Oh darn, it's been a while since I visited this. Welp, hey there!

a poem for the scratch forums

a man slowly dies in a hospital bed
he has nothing to say
his family doesn't visit him now
the hospital removed the only way to see him
now if you want to visit this man
you must go through the back door
sometimes a few kids visit and go
but eventually they'll stop
and when they stop, the hospital will kill him

This forum has been dead for a while. Can I revive it?? -waves fingers in a magical way but fails-

TigerAlpaca wrote:

This forum has been dead for a while. Can I revive it?? -waves fingers in a magical way but fails-

Got a notification saying there's been a new post. I think the forum is dead, I might start a new one for revival, but the original creator doesn't seem o want to continue it.

Capuccinocoffee wrote:

TigerAlpaca wrote:

This forum has been dead for a while. Can I revive it?? -waves fingers in a magical way but fails-

Got a notification saying there's been a new post. I think the forum is dead, I might start a new one for revival, but the original creator doesn't seem o want to continue it.

Yas. I'm probably gonna make a new one.

Tell me which it is so I can join! : )

Kitty0730 wrote:

Tell me which it is so I can join! : )

Will do

Hey! I was picking through the studios that I curate, and found this. I would like a bit of feedback on this story I've written. I've got about half of it shared on scratch, and I'll be sharing more later, I just don't have time at the moment. So I've just pasted the whole thing below. I'd appreciate a bit of criticism on it.
It's pretty strange, and I'll explain a bit of the plot that might be a bit confusing down below it.
Holy heck, I just pasted it, and I can't believe that I haven't run out of room or anything.



