Flash Reads a Wally Ficby shortskirtsandexplosionsChaptersChapter OneChapter OneChapter OneChapter OneChapter OneFlash Sentry was dead. Dead tired. It was homeroom class. The morning. The apocalypse. The whatever. The young man sat limply at his desk, slumped over, his heavy face making an even heavier impression against the desktop. His ears tickled with the sounds of papers rustling, iPhones plinking, and tired classmates muttering some lethargic gossip or another. Was it Monday? It must have been Monday. Flash's loathsome feelings measured themselves in prolonged sighs. He wasn't alone in this quiet, crawling angst. A looming hush of brooding defeat lulled the entire room to the drooling point. First period was just fifteen minutes away. The boy kept his eyes shut, and in so doing prolonged the oozing seconds under the interminable veil of darkness. It was a queer form of self-punishment and the brutal irony was not lost to the teen. Then, amidst all of that sickening malaise, a sentient series of footsteps pierced his eardrums. At first, Flash assumed he was hallucinating a hitman coming to deliver sweet merciful arsenic, but then those footfalls came to a shuffling stop right beside him. This was followed by the sound of a backpack slumping to the ground, then the grating squeak of a desk sliding across the tile to rest perpendicular to his. “Uhm... good m-morning... uh... Flash,” stammered a pensive voice. A gulping sound. “Flash Sentry...?” Flash's teeth clenched. He forgot. He had forgotten. But now that it was Monday morning and he was there... of course she'd be there. And the thing is... he hadn't forgotten about what he promised. He had just wished he was a bit more awake for when it came time to deliver. But—that wasn't her fault. Nor was it her fault that she was evidently made of stronger, thicker, more caffeinated stuff than himself that morning. “Are... are you awake?” He heard her mousey inquiry. There was no point in being anything but a gentleman. Flash sat up slowly. He looked away from her for a moment to make sure there was no drool on his face, then—with a slight hair flick—he carved past his exhaustion and gifted her a friendly smile. “I'm awake,” he said hoarsely. A cough. “Good morning to you, Miss Bush.” “Uhm...” She chewed her lip, toying awkwardly with one of many many loose strands of seaweed green hair. “It's Blush,” she corrected, her cheeks living up to the name. “My bad,” Flash calmly breathed, blinking at the coquettish maiden. She looked disheveled, hunched, and more than a little bit frumpy in her oversized sweatclothes. Her eyes were a gorgeous chestnut brown. Flash focused on them as he smiled again. “I'm guessing this is about the story.” “Erm... yes...” She stroked and tugged and stroked at her hair again, shivering slightly. “My... uh... my fanfic...” It took an oceanic breath of oxygen to force these tender words out. It was a miracle she ever talked one-on-one to Flash Sentry in the first place. It was an even greater miracle that she convinced him to read an online document she had forwarded him. But—that's the crux of what resulted from their initial conversation last... Friday? It had to have been Friday. “I was... uhm... wondering wh-what you thought of it...” Flash smiled at her. Her fanfic. Yes, he had indeed read it—the long and meandering “Chapter One” of... a thing. And, yes, he had... managed to keep his lunch in his stomach. No. No, that was too cruel of a way to put it. Just because he had dreamt up knee-jerk riffs of the literature didn't mean he had to parrot them out loud. No... he had time to think about what he had read. Moments spent digesting in the shower, lying in bed, on the bus ride to school just minutes ago. No... he didn't have to rain in burning hail and lightning. Wallfower Bush... Blush was obviously a sweet and well-meaning girl, and it took her everything to so much as strike up a squeaky conversation with another human being. If Flash wasn't extra... extra careful, then he might bury this young woman's future endeavors in socializing completely. Flash continued smiling at her. Oh God, he was delaying. “So... uh... what I thought about it... … …!” The edge of his grin twitched, so he pivoted it away from her patient gaze, only slightly. “Uhm... well...” He sat up straight in his seat in a desperate bid to keep himself awake and alert for the words to come next. “Not gonna lie...” He sensed her body tensing in his peripheral. “...my knowledge of The Legend of Zelda is somewhat limited.” Her body eased back into plush frumpiness. “I mean, I know who Link is. But... I'm still a little lost on... on...” His ocean blue eyes narrowed quizzically into the ether. “...Ga... Geh... Gunnerkrigg?” “Ganondorf Dragmire,” Wallflower Blush vocalized. “Right. Er... him... “The King of Thieves,” she continued typing out loud. “First born male leader of the Gerudo in his century. Defiler of the Sacred Realm and current possessor of the Triforce of Power—” “Right.” Flash spoke into his teeth. “I get that. But... wasn't there—like—a Ganon? I thought he was some giant pig monster—” “This is before he became Ganon.” “Oh. So, uh, Gachadorf—” “Is Ganon in his non-beastly form.” “Ah.” Flash nodded. “Got it.” He nodded again. “But... like... isn't he and Link supposed to be enemies to each other?” “Yes.” Silence. “Okay.” Flash fought his eyelids as he contemplated the matter. “So... they are in fact sworn nemeses.” “That's right.” More silence. “So... uhm...” Flash leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin—in search of stubble to tickle the situation. He briefly forgot that he was a teenager. “Hmmmm...” “What's the matter?” “I guess I'm just...” He twirled a finger in midair in search of a string of words to collect. “...I'm just confused.” His eyes squinted in her direction. “What exactly would... motivate them to become such passionate lovers?” “Well, they're both hot.” “Oh! Sure! I mean...” He smiled crookedly. “There's no doubting that! But...” “But what?” She blinked. “But...” He tongued the inside of his mouth. Suddenly it was him who was too nervous to look her straight in the eye. “I mean... well... the fic starts sometime after the events of one of the games, right?” “A year after Ocarina of Time.” “Uh huh. So... why are they suddenly together?” Flash asked. “Wasn't Ganon—...dork imprisoned in some place for the things he did? And he didn't just spray graffiti on the Royal Castle or nothing. He tried to imprison the whole world in an infernal Age of Darkness, if I remember correctly. Also—and I'm scratching old memories here—but didn't Link get sent back in time at the end of the game? So... like... is this some alternate universe where Link grows up and there's a Ganondude who never becomes evil? Or is this the... uhhh... other reality where Link somehow... doesn't get sent back home but... like... the bad guy gets un-imprisoned and now they're together and they're kissing and rolling around in a desert tent somewhere?” “Ganondorf's isolation in the Sacred Realm allowed himself to reevaluate his feelings: for Hyrule and mostly for Link. He reformed and the Sages saw it and they let him free.” “Well, that would have been nice to establish,” Flash remarked with a friendly smile. “At least for the readers.” “I... figured the exposition wasn't nearly as important as the passion.” “Yeah... and about that...” Flash slouched, wincing slightly as he stared up at the ceiling. “I don't play on the same side of fence as the two dudes in your story, and—nothing against gay lovers or nothing. I'm not about bashing people for how they love each other. But... if your goal was to get the readers invested in the love-making...” “Yes...?” “It's... it...” He chewed on his bottom lip. “...there really wasn't much passion.” “There wasn't?” “The whole romance scene was externalized with little to no details as to their feelings. Like... what is their motivation? There's a really huge hump they gotta get over—no pun intended. But, seriously, though... they're both narrative rivals of an epic video game series, and the canon ending they've both endured has gone at broad lengths to separate them... physically, mentally, philosophically. So what have they done to bridge that gap and become ardent lovers? There's no grasp of that. The reader is too busy wrestling with that suspension of disbelief, and the actual meat of the love-making—again, no pun intended—isn't throwing anyone a bone to nibble on. It's just... a bunch of gasping and groaning and whimpering with no inclination as to why they're so into one another.” “But... but...” Wallflower tugged and pulled at her