These are my top ten best works in no particular order.
1. Fallout
My name is James. James Smith II. I was named after my Father, he was a doctor in both medical terms and scientific. It is October 10, 2281, 10:30 P.M. I have just accepted a very important job for the Mojave Express. I was told this job was dangerous, so I'm recording my thoughts one last time in case I'm injured, kidnapped, made a slave, or you know, killed. I found a very curious looking eye-bot, the very same the Enclave tried to kill me with. I won't get into it very much, but I do need to explain a few things. If you know of the Capitol Wasteland, or of the war between the Brotherhood of Steel, the Super Mutants, and the Enclave, then you must have heard of the Lone Wanderer. Well, I'm him, I'm the Lone Wanderer. You see, I sent in a friendly Super Mutant named Fawkes to turn off a radioactive water purifier before it exploded. Many people believe me to be dead, which I like by the way, but I'm not. After the assault on the water purifier, that I lead, I was put in a coma for two weeks. Now, it's been many months after that and I'm looking back on my life. I grew up in a vault, which I visited again and got kicked out of, again. I traveled to a place called The Pitt and lead a slave rebellion. I defeated the Enclave and personally destroyed their facility. I went to Maryland and fought off swamp people while working with a crazy genius. I even traveled to space and stopped the destruction off the world. And I also met a dog, one of the only dogs who didn't try to eat me, so I was happy to name him my friend. I had accomplished so much, but there was blood on my hands, not just from the people I killed, but all the people who died on my account, friends, strangers, even my dad. I tried so hard to be a good person, but it always ended up in death and sadness. When the Enclave were finally stopped, I hung up my power armor and tried to fix the Wasteland. It was hard work, it took up all my time, well, not all of it. There was this girl, her name was Sarah, and she... well she was great. She and I grew intimate over a period of two years. Two years! That's all! I'm not going to say I regret it though. Her father liked me too, I even had his blessing if I ever wanted to marry his daughter. She wouldn't agree though, for her it was combat first, then domestic life. Even still... I loved her. Weird huh? Love in Post Apoclyptia. Whatever it was, I was... depressed after her death. Want to know what killed her? Outcasts. Old Brotherhood soldiers who went rouge. I don't even want to think about them. They were the total reason I moved west. They caused me so much grief, I had to leave. Even after I helped them. Of course they did attack me right after I did, still. I tried to keep working on project Odysseus, but without Sarah, it seemed worthless. Elder Lyons, her father, said to keep working on it, to keep moving forward. I did, for a while at least. See Odysseus was a Greek general in the Trojan war. He came up, or stole, the idea for the Trojan horse. It was all just code of course, but the project was to stop Enclave spies from infiltrating the Brotherhood, aka Trojan Horses. I've never even seen a horse aside from pictures in the books the Vault had. Anyway, there was this camera that read everyone's facial structure, very high tech stuff, I won't get into it, but it recorded everyone's faces and could draw out any spies that would infiltrate the Brotherhood. It was supposedly fool proof. I wasn't without doubts though, but I was leader on the project basically being a scientist myself, so I built this thing and called it Ajax, after the Greek king during the Trojan War. Again, it was all just code, but for some reason that name always stuck with me. It's the only name I can think of when I think about the project. See? I refer to it as the project. I really need to think about it if I call it by its true name. But everything sunk from then on. Elder Lyons died about five weeks after the project started. The last time I checked on him he was fading fast, but I didn't think fast enough that he'd die that soon. Everyone had just stopped for a while. Lyons was one of the greatest Elders the Brotherhood of Steel ever had. I really enjoyed his company when he was around. I just stopped the project. I couldn't take it anymore. I... I just left. No more Capitol Wasteland. I found New Vegas. This place is one of the only cities untouched by the Nukes that destroyed everything else. A new home. I bleached my hair even, just to get the new feeling of being someone new. Since I walked the whole way here people thought I was some kind of courier, so it just stuck. It took me half a year to get here, and another half year to deliver some package to this place called the Divide. The people who gave me the package were called the NCR, New California Republic. They're apparently in a war with another army called Caesar's Legion. Founded by a man who calls himself Caesar and another guy named Joshua Graham. From what I can gather Graham was set on fire and thrown down the Grand Canyon. I wonder what he did to deserve that. They're fighting over the Hoover Dam, the NCR and Caesar's Legion, I mean. I don't really care about that though, I've been in enough wars. I'm more interested in Vegas anyway. Vegas just sits out there right in the middle of the whole desert, glowing like a light bulb. This whole place is dirty, and dark, in the figurative sense of course. I should probably get some sleep, I gotta head to Good Springs tomorrow after I gather all my supplies. I guess I'll just store this in the audio logs of this old Eye-bot. Huh, on the side here... it says Ed-e. I guess that's this guy's name. Well he is operational enough to store this. Stupid Pip-Boy breaking, I really could've used it. Well, goodnight Ed-e. I'll fix you when I get back from Vegas.
