January 23 - 30

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Post by Wlonnie on Sat Jan 24, 2015 10:43 pm

Think of a genre of books. You need to write a story that fits into the genre. (Note: You cannot use horror/paranormal. Anything else, provided it's clean, should be good.) There is a catch! You must use the following dialogue in your story:

"Why are you wearing a waste basket on your head?"
"Because the desk wouldn't fit."

It must make sense in context! Story length is from 500 - 2,000 words.

Created by Melody.

Posts : 49
Join date : 2014-08-15
Location : The depths of my mind

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January 23 - 30 Empty Re: January 23 - 30

Post by Titanhawk 881 (JT) on Sun Jan 25, 2015 12:04 am

This is really dark and cold, hehehe
A sequel to last week's assignment, enjoy!
Word count-1,148.
This is what the SMGP have become-the International Biological and Geological Protection services. What little remains of SMGP’s former glory is gone now, instead replaced by this worthless operation the UN has decided to fund instead of protecting mythicals from KIL and those like it. I and Argran have made it our personal mission to keep alive the memory of the mythical creatures and our former purposes. We write down everything we know in a sort of collaborated book. Mark has continued to be my room mate as I become a tier 3 rookie and he graduates, but he doesn’t believe me when I mention mythical creatures. I find this kind of strange and disturbing as well, because it’s not in his nature. They changed his personality too, I think, when they brainwashed him. Now he’s a really goofy guy, as well as stubborn. Also, training has become monotonous. We train only in stealth, learn about nature, and do the typical “secret agent” stuff-we protect the world and the environment. There is no more adventure nad mystery involved in this new program. We don’t know much more than the average civilian, after all. I want to quit, but the bosses, Drakus, Pierre, and Miranda, won’t even send me on a mission. That’s been my life for the past three months. Now I wish to change all that.
“Hey Alex, what’s up?”
I walk into my room after a dreary training session and look at Mark. He is wearing a waste basket on his head. “Why do you have a waste basket on your head?” I say, staring at him with disbelief.
“Because the desk wouldn’t fit. Why?”
I shove him out of the way, grabbing the basket on the way. I slide it under the glass desk.
“Doesn’t fit? Then what’s that?”
He looks down. “If this is because I don’t believe you about the mythical stuff, I can’t help it.  Look, I don’t know if these things are real or not. But we’re not in the Percy Jackson world, ok? And unless you can prove it, I don’t know what to believe, but I’ll stick with IBGP’s words for now. At least they’ve proved their point.”
“No, they haven’t. You’ve just forgotten. You’ve seen them. And I could prove it to you, but if I’m caught, there’s no doubt I’ll be kicked out, just like that.” I chuck a paperclip out the door for emphasis.
He shakes his head. “Whatever, man. I have training, see you later.”
I grunt and see him off. At least Argran knows the truth.
There is nothing for me to do during the afternoon, so I decide to use the time to modify and upgrade my heavy duty mech suit. But soon after I complete the adjustments, the building shakes. I fall off balance, and after getting off all fours rush out to the hall. Everyone is in panic over what just happened. The PA explains that something has jammed the drills, and we’re going to be here for a while. The whole base is tilted, and we are vulnerable. I want to be ready for anything, so I suit up in my heavy duty mech suit, complete with modifications, and head to Drakus’ office.
When I reach there, I hear Drakus talking right before I knock. He is saying “Yes, we’ve received your files. Your plan was a success. We will be feinting attack at fifteen hundred forty five.” I glance at my watch, and it reads 3:40 PM. The attack is not far off, as I expected, but Drakus, a traitor? I storm into the room, slam the door, and before he can react, grab him by the throat and demand answers. “You traitor! You’re going to betray us all. Look, we may be a trashed operation for all I care, but people will die, needlessly. Call off the attack, and go work for whoever it is you’re serving.” I choke out while still holding him at the neck.
“I-I work for no one! No one! And I’ll never... never.... nev-n-n,” he gasps. He is near death, but this won’t faze him, I know. He won’t break; he’s trained for this. I throw him onto a seat, handcuff him and sound-proof the room. I inject a truth serum dose, and begin questioning him. “Where are they!? Why did you betray us!?” I shout, but he doesn’t answer. I wait impatiently. Eventually, I lift his head by the cheeks. Empty eyes stare back at me, and I shriek. I go through a list of possibilities. One hits me like a shoe in the face-he’s dead. I reflexively scan the room for cameras, but there are none, probably to conceal his treacherous activity. I wonder who else is involved. Suddenly, I detect movement from the corner of my eye and feel it before I can analyze what is going on. Drakus throws my helmeted head onto the ground repeatedly, but that doesn’t last long. I have the upper hand-the powered exo suit. I press his head down and fire one of the last existing mytho-bullets left. It was at random, and I take out a frost dragon bullet. When I fire, there is flurry or snowflakes and ice shards, and the dragon comes out, blazing blue and white. It roars, and twirls in the air before breathing its magic on Drakus. “Drakus... your name reminds me of dragon,” I say, sneering at him. “You will die at the hands of your namesake.” I nod to the dragon, and it disappears. Drakus is wheezing from hypothermia now, his hair white and his skin blue. He closes his eyes and freezes over, becoming an ice sculpture. I crack the sculpture and crunch it into as many pieces I can without hesitation and throw the pieces into the exhaust pipe. The attack is still coming though, and I have to warn the others. I open the door, only to find it is too late. The room was soundproofed from the inside as well as the outside, which meant no sound goes in or out. Before me, bodies and machinery litter the floor, the blood flowing aimlessly like a meandering river, with no where to go, really, but to the tilted side. I suddenly become aware of a plasma blaster pressed against my helmet, the pressure so great it dents the composite material. It is held by a dark clothed and well armoured person who has on their armour the words KIL corps. “You’re coming with us,” says a male voice, who takes all my gear away and gases me with chloroform. I’m still clutching the mytho-bullets in my hand though, the last memory of my fantastical life, and hope he doesn’t see them as he hauls me down the hall, the light from a flickering LED bulb dimming as my consciousness fades.
Titanhawk 881 (JT)
Titanhawk 881 (JT)

