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I kinda know more or less what I am gonna write about, but I'm not sure how to shoehorn Bollywood into it.
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Dec 14, 2012 08:10
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Chairchucker posted:I kinda know more or less what I am gonna write about, but I'm not sure how to shoehorn Bollywood into it. Then you will fail, once more. Imagine your fingers are alligators and the letters on the keyboard are the defenceless legs of swimmers. Now: eat your fill.
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Dec 14, 2012 08:46
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I don't know much about Bollywood films, but my childhood memories of them were that they always involve lovers running in fields, doing dramatic tumbles, playing hide-and-seek around trees (always important), crying buckets, and making big sappy declarations of their love to each other. Also they never kiss, that was always a weird thing to me. Basically this youtube video (2:15 onwards): Russell peters - About Indian Bollywood Movie(s) @ NYC --------------------------- Love in the Time of Circuitry, Pt II (1000 words) (Part I) Jim ran. He ran away from the spooks, away from the machines searching for the thing the government planted in his head. But now he was also running away from the pick-up truck at the road side, where he left Sam sleeping inside. Another hack caught him mid-run. His feet locked, and he fell, rolling down a small dirt hill. They were triangulating with more intermediaries now, and his head shrieked in convulsions with each breach attempt. He landed in front of an abandoned gas station, its doors boarded up with moss-invaded planks. He reached out, picked himself up and steadied himself against a tree. The growth above his left ear whirred, his nose stung by the smell of ember. “Is this where we do a dance number?” Jim gasped and hid behind the tree. He peeked out of one side. It was Sam. How long had he been there? As Sam approached him the pain hit Jim again, and he peeked out at Sam from the other side of the tree. Sam sighed, and with one burly arm pulled Jim out to in front of the station. “Why you ackin’ so cray-cray?” Sam asked. “Walking’s bad for my knees. Can you amputate knees?” Jim was hunched over. “They are getting close,” he said. Sam pointed up. “High-voltage power cables. Of course your head’s melting. Mine will too if we don’t -” “I’ve been suppressing them,” Jim said, ignoring him. “It’s overloading me. I… I might explode.” “Sickening. So -” “SHUT UP!” Jim yelled at him. “I could kill you!” He looked up at Sam. His face was lined with creeks of fresh bright crimson, trailing off his eyes and nostrils and ears, staining his blonde whiskers and dripping off his chin. The growth above his left ear pulsed in angry blue bursts. “I can’t hold it in any longer,” Jim croaked. Sam stood in silence, then jumped out to grab him. Jim pushed him. His fingers trembled. Sam moved behind him, and with one arm wrapped across the neck and another below Jim’s armpit Sam latched onto him in a headlock. The two men lost their balance and fell backwards, Sam landing on his back and Jim sitting on him. Clouds of dust formed and dissipate under their weight. Jim kicked at the ground, creating shallow dust trails. He elbowed Sam weakly, pleaded and begged for him to run. Instead Sam folded his arms across Jim’s chest, and with his head resting on Jim’s shoulder, he whispered into his ear. Jim let go. The ground below them burst into cracks, underground wires breaking loose and spouting out with dirt and rocks, the glass panes of the gas station breaking as the radios and cash registers inside are torn apart, towers falling apart with cables snapping flailing dropping, the cracks of the red earth stretching across the land wider and wider and wider, uprooted young trees falling and murders of crows taking to the skies, the signal Jim returned frying phones and modems and servers and computers, devices large and small exploding in fire and light in offices and warehouses and laboratories and trailers all over the country. Amidst the devastation and destruction, Sam kept holding onto Jim, ignoring the attacking debris, and he repeated, over and over, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. *** They made a pit stop at a roadside diner. The Sitar. Jim stood by the truck, trying to ignore the silence of the neurotransmitter. Sam walked out of the diner. “Funny story. Radio’s down and phones are dead,” he said, and handed Jim a chai tea. “Healthier.” Jim grunted. “You stopped everyone looking for us?” “For now.” “drat.” Sam sat on the hood of the truck. The steam of his chai misted his glasses. “I should have run alone,” Jim said. Sam looked at him, then down at his tea. “I’m not strong,” Jim said. “I can’t save you. I can’t even save myself. And I - I don’t know what I’d do if you get hurt, and I couldn’t do anything. Even worse if I hurt you. At the station? It was loving destroying me. I thought I would have killed you, and if you were g-gone -“ His voice cracked. “poo poo.” Before he could stop it, his eyes welled up. “Hurrgh.” In a panic he raised his hands to his face, dropping his tea. The spiced liquid splashed on his boots at the same time the tears streamed down his face. He sniffed, his hands trying to block his shame from Sam. Sam left his drink on the hood, walked over to Jim and put his arms around him. “I m-messed up your life,” Jim struggled. Sam set his face level with Jim’s, and looked deep into his eyes. “I miss my house,” Sam told him. “I miss having a nice bed, a real stove to cook on. I miss having warm baths. I miss going to the Frangipani and I even miss reading those dumb gossip blogs. “But I don’t miss you. “I don’t have to worry that I’m at home, or in the bathtub, or at the bar, or online, missing you. “I don’t have to miss the gently caress out of you, Jim,” Sam said. “Because I’m here with you. And I did it because I love you.” Their foreheads touched each other’s, and their whiskers brushed. Jim’s tears wet Sam’s coat lapels. They stood with their eyes closed, each holding the most important thing in his life. A sudden burst of bhangra music blared out of the Sitar, and they jumped releasing each other. “Radio’s back,” Jim said, adjusting his cap. Sam got into the driver’s seat, and cursed at the truck’s refusal to start. “I miss my Hybrid too, by the way.” The engine crawled to life and Jim got in beside Sam. The growth above his ear was glowing again. “You still gonna ack’ cray-cray?” Sam asked. Jim kissed him instead. “Yeah, you still gonna,” Sam said, and drove. --------------------------- SONG: Bon Iver - Holocene EDIT: In view of Peel's flash rule I'm going to drop my second story out of this week's Thunderdome. Will post it as an aside but you'll see why I had to. EDIT2: Linked videos instead of embedding for Peel's easier viewing.