bangs, staring a million miles away in abject fear. She trembled. “...you c-could at least tell what was going on in that scene, right?” “Well—there's another thing.” He smiled delicately, pointing into the stale atmosphere of the morning. “If this was a story written for purely erotic purposes, then I just might be able to look past all of the glaring questions of the exposition—or lack thereof. But... uh... the problem is, Wallflower...” He sighed briefly. “It was really really hard to read.” “You... were uncomfortable with the situation?” “No, I couldn't get my bearings to be comfortable or uncomfortable. The whole scene... the entire chapter as a whole was just chock full of errors and typos. Like... super easy mistakes—'easy' in that it really wouldn't take much to fix them all. I was sorta tempted to proofread for you... y'know? Like... make a printout of the fic and mark in red pen all the parts that need attention. But... I-I didn't want to come across as a jerk.” He scratched the back of his blue head. “For realsies, though. Just a single passover with your own eyes and you could scrub those flubs clean in no time.” Her nostrils flared as she sighed long and hard into the lengths of the room. “It's a godawful piece of fanfiction...” “Now, look...” Flash waved a hand. “I didn't say that!” He smiled a friendly smile. “There's an earnest heart beneath all of the chaff. This story means a lot to you and it... er... shows in the narrative. It's just... it's an awful lot to digest for a chapter... and it is the 'first chapter.' I really have no clue what could possibly happen after what you've written. There... really isn't much of an established conflict yet, so the plot could go anywhere. But—that c-can be a good thing! It means you have so much more to dream up and plan for!” “Really...?” “Really...!” “So...” Wallflower squirmed in her seat. “What... could I do to salvage this mess...?” “Okay, for one...” Flash counted off one finger. “It's not a 'mess.'” He clenched his jaw for the duration of milliseconds it took to weather vocalizing that. “For another...” He counted off another finger. “Go over the story. Fix the typos. Then save it as a 'first draft.'” Third finger. “Then... go back over the core message of the story. What are you trying to establish emotionally for the characters? Or the audience? Then...” Fourth finger. “...plan a conflict to happen as early as possible, and steer the characters so that their actions—passionate or otherwise—are aimed at addressing that conflict.” “But... wh-what about the weird plot and 'suspension of disbelief' or whatever?” Flash waved a hand. “So long as your characters and conflict are on-point... who cares. The point of fanfiction is to have fun and create alternatives to the canon, right?” “Sure... I-I guess...” “And... lastly...” Fifth finger. “...you might wanna get a second opinion once you've made these changes.” “Second... opinion...?” “Yeah. Like... ask another person besides me to read your second draft.” He smiled warmly. “Just so you can get an opinion from the perspective of someone who has no knowledge of the first draft whatsoever.” “That...” Wallflower Blush nodded thoughtfully. “...sounds like a very good idea, honestly.” “Right?” Flash leaned back in his desk seat, stifling a yawn. “See? It's nothing to sweat over. Didn't I promise you the last time we talked that I would give you some helpful feedback? You see, Miss Blush, the key to improving your accomplishments isn't so much obsessing over perfection as it is about learning from past mista—” Chapter OneFlash Sentry was dead. Dead tired. It was homeroom class. The morning. The apocalypse. The whatever. The young man sat limply at his desk, slumped over, his heavy face making an even heavier impression against the desktop. His ears tickled with the sounds of papers rustling, iPhones plinking, and tired classmates muttering some lethargic gossip or another. Was it Wednesday? It must have been Wednesday. Hump day. Could have been worse; Flash hated Thursdays more. It was always a sore thing: twenty-four hours after the Hump. First period was just fifteen minutes away. The boy kept his eyes shut, and in so doing prolonged the oozing seconds under the interminable veil of darkness. It was a queer form of self-punishment and the brutal irony was not lost to the teen. Then, loudly and abruptly, an excited series of footsteps pierced his eardrums. Flash stirred—then outright flinched as he heard a bookbag thump to the ground beside him. Soon after, a desk squeeeeeeeeaked cacophonously towards him, no doubt waking the entire room. He bristled and contemplated rolling a blind haymaker into the face of the malignant noise-maker until he heard the author speak in a tender, feminine voice: “G-good morning, Flash...!” She sounded like a Protocol Droid trying to deliver a rousing speech to a sea of stormtroopers—hushed and timid but also strangely determined. “Flash Sentry, remember me?” Flash sat up, blinking towards a hazel green shape with thin eyes. “Yes, Miss... Blush. I remember.” “Oh!” A sweet smile—like some squeaky anime chick come to real life. “That's g-good!” she giggle-gasped. No lie, Flash felt a tiny flutter in his chest vacuole. It was just so darn cute—even cuter coming from its mousey source. “Uhm... I was wondering if you also remembered... … …?” That... he had forgotten at that particular moment. For a brief moment, his heart sank... but it then rose swiftly back up on strings of salvation. Flash had been dead-bored the previous afternoon after school, so he spent an hour or two reading the story Wallflower had forwarded to his e-mail address. It was good time made. After all, he had only agreed to check out her writing during a random chat session they both had on the morning of the same day. And now it was barely twenty-four hours later and she was asking him for feedback. Wallflower's punctuality certainly overstepped her otherwise timid exterior. He didn't know whether to be scared or proud. Soon, he realized, it didn't matter. There were a few lousy minutes left to kill in home room and he might as well spend them brightening the day of a sweet classmate who obviously valued his literary opinion for some reason. “So...” He threw on his best Garrison Keillor voice, nodding thoughtfully at the frumpy damsel. “...your fanfic.” She nodded. “Yes... my... uh...” She reached up to stroke her green bangs—then bapped her own hands and chose to sit upright and attentive instead, smiling hopefully. “...my fanfic!” “I read it yesterday afternoon, as a matter of fact.” “Yes. And?” “And...” Flash inhaled. “...it was... interesting.” He exhaled. She blinked. “... … ...interesting?” “Uh huh.” “Interesting... … ...” Wallflower glanced left and right, squirming in her seat. “...how?” “So Link is getting together with... uh... Gunther—” “Ganondorf Dragmire,” she clarified. “The King of Thieves. First born male leader of the Gerudo in his century. Defiler of the Sacred Realm and current possessor of the Triforce of Power—” “Right.” Flash cleared his throat. “And—obviously, out of the gate—that's a whole lot to chew on. What—with Ganondorf and Link being rivals to each other in the canon video game plotline and all—” “Oh! I know that!” She leaned forward, beaming. “That's why I spent an extra long time at the start of the chapter explaining how Ganondorf got out of the Sacred Realm and why Link's past self phased back with his future self, combining both extensions of the Hero of Time beyond the limitations of the alternate universes—” “Ah. So that's the reason for the huge exposition dump at the start.” “... … ...” Wallfower's tongue lingered in the air. “Exposition...” She slowly sank back in her desk chair. “...Dump?” Flash nodded. “That was quite the hurdle for the brain to leap over on the first page.” “But... but...” Her lips pouted as she sank further and further. “...I thought it was necessary to fill the reader in on why the characters are the way they are so that they wouldn't have too much suspending of their disbelieving...” “... … ...huh?” “The reader shouldn't have too many questions to ask once we get to the romantic bits—” “Oh! For sure!” Flash nodded. “But... meh...” He blew out the side of his mouth. “I guess it's all just a matter of flow.” “Flow?” “I mean—it's just the first chapter of this story you're working on. And half of it is explaining how things got to where they are. The other half is... well... Brokeback Mountain in a desert tent.” “Yeah? So?” “So... it feels kinda lopsided.” Flash gulped, gazing off in search of his thoughts. “Like... my brain just got done trying to tackle the cosmic