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Sithsaber posted:Yeah I thought the last week ended with the best of listings. Whoops To be fair though, it was a p sick duck rap. 
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Jul 13, 2014 21:52
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i'm dieing
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Jul 13, 2014 23:01
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Some family poo poo's come up-- I'm out this week, sorry. 
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Jul 14, 2014 00:08
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Teddybear posted:Some family poo poo's come up-- I'm out this week, sorry. I'll take your place.
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Jul 14, 2014 00:13
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DuckyB posted:WHY DUCKS KICK ALL THE rear end EVER Hell yeah ducks are awesome honest to god truth Number 36 posted:Fowlrence of Arabia Jokes on you I've never seen Lawrence of Arabia Sithsaber posted:So are we starting a new week with the duck challenge? To be fair I never said only contestants of week 101 could compete but you still missed the point QuoProQuid posted:Forgetfulness good punchline, but your duck isn't very magnificent Sitting Here posted:Ducks Are P Chill this is cute DuckyB comes closest to 150 words on duck magnificence. Pick my team.
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Jul 14, 2014 00:41
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crabrock posted:
Thunderdome PPV Promo for Phobia VS Thalamas (100 words) CRABROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCK! I come to you for a fight, and not only do you place me on sebmojo's team, you set me up with some loser who hasn't even HMed? I'm a writing god compared to this 3-time Brawl Loser! Now I'm mad, real mad! *RIPS PANTS OFF* This week, I'm not just kicking Thalamas's rear end! I'm going to poke his eyes so far he can see his brain! But it won't be there, because I'll be forcing it down your puny throat!! Do. You. Hear. Me? You hosed with the wrong goon Crabr-*THUNK*-OCK!
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Jul 14, 2014 00:48
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Entenzahn posted:DuckyB comes closest to 150 words on duck magnificence. Pick my team. Man this would be a great moment for a heel turn. But I'mma stay face and say come join us for the glory of Team Sun.
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Jul 14, 2014 00:52
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Sithsaber posted:So are we starting a new week with the duck challenge? Here's a quacking gangsters rap: You are the most 18 year-old to ever be eighteen. I forgive you, because I was 18 once too, and I wince with recognition every time you post. Also it's Huey and Louie could you really not spend ten seconds googling it before you posted. I know you're going to say they're deliberate errors and it's your style and I just don't get it man but I really hope you look back on this one day and laugh.
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Jul 14, 2014 01:04
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:You are so 18. When a duck reaches manduckhood he leaves his childduck name behind. Nobody called Donald "Donnie" after he returned from the war. Ps. Can I take the place of the guy who pulled out?
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Jul 14, 2014 01:18
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Sithsaber posted:When a duck reaches manduckhood he leaves his childduck name behind. Nobody called Donald "Donnie" after he returned from the war. Story's due in 3.5 hours, cupcake. Post it and maybe crabrock will let it in. 1200 words, on war. Easy.
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Jul 14, 2014 01:30
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 If you were in the market for a RENTBOY MERCENARY you will have received a PM. This PM will tell you if your attempts at seduction were successful or a pitiful failure. There's a word shortage in Wroxeter! One 'Domer compiled a bribe of glorious words, enough to pay for a whole bicycle tyre. I will fight for the team of his choosing.
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Jul 14, 2014 01:35
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Kill me
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Jul 14, 2014 01:35
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Unfortunately Mista Crabrock me services only include relations! Sexual.