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Dec 14, 2012 09:10
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Erik Shawn-Bohner posted:I'm hanging out with martello and we're balls deep in each others mouth. He will confirm. Speaking of,  FLASH RULE The romance cannot be heterosexual.
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Dec 14, 2012 10:20
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The prompt doesn't even mention romance.
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Dec 14, 2012 10:23
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Love story, whatever. 
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Dec 14, 2012 10:41
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Gender's a construct anyways. Should be as easy as changing a name.
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Dec 14, 2012 10:42
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Peel posted:Speaking of, 
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Dec 14, 2012 11:35
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As a heads up, I still can't view YouTubes or most other videos, and even loading pages with them embedded (or several other pages seemingly at random) is a chore fraught with refreshes, so I dunno yet what I'm gonna do for that part of the prompt. The problem usually goes away after a few days but it hasn't yet. (Yes, I've reinstalled Flash and reset the router)
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Dec 14, 2012 11:53
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Peel posted:Speaking of, I feel kind of ambivalent about this rule. Like, I don't have to change my story at all, because I was gonna do that in the first place. But now everyone will see it coming. Ah well! Expect my story later today.
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Dec 14, 2012 12:42
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sebmojo posted:Imagine your fingers are alligators and the letters on the keyboard are the defenceless legs of swimmers. same except instead of fingers it's my penis and you can extrapolate what the swimmers are
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Dec 14, 2012 17:42
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I love romance. I wrote something sappy. I used around 900 words. (Edited word count correction!) I admit to no shame. In the background please enjoy this. Sleeping Beauty Returning from space was always a welcome rediscovery, first a little dot turning to a familiar planet, then the moon swelling to its usual pocked maze, and then finally, the tiny oblong of the hive becoming a world. Flyx chafed with every second wasted as her soldiers docked their tiny diplomatic vessel with the large structure. Protective membrane caught on her chitinous joints as Flyx forced her armored bulk through the hive’s outer wall. The rough floor, sawed and sanded by decades of rushing feet, rasped loudly as she struggled to pull herself free. The hive was usually all motion and bustle, waves of messages and words rattling through its whispering hallways. Now it stood alarmingly silent. Around her, workers stood listlessly. One’s antennae twitched a few times, hinting at a little awareness left. Flyx didn’t try to engage the silent figure. She shot up one of the winding tunnels, leaving her soldiers behind. The fungus that provided light to the hive was desperately overgrown, bogging her wings down, but she struggled onward. She’d gone with her queen through the winding hallways so many times she didn’t have to search for her pheromonal trail. When she slammed through the last portal, past slumped guards, her hearts stopped for a moment. Her Queen’s long body didn’t stand in its proud arch. She was draped over the royal dias, gills barely moving, a barest trace of her perfume in the air. Drones were scattered about her body like statues. Flyx crossed to her side in an instant, lifting her delicate thorax in heavy claws. The queen’s compound eyes glittered in the light, and for a moment Flyx thought she stirred, but she only settled further into her grip. Flyx’s hearts felt tangled with regret. How had she let herself spare the ship’s engines in returning to her Queen’s side? Flyx had been hatched from a war-captive egg and was expected to be only a worker. But when she came to the royal chamber to gather eggs to a nesting-chamber, the Queen had paused, reached out from the dias, and brushed one antennae curiously against Flyx’s. In that moment, they had sensed something in each other. Flyx’s body instantly began the transformation from drone to armored war leader. She should never have left the throne room afterward. “I’m here,” Flyx said gently. “You didn't make a mistake choosing me. I secured the treaty you needed. All our hive has to do is hatch enough workers. We will be secure all our lives. Nothing will cause you to send me away again.” Her antennae flickered wildly, fanning the fungus into brilliant whorls in the air. The whorls on the queen’s tiny wing cases shone, and for a moment she thought she had raised them. “Queen? My Queen? It’s your Flyx. I’m back.” The delicate lacework of the queen’s gills fluttered, but there was no response. Flyx despaired. A queen’s complex chemistry rarely became dependent on one hive member. But if she bonded closely with a war leader or a favored drone, her own body could become as dependent on their presence as the hive’s was on hers. The travel implant under Flyx’s chitin made her body temporarily independent, but soon it would break down. Flyx couldn’t stand the thought of living without her Queen, but the thought of all her hive dying was too much. Flyx settled down on the dias, laying her antennae along her Queen’s long abdomen until the faint spill of pheromones drowned out everything else. Flyx hitched her wing covers up into the air. They were heavy and cumbersome, unlike a drone’s gracefully sculpted curves, and the first clash together was just so much noise. Flyx adjusted slowly to the sawlike instruments, playing the melody every one of her species carried in its heart: the song of love. It soared up like a queen’s first flight, dove like a worker returning heavily home, shook like a hatching egg. Flyx’s body was unsuited to it, but every right thrum and every right note drove her through another iteration. A few spurs cracked from one foot, a spine flew from her wing cover and anchored itself in the wall, but Flyx played on. First her Queen’s gills fanned in a long, sweet breath. Then her perfume thickened into aware messages, the chemical rill of Flyx’s name, over and over. The first sound was the faintest chirr, the lightest trill of noise, from the queen’s tiny wing casings. Then her head turned, one of her feathered antennae fanning slowly. Flyx played on, calling her Queen from dormancy. Movement twitched around her, tiny stiff pops, as drones began to climb to their feet. The queen’s first notes were achingly high. Flyx rejoined that she still had strength to answer. She shifted to bear more of her weight. Their song echoed through the drum of the royal chamber and spread into the hive. Workers spilled from the walls, shaking off their dormancy. Drones leaped to action. Caring feet brought the Queen water, laying food out before her. Light shimmered and flickered as many wings and jaws bundled overgrown fungus away. Soon a crowd was dancing through the throne room, falling neatly into spirals and lines. Through it all, Flyx and the Queen sang a new version of an ancient melody, a song of love reunited.
