[insert witty title here]

He softly stroked the wood. His fingers trailed up and down along the firm shaft. It was strong, powerful, firm. As was the nature of such things, it was growing steadily over time…and each inch he saw it grow, he couldn’t help but smile.
Such was the nature of a tree, really.
He had given it a little help, of course. As he stroked across the oak, several open patches would reveal circuitry, wires, and a few engines. His own work.
Others would say that it was pointless. What could cybernetics do for trees? In his long years of living here, however, he had not only given a point to the pointless, but said point had enabled his home to flourish like never before. Trees shot into the skies, flowers spread like wildfire, water sparkled in purity. All thanks to his own work, doing the impossible.
He pulled his hand off of the tree and looked at it–nature had given her own gift back to him, in thanks for his gift to her. Another impossibility that he and only he had made possible, was creating mechanical parts out of nature’s own pieces. Wood replaced metal, vines replaced circuitry, latex and sap replaced oil.
Impossible! He could hear the scientists crying out already. Wood could never have the durability and flexibility that wrought iron and steel has! Vines could never conduct electricity!
And they couldn’t–by themselves. But he had taken nature’s gifts, and modified them in ways nobody could ever think possible. The secrets were his, and his alone.

As he walked through the forest, he gripped his cloak and wrapped it tighter around himself, hiding the damaged metal body.
He was an android, previously. A prototype made by a scientist–a breakthrough. A truly human robot! A robot that looked, sounded, and acted EXACTLY like a human!
Humanoid robots were not too rare a thing in this day and age, but a robot that looked EXACTLY like a human? Had synthetic flesh, could smile, frown, grit his teeth, brush his teeth, use the bathroom, eat, and drink? A robot that could think, learn, and grow?
The next breakthrough in scientific evolution.
Then came the controversy.

They argued and fought over him. What was the point of giving a robot human flaws? What was the point of making a robot so human? When was the point where a robot could be indistinguishable from a human? Should humans stay a unique race? Should we be allowed to ‘build’ more humans? Should we ‘upgrade’ humans to be like robots? Where should we draw the line–should there even BE a line?
Some debates had been polite. He enjoyed being at them, even if it was his fate they were talking about. Others were absolutely furious.
One of the latter debates got out of hand. He and his creator were assaulted and forcibly seperated. He cried out for his creator, reaching out at the last moments.
Then an iron pipe turned everything to black.

When he woke up, he was being drug to a forest. Arms bound tight. His captors wouldn’t say anything, and they had ripped all of the flesh off of him, exposing his metal armor and circuitry underneath. When he asked too much, they beat him around some more, then threw him in a river.
Though he was humanlike in many ways, he never was able to swim. His heavyweight construction made sure of that. The water filling into his extremities and soaking vital electronic parts also made sure of that.

Nature, however, saw fit to spare him. He woke up, washed up on a shore near the edge of the forest. Still soaked, but the sun and its heat had mostly dried him off. It took several hours of trial, error, and electrocutions, but he eventually figured out what components were still functional and what others were too ruined to keep. He stripped himself free of them, which left him…almost literally half a robot. He would need to rebuild his other half, but he needed parts for that.
The only place he could get components was from nature herself. Being a prototype, he wasn’t built for much actual function. He couldn’t fight, he couldn’t debate. But he could think, learn, and develop. It would take some time, but he could be like Robinson Crusoe and the Swiss Family Robinson.

It had taken 31 years, to be exact. Technology had advanced incredibly since then–he had absolutely no doubt that he had been replicated in a more “acceptable” manner. Perhaps there were rules about how a robot should be different from humans.
He hadn’t forsaken contact with the outside world. The first thing he had done in the forest was build a primitive television and radio from his ruined parts. He also subscribed to a newspaper, which was delivered every day by an understandably-confused newsman. He had picked up a rifle since then, and had taught himself in how to use it. He cut off his hand and built it into his good arm so that it would be an extension of himself.
And, of course, he had thanked nature herself for saving him, several times. It was his crusade to protect and develop the wilderness. With his unique brand of cybernetics, he could develop nature to levels nobody had ever thought before. He could expand the world, push back the destruction that humans had wrought.
Heh. Humans. Arrogant fools.
“To be less human is to be more than human.”
Why did this have to apply to just humans?
Why not…nature, as well?

