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Mar 20, 2014 21:14
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| # ¿ Apr 28, 2024 18:12 |
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Here's my entry. No flash rule. Protect and Survive (1165 words) Her brother Bill had told Annie that nine-tenths of soldiering was waiting around for something to happen, but she hadn't thought it'd be the same for her side of the war. When the boys were returning from a raid, some in trouble, sometimes pursued by German planes, of course then it was exciting, even though Annie's friend Kate had been horrified to hear her use the word. Then you got to help, you could do something for the young men who needed you. You could guide them home. Once or twice Annie had been the last voice they heard. A lad with an accent that reminded her strongly of her Birmingham home had been cut off with horrible abruptness during a report once, and she'd had to go outside and have a cigarette before she could go on. Sergeant Cobham had spoken to her after that with the strangest combination of kindness and severity she'd ever heard. Cobham had a husband out there fighting, and Annie couldn't fathom how she could be so cool under pressure. But between times, when the planes had gone and were due back soon and you had to just sit there waiting, it was downright dull. You weren't supposed to chatter too much, in case an emergency transmission came in, so mostly you just sat there and looked at your fingernails or contemplated dinner. Sometimes Annie found herself forgetting the reasons behind the war. She found herself sick with boredom and worry; she fretted over her brother, a soldier fighting in France, and she found herself doubting that the war would ever end. It was late on a winter's night when a strange transmission cut into Annie's numb evening routine. A little girl's voice chanted in strange, stilted German. "Eins zwo drei vier funf." The unseen child had a peculiar, artificial quality, like a recording of a recording. "Eins zwo drei vier funf." Annie could get no response to her own hails and after a minute or two of trying, during which the numbers just kept on repeating, she called the Sergeant over. "Weather data, isn't it?" the Sergeant said uneasily. She was a sturdy woman and, as she leaned over Annie's desk to listen to her headset, Annie could smell the onions she'd had with her dinner. "Some German weather transmission." "Yes," said Annie, "but it's just counting again and again. And why a child?" Sergeant Cobham started to answer, then blinked and pulled the headset off. "It's gone," she said. "Make a report, but probably just a weather transmission, or something. Write it up, there's a girl, but let's get back to it, all right? They'll be back soon." Two nights later, at the same time, Annie's headset began to crackle and she expected to hear the odd counting broadcast again. When it was different, she called the Sergeant over. "American this time," Cobham said. "No, listen," Annie said. "It's not anything of ours, just listen." The voice was distant, echoey, and she'd heard it before, saying just these words. "Get this, Charlie, get this, Charlie, it's - fire! And it's crashing! It's crashing terrible! Oh, my! Get out of the way, please! It's burning and bursting into flames..." Cobham snatched the headset off of her head and frowned at it. She'd paled a little and Annie bit her lip, realising too late that the subject might be painful. "It's that Hindenberg broadcast." "Yes," Annie said. "Perhaps it's being played on some other station? Interference." "Interference," Cobham muttered. "Don't we have enough crashes and flames without listening to some Nazi airship smashing itself up? Never mind that now." She returned, brooding, to her own chair, and when Annie returned to the headset, there was nothing but the faint hiss of empty air. The next unusual broadcast came as Annie was talking to a Spitfire pilot on his way out across the channel. His announcement of his position was cut off by a sudden crackle and Annie bit back a curse to call him again. "Squadron Leader? Say again, please sir. Say again?" "A shot has rung out! A shot rang out and Lee Oswald falls! Lee Oswald has fallen! A shot has rung out here--" The frantic American voice dissolved into a chaos of shouting, furious men's voices that cut off abruptly into hissing silence. Annie looked over her shoulder, tense and frightened, but the Sergeant was busy talking and didn't so much as glance her way. She flicked switches, changing away from the channel and back to it, and found the impatient Spitfire man waiting for her response. After