I think I got working. You said I could keep this thing Mr. Nash. Please son, call me Johnson. Okay, Johnson. Yeah, you can keep that thing. *Several beeps* Huh, guess it's trying to talk to us. Hey little guy, my name is Ajax. You seem really familiar. Ed-e, huh? Guess that's your name. Judging from your little gun here you're combat ready. How'd you know that son? I don't know, I just did, but don't forget, I did get shot in the head, well anyway, you'll really be useful little guy, I'll have to go through your data logs one day, maybe figure out who owned you.
2.Tragedy
A flurry of black feathers erupt above me. They fall down lightly and scratch and cut like razor wire. I am lost in the sea of pitch black feathers and three words rest on my mind. But I have forgotten them.
Were they, "I love you"?
Were they, "I am sorry"?
What were they?
In the shadow cast by the ravens over head I wander, lost and alone. A steady tone rings out into this confusing whirlwind. Driven mad by the tone, the ravens lash out, beaks and talons reach out, hoping to cut me; hoping to latch on. But I do not feel the wounds they inflict. I bleed profusely, but I do not feel anything. Soon the tone dies down and it is silent. Completely silent. Then I hear air blow. A gentle breeze whistles past my ears. And then all movement stops in the blink of an eye, and I am left standing in the wake of dozens of lifeless bodies of ravens. The breath has left them. And now I feel hollow, a feel that has become all too familiar.
3. Hate
I stand above a fire. The flames lick at my feet, begging me to jump in. I begin to lose myself as the heat distorts my vision. I blink several times to aid my dried out eyes, but it is to no avail. But as I look around, I can see long gouges in the walls around me. I know I must have done this, no one else is allowed in here. And slowly as I look at the gouges, the heat begins to rise, the rhythmic thumping of the engine begins to speed up. I lose my balance, but I'm not afraid of the flames, I welcome them. I am used to the heat now. I fall in head first, but as I do, a thought appears in my mind. Well, not so much a thought, as a feeling. A feeling to rip at the walls surrounding me.
Now I know.
I must use this energy somehow, or it will poison me. But I cannot escape. I cannot leave. I am trapped in this churning prison. I am trapped in with this heat and I am trapped within these walls.
As I fall into the fire, it embraces me like water. I am able to float to the top, the fire running against my body. It doesn't burn me. It runs off my arms and chest, fueling me. I can feel tears at my eyes as my fingers begin to dig into the walls. The thumping has gotten louder and even faster. It will not slow down until I do. And soon, it's all I can hear.
Thump thump... Thump thump... Thump thump... Thump... Thump...
4. It's Over
It's over this time. And you mean it.
You sit in your bedroom, thinking of all the ways it could end. Finally, you decide on a prescription pill cocktail. The seemingly easy way to go. You open your drawers, your parents' drawers, even your sibling's drawers in search of ingredients for your final meal. When you have them in a small cup you sit down at your desk to write your last goodbye. Somehow, you aren't shaking. You thought you'd be panicking, but you're unreasonably calm. But the second the pen touches the paper your eyes water. You struggle to write the words:
Mom, Dad, I know you don't want this. To be honest at first I didn't either. But now I know, there's no other way. The antidepressants don't work. The therapy doesn't work. Nothing works. Except this. I'm sorry.