circumstances that have allowed this romantic pairing to even happen. But... shouldn't the audience only really care about the couple and their passion?” “Oooh! Passion!” Wallflower leaned forward again. “Wasn't the love-making scene super immersive and romantic?” “I... guess...?” She paled again. “Was this thing a first draft?” “... … … … … ….maybe.” “Cuz—to me?” Flash gestured. “It sorta looks like someone wrote a simple and to-the-point love scene. And then someone else stole their word processor and peppered in a bunch of redundant dialogue bits.” “So...” The poor girl was sweating. “...the dialogue was lame.” “Not lame per se...” Flash smiled hopefully. “Just... weirdly placed.” “How so?” “Nobody's gonna take Link seriously if he's monologuing a detailed paragraph about his lonesome childhood as a fairy-less orphan in the Lost Woods... while he's being forced against a tent pole by his bigger, well-muscled lover.” Flash took a breath. “There's a time and a place, y'know? At that particular moment, you're trying to be sensual... and the tone is off! Just because—from what it seems—you're trying to divulge too much information at once.” “But I want the readers to know the positions of the two characters,” Wallflower said... then blushed. “Erm... emotionally and mentally, I mean.” “I get that. But it's all about timing, right?” Flash smiled at her. “Same with the exposition dump at the start. You gotta... space it out.” “Space it out?” “Yeah. Thread the background of the plot in between the rising actions. Perhaps internalize the narrative a bit instead of relying so much on telling in the dialogue. Or—!” He perked in his seat, pointing. “Start in media res!” “In... media... res...?” she squeaked. “Yeah! Some Christopher Nolan jazz!” He winked. “Start off with Link riding into the Gerudo Desert, about to meet up with his lover. Then weave back and forth in time to reveal the exposition in tiny sequences. Like... snack food backstory! Give the audience tiny nibbles here and there—just enough to keep them wanting. But, in the meantime, you keep the passion and conflict of the main characters in the foreground! Since—after all—that's what matters the most.” “Oh! What did you think of the conflict that I made?!” Wallflower asked in earnest. “... … ...about Ganondorf's quest to defeat the two evil witch hags who raised him?” “Yeah! That!” “... … ...I didn't really get how it related to his desire to make love to Link.” “Oh...” Wallflower deflated, tonguing the inside of her cheek. “If nothing else, it was kind of a turn-off during the tent scene.” Flash winced slightly, smiling. “Take that as a compliment...?” “But... but...” Wallflower's puppy dog eyes raised back. “...it was written well, at least?” “Uhhhhhhhh... sure!” “No typos? Grammar flubs? Mistakes in spelling?” “Nope. No, I could... uh... tell that you proofread it once or twice. Which is good.” “... … ...so what's the problem?” Flash sighed. “The problem, Miss Blush, is that you can have a story that's squeaky clean and mathematically perfect...” A prolonged shrug. “...but still clunky without good pacing and tone.” Wallflower exhaled slowly. “I see...” “But—!” Flash gestured. “Don't be disheartened! It's a really... really solid accomplishment for a first draft, Wallflower.” She sighed sideways, eyes falling towards her backpack. “No it isn't.” “For real! It's not bad! I mean it!” He leaned back. “Just needs to be fixed in a few places.” “Yeah. I guess.” “I mean... I read it for a solid hour and I didn't put it down!” She leaned down. “You were probably bored at the time.” “Will you stop being so down on yourself?” Flash folded his arms. “I can tell it took an awful lot for you to open up with someone about the literature you enjoy writing. And—well—we've passed that hurdle, and now what? You've got some input to glean from!” He shut his eyes with a contented sigh, leaning back in his seat. “That's... just what life is in general, y'know. Taking risks... making mistakes... learning from them. You don't have to be alone in the journey, either, y'know. Nice thing about having friends to chat with is that you can analyze things together, come to an understanding, and find ways to remember, adapt, and gro—” Chapter OneFlash Sentry was dead. Dead tired. It was homeroom class. The morning. The apocalypse. The whatever. The young man sat limply at his desk, slumped over, his heavy face making an even heavier impression against the desktop. His ears tickled with the sounds of papers rustling, iPhones plinking, and tired classmates muttering some lethargic gossip or another. Was it Friday? Please, God, let it be Friday. This week was the utter pits. Flash didn't know exactly why, but it felt like the days simply lasted forever. Something simply... wouldn't let him go. But soon, none of that would matter. Just six final periods and he could blissfully fart off to fart away his weekend, farting— THUMP! “Morning, Flash!” “GUH!” He shot up like a bullet, blinking wildly at the Queen of Frumpiness who had landed in the desk just inches from him. “Mrmmmff... uhhh... m-morning...” He wheezed, cross-eyed. “Ballflower Rush...” “Heeheehee...” She dropped her backpack and leaned forward, smiling chin propped in two eager palms. “Soooooo? What did you think?” “... … ...of what?” The teenage boy rubbed his temple. “My aneurysm?” “No, silly...” She stuck her tongue out and navigated another giggle. “The story!” “The... story...” “Y'know... Chapter One of—” “—the Zelda fan script. Right.” “Fanfic. But—close enough!” She smiled from cheek to cheek, practically dancing in her desk. “So? Your thoughts?” “My thoughts...” “Yup yup yup!” “I...” Flash avoided her gaze, the floor, the ceiling, the photons bouncing in between. He labored to birth the words: “...I... I'm kinda having a hard time collecting them after what I read.” “... … ...” Wallflower's everything sank. “How so?” “Well...” Flash stifled a yawn, leaning back in his seat. “I just... uhm...” He folded his arms, shivering slightly. “Whewwwww boy...” “'Whewwwww boy?'” “I don't know where to start,” he said. “And I think that's because the story doesn't know where to start.” “It doesn't?” “The fic just... begins with Link traipsing through the desert. And then we suddenly have this flashback to Saria changing his diaper as an infant. Then there's a scene with a young Galgun—” “Ganondorf.” “Yeah. He's being scolded by the witch hags for drawing vaguely homoerotic stick figures and... and then we flash forward to him and Link in the tent and there's very little dialogue in between these ginormous paragraphs describing how lonely these two men have been for one another...” “But...” Wallflower snapped. “I thought you said—!” She winced. “...it's been said that it's healthy for a story's exposition to start in media res.” She smiled crookedly. “Y'know... Christopher Nolannnnn?” Flash shrugged. “Hell, even Inception knew how to ground itself with the mentor-apprentice relationship between Dicaprio's and Page's characters in order to thread the otherwise jumbled layers of plotline. This story of yours—I'm sorry to say—is more like Memento if someone took all the scenes from the DVD and scrambled them all over the place with no rhyme or reason. Like... no offense, Wallflower... I can tell you're hell-bent on telling a passionate love story, but the narrative is so... so insanely focused on framing and structure that there's barely any room left to enjoy the nuance of this delicate relationship you're attempting to paint.” “But... b-but...” Wallflower audibly whimpered. “...I figured this was the most ideal way to avoid an unnecessary exposition dump right at the beginning!” “I... guess...?” Flash rubbed his chin, brow furrowed in helpless confusion. “Isn't there a good, established conflict?” “I mean, sure...” “And is the story clean and proofread...?” “Seems like it...” “And don't you feel immersed in the love-making scene?” “Uhhhh... well...” She leaned forward, voice cracking. “Then what's the problem? How do I keep failing?” “I... thought this was your first draft—” “I just want to prove Link's and Ganondorf's love for each other!” Wallflower wept, Blush 11:35. “Is that so doofin' hard to do?!” “I... just...” Flash rubbed his temples again. “I'm sorry, Wallflower. Could you speak a bit slower, please?” He winced. “My brain feels so fried this week for some reason...” She calmed. She breathed. She held her hands out. “What is the biggest problem with this chapter, in your opinion?” “You want the honest truth?” “Of c-course!” Wally nodded. “You've... you're helping me out in ways you couldn't possibly imagine.” He stared at her directly. “I