The warehouse was dark, dusty, and smelled like metal and mildew. The large and heavy warehouse door was shut tight and tied with a rotting rope that had probably sat there for years, ends frayed and split. Outside, tall pines brushed against their brothers and sisters in the wind, a happy family of trees sleeping under a roof of sparkling stars.
This warehouse looked normal, more like a barn than a warehouse, really. But it was a sight to see inside. There were piles atop piles of humanoid figures in this musty place, some just tarnished metal skeletons, some fleshed out in tin paneling. Bits and pieces of metal objects and scraps everywhere.
The only light came from a welding torch. It was orange and yellow, sparkling and fizzing. A light in the silky black atmosphere. It somewhat illuminated a figure crouched over a table, somewhere amongst the piles of metal figures. The figure ceased welding, standing from his pained hunch and fighting to keep his eyes open. The man looked at his creation.
“Lanin. Come here.” He called, his voice echoing through the warehouse, cracking a little with exhaustion. There was a soft clicking noise, and a small boy ran between the piles of scraps, a lantern swinging from his hand and circles under his eyes. The light illuminated the metal figures, bathing them in a sweet yellow glow. They were like dolls, the size and shape of you and me. They were the residue of a genius perfecting his technique. But they were failures. They were naked with a sense of failed success. Stripped of glory and pride. They were wonderful, mystical. Horrible.
Sometimes before they were given up and shut down, their useful parts and pieces taken for another automaton, they would be turned on, just to see what could be improved. Their artificial minds whirring in a dim aura. Their creator would lead them to a full-length mirror, their jerky steps reflected in the pristine surface. And they would stand there, unbalanced and blinking. They’d examine themselves, touch their face, watch their shaky gait. And they would cry; “I’m not perfect. I’m not what you wanted me to be, Doctor. I’m horrible.” He’d slowly open the panel on their back and flip a switch hidden amongst wires and lights, labels and numbered buttons. He never felt regret or sorrow. It was only an artificial mind reacting to what it saw. But he still couldn’t stand the crying. He’d heard too much of that.
But now, this automaton really was perfect. The Doctor could feel it. He’d improved the thinking and knowledge capsule, certain he’d solved the puzzle. She lay on her back, her soft rubber flesh intact and every hair in place. Her fingernails would grow, her hair as well. She could exercise and develop her muscles, she could eat, drink, sleep. She was as vulnerable and new as a newborn child. But she wasn’t as mindless and undeveloped. She was smart. She could walk and run as coordinated as anyone else. She wasn’t human, but she was as perfect as she could be.
The man was maybe twenty and five years of age, smiling in an odd way down at his creation, which was surrounded in a halo of scattered parts and pieces of metal and other material. They were tarnished, shiny, and clean as can be all at once.
“She’s done, Lanin.” He spoke as the boy drew up to the table.
The automaton was beautiful. Female form, smooth skin, a clear and pure complexion that was as creamy and bright as the paper you’d put in a typewriter. She had perfect proportions, a sweet face, and shining brown hair, untouched by products and pins. All from years of study and experimentation.
“She’ll rebel Greta Garbo, Doctor.”
“Oh, yes. I bet she will.” The Doctor slowly turned the automaton onto her stomach, revealing a near-hidden hatch in her back. He opened it, reaching in and flipping a switch. He shut the hatch, and turned her around onto her back again. He stood back. Thinking.
He turned to an ensemble of exhibition posters and newspapers from his childhood, his parent’s times, his grandparent’s times, nailed to a collection of wood panels beside the table. They were all of beautiful automata. Majestic and complex. He’d always said that he’d build his own someday. But not just any other automaton. A special one.
He’d gone to college for this and this alone. This was his dream. He’d worked for it for years.
The automaton began to breathe, chest and shoulders rising. She sniffed, and her eyes fluttered open. Then, she slowly sat up and smoothly swung her legs down from the tabletop, brushing aside the scrap-metal halo with her calves. She got down from the table, and stepped evenly over to the Doctor.
“Hello, Doctor.”
He’d done it. “Hello, Greta.” The Doctor smiled in bright success, holding his hand out to the automaton, Greta.
His mother would be so proud of her little boy when she saw what he’d made.
The automaton followed him, and to the mirror he went. He watched her face expectantly.
Greta swallowed, starting to cry.
The small boy could see confusion on his master’s face. The man was hesitating. Something wasn’t right.
“What’s wrong, Greta?”
She looked up at him. “Nothing.”
The Doctor frowned.
“I’m marvelous.”
His mother, somewhere up in the clouds with the angels would be so proud. For Manfred Bird, as he’d christened himself, was an orphan. And he’d created the perfect woman.
-
Greta slept in a small four-poster Manfred had put down in the gold-glowing laboratory, wearing a peach lace nightgown Manfred’s mother had left him. He’d wanted his creation to be comfortable, and the Lab was the place that grew least cold at night. He’d move Greta upstairs into another room he’d have to fix up later.
Manfred’s bed on the ground floor looked unslept in, though he’d been sleeping for at least two days straight. His desk was covered so in papers and fountain pens that you couldn’t see the old, sticky finish on the wood tabletop. He was in his lab, drinking a strange tea he brewed up every morning. It was a sweet smelling herbal concoction of some sorts.
He looked over to Greta’s bed, the curtains still drawn around it. He could hear her quiet breathing.
Manfred thought as he stared at the many diagrams and notes he’d put on the wall. Where would he exhibit Greta? How could he get her out there, into the wide, wondrous would? Who knew, as he might as well hide Greta away from the rest of the world for all the good she wouldn’t do for them. He’d always told his adoptive mother he’d be in a larger-than-life exhibition, and show everyone his marvel of a machine. Could he even dream of it anymore? What would she think of him, backing down from something he’d been daydreaming about since he was a small boy? He was a coward if he didn’t think he could do it. He was too afraid to fail. Something he’d been taught by his parents was never good. You couldn’t do things if you’re too afraid of not doing them. It was simple. But that was right. He was a coward.
His eyelids sagged. He was tired and felt odd. It was probably just too much work. Manfred heard the curtains on the small four-poster bed move.
“Doctor Bird?”
He turned. Greta’s head was poked out from the curtains “Yes?”
“Do I have any clothing?”
Manfred nodded. “You do. I put them in your pillowcase.”
“Thank you.” Greta slipped her head back into the cozy interior of the bed. He could hear her taking the gown off and taking her set of clothing out of the pillowcase. He needed to move that bed into it’s own space. He could’ve planned it better. Should’ve. But if Greta was comfortable in the lab, he’d dig her a room of her own out off of it.
It occurred to him that it was horribly improper for him even to be down there. He sniffed, still tired, and stood, taking his mug and walking up and out of the lab. Lanin was still sleeping on a pile of extra parts cushioned with a blanket where he’d fallen asleep earlier while reading. For some reason, the boy didn’t like to read anywhere but here. He said it was more peaceful.
Manfred could feel his joints creaking. He was tired. But he’d need to go back down into the lab to fix them all something to eat. Greta would be starving.
He could hear the wind pushing through the tall trees outside, and a car rattling past on the road. A somewhat rare occurrence.
After they’d eaten what Manfred had pulled together, they sat in odd silence on crates. He coughed into his fist, interrupting what was once quiet. “Greta, Lanin and I are going out in the car today to finish some errands. Would you care to come with us?”
Greta blinked with incredible realism. “Yes, that would be nice.”
Manfred nodded slowly, thinking. “When would you be ready?”
“I don’t suppose you have any ribbons, hat or such, would you? I haven’t set my hair.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot about that. There are some hats in the mirrored hutch down in the lab. They’re a little old, though. Maybe ten years?”
Greta nodded, standing. “Thank you. I suppose I’ll go down and get one, then. I’ll be ready in a moment.” She walked down to the lab as human as anyone off the street. Manfred could hardly keep from shouting with glee, even being a man his age.
Greta re-appeared, a dusty hat perched atop her head.
Manfred lead themto a far corner of the warehouse, where they found a rattled-up tin-lizzie in a derelict corner. “Lanin, get the crank, please?” He opened the hood and flipped the gas on, letting the hood back down and helping Greta up into the car, frowning.
“I’d like to respond to the name ‘Jenny’ out in public, yes?” He sat in the seat beside her, starting the car.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Lanin stood up from the crank, the car engine now humming, and ran ahead to get the doors, Manfred slowly driving the car forward behind him. Lanin shoved the left door open, letting a stream of silver-gold light hit the old Ford touring car as it rumbled through the tall opening. Manfred gently braked, the car rocking forward as it stopped. Lanin pulled the door closed and jumped into the backseat.
Manfred let the brake off and let the car rock over the gravel, slightly wobbling. They were all pretty quiet for a time. This seemed to satisfy Manfred, who began to breathe easier, though the tight spot just within his ribcage didn’t lessen. What’d the people in town think of him with a lady? Could they even think for a minute she wasn’t a real woman? He’d only find out if he tried, wouldn’t he?
