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<title>in 100 words - Archive - MayVaneDay Studios</title>
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<p><h1>in 100 words</h1></p>
<p>published: 2017-01-03/18</p>
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<p><h2>1</h2></p>
<p>She ranted and raved at the podium, decrying how much time she had wasted in the dim, stuffy room- sixty-nine days, she calculated. Sixty-nine days that could have been spent pursuing knowledge, forming relationships, finding her place in the world around her. But it would never return, lost in a daze of chasing a dream she now knew would never come to fruition. The sleepless nights that would never be refunded, hoping that she was special, that there was something more out there than her dismal life- but she could not pay the ultimate price.</p>
<p>The crowd refused to listen.</p>
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<p><h2>provizora</h2></p>
<p>She knew not of how many days she had left to walk on her beloved earth or how many rotations of the planet she called home remained until she would become like the fog, the smoke that surrounded her home, temporal and wind-blown. But there was one thought that echoed in her skull as she strolled down the ashen sidewalk- there would be a fire blazing, ready for her when she returned. Maybe the deities would take pity on her and she would become smoke, ready to steal the breath from some other unfortunate lover's lungs.</p>
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<p><h2>distrajxo</h2></p>
<p>Her eyes flickered as she glanced past countless pages of regrettable tattoos, profane street signs, displeasing women with nose rings, and plaintext quotes that reminded her of her self-pitying days back when high school felt like an entirely new world unfolding before her. How out of her mind she had felt back then. How convinced that she was fundamentally damaged.</p>
<p>She looked away from the screen, rubbing her eyes. Music blared to her right, distraction from the writing the back of her mind told her she had to complete that day. Deadlines were her enemy. The worst ones were self-imposed.</p>
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<p><h2>komputilo</h2></p>
<p>Sprawled out on her bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing that her thoughts could form coherent sentences. Her hands curled around the pendant on her necklace, wishing that the owner of its second half could come back, if only for a second, so that she'd have the motivation to get up and search for the perfect words to speak her mind with.</p>
<p>She closed her eyes. The word count box stared at her, screaming fables of how she wasn't good enough, of how she was either too brief or too rambling. A keyboard warrior in every sense of the word.</p>
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<p><h2>oceana ondo</h2></p>
<p>She stood at the edge of the swimming pool, averting her eyes from what she knew to be an anxiety-inducer. Fear of heights had plagued her for as long as she could remember, and depths haunted her the same- worse, in fact, for they always looked closer when there was a barrier of waves in between them.</p>
<p>She gulped. It had been a while since she had made a debacle about it being her first time to jump off a diving board. Shallow ends had forever been her friend.</p>
<p>And, as it turned out, pools weren't really catalysts of change.</p>
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<p><h2>aprender</h2></p>
<p>He spent all day learning about meiosis. Not because he had any particular interest, but because his mind wouldn't allow him to skip a single assignment, no matter how lackluster or asinine. It wasn't like him; he'd been the king of slackers at his old school, and the rewards he'd gotten didn't serve him well where he now was.</p>
<p>He wiped his forehead, taking a sip from his peach water.</p>
<p><i>This was a mistake.</i></p>
<p><i>Probably.</i></p>
<p>He would have much rather spent the day writing or coding, but he couldn't have everything he wanted in life, for better or for worse.</p>
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<p><h2>dormir</h2></p>
<p>His head nodded against the wooden table as he struggled to stay awake. The crystal dug into his chest as his teacher chastised him for drifting off when they were supposed to be taking notes.</p>
<p>He mumbled an apology as he pulled his notebook over and fumbled his pen. It dropped onto the floor. He groaned, leaning over. The vertigo was back, and it wasn't going away anytime soon.</p>
<p>How he'd love to be back in his room, still curled up in the sheets, wasting the day away romping in the frosted-over fields of his mind. He'd be back soon.</p>
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<p align=right>CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 &copy; Vane Vander</p>
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<title>i'll be there in a few minutes - Archive - MayVaneDay Studios</title>