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January 23 - 30 Empty Pain

Post by Melody on Mon Jan 26, 2015 2:33 pm

The following genre is supposed to be comedy. Comedy, however, if not my forte, so compared to my other stories, it is not one of the better ones. It was fun to branch out and play around with it though. =) Note: In my entire KP history, this is the first male protagonist I've used. I figured I should branch out on that as well!

Pain is amazing, really. It comes in so many different forms. There is the small sized would-you-mind-getting-your-pit bull-off-my-leg-please? kind of pain. There is the medium sized I-wonder-why-that-baseball-is-getting-larger?” kind of pain. And then there is the eco-friendly, gigantic, family pack, Andrew Bents kind of pain.
You can call me Andy.
Currently I stand on the top of my family's living room stairs. That in itself isn't bad; neither is the fact I have surfboard. It's only the fact that I'm tied to it while my two brothers, Garth and Mort, anticipate giving me a free surfing lesson, that's disturbing.
Yes sir—a guy couldn't ask for a pair of finer brothers. Always ready to help.
“Are you sure you guys don't want to reconsider?” I ask, adjusting my glasses before laying my arms against my sides and allowing them to coil the thick rope around my torso like a fat snake. I hate snakes.
“No. What about you, Garth?”
“No, Mort.”
Bump, bump, bump. My body jumps up and down like a wounded kangaroo.
Thump, thump, thump. I wonder how many of my bones they'll find on the stairs when this is over?

