Reflection 9: Where I Spend Three Minutes in an Attempt to Make a Decent Thanksgiving Turkey Pun out of the Title and Fail. My Productivity Knows No Bounds...

   Please excuse the tardiness of this post; as I was at my grandmother's for the entirety of Thanksgiving break, I was unable to access the Internet and upload this reflection at any point.

   This week, I finished the prologue/introduction to the story and began work on Chapter One. I did not get as much work done as I had hoped due to the presence of family ("Josh! Get off your computer and spend some time with your cousins!"), but I am more excited to stop researching and keep writing than I have been thus far and plan to work much more efficiently this week.

   Here is an excerpt from the prologue; constructive criticism is welcome! Or nonconstructive criticism!

   Or, if anyone would like to simply post some decent puns that blame the presence of Thanksgiving for my lack or productivity, that works as well!

"The buildings were no longer buildings; they were but charred husks that fell before the girl’s gaze. The great metropolis was aflame; bursts of blue, green, and purple plasma juxtaposed against a field of charred and melting structures that seemed all too insignificant against the never-ending inferno that consumed it. Great black forms, absences of stars in the sky whose metal hulls were accented by the fire fueled by human hatred below, dropped humanoid shapes or flashes of cold colors, landing or exploding respectively amongst the urban landscape. Even smaller, faint against the flickering flame but far too visible to ignore, were the inhabitants of the once prosperous beacon of culture and life: vague, anthropomorphic silhouettes blending with the background of the all-too-bright inferno. Many dueled, spears and blades of electrically warped and physically layered steel twisting against each other’s magnetic fields, sprays of blood visible even from the hilltop house whenever a weapon pierced through cracks in an opponent's armor, tangible or otherwise. The armored figures danced, caring not for those among them who did not carry blades: civilians, innocents, men and women and children with hopes and dreams now twisted and turned to ash; every one of them burned in that all-consuming, daemonic fire, withering and charring as the flames devoured them and forced them to kneel before its might as if in reverence of its near-divine power.

   For a moment, the massacre of those billions of human lives her was reflected in the girl’s eyes.

   Forever, the spirits of those damned to die in the inferno would haunt her very soul.

   The girl stood stunned, mouth agape, assailed by the screams of ghosts that were not yet ghosts but people who would soon depart the land of the living, as the great city, countless inhabitants, and beautiful world of Kyoto burned before her."