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  • Locked thread
Lily Catts
Oct 17, 2012

Show me the way to you
(Heavy Metal)

Martello posted:

:frogsiren:SPACESHIP WEEK CRITS:frogsiren:

...

Terrible loving week and I don't even feel bad anymore that it took me almost five months to post these crits and even read all the loving stories.

Hey, thanks!

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SquirrelFace
Dec 17, 2009
I'm in. Finally.

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006

SquirrelFace posted:

I'm in. Finally.

Finally.

"France is invaded."

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002

I

AM

MAGNIFICENT






Finished part 1 of my series. 17k words.

celebrating by being in this week.

giveeeee me ur shakespeare.

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006

crabrock posted:

Finished part 1 of my series. 17k words.

celebrating by being in this week.

giveeeee me ur shakespeare.

yesssss

"A man starts up a new church so he can get remarried."

blue squares
Sep 28, 2007

Swkidmonster and Blue Squares brawl. Tyrannosaurus: you did NOT say we couldn't put words IN BETWEEN your words:

The Story of Jason, Quinn, and the Gypsy: A Gay Romp in and around the southern Italian city of Naples, Italy.
Word Count: 1190 (Including Tyrannosaurus’s words).


Jason watched Quinn pace around their hotel room. “I dunno, man. There are worse things than being turned into a spider.” He held an apple and ate it with what he hoped would look like ‘nonchalance.’ He didn’t think Quinn deserved his sympathy, impending metamorphosis or not, after what happened last night.

After a pause, Quinn asked, “Like what?”

“Like being turned into… I dunno. Something a spider eats. A fly, maybe?”

“But I don’t want to be a spider!” Quinn said. “I don’t want to turn into anything! I want to stay a human!”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have slept with the first thing that wagged his rear end at you on what was supposed to be our vacation together. That I am paying for.”

“Can’t we talk about this after we, oh I don’t know, saved my freaking life? I was really drunk. I hardly even remember it! Also, you refuse to call yourself my boyfriend, so I don’t think you have much of a leg to stand on.”

“That’s okay,” Jason shot back. “You’re about to have enough legs for the both of us. Eight, in fact.”

Quinn grabbed Jason’s hands. “Look, I’m sorry. You’re right. But do you have any idea what I should do right now?”

Jason shrugged. The internet hadn’t been helpful in answering “How to fix a gypsy curse” and that meant he was pretty much out of options. He hadn’t learned anything about how to fix his friend. He did learn that “gypsy” was an outdated, pejorative term and that it was more appropriate to use “Roma” or “Romani” because there were too many negative and stereotypical associations with “gypsy.” Like the belief that they could cast curses.

Which it turns out they could. At least some of them. At least one of them.

Quinn covered his face with his hands. That morning, two more eyes had opened on his forehead, calling to mind the insults that had been hurled at him as a child, before he’d gotten his contacts. Finally, Jason relented. He reached over and rubbed his buddy’s back.

“It’s going to be okay, man,” Jason said, “We just need to find their camp. See if we can trade something to get you back to normal. Or at least what passes for normal, in your case.”

He put a hat on Quinn’s head and tugged it down over the extra eyes.

“Ow!” Quinn said.

“Don’t be a baby.” Jason kissed him. “Now let’s go clean up your mess.”

#

“Seriously?” Jason said, looking around in disgust. “This is where you hosed him? I thought you had class, Quinn. I picked you up at a Barney’s for crying out loud.”

Quinn blushed. “It didn’t look so bad at night!”

They stood in a clearing in the forest outside Naples, in the foothills of the same Mount Vesuvius that froze Pompei in time. Beer bottles littered the ground, along with old cigarettes, condoms, and other trash. Jason kicked a Peroni bottled and watched it bounce into a rock and break.

“So, what, are we just going to wait here?”

After a moment’s silence, Quinn picked up an empty condom wrapper. “Well, we could pass the time…” he said, trying to make a joke.

“I am not in the mood for your humor right now, Q.” They leaned against a pair of trees and waited. Jason refused to look at him.

“He said he comes here all the time,” Quinn said.

“And you found that reassuring?” Jason patted his pockets, looking for his cigarettes, and came up empty. “gently caress.” Forgot them in the hotel.

They waited another half hour until the gypsy arrived, arm in arm with another unsuspecting victim. Jason and Quinn hid behind their trees, waiting as the pair neared. When the two were only teen feet away, Quinn pointed out which one it was, and Jason took off running at them. The gypsy and his new lover spotted him, but didn’t have time to react. Jason tackled the gypsy, pinned him down, and punched him twice.

“Oh my god, Jason! Stop it!” Quinn ran after him and grabbed Jason’s arm after the second punch. The would-be victim sprinted away into the woods, back toward the city.

The gypsy screamed and tried to twist out of Jason’s hold. “Don’t you move, spider-man,” Jason said. “Not until you fix my friend here.”

“Boyfriend,” Quinn corrected.

The gypsy noticed Quinn and his fear turned to anger.

“You!?”

“Yes, me!” Quinn yelled back at him and, suddenly feeling bold, ripped off his hat and thrust his extra eyes at the gypsy.

“You have a lot of nerve,” the gypsy said.

“Me?” Quinn asked. “Him?” Jason asked at the same time.

“Yes, you. First your throw up all over my pants, then you cry about how much you love your boyfriend and you can’t do this to him. Now you bring this oaf, who I assume is the aforementioned boyfriend, and try to beat me up? loving gypsy-bashers, go back to America!”

Jason let the gypsy wriggle free and get to his feet. He looked back and forth from Quinn to the gypsy and processed what he just heard. “You didn’t sleep with him. And…you said you love me?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Quinn locked eyes with Jason. “I… “ he trailed off and looked down. “I was really drunk. I don’t remember.”

Jason walked straight to him. “Because I love the hell out of you.”

Quinn looked up. “I love you too.” They embraced and kissed until the gypsy finally spoke up.

“This is sweet and all, but would you mind getting the hell out of my forest now? And never coming back?”

“Look, I’m sorry for hitting you,” Jason said. “But can’t you please reverse whatever you did to turn him into a spider?”

“Whatever I did? Whatever I did?! I didn’t do anything! It was all his idea. I figured it was some kind of fetish thing. He took the potion all on his own.”

Jason dropped his embrace. “Are you serious? You are one messed up twink, you know that?”

Quinn grimaced. “Oh, poo poo. Now I remember. We were at that bar. The gypsy bar. I thought it would be hot. I was pretty drunk.”

“So you keep saying,” Jason said, shaking his head. He turned to the gypsy. “Are you, like, okay?”

“Just go away!”

They went away, arm in arm, and with every step, they repeated their love for each other. When Quinn jerked and two more legs sprouted out of his rear end cheeks and tore his pants wide open, they were horrified, but they went back to “I love you” soon enough. They reached the bar, paid for the antidote, and Quinn downed it in one giant gulp.

Instantly, the amount of eyes on his head reduced to two and the extra legs were sucked back up his butt with a mildly enjoyable sensation. He stood pantsless in the bar and took a few deep sighs of relief. Then he looked up at the menu, turned to Jason, and exclaimed, “Whoa, look! You can turn into a fly!”

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006
:siren: SIGN-UPS ARE NOW CLOSED :siren:

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007
uurrmrmmmmmmm I'm going to have the failbrawl judgment, failbrawl crits, and last week's crits up by Monday. Sorry for the delay, but I predictably procrastinated the writing I toxxed myself to do over in the Long Walk thread. So I kind of need to do that or I'll get banned. Sorry, goons

:negative:

anime was right
Jun 27, 2008

death is certain
keep yr cool
bye

anime was right fucked around with this message at 06:55 on Oct 27, 2015

blue squares
Sep 28, 2007

Lol did skwidmonster just fail AGAIN? What the gently caress

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

Sitting Here posted:

uurrmrmmmmmmm I'm going to have the failbrawl judgment, failbrawl crits, and last week's crits up by Monday. Sorry for the delay, but I predictably procrastinated the writing I toxxed myself to do over in the Long Walk thread. So I kind of need to do that or I'll get banned. Sorry, goons

:negative:

Does that mean you don't want this?

skwidmonster
Mar 31, 2015

THUNDERDOME LOSER
Alms for the Spider God
WC: 1797

“I dunno, man. There are worse things than being turned into a spider.”

“Like what?”

“Like being turned into… I dunno. Something a spider eats. A fly, maybe?”

“But I don’t want to be a spider!” Quinn said, “I don’t want to turn into anything! I want to stay a human!”

Jason shrugged. The internet hadn’t been helpful in answering “How to fix a gypsy curse” and that meant he was pretty much out of options. He hadn’t learned anything about how to fix his friend. He did learn that “gypsy” was an outdated, pejorative term and that it was more appropriate to use “Roma” or “Romani” because there were too many negative and stereotypical associations with “gypsy.” Like the belief that they could cast curses.

Which it turns out they could. At least some of them. At least one of them.

Quinn covered his face with his hands. That morning, two more eyes had opened on his forehead. Jason reached over and rubbed his buddy’s back.

“It’s okay, man,” Jason said, “We just need to find their camp. See if we can trade something to get you back to normal.” Jason googled "gypsy camp milford pa", paused, then highlighted "gypsy" and replaced it with "Roma". Might as well not be racist.

A couple of petitions popped up from groups called stuff like "The Commission for Community Beautification" and "Clean Up Milford!" about what they called the Vagrant Problem. They avoided specifying what kind of vagrant in the actual petition, but most of the comments were all caps rants about gyppo scum.

"Here," Jason pointed, "it says there's a bunch of trailers and tents and poo poo up by Benning and 23rd. Let's drive up there and see if we can find that crazy bag lady."

Quinn passed his stubby fingers in front of his three sets of eyes, the middle pair of which had already segmented and resembled oval-cut rubies. "You'd better drive, dude," he said, voice near breaking. "I got like, kaleidoscope eyeballs." He dug his keys out of his pocket and thrust them out to Jason.

It was a quiet ride up. Jason had tried to put on some music for a second, but Quinn's mom had left her Joan Osborne CD in the player and of course it switched on in the middle of that weird song about Ray Charles and not One Of Us. Jason figured it was less risky to just go up in silence.

If both had to guess what the other was thinking about, it probably would have been pretty easy. It's not like Quinn had know what was in that lady's tattered old cardboard box when he kicked it. They were just high and trolling the neighborhood for ice cream. Personally, Quinn had thought having his feet and shins covered in half-alive spider babies had been punishment enough. I mean, what kind of freak raises spiders as loving pets?

Obviously, other than a curse-wielding Gypsy bag lady.

Romani bag lady.

What-loving-ever.

The car bumped over some tractor tracks in the dried mud on the shoulder of the road. Jason followed these tracks for a little, both boys' heads bumping against headrests.

"Ow, Jeeesus!" Quinn put a hand under his left arm, then he checked under the right. "Dude, aww, gross, look at this poo poo!" He hit the light switch on the bottom of the rearview and pulled up his shirt. The car gave a little jog as Jason jerked away like he'd seen a cockroach.

There was what looked like a thin, black finger covered in wiry hair sticking out of his ribcage.

