priča o postanku svemirske žabe, Projekti' predlog Engleski jezik. Sveučilište u Zagrebu
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priča o postanku svemirske žabe, Projekti' predlog Engleski jezik. Sveučilište u Zagrebu

3 str.
8broj poseta
Opis
priča u kojoj 8 klinaca uništi planet i napravi novi svemir a svemir je žaba
20 poeni
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The Whoosh thanked Skaia under his Breath for being able to save himself from the embarrassment of falling flat to his already enough times taped glasses. He breezed through what would be quite a tumble and in a bit prolonged, floaty manner and after comprehending dug his heels in what he saw an imposing manner. Flawless. In his heart he screeched at the sometimes inconvenient Hood that quite honestly, seemed to have life of its own. Occasionally he liked to think it was haunted and it was SO COOL. But really, he chanted, no one noticed. His ears burned. He was far enough ahead, and the painfully bright familiar emblem kept the rest from noticing anything at all before they were a dozen metres away. Well not all of them, of course, considering the Tock was as always stubborn about being consistent with his aesthetic. Anything and everything Tock was, was aesthetic, he liked to think. He liked to think that in that aspect, he performed gloriously, not that anybody was supposed to know that was what he thought. That was what he thought he thought, anyway. But he could already hear the definitely embodied but borrowed greasy, oozy, loaded giggle echoing in his inconveniently developing self awareness which he, like clockwork, dutifully and gloriously ignored. Out of duty towards his aesthetics of course. Self indulging thought came to him, mostly ignored under the alarm, but damned he will be if he wouldn't rub her nose in fact that sunglasses are a definite evolutionary benefit. Of aesthetics, if done well, among others. The only inclination anything has transpired was that he seamlessly and as soon as his feet touched the pedestal strutted towards Whoosh and stood by his shoulder, tense, battle ready with a flip of a switch. By then Flair, brows slightly furrowed, gripped the sleeve of absent-minded chatterbox her dear friend was. She liked the girl but by Skaia was she selective with her attention. A heartbeat after Tock saw the figures hidden by the light, of course she noticed the sudden focus her dear friend had shown. He was, after all, an open book, the poor boy. If he only just accepted that fact already. He flew pointedly towards Whoosh, cape not fluttering but dragging behind him. This aether was such a mystery to her, and frustrated her not one of her friends gave such things a second thought. A the time the Whoosh was in the middle of performing a pirouette for reason unknown, as usual. That boy always marches to the beat of his own hammering. Gosh. Sometimes she had to admit, her lack of focus was maddening. Too much of a big picture she saw, all of them, and her grandeur was at times almost too much for her to handle, and she wished she had an armrest she could theatrically perch upon and mutter soliloquies at the audience. Or her friends at least, but they seemed to resent her tendency to enlighten them about their own reasons and motives for those reasons and all the threads of causality that had to knot for them to be in a place of reasoning in the first time...snooty, they say. Bitchy. THE EYE ROLLING. Ooh that only gives her the palm-rubbing, grinning kick to pry and tell further... the usual streams that always crossed through her consciousness and gave existence to unnamed, one would say often ludicrous, often discarded ideas- after all, her mulling over all and anyone existing or not yet such is what she prides herself with, nut much of an intellectual otherwise- became a a hum, not silent, never such. Almost annoyed she had to be yanked out of the lull her friends' chatter provided her mind with, she was tugging now silent friend. Silence amplified the unrest she began to feel at the unexpected occurrence, which became offence. She out of all of them, expected. That was her part, to expect, after all. Not much of a Seer otherwise. Charm was buzzing, visibly sparking with excitement and focused and dedicated ramble of ideas of what awaits them now all that is big and bad is over drew occasional “hmm” and “ah” from Flair, and a nod or complimentary obscenity from Tock. It is unlikely to imagine one can trip over their own words but she kept persisting in this miraculous task, tying to express words at a rate they kept bubbling in her feverish head. Her eyes grew bigger and greener with each “or”, which became increasingly shortly interspersed, and her flailing arms struggling to shape the predictions in her vicinity; this amused Tock greatly somehow. Flair, in a moment of objective detachment, saw a delirious pup. She knew they had the exact same idea, the moment the two shared a glance. Charm

