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Mapping Psyhigh 8/3/2017 6:32pm
Hi, Hector Penman. Jarvis here.
Let me help with the mapping. While I haven't explored the entirety of the campus grounds, I can help you regarding the approximate location and size of some buildings I am required to enter during my time (and before the unfortunate incident) at Psy High.
When you enter the Hermetic Gate entrance, you will see a huge Victorian Garden. A wide cobblestone-paved road leads you to the Main Hall where you can visit Dean Hammer.
The Main Hall is small compared to the other structures inside the campus. If we believe the records, the Hall of Doors (as it was called back then) is the first building erected and where the local coven held their first lecture. Back when I was in Psy High, that's where you can find the headmaster's office, as well as the faculty lounge. The building is smacked right in the middle of the grounds. The details regarding the floor plan is irrelevant; the front door is a portal. The building is a façade. Also, this can also link to the Galactic Cup held every few years.
A few meters east of the Main Hall is the World Tree. Planted by a German archmage back in the 19th Century, it grew from a sample salvaged from the ruins of the school in Bern and now camouflages as an ordinary tree. See the story 'Using the World Trees' for more details.
West of the Main Hall, like around ten meters, are the Dorms, or the "Residences of the Great Houses of Scientia, Occulta and Spiritus", among other names. The first floor is a great dining hall where during Christmas, we build a holiday tree to fight against. The floors above are the dorms proper. At the very top is Dean Hammer's solar. You can't miss it since there's fresh plaster around the third floor. Or is it the second. Sorry, I don't want to remember.
As for the other buildings, I have no idea. Before I could finish school in Psy High, I was whisked away.
I'll be back in a year.
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Sparks 5/28/2017 2:58am
Talking about suicide is hard. It's not as simple as going from point A to point B. Unlike most stories of fantasy that happen where the life cut short is an everyday reality, contemporary readers would find that death is a loaded topic, more so with taking one's life. As I write my pieces here at the balcony of my home, I feel regret when I wrote about people jumping off tall buildings or people shooting themselves. My readers deserve more than that. I can't talk about death without reflecting upon it. Without considering the readers who might have lost a loved one they hold so dearly.
I'm sorry I wasn't there to stop them.
I'm sorry because I knew and I didn't stop them.
I'm sorry I wrote that event in their lives for the pleasure of others.
To Jenna and Patrick, my editors both, I'm sorry. You don't deserve what happened to you that day in the office.
To Simon, I'm sorry about the company. I'm sorry because I've made you bankrupt and that I showed you to Jenna while you're on your bathrobe and drinking coffee that's now making the TV smoke.
Especially to Patrick. I'm sorry I really like that gun and to see you use it--*sniff*
Maybe I wasn't in the balcony of my home. Perhaps I was in Jenna's funeral. Her twin sons clutching their grandfather's hands as they weep while their mother become one with the earth. I didn't make it rain. I made it as breezy and as warm as possible.
No, I was in the hospital. I really am. My doctor told me I lost an arm and a leg. Sometimes she would come and joke around. Because I don't do much due to the casts and all, my way of passing time is through stories that I tell the nurses. So yeah, I won't be going anywhere anytime soon.
I remember once during recharge time, my doctor would have a chat with me. Because I'm turned off, I can't hear what she's saying so at one time, I tried recording her. I really don't like what she's saying. Like, what the hell are you being so racist about people like me. Just because we're made outside of human wombs doesn't mean we're not humans. We're practically the same. Sheesh.
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Sparks 5/25/2017 10:38pm
A small downtown office has been rather busy this morning.
Calls came one after another, trying to reach the head of an agency called Synapse, Ltd. The staff of ten people had their desk phones ringing as the head refuse the calls.
One call said "what in the light of the seven is Jarvis writing about?"
Another mumbles "is he done in the head?"
Yet another hammered the nail in the coffin. "The jokes are lame."
Many calls came that bear similar messages. A junior staffer turned the telly on and saw the breaking news. "Jarvis out of touch, releases worst story ever."
The staff have no answer as of that time for only the head of Synapse knows what's up. Out of his wits, the assistant director went into the elevator, pulled out his Glock G26, and popped it in his right temple as the elevator descends into the abyss. Why, you say?
