Creative Writer: Brian Williams - "Musings of Royalty"

Musings of Royalty

Written by Brian Youngjoon Williams, former English teacher and University of Washington graduate with a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing. Brian is a content writer and game writer and editor.


She writhed in pain. I find no joy in watching her, even though she is pretty enough by any standards. I do find it weary that they always assume a white dress is required. The white always gets dirty with dirt and blood. Not that I care, mind you. In the end only the quality matters. I closed my eyes and settle down in my cave, darkness hiding my bulk from my next meal. I’m too tired to be bothered at the moment.

They say I prefer highborn and that is true, but a maiden is a maiden. All else just tastes…sullied. High born ladies tend to run to promiscuity at an earlier age. Whether or not that’s an attempt to hold me off or a castle full of sows that cannot wait to begin breeding I do not know.

The funny thing is the knights who come and attempt to pacify me, as if I am some sort of creature to be reasoned with or defeated through valor. It amuses me. Year after year knights ride up to rescue fair maidens and I get a free celebratory meal. A deal worthy of a king. They typically appear if there’s a noble blooded creature tied up outside, as if noble blood is somehow more pure. They all taste the same to me. Towards the end it’s the peasants girls I’m more inclined to pity. They don’t blubber and cry at the end. They tend to go quiet and accept the fate that has been doled out to them.

This one wasn’t crying. Yet, anyway. She’d only been tied up for a few minutes. I’m not sure why they gave her to me. Usually it’s appeasement for ignoring their flocks and villagers. The king uses me as a last line of defense, sending a highborn noble as payment when I kill off bandits or invading armies. Only reason I’m still here, really. Give humans too much grief and even the most cowed peasant will charge into a ball of fire. It’s not hard to kill them but eventually you’ll get some hero who specializes in killing beings like me.

“Hello?” She spoke. Interesting. Most merely screamed till their throats bled.

“Is there anyone there?” I slit open one eye. I can see her, standing now. Her arms are still hobbled above her, fixed to the chain that has held countless numbers of my meals. She’s tall but thin, too thin. A shame that this one would hardly serve for more than a snack. It has been ages since a proper meal. My kind can survive on precious little. It depends on what you want to be. A lizard who hordes gold eats metals of all kinds, little more than a scavenger that is too lazy to find food.

Royal dragons now, we subsist on human sacrifices. Every human sacrifices many times in a day. Ask any peasant toiling in the field or a king presiding over a treaty. Ask them what they sacrifice for. The peasant sacrifices his time and energy to provide for his family, the king sacrifices his pride and family for the sake of his country. I ask for human sacrifice for action or my lack of action.

The difference between me and humans is that humans sacrifice. I do not.

“Do you know where you are?” I ask the girl. She recoils at the lack of sound, hair splashing around her face and she searches for me. Primitive humans, depending on their ears to communicate.

“Where are you?” She cries. Humans, always failing to answer even the simplest of questions.

“I ask again, do you know where you are?” Comprehension settled on her. Her head bowed first, then her shoulders shagged. The rest of her posture quickly fell, dominoes of visible despair quietly settling into acceptance.

“I do.” Her voice barely passes her lips.

“Why were you placed here?” She looks up, an almost cliché spark of defiance in her eyes.

“My stepmother fears that my father, a duke, favors me above her own children. She told him I was chosen by fate to be sacrificed.” The voice is clear, echoing against the shattered bones and rocks, shaking up the pure souls that haunt them.


Picture: She's not in chains, but it still helps with the visual.

“What is the sacrifice for?”

“I am here to be eaten by you.” She says it with no malice. She accepts.

“But for no purpose. A debt that leaves me in the hands of humans till it is repaid. I am not a servant. I am Royal.” I can feel the fire within me begin to leak out between my teeth. I cannot see my own eyes but I feel the blood rushing through my head, changing the color from gold to ruby. The girl, the maiden, stood. Her blond hair fell over part of her face, obscuring her eyes.

“I can tell you the price of my death.”

“You do not die. You are the sacrifice humans deem necessary for me to act.” They never understand. The king does, or perhaps did. A king knows he must give up his family for his country. Sometimes in marriage, sometimes for me.

“I am a sacrifice?”

“Yes, a sacrifice for me to decide whether to fulfill my function. I am the Royal dragon, above the king, below the lowest peasant.” She looks at me bemusedly. I see in her eyes that she is a smart one. Perhaps her stepmother was not wrong to destroy her before she could be a true threat.

“Then…the reason I am being sacrificed is this: the wife of Duke Copeland, Duchess Aleshia Copeland, must perish before she can harm my father and the rest of the kingdom.” The girl says this in that same clear voice. I cherish it.

“The agreement is made.” I emerge from the cave. She doesn’t scream, doesn’t weep. She just looks at me as I approach.



About the author:

Brian Youngjoon Williams lives in Washington state, outside of Seattle. He is a creative writer, content writer, game writer and editor, a former English instructor and a graduate from University of Washington with a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing.
For another amazing story from Brian Williams, please read Playmates, a wonderful story of a girl exploring the forest.

Enjoy!!