Signs of other human life were becoming more obvious. Old houses with bird nests in the windows and holes in the roof were popping up along the side of the road, with fallen fences and overgrown yards. They were the remains of the times when the land around the warehouse were considered half-decent places to live. Which was more of a ‘Once upon a time’ sort of thing. The parents would raise their children here, the children would move out and live lives of their own with their own spouses and children, and the parents would die. None of the siblings wanted the house, so it would sit abandoned and let the forest claim their land back. It was a simple process that would continue until the end of time. It was a never-changing way of life.
After about a minute more of the quiet purring of the engine and turning of the wheels on gravel, the town began to form. Bonita was home to about four thousand residents, a small church, library, a poorly hidden speakeasy, and a somewhat lazy police department. There was a nice market, bakery, and a few dated apartment buildings. And, of course, a doors-and-windows store. It was homely and pretty comfortable in general. Unless you were the unfortunate one to have your front-door egged or happened to live near the speakeasy on a bad night.
“Doctor Bird?” Greta spoke smoothly.
“Yes?”
“When will you take me to an exhibition? I feel that’s what you’ve been pondering.”
“I’m not sure. I’d sure want to be invited to the big one up in New York, though.”
“Oh, yes. That one’s invitation-only, isn’t it?”
“Aren’t they all.”
Passing the general store, Greta got plenty of looks and mixed expressions. The recluse had finally found a sheba? Impossible. Who would court a nutcase like that? Obviously another nutcase, no?
Pulling the car up beside a hardware store, the car rocking forward again as he braked, Manfred jumped out, running into the hardware store and running back out with his purchases. It only took him a few minutes. He’d obviously done this before.
Once Manfred had loaded his materials in the back of the car, he drove them to the town center, where he pulled up a half rotted barrel sitting on the side of the road and covered the top with his coat. Greta sat down on it, and Manfred began to show his creation.
After a minute or two of calling out to the shoppers he had gathered a small crowd around them. Lanin stood beside him, watching the people mill about.
Manfred tilted his hat down to give him a somewhat ambitious look. “How many of you have seen an automaton in action before?”
A man in the crowd called out to him. “That’s an ordinary woman you’ve got there. We aren’t stupid.”
“I never called you stupid. Though, I have to argue, this,” he motioned to Greta, “is my automaton.” He tried to sound somewhat intelligent, his voice shaky.
The man laughed and left.
Manfred shrugged. “This is Jenny. She is the product of my lifelong dream and thousands of previous models. Would any of you like a demonstration?”
The crowd was shrinking. Though a few still stood and watched.
“Right, then.” Manfred turned to Greta and pulled the rubber flesh off of her arm, revealing her complex arm structure and showing the previously microscopic seams between the panels of rubber. “Jenny, dear, move your arm.”
Greta flexed her arm, smiling.
“Now let me take her arm partially off her torso.” He handed the rubber arm panel to Lanin, and toggled with her shoulder joint for a moment. He pulled her arm off easily, holding it in his arms.
A small child out with her mother by a fruit stall cried out, pointing. “Look, he just pulled that lady’s arm off! Momma!”
Manfred looked over in surprise. “Don’t worry, this is a machine’s arm. It didn’t hurt my automaton at all. I’m sorry that distressed you.”
The little girl looked on in shock, watching Greta smile at her and wave her other arm.
Manfred re-attached Greta’s arm and rubber flesh, and easily rotated the barrel Greta sat on to face her away from the growing crowd. He pulled the neck of her dress down and opened Greta’s back panel. “This is where her speaking, movements, and other responses are controlled. Come look.” His explanation was heavily simplified. It was really much more complex than that. And he’d cut off her blood circulation so that she wouldn’t bleed when he took the arm panels off. He’d also left out many other components. The simpler the explanation, the more real the effect.
The crowd grew closer to view the wires and lights.
“See, this light here,” Manfred pointed to a light near the surface, “turns off when she blinks.”
A woman in the crowd yelled out to him in a high and scratched voice. “Are you really showing off this woman of yours while smallpox has been lurking in the air? Taking advantage of us all? Ha! You found that woman dancing in a speakeasy off someplace, didn’t you?”
“Oh.” Manfred’s face went slack for a moment. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware.” He stammered. “I don’t read the paper very often.” Smallpox. The illness Manfred despised, yet didn’t care about the danger it posed to him and his fellow man.
The woman pushed through the crowd, her sharp nose poking through a curtain of bushy, tight curls. She thrust her hand into Greta’s cavity, feeling the wires and mechanism that gave Greta a heartbeat. She observed everything in a split second. “This is a woman with a surgically mechanized digestive and respiratory system.”
Manfred shook his head. “A woman like that would’ve been dead moments after the operation, ma’am.” He took Greta’s arm off again, letting the sharp-nosed woman hold it. “And where are her veins? A human cannot live without proper blood circulation.” He pointed out.
The woman huffed, giving Greta’s arm back to him and striding off. Manfred re-attached it again.
On the way out of town, Manfred bought himself a newspaper.
-
The lab glowed with a white gold shine as it always did. Manfred poured two vials of hand-ground herbs into a small pot of cold water, swirling them gently. He placed it over a small gas burner and watch the liquid turn into a flashing red and simmer down to a bright shade of brown. He let it sit over the burner for a moment. Greta was sitting casually on the old four-poster, Lanin slumped over sleeping in his usual corner, a diagram on his lap. He’d been up too late studying. Manfred didn’t have the heart to wake him, as the poor boy had sleeping problems. Manfred thought for a moment. “Greta, dear, would you get the door for me?” He walked over to Lanin, picking him up and gently carrying him up the stairs and across the warehouse and into Lanin’s room, laying the boy down onto the bed. When he woke up, he wouldn’t have any strains in his back. The Doctor returned to the pot down in the lab, the contents of which had darkened a little and turned greener. He turned the burner off and lifted the pot off of it, pouring it into a mug he had sitting on the counter. Manfred took a sip of the concoction, feeling his head clear and any anxiety slightly cease presence. He sat and thoughtfully read the newspaper, front to back. Wedding reception guests gathered in a ‘Sweet, old country manor outside of Albany’ had been shoved into an ‘Absolutely horrible game of Kill or Be Killed’ by the bride’s father, and the single survivor was the daughter of a friend, who’d been sent in place of her ill mother.
A printed photograph below the headlines captured the familiar house in as much splendor as the photographs Manfred had. Only his pictures had people in them.
And then there were a few cases of smallpox. That got Manfred into thought about how much people fear for their lives. He often thought of such things, strange as it sounds.
He slowly drank the rest of it, slipping into a veil of drowsiness. The chamomile in the concoction helped him sleep. Manfred set the dirty mug on the wood countertop and walked up into the warehouse, toward the back, to his and Lanin’s living space
Manfred walked into his room, closing the door behind him and hardly bothering to slip his nightclothes on before dropping down onto his bed, trying to figure out where he’d build Greta’s room. His mind was always whirring with something in its depths. The anxiety he felt vanished as he drifted off into the abyss.
-
His dreams often reflected his past life. Vague memories of the orphanage he’d spent his first three years in, the loving older couple who’d taken him in and raised him. They’d died a few years earlier, while he was still studying at college, only a few months apart. The dear old souls didn’t have to spend too long without each other.
Sometimes he saw the country house his biological parents had lived in before they contracted smallpox. Manfred often wondered why he was so numb to fearing smallpox. Shouldn’t he fear it just as everyone else?
He occasionally dreamed of the magical day his adoptive father taught him to read. He loved that memory. Though, he usually woke feeling depressed.
Other dreams didn’t have anything to do with his memories. Lots of them were just abstract ideas and strange concepts.
-
Word of Manfred’s magnificent automaton didn’t spread like wildfire, as they do in lots of fairy-tales. He’d taken Greta to quite a few other towns, just to try and put her out there. But in the time that it did spread, Manfred was near done making another automaton, Charles, he’d be called, though a with a few thought and knowledge modifications. A surprise for Greta. But it was then he began to see the unexpected. With half of the automaton’s intelligence disconnected or taken apart, the automaton would turn on and breathe for a moment, maybe blink, then shut off. From what Manfred knew, the automaton shouldn’t have been able to do that. It caused him deep unrest.
He dissected the automaton’s mind, finding a few bits and pieces that just might have caused the malfunctions. He was mystified as to how they’d shown up. It got to the point that Charles wasn’t just a hidden project, but a strange mystery that absolutely refused to be solved. It wasn’t an interesting challenge anymore. Charles occasionally popped up in his nightmares.
Manfred took his unfinished automaton and threw it into the piles of failures, hardly keeping himself from yelling at it. He’d never felt so much hostility to something he didn’t understand.
But at least the failures would welcome the new addition with much more generosity than Manfred ever could.
