Howdy folks! I'll cut straight to the point, if you'll forgive me. I have quite a few rejects of my writing that I don't need/don't want in the Brichstopia story, but are good bits of writing (if I do say so myself) by themselves. They just don't really fit in anywhere. So, without further ado, my "defects" you could say.

Defective Product of My Mind #1

Entitled Yellow Leaves and Ould Rocks

Late October.

The Olde Ruins at Slovenchka

Yellow leaves drifted slowly from the branches of the sycamore trees surrounding the ruin. The remaining leaves dripped slowly as a steady drizzle moved through the area. Spreading, low boughs of the trees provided a natural umbrella, only letting a small amount of rain into the ruin. The bright-yellow leaves, made sticky by the rain, stuck to the cobbles of the lengthy stone courtyard in the crisp, cool atmosphere. A few birds chirped and sung in the trees, but the bulk of them had flown south for the winter, as it was nearing mid-autumn.

A circle of squat colonnades had once surrounded the near acre-sized area, but after ages of fierce weather, wars and decomposition, it had slowly turned into what it was that day. Moss invaded the whole area, where nature had re-taken its own, covering the broken-down pillars, arches, buttresses, cracked cobbles of the stone courtyard, and short, squat crumbling walls. It hadn't been a castle, in its day, but more of a decorative, elegant garden area. The flowers and ivy had long since overgrown their selective areas, covering almost as much of the area as the moss.

In the middle of the courtyard there was a fountain. Not just a little half-job fountain, but what had once been a tall, majestic, flowing cascade of sparkling water. Algae and dirt had corroded the stone where the water was left, and even more ivy covered the seven-foot-plus tower and statue above it. The statue (a very Gothic-style, yet not unfriendly gargoyle with dragon-like wings and a homely face) had once squirted water from its clawed hands and smiling mouth, which then dribbled and gurgled down various waterways and into the pool below, in which, ages ago villagers from nearby towns had tossed gold coins.

Jaak fished through the water, feeling through the green slime and, every once in a while, picking out a particularly shiny gold coin. He was sitting on the edge of the fountain, his soft brown eyes belying his grim past, his deep resentment for the Empire and his long years of battle experience as he gazed into the sparkling water.

He thought about Anne.

Annie (indeed, going by Annie for unknown reasons) was one of the many reasons Jaak had an incredibly strong will to live. Jeepers, I like that girl... he thought. There was no way to escape it. This feeling wasn't something that went away over time. When was the last time he had seen her?.... It had to have been at least a week, if not two. He decided that the next time he saw her, which was hopefully soon, he would plant a big, old-fashioned kiss on her cheek.

He chuckled. He just couldn't help it. He liked everything about her. The dark red ribbon she used to pull her hair into a ponytail, her deep, dark blue eyes, her smile..... everything about her was, Jaak thought in his love-struck daze, perfect. He shook himself, trying to get rid of the feeling, then turned his thoughts to Camp Cutlass.

There was no way it would last the winter, and the Alliance (as well as its new leader, of which I shall speak of in an explanatory article) knew it. Winter on the coast was especially harsh, bearing resemblance to the weather of (in our world) Ireland or Scotland. Wildly unpredictable and more harsh than anywhere in Brichstopia or the lands beyond, it could be sunny and 70 degrees one minute, then turn to a blizzard below zero degrees the next. Waves, oft times walls of water reaching from fifty to sixty feet high, would batter the coast, thrown in with hurricane-force winds and driving snow. It was fairly less harsh inland, snow drifts ultimately reaching anywhere 'twixt 4 to 5 feet deep, not counting wind-blown drifts. The biggest snows usually happened mid-December, right around when Christmas rolled in.

Jaak's thoughts returned to Christmas. It was a holiday only the Alliance celebrated, its roots dating back thousands of years to the birth of the Christ, Jesus Christ, the son of God, who would ultimately die on the cross to forgive the whole of mankind's sins. Jaak never ceased to marvel at how close he himself had come to going to hell instead of heaven, as he had been saved (spiritually as well as literally) in the middle of a life-or-death situation (also spiritual as well as literal) which he couldn't, and wouldn't have come out of if Ben Hadad hadn't been there. Jaak knew he was forever indebted to Hadad (spiritually and literally) for saving him (the same). Compared to leading someone to Christ, being 'saved', saving someone's life seemed a grotesquely minuscule subject.