You put the pen down and put on a button up shirt. You wanna look good when you meet God. You sit down on your bed put the pills in your mouth and drink the cup of water on your nightstand. You lay on your back and close your eyes. Soon you're unconscious. And soon after that, you're dead.
Mom and Dad come home. They call out your name, but you don't answer. Your mom checks your room and finds you with two lungfuls of vomit. She screams and your dad rushes to your doorway. He stands there stunned, your mom crying, holding onto your lifeless hand. Your dad goes to the phone and barely chokes out: "hello... 911, my child committed suicide."
Your parents tell your friends and family. The hardest was your best friend. Someone you played with, laughed with and on occasion, cried with. They take it as their fault. "I should've known," they tell themselves. But what use is knowing now?
you lost your strength, and in a moment of weakness, you made your final mistake. They loved you, but you didn't love yourself. In a flash of sadness, anger and selfishness, you took your life. Life isn't a game. There's no reset button. No cheat codes.
You're gone. It's over. Goodnight. So long. Just know, they loved you, even if you didn't know it. They loved you, from your smile, to your laugh, and to the scars on your wrist.
5. Giver Writing Contest
I threw another log on the fire. The wood crackled and sparks flew up into the air, the warmth enveloped me as I sat on the hard ground. I looked up at the vacant skyscrapers, towering above me. The windows smashed inward, the ghosts of the people walked around going about their regular tasks, as if nothing had ever happened. Silhouettes surround me on the floor and walls, imprints left from a time before, scarring the concrete. I sigh as the warm glow of the flickering fire throws long shadows around me. I pulled out a pice of scrap paper scrawled with my thoughts. I found my old pencil and settled in for the night.
It's been at least 100 years, apparently, since the Mushroom War. When the world consumed itself in fire. My grandfather passed away a week ago, I think... It's been too long since I've used a calendar. According to the maps I have I should be nearing the old city of Chicago. The Sears Tower holds a small group of people who can help me, sell me supplies, and give me better directions. Salt Lake City is the next destination. Descendants of the Latter Day Saints can then lead me to California... I've never felt more alone. It's starting to physically hurt. But I know I'm not alone, the threat of the rangers weighs heavily on my mind. The fascists are becoming more aggressive, I need to get to Sears Tower and receive help as soon as possible. But for now I need to rest. - Arthur.
I folded the paper up and stuck it back in my pocket, and taking care not to break my pencil, writing my thoughts always helped me cope. Suddenly there was a rustling behind me, and I moved into a defensive stance, my only weapon is a short knife my grandfather gave me before he passed. I moved to some overgrown brush in the shadows, hoping no one saw me yet. If it was the rangers already be dead. Voices floated towards me, and although I couldn't make out the words, I knew they were male. My heart pounded in my chest, my fire was still lit and my pack was sitting next to it, I cursed myself silently, how could I leave my pack. I thought of grabbing it, but the two men wandered into the light. Sadly enough they were fascists, but they weren't rangers, so I breathed a silent sigh if relief.
"Hey, look. One of the waste landers left us some presents," one of them said. The both laughed as sat down, opening my pack and going through it. They pulled out my clothes, some equipment and the two logs I had left. They stuffed my clothes and gear back into my pack and threw the two logs on the fire. I sighed again and laid down as quietly as I could. I need to wait for them to got to sleep, I need to wait, I thought to myself, repeating the instructions always made them easier to follow.
After what was possibly hours, I crawled out slowly from underneath the brush. The fire was but smoldering coals now and the two men were asleep. I stalked over to my pack and picked it up. As I moved passed them, the thought of killed them passed through my mind. I looked at them, asleep, unaware. I could do it. End their lives, and they'd never be able to hurt another man ever again. I moved my hand to my knife, but the words of my grandfather came to mind.
That's how it started. A preemptive attack. Stop the bad guys before they stop you. Arthur, trust me, if you can avoid a fight, avoid it. No cause is worth losing your humanity.
