u/PomLovestheWorld

Im new here and curious. I don’t know if it’s just a testament to Wifies’ amazing ability to write emotional character bonds, or if this is intentional, but I keep noticing this.

I have a cool idea for a series. It’s a found footage style series about a guy filming an abandoned apartment that people keep saying is filled with monsters. Here’s the twist, the monsters aren’t evil. The series goes through their day to day lives, kinda following a more slice of life (?) type story.
The story isn’t entirely relaxed, however. You see, the story isn’t just filmed from the MC’s own camera, it’s also filmed from some surrounding security cameras, but the place is abandoned, so how are there cameras you may wonder. As the characters live their day to day lives, they also slowly unpack the mysteries of the apartment, what brought the monsters there in the first place, and who can even be trusted?

:P

We mostly have small mouth, striped, and peacock. How do I catch them?

I’m being a good boy, I swear 🥺

Ok, so a few days ago I was sitting around thinking about the shows and movies I watched when I was a little kid and specifically remembered this one movie in great detail, but not the name. In the movie, it starts off with a news clip about two boys breaking into a lab and releasing a dangerous chemical, the two main characters, a young girl and her talking monkey, see the news and worry about what might happen. They go to the store and notice that the town seems weirdly empty and when they go into the store they find the entire town has shrunk and there are now tiny people everywhere. The movie is about the girl and the monkey trying to help everyone around the town because for some reason the girl and the monkey aren’t shrinking. They call up some talking fish scientists (as you do) and ask for help, the fish say they’re working on it, but haven’t ever seen anything like this. The town is slowly getting so small you can barely see anyone and now the monkey is shrinking too. The girl some how realizes that rain, not water on its own, but rain for some reason that reverses the effect. Everyone is hugging each other crying and scared as they wait to be shrunk into oblivion, but the girl makes it rain with a weather machine and saves the day. I’ve looked, this isn’t real. This is just a dream. I always thought this was a weird movie, now I know why.

I’m really curious, I know a lot of people who have this obsession with Japan and majority of Americans when asked where they want to visit will say Japan. I personally try to be respectful and not act obsessive, but I do enjoy learning about your country and I want to know what is considered rude.

It had been about a year since I moved to the outpost. Walls made of pine had been shredded by the racing winds, the carpet was a constant moist environment for whatever mold decided to make it home, I could count my days by the new holes that appeared in my bed every night due to my insectian roommates; there wasn’t a day that went by where I did not expect to wake with a fallen wooden plank lodged in one part of my body or another, finally setting me free from that hell of grease, mold, and sweat. The outside wasn’t much better: a freezing landscape of ice and never ending cold. The winter winds would bite down on me like a rabid wolf, turning my finger tips a rainbow of ever changing colors. The fact that any life could survive in this hell was shocking all the more; I would occasionally see a fox catch a rabbit, turning the snow a strawberry red which would quickly disappear in the ever falling white. I didn’t live there by choice, I had been stationed there by the CPIA in second spring, though referring to the icy hell that is the surface as “spring” didn’t seem right. My job there was essentially that of a tax collector; every season I would make my way down past the river to the small villages, if can even call them that, dotting the landscape and collect one hundred copper from every home. With the ever so slightly above zero temperatures, I knew that the time had come once again where I would have to step onto my porch, make my way down the steps, while avoiding missing planks and loose boards, then cross the river to Kesi, then over the hills to Pueblo, through the woods to Jen, and finally cross the snow plains to Mit Hem. I hated this.
If there was one thing I could’ve gone back in time and told my childhood self, it would be to never become a soldier, not like I had a choice. Maybe if I had known about the pain of the frost as it sticks to your skin, forcing you to peel away at your own flesh like a bandage; maybe if I had known about the hours spent trekking through miles of snow that weighs on your feet, making you wish you could just lay down and sleep forever; maybe if I had known about the days I would spend walking so close, too close, to death; maybe if I had known anything, I would have ran, ran away to the slums where at least I would be warm. There is no turning back though.
I trudged along, heavy metal snow shoes kicking up freshly fallen powder, I tucked my face into my scarf and shivered. When I first got to the outpost, I hated the feeling of shivering, the teeth clacking and uncontrollable shaking, but I learned to love shivering, because shivering meant I’d live another day. Sometimes, when it would get to cold, I’d stop shivering, my feet got heavy, and all I wanted to do was sleep; I still have nightmares about that, about what would happen if I had lied down; if I had accepted the cold into myself and let the cold accept me and welcome me into its vast, white expanse. I often thought about those things while walking; it made me hate being alone with my thoughts, yet what else did I have besides thoughts. I already felt alone when I was in the outpost, yet out there, with nothing around, I truly felt it. I tried to focus on getting to Kesi, mapping out every transaction in my head; it’s the only thing that keeps me grounded.
I finally reached the river, a frozen path of ice so thick that the bridges had become redundant. I crossed the river, taking care not to slip. A little ways past the trees, I spotted Kesi, a small town that looked to be in no better shape than my dying animal of a house. The towns on the surface were different from the core; every home was built of the same pine in the same style, yet each felt unique, each bearing their own scars and histories. One house had a crack running through it from when a freak storm came through, sending a large spruce crashing through the side of the building. Another house had an upside down door from when someone knocked so hard it came off its hinges; the husband tried to reinstall the door but ended up installing it upside down. The house at the end of the street featured a large cracked bell; the building had been made into a makeshift school for the village’s youth; a hopeful wish for a place without children.
I made my way through the snow-blanketed streets, feeling the stares of the village as they watched me make my way from house to house. I hated the way they looked at me; their eyes looked at me with fear and hatred, as if I was taking away hopes and dreams with every copper. I tried to look away; I knew if I stared into their eyes for too long they may open me up and tear out the piece of me that every good soldier buried deep inside. I will not feel, not see, not hear. I am a soldier. I will take.

Send me them, all of them.