By Joe

We need a bigger room, thought Vincent to himself. Not that he’d care, at any rate.

Tall and lean, he was leaning on a wall, book in hand. No one could say for sure how old he was, except that he seemed to be right out of college one moment and a hardened war vet the next. He was easily remembered, from his mane of long, unruly black hair to his bright blue eyes. He was dressed in a red cloak, which hid his left hand, encased in a golden gauntlet–he did need a free right hand to use his pistol properly, after all. Speaking of his pistol, it was quite special: Tri-barreled, firing three bullets at the same time, he had given it a fitting name–Cerberus, after the three-headed dog that guarded the gates of the underworld.

Reading books was what he’d usually do in his spare time, although sometimes he’d just stare blankly into space, watching the clouds go by, or maybe staring back at himself, into himself. He chose to think and listen rather than speak, which befit him, having a somewhat gravelly speaking voice and all (he was a much better singer than he appeared to be). He often thought about anything and everything, from people, to why the world is the way it is–he thought about love too, at times.

However, none of this was going through his mind at the moment, as he was focusing all his attention, irritation and exasperation at the person–if he could still be called that, he silently fumed–sitting a few feet away from him, completely ignorant of his cellmate’s scrutiny.

His sole companion was even taller than him, although just as thin. He stared at the computer screen in front of him through one grey eye–the other one was a cybernetic implant (not normal–not by a long shot, though Vincent), able to see right through the ultraviolet spectrum, and many other abilities the owner kept under wraps. That eye hinted at his irregularity: He was not just human, he was a cyborg, with extensive modifications to his body. As such, he did not appear to be fully human anymore, and this effect was enhanced whenever he wore his combat suit, which made him appear to be a heavily armed robot, with its numerous weapons (he changed and repaired them after every time he used them) and boosters.

His name was Joe, although hardly anyone ever knew that anymore, since he was almost always called by the nickname he had adopted when he made the decision to become a cyborg: Skyeye. He was a veritable repository of scientific information, even without the brain enhancements, and a master of witty retorts. He well-versed in sarcasm, and would often be seen surrounded by a group of people laughing at something he had just said (that is, if he had ever made it out–which he had not). This had gone to his head in recent times, sadly: he had developed an ego, and although it was not terribly large, it was certainly getting there, and had to be stopped sooner or later.

Skyeye, for it was him, was doing what he loved doing: playing with the computer–or at least that was what Vincent called it. As if he could ever comprehend pushing a computer as far as it could go, he thought. He was currently tweaking the antiquated computer to run any game he wished, with a little help from his innate ability to fashion electrical components out of whatever he could get his hands on. He recalled his past accomplishments, the most significant of which, he presumed, was getting it hooked up to the Internet, despite the fact that there was no connection in that room (I should know, I made it so), with only a broken-off radio antenna, a few transistors, an old microscope, and a roll of duct tape for good measure.

They were brothers, the two of them (offspring of my thought, though they didn’t know it), staying in a room the size and appearance of an ordinary bedroom, except that it was divided by a clearly visible white line: on Vincent’s half, easily visible were the piles of books he had carefully organized, his other guns, a rifle and a submachine gun, ammunition boxes, and displayed prominently on his bedside table was a picture of–well, let’s just say the only woman he’d never forget. On Skyeye’s half, the first thing anyone would see would be his weapon and ammunition racks; his armor, battle-scarred and pitted; his beloved computer, which he had made entirely out of scrounged parts (easily as fast as any modern supercomputer, and the size of three shoeboxes to boot); stacks of CD’s, especially computer games; and lying on his desk were a set of worn tools, which he used for everything, from modifying his computer to tinkering with his robotic parts (which didn’t always go well, having permanently set his right eye to see just the color purple once).

It was my fault they were in that room; selfish person that I am, instead of letting them go where they wished, I kept them inside for fourteen years, although they spent the greater part of that time merely asleep. They had woken up recently, however–and I had not the patience to put up with them for much longer, what with their innumerable disputes and arguments since their awakening (I resorted to drawing the line). I had to find them a bigger place to stay soon; one where they could run amok without affecting what little semblance of a proper life I still had.

Suddenly, a loud bang rent the air, and smoke could be seen coming out of Skyeye’s computer.

“WHAT THE BLEEDING HELL DID YOU DO THAT FOR!?!?”, he roared at Vincent.

“I didn’t do it,” Vincent calmly replied. He would have been completely convincing, if not for the fact that he had Cerberus in his right hand, and the end of the barrel was smoking as well. Even the bloody gun’s grinning at me, thought Skyeye.