The Empire believed the Christian faith to be pagan, unrealistic, unbelievable, even pushy. That was one of the 'tipping points' that caused the Rebellion. The Brichstopian government (which was, in reality, ruled over by Typhoon Corporations, Inc., the corrupt Iron Ore export mega-corporation that was the actual cause of Brichstopia's troubles) began to grow less and less tolerant of the citizen's beliefs due to a large, yet mainly anonymous and covert outreach organization by the name of Armour of God, nicknamed Guns of the Lord by the citizens of Brichstopia. All too soon, the Empire (by royal decree of His Majestie Emperor Knudnik Vilsenn) began to give Guns of the Lord less 'slack' and made threats toward the Brichstopian Church (made up of several denominations, of which I shall go into detail of in an explanatory article) that if they did not relent, decease or desist the larger part of their ministries, the 'government' would be 'forced' to take 'defensive measures' for the 'freedom of the people' which, in reality, was no more.

Jaak fished out a rusty, nicked coin, his eye having been caught by a particularly radicalist inscription on the back. MAY GOD GRANT ME VENGEANCE was scratched in angry script over the benevolently smiling face of the founder of Typhoon Corporations, Inc., Villear DeMagotte (a foreigner, thus the strange name). This was a particularly rare type of coin, only used for a few months while the currency of Brichstopia was switched from Deuts (equivalent to about three US dollars in or day and age) to Gribs (a little less than the value of the same). Jaak dried it off on his shirt, which was already wet from the rain, then slipped the coin into his pocket. It was still usable, but only at Imperial stations of trade.

After a few more moments, Jaak became bored with the area. He didn't have a long attention span, and many knew it. He retrieved another coin from the fountain, and flipped it in the air with his thumb, making a pleasant PING! noise. After catching it and studying it for a moment, he heaved himself up off the edge of the fountain and made his way through the woods to where he had come from.


Well, there ya have it. Oh, all the informational things in there are subject to change, of course. Also, this was written before Christmas, and only very briefly edited, so if you see any mistakes shut up.

Defective Product of My Mind #2

Entitled Desert Canyon

The wind blew, dry and hot 'twixt the two towering cliff faces as if it were in a wind tunnel, shaking sagebrush bushes dully and kicking up the blistering hot sand in swirling clouds of orange. The cliffs on either side of the valley (a minuscule twenty or so feet apart) towered above the narrow gap at an astonishing 90 to 100 feet high, but there was no shade. It was high noon, and the sun, that burning, fiery orb beat down upon the sand with not a cloud in the sky to hide it from its position directly above the crevasse.

The valley was long and thin, taking many complex twists and turns , but always heading in the same way: east. Directly opposite the direction in which there was a small amount of civilization. Out here, there was none.

There was no water to be found, as would be expected in a crevasse like this, but the mere air itself choked out any moisture whatsoever. The valley may have contained a minimal amount of water at one time hundreds of years before, but it was now long gone, the sands drying it all up completely.

A small-scale whirlwind, made visible by the sand within it, blew through the crevasse, whipping up more and more dust as it went along. It passed slowly, winding its way along due west, to cooler temperatures and damper climes, and then there was silence.

The wind had completely subsided, and all that was left was complete, utter, deafening silence. No more wind. No more dust. No more tumbleweeds.

Just the burning rage of the sun and the shimmering heat waves, black-grey against the light blue of the sky.


Now, this I might still use. Don't ask any questions, eh?

Those are Great! If you have anymore "defects" I'd love to read them as well!

These are actually very good.

Actually?...... ACTUALLY??.... You dare be surprised by my skilfulness in the pen?



Thanks bud.

Wow! Your descriptive words and phrases are excellently written.