Writing Exercise

A sudden flash of light lit up the small barracks in Southern Africa. Medical Officer John Watson sat up in his cot; reaching for his revolver. An eerie silence fell over the hot, African night, but it didn't last long. A siren suddenly erupted, bringing Watson completely to his feet. He scrambled to find his boots in the darkness, cursing the cheap candle issued to him. A sharp, piercing "psst!" broke him away from these thoughts.

"Atkins," Watson whispered in reply, "is that you?"

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Was the only thing Atkins seemed to be able to mumble as he silently slipped into the tent, filling its interior with his enormous girth.

"Get a hold of yourself man," Watson exclaimed, slapping Atkins across the face, "that's the call to arms ringing so it doesn't matter what's happening; we have our orders."

Atkins slowly turned back to Watson and said with a surprising glimmer of delight in his eyes, "the armory then?"

As the two soldiers made their way across the chaotic camp, Watson couldn't help but reminisce about his childhood. He had always heard that a man's entire life flashes before his eyes when he was about to die, but this was different, maybe he wasn't going to die. Instead of focusing on such morbidity, the eye of Watson's mind turned to the man trying to keep up with him. Harry Atkins had been John Watson's friend since school. They had met in the schoolyard after a large, brute of a child had pushed John into a pile of mud. Harry walked calmly over to the large child, tapped him on the shoulder, and introduced his fist to the boy's face. After this, young Harry and John were inseparable. When they had graduated their primary schooling and John left to begin his medical training and enlist, Harry smuggled himself in the fledgling doctor's coach, only making himself known when his empty stomach betrayed him. And so it was that the two friends found themselves in this strange predicament, thousands of miles from home.

A loud crack snapped Watson back to reality. They had reached the armory and were just about to enter when a young private dropped dead mid-stride. Watson hoped Atkins hadn't seen it, but he knew it was a pointless dream. Harry Atkins had never possessed the constitution for blood, further expanding the mystery that was his enrollment in the royal military.

As John entered the small, hut that comprised their camp's armory, he was hit with a sudden sense of futility. "Why are we even doing this Harry?"

"Well I'm here because you wanted to be a glory or something"

"I wanted to help people," John said as he cast his eyes back towards the dead private, "not help kill people."

"Well my dear friend, we can't choose our lot in life. We get what we're given and it seems we've been given mosquitoes and sand."

"But surely we aren't destined for only this."

"Maybe you are, me I'm not so sure about---" but that was all he said. That was all he would ever say. John Watson stared in horror as his childhood friend slowly sank to the ground, a red stain expanding on his dirt-covered uniform. 

"Harry!" shouted the doctor, suddenly very much alone. 

To be continued

A Summary of Sorts

More than slightly ambiguous title aside, this first section will, as always be a summary. This time, a summary of Arthur Conan Doyle's, The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle. The curtain opens on a chorus line of hopefuls--no wait, wrong thing sorry. The story begins with Holmes already in the midst of a case, sort of. An aqua thence of his, a concierge at a local hotel, witness several ruffians grouping around a man on his way home several nights earlier. As the concierge approached to see what was going on, both the ruffians (a word seriously underused in casual conversation) and the seemingly innocent man fled; leaving only a hat and an uncooked goose behind. These are what the good-willed concierge brought to Mr. Sherlock Holmes, in an attempt to determine the rightful owner. Now that you understand the basic premise- which I assume, based on the fact that you can obviously read seeing as you got this far- I will skip ahead to the conclusion: the "witness" was actually the thief and he had simply put the diamond in the wrong goose's throat. There, all clear now right? Oh, what's that? You actually know less now than you did before? Well maybe you should just read the stories instead of relying on my summaries. Sorry, that was uncalled for. I have no way of knowing if you did or didn't read the story ahead of time;it's wrong of me to assume. That being said, if you haven't already read the story, go and read it. It's not half bad...it is however, also not half good.  Compliment-ception!!!

Side-note: I recently discovered how to use the italics feature on the app I use to do these blog posts, so that's pretty great.