Creative Writing: Playmates, by Brian Youngjoon Williams

Playmates

Written by Brian Williams, former English teacher and University of Washington graduate with a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing. Brian is a content writer, creative writer, and aspiring game writer and editor.


In my house, there’s one rule: don’t go into the forest by yourself. We live on the edge of a forest with a ravine, nothing too deep or steep, just dangerous if you fell into it alone. My husband Alex tried fencing it off when we first moved, before we had our second child. However, he was from the city and didn’t understand the need to have concrete bases for the beams. He thought that pounding it in deep would hold it steady. Though it stood proud and tall with whitewashed planks holding back the wilderness, the first rains came and it failed miserably. If you’ve ever seen the slo-mo collapse of a bridge, you’ll understand what it looked like. Planks flailing every which way as the soggy ground no longer supported it. I suppose he could have rebuilt it, putting in concrete posts, but, honestly, I liked seeing the trees and the way our lawn gave way to wilderness.



So it went that we made one rule about the forest, never go in alone. Our first child, Luke, didn’t mind. He wasn’t really the adventurous type, preferring to stay indoors to watch Barney or play with his legos. We usually had to coax him to go outside, and when he did he always stayed well away from the edge of the forest. Even if he lost a ball or a Frisbee through the trees and down the ravine, he would come and find us and have us go down and get it.

Our second child, Alana, was different. She hated being inside, often screaming when we tried to force her in. Even at the age of four, she was a handful, spirited, always wearing me out, making me feel as if I was chasing down a rabbit on foot, always bumbling behind her. Full of mischief and quick to anger, her eyes darted around the room like they were following hyperactive molecules bouncing off the walls. She was often clothed in brown, regardless of whatever I had set out for her in the morning, covered in enough mud or dust to make it seem like she was trying to bring the earth with her. However, to see her at the best was when she was in the forest, playing among the trees. She danced among the flowers, gathering energy from their swaying motion in the wind. I loved watching her play in the thin strip of land before the ravine, jumping through imaginary hoops and landing with a whumph before doing it again. When it was sunny she seemed to gain another energy source, playing almost nonstop in that stretch of forest. Her hands scrabbled in the dirt, feeling and absorbing the mess as if it gave her life. Despite all her chirps and squeals, the forest is what gave her spirit. Lanky trees with splayed limbs seem to reach out to her to dance, Alana pulling on their arms briefly before spinning away to another partner. The few great pines between our lawn and the ravine served as soldiers in her imaginary world, standing tall and proud as she addressed them with orders. Whenever she played, even on the drabbest of days, the trees seem to spread their branches to let more light in, illuminating her in her world.



Some days, when it was raining, she would spend the afternoon staring out back into the trees. The rain pounding on the leaves seems to reflect her frustration at not being able to play, each drop representing a personal affront to her. The darkened clouds were some sort of personal enemy to her, I think. Thunder was the worst, making her scream whenever a crash pealed down from the clouds, as if a giant beast was roaring and flashing teeth of lightning.

One night, after a particularly bad storm, a tree blew over into the ravine, crashing and tumbling the fifty feet to the bottom, waking everyone in the house. Luke went right back to bed and apparently didn’t think much of it. Alana, however, ran into our bedroom, crying.

“Mama, Euraka died! He fell over!” She was hugging me and crying. I assumed that she had a bad dream about some animal and the noise had woken her. I hugged her, telling her it was going to be alright.

“No, mama! He fell over! He’s fell over!” I managed to comfort her and she eventually fell asleep in our bed, whispering about how he fell. In the morning my husband went out to observe the damage.

(Story continues after the break...)

Click here to read the full story: http://cartoondisneypics.blogspot.com/2011/04/creative-writing-playmates-by-brian.html

“The tree managed to fall without hitting any of the others,” He said when he got back to the house. “Somehow. It wasn’t as bad as it sounded last night. Everything else looks fine. Even the trail down to the bottom isn’t washed out.” Luke was sitting in front of the TV, watching Saturday morning cartoons, while Alana was upstairs playing with her toys. She seemed much calmer once the storm blew over, though she occasionally whispered goodbye to Euraka.

“That’s strange. Last time we had something as strong as that we had to wait till the entire ravine to dry out.” It was that or slide all the way to the bottom. The trails were treacherous when wet, often turning into mud at the merest suggestion of rain. I looked over the trees standing tall and absorbing the morning sun. “Just as well, I suppose. I hate having to go down there to pick up balls and such. If it was a mudbath…ugh.” While I loved nature, sometimes walking down to the bottom of the ravine three times a day to get a ball got tiresome.

We puttered the morning away, doing small chores and watching the children. Alana wanted to be back outside, probably to play in the wet trees. I made her finish her letters before pulling on my coat and heading out back with her. She could scarcely contain her excitement, dancing among the trees after a fresh rain. Thankfully, the sun was warming everything up, lifting the smell of fresh life into our noses.

“Alana, make sure you don’t go too far now.” I called out, pulling out a romance novel. I didn’t really like reading them, but I never had the time for more serious books. I sat in the dewy grass, listening to my daughter play.