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Jul 14, 2014 01:37
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Morning Shift (900 words) I approached the shopper as he inspected the laptops on display, and a small grin came to my lips. I got a small commission on every laptop I helped to sell, and the extra money help to get me a Playstation 2. It wasn’t until I moved closer that I noticed the shopper’s back brace, and his left arm in a sling. then he turned to me and I saw the empty cavity where his left eye had been. He said, “I’m looking for a laptop.” Panic crept into me, as I wondered how to proceed. Most of the customers here at the PowerZone were non-combatants: radio operators, teachers, calibration technicians, all stationed in the various bases throughout the Rhein region. This shopper, though, had to have come from the hospital at Landstuhl, and before that, service in the Gulf. Maybe the wounds came from shrapnel from an IED or maybe he was in one of those helicopters that got shot down. “I’m sure we can find something to suit your needs,” I said. I fell back into my training, limited as it was. “Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” “I’m not really big into computers,” he said. The shopper idly scratched just below his left eye socket. “All I know is that I need wifi.” “Well, what are you hoping to do?” I said. “This and that,” he said. His tone was hollow, almost echoing in the empty store. I swallowed and walked with him over to the last laptop on the counter, the highest end model. “This laptop,” I said, “can do pretty much anything.” I rattled off the specs. He responded with an empty look, his one eye unblinking. “Basically, it’s really fast, and you can run all the programs you want, all at once!” “That’s pretty impressive,” he said. His gaze then slid down to the price tag. “I don’t know, though.” A beat of silence dragged onto into a moment. “It even has a webcam built in!” I said. His eye lit up for a moment at that. “Reach all over the globe with instantaneous communication, the wonders of the information at your fingertips!” A bead of sweat rolled down the side of my head. The silence lingered again, his expression blank and unreadable as he stared at me. “Do you do much gaming?” I said. “The new Call of Duty has some great graphics, you’d need an excellent rig to run it.” “No,” he said. “I don’t play many games these days.” I glanced over to his broken arm and noted the missing pink and ring fingers. “Well, you probably don’t need all the bells and whistles, then,” I said. “How about I show you another one. “It’s a bit slower, but it comes with the full Microsoft Office and Internet Explorer.” I said. It also cost about half as much, but I didn’t bring that up. “Just as long as you don’t push it too far, that is.” “Does it come with a webcam?” he said. “I really need to be able to talk to my family.” A weight entered his voice, and his shoulders slumped. I started to ask him how long it had been. How long this war had kept him from his family. Instead, I said, “No, but you can get a webcam for pretty cheap, actually. We have one for fifty dollars which is top of the line, and with webcams, you want the top quality you can get.” I realized that I was rambling and shut my mouth with an audible click. He nodded and noted the price on this laptop. “I think that might work better,” he said. “I’ll go grab the laptop from the back, and you can take a look at the webcams while you wait,” I said. I left him with some advice as to the best webcams to look at and returned to the storage area, heading for the cage that held all of our high price, small sized goods. My manager had left me the key, and I searched swiftly for the box containing the right model. I worked the numbers on my way back to the shopper. Assuming I didn’t make any more commissions before I went back to college, and I got my friends to buy most of the rounds before the end of summer, I might just be able to buy the PS2 before I went back to college. As I returned to the shopper, he reached out and touched the oculus of the camera, wincing as he did so. Perhaps he saw something it in that reminded him of his own cyclopean visage. I lingered there, allowing the man his reverie, before lightly clearing my throat. I stiffened as he looked back to me, seeing for just a moment sprays of sand and shards of metal that clung to him and his memory. “Uh, I got your laptop right here.” He slowly cradled the box beneath his arm, carrying the weight effortlessly. “Could you give me a hand?” he said as he nodded towards the webcam he chosen. “Oh sure, sure,”I said. I pulled the webcam and slide it on top of the laptop’s box. “Come back if you need anything!” He didn’t respond to me, and just walked to the checkout, just in time for the lunch rush to come pouring in.
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Jul 14, 2014 01:46
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sebmojo posted:Story's due in 3.5 hours, cupcake. Post it and maybe crabrock will let it in. Could I "cheat" by expanding on a short story I've been meaning to amend? Time stamps prove that it was originally destined for this thread before I learned the competition was closed. I dumped the original telly version (with a few grammatical corrections) onto the farm, which probably means the piece is inadmissible due to already advised punctuation pointers. If it did get in I'd try to text 280 words of examples and a slightly drawn out version of the first murder/zombie raising which had already been half assedly been considered the conceptual origin of the god War before this chance of my admission was presented.
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Jul 14, 2014 01:48
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Sithsaber posted:Could I "cheat" by expanding on a short story I've been meaning to amend? Time stamps prove that it was originally destined for this thread before I learned the competition was closed. I dumped the original telly version (with a few grammatical corrections) onto the farm, which probably means the piece is inadmissible due to already advised punctuation pointers. If it did get in I'd try to text 280 words of examples and a slightly drawn out version of the first murder/zombie raising which had already been half assedly been considered the conceptual origin of the god War before this chance of my admission was presented. No. Brawl me or gently caress off, you poor excuse for a writer.