Jason poked it.

"Oww, dude! There's a thing growing out of me, don't touch it!"

Jason shuddered a little. "Eeuch, loving gross, dude. Let's get there quick before you start leaking webs out of your rear end."

The car went back to silence until they pulled up to the camp. Christmas tree lights crisscrossed over a common area, rising to make a peak at the top of a maypole. The campers that circled like wagons around the pole were rusted, some rotted all the way through so you could see the furniture and cabinets inside. One leaned at a crazy angle, back axel bent and missing a wheel entirely.

Jason popped the door and stood, leaning against the car. The air smelled weird, like an abandoned garage or basement. It was a mustiness that exuded from the dirt. Quinn got out as well, trying to make sense of the many pinpricks of light through his ruby eyes.

"Um, hi?" Quinn did a good job of keeping his voice steady, even though his naturally high tone still made him sound like a kid. "I'm looking for, uh..." What could he say? The gypsy lady whose pets they'd stomped?

Jason chimed in, his baritone bouncing between the campers. "We're here to apologize to the old lady we saw downtown. The one who cursed my friend."

Nothing moved. A couple of flame-shaped bulbs flickered in their sockets. There was no sound other than a truck horn from the highway, distant behind them.

"Well, poo poo. Come on, dude." Jason moved toward the nearest gap in the campers. Quinn pulled nervously at the hem of his shirt, feeling too big inside it. He followed, after a second.

Jason rounded a fire pit, orange inside with rust, and started looking inside windows. Quinn stopped at the lip of the pit and watched his friend peep. "Why's everything so dusty?"

"They're bums, dude. Everything's dirty here. They don't care. That's why everything stinks, too." Jason knocked on one of the thin aluminum doors. "Yyyyello! Anyone home?"

Quinn tapped the metal lip with the toe of his shoe. "I dunno, man. I don't think anyone's been here for a while."

"She has to be here! Where else is some old fortune teller chick going to go?"

"Just because she had a big old shawl with tassels on it doesn't mean she was a fortune teller."

Jason scoffed. "Yeah, just a walking stereotype, that's all." He ran his hand over the side of the camper. His fingers came back black and gritty-feeling.

"What?" Quinn jerked his head up toward his friend. Jason shook his head and shrugged, indicating he hadn't said anything.

"Do you hear, like... whispering?"

Jason pricked up his ears, trying to hear what his friend could hear. There was nothing.

"You're just freaked out. There's nobody here. We hosed up, I don't know what to do." Jason pulled out his phone to look again at the gypsy petitions, but it said 'No Service' where his bars should have been. "gently caress," he said mostly to himself, "we're not even that far from town." He looked over at Quinn to tell him they'd have to head back, look for another camp, when he noticed Quinn wasn't moving.

"Quinn! Bud? What's up?"

A sound came from trailer on Jason's right, the crooked trailer, a groaning sound like a huge wooden building settling. Quinn and Jason watched as two long, hairy black legs rose from the far side and set themselves on the roof, followed by two more, and two more. They hoisted a swollen abdomen on top of the camper, and three sets of ruby eyes leveled toward the intruders.

Both boys found it hard to move for half a moment. Then, Jason bolted in the direction of the car while at the same time Quinn stepped toward the gigantic arachnid.

Jason found himself headed off by a dozen brown recluses the size of greyhounds. He threw himself to the side, trying for the opposite end of the camper. Another one almost as tall as he was blocked his path. That was it.

They were surrounded by at least four dozen spiders ranging from the size of a badger to the size of a small horse. All were dwarfed by what must have been the queen, sitting on her throne of a dilapidated Winnabego.

"Quinn, is it?" she asked, in a tongue that sounded to Jason like two bamboo sticks rattling together. "I must say, I didn't expect this."

"You're her, right?"

Jason's face went numb with shock hearing the same sounds come from his best friend of nearly ten years.

"You're the gypsy lady who cursed me? How are you this giant spider, too?"

"We all have two forms. Every spider you see here is also something else-- a person, a cat, a deer. We have all known the touch of the Spider God. And since my children have bitten you, you have seen the same touch."

"The Spider God..." Quinn repeated. He remembered the bumps on his leg he had woken up scratching this morning. He had been a little distracted by the extra pair of eyes he opened thirty seconds later. "So it's not a gypsy curse?"

"It's a blessing I and my children carry in our venom." The Queen looked at Jason hungrily. "To complete your transformation, you will need to feed..."

Quinn shook his head, breaking out of a trance. "No. Not on him. Leave my friend alone."

The spider herd condensed inward, pushing Quinn toward the frozen Jason and surrounding them, an island in a spider sea.

"This is it, dude. This is loving it. I don't know what to do." Quinn's breath heaved in his chest after that last syllable, his asthma starting to get the better of him. As his shoulders hitch and a cough caught in his throat, an idea struck him. Maybe not an idea, maybe more of a desperate instinct.

He grabbed Jason's semi-conscious arm and sank a pair of pincers into the meat of his bicep. Jason slowly back to the world with what started as a low terrified moan and ended in a scream of pain.

Blood burst into Quinn's mouth, and it tasted sweet. He felt the venom squirt from his pincers, and it felt good. Jason was infected.

The spiders stopped clacking. The Queen gave a slow tutting sound. Quinn turned, hissing an animal hiss at the nearest bugs. He was defending his meal.

He grabbed Jason roughly, dragging him through the throng, parting them with his ruby red eyes and mouth. Jason started to scream.

As soon as they cleared the other side of the camper, Quinn bolted for the car. "Get in! Come on!!"

Through his fogged senses, Jason hustled for the driver's side door. The spiders heard them running and came for them. Jason started the car, threw it in reverse, and got the gently caress out of dodge.

The car was silent except again, for their panting. They sped away, infected, slowly becoming two creatures, but alive.

"Maybe we can join the circus," Jason said, as they pulled back onto the highway.

blue squares
Sep 28, 2007

:bravo:

skwidmonster
Mar 31, 2015

THUNDERDOME LOSER

So in answer to your earlier question... Yes. Yes. A thousand six hundred times, yes.

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006
:siren: The Blueskwid Gypsy Monster Square Off Judgement :siren:

tl:dr pt 1: gently caress you guys.

tl;dr pt 2: blue square is a better writer and wrote a horrible story. skwidmonster had a much better idea and wrote something I actually liked but went way over the word limit.

sooooo blue squares wins by default since skwidmonster is too loving dumb to remember not to go over the word limit. I could maybe forgive ten or fifteen but 600+ starts to feel a little insulting. Which is a shame because I liked it the best. And by liked it I mean didn't objectively hate it because jesus blue squares what the gently caress.

bs, I feel like you're trying to troll me and I'm still tempted to go back up to the top and declare both of you losers. Did you think I would like your story? I didn't. Did you think what you had written was funny? It wasn't. I thought it was stupid. Insulting, even. More insulting than skwidminster going over the word limit because you created this stupid drivel concerning two gay stereotypes who prance around and whoops everythings okay no lesson learned here haha isn't it funny because they're gay and gay guys gently caress other guys even when they're in relationships those funny funny gays.

I'd like point out that I as the one that didn't vote to burn you alive for the story with the puppet loving. Because that story made me laugh and was, at the very least, cleanly written. This felt rushed. Sloppy. You oh-so-cleverly danced around my introduction but once you went off on your own everything fell apart. I didn't care about the characters. I didn't believe the characters. I didn't believe their relationship or why Jason was helping Quinn. And you topped off your poo poo sundae with a cherry straight from sitcom television: the show's over and everything is back to normal so next week we can have another self-contained thirty minute episode. Nothing is learned. Nothing has changed. I hated your story and, worse, I was bored by it.

sm, your story wasn't great and there was certainly plenty to cut. But there is also plenty to expand upon, as well. Your humor, when you used it, mostly hit. And you wrote the horror bits with a nice enough touch to elicit some creepy disgust from your reader. But your ending was still rushed though I liked where it went. I think you should probably focus on "getting to the point" when you write. You haven't quite figured out how to reign in your creativity and so your words spill across the page uncontrolled. This hurts your flow. This hurts your ability to keep your reader's interest because you keep including amusing, but ultimately irrelevant, tidbits. When you keep doing that your reader can't tell when to give a poo poo and so stops doing so all together. Now, if you can make those tidbits integral or at least call back to them in a meaningful then, hey now, you're cooking with grease son.

skwidmonster
Mar 31, 2015

THUNDERDOME LOSER
Thanks for the crit, Tyranno. Can you just judge all my brawls? Cuz I just know I'm going to piss someone else off soon

Enchanted Hat
Aug 18, 2013

Defeated in Diplomacy under suspicious circumstances

Tyrannosaurus posted:

"Two sets of twins turn the town upside down."

The Monster of Adelphia
1,495 words


The agora of the ancient city of Adelphia is abuzz with the important news. While working in the fields, a farmer's son claims to have seen a terrifying monster land in the nearby forest.

"Giant teeth!", says a boy as he climbs on top of an apple crate. "Filled with venom enough to slay ten men!"

"No, no!", says a man in the crowd. "But it had wings the size of houses, and its breath was the fires of Hell!"

The city mayor steps forward to attempt to calm the crowd.

"Friends, friends!", he says. "Let us not let speculation tear our city apart! If the news is true, the beast itself will surely try to do it for us."

He presents two men to the crowd, their handsome faces like two sides of a mirror.

"Omilitos, you are the wisest and kindest in the city. And you, Polemistos, are the strongest and bravest of us all. How do you propose to save this city from the beast?"

While Omilitos withdraws to silent contemplation, Polemistos steps forward.

"This creature is a danger to us all!", he shouts. "It will surely devour us and destroy the city if we let it. I say we take up arms and kill it before it can kill us!"

An uncertain murmur spreads through the assembly. No one has forgotten the story of how dreadful the creature was when the boy saw it, and each time the story is retold the creature becomes deadlier.

"You are truly brave, Polemistos, but do you really think we can defeat this monster?", says the mayor.

"If we do not attack it, the creature will come to us. Even if we defeat it here, our city may be destroyed in the process", says Polemistos. "We must march out and attack it in its lair! If we take it by surprise, we can defeat it and save Adelphia."

The silent brother, Omilitos, steps forward. "Brother, you assume that this creature wishes us ill and that it intends to destroy our city. But an animal will only fight a man when it has no option or when the man threatens its lair. The bee may sting you, but leave it alone and it is a peaceful beast. Let it live, and it may give you its honey. I say we should study this creature and learn whether it wishes to fight us, before we force it to do so by a show of arms."

A hum of agreement flows through the crowd. Omilitos' proposal has the potential to avoid a dangerous battle, and best of all, it involves sending someone else out to face the beast.

"Three cheers for Omilitos!" sounds a voice from the crowd.

"Hail Omilitos, the wisest of us all!", cries another.

Polemistos turns on his heel and leaves the agora, but all the others join to celebrate the decision. It is decided that Omilitos must go out the next morning to look for the beast and see if it poses a threat.

The following night, the door to Omilitos' bedroom is smashed off its hinges. A group of men rush through the doorway and pull Omilitos off the bed. They throw him down the stairs to the hall, sending him tumbling down the steps until he lands on the hard stone floor. Other hands then pick him up and drag him out in the cold night air, where he is faced with an angry mob led by Polemistos.

