This is an experimental Creative Write/Free write. I wrote this in the Hive.Pizza DiscordPizza Guild Discord while sharing my screen and asking for input/direction/whatever from the community. I think it will be an interesting way to construct a post and have no idea how this will turn out!
Rules!
They are few:
Anyone else in the voice channel's input overrides mine- I will type and incorporate ideas and input as I do- ANYONE in voice can make me edit or whatever!
Pizza Tips for participants throughout the event.
Other than that this is a standard free writing format! So lets GOOOOOOO!
Amazing art drawn by @anikekirsten as we wrote the story in the voice channel.
It was a hot summer day. Baking hot. There had been no rain for months. Gaston Jimminy was the oldest cricket in the field. He had been first to hatch in the rays of early spring sunshine and had his pick of the juiciest, most succulent aphids. It was only after his brethren had begun to hatch and nibble on blades of grass that he realized he was different.
None of them looked twice at the delectable aphids that Gaston consumed by the dozen. Occasionally the lesser crickets of Foster's Field would snack on an aphid in the late afternoon, but none of them could stomach the quantities that Gaston could.
"Afternoon Aphid Appetizers" they called them, and supposedly it helped energize them for a solid evenings chirp. Gaston felt differently. He couldn't imagine starting his day with anything other than 4 dozen juicy aphids to get him going.
His appetite was not the only thing that set him apart from the hordes of crickets happily making their music each evening in the lush oasis of Foster's Field.
His chin, for example, was far too square. His eyes, so different from the multifaceted bulbous orbs of his peers. His legs... only four rather than the customary six. His chirp, completely underwhelming, the other crickets could barely hear him over the noise of their own.
Despite these obvious differences, his life in Foster's Field was pretty good. All the aphids he could eat, plenty of dew to drink in the morning, few predators... As long as he could withstand the occasional shunning, and lack of invitations to every Cricket match, even the big ones like the 5 day Test Match between arch rivals Chocolate Chirpz and the Arthro-Wickets. Gaston was a huge fan of the Arthro-Wickets and had never attended a match. He stood out to much in the crowd.
The one time he had attempted to support his team at a home game, he had been unceremoniously ejected from the stadium thicket by security for getting stuck in the turnstile and preventing the hordes of fans from witnessing the final wicket. It had been hit by Ricket the Cricket in the thick of it meaning the Arthro-Wickets won the all important cricket cricket test match. Frankly he was sick of it. So he Tore up his season ticket and shouted some explicit yet implicit choice chirps of rage.
He had never attempted to watch a live match again and contented himself with listening to the chirps of the crowd from across the field. He could always tell who was winning anyway. It WAS sometimes lonely being the outcast. He often wished for a friend, or in his darker moments, even an enemy. At least that would have indicated some form of emotion other than scandalized indifference. No one cared. He went about his lonely life alone until one morning.
Gaston was busy gathering up his usual breakfast of four dozen aphids when he heard a few of the nymphs that lived on the neighboring blade of grass singing a raucous song that appeared to be about him. It started innocently enough and even seemed to be singing his praises:
"No one chirps like Gaston,
Makes no noise like Gaston!
No one buffs up the haemolymph like Gaston!"
He immediately joined in exitedly, expounding his virtues:
"I'm especially buff in the leg department!"
Suddenly the nymphs and Gaston spontaneously harmonized:
"It's a miracle that he's even breathiiiiiing... the wonder that is.... GAAAAAAAAAASSSSTTTTTTTOOOOOONN!"
With the last line Gaston felt weak all of a sudden, the belting chorus had left him bereft of oxygen. His spiracles could not supply the amount needed for his gargantuan form. He lost his grip on the blade of grass that was his home, and fell into the darkness between the stems. He lost consciousness as he fell, and the echoing calls from the nymphs followed him into the black depths.
"NO OOOOOONNNNNNEEEE, falls like Gaston, hits the ground like Gaston.
"Passes out and is probably dead like Gaston"
Gaston managed to gasp out just before he passed out:
"Im not dead yet, I'm just barely breathing.
"OH WHAT A GUY WAS GASTOOOOOON!" The nymphs quickly leapt away and out into the field for their own breakfast of grass and flowers, leaving Gaston unmoving and still alone in the dirt.
He awoke an unknowable time later with the sun low on the horizon. He could hear polite chirping and agonizing wails from some distant corner of the field. He stood slowly, and felt a profound difference in his legs. They seemed slimmer, more lithe, and yet he did not feel his strength was diminished. He looked at his forelegs and realized they had changed as well. They were slimmer, no longer clawed and hooked to grasp blades of grass. He flicked one arm ahead of him and was surprised by the motion and speed. He reached up to scratch at his bruised head and was again surprised by the speed and searing pain he suddenly felt. He looked at his arms once again in wonder and realized just how thin and sharp they had become.
He was changed entirely. In shock he stumbled between the blades of grass in search of a drink to clear his head. It took only moments for him to find a dewdrop that had survived the heat of the day nestled in the shade of a dandelion. The form he saw reflected in the surface of the droplet as he approached was terrifying but somehow familiar. He felt more comfortable walking on his long spindly legs than he ever had before. The lithe grace of his movements were enchanting.
Something was amiss, he had fallen into the abyss yet he had become this, a mantis.
He was close to calling it quits, he sits, it doesn't fit. A hit, his new face bit into his psyche, unlikely any would try to fight me before, now with grace and blades galore to score the visage of all who abhored my previous form.
He drank the dewdrop in a single gulp.
With that implied grace he began to race to the place and heard sounds of conflict,
no longer a shunned convict, quick on long limbs he skimmed over dirt, stones and grass,
alas, despite how fast the scenery passed by he wished he could fly,
try as he might it seemed he couldnt take flight,
with a great bound to try to save his compound
his wings broke free and suddenly he
Flew.
Crickets can too... Sort of... But not like this.
Gaston Soared.
He landed in the middle of a horrifying scene. His former tormenters, the nymphs were slowly being crushed by a mole snake. Many of his neighbors stood on in shock, chirping politely at the gruesome beast to please stop. It would never get them anywhere. The mole snake completely ignored them and continued to constrict its victims. They screamed in agony as the life was being squeezed out of them.
Gaston tried to chirp in alarm and was shocked to fine he no longer had a voice. Instead he took flight once more and began signing desperately at the adult crickets to do something. They had never learned Insect Sign Language and simply stared dumbfounded as he accidentally dismembered them with his razor sharp forearms. He gave up and shot like a rocket towards the mole snake, extending his claws ahead of him. With a lame little noise, as silent as the wind in the grass, the mole snakes head was severed and its squirming body fell, writhing all squiggly like a wet noodle in the wind and bleeding profusely. The rain began to fall (it was really just Foster turning on the sprinklers)
Scared for their lives the nymphs began to sing once again in the hope that their savior would show them mercy...
"Nooooo oooonnnneee... flies like Gaston, saves our lives like Gaston. No one rips up mole snake heads like Gaston! What a great guuuuyyyy... Gaston!"
Gaston turned to them, smiled, and raised his claws to attempt Insect Sign Language.
d