All of these were made in the snug confines of a loose-leaf notebook, just to bring that warm (or possibly agonizing, whatever boats your float) feeling to the minds of some.

Brackets means I added a word, letter or general piece of conjecture in there (among other literary trappings, bwahaha…) in post because I didn't want you to endure the horrors of my original writing, point-blank.
An ellipses signals the sentence was cut short before I could finish it, ouch. Now, could you? Pretty, prissy please? No? Well, I'll still respect your body's every fiber either way.

Question mark by the date? My sorry ass probably didn't mark down the right date. Just like…any good American? I have no idea anymore.

Anyway, enjoy!



There was an air of confidence on September, the 24th, 2034. New York City was simply abuzz and ablaze on news of the new royal ball to rightfully happen there, and the press flocked in droves to the sight of the near-eerily-everpresent event to grab a piece of it for themselves. What a show indeed, heh heh! Nothing short of absolute comedy, it seems, at this point. Good or bad? We'll simply have to wait and see. Either way, on we go to stardom…



There was narry a sound of joy to be found in the pliable Platinum Grounds of Mobius. Dead trees and foliage dotted the streets with no sign of decline, beaming buildings turned to withered abodes of scrap metal and rust. Even the people weren't safe from this diligent devastation…



The Emperor's palace was nothing less than a testament [to] luxury and regality. With its red-gold-encrusted exterior plastered onto innately constructed statue and wall-work it expressed both lavishness and ferocity to those that treaded the Empire's territories most tempestuously.



The Dominion of Canada was not like any other sight in the world of Kaiserreich. Still having that trademark British arrogance and confidence in hand after being knocked down ten pegs or so, the King wished to recapture the Home Islands at whatever the cost, knowing full well a Britain of red hue would be quite the fate worse than death.



The earl of Lancaster had something very special to play with as he began to gun for the English crown. A weapon, it was rumored, powerful enough to blow a hole through three men's chest in a row[,] clean[,] and perhaps a few more at that, afterwards. Such an instrument of destruction was not to be taken…



The Electricity Theater was the rowdy, bawdy cousin of theater to the opera in every way imaginable. From the sensual themes to the intensive (and dangerous, at that) political satire and, perhaps most obsequious o fall, the simultaneous participation of men and women on stage. A simmering hotbed of slander and discourse as delivered through the art…



There was a seemingly small thicket of steadfast water and hearty foliage dotted along the east bank of the amazon.



Green Hill was a place of paradise in not a place of particular peace or prettiness in general. An abode of natural beauty, brimming with life and character as waves swishing every which way in the distance and luscious greenery greeting new travelers graciously…



A land where nothing but pine tar and fake leaves grow every day, eh? You've heard it first here, folks! It's Royals Alley! The only place where K.C. fans can bust about their two playoff appearances since 1985 in public. What a joyful sight to behold! [My condolences to potentially any Royal/Human Decency Fans reading: I am often an asshole, and you should know that.]

(10. AKA, the first prompt with a filled page next to it in my notebook. Yay…!?)


Sonic was speedily serenading by the Salty Spittoon with smoothness and scintillation South America had narry seen before. S-words as far as the eye can see, you say? Precisely! Anyway, there was a reason for the hedgehog's innate sense of urgency. Out and about was the nefarious (and quite possibly communist) Dr. Eggman and his merry band of bullish buffoonery.


A soft, serenade of a breeze simmered soundly over the perimeter of Castle Nivalia, chipping harmlessly against its hallowed bricks and giving its workmen a little lovetap from nature, of sorts. True, the former fledgling kingdom had grown to be one of the most…



The crack of pickaxes smashing their mottled ironheads into the ore ahead of them, sliding into and through the mineral like a butcher's cleaver would do a pig's course flesh, a rough sound of clangs and crashes that would perpetuate seemingly without end for the entire day[-oh, it was quite the sight to see indeed]. Coal dust flung up their throats with impunity.



The night was November the 4th, the year of our lord (or different non-binary body of belief/lack thereof, whichever you prefer) and as the morning sun rose and beamed it seemed its surge of simmering, serendipitous light was a sign of things to come. Across households and hotels heads famished for any spark of hope…



The land of Mother Mussia, o how glorious and imposing its age-old name is. Projecting the authority and unity of the nation's many fungal spores in one fell swoop, their anatomy…



There is nothing more satisfying in this world than searingly stuffing a knife down someone's throat, watching it seep and simmer further through all the mucus and bleed ahead of it till it reaches…waist-level. Should be good enough from there!



The wallow and whistle of the woodland as air passes into leaf and shakes them to the core, cascading into mass widespread oscillation as the Earth begins to shake itself-it's quite the feeling, isn't it. A powerplay display, showing puny humanity not only the great authority of nature but indeed still reminding them of its everpresent majesty. Just…

…Coooooongratulations! You made it to the end of volume one! If I haven't already killed you by now by way of some sort of psychological sandbagging or something of the sort. Whatever that means.
Prooobably gonna upload these, what, either towards the start or end of a month? English is a wonderful thing indeed.

Anyway, thanks for reading, you wonderful little homo sapien of ego-boosting caliber for myself!