The magical boy

There was once a boy who grew up believing that he was a marionette that had come to life and been transformed into a real boy by a fairy. But as he grew up, the boy was reminded over and over about how broken he was. A real boy would be like this, not like that. And as this boy grew up, he felt like there was no point in trying to do anything with his life, because of how broken he was before the fairy turned him into a real boy.

"If only I were not so broken," the boy thought, "people would love me, but I do not know how to fix the broken parts of who I am." When the boy tried to show how he really felt, he found no sympathy, and soon learned that the only way he would be accepted by others was by being what they wanted him to be. So he wore a cursed mask given to him, that would allow him to be anyone else on the outside, and people slowly came to like him. Not for who he was, but for who the mask allowed him to be.

So, no longer believing in his own value, the boy tried to prove that even though he was broken, he was still a good boy. He both hated and accepted that what he wanted did not matter. So he went around doing good deeds for people, he was kind, and he was selfless. But deep down, he knew he was broken, because where his heart was supposed to be, he felt empty. He knew it was still there somewhere, because when the sadness came, it ached and hurt. No matter how bad things were, though, he could not cry.

"See," he told himself, "if I weren't broken, maybe I would be able to cry, but I can't even do that right."

Then, one day, the boy met someone who helped him rediscover his emotions again. It was scary, because after being empty for so long, having them back was so much all at once. But it was freeing, because at last, the boy felt like he was just a little less broken than before.

So, the boy followed his friend wherever they went. They were inseparable, or so he thought. His friend gave him permission to let the mask slip off a little around him. The boy gave his friend everything he could to show his love, because in helping him fix a little of what was wrong, the boy felt as if that friend had saved him from being broken forever. When things got really bad, the boy even gave his magical warding stone to his friend.

Yet, one day, this friendship went from the boy's strongest foundation to his biggest weakness. The boy had been helping his friend out regularly, but his friend had been stressed out by demands from everyone on their life. But luck took a turn for the worse for the boy, and he found out that he was going to need his warding stone in order to make a dangerous trip safe for a little while. So he asked his friend if he could meet to discuss his situation in person, he was surprised to hear his friend accuse him of being unreasonable.

"If you don't want to discuss it in person, that's fine, but I just need my stone back for a few minutes, I promise I will let you keep borrowing it afterward." The boy insisted.

"I've had enough of this! You always make things about you! You can take your stone back, but stay away from me and my family!" His friend said in fury, and with this declaration, ended their friendship. If the boy had believed himself fixed before, then this heartbreak did far worse. His entire world was reeling.

He could not see how his actions had been so offensive as to warrant the ending of the friendship, but he got back his warding stone. Yet for whatever victory it was to have his stone back, it was not enough to protect the boy from the curse of the mask.

The mask's curse tore the boy's mind apart. The curse reminding him of the truths:

• What you want doesn't matter
• You are not worthy of attention as you are
• People only like you for what you can do for them
• You will not be missed

He tried to shake his head, and remember not to accept the lies the cursed mask would tell him. He tried to remember the truth that he was just trying his hardest, and that he was still important. But the curse fogged up his head, and he found himself still thinking about how broken he was. If only he was a real boy all along.

The doctors had spoken to him. "But fairies are not real, you're just a regular boy. You have never been a marionette."

No, there was something too wrong with him for him to just be a regular boy. He went back to bed, and rested his head there, drifting off as he tried to stop existing, just for a moment.

Dictionary Definition

Behindhand - late, tardy; behind in progress, backwards; in debt or arrears

When you are behindhand in getting home by curfew, your behind gets the hand. Specifically, when you're late, you're going to feel it in arrears. When getting a spanking, 'behind in progress'.

That's how I grew up, anyway. I will refrain from commenting whether this is the best method of raising a child, but it is the method by which I was raised.

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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?

If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.

Greeting

Today's entry is Greeting. Instead of the usual entry, which would just be written, I have composed a song, for which the music can be listened to here.

Hello, I greet you.
Good day, nice to meet you.

How fares your life in this crazy time?

If only a meeting,

So nice as a greeting,

Could guarantee your love for this heart of mine.

In summer, I met thee.

Yet you hardly know me.

I sought thy company for days on end.

Yet seasons keep flowing,

And ever it's showing,

A greeting alone, a heart will not mend.

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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?

If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.

Some music

So, I thought I would compose a small piece of music based upon how I feel on an average day.

I'm going to leave a link to it here, so please have a bit of a listen, and let me know if you feel the same sometimes.