that she found herself receiving a strange signal of some kind every two or three days. Often they were in other languages, and those she would write up as best she could, in case they were important intelligence of some kind. Sometimes they were in English, snippets from the past that she told herself were just interference from other stations. But sometimes, like the American one about the shooting, they were about unknown and strange events. At least once, she heard something about men on the moon, and when she tried to tell Kate about that - she had long ago stopped telling the Sergeant, who was just becoming more and more quiet and withdrawn - she got herself laughed at. Kate was a very practical person. When the time came to take Christmas leave, Annie found herself almost reluctant to go. Of course she wanted to see her mother, but the signals had come to dominate her idle moments. She wrote diary entries about them, sometimes, in the little lockable book she kept under her bed. She spent a fraught, uneasy Christmas in a house too marked by the absence of her brother to really feel like home. There wasn't long to wait. Two days after her return, Annie was listening to empty air when the familiar crackle made her sit up straighter. The voice that came this time was English, a clipped radio voice, speaking quite carefully. "--with nuclear weapons. Communications have been severely disrupted, and the number of casualties and the extent of the damage are not yet known. We shall bring you further information as soon as possible. Meanwhile, stay tuned to this wavelength, stay calm and stay in your own homes." Annie had to remind herself that these signals, the ones with the strange, echoey quality, had never related to anything solid except things that were long-past. They weren't real. Radio drama, she told herself. Silly nonsense. "--a fallout warning has been given, stay in your fallout room until you are told it is safe to come out. When the immediate danger has passed the sirens will sound a steady note. The "all clear" message will also be given on this wavelength. If you leave the fallout room to go--" She listened until the transmission faded out, and she listened all that night and for every shift afterward, but she never heard anything like an all-clear.
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Mar 22, 2014 14:16
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A Tin Of Beans posted:Since docbeard kindly gave my story a crit, I decided to pass on the savings and values to you, Hopper UK! Thanks very much!
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Mar 26, 2014 00:53
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Thanks for that! Very helpful. The crits here are awesome.
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Mar 27, 2014 20:05
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I'm in.
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Mar 27, 2014 20:59
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God Over Djinn posted:Sorry to pick on you two I do not believe you are sorry at all!  Thanks for the crit dude.
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Mar 28, 2014 01:07
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Sorcha and the Mirror (1092 words) When Sorcha was little, she dreamed of working at the castle. She saw the ladies riding up the hill, and she imagined how it would be to see them dancing in all their finery in the golden halls. But the Queen only hired servants of exceptional talent, and as Sorcha grew, she turned out to be competent at many things, but brilliant at nothing. "Who cares if you can't bake a perfect pie or sing a perfect song?" her mother said as they scrubbed at the laundry together. "You're my Sorcha and that you'll always be." When Sorcha was fourteen she was hired on as kitchen maid at the mayor's house. The mayor was an impatient little man with a silly moustache, and his wife was sharp-tongued and unkind, but Sorcha bore it well and each evening she went home to the warmth of her mother's house. One summer morning, Sorcha was washing the pots and pans when she heard Agnes the senior maid grumbling in frustration. "I declare," said Agnes, "I can't get the mark to come away from this glass for anything!" "Let me try." Sorcha rubbed at the black mark with her thumb and it disappeared. Agnes snatched the glass away so fast Sorcha was afraid it would fall. "How did you do that?" Agnes held the glass to the light to see its perfect shine, and caught at Sorcha's hand to see the thumb responsible. "I don't know," said Sorcha, too startled to mind the thumb examination. "I never did it before." Together