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Dec 14, 2012 18:47
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Peel posted:Speaking of, oh cuz we've never done that before  Capntastic posted:Gender's a construct anyways. Should be as easy as changing a name. shut up forever thanks in advance
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Dec 14, 2012 19:26
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I also don't know much about Bollywood, but I did my best to include it. Song: Gorillaz - Amarillo Bounty - 979 words I didn't have to search the bounty board for long to find who I was looking for. Vanhi, petty thief, 500 galactic credits. Normally I wouldn't pay attention to such a small bounty, but I had to make an exception in Vanhi's case. She was my girlfriend, after all, and we really needed to talk. I wasn't sure quite what about at the time, but I knew it was important. I gestured at the board, dragging the bounty from its screen to the display of my smart bracelet. As I headed to the small town's bar, I told myself to cheer up. Things could be much, much worse. Like, someone else could be hunting her bounty, instead of me. When I went inside, the look I received from the bartender gave me the impression he recognised me from the last time I was here, and that impression was confirmed when I asked him about Vanhi. Me and her had been to this town before, but back then she looked different, without that shockingly red hair and electric blue eyes she was now sporting. They used to be natural, black and brown like mine. We'd been chasing a bounty together, a pretty big one too. The barman recognised me, and said he knew where 'that outlaw bitch' had gone, too. By that he simply meant he knew she'd headed east out of town, on foot. She knew if she'd taken any other form of transport, I'd have been able to track her, I figured. Maybe she really didn't want me to find her after all. I felt pretty sad about that lack of trust, to be honest. We'd been through a lot, but many thing had been left unsaid. Perhaps that was why. I thanked the barman, and left. This part of the planet was loving hot. Nothing but an enormous grass plain stretching to infinity below, and an equally enormous cloudless sky above. It took me a good number of hours before finally I detected signs of another smart bracelet in the vicinity. I knew there was a chance that she had simply left the device behind somewhere in the wilderness to throw me off, but I wasn't going to give up hope just yet. Pinpointing the direction to go was like hunting for radioactive material with an ancient Geiger counter. I hated having to do things the old fashioned way, but it was my only shot. It didn't take me long to find the small camp she'd set up for herself, but it was already sunset by the time I got there. I saw her sitting on a ridge, staring out at the sunset. From my angle it looked like the whole sky was radiating out of her head, her hair the same colour as the setting sun. I wasn't going to take risks, so I powered up my handgun and locked onto her as my target. Her bracelet detected this, and alerted her to my presence. She turned around, and her fearful expression melted when she saw who I was. It was so hard to find words; nothing was that simple. She broke the silence instead. "My fate comes for me." "Poetic," I replied, "but doesn't make a huge heap of sense now, does it? Don't be pretentious." "Fine. Did you come to cash in on my piddling little bounty then?" Her wide mouth stretched into a smirk, and I felt myself starting to get angry. "What do you think, Vanhi?" "I think you did. It is the law, and you are the law bringer." "I know you didn't do it, Vanhi." "So what? The law doesn't give two shits who did it, so long as someone pays. Is that not honour and justice?" "Come on now. How many times have I tried to teach you the difference between justice and the law?" It should have been hard to keep my voice from raising. She was always so good at getting under my skin, but I wasn't falling for it this time. We were beyond petty arguments. "Arguing never was your style," her expression didn't change, but suddenly I didn't see a mocking smirk, simply a smile. I dropped my gun. I wasn't going to need it. She turned back to the sunset. "Sit with me?" I did. After a few moments of silence, I spoke again. "What were you trying to prove by running off like that?" Those weren't the words I needed to say, but they were all I could manage. "I don't really know. I suppose I was testing you. I wasn't really thinking about it too much... I suppose that's why I came here, specifically." "What's so special about this little backwater world compared to all the others we've been to together?" "Because this was the one where I figured out that I love you." The words hung in the air for a while, echoing inside my head. It occurred to me that neither of us had ever said those words to each other before. "Is that so?" "Yes." She turned to look at me. "Do you... feel the same?" It was then that I found my words. "Why do you think I came after you? I never had a chance to say it, before you left. And I really needed to say it. I just couldn't find the words until now." She just sat there, listening, waiting for me to continue. "You are the love of my life, Vanhi. The one and only woman I want to spend the rest of my days with. It's as simple as that." "And you, Niyati, are the only woman I want to spent the rest of mine with." She rested her head on my shoulder, and there was nowhere else in the galaxy I would rather have been. It was as simple as that.
