Disclaimer:

I had originally intended for this to be in the "Life of Steve" blog contest, but silly me, I missed the deadline. I would have just let it alone, but I figured I'd went through enough trouble to type the whole thing that I'd just publish it anyway. This is my first attemt at something like this so it's bound to be stupid and awkwardly wirtten. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, even criticism not intended to be taken constructively at all. In fact, you'll probably have nothing positive to say about this story anyway.

Without further ado:

Snails, Steve, and a Buncha Old Rocks (Wrking Title)


      Steve woke up one morning on the ocean shore. The morning mist had not entirely subsided, and beyond it Steve could see a bright light moving rather quicky, he thought, up through the sky. Looking behind him, he could see trees, lots and lots of trees. He didn't know where he was. He didn't care. If we had heard his origin story of his own account, it would go something like this:

      "One morning I woke up on a beach. The end."

      Not really that exciting is it? There was no depressing backstory, no past love interest, no exciting adventure. Not surrounding Steve anyway. He's just Steve. He wasn't lonely, because he never knew anyone else, at least not that he remembers. He's forgotten something very important that happened long, long ago...

      Billions of years to be vaguely precise. But it was even earlier than that the first men and women woke up along a similar shoreline, not caring where they were or how they'd gotten there. Upon entering this new, strange world, the Minecrafters (as they were called) rose to their brand new feet and ventured inland to punch trees. The people from the Eastern Continent, who have existed far longer than the Minecrafters, had always, and likely forever will look down upon them, for in reality the Minecrafters were quite stupid. They criticized them, among other things, for their fascination of punching things. But if they find so much enjoyment in punching things, why not punch the ground? An animal? Each other? Why a tree? A thing that is much more intriguing, however, is not why early Minecrafters punched trees, but why they punched things at all. It was almost as if they had natural instructions sort of programmed, if you will, into their heads.

      Now, I stated previously that Minecrafters were rather stupid. But really, they just don't think much. Actually, they don't think at all. If I woke up on a very pixeldated beach one morning with a small drift of pigs looking down at me, I'd have a few questions. Who am I? Where am I? What in the heck are these big pink abominations? Why do I instinctively feel like punching a tree? If you could ask any of these people to tell you how their day went, it would sound very similar to Steve's story. Several hundred years down the road, these Minecrafters had creative a primitive society. With their tools, they built a village by the name of Spain. No connection to our Spain, because our Spain doesn't exist. It was named as such because "Spaaaaainnnn," was the noise the village cheif, Shug, heard when he wore a bucket over his head and tried to bash his own face in with a rock. This experience changed Shug. Before then all anyone did was sit around wearing buckets on their heads, or dig really deep holes that other people would later fall into and die (It is typically beleived that this is eventually how Shug, himself, met his end). He stood up facing all his kin and told them he had a vision. He saw people unified under one leader. Everyone was important, everyone had a purpose. They would create civilization. Of course, nobody thought this was a particularly great idea, but everyone went along with it nonetheless. They had nothing better to do, really. That is, most of them had ntohing better to do. As several rather undewhelmed Minecrafters scampered off into the wilderness after Shug, the strange man (or snail, depending on your interpretation) newly enlightened and willing the lead these strong, promising individuals down the path of success(unless, you favor the snail theory. Since snails are known, indeed, to be much smarter than Minecrafters, it is beleived Shug's intention was to lead these poor, brainless individuals down the path of ruin. Although it took a heckuva long time, he certainly would have succeded if this were the case.), a small crowd stayed behind. They believed to turn their backs to the bucket-wearing way was to turn their backs on their own history, and future legacy. This group, known as The Bucketheads, faded slowly into obscurity, but they never entirely disappeared. Upon careful examiantion of Minecraftian currency, one would notice the all-seeing bucket on the reverse side.

      Says you at this point, "Where's the action? Adventure? The tragic downfall of society that led to the isolation of Steve in the cold, unforgiving world that is Spain? Zero out of ten. Would not read again. Would not watch film adaptation. Even if every character were played by Sean Connery. At least not until they put it on Netflix." Hold on a mintue friend, I have two things to say in response. One: the name of the world isn't Spain, silly. It was the name of the village founded by Shug, whose name later came to represent the entire landmass. Two: Hold your horses. If every story got the good parts straight away, who'd want to read them? They could all be summed up in a sentence. "Scrooge was visited by a buncha scary dudes who made him like Christmas. The end." "Macbeth did a buncha stupid crap that ended up getting him killed, but he did get to be the king of Scotland for a while, so that was cool. The end." "A buncha really cool exciting things happened, one among which was the tragic downfall of society that involved action and adventure, and now Steve is all alone. The end." It doesn't really seem that exciting now does it?