"Brother, what is the meaning of this!", Omilitos cries.

"I have no brother who would betray our city and let monsters eat its people!", said Polemistos. "I have told the citizens of your treachery. You will be exiled from the city, and I alone will defeat the beast of the forest!"

"Polemistos, no! The beast may kill you if you fight it alone!", says Omilitos, but he is ignored. The mob drags Omilitos to the city gates, and they throw him into the mud outside, shutting the door behind him.

"Do not return, brother, or we shall kill you on the spot!", Omilitos hears his brother shout through the gates. He pushes himself off the ground, and fumblingly he staggers into the darkness outside the city. Omilitos walks for an hour until he reaches the nearby forest. Tired and weak, he falls asleep against the side of a fallen log, sorrow and cold air gnawing at him throughout the night.

As Omilitos opens his eyes the next morning, he discovers that he had been sleeping lying against the body of a giant dragon. Its body is covered in hard red scales, and sinister dagger-like fangs stick out of its closed mouth.

Omilitos gives a cry of surprise. The huge beast yawns and ponderously pushes itself to its feet. It slowly looks around, and when it spots Omilitos, it locks eyes with him and growls menacingly. It bares its teeth, an endless row of deadly razors, but Omilitos musters his courage and looks back into the eyes of the beast.

Omilitos then notices something odd. In the corner of the dragon's eye, he sees a small stick which must have somehow gotten stuck under the lid. He reaches out and quickly yanks the stick out of the dragon's eye. The dragon howls with pain and pushes itself off the ground, flapping its wings and crashing through the canopy. The great beast flees into the distance, far away from the forest and the city.

With the dragon defeated, Omilitos returns to Adelphia. When he reaches the city, however, the gates are broken down and a sea of flames rises from the rooftops. A loud roar draws Omilitos' eyes to the sky, where he sees the dragon from the forest, breathing fire down upon the city.

Desperately, Omilitos rushes through the fire and the flames to reach the agora. At that same moment, the dragon lands, crashing down on top of two merchant's stalls which shatter under its feet.

"Stop, beast!" cries a voice. "You will not best me!"

Omilitos looks and sees his brother, Polemistos, as he leaps through the air and thrusts his spear at the dragon. The tip merely glances off the dragon's tough scales, and the dragon roars, breathing out a stream of flames at Polemistos.

Polemistos draws his heavy shield and hides behind it. The dragon starts to snap its dagger-like teeth at Polemistos, who is still cowering behind his shield. Its teeth scrape across Polemistos' shoulder, but he nimbly leaps away and pulls up his shield again. However, the dragon soon manages to lock its jaws around the edge of the shield, and it easily crushes the shield between its teeth. The dragon rears up and prepares to unleash another breath of fire at the defenseless Polemistos.

Omilitos closes his eyes, fearful of what they would show him. Soon the sound of an agonising scream pierces through his body. He reopens his eyes and sees the dragon howling and shrieking in pain, its throat locked between terrifying jaws of a second giant dragon.

The first dragon howls and snaps at the second one, trying to break free of its bite, but the second dragon does not let go. The first dragon thrashes around and rends a clawed hand through the second's wings, and the second dragon roars with fury and pain, letting go of the first's neck.

The first dragon breathes a jet of flame at the other, and the other one takes off, flying up into the air. The first dragon follows, and for a while they dance through the sky, a dreadful ballet of fire and death. Eventually they crash into each other, and together they hurtle down into the sea outside Adelphia.

Omilitos watches and waits, but neither dragon reappears. Then he hears a groan and rushes over to his brother, lying bleeding on the stones of the agora.

"Brother!", says Omilitos. "Hold on, I will find you some medicine!"

"No", says Polemistos, his one hand clutched against his shoulder. "No, I am slain. The dragon's poison has infected me, and I am not long for this world."

Polemistos' eyes well up with tears, and he says "Brother, I am sorry for how I have wronged you. I always hated you for your popularity and wisdom, but now my foolishness has cost me my own life. I only hope I can have your forgiveness before I leave this world and join the great darkness beyond."

"You are forgiven, brother", says Omilitos. "Rest in peace."

With those words, Polemistos dies. Hours later, the fires of Adelphia begin to die as well, and the work of rebuilding the city begins. The wise Omilitos is crowned the king of the city, and his first act as king is to erect two statues in the middle of the agora. One is of Polemistos, his brother, the other is of a kind, nameless dragon which had likewise given its life to save Adelphia.

blue squares
Sep 28, 2007

Thanks for judging our brawl, Tyrannosaurus. You're right about my story.

Benny the Snake
Apr 11, 2012

GUM CHEWING INTENSIFIES

Tyrannosaurus posted:

"A romp in the forest where everyone falls in love."

The Willow and the Ribbon
(700 words)


I sit on the park bench checking the clock on my phone for the upteenth time.  My text log reads like this: "meet me @ the bench in front of the library in 10 mins, come alone"

That was at 10:30--it's now 10:45 and here I am, sitting in on a park bench in front of the campus library, worried like a motherfucker for my best friend.  What happened?  What's wrong with her?  

I hear steps behind me and I whip my head around.  "Jane!"  I shout and jump up.  “What’s-”  

She shakes her head.  Something’s wrong, but I don’t ask; I just nod and we sit on the bench.  She inches as far away as she can from me, wrapping her arms around her shoulders, hiding her face from me, breathing silently.   We sit there for what seems like forever until I break the silence.  "Are you okay?"  

She turns around and stares at me.  Her hazel eyes, once full of life and warmth, are now dead, bloodshot, and staring right through me.  "Jane, what-"

"Don't," she says quietly.  

"Okay."  

"You really want to help?"  

I nod.  "You mean it?"  

I chew my bottom lip.  "Jane, what's-"

She grabs my hand and holds it in a vice-grip.  I look into her eyes again--she's not looking through me, she's staring right into me.  I see it now--something so primal and insatiable that I'd be scared if I didn't also see agony and regret in her.  "Okay," I say simply as she leads me towards the grove.  

***

We're lying underneath a giant willow tree, its branches reaching down to the ground, our naked bodies drenched in sweat, our breathing alternating in a staccato beat.  My whole body aches.  My head hurts.  My heart is palpitating.  We haven't said a single word since.  I don’t dare say anything.  I don't want to ruin...whatever the gently caress this is.  

She gets up.  Before she gets on top of me again, I stop her.  "Wait."  

"What?"  

"Jane-"

"Don't," she says.  

"What the gently caress is wrong with you?" I ask and get away from her.  

"What the gently caress is wrong with you?"  She asks me with a bitter scowl on her face.  "This is what you want, isn't it?  Don't you dare lie to me, Johnny, I know you've always wanted to gently caress me."  

"Not like this," I shake my head and back away.  "Jane, what the gently caress's gotten into you?"  

She glares at me before closing her eyes and walking towards me.  "Okay," she says and loops her arms through mine, holding my head, "Listen to me very carefully, Johnny."  

"Okay," I say and carefully wrap myself around her.  

"This is the last time we'll ever see each other again."  

"Wha-"

"Stop," she says, her eyes flashing.  "There are two ways we can do this.  One, I'll tell you and leave right now.  Two, we'll spend the rest of the night together and you'll never know.  What's it gonna be?"  

I think back to when we first met--how she stood up for me after everyone laughed at me in Shakespeare class for asking if Hamlet had an Oedipus complex.  I think back to all the study sessions together.  The gossiping, salacious texts we've traded surreptitiously.  How much and for how long we've come to confide in each other.  Just like that, she's handed me the end of the ribbon 'round her neck--now all I have to do is pull.  

Funny thing is, something inside me already knows what'll happen if I pull, that her head is gonna fall right off her shoulders.  And when I look into her eyes, I see it--the sorrow, the pleading, the tears rolling down her face.  Holding her face in my hands, I kiss her on the lips as deep as I can as we collapse into ourselves and fade away into the darkness.    

***

I wake up to the sound of nightingales singing.  I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, my body aches.  I look to the side and she's gone.  I scramble for my phone but stop--I can't even bring myself to cry.  I don't know what happened to her or us but it's gone now, never to return.  

brotherly
Aug 20, 2014

DEHUMANIZE YOURSELF AND FACE TO BLOODSHED
"A man lives, loves, loses, and regains his family while touring the Mediterranean Sea."


When you can read the world
1,478


I couldn’t see the kids for ten minutes and that was pretty good. My pink skin hurt like hell and the youngest one had kept slapping my arms where the red was worst. I told him to stop, but that’s kids. They ran off when they realized I wasn’t going to fight back. I closed my eyes, stretched my legs, and pretended like I was on an island.

“Excuse me?”

I looked up, squinting through my sunglasses. Fanny-pack, wrinkles, light blue button-down shirt, khaki shorts. English accent. “Yeah?”

“I think your children just took off.” She pointed toward the beach.

I looked around. “poo poo.”

She was concerned, maybe pushy, but it was easy to ignore. I got up from the bench and started in that direction, ignoring her protests, ready to strangle the lot of them. Part of me wouldn’t mind a drowned brood. It would make for a good story.


///


The first time I came to Italy, I was drunk. It was study abroad and I didn’t care about the classics. I liked this American bar with loud music, but nobody else did. That was fine; my roommates were assholes, Business majors, but I wasn’t much better. Anthropology and English. I thought I was Claude Levi-Strauss, but really I was a tourist with a student visa.

It was my third night there when I spotted her. Long brown hair, low cut top, seemed to be alone. Four bottles of Peroni later and I’m sidling up next to her like I’d ever approached a girl in a bar before.

“Hey, I’m John.”

“Hi John.” Thick Italian accent and big brown eyes.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

She paused, and then gave me this shy smile I’d remember until I died. “Okay, sure.”

I caught the bartender, who gave me a look, but in the thrill of the moment I was too dumb to notice it.

It took twenty minutes and three more drinks. We spoke in clipped English. I tried out some Italian, but she mostly laughed and shook her head. I wanted to know more, like what she was doing alone, but she was only interested in laughing too loudly and asking me about American pop culture.

Rhianna and Chris Brown, I told her, are in an open relationship with Prince. Paul McCartney planned to donate his body to science. Ke$ha dropped the dollar sign, said it was too expensive. She was delighted.

“It’s getting late,” she said, looking at the door.

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Maybe you will walk me home?”

I took the hint. “Of course.”

Out in the night then. She smiled at me as we rounded a corner. I followed her through the tiny streets, no clue where I was after just a few minutes. I tried to grab her hand and hold it but she shrugged me off in a way that left it open to interpretation.

We turned right down another street. “It’s here,” she said.

I felt like I was going to pass out. “You live here?”

Half way down the tiny alley, every door boarded shut, she turned to me.

“Sorry, John.”

I cocked my head. That’s when the big guy hit me, or at least I think he was big. Everything was fuzzy afterward. There was a flash in my vision, the cartoonish “seeing stars” thing, and I hit the ground. I felt hands all around me, rifling through my pockets, but I could only slur and mumble. The girl was long gone. I couldn’t remember her name.