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Jul 14, 2014 01:53
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TEAM SUN, YOU HAVE MY AXE Greetings from the Grind Mill 948 words Marcus quickly learned why they called the Northern Front the Grind Mill: you were only slowly going in circles, and once you entered it would grind you to dust. When he got there five months into the war, he knew the stories had been true before he even set foot on the battlefield. He saw the mass graves of soldiers, skin discolored, eyes almost popping out, stiff bodies cramped up from the death throes of a human organism subjected to poison gas. And when he reported to work in the sick bay, they only gave beds to those with open wounds. Everyone else could just as well sit in the dirt while they waited to see if they’d live, or die. Back in the day, this would have horrified him. But when you were through with basic training, you didn’t feel much anymore. And when you were in the Grind Mill for long enough, you just tried to survive. Every morning Marcus would be away on a mission, supporting the field hospital behind an assault, or providing humanitarian aid to the local population. Every evening he would report to the sick bay, where he’d look at the wounded, shake his head at another medic, tell his patient that everything would be fine, and give him morphine to make the dying more comfortable. Every night he’d try to get some sleep despite the enemy’s psychological warfare, useless bombings and shellings that just served to destroy what little nerves he had left. The only thing that kept him from going mad was thinking of his family. Every other day he sat down on his bed and wrote a letter: to Eliza, who he’d last seen when they kissed goodbye at the train station. And to his son Tommy, the only child they’d had. A dreamer and a poet, not the hard worker that Marcus had always been, but he’d tried to pull his weight. He had even wanted to join the war effort, but Marcus had forbid it. The horror of the front would have irredeemably broken him. When he wrote to them he only told them of the beautiful countryside (bombed to shreds), and the people who were thankful for their liberation (yesterday a civilian sniper had shot another medic from a second story window), and how saving lifes gave him purpose (you mostly went to the sick bay to die in peace). He kept it sarcastic, and dry, and witty, and each of his letters he put in an envelope, along with some money, and he wrote ‘Greetings from the Grind Mill’ on top of it, and only then did he put his gun away and leave to wipe off the blood and dirt from the day. His family was all to Marcus, the only reason he was here. Food was scarce back home, and a soldier wasn’t just paid well, he was fed for free. The nation always needed more cannon fodder, especially in the constant back-and-forth assaults at the Northern Front. It was Marcus’s third month when the enemy launched an all-out attack on their headquarters. The humid summer air had made fighting disease and infection an even harder task and the sick bay was severely overloaded. The order to evacuate had been given only shortly before everyone started hearing the crescendo of nearing artillery bombardment. There were protocols for retreat, but most people just upped and ran. The sick were left behind. Only Marcus and a handful others tried to help them. There were more sick than volunteers, and each body required more than one hand to be carried. So they picked out the few soldiers that were most likely to survive, and most likely to be massacred by the enemy forces should the make it through the bombardment. Then they took half of them along on stretchers. Marcus helped carry a fever patient out of the headquarters when there was a loud explosion, so intense he only heard a faint ringing afterwards. His vision blurred, and when it had cleared he realized that he was staring straight into the sky. He tried to get up, but his legs didn’t work. Or maybe they did, but he couldn’t feel them. Someone grabbed him and slung him over his shoulder like a scarf, and that’s when Marcus realized that his legs were still on the ground. And he felt the pain. He heard something else over the faint ringing: his screams, drowning in darkness. Marcus awoke at home, to the smell of buns and honey and the crackle of a chimney fire. His uniform lay neatly knit beside his bed, along with his rifle. The room was warm, but there was frost on the window. He’d been out for months. Months without salary, yet this was his house, and his room, and his bed. It was all still there. How? That’s when he noticed a small heap of letters on the bedside table. He hesitated. Told himself they’re probably just normal mail. People wishing him well, bills, the usual. Nothing to fear. And yet he avoided looking at them for the longest time. He had an impulse to drift back into unconsciousness, pretend this whole scenery was just a bad fever dream, pretend he’d still be out on the battlefront, in the Grind Mill, slowly being pounded to dust to protect his country and his family. But he was wide awake, and it wouldn't change. His curiosity boiled up in him until it pierced his consciousness like the sound of a steaming tea kettle. He reached for a letter. His heart skipped a beat. The writing on the envelope was Tommy’s. ‘Greetings from the Grind Mill’.
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Jul 14, 2014 01:53
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Anomalous Blowout posted:
Pleasure doing business with you, Miss R3nt80i. Anomalous Blowout fights for Team Ock, in exchange for all 100 words I won in the smacktalking challenge.
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Jul 14, 2014 01:53
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Sithsaber posted:Could I "cheat" by expanding on a short story I've been meaning to amend? Time stamps prove that it was originally destined for this thread before I learned the competition was closed. I dumped the original telly version (with a few grammatical corrections) onto the farm, which probably means the piece is inadmissible due to already advised punctuation pointers. If it did get in I'd try to text 280 words of examples and a slightly drawn out version of the first murder/zombie raising which had already been half assedly been considered the conceptual origin of the god War before this chance of my admission was presented. God drat shut the gently caress up and write something new for ONCE for god's sake Also, as someone recently told me: Read the thread Read the thread Read the thread READ THE GODDAMN THREAD
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Jul 14, 2014 01:56
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Sithsaber posted:Could I "cheat" by expanding on a short story I've been meaning to amend? Time stamps prove - DID YOU EVEN READ THE RESPONSE I MADE EARLIER OR ARE YOU IGNORING EVERYONE? JUST READ THE OP HOLY loving poo poo I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS.