I clutched my chest, it suddenly became harder to breathe. I closed my eyes tight and grabbed the pack and stole away as quickly and as quietly as I could.
Don't worry Grandpa. I won't be like Them.
6. The World Would be a Better Place if You Listened to Me
People are scum.
We are trash left over by powerful deities. We are nothing, we are meaningless, we are forsaken. Lift your hands up to the heavens and apologize for tainting this earth. Listen to me, listen to me you mutants. You disgusting, dirt eating worms. You sit here on this earth and squirm, you act as if you are the chosen people, you act as if you are actually worth the effort the gods must put into you.
You ungrateful monsters, you waste the lives given to you, you play your games, you write your stories and make your music. You do nothing to serve anyone but yourselves. You putrid sacks of blood. You all make me sick. You kill each other, maim each other, starve each other and to what end? What will you achieve with the death of millions? What will be created from destruction?
Little do you know, in your tiny minds, the end is coming, and you do nothing to prepare for it. You will die and there is nothing to avoid it. You will die with your stomachs on the dirt, like the swine you are. In death you will finally be useful. Feeding the animals you so carelessly destroy. The flies will feed upon you, you will return to the earth and give it strength. Give it power. Give it life. So waste away upon this earth, the world you have forsaken. But there is hope.
Pray you fools, pray. In the end, it will all be for naught as this world will end. You will die by holy fire, cleansing you of your human skins, your vessels will be destroyed and you will be free. But the gods will not forgive so easily. Only the chosen few will be saved, only the few who knew, who knew what they knew, who thought what they thought. The gods will have you and you will not be able to stop it. So die you swine, you mindless cattle. Move toward your slaughter. Move toward your demise and appease the gods. Make them happy, make their effort worth it. Show them that you enjoy being destroyed as much as you enjoy destroying. Listen to me and be saved. Listen to me and understand, we are all going to die. Listen to me and the gods will take pity on you. For you saved yourself by praying and dying. They will know you tried to save yourself in your last moments. Come take up the glasses brothers and sisters and drink deep the cup of wisdom, you will be saved by knowing. You will be saved by understanding in your heart and mind, that we are dead, that we are nothing, that we are swine and that we are meaningless.
7. The Unknown Student
Fat, funny, and rather strange,
Depressing and scary with a large vocal range.
He sits alone, or with his group of friends,
He wants to be there for you until the very end.
But he has trouble being there, and he's rather flaky,
I haven't talked to him in a while, I wonder how he's been lately.
I've known him for a while, and I'm glad I know him,
But he can break off into anger on a whim.
Honestly I know he cares, but he's overbearing,
He's also really timid, nervous and he's not daring.
I wish I knew him, but he won't talk to me,
But everyone who knows him wants him to sit quietly.
Honestly, he's an enigma, wishing he knew what others thought,
He hardly ever thinks of any of the joy he's brought.
I've heard him say that he wants to be dead.
Sometimes I wonder what it's like in his head.
8. Ode to my fingers.
By Joey Harris
To the tiny limbs at the end of my hands.
That pluck the strings of my guitar,
That play the keys of my piano.
That scratch the itches,
That pick the cuts.
The dexterous, long limbs,
That tap the keys of a keyboard.
That grip the blankets tight,
That interlock to let me pray.
That rub my eyes to wake me.
An ode to my fingers,
That do so much for me.
9. It's time to wake up
I sat up in a bright white place. I looked around, but all I saw was a great white expanse. I looked down at what I was wearing; it looked like my regular street clothes, only it's all colored white. I stood, but something was different. I felt stronger. I could breathe better,I didn't have any aches. I felt better than I had ever felt in my entire life. And then I saw Him.
He was an old man, dressed in a pure white suit. Somehow, he was glowing whiter than the world around him. He had a friendly smile and grandfather eyes, old, but understanding. He had grey hair and a long grey beard. He walked towards me, the heels of his white shoes clicking for each step he took.
"How're you feeling?" He asked me. His voice was deep and rich, like a man who had lived many years and knew many things.
"Better than I've ever felt before," I answered.