-Zack

Daily Life

The little circle that could

Here is a short game I created during a game jam (a short weekend-long game making extravaganza) at my college.

The theme for this game jam was eight, and so I present to you:

Eight

The wretch

Timothy was not a man of wealth, but he was a man of conscience.
He knew the difference between what was right and what was wrong.

Most of the time, life had dealt Timothy an average hand. He won some,
and he lost some, but he always had enough.

Now, it so happened that one day, Timothy needed to travel for business reasons.
As was his usual fate, life had dealt him a meager but modest hand in this too.
His boss, sending him to pick up the new equipment, had arranged for a coach
to take him out to the countryside (about half the distance). He would then
have to take a ferry (also paid round trip) to obtain what the business needed.

Timothy didn't really know the details about what he was supposed to retrieve, but
he knew enough to know it was a fairly large bit of machinery. He was going to have
an escort back, though, so he wasn't terribly concerned.

Packing with him a handful of homemade biscuits, a summer sausage, and a wedge of
hard cheese, he prepared for his trip. Timothy figured he wouldn't need to worry about
much in the way of provisions. He was sure that by being an honest and upright person,
he would have no difficulty making such a simple trip.

The coach arrived in the small town with Timothy, and came to a stop.
"Have yerself a safe trip, mate." The middle-aged gentleman stated with a tip
of his hat as he departed. Timothy gave a brief smile and wave.

The first half of the journey had been harmless. A nice coach, not decadent,
but certainly not some bargain box-on-wheels. The ride had been so quick, it was
still morning when Timothy arrived. Deciding he could still make it to the port if he
were to hurry, Timothy ate his lunch while making the walk to the shore.

"NO! Please! Why me? I have caused you no harm!" came a frightened yell from over
a hill. As the sound reached Timothy's ears, he felt propelled into action to save the
innocent man from whatever was assailing him.

Upon reaching the apex of the hill, he saw two gentlemen using their canes to beat a
poor fellow who lay at their feet. Timothy, rushing to the defense of the bystander
brashly pulled them away.

"You, sirs, are quite the terrible bunch! How dare you attack an innocent man!"

The men, regaining their posture, scowled at the insolence of this traveler. At once,
Timothy began to second guess his decision to stop them. One man was dressed in
fine linens, and wore an opulent cross around his neck. The attire suggested that he
was a man of high standing in the church, and Timothy wondered if perhaps the
man who lay silently on the ground were truly innocent.

The feeling of being in the wrong sank in even more deeply when he realized that
the other man was none other than one of the patrols whose duties included that of
guarding the roads from suspect individuals who sought to be unscrupulous.

"I say, there, chap! What are you doing? Have you never heard of minding your
own business? What has you out here at this time of day, interfering in matters that
are not your own?" The patrol asked.

Timothy confessed that he was simply traveling to the port where he was to do his
assignment.

"Ah, yes. I was told that there would be a man in need of an escort sometime
tomorrow or the day after. I will not be that escort, but I did let my comrade know
that on his duty as a patrol, he was to guard the man and the cargo with his life.
Seeing you now, however, I wonder if perhaps you would merely endanger him!" The
patrolman responded. With a large huff, the patrolman walked off with the minister
following closely.

"Thank you, so greatly, you good, good sir. I owe you a debt of great gratitude.
Surely you have saved my life this very day." The wretch at Timothy's feet cried,
tears streaming down his dirty, bloodied face.

Timothy swiftly turned upon the man.

"What terrible business did you have that caused them to attack you so?" he asked
audaciously.

At these words, the wretch on the ground looked as if he had been visibly stricken.
His face glowed red, and the tears streaming from his eyes began to flow even more.

"If you must know, sir, I did indeed have business with them. I swear it upon the grave
of my late grandmother, that the business I did have was not of ill intent. For many
years, I have been alone. An outcast from my village since the time of my
grandmother's passing. For you see, I have little strength, and so it is difficult for me
to move on my own power, sir. So I have wandered the countryside, attempting to
make even one friendship that would last. But I failed, and I fear that this has been the
last time I shall ever have a chance to do so. Even the holy man of the church, whom
I approached has cast me down as evil. I had heard that the friendless would find
friends, and that the hopeless would find hope because of the one in which the people
of the church believe... and yet, I find this minister has turned me away." The wretch
gestured to his legs.

"As I approached, the minister yelled for help, saying 'alas, a robber is upon me, please
lend me your aid!' to the patrol. And before I even had the opportunity to ask that I be
helped to a place where I could rest, I was set upon by them both... and now I fear that
my legs have been broken."

