PORTFOLIO PIECES:
1) Computing Python Code:
2) Creative Writing Piece:
[Unnamed]
The low, oscillating hum of the artificial lighting sounded like an obnoxious bumble bee gorging itself on daffodils outside my window. Every few seconds it would stutter slightly, and out of the corner of my eye I would see my light flicker again. I would try to ignore it, but the second I could convince myself to focus on anything else, it would tease me back into its little bubble of reality like a finger waggling inside my retinas. The semi-transparent casing recessed into the ceiling, so it could’ve been that the filament was damaged and nobody could change it. It’s quite a technical flaw. Bulbs all break eventually; even more so in places like this. Maybe I had just missed something about it – some hidden screw or button or something. Hell, it might even only be changeable from above; requiring the whole thing to be ripped off. Still, the light was there, and it flickered, so there’s not much point in thinking about it.
There isn’t much else TO think about though. There ARE things I could bring up; a bit of reminiscing or recollection perhaps, but that would just make me depressed, so I’ve resolved not to think about that. I suppose my bed was surprisingly comfortable. The mattress’s springs were mostly intact, and the sheets were freshly laundered. The pillows were even slightly fluffed when I got there! They could fluff a pillow but not change a light, apparently. That just gave further credence to the idea that some stupid berk installed a light that can’t be fixed if it breaks.
Whenever I tried to slip off into deeper though, it just flickered enough to make me start thinking about it again. Perhaps it’s less a stuttering bumblebee and more a water torture machine, each flicker dripping right into my eye sockets to soak into my bad mood like it’s a soggy kitchen sponge. I pursed my eyelids as hard as I could and forced my body to slowly sink into deeper slumber.
BEEP, BEEP, BEEP.
The pre-recorded alarm sounded. The speakers were all over the building; like they were installed by a vindictive deaf person with reverse kleptomania. There was no cause for immediate alarm though (ha), this sort of thing happened regularly. We were all told it when we arrived – it’s just a test of the systems they do in case they actually need to use it. Apparently, it’s needed regularly enough to justify a sodding test every bloody Monday right on the dot of noon. I laid back again – I hadn’t even realized I had sat up – and hoped that my apathy would clog my ears up.
Apparently apathy made horrible earplugs, because when I heard someone shouting outside my window, I decided to sit up again, resigning that the combined efforts of the speakers and light would keep me awake regardless. I yanked myself up to my window – which the building designers had put slightly too high in the wall – and peered out.
Someone was sprinting across the courtyard. The manic expression he had strewn over his mug was easily outclassed by the pained expression of the police officer that seemed to be in hot pursuit. Well, I say ‘Hot pursuit’. All of the complacence the security team had was showing clearly on the lines of sweat that peppered his pudgy face like a swarm of mosquito sucking at a tomato. The perturbed-looking escapee wasn’t looking too good either; he was going from door to door around the central courtyard, throwing himself at every exit he could find only to discover that the regularly mandated lockdown test was not a good time to attempt legging it.
Eventually, he tried the one door that didn’t knowingly lock at noon – and sprinted in with the speed of a teenager whose parents just walked in, slamming the door right into the face of his chaser who fumbled in vain at the now locked door handle. The door itself was MEANT to lock at noon with the rest – but one pillock had left it wide open once during a lockdown and the mechanism had fallen down from the doorframe. I had only learned this the other day – but said mechanism had been pinched by Jim from cellblock C and ‘installed’ above one of the toilet cubicles.
After a few seconds of the guard slamming his fist against the door, it opened again. An even more scared looking Mace – whom I had recognized now that he was facing this way – sprinted right into the officer’s fist as he attempted to shove past him. A few seconds later, about 20 surprised-looking prison guards filtered out into the midday sun.
Once his unconscious form had been lifted – with difficulty; this was one of those types to lift weights at free time and looked like he had taken a helium tank to every conceivable muscle he had – and rushed down towards solitary, I laid down again. Another cock-up of an escape attempt. I was beginning to understand the reasons behind weekly security tests here – everyone and their dog seemed to want to be in any place but this. I briefly pondered if everyone else’s lights were faulty too when another forgettable-faced guard materialized at my cells bars.
“Oi! You still in here?” he yelled in my general direction, slamming the cell door in a way that no doubt hurt his hand in some way.
“I’m in a barred cell” I responded, slowly. “You can see me from there”
“We’ve all just been told to make sure” he said levelly, though I swear I heard the slight taint of spite in there somewhere. Perhaps emotionlessness is in their training regime.
“Hey, can you get someone in here to fix my light?”
It was useless; he had already moved on to check the next cell, leaving me back in momentary peace. The alarm even stopped, throwing the short-lived liveliness of my cell back into mundanity; like someone had flooded it with water when I wasn’t looking. I let go of the window bars and let myself fall back down into a lying position, ready to resume the constant boredom that is my life.
The light flickered, and I felt my lower-left eyelid twitch.
3) Unit 45 Hand In; The Order:
4) Unit 62 Hand In:
TRADING CARD:
Here's the trading card. Top left is written communication, top right is practical production, bottom left is creativity, bottom right is verbal communication. I will endeavour to make this more clear on the card in future.
SELF SCORES:
ROLES ORDER OF PREFERENCE:
most preferred is on top.
Producer (games designer)
Programmer
Artist
I have ordered the producer first for the reasons recorded on the 'how my skills match up' sheet.
While I do take computer science, I don't particularly enjoy or are exceptionally good at coding.
Artist is last as, while I do enjoy modelling in Maya, I really don't enjoy producing actual art in 2D.
PRODUCER (GAMES DESIGNER) ROLE INFO-GRAPHIC:
M2: SKILLS DEFICIENCIES
D1: PLAN TO IMPROVE
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