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Dec 14, 2012 20:25
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Peel posted:Speaking of, Martello and I are working on that premise as we speak
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Dec 14, 2012 20:28
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Song: Iron & Wine - Such Great Heights (The Postal Service Cover) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EKGHkBComjM The Broken Chains Of Oppression - 995 Words The fields stretched out as far as Dayaal could see, the clouds that hung above only served to accentuate the gentle blue gradient of the sky. Every now and then, a tree would interrupt the horizon, casting patterns of shade on the grass below. Why was it then, that Dayaal felt uneasy? Worry seemed like something that would be nigh-impossible to feel in such a place. He looked around desperately, for something, or someone. He began to run forward, towards the nearest tree, his knowledge of such things wasn’t great but he figured it was likely an jujube tree given its size. He searched around the trunk, hoping its form kept what he searched for hidden from him. No luck. Suddenly, his worry twisted into desperation. His eyes scanned in all directions, straining his vision to see if the swaying of branches in the breeze concealed anything. “Nalesh?!” The train jolted him awake, an old man clutching a small cage containing a cat on his lap looked across at him, as did a number of other passengers located in the vicinity of Dayaal’s sudden yelp. “Are you okay?” enquired Nalesh, giving Dayaal’s hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance. A wave of relief washed over Dayaal as he looked to his side, the fear that he was without his soul-mate dissipating from reality. He let out a sigh as he shifted his head from its place resting against the wooden frame of the window. “Absolutely fine, now I’m back with you,” he replied, the pair exchanged smiles and took a moment to enjoy the sight of the other’s face. “Do you know where we are?” Nalesh shook his head. They’d been on so many trains the past few days that time seemed to flow differently whilst they journeyed across the country. What they were seeking, was the start of their new life together, away from the narrow-minded views of their families. The prospect of this new life was almost overwhelming, it could literally be anywhere, they wouldn’t care as long as they had each other. In the end, love is all a person needs in face of the all-encompassing veil of cold dark cosmos. Neither really wanted to leave their friends and family behind, but it was the only thing they could do to live a life of peace. Dayaal wondered how many of his friends and co-workers would discover the reason for his departure, how many would understand his motives? How many would discard his friendship in disgust? Yet as he looked around, at this train car, almost elbow to elbow full with people, none of them seemed to even care that he was holding the hand of another man. His eyes tried to imagine what each person might be on their way towards. One woman he noticed was holding a toddler in her arms as they sat on the floor, if there wasn’t a sea of passengers between them, Dayaal would have gladly offered his seat to them. Nevertheless, the mother and child seemed more than happy with their arrangement. They’d laid a coat across the floor to provide some degree of comfort. The mother held her hands in front of her son, he would tap on her fingers as she spoke into his ear. By the looks of it she was teaching him to count. Another person, a man, had struck up a conversation with an older gentleman. They looked like they were engrossed in a deep conversation but through all the various talking going on around the cabin, it was impossible to decipher what. One young girl rested her back against the door leading to the next carriage with a sorrowful look on her face. What was she attempting to grapple with? Dayaal wondered. So many lives, so many paths, all going to a multitude of different places for a variety of reasons. His intrigue would be the death of him if he thought about the journeys of others for too much longer. Right now, he had to focus on his own destination, the one where he and Nalesh were going to spend their rest of their lives happily. The train pulled up to the next station and came to a stop, its sides throwing out the hiss of steam as if it was glad for the brief rest. “Let’s get off here,” Dayaal declared to his love. “What? But we don’t even know where we are.” Nalesh looked at him with an inquisitive glance. “It doesn’t matter, right? So what’s stopping us?” Nalesh tried to think of some logical reasons, but Dayaal’s smile dragged him into the moment, into the sheer beauty of freedom. “You’re right,” he responded, “let’s go!” As the pair got up from their seats, the old man with the cat gave a gentle nod to them as they slide their suitcases out from under them and began stepping their way in between the floor of people. Their seats were almost immediately snatched up, the unlucky people still sat on the deck quietly content that they at least had a little more elbow room now. The young lovers jumped out of the train carriage and embraced each other, enjoying the luxury of not having to keep their romance a secret any longer. A smartly dressed train official passed by, closing the door they’d emerged from as he made his way towards the steam locomotive. Before hoisting himself back on the train, he glanced back to check all the doors were shut and everyone was safely off. With a sharp whistle, the train huffed its way onward once more. Carriages and clouds of steam whirled passed them. With their hands held together and their suitcases by their sides, they looked across over the tracks as the steam melted away. It was the fields Dayaal had seen in his dream, only this time he had Nalesh by his side. This time... everything would be okay.
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Dec 15, 2012 01:53
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Youtubes are still a nightmare, so I will choose a well-known but rather nice and somewhat appropriate song from memory rather than searching for a perfect one. Apologies to the judges. Baba Yetu Metamorphoses (641) Time was when Hanwen sat on Mount Mori. His hair was white and beautiful as pearl and his cloaks black as the depths of the Earth and his eyes were fixed upward on the sky, which was dark and empty. Mata climbed the mountain hunting the mountain tiger. For three days he crossed the deep valleys and climbed the tall cliffs on the trail of the beast with breath like smoke and hair like fire. At last he saw it, waiting near Hanwen, and he saw Hanwen too, and was fixed by his beauty. He stared, and the tiger snarled and struck. For three days they fought with bone spear against claw and flint sword against tooth. The tiger burned him and mauled him but in the end succumbed, and Mata cut the hide from its flesh, cleaned it, and draped it over Hanwen’s shoulders, bright and orange. “A gift to you, Son of the Mountain, who is so beautiful. Return with me and we will be chiefs together.” But Hanwen shook his head and apologised, never moving his eyes from the sky, and Mata left alone. # Time was when Hanwen stood on Mount Mori. Her hair was black and beautiful as obsidian and her robes white as clean bone, and her eyes were fixed upward on the sky, which was dark and empty. Mata climbed the mountain with her retinues and armies. For three years they camped around the summit while Mata held court. Hanwen ignored her. Her best singers and finest musicians serenaded Hanwen with songs of love and the sound of the sitar. Hanwen ignored them. Her most elegant dancers and moving actors performed the great classics of their arts. Hanwen ignored them. Mata and her court left in dejection, and for three years more she wrote out her sorrows in the poems. # Time was when Hanwen rooted on Mount Mori. Its bark was black and beautiful as ebony and its leaves white as ivory, and its branches reached upward to the sky, which was dark and empty. Mata climbed the mountain with their streets and terraces. For three centuries they built up around it, the greatest city of the world, with boulevards of onyx and walls of gold and courtyards of latticeworked jade. In the centre was the garden of gardens, with beds in every colour and bushes cut to every shape, and fine orchards laden with fruit and birds and lakes containing every fish within the world. At the heart of all this stood Hanwen, patient and impassive, regarding the sky, and not dropping a leaf or a twig for Mata. And Mata at last said: “I have given you the tiger, I have given you music and laughter, I have given you glory. Do these not please you?” And Hanwen said: “Your works are great indeed, but they cannot please me, for they leave too much in emptiness.” And they said: “How is that?” And it said: “Look above you, and see.” And Mata did, and for three centuries they contemplated. And they said: “I see now. The sad darkness, emptier than all our works on this world could have filled. That you were always regarding, and which we always ignored. But we also see a canvas, on which you and we together may make a tapestry to outshine all we have done. If you will allow it.” And Hanwen took Mata’s hand, and together they rose. # Time is that Hanwen and Mata reside in the sky. Mata passes overhead and fills the world with colour and life, and Hanwen passes overhead and delights the world with a shifting cloak of black and white, and all around them are their uncountable children smiling on us, and though the sky is yet sometimes dark, it always shines, and it is never empty.