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Jul 14, 2014 01:59
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Sithsaber can't join a team because it wouldn't be fair for the team he joined
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Jul 14, 2014 02:01
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systran posted:Sithsaber can't join a team because it wouldn't be fair for the team he joined also i still need another judge. SOMEBODY COME JUDGE PEOPLE. LIKE REALLY JUDGE THEM
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Jul 14, 2014 02:08
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Echo Cian posted:God drat shut the gently caress up and write something new for ONCE for god's sake Have you not read the wonder that is a gangstaduck tale? I only bring the other story up because I'm not the only one who's been confused by this week's competition, and this is where I would have posted an expanded version of itif I knew what was going on and if the other guy had dropped out earlier. "The Hindsight" is at 2000 words and counting. Edit: I was pretty sure the answer 'd be no. Just checking due to the extenuating circumstances. Ps. I shall brawl only if I'm given one full day to post(I would have to take my laptop to the library to post something properly touched up)or if the challenge is reasonably short. (No more than 250 words) Pps. Briiing it! Sithsaber fucked around with this message at 02:14 on Jul 14, 2014 |
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Jul 14, 2014 02:09
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Sitting Here posted:so can i join whenever i want?
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Jul 14, 2014 02:13
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I got tripped up by mistaking the brawls for the weekly challenges and by also mistaking the best ofs for the end of the challenge. Next time I won't let the unread pages pile up or at least I won't skip over the two important ones. Ps. I guess I have to already be signed up to brawl, so I should probably gently caress off tonight. Sithsaber fucked around with this message at 02:25 on Jul 14, 2014 |
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Jul 14, 2014 02:20
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Gau posted:No. Sithsaber posted:Pps. Briiing it! I will judge this. Prompt is imminent.
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Jul 14, 2014 02:23
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Word bounty is closed. no more word bounties. no more loving entries. POST YOUR STORIES.Grizzled Patriarch posted:i guess i should have also specified don't make fun of mentally disabled people sebmojo posted:this made me laugh the most out of all of them, i think Djeser posted:this is more about how awesome you are than how much your opponent sucks Gau posted:you literally scared him away, so you'll probably be facing one of the Mercs. WeLandedOnTheMoon! posted:since you don't need extra words i gave yours to somebody else Chairchucker posted:you're not supposed to insult me! Tyrannosaurus posted:lol. +125 words, you'll need them Teddybear posted:I hope everything is ok, but you're not supposed to insult me Fuschia tude posted:psychology burn Sitting Here posted:haha Number 36 posted:this is not very mean! leekster posted:this is not very mean. also people will care if you win because it could be a one point game. Phobia posted:people do not seem to understand that insulting the judge is not good Fumblemouse posted:you let GoD do like half the work for you, so +50 words Gau posted:+75 words
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Jul 14, 2014 02:28
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Sithsaber posted:Ps. I guess I have to already be signed up to brawl, so I should probably gently caress off tonight. Since you were challenged, you can brawl. Sharpen your finest sword and pray.
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Jul 14, 2014 02:31
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F Ration (1,262 Words) “You know what’s the freakiest thing about the Ocks?” Green asked. Heller raised an eyebrow, and the other two privates in Solaris squad listened intently from their bunks. “Their dicks, man. I heard Mankowski say a single Ock dick, fully erect, can be as wide as a tree trunk. I’m talkin’ redwood, man.” “But it’s all proportional, right?” Moralez cut in. “If an Ock’s as big as a skyscraper, then a, uh… redwood-sized dick would fit its body proportions.” Green shook his head. “They’re tall, but they ain’t that tall. Here, I’ll put it in context. Tango?” “Yeah?” “Imagine for a second you got a dick as long as your arm, and just as big around.” Tango leaned in and stared Green dead in the face. “What makes you think I gotta imagine, dickweed?” The grunts laughed, all huddling around their portable camping flame. Green shook his head, smiling, and flicked a bit of his F Ration at Tango. Tango ran a hand through his immaculate greased-back hair and picked the yellow crumb of nutrients off his jacket collar. Looking it over, he said, “What the hell is this supposed to be, Green? Freeze-dried Kraft cheese?” “gently caress if I know. Tin says scrambled eggs, my taste buds say otherwise.” Moralez tossed his own ration tin aside. “You have to hand it to military engineering. They’ve concocted meals bad enough to make the packing materials they came in look appetizing.” “You know what I heard they eat at the Special Forces building?” Heller asked. “Real turkey dinners. Full stop, Thanksgiving style.” “Oh, gently caress Special Forces,” Moralez groaned. “What about