      Skip forward a few gazillion years, and Spain City has become the hustling, bustling center of all everything on the island of Spain. At this point they'd invented cell phones, the internet, and fast food chains. They've invented other things, of course, but none as important as these three. As time went on paths become roads, roads became streets, and streets became highways. On a street corner sat Steve, watching the minecarts slide by, running red lights and cutting other mincarts off. Steve could talk to his friends on his cell phone, but he didn't really have any. He could browes the web, but he didn't really need to. He figured it would ruin your brain anyway. he could go out and grab something to eat, but he really wasn't fond of McBurgerham's. This probably sounds really depressing, almost as though we're getting into some depressing backstory. Steve, however, was more than happy just watching the traffic pass by. Sometimes he ventured outside the city limits to find a cute little kitty cat to pet, or maybe he'd just find a nice shady tree to nap under. Though to you it may sound like to torture to live without internet, cell phones, and McBurgerham, Steve was probably one of the only people in Spain to really be conent with their life.

      Says you again, "Wait, guy, if Steve is chillin' out maxin' and relaxin' and killin' trees at the beginning, how can he be doing the same millions of years in the past?" Well, aging in this world works very differently from the way it does in ours. Minecrafters are, obviously, not immortal. Some are mauled by angry dogs. Some fall into really deep holes. Some have so much fun building a house that they forgot to eat or drink for a week. Minecrafters, more often than you'd think, even end up killing each other, but never has one died from old age. But even still that doesn't mean there are no 'old' people. Nobody has control over who they are when they come into this world. A new soul could wake up one day thinking, I'm going to aspire to be the best track runner who ever lived (however, this is highly unlikely. Most Minecrafters can only think two seconds into the future, just enough to say, "Right foot forward. What was I doing again? Left foot forward."), only to find that they've entered this unforgiving world as an elderly woman with legs that would have been sturdier had they been made out of cardboard. People with the appearance of a child under fifteen can't qualify for a carting license. They never will. Nobody knows why the Minecrafters reproduce in this manner, not even scholars from the Eastern Continent. As far as they knew, this only occured wiht the Minecraftian species. Not themselves, the warlords of the Western Continent, or even the cannibals from the Southenr Islands. Their offspring are produced the 'normal way'. If you don't know what the 'normal way' is, ask your parents. Now, I've stated previously, several times now, that Minecrafters don't think too often. Nor do they really take kindly to the thought of thinking. A very long time ago, when Spain was still only a small village, there lived an exceptionally smart man (meaning he was likely of less than average intelligence). Taking the strange method of reproduction into account, he pondered the nature of the strange universe he inhabited. This man, named Webe, became the first and only philosopher of Spain (recorded in the history books, anyway. Most philosophers like to stay under the radar). He deduced that they must have been watched over by a great, unknown force he dubbed 'Notch'. He Sat among his brethren in the home of the supreme entities: the Mojang Office Space. It is later thought that Notch gave up power over the world to Jens, the diety of supreme justice and gingery hair, who was later bought out by an invading presence from another dimension known only as the Microsoft Corporation. Webe was promptly abducted from his home and burned at the stake for thinking too much. Although frowned upon at the time, these ideas later became the basis for the first religion of Spain. Even in Steve's time, it remained fairly unchanged (aside from the fact that over the years the almighty gods had turned from that into cute little bunny rabbits who governed the universe). Inhabitants of the Eastern Continent still call serious BS though.

      I would shift the focus back to Steve, but I've said all I really need to say about him at this point. It's about time we transferred our attention to the gigantic castle looming high above the city. It featured extraordinary stonework and archtiectural genious. Its twelve courtyards were filled with statues of unbelieveable size and expression. One of the more famous ones, for instance, was a depcition of Shug leaving the Path of the Bucket behind in search of a greater purpose. Stupidity aside, if there was one thing Minecrafters were known for, it was their amazing constructive capabilities. As intelligent as the folks from the east were, they always seemed to end up bulding their towns and cities above massive sinkholes, or atop tall mountains, where msot of the houses end up falling thousands of feet to the ground below, crushing some aspiring leader as he or she attempts to rebuild society from the rubble of countless other houses that fell from the same moutnain top. Inside the giant gray stronghold in the center of the city sat, in his throne room, Lord Steamboat. After Shug met his end, Shug's right hand man, Denis, was expected to take over power. Being the leader of a society sounded like an awful lot of work to Denis, and Denis was awful lazy. He created a system for electing a new leader, in which a representative from different parts of Spain would come to the great Castle Shug for a pie-eating contest. The first person to each ten pumpkin pies would become the new ruler of Spain. Ni-Juan, who had saved up his appetite by not eating for two days, wolfed down ten pies without batting an eye, and became Ni-Juan, Lord of Spain. He had a number of reformations to make that likely would have been beneficial to Spanish society, but unfortunately his reign was short lived. On the second day after his victory in the contest, Mr. Steamboat himself entered the throne room saying he wanted to show Lord Ni-Juan his new sword swallowing act. Ni-Juan wondered how Steamboat had gotten into the castle, but he didn't dwindle on that thought for long, because he was a sucker for some good sword swallowing. But contrary to what he'd anticipated, rather than swallow the sword, Steamboat just stabbed Ni-Juan with it. Denis, not wanting to go through the trouble of making any more pies, decided to just let Steamboat take Ni's place.