///


The sand was hot so I left my shoes on. I looked right then left but couldn’t see the kids anywhere. I knew panic was only a few minutes away, but I was keeping it off my face. There were only older tourists and a few locals trying to sell cheap crap trudging along the waves. I craned my head around a low stone wall, probably built by Julius Ceasar, but couldn’t catch sight of them.

I began to walk. It was better than doing nothing, and the sun felt good on my skin.

That was a bad sign.

Up ahead, as the beach bent out toward the coast, I caught sight of an old carousel. That was a good sign. If I knew my kids, and I really didn’t, but if I did they’d probably head right toward it.

I stepped onto the concrete and looked at the paint-chipped thing, the lights hardly still hung, the mirrors splintered and spiderwebbed. The operator was a young guy in tight white pants leaning against an electrical box.

“Excuse me,” I said.

He looked up.

“Did you see some kids come through here?”

He shrugged and looked back down at his phone.

I pulled out some cash and held it up. He took it and shrugged. “I see many kids.”

“There are three of them, two boys and a girl. Americans. They sorta look like miniature versions of me.”

He squinted at me. “Yes, I saw.”

“Where’d they go?”

He pointed further down the beach. “There.”

I walked back onto the sand. I could feel the guy’s gaze linger as I wandered down along the beach, and I wondered if parents lost their kids all the time. Maybe they do, and for different reasons. My reason was negligence. On the list, that’s not too bad.


///


Staring up at the sky, I thought my ribs were broken. I flexed my toes and fingers and felt relieved that I wasn’t paralyzed. I dabbed at my skin along my ribs and thighs, as if I could feel the break in a bone.

My first thought was, I hope that girl is okay. My second thought was, I’m definitely in love.

I reached up and touched my face. My fingers came back with blood, but I wasn’t dizzy. I sat up and looked around. The place was deserted.

That’s what happens when you think you can read the world. In retrospect, which is only when this stuff makes sense, there were signs. She was way too interested in me, for one. Another, the look the bartender gave me, like, you don’t know what you’re doing, kid. Then there was the way she walked.

“What happened to your face, man?” my roommate said when I finally got home.

It took two taxis and the rest of my money.

“I fell in love tonight.”

He shook his head. “loving Anthropology majors.”

My room was small and my bed was hard but it wasn’t so bad. I pretended that I was in the galley of a huge ship heading out to the Congo. I would write my travel memoirs, and she would play a role. I wasn’t sure which.

It was a month before I saw her again. Same American bar, same pop music two years too late. She sat in the same seat and gave me the same look, like she didn’t recognize me. The swelling had gone down by then.


He might have lied or he might have been wrong. I couldn’t catch sight of them. I was starting to care. There was a last time for everything.

More lazy tourists, annoyed locals. I adjusted my sunglasses, felt light on my feet. The sand would have burned, if I had let it. I kept marching because I was a dad and that’s what you did for your lost kids.

Then I heard them before I saw them. Loud and tan, like their mother. Big brown eyes and dark hair. They were digging a ditch, or a hole, or whatever they thought it was. Maybe a tunnel. But it was deep. The bottom was wet and smooth.

The youngest one stood inside smiling up at me. “See what we did?”

“I see it. Let’s go back.”

I herded them in single file. For once, they didn’t complain.


///


I told her that Jay Z and Beyoncé were thinking about going into politics. I told her the Spice Girls were reuniting, but only in failed Soviet states. I told her about the feud between Pit Bull and Bow Wow. I told her it’s impossible to hear a Lil Wayne song backwards.

I told her that Britney Spears was trying to start a new fashion trend when she shaved her head. I told her love songs by Justin Timberlake were actually magic spells, and they worked.

When she stood up and asked me to walk her home, the bartender didn’t give me a look. I didn’t even try.

I shook my head and said no thanks.

“John, are you gentleman?”

“I guess not.”

She looked pissed. “You rear end in a top hat, John.”

I offered her another drink. She left a half hour later with a red-faced tourist in a baseball T-shirt.

Thranguy
Apr 21, 2010


Deceitful and black-hearted, perhaps we are. But we would never go against the Code. Well, perhaps for good reasons. But mostly never.
"A young prince plans revenge against his murdering uncle."

Any Way the Wind Blows

1477 Words

“How the hell am I loving not the loving King already?” said the Prince, banging his left hand on the table so hard that he winced and started shaking it.

“Well,” I said, “You were out of the country when they had the election.”

“When they had the election,” repeated the Prince. “And what was the hurry on that? They could easily have waited the extra three weeks it would have taken to wait for me to get back. It's not like the peasants were rising up or the Swedes were about to invade.”

“It's not like your mother couldn't managed to survive three weeks without being properly boned,” said the Fool.

“Don't talk about my mother,” said the Prince. “She's a saint. If they had to pick in such a hurry, they should have just made her Queen and left that murderer out of it.”

“About that,” I said.

“I have proof,” said the Prince. “The direct statement of my father's own ghost.”

“Somehow,” I said, “I doubt that would hold up in a court of law.”

“Dying declarations are an exception to the hearsay rule,” said the Fool.

“Dying?” I said. “He was three weeks past dead. And you're the only one who heard him say anything.”

“You and the guards saw him,” said the Prince.

“We saw something. A light. Swamp gas, perhaps. But if it did speak, it was only to you. Did this ghost give any details, anything that can be verified?”

“My father told me that my uncle crept into his bedroom and poured poison into his ear,” said the Prince.

“Gave him horrible advice?” asked the Fool. “Told him to try the oysters at the buffet line?”

“No,” said the Prince, glaring at the Fool. “I mean literally poured literal poison directly into his literal loving ear.”

“An innovative means of venom delivery indeed,” I said. “But nothing that will make it easier to prove the crime to the council.”

“Prove? Prove?” said the Prince, his voice rising. “Everybody already knows that he killed the old King.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “But, well, there are other things that everybody already knows.”

“What are you talking about?” asked the Prince.

“There is widespread concern,” I said, “About your own mental health. The word 'Melancholy' is frequently bandied about.”

“Meaning 'Mad as a hatter with breaches full of fire ants,'” said the Fool.

“Quiet,” said the Prince. “And do you agree with them?”

“Well,” I said.

“Yes?” said the Prince.

“You are aware,” I said, “That the fool over there is just you doing a squeaky voice while waving around that skull on a stick.”

The Prince frowned and paused a few seconds. “Of course I am. Part of my grieving process. Giving a voice to my inner critical demons, and all that. I am but mad north-northwest. When the wind is southerly I can tell a hawk from a handsaw.”

“That's not very reassuring,” I said. “I mean, one is a giant bird of prey and the other is a carpentry tool. If being able to tell the difference between those is your metric of sanity-”

“Actually,” puppetsplained the fool, “A hawk is also the word for a plastering trowel. So he's able to distinguish two different kinds of building tools. Or two different birds, since 'handsaw' sounds like-”

“Neither of the two being the sharpest tool in the shed,” I said. There were a few moments of near silence.

“Leave the comedy to the professions, Horatio,” said the Prince. “Well, if more proof is called for, I have a brilliant plan.”

-

“See?” said the Prince as the tragedians were taking their bows. “My plan worked perfectly.”

“Did it?” I asked.

“Absolutely. I mean, did you just see that? Right when we got to the part where the villain murders his brother the King, right then the real King stood up and left the theater. Clearer proof of a guilty conscience you'll never see.”

“I see,” I said. “And what, exactly, would an innocent man have done at that point, as the victim of such a base slander?”

“Wait, I've got it!” exclaimed the Fool.

“Or, for that matter, what would the reaction of any discerning patron of the arts, after the preceding thirty minutes in which the revenge tragedy abruptly transformed itself into a drawing-room farce with contrivance after contrivance explaining how Gonzago's wife was conveniently out of the room every time the murderer chose to slip in?”

“Well,” said the Prince, “I mean, that's how it had to have happened. Only stands to reason that mother couldn't have possibly known a thing.”

“Really,” I said. “No other possibility occurs to you at all?”

“My mother,” said the Prince. “Is a saint.”

“A Saint Bernard,” I said, smiling and looking around.

“You really have no idea how humor works, do you?” said the Fool.

“Shut up,” I said.

“I mean, she's not even particularly fat,” said the Fool. “She's pretty hot, in fact. So what's left there? She provides nourishing alcohol to people trapped on the ice? Seriously, what was that even supposed to mean?”

“gently caress you,” I said, not unaware of the absurdity of cursing a puppet.

The Prince turned the Fool to face himself. “The sad thing is that he's probably been workshopping that for days.” The puppet head swiveled around back to me. “You've been polishing that little piece of verbal excrement since the last time he said that, haven't you?”

“That's about as much abuse as I'm willing to take from an imaginary friend,” I said.

“Look who's talking,” said the Fool.

“What do you mean?” I said.

“Haven't you noticed that you don't ever have any significant interactions with anyone around here other than me and the Prince?” said the Fool.

“People talk to me,” I said.

“People tell you to leave the room. After hearing the Prince talk to you. And mostly they keep their eyes focused straight on him, don't they?” said the Fool. “Face it, you could easily be a hallucination. Notice how you keep showing up when the Prince thinks he's alone, too?”

“Enough,” said the Prince. “Don't you want to hear about the next stage of my brilliant plan?”

“Sorry, but not really,” I said. “I'm having a bit of an existential crisis brought on by your puppet.”

“Welcome to my world,” said the Prince.

-

“So,” I said to the Prince as he prepared for battle, “This is the culmination of your brilliant plan?”

“It is,” said the Prince, beaming. The Fool, thankfully, had been left behind as the Prince intended to fight his duel without the handicap of carrying a useless stick in one hand during the contest.

“You start by murdering your girlfriends father, a man who, I might add, did nothing whatsoever wrong.”

“He was hiding behind a curtain in my mother's chambers. Obviously up to some kind of mischief.”

“I thought your mother was a saint,” I said.

“Besides, he always was a pompous rear end.”

“True enough.”

“And in killing him I get his son-”

“One of the finest swordsmen in Denmark,” I interrupted.

“-to challenge me to a formal duel. Which my dear old uncle has to officiate in person.”

“So?”

“So I get to have my blade out right near the old tyrant. Shouldn't be any problem to run him through during the whole mess.”

“No trouble?” I said. “With a six-foot tall killing machine who blames you for the deaths of his father and little sister doing his level best to turn you into a pile of melancholy cutlets all the while.”

“No trouble. You see, I plan to cheat.”

-

“I don't like to say I told you so,” I said to the dying Prince.

“Liar,” said the Prince, in the Fool's voice although the skull puppet was nowhere to be seen.

“But, never the less, poisoning everything in the room was never going to work out.”

“He's dead, isn't he? I call that a partial success, with bonus points for irony,” said the Prince just before he died.

I was relived to still be around, to finally have proof that I was not merely a delusion of the somewhat daft Dane. I did wonder exactly what to do with the rest of my life. Hanging around with the Prince didn't seem to particularly qualify me for anything in particular. I wondered if Fortunbras might be in need of a fool.

Fuschia tude
Dec 26, 2004

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2019

Martello posted:

:frogsiren:SPACESHIP WEEK CRITS:frogsiren:
Thanks!

