her to the couch.

“Here, I’ll get you something to drink. What would you like?”

Before she answered, he knew what she wanted. Orange juice. Her eyes told it clearly and it was all he could do but to fall into her eyes and into her imagination. He refrained. He would be in control tonight.

“Orange juice,” she said, again, her voice nervous. “If you have any.” He smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

“I’ll get some for you now.”

He left her, and, as he went to the kitchen, he glanced back at the mirror at her.

“She’s a hot bitch,” the mirror whispered to him, his reflection winking back at him.

He nodded and then went to the kitchen, where once again, his reflection met him at the refrigerator, which shone him back in black plastic. “How are you going to kill her this time?”

“I can’t kill her,” he said, cocking his eyebrow. “You know that.”

The reflection only laughed. “What about that time where Vanessa –“

“I didn’t kill her. It was her fault – she imagined that the rubber snake I threw at her was real.”

The reflection laughed. “Does she like romances?” he whispered, his eyes going back to the living room, where Mandy was now waiting. “Maybe we’ll get to have her before she dies, if you know what I mean.”

Jonah snorted and opened the refrigerator. But now his shadow turned back to him and leaned comfortably on the counter. “What does she like?” The shadow had a husky voice.

“Mysteries.”

“Murder mysteries?”

Jonah only smiled.

Things have been changing a lot, so here is an update on where we stand.

There are three states of mind which humans can be in.

The first state is an active state, where the mind is totally focused on something.

The second state is a semi-active state, where the mind interacts with the imagination. Snoink's first post demonstrates this state.

The third state is a dreamlike state, when the imagination is completely active.

Runners are created from this third state. The imagination creates a human form of itself that becomes real.

It is similar to creating an online personality for yourself, except that instead of it being an online personality, it is an imagination personality. Further more, this personality is able to interact with the real world and it is 'real' while it is doing this. Since it is an imagination, it can go where humans only dream.

What this means is that Runners no longer need a divine blessing, they can occur when very imaginative people create their own imagination personality.

Lance could very well be the imagination of a bored computer programmer named Steve.

I'd like to welcome Snoink to the author list. I've also upped the rating to R.

This storybook is difficult because it is working with an abstract and original idea. This is tough because it requires you to use a lot more imagination than you may be used to. It being an abstract concept has one benefit though: you can experiment with writing styles and ideas without fear.

If anyone has a question about anything, send me a PM.

What this means is that Runners no longer need a divine blessing, they can occur when very imaginative people create their own imagination personality.

Oh. If I remember correctly, in the original post, you mention these people having divine blessing. However, It appears as though you've gone and edited that out. This makes my last post...hard to work with....

Okay, just so I have this straight. These people, these runners, are just imagining themselves with special power. Like you said, Lance could be some fat computer nerd. Does that mean anything we 'fight' is in our head and really doesn't exist? And if we don't have divine blessing, what's the conflict of this storybook? What is the runners' purpose? It's not like they can do much of anything anyway the way I understand it. It's all imagintion... It's like a matrix-esque world where there's no real purpose. We just keep jumping from out of mirrors and into telephone lines. How do we even know each other? How do we get to know each other and make this a more dynamic storybook? Are we going to battle our own personal demons for the entertainment of everyone else or 'fight' against a greater evil?

I admit most of the 'straying off the path' was done by me with my heavily religious, good-and-evil plot line. I'm sorry.

Also, I'm slightly new to this whole storybook aspect of YWS. What is an author's list?

Thanks!

-Kylan

An authors list doesn't actually exist; it is a checklist in my head of all the authors for the storybook.

Okay, just so I have this straight. These people, these runners, are just imagining themselves with special power. Like you said, Lance could be some fat computer nerd. Does that mean anything we 'fight' is in our head and really doesn't exist?

Just because something is in your head doesn't mean it can't exist. This is particularly true with runners. They do have powers, they do exist, and they aren't delusions. Runners are unique because they are not hallucinations; they exist. Take the assumption that imaginations are not real and throw it out the window. What is 'real' for this storybook is different depending on the context. A human will have a different definition for what it can and can't do, a runner will have a completely different definition. Humans can't run through pictures, but imaginations (Runners) can.

All this means is that behind every Runner is a human with a super-active imagination. The Runner is a manifestation of this super active imagination.

And if we don't have divine blessing, what's the conflict of this storybook? What is the runners' purpose? It's not like they can do much of anything anyway the way I understand it. It's all imagintion... It's like a matrix-esque world where there's no real purpose.

First, I'd like to apologize for not getting the storybook off to a better start. The entire idea of what a runner is and can do has been changing daily. Under the circumstances, I haven't been able to focus on a plot, simply because of all these changes.

We need to come together and discuss a plot, either here or in the chat room. One possibility is the group tracking down Jonah's runner.

In any case, your input is greatly desired.

Well, I was goign to try to make my character a runner later on...so if I had her imagining herself doing something, like, say, sitting in a painting, could she appear there? Is that kind of how it works? This is definitely different than what i'm used to. I like the idea of tracking down Jonah's runner.

The process for creating a runner is unclear to me, so it is probably best that we leave the exact process blank.

The end result is that the imagination becomes self aware. The effect would be that you would have multiple personality disorder, but the upside is that this personality emerges from your imagination, so you should get along fairly well.

Runner eventually gain unique personalities though, so that will make their reactions vary.

In general though, there has to be some emergence of consciousness from the imagination, otherwise the imagination isn't born.

An interesting thought:

If a human goes to sleep and his runner runs around all night, then the human should wake up well rested, since his body was hidden inside the runner and his mind wasn't active.

I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while. I'm helping friends with various things and stuff like that. I'm a bit lost now. Kyla's been a few places so I just want to see where she goes and jump in when I understand the situation.

-Lupe

The way I see it (I've thought about this a lot, although I'm not sure why), there is not sure way to "create" a runner. I think it could be done in almost anyway, and it's really up to the author. This has almost become a discussion thread, by the way.