      "Denis," Steamboat said, "Any word from Chris and Toma yet?"
      Denis made a sort of grunting noise that can only be transmuted to text as, "Dyyuuueerrrnnnh..." He clasped his hands together and timidly shuffled toward the throne as if Steamboat was going to bite his head off if he got too close.
      "I haven't heard anything," he started quietly, he had a suprisingly soft vocie despite his size, But I'm su-"
      "Your Lordlinesship!" cried a rather short young man bursting into the throne room. He was followed closely by a very wrinkly looking old man in a white coat and an extremely large nose. The young man, whose name was Chris, was the head of Project FRITOICCHO, an archaeological expedition intiated and funded by Lord Steamboat himself. FRITOICCHO (Frih-toy-choe) is an acronym meaning "Find the Really Important Thing Or I'll Cut Cha Head Off". Toma was an immigrant from the Eastern Continent who was really there to add 'credibility' to the expedition. All he did was stand around and say things that nobody could understand because most of the diggers lacked the intelligence to understand language at an elementary level.
      "I assume you've found it," said Steamboat.
      "The Really Important Thing? Yeah, of course I found it," replied Chris.
      "Ahem," Toma cleared his throat, "WE found it."
      "Yeah, yeah, smart talk later, guy. Just let me see it," Said Steamboat gesturing for Chris to come closer. Out of a dusty satchelbag Chris wore, he pulled a series of small stone tablets.
      "So, er, excuse me," Denis cut in, "the Very Important Thing is, in actuality, several important things?"
      "Don't use that fancy talk with us Denis, none of us can understand ya, other than What's-His-Face with the big nose over there," answered Steamboat, which wasn't really much of an answer at all.
      "These legendary tablets are said to be inscribed with, 'magic words,' if you will," said Toma, "Legend says they belonged to Shug millions upon billions of years ago, but he hid them away in fear of some future psycopathic ruler using them for their own vile intentions, but I honestly beleive Shug hid them so some future psycopathic ruler would find them and use them for their own vile intentions."

      If there was one thing Steamboat was not, it was mentally stable. You know that crazy kid in your class that always eats lunch by himself and makes weird noises and wears a tinfoil hat so the government can't read his thoughts? He's got about twenty more marbles in his head than Steamboat. He grabbed the stone tablet firmly and read the inscription aloud. I'd include it here, but the sheer power of the phrase may break the universe if you read it. In an instant, and a surprisingly silent one, something that can only be described as a shockwave emanated from the tablet sending Denis, Chris, Toma, and anything else lying around that wasn't bolted down crashing through a massive stained-glass window. They didn't even have time to think about screaming as they plummeted to their deaths hundreds of feet below. I'm sure you can guess what happens next. For an entire week the sky rained fire. The earth cracked open sewping lava high into the air. Half of Spain was even said to have sunken into the sea. The warriors of the west saw the chaos as a sign to wage more war. The cannibals from the south saw the chaos as a sign to eat more people. The scholars of the east saw the chaos as a sign of how stupid Minecrafters were. Those who hid underground were hit with famine and disease. As the sun rose above the endless horizon on the eighth day, nothing was left. Maybe some trees. Maybe some pigs. Nothing remarkable. And next thing you know, pop. There's Steve.

      Says you, "That explained nothing! If everyone died in Steamboat's little 'episode', then what is Steve still doing there? What were those mysterious tablets? What's Steamboat's problem?" Well, how about I put it like this:

      A long time ago, some schoolkids thought it would be fun to start a Minecraft server. You had Denis, Chris, Steve, Toma, Ni-Juan, and Steamboat, as well as a lot of other creeps they'd met online. It was all fun and games when it started, but as time went on and these kids got older, they realized how much of a nutcase Steve was. He was the kinda kid who never talked in class. The kinda kid who hat long matty hair and lots of ugly pimples. The kinda kid who always wore baggy clothing because he was really fat and self-concious of his weird nipples. The eventually lost interest and drifted away from the rest of the group. The server host, Steamboat, got really pissed because he and his friends had a falling out over which episode of Star Wars was the best, or something stupid like that. Steamboat ended up banning everyone from the server (even himself). Of coruse, everyone except for Steve, because by then they were all in high school, and everyone already forgot about Steve, who had by then moved halfway across the country, but one day decided to join the old server, just 'cause. It is now up to Steve to rebuild what had once been great. He could go about it any way he desired. He could build a great manor, or a castle. He could even dot the landscape with certains somethings I'm sure we've all seen pop up in multiplayer servers at some point. And who knows? He might not have to do it alone. Nobody knows when or where some poor sod is going to wash up on the shore of Spain.


TL;DR









Finis.