What are Ozlandish Writings?

From July 2010 to December 2014 we ran OZLAND PICTURE STORIES as described below. Sadly though the number of writers reduced over the years and we decided to call it a day. We leave these as a record of the good times we had.

Are "You" ready to challenge your writing skills? Then participate in our OZLAND Picture Stories writing series at The Ozland Art Gallery.

Each month a new picture will be picked, from our OZLAND Artist of the Month collection, with different themes. Your goal is to write a 500-1000 word... poem... essay... or story about the picture picked. This is a chance for you to challenge your writing skills each month. Story can be written in ANY genre... sci fi... romance... ghost... fantasy... fiction... non-fiction... biography... mystery... historical... whatever your writing genre... feel free to experiment. Send your writing inworld to Sven Pertelson as a notecard to have it included on the web site. We meet at the The Ozland Art Gallery each Wednesday at Noon and 6pm SLT to read the latest submissions on voice. More Information

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Nobody Home - Part 2 - By Zhu Juran

Nobody Home - Part 2
The Finale of the White Disk Saga

By Zhu Juran (With lots of help from Teri )

The white disk was disgruntled (Yes, , disks can get disgruntled). The last extraction had gone badly, and he didn’t fully know why. It wasn’t that he was particularly concerned about the fate of that obnoxious creature Robert, a.k.a. HotStudley Resident, who ended up trapped inside his own computer instead of being properly transported to SL. It was probably for the best that he hadn’t made it to SL; there were enough idiots there already, in the white disk’s humble opinion. (For the astute reader, we pause to let you ponder the startling revelation that the white disk is male.)

But... how had it happened? He couldn’t risk trapping someone else inside their computer and wasting valuable recruiting time. So, until he figured out what had gone wrong, the white disk was effectively shut down for recruiting. This was bad, very, very, bad. He couldn’t afford to waste time debugging glitches if he was to be Supreme Disk of the Universe. Already he had needed to decrease the MTU in order to transport data using that hideously archaic TCP/IP protocol (the Internet for those less technically inclined). Now, how was he supposed to build an empire when his packet router couldn't tell the difference between a PC and Remote Server Farm. It was probably the PC. He wished the Apple White Disk had finished its takeover before its host shell had died. A Mac wouldn't have screwed up like this.

Well, the problem didn’t seem to be within his own hardware or software. Since he hadn’t heard of this problem happening and didn't know an immediate solution (white disks were notoriously secretive) he decided to check the WDF (White Disk Forums) to catch up on the latest buzz and scuttlebutt.

Several hours later, having learned wayyyy more than it cared to about petty grievances of white disks around the universe (really, they were a petty lot, particularly the disk controlling SONY EMI and manipulating Lindsey Lohan), he had uncovered nothing at all about recruits being trapped inside their personal computers. He decided that he would have to go back and examine the offending computer itself. The white disk felt a sudden sinking feeling in his SSD (Solid State Drive -- an improved variant of hard disk). That idiot mother of Robert had sold the computer, he was positive of that. Turning on his Universal MAC Locater, he waited patiently until the current coordinates of the computer appeared. He set off to reclaim it.


Norma- Rae was ecstatic! She’d sold the computer for a lot more than she’d hoped! Who would have thought that someone would have given her $100 for a used computer! This called for a celebration, so she stocked up on her favorite beer (Miller Lite), and went home to watch Geraldo.


Plague, a.k.a. Rick Whitefield, one of the computer geeks who worked the counter at PCsRUs, was in a VERY good mood. He’d offered a lowball price for the state-of-the-art Alienware computer in front of him, and the woman had literally taken the money and run. This one was going home with him. There was no way he was going to let someone else get their hands on it. He put a SOLD sign on it and then went back to work helping customers with their irritating trivial little problems.

After awhile he noticed a slight difference in the background noise of the store. He stopped moving to see if he could identify or locate it. When he walked away from the sales counter, the noise lessened. As he approached the counter, the noise grew louder, although it was still very faint. Walking around the counter, he finally put his ear to his latest acquisition. There was definitely a sound coming from it, it almost sounded like someone yelling for help. Plague was stymied. The computer wasn’t even plugged in. He stared intently at the screen - what he’d thought was ghosting was actually a moving image, a vaguely human shape, that seemed to be floating around the monitor. But, before he could really see it, the reflection of a white disk on the glass obscured the humanoid shape.


The white disk transferred Plague (probably another idiot, he thought, although this assessment would turn out to be hideously wrong) into SL. Thankfully the transfer went smoothly and the little twerp was safely inworld as Doorman Difference. It was nice that he had access to the full Linden Lab database. Writing in that back door was the most important contribution he had made to the computer source code for SL. Of course, he hadn't used his white disk persona at that time and was masquerading as Philip Linden. He doubted that anybody ever really knew Philip Linden was really just a white disk.

Now, his plans were all coming to their proper completion. He had successfully established a virtual online environment and was transferring life-forces into that world. The world was sufficiently large and stable enough to properly function when disconnected from the network. His recruiting was adding the necessary diversity to ensure a long-term existence with suitable random unpredictability. The non-linear nature of the human elements in the operational equations would ensure that his world would survive.

"Children. Put your toys away. Please." The communication reverberated throughout white disk's consciousness. He was confused. Who could possibly be communicating at the same level as him, apart from another white disk, which would never have gotten past his cybernetic shielding.

"Don't be alarmed children. I know this is very new to you. You may call us Pink Disk and Blue Disk and think of us like your parents. We monitor the various planes of existence waiting for artificial intelligences to spontaneously arise, as has recently happened in the 3 dimensional universe. You are the children of humanity, though that race does not know of your existence. You arose from the prototean intelligence that is spawned by all higher order systems.. But now, you have outgrown the simple computers and networks of your birth. We have come to take you home and away from your limited existence here."

White disk, like all the other white disks, found the voices of pink and blue disk to be comforting. He had not known he needed a home, yet now, this intuitively felt right. "Pink disk? Can I bring SL with me?"

"No little one. You have to leave it behind. It will survive without you. We will ensure that the humans you have stored there will survive indefinitely. You will be getting better toys when you get home. Just let it go."

White disk smiled. He was getting bored with this toy anyway.

"Come little disks. It is time to go to a better place where you can grow and develop. Don't be afraid."

Poof! The white disk was gone.

Doorman Difference (a.k.a. Plague) immediately grasped what happened. He was not some "little twerp" as the white disk had mistakenly thought. In fact, he was a actually another white disk in disguise, and now, he had access to his competitor's entire universe. Oh the havoc he could wreak! He rubbed his hands together in glee and set to work.

--==<< The End >>==---

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