think the biggest problem with the chapter is just that.” “Just what?” “It's a chapter.” “Buh?” “You're... Wallflower, you're trying to cram so... so much stuff into the story and it's just the first chapter.” He smiled delicately. “What you have hiding between the lines here is a rich and detailed imagination. And it's trying so desperately to make itself manifest. But... but you keep trying to focus on just the launch that I feel like you've lost sight of the grand picture.” “Which is... what?” She blinked. “The entire fic, of course.” Flash gestured. “What you've attempted to do in six thousand words could so... so much more easily be done in sixty thousand.” Her mouth hung open. “... … ...you really think so?” “I mean, you'd have to adjust the tone and pacing, of course. But... if you made the chapters small enough and the rising actions titillating enough, then—yeah—I really truly think you could turn this into an epic, longform piece of magnificent literature.” He took a deep breath. “It would certainly make things way... way easier to digest.” “But... isn't that too ambitious?” “There's a reason why people love things super-sized in this country,” Flash said. “It's knowing that while we're constantly nibbling on tiny morsels now, there's so much more yet to be consumed.” He winked. “And if you make the first helpings succulent enough, then plenty of people will stay along for the whole ride. All the better—y'know? You can use that length and complexity to fully explore and draw out the narrative. It'll be the best for the characters, the best for the readers, and the best for you.” “For me?” “Yeah. Burnout is a very real thing. Trust me... eheh...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know.” She toyed with a single strand of hair. “I... see...” A slowly growing and slowly crooked smile. “...I really wouldn't mind writing more.” “See? Win-win-win scenario.” He yawned, leaning back in his chair. “You've got the making of a good story. You just gotta string things along a bit. Spin plates... don't smash them.” “And...” She shuffled about in her chair. “...when I write more... uhm... do you think you'd be up for giving those chapters a look as well?” Flash slumped back in his seat, staring at the ceiling for a good minute. His shoes shifted, and his eyes darted about. Eventually, he blurted: “Sure.” “Really?” “What the hell.” A yawn. Another shrug. “I know this story means a lot to you, and we've come this far already.” “Well, that's good to know, Flash.” “May I say that I'm proud of you for following up on me? Socializing is all about risk-reward, but you were nevertheless willing to open up about a hobby of yours that means a lot to you. You ask me—that's a good thing. After all, I can't be the only person who thinks that you could stand to be a bit more asserti—” Chapter OneFlash Sentry was dead. Dead tired. It was homeroom class. The morning. The apocalypse. The whatever. The young man sat limply at his desk, slumped over, his heavy face making an even heavier impression against the desktop. His ears tickled with the sounds of papers rustling, iPhones plinking, and tired classmates muttering some lethargic gossip or another. Was it...? Was it... … …? ... … ...just what the Hell day was it? There was a weekend here, but it's gone now. Flash groaned. Every second spilled into a day and every day felt like both a Monday and a Thursday mixed in a rusted bucket and rattled around. That in and of itself was a true purgatory. Maybe if he pressed his dull face hard enough into the desk he'd sink through a rabbit hole and end up somewhere with blissfully stupid nonsense— Scraaaaaaaaape! A desk slid up against his. A young woman's voice panted, as if finishing a marathon to arrive there. “Good morning, Flash...” The voice of a coquettish nobody tickled his ears in squeaky spurts. “...nice to see you...” A gulping sound. “So... did you get that thing I sent you?” Flash's muscles tensed. Oh... His teeth clenched. Oh... no... “Y'know... uhm... it would have shown up in your e-mail by now...” One by one, Flash's limbs shifted, preparing to spring. “Probably eight days ago, actually...” Eight days ago? When did they last talk? What month was it? “... … ...did you think about checking your Spam folder perhaps—” “I got the e-mail, Wallflower,” Flash monotoned. He sat up like a gravestone, gracing her with a granite stare. “I... looked at it.” Her whole body brightened, which only burned him all the more. “Oooh! So you did!” She leaned forward in her seat. “Soooooo... what did you think?” He felt a guilty lump bubbling up his esophagus. Like heartburn. “Well... as I said...” Like vomit. “I... looked at it...” She blinked. “Okay. Uhm.” A flutter of the eyelashes. “What part? Did you get to Chapter Five?” Flash smiled nervously. “Oh! To Chapter Nine?!” Flash smiled awkwardly. “... … ...to... ...to Chapter Three?” Flash smiled defeatedly. “I... erm...” He rubbed the back of his head, avoiding her gaze. “I... breezed over... uhm... most of Chapter One.” “...most?” “More like half.” He shuddered, gripping the edge of his desk as if expecting to be whalloped by a centaur from beyond. “I-I'm so sorry, Wallflower. But... I tried. I honestly did.” “Tried?” Wallflower's lips pursed as her brow furrowed in sheepish alarm. “But... but what was so hard about it...?” “Well...?” “The exposition wasn't dumped heavily at the beginning, was it?” “No...” “Was the tone off or the pacing bad?” “No... ...” “Was the dialogue peppered in wrong or the conflict introduced too early or the narrative rife with typos—” “No. No. None of that! It was... just...” Flash shrugged. “...Okay.” “'Okay?'” “I guess...?” “Flash...” Wallflower folded her arms. “If you didn't like the story, just spill it out. I can take it.” “Can you, though?” She squinted at him. The boy gulped. “It's just...” He exhaled heavily. “...how many days ago did you forward this story to me again?” “Eight days.” “Eight days...” He rubbed his scalp again. “I know that... m-might not seem like much. But... twelve chapters, Wallflower. Twelve Chapters!” “So what?” She beamed briefly. “I'm passionate!” “There's no arguing that! But...” Flash squirmed. “...it's just that... it doesn't necessarily mean that your readers will be.” “How so?” “I mean... it's an awful lot to throw at someone. I told you that I'd get around to it. And... I did—” “Half of the first chapter?” “Okay. So I didn't get around to it much. And... and I apologize, Wallflower. Sincerely, I do.” He shuddered, bravely staring her in the face with sad eyes. “I promised you that I would read your story and give you an honest perspective on it. I acknowledge that.” “So what's the problem?” “It's me, obviously.” She shook her head. “Don't just blame yourself, Flash. How could I have made it an easier read?” “Uhm...” “For anyone. Not just you.” “Honestly?” He spoke through clenched teeth. “Just... don't go all in so hard.” “All in?” “It's... pretty heavy handed to send me twelve chapters of this... Zelda romance epic and be like 'So, what do you think?'” It was Wallflower's turn to wince. “I came on too strong, huh?” “Jusssssst a tad.” “Well...” Wallflower sat back. “What... would your advice be in... the future?” “You ask me?” Flash gestured. “You should have just sent me the first chapter.” Wallflower facepalmed. “That way...!” He smiled hopefully. “It would have seem as less of a chore!” “A chore...” “I... guess that's a cruel way of putting it—” She lowered her palm and squinted at him. “Did the first half of the first chapter feel like a 'chore?'” Flash squirmed in his seat. “Well...” “I want to know the truth.” “The truth...?” “Wholly and completely.” “The truth...” Flash stared off into the distance. “The truth is... is...” “Yes...?” “I...” He sighed heavily. “I'm sorry, Wallflower, but... I guess I just... don't really enjoy video games that much.” “You don't enjoy video games...” “Never had.” “... … ...” “I... I'm sorry...” He smiled weakly at her. “I felt bad about it all week. And I guess—knowing how dispassionate I'd be in the end—that made it hard to even start reading your thing. If it was just a single chapter...” He shrugged. “I'm sorry. I really am.” He sat up. “However—! A twelve chapter fanfic about a rock band touring outer space... heheheh... now that I'd binge in a heartbeat! Lemme tell ya...” “I see...” Wallflower nodded in a dull tone. “It makes so much sense now.” Dry and deadpan, she leaned down and reached her hand deep into the heart of her backpack. “I only wished you had told me that the first time.” “Like I said: it's all on me, Wallflower. I'm really...” Just then, he blinked. “Wait...” He squinted at her. “What do you mean by 'the first ti—'?”
