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Final Fantasy Society Forums  >  Community Discussion  >  Creative Writing and Art


 09.07.2013 12:17am
Thread Creator (Edited on 09.07.2013 at 12:23am)

Lord Snow
Super Lurker

I figure it's about time we got some new writing in here, regardless of game or subject matter so....


A glimpse at my favorite theory behind the Songbird from Bioshock Infinite (SPOILERS for Bioshock Infinite as well):


She is two years old and lying in bed. She laughs happily as she reaches for the man who stands over her. The day is nice and the roof has been retracted so that I can fit inside. The old man is worried. He worries that too much of me has changed. He wonders if he can rely on me to keep her safe.

She looks up at the soft light that shines from my eyes and reaches for me.

The world goes green.

Her arms are short. She is just a baby. I lean my head in toward her.

The old man takes a step forward in alarm, but relaxes when she strokes my head. I nudge at her playfully and she shrieks with laughter.

It is a warm sound.

A pleasant sound.

She is four years old and we are exploring.

We are outside today and the sun is warm. Her room is attached to a large terrace. There is a fence along the edges and it is lined with flower boxes. She walks from box to box, smelling the different plants that grow. As she does, she turns to me, explaining that this one is the home of the green fairies while that one is home to the blue fairies. They do not like each other very much but she is sure that they will learn to get along.

There is a strong gust of wind and she is suddenly pressed up against the fence. Beyond is is nothing but endless sky.

The world goes red.

I am at her side, cradling her protectively within the circle of my arms. My wings wrap around us to prevent the evil wind from stealing her away from me as I step back from the edge.

The world goes yellow.

I let her down but I stay near her.

I will not let anything happen to her.

She is six years old and it is raining.

The roof of her room is kept closed when it rains. I cannot get to her.

This does not make me happy.

I sit outside her window, pressed up as close to it as I can. The rain slides off me in rivulets but I do not feel it. I peer inside the room.

She is sitting on a couch by the window. A storybook is open in her lap and she is reading to me. It is a story about a beautiful girl who is held captive in a castle by a fearsome beast.

I watch her without comment as she looks up to me with a smile. She assures me that she does not think of me as a beast. I am her best friend and she knows I will always be there for her.

I make a motion with my head and she settles down, continuing with her story.

Her voice is soothing. It is a voice I thought I would never get to hear.

The wind and the rain fades away as I listen to her, through the window.

She is eight years old and we are having a tea party.

It is a nice day and the roof of her room has been retracted. She has found a pink hat for me to wear. It has a yellow flower hanging from the brim. She lifts a mug of tea to her lips and points out to me that one should always keep a pinky finger raised when drinking tea. She takes a small sip and tells me that it is my turn. I reach to pick up the mug with the tips of my fingers but it shatters in my grip.

She tells me it is okay and begins moving around to my side of the table to clean up the mess.

She is not wearing shoes.

The world goes red.

She is suddenly cradled in my arms. She is safe there. I could not hurt her if I tried. I take two steps back, to the edge of the room and set her down where the floor is clear. Stepping in front of her, I reach up to grasp the handles that connect to my wings and give them two powerful pulls.

A tornado envelops the room, throwing cushions and books willy-nilly. The important thing is that it takes the loose shards from the mug with them, blowing them all to the far corner of the room where they will not be able to hurt her.

She peeks around my leg to look at the mess I have made of her room. She giggles into her hand and says that the maid will have a fit.

The world goes green.

She thanks me and kisses my cheek when I bend down to see if she is alright.

She is ten years old and she is out of books. She is throwing a tantrum and the old man has ordered her to be left alone to tire herself out. She is alone in her room and crying. There are books scattered about the floor but she is not interested in any of them.

She has read them all before. She has read many of them more than once.

I watch over her from outside her window. It is raining today and the roof is in place. I cannot go in to comfort her.

She is crying.

The world goes yellow.

I am flying through the rain, weaving through thunderclouds and the floating islands that make up the city. It is dark and the strong winds make my flight difficult and erratic. My way forward is pierced by the yellow lamplight of my eyes. I soon find what I am looking for. It is a store, a small one, near the edge of the plaza that holds a large statue of the old man.

I land and reach inside, my armored hand crashing through the thin glass storefront without effort.

I do not even feel it.

The yellow spotlight of my eyes darts around the darkened interior. My hand scrabbles for purchase as I scrape books off the shelves by the dozen. I gather them together in a pile once they are on the floor and pull them all outside.

It is still raining so I try to hurry.

She will not like wet books.

I stack them together on top of a striped tarp that I tear off one of the carts on the street. Gathering them this way makes it easier to carry. I grip the ends of the tarp with my fingers as I reach up to grab the handles to my wings. Lifting off is awkward with the bundle so I hurl myself off the edge of the island instead, using the updraft to my advantage as I let it open my wings for me.

I glide up on the wind, barely having to flap, as I head back to the tower.