they tested Sorcha's new ability and found she could do nothing with china, wood, or ivory. A brush of her thumb could clean glass, for sure, but everything else behaved just as it always had. "I finally have a talent," said Sorcha, and when she went home that night she told her mother. "A fine talent," said her mother, "when we've not a single glass in the house!" "I can at least keep the windows clean," said Sorcha, feeling that her talent was perhaps a small thing after all. Not, anyway, the sort of thing a Queen had any use for. When she returned to work, she asked Agnes to keep her talent a secret, and the older girl agreed, but with a smile that made Sorcha worry. Agnes was a gossip. Three days later, a message came down that Sorcha was wanted at the castle. The mayor blustered and his wife frowned, for they were very seldom invited to the castle themselves. But they agreed to send Sorcha, and she went on her way with a head full of admonishments and rules. Sorcha stood in a fine marble chamber and smoothed at her skirt with trembling hands. The castle was as beautiful as she'd imagined, but she felt that she didn't belong in it at all. It felt empty and lacking in life. The servants she saw were subdued, and there were no shouts of joy or anger, no sounds of laughter. The maid who opened the door to admit her smiled kindly, but Sorcha could find no smile in return. Behind a mahogany table sat the Queen. She looked as if she had never had a wrinkled skirt, never blushed or felt awkward. She smiled at Sorcha and with one perfect hand beckoned her closer. "I hear you have a remarkable talent," she said. Sorcha made a curtsey. The carpet beneath her feet was thicker and softer than she'd ever felt. She didn't like to look away at the paintings on the walls, in case it was rude. But hadn't the mayor's wife said that staring at the Queen too long would be rude too? She bit her lip. "Don't be afraid, child," the Queen said. She gestured to the corner of the room, where a tall frame leaned against the wall, covered in a gauzy sheet. "Uncover my mirror." With shaking hands Sorcha pulled the sheet from the mirror. She gasped. Someone had hurled black paint over the mirror's surface. The fine golden frame was marred, and barely a speck of shining glass showed. "Oh, how dreadful," Sorcha cried, before she could remember her manners. "Yes." The Queen rose and came closer. "Once a man hated this mirror, for it showed him his true self, and he found the sight unbearable. He could not shatter the glass, not with fist or hammer, so he blackened it instead. But now I am growing older, and I should like to see my true self." She smiled at Sorcha, but Sorcha thought the smile was more sad than happy. "Will you clean my mirror, Sorcha?" "I will, your Majesty," whispered Sorcha, quite taken with the story, and she curtseyed again for good measure. The Queen's smile became touched with amusement. "Thank you, my dear," she said. Sorcha raised her hands and wiped the black paint from the surface of the mirror. With each stroke more of the shining surface was revealed, until Sorcha wiped away the last tiny smear with the side of her thumb. Her reflection was disappointing. She had hoped to see a fine ladies' maid, perhaps, or a fierce adventurer, or a dancer. Instead she saw Sorcha, just as she had been that morning, but now with untidy hair and black paint on her hands. In the room's reflection, the paintings were sad and faded, and cobwebs and dust covered the walls. It looked like a room that was dying. Sorcha stared a moment before remembering her manners. "It's finished, your Majesty," she said, and stepped back from the mirror. The Queen sat at her table with her eyes closed and her hands gripping each other. "Thank you, my dear," she said. "I should like to be alone when I look into my mirror. Perhaps I won't like what I see." Sorcha met the kindly maid in the hall. "I expect you could work here now, if you wanted," said the maid. Sorcha thought of the sad Queen, and the truthful mirror. "I think I'd better go home to my mother instead," she said. The maid took her to the steward, who gave her a purse of silver coins, enough to keep her mother in a comfortable old age. They sent her home, and she was glad to go. "But I thought you wanted to work at the castle more than anything," teased her mother as they hugged. "I thought so too," said Sorcha. "But I'm your Sorcha, and that I'll always be, and I don't want anyone to ever say differently."
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Mar 29, 2014 18:54
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WeLandedOnTheMoon! posted:
Holy shitmonkeys!