us? We’re the ones marching to the slaughter whenever those things attack!” Tango clapped him on the back. “For once I agree with you, College Boy! I bet they’d feed us better in prison.” Heller snorted. “poo poo, I’ve been to prison.” “And?” He shrugged. “It’s not the Hilton buffet, but it beats freeze-dried.” “gently caress, man,” Tango muttered. “That is some goddamn heavy poo poo.” They sat around the camping flame, lost in thought. Moralez’s mind was stuck on poo poo, mountains of poo poo, poo poo piling over him and Tango and Green and Heller and all the other grunts, all nameless, faceless clumps of fertilizer for the fields of battle. He didn’t have much experience being buried alive, but sitting pretty and waiting to be dug back out didn’t seem like the brightest plan. Moralez stood up and grabbed his standard-issue plasma rifle. He put in a new clip at full charge and yanked back the bolt. He looked at his squadmates one by one. “Boys,” Moralez said, “what say we go procure ourselves a little turkey dinner?” ----- Green crouched next to Moralez in the shadows of the entry hall. He could feel the sweat starting to stand out on his forehead. Breaching the door had been easy, no locks or alarms, but his stomach kept spinning nonetheless. “Moralez, man, I can’t do this,” Green hissed. “Nothing’s going to go wrong. You didn’t even load your rifle.” “Somehow I don’t think that’ll make much of a fuckin’ difference when they court-martial us! Did you even stop and think that I might want a career with the Corps?” Moralez glared at him. “Do you really want to devote your life to an organization that treats you like a worthless hunk of Ock-fodder? gently caress that, man, you’re a human being. It’s time to make the establishment realize it.” Green shook his head. “I’ve just got to pay my dues. Work my way up the ladder, you know?” Moralez gave him a weak smile. “Fine. Okay. Do what you’ve gotta do, soldier.” He gave Green a soft clap on the shoulder. “I’ll bring you back a drumstick, all right?” Green nodded, turning to face the exit. Moralez bounded around the corner, and Green waited until the sound of his footsteps faded away before heading for the exit. He heard a clattering sound echo through the hall, and then a voice: “What the hell are you doing in here, private?” poo poo. College Boy mustn’t have taken many courses in keeping a low profile. Green dashed back to peek around a corner and saw Moralez scared stiff, taking a verbal thrashing from the security officer. Oh well, that was Moralez’s problem now. Wasn’t it? Green sighed. Gritting his teeth, he snuck down the hallway and bashed the officer in the back of the head with his rifle stock. He saw Moralez’s eyes go wide as the man toppled to the floor, out cold. Green looked up at his squadmate and grinned. “Rule Number One for a soldier, Moralez: never leave a man behind.” ----- “Okay, on my signal. One, two, three… breach!” Heller burst through the side door with Tango, in perfect synch with Moralez and Green. They kept their weapons trained on the four Special Forces commandos and two officers sitting around the long dining table. The fabled turkey feast sat tantalizingly on the table. He saw Moralez step up to the cozy gathering. “Sorry, gentlemen, my squad and I are commandeering this dinner.” A confused smile spread out over one of the officers’ faces. “Is that so, private?” “I’m sorry to say it is. Consider this an act of protest.” “Funny, it looks like treason to me.” Moralez chuckled and shook his head. “Private Green,” he said, “restrain these men.” Green nodded and went to tie the first commando’s hands behind his back. The instant his fingers brushed the commando’s arm, the man sprang up, pistol in hand, and shot four bursts of energy into Green’s chest. Moralez screamed, face twisting with fury, and shot at the commando, whose head promptly exploded in a green burst of plasma. Another commando returned fire, and Moralez took two shots before spinning to retaliate, his shot eviscerating the commando’s chest just as an energy bolt sunk between his eyes and killed him where he stood. Heller and Tango dove behind cover, spraying plasma at the rest of the dinner party, cooking one commando before he’d fired a shot and tagging an officer as he ran for the door. The last commando tried to keep them suppressed, but Tango jumped out of cover and, vaporized his knee. The bruiser dropped to the ground and Tango advanced on him, cackling and peppering the floor with plasma bursts. The commando rolled to the side, grabbed Moralez’s rifle, and blew Tango’s stomach open with a single shot. Wide-eyed, Heller bellowed as he dove out of cover and shot the downed commando over and over until his entire upper body was a smoldering green fricassee. He spun to face the remaining officer and found himself staring down the barrel of Green’s rifle. The officer flashed him a devious grin, pulled the trigger, and… nothing happened. The man’s face wilted, and before he could beg for mercy Heller blasted him out of his chair. Heller heard a sputtering cough behind him, and spun to face the sound, rifle at the ready. It was Tango. poo poo. His guts were a quivering mess, and he looked on the verge of blacking out, but he was still kicking. The building’s alarm system blared to life. Heller looked to the exits, then back to his squadmate writhing on the floor. He knew what had to be done. Heller grabbed a silver platter with a half-eaten turkey on it and brought it over to Tango. He sat down and put a hand on his fallen comrade’s shoulder, feeling the man relax at his touch. The hard-won spoils of war were theirs to enjoy.