I perch outside her window, hanging on with one hand as my feet settle on the ledge. I peer inside and see that she is sitting alone in the center of the room. It is still a mess and her shoulders are shaking as she continues to weep.

I tap at the window with my beak.

She turns to face me. A torrent of words spill forth from her lips as she runs to the window. She tells me how all she wanted was something new to read, and that it wasn’t fair to keep her locked up here where she couldn’t get any new books.

I reach carefully through the open window, settling the pile of rain drenched tarp at her side on the couch.

Her eyes go wide when she sees what the bundle carries. Standing on the couch, she hugs me as she hard as she can, thanking me with a breathless laugh.

The world goes green.

She is twelve years old and we are sitting on the terrace.

The sun is bright and she is painting. I am trying to sit still. A bird flashes by my vision.

The world goes yellow.

I turn my head to track the movement. I see that it is a regular bird, too small to offer any real harm and lose interest.

She yells at me.

The world goes green.

I turn to face her once more. She has found a little beret, which sits perched atop her head. I can see her upper body as she peeks out from behind the easel and canvas. She plants the paintbrush-holding hand on her waist and scowls at me. She tells me that the painting will never be finished if I keep shifting around.

I tilt my head at her curiously. She has a spot of green paint smudged against her cheek. She tries to stay upset but breaks out laughing, telling me that I look cute with my head tilted this way. She tells me to stay still and retreats behind her easel, concentrating as she continues to paint once more.

I sit motionless on the terrace as she paints. Occasionally she stops to mix at the colors on her palette but she always gives me a stern look before she does, telling me that I must not move. I do my best to heed her wishes. I want to see her happy.

Another bird flies by.

The world goes yellow.

She yells at me again.

She is fourteen years old when she tries to escape for the first time.

When I spot her, she is hanging from a tangle of sheets she had knotted into a rope. Her goal is clear. Being unable to open the inner door of the tower, she is trying to make her way to the next level of the Monument from the outside. There is a ledge below her that is currently out of her reach.

If she is brave, and if she wants it badly enough, she can swing for it and let go of the rope. She will fall through the air and maybe she will land on the ledge. From there, she can break into the lower levels which are less secure and make her way to the base of the tower and to freedom.
Or maybe, she will miss the gap and fall, plummeting to her death.

She is looking up at me as I fly toward her from the other side of the tower. I can see the set look in her face and the resolve in her eyes as she meets my gaze.

She lets go of the improvised rope.

The world goes red.

She was close to making the jump, just another inch and she would have been fine. But her right foot landed awkwardly, right on the edge, and she tumbles backward instead, arms wheeling in the air as she falls. The wind whistles past me as I dive, straining for more speed.

At the last second, I let go of the handles on my wings. I cradle her falling form to my chest and twist, so that when we slam into the side of the tower together, I am the one taking the brunt of the impact. Held tightly to my chest, she is safe.

I land heavily on the next level of the tower below us. The wooden walkway cracks under my weight as we land, but it holds firm. Recovering quickly from her near-fall, she leaps to the ground and tries to make a run for it but I grab hold of her shoulder, keeping her from leaving.

The world goes yellow.

She wishes to leave but I cannot let that happen. The tower is safe. The old man said so. He said that the world is dangerous. He said that there are people who would harm her.

I cannot let that happen.

The tower is safe.

She must go back to the tower.

I pick her up, ignoring the way she struggles against my grip and place her gently on my back. Before she can try to jump down to the walkway, I grip my wings and take us into the air. I circle around Monument Tower until her room at the top is in sight.

The old man is waiting for us on the terrace. He grabs her roughly by the arm as she jumps from my back, forcing her into the room as she struggles against him.

She is struggling.

The world goes red.

I take a step forward and reach for him. He is quicker, though. He pulls a whistle from the inside pocket of his jacket and he plays the song. The cage slams down over my mind, freezing me in my tracks.

The world goes green.

I turn and launch myself off the edge of the terrace.

Everything is okay.

She is sixteen years old and three intruders break into the tower. They wear faded brown leather with bright red bands around their upper arms. Some of them have red painted across their faces.

They are violent. They have weapons. They are spattered with the blood of those they have killed on their way to the top of the tower.

When they break into her room, they are expecting to find a lonely girl. They are expecting to find the one the old man calls “the Lamb.”

It is a nice day and the roof has been retracted.

They were not expecting me.

The world goes red.

Gunfire goes off and I immediately move so that I am in front of her. The bullets dig into my body but when the world is red, I feel no pain. My wings are wrapped around her as she crouches in my embrace.

I will keep her safe.

The gunfire comes to a stop. They duck behind cover, out of sight. Rising from my crouch, I turn and dive across the room, scattering tables and chairs as I go. Reaching the first intruder, I grab his gun hand and squeeze, ignoring the scream of pain as his bones snap under the pressure. Taking a firm grip on his arm, I throw him at the window and he flies through it, his scream dwindling as he falls.