-
A suited visitor arrived at the warehouse one evening, knocking politely on the heavy door. He requested to see the automaton. Manfred let him in, though curious how the man found him, and answered his request with no opposition, welcoming him. It was so unrealistic that Manfred wondered if he was hallucinating. The Doctor received an invitation to the New York exhibition about a month later. It seemed so smooth and surreal But excitement bubbled and fizzed below his collarbone. “Lanin, boy, we’ve done it! Pack your things, wash your face, we’re leaving tomorrow!” Manfred was ecstatic and jumpy, feeling the anxiety drip away as he shoved his suits and hats into a small trunk. He could hear Lanin jumping up and down in the next room over. The boy must’ve been quite excited to leave this place, even for a few days.
He frowned, throwing one of his favorite books atop the pile of clothing and shutting the trunk lid down on it, walking out of the room to check on Lanin.
“Lanin, you ready?” He knocked.
Lanin opened the door. “Yes.”
“You have everything?”
“Yes.”
“Right, then. I’ll need to pack Greta. Get your things in the car.” Manfred rushed off to find something to wrap Greta in. He had a roll of butchers paper in one hand and a rug and rope in another. It’d work.
He laid Greta out on the paper, gently wrapping her in a loose bundle of brown paper, securing it with a bit of rope. He rolled her up in the rug and wound the rest of the rope around that. He picked the long rolled up rug and set it in the back of the car, closing the door behind him and hearing it click back in place. Lanin had already set his trunk in the back, so he needn’t worry about anything.
Manfred set his trunk in the floor space in front, the wood box being just short enough to allow him good foot space and room to reach the pedals. Lanin could sit cross-legged. He took his invitation letter and re-read it, laughing. They wouldn’t have to leave until tomorrow, the train tickets included in the letter wouldn’t be accepted until then. In his spare time, he packed Greta a change of clothing so she wouldn’t be shown in that old nightgown.
-
Manfred slammed the warehouse door behind them, jumping back into the old touring car, rocking it on it’s chassis. He’d re-filled the gas tank, estimating that it’d be near empty by now, checked the tires, and pulled the top down. As it was a nice day out, so why not? The tin lizzie rattled along opposite the town, heading to a neighboring city.
The car was parked on the side of the road, and Manfred and Lanin lugged their trunks to the train station themselves, the rolled up rug balanced atop. The boarding process went quite quickly, actually. Suspenseful things don’t often go quick. It felt so strange and quick. It was almost impossibly easy.
Manfred stared out the window from his seat at all the people down on the platform. Going to and from different places. Each with their own lives and thoughts. They were all just people, but all special and wondrous in their own way. They were all unique, important. Beautiful.
He hadn’t thought about this sort of thing in a long time. It was just the sort of thing that comes along at the least expected times. It was a rare sort of occurrence. It was different, just as all the individuals outside the window were.
Turning to look at Lanin, he saw that his apprentice was watching out the window as well, following the people outside with his eyes. Their compartment was silent.
Manfred sighed, silently, frowning. All these people were an unfamiliar territory. But they hadn’t been so unfamiliar before. He felt better as the train whistle’s call echoed around the dirty, grime-coated station. The sound was velvety and sweet, like the way a child, hands and face pressed up against the glass, would imagine the truffles and other desirable cocoa products in a chocolatier’s window would taste.
The train began to move, and slow and sure, they left the people on the platform behind. The Doctor closed his eyes for a moment, massaging his temples and thinking. Was he some sort of recluse now? Did he do it on purpose as a foolish, younger man? Or was it his never-ending work that did it? When did he become the eccentric automaton man?
His wandering mind turned to the crying automata, face in their hands and salty tears running from their eyes. Why was he thinking of this?
After a moment he understood. They cried not just because they weren’t perfect, but because they knew that not even the most learned and genius scientists in all the world could make a perfect being. But the automata didn’t understand. They were meant to see their flaws. What made them imperfect. But they were meant to be perfect, and they knew that. They saw more harm in themselves than good. Their artificial minds could see far further than he.
He’d never felt so humble.
-
The train pulled into grand central terminal, long and hot. There were even more people here, watching the smoking monster roll in on it’s tall wheels. Manfred and his apprentice jumped off the train, collected their baggage, and hurried to the hotel where rooms had been generously booked for them beforehand. He sighed. No, it wasn’t generous. The men up top just needed a place for their guests to stay before all the hotels were booked.
On the elevator ride up, Manfred was twitching and sweating, eyes wide and watery. As soon as he had shown Lanin to his own room, Manfred went to his, shaking violently. He collapsed onto the bed in his suite, sweat raining down onto the soft covers. They were soon drenched. He could feel an unexplained panic. Was it something he should consult a physician about? He didn’t know. He could barely think straight.
-
Manfred held a small picture up to Greta’s face. They had the perfect amount of resemblance, though were different enough to be taken as sisters, maybe. He didn’t know. He couldn’t think very hard at the moment.
“Greta, dear, do I look nervous?”
“A little, to be frank. But I think you’ll be fine.”
Manfred shook his head. “No, I won’t. You’re just saying that. I gave you too much of a brain.”
“A perfect woman wouldn’t be anyone at all if she didn’t have a brain, Doctor.”
-
Manfred wore his best suit and tie, a smart bowler hat, and a smiling, confident exterior. He stood beside a stiff, dead Greta, and Lanin, smiling down at the passing crowd. He was up in a moment or two. He took deep breaths to calm his anxious core, knowing what the large banner hung above him said. Doctor Manfred Bird, his apprentice, and his marvelous automaton, Jenny!
The crowd below him began to gather around the stage he was assigned to, watching him. He could start at any moment he pleased, go on for as long or short. Manfred stepped up to the microphone, speaking into the mouthpiece.
“Good day, my fine ladies and gentlemen. Today, I’ll be showing you my automaton, Jenny.” He watched the faces of the small gathering of people. More and more people were watching him as the miserable seconds wore on. “I’ve worked and dreamed my whole life to make a marvelous machine such as this. My mission was to create the perfect woman. This is the result of my work.” He stepped back and opened the hatch in Greta’s back. He flipped a specific switch, and watched his audience watch Greta resume life.
Greta stepped up to the microphone in his place, smiling. “Hello, I’m Jenny.”
Manfred had to stand stiff as a board to keep his knees from giving out beneath him.
“I am the result of years. A lifetime. Imagine the thrill of achieving that. Imagine what the Doctor feels. It’s a wonderful sensation, isn’t it?” Greta paused, giving her lines a homely, yet choppy feel. “And I do hope I’m worthy of standing beside these other fine, majestic creations of other men. The technology I am assembled with has the potential to change the world. I am a step in modern society and technology as we ourselves know it.”
She stepped back, knowing her short speech wasn’t all that good, and allowing Manfred to speak briefly once again. “I’ll now detach her arm, if you’ll allow me.”
Manfred took Greta’s arm clean off, having had modified her veins so that they would open and close upon positive and negative contact, and modifying her interior flesh as to resemble such in an ordinary automaton. No one believes things that seem to be too good to be true. He’d put the imitation muscle back in later.
Greta waved at the crowd with her other arm. Manfred took that arm off as well.
Manfred called out to a man in the front of the crowd, pointing at him.
“You, boater hat and brown plaid tweed vest, care to see her chest cavity?”
Greta turned around to show her back, where the dress had been cut and a zipper added. The hatch was open to reveal the lights and wires.
The said man walked nervously up atop the stage and over to them, peering into the cavity.
Manfred smiled. “What do you think? Is this a fake?” He’d chosen his words carefully the night before. “Oh, go ahead, you can feel around in there. It won’t damage anything.”
The man slowly felt around the cavity, watching the lights, but avoiding touching the switches. “It’s incredible!” He clambered down off the stage as he was dismissed by Manfred’s nodding head.
“Why, thank you, sir. Anyone else? You, there…”
More people came and went, until Manfred was satisfied with the feedback. He laughed a bit, trying to hide it. He felt a strange sense of dread, like the sort in his nightmares. He was breathing rapidly and shallow, though it was hidden by his thick coat.
He stepped back up to the microphone. “And so, with more experimentation, who knows what we could do with technology like this. Venture into the unknown.” Manfred nearly vomited onto the stage. “Make the world,” he took a deep breath, stuttering softly, “An advanced, different place.”
Lanin stepped up as he stepped back. “Thank you for your time. We do hope you enjoyed our presentation.”
Manfred smiled brightly as he could, nearly breaking into tears out of fear. “Have a fine day, everyone.” And that was the precise moment that something snapped. He was gone. “Make your dreams a reality!” He lifted his hat, and walked offstage, Greta and Lanin following.
-
Nobody really knows what became of the Doctor after that. But, I do suppose that it’s a good thing. The last thing that poor man needed was visitors. Raising and teaching Lanin was enough.