Chapter OneFlash Sentry was dead. Dead tired. It was homeroom class. The morning. The apocalypse. The whatever. The young man sat limply at his desk, slumped over, his heavy face making an even heavier impression against the desktop. His ears tickled with the sounds of papers rustling, iPhones plinking, and tired classmates muttering some lethargic gossip or another. Was it Monday? It must have been Monday. Flash's loathsome feelings measured themselves in prolonged sighs. He wasn't alone in this quiet, crawling angst. A looming hush of brooding defeat lulled the entire room to the drooling point. First period was just fifteen minutes away. The boy kept his eyes shut, and in so doing prolonged the oozing seconds under the interminable veil of darkness. It was a queer form of self-punishment and the brutal irony was not lost to the teen. Then, amidst all of that sickening malaise, a sentient series of footsteps pierced his eardrums. At first, Flash assumed he was hallucinating a hitman coming to deliver sweet merciful arsenic, but then those footfalls came to a shuffling stop right beside him. This was followed by the sound of a backpack slumping to the ground, then the grating squeak of a desk sliding across the tile to rest perpendicular to his. “Uhm... good m-morning... uh... Flash,” stammered a pensive voice. A gulping sound. “Flash Sentry...?” Flash's teeth clenched. He forgot. He had forgotten. But now that it was Monday morning and he was there... of course she'd be there. And the thing is... he hadn't forgotten about what he promised. He had just wished he was a bit more awake for when it came time to deliver. But—that wasn't her fault. Nor was it her fault that she was evidently made of stronger, thicker, more caffeinated stuff than himself that morning. “Are... are you awake?” He heard her mousey inquiry. There was no point in being anything but a gentleman. Flash sat up slowly. He looked away from her for a moment to make sure there was no drool on his face, then—with a slight hair flick—he carved past his exhaustion and gifted her a friendly smile. “I'm awake,” he said hoarsely. A cough. “Good morning to you, Miss Bush.” “Uhm...” She chewed her lip, toying awkwardly with one of many many loose strands of seaweed green hair. “It's Blush,” she corrected, her cheeks living up to the name. “My bad,” Flash calmly breathed, blinking at the coquettish maiden. She looked disheveled, hunched, and more than a little bit frumpy in her oversized sweatclothes. Her eyes were a gorgeous chestnut brown. Flash focused on them as he smiled again. “I'm guessing this is about the story.” “Erm... yes...” She stroked and tugged and stroked at her hair again, shivering slightly. “My... uh... my fanfic...” It took an oceanic breath of oxygen to force these tender words out. It was a miracle she ever talked one-on-one to Flash Sentry in the first place. It was an even greater miracle that she convinced him to read an online document she had forwarded him. But—that's the crux of what resulted from their initial conversation last... Friday? It had to have been Friday. “I was... uhm... wondering wh-what you thought of it...” Flash smiled at her. Her fanfic. Yes, he had indeed read it—the long and meandering “Chapter One” of... a thing. And, yes, he had... managed to keep his lunch in his stomach. No. No, that was too cruel of a way to put it. Just because he had dreamt up knee-jerk riffs of the literature didn't mean he had to parrot them out loud. No... he had time to think about what he had read. Moments spent digesting in the shower, lying in bed, on the bus ride to school just minutes ago. No... he didn't have to rain in burning hail and lightning. Wallfower Bush... Blush was obviously a sweet and well-meaning girl, and it took her everything to so much as strike up a squeaky conversation with another human being. If Flash wasn't extra... extra careful, then he might bury this young woman's future endeavors in socializing completely. Flash continued smiling at her. Oh God, he was delaying. “So... uh... what I thought about it... … …!” The edge of his grin twitched, so he pivoted it away from her patient gaze, only slightly. “Uhm... well...” He sat up straight in his seat in a desperate bid to keep himself awake and alert for the words to come next. “Not gonna lie...” He sensed her body tensing in his peripheral. “...my knowledge of The Legend of Zelda is somewhat limited.” Her body eased back into plush frumpiness. “I mean, I know who Link is. But... I'm still a little lost on... on...” His ocean blue eyes narrowed quizzically into the ether. “...Ga... Geh... Gunnerkrigg?” “Ganondorf Dragmire,” Wallflower Blush vocalized. “Right. Er... him... “The King of Thieves,” she continued typing out loud. “First born male leader of the Gerudo in his century. Defiler of the Sacred Realm and current possessor of the Triforce of Power—” “Right.” Flash spoke into his teeth. “I get that. But... wasn't there—like—a Ganon? I thought he was some giant pig monster—” “This is before he became Ganon.” “Oh. So, uh, Gachadorf—” “Is Ganon in his non-beastly form.” “Ah.” Flash nodded. “Got it.” He nodded again. “But... like... isn't he and Link supposed to be enemies to each other?” “Yes.” Silence. “Okay.” Flash fought his eyelids as he contemplated the matter. “So... they are in fact sworn nemeses.” “That's right.” More silence. “So... uhm...” Flash leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin—in search of stubble to tickle the situation. He briefly forgot that he was a teenager. “Hmmmm...” “What's the matter?” “I guess I'm just...” He twirled a finger in midair in search of a string of words to collect. “...I'm just confused.” His eyes squinted in her direction. “What exactly would... motivate them to become such passionate lovers?” “Well, they're both hot.” “Oh! Sure! I mean...” He smiled crookedly. “There's no doubting that! But...” “But what?” She blinked. “But...” He tongued the inside of his mouth. Suddenly it was him who was too nervous to look her straight in the eye. “I mean... well... the fic starts sometime after the events of one of the games, right?” “A year after Ocarina of Time.” “Uh huh. So... why are they suddenly together?” Flash asked. “Wasn't Ganon—...dork imprisoned in some place for the things he did? And he didn't just spray graffiti on the Royal Castle or nothing. He tried to imprison the whole world in an infernal Age of Darkness, if I remember correctly. Also—and I'm scratching old memories here—but didn't Link get sent back in time at the end of the game? So... like... is this some alternate universe where Link grows up and there's a Ganondude who never becomes evil? Or is this the... uhhh... other reality where Link somehow... doesn't get sent back home but... like... the bad guy gets un-imprisoned and now they're together and they're kissing and rolling around in a desert tent somewhere?” “Ganondorf's isolation in the Sacred Realm allowed himself to reevaluate his feelings: for Hyrule and mostly for Link. He reformed and the Sages saw it and they let him free.” “Well, that would have been nice to establish,” Flash remarked with a friendly smile. “At least for the readers.” “I... figured the exposition wasn't nearly as important as the passion.” “Yeah... and about that...” Flash slouched, wincing slightly as he stared up at the ceiling. “I don't play on the same side of fence as the two dudes in your story, and—nothing against gay lovers or nothing. I'm not about bashing people for how they love each other. But... if your goal was to get the readers invested in the love-making...” “Yes...?” “It's... it...” He chewed on his bottom lip. “...there really wasn't much passion.” “There wasn't?” “The whole romance scene was externalized with little to no details as to their feelings. Like... what is their motivation? There's a really huge hump they gotta get over—no pun intended. But, seriously, though... they're both narrative rivals of an epic video game series, and the canon ending they've both endured has gone at broad lengths to separate them... physically, mentally, philosophically. So what have they done to bridge that gap and become ardent lovers? There's no grasp of that. The reader is too busy wrestling with that suspension of disbelief, and the actual meat of the love-making—again, no pun intended—isn't throwing anyone a bone to nibble on. It's just... a bunch of gasping and groaning and whimpering with no inclination as to why they're so into one another.” “But... but...” Wallflower tugged and pulled at her bangs, staring a million miles away in abject fear. She