The most basic of rules to remember about the Forgotten Zekailian dialect is that it is not a simple swap-words-from-English language. Forgotten Zekailian has different grammatical rules and setups than English, one of the most prominent being that Forgotten Zekailian is shorter. Linking words do not exist, and only the most important words exist in a single Forgotten Zekailian sentence.
For example, the english sentence of “Good morning to you, friend, this is a lovely day!” would, in Forgotten Zekailian, be shortened to “Morning, friend, lovely day!”. Often a Zekailian sentence translated to English sounds broken (or even ‘caveman’) due to the linking words missing.
In other words, a Forgotten Zekailian sentence could be compared to a girl’s skirt–the shorter, the better, but it should always cover the most important parts.

The structure of a Forgotten Zekailian sentence is usually the same. Opening, Information, Closing. The type of opening used generally determines the intent of the message, be it formal, casual, or insulting. “Sta” is for casual opening, “Sre” is for formal opening, and “Kul” is for an insulting opening. Depending upon the tone used, a single sentence can mean many different things.
“Sta, that not good” is a casual suggestion to a friend debunking his idea.
“Sre, that not good” is a subordinate opposing something politely to a superior.
“Kul, that not good” is saying that plain sucks and you suck for suggesting it.
The closing is the same, no matter how the tone of the message was. “Ini” is the ending used for all of the sentences, and just generally informs somebody when somebody’s ramble is finished so that they can respond. Omitting this from a sentence means you’re leaving a thought hanging, and might continue in a bit.

Sentences are formed out of words, and words are the most important parts. The words are constantly interconnected to other words to formulate sentences, and are connected in writing through hyphens. Omitting hyphens and putting more than one space between words means you have ended a sentence.
An example being “I sore (and) I tired” being “Sta-Ah se-gre eev-Ah se-fra rad-Ini.”
A period between “I sore. I tired” would be “Sta-Ah se-gre eev Ah se-fra rad-Ini.”
Note that words have two parts to them–a finishing part to connect them to the previous word, and a starting part to connect them to the next. “I” is “Ah se”, as noted above. “sore” is “gre eev”. The finishing part is often the same depending upon the root of the word, it is the ending that identifies it. “Sore” is “gre eev”, but the finisher “gre” identifies it as a word having to do with pain (emotional or physical), which is its root.
Hurt is “gre rreti”, sad is “gre dasd”, agony is “gre sev”, and pain is “gre treis”. All of them have the first part, the finisher, as “gre”, which identifies them all as having the same root, and thus gives a general idea of what the word is before the second part, the started is spoken.
The root of “Ah” indicates words that have to do with the self. “Ah se” is “I”, “Ah des” is selfishness, “Ah dasd” is self pity (translating literally as “self sad”), and “Ah treis” is self-inflicted pain.

You bastards
Putting kittens in dumpsters
While claiming to save their lives

Their lives are a lie
A deception to make exception
My reception is fuzzy
My perception negative
The interception of animals is only right when you do it
Left?

THE KITTENS LOVED YOU, DAMMIT

frowny face

):

I see them all hung up on the wall
So desperate at the futility of it all
A concept I could never possibly understand
Why would someone hate an existence so grand?

Perhaps if I rounded them all up,
They could tell me a tale
Of how they so desperately tried,
But only managed to fail
Or maybe it was nothing so grand,
Just maybe it was pain,
Either emotional, physical, or…
Nothing so mundane?

There once was a man with a grudge to settle,
Against his innocent little kitchen kettle…
Oh, how he so tried
Until he would find
That he hadn’t the mettle to damage the metal

This rage consumes me
Those schoolyard taunts did not lie
My mother’s a whore

Schizophrenia?
Insanity?
Perhaps.
Rambling
Disjointed
Random
Illegible

Attempts to understand
Always thrown aside
Bastards won’t even explain
“Better off not knowing why”

Comprehension is what I seek
Clearing your mind is what I desire
Don’t let these feelings rule over you
Depression only kills, and many have fallen before you

Why do you do this?
Why do you close off your mind?
Why do you offer no explanation as to this?
Why do depression and anger have such a hold over you?