didn't care, even if she saw. One never quite knew what she was thinking, as she proved to be quite the enigma to an awkward and self aware mind. At one point, she seems a genius, another time oblivious-in truth she herself did not care much about defined anything really, including her own thoughts, just letting them come as they go. Her ears shifted between Tock an Flair, and they noticed. Mental puppy image simultaneously intensified, bringing them to a verge of choked laughter, not that they would allow it in front of one another. As Tock took a moment to see where 'that windy gas cloud farted off to'-and caught a glimpse of blue winding in the distance,like a piece of sky toward a brilliant what seemed like a familiarly shaped hole in curtains of reality itself. He whizzed off without a word. Charm noted this by following his form with one upright ear with a twitch. One might say her doggy senses are a bit wasted on a scatterbrain, but as things were already being put into motion, the sudden grip she felt and narrowed eyes of her friend looking intently towards the Prize, she was noting all as a slight twang of string,tightening rapidly. As the vibrating wire she was strung, suddenly all there was was a buzz of senses. Oh, one would say, I was a bit off, and back away slowly now being at the searing event horizon of all the dogginess, trying to escape the sudden imposing attention of overstrung, unnervingly still fluffy ears. Her head was blank, the senses reached. Moment later hers and Flairs' feet were soundless as they stopped at Whooshes' side. The Prize was blinding, even more for Charm. She saw the light bend, shimmer, as through shallow water, and as plumes of thin smoke, and it smelled of metal and...air? This realisation surprised her slightly, that air had a smell, and that she hasn't breathed it for so long. But she didn't know how the air smelled. This was, she imagined, how Blank smelled, and all the Unknown. The surge she felt was ruined by the blotches in front of them, shrouded by brightness quenching their silhouettes to stick figures. Whoosh was frowning, uncertain, shifting to take a step towards them, and after a quick frown Tock followed suit. Tock was never pleased how reckless his friend was, the type to stick fingers into sockets, never not only assessing, but not even considering. The ridiculous crown was unmistakable. The Prince was there, back to the Prize, right in front of the door. And his hand was on a sword. Compared to all the ridiculous crap the Game allowed one to conjure out of whatever, the sword was strikingly unremarkable. But the sight of the hand on it made the Knight's gut clench and the spine grow cold. The broken sword was already drawn, and then it was whole. The grip was sweaty, so he gripped tighter. He knew the Prince knew he was scared. He didn't care, not now, not when they were already here, at the End itself. The Prince didn't move. They knew his name, and they knew of him. Only the Knight knew more of him, more than anyone, as nobody knew him. At least of whom he was in different reality anyway. Whoosh noticed the whitened knuckles of his friend, and as his eyes flashed between Prince and Knight, as his frown deepened. For there were three more, as to say, there were all of them. The Rogue certainly kept them obscured at the sides of the emanating emblem, assisted with the light to be absent by. By the Prince stood Maid, face of stone and figure immovable and from the side, out of darkness, hesitantly emerged Page, eyes darting between the two groups. He was very reluctant about the reality of the situation they were presented with, him and Rogue whispered when they felt their FRIEND was not watching, for he seemed omnipresent, even in Game. And they had no choice but to play their part in it. As their common 'FRIEND' put it to four of them, the situation was such from the very beginning. Two instances of the same Game cannot exist at the same time and space, as the Reward will not permit it. They are mutually exclusive, their FRIEND was insistent on that. And they felt they had no choice but concede to his will. Their FRIEND was persuasive, in a way one can very easily discern; the options he presented them all when he after years of nebulous online presence in their lives revealed their impeding doom and the necessity to play was so very exclusive; there was ever hardly choice in the matter. And now they really had no choice, they were sure of it. Their FRIEND made sure they were sure of it. The FRIEND was pleased, watching the show on the screen in front of him, which greatly resembled the Fourth wall. He lifted his impossible eyes above the screen to grin an unpleasantly wide, toothy grin, at this annoyingly stubborn wraith of a foe extinguished at the very beginning of his rise. 'YOUR MOVE' the voice grinded and somehow the room shrank. The wraith stood silent, eyes deep and vast, and the carapace clicked across the keyboard mechanically, purposefully.

They all saw the message from their GUIDE. Heir glanced over it and turned to look at a Seer, his Hood twirling softly. The Knight's lips pressed, and the bristling Witch just blinked and kept her gaze on the four ahead, her growl the only sound amidst the aetherial whispering of Prize. G :” We were played. He never even considered us even at the price of his own oblivion. As old as he is, as we are, and weary of the cycle we are forced through, i at least hoped he would learn to cooperate enough to end us but it seems instead, again it was i who did not learn. Tread carefully, it is all on you now. Save them, you have to, all of you are needed where you are heading to. Let them see they always had a choice.“ The headache Seer felt made migraine seem enjoyable. They were not supposed to be here at all, Clear, Cord, Spunk and Flint. They were not there where the GUIDE advised to wait for them, so they were forced to assume they failed somehow, somewhere. Now they were very very here, terminally to conclude their story in front of the very Prize they unknowingly, somehow, helped to be. The Seer clenched her fists, knuckles white like her brother's, and stepped forward. This will be a bitch. Whoosh grinned.

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