trembled. “...you c-could at least tell what was going on in that scene, right?” “Well—there's another thing.” He smiled delicately, pointing into the stale atmosphere of the morning. “If this was a story written for purely erotic purposes, then I just might be able to look past all of the glaring questions of the exposition—or lack thereof. But... uh... the problem is, Wallflower...” He sighed briefly. “It was really really hard to read.” “You... were uncomfortable with the situation?” “No, I couldn't get my bearings to be comfortable or uncomfortable. The whole scene... the entire chapter as a whole was just chock full of errors and typos. Like... super easy mistakes—'easy' in that it really wouldn't take much to fix them all. I was sorta tempted to proofread for you... y'know? Like... make a printout of the fic and mark in red pen all the parts that need attention. But... I-I didn't want to come across as a jerk.” He scratched the back of his blue head. “For realsies, though. Just a single passover with your own eyes and you could scrub those flubs clean in no time.” Her nostrils flared as she sighed long and hard into the lengths of the room. “It's a godawful piece of fanfiction...” “Now, look...” Flash waved a hand. “I didn't say that!” He smiled a friendly smile. “There's an earnest heart beneath all of the chaff. This story means a lot to you and it... er... shows in the narrative. It's just... it's an awful lot to digest for a chapter... and it is the 'first chapter.' I really have no clue what could possibly happen after what you've written. There... really isn't much of an established conflict yet, so the plot could go anywhere. But—that c-can be a good thing! It means you have so much more to dream up and plan for!” “Really...?” “Really...!” “So...” Wallflower squirmed in her seat. “What... could I do to salvage this mess...?” “Okay, for one...” Flash counted off one finger. “It's not a 'mess.'” He clenched his jaw for the duration of milliseconds it took to weather vocalizing that. “For another...” He counted off another finger. “Go over the story. Fix the typos. Then save it as a 'first draft.'” Third finger. “Then... go back over the core message of the story. What are you trying to establish emotionally for the characters? Or the audience? Then...” Fourth finger. “...plan a conflict to happen as early as possible, and steer the characters so that their actions—passionate or otherwise—are aimed at addressing that conflict.” “But... wh-what about the weird plot and 'suspension of disbelief' or whatever?” Flash waved a hand. “So long as your characters and conflict are on-point... who cares. The point of fanfiction is to have fun and create alternatives to the canon, right?” “Sure... I-I guess...” “And... lastly...” Fifth finger. “...you might wanna get a second opinion once you've made these changes.” “Second... opinion...?” “Yeah. Like... ask another person besides me to read your second draft.” He smiled warmly. “Just so you can get an opinion from the perspective of someone who has no knowledge of the first draft whatsoever.” “That...” Wallflower Blush nodded thoughtfully. “...sounds like a very good idea, honestly.” “Right?” Flash leaned back in his desk seat, stifling a yawn. “See? It's nothing to sweat over. Didn't I promise you the last time we talked that I would give you some helpful feedback? You see, Miss Blush, the key to improving your accomplishments isn't so much obsessing over perfection as it is about learning from past mista—”
Chapter OneFlash Sentry was dead. Dead tired. It was homeroom class. The morning. The apocalypse. The whatever. The young man sat limply at his desk, slumped over, his heavy face making an even heavier impression against the desktop. His ears tickled with the sounds of papers rustling, iPhones plinking, and tired classmates muttering some lethargic gossip or another. Was it Wednesday? It must have been Wednesday. Hump day. Could have been worse; Flash hated Thursdays more. It was always a sore thing: twenty-four hours after the Hump. First period was just fifteen minutes away. The boy kept his eyes shut, and in so doing prolonged the oozing seconds under the interminable veil of darkness. It was a queer form of self-punishment and the brutal irony was not lost to the teen. Then, loudly and abruptly, an excited series of footsteps pierced his eardrums. Flash stirred—then outright flinched as he heard a bookbag thump to the ground beside him. Soon after, a desk squeeeeeeeeaked cacophonously towards him, no doubt waking the entire room. He bristled and contemplated rolling a blind haymaker into the face of the malignant noise-maker until he heard the author speak in a tender, feminine voice: “G-good morning, Flash...!” She sounded like a Protocol Droid trying to deliver a rousing speech to a sea of stormtroopers—hushed and timid but also strangely determined. “Flash Sentry, remember me?” Flash sat up, blinking towards a hazel green shape with thin eyes. “Yes, Miss... Blush. I remember.” “Oh!” A sweet smile—like some squeaky anime chick come to real life. “That's g-good!” she giggle-gasped. No lie, Flash felt a tiny flutter in his chest vacuole. It was just so darn cute—even cuter coming from its mousey source. “Uhm... I was wondering if you also remembered... … …?” That... he had forgotten at that particular moment. For a brief moment, his heart sank... but it then rose swiftly back up on strings of salvation. Flash had been dead-bored the previous afternoon after school, so he spent an hour or two reading the story Wallflower had forwarded to his e-mail address. It was good time made. After all, he had only agreed to check out her writing during a random chat session they both had on the morning of the same day. And now it was barely twenty-four hours later and she was asking him for feedback. Wallflower's punctuality certainly overstepped her otherwise timid exterior. He didn't know whether to be scared or proud. Soon, he realized, it didn't matter. There were a few lousy minutes left to kill in home room and he might as well spend them brightening the day of a sweet classmate who obviously valued his literary opinion for some reason. “So...” He threw on his best Garrison Keillor voice, nodding thoughtfully at the frumpy damsel. “...your fanfic.” She nodded. “Yes... my... uh...” She reached up to stroke her green bangs—then bapped her own hands and chose to sit upright and attentive instead, smiling hopefully. “...my fanfic!” “I read it yesterday afternoon, as a matter of fact.” “Yes. And?” “And...” Flash inhaled. “...it was... interesting.” He exhaled. She blinked. “... … ...interesting?” “Uh huh.” “Interesting... … ...” Wallflower glanced left and right, squirming in her seat. “...how?” “So Link is getting together with... uh... Gunther—” “Ganondorf Dragmire,” she clarified. “The King of Thieves. First born male leader of the Gerudo in his century. Defiler of the Sacred Realm and current possessor of the Triforce of Power—” “Right.” Flash cleared his throat. “And—obviously, out of the gate—that's a whole lot to chew on. What—with Ganondorf and Link being rivals to each other in the canon video game plotline and all—” “Oh! I know that!” She leaned forward, beaming. “That's why I spent an extra long time at the start of the chapter explaining how Ganondorf got out of the Sacred Realm and why Link's past self phased back with his future self, combining both extensions of the Hero of Time beyond the limitations of the alternate universes—” “Ah. So that's the reason for the huge exposition dump at the start.” “... … ...” Wallfower's tongue lingered in the air. “Exposition...” She slowly sank back in her desk chair. “...Dump?” Flash nodded. “That was quite the hurdle for the brain to leap over on the first page.” “But... but...” Her lips pouted as she sank further and further. “...I thought it was necessary to fill the reader in on why the characters are the way they are so that they wouldn't have too much suspending of their disbelieving...” “... … ...huh?” “The reader shouldn't have too many questions to ask once we get to the romantic bits—” “Oh! For sure!” Flash nodded. “But... meh...” He blew out the side of his mouth. “I guess it's all just a matter of flow.” “Flow?” “I mean—it's just the first chapter of this story you're working on. And half of it is explaining how things got to where they are. The other half is... well... Brokeback Mountain in a desert tent.” “Yeah? So?” “So... it feels kinda lopsided.” Flash gulped, gazing off in search of his thoughts. “Like... my brain just got done trying to tackle the cosmic circumstances that have allowed this romantic pairing