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Jul 14, 2014 02:34
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crabrock posted:LIKE REALLY JUDGE THEM I'm already doing this like 1000% of the time.
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Jul 14, 2014 02:45
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Fanky Malloons posted:I'm already doing this like 1000% of the time. too soon fanky, TOO SOON.
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Jul 14, 2014 02:46
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Sithsaber posted:Personally, I think literacy is overrated.
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Jul 14, 2014 02:49
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False attribution is against da rulez, suckah.
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Jul 14, 2014 03:07
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The Desk on the Left ================= 1217 WORDS “You’re being transferred to the mailroom,” Corporal Riggs said from the other side of the table. “Turn in your badge, you can keep your gun.” He cracked a smile and put his feet up on the table next to his bonsai tree. The mess was being turned over to a private contractor, so our squad was being broken up. Vince had been transferred to the armoury, Jenny to the barracks. The rest of the gang was still up in the air. “Did anyone land with me?” I asked. “Nope, you’re on your own.” “Hmm… That’s not ideal.” The mess staff had become my family, and it hurt that I didn’t get to keep any of them. “What’s the good news?” Riggs sat up and laughed. “What’s the good news? The good news is that you’re working in the loving mailroom!” “What’s the bad news?” “The bad news is you can’t smuggle carrots out of the mess anymore. You’ll have to find something new to shove up your rear end.” “Hmm… That’s not ideal.” We both paused for a moment, then burst out laughing. I slid my old set of keys across the table to Riggs and he slid my new set across to me. We both stood up and I gave my best salute. “It’s been an honour, sir,” I said. Riggs’ smile faded. “Likewise, Yates.” He gave me a salute in return. “Dismissed.” I dropped my hand and headed towards the door. As I was leaving, Riggs opened the desk drawer and pulled out a miniature rake. Methodically, he began to rake the rock garden of his little tree. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ It was past midnight and I was lying in my bunk, unable to sleep. Thoughts of my first day in the mailroom tomorrow pounded inside my head. I turned onto my side and opened my eyes to look at the photos I had pinned to the wall. The photo of my father blowing out the candles on his birthday cake always made me smile, but I was focussed on another. It was of a golden retriever standing on a field of freshly cut summer grass. His yellow, expertly-groomed fur was golden in the sunlight and his chain collar twinkled like a silver star. His posture was superb, ears and tail pointing up towards the heavens. His tongue stuck out a bit as he smiled for the camera. This was Max, and I loved him. He had been mine since he was a puppy and the day I had to watch him disappear on the horizon from the battered seat of an army bus was one of my worst. I’d left him with my sister; she sent me a letter about him every week. There’s an idea, I thought. I’ll go to the mailroom right now. I’ll pick up my letter for the week and take a look around. It might settle my nerves. I got dressed quietly and left the barracks. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I opened the door, but the room wasn’t empty. I had entered the mail station without any trouble but the filing system confounded me, so I began exploring. I consulted the map by the front door and went through the station room by room. At the end of a featureless corridor was the door to the last room. On the map it was labelled as unused, but it definitely wasn’t. Inside there was a vast number of filing cabinets with labels covering the range of the alphabet. In the middle of the room there was a large metal desk, and underneath it a trashcan full of empty, torn envelopes. On the desk there were five labelled boxes: “INBOX”, “IN RESEAL”, “OUT RESEAL”, “IN REWRITE” and “OUT REWRITE”. A man was seated behind the desk. He was of average height, with thin balding hair and a doughy physique. Large round glasses sat on the tip of his nose, obscuring a large face with a droopy expression. He had corporal stripes on his fatigues and a letter in his hands. “Hello,” he said. I was caught off guard, and forgot to salute. “Hi,” I managed to stammer back. “Who are you?” He asked. “Private Anton Yates.” “You are supposed to arrive tomorrow.” He spoke very calmly