“I’m sorry Mr. Euraka is gone. Why did he fall over?” A moment of empty silence. “Why did he want to die?” her voice echoed quietly around the trees, a dead echo. “My mommy could have fixed him!” The voice was like a quiet gunshot, forceful and powerful even though it lacked in volume. Birds flew off, frightened by the shout.

I looked at my daughter. Alana appeared to be conversing with a bush and a flower, standing in front of them with her hands on her hips. Her lips were pouting but the effect was spoiled by the slight smudge on her cheek.

“Alana, honey, who are you talking to?”

“Domi and Dar-Dar, mommy. They told me that Mr. Euraka was too old to stay up in the storm last night.” I looked at my daughter. She seemed to believe what she was saying.

“Honey…”

“Don’t worry. I told them that you can fix them next time.” She looked at me with pride. I sighed, knowing that bursting a four-year-olds’ bubble is next to impossible, especially when it was Alana. She smiled and went back to talking to Domi and Dar-Dar, enjoying the fresh air as I looked at her over the top of my book. Eventually evening came and I carried her back inside. I often lost track time keeping up with her, coming in when it started to get dark. Thankfully it was spring, just warm enough to spend all day outside playing but short enough so you didn’t wear yourself out doing it. After we had put the children to bed, we sat in ours talking about our lazy Saturday.

“How was Luke?” They had gone to the hardware store to buy something. Or to walk around. I could never understand why.

“Well behaved. He seemed to like looking at the different power tools.”

“Typical male.” I said with a smile. Alex made the noise of the deeply offended. “Alana spent the entire day playing in the forest again. I found out why she was crying last night. Apparently she knew the tree that fell over.”

Alex snorted. “Honey, she’s just a kid with an overactive imagination. She probably had a nightmare and decided to name the tree after it.” I shrugged, unwilling to tell him more about the conversation she had with the others in the forest.

The next morning I had both children go out together, mostly because I had to do some last minute chores and didn’t feel like going outside. Even though Luke would much rather play inside, occasionally he would go outside with his sister. They didn’t get along often, which I put down to the four year age gap, but he understood that he was supposed to watch her. I glanced out the back window occasionally to make sure they hadn’t strayed too far into the forest.

“Moooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooom…” I heard my son call from the doorway. “Alana went down deeper into the ravine even though I told her not to.” I quickly ran out and looked over the forest. I couldn’t see my daughter anywhere.

“Luke, come inside. I’m going to get her.” I quickly shoved on some unused running shoes and grabbed a coat before hurrying out back. I couldn’t hear my daughter, which was somewhat reassuring since she was loud when she was hurt. I hurried past the remnants of the fence that separated the best path down from our yard, quickly descending the dirt covered trial. Alana always wandered down to the bottom to play in the stream, pretending it was a river waiting to be crossed.

“Alana! Alana, answer mommy!” I called as I hurried down. Not that there was much that could happen down here. The real danger came from slipping off the trail and falling to the bottom. But if she had made it to the bottom…

“Alaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaana…” My voice seemed to be swallowed up by the quiet trees. I was worried for her, feeling my fear well up as I reached the bottom and looked up and down the stream, gurgling like an empty stomach after a hard day, not at all helping my mood. I couldn’t see or hear her. She usually responded right away. “Where are you?” I whispered.

There…

A breath of wind turned my head. Something…something brought my attention to a clump of trees on the other side of the stream, down near the recently felled tree. I walked toward it, not knowing why I felt so frightened. As I neared the trees, I noticed that these were mere offshoots of some tree, though I had no idea what they were. It was strange to see them all clumped together, like a little crowd. It was eerie the way the fallen tree was resting right at the edge of this crowd…

“And that’s why he fell down. He wasn’t feeling well.” I heard my daughter’s voice. Somehow it was coming from inside the little crowd of trees. I walked closer to see exactly where she was.

But he was so big…

I looked around for the voice that echoed in the wind. It didn’t feel right, somehow. It wasn’t just the wind, there was just…

“My mommy can help you. She always makes me feel better.” I still couldn’t see my daughter even though I was just outside the little crowd, hardly higher than my waist. Her voice was coming from inside the thicket.

Can she help us?

“Alana?” I said.

“Mommy?” I watched as the shoots were pushed aside and her face poked out. “Did you come to help my friends?” I looked around.

“Alana, who were you talking to? There’s no one else down here.” I held off on yelling at her about coming down here alone. I wanted to know where the voices were coming from.

“I’m talking to my new friends. They’re scared of falling over like Mr. Euraka.” I looked for the telltale smile that any adult would have at this point, proving her words to be a joke. However, innocent blue eyes stared back at me, as if I could make things better.

“Alana…”

“Come in here and see, mommy. Maybe you can tell them to not be afraid.” I sighed, wishing my daughter wasn’t so taken with this. She disappeared back amongst the trees, almost as if there was another world in there. I squatted down and leaned my head in.

I don’t know if I saw what Alana saw. Inside was not what I expected. The shoots seemed to be alive, their tiny branches like thin arms, wrapped around each other for support. Alana looked completely at ease, sitting criss-cross applesauce in the middle of the crowd of small children, stronger than any of them by far. Somehow I knew that those children were connected to the trees around us. Each of these children had a face, though it was the kind of face that faded into the woodwork.