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Dec 15, 2012 06:05
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Dear Thunderdome, I am having a really hard loving time finishing my totally not tragic or depressing bollywood love story in the wake of a bunch of kids dying in Connecticut. I'm still chugging along with the entry, but my cold stony Thunderdome-hardened heart has cracked a bit. We're still waiting on lab results but I think it might have also shed a tear. Hug your kids/friends/anyone and please excuse my probably slightly late entry (I know we have a whole day but gently caress. Maybe I am weak like babby, in which case I give no shits).
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Dec 15, 2012 06:08
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The accompanying music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YSa15edLpEc Gol Maal (913 words) It used to be that Ketan went to the theater to lose himself in the films, the language, the scenery, the half remembered world of his youth. Often he became so absorbed in the movie that it was an effort to reorient himself when he stepped out of the theater. Three weeks ago, finding someone sitting in his seat, he had grumbled his way to the other side of the theater, cursing the current ironic popularity of Bollywood movies filling his normally empty theater. It was then that he had spotted Aadi sitting three rows ahead of him and to the right. Every week since that night he had arrived at the theater feeling anxious and foolish as a young man and he was only able to relax when he saw Aadi sitting in his customary place. Suddenly, the old films no longer hold any charm for Ketan; instead he watched them entirely through Aadi. He was surprised how familiar Aadi was to him still, the way he raised him eyebrows when he was surprised, the way he pulled on his earlobes when he was nervous, the chuckles that came straight from his belly. They had met first in 1979, two foreign students at the University of Madison. They were both studying medicine. Aadi secretly wanted to be a poet so he snuck in the occasional creative writing credits into his course work. Ketan's parents had drilled into him for so long that he would be a doctor that he couldn’t remember if he had ever had a dream that preceded it. At first, it had been easy. Two students, both from India, it would have surprised and disappointed the community if they had not become friends. It only made sense for them to become roommates, to share the expense of living so far from home. No one questioned it. After a few years together, Aadi wanted them to come out, to be honest about who they were, but Ketan always argued against it. It had come to a head when Ketan’s parents had flown from India to visit him. To his surprise, they had also brought a young woman from their village, Nilaya, who was to be his wife. After all, they joked, he was nearly finished with his degree, wasn’t it time that he got married and stopped living in this bachelor’s pad with Aadi? Ketan did not have the courage to resist his parents and his community. Dutifully, he became a doctor. Dutifully, he married Nilaya. Dutifully, he had strangled down the love he had for Aadi and tried to be the perfect son, the perfect doctor. The perfect Indian. Aadi had surprised everyone by suddenly dropping out of medical school and pursuing a Master’s degree in Fine Arts. Not long after that, he had come out to his parents. Aadi became the cautionary tale of their community and the shame of his family. Ketan had feigned the shock and outrage felt by the rest of the community and like the rest, he shut Aadi out of his life. Now, thirty years later, he found himself drinking in Aadi’s face once more. He had aged, but not so much as Ketan. He had delicate wrinkles near his eyes and his dark hair was now shot with silver but otherwise, he didn’t look much different than he had as a student. The years had been harder on Ketan, his skin was sallow, his eyes and teeth had yellowed, and his hair had thinned. Looking in the mirror, he barely recognized the unhappy man looking back at him. Ketan had promised himself that he would talk to Aadi this week, but as the movie drew to a close his resolve weakened. He was nothing like the boy he had been, he didn’t know how Aadi could look on him with anything but pity, or worse, disgust. The credits began to roll and the lights came up in the theater. Aadi stood, put on his jacket and began walking up the aisle towards the exit. Ketan’s palms were slick with sweat and his heart was pounding as he got up and followed Aadi out. He didn’t know how to call to him, this man whose name hadn’t passed his lips in 30 years. Aadi had his hand on the door when Ketan finally called out his name. “Aadi.” Aadi turned, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Ketan?” His voice rose in shock. Ketan nodded, unable to say more. “How are you, friend?” Aadi asked, his eyes searching Ketan’s face. Ketan shrugged, palms raised. “I’m here.” Aadi stepped forward and clasped Ketan’s hand in his own. “It is good to see you. It has been too long.” Ketan nodded, “Much too long.” “Do you come here often?” Aadi asked. “Every week,” Ketan replied. “There is something about these old films I can’t get enough of.” “It is a connection to the past,” Aadi said. “Next week they are showing Gol Maal. Do you remember it?” Ketan smiled in recollection. They had seen Gol Maal when they were in Seattle for a medical convention. So far from home, Ketan had allowed Aadi to hold his hand in the darkened theater. “Perhaps next week you can sit next to me, like we did so many years ago.” Aadi leaned forward and squeezed his hand gently. “I will see you next week?” Ketan nodded. As Aadi smiled and walked away, Ketan could still feel the pressure of Aadi’s hand on his.
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Dec 15, 2012 07:04
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Martello posted:same except instead of fingers it's my penis and you can extrapolate what the swimmers are More... Penises? Penii? Anyhoo, 12 min to go. Crank it bitches.
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Dec 15, 2012 11:46
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I guess most people didn't click on the time link.
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Dec 15, 2012 12:21
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Sitting Here posted:Dear Thunderdome, I am having a really hard loving time finishing my totally not tragic or depressing bollywood love story in the wake of a bunch of kids dying in Connecticut. I'm still chugging along with the entry, but my cold stony Thunderdome-hardened heart has cracked a bit. We're still waiting on lab results but I think it might have also shed a tear. I am lucky in that I managed to finish mine before I let myself pay proper attention to that story. And I don't think I'd have had an easy time finishing it if I hadn't, so I can empathise there. Kind of surprised more entries weren't submitted, though. Peel's probably right and they were thinking in US/EU time. Also gredgie posted:Song: Iron & Wine - Such Great Heights (The Postal Service Cover) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EKGHkBComjM 
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Dec 15, 2012 15:06
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There's an acoustic version Ben Gibbard sings himself, on the B-Sides album, which I felt was a slightly more "softer" version for the story. But searching YouTube, all I found were live clips with evil sound and people that aren't Ben Gibbard covering the song.