I sneeze as the surfboard comes to a stop against the soft-as-a-brick wall. And by sneeze, I don't mean your typical, everyday, nothing-to-see-here sneeze. I mean the kind of sneeze that shows up on hurricane radar. The kind NASA will be using for their next rocket launch. I make a mental note to add surf boards to my allergy list.
“Okay, um, do you guys think you could untie me now?”
More silence.
I hear the front door shut.
I wiggle like an out-of-water fish in an attempt to loosen my bonds. Garth and Mort never do anything right—how in the heck did they manage to tie such a great knot!? Now I don't want to say I panicked, but I've seen guitar strings with less tension.
I hear the door again. Instead of the footfalls that make an elephant look lightweight, I hear mouse-sized one's.
“Andy, can you close the door, please?” she calls from the other room. “My hands are full.”
“There might be a slight problem with that,” I reply.
“Don't tell me—you're in the middle of a video game?”
“Not exactly...”
The footsteps come closer. An odd shaped shadow covers my face; mom is still holding her packages.
“The boys?”
I nod.
She sets down her burden and unravels me.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
I pick up the surfboard to put it away. Note that the following was not—absolutely not—my fault.
How was I to know Garth had left his skateboard in front of the hall closet, where the surfboard belonged? How was I to know at that exact moment, mom walked back to the front door to close it? How was I to know the glass that made up the door would break, sending mom and I out in to the middle of the street at the exact same moment that semi was passing by?
Aren't those sirens on the ambulances fascinating?
Luckily—a word that I am generally unfamiliar with—the semi was traveling relatively slow. Within the hour, we were back home with little more than a couple stitches.
The boys sat on the couch when we returned, watching a football game. They threw popcorn, yelled at the top of their lungs, and smashed every glass item in the house—you know, usual get-the-excitement-going antics. You should see them once the Superbowl starts.
“Mort, why are you wearing that waste basket on your head?” I ask, observing the chaotic scene in front of me.  Sure enough, my brother has an empty trash receptacle on his head. I don't want to say he looks silly, but I haven't laughed this hard since I got my foot struck in a basket full of chicken feathers. (Don't ask).
“Because the desk wouldn't fit.”
I shake my head and walk into the kitchen.
“Boys,” I hear my mother say in here you're-grounded-until-you're-eligible-for-pension voice. “What was the meaning of tying your little brother to that surfboard?”
“Well, Andy is the one who got you hit by that truck...” Garth replies sheepishly.
I vaguely remember mom sending him a text from the back of the ambulance along with a YOU BETTER BE HOME WHEN I GET BACK FROM THE HOSPITAL, OR ELSE!
“On your skateboard!” mom almost yells. “Which she never would have done if you hadn't tossed her down the stairs.”
In the silence that follows, I can only imagine the looks of sullen hatred on the boy's faces—directed towards me, of course. I briefly entertain relocating to Antarctica. But that would require moving. After my little incident with the semi, I don't feel quite up to that yet. Breathing is painful enough as it is.
I decide to make my way up to my room.
Which is upstairs.
Which means I have to climb them.
I find a process that works.
Sort of.
Shuffle, shuffle, plop, shuffle. Rest.
Shuffle, shuffle, plot, shuffle. Rest.

I'm making good time. I should be there by morning.
“Andy!” my mom calls. “Can you come downstairs for a moment, please?”
Oh joy.
Thump, thump, plop, ouch.
Thump, thump, plot, ouch.

“Yeah?” I say as I walk into the living room.
Mom's arms are crossed. “I think it would be fair punishment if Garth and Mort help you with whatever you need doing for the next month or so.”
A groan escapes their lips.
“Sounds fair to me,” I say. I think about what tortures I can now subject them too. Cleaning my room perhaps? No—I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, and not even my brothers. Maybe taking over my job of cooking dinner every night? No—I may have an iron stomach, but it has limits.  But don't worry, I'll think of something.
“First of all,” I finally say, “you can help me get back up those stairs.”

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January 23 - 30 Empty Re: January 23 - 30

Post by xxShayWolfxx on Mon Jan 26, 2015 7:56 pm

This is definitely not one of my best works, but it's just a quick thing I typed up in between meetings Razz Sorry if it sucks XD

Genre: Comedy
Word Count: 512

For as long as I can remember, my life has never been anywhere close to normal. It has been a chain reaction of drama, comical events, and never does anything just stay the same, not even for a second. But it all got even more extreme, when my parents decided to adopt a young orphan boy, Caleb. Little did I know, that my life was about to reach a whole new level of weird. I will never forget the day my parents brought him home, a short blonde little 7 year old, to my surprise. The child walked into the house with a see-through waste basket on his head, my giggling, cheery parents following behind him. Good thing I was sitting down, when I looked up to see that sight. I knew they planned on bring home a child, but not this one...

“Why are you wearing a waste basket on your head?” I ask, weirded out and intrigued.
“Because the desk wouldn't fit!” The child chimed before kicking off his shoes and disappearing into the kitchen, which he only knew where it was thanks to it's visibility from the doorway. The only reaction I can get out is to arch an eyebrow at my parents as they step in and put their shoes away, my face a mixture of an odd, confused and concerned for my mental health kind of look.
“He wanted to bring something with him to be a memory from his preschool.” My mother chuckles, ruffling my already bedhead hair before wandering off to find the child, my father in tow. Shaking my head in amusement, I return to reading my current novel of the week, my weekly escape from my weird life. Only five minutes after reading in peace, Caleb comes tearing through the living room, now wearing a cardboard box on his head, bumping into nearly EVERYTHING in sight. I let out a sigh of annoyance as he just barely avoids toppling over my bamboo plant beside the couch where I'm sitting. My harsh glare guides the child directly out of the room and into his new bedroom, which just happens to be right beside mine.