to even happen. But... shouldn't the audience only really care about the couple and their passion?” “Oooh! Passion!” Wallflower leaned forward again. “Wasn't the love-making scene super immersive and romantic?” “I... guess...?” She paled again. “Was this thing a first draft?” “... … … … … ….maybe.” “Cuz—to me?” Flash gestured. “It sorta looks like someone wrote a simple and to-the-point love scene. And then someone else stole their word processor and peppered in a bunch of redundant dialogue bits.” “So...” The poor girl was sweating. “...the dialogue was lame.” “Not lame per se...” Flash smiled hopefully. “Just... weirdly placed.” “How so?” “Nobody's gonna take Link seriously if he's monologuing a detailed paragraph about his lonesome childhood as a fairy-less orphan in the Lost Woods... while he's being forced against a tent pole by his bigger, well-muscled lover.” Flash took a breath. “There's a time and a place, y'know? At that particular moment, you're trying to be sensual... and the tone is off! Just because—from what it seems—you're trying to divulge too much information at once.” “But I want the readers to know the positions of the two characters,” Wallflower said... then blushed. “Erm... emotionally and mentally, I mean.” “I get that. But it's all about timing, right?” Flash smiled at her. “Same with the exposition dump at the start. You gotta... space it out.” “Space it out?” “Yeah. Thread the background of the plot in between the rising actions. Perhaps internalize the narrative a bit instead of relying so much on telling in the dialogue. Or—!” He perked in his seat, pointing. “Start in media res!” “In... media... res...?” she squeaked. “Yeah! Some Christopher Nolan jazz!” He winked. “Start off with Link riding into the Gerudo Desert, about to meet up with his lover. Then weave back and forth in time to reveal the exposition in tiny sequences. Like... snack food backstory! Give the audience tiny nibbles here and there—just enough to keep them wanting. But, in the meantime, you keep the passion and conflict of the main characters in the foreground! Since—after all—that's what matters the most.” “Oh! What did you think of the conflict that I made?!” Wallflower asked in earnest. “... … ...about Ganondorf's quest to defeat the two evil witch hags who raised him?” “Yeah! That!” “... … ...I didn't really get how it related to his desire to make love to Link.” “Oh...” Wallflower deflated, tonguing the inside of her cheek. “If nothing else, it was kind of a turn-off during the tent scene.” Flash winced slightly, smiling. “Take that as a compliment...?” “But... but...” Wallflower's puppy dog eyes raised back. “...it was written well, at least?” “Uhhhhhhhh... sure!” “No typos? Grammar flubs? Mistakes in spelling?” “Nope. No, I could... uh... tell that you proofread it once or twice. Which is good.” “... … ...so what's the problem?” Flash sighed. “The problem, Miss Blush, is that you can have a story that's squeaky clean and mathematically perfect...” A prolonged shrug. “...but still clunky without good pacing and tone.” Wallflower exhaled slowly. “I see...” “But—!” Flash gestured. “Don't be disheartened! It's a really... really solid accomplishment for a first draft, Wallflower.” She sighed sideways, eyes falling towards her backpack. “No it isn't.” “For real! It's not bad! I mean it!” He leaned back. “Just needs to be fixed in a few places.” “Yeah. I guess.” “I mean... I read it for a solid hour and I didn't put it down!” She leaned down. “You were probably bored at the time.” “Will you stop being so down on yourself?” Flash folded his arms. “I can tell it took an awful lot for you to open up with someone about the literature you enjoy writing. And—well—we've passed that hurdle, and now what? You've got some input to glean from!” He shut his eyes with a contented sigh, leaning back in his seat. “That's... just what life is in general, y'know. Taking risks... making mistakes... learning from them. You don't have to be alone in the journey, either, y'know. Nice thing about having friends to chat with is that you can analyze things together, come to an understanding, and find ways to remember, adapt, and gro—”
Chapter OneFlash Sentry was dead. Dead tired. It was homeroom class. The morning. The apocalypse. The whatever. The young man sat limply at his desk, slumped over, his heavy face making an even heavier impression against the desktop. His ears tickled with the sounds of papers rustling, iPhones plinking, and tired classmates muttering some lethargic gossip or another. Was it Friday? Please, God, let it be Friday. This week was the utter pits. Flash didn't know exactly why, but it felt like the days simply lasted forever. Something simply... wouldn't let him go. But soon, none of that would matter. Just six final periods and he could blissfully fart off to fart away his weekend, farting— THUMP! “Morning, Flash!” “GUH!” He shot up like a bullet, blinking wildly at the Queen of Frumpiness who had landed in the desk just inches from him. “Mrmmmff... uhhh... m-morning...” He wheezed, cross-eyed. “Ballflower Rush...” “Heeheehee...” She dropped her backpack and leaned forward, smiling chin propped in two eager palms. “Soooooo? What did you think?” “... … ...of what?” The teenage boy rubbed his temple. “My aneurysm?” “No, silly...” She stuck her tongue out and navigated another giggle. “The story!” “The... story...” “Y'know... Chapter One of—” “—the Zelda fan script. Right.” “Fanfic. But—close enough!” She smiled from cheek to cheek, practically dancing in her desk. “So? Your thoughts?” “My thoughts...” “Yup yup yup!” “I...” Flash avoided her gaze, the floor, the ceiling, the photons bouncing in between. He labored to birth the words: “...I... I'm kinda having a hard time collecting them after what I read.” “... … ...” Wallflower's everything sank. “How so?” “Well...” Flash stifled a yawn, leaning back in his seat. “I just... uhm...” He folded his arms, shivering slightly. “Whewwwww boy...” “'Whewwwww boy?'” “I don't know where to start,” he said. “And I think that's because the story doesn't know where to start.” “It doesn't?” “The fic just... begins with Link traipsing through the desert. And then we suddenly have this flashback to Saria changing his diaper as an infant. Then there's a scene with a young Galgun—” “Ganondorf.” “Yeah. He's being scolded by the witch hags for drawing vaguely homoerotic stick figures and... and then we flash forward to him and Link in the tent and there's very little dialogue in between these ginormous paragraphs describing how lonely these two men have been for one another...” “But...” Wallflower snapped. “I thought you said—!” She winced. “...it's been said that it's healthy for a story's exposition to start in media res.” She smiled crookedly. “Y'know... Christopher Nolannnnn?” Flash shrugged. “Hell, even Inception knew how to ground itself with the mentor-apprentice relationship between Dicaprio's and Page's characters in order to thread the otherwise jumbled layers of plotline. This story of yours—I'm sorry to say—is more like Memento if someone took all the scenes from the DVD and scrambled them all over the place with no rhyme or reason. Like... no offense, Wallflower... I can tell you're hell-bent on telling a passionate love story, but the narrative is so... so insanely focused on framing and structure that there's barely any room left to enjoy the nuance of this delicate relationship you're attempting to paint.” “But... b-but...” Wallflower audibly whimpered. “...I figured this was the most ideal way to avoid an unnecessary exposition dump right at the beginning!” “I... guess...?” Flash rubbed his chin, brow furrowed in helpless confusion. “Isn't there a good, established conflict?” “I mean, sure...” “And is the story clean and proofread...?” “Seems like it...” “And don't you feel immersed in the love-making scene?” “Uhhhh... well...” She leaned forward, voice cracking. “Then what's the problem? How do I keep failing?” “I... thought this was your first draft—” “I just want to prove Link's and Ganondorf's love for each other!” Wallflower wept, Blush 11:35. “Is that so doofin' hard to do?!” “I... just...” Flash rubbed his temples again. “I'm sorry, Wallflower. Could you speak a bit slower, please?” He winced. “My brain feels so fried this week for some reason...” She calmed. She breathed. She held her hands out. “What is the biggest problem with this chapter, in your opinion?” “You want the honest truth?” “Of c-course!” Wally nodded. “You've... you're helping me out in ways you couldn't possibly imagine.” He stared at her directly. “I think the biggest problem with the chapter is just