Now comes the promised ambiguous portion of the post. The part where I ramble on and on, somehow tying it into the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's writings in the end. Or is it? Maybe I'll surprise you today reader. Maybe I prepared a special message ahead of time for this very moment. I didn't, I'm just saying I could have. I guess that just shows you how much I care: this much. I realize you can't see my hand gestures as I type this, but rest assured that my hands are so far apart right now; representing the seemingly endless capacity of my cares.

Hey remember a few minutes ago when you read that that last part was the promised ambinguous section of the post? Well I lied, it's this part. Haha I got you good. Just kidding it wasn't even supposed to be funny, it just worked out that way. Happy-coincidences aside, I will now discuss the importance of modern re-imaginings of older things, like Sherlock Holmes, in relation to their lasting popularity. That was a mouthful wasn't it; Hey-oh! If that didn't get a chuckle out of you in don't know what will. Just kidding I do, but (spoilers) I'm saving that for the ending. Ok, so back to the meat of the post: how much of a role does the re-introduction of a classic through a more modern medium, such as TV, play in that classics longevity? I believe it is nessesary to present classics in a new light to the new generations. Not because the new version is better, but because without it, the new fans would likely have never discovered it. If a person who watches a lot of TV but doesn't read sees the BBC's Sherlock, they might just love it so much that they go out and buy a copy of The Adventures Of Sherlock Holmes. These re-.imaginings shouldn't be viewed as replacements, simply the gateway drug to a vast and wonderful world of literature.

Ok, now that that's over with, the promised chuckle-inducing ending. What do you call a elephant mixed with a rhino: 'el-if-i-no. I mean seriously how can you not laugh at that? 

Additionally, I used an unprecedented amount of dashes on this post, I do not know why-it just happened that way I guess. See what I did there? 

Summary and a Not so Original Re-Casting

I'm not dead, joy of joys. But enough sentiment. When last I posted, I promised to finish my summary of the Hound of the Baskevilles; allows-y! The last thing I remember telling you is that Sir Henry Baskeville had lost his shoes and that Watson was to accompany him as he returned home. After arriving at Baskerville manor and hearing the cries of a woman through the night, Watson began his questioning of the locals: Sherlock Holmes' primary suspect, the aged groundskeeper of Baskerville hall, a local wildlife fanatic, and his wife, to name a few. While there, Doctor Watson experienced many strange occurences, the disembodied howling of a dog and the silhouette of a mysterious man being the most noteworthy. I will now attempt to sum up in true Sherlock fashion in an effort to save both your time and the stamina of my fingers. The mystery man was none other than Sherlock Holmes himself, and the howling dog belonged to the aforementioned wildlife fanatic. It also just so happens that the owner of the dog was also the one responsible for the murder of Sir Henry Baskerville's predessor. That about does it for the summary portion of today's post; apologies if the feel of it was off, I wasn't expecting to be blogging at all today and had neglected to preform the usual pre-blog ritual.

Oh hello again, still here are you? Well you might as well keep reading I suppose, seems rude to stop now. As the title of this post suggests, I will now re-cast the major roles in The Hound of the Baskervilles; spoilers, Benedict Cumberbatch is Sherlock Holmes - if it ain't broke, don't fix it right? The role of Doctor John Watson remains with its current actor, Martin Freeman. If you need to ask why, see my reason for choosing Benefit Cumberbuzzle. Now onto the less major characters, the role of Sir Henry Baskerville goes to Tom Hiddleston. Tom has showcased his talent as both Marvel's Loki, as well as numerous serious dramas so he would be perfectly suited for walking the line between Doyle's serious and comedic undertones. Finally, the role of the murderer, whose name escapes me and quite frankly doesn't matter right now. British actor John Simm. His role as The Master in Doctor Who perfectly prepared him for, "embodying a murderer" (sounds bad when you put it like that). Well that does it for me today, I'm off to eat lunch now. I'm leaving now, and I shan't be bac- puts on ring and disappears- I just realized you can still read what I write if I'm invisible. I'll just go now.