Timothy saw that the frail and thin legs of the man were indeed contorted in directions
they should not bend, and were covered in bruises. Feeling a pang of his conscience,
Timothy offered the man some assistance in getting to the port town. The wretch smiled,
but it was clear that the smile was done through great anguish.

Timothy spent the night at an inn after taking the ferry to the other side of the river,
leaving behind the wretch he had met on his way. The following day, he retrieved the
machinery from the warehouse district which had produced it, and began wheeling it
with him back to the ferry. After a moderate ride back, he came across the wretch,
left exactly where he had been the previous day.

Timothy was shocked. Surely someone would have helped this man by now!
But when he casually made his way toward the wretch, he noticed that the man now looked
even more hurt than he had the previous day. Timothy, feeling obligated to do the "right" thing
got a doctor nearby to help the poor man, giving up what little he had, and promising more
later to compensate for the treatment.

Shortly before he met up with the patrol which was to escort him back to a nearby station,
the wretch started speaking to him. The words which came from his mouth were shaped
by sadness, and Timothy could feel the longing contained within them.

"Why did you help me? I don't understand. You should have just let me die.
I am clearly of no worth. No, look, I've even been of great cost to you. I just
cannot comprehend why you would ever care."

"I did what needed to be done. All people have value, and I have my morals."
Timothy replied, but as he did, he remembered how quickly he had turned on the
wretch when he had seen the patrolman and the minister. "Why would you say that
I should have let you die?"

"Is it not obvious?" The wretch said in a voice that quivered with the sound of
sobs being held back for years, "Once you are gone, I will be alone again. I have not
a soul who cares for me. The more merciful thing would have been to kill me.
Then, perhaps, I would not have to endure the suffering of this mortal coil."

Timothy, so saddened by the thought that the life of this man was so poor, could not
bring himself to reply. So, he continued down the path. After a while, Timothy saw
the patrol, who was a kind young man. The patrolman helped Timothy transport the
machinery to the station, where it was loaded upon the car to be shipped via train
the remainder of the way to the business.

Timothy left the wretch behind, having no means to care for this man as well.
But the words of the wretch haunted him, and Timothy eventually found himself
back in that same town. He never discovered what happened to the wretch.
He did see the minister, however, preaching about the wonders of the church
and a "God" that loved every person, no matter where they were from...

Timothy let out a mirthless laugh. He had seen the true face of the friends to the
friendless, and the ones who truly suffered. Timothy was never the same again.
He never again felt short changed, even when the hand life dealt was more meager
than usual... and he continued to wonder what happened to the poor wretch.

Emotional geometry

Here I am.
I am a point.
A place in space, coordinates unknown to me, but there nonetheless.

I'm travelling through my life, look at my ray.
My ray, a point I am, travelling through space.
I leave this ray behind me. It is a path I have traveled.
See that point on the other end of the ray?
That point was who I was. The point I used to be, but my coordinates have changed.

My life is this polygon.
Observe these beautiful curves.
These Béziers, all those times when the points I am have travelled along a smooth but twisted path.
All the turns, but all the good times within them.
I was at peace.

Look at these angles!
They are so sharp!
The anger, the blame!
Such negativity. See it turn inward, over here it turns outward.
My life, my polygon's area becomes smaller with inward anger.
Look at how my polygon interferes when my anger shot outward.
All these other points, these other people.
The people and their rays, the polygons of their own lives.

Like chains, we're linked, our relationships define us, in part.
Alone, I am but one polygon.
Together, my relationships, these combined polygons, we make something more.

Oh, but look how these polygons interfere.
See this negativity from that polygon?
Someone else's line, thrusting itself into the pattern I am weaving.
Look how it changes the pattern.
The bigger picture is distorted by these places.
The polygon I form is less beautiful now.
That polygon and my own were not meant to overlap there.
I can see it in the pattern.

Oh, the agony of the form. What was beautiful is now tragic, but still beautiful.
Beautiful because of the pain.
Beautiful because of the scribble disrupting the form.
See how my polygon is now disjointed.
It is sad, but makes the picture drawn more real.
It's real because it has flaws. Nothing is perfect.

What path is my ray going to take?
Where am I, as a point, going to go?
How will my geometry change?

