Recent Changes

Wednesday, January 27

  1. page Walk the Line edited ... Emily clung to that. She held onto it as the Great Depression hit, sweeping up her fortune and…
    ...
    Emily clung to that. She held onto it as the Great Depression hit, sweeping up her fortune and throwing her to the street. Only Tenerly stood between her and poverty, and she started to understand that nothing could last forever, not her, not the greats, and certainly not Nathan. Or maybe he had, in his own twisted way, achieved immortality. With great effort she put the Protean Machine on her personal back burner, as the rest of the country had, and kept dreaming. Like Nathan had.
    Nathan Garner would never get to move on. Emily resolved to do so, not just for him, but for herself, for everyone. She joined the engineering side of the military during World War II and penned the algorithms that would drive the first manned Moon landing. None of the men she worked with wanted to talk about her too much, but she received a handsome paycheck, and she used it to create a platform for herself. Emily spent years worming her way into the public eye, lobbying on behalf of the Protean Machine and Nathan’s genius. She believed in the same revolution as she had in 1921, but as the times crept along, so did her argument. The Protean Machine, she admitted, was undoubtedly flawed. It was the best effort of a time where steam and diesel dominated, but by the sixties, computational technology had skyrocketed, figuratively and literally. She sat down with a sketchbook, not on wet stone steps but in a personally-funded laboratory, and drew up more diagrams. Like Da Vinci’s flying machines, none of them were completely practical nor possible, but she didn’t need them to be. She needed them to inspire the inventors of the day, and they did. Letters with fresh, young writers showed up in her mailbox every day. Every one made her smile. Yes, she thought. Be smart. Be strong. Dream like we did. Me, and Nora, and Gabrielle. And Nathan.
    On NovemberSeptember 27th, 1997,
    Emily Ballard died on October 3rd, 1997, less than a week later. As was written in her will, her brain and spinal cord were removed and preserved, in the hope that maybe, someday, she’d be resurrected.
    Nathan would never grow past nineteen. Emily had the opportunity to do what he hadn’t, and she jumped at it. Maybe their dreams weren’t so far away after all.
    (view changes)
    4:29 pm
  2. msg A welcome surprise message posted A welcome surprise Haha, wow, I totally failed to notice the jump from November to October! Thanks for your feedback, …
    A welcome surprise
    Haha, wow, I totally failed to notice the jump from November to October! Thanks for your feedback, I had a lot of fun playing out the lives of these characters with you all in this course :)
    4:29 pm

Sunday, January 10

  1. msg A welcome surprise message posted A welcome surprise On a side note, the imagery is nicely visceral. The box cutter part is an especially well done, not…
    A welcome surprise
    On a side note, the imagery is nicely visceral. The box cutter part is an especially well done, not only because of the emotions Emily is feeling during this part but just the idea of it. You know you're desperate when you are using a box cutter on anything other than boxes.
    8:01 pm
  2. msg A welcome surprise message posted A welcome surprise I'm glad I decided to read some stories I missed the first time around. Otherwise, I'd have probabl…
    A welcome surprise
    I'm glad I decided to read some stories I missed the first time around. Otherwise, I'd have probably might have not seen this. I don't know if you'll see this comment at this point, but I'll still post something anyways.

    This is very well done, I think! The pacing of the piece starting from the desperation of saving his corpse to her pain and eventual acceptance is executed very well. Everything flows as time passes while still having consistency in its message, something aided by the repetition. Only thing, not that it matters now, is that it goes from November to October in the last couple of paragraphs.