"Good, good. Do you know where you are?"
I looked around, but I couldn't recognize anything around me. I shook my head at him. He sighed, walked around a bit more and then looked up. I could catch the slightest hint of sadness in his eyes.
"Who are you?" I asked him.
His gaze didn't move an inch, "who am I? Why do you want to know?"
"Curiosity for curiosity's sake."
He smiled, "you were always witty," he said to himself. He turned to me, "I am God."
I stood motionless. "You're a god?" I asked.
"No, I am the God."
"But, if you're God, does that mean this place is heaven?"
"No, heaven is much nicer. It's a happy place, and there are a lot of people there, more than you'd think."
"Then what is this place?" I say motioning to the expanse.
"Purgatory," he said simply.
"Purgatory? What, no unwashed masses? No unbaptized babies?"
"That's not for me to answer right now. Just know, that Purgatory is a very large place. Even if there were other people, it's very unlikely you'll ever see them."
"Why's it so big?"
"To house people like you," he said pointing to me.
"Like me?"
"Yes, those who are scared, those who are hateful, those who hold anger in their hearts for no reason other than to be angry. Those who hate themselves so much that they'd take their own lives."
"Oh, you mean cowards."
"you think yourself a coward?"
"Of course. That's what everyone says isn't it? I'm too scared to deal with things so I killed myself. That's what is means doesn't it? I mean, if I was stronger, I wouldn't feel like such a failure."
"why do you do that?"
"Do what?"
He put a strong hand on my shoulder. "Why do you hate yourself?"
"I just do. I'm nothing but a stupid, selfish, weak, pice of trash."
"But I worked so hard on you. I made you as perfectly as I could. I made you so that you'd fit perfectly with everyone around you."
"Then why does no one care!" I shouted. My words echoed clearly throughout the flat, white world.
God let the echo die down before he continued. "Is that why you chose to kill yourself? You think no one cares?" He smiled and clicked his tongue against his teeth. "My child, many people care about you. More than you'd know."
He gripped my shoulders firmly, but gently. "There's so much love, inside and surrounding you. There's so much. You shouldn't try to cover that up with hate and anger."
"But, I just hate myself so much. And I'm angry that no one ever tries to make me feel better. I mean, why does no one care? Why don't they do something?"
God smiled. "Because they don't know? They don't know how to help and don't want to make things worse. Sometimes you need to get help, not just receive it."
I opened my mouth to say more but I choked on the words. Suddenly a sob worked it's way up my throat and I started crying. God wrapped his arms around me. "It's okay, I made you strong. I made you so that you could not only support yourself, but support others. You have too much anger in your heart, just let it go. Forget your anger and past mistakes. I'm going to send you back. Your family is waiting for you. Remember how strong you are, remember how much love you have. I promise everything will be fine."
He touched my forehead and my sight filled with a bright light.
"It's time to wake up."
10. Irrational Fear of Clowns
I'm a strange person. There is no doubt about it. I find things that aren't scary, well, scary. I've been told several times that fear is irrational. I live off of that saying. What I find scary, some people laugh at. For instance, I once saw a clown lying in the gutter. I hate clowns. I sped up and walked past it as quickly as I could. I couldn't stand it. Even now, as I sit on the bus far away from the clown, I still see the crumpled body on the ground. I need a shower.
You see, fears are not meant to be rational. If they were, I wouldn't be made fun of for finding clowns scary. Fears are instinctual. They are societal, cultural. In Africa there are fears of demons in the grass, fears we have in America are much different. But we all fear the ridiculous. Sometimes, I'm afraid of a snake coming out of my toilet, even though there probably isn't a snake within a hundred miles. Sometimes I'm afraid of being sucked down the drain in my shower.
But you know what is scary? Seeing that same clown in my bathroom. Seeing purple bruises all around its stark white neck. Seeing his eyes opened so wide they were bloodshot. Seeing his mouth in an impossible smile, with the corners reaching far further than they should. That's scary. And in the moment where he wrapped his hand around my neck I realized, maybe my fear of clowns isn't so irrational.
