@ JHM: I read through the whole thing, but with great difficulty. The descriptions were a little much, and it kind of seemed rambling. I think it might be all the adjectives, but I could be wrong. Maybe inserting some action or dialogue in between all the description might break it up a little?
that I'm trying to get back into writing. I think it needs editing, but I can't put my finger on why.
Kaleb Aarons stood in front of his telescope late that afternoon. The unseen sun hung low in the sky as the house behind him cast deep dark shadows on the sandy backyard. The telescope, being of a very high quality, allowed the young man to observe exactly what went on at the house on the hill up Cover Up Road, specifically, the show a young blond man was putting on. There was something to be said for watching a grown man singing "Pour Some Sugar on Me" while seated on a toilet.
To an outsider, the scene appeared to be merely that of an avid birdwatcher. To his friend, Ronya, however, it was something entirely different.
“You know, one day you’re going to end up in Vidcund’s trash can in multiple pieces,” she remarked, passing him and entering the house. Kaleb left the telescope and followed suit.
“You seem to forget; we’re only representations of the two actual people controlling and watching this world,” Kaleb responded, following her into the bathroom. “Even if Vidcund somehow managed to penetrate the invisible force field protecting us from harm by the other Sims, we would only be recreated by those who made us in the first place.” He continued as he and Ronya walked back out to the living room and sat on the couch.
Ronya gave him a dubious expression. “Seriously?”
Kaleb cast his eyes toward the floor molding. “Well, no, that’s really just a theory explaining why we look so much like the controllers…And possibly the elephant wall hanging in the other room.”
“Then what’s to stop Vidcund from running over here right now and impaling us both on his nose, or at least, from turning us in for invasion of privacy?” Ronya continued as Kaleb retrieved his eyeballs from the side of the room.
Kaleb sat back down, only to jump up once more in realization. “We know it’s Vidcund that’ll bring the death threats!” he exclaimed, giving about two and a half more excited jumps (his initial excitement faded somewhat mid-flight).
Ronya sat still for a few seconds. “And….If we know that, before we’ve even met this Vidcund, we must have some sort of power over the other Sims!”
“We ARE gods among Sims!” Kaleb’s two and a half jumps became three after the completion that slight leap of logic.
“Hold on a minute.” Ronya’s tone sobered slightly. “If we really are gods, we should have some other powers, like omniscience or omnipotence.”
“Or the power to not suck at cooking.” Kaleb poked at his lunchmeat sandwich before getting up to store it in the fridge. “How I managed to burn the drink is beyond me.”
Ronya rose from the couch, poking around the combination living room and kitchen. “There should be something….Aha! Here it is.” She reached under the couch and brought up a big black remote control that bore the label “STRANGETOWN.” Instead of buttons for numbers, there were color-coded buttons labeled with a last name-one for every household in the town.
Kaleb box-vaulted back onto the couch. “The Universal remote!”
“Well, not completely universal; there were others under the couch. I saw one for some places called Belladonna Cove, Pleasantview-sounds a bit like a sitcom, that one- and Veronaville. But,” she flicked on the television set, “with this, dare I say it, we could….Avoid washing the dishes for at least four hours!”
“Sweet!” Kaleb pressed a fire engine red button labeled “CURIOUS.”
The sun was just considering peeking over the horizon of the Simvanian desert. A white house sat on a sandy hill, fostering the shrillest screams known to man.
“Just sit down, and we’ll get you to a hospital!” Vidcund Curious advised his convulsing older brother, Pascal, in a not-quite-so-calm voice.
“Forget the hospital, this baby’s coming now!” Pascal screamed back, assuming the birthing position on the blanket spread over the floor. “To think,” he thought, “just a few seconds ago, life was so normal.”
Nine months earlier, Pascal had been stargazing through the telescope, as he had done for the past fifteen years. He was just about ready to call it a night, when he saw a blue light streak through the sky. By the time he was able to zoom in closer, it was too late. He was sucked into the UFO, Vidcund and Lazlo powerless to do anything other than watch and maybe play a game of Punch You Punch Me. Upon being thrust unceremoniously from the aircraft and running to the toilet, he came to the conclusion that he, just like his father, Glarn, had been impregnated by the aliens.
And now here he was.
“I’ll get the scissors!” The third, youngest brother, Lazlo, ran for the bathroom medicine cabinet.
Vidcund knelt in front of Pascal, who spread his legs for his younger brother, and worked his hands into a pair of rubber gloves. He’d hardly been looking forward to this part; in Vidcund’s view, no amount of training would ever prepare him to yank a little green person out of his older brother. He was almost tempted to yell at Lazlo to get his butt back out here and help-it didn’t take that long to fetch a pair of scissors, what could he be doing?-but that would only upset Pascal (rather unwise, considering he now had a strong hold on Vidcund’s wrist).
“Whatever you do, don’t pull him out. Alien babies hate that,” Pascal warned, his voice dropping to a shaky whisper.