For the next few weeks, I'll be posting the work I do through out the boot camp.
I've been a little busy the last few days, so I haven't been able to get a story in. However, I started Day 5 of the boot camp today. Today was a good writing day. The prompt inspired a story that is too big to finish now. I've uploaded what I finished so far, but I'll be working more on this later. A really neat world is shaping in this story, and I can't wait to play in it some more.
Sorry for the abrupt ending, but this isn't the end. This is just an excerpt for a much larger story. I'm not sure how long this story is going to be. If your interested in how this turns out, please let me know. I'll post the completed story when it is done.
I've been a little busy the last few days, so I haven't been able to get a story in. However, I started Day 5 of the boot camp today. Today was a good writing day. The prompt inspired a story that is too big to finish now. I've uploaded what I finished so far, but I'll be working more on this later. A really neat world is shaping in this story, and I can't wait to play in it some more.
Day 5
American Graffiti
You’re downtown, and see graffiti in an unlikely place—graffiti like you’ve never seen
before, concerning someone you know.
Title
by Cruz Andronico Fernandez
Oscar walked the streets at night. He liked the lights. L.A. at night is
like a futuristic neon painting, especially now. With the advent of new digital
spray paints, the world has become a living advertisement. Images can change
and rearrange themselves in pre-programed patterns. No more static images.
Everything moves.
The
graffiti artists ran away with the concept right away. Their work was in a
constant battle between the advertising campaigns of the major corporations.
Some of them even illustrated this battle, adding new characters to
advertisements, turning simple innocent movements into acts of violence or
vulgarity.
Oscar
loved it. He walked the streets for hours, just watching the battle take place
on walls, underpasses, alleys, and train cars. The resurgence of graffiti
turned the world into a colorful, creative place. It was beautiful.
Oscar
made his way to his favorite spot, an overpass that the taggers used to tell an
evolving story. This was the story of the city. The real city. Tags merged and
competed, moving and morphing into a constant story. This place was about
respect. No one was better than anyone else. Everyone could contribute to the
narrative. Everyone's story was important and welcome.
A
homeless tagger told her story of abuse and fear through geometric shapes. Another
told his story in classic street style. One story was for the dog who hung
around the place, a digital paint companion to keep the dog company when no one
was around.
Oscar
sat down and pulled a sandwich from the inside pocket of his trench coat. He
liked to eat and watch the art. He stopped chewing when he noticed a new
addition to the story. Someone had added a new character. A little girl who
would slip in between the other words, scenes, and characters. The artist was
good. Most of the time tags would simply cover an older one, the good ones
would merge with them and contribute the art. This one was different. This one
would disappear behind the other tags, seamlessly reappearing on the other
side, as if the little girl was running around in the world of the tags. This
was new. It seemed like an obvious progression, now that Oscar thought about
it, but it just hadn't been done before.
The
piece was massive. The little girl made her way through the entire structure.
The pattern didn't repeat itself as far as Oscar could tell. He knew that at
some point it would. That was how the process worked. You programed the basic
idea into your spray can, and then you began spraying the paint. You had a
little bit of freedom to rearrange things as you laid down your pain, but for
the most part you had to stick with the program you initially created. Most
digital tag sequences lasted about one to 2 minutes. Many were thirty seconds
or less. They were basically a GIF with spray paint.
But
the little girl piece had been moving around for at least five minutes with out
repeating the pattern. Oscar realized she was playing a game of hide and seek.
Oscar tracked her across the overpass. Eventually, she came to another new
piece, a large red door. The girl stopped in front of the door. She turned and
looked directly at Oscar. Oscar was stunned. They didn't do that normally. It
was as if she was looking him right in the eye. Then, with a tear in her eye,
the door opened and she faded into the darkens on the other side of the door.
She
was gone for a few minutes before the sequence started again. Oscar sat in
silence, trying to process what he had just witnessed. The girl looked
familiar. He knew her. Finishing his sandwich he racked his brain trying to recall
where he knew her from.
The
shelter.
That's
where he knew her from. She was a little girl at the shelter he volunteered at
occasionally. If his memory served him right, she was an orphan. The system
didn't bother with homeless orphan kids anymore. There were too many mouths to
feed. They left them to the shelters to deal with. This little girl, he
couldn't remember her name, was known by everyone there. She had been there for
at least a year or two. She loved to play games.
Why
someone would do a living graffiti portrait of her here, was beyond him. Maybe
someone from the shelter was close to her and wanted to tell her story. But the
way she disappeared unnerved him.
The
next day, Oscar visited the shelter. He went straight to the lady who ran the
place, Maria. Maria was a short fat woman in her fifties, with a mohawk and a
cut off sleeve denim jacket. She was an old school Chicana punk.
"She
disappeared about a week ago. I talked to the cops, but they aren't going to do
anything. The girl didn't even have an ident-barcode. I've had some of the guys
looking for her, but no luck."
Oscar
told her about the Living Graffiti tag. Maria was worried. So was Oscar.
He
left to meet up with some of the guys who were looking for Maria. They were
local punks who acted kind of like the police force for the poor. Since the
Collapse, the police only serve the neighborhoods that can pay the police tax.
These days that was only the Hills. The rest of L.A. was lawless.
It
wasn't as bad as the movies had made it out to be. Turns out a lot of the gangs
and punks took over the policing duties. The city took an "as long as you
don't fuck with me, I won't fuck with you" attitude. It took a while for
the stronger gangs to get a grip on things. There were a lot of wars and street
fights at first, but the smart ones always come out on top. The People lived
free from government intervention for the most part, while the Richie Rich's
lived behind walls and gates, blind slaves and prisoners to a government
controlled by Wal-Mart and the rest of the Big Business. They cowered in their
homes, thankful that the government was there to protect them from the wild
ones out side the walls.
The
Collapse wasn't so bad. Yeah there was a lot of starvation and no TV, and not
much internet, hardly any electricity, but the communities started growing
gardens wherever they could. The folks from the Central Valley took as many of
their livestock as they could before the government took them over for the
Richies. They hid them in places the government couldn't find or weren't
willing to go because of the gang protection. They shared what they could with
their southern brothers.
Sorry for the abrupt ending, but this isn't the end. This is just an excerpt for a much larger story. I'm not sure how long this story is going to be. If your interested in how this turns out, please let me know. I'll post the completed story when it is done.
Thanks for reading!!
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