You see, Synapse had been working with Jarvis ever since he started his writing career in 2010. Jarvis wrote many things for know publications under a different name. When he became famous, he hired Synapse, a talent managing agency, to sort out writing gigs and to deliver good PR for him. After his last break, Jarvis went out of the limelight to try living with the spirits of the Redwood Forest. Now that he had come out of seclusion and went back right into the grid, Jarvis made the agency's job a lot harder by publishing a story that involves a doctor and a patient having lost all of his right-side body parts, only to hear the doctor tell lame jokes. Because Jarvis' work is prized in the industry, having released a sub-par work tarnished his reputation.
Having heard the gunshot, the staff had rushed into the emergency stairs and tried to catch up with the descending elevator.
By this time, the agency director was heading out of his office. After reaching for a cup of coffee and some aspirin, he went closer to the TV and watched the news. In his hands are the quarterly reports from the finance department. He threw his cup and half of the coffee into the TV screen and ripped the report right there. A staffer who had forgotten her phone in the office has gone back to get it and saw the director in a deplorable state. Holding ripped sheets, TV fuming up from the liquid, and a drowsy-eyed old man staring back at her.
The staffer picked up a chair, broke the window, and jumped sixteen floors from the ground. "What a mess," she said.
What a mess, indeed.
[Sparks 002 - END]
Sparks 5/25/2017 10:08am
There is a strange feeling when you open your eyes to a cream coloured ceiling. It's as if the universe has conspired to place you there without your consent. You see then in most hospitals and schools like any other hospitals and schools today. Here I am, lying on the bed that is shorter than my body. My right leg was bandaged and elevated. My head, immovable. And I feel that I'm missing a right arm.
"Oh, you're awake," says a lass with a raspy voice. "I'm Doctor Eliza Finnegan. I will be your attending physician. As you can see, that's all you have... left. Get it? All left side. No right si--"
"--for the love of God, don't make that joke again. It's in bad taste." I say in reply. "Where's my stuff?"
"Shouldn't you be asking what happened to you? No?"
"I am not like most people and I need to know where my stuff are."
There were a bunch of paper being ruffled. "If you were talking about you clothes, you can have them once you've checked out. Sorry, it's hospital policy."
"How about my bag? Where is my bag?"
"It says in the records you came in here only with your clothes on. Parts of it, apparently."
*sigh* "Go on."
"All right? I thought it was all left?"
"Yes, What's left of you is all the right parts. The rest just left."
"Now you're making me confused, Doc. Is it all right or all left?"
"Aren't you charming? I wouldn't bother you anymore so go please take your rest."
"No, Doc. What are you saying just now?"
"You know what, since you're so eager to talk despite me telling you not to sweat it, I'll indulge you with a nice chat. What you are feeling right now is just temporary. And please, don't let yourself be confused with our wordplay. Now, sleep."
I hear the doctor moving some trays around and getting hold of my fluids. Just before I drift off to sleep...
"Now we can fix your head and everything. Dear lord, there are sparks everywhere."
[Sparks 001 - End]
It's that time of the year where I go back to my home along the Parneian Coast south of Kaisar's horn on the human colony of Lebounta.
Nah. It's actually just a two months' visit to Psy High. Plus, if I indeed went back home, I wouldn't be around for 350 light-years, not counting the amount of space being bent just to get over there and back.
I know, I know. Some narratives have lapsed from my memory, like that one where my android friend and I stumbled upon a slave driver's showcase with us being the commodity after foiling an evil gaming app. Or that one where a mysterious elderly man brought me to the dawn of humans. Or that one where I got stranded on an alien planet without food or water or breathable air. Or that one where my consciousness suddenly drifts away...
My daemon has been asleep for quite some time. It's that time of the year and maybe, just maybe, we can make it go...
...WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY OUT IN THE VASTNESS OF SP-*cough* *cough* *gasp*
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Illuminescence 2/19/2017 4:39am
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Illuminescence 2/19/2017 4:14am
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Illuminescence 2/19/2017 4:09am
01001001 01000110 01011001 01001111 01010101 01001000 01000001 01010110 01000101 01010100 01001000 01000101 01000001 01000010 01001001 01001100 01001001 01010100 01011001 01000011 01001111 01001101 01000101 01000001 01001110 01000100 01010011 01000101 01000101
It's that time of the year.
The Cup had just ended and people are gearing up for a night of mischief.
Has anybody put up the tree yet?
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