TheAnomaly
Feb 20, 2003
Kissing a boy

1498 words

If this was a movie script, it would open with something cheesy like “Scene: A cold flat desert with buzzards flying overhead and a tumbleweed moving slowly across the foreground.” Of course, it isn't a movie, if there were any buzzards I could kill them and use their blood to keep us alive. No tumbleweeds, either. Just the useless green spiny plants, Cacti I think. It's hard to remember some of that stuff from the time before.

Instead, I'm telling myself it's just a desert. Just a small desert between needles and the Colorado River. Needles is where I grew up, a town that redefined hot. I thought I was a tough desert kid, I could make it, no problem. I had a map. Hell, if it had just been me, I could've done it. But it's not.

Emma is sitting there, looking at me with those giant anime looking eyes of hers. She'd be crying if she had any water in her system, but we're running low on water and I told them not to drink any yet. Peter is off in the back, giving up space. In a second he'll go down the hill and look at a Cacti or something, pretend he doesn't want to be here. I can't say I blame him.

I'm trying to remember how I got into this mess; no, that's another lie. I'm wishing I couldn't remember how we got here. That would be easier; as David Thomas (the preacher, not the actor) would say: “Unselfish and noble actions are the most radiant pages in the biography of souls.” I wish I could pretend this was without selfishness, that it was all for Emma and Peter. But I couldn't, not without lying to myself, and “to thine own self be true” is another one of those useless quotes I picked up in the library my mom dropped me off at.

It wasn't that we were poor, it was that we were, well, a unique family. Dad wasn't around, mostly because mom didn't know who he was. “Never let 'em fall in love with you, kid, it'll just ruin it. And definitely don't ever fall in love with them.” Then she'd tell me to read Shakespeare or watch that movie with John Wayne (who she was definitely in love with, but never took a turn with) where he falls in love with an Irish Woman and everything goes to hell and then turns out fine at the end. At least it was never that Disney Princess garbage.

On the other hand, I have mom and the library to thank for most of my education in useless knowledge, like the size and power of the Colorado river, how to read a map, how to tell people what they want to hear and make them believe it. If it hadn't been for the day of fire, I think I'd have made one hell of a business woman. As it is I was the smartest 13 year old at that stupid day camp. As the good ol' duke would say “Life is tough, but it's tougher when you're stupid.”

We did have to leave that place, though. It was going to kill Emma and me, and it would have turned Peter into something, well, someone not worth being. Peter deserves better than that, and truth is so does Emma. She was a Disney Princess kinda girl, sharing is caring and all that jazz. She had just started to bleed, and once the guys found out that meant they could start taking turns with her, and she would have been popular. Peter just didn't want to rape people, even if they say there's no rape in a dead world. That's all Coach K, was all Coach K, and he's a dirty old man who needed to die anyway.

I hadn't planned on bringing them; just one shot, man down, and I'm out. Had 6 days of water and a road map. But I couldn't leave them behind. So maybe I'm not being completely selfish in all this, just a little.

She's still looking at me with those big eyes, like she wants me to tell her it's all lies, or just a cruel joke, but I can't. It's a 3 day trek to the Colorado if you know the way and where you're going, and I only barely had a map. My 8 days of water became maybe 3 when they signed on, and now we're down to 1 day, maybe, for 2 people. Colorado is at least 2 days away at the rate we're going, and that means one of us has to stay behind.

I can still see the look in their eyes when I told them. Peter was good with math, he probably knew already but couldn't bring himself to say anything. Emma is smiles and sunshine nothing can go wrong type. God she's still looking at me with those eyes, and there's actually a tear now. I want to start crying, too.

The argument was the hard part – only two can make it, one has to stay. Can't be Peter. “why not?” asks Emma “Can't we all make it? Can't we draw straws or something?” I know then it'll be me. I can't leave that girl out here to die. I've never loved or been loved, but she's too... beautiful. The world needs her.

Peter was beautiful to, in his own way. A sad angular face, decent muscles, a really goofy smile that lit up the world. Made me understand Romeo and Juliet just to look at him a little. I think I prefer dehydration to stabbing myself in the heart, though. When I say it, he just looks at me funny for a moment, like I just turned into a werewolf or something. He's running his brain, trying to figure out why it has to be me or Emma. Before it can hit him I just let him know “you need a boy and a girl to make a new world, Pete. I'm a girl.”

It's a bombshell, I know. I've kept my hair cropped short this whole time, done the so called “mans work” or fixing things and planting and building. I, like Peter, had declined “taking turns.” I was also the meanest, toughest, and shootin'est kid at camp. John Wayne would have been proud, Shakespeare probably less so. I had to be, though, I needed the freedom to not take communal showers, or piss in a urinal, or any of the other things that would have given me away. I sure as hell was not going to let anyone take a turn with me.

Which brings me back to here and now; Emma looking at me with those eyes, those luminescent saucer-like eyes. I'm looking back, and I realize (for the first time, because sometimes I am just a dumb girl) that I like looking into them. I'm going to miss looking at those eyes, feeling a little weak whenever she looks at me; Shakespeare really wouldn't be proud now; his gender bending wound up with guys and girls getting married, not a main character contemplating a threesome before wandering south and dying.

And that's when she kisses me. It's like nothing I've ever felt before. Even thout we're both parched, her lips are still smooth and taste a little like cherries (I always knew she had lip balm stowed away somewhere) and it's just a little wet and a little dry and I can't breathe and I don't care and my hands on her back. She pulls away, a little smile on her face and a wink that says “I don't care that you're a girl” and I realize that I'm not the only one. It's a shame I have to die now.

So I'm looking at her now, remembering that it's better to die with the harness off of my back than it would have been to die a slave (also Shakespeare) and she's smiling with just a hint of sadness because we both know how this goes. Peter is coming back up the hill now, and he's carrying his water bottles and their full.

My mouth drops to the floor as he gets closer, smiling like a drat circus clown, and Emma's eyes get even bigger and he's still smiling like a drat circus clown. I want to punch him so bad right now but I can't because he's just saved my life. So instead I ask him “where'd you get the water, Pete.”

And he keeps smiling as he answers “you aren't the only one who knows stuff, Kelly.” So I jump into his arms, and I think to myself in just a few seconds I'm going to learn what it's like to kiss a boy, and to hell with my mom, David Thomas, Shakespeare, and John Wayne, I'm loving these ones.

SquirrelFace
Dec 17, 2009
Diplomacy

Words:1284

“You see, I have it all worked out. She needs me.” I say to Danny as we head to the hotel conference room. For two months I’ve been planning. My position paper is solid and my research is impressively organized in the black binder clutched to my chest. You can’t technically win at model UN, but if you could win, you would do it with preparation like this.

"Dude, she’s France. She doesn’t need you.” Danny, tosses his binder up and down, almost dropping it and spilling the contents all over the hallway. Even if he did it wouldn’t matter. I’ve seen it. He’s not prepared. I don’t think he even has a position paper, but he’s just Croatia. Just a side dish to Europe’s steak. “Besides, that whole communism thing freaks people out.”

“That doesn’t matter when it comes to global warming. It will be perfect, a cross-continent alliance between France and China. And Croatia of course.” It isn’t so unrealistic. I wrote the whole position paper based on this alliance and it is sound. Cherry will see how brilliant it is and after a day spent debating and plotting, we will be cheered and share an intimate kiss as we accept all the well-deserved praise. Well, maybe not a kiss yet, but if I can just get her to spend some time with me I can at least broker an agreement to sit together at lunch.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s way too pretty for you. And why do you want to get with a sophomore anyway? In 6 months we’ll be in college and those girls actually like a smart guy.” Danny said, punching me in the arm, smiling weakly. He almost looks sad, but I would look that way too if I was so hopelessly ill-prepared.

When we get to the door, Cherry is already there, waiting outside. She perks up when we get close and smiles. She’s a radiant, beautiful, perfect creature and she’s smiling at me. Cherry flips her long yellow hair to one side and I catch a whiff of her shampoo, something flowery and sweet and intoxicating. She’s dressed for the event in a smart, political suit, but her skirt is a little shorter than is appropriate for an ambassador. I smile back at her. The French can be forgiven a little risqué clothing.

Taking a deep breath, I speed through the pitch in my head one last time. Mom said it was great when I recited it to her last night. She said there was no way a girl could say no to logic like that.

“Hey Cherry.” I grip the binder tighter to keep her from seeing the tremor in my hands, but I can tell by the look she’s giving me, the look you give a scared little kid, that the tremor is not entirely gone from my voice. “I have a great opportunity for you and your country to join with one of the world’s largest economic super powers. Namely me, China. I think we would make a great…”

“What? In the game?” Cherry cuts me off. I want to correct her. It’s not just a game, but her eyes are so much bluer up close and I can’t bring myself to do it.

“Uh, Yes, in the game. France and China…”

“I’ll think about it, ok Jer?” She looks up to Danny quickly and then back to me before giving us a tight smile and pushing through the door.

Even though I didn’t finish the pitch, I’m pretty sure she’ll come around. She knows my name. That’s something right? I look to Danny for reassurance, but all he can do is shrug and motion to the door with his head. I shrug back, but it’s stiff and awkward and I’m still shaking a little. He pushes open the door and I follow, quickly finding my seat at the Asia table and spreading out my materials.

Directly across from the Asian table is Western European table where Cherry is sitting, playing on her phone. Danny is at the Eastern European table next to hers, but quickly swaps his placard with Spain, sliding into the chair next to Cherry. Danny has always been easy and cool and if anyone can convince her of the merits of my plan it’s him. I wave my arm to get his attention and when he turns to me I flash him a quick thumbs up. He cocks his head to the side and frowns.

The moderator turns on the podium microphone and the screech of feedback from it may as well be coming from my heart as Danny effortlessly slips his hand into Cherry’s under the table.

Judas. Brutus. Hitler. There has to be an equivalent person from Croatia, but whatever his name is, it’s escaping me now. I know the moderator is speaking, running over the rules I already know by heart, but all I can hear is a low buzzing in my ears. My vision is blurring, but I’m pretty sure I see Danny mouth “sorry” across the room. Before I can consider the consequences, I shoot up out of my chair, sending it skittering behind me into the wall.
“China is invading France!” I yell. I mean it to be booming, but it just comes out all squeaky. The moderator pauses, sighing and putting a hand to his forehead.

“Young man, you can’t just invade France. There are at least 20 other countries between China and France and you would have to get permission from all of them to march through their territories.”

“I have planes.” I can’t win this I know, but I can’t back down.

“You still have to get permission to…I’m not having this discussion with you. We haven’t even started yet. Now sit down and let me finish.”

I can’t sit down. I can’t let Danny win. The laughter starts with him, but soon spreads to the other students in the room, until the moderator pounds the gavel and the room goes silent again. Danny leans over to Cherry and whispers something in her ear that makes giggle and raise her hand.

“What is it?” the moderator says, rolling his eyes.

“I would like to formally request a Sanction against China for being a jerk.” Her eyes dart from me to the moderator as she tries to smother her laughter with her palm.