Sorry if reading all of it took forever.
Right. So, now that that's out of the way, I guess I'll explain a bit of it.

Manfred's basically obsessed with the idea of having a biological mother/father. I don't know why yet, though. I'll have to figure it out later if I'm feeling particularly courageous and confident. xD
It might be because he's wondered what it's like to be loved by one's actual mother or something, even though he was adopted when he was three, or because he was curious as to what the sort of bond mother and child share felt like. It's really weird, (maybe a bit whacked? I'm not sure. I just wanted it to be kinda dark and strange. You can't have a mad scientist/inventor without something strange. And I didn't want to write it so that everything was light and fluffy and nice, either.)
He's also been fascinated by automatons since he was a kid, and set out to make the perfect lady, who's appearance has been slightly inspired by pictures of his biological mother. Man, now that I'm explaining this, it really does sound kinda whacked.
I also wanted to write about someone who isn't quite right (caused by his obsessive yearning for his biological parents). And, since his anxiety/stress/other problems eventually crush him, I thought that bit would make a satisfying conclusion.

So, yeah, it is kinda dark. Was it overkill or anything? I appreciate whatever feedback you can supply. Thank you!

First of all, TYSM for adding something onto this! I've been meaning to, but it's been slipping my mind ever time I'm on Scratch.

Second of all this is AMAZING! Ima break it into parts since it's so long:

The warehouse was dark, dusty, and smelled like metal and mildew. The large and heavy warehouse door was shut tight and tied with a rotting rope that had probably sat there for years, ends frayed and split. Outside, tall pines brushed against their brothers and sisters in the wind, a happy family of trees sleeping under a roof of sparkling stars.
This warehouse looked normal, more like a barn than a warehouse, really. But it was a sight to see inside. There were piles atop piles of humanoid figures in this musty place, some just tarnished metal skeletons, some fleshed out in tin paneling. Bits and pieces of metal objects and scraps everywhere.
The only light came from a welding torch. It was orange and yellow, sparkling and fizzing. A light in the silky black atmosphere. It somewhat illuminated a figure crouched over a table, somewhere amongst the piles of metal figures. The figure ceased welding, standing from his pained hunch and fighting to keep his eyes open. The man looked at his creation.

I love this. The details are outstanding. If I'm being honest, I'm kinda jealous that you could describe the scenery sooo well as that is my largest flaw when writing…. I couldn't write an understandable setting to save my life XD

“Lanin. Come here.” He called, his voice echoing through the warehouse, cracking a little with exhaustion. There was a soft clicking noise, and a small boy ran between the piles of scraps, a lantern swinging from his hand and circles under his eyes. The light illuminated the metal figures, bathing them in a sweet yellow glow. They were like dolls, the size and shape of you and me. They were the residue of a genius perfecting his technique. But they were failures. They were naked with a sense of failed success. Stripped of glory and pride. They were wonderful, mystical. Horrible.
Sometimes before they were given up and shut down, their useful parts and pieces taken for another automaton, they would be turned on, just to see what could be improved. Their artificial minds whirring in a dim aura. Their creator would lead them to a full-length mirror, their jerky steps reflected in the pristine surface. And they would stand there, unbalanced and blinking. They’d examine themselves, touch their face, watch their shaky gait. And they would cry; “I’m not perfect. I’m not what you wanted me to be, Doctor. I’m horrible.” He’d slowly open the panel on their back and flip a switch hidden amongst wires and lights, labels and numbered buttons. He never felt regret or sorrow. It was only an artificial mind reacting to what it saw. But he still couldn’t stand the crying. He’d heard too much of that.
But now, this automaton really was perfect. The Doctor could feel it. He’d improved the thinking and knowledge capsule, certain he’d solved the puzzle. She lay on her back, her soft rubber flesh intact and every hair in place. Her fingernails would grow, her hair as well. She could exercise and develop her muscles, she could eat, drink, sleep. She was as vulnerable and new as a newborn child. But she wasn’t as mindless and undeveloped. She was smart. She could walk and run as coordinated as anyone else. She wasn’t human, but she was as perfect as she could be.

Again, I love the details. I'm somewhat confused by how exactly the automatons can cry, but you're the writer!
Anyways, why do I feel like she's going to turn out horribly wrong???? Maybe it's just me… but hmmmmmmm

The man was maybe twenty and five years of age

By this, do you mean twenty-five? Or am I missing some important fact?