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Dec 15, 2012 15:24
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Peel posted:I guess most people didn't click on the time link. I am one of these people apparently. Who uses New Zealand time? So, sorry for being a big stupid and missing the deadline twice in one week. This story is best enjoyed to the musical stylings of The Smiths - This Charming Man Bollywood Swinging 887 words. It’s my first day on the set of the movie. Honestly it’s my first day on the set of any movie for me. I’ve built sets for practically every production of my high school and college career but this is my first professional gig. It isn’t really a big film or anything, just some American rip-off of a Bollywood remake, but standing here on the unfinished stage, actors and assistants and artisans bustling back and forth makes me feel like I’ve stumbled onto the set of a Christopher Nolan film. A man in a headset, who turns out to be my production manager Greg, looks up from the plans on his table and yells at me. “Hey you must be Sanjay, get over here and we’ll get you up to speed. And close your mouth, you’ll catch the clap around here.” The rest of the people at the table chuckle as I walk over and I shake Greg’s outstretched hand. I’m introduced to the other members of the stage crew but I’m so nervous their names pass out of my head as soon as I hear the next one. With the introductions over Greg clears his throat. “Well, now that we’re all friends, let’s get down to business. Shooting for this film begins next week so we’ll need to finish at least one stage before the weekend.” Greg turns to a table behind him and picks up a large roll of paper continuing to speak all the while. “The director has decided that he wants to start at the end of the script and work backwards, so it looks like we’ll be responsible for making the giant field for the climax scene first.” He unrolls the massive paper on the table in front of us. I’ve never seen a set sketch use such bright colors before. I assume it’s a Hollywood thing and look away so as not to be blinded by the solid, almost pastel blue of the sky. The girl across from me though, Julia I think her name was, starts talking. “Jesus Greg. Are we seriously going to use those colors? We’ll go blind painting it, the actors will go blind working with it, and the audience will go blind watching it. We’re gonna be arrested on terrorism charges.” “Sorry folks. It’s an executive order here. The director wants it to feel like a storybook and these are the colors he picked out.” Grumbles echo around the table, but no one is willing to challenge the director. The next few days are a blur of balsa wood, saws, and nails as we work on the framework and structure for the stage. It feels great to finally say I’m working in Hollywood and seeing everyone move around the stage obviously focused on something just seems to further enforce the fact that I’ve finally made it. The best part though is Frankie. He plays the male lead in the film and is honestly one of the most handsome men I’ve ever encountered. He’s got an actor’s physique; slim with the suggestion of muscle. My girl friends in high school always referred to it as “ottermode.” On top of that he’s always got this perfect collection of scruff on his face. Just enough that it looks like it wouldn’t be scratchy, but not so much as to hide his solid chin. I’ve made eye contact with him a couple of times and nodded in his direction but he always seems so busy. I always feel like he’s headed off to some practice or meeting or whatever it is actors do when they aren’t acting. On Friday though, he actually comes over to talk to me. By this point the stage crew is finally painting the set. Acid green grass on International Klein blue sky. “So. This is what the infamous field is supposed to look like, huh?” I’ve never heard him speak before. He’s got a deep voice, but somewhat nasally. And on top of it there is the edge of a Hindu accent that you only notice when you’re focusing on his words. I’m in shock, and can barely mumble an affirmative. I’m locked in my head, I can’t think of a drat thing to say. An actor, cute to boot, and he’s talking to me. He checks his watch. Slowly of course, practically brandishing it so I can see that it’s Rolex. Or at least a very good Rolex knockoff. “Well, I have fifteen minutes till shooting actually starts. I don’t suppose you would mind if I stayed here and talked with you while I waited? I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with your boss.” “Fifteen minutes with you? Well... I wouldn’t say no.” The next thirty minutes pass in a haze. Describing flirting is an almost useless endeavour. There’s never anything useful said, nothing interesting. But all of his jokes are funny, all of his anecdotes engaging. When his assistant comes by to remind him he’s fifteen minutes late for filming it almost feels like the air has left my lungs. Before he leaves though, he lays a hand on my shoulder. He smiles, white teeth shining in his dark complexion. I look up and lock my brown eyes with his. “Would you be interested in grabbing some drinks after work today?”
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Dec 15, 2012 15:29
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I stayed up until 5AM finishing it ahead of deadline (this may be noticeable  )
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Dec 15, 2012 15:59
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Peel posted:I stayed up until 5AM finishing it ahead of deadline You can call that effort, I call it poor planning. I wrote mine on thursday, left it alone, and went over it on friday so I could submit it before I went to bed. That said, your story does not actually reek of "5am and rushing" to me, so good job!