I was speechless.

“Mommy, these are my new friends. Everyone, this is my mommy.” Alana said, gesturing towards me.

Hello…

“Alana, what…what is this?” I whispered. Around me, the children swayed.

“They came here last night in the storm. They knew Mr. Euraka.” That seemed to be all that she was going to say.

“Alana…”

Please…

“Who said that?”

Please let us grow…

The whispering died, or perhaps it never began. I looked at the swaying faces, the trees that were…weren’t…were real.

“Alana, can you hear them?” I asked, looking at my daughter.

“Yes, of course. Can’t everyone?” Once again, that too innocent face looked at me, my head and shoulders barely fitting into this little group.

“I think it’s time to go inside.”

“But moooooom, you have to help them!” Alana frowned at me.

Please…we don’t want to fall…

I stared. “Okay, starting tomorrow, we’ll replant these trees up by the house, on the edge of the lawn. That way you can take care of them.” Alana nodded and smiled.

Thank you…

“Thank you mommy!” She said. I managed to coax her up and out of the trees, where she blinked sleepily. The trees seem to be content, letting my daughter say goodbye and waving with their little limbs, fingers splayed.

“Nap time honey. Let’s go up to the house.” I began to walk back up the trails.

“Don’t forget you said you’ll move them. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t.” After climbing out of the ravine, I put her to bed. Luke and his father were no where to be seen, so I grabbed a shovel and some gardening gloves and walked back down the ravine. Yet, despite how hard I looked, I never found those dancing children again.




About the author:

Brian Williams lives in Washington state, outside of Seattle. He is a former English instructor and a graduate from University of Washington with a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing. He is a creative writer, content writer, and aspiring video game writer and editor.

For another amazing (and shorter) story from Brian Williams, please read Musings of Royalty, a wonderful story of a dragon.

Enjoy!

X6-227 -- Creative Writing by Ed Price

X6-227

by Ed Price, Creative Writer

==========================


In 2209, a 12-year old boy named X6-227 (his friends called him Josh) awoke from his bunk. He always slept on a top bunk in his barracks because it allowed him to see down through the window, in case any intruder was ever stupid enough to try to infiltrate their camp and break into their barracks. He knew there were many opponents to the X-CORE 9 program, and he frequently heard of riots breaking out in nearby Seattle. He wouldn’t put it past the protesters to attack his home.

Apparently some people were a little upset that the United States was building up a small army of super-human soldiers. Josh didn’t care about the politics. All he knew was the life he lived. He was born in a lab to become a super soldier. That’s all that Josh thought about.
He wanted to be someone; he wanted honor and glory. He didn’t care what the U.S. wanted him to do. Josh wanted to be prepared for whatever it was, and that’s what Josh was thinking about: how he was going to prepare for his future missions.

Suddenly, Josh heard a noise outside, and his thoughts immediately turned to it instead. He saw a shadow shift on the ground outside. He strained to see what had cast it. “Maybe this isn’t the best vantage point,” he thought. It was about 2 AM. The other five boys in his room were all asleep, including his bunk-mate, X6-332, who was known as Alex. Another boy was even snoring. That was X6-498, James. James is always snoring. How can he be an X6 agent if he can’t even sleep without making noise? Josh shook his head as he silently slid down to the floor.

He gently tapped Alex on his chest. Alex opened his eyes and looked at his friend. Using sign language, Josh brought Alex up to speed about the intruder. Both boys slept in their clothes, boots and all; so they were ready to go. They slowly edged toward the window. For a split second, Josh saw a head duck down off in the woods. “Someone penetrated our camp barrier,” Josh signed to Alex.

“Window or door?” Alex signed back. “Good question,” Josh thought as he edged back to the door and slowly opened it, peering out. Sergeant Logan was sleeping at his desk. Even though the door didn’t make a sound, Josh was surprised the door didn’t wake the grizzled old man. Josh thought the air current of the door opening might even be enough of a disturbance to wake up Logan.

Josh carefully closed the door. “Window,” he signed to Alex. Of course, their window doesn’t open, so the boys had to spend the next two minutes dismantling the window to open it. “The intruder is getting away,” Josh thought. He wondered why his and Alex’s movement didn’t wake up any of the other boys. “James is snoring,” Josh remembered. Maybe the snoring was good for something after all.

The two boys slipped out of the window as they carefully and slowly lowered each other down. As Josh and Alex landed, they used the toes of their boots to push the dried leaves away. They didn’t want to make any crunching sounds in a camp full of genetically-altered soldiers. Josh heard a distant sound in the woods. Alex heard it too and signed, “He’s still here.”

The boys moved quickly while being careful not to make any sounds. They moved into the woods and passed the large oak tree. There were a lot of underground tunnels in the area, but Josh and Alex hadn’t found them all. Josh saw some tracks. Or Josh thought he saw some tracks. At closer inspection, he realized that what he saw were former tracks. Someone was covering up his own tracks. Josh signed this to Alex. The boys spread out to look for more covered tracks.
As they were looking, Alex saw a faint circular line in the dirt. He waved his hand for Josh to join him. The boys slowly lifted the hatch to an underground tunnel, and they disappeared into the shadows. Click. Click. The boys’ wire lights turned on as they explored the tunnel. There was only one way to go.