“This is not how this game works! We are not invading or sanctioning anyone!” The moderator takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before continuing. “Everyone take 15 minutes, calm down, and we’ll resume at 1130.” He storms out the side door, cigarette already in his hand.

I run into the hallway, leaving my binder and papers and everything all over the table. Without France, my plan is nothing. It’s all been a waste. Without France, everything is a waste.

There is a bench at the end of the hall that I slump into when I can’t run anymore. I can’t go back and I can’t leave. Mom isn’t picking me up for 4 more hours and if I call her and ask her to come get me early she’ll know something is wrong. I’m not ready to discuss my defeat yet.

The other students slowly file into the hall. The ones that notice me laugh and whisper to each other, but never approach; always heading in the opposite direction. Danny comes out last, pulling Cherry behind him, their hands still attached. I don’t know if she sees me, but he does. He smiles a little half-smile and pulls her in for a kiss before heading after the other students and away from me.

France is invaded.

SquirrelFace fucked around with this message at 23:33 on May 31, 2015

Jonked
Feb 15, 2005
The Final Lap, 1077 words

The world shattered, spun, then collapsed. Distantly I could hear the track crew shouting my name, demanding a response. Petrol was slowly pooling around me, as it drained from the race car's thanks. I coughed, and tried to clear my head. My throat refused to work.

Racing is a death sport, regardless of the noble words spoken by team owners and race promoters. The fans wanted dangerous races - they wanted the screech of tormented metal and bloody crashes. Sure, they'd fall silent as the crews carried away a mangled body, but the chittering would return soon enough. They wanted the visceral thrill of their hero risking life and limb.

It had started small - amendments to the rules that increased the speed, and so forth, They relaxed the safety regs, allowed lighter frames, allowed fewer safety features. We went faster, and crashed harder. Not that us drivers had any illusions about what was going on. Those who valued their lives retired, and those who stuck with it, well... we demanded compensation. You could tell if a new rule was going to kill someone - in the hours after an announcement, you'd get a flurry of contract negotiations and bonuses.

It wasn't an official thing, of course. Nobody was saying "Hey, murder someone on live TV, and we'll put you in the commercials, we'll put you on the talk shows, we'll put you on the cereal box." But it didn't take a cynic to understand.

That's what I thought about, as the fuel washed over me, soaking into my gear. I remembered when I first killed someone on the track. Michael Rogers - we had been competing for Rookie of the Year. The season had been coming to a close in San Diego, two or three races left. We came down the final stretch on the final lap, jockeying for position. We were towards the front of the pack, I remember that. Fourth or fifth.

I bumped his back wheel. It was an accident, mostly. But his back wheel popped, leaving shredded rubber behind him. It was like when a calf stumbles in a stampede - Rogers was trampled underneath. He slammed against the barrier, flipped, then skid as two of the cards behind us slammed into the poor bastard. I sailed to a respectable finish, while Rogers had his brain slammed against the side of his skull before filling up with blood.

They told me it was instantaneous.

I felt dead inside, afterwards. Like someone had doused my soul with ice water. But the owner came in, that smiling rich shithead. He slapped me on the back and said. "Congrats, you're going to be Rookie of the Year."

At the moment I wanted to punch him. But six months later, when I got the sponsorship money and groupies, when they put me on the video game cover, and little kids would come up and ask for my autograph... well, I had to admit that celebrations were in order. Cheers to the dead man, we drink to his memory.

It started from there. Each season I drove a little more aggressive, a little more reckless. I'd be involved in a crash, and I'd feel bad for a day or two. But as soon as the body was in the ground, the money and the women would start rolling in, and I'd get over it a little bit quicker. Oh, the crowd loved it.

The track crew was running away now. I couldn't really blame them.What was his name, that kid that was my first victim? The first one I deliberately murdered, whose life I took on purpose? I couldn't remember his name or face. I just remember him being in front of me. I slammed him, sent him into a spin. I didn't bother to watch the crash - he had fulfilled his purpose. The pack behind me slowed down, either as they slammed into his car or tried to avoid the wreckage. I got my first place finish.

Things changed after that. They started calling me "The Headhunter", and the old timers looked at me differently, whispered things behind my back. But the younger guys understood - nothing personal, just business. It's a dog eat dog world, and everyone is hungry. The new guys followed my lead, and things were bloody for a bit. So bloody, it seemed like it was too much even for the owners. But then they saw the ratings and the PPV revenue, and they got their spines back

One by one, the old timers retired or bit it on the track - all but me. Every now and then, someone tried to take out. I smeared them across the asphalt, and let my reputation deal with the rest. I was the king of the blood-stained track.

But such things can’t last forever. The owners, they got sick of me being the time-scarred face of the sport. They’d put up some young fighter as the new face of the sport, and he’d get too big for his britches. He’d try to take me down - or she, a couple times - and I’d respond in kind. I’d leave them battered or broken, too scared to come at me again. The crowd didn’t like that so much, me killing their heroes. They started turning against me.

There wasn’t much to do at this point, except wait for the inevitable. I always wondered how those other guys went out, whether they were cowards or faced the it with courage. I guess now I realized that it didn’t matter. A stiff upper lip or blubbery tears, it wasn’t going to change anything. I guess now I really understood.

It was how it happened that bothered me. The steering… it was loose. The whole thing seemed too convenient. I had noticed it the first couple hundred laps, but didn’t think about it too much. Maybe I was looking for an excuse, a reason why it wasn’t my fault. But as I came around the bend, I couldn’t quite get into it. I’m not sure who came in behind me, but he slammed into my rear and suddenly I lost control.

Everything after that didn’t make any real sense. It was just sounds and colors, a mess of images as the world moved around me. It seemed like it took a long time for the fire to ignite.

I wondered if they’d say it was instantaneous.

Benny the Snake
Apr 11, 2012

GUM CHEWING INTENSIFIES

Tyrannosaurus posted:



Week One Forty-Seven; or, the Tragedy of Shakespeare Descending

Can’t ever figure out what you want to write about? Don’t have a creative bone in your body? Just dumb as hell? No worries! Sign up this week and I’ll give you a one sentence summary of the story you’ll be writing! I can see people freaking out already. Chill. These are all good ideas. I'm copping them off the greatest writer of the English language.

1500 words
No erotica

Deadlines
Sign-ups: Friday at midnight (EST)
Submissions: Sunday at midnight (HAST)

Dramatis Personae
dmboogie: "Power corrupts the substitute duke who tries to seduce the sister of a condemned man."
Killer-of-Lawyers: "Despite help from France, the crown is lost."
Benny the Snake: "A romp in the forest where everyone falls in love."
LOU BEGAS MUSTACHE: "Witches give a prophecy and a throne is seized."
Thranguy: "A young prince plans revenge against his murdering uncle."
newtestleper: "A king gives up his kingdom to his daughters and then gives up his mind."
God Over Djinn: "Bloody revenge in ancient Rome, with the emphasis on bloody."
Grizzled Patriarch: "The king wonders why is son can't be more like that nice boy until that nice boy starts a rebellion."
Djeser: "A man's jealousy leads him to murder his lover."
Blue Wher: "Two houses head off a civil war."
SkaAndScreenplays: "A man tries to balance love and war but sacrifices everything for love."
swkidmonster: "Rome’s best general feels slighted, so he switches sides." :toxx:
spectres of autism: ""A man gets so jealous that he makes his wife fall in love with someone else (there's also some magic involved)" :toxx:
blue squares: "A man and a woman vow undying love, which dies all too quickly."
Enchanted Hat: "Two sets of twins turn the town upside down."
Jonked: "A man kills everyone in his way to get his way only to lose everything including his life."
docbeard: "A man 'tames' his wife but, really, it's the wife who gets what she wants." :toxx:
Entenzahn: "A man uses magic to recover his land and find a husband for his daughter."
the brotherly phl: "A man lives, loves, loses, and regains his family while touring the Mediterranean Sea."
TheAnamoly: "A boy loves a girl but she is in love with another boy except this second boy is secretly a girl who is in love with the first boy."
guts and bolts: "An overgenerous man finds out who his true friends are once he runs out of money."
Benny Profane: "Friends murder one of their own when they fear he's on the verge of seizing power."
Pete Zah: "A man tries to study in seclusion but succumbs to the temptations of love."
Claven666: "A man runs away to avoid his new wife but she follows him and tricks him into being a faithful husband." :toxx:
Auraboks: "A king is usurped and the usurper takes the throne."
JcDent: "A peasant rebellion is incited by a noble house."
Fausty: "Forbidden love tempts and destroys a young couple."
SquirrelFace: "France is invaded."
crabrock: "A man starts up a new church so he can get remarried."
Um, T-Rex? I don't see any other judges.

Profane Accessory
Feb 23, 2012

http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=3648&title=Honourable+Men

Profane Accessory fucked around with this message at 20:22 on Dec 30, 2015

Entenzahn
Nov 15, 2012

erm... quack-ward
From Above
1498 words

King Thogar was a very popular king with everyone, except with the people who hated his piety. His piety and maybe the inquisition and its torture chambers. But mostly his piety. Anyway, the point was they were unholy heathens and they had to be crushed.

These were the thoughts he entertained in his exile, surrounded by the thick stone walls of his mountain fortress, as his trusted general staff convened on their plans to retake the throne city.

The princess pointed at a map of the realm, painted red except for a tiny blue dot deep in the mountains. “Their forces include, ehrm, let’s see… the peasants, the militia, royal army, the church and inquisition and everyone else who thinks you’re insane.” She stressed that last word and let it hang in the air for a few more seconds. “So basically everyone.”

“What about our forces?” the king said.

She turned around. Off in his corner, the court wizard looked up and waved.

“Three,” she said.

“Did you count your husband and his army?”

“I am not married.”

“Oh! I forget. You prefer to make something of yourself.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Because that works out so w--”

“I could make it rain frogs on them,” the court wizard interrupted.

“Frogs?” Thogar said. “What good are frogs? They will just be sticky and gross. These people have armors. Don’t be gross.”

“I see.” The wizard ran his fingers through his beard as if he was hoping for them to get entangled and pull out a better strand of through. “What if... we summon an army of nautical beasts, dropping on our foes from above?"

"Raining frogs is the only spell you know, isn't it?"

He slumped his shoulders. "It takes fifty years to learn that trick."

“Okay, so to sum it up the entire realm is trying to get me killed and we have no assets to fight back whatsoever.”

The princess said, “Precisely.”

The unanimous decision was to reconvene at a later time, when someone had something useful to say.

Pondering his situation, King Thogar took a walk through the dungeons and underground mazes of his fortress. Here he felt at home. The dankness. The sense of dread. The lack of escape routes. You could convert many sinners in these halls.

Pictures of his ancestors lined the walls. There was his fabled great-great-great-grandfather, Mad King Ugur. The first official king of their house. He’d taken the realm by storm. No one had ever been able to explain his sudden rise to power, but deep down, Thogar knew it was faith. King Ugur had been rumored to spend most of his time arguing intensely with the chaplain.

“Oh great-grandfather, whatever should I do?” Thogar’s fingers reached out for the picture, brushed the paint, and then there was a click, and a hidden wall slid aside. He looked straight into a black hallway, not dark, but pitch-black. Faraway murmurs spilled out of the entrance, beckoning him to investigate.

