ETERNAL
VANESSA
*click-clack-click*. The sounds of an old clunky keyboard reverberate throughout the small alcove. Vanessa frantically glances over her shoulder periodically to ensure no person will be spoiled for eternity by her masterpiece: hundreds of thousands—millions even—of carefully-considered, hand-selected, curated words describing the ever-expansive and rich world of Naruto.
She laughs maniacally, proud of the seed of literature that she has planted into the black hole that is Archive Of Our Own.
When she’s not deviously adding questionable personality traits to anime characters, she can be found writing music. Or doing physics. Or psychoanalyzing strangers. Or anything really; the inner machinations of her mind are an enigma. The prophecies foretell that the day Vanessa’s words can be predicted will be one marked by extreme catastrophe and cataclysmic circumstances. Some legends say the previous warrior to brave the journey into her brain never escaped and was banished to become the centerpiece of one of her new stories. Others say no being has had the guts to make the trek. Regardless, the world is still searching for a soul courageous enough to dive into the ever-expanding ravine that is the mind of Vanessa.
DAVID
When the glimmering moon was at its zenith and when all of human and beast of Newport News, Virginia, were deep in slumber, David lit his lantern, circled his spiral staircase, and approached a locked wooden cabinet. He slowly opened the cabinet to reveal a deep blue parcel inside, reflecting in the moonlight. He peeled back its shiny film to reveal its contents - seven in number and perfectly stacked. David lifted each one up and inspected them, methodically and intently. He noted their weights, their ridges, their aromas. He counted the seven once more, clutched them all in hand, and walked briskly to retrieve the decadent ice cream from his freezer.
"The perfect pairing," he whispered.
David had few pleasures, but his nightly indulgence with those seven Oreos infused him with such joie de vivre.
For David, life was perfect. Until it wasn't.
The next morning, he awoke to stunning news - the secret Oreo recipe had been stolen from the Nabisco headquarters in New Jersey.
The news sent shockwaves across the globe. Economies crumbled. Whole countries fell into political upheaval. Devastating natural disasters battered millions. Without the Oreo recipe, there was no Oreo. And without the Oreo - the sweet life force of the universe - there was no order. Only chaos.
Most bewildered by the news was David. He questioned reality, purpose, and all that was good in the world. Having finished his last seven Oreos the night prior, he knew that he could no longer continue his nightly ritual. The run on Oreos had cleared the shelves of any variant of those heavenly sandwich cookies, and, without a recipe, the factories had halted production entirely.
Distraught, dismayed, and disillusioned, David had given up all hope of ever tasting the luxurious goodness of Oreos ever again. Soon, though, he began to hear a faint melody, the words of which he could barely make out - but he instantly recognized those voices. Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston's words echoed:
There can be miracles /
When you believe.
Believe. That is what he had to do.
David knew he had to believe in himself - he knew that his mandate was to restore peace and order to the world by finding the Oreo recipe. So he began his search.
David journeyed to the far reaches of the Earth - he climbed every mountain and swam every ocean, looking for the stolen recipe. His months-long trek brought him to Boston, Massachusetts, where the three thieves had stashed the recipe and unknowingly divulged its location.
He soon ended up at MIT, whose labyrinthian tunnels proved to be the perfect location to store and protect the secret recipe. And his love for music and mathematics brought him to the MIT Logarhythms of course.
To this day, deep underneath MIT, David guards the secret Oreo recipe so that all may enjoy them - even those who split the cookies in half.
EVAN
It was a clear, cold Massachusetts autumn day, and Evan Rubel was making the most of the beautiful frigid weather. Thinking of nothing but his upcoming 4.5 simultaneous exams, a strangely erotic vision of Buzz Lightyear from Toy Story, and YEBBA singing the words “I’m ‘bout to lose my--” he leisurely walked through Cambridge, humming to himself.
He was in the middle of crossing Massachusetts Ave, when an old man in a hooded trench coat next to him suddenly collapsed to the ground and started convulsing. Deeply concerned, Evan sank to his knees next to the man.
“Sir? Sir? Are you alright sir?” He asked several times with no reply
Just as the crosswalk started counting down, the old man slowly sat up, took a shuddering breath, and raised a shaking, gloved hand to remove his hood. With a gasp, Evan gaped at the T-map tattooed on the man’s forehead...it was the Spirit of Boston!
“Why, you ah not from these pahts!” exclaimed the Spirit of Boston, eyes widening.
“Haha, can you tell that I’m freezing?” giggled Evan, shivering slightly.
“What? No, I don’t care about that.” dismissed the Spirit, rolling his eyes and getting up from the ground. Entranced, Evan copied him. “It’s the smell! I could smell your kindness and empathy towards strangers from miles away! Admittedly it was more discreet in the Nawth End, so drowned-out by those aromatic Italian delicacies, but, wowzah!”
“Aw, ugh...well, that’s very kind of you,” Evan smiled, blushing. “It was nice to chat, but I think I need to get going!” He gestured at the crosswalk timer, which had reached the number three.
“Hold on,” remarked the Spirit, reaching up to place a hand on Evan’s shoulder. “I like you, son. And I have incredibly good instincts--ya know, being a Spirit and all. I can tell you are wicked smaht. Furthermore, I sense that you enjoy horror movies and have great enthusiasm for words that contain the string ‘ba’.”
“Wow, that’s true!” mused Evan, deeply impressed. “I never considered it but I do love YEBBA...Boba...Bareilles...baked goods...beanbags...”
“What about baths?” interrupted the Spirit.
“Umm” said Evan.
“I really like baths...do you like baths?” The Spirit continued, looking deep into Evan’s eyes.
“Well that’s a bit of a strange question…” Evan laughed nervously. Luckily at that moment, the light turned green, and he was saved by the distraction of cars honking and various expletives being angrily shouted at the pair.
While the Spirit of Boston was distracted, he briskly walked away, disturbed by the direction the conversation had turned. When he was a safe distance away, he took a chance to look at his phone. To his surprise, there was a new message from logs-active.
“I wonder what this is?” wondered Evan, while clicking on the notification.
To his horror, somebody had sniped his furious flight from the kind and creepy Spirit of Boston. Hence was the birth of Angry Evan.