    The repetition, especially of "Like Nathan had", really adds to the piece here. You can tell she misses Nathan, and from a completely biased perspective, it was nice to see him inspire Emily. Through her, Nathan kinda achieves the immortality he sought. It's undeniable how much Emily cared about him.
    7:57 pm

Monday, December 21

  1. page Nathan Garner edited ... Occasionally, he would take breaks from research to visit the many wonderful exhibits around t…
    ...
    Occasionally, he would take breaks from research to visit the many wonderful exhibits around the fair, spoiling himself with the splendorous sights. Nathan lived in paradise among such innovation, enraptured by the potential within each product. About halfway through the fair, Nora finally confessed her feelings to him. After the initial shock, Nathan awkwardly invited her to dinner. The next months were the happiest he'd ever been.
    Nathan continued his work on Protean technology alongside Emily, Nora, and Gabrielle. The four of them made great strides in its advancement, and for a time their Protean Machine was considered a viable option to heal the terminally ill. While the product was never fully optimized, many people found the risks worth the benefits, despite no research into long term effects. Regardless, ethical concerns still haunted the device, and its novelty began to quickly fade. But Nathan wasn't worried. Their machine was the future....a future he would never see.
    ...
    a loud shriek.shriek and lunged for the nearest object. Nathan was
    ...
    into a depressionslump after his
    ...
    his work, prostheticsprosthesis and steam
    (view changes)
    11:08 pm
  2. msg Epilogue message posted Epilogue This is basically just word vomit, so don't judge it too harshly, if anyone is still reading this w…
    Epilogue
    This is basically just word vomit, so don't judge it too harshly, if anyone is still reading this wiki. Unedited, unrevised, late, and possibly unnecessary? Eh.

    If anyone's still reading: hope you enjoy this!
    7:45 pm
  3. page Walk the Line edited PC name: Emily Ballard Fate: Prosperous Life Date and time: March 23rd, 1922 - October 3rd, 19…

