Young Writers Society

You've woken up in a land inhibited by white, as if the concept of any other colours doesn't even exist. There's a notebook in your hand, leather bound, A4, and a transparent pen in your hand, black ink swirling languidly in the small tube.
You're armed with the knowledge that you're inside your mind, how, you have no recollection of. Flipping the notebook you notice a list of instructions inside the hardcover.

1.The notebook is used to create concrete things, anything ranging from a ball to a forest can be accomplished. However, abstract things such as emotions, memories does not apply.

2.The notebook can also detected other presence in the vicinity.

3.Once the pen runs out of ink, there are no other ways to write yourself out. There-fore, be careful of what you write.


This is it. You're inside a concept, hard idea to grasp? Better grasp it soon, you want to get out of this place as soon as possible. Linger inside and soon you'll loose your own identity. The silver lining? You're not alone, there are others out there but are they friend or foe. That is a decision you will have to make.

Character profile:



Character slots:
1. Flite
2. EscaSkye
3. AfterTheStorm
4. TimmyJake
5. AriaAdams
6. VeerenVKS

Ash

I had no memory of being woke up.

I had no memory of waking up.

I had no memory of this notebook sitting in my hand, leather-bound with a pen at its side.

I had no memory of being here at all.

Let's just say, I had no memory save for the present.

Flipping open the notebook tentatively, I found a set of instructions inscribed on the inside of the leather cover.

"1.The notebook is used to create concrete things, anything ranging from a ball to a forest can be accomplished. However, abstract things such as emotions, memories does not apply.

2.The notebook can also detected other presence in the vicinity.

3.Once the pen runs out of ink, there are no other ways to write yourself out. There-fore, be careful of what you write. "

Strange words, I mulled over them silently as I scanned my surroundings. There were, quite frankly, no word that I knew that could sum up the landscape around me. It was land inhibited by whiteness, this might be what it was like if we could dive inside a piece of blank paper and explore its innards. A shade of whiteness that comes into this world as white and leaves as white, it stretches on endlessly like an unbroken canopy.

There were no buildings, no trees, no indication of any living life. No sun, no clouds, no moon. Was I the only one here? Silence answered me in plentiful waves.

Where am I?

How did I end up here?

I glanced down at the notebook and at the pen, eyeing the instructions wearily and wrote the simplest thing that popped into my mind. 'Tree'.

I waited for a few moments, looking around me wondering if these trees would pop into the air like magic. Apparently not. I glared down at the notebook with a furrowed brow, really? I get winded up in a strange place, with a notebook but supposedly let me create things. Must be a dream.

I pinched myself, feeling the imprints my finger left on my skin and the slight sting. This isn't a dream?

As I wondered over that fact, a soft rumble shook the ground as a tree slowly emerged from the whiteness. Slowly gaining on colour and texture, before becoming a fully-grown tree. Astound. I walked over and ran a hand down the bark slowly, it was real. Solid.

I glanced down at the notebook, the black ink had dried though the ink in the pen haven't shifted at all. Perhaps it was so miniscule that it didn't even affect the overall quantity. Could I build a world, entirely by ink? Purely by my command? I lifted up the notebook and examined the instructions once again, carefully dissecting the words in my mind.

I can create concrete things, but what exactly is concrete? Concrete objects or concrete what? Why was this thing so vague? Other presences in the vicinity, meaning there would be others or are there already others here? If so, why are they? How do I even know where they are? Frustration begin to prickle my back as the barrage of questions assaulted my mind, each vying for attention.

Though it was the third line that sent dread churning in my stomach, there was a limit to how much I can write, a limit against time and there is an exit. What if I don't reach the exit in time? What will happened then?

Deep breaths, Ash. Deep breaths. Don't loose your cool.

I inhaled calmly, and glanced up at the tree standing in the sea of white, there was no point in building any more trees.

'Path'. I wrote the word down on the paper, the ink quickly drying as I waited. Was path too abstract a concept? I glanced around wondering if I would see some sort of trail or indication as to where I should go, nothing.

Path was too vague and broad them, it seems that the notebook only identifies specific terms with a set purpose in mind. Yet as I prepared to write down another word, a sentence this time there was a gentle shift in the air. Looking down, I could vaguely discern an emerging path that separated the mist.

Finally.

Alex | A World of My Own

“1. The notebook is used to create concrete things: anything ranging from a ball to a forest can be accomplished; however, abstract things such as emotions and memories do not apply.

2. The notebook can also detect other presences in the vicinity.

3. Once the pen runs out of ink, there are no other ways to write yourself out. Therefore, be careful with what you write.”

“Well, that tells me nothing about where the heck I am,” I grumbled, throwing the leather-bound notebook to the floor and plopping down next to it. This place was driving me nuts. The best way I could ever describe it was that it was a void – a white, creepy void. I’m not even sure if I’m lying on a floor at all. Plus, how am I supposed to believe that a stupid notebook could magically give me anything I wanted? I’m probably dreaming. I should be dreaming. How else could I end up here?

What was I doing before all this anyway?

As much as I tried to search for answers, nothing came. It was like my mind was as blank as this place is. Ugh. This is bad.

“I’d appreciate it if you can wake me up now, Big Guy. I don’t have much to do over here,” I yelled to the emptiness, as if expecting some big, booming voice to answer back to me. Heck, maybe Morgan Freeman would reply. You wish, Holmes.

What could I do here? Stare at nothing until I get crazy?

My sight drifted to the notebook on the floor. The instructions on the thing were crazy alright, but since I’ve got nothing better to do, I can play with it, right? Better than rolling around here all day.

I sat up and took the notebook, opening it to a blank page as I grabbed the funky looking pen. Here goes nothing.

Only concrete things, huh?