Can you see the deviation in the color of the line I make?
See how I go from black to red, to blue, to any assortment!
This geometry with unseen variables, but they are color!
A warm yellow, defined by the times of joy.
A sad blue, defined by the sadness.
A red for the passion, for the anger, for the love.
No, no. But the problem is that my point's colors change like they do.
See how my polygon is so blue?
See how my polygon is so red?
Here, I find myself, a point, reviewing from a new vertical axis my ray, my polygon.
All those painful times when I was sad. All the painful times when I was angry.
I have become three dimensional, but I feel I have lost part of who I am.
I'm not just a point, my life not just a 2D plane in between the vertices.

Yet I am still also a point. My life is still a polygon. My past is still a ray.
I'm seeing a larger whole, but I don't understand it just yet.
I seek another point to travel beside. Perhaps the picture I paint will be brighter colors.

But look at all the polygon, all the object, all the rays, all my vertices...
My vertices, the turning points of my life. Things change.
I'm still travelling my ray, and it is now blue, and I observe that many times, my ray was gray.
Gray, feeling emotionless. Apathic, stoic, numb.
Was I trying to protect myself?
Was I trying to protect others?
Even so, the vibrancy is lost.
Look as the fill color becomes muddy and desaturated.

Look at all those brighter colors that become pastel.
I don't like pastels. They don't seem genuine.
See, all those times I was pretending to be happy.

Do you pity me?
Do you understand?
Do you despise me?
Do you scoff at me?
Do you care?

What do I want?
Pity? Understanding?
What I want is love.
I can make my own happiness... but love is a complicated thing.

My emotional geometry seems broken.
Calculations that make no sense.
My normals are inverted, I reflect no light here on these faces.
My normals are regular, I show these colors on these faces.
How is this so?
I am twisted up inside.

Hear these words, and although you may not understand, know that it is all true.
Genuine, honest, real.
Here I give you a peek at my heart, ripped apart by myself and others.
Here I give you a taste of my soul, drifting in a sea of emotion alone.

Too long since my last post!

Wow, I think about it, and it has been weeks since I last posted anything on my blog!

I'm so very sorry!

To make up for this, how about a pretty (sparkle filled) game that I made for class!?
Sound good?

Great, it's called Starlight Path!
Enjoy!

Another week, and a game with levels!

This week, I am posting a game which is actually a sequel to another game!

The original game, SSShifty, can be found in the Pirate Kart for this year. (IGF Pirate Kart 2012)

My sequel to this game is SSShifty 2! Unlike the original, you can also swap blocks, enemies, and mines without having to swap your location! Simply use the swap gun (press C to use).

Enjoy SSShifty 2!

Finals week

Waking up in a cold sweat, David was not surprised that once again when trying to sleep he had nightmares. The past several weeks, he had been plagued by them. Looking out his window, he thought he saw one of them still grazing about in the front yard. The pesky horses known to cause bad dreams seemed to have migrated into the general area of his bedroom. Most likely they grazed outside his window at night.

Getting up in an attempt to get ready for his tedious day, David was unsure what he would make of his situation. It was the last day of his wizardry exams. He had studied several of the classes' materials in depth, but on other things he just hadn't had time. Of course, the big problems were the papers. Two of his courses required lengthy papers, which had to be written via spell but contain original content. One of them wasn't so bad, the review on the effects of various arcane forces on several spells designed specifically for the purpose of artistic expression and entertainment. He had, naturally, finished that paper, but the other paper he was only halfway finished writing.

Looking over his parchment, he saw several areas where we was sufficiently devoid of content. He had to teleport to his class right away to turn in the finished essay. In several minutes, his spell was completed, and he found himself being pulled along through non-space by arcane forces at an incredible clip. Only wizards and a few sorcerers could travel by teleportation though, in truth many people had purchased trinkets from a number of high-class wizards that allowed them to teleport at will. Technically speaking, it only seemed like teleportation to the observer, but the actual art of teleportation spells were difficult to manage. They threw the teleporting person out on the other side with terrible accuracy. If the person doing an actual teleportation spell wasn't careful, they could find themselves in some very undesirable places, but that was not important for David to think upon.

The other paper was important, so while he was being rushed onward by the arcane, he brooded upon his other paper. This paper, which accounted for a huge portion of his final grade for that class, was supposed to be a list of somatic components, spell components (with price), verbal components, and description of effect for a new spell. That's right, the final for the class was to essentially design a new spell which could be castable (even if it wasn't possible with the current known elements). He didn't have to prove that it could be cast, and the ingredients could be as exotic or common as he chose. The somatic and verbal components could be as lengthy or as short as necessary too. The point was that there should be a desirable effect, and in magical theory it should work. Undoubtedly this was the most complex assignment he had ever faced, with the exception of the curses class he took the previous semester.

