Moskiitot – Lyhäri englanniksi / Mosquitos – Short Story in English

Lyhyesti Suomeksi: Moskiitot on tarina, jota kirjoitamme yhdessä ystäväni kanssa. Alkuperäinen idea on hänen. Se on kunnianosoitus mahtavalle Arnold Schwarzeneggerille ja ensimmäinen osa höntsäilemäämme “Kusipää kometaja” -sarjaa, kirjoittamista ihan vain hauskanpidon nimissä.

Preface: Mosquitos is a story we wrote together with my friend. Original story is by him. It’s a tribute to the great Arnold Schwarzenegger, and the first part of our story “Asshole Commander”, a series that we are writing just for fun.

He tastes blood in his mouth. Probably his own, but in the end, he can’t be sure. Bodycount is getting higher. The aliens in their advanced combat suits are blowing up into green goo mixed with the red thick blood of his own soldiers. But his mind is on his mission, nothing to do with honor or winning or not even getting out of here alive. He just doesn’t care, not for the humankind, nor the planet. It’s the prize he is after selfish and eager, and as an asshole, like he is, with a pure conscience.

he is proceeding with poised steps. More aliens and men are staying down than getting up until there is no one standing but him. He steps over the corpses, the useless bodies of the meager men who thought they would fight for the greater good and followed their commander to a very well paid, but a total suicide mission, no questions asked. The fools. Like he would ever give a fuck.

The only thing on his mind is the alien artifact. The one he has been searching for. The one that the veterans have been whispering for so long his ears have started to ring and whisper a different kind of story to his mind. If he finds it he can have whatever he wishes for. And he wishes from the bottom of his selfish dark mind to be the one who gets to hold the artifact. Gets to have the one and only desire that the artifact will ever grant.

he leaves his men behind without any feelings and steps in the alien ship. The bridge is full of white light and high technology but he ignores it all. he has eyes only for the artifact. It glows in the middle of the bridge calling him like a siren. Speaking him with the language only he can understand. Before he touches the artifact he closes his eyes. Maybe its the taste of the blood, the smell of the battle or just his selfish mind, but he dreams about killing the creatures he hates the most, sucking shit fuck mosquitos making his life intolerable with their whimper and bloodthirst. When he finally touches the artifact he is already killing mosquitos in his head. He enters an empty warehouse with heavy arsenal and unlimited ammo blasting away mosquitos left and right and killing thousands with one shot. Happily walking through the warehouse shooting and killing.

As his finger meet the artifact he feels a sharp shock. He flies across the bridge and hits his head when landing on the floor and his eyes shut. the last thing he sees is the artifact blinking like a beacon before it depletes.

When he wakes up he sees the warehouse. It looks like the one he imagined but bigger. much bigger. Next, to him, there is a crate full of guns and ammo. He smirks and starts to choose what to take. He’s like a kid in a candy store picking up a minigun, hand cannon, and heavy shotgun. Hanging bandoliers over his shoulders. Finally, after all the battles he has led and survived with his independent organization this feels finally a reward, mindless killing spree where he wouldn’t have to save anybody or anything. Fuck people, this was the real deal. Just for fun.

When he feels he is fully armed, he steps to the door and smiles like a maniac. He is ready.

He kicks the door in, reflects the warehouse with a fast gaze, mosquitos everywhere, and starts blasting. The burnt smell from the weapons, the overwhelmed sound of the flying insects, the feel of killing, it’s almost too good to tolerate, it almost gets him off. He enters the warehouse shooting left and right, killing those bloodthirsty monsters like a soldier he should have always been, mean clean killer machine. It’s like a kickass dream and he’s living it.

but it won’t take long before the empowering godlike killing turns into panic. There are just too many of them. He gets swarmed by thousands and thousands of mosquitos that slowly sucks him dry. Every mosquito takes its turn sticking its needle-sharp stinger through his skin and sucking a small amount of his blood. But that happening ten thousand, even hundred thousand times makes him feel pale and dizzy. He’s about to die. He knows it, feels it in every inch of his pitch-dark soul. He makes ease with it. He’s ready to take his final breath… and then he sees it, a big bastard mosquito with a military hat ordering mosquitos to attack. He stares at the leader mosquito and suddenly he feels happy. With all his final strength he loads his final round in his shotgun looks at the big mosquito and pulls the trigger. His shot blows the leader mosquito into pieces. That’s the final thing he sees, before he falls down dead and dry, a blissful smile on his lips.