The second intruder has pulled out a pistol and is firing at me. I shrug off the shots as I move toward him and grab him around the waist. He follows his friend out the window.

When I turn, the third man is standing behind her with a knife at her throat. He is speaking quickly and he is scared. She takes advantage of his momentary distraction to bite down on the arm across her neck. He shouts with pain and surprise as he shoves her back. He slaps her across the face with the back of his hand and she falls away.

I grab the handles of my wings and give them a powerful pull, flapping them once. The wind hurls him back against the wall, dazing him. I lunge across the room, crossing the distance in a blink, and striking out with a massive fist.

There is a moment of impact, then a bright red spot where his head used to be.

All is quiet. I turn to look at her. Save for a bright red mark on her cheek, she is unharmed.

The world goes yellow.

There is a look of horror on her face as she looks at me. This look never used to be there.

The look she gives me is not the important thing.

The important thing is that she is safe.

She is eighteen years old and she is asking me to let her go. She is earnest and compelling. She believes that she is old enough to take care of herself now. She has read of the world in the books I have brought her over the years and she wishes to go there. She wants to be part of it.
I look at her and tilt my head. This used to make her smile but it does not work. She tries to move past me but I shift so that I am blocking the door. She starts to plead. She is crying and begins to hit me with her fists.

What is left of my heart breaks within my mechanical chest but I do not budge. I cannot let her leave the tower. The tower is home. The tower is safe.

The old man has been right about everything so far. It is only a matter of time before his predictions of the False Shepherd come true as well. A man will come to the city, a dangerous man. He will try to take her away from the tower. He will try to take her away from me.

She will not be safe.

I must not let this happen. The old man trusts me with her safety. I have lost her once before and he has given me a second chance to protect her. He knows that I will not fail.

I let her hit me until she tires herself out. She tells me that she hates me and runs away, slamming the door as she locks herself in her room.

She did not mean what she said. Soon, she will come out of her room and be happy. Things will return to normal then. She is upset right now but I am doing what must be done.

I cannot let her down.

She is twenty years old and the False Shepherd has come.

He has taken her from the tower and they are trying to flee the city.

They are standing on the deck of an airship. There is nowhere for the False Shepherd to run. I will kill him and take her back to the tower. She will be safe there.

As I swoop toward them from above, I hear the song.

The cage slams down over my mind and tells me that everything is alright. I am ordered to destroy the Siphon. The Siphon sits in the base of the tower. It has been damaged and is a shadow of its former self.

I fly high into the sky and dive down on the generator near the base of the tower, heedless of the damage to myself.

I crash through it at high speed. The explosion is white with purple edges. It flings me through the air, out of control. As I spin through the air, I catch a glimpse of her. She is standing at the bow of the airship. She is standing beside the False Shepherd. The cage remains over my thoughts and tells me that everything is okay.

I must keep her safe.

The cage trembles, but remains in place. The tower is gone but everything will be okay.

She is in danger and I must keep her safe.

The cage cracks as the song struggles to maintain control of my mind. The song means that everything is alright. The song means that everything will be okay.

She is my daughter and I must keep her safe!

The cage shatters to pieces and my mind is freed.

The world goes red.

I see them standing next to each other on the airship. She is glowing brightly, as if lit from within but I only have eyes for the man at her side.The False Shepherd.

I angle my wings and dive down toward them. I will kill the False Shepherd. I will sweep down and snatch him from the airship. I will throw him down from the sky and then she will be safe. I will take her care of her.

The wind whistles past me as I dive. As I reach out to grab him, I pause, for just a moment. He looks like me. Why does he look like me? Standing at his side, she flares with light, like a dying star, and the world goes white.

Nothing makes sense. I am underwater. It is dark and the pressure seizes my body like a giant hand, bones creaking as they start to buckle under the weight. There is a light in the distance and I struggle toward it, the pressure growing more and more unbearable.

She stands there watching me. There is glass between us. She is not underwater.

She is safe.

She leans forward and lays her hands on the glass, reaching toward me. Gently, careful not to break the glass, I reach toward her as well. For a moment, our hands meet, though the glass lies between us. I can see her lips move as she tells me that she is sorry.

The world goes green.

My head is trapped in a vise. The lenses of my eyes succumb to the pressure and crack, falling to pieces.

For a moment longer, I can still see her. She is dim and blurry, but I can see the tears that fall from her eyes. I reach out to her one last time. He stands behind her, a hand on her shoulder.

He looks just like me. He looks the way I did before I let her die. He looks like the man I was before I took up the old man’s offer, when I was told that my daughter was still alive in another world and needed a protector.

She will be safe with the man who looks like me.

She will be safe with her father.

That is all that matters.  

The world goes black.

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 09.07.2013 3:36pm

I'm going to try SCIENCE!

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 09.08.2013 3:03am
Thread Creator

Lord Snow
Super Lurker

Haha, that gif is awesome!

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