The Sanctuary

[csm725]

@Gamer - Have fun!

[david.atwell]

Theology. I'm a theology dork. Truly, and I do mean dork. I geek out over stuff like that so bad...

Do you find yourself preaching in the shower? That what happens to me when a thought hits me like lightning bolt.

Heh. All the time, actually.

[csm725]

EDIT: Comment intended for Welsh's gallery. :oops:

[Lance McKnight]

Theology. I'm a theology dork. Truly, and I do mean dork. I geek out over stuff like that so bad...

Do you find yourself preaching in the shower? That what happens to me when a thought hits me like lightning bolt.

Heh. All the time, actually.

Sweet! I'm not the only one that's crazy here then.

[007 Nab]

No way seriously guys?

I do that aaaaallll the time! Hah

I'll randomly just think of interactions with people, and make counter arguments, and counter counter arguments, etc., etc., living conversations before they even happen

[Lance McKnight]

007 Nab, you know what, man? I do the same thing too. It's like I'm living inside of my head and having a conversation with myself. I have people look at me as if I'm a kook. Perhaps I am...

[david.atwell]

I think we're more normal than the world would have us believe.

[Mike Ryan]

I am not going to lie, I don't have conversations with myself. That isn't to say that I don't go into rather deep theological thought. As a matter of fact, I aim to graduate with Ph.D in the Classics, Latin and a Masters in Church History simply because I love thinking and discussing about theology and its affect on our lives. However, I am not religious and share no common faith (in other words, it is fun to argue with me [as some others have stated]).

[007 Nab]

I agree, David.

But for some reason it's easiest for me in the shower -- that's when I get inside my own world.

I don't know why the shower, specifically , but that's how it is for me anyway.

Mike, that's impressive! Dang man - I see what you mean - I've done just the same as well. Though I'm sure you're at a whole other level

[Crazy Man Dan]

I have an hour commute one way to school, so I generally do my self-arguing there.

While not always directly related to theology, I find arguing with myself helps me a lot with decision-making. If I'm frustrated with something and planning on bringing it up to someone, I'll think it over a bit from their side and try to see what counter points they would be likely to have. When I do get time to do this, I'm generally more prepared and reasoned when I do bring up an issue, so there's less confrontation and more productive discussion.

This process has also help me avoid quite a few potential arguments altogether. Every so often, when I've looked at a problem from the other side, I've seen direct causal links from something I was frustrated with to something I myself was doing or not doing, and amended my behavior instead. Lemme tell ya, it's a lot easier to change when you recognize the need for it yourself than it is after you've just had an argument you started flipped totally on its head... >_>

So yeah, Crazy Man Dan confirms your sanity.

By the way, hello again.

[Wilson]

I came back! Been away for a while, focusing on exams and stuff. Good to be back.

[Kemaru]

No way seriously guys?

I do that aaaaallll the time! Hah

I'll randomly just think of interactions with people, and make counter arguments, and counter counter arguments, etc., etc., living conversations before they even happen

I do that, too.

[Rubrica]

Nab & CMD: I'm glad to see I'm not the only one that does that - except it doesn't seem to be helping with much,

[Mike Ryan]

Mike, that's impressive! Dang man - I see what you mean - I've done just the same as well. Though I'm sure you're at a whole other level

Don't call it impressive until I've accomplished it in about seven years from now. And things could change; I plan on applying for schools like DigiPen and investigate a career in CompSci or digital art and design. But who I am right now wants to be Dr Mike Ryan. Inspired by my own Latin professor, Dr. Malcolm Donalson.

[Rubrica]

Good Lord, I'm finally done with my English homework... exactly 1,500 words. If anyone wishes to read it, here it is (sorry it's rubbish, but you can blame my teacher and her stupid word limit for that.

Hidden Content:

Ink-Stained Fingers

As I lay upon the floor, gazing up at the sky, I went over in my mind the past day. I had no concerns; I knew I had no need for them, as all would be forgotten soon. My eyes began to feel heavier; I knew I didn't have much time left. As they began to close, I attempted a smile, knowing that despite my fate, my actions had sorted things out once and for all.

- - - 8 HOURS EARLIER - - -

The walls in the bedroom were cheerily splashed with a warm, comforting shade of cocoa. An abrupt wind came through the open window, stirring the curtains of the same colour. The chequered, coffee-shop style floor was illuminated by the graceful rays of the sun. I lay on my bed, relaxing after a stressful day. I could hear my mother's voice trying to call something to me – I tried to ignore her and bask in the peaceful atmosphere, but that proved impossible. I descended the softly-carpeted stairs and walked into the living, in which I found my brother and mum sitting on the sofa, with Erin sitting on the opposite one.

“Oh, hi, Erin. Can I get you a cup of tea or anything?” It's an odd little quirk of mine; whenever I greet someone, I have to offer them a cup of tea – a habit that can prove rather unusual at times.

“No, it's fine, thanks.” She looked as though she wanted to say more, but my brother interrupted her.

“And this would be your girlfriend, then?” He laughed, with the sort of grin on his face that only shows when he's making fun of someone else.

“I don't suppose you'd know; after all, you've never had one,” I smirked, as I watched the tiny little gears in his minds whirring at full speed to try and come up with a good comeback.

“I wanted to talk to you, actually, Connor,” Erin said before the conversation could go any further, “about the, ah, project.” I lost all interest in the quarrel with my brother, and wondered what could have arisen so as to merit a visit.

“I see... are you sure you don't want a drink? Feel free to have a look at our types of juice,” I hinted. Erin took the cue, and came in to the kitchen with me.

“What is it? You know that it's never a good idea to visit me, not with everyone listening.