Before long, the boys came to a dead-end chamber. “Something is wrong,” Josh thought. As if to confirm his suspicions, Josh felt the muzzle of a combat rifle on the back of his neck. Josh was busy wondering if he could disarm his assailant when he heard Alex speak out loud for the first time that evening, “Oh. Hi Nicole.”

“Hey boys!” Nicole said cheerfully. Josh whipped around to see Nicole (X6-038) and Adrian (X6-412); both giggled thoroughly after seeing Josh’s expression. Josh smiled. Only Nicole was crazy enough to sneak out of her barracks with a gun in the middle of the night. Of course, he and Alex also just snuck out. “But that’s different,” Josh reassured himself, “I thought we were chasing an intruder.”

“Uh, what are you girls doing here?” Josh tried to sound like an authority figure. Of course, he always had a crush on Nicole. Who wouldn’t? She was beautiful, full of life, she had a rebellious nature, and she was one of the best soldiers in the camp, including the boys.

“Well, Adge and I found something that you’re going to love,” Nicole sang her words, and she seemed to ignore Josh’s authoritative tone. Alex was about to ask who Adge was when he saw Adrian looking at him. He stood there for a few seconds while his mouth was still open. Adrian’s look told Alex that she already knew his question, that the answer was obvious, and that he was an idiot. A girl’s look can say a lot. Alex closed his mouth while he took all that in. Josh observed it and smiled.

After finding a hidden hatch that the boys missed and after going through a series of tunnels, the four genetically engineered soldiers came across a large room with a table in the middle. “This is our place,” Nicole said cheerfully. “Nicole tends to say everything cheerfully,” Josh thought to himself. On the table laid a key. Josh didn’t know what the key did, but he would soon find out. That key would change Josh’s life forever and would keep him occupied for the next five years.

Nicole knew that her little team had just doubled in size. She smiled at this thought.


==========================

About the author: Ed 'word' Price is a Content Writer and Game Writer. His writing experience includes localization writing for Dragon Warrior 7 for Square Enix, Editing for Nintendo games (Pikmin, New Tetris, Starcraft 64, and Loderunner 3D), UI writing 24 Microsoft Surface games, and script-writing for 30+ animations and videos. Ed has a Masters degree in Technology Management and 5 interactive design patents with Microsoft.

Agents of the Spirit packaging copy - by Ed Price, Content Writer

Agents of the Spirit
Moral Productions Direct-to Video 3D Animation
(released in stores throughout the north west)

“Package Content” by Ed Price

==========================


Since the division of all that was good and the manifestation of evil, the Agents of the Spirit have engaged in a continuous battle over the influence of boys and girls, and their free will. This age old war is currently being fought between fruits and bugs…

To win this war, these Agents have created a television cartoon known as “Agents of the Spirit.” That cartoon has started a marketing phenomenon, where the humans buy “Agents of the Spirit” videos, videogames, action figures, posters, bed sheets, and candy dispensers. Little do the humans know that the Agents of the Spirit actually exist, and they created the cartoon and merchandise to protect the secret of their existence and to fund their covert operations!

The human Bobby Nelson has been tempted to steal. It’s up the heroic Agents of the Spirit to thwart the sinister schemes of Big Bug and his menacing minions. Will the Influence Bug and the Trooper Bugs be able to infiltrate the Nelson home and influence Bobby to steal while he sleeps, or will Agent Brett Banana and his team of secret agents stop the bugs from completing their corrupting concoctions? Find out in this exciting thrill-ride featuring a plethora of silliness, action, and hi-tech gadgetry that will keep you coming back for more.



==========================

About the author: Ed 'word' Price is a Content Writer and Game Writer. His writing experience includes localization writing for Dragon Warrior 7 for Square Enix, Editing for Nintendo games (Pikmin, New Tetris, Starcraft 64, and Loderunner 3D), 24 Microsoft Surface games, and 30+ animations and videos. Ed has a Masters degree in Technology Management and 5 interactive design patents with Microsoft.

Agents of the Spirit character biographies - creative writing by Ed Price

Agents of the Spirit

Moral Productions Direct-to Video 3D Animation

(released in stores throughout the north west)

“Character Biographies” by Ed Price, Content Writer

(biographies for Web and print)

==========================

 Agent Brett Banana

The leader of the bunch, Brett Banana (Ooo-Rah) is the perfect model of structure and discipline that the HS9 needs at its head. Brett is the most experienced of the team and takes his role as the team leader very seriously, firmly believing that a hero's work is never done. That is why when Agent Banana is not defeating Big Bug's evil minions, you'll usually find Brett training his body in the HS9 Training room and his mind in the library, in order to maintain his peak condition.

Brett's greatest strengths lie in his ability to recognize and draw out the talents and skills of those around him. Though Brett admits that he has a good sense of humor, he never jokes around, and when he gives his team an order, they follow it. His wise decisions in times of trouble have earned him the respect and admiration of friend and foe alike. The Agents of the Spirit would follow him into the depths of a grocery store if he asked.