He took a torch off the wall, but it didn’t do him any good. Inside the hallway, no light reflected off the surfaces. Even worse, there were many unannounced turns and corners, as if to annoy any who dared walk in uninvited, and King Thogar quite regularly bumped his royal nose. Finally, as the murmurs grew louder, faint traces of a green glow cast light on the walls, revealing patterns of skulls.

Pirates, he thought. This must have been one of their fabled mountain fortresses.

He took another turn and bathed in green light. Before him the hallway opened up into a great cavern with a giant green-glowing rock in the middle, its constant humming and whirring echoing off the stone walls. King Thogar edged closer. The glow rose and ebbed in tune with the alien sounds.

He was about an arm’s length away when the voice spoke to him.

“Have thou returned, Ugur the Unfaithful?” it snarled.

There was no one to be seen in the cavern. The walls and floors were empty, smooth rock cast in green light.

“Who is this?” King Thogar said. “Where are you?”

The voice chuckled, words slithering through his head: “Oh. Excuse me. I have mistaken you.”

He looked up at the ceiling. “Lord, is this you?”

“Who?”

“Lord. You know, God.”

The voice was silent for a moment, giving the constant background hum a pondering note. “Yes, I am that person. Gob.”

“God.”

“The point is, mortal worm, that I hold power. Now, why are you here?”

“You mean the fortress? My people have chased me off my throne. They have gone mad! Mad with sin!”

“I can tell you are a man of great faith.”

“I have studied the bible intensely.”

“I’m sure it’s great. Anyway, I can help you reclaim that throne of yours. I have many friends. And I sense a kindred spirit within you. Of course, my services will require a sacri--”

“My daughter.”

“Hmmm.” The voice seemed to taste the offer, roll it across its nonexistent tongue. “An unclaimed princess?” it purred. “Is she in the castle? Hold on.”

The hum and the glow faded just a bit and then a faint trace of green light left the rock, flying off into the hallway. King Thogar twiddled his thumbs and whistled an upbeat tune until finally, the spirit returned.

“The butch one or the bearded one?” it said.

“Butch.”

“Oh well, royalty is royalty. I shall take her hand in marriage. I like a girl who can handle herself.”

“Heh.”

“Now all we need is a host. A body for me, so that I can move around beyond the confinement of this castle. Do you have a chaplain at hand? I like the irony of corrupting the so-called holy.”

“You know, I’m beginning to think that maybe you aren’t God after all.”

“Do you want your throne back or not?”

That was a good question. By now King Thogar wasn’t so sure who he was dealing with, and if he should. But if he didn’t, and if he didn’t reclaim his kingdom, wouldn’t all these poor souls be lost anyway?

Besides, some hosts were more expendable than others.

“I know someone,” he said, “who’s just right.”

#

The wizard’s body had quickly gotten used to its new owner, and King Thogar to his new army.

He dashed towards the usurper’s knights, leading the charge on his magical fiery steed of destruction, flanked by his daughter, and Not-God. A whole army of otherworldly beings followed them, twisted figures with wings and fangs and claws and enough sharp edges to take care of a dozen upstart armies at once.

“--should get to pick my own husband,” the princess finished, riding on at full speed. She hadn’t taken well to the arrangement.

“Is she always like that?” the possessed wizard said. His mood had quite deteriorated over their few days of marching, and actually talking to his future wife.

King Thogar snorted in response.

“You didn’t tell me she’d be this difficult.”

“Well…”

“Will she even marry me at the altar?”

“Never!” the princess said.

“Can we just--” King Thogar said, “can we please just kill these guys first?”

Not-God stopped dead in his tracks. “You know what? No. This,” he motioned between the princess and himself, “isn’t happening. Let’s be honest.”

“It will! I promise.”

“Ugur was the same. Can’t trust a single one of you humans. At least in hell we stick to our deals.”

“Don’t leave us. Please!”

But the demon disappeared, and he didn’t even deign to make a show of it. The court wizard merely twitched, and then he was his senile old self again, and they were just three losers on three haggard horses facing an army of elite knights who were too busy laughing to advance any further.

“Now what do we do?” King Thogar whined.

“Surrender,” the princess said.

“But--”

Without a word, the wizard slid off his horse and stomped past the king. Facing the enemy knights, he shook his sleeves, folded his hands, stretched his fingers until the cracking noises left him satisfied. Then he made a powerful sweeping motion towards the sky, chanting old runes in a voice that wasn’t his, but a significant bit deeper and more fearful.

When the first frog fell from the sky, Thogar buried his face in his hands.

Then came the hissing noises, and the screams.

King Thogar looked back up. Before him, colorful shapes rained down on the knights, who thrashed on the ground, contorted metal men clawing at their steaming, sizzling helmets, screaming like unattended tea kettles.

“What in the name of--”

“Did I ever mention,” the wizard said, “that I elected to study the conjuration of a particularly vicious acidic and poisonous variant of frog commonly found in faraway jungle lands?”

“No,” King Thogar said, ”you didn’t.”

“They are from a heathen country. I hope you don’t mind.”

“That’s okay,” King Thogar said. “I’m okay with that.”

Piety could wait for now.

take the moon
Feb 13, 2011

by sebmojo
Jelly
1163 words

The dreams began once he bought the wizard head from the curiosity shoppe in that forgotten alley on Blackmoor Avenue. Holy gently caress, he had thought. That’s a head in a jar. Five dollars, the bespectacled proprietor had said.

What was the wizard’s name, he had asked. Lost in the mists of time, the proprietor had told him. But in his dream the wizard had told him that his name was Ambulax, and he specialized in that which had confounded man since even before his day. Love, that gift from the depths of hell to set man against man forever.

He would have these dreams, and wake up to see the wizard’s head staring at him intensely. “Looks like an intense dude,” Sheila said. “Why are you putting him on our nightstand again?”

“Because,” he said. “It’s funny.”

The truth was that this was yet another escalation of the passive aggressive conflict they had been having. There was something, some coldness, between them now, but they could not admit to it. Instead, he would wait months before clipping his toenails and leave huge nails all over the bathroom floor. She would meticulously clean every dish until it was sparkling, every dish but one, and leave it, grimy, sometimes even chunks of food, whatever its natural state, on the sink. But he realized that he had gone too far, with this perfectly preserved head and wizard hat jammed into the jar, when something in her finally broke.

They had a friend, David. Spencer had known him since high school, and he would regularly come over to watch movies, or just hang out. He was nothing if not respectful of both of them. But the first night that he came over after the head took its position on the nightstand, things changed.

Always courteous and friendly, a wife getting to know her husband’s friends, Sheila suddenly became… flirtatious. She would laugh at all of David’s jokes, not too deeply, not falsely, but making a point of laughing at every single one. She would brush his hand when offering him a beer from the fridge. And once, when David was looking away, Spencer clearly saw Sheila exaggeratedly wink at him before clutching his arm in laughter at his latest pun. David looked confused, but not, Spencer thought, as confused as he should have.

So after David had left (“You must come again soon,” Sheila had said theatrically), Spencer had gone to bed, and he had burned. He had burned while Sheila loudly commented on the head, saying that its disturbing expression far outweighed any ironic value. By the time drifted off into sleep, David’s face framed by golden hair had been taunting him for at least ten solid minutes.

“Ambulax,” he had told the wizard. “I can’t take this anymore. It’s gone on too long. I hate her. I hate both of them.”

Ambulax seemed to consider this, puffing smoke from his wizard pipe. Smoke in the shape of a floating skull, which screamed as it flew upwards. Then he said, “I can weave the skeins of destiny so that the universe will reshape your love. Is this what you wish?”

He didn’t think very hard about it. It was a dream, and since when do you ever consider anything carefully in a dream? “Yes,” he said.

“Very well,” Ambulax said. “The love which once towered like a spire is formed anew.”

And when he woke up, he thought, oh man.

He looked up. In the washroom that adjoined the bedroom, Sheila was applying make-up.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I’m going to go out with David,” she said. “We’ll probably end up at his place, maybe make out a bit, and then, who knows?”

Stunned, he watched as she left the room. Then he stared accusingly at Ambulax’s head. It stared back until he looked away.

Wait it out, he thought. Talk to Ambulax tonight, get him to reverse the situation with his wizard powers. So he spent the day watching trashy television, trying not to think about Sheila’s current escapades. And he went to sleep that night alone, feeling hopeless.

Ambulax seemed bigger this time. The wizard towered over him, or at least what he could see, since Ambulax was barely visible through the smoke.

“I’d like you to cancel your spell, please,” he said, hearing the quaver in his voice reverb and echo until it was all he could hear. Through the noise Ambulax was saying, “these spells reach into the places between dimensions. To reverse them would be to tear the world asunder. It would be the death of yourself and of everyone you love.”

“Come on,” he pleaded.

“No,” said Ambulax.

When he woke up Ambulax was still staring at him. Without Sheila there, he could feel its presence even more acutely. gently caress this, he thought. With a determined stride he lifted it off the nightstand.

In the kitchen he repurposed a paper bag that would otherwise have been used for garbage disposal. Picking up the bag he noticed with horror that the moisture of the jar had created the imprint of a leering face on the outside of the bag. He pulled the jar out and furiously dried it with his shirt. Then he pulled out another bag, packaged the head again, and left.

When he got to the alley on Blackmoor the store was gone. That makes sense, he thought. It fits into how this whole experience had been going. It didn’t matter though, not really.

He threw the bag at the wall where the door should have been. It was a violent act, of the kind he never knew he had in him. He heard the crunch of glass, saw the bag slide down the wall. There was a bit of a squelch as it hit the ground. The bag was soaked now, and there was a small pool forming underneath it.

Disgusted, he left. Never again, he thought. He’d never go down any of the Blackmoor Alleys of the world ever again.

When he got back to the house Sheila was there, watching something. “How dare you sleep with my evil twin brother?” a character was shouting.

“It was his mutant brain!” said another character. “He mind controlled me!”

“I’m sorry,” Sheila said, turning it off. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I think I thought I was being ironic, or something? We never made out, okay? I stayed with a friend, tried to get my head together. I know that’s a really flimsy story. I know that I’ve messed everything up.”

“It’s okay,” he said.

His head was humming as he fell asleep. He could feel Sheila’s weight through the oppositional effect of the mattress, giving the surface underneath him some buoyancy. He floated into sleep that way, at peace with everything.

But suddenly he was drowning. He was drowning and jagged glass was cutting into him and he was falling, impossibly far...

docbeard
Jul 19, 2011

Appearances
1495 Words
A man 'tames' his wife but, really, it's the wife who gets what she wants.


(In the archive)

docbeard fucked around with this message at 16:18 on Dec 28, 2015

blue squares
Sep 28, 2007

.

blue squares fucked around with this message at 05:00 on Jun 6, 2015

anime was right
Jun 27, 2008

death is certain
keep yr cool
bye

anime was right fucked around with this message at 06:55 on Oct 27, 2015

dmboogie
Oct 4, 2013

I hosed up. When I show my mediocre-rear end face again, it'll be with a :toxx: for my sins.