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Apr 1, 2014 19:23
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This is already so much worse than last week
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Apr 1, 2014 19:48
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 Thunderdome LXXXVII: Touched by a Thunderdome Listen up fucknuts. I didn't expect to win and I don't want to have to read two dozen piles of poo poo to pay for it. I like reading, don't take that away from me. Your story will be about an angel or angelsNot an alien, not a highly-evolved human, not some kind of technological trick. An actual angel of God. I don't mind what God is, I don't care if you draw from existing religious traditions or make up your own, but your story will contain or be about at least one goddamn angel. As usual no fanfic, no erotica. Judges: Me curlingiron Dr. Kloctopussy Sign-up by: Saturday, April 5th, 03:00 BST (THAT IS FRIDAY EVENING FOR MOST OF YOU FUCKS) Submit by: Monday, April 7th, 03:00 BST (THAT IS SUNDAY EVENING FOR gently caress'S SAKE) Word count: 1200 words Entrants: Jeza Djeser Jonked (Flash rule: The angel in your story is incapable of speech) WeLandedOnTheMoon! (Flash rule: Your story takes place on a ship) Sitting Here Erogenous Beef Whalley (Flash rule: Set in 14th-century Europe) tenniseveryone Starter Wiggin A Tin of Beans (Flash rule: Biblical angel) RunningIntoWalls (Flash rule: Must pass the Bechdel test) sebmojo Tyrannosaurus Nitrousoxide (Flash rule: Must contain violence but no death) Masonity Phobia (Flash rule: Your story must be told in the first person) Paladinus (Flash rule: Everyone in your story must be dead when it starts) Perpetulance (Flash rule: Your protagonist is an animal) nickmeister (dropped out like a coward) DreamingofRoses (Flash rule: Your story must prominently feature the London Underground) CommissarMega (Flash rule: A lost flashlight is a major plot point) Fanky Malloons lambeth (Flash rule: Angels are commonplace) Maultaschen elfdude ravenkult Entenzahn (Flash rule: Existence of angels unknown) Lake Jucas (Flash rule: Story must include a sentient AI) ZorajitZorajit God Over Djinn Fumblemouse Gau Grizzled Patriarch crabrock Thalamas Benny the Snake Kaishai Some Guy TT Sign-ups closed! HopperUK fucked around with this message at 22:43 on Apr 5, 2014 |
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Apr 1, 2014 20:35
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WeLandedOnTheMoon! posted:I AM SIGNING UP AND WOULD LIKE A FLASH RULE. Flash rule: Your story takes place on a ship!
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Apr 1, 2014 20:48
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Jonked posted:In. Your flash rule: the angel in your story is incapable of speech
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Apr 1, 2014 20:49
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Whalley posted:IN and I kind of want a fuckin' flash rule hell yeah Flash rule: Your story is set in 14th-century Europe
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Apr 1, 2014 21:01
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A Tin Of Beans posted:I'm in! I am as in as I have ever been. Flash rule: Your angel or angels must conform to the description given in Ezekiel 1:1 here.
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Apr 1, 2014 21:53
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RunningIntoWalls posted:Two in row. Let's make it three! In. And I need a flash rule. Flash rule: Your story must pass the Bechdel test.
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Apr 1, 2014 22:14
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Nitrousoxide posted:In. Flash me please. Flash rule: Your story must contain violence, but no death
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Apr 1, 2014 22:14
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Phobia posted:In, so in. Also, flash me Hoppa'. Flash rule: Your story must be written in the first person.
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Apr 1, 2014 23:18
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Paladinus posted:In. Flash me with some divine light. Flash rule: Everyone in your story must be dead when it starts.
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Apr 1, 2014 23:19
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perpetulance posted:In, with a wish to be blinded with a flashing light. Flash rule: Your protagonist is an animal.
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Apr 1, 2014 23:28
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DreamingofRoses posted:In with another Flash rule: Your story must prominently feature the London Underground.
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Apr 2, 2014 00:25
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and a request for a flash rule from Hopper and anyone else who so desires.
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CommissarMega posted:Flash me, goons. I know you want to. Flash rule: A lost flashlight is a major plot point.
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Apr 2, 2014 02:37
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lambeth posted:I'm in, and Flash rule: In your story, angels are commonplace and everywhere, no big deal. Think vampires in True Blood.
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Apr 2, 2014 04:16
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Entenzahn posted:In + Flash rule pls Flash rule: Nobody in your story knows angels are real, not even the angel itself (at least to begin with)
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Apr 2, 2014 12:47
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Lake Jucas posted:In. Flash rule me. Flash rule: your story must include at least one sentient AI.