In "Agents of the Spirit Episode 1: The Phantom Influence," Brett Banana led a covert ops team with three other members into the potentially dangerous territory of a human's house. There, they waited to stop the Influence Bug and the Trooper Bugs from influencing Bobby Nelson to steal. Brett's fruit of the Spirit is self-control.

 

Agent Peter Pear

Agent Peter Pear only recently graduated from the HS9 Academy to join the field team and has thus far proven to be a fast learner and an enthusiastic member of the team. He worked hard for many years in the Academy before being accepted as one of the HS9, and even though it took him a few tries to complete basic training, he never gave up on his goal. This persistence helps him to attack his missions with confidence, and it is one of the reasons that the rest of his team members trust him so deeply -- they know he will never leave another fruit behind.

Though still learning the tricks of the trade, Peter's positive attitude and strong attention span are helping him develop into a seasoned professional Agent more quickly. Above any other agent, Peter looks up to Brett Banana as a shining example of what a superhero should be and strives to emulate his leader in every respect. Even without the experience of his teammates he is proving himself to be a helpful and positive addition to the HS9.

The perseverant Peter Pear's most particular pet peeve is a sticky keyboard. The Tech Fruits will often find him at their computers cleaning them, so that their keys don't get stuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk. In addition to cleaning the keyboards, Peter converted all the Tech Fruits' mice to wireless laser mice. The drawback is that he will often find himself using his spare time to replace the batteries.

Agent Pear is the first fruit in his long family line ever to leave the shoemaking business. When interviewed about the reason for his departure from tradition, Peter Pear piped: "I wanted to have a career with a little more kick!" In "Agents of the Spirit Episode I: The Phantom Influence," Agent Pear played an important role by bravely confronting the Influence Bug. Peter's fruit of the Spirit is faithfulness.

 
 

Agent Paul Pineapple

The toughest fruit of the HS9 is the incredibly hulking Paul Pineapple. With his prickly skin (that is even more durable than Carl Coconut's head) and a healthy exercise of running back and forth, Paul is a juggernaut among fruits. On any mission that involves hostile enemies, Paul is an essential part of the team, being the first one into the danger zone to help his teammates assess the threat.

His favorite pastimes when not on the field are maintenance work, weightlifting in the HS9 Gymnasium (which has become too easy for him), playing racquetball (whenever he can find someone who is not too afraid to play with him), and grooving to his music. Agent Pineapple's greatest fear is of water (not drowning in it, just getting it in his eyes). Paul is also hesitant to ever use a trampoline again, since the last couple attempts left him stuck in the ceiling.

Aside from his prickly hair, Paul isn't very sharp. In fact, some would go so far as to label him dull (seeing how he actually is labeled "Dull"), but this doesn't deter him from doing his best to help out the HS9 and to be a hero to all the sprouting young fruits out there. It has always been Paul's dream to be needed in an organization like the HS9, and in truth he is one of the most essential fruits of the entire team. Without him, their headquarters would probably fall apart, quite literally: Paul also leads a team in charge of the general maintenance of their home base.

Pineapple joined up with the Agents of the Spirit after watching a boy push another kid. He vowed from then on he would teach children to use their strength to help others. In "Agents of the Spirit Episode 1: The Phantom Influence," Paul Pineapple was assigned to the control center located inside the Groovemobile where he helped coordinate the efforts of the rest of the team without endangering the Nelson home. Paul's fruit of the Spirit is peacefulness.

 

Agent Sarah Strawberry

Though Agent Sarah Strawberry may be the smallest member of the HS9, her size does nothing to diminish her part in the team. Sarah is one the most talented members of the group, and she proves it constantly. She can single-handedly take down a group of bugs without breaking a sweat - sometimes turning the tide of a whole mission. While confident in nature, Sarah also knows when to be humble and faithful to the team.

A close friend of Agent Penny Peach, Agent Strawberry got to know her fellow fruit exceptionally well, particularly on covert ops they shared, and they will often spend time talking and training together. Sarah has also found a good friend in Adam Apple. Having graduated from the HS9 Academy in the same class, Sarah and Adam have collaborated and competed for a long time before they started working together. Sarah has always shared Adam's positive outlook and energetic approach to any challenge.

Before attending the HS9 Academy, Sarah lived in various cupboards and markets on the East Coast until she was eventually discovered and recruited to attend the Academy by Adam's father. She once owned a hamster named Bubbles, but after she became an Agent she realized that she wasn't home enough to really care for him anymore, so Sarah gave Bubbles to a friend who lives in Atlanta. Sarah will often spend her spare time overseeing the production of the Agents' cartoon in the "Agents of the Spirit" Animation Studio.

In "Agents of the Spirit Episode 1: The Phantom Influence," Sarah was assigned surveillance duty at the back door, where she kept watch to make sure the Trooper Bugs and the Influence Bug didn't infiltrate the Nelson house. Agent Strawberry's fruit of the Spirit is love.

Agent Gary Grape

What can we really say about Gary Grape? Most of the HS9 is baffled by him most of the time, not knowing how to react to his voices, impressions, and chicken chasing shenanigans. While all the team members can count on Gary, they know that he's a few grapes short of a bunch, so they watch him carefully, waiting to see what he's going to do next. However, Gary is exceptionally talented when it comes to protecting the innocent and battling off the forces of evil, which he loves to do. The bugs have never had a more frightening opponent than Agent Gary Grape.

