TriggerHappyJim writes some Shiny inspired fic

[on:]

I was blown away by Shiny's writing, so I decided that I might as well have a bash.

I'll post it as it comes, so here is the first chapter.

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   The heavily clichéd sun rose low over the November morning. It sank through the cold steel and glass of old New York, reaching the streets late and putting the wheel of city life into motion. It glanced off the city’s sun repellent windows and bounced from billboards settling on the street where it nursed its wounds and glimmered, ghost-like in the frigid air.

   The pigeons awoke. Dull and grey just like the day before. They fluttered noisily and drove the homeless from their alleyways.

   The bundles of clothing wandered in the shadows, their possessions trundling in front of them like an extra limb. They matched the light around them in their ghost-like appearance.

   Traffic oozed onto the roads, secreting from side streets, thick and yellow with the smell of taxicabs. The black, business suit tide moved gradually upward for the morning scramble, pouring down into the subway and spilling out onto the sidewalk.

   Beneath the surface, subway trains brought the air with them, sucking passengers from one location to the next. Commuters identified themselves by their choice of literature. The woman in the corner flicked the pages of Harry Potter. The tall gangling man, stood unmoving with a copy of PC Monthly close in front of his nerdish glasses. The black suited, bow tied Financial Times sat in the middle of the row and rustled incessantly. The train jerked occasionally to stop its occupants from dozing off.

   Above ground, the sun rose lower, pushing yawning police with their coffee into their squad cars. They grumbled like the engines in front of them and man and machine sipped from their liquid lifelines. A beautiful day was blooming behind their windshield, but the officers were pleased to let the warm air-conditioning of the car play with their hair and clothing. They skulked around corners with the radio off and the heating on, praying that trouble wouldn’t find them.

   The same feeling of warmth and contentment kept Fry buried in his duvet, the hum of the central heating wonderfully comforting. It was early, especially for him so he occupied himself by hunting down the cold spots of his bed and shutting them off. His empire of warmth was almost complete, but somehow, for some absurd reason, this did not satisfy him. There was something tugging at his memory, something attached to the back of his brain, which flatly refused to come clear.

   Something was missing. He stared around his room. The ceiling was stained brown with damp from a series of indoor super soaker fights. The walls were layered with posters that declared his allegiance to the gods of rock. The floor was carpeted with cutlery and clothing. Plates were scattered like paving stones. One of these years he’d clear up this mess but so far as he could see, nothing was gone.

Fry scooped his cosy empire about him and shuffled snoozily over to the edge of the bed. He poked his head under it and squinted as his face went red. The wagging dog was considerably more awake than him, and made a point of it by licking his face enthusiastically. Fry chuckled so hard; he tumbled from his snug throne into a heap on the floor. Knowing his exile would last until the following night, he pulled a dressing gown from the floor. Thinking better of it, he replaced the sticky gown to its original position and got dressed entirely. Perhaps eating would fix his worry, and if it didn’t, he could always stick his head under a tap.

Fry weaved through the debris that covered the stairs, Seymore at his heel. A loud banging in the kitchen started up, and Fry heard Yancy senior’s voice growl:
“What in the name of Joseph McCarthy has gotten into this damned toaster?” Fry arrived in time to see the toaster give up and collapse into itself, emitting a buzz, then a sigh, but no toast. Yancy cursed as the smell of burning crept about the room.
“You had better put another one of those radiation proof toasters on the shopping list Phillip. We’re going through them like prisoners of war and if there’s one thing those commies aren’t getting, it’s my toast.”
“Yes sir. Could you pass me the milk sir?”
“Here y’ are soldier. Stand at ease.”

   Fry sat and filled the bowl with the angular flakes. The individual pieces of mashed grain were deliberately shaped to send milk flying off at every conceivable angle, away from the bowl. Knowing this, Fry tried to fool the tiny army by pouring from strange angles. Three minutes later, the pool outside the bowl rivalled the one inside it. Fry tried to eat quickly to before the inevitable sogginess set in.

   The door slammed, sending a wave of cold air rolling through the house and Yancy junior followed the newspaper through the kitchen door. He slapped it down on the table, spraying Fry with the excess milk and broke open a can of drink. Fry caught a glimpse of the can before Yancy tipped it back. It read:
   “Its Highly Addictive!”