    PC name: Emily Ballard
    Fate: Prosperous Life
    Date and time: March 23rd, 1922 - October 3rd, 1997
    Emily didn’t think she’d be there when Nathan died. She didn’t think any of them would die, could die. Out of all the people in the world, Nathan seemed the least likely to ever die. He was the closest to immortality of anyone, practically bathing in the fountain of youth.
    And yet, here he was, bleeding out in her hands, nothing more than a corpse.
    She jammed electrodes into his brain, Nora’s cries drowning out her thoughts, running on autopilot. “Shut the fuck up,” she heard herself chastise. As if she were carefully adjusting a microscope for a school project and responding to a small annoyance, rather than talking to a woman who just watched her boyfriend’s skeleton shatter right in front of her.
    So much chatter! So much chatter! “Shut the fuck UP!” Emily shouted again, screeching this time, her voice finally betraying the seriousness of the situation. Sticky red hands grabbed at levers, pushed buttons, but everyone knew. A brain without a spark can’t be uploaded, and Nathan’s spark had gone out.
    She slumped on the floor, and everything went dark. Or, not dark. Hazy. Hazy and purplish-black would be the best way to describe that particular feeling. Emily could never quite convey the way the next few months of her life felt to anyone else, not as long as she lived.
    She’d pulled it together for the funeral. Just barely. Jenna had encouraged her to go. “Wh-when my auntie died, I felt real bad, until I went to her funeral, you know?” Her words were everything but hollow, but failed to provide comfort. “Then I could really say g-goodbye to her.” Did you have to pry your dead auntie’s skull open with a box cutter? Did you have to stick conductive pads on her bloody brain tissue, fumbling, hoping against all hope that maybe, somehow, your auntie would be able to make it? Emily thought these words, but they never materialized any further. No need to include others in the misery that was, well, whatever this was supposed to be. This hideous fog that had become her life.
    That morning, she’d barely been able to dress in anything fancy. She told herself that Nathan wouldn’t give a shit – repeatedly, verbally, in the mirror, punctuated by loud sobs – but some part of her still wanted to look nice for the funeral. For the duration of the funeral, Emily cried surprisingly little. Maybe the look on Ernest’s face gave her some perspective. Maybe her tear ducts were finally going on strike. Maybe the crowd of reporters, flocked behind the cemetery gates, had something to do with it. They couldn’t come any further than the pitch black fence as Nathan’s family, friends, and loved ones stood around his casket, but they made enough of a racket to emphasize their presence and gain a place among the mourners. They weren’t there to mourn, though. Just hoping to glimpse what had become of the Nathan Garner that made considerable headlines over the past year or so.
    The next few months refused to be as silent and still as that funeral. Emily wept, and fought with herself, and spent the majority of her time in bed. But, slowly and surely, recovery nestled into her blankets and gradually lifted them from her, and by October, Emily found herself back in the workshop.
    Excitement over the Protean Machine eventually died down, but not without a fight. Reporters wrote long, winding articles questioning the nature of human consciousness as it applied to their “devil machine,” and Emily attacked them with her own words. Cowardly. Unambitious. Selfish. Her efforts just slowed the inevitable. After all, the Protean Machine was overexpensive, undeveloped technology, with too many risks and not enough reward. Issues were pointed out, minor and major, and obsessed over. The Protean Machine was picked apart by scientific experts, scientific frauds, and people of any given profession. Few championed it, but even smaller was the number of people who weren’t in some way aware of its existence. It would never be the face of any revolution, but the Protean Machine sunk its tendrils deep in the collective unconscious and invaded culture that way. When more advanced technologies came around, it always had its place in the discussion – a symbol of what could have been, what could still be if the human race dreamed hard enough.
    Like Nathan had. Like Nathan had.
    Emily clung to that. She held onto it as the Great Depression hit, sweeping up her fortune and throwing her to the street. Only Tenerly stood between her and poverty, and she started to understand that nothing could last forever, not her, not the greats, and certainly not Nathan. Or maybe he had, in his own twisted way, achieved immortality. With great effort she put the Protean Machine on her personal back burner, as the rest of the country had, and kept dreaming. Like Nathan had.
    Nathan Garner would never get to move on. Emily resolved to do so, not just for him, but for herself, for everyone. She joined the engineering side of the military during World War II and penned the algorithms that would drive the first manned Moon landing. None of the men she worked with wanted to talk about her too much, but she received a handsome paycheck, and she used it to create a platform for herself. Emily spent years worming her way into the public eye, lobbying on behalf of the Protean Machine and Nathan’s genius. She believed in the same revolution as she had in 1921, but as the times crept along, so did her argument. The Protean Machine, she admitted, was undoubtedly flawed. It was the best effort of a time where steam and diesel dominated, but by the sixties, computational technology had skyrocketed, figuratively and literally. She sat down with a sketchbook, not on wet stone steps but in a personally-funded laboratory, and drew up more diagrams. Like Da Vinci’s flying machines, none of them were completely practical nor possible, but she didn’t need them to be. She needed them to inspire the inventors of the day, and they did. Letters with fresh, young writers showed up in her mailbox every day. Every one made her smile. Yes, she thought. Be smart. Be strong. Dream like we did. Me, and Nora, and Gabrielle. And Nathan.
    On November 27th, 1997, Emily Ballard watched a live feed from her hospital bed of the first manned rocket launch to Mars. It was launched by a human race thirty years ahead of schedule, though she naturally would never learn to think of it in those terms. A doctor stood at her side, attempting to coddle her with watered-down explanations of her heart condition, but she ignored her as best as she could. “Shut the fuck up,” she mumbled under her breath.
    Emily Ballard died on October 3rd, 1997, less than a week later. As was written in her will, her brain and spinal cord were removed and preserved, in the hope that maybe, someday, she’d be resurrected.
    Nathan would never grow past nineteen. Emily had the opportunity to do what he hadn’t, and she jumped at it. Maybe their dreams weren’t so far away after all.
    Either she’d wake up someday, or she’d face whatever came next.
    Like Nathan had.

    (view changes)
    7:42 pm
  4. 6:50 pm
  5. 6:50 pm
  6. 6:50 pm

More