In his spare time, Gary sneaks into the "Agents of the Spirit" Animation Studio and alters the scripts, adding in scenes for the sole purpose of mass confusion. Plus his current goal is to swing so fast and high on a swing-set that he makes it all the way around.

Agent Gary Grape was part of the surveillance team in "Agents of the Spirit Episode 1: The Phantom Influence." His assignment was to stay in a wagon near the front door to the Nelson house and stop the bugs from getting in. Most of the team has come to respect Gary even if he is legally insane, but more importantly they've learned to never again allow him control of heavy machinery or fast vehicles. They're also reluctant to hold any serious discussions around him, since any conversation he's involved in eventually turns bizarre and often has something to do with his fascination with catching chickens. Gary's fruit of the Spirit is joy.

Agent Angie Orange

Agent Angie Orange is the voice of kindness and reason among the HS9. She is the main source of wisdom among the Field Agents not only because she is one of the most intelligent, but also because she is one of the most caring fruits of the team. Angie is usually the fruit who watches over her teammates the most, checking that everyone is properly equipped before leaving on a mission and making sure that everyone returns safely.

In her spare time, Angie practices her sumo wrestling in the HS9 Training Room. Agent Brett Banana will often locate her at the local shopping orchard where she enjoys buying retro clothes at thrift stores.

Angie Orange has phenomenal observational skills and is able to commit a great amount to memory, making her a valuable asset while out in dangerous territory. Unfortunately, Angie memorizes so much key information that she often forgets where she puts things. In "Agents of the Spirit Episode 1: The Phantom Influence," Agent Orange forgot her watch in the Nelson house while on covert ops detail.

Agent Orange is always able to brighten up the most difficult situations with her kind heart and unending energy. Angie's fruit of the Spirit is gentleness.

Agent Carl Coconut

Agent Carl Coconut is much more intelligent than he appears to be. Physically the largest member of the HS9, he is also the smartest. He earned doctorate degrees in biology, criminology, computer science, history, anthropology, psychology, calculus, geology, and ultimate frisbee physical therapy. Though he may be a genius, Carl attended the HS9 Academy to become a Field Agent, not wanting to be stuck behind a desk as a Tech Fruit. Agent Coconut maintains a wild sense of adventure and is usually the first one in the elevator when leaving for a mission.

Carl gains most of his knowledge from the internet, but every time there's a power outage at the HS9 Headquarters, Carl Coconut will grab a candlestick and join his friend Professor Plum in the library. This agent's greatest fear is laughing so hard that milk comes out of his nose.

In "Agents of the Spirit Episode 1: The Phantom Influence," Agent Carl Coconut was assigned to covert ops. Infiltrating the Nelson house was easy for Carl; the difficulty was dealing with their dog, Quincy. Carl's fruit of the Spirit is patience.

Agent Penny Peach

Agent Penny Peach is an agent that knows balance. She knows that God has given her skills at certain things, and she uses those skills as a dedicated member of the HS9. Penny knows that she needs the other team members to help her in areas where she is weak. Team unity is very important to Penny, knowing that each fruit has been given unique talents, and when the Agents work together in an unselfish way, the team will be stronger.

Agent Peach has mastered the use of all of the HS9's gizmos under even the most extreme circumstances and loves to experiment with any new toys that Professor Plum comes up with in the HS9 Engineering Lab. Penny Peach also loves to dance, and will often show off her new moves at the latest HS9 social gatherings.

Miss Penny is known for her Southern graces, having been raised in Georgia. She is well on her way to becoming one of the most vital members of the current HS9 team. With both her parents having been medal-winning figure skaters at the 1966 Winter Fruit Bowl, she has inherited an agile physique that enables her to dodge just about anything. Agent Peach's fruit of the Spirit is kindness.

Agent Adam Apple

Agent Adam Apple is second banana to Brett, as the Deputy Leader of the HS9. Adam trains under Brett Banana's watchful eye and, like his leader, has no visible weaknesses. Adam will be the first to tell you that he can hold his own in almost any field he's tested in and has proven himself a worthy substitute commander in times of need.
A third generation Agent, Adam Apple joined the team after attending the HS9 Academy as his father and grandfather did before him. At the Academy, Adam excelled above the rest due to his charm, charisma, quick thinking, and overall leadership skills. While not on tactical missions, Adam Apple will often compete with Agent Banana in the HS9 Training Room, where he will constantly attempt to reach higher scores in their training simulations.

In "Agents of the Spirit Episode 1: The Phantom Influence," Agent Apple was assigned to surveillance in the tree in the Nelson house front yard. There he was able to watch the action unfold and supervise many of his fellow Agents. Adam is no "bad apple." In fact, his fruit of the Spirit is goodness.

Currently, there is no law against these fruits of the Spirit.