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Dec 15, 2012 16:05
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Bert's Friend (437 Words) Bert’s mother left when he was eight. He never forgot the day. His mother stood in the doorway, rubbing her hand up and down a swarthy man’s chest. Smile stretching from cheek to cheek, her lipstick thick and clown-like, “I’m finally happy, Berty! Isn’t it wonderful?” His mother and the swarthy man closed the door behind them and Bert never saw his mother again. When Bert was 17, his father drank a flask of spiced rum and got in a fight with the ice cream man. They tumbled into the street and the police came and sprayed his father in the face and wrestled him to the ground. “Don’t believe a loving word anyone says!” his father shouted as they put him in the back seat. He watched his father’s face in the back window as the car drove away. His father’s face vanished as the car crested a hill and Bert never saw it again. Twenty years later, Bert stood in the big glass porch at the Wal-Mart. His reflection was faint in the window. When people walked by the Wal-Mart, Bert would shuffle along at the same speed so it looked like his reflection was friends with them. Just an average, everyday couple and their older, bald friend walking past the Wal-Mart together. When he got to the end of the porch, he waited for someone else to come by. A stranger grabbed Bert by the forearm. Bert slowly raised his eyes. Black shoes. Black pants. Belt. White Shirt. Tag that said, “Dyson’s Security” and “Trevor.” Thin goatee. Brown eyes. “Let’s go. Not here to shop, you’re not hangin’ around.” Trevor towed Bert across the parking lot by his forearm. Bert looked up at the sky, “Nice day.” “Not raining, I spose.” “Been working at Wal-Mart long?” “Security company. They move us around.” “Nice.” “Yeah. Beats Fast food.” he let go of Bert’s arm at the edge of the parking lot. “Goodbye.” Trevor turned around and headed back toward the Wal-Mart without saying goodbye. Bert never saw Trevor again. Bert shuffled away from the Wal-Mart. He stopped at a McDonald’s. There was a man on the bench out front. He was dressed in yellow and had garish red hair. His clown-like smile stretched from cheek to cheek. Bert sat next to the man. The man didn’t move. Bert moved closer. He touched the man’s leg and drew his hand back. The man was cold to the touch. He lay his palm on the man’s thigh. The man didn’t flinch. Never lost his smile. Bert sat next to the man for a long time. ---- Late because I'm a big stupid baby who can't tell time. Story is based on a Bollywood fight scene I saw once where a kid's drunk dad beats the poo poo out of an ice cream man and gets arrested. Listen to this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P5I6uMCLevA
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Dec 15, 2012 17:56
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In an unfathomable display of mercy I'll admit everyone who submitted up to now. Everyone else can submit, but will only be eligible for losing. Results within 24 hours. Edit: Christ, that's appalling. Bear Sleuth FAILED Ronnie Long SUBMITTED Sitting Here FAILED Greatbacon SUBMITTED Meis SUBMITTED Benagain SUBMITTED LATE Rose Wreck SUBMITTED Peel SUBMITTED Zack Gochuck SUBMITTED Gredgie SUBMITTED Chairchucker SUBMITTED LATE Tender Child Loins FAILED Capntastic FAILED Bad Seafood SUBMITTED LATE Capntastic FAILED Saddest Rhino SUBMITTED We may need a shamebadge system for the next round for the people who can't click a link. So put your story in if you've written it, the alternatives will be worse.
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Dec 15, 2012 19:29
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Peel posted:I guess most people didn't click on the time link. Sure didn't. Anyway. One story about love, delivered late. Treat Her Right Sam got past the guard on shift by dancing. A procession had been dancing in the direction of the front doors, singing about how they intended to continue singing for the rest of their lives. Sam thought that sounded a bit over the top, perhaps. Singing was fun and all, but seriously, after an hour the throat started to give out. Thirty seconds was all that was needed on this occasion, however. The guard didn’t notice Sam mix seamlessly into the choreography, and since there seemed to be only one verse to the song, singing along wasn’t too much of an issue. After the group had moved through the door and around the corner, their extra member slipped out of the group again unnoticed. The compound was a favourite topic of the local bar. Supposedly an eccentric businessman owned the place for the sole purpose of storing a single necklace in the upmost room. There was a standing challenge that if any man could bypass the security measures, take the necklace, and leave undetected, that man could have the necklace. Of course, the repercussions for being caught were not spoken about as often as the beauty of the necklace. The people who’d told Sam the story had not been great at descriptive language and had just used the word ‘very’ a lot of times, but the point was made. It was a very, very beautiful necklace. Sam could think of only one woman whose neck deserved to wear such a necklace, and intended to retrieve it for just this purpose. The leopards on the bottom floor had been surprisingly easy to bypass. Most people would probably have tried to break into the compound at night. Most people probably wouldn’t know that leopards are nocturnal. Sam knew. One of the leopards twitched a leg as Sam walked past, but none of them woke up. The other floors posed more of a challenge than the slumbering felines, but none of them were any match for Sam, who stood at last at the safe. One ear to its door, Sam listened as the tumblers fell into place, then opened the door and gazed at the necklace within. The descriptions had not done it justice; they should’ve the word ‘very’ at least twice as many times. As Sam held it up, it caught the sun and sparkled like a small star. Probably a blue dwarf. It was blue, anyway. It would match her eyes. “Not bad” came a voice from the entrance to this last room. “You’re the first challenger who’s set eyes on the necklace. Definitely the first who’s set hands on it.” Sam turned around. “You’d never have been able to sell it, you know. And it wouldn’t go with your eyes at all.” “It wasn’t for selling” said Sam. “And it wasn’t for me either.” “Oh?” the man raised an eyebrow. “Another fool trying to impress a lady? Do you think it would’ve made her love you?” Sam shrugged. “It’s not really about how much she loves me, I’m getting her this because I love her. But no, it wouldn’t have made her love me. She already does.” The man laughed. “Well that’s just adorable. And what do you call this lady you so admire?” Sam told him. The man stopped laughing. “Really?” “Really.” “Huh. Well. You know, the standing challenge is to bypass my security measures.” “Yeah. I was so close.” “Well, you don’t think a man of my means does my own security, do you?” “What?” The man stepped aside, leaving the doorway clear. “Still have to escape the premises, though. I’d hurry before the leopards wake up.” He smiled as Sam scurried through the door. - Evelyn looked up to see Sam beaming in the doorway. “You have to close your eyes so I can give you your present.” “Welcome home, sweetie. You know you didn’t have to get me anything.” She closed her eyes, though, and Sam lowered the necklace over her head. “OK, now open them.” “A necklace, how thoughtf- wow.” The light had just caught it, and she was speechless. Sam smiled at her reaction. It was definitely worth it. It really did go with her eyes, too, especially when she was crying like she was now. “Happy mother’s day, mum.” - In a compound not all that far away, a man picked up a phone and dialled a number. “Hi mum. Yeah… almost forgot this year.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFNJLs-Ql0o To be viewed after reading.
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Dec 15, 2012 19:31
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sebmojo posted:In an unfathomable display of mercy I'll admit everyone who submitted up to now. Everyone else can submit, but will only be eligible for losing. ...crap
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Dec 15, 2012 19:31
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Chairchucker posted:...crap Really though, I don't know if your losertar can get any more shameful at this point, so you're probably still good.
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Dec 15, 2012 19:54
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Fanky Malloons posted:Really though, I don't know if your losertar can get any more shameful at this point, so you're probably still good. I'm sure someone will take that as a challenge.