Thinking back on the curses class made him sick. He had passed it, somehow. He wasn't really sure what it was that had led to his passing the class, considering how poorly he performed in class. His curses class had been a headache. It had also been boils, warts, loss of hair, accelerated tooth decay, blindness, and at one point a coma. Seriously, he was almost positive that he was going to fail the class. The teacher had thought that the best way to learn how to cast the curse was to see them while being cast, and to experience the effects firsthand. Every student in the class had been horribly violated by the witch who was teaching. The first week seemed fine, but that was only the intro to the class, where she spoke about the theory behind curses. David supposed that if the entire class had been like that, he would have handled it just fine. Instead, the very next week she cast blindness and deafness on the class, with a verbal component on blindness and a somatic component on deafness that each made them expire by the next class period. The horror of it all was enough to start mumbling amongst the students. Then came the hair loss, then boils, then warts... these led to several students dropping out of the class, in hopes that when they took it the following semester, they could sign up for the class with the other professor (which supposedly was a delightful time). When the class content began to favor tooth decay and coma, one student was so horrified that he left the class immediately, and never returned. Word of the horrors of this class eventually reached the ears of the dean, and he instructed the professor that she needed to avoid casting such serious curses on the students for the sake of their learning. She ended up not teaching the paralysis curse and the torture curse on the students, but she still required that they all knew how to perform them.

Ultimately, the students that survived the course came away scarred, but with good grades. The students supposed that she might have been forced to change her grades, or lose her job. Regardless of why she gave passing grades, the students didn't complain. Better to pass alive, than have to take the class again.

The many names of Zelda

Recently, I did something seemingly unthinkable. I read up on the locations of various towns in Zelda 2: The Adventure of Link. Personally, I could go without this game based on what I've heard (but I could be wrong, maybe it is better than I've been led to believe... after all I've always loved Zelda games in which you could preform magic).

What caught my eye, though, was how prevalent the names of towns in this particular Zelda game have become in the remainder of the series! I'll start out with some of the more readily available names, and work my way to less memorable ones.

Rauru, the famous Sage of Light from OoT originally was the name of one of the first towns in the The Adventure of Link. Ruto, the name of the race of Bird-like people descendant of the Zora clan, was originally the name of a town as well. Remember Death Mountain in OoT? Yeah, that was also named before then, Death Mountain was a location in Adventure of Link. Saria, Sage of the Forest? Yeah, she was originally a town... of water. If you ever played Wind Waker, you might remember Spectacle Isle/Eyeglass Isle, which seems eerily similar to "Spectacle Rock" from The Adventure of Link. How about Mido, the annoying brat Kokiri who refuses to let you pass him without a shield and sword, or playing Saria's song? Yeah, guess what, named after a port town in TAoL. How about Nabooru, the wise Sage of Spirit in OoT, who happened to be named after a town from TAoL. Darunia was also named after a town, one on a mountain, in fact. That would certainly explain why the name was given to a Goron elder. Of course, Death Valley from TAoL could be considered related to the Gerudo Valley and its infamous Haunted Wasteland... but the connection isn't as direct.

My point is that however much I never played this game, and didn't feel I needed to play it in order to know the premise of the Zelda Storyline, I found it amazing how frequently Zelda has gone back to some of its roots to use old names for new characters/locations/races. I'm sure for players who played TAoL, these names recurring in newer games has been akin to an easter egg. I, for one, am just a bit surprised as to how many towns/locations in TAoL were reused.

Oh, Miyamoto and Zelda team, how your mysteries continue to astound me, and please me to no end. I shall remain at your mercy for as long as Zelda is around. If you have any thoughts you'd like to voice, feel free to comment. What do you think about the reusage of previous names?

The magma flows slowly

The marshmallow sat upon his wooden stool, waiting for some company.
Today had been a slow day for him, and no matter how much he wanted
to have something interesting to do, there was little he could do to make
it happen. It was a waiting game.

It was said that there would be a magma flow, sometime between nine
in the morning and six at night. Mother marshmallow had taken up the
stool in the morning, from nine until almost one in the afternoon. It was
clear from her expression that there had been some activity, but the
signs had already cooled, and once again it was quiet.

So, as planned, the marshmallow knight stood guard against the tides
of the magma flow once again... which is to say, he sat down on the
wooden stool and waited for it to start. Sure, there was a spurt of fire
here or there, but nothing so hot or so lengthy that he got toasty. As usual,
whenever there was fire, there was undoubtedly a bit of chocolate
found within.

