On Other Things

By other things, it should be clear that I'm referring to neither fictional writing nor 3D modeling. If the reader has seen my introductory post, then what should immediately come to mind is programming.

In this case, my pursuit in crafting a game.

A Brief Sojourn

*tick-tock* … *tick-tock*

3. "A Walk in the Park" (P4)

Sitting behind a desk wearing a suit and tie was a rather annoyed looking man staring at his phone. As to the source of his current mood, one of several events in the day could be chosen; if, of course, it was not their combination. Having chased a lead for a recent case for over a week that had resulted in a dead end, he had not slept well that night.

3. "A Walk in the Park" (P3)

Late in the afternoon, an overcast day broke into a light shower. As the rain began to saturate the concrete ground with puddles, Novella drowsily spied out her second story window at the pedestrians running for cover, trying to avoid getting wet. Others, more prepared, could be seen calmly extracting their umbrellas. The pitter-patter of rain and the occasional whooshing and splashing of a car speeding by pushed Novella into a fitful state of thought. Nearly a week had passed since her meeting with Tim, the thief. Indeed, hardly a second would pass without that day on her mind.

3. "A Walk in the Park" (P2)

If anything, life was good. Fun! Exciting! My dad thought I would never amount to anything. Whenever he was around he would say, “Son, all that intelligence, yet you never try to amount to anything.” Ha, look at me now. No wasting time in school, no wasting time at home being bored. Dodging city dwellers and police, most don’t even know I exist. All the forensics and money in the world, and they couldn’t figure out that I didn’t actually die.

3. "A Walk in the Park" (P1)

The sun was setting, casting a brilliant orange hue on everything that was not in the shadows of the surrounding skyscrapers. In the distance one could hear the sounds of light traffic muffled by the dense foliage in the park, the last signs of the more persevering workers coming home.

Sitting on a worn bench in one of those golden streaks could be seen a young woman. Although, it would be better to use the word girl, as she was not much older than sixteen. Her brown hair was cut short and quite messy, though kept clean. She was adorned in some mismatched attire. Beige pants which had been hanging from a clothesline in an alleyway. A grey jacket that was laying on the passenger seat behind the open window of a car. Risky rubber boots found next to an apartments open door with voices heard just on the inside. Two fingerless leather gloves, a gift. Despite this appearance, her blossoming femininity shone through. Her head was slightly bowed, with her hazel eyes squinting deep in thought. Things can change so fast and she needed some time to catch up.

2. "Beach House"

Success is what matters. At least, I was pretty sure of that yesterday. I had everything any woman would want. An important position managing a hedge fund. The private jet, you have no idea how freeing it is to know you can go almost anywhere in a few hours. Plenty of houses, such as this one. It’s a fantastic summer home really. I had it made to exact specifications, following the most modern designs with elegant straight lines. Gigantic glass windows facing the ocean to take in the entire panoramic view from almost anywhere in the building. Some might say it was empty and austere. No this is elegance and functionality. Also …

I am … so sore...

Oh, I almost forgot to mention, my husband. We first met when he applied to work for me. It was far more than a business relationship. We seemed perfect for eachother. Though, thats what everyone says, but it seemed true. Then yesterday he left. No ... thats not right. I should restart.

Another Beginning

Actually, it is less of a beginning than a synopsis; and a little promise of things to come. As mentioned in the dramatized version of my biography, I am somewhat into 3d modeling.

1. "Blue Collar"

Thinking was an escape. Richard tried to pretend that he was doing something profound in his head, but with a tedious job that required constant motion, there really was little else that he could do. An arbitrary part to a machine of long forgotten purpose had to be placed in a furnace. It was always the same part. There was a scale to the side and a bin for if the part was the wrong weight. After eight years working in the factory, he no longer needed to use the scale and simply tossed the flawed pieces into the bin.

Introducing ... Me?

Stoician was quite certain that he did not like writing. At least, putting words on paper was something that he did copious amounts of in high school and he could not remember any pleasurable memories associated with it. As he related on many occasions, “I will not be going into writing.” Despite this, he did become quite able with the pen during that time. Significantly better than the average in fact; though, the other engineers that he was making this comparison with were probably a less than ideal sample group.