“Target practice. Evidently, I hit my mark.” Vincent had a knack for getting on people’s nerves when he wanted to, and this was one of those times.

“Why’d it have to be my computer, out of all the things in the room!?”, Skyeye said, having calmed down somewhat, although still visibly angered (he had his plasma cannon trained on Vincent).

“Because you’re always such an arrogant prick about it, always going ‘See this? I made this myself’ and ‘I bet you could never do anything like this’. Of course I had to take you down a notch,” Vincent responded.

“Oh, yeah? Well, you’re not so bearable yourself, whining about herall the time–”

“I will not have you speak in that manner,” Vincent quietly said, although he was clearly affected (one could always tell he was enraged when the pupils of his eyes shifted from their usual blue to a bright red).

“Well, looks like someone’s about to start crying!”, Skyeye mocked. He didn’t have time to say something else, though–in a blink of an eye, Vincent had reloaded his gun and was prodding Skyeye’s neck with it.

“One more word and you get three bullets, quick as you like.”

“Fine, let’s do away with words altogether,” Skyeye said, quickly priming his grenade launcher.

I decided to step in before they started blowing things up again–I hated the noise it made. “Alright, quit it, the two of you. Don’t you remember what happened last time you shot each other up?”

Vincent said, “He crossed the line when he started talking about–”

“–I don’t care! He started it by blowing up my freaking computer!”, Skyeye shouted. He would have used a word more colorful than ‘freaking’, but I had told him that if he did, I’d let Vincent mess with his weapons. He hated that.

“I said enough already. Besides, I have something to tell the two of you.”

“What is it?”, they said in unison. They could be so unlike at times, and yet so alike at others.

“You will both be moving out.”

Skyeye grinned hugely and let out a yell of joy, while Vincent contented himself with silent laughter.

“However, I’m only getting one room. You will still have to share. At least it’s bigger, so you will both have the space you so visibly need.” They shrugged their shoulders, and started packing.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I have a blog, and why those two are wreaking havoc on it. Sometimes the posts will be meaningful; it means Vincent’s at work. Sometimes the posts will be random; Skyeye’s at the helm. The theme also changes frequently (they can’t seem to agree on one, but it seems Vincent’s chosen this one. Don’t bet on Skyeye to take it quietly, though). Anyway, I thought you people would want a proper explanation and something weird to read at the same time. Please tell me what you think, be it on YM or by commenting. This is my first fictional piece, by the way.


7 Responses to “Why I Have A Blog”

  1. September 1, 2007 at 11:15 pm

    ooh, not bad for your first try. πŸ™‚

  2. September 1, 2007 at 11:19 pm

    Sumone should try doing photoshop. Hehehe. Anyway kung gusto mo ng mas magandang header. Bawal ichange yung css ehh unless you pay for it :))


    Hey buddies!(Skyeye and Vincent) Stop all the chaos and be buddies! Well, probably that’ll be hard since your “creator” made you real opposites. But what can I say, opposites attract! πŸ˜€
    -怍木 θ€•εŠ©

  3. September 2, 2007 at 12:39 am

    Great job, you’re a really good writer. πŸ˜€ Interesting and original idea, too. πŸ˜›

  4. 4 Joe
    September 2, 2007 at 2:45 pm

    thanks. πŸ˜€ seems i have more ideas, but i’m not sure if they’re as interesting and original. πŸ˜›

  5. September 2, 2007 at 5:57 pm

    I have to say Joe, you write well. But you using Vincent as a character seems so fanfic-ish. Get someone else πŸ˜›

  6. 6 Joe
    September 2, 2007 at 6:05 pm

    i prefer using my characters rather than using other people’s–i can make them however i want, rather than adhering to how existing characters should be. πŸ˜›

  7. September 2, 2007 at 7:50 pm

    Whooooot! Good job Joey! πŸ˜› You know what i think about it na so keep up the good work!

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Presenting the thoughts and travails of a teenage writer who lives under a rock--albeit a rock with Internet access. Also, videos! Also, my Tumblr.


  • 33,146 frags

ye random thought.

"For just this once, can we pretend it's you and me?" -Thinking Of You by Test Your Reflex

where in the world!?

from the author.

Check the pages every month or so (Egos, Fiction, Musings, Origins), I usually add stuff little by little (with the possible exception of Fiction, which really depends). Oh, and credits to Joaq for the header image.

by popular demand.

counting the days.

July 2018
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