“I saw that.” My father grins, appearing by my side with a coffee in his hand.
“You couldn't at least get a semi-normal child?” I mutter, stealing a sip of his sweet coffee. At this point, my mom just happens to appear behind my dad in time to hear my complaints.
“Be nice to Caleb, he's just a kid. Besides, he isn't any weirder than you are.”

Posts : 3
Join date : 2015-01-08
Age : 21
Location : In the world of my dreams, waiting until the day I will settle in the world of my heavenly Father <3


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January 23 - 30 Empty The Waste Basket Class

Post by Natarsha on Thu Jan 29, 2015 9:52 pm

So this one is going to be a bit different, and in depth. I apologize in advance if it is rushed and hard to understand, I tried my best.

Title: The Waste Basket Class
Genre:  Non-Fiction-ish
Word count: 563


Walking into class I knew, it was going to be different to any of the other classes. One reason why is because my professor had a waste basket on his head, now my professor is an unusual human being but he really out did himself this time. When entering the class I walked up to him and asked, “Sir, why are you wearing a waste basket on your head?” I looked at him quizzing wondering what preposterous statement he had for a reply, “Obviously because the desk wouldn’t fit, I thought you children were meant to be smart?” I looked at the man, and wondered what sort of drugs was he on to have a waste basket on his head, but I left him to it and walked to a desk, placing my bag down I grabbed out my green binder and opened waiting for the lecture to begin.


“Today we will be learning about waste baskets also known as waste container now, I want you all to listen and keep quite as I talk, and copy down the notes you will be tested on this.” As he spoke he wrote on the board a brief description of what it is “A waste container is a container for temporarily storing waste, and is usually made out of metal or plastic” he wrote on the board in permanent marker, no one dared to tell him. It was as if we were all afraid he would bite our heads off.


I observed the class, having to repeat the year for the third time - I knew all this. I drowned out the sound of his voice by looking around the class, we were surrounded by beige coloured walls, and fiery red chairs that stood out against the black carpet flooring. A big white board hung at the front of the room, half of the white board was covered in doodles, assignments half wiped away, and homework that was due months ago. To the left of the board beside the door, was a brown wooden desk stacked high with papers, and a laptop never been used, lid always closed and barely touched. Along the walls were carpet like pin boards, filled with students doodles, assignments, exam dates and etc. The class was only used once a week, and the professor never really cleaned up much, nor did anyone as a matter of fact. The floor was littered with rubbish, from old assignments to food wrappers. Mostly new rubbish seeing the professor has the waste basket on top of his cranium, but you don’t hear me complaining. Under the blue colored desks, were clumps of gum that people couldn't be bothered to throw away and decided to stick it to the desks, which is quite disgusting?


The sound of an angry man’s voice cut my train of thought, looking up I notice the professor having heated conversation with the man in charge – Mr Blacksmith, in his hand lays the waste basket. Waving his arms around in the air like a mad man, pointing at all the pieces of rubbish on the floor Mr Blacksmith thrusts the waste basket in the professors’ hands. The man in charge storms out and the bell for the end of class rings, we all head out leaving the professor to clean up, with the obvious help from the cleaners.

Last edited by Natarsha on Fri Jan 30, 2015 6:51 pm; edited 1 time in total

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Join date : 2014-08-15
Age : 19
Location : Auckland, New Zealand

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January 23 - 30 Empty Re: January 23 - 30

