http://www.bzpower.com/board/index.php?app=blog&module=display§ion=blog&blogid=398&showentry=115380
55555's:
Isaac Sullivan dusted off the tablet with a soft brush, clearing the engraved characters of the sand that clung to them. He had been digging and using various radar systems to scan for ancient, forgotten objects, here in the Sahara desert for years before he had found what he now held. The hours were long, the sun was warm, the air was still and stifling. But he'd come out here by choice, hoping to find a tablet like the one his grandfather had given him long ago. The old man said that he had found it in the desert, when he was wandering the wastes, rationing his water and praying for an oasis.
The letters were strange, it was impossible to discern which way was up and which was down, whether one was meant to read from left to right or right to left, or perhaps it wasn't real writing at all.
The carbon dating results placed it before 10,000 BC, long before any writing as sophisticated as this had been known to exist. His colleagues had cited the unreliability of the carbon dating systems, but he had know better. Extraterrestrial, or perhaps of an ancient and unknown people.
He strode into his tent, and seized his grandfather's tablet in his hand. He stood, holding them side by side. The characters were of the same types, the stone matched, this was of the same people, perhaps of the same long dead hand.
He gazed at them, his eyes turned from one to the other, seeking some meaning, some clue to a meaning.
Then he saw a pattern, a system, a logic to the characters. Their order, their make, their spacing slowly assembled itself in his mind. He understood.
Velox's:
http://midnightvoltage.wordpress.com/2012/05/11/inscription/
Grant's:
At Times, Words Can’t Express Enough
To my dearest companion:
Jen.
It’s been too long since
we’ve last seen one another, and I fear the separation we’ve experienced has
not only caused us to drift apart, but to lose sight of one another completely.
I can’t recall what the shade of your eye color reminds me of, and the remembrance
of the way your hair flowed whenever a gust of air caught it only leaves me
with empty feelings. Has it truly been over five years now? Time has escaped
both of us it seems.
Enough of my sentimental
emotions however, for I write this letter in great hopes that you will receive it
with joy. I am doing well, and the new accommodations of my newest living
quarters as described in my last letter, have greatly improved. I recall your
words on how the way I described it previously and in two words you summed up
my new room as, “dreadfully lacking”. Hopefully I haven’t instilled in you too
great a fear, or I seemed too negative as the room has grown to my liking.
And you, I hope you are
doing well. It pains me to think of what you wrote of your gracious daughter,
fallen ill at the worst of times. I pray to our Father above that she recovers
swiftly. She’s always been spirited and her resolve to get well, I sure will be
the most powerful medicine.
My friend, I hope to see
you soon. Though we live so far apart now, I feel like our friendship is worth
saving and these small links that connect us together are our only ones. Do
know, that I wait for your next one, longing to know how you are, and where you
want to go with your life next. I will always ask for your opinion about mine.
There is so much to do and so little time, but please do spend just a moment of
it to respond.
With as much love as I
can pour onto a paper, your childhood friend:
Lee.
Felix's:
Fluffles was a playful type: always jumping or running around and provoking 'daww's from people in general. But what they didn't know was that she had a secret... a secret so dark that poor little Fluffles would have to kill whoever knew it. But of course we're exempt from that rule, because technically Fluffles won't ever know that we know that she is actually a poet.
Fluffles hates poetry. In fact, Fluffles is only a poet because the story needed a surprise ending. This is stupid.
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