Key
~Url & title of RP
~~~ Difficulty || Type || what page my first post is on
~Url & title of RP
~~~ Difficulty || Type || what page my first post is on
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~《 FALLEN ♥ STARS 》
~~~Elite//Adv. Lit || Fantasy || p.2
~Mur∂er øn †he Cøve
~~~Literate/Advance lit || Murder Mystery || p.1
~ Fenny & Pixxy's 1x1
~~~ Semi lit/Literate || Fantasy/Romance || p.1
~ Keygia & Pixie's 1x1
~~~ Literate/Advance lit || Fantasy || p.1
~ Welcome To Avalonia!
~~~~ Literate/Advance lit || Fantasy || p.4
~ ♰ ĸıиgdσm σƒ нεαvεи ♰
~~~ Advance Lit/Literate || Fantasy || p.5
~ T.H.U.A.S Laboratories
~~~ Advance Lit || Experimental || p.18
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SAMPLE POST
[This reply is in the midst of a 1x1 off Gaia RP. The main character that I controlled, Sally, is a twenty-four year old schoolteacher married to a twenty-seven year old graphic artist named Steve. The current setting is a doctor's office. She had been suffering from an idiopathic illness and underwent testing to find out the results. She is getting the results now.]
The moment was here. Sally held in her hands in a manila envelope Dr. Dobson had given her the answer to her undying question: what was wrong with her? Her constant nausea, emotional roller coasters, and a period that left her in suspense of its arrival left her exhausted and strained. Her husband, too, strained with her. After four years of marriage, they still felt like honeymooners. The sickness turned their world upside down. Steve could do nothing more than pray and comfort his beloved wife in her dark hours. The arguments they had over the slightest of things broke each other's hearts. The nights of crying spells left her exhausted from the time her alarm sounded. And every morning, she took an extra fifteen to twenty minutes getting ready because of her uncontrollable, inconsolable vomiting. She paid no attention to her cycles; to her, it really meant nothing but a time of mourning for her.
The obvious prognosis of pregnancy was not in their list of possibilities. The accident at her older brother's baseball game left her womb barren. A spring day at the local baseball park brought about her fate. Her older brother, Clyde, held an elite position on his high school's baseball team. She, only a mere middle school girl at the time, loved to watch every game with her mother and her other older brother, Randolph. The first game of the district championship games finally came. Sally remembered Clyde being energetic and pumped for his game: his senior game.
She remembered the sweltering weather. The news claimed that it was the worst freak heat wave of the century for spring in her hometown. What normally was a year-round Mecca for good weather had turned into the Gobi Desert for a week. No one minded. Everyone adapted. For Sally, that meant more time at the pool and enjoying other water activities with her brothers and mother.
The baseball game did not even start yet when the accident happened. All the players were in practice. During practice, Sally always joined the boys on the field to help them practice. She grew up a tomboy thanks to her brothers. All the boys on the team thought she was adorable and a valuable encourager when the team lost. No matter the score, Sally sat in the dugout and cheered all the boys on. As the boys were practicing, Sally was bringing spare bats and balls from the coach's car to the dugout for the head coach. She had run this errand many times before; it was nothing new. The opposing team happened to be practicing near the car the equipment was in. This team was the most ruthless and always a challenge to beat. They saw her prancing along to and from the car. They laughed and razzed her like they always did their opponents. She learned long before to ignore taunts and not retort. The first and last time she did, the largest player of the team, who was also their pitcher, chased her up to one of the highest branches of an oak tree. She stayed there until the team left after the game, and only with the aid of the firemen. On her forth trip with the bats, a stray bat flew from out of the blue and hit her in her barely developed pelvis. She crumbled and howled under the pain, attracting the attention of everyone around. Her family was the first to arrive at the scene and see her jeans slowly filling with blood. Panic set in. The coach called a medic. The opposing coach threw a fit. Arguing ensued. Sally could not remember much about what the fight about or who participated. The pain blinded and deafened her. The ambulance's siren was the next thing she remembered. Kind voices and warm hands cradled her body and urged her that she would be OK. Her mother rode with her in the ambulance to the hospital, trying to keep her fearful voice and tears muted. She wanted to be strong for her injured daughter.
The hospital: a cold, place full of adrenaline and gravity. Doctors and nurses fussed over her, spouting words she did not know to this day. All she knew was that she was in pain and in danger. She was rushed to an x-ray machine and had x-rays of her abdomen; however, she was in so much pain, she could not stay quiet enough or still enough for the machine to do it's job. They gently strapped her to her bed and sedated her enough to stay conscious but stay numb to her situation. Sally had no idea how much time passed between her arrival and when the doctor came in to give her and her mother the disturbing news. Solemnly he said that her ovaries were mangled and almost beyond repair. Three surgeries would be needed to repair the damage, but she was not guaranteed her fertility. Her mother agreed and the days were set. The culprit was never caught. There was no proof that it was intentional or from the opposing team. Sally did not care; she had bigger things to focus her attention on.
To this day, the doctor's prophecy has come to pass: Steve and she had tried for two years to conceive with no avail. No fertility specialist could help her beyond in vitro with another woman's seed. Sally refused. Not only was it beyond what they could afford on a schoolteacher and budding graphic artist's salaries, but half of it was not biologically hers and that bothered her. Steve often reminded her that he did not marry her for her womb. He told her that during their dating years as well. However, not being able to procreate always haunted her.