“She’ll rebel Greta Garbo, Doctor.”
“Oh, yes. I bet she will.”

OOOOOOH who's “Greta Garbo”????? Some supervillain, perhaps :D ? (Probably not, though) (yeah, I'm probably missing some important details here…

He’d gone to college for this and this alone. This was his dream. He’d worked for it for years.

And he, unlike me, is VERY focused when it comes to achieving a task, so it seems, huh? I always end up procrastinating and doing something TOTALLY different for years (literally) before finally getting back to it

The automaton began to breathe, chest and shoulders rising. She sniffed, and her eyes fluttered open. Then, she slowly sat up and smoothly swung her legs down from the tabletop, brushing aside the scrap-metal halo with her calves. She got down from the table, and stepped evenly over to the Doctor.
“Hello, Doctor.”
He’d done it. “Hello, Greta.” The Doctor smiled in bright success, holding his hand out to the automaton, Greta.
His mother would be so proud of her little boy when she saw what he’d made.
The automaton followed him, and to the mirror he went. He watched her face expectantly.
Greta swallowed, starting to cry.
The small boy could see confusion on his master’s face. The man was hesitating. Something wasn’t right.
“What’s wrong, Greta?”
She looked up at him. “Nothing.”
The Doctor frowned.
“I’m marvelous.”
His mother, somewhere up in the clouds with the angels would be so proud. For Manfred Bird, as he’d christened himself, was an orphan. And he’d created the perfect woman.

Oh yes, she sure does seem… different ;)


Since you wrote so FREAKIN much (it's an amazing feat, and this is sure to be an amazing story… I'm just too lazy to read it all right now), that's all I've read, but so far, so good!
Welp, that probably wasn't the criticism you were looking for, but really, the only thing I didn't understand was the “twenty and five” part (and trust me, I get confused super easily), so AWESOME job! Continue writing!!

-Random_Person- wrote:

First of all, TYSM for adding something onto this! I've been meaning to, but it's been slipping my mind ever time I'm on Scratch.

Second of all this is AMAZING! Ima break it into parts since it's so long:

The warehouse was dark, dusty, and smelled like metal and mildew. The large and heavy warehouse door was shut tight and tied with a rotting rope that had probably sat there for years, ends frayed and split. Outside, tall pines brushed against their brothers and sisters in the wind, a happy family of trees sleeping under a roof of sparkling stars.
This warehouse looked normal, more like a barn than a warehouse, really. But it was a sight to see inside. There were piles atop piles of humanoid figures in this musty place, some just tarnished metal skeletons, some fleshed out in tin paneling. Bits and pieces of metal objects and scraps everywhere.
The only light came from a welding torch. It was orange and yellow, sparkling and fizzing. A light in the silky black atmosphere. It somewhat illuminated a figure crouched over a table, somewhere amongst the piles of metal figures. The figure ceased welding, standing from his pained hunch and fighting to keep his eyes open. The man looked at his creation.

I love this. The details are outstanding. If I'm being honest, I'm kinda jealous that you could describe the scenery sooo well as that is my largest flaw when writing…. I couldn't write an understandable setting to save my life XD

“Lanin. Come here.” He called, his voice echoing through the warehouse, cracking a little with exhaustion. There was a soft clicking noise, and a small boy ran between the piles of scraps, a lantern swinging from his hand and circles under his eyes. The light illuminated the metal figures, bathing them in a sweet yellow glow. They were like dolls, the size and shape of you and me. They were the residue of a genius perfecting his technique. But they were failures. They were naked with a sense of failed success. Stripped of glory and pride. They were wonderful, mystical. Horrible.
Sometimes before they were given up and shut down, their useful parts and pieces taken for another automaton, they would be turned on, just to see what could be improved. Their artificial minds whirring in a dim aura. Their creator would lead them to a full-length mirror, their jerky steps reflected in the pristine surface. And they would stand there, unbalanced and blinking. They’d examine themselves, touch their face, watch their shaky gait. And they would cry; “I’m not perfect. I’m not what you wanted me to be, Doctor. I’m horrible.” He’d slowly open the panel on their back and flip a switch hidden amongst wires and lights, labels and numbered buttons. He never felt regret or sorrow. It was only an artificial mind reacting to what it saw. But he still couldn’t stand the crying. He’d heard too much of that.
But now, this automaton really was perfect. The Doctor could feel it. He’d improved the thinking and knowledge capsule, certain he’d solved the puzzle. She lay on her back, her soft rubber flesh intact and every hair in place. Her fingernails would grow, her hair as well. She could exercise and develop her muscles, she could eat, drink, sleep. She was as vulnerable and new as a newborn child. But she wasn’t as mindless and undeveloped. She was smart. She could walk and run as coordinated as anyone else. She wasn’t human, but she was as perfect as she could be.

Again, I love the details. I'm somewhat confused by how exactly the automatons can cry, but you're the writer!
Anyways, why do I feel like she's going to turn out horribly wrong???? Maybe it's just me… but hmmmmmmm

The man was maybe twenty and five years of age

By this, do you mean twenty-five? Or am I missing some important fact?

“She’ll rebel Greta Garbo, Doctor.”
“Oh, yes. I bet she will.”

OOOOOOH who's “Greta Garbo”????? Some supervillain, perhaps :D ? (Probably not, though) (yeah, I'm probably missing some important details here…

He’d gone to college for this and this alone. This was his dream. He’d worked for it for years.

And he, unlike me, is VERY focused when it comes to achieving a task, so it seems, huh? I always end up procrastinating and doing something TOTALLY different for years (literally) before finally getting back to it

The automaton began to breathe, chest and shoulders rising. She sniffed, and her eyes fluttered open. Then, she slowly sat up and smoothly swung her legs down from the tabletop, brushing aside the scrap-metal halo with her calves. She got down from the table, and stepped evenly over to the Doctor.
“Hello, Doctor.”
He’d done it. “Hello, Greta.” The Doctor smiled in bright success, holding his hand out to the automaton, Greta.
His mother would be so proud of her little boy when she saw what he’d made.
The automaton followed him, and to the mirror he went. He watched her face expectantly.
Greta swallowed, starting to cry.
The small boy could see confusion on his master’s face. The man was hesitating. Something wasn’t right.
“What’s wrong, Greta?”
She looked up at him. “Nothing.”
The Doctor frowned.
“I’m marvelous.”
His mother, somewhere up in the clouds with the angels would be so proud. For Manfred Bird, as he’d christened himself, was an orphan. And he’d created the perfect woman.