and purposefully. “I couldn’t sleep.” “Where did you get the key to this room?” I held up the whole keyring. “They came from the brass.” “I see.” Several moments passed where neither one of us said anything, we just stared at each other. Finally, I asked him, “What are you doing?” It had already become apparent to me what he was doing, but I wanted to hear his answer. “I am filtering the mail,” he replied immediately. “The army is filtering our mail?” “No.” He shook his head. “Not the army. I am. I open every letter and package that comes through this station. I read the contents, and decide if they should go through as is or if they need to be rewritten. Sometimes I throw the whole thing out.” This left me with more questions, but for some reason I started with the least pressing. “Who rewrites them?” I asked. “I do. This is a one man operation. I keep copies of the exchanges that each soldier has,” he said as he pointed to the file cabinets. “And I decide what should be written. I don’t release a letter until I have the writing down, both in content and style.” This was insane, I had to tell someone immediately. “I’m getting the guards.” “Please, wait. Let me explain.” He took a deep breath and began cleaning his glasses. “The war against the Ock has been raging too long, and it will not end soon. The battles are becoming more brutal daily. While these soldiers sit in a damp trench, hiding from machine gun fire and air strikes, their lives are falling apart at home. Their girlfriends are leaving them. Their children are getting sick. They are being fired. I cannot help them on the battlefield, but I can make their lives easier by filtering out that which will burden them. One day they will need the truth, but until then I can give them a happy lie.” “You’re an egotist! What gives you the right to decide what they shouldn’t know?” “Nothing. But the truth is it works. This needs to be done.” I turned towards the door. “Anton Yates from the mess, correct?” he called. “Did Vince tell you about his sons straight A’s? He is getting C’s. How much happier is Riggs since he received his bonsai tree? Does he truly need to know who sent it: myself or his wife?” I continued walking. As I made my way up the corridor, the man raised his voice for the first time. “At least think about it until morning! Think of how happy you were when Max got better after the operation!” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ It was past midnight and I was at the mailing station. I opened the door, but the room wasn’t empty. Inside there was a vast number of filing cabinets with labels covering the range of the alphabet. In the middle of the room there were two large metal desks. A man was seated behind the desk on the right. I sat down behind the desk on the left.
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Jul 14, 2014 03:08
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Sithsaber posted:False attribution is against da rulez, suckah. no more from you, unless it's a story.
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Jul 14, 2014 03:10
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Thunderbrawl: Gau vs. Sithsaber in Holiday Road Word Limit: 2000 Due Date: Tuesday, July 22nd  So it is summertime, and the living is most definitely easy. The ice cream man is making his rounds. The waves are lapping at my pale toes. I've just had my first kiss under the boardwalk, but my summer is not complete. No, not until I have had a roadtrip. Unfortunately, money is a little tight this year. Dad just got laid off  . So I have to live vicariously through you two. By Tuesday, July 22nd, I want no more than 2000 words about a roadtrip. Keep in mind that this is a summer adventure, and I expect it to be appropriately adventurous. There is, of course, a catch. I choose your destination. Each of you must respond to my post by telling me where your summertime adventure will begin, and I will tell you where you are heading. You do not have to actually make it to your destination; however, if you don't make it, there you better have a drat compelling reason why. I am going to make my roadtrip playlist, so get writing. Sithsaber's Funky Trip: Orlando, Florida -> The Grand Canyon National Park Gau's Strange Adventure: Reno, Nevada -> Cedar Point Amusement Park a new study bible! fucked around with this message at 04:45 on Jul 14, 2014 |
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Jul 14, 2014 03:11
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I start off in Orlando, Florida.
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Jul 14, 2014 03:14
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My advice is start in Reno. That way there is no chance you have to go to Reno.