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Apr 2, 2014 18:47
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Around five and a half hours remain to sign up!
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Apr 4, 2014 21:22
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Three hours remain for sign-ups!
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Apr 4, 2014 23:57
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SIGN-UPS ARE CLOSED
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Apr 5, 2014 02:59
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Some Guy TT posted:gently caress! I only just got back after a bunch of stupid delays! I knew I should have signed up two days ago! You can be in if you want! Say if you want to be in I want to go to bed you rear end in a top hat
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Apr 5, 2014 03:12
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Some Guy TT posted:I'm in thanks for the reprieve. Okay then! But that's all folks.
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Apr 5, 2014 03:21
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Djeser posted:I'm out. I'd blame work, but gently caress that, this is on me. Hopper, count yourself lucky. Or not, since you're still judging. I encourage anyone else who is afraid of judgment to drop out like a big baby coward! Reminder: TWELVE HOURS remain to submit. The cutoff is 10pm EST, not midnight.
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Apr 6, 2014 15:16
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CommissarMega posted:Is it possible to get a time extension, maybe an hour or two? Sorry dude, the deadline is my bedtime. Write faster!
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Apr 6, 2014 18:57
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Just over FOUR HOURS remain to submit!
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Apr 6, 2014 22:53
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THREE HOURS REMAIN, HURRY THE gently caress UP
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Apr 7, 2014 00:00
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One hour remaining!
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Apr 7, 2014 02:01
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SUBMISSIONS ARE CLOSED!
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Apr 7, 2014 03:00
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ATTENTION DreamingOfRoses You are toxxed this week and you've missed the deadline, but I am a benevolent god, so get your story posted before midnight EST and you shall not be banned!
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Apr 7, 2014 04:07
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Touched by a Thunderdome: RESULTS Congratulations fucknuts, you have left me with a glimmer of hope still in my heart thanks to the overall lack of horrible poo poo this week! The winner is Fumblemouse, who caught the imagination with colossal falling angels. Nice work. Honourable mentions this week go to Sitting Here and godoverdjinn for moving and amusing us, apparently on purpose. Dishonourable mentions this week to ZorajitZorajit for a boring pretentious non-story and elfdude for sucking at absolutely every aspect of what makes a story work, so they should feel lucky that - The loser is RunningIntoWalls. Goddamn, I didn't want to do this to you again, but holy poo poo was that terrible. Proofread! Edit once in a while maybe! Give more of a gently caress! Special mention to Tyrannosaurus who probably would have won if they'd bothered to put an actual angel in their story like I asked. Jeza's story is yet to appear. Djeser, nickmeister and CommissarMega at least had the grace to admit they were backing out. The following posters didn't bother to submit or say anything and are now on the shitlist: Whalley, A Tin of Beans, Masonity, Entenzahn, Lake Jucas, Grizzled Patriarch And DreamingOfRoses didn't speak up in time to avoid a toxx. I felt like the standard was pretty high this week! Some fairly good poo poo got nothing, proving that a rising tide doesn't actually carry all boats. Crits will come later. For right now, step up, Fumblemouse! It's your problem now wheeee
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Apr 7, 2014 22:11
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Here are some short crits for my judging week! More to come, and a line-by-line or two probably since these won't be very in-depth. I was having a nice day and now I'm all mad again. gently caress. Here goes for Gau, Thalamas, Tyrannosaurus and RunningIntoWalls.Touched By A Thunderdome posted:GAU - The Suffering Sister
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Apr 13, 2014 21:03
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Cutting into entry-posting day with more extremely belated crits from angel week!Happy Easter! posted:SOME GUY TT - For the Glory of God More to come.
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Apr 20, 2014 15:25
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| # ¿ Apr 28, 2024 18:12 |
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Final batch of short crits! Violence and death and torture ugh posted:CRABROCK - Angelic Sorry these took so long!
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Apr 20, 2014 16:13
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