   The strange feeling in the back of Fry’s head was launched at top speed towards his forehead, knocking him and the contents of his mouth forwards.

He sat up.

He sat up so fast; the hammock beneath him detached itself from the wall, dropping him onto the singing robot beneath him.

[Reply #1 on:]

Looks interesting, and I want to see whee you're going with this. There were a couple of minor punctuation errors but apart from that it was pretty well written.

Keep it going!

[Reply #2 on:]

Promising beginning. More please!

[Reply #3 on:]

 

Originally posted by Arkan:
There were a couple of minor punctuation errors...

Could you point them out for me? I'd really appreciate it.

[Reply #4 on:]

Sure. Like I said, it was just really minor things...

 

It glanced off the city’s sun repellent windows and bounced from billboards settling on the street where it nursed its wounds and glimmered, ghost-like in the frigid air.

Should be a comma after 'billboards', otherwise it sounds like they're the ones settling on the street. 

 

The tall gangling man, stood unmoving with a copy of PC Monthly close in front of his nerdish glasses.

You don't need a comma there, but there should probably be one after 'tall' instead.

 

It was early, especially for him so he occupied himself by hunting down the cold spots of his bed and shutting them off.

Needs a comma after 'especially for him' (by the way, I really like the imagery of the "empire of warmth"  ).

 

Fry chuckled so hard; he tumbled from his snug throne into a heap on the floor.

That semicolon should maybe be a comma, if you mean that he chuckled so hard that it caused him to fall off the bed. If 'Fry chuckled so hard' is supposed to be able to exist as a separate sentence, then that's fine.

 

You had better put another one of those radiation proof toasters on the shopping list Phillip.

'Philip' only has one 'l'.

 

Fry tried to eat quickly to before the inevitable sogginess set in.

Don't need that extra 'to' in there.

 

The door slammed, sending a wave of cold air rolling through the house and Yancy junior followed the newspaper through the kitchen door.

Needs a comma after 'house'.

 

Its Highly Addictive!

'Its' needs an apostrophe.

 

He sat up so fast; the hammock beneath him detached itself from the wall, dropping him onto the singing robot beneath him.

Same thing as with the 'Fry chuckled so hard' thing.

Sorry to be so nitpicky! It's just really tiny things, like I said, and considering the bad spelling and grammar in loads of fanfics (and just writing in general), this was pretty impressive.

Well, I'm waiting for an update!   

[Reply #5 on:]

Cheers Arkan, most of those were just me editing and then not proof reading so thanks.

The next part might be a while, I have things that desperatly need finishing. But I'll try.

[Reply #6 on:]

This is looking very good Jim, love the descriptiveness in the first few paragraphs.

With the two semi colons you don't need a comma at all as it breaks up the flow of the sentence. 

They should read "Fry chuckled so hard he tumbled from his snug throne into a heap on the floor."

and

"He sat up so fast the hammock beneath him detached itself from the wall, dropping him onto the singing robot beneath him."

Eagerly awaiting the next part 

[Reply #7 on:]

It is turning ever more interesting...

[Reply #8 on:]

Damn, I just read through this and discovered how much editing I need to do. I've got re-used words all over the place.

I promise the next chapter will be better gramatically.

[Reply #9 on:]

Funny how that happens...

Get a beta-reader.  Another pair of eyes can catch things that slip by you.

Just make a public request - there are at least 3 people on this board who love being beta's.

[Reply #10 on:]

Such as?

[Reply #11 on:]

Arkan seems rather fond of doing that.

But it doesn't matter. I should probably learn to do it myself to stop this happening in schoolwork.

It doesn't help that I only ever write at 2am.

[Reply #12 on:]

 

Originally posted by TriggerHappyJim:
Arkan seems rather fond of doing that.

Heehee... Yeah, you could say that... 

[Reply #13 on:]

CHAPTER 2
The Planet Express ship pulled its way through the know universe. It appeared slow compared to the vastness around it but the very light struggled to keep up with it. The ship glided, as if fixed within a snapshot in time.  A passing star was caught in mid flare, the fiery arc a spectrum of red. A black hole paused to take a breath, just waiting to continue to drink the matter surrounding it. A comet stood, for once in its life, still. Calm. Sleeping. The ice burned and trailed out behind it like a wedding dress while the sky glittered as if sprinkled with confetti.