Oh yes, she sure does seem… different ;)


Since you wrote so FREAKIN much (it's an amazing feat, and this is sure to be an amazing story… I'm just too lazy to read it all right now), that's all I've read, but so far, so good!
Welp, that probably wasn't the criticism you were looking for, but really, the only thing I didn't understand was the “twenty and five” part (and trust me, I get confused super easily), so AWESOME job! Continue writing!!

Okay, the whole ‘Twenty and five’ thing was just to try and make it sound like the story was a bit dated. It's not like I'd want to write about the ‘20s in a modern way, with the same expressions and phrases and such. Oh, and Greta Garbo was an actress popular in the 1920s-30s from Sweden. And, about the whole crying automaton thing, Manfred’s goal was to make the perfect woman, right? So he's made an automaton that's like, almost exactly like an ordinary human. So, she can cry, bleed if she's got some sort of cut, cough, sneeze, normal human body stuff, but she's an automaton.
But, now that that's out of the way, THANK YOU so much! I can't wait to see what else you have to say about it. You've made me so happy today!

This is greattttt writing. The tone of voice is very smooth, the details vivid, and it's rather clear, actually.

Just a few pointers:

“Lanin. Come here.” He called, his voice echoing through the warehouse, cracking a little with exhaustion.

'He' should not have been capitalized, and there should have been a comma instead of a full stop after ‘here’.
(This writing really reminds me of my own, LOL. Then some amazing person stopped by my writing and did the VERY SAME correction. XD)

“She’s done, Lanin.” He spoke as the boy drew up to the table.

Again, the same mistake.

His mother, somewhere up in the clouds with the angels would be so proud.

I would suggest adding a comma after ‘angels’.

I'll finish criticizing this piece later… Got to go!

Oh gosh, I've been following this post for a while and I realise I can't write nearly half as decent as all of you. God your talent is AMAZING!

ForeverAnAuthor wrote:

This is greattttt writing. The tone of voice is very smooth, the details vivid, and it's rather clear, actually.

Just a few pointers:

“Lanin. Come here.” He called, his voice echoing through the warehouse, cracking a little with exhaustion.

'He' should not have been capitalized, and there should have been a comma instead of a full stop after ‘here’.
(This writing really reminds me of my own, LOL. Then some amazing person stopped by my writing and did the VERY SAME correction. XD)

“She’s done, Lanin.” He spoke as the boy drew up to the table.

Again, the same mistake.

His mother, somewhere up in the clouds with the angels would be so proud.

I would suggest adding a comma after ‘angels’.

I'll finish criticizing this piece later… Got to go!

Ah, I'm grateful for the criticism. I've been needing it! xD Ahh, that makes so much more sense. And, the ‘Angel’ part was just supposed to be that way. I didn't want to add a pause there because I thought it might break the way I wanted it to be read. I really appreciate your pointers!

Cinderpelt3303 wrote:

Oh gosh, I've been following this post for a while and I realise I can't write nearly half as decent as all of you. God your talent is AMAZING!

Me? Thank you!

BlueReading wrote:

Ah, I'm grateful for the criticism. I've been needing it! xD Ahh, that makes so much more sense. And, the ‘Angel’ part was just supposed to be that way. I didn't want to add a pause there because I thought it might break the way I wanted it to be read. I really appreciate your pointers!

Haha, Ikr? I was also SUPER confused about that bit.
Oh, and I know it's probably clear, but I'm confused about this sentence:

Something he’d been taught by his parents was never good. You couldn’t do things if you’re too afraid of not doing them.

What does the first sentence mean?

“I’d like to respond to the name ‘Jenny’ out in public, yes?” He sat in the seat beside her, starting the car.

Do you mean to say, “I'd like YOU to respond to the name ‘Jenny’ out in public, yes?”
If not, why would he ask her to call him a girl's name?

On the way out of town, Manfred bought himself a newspaper.

This is not a criticism, but merely a WOW. Like, really, this is a good way to maintain your tone AND YET give the chapter/section a good ending.

This is really a masterpiece… I'm trying to see if the person who reviewed my work is still around. (She is the older sis of one of my Scratch friends.) UNFORTUNATELY her sis is now in college… Hmm…

ForeverAnAuthor wrote:

BlueReading wrote:

Ah, I'm grateful for the criticism. I've been needing it! xD Ahh, that makes so much more sense. And, the ‘Angel’ part was just supposed to be that way. I didn't want to add a pause there because I thought it might break the way I wanted it to be read. I really appreciate your pointers!

Haha, Ikr? I was also SUPER confused about that bit.
Oh, and I know it's probably clear, but I'm confused about this sentence:

Something he’d been taught by his parents was never good. You couldn’t do things if you’re too afraid of not doing them.

What does the first sentence mean?

“I’d like to respond to the name ‘Jenny’ out in public, yes?” He sat in the seat beside her, starting the car.

Do you mean to say, “I'd like YOU to respond to the name ‘Jenny’ out in public, yes?”
If not, why would he ask her to call him a girl's name?

On the way out of town, Manfred bought himself a newspaper.

This is not a criticism, but merely a WOW. Like, really, this is a good way to maintain your tone AND YET give the chapter/section a good ending.

This is really a masterpiece… I'm trying to see if the person who reviewed my work is still around. (She is the older sis of one of my Scratch friends.) UNFORTUNATELY her sis is now in college… Hmm…

I think I need to re-word that sentence. xD Man, that's confusing. I know I was confused by it when I ran across it when I was putting it into a project, and after a bit of thinking I remembered what it meant, but I can't remember what it was supposed to be. I'm confused by my own stuff. It was meant to be something to the extent of ‘He’d been taught by his parents that being a coward was never good.'
That next part he was supposed to be talking to Greta, not himself… Oy, I didn't know I messed up so badly in the simplest spots. xD It was supposed to have a ‘you’ in there, but I missed it. :I

Oh! Thank you! I hope you find her. : )

@BlueReading (Yep, gave up on the ‘quote’ thing. XD)
I'll try! XP

I haven't written in too long. Well, not a peice other than an informative report.. :\