Post by LittleDancer on Fri Jan 30, 2015 2:12 pm

Title: Bucket List of gold
Genre: comedy/fiction/fantasy
Word Count: 769


My bucket list consisted of some pretty weird things, but fighting a leprechaun was not on it. But it was not going my way; he kept jabbing at my legs and yelling insults at me in an Irish accent. It also did not help that we were inside a tree, it was a large tree but I still kept hitting my head and bumping into things.
I should have known Sabur would have sent me on a mission like this on a Wednesday. I winced as I knocked my head as I hit my head on a wooden shelf that consisted of a variety of books. Some which said: “How to hide your gold” or “Where’s your gold?” And even “Let’s find some gold!” the books clattered to the floor as I moved out of the way as the midget in green swung his sword where I had just been. His sword hit the wood with a dull thud.
I checked my wristwatch and called Sabur. “Um hey Sabur…” I said as the little dude got his sword out of the wood wall. I stepped aside as he charged at me. “I’m gonna need some help.”
I head a sigh on the other end. “Fine, I’ll send Cass over. She’ll be there in five.” I disconnected and put my entire mind into fighting the leprechaun. In all honesty I couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl. I was pretty sure both boy and girl leprechauns had facial hair, but there was no way to tell without getting close, and I was in no hurry to do that.
Five more minutes I thought to myself, as I narrowly missed a fatal blow. The problem was not killing the leprechaun; the problem was to catch it. Everyone time anyone tried to kill a leprechaun it would disappear, so I had to dodge its wary little hands for another five minutes.
It seemed like eternity but finally I saw Cass. She was standing outside the tree looking confused. I assumed that she couldn’t see us because we were in a tree. I pressed a button on my wristwatch. A loud beeping noise sounded from it. I’m sure Cass heard it because she looked up and all around her. She looked at her wristwatch and started coming closer. While I was distracted watching Cass I forgot my happy little Leprechaun. I saw out of the corner of my eye that it was charging me (again.) I tried to move out of the way but there was a dresser there, I moved as far as I could but his sword still penetrated my side.
It wasn’t a deep cut but it still hurt, I gripped my side and groaned. This was the pain where it got all tingly and you feel lightheaded. I vaguely heard Cass come in the door. Finally. I fell to the floor as gracefully as I could with blood pouring from my side.
My vision started turning blurry but that last thing I remember was the leprechaun momentarily freeing himself and hurling a waste basket at me. It hit the desk behind me and landed on the floor. I lay my head down, but the wastebasket was in my way, moved it so when I lay down it would be on my mead. Quite comfy actually, and it blocked out light. I slipped out of consciousness, the last conscious thought I had was hoping there was nothing in the waste basket.
“Lil, Lil, you alright?” I heard Cass ask. I sat up wincing at the pain in my side.
“Yea I just got stabbed in the side, I am fine” I say sarcastically. She ignores my comment.
“Why do you have a waste basket on your head?”
“Because the desk wouldn’t fit” I say still ticked off about what had happened. I lifted the waste basket off my head and took a deep breath. Cass gave me a look of un-amusement. No one appreciated my sense of humor around here.
“Maybe you could like help me or something, just a thought” I suggested.
“Right, we’ll get you back to Sabur” Cass says.
“I can’t exactly walk…” I say looking at myself, I could barely sit up. Cass grabbed the Leprechaun, I realized she had pine needle bracelets tied around her wrists, that’s why the Leprechaun didn’t disappear, a simple trick really. I should have thought of that.
“Come on, we’ll use the tele porter just this once” She says. We both took our wristwatch and pressed the blue button.
“Allnos-y!” we both said at the same time.


Posts : 20
Join date : 2014-08-15
Age : 17
Location : My mind palace

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January 23 - 30 Empty Re: January 23 - 30