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Jul 14, 2014 03:14
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1260 words Back Home Joseph stood in front of the house. He remembered the day they bought it; he held Carly’s hand and looked into her eyes. “I think this is the one,” he said and Carly nodded. He missed the house. He missed Carly. He walked up the path to the door, weeds poking out from between the cracks. Joseph knocked on the door. No sound came from the house. He waited a couple minutes, then knocked again. Nothing. He turned the doorknob, and it was unlocked. He entered, and was greeted by the sun pouring through the windows. “Hello?” Joseph shouted, “Anyone home? Carly?” His voice echoed in the house. He walked towards the back door and looked out into the backyard. He imagined the fields filled with corn stocks and cherry trees, side by side. All there was now was brown that stretched as far as the eye could see. He turned away, and called again. “Carly? Are you there?” He walked into the living room, and on the coffee table laid a stack of envelopes. He picked up the first one. It was addressed to Carly, in Joseph’s handwriting. It was already ripped open, but the letter was still in the envelope. He unfolded the letter. Dear Carly, I’ll be home soon. It’s finally over. I don’t know how long it’ll take, maybe a month, maybe three, maybe even a year. But I’m coming. You don’t have to worry anymore. Love, Joseph He looked at the pile again. There was another envelope. It was addressed to Joseph, in Carly’s handwriting. Dear Joseph, I don’t have the words to say how happy I am. I miss you so much. I know I say that a lot, but I really do. I can’t wait to see you again. It’s been so lonely here. I know you like it here, but when you get back, maybe we can go to the city? For like a month? Just to try something new? I’m sorry to make you think about these things right now, but being without you has given me a lot of time to think. I just want a change of pace, you know. We’ll take about this when you get home. All I want right now is for you to just get here safe and sound. Love, Carly. Joseph placed the letter down. There was another envelope with Joseph on it. Dear Joseph, I’m so sorry. While writing my last letter, which I put with this one, I got kind of sick.The doctor came over, and said it was just a cold. Nothing to worry about, just have to get plenty of rest and not going out for a couple of days. Anyways, I’ve called some people. I found a nice little apartment in the city. Maybe we could rent it for a little while, to see how things are? Just something to consider. Love, Carly There was another envelope. Dear Joseph, God, I don’t know how long its been. I’ve been really tired. I still couldn’t go to the post office. I’ll find the strength someday. The doctors keeps saying that I’m fine, that I’ll get over it in a couple of days. Doc says the stress is making it worse. So, don’t worry. I’ll see you soon. Love, Carly Joseph looked down at the pile again, and saw a letter, but no envelope. I don’t think I can make it to the post office. I don’t why I’m still writing. Maybe just to show to you that I didn’t forget about you. You’ll be home soon, right? I’m tired of this awful house. You always wanted to live outside of the city, some place where your neighbors are miles away. I should’ve told you that I hated this house. It’s always creaking. I wish I could leave. When you get back, can we just leave this stupid house behind? I’m tired of it. I’m tired of being here, without anything to do. I wish you were here. That’s the only reason why I’m still here. There was one last letter. I don’t know how to say this. I don’t think I’ll be able to see you when you get home. I can barely write. I’ll try my best to bring these downstairs for you, so its easier for you to find. I love you. I want to say that to your face, but I know I can’t. I don’t want to die though. It’s not that Hallmark kind of poo poo where I want to see you one last time. I do want to see you, so much. But I’m scared of dying. I don’t know where I’ll go. I want to say that I’ll see you up there, but frankly, I don’t have a loving clue, and I don’t want to find out. I’m so loving scared. I don’t want to die. I know this’ll be hard for you. I can’t even describe how hard it is for me. Saying goodbye, knowing that I’ll never see you again. Never see anything again. I don’t know what to say. I’ll miss you? I don’t even know if I can once I’m gone. I love you. Just, please, don’t give up on the house. It was always your dream. Me and you, in a tiny little house, living our life day by day. Start up a little farm, maybe even a few kids. I never wanted that life, but I couldn’t find a way to say it. I just didn’t want to lose you. Keep the house. I don’t want you to lose your dream along with me. Keep it, for me. I’ll always love you. Joseph put down the letter and sat down in the couch. His tears spilled onto his shirt as he threw his pack at the wall. He smashed his fist into the coffee table, shattering the top of it. Glass impaled his hand, and blood dripped onto the rug. He got up, and walked upstairs. He opened the door to their room. The sheets bulged upwards, hiding what Joseph feared. He looked away, took a deep breath, and went towards the bed. He pulled off the sheets, and saw her. She was still, her eyes closed and her blonde hair falling past her cheeks. Joseph started shaking, but he shook his head and gathered the strength to grab her and brought her outside. He placed her gently into the back of his truck. The engine sputtered as he tried to start the car. After three attempts, the clank of the engines was heard, and he drove off towards the field. He was at the edge of his land. He pulled out the shovel and dug a hole. He kissed her on the forehead, and softly rolled her into the grave. Joseph held back the tears as he filled the hole back up with dirt. When it was finished, he sat down next to her. He talked to her about the war, about what had happened. She was always curious in her letters, but Joseph knew better than to give details in his letters. He imagined her laughter at his jokes, her gasps at the suspenseful parts, and her breath of relief when he told her the final days. She would’ve held him, and whispered something into his ear. He wish he knew what she would say. He placed his dog tag on her mound and got up. Tommorrow, I’ll get this farm going. Joseph thought to himself as he stared at his home across the desolate field.
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Jul 14, 2014 03:14
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Sithsaber posted:I start off in Orlando, Florida.  Your destination is the Grand Canyon National Park. a new study bible! fucked around with this message at 04:43 on Jul 14, 2014 |
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Jul 14, 2014 03:27
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