   Leela glanced at the suspended beauty around her, and turned the coffee machine on. She would have to appreciate the wonders of the universe later. She was working at the moment.

   Leela didn’t need to be there, but even so she curled up in the captains seat and leeched warmth from the fresh coffee. Memories of the autopilot’s impulsive attitude and the potential danger of the toll-dodging route the professor had sent them on tied her to the chair. The fact she had forgotten to get flight insurance only reinforced this.

Besides, she enjoyed the feeling travelling gave her. It was something deep inside her. She desperately wanted to hold on to it to avoid becoming a couch potato. Like Fry. But then again, Fry wasn’t really a couch potato. He balanced out his life well enough and no one could accuse him of being boring. The very though of what he had been through sent Leela’s brain spinning. It was the same feeling she got when she remembered how very, very small she was in a universe so big.

   She stopped herself suddenly. Her thoughts had drifted on to Fry again and she dreaded what that might mean.

   The door sighed and Fry ambled in, bang on cue.
   “Couldn’t sleep.” He explained in a voice matching the bags under his eyes. He had been getting a lot of this recently.
   “Bad dream again?” Asked Leela. She tried to dam the flow of concern in her voice.
   “Well, Its not even bad. But it always freaks me out anyway. Just like the wookies from Star Wars. They aren’t the bad guys, but they are so weird.”

Leela chose to ignore Fry’s rambling and shot straight to the point.
   “What dream is it?”

Fry paused, thinking of the best words to describe his dreams. He could always make up a few. Scrapping that idea, he decided to make it simple.
   “Its my family.”

   Leela drew back quickly. She didn’t need to ask again. Cracks appeared in her already wavering emotional dam as it threatened to burst.

She dared one last question.
   “Do you miss them?” This invoked an even longer pause. The silence seeped into the cracks and pushed them apart. She bit her lip and in doing so, applied a fresh layer of concrete to the weakening wall.

   “I guess I must.” He concluded after almost a minute. Leela struggled frantically to hold back the flood and her lip started to bleed. She knew exactly how he felt and she desperately wanted to tell him. To hide her weakness, she spun the chair so the back faced Fry.
   “I just wish I knew what happened to them after I left and came to the future.”

 He set off for the front of the bridge and collapsed into the couch.

   Leela’s defences crumbled and tears ran through the broken slabs of her mental barrier. She swivelled the chair to hide her face from Fry, so he couldn’t see how pathetically weak she thought herself.

------------------



Don't worry, they aren't all as depressing as this.

I did check this more than the last one, but I'm sure Arkan can spot some mistakes.

[Reply #14 on:]

I read this earlier but didn't have time to comment, so I will now.

Aw, that is so sad! Well written too. I'm really getting interested in this story now and I hope you keep the updates coming! 

 

I'm sure Arkan can spot some mistakes.

Well, if you insist... 

 

The Planet Express ship pulled its way through the know universe.

"known universe"

 

but even so she curled up in the captains seat

'Captains' should have an apostrophe.

 

The very though of what he had been through

"The very thought"

 

Well, Its not even bad.

it's

 

“Its my family.”

'Its' needs an apostrophe.

 

[Reply #15 on:]

Ahh, 2am writing blues strikes again!

Thanks Arkan!

[Reply #16 on:]

This keeps getting better... a bit short, but I guess there will be more. Keep it up!

[Reply #17 on:]

No prob THJ! 

[Reply #18 on:]

Wow...Damn...I laughed, I cried, and I've yet to read it all! WHY!?!?!? *stares at shitty 2nd person story* Ok, I really read it all...    but I still think my writing abilities suck comapred to everyone else's. I'm in process of editing it now.

[Reply #19 on:]

awesome.  can't wait to read more 

[Reply #20 on:]

That violin Smiley is officially my favorite smiley ever.

[Reply #21 on:]

Hehe, I found it on some other forum and had to have it! I have a smiley with a pokey stick too:

Thanks for the compliments guys, I'll post some more soon. I just need to get into the swing of writing again.

[Reply #22 on:]

  Love that one too! They really need to add some more. Not that the ones they have now suck or anything. I took a test at school online, and my top job (it tells you 20 jobs that are best for you) and the top one was Scriptwriter! 