Post by Adley☮ on Fri Jan 30, 2015 5:38 pm

The Crossing
Genre: Historical Fiction
Why is our fleet so incompetent? We are an island people and yet our ships are of the worst design. We’ve lost yet another battalion of Samurai trained soldiers to a pesky Korean turtle ship. Not only do the Koreans have these indestructible turtle ships, but the Chinese have massive sea faring Junks. All we have are weak incompetent Atakebune ships
As a child I wanted to be a Samurai, fighting alongside musket men, earning honour for Japan. But when I was born, my father said: “a son, he will be a great maritime general”. And so my fate was sealed. I now control a fleet of Japanese ships, ordered to escort our massive army across the sea from Korea to China. An impossible task under these conditions, rain, wind, Chinese Junk ships, Korean Turtle ships, thousands of troops to protect out in the sea and all I am given is a fleet of Atakebune ships.
If our Shogun had any sense he would have finished conquering Korea so he could attack China by land. But now we are floating in the sea exposed and vulnerable.
I must now stop ranting in my log as I am being summoned by the captain.
“What do you make of those clouds sir?”
“Steer around them, they come from the west, they will pass south of us if we head north up the coast. Our ships weren’t made for deep sea anyway.”
“Yes sir.”
“Oh and sir, the grand Shogun has requested passage on your ship from this point onward.”
How I despised the Shogun, I didn’t meet him very often, but only an idiot would have commanded us to cross the sea.
“Tell the grand Shogun he is most honourable to suggest travelling aboard the same ship as a humble commander such as myself. His quarters will be prepared immediately.”
His quarters, hah, more like my quarters. Of course I must offer him my own cabin, as it is the grandest on the ship. Not that I abuse my powers, having a grand cabin was simply tradition, I try to keep mine as simply decorated as was allowable.
“Welcome to my ship noble Shogun, your quarters are almost prepared.”
“A fine fleet you have, I wish to discuss strategy with you in my quarters as soon as they are prepared.”
“I would be honoured to discuss such with you grand Shogun.”
“Sir, Come quickly!” yelled the captain, from atop the bridge.
I bowed to the Shogun and then briskly walked to the bridge.
“Our front ship just signalled that it has spotted two fleets of turtle ships coming straight at us from the North.”
“BLAST” I yelled. We had to act quickly, they were going to hit us head on, and we did not have the firepower to take on two fleets.
“Cut west, into the storm, with any luck we will only go through the very top of it. The Korean turtle ships will not follow us into the deep sea.”
“Yes sir.”
“You’re in charge of this ship now”, I yelled to the captain, “You know what to do in a storm.”
“Hoist the mast!” He yelled, as I stumbled off the bridge in search of the Shogun.
Just as I reached the main deck our ship collided with something. What it was no one could tell there was too much fog. The collision sounded fatal, I heard ropes snapping and hull breaking. I stumbled to the edge of the deck, almost falling off as we hit another wave. As I hung there, clinging to a rope, I spotted what we had collided with. It was worse than a rock, worse than one of our own ships. It was a Chinese Junk. Why a Chinese ship was in this storm I had no idea, but there was no time to contemplate such a mystery.
“We’re being boarded!” I yelled as loud as I could. My men were trained well, only two of them heard my shout, but within a minute they had spread the word. Crossbows were being charged, swords drawn, bows readied, muskets loaded.
I was no military captain, I was a general. So I left my men to do what they did best, while I continued making my way to my cabin, in search of the Shogun.
“Why would you command us to cross the sea in the first place?” I yelled at the Shogun.
He drew his short sword, placing the tip on his stomach, ready to commit seppuku. I followed suit, we had dishonoured our entire nation.
The Shogun turned his solemn eyes to me and said “The Emperor told me our country could not handle the stress of holding any more Korean territory. We had to conquer China by crossing the sea and marching straight to Beijing.”
“May I be forgiven for questioning you oh noble Shogun.” I said, returning to my position of seppuku.
“Wait” said the Shogun, calm as ever. “This ship will sink, with no Japanese survivors to tell the tale, will it not?”
“Then no one will recall our dishonourable act of refusing seppuku, instead we can at least finish as many Chinese as possible.”
I stood there motionless for a minute, considering the option. I was interrupted by the sound of our door being broken in.
“Quickly, hid under the desk, we will ambush them” I said to the Shogun, as I dove between a chest and the wall.
It was a small space and I had to struggle to turn myself around to a position where I could spring out at any moment. The cabin door was just about finished, so I poked my head out from my hiding spot to see how the Shogun had fared.
“Why are you wearing a basket on your head?” I asked.
“Because the desk wouldn’t fit” he replied, trying to crouch low enough that the basket was touching the floor.
The door came down and I darted my head back behind the chest. Then I waited, and listened as men filed into the room. I could hear them talking, all of which I understood. My father had taught me to know your enemies, so I knew all their languages better then they usually did.
They we saying the Shogun must be in this room. Then I heard them address a general. A Chinese general, we were lucky. He would die with us. Then I heard shouts as the Shogun sprang from his basket, cutting down men with his magnificent sword.
I sprang from my hiding place as well, cutting down a soldier instantly. The Chinese general had drawn his broadsword and was bringing it down on the Shogun. I jumped towards the general, watching his sword kill the commander of all Japans forces. I sunk my own sword into the generals back. I turned to see a Chinese sword coming towards my head. I could see every detail of the blade as it moved towards me in slow motion, every glint of light reflected off the blade, each representing a candle. I could picture exactly where each candle was located in the room. Then I was no more.

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