In a lazy script, I wrote “MP3 full of Maroon 5 and Disney songs with white earphones.”

That’s pretty dang specific. And anyone who says they don’t like any Disney song is a liar.

I look around and wait. Nothing pops up. I was about to throw the thing away again when I felt something in my pocket.

No way.

Digging into my jeans, I took out a blue MP3 which was connected to white earphones. I stared at it at first, then decided to plug them into my ears. It was playing “A Whole New World”.

Okay, this is way cool. Maybe this notebook will be of use after all. Time to get on it!

I stood up, notebook and pen in hand, then begun writing beneath my first wish.

“A homey town with bungalows, two storey houses, movie theaters, and grocery stalls. A big mall with arcades, clothing shops, electronic stores, and gaming havens. All of them stocked and fully air-conditioned. A sea near the town, since the town has a beach. The sky should have an everlasting, beautiful, orange sunset, which I would be able to see well at the cliff outside of town, near a big lighthouse. A place where animals can run rampant, birds fly in the air, and cats playing around,” I wrote hurriedly. I think I wished for a whole lot of things, except for people who could inhabit the town. I don’t know why, but some small part of me kept nagging that I wanted to be the only person to witness the grandeur of my creation – at least, even just for now.

Once I was done wishing, I hopped into a car that was randomly parked in the street, drove off to the cliffside, and lay down on the bench, watching as the wind formed the sea’s waves.

Maybe this isn’t so bad. I guess I can sleep for a while longer.

I checked the pen. The ink barely moved. I guess my fun will be long lived then, provided I don’t suddenly wake up or something.

I began to relax, tucking my arms behind my head, about to close my eyes when I felt something land on my cheeks. When I let my fingers touch the mysterious stuff, I realized what it was and instantly wiped it off.

Bird poo. Dang it. I shouldn’t have wished for the poopin’ birds.

Vaska Gust

Pen, I wrote.

I looked around at the emptiness and waited for something to happen. I reached in my pocket to find a fresh pen, identical to the one I was already holding.

"Loophole much?"

I took the new pen and scribbled the word car into the notebook. It was a while before I realized nothing was going to happen.

"I guess not."

I pelted the fake pen into the never-ending distance and listened for when it would land; it never did. I seemed to be inside a blank canvas, and I only wish I knew how I got here. I knelt down and tried to write on what I assumed was the floor with my pen, unfortunately to no avail. I bit my lip and thought of how I should proceed.

Hundred Room Castle, I wrote.

Within the space of a breath, a very Hogwartsesque structure appeared before me. I looked down at the pen and noticed the barely visible dent in the amount of ink. I smirked.

"So it's not about what I write, just how much." I took a step into the castle and looked around, only to notice that of the rooms I could see from the entrance, a total of none of them had anything inside. "This, is going to be interesting."

Mara Sonders |Um—somewhere | Day before Yesterday

Nothing to be seen. Nothing to be heard. Nothing to be smelled. Nothing to be felt.

Nothing

I open my eyes to the whiteness and behold a world of nothing where the only thing in existence is myself, a notebook and this pen. Stupid thing. I suppose I should be grateful to not be alone—even if it’s an inanimate object. Although, heck, I’d talk to anything. Turning it over in my hand, I see it’s full of that blue ink—a cheap pen, though. It looks so similar to those that are so fun to click on and click off, watching them break apart as you do so. This pen is held with a sense of almost reverence, though. No breaking. No playing. I’m even hesitant to do as the instructions requested—to write and build a world around me.

As usual, there are the normal rules. Don’t overuse the pen or you’ll run out. This is what happens if you do this. Blah, blah, blah, etc… The instructions in the notebook aren’t very clear as to what my limitations are, but it does say there is a cap. Eventually my ink will run out.

What then? The return of this nothingness? Sounds cozy.

I try to think of something to write—anything I want or need right now. There are so many items running through my head, and most of them insanely impractical. A Lamborghini flashes by first, but Nada. Nope. It’d be a bit difficult to drive around in a world that doesn’t exist yet. I suppose I could build the roads with a touch of the pen, but it sounds like a trouble. There’s always the ocean, but I’d prefer to not drown or get my notebook wet.

After what seems forever, I decide to skip all the stupidity and just write down something to keep me company.

Dog, I write into the notebook—a scribble of letters now decorating the front page. Since I’m used to narrating everything into a phone, or typing it out on a screen, I can barely read my own handwriting. Looks as though a cat attempted English class.

I wait for a few moments, and nothing seems to happen. I don’t know what I’m expecting—perhaps a clattering of drums and trumpets and a sweeping Tadaaaa to usher in my request. But anything is better than no result, and right now the only outcome I have are the pen markings in my book. Perhaps the notebook couldn’t read my handwriting? I squint at the text and shrug. It isn’t that bad, but merely horrible.

“You stupid thing,” I say. “The only thing I get, and it’s brok—“

Hesitant whining brushes my bare feet, and I look down, surprised enough to stop my ranting complaint. It’s a… puppy. The long ears and sad eyes look up at me with a cocked expression, the whimper fading away to an excited bark. I kneel and run my fingers down its soft fur, feeling in ecstasy the waves of long fur, almost like hair. My hand is licked and licked and licked until it’s almost dripping. And then my face is half an inch too close, and the thing reaches out and slaps a tongue across the face.

“Ugh, that is so gross.” I wipe the wetness off my face with my sleeve, but then reach back down again to lift the puppy off his feet. Now that I’m not alone, I feel up to going somewhere. Even if it’s an animal who needs me more than the other way around, it’s something to keep me company.

I fumble with the notebook and pen, while trying to keep the pup still in my arms—an almost impossible task as its wriggling about like a furry fish.

Finally, I manage to write: Another person.

“Let’s see what happens,” I say.