Inky stared up at the milky sky. A feeling of unease rippled through his skin, the clouds were still grey, and even while he slept, he could tell the sky wasn't crimson.
Normally, the morning sky of each third week was rosy, but low-lying grey clouds and thick fog was blocking his vision. Beside him, Coal and Iron shivered in the cold. “Shouldn't the sky be red?” Iron asked, shaking his head as of to clear his mind.
Inky looked worriedly at his group-mates, “This isn't right, there has never been cloud in these skies before.” He said. Coal nodded, “There is definitely something wrong. Did you hear the rumours the other Outcasts spread around our groups? The Nameless Guardians have vanished.” He added.
Iron stared at them in horror, “We have to find the other Outcasts, we need to figure this out!” He wailed, “The sky hasn't run red in months, and now cloud! Whatever is happening?”
Coal rolled his eyes, “Iron Feather! Calm down!” He snapped. Iron instantly stopped wailing and stood quietly. “But what's happening?” He breathed. Inky looked at him, slightly surprised he hadn't caught on, “Don't you see, the patterns are vanishing.” He said, making no effort to calm Iron.
This of course, upset Iron even more. “But our world is built on the patterns! We'll all die if the Nameless Guardians don't come back!” Coal looked at Inky as if to say, ‘what did you do that for?’ Inky shrugged, “Look Iron, if it makes you feel any better, we can find the other groups.” He said.
Iron paused for a moment, then nodded silently. Coal huffed, “Great, now you're dragging us to the other Outcast because of some stupid clouds.”
Inky sighed, “So you're saying you'd rather stay here and listen to Iron wailing about the end of the world, or go see Silver and Grey?” He asked. Coal glared at him, “It was their choice to leave, Inky. I don't think I want to see them again, and I think Quartz is still angry that I left.” He said.
Iron, who had stood silent for a considerable amount of time, began to speak. “But would you rather face the end of our world alone?” He whimpered. Coal whipped around to face him, “Just shup up about the end of the world!” He snapped, “Nothing is happening until we find out what's going on.” He added, trying to mask the unease in his voice.
Weak sunlight cast shadows on the pelts of the Outcasts as the padded through the woodland with silent determination. The three travellers exchanged worried glances.
Iron paused and sniffed the air. “Grey?” He called. There was a pause and the woods fell silent. A shaggy grey body pushed through the undergrowth, “Iron.” He growled.
Inky flashed Iron a worried glance. Grey's eyes were glinting with rage, he was poised to leap, itching for a fight. Coal stepped in front of Iron. “Grey.” He began, his voice thin and icy. “We aren't looking for trouble here, we've come to talk.” He said.
Grey snarled and thrust himself towards Coal. “You're always causing trouble, Coal. Empty words of truce aren't going to pass us this time. Get out.”
Inky shivered, Grey was never like this. “Us?” Coal questioned. Grey nodded, and beside him Silver, Quartz and Opal appeared. Coal seemed to shrink in his pelt. Inky stepped up beside him, “Forget it Coal, we'll find Ruby and the others.” He said.
Grey grinned and shook his head, “Inky, how is it that you don't see. You're not welcome here, not anymore. You and your band are the outcasts of the Outcasts.” He spat.
Inky stepped back. This was an insult that stabbed him harder than anything. He was hurt that Grey, his brother, his own peace-loving brother had practically banished him.
He cast his eyes around, the faces of Opal and Quartz were stone-cold, as if Grey now decided for them. Silver, however, with his gleaming fur and shining eyes, looked weak and guilty. Sorry, almost, that he hadn't stayed with Iron.
Inky could see something else also, the other Outcasts. They stood behind Grey, but they weren't under his rule. Ruby clearly still had authority, and Copper and Sapphire still followed her. Inky cast Ruby a questioning glance, and she stormed up to him.
Her eyes were flashing with fear as she whispered to him, “The patterns are dying, and Grey knows this. It's messing with his mind.” She hissed. Inky shook himself, and spoke up.
“We have to do something about this. We can't let our world disappear without doing anything.” He said firmly. Grey's eyes glinted with amusement, “And what do you suppose we do, little brother?” He jeered.
Inky shrank back. Ruby glared at Grey, a cold determination residing in her eyes as if it was her every desire to prove Grey was wrong. “The portals.” She said flatly, as if Grey was supposed to know.
Stifling a laugh, Grey turned to the other Outcasts. “The portals?” He spluttered, “She thinks they can find the Heatstones!” A chorus of laughter erupted from the group. Only Copper and Silver did not move, their expressions guilty.
Copper pushed through the small crowd to stand beside Ruby. “If the Nameless Guardians’ Heartstones are found, the patterns will return.” She said, “It isn’t a far-fetched tale, Grey. Sure, you may have half a brain, but even you should be able to see this.”
Grey stepped back, but not in an act of submission. He crouched low to the ground, his eyes flickering with rage, his fur bristling. “And you mean to say you know better?” He drawled. Copper blinked slowly, “I mean to say those who believe this world can be saved, can join us.” She said coolly, the bright jewellery she wore sparkling.
Grey growled, and turned to face the group. “Those who wish to join these fools,” He began, “can join them. You may die on this journey, and I won’t hold myself responsible for that.” He spat. Coal bit back a piercing snarl, “But they will have died heroes, not cowards. Not a worthless coward like you.” Grey stared at him angrily but didn’t reply. He couldn't see any sense in arguing with Coal.
Silver hung his head and padded forward to stand with Inky and Ruby’s side of the argument. He looked partially ashamed to have joined them. Iron greeted him happily, and Ruby cast her eyes around as if challenging and others to join them. Instead, Grey summoned the remaining Outcasts and stormed off in disgust.
Ruby stared after them, and turned back to Inky. “We should leave now.” She said. Inky nodded, and turned to face the others, “Does anyone disagree or want to raise any concerns?” He asked. Silver stepped forward, his blue eyes swimming with fear. “Do you know where the portals lie, and which realm the Heartstones are laid?” He asked.
Copper stepped towards him, “In the third portal, the pool that swims with green and blue. The portals are concealed by the lake of dreams.” She said. “Do not fear, the lake of dreams isn’t cursed as they say.” She reassured Silver, who was as superstitious and fearful as Iron.
“How do you know so much about the spirits and portals?” Ruby asked Copper. Copper’s golden eyes gleamed, “I studied. I learnt and recited every legend and looked behind the plain words and found hidden codes.” She said.
Ruby glowed with admiration for the intelligent Outcast, who knew more than any of them. Inky stared at her blankly, and said simply, “Then let us not waste time.” And with that, he began to head towards the lake of dreams, the lake that was told by legend to take souls and lure you towards a reflection of your own beauty, to lure you to your death…

I believe there are PLENTY of mistakes for anyone who wants to find any

PLEASE help me decide what to write
vote here: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/244758200/#player