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<p><h1>i'll be there in a few minutes</h1></p>
<p>published: 2017-06-06</p>
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<p><i>I'll be there in a few minutes.</i></p>
<p>She tightened the screws on the rudimentary limb in front of her, nothing more than a conglomeration of cheap Legos she had found off the internet and salvaged from multiple failed contraptions she had made in her youth. The youth that was now a haze to her, a haze of failing friendships and a desire to prove herself to her peers and a singular, pure, unadulterated desire.</p>
<p>She had always been fascinated with computers. As a kindergartner, she banged happily away at a keyboard with a plastic toilet beneath her, toilet training not stopping her from scribbling across the screen, convinced by her school that none of her drawings were worthy of being saved and feeling like an absolute criminal when she discovered that no cops would show up at her door for the tiny collection of bits and bytes. Then the fairy age came, and with it the stuffed animals and her first virtual online world.</p>
<p>Oh, how she had wanted to romp around in the mansion she had created, unpolished as it was. But now, looking back, she was disgusted with the glitz and glam and desperate attempts at appeal that the holding company had imposed on it. Whatever happened to the good old Windows XP days? To when the internet was some wild west begging to be explored and features came before looks?</p>
<p>Things felt more human then.</p>
<p>She tightened the screws again, sending away the waves of nostalgia, but they poked her shoulder and begged to be acknowledged. <i>Born too late to pioneer the web</i>, they taunted. <i>Born too early to pioneer immortality</i>.</p>
<p>It was her fantasy, her wet dream, the last thing she imagined before she went to sleep. The motivation that kept her going. How ironic it was that the thing that kept her tethered to the world promised to help her escape it.</p>
<p>But there was no use trying to figure out how to upload her mind to her computer if there was no body for it to inhabit, so she pulled out a leg from underneath her bed and matched it up to her own. Same length, same implied height, but the copy had more muscle to it, wires poking out and awaiting synthetic flesh that hadn't been invented yet.</p>
<p>Although she was rather impartial to the exposed look.</p>
<p>"Lycia?" a voice whispered outside of her door.</p>
<p>She set the leg on the ground, slid off her bed, and opened the door to find her childhood friend, her partner in crime. The corner of her mouth quirked up in an attempt at a smile.</p>
<p>"Lukas."</p>
<p>She motioned for him to come inside the room, locking the door behind her so any siblings wouldn't disrupt them while they were working. It wasn't their body to adulterate or imprint with unwashed, sticky fingerprints.</p>
<p>Lukas slung his bag onto the bed and pulled out a styrofoam cube with packing tape encompassing the middle. He handed it to Lycia. "Go on." He winked. "Open it."</p>
<p>Lycia retrieved the box cutters from her dresser- Lukas winced, and she put it back and got a school scissors instead. She hacked away at the tape, releasing a breath as it gave way, the clamshell foam pieces falling away to reveal-</p>
<p>She modeled the hand against her own, fiddled with the joints, the perfect shining aluminum gleaming in her bedroom light. Perfect fingertips, somewhere in between the blemished daintiness of her own and the stoutness of Lukas'. She blushed, feeling the first smile in days of dedicated work. "Where did you get this?"</p>
<p>"One of the tourists from the cities." He pulled Lycia's in-progress leg onto the bed. "Traded him half of my pea plant harvest for this week and two week's worth of lodging in my guest room."</p>
<p>"Oh, Lukas..." Lycia sighed and shook her head. "You shouldn't have-"</p>
<p>"It was fine. Really. I had too many peas than I knew how to deal with. And…" He placed his own hand on her shoulder, making her meet his eyes. "Now we've got a template. We just need to make three more."</p>
<p>"And a torso."</p>
<p>"And a torso," he sighed. "And the rest of the limbs. And a working head."</p>
<p>Lycia reached under her bed and retrieved her toolbox, wiping the sweat off her forehead before clicking it open. Someday, she hoped, she wouldn't have to deal with sweat or grime any longer.</p>
<p>"And a working brain."</p>
<p>What would the transfer be like? A slow gradual degrading of who she was and then suddenly booting into the new body? Hanging in a void while everything was moving, neither here nor there?</p>
<p>Maybe this was all impossible and she'd end up killing herself instead.</p>
<p>But there were worse ways to go out.</p>
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<p align=right>CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 &copy; Vane Vander</p>
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