Their quest for healing of her present aliment led them to their general physician, Dr. Jane Dobson; Dr. Dobson led them to their local lab for simple blood tests. The results rested in Sally's sweaty palms. Sally did not know if she wanted to read the contents. Of course, she wanted to know what they were, but her anxiety bothered her spirit and made her reluctant. She thumbed the sides of the envelope as she debated about opening it. The suspense was unbearable.
Gingerly she opened the envelope and pulled out the papers inside. Steve sat beside her in a companion guest chair, ready to support her, and Dr. Dobson behind her burnt oak desk and leather swivel office chair waited patiently for the unveiling. She felt the gravity of the situation bore down on her shoulders and weigh her heart into her stomach. She had not even read the results yet and fear for the worst painted her vision.
"What if it's stomach cancer?" she thought, straightening the papers into a neat pile to read, "No one has ever had cancer in my family. Maybe it's not that. What if it's one of those genetic diseases I read about on the Internet. Is that why Dr. Dobson wanted Steve and I in her office? It must be something horrible. Oh my God. How will I tell my mother or my brothers? But wait... What if it is nothing at all and Dr. Dobson is allowing me to see that I am suffering from something minor like a stomach virus or a case of anxiety or stress. Work has been stressful lately. What if it finally manifested itself as an illness? Wait, maybe nothing showed on the blood test that alarmed Dr. Dobson and we are still chasing a mystery illness. She is a sly woman; I don't put it past her to do something like that, but maybe not to a patient."
She stopped talking to herself and read the sheet of paper in front of her. Her eyes darted back and forth down each line of printed medical jargon. Printed codes of unpronounceable words followed by decimal numbers and charts confused her. She skimmed to the bottom line. The first word she could read and know the meaning of lay printed on the third line from the bottom: pregnancy. She swallowed hard before she sliced her eyes over to the result column. She braced herself for the inevitable. Instead, her eyes widened and her pulse quickened. She expected to see "negative" printed in the same thin, dotted font as the rest of the test results, but "positive" was typed in its place. She held her mouth and read, reread, and reread the word to make sure she was not projecting her wishes into reality. The word remained.
"I'm pregnant," she whispered from behind her palm.
Her words resounded in her mind a few times before her emotions surfaced in the form of tears.
"After all these years," Sally thought, "of doctors telling me that I was incapable of getting pregnant, we conceived."
She placed her quivering free hand on her lower abdomen where her soon-to-be child gestated. Tears burned her eyes and moistened her blushing cheeks. All the years of tears for her barrenness that she stifled now rose up as tears of joy for her fruitfulness. Defying the doctors' prognosis added to her celebration. Deep in her heart and soul, she knew she would one day carry a child in her womb, but each negative pregnancy test chipped away at her faith. The mustard-seed-sized faith that she had left paid off; her first child was on its way into the world. It did not matter to her how her ovaries healed over the years to functioning order. The child was conceived; why question?
She glanced at the bottom of the page. A note, scribbled in the good doctor's handwriting, laid there.
"Judging by your complaints and hormone levels, you are about six or seven weeks along," it said.
She thought back six and seven weeks ago. Seven weeks ago was December. It was Steve's twenty-seventh birthday party. He wanted a quiet party with a few close friends and family at his favorite sports bar. They celebrated his birthday three days late on a Saturday night. Everyone watched the football game and cheered for their team. Two rival states went head-to-head in a "make or break" game. As a nice surprise, Steve's team won. He danced a dance of victory that Sally always enjoyed watching, no matter how awkward or appalling it was. After the accident, Sally was never into sports anymore. She feared the injuries; a permanent one like hers was enough to suffice her for a lifetime. But for Steve's sake, she pretended to be interested. She knew he knew that she pretended to understand and care for the game; he always thanked her for trying. Everyone drank that night, but Sally thought ahead and scheduled cabs to come at the end of the party. Though no one at the party was known to drink heavily, they all enjoyed alcohol to celebrate, especially celebrating a birthday, end of the week, and the victory of a sports team. Sally and Steve, out of everyone on the guest list, held their alcohol the worst. One too many drinks for each of them left them in an aroused, giddy stupor. The cab dropped them at their address and left them in the fridge December night air. They entered with the help of each other, laughing and singing drunkenly the whole way. Upon entering their abode, they fell into each other's arms in a lovers encounter until the alcohol lulled them to sleep. Both knew a hangover would be there to greet them the next morning, but neither of them could guess a child would become of their encounter.
She flipped the page to see a whole eight-page pamphlet on pregnancy and early childcare. Lists of "what to expect" for each month of pregnancy and each month of the first year of the child's life answered any questions Sally could have about her future as a mom, except for a few select things: name, gender, and nursery.
What sex was her baby? Male or female? She was never one to wait until the birthday to find out the gender. She wanted to know as soon as possible and end the suspense. What would she name him or her? Her heart fluttered when she thought about the endless possibilities of names. Several came right to the top of her head: Hope. Joy. Her first feelings she felt upon hearing the news. But those were girl names. What about male names? There were plenty out on the Internet to explore. She could surely find one that meant Hope or Joy that would suit the baby. How would the nursery look? That would have to wait until she found out the gender. A yellow room was not endearing to her, and since the child was half hers, she was sure he or she would not like it either.
The excitement became too much for her and she leaned toward her husband's strong shoulders and sobbed happily. Her husband's prayers truly did work. She had been healed, but in a different, more meaningful way. Somewhere, a heavenly being heard their deeper cries and answered them. Whoever they were, she was grateful.
