[FFML] [Fic Teaser][Mecha/SRW][R18]Resonance

Mike Ching wavehawk.geo at yahoo.com
Wed Jun 25 00:22:08 PDT 2008

Hi All:

Here's a question: If your story has mostly original characters, and only uses references/themes from an existing anime/Sci-Fi series, does that still count as fanfiction? Or would I be better off trying to write it as original fiction (i.e. not fanfiction)? I'm not sure if I should go straight fanfic with this or try and go completely original.


He hated the feel of sand on his back.

Wade Kinnison squinted through alcohol-reddened eyes as he looked up at the cloud-strewn heavens above, warm rays of sunlight cutting through patches as surely as they stabbed at his face. The dirty, salty smell of the sea beyond tickled his feet--a sensation he hated even more than the grit of sand he was lying on.

"~~Blurgh~~" Wade gurgled, vomiting as the dizziness and nausea overcame him. The alcohol from his stomach splattered onto the sand as he rolled over in time to avoid making a further mess of himself. His brain swum through a sea of alcoholic depression, trying to remember where he was and why he was emptying his guts all over the beach.

*Beach?* Wade shooke his head, blinking as he spat out the rest of his stomach's contents, fighting to stand despite the combination headache/vertigo that spooled in his brain. What little of his memory faded in between rivers of drunkenness as he managed to keep upright, looking out over the blue seas ahead.

"Wade, you are an idiot. You are a fucking idiot," he groaned to no one in particular, feeling the throbbing pain rise again in his skull. He'd lost track of exactly what combination of drinks he'd ingested--but knew that he'd been drinking -specifically- to get drunk, and that it had still been dark when he got started. "Brilliant, just brilliant."

Unfortunately, being drunk didn't help him forget his problems at all. He couldn't recall them at the moment, but knew what those problems felt like, so there was little improvement. For a second, he was wondering if the rolling sound of oilcan drums was solely in his head, or from the clouds.

The answer came with a loud BOOM from across the ocean.

The shock and surprise knocked him facedown into the beach, and a series of lesser blasts shook the beach with all its audible fury. It all stopped with one final, solid CRASH just a mile up the shore. 

"Yeah, that's right. Even God picks on me," Wade spat out the sand he ate, and disgustedly began heaving again before he could even curse. The horizon ahead of him glowed purple-red with the light from the crashed meteorite. Standing, Kinnison felt a petulant urge to storm right up to the latest source of his troubles and kick the utter snot out of it.

"And what are you going to do with a piece of hot space rock?" Wade's slightly less drunk half of mind asked himself, mockingly. Then, with certainty: "Shit on it."

For a few seconds, he pondered going back to grab another beer, or follow the path of the shooting star. Fumbling through his empty pockets told him that the first option wasn't possible.

"Not like I got anything better to do," Wade mumbled, and jerkily wandered off in the general direction of the impact. He stopped only twice on the way--both times to vomit--before he finally reached the hot red glow of the meteor crater. But by the time he stood in front of the smouldering crater in the sand, he realized that it was definitely not a rock.

It looked more like a sculpture than a meteor. Like burnt, wine-stained red steel and ebony-black crystal orbs assembled together, not haphazardly, but with design and purpose. The only break in the smooth lines were the horrific gashes where the object struck something tougher than sand. Like a giant spider mangled but recognizable, it sat, rather than laid on the sand, motionless save for the small, almost slight movement in the object's chest--Like a person was moving inside it.

Or, as Wade's brain finally clicked, an alien being.

Blinking, he found himself infinitely less comfortable with the idea than his original plan of defecating on a radioactive meteorite.

"Well, shit. Maybe I AM still drunk."


P.S. Kudos to whoever knows what and who just landed on the beach. ^_^

<i>"They sicken of the calm who know the storm."</i>
-<b>Dorothy Parker</b>


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