[Reply #23 on:]

The heavily clichéd sun rose low over the November morning. It sank through the cold steel and glass of old New York, reaching the streets late and putting the wheel of city life into motion. It glanced off the city’s sun repellent windows and bounced from billboards settling on the street where it nursed its wounds and glimmered, ghost-like in the frigid air.

The pigeons awoke. Dull and grey just like the day before. They fluttered noisily and drove the homeless from their alleyways.

The bundles of clothing wandered in the shadows, their possessions trundling in front of them like an extra limb. They matched the light around them in their ghost-like appearance.

Traffic oozed onto the roads, secreting from side streets, thick and yellow with the smell of taxicabs. The black, business suit tide moved gradually upward for the morning scramble, pouring down into the subway and spilling out onto the sidewalk.

Beneath the surface, subway trains brought the air with them, sucking passengers from one location to the next. Commuters identified themselves by their choice of literature. The woman in the corner flicked the pages of Harry Potter. The tall gangling man, stood unmoving with a copy of PC Monthly close in front of his nerdish glasses. The black suited, bow tied Financial Times sat in the middle of the row and rustled incessantly. The train jerked occasionally to stop its occupants from dozing off.

Above ground, the sun rose lower, pushing yawning police with their coffee into their squad cars. They grumbled like the engines in front of them and man and machine sipped from their liquid lifelines. A beautiful day was blooming behind their windshield, but the officers were pleased to let the warm air-conditioning of the car play with their hair and clothing. They skulked around corners with the radio off and the heating on, praying that trouble wouldn’t find them.

The same feeling of warmth and contentment kept Fry buried in his duvet, the hum of the central heating wonderfully comforting. It was early, especially for him so he occupied himself by hunting down the cold spots of his bed and shutting them off. His empire of warmth was almost complete, but somehow, for some absurd reason, this did not satisfy him. There was something tugging at his memory, something attached to the back of his brain, which flatly refused to come clear.

Something was missing. He stared around his room. The ceiling was stained brown with damp from a series of indoor super soaker fights. The walls were layered with posters that declared his allegiance to the gods of rock. The floor was carpeted with cutlery and clothing. Plates were scattered like paving stones. One of these years he’d clear up this mess but so far as he could see, nothing was gone.

Fry scooped his cosy empire about him and shuffled snoozily over to the edge of the bed. He poked his head under it and squinted as his face went red. The wagging dog was considerably more awake than him, and made a point of it by licking his face enthusiastically. Fry chuckled so hard; he tumbled from his snug throne into a heap on the floor. Knowing his exile would last until the following night, he pulled a dressing gown from the floor. Thinking better of it, he replaced the sticky gown to its original position and got dressed entirely. Perhaps eating would fix his worry, and if it didn’t, he could always stick his head under a tap.

Fry weaved through the debris that covered the stairs, Seymore at his heel. A loud banging in the kitchen started up, and Fry heard Yancy senior’s voice growl:
“What in the name of Joseph McCarthy has gotten into this damned toaster?” Fry arrived in time to see the toaster give up and collapse into itself, emitting a buzz, then a sigh, but no toast. Yancy cursed as the smell of burning crept about the room.
“You had better put another one of those radiation proof toasters on the shopping list Phillip. We’re going through them like prisoners of war and if there’s one thing those commies aren’t getting, it’s my toast.”
“Yes sir. Could you pass me the milk sir?”
“Here y’ are soldier. Stand at ease.”

Fry sat and filled the bowl with the angular flakes. The individual pieces of mashed grain were deliberately shaped to send milk flying off at every conceivable angle, away from the bowl. Knowing this, Fry tried to fool the tiny army by pouring from strange angles. Three minutes later, the pool outside the bowl rivalled the one inside it. Fry tried to eat quickly to before the inevitable sogginess set in.

The door slammed, sending a wave of cold air rolling through the house and Yancy junior followed the newspaper through the kitchen door. He slapped it down on the table, spraying Fry with the excess milk and broke open a can of drink. Fry caught a glimpse of the can before Yancy tipped it back. It read:
“Its Highly Addictive!”

The strange feeling in the back of Fry’s head was launched at top speed towards his forehead, knocking him and the contents of his mouth forwards.

He sat up.

He sat up so fast; the hammock beneath him detached itself from the wall, dropping him onto the singing robot beneath him.