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About the author: Ed 'word' Price is a Content Writer and Game Writer. His writing experience includes localization writing for Dragon Warrior 7 for Square Enix, Editing for Nintendo games (Pikmin, New Tetris, Starcraft 64, and Loderunner 3D), 24 Microsoft Surface games, and 30+ animations and videos. Ed has a Masters degree in Technology Management and 5 interactive design patents with Microsoft.

Content Writer: Brian Williams - "Helen and Her Éclair"

Helen and Her Éclair

Written by Brian Youngjoon Williams, content writer, creative writer, former English teacher, and University of Washington graduate with a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing. Brian is a content writer and game writer and editor.

Helen loves her food. She isn’t obese or overweight or even slightly chunky. She is, inconceivably, thin. Attractive thin at that, none of that “anorexic skeleton or her underweight sister” thin. She does martial arts and runs every day because she wants to be in shape, and she enjoys spending time with others who think the same way. But at the end of the day she loves her food more than anything else.

On this particular day it’s raining out. Not the downpour/deluge that is enjoyable to walk through without an umbrella, or the light misting that’s barely noticeable, or even the thunder and lightning storm that entices you to watch it through a window with a warm drink. Today it is something else, an unpleasant rain that is coming down hard enough to require hoods or umbrellas yet light enough to make it a hassle to use them. Helen decides to skip her daily walk and meet up with a chocolate éclair she had been waiting to eat for almost an hour. Her table is cleared except for a single placemat, tastefully arranged at the head of the table. Upon the placemat is a plate, and upon the plate is the éclair. There is nothing special about this éclair. It is chocolate and slightly cool.

“Looking good.”

Helen starts. The sound came from her éclair, the one she was about to consume.



“Am I going crazy?” She asks. There is a beat of silence in which a thousand raindrops pound into her small apartment window.

“Not really. Well, I guess you could say you are, since you asked that out loud. The room is empty except for us, and if I didn’t say that, then that means you’re hearing voices and responding to them.” The talking is coming from the éclair. Helen bemusedly looks at her plate.

“I’ve gone crazy. Food doesn’t talk.”

She stares at it, as if asking the poor éclair to defy her will. With the sound of rain echoing outside and the silence within, the only thing she hears is her own breathing.

“Well, suit yourself. I’ll be quiet then.” Helen stands up, picking up her éclair by the plate. She slowly turns it around, looking for something that could be a mouth, or perhaps a radio transmitter (though to be honest, she would be very disappointed if she found that). It was, in all respects, a perfectly normal éclair.

“How can you talk?” She says.

“Well, first I think of what I want to say, and then I say it. How difficult can that be? As for the physical bits, I know not. Ask a doctor or a baker.” The voice seems to be coming from the middle of the plate, centered on the piece of food. It has a light tenor voice, the kind of voice that people associate with talking animals.

“Have you always been able to talk?” She asks. It doesn’t occur to her that this is perhaps a faulty line of reasoning. However, before we judge, she is well balanced and intelligent with no mental illnesses. She is normal.

“I confess that there was a time before I could speak, as I was still learning how to.” The pastry replies. “I do not know how long it normally takes but that is of no concern to me.” The éclair somehow manages to sound furtive and sheepish at the same time.

“Whyever not? You are the first piece of food that has ever spoken to me.” Helen looks confused. Perhaps it is because she is justifying herself to a piece of dough with chocolate on top. Personally I feel that she is unaccustomed to being contradicted.

“Perhaps it is because I can see the end my life already approaching. It is hard to discuss the beginning when the end is racing towards you.” Helen can almost see it shrugging as it continues, “Would you wonder about your first steps as you fall off a building? Or how fast you can run without shoes on when you’re bedridden with disease?”

“I don’t know,” Helen confesses. “I always assumed I’d rather be curious about life even till the end.”

“As one approaching the end of his life, let me assure you that I am no longer curious. I mostly dread what happens once I am devoured. The part of me that isn’t dreading is scheming desperately for a way to avoid my fate.”

Helen places the plate back down of the table and slowly sits in front of it. The rain continues to beat against the window but at a less urgent pace.

“So why are you telling me this? A ploy to keep me from enjoying a delicious éclair?” Helen asks suspiciously. While she was curious about the talking food, she really wants to eat it. Perhaps this is the curse of the food lover.

“I must confess that is at least part of my intention. From what I learned most food just goes quietly. Or you kill animals and then cook them, though I can’t imagine that going too well for some of the bigger animals. Probably why people don’t eat elephants or tigers as often as cows and pigs.” Helen listens carefully while slowly getting ready to pounce.

“Maybe that’s just the way things are?” She suggests.

“If that was the case why haven’t I been eaten yet?” The éclair sounds hopeful.

“I do not know. I am trying to decide if I’m just so bored that this is all a dream. Or if I should tell people about you. Why are you so afraid of dying?” Helen says.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I have no idea what comes after being eaten.” The éclair says.

“Oh. Well then. Let me help you with that.” Helen says while picking up the éclair.



About the author:

Brian Youngjoon Williams lives in Washington state, outside of Seattle. He is a creative writer, content writer, game writer and editor, a former English instructor and a graduate from University of Washington with a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing.

For another amazing story from Brian Williams, please read Playmates, a wonderful story of a girl exploring the forest.

Enjoy!!