“I'm sorry,” she hissed at me, “but it couldn't wait! I... I think someone's figured us out. His name's Jared, you might know him from school, but I think he's more than just a schoolchild.”

“Well, that's not enough! Where's he from, how much does he know?!”

“I don't know, but he lives in Silverside... we could pay him a visit, you know...” That could be a good idea, I thought to myself. After all, standing around doing nothing won't help...

“When can we leave? Now?” Erin nodded meekly, and we walked back into the living room.

“Me and Erin are going out for a bit, Mum, do you mind?”

“Not at all,” she smiled, “but please, make sure that you're back soon.”

“We will be,” I promised her, not knowing that I would be for sure. And with that we left, but not before I heard my mother say;

“I hope she won't be like all the others...” I sighed, and closed the door behind me.

Silverside. It was the sort of name that you'd expect a quaint little village in the countryside to have. Well, you wouldn't be far off in that conclusion; it was one of those new housing developments that liked to pretend that it was a quaint little village in the countryside.

“What will we say to him when we meet him?” I asked.

“If I'm right, we won't have to say anything, because he'll already know what we're here for.” And so she pressed the doorbell. Almost instantly, the door was flung open, and we were greeted by a thin, wiry boy with neatly kept, black hair, in which the occasional grey one could be seen.

“Can I help you?” he inquired.

“I think you know you can, Jared,” said Erin with a false smile. “I spoke to you at school today; you said I could come round.”

“Only because I knew you'd have to. And this must be the boy you said about... Connor, was it?” With no further ado, he ushered us in and up to his room. It was a spacious room, but quite well lit. The walls were obscured entirely by floor to ceiling bookshelves, broken up by sheer, utilitarian grey curtains on the windows. As soon as the door was closed, he turned to us.

“I know why you're here, and yes, I know everything.” Without waiting for a response, he walked over to one of his shelves and pulled out a folder. He browsed through it, finally stopping at a double-page spread, which he handed to us. On it were all the details on the operation in which we were involved. There were more details than even we knew about it – but then, we were just subordinates, doing their job and nothing more.

It was a smuggling operation; nothing highly criminal, but nonetheless something you'd want to keep hushed. We were dealing with the import and export of a certain type of ink. With it, it was easy to forge documents which would otherwise be impossible to replicate.

“Listen, I – that is, my father; these are his files, technically – know that you're only doing this because you've been forced to. But we can help! We just need co-operation on your behalf; if you help us track down your employers, you won't have to do this anymore! We know that there's one family in this area that has a regular need for the ink, but we've got no evidence. Just, please, think of the good you'll be doing if you help us!” It was tempting, the prospect of a free life, but impossible. I knew that, and no-one could change my mind.

“Erin, we're leaving.” I returned down the stairs, and as we exited, in a moment of

deja-vu, I heard his own parent talking to him;

“I didn't know you had friends round, Jared!”

“They're not friends, father.” And with that, we left.

We couldn't return home yet; it would arouse suspicion, coming back this early. So we decided to hang around the community park for a little while, just chatting, about normal things instead of work for once. But it wasn't to last; I heard a rustling in the bushes, and Erin went to have a look. Suddenly, she stumbled backwards, a man emerging from the bush.

“I don't think we've had the pleasure of meeting yet. I'm Ruben Faraday... Jared's father.” At that, I froze. Mr. Faraday, however, did not. “My son... his heart is in the right place, you see, but he's young. He thinks that he can achieve something simply by talking to the right people... ie., you. But when you get experience, you realise that investigators such as myself have multiple ways of working... one of which, being this!” He pulled out a gun, and grabbed Erin. I had regained my composure at that point, but I was still as nervous as though the gun was being pointed in my direction.

“Now, d-don't you think you're being a little rash? I know you don't want to hurt her...”

“I suggest you return that conclusion to whatever pawn shop you bought it from, because if I have to harm the young lady, I will! It's only fair that I take a life in return for my wife's, which was stolen by your very own smuggling operation!” Ah. They always had a motive.

“Nevertheless,” I replied, trying to remain calm, “If you were to take more than one, it would go against you honour as an investigator, surely?” I knew what I had to do to save Erin, and the smuggling operation; after all, she didn't know nearly as much as I did. I looked behind me, at the memorial statue, and the fall behind it onto the pavement.

I walked backwards, and jumped.

As I lay upon the floor, gazing up at the sky, I went over in my mind the past day. I had no concerns; I knew I had no need for them, as all would be forgotten soon. My eyes began to feel heavier; I knew I didn't have much time left. As they began to close, I attempted a smile, knowing that despite my fate, my actions had sorted things out once and for all.

[Ego Eram Reputo]

Ah - punctuation. What a joy to behold someone using it appropriately!

Thank you, Rubrica, you have made my day.

[Zwicky]

Heh. My name's Jared. Coincidental. Nice writing Rubrica! I enjoyed reading it

[cazaron]

Rubrica, amazing. just amazing. if there was no word limit, i'd see a whole novel coming on.

[Rubrica]

Thank you for the compliments, even if they are total lies. I just hope my teacher thinks the same...

[cazaron]

i assure you, im not lying. it was amazing.

[pyrochild]

Thank you for the compliments, even if they are total lies. I just hope my teacher thinks the same...

If my niece -- who is supposedly older than you -- used a semicolon, comma, hyphen, or dash, I would have her exorcised.

[Rubrica]

Ha! Yes, I seem to remember my English teacher actually singing when she first met me, simply because of the fact I knew how to use punctuation.

Incidentally, more and more lately, people are forgetting the proper capitalisation and spacing of nouns, ie.; iPod.

[pyrochild]

*cough pyrochild cough*

[Rubrica]

...I have no witty response.

[david.atwell]

Rubrica. Stop being so awesome. You're hurting my delicate ego.