If things kept up like this, the poor marshmallow knight would find himself
leaving the magma tube for a lack of activity. After all, he was only on
duty from 1-6. Well, that too was a bit of an exaggeration. He was only
officially on duty until 5:30 in the evening, but he still had to close and
lock the entrance to the tunnel before he could leave.

The day wore on, and still, no major signs of activity. It was starting to
get close to time for the worker grahams to show up, and take whatever
melted chocolate bits had been spewed out in the tunnel for the day
with them. JP Graham would be the last of the workers to stop by before
the day was over. JP Graham had already stopped by to deliver some
chocolate treats for the resident marshmallows.

The noble marshmallow knight waited, however not only for
JP Graham, but also to see the other Grahams, several of which he was
well acquainted with. He was hoping that he would get to see Natessa Graham,
and as he was wondering if she would be around to get all the
pointy chocolate bits, she walked in. She looked at the number of pointy bits,
 and smiled. Taking them with her, she commented "Aww, y'all are always
so generous on Fridays." She left, wishing the knight a prosperous guard.
The valiant knight marked on his clipboard that Natessa Graham had picked
up her load of pointy chocolate bits. According to the list, there were only three
more pick ups necessary for the day.

The marshmallow knight thought it likely that the worker Graham that was to
come by to pick up all the squareish chocolate bits would be Jeff Graham.
Jeff Graham was more punctual than several of the other squareish bit grahams.
Surely enough, Jeff Graham came by just on time, taking the squareish bits
of chocolate with him. Unfortunately, after Jeff Graham left, another squareish
bit of chocolate popped out from the underground dripways. The knight
left a note for the recruit that was coming to guard the passageways the
following day. Once again, the knight marked off a pickup of delicious
chocolate bits as finished.

Ken Graham, the one meant to pick up the circle chocolate bits, was not
supposed to arrive for a while. Marshmallow knight wondered if it would
really be Ken Graham, or if it would be the Graham trainee. Meanwhile,
another kind Graham, Teresa, came by and took the oddly-shaped chocolate
bits from the tunnel. She was kind, but also in a bit of a hurry. The knight
thanked her for her assistance as she took off quickly.

Later that evening, after closing the tunnel for the day, the marshmallow knight
was going to venture toward an unknown land. There, he would meet up
with a group of fellow warriors. The gummi warrior, the sour man, the jawbreaker,
the bubble lady, and the hardened candysoldier. The training would then
be vigorous and complete. All this in a hope that they would together be able
to defeat the nefarious smoky daemon known only as D. Licious. If the warriors
were able to defeat D. Licious, their triumph would be a great testi-spearmint.
The warriors would go down in history as having been the aces of the battle.
And so it was that the marshmallow knight daydreamed about his upcoming
sparring with the fellow sweet warriors, and his epic battle with D. Licious.

Suddenly, the magma began to flow freely! Hot, chocolaty flames burst
forth from the end of the tunnel. A barrage of warm gooey magma! The knight
leaped from his wooden stool, and sliced through the oncoming wave!
Over and over he sliced! The magma was free, but moved slowly, and
with his great strength and intellect, the marshmallow knight held the
chocolaty flow at bay until it finally died down once again. Shortly after this
chocolate flow ceased, Ken Graham came by to take the circle chocolaty bits.

The marshmallow knight kept his watch vigilantly, and when it was time for it
to conclude, he exchanged his final parting words with Market Wintergreen Stead,
and with JP Graham. Closing and locking the tunnel for the day, the marshmallow
knight hopped upon his trusty cracker-steed and rode off into the distance.
The marshmallow knight would surely go down in history as a hero.

The beginning of fantasy / The beginning of reality

So, if you're reading this blog post, you're either new to "fantasy or reality", or you're reading the first blog post because I haven't posted much of anything else yet. (I'm guessing at some point, that second option won't be happening as frequently.)

Well, let me give you a brief idea of what fantasy or reality is, as a blog:

Fantasy or reality is a blog I'm doing with the purpose of being both a creative outlet for real life problems, and a creative outlet for imaginative juices...

In other words, some of the stuff I post here will be thoughts about my life, and some will just be short stories that I'm writing/have written. That said, I'll be marking each post with one of three terms: Fantasy, Reality, or Both. Since this is the overview, it's known as all three. ^_^

I hope you enjoy the variety of things I post here.
Zack