that.” “Just what?” “It's a chapter.” “Buh?” “You're... Wallflower, you're trying to cram so... so much stuff into the story and it's just the first chapter.” He smiled delicately. “What you have hiding between the lines here is a rich and detailed imagination. And it's trying so desperately to make itself manifest. But... but you keep trying to focus on just the launch that I feel like you've lost sight of the grand picture.” “Which is... what?” She blinked. “The entire fic, of course.” Flash gestured. “What you've attempted to do in six thousand words could so... so much more easily be done in sixty thousand.” Her mouth hung open. “... … ...you really think so?” “I mean, you'd have to adjust the tone and pacing, of course. But... if you made the chapters small enough and the rising actions titillating enough, then—yeah—I really truly think you could turn this into an epic, longform piece of magnificent literature.” He took a deep breath. “It would certainly make things way... way easier to digest.” “But... isn't that too ambitious?” “There's a reason why people love things super-sized in this country,” Flash said. “It's knowing that while we're constantly nibbling on tiny morsels now, there's so much more yet to be consumed.” He winked. “And if you make the first helpings succulent enough, then plenty of people will stay along for the whole ride. All the better—y'know? You can use that length and complexity to fully explore and draw out the narrative. It'll be the best for the characters, the best for the readers, and the best for you.” “For me?” “Yeah. Burnout is a very real thing. Trust me... eheh...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know.” She toyed with a single strand of hair. “I... see...” A slowly growing and slowly crooked smile. “...I really wouldn't mind writing more.” “See? Win-win-win scenario.” He yawned, leaning back in his chair. “You've got the making of a good story. You just gotta string things along a bit. Spin plates... don't smash them.” “And...” She shuffled about in her chair. “...when I write more... uhm... do you think you'd be up for giving those chapters a look as well?” Flash slumped back in his seat, staring at the ceiling for a good minute. His shoes shifted, and his eyes darted about. Eventually, he blurted: “Sure.” “Really?” “What the hell.” A yawn. Another shrug. “I know this story means a lot to you, and we've come this far already.” “Well, that's good to know, Flash.” “May I say that I'm proud of you for following up on me? Socializing is all about risk-reward, but you were nevertheless willing to open up about a hobby of yours that means a lot to you. You ask me—that's a good thing. After all, I can't be the only person who thinks that you could stand to be a bit more asserti—”
Chapter OneFlash Sentry was dead. Dead tired. It was homeroom class. The morning. The apocalypse. The whatever. The young man sat limply at his desk, slumped over, his heavy face making an even heavier impression against the desktop. His ears tickled with the sounds of papers rustling, iPhones plinking, and tired classmates muttering some lethargic gossip or another. Was it...? Was it... … …? ... … ...just what the Hell day was it? There was a weekend here, but it's gone now. Flash groaned. Every second spilled into a day and every day felt like both a Monday and a Thursday mixed in a rusted bucket and rattled around. That in and of itself was a true purgatory. Maybe if he pressed his dull face hard enough into the desk he'd sink through a rabbit hole and end up somewhere with blissfully stupid nonsense— Scraaaaaaaaape! A desk slid up against his. A young woman's voice panted, as if finishing a marathon to arrive there. “Good morning, Flash...” The voice of a coquettish nobody tickled his ears in squeaky spurts. “...nice to see you...” A gulping sound. “So... did you get that thing I sent you?” Flash's muscles tensed. Oh... His teeth clenched. Oh... no... “Y'know... uhm... it would have shown up in your e-mail by now...” One by one, Flash's limbs shifted, preparing to spring. “Probably eight days ago, actually...” Eight days ago? When did they last talk? What month was it? “... … ...did you think about checking your Spam folder perhaps—” “I got the e-mail, Wallflower,” Flash monotoned. He sat up like a gravestone, gracing her with a granite stare. “I... looked at it.” Her whole body brightened, which only burned him all the more. “Oooh! So you did!” She leaned forward in her seat. “Soooooo... what did you think?” He felt a guilty lump bubbling up his esophagus. Like heartburn. “Well... as I said...” Like vomit. “I... looked at it...” She blinked. “Okay. Uhm.” A flutter of the eyelashes. “What part? Did you get to Chapter Five?” Flash smiled nervously. “Oh! To Chapter Nine?!” Flash smiled awkwardly. “... … ...to... ...to Chapter Three?” Flash smiled defeatedly. “I... erm...” He rubbed the back of his head, avoiding her gaze. “I... breezed over... uhm... most of Chapter One.” “...most?” “More like half.” He shuddered, gripping the edge of his desk as if expecting to be whalloped by a centaur from beyond. “I-I'm so sorry, Wallflower. But... I tried. I honestly did.” “Tried?” Wallflower's lips pursed as her brow furrowed in sheepish alarm. “But... but what was so hard about it...?” “Well...?” “The exposition wasn't dumped heavily at the beginning, was it?” “No...” “Was the tone off or the pacing bad?” “No... ...” “Was the dialogue peppered in wrong or the conflict introduced too early or the narrative rife with typos—” “No. No. None of that! It was... just...” Flash shrugged. “...Okay.” “'Okay?'” “I guess...?” “Flash...” Wallflower folded her arms. “If you didn't like the story, just spill it out. I can take it.” “Can you, though?” She squinted at him. The boy gulped. “It's just...” He exhaled heavily. “...how many days ago did you forward this story to me again?” “Eight days.” “Eight days...” He rubbed his scalp again. “I know that... m-might not seem like much. But... twelve chapters, Wallflower. Twelve Chapters!” “So what?” She beamed briefly. “I'm passionate!” “There's no arguing that! But...” Flash squirmed. “...it's just that... it doesn't necessarily mean that your readers will be.” “How so?” “I mean... it's an awful lot to throw at someone. I told you that I'd get around to it. And... I did—” “Half of the first chapter?” “Okay. So I didn't get around to it much. And... and I apologize, Wallflower. Sincerely, I do.” He shuddered, bravely staring her in the face with sad eyes. “I promised you that I would read your story and give you an honest perspective on it. I acknowledge that.” “So what's the problem?” “It's me, obviously.” She shook her head. “Don't just blame yourself, Flash. How could I have made it an easier read?” “Uhm...” “For anyone. Not just you.” “Honestly?” He spoke through clenched teeth. “Just... don't go all in so hard.” “All in?” “It's... pretty heavy handed to send me twelve chapters of this... Zelda romance epic and be like 'So, what do you think?'” It was Wallflower's turn to wince. “I came on too strong, huh?” “Jusssssst a tad.” “Well...” Wallflower sat back. “What... would your advice be in... the future?” “You ask me?” Flash gestured. “You should have just sent me the first chapter.” Wallflower facepalmed. “That way...!” He smiled hopefully. “It would have seem as less of a chore!” “A chore...” “I... guess that's a cruel way of putting it—” She lowered her palm and squinted at him. “Did the first half of the first chapter feel like a 'chore?'” Flash squirmed in his seat. “Well...” “I want to know the truth.” “The truth...?” “Wholly and completely.” “The truth...” Flash stared off into the distance. “The truth is... is...” “Yes...?” “I...” He sighed heavily. “I'm sorry, Wallflower, but... I guess I just... don't really enjoy video games that much.” “You don't enjoy video games...” “Never had.” “... … ...” “I... I'm sorry...” He smiled weakly at her. “I felt bad about it all week. And I guess—knowing how dispassionate I'd be in the end—that made it hard to even start reading your thing. If it was just a single chapter...” He shrugged. “I'm sorry. I really am.” He sat up. “However—! A twelve chapter fanfic about a rock band touring outer space... heheheh... now that I'd binge in a heartbeat! Lemme tell ya...” “I see...” Wallflower nodded in a dull tone. “It makes so much sense now.” Dry and deadpan, she leaned down and reached her hand deep into the heart of her backpack. “I only wished you had told me that the first time.” “Like I said: it's all on me, Wallflower. I'm really...” Just then, he blinked. “Wait...” He squinted at her. “What do you mean by 'the first ti—'?”