The pie is lemon
I asked for apple

The tears
They will not stop

It took a little more than a soccer ball to the face to get him to stop. Specifically, it took a plasma soccer ball charged with ki energy to the face to get him to stop. Jack Wilson growled as he picked himself up off of the cement, wiping some blood away from his lips, glaring at the cocky teenaged girl that just floored him.
She was tall and lean, covered in a sleeveless blue hoodie, zipped up and with the hood over her head, “DORIANNE” emblazed on the back along with the number “04″. Jutting out from the hood was a baseball cap, the brim enshrouding the top of her face in shadow, though leaving an arrogant sneer over at him. Wearing some tan cargo shorts and unlaced Converse sneakers to finish the ensemble, she looked more ready to get into a soccer field than a brawl.
She didn’t want to get into a brawl, though. She was drug in by her conscience. Jack Wilson was the bully of Northern California Community University, he and his gang. N.C.C.U. was referred to as the “School of Hard Knocks” for a reason, though–more than half of the students were martial artists. Some had professional training, others simply took their studies and applied their burning spirit to it. Jack was one of the former, making no secret of his Muay Thai training, and making use of it to intimidate people into doing what he wanted. He even looked the part of a gangster, clad head to toe in leather–a leather jacket, shirt, pants, gloves, and boots, all black and with various chains.
And she had interrupted one of the most textbook cases of bullying–forcing someone to give them their lunch money. Dorianne had interfered. The victim had split, but her blood was boiling with the prospect of a good fight. And Jack wasn’t at all willing to stand down to someone who’d interrupted his…”work”.
“PLASMA PUNT!” Dorianne screamed as more ki energy gathered up on the ground, swinging her foot and slamming the side into the ball, launching it over at Jack. Jack dove over as the energy ball wrecked into the concrete where he was only seconds ago, launching broken ground and cement into the air. Jack took off sprinting, dashing his way over to Dorianne as his hand enveloped in fire.
“Nobody makes a fool of me, girl, and especially not a jock like you!” He screamed as he swung the fist forward. Dorianne casually leaned to the side to avoid it. It looked cool, but was ultimately unsound, as Jack only needed to bend his arm in to jut his elbow out. The elbow hit her harder than she was expecting and stumbled back, vision blurred as Jack followed up with a knee to the stomach, another to the chest, and a leaping spin kick across the face to send her flying back.
It only took a few seconds for Dorianne to regain her senses. “Say what? I couldn’t hear you over your crying!” She laughed as she thrust out her hand to catch the ground before she hit it, pushing herself back into the air and flipping onto her feet.
“I’ll just say this–FIREWORKS!” Jack crouched down low, his left knuckle scraping against the ground, then swung it up into the air with enough force to send him up into the air along with the punch. The ground exploded along with his uppercut, a stream of fire blazing out of the ground and high into the air. Dorianne quickly backed away from the stream, and by the time it had cleared Jack could see she was running over at top speed. He spun around for another kick, but Dorianne crouched low and slid on the ground, kicking out Jack’s supporting leg and sending him tumbling on the ground.
He thrust his hands on the ground to push himself up, but soon found himself staring at sky. Dorianne was already up before him and had taken to dribbling him around like a soccer ball. Sharp kicks came at all angles to his body as she danced around his form, turning him over and spinning him around with every blow.
“Dammit, stop being a coward!” He snarled, and she simply laughed in return. Every cackle from her caused him to burn more and more with rage. She had pissed him off enough even with simply interrupting his extortion. But now, it was time to get serious. He swung his arms to the side and jammed both his elbows into the concrete, fire enshrouding his entire form–the next few dribbles Dorianne did were ones she promptly regretted, and she hopped back a few paces with that smirk wiped off her face and a yelp on her lips.
Jack slowly stood up off of the ground, his entire form still enshrouded in flame and taking one step at a time over at Dorianne. She got the point, and slowly backed off. She couldn’t punch him, she couldn’t kick him, she couldn’t even touch him without suffering some pain. She resumed her usual sneer, though, as she swung her foot back once again, a ball of ki forming on the ground.
“PLASMA PUNT!” She kicked the ball again, sending it veering over at Jack–he simply stood there as the ball hit him and the fire swallowed it whole. Dorianne’s sneer started to falter.
“PLASMA PUNT!” The fire enshrouded the ball again.
“PLASMA PUNT!” Yet another ball, yet another enshrouding.
“PLASMA PUNT!” As with the last three times, the ball was enveloped and destroyed.
Jack simply continued to make his way over to Dorianne, who returned to slowly backing away. She couldn’t face someone she couldn’t hit.

SPLOOOOSSSSSHHHHH! A bucket of water came out of nowhere, pouring a torrent onto Jack’s fire and dousing him completely. The holder of the bucket was a strict-looking older woman, who glared down at Jack in disapproval, her eyes narrowed behind her glasses.
Jack blinked once. Then he blinked again. Then he slowly lifted up his hands to look at them, hoping to find even some fire on them.
“Jack?” The woman spoke in a hiss.
“…Yes, Mrs. Berkley?” Jack muttered.
“Come see my office after school ends for detention.”
“Yes, Mrs. Berkley.”