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Dec 15, 2012 19:57
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This is what I get for not clicking links. Story submitting shortly.
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Dec 15, 2012 20:04
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It's rad to see almost no one with losertars anymore dudes, I feel special. E: FYI, I do take big dumps, holla.
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Dec 15, 2012 20:34
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Click for music. The Moonlit Garden (610 words) Shachi stole through the desert, her scarf adrift in the cool of the evening. The lantern jostled limp and unlit. The moon shone bright above the meeting place, and the stars alike. There would be no need for earthly light. Shachi said nothing. She had lost the ability along with the need. But in her heart and in her eyes burn a song both fierce and quiet. The day was done. The night had come. They were finally free to see each other. Padma sat cross-legged beneath the trees. Shachi found her in prayer and waited. Her words complete she turned and smiled at her guest. “Ah, there you are. Shachi. My Shachi.” Padma’s voice was weary and shaky. It sounded more and more like that these days. But Shachi’s face was all she needed to smile. “Come, come.” Shachi joined her beneath the trees, close and comfortable. Before them stretched the whole of the night, that starry expanse so clear and distant. Padma leaned on Shachi, arms draped around her. Shachi didn’t mind. She never minded. The day was done. The night was theirs. The moon their witness and the stars their children. “The hospital is emptying,” Padma said. “People are getting better. We’ll have more time, for a little while.” Shachi nodded, her smile as vibrant as it had ever been. Her work too had subsided, if only with the seasons. Soon the night and the day would belong to them. Padma, too, understood this. Without even a word she knew it to be true. “What should we do first, then?” Shachi’s eyes lit up, a powerful gesture in her fingers. “The river? There is that festival.” Shachi shook her head. “Something more secluded, then?” There by the river was a place where the trees dropped their blossoms. By the time they reached the city, the festival, they had all be collected or drowned. But there, fresh from the trees’ embrace, they gathered for a little while a garden on the water. Even Shachi who did not care for flowers found the sight to be beautiful. It would be her gift to Padma. Padma who loved flowers but had not the time to raise them. Padma looked into her eyes and quivered. They kept no secrets. She did not know what was waiting for her there, but knew that it would be something. “Very well then. I’ll follow your lead.” Padma closed her eyes and rested against Shachi’s shoulder. She had been so tired lately, but felt no guilt in it. Shachi gladly supported her, her weight as nothing. As Padma’s thoughts began to drift Shachi ran her fingers through Padma’s hair. Dear, dear Padma. She thought of so many people other than herself. Now she would let Shachi think of her. The night seemed to last forever. Shachi wished it would never end. In the brilliance of the moon she saw the two of them reflected in each others arms. The sun would arrive and with it fresh problems. But the moon always seemed to sweep them away. And around it, the stars, each a couple in their own right, the light and the fire of their love piercing through the black fabric of the sky across the universe for all of creation to see. Candles in the dark, quiet and strong. Shachi felt her own eyes grow drowsy. She could only feign energy for so long. In her arms slept Padma, each trace of her breath a gentle caress. Shachi bowed her head and wrapped the two of them in her scarf. Huddled together they were as one. And the night went on.
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Dec 15, 2012 20:49
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Oh god I'm such a shithead. I spent all of yesterday wigging out about relatives in CT. Sorry sorry sorry I deserve the worst avatar.
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Dec 15, 2012 21:29
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OK let's get rolling on these. Love in the Time of Circuitry, Pt II The Saddest Rhino So we're back on the road with Sam and Jim, the two bears with a taste for wheezing electrical tumors and avoiding authority figures. Check some of your proof reading for small things like mixing up tenses e.g 'formed and dissipate'. I get that this is meant to stand on its own, but I've read the last story and this is leveraging off 800 words the other people didn't get. I would have preferred this story was its own thing, which it could easily have been, and not reference the last one. The first half is the weaker half but the second gets into the prompt a lot more and culminates with Sam's monologue. I liked that, even though it was little cloying and I'm sure I've heard it somewhere before. I guess that's to be expected when the prompt is love and bollywood. Sleeping Beauty - Rose Wreck It's dais not dias. I like the idea and concepts, and I don't mind that it gets sappy, but the language is too cumbersome for the subject. For example, at the climax of the story describing the music you plonk in words like iteration and dormancy? With all the chirring and trilling going on, these felt like pedestrian explanations of what is happening, rather than evoking part of the story. By the same token, you could have benefited from more flowery prose here and there to describe what is a fantastical scene. Bounty - Meis How many times did the barman recognise the protagonist? About the same amount of times the setting sunset coloured sun set I think. Getting through the setup we come to the meat of this, the conversation on a distant planet between two bounty hunting lovers and... not much. It read like one person having a conversation with themselves, I didn't really get a sense of these two, who are obviously meant to have strong personalities, differing from each other voice wise, and as such the reconciliation didn't really pack much punch. The Broken Chains Of Oppression -gredgie This may be trite advice but 'showing not telling' is still a good philosophy to follow. He 'felt uneasy', 'his knowledge wasn't great', 'his soul-mate', 'took a moment to enjoy', the whole paragraph starting 'What they were seeking', 'declared to his love', 'inquisitive gaze' etc etc. This whole story would have been much better without all these declarations to the reader that 'This Is What These People Are Feeling'.
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Dec 16, 2012 01:53
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V for Vegas posted:It's dais not dias. I looked it up and you're right. I have been writing that wrong my whole life. I must even pronounce it wrong. And you're right on words! I guess when I think "I am writing sci-fi" some switch in my brain flips and I try to use technical terms like they were everyday terms in hopes that I can bullshit everyone into thinking I know what I am doing. [E: Wait, you didn't say if it was good or not. Judgement?]
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Dec 16, 2012 02:16
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Ahh, sound advice. I remember reading one of C.S. Lewis' tips about exactly that. I shall look out for it more readily next time.
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Dec 16, 2012 02:16
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Ended up getting called in to work at 5:30am. Them's the breaks. Edit: Though I'll get around to finishing the two up at some point, since I like what I have so far.
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Dec 16, 2012 02:24
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