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006
:siren: SUBMISSIONS ARE CLOSED :siren:

goddamn. lots of loving failures this week. this is embarrassing and ahahaha just kidding y'all we on that mother loving island time this week y'all got six more hours or some poo poo enjoooooooy

also, crits are tight. write 'em and post 'em. don't bother waiting for me!

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002

I

AM

MAGNIFICENT






Tyrannosaurus posted:

:siren: SUBMISSIONS ARE CLOSED :siren:

goddamn. lots of loving failures this week. this is embarrassing and ahahaha just kidding y'all we on that mother loving island time this week y'all got six more hours or some poo poo enjoooooooy

also, crits are tight. write 'em and post 'em. don't bother waiting for me!

u dick

Radical and BADical!
Jun 27, 2010

by Lowtax
Fun Shoe
'Till Death

Wordcount: 1077

Mrs. Pinkerton Smith shifted uncomfortably in her chair for maybe the thousandth time and screwed up her eyes against the glare. The waiting room was almost too white, especially for her particular tastes. Looking at anything made her head hurt, but when she closed her eyes she fancied she could feel her skin beginning to tighten and burn under that relentless, almost accusatory glow. It felt like the passing of several lifetimes since the desk clerk had gone to find her husband. He never did come back, of course. No one ever came back so she ended up explaining herself and what she wanted again and again, and she had to wait and wait while her skin crawled and her eyes slowly went blind. Mrs. Pinkerton Smith steeled herself to tell her entire story from the beginning for the sixth time without jamming one of her hatpins through the unsuspecting office drone's eye.

“Who are you?” asked the new clerk without looking up from her magazine.

“Do you not know?” Mrs. Pinkerton Smith folded her arms under her breasts and stamped her foot in annoyance. “Young lady, you are the fifth person I have spoken to about his matter and I fear I am losing my patience. I am the only one in this waiting room, I have been the only one in this waiting room for what feels like decades, and I will be the only one in this waiting room for several decades more, I assume, and yet you cannot produce one scrap of information about who I am and what I want? No note in a ledger, not even a quick message dashed off on a napkin?”

“Yeah.” The clerk snapped her gum and flipped open a trashy celebrity magazine. “Says something here about some Pinky Smythe lady come to fetch her husband. We told you several times, ma'am, that once someone gets through them big doors over there they in for good. There ain't nothing we can do to make them leave. I mean, this is supposed to be a reward for having lived a good life!”

“And that's what I keep trying to tell you! I have proof that my husband has not earned the right to be here.” Mrs. Pinkerton Smith opened her voluminous purse and removed a thick, almost overstuffed file from the depths. Crumpled sticky notes and bent paperclips fell from it like a shower of dead leaves, and it made a satisfying, hollow thump when it hit the surface of the desk “I showed all of this to some gentleman named Pete when I first got here.”

“And?”

“And he told me the same story you did. Once someone has been approved for residency, there is nothing much that can be done to remove them. I asked him to reconsider his position in light of this new information, but he said that all information available had already been considered.”

“Lady, we ain't usually prone to making mistakes here. If Pete says they had all the info they needed then that's the truth.”

Mrs. Pinkerton Smith opened her mouth to call the young lady a liar of the basest breeding but then thought better of it. Those employed in this particular place didn't do much lying, after all, but perhaps they could still be tempted. “Are you enjoying that magazine, young lady?” Mrs. Pinkerton Smith shaped her mouth into what she hoped was an easy-going, friendly grin rather than the predatory one she usually found fixed to her face.

“It's alright. I've had this same one for a while now, and I only look at it because of it reminding me of home and all.”

“Why don't you take a look at my file? My husband's led quite the life, after all, and there's enough sex and intrigue in it to keep you busy for quite some time.” The desk clerk looked up with suspicion clouding her eyes, but Mrs. Pinkerton Smith had already gone and sat back down in her old seat.

An hour passed by, then another. Mrs. Pinkerton Smith stared at the wall and tried not to think about a billion eyes all focused on her. The only sound in the stark waiting room was the turning of pages punctuated by sharp gasps of surprise and disgust. Eventually, the clerk came out from behind her desk. “D'you swear that you ain't making this up? It'd be pretty bad for you if you were, what with the whole bearing false witness thing and all. I mean, you have to have given up something big to even come here, and our rules apply to you when you up here. I wouldn't want to think about what would happen if you were lying.”

“Every word is true. Now be a dear and fetch my husband. It is time for him to keep his promise.”

Mrs. Pinkerton Smith couldn't help but let her normal avaricious smile stretch over her fangs when she saw her husband stumble through the big, opalescent doors at the end of the room. “Did you enjoy your stay here, honey?” Fire danced along her fingertips as she reached back into her purse and pulled forth a contract signed in blood and emblazoned with the name of Pinkerton Smith. “Let me remind you that our agreement was only for a lifetime of heaven on earth. Not an eternity of the real thing.”

“You...bitch!” Pinkerton Smith tried to push his way back through the big doors but they wouldn't open for him anymore.

“And to think you almost got away with it.” A gout of fire burst forth from the contract, eliciting a shriek from the unfortunate Mr. Smith. The shriek was followed by a more panicked yelling, then hoarse, unceasing screaming as the smell of burning fat permeated the room. The wide-eyed desk clerk bolted through the big doors, leaving Mrs. Pinkerton Smith alone with the charred remains of her husband.

“The fact that it almost worked is what excites me the most.” The demoness drew a crude pentagram from the ashes of her ex-husband's body. “I couldn't even imagine telling God that the life I bought from a demon with my immortal soul is the life I actually led. And then to get away with it! Things are really going to Hell around here.” The former Mrs. Pinkerton Smith couldn't help but laugh at her own terrible joke as stepped onto the ashes and headed home.

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002

I

AM

MAGNIFICENT






My New Church
1461 words

http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=3655&title=My+New+Church

crabrock fucked around with this message at 06:47 on Jan 1, 2016

Blue Wher
Apr 27, 2010

The Smart Baseball Dargon Sez:

"Baseball is chaos!"

His bat is signed by Carl "Yaz" Yastrzemski

Tyrannosaurus posted:

Blue Wher: "Two houses head off a civil war."

The Gryphon Spell
1481 words

It wasn’t very often that King Bernan got to have a private lunch with his beloved Queen Sylvia. He was understandably cross when a squire, a young red drake no taller than he was, burst into their dining quarters just as they were being served their meal.

“You’d better have a good excuse for interrupting our meal, lad.”

The drake squeaked and averted his eyes from the King’s glare. “I’m sorry King Bernan, but I have urgent news from the watchtower guard! A dragon from House Trelvinas approaches!”

King Bernan sighed with frustration. “It’s probably a message from Lord Verinas complaining about tithes again. Stubborn wretch,” he said, still glaring at the drake. “Boy, what’s your name?”

“Belezor, sire.”

“I need you to do two things for me, Belezor. Firstly, I need you to look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

The whelp quickly snapped to attention, though he looked withered from the man’s gaze. “Yes sire.”

“Good. Now, I need you to find Hrokar and tell him to join me in the courtyard to greet our guest. You are dismissed.”

“Yessir!” Belezor wasted no time in skittering away from the King.

Bernan turned to his wife. “I promise we’ll have our meal, my Queen, but for now I have to take care of this business. Please excuse me,” he said as he got out of his seat.

“You are excused, my good sir.”

The King walked the ornate corridors of his castle before entering flower-filled courtyard. He looked to the sky, and indeed saw an admittedly hefty blue dragon clad in the colors of Trelvinas quickly approaching.

“I have a bad feeling about this, m’lord,” said a rather deep voice. A massive black dragon had joined King Bernan in the courtyard.

“Why, Hrokar?”

Hrokar, one of the King’s closest advisors and a powerful mage, stared at the approaching visitor. “I can feel from here that he is spooked.”

The blue dragon descended and landed rather clumsily, tumbling head over tail. It was obvious the pudgy dragon had overworked himself in his rush to get to the castle.

“King Bernan,” he wheezed, “I am… Gertol… I have… an urgent message…”

“Speak, Gertol,” the King said as he tried to dampen his impatience at the winded dragon.

Gertol took a couple more deep breaths before he spoke again. “All of our gryphons left us to join the House of Brivion! We have reason to believe that Lord Trivinnian is trying to recruit all of the gryphons in the land to start a rebellion!”

“What?!” The King was stunned.

“How can you be sure?” Asked Hrokar.

“One of our guards was able to track one of the gryphons down, and she told us of these plans.”

Before King Bernan could press the messenger further, the King saw several gryphons emerge from their dwellings, screeching and flying away. “drat it all! Guards! I need you to search the area for any leftover gryphons! You as well, Hrokar.” The King watched the guardsmen and several dragons scatter at his command. “Gertol, tell your Lord that I require extra troops to help guard the castle and our Kingdom.”

“I will, sir.” The blue dragon took several more deep breaths before he flew away, muttering something under his breath about his weight.

King Bernan grimaced, worried.

******

The next morning, the King was too nervous to eat a large breakfast, and he quickly abandoned his food to find his lead guards, the green dragon Grozzo and the guardswoman Nelema.

“Grozzo, Nelema, have you found any gryphons?”

Nelema nodded, and said, “Yes sire, but just one.”

“Only one? Did they have anything to say about the others?” The King inquired.

Grozzo shook his head. “No. He seemed confused by their behavior.”

The King rubbed one hand through his beard. “This is very strange.”

“That’s an understatement, m’lord,” Hrokar said as he lumbered over. “I have a hunch, but I’ll need to see the gryphon to be sure.”

Nelema told Hrokar, “I can arrange for that. He’s staying at a guarded cottage not too far from here. Grozzo and I can lead the way.”

“Please do so. Hrokar, I’ll need you to take me there,” the King said.

“At your command, my liege.”

******

After a short flight, Grozzo and Hrokar landed in a small, sparsely populated village, kneeling down to allow their respective passengers to dismount in front of a large cottage made for a gryphon or small dragon.

“Greetings, King Bernan!” Both of the guards said with a salute of their wings. One guard then approached the King, and said, “The gryphon Nethlinus is still inside, if you wish to speak with him.”

“Can you bring him outside?” Hrokar asked. The King was visibly surprised at his dragon’s request, though he did not protest.

Soon, Nethlinus, a bright yellow gryphon, walked out. “It is good to see you, King Bernan. What can I do for you?”

Hrokar closely inspected the gryphon, who wore a pendant. “Nethlinus, what is that pendant made out of?”

The gryphon hesitated, confused. “It’s quartz from Trelvinas lands.”

“Can I see it?” Hrokar asked.

“I suppose.”

Nethlinus took off the pendant and handed it to Hrokar. The gryphon suddenly shrieked “Down with Bernan!” at the top of his lungs, and prepared to fly off, but Grozzo pinned him to the ground before he could. Hrokar quickly put the pendant back in its place, and Nethlinus stopped thrashing.

“Ugh… what happened?” Asked the dazed gryphon.

“It’s as I suspected. Trivinnian broadcasted a magic spell to control all the gryphons in the land, but his magic is negated by quartz,” Hrokar explained.

“Why is