Perustilana on keskeneräisyys / WIPping the world fantastic

In English Below

Esitän väitteen. Kirjoittajana ei voi koskaan olla valmis. Tekstit voivat toki ottaa loppulisen muotonsa, mutta kirjoittaja itse on aina vaiheessa.

Epätäydellisyyden ja keskeneräisyyden sietäminen ei tule minulta luonnostaan, joten olen joutunut tekemään paljon töitä sen eteen. Tiedän nyt, etten voi kirjoittaa valmista novellia yhdeltä istumalta – en ainakaan lopullisessa täydellisessä muodossaan – enkä voi asettaa itselleni kovin tarkkoja sivumäärätavoitteita. Kirjoittaminen on prosessi. Epätäydellinen, vallaton, tempoileva ja eteenpäinpyrkivä prosessi.

Tärkein asia minulle kirjoittajana on aina keskeneräinen teksti. Valmiin voi päästää käsistä ja lähettää maailmalle. Se ei palaa Lassien lailla kotiin, vaikka yhteys säilyykin. Mutta keskeneräistä työtä pitää vaalia. Se on aina läsnä ajatuksissa, muistikirjan sivuilla ja unissa. En ole koskaan ollut hyvä keskittymään yhteen tekstiin, enkä sitä enää itseltäni vaadi, vaikka nykyään pystynkin priorisoiman.

Keskeneräisyys kuuluu kirjoittamiseen ja jatkossa aion esitellä myös keskeneräisiä projekteja blogissani.

Työn alla:

  1. Romaanikäsikirjoitus bändistä, demoniportaalista ja maailman pelastamisesta. Rock-kliseitä ja splatterelokuvien estetiikkaa yhdistelevä matkakertomus, kasvutarina ja monomyytti eli sankarin myyttinen matka.
  2. Näytelmä sirkuksesta ja rooleista, joita ihmiset ottavat elämässään.
  3. Näytelmä kuoleman näkökulmasta.
  4. Kolme romaanikäsikirjoitusta kätkettynä pöytälaatikon uumeniin. Kaksi vaiheessa, kolmas loppueditointia vaille vamis.
  5. kahden uuden idean pallottelua: kieroja supersankaritarinoita ja vampyyrikoulua.

Bonuksena yhdessä ystävän kanssa englanniksi kirjoittamani höntsäily, joka kantaa työnimeä Kusipää komentaja (Asshole Commader)

In English:

I make a statement. As a writer, one can never be complete. The text may take its final form, but the author him/herself is always work in progress.

Tolerance of imperfection and incompleteness does not come naturally to me, so I had to do a lot of work to learn how to tolerate them. I have learnt that I can’t write a complete novel then and there – at least not in its final form – and I can’t set quantitative goals for my writing. Writing is a process. An imperfect, unbridled, timid and forward-looking process.

The most important thing for me as a writer is always the incomplete text. Finished text can be let go. You can still be connected to them but they won’t return home like Lassie. Unfinished texts, on the other hand, need to be cherished. They are the texts I think about, dream about and fill my notebooks with. I’ve never been good at concentrating on a single text, but nowadays I can prioritize.

Incompleteness is part of the writing process and in the future I will also introduce some unfinished projects on my blog.

My work in progress:

  1. Novel manuscript about a band, Demon portal and saving the world. A roadtrip, a coming of age story and a monomyth, a heroic mythical journey, combining Rock ‘n’ Roll cliches and splatter movie aesthetics.
  2. The play about the circus and the roles that people take in their lives.
  3. The play written in the perspective of the Death.
  4. Three novel manuscripts concealed away. Two are in different states of WIP. The third needs some editing.
  5. Brainstorming two new ideas: twisted superhero short stories and a story about a vampire school.

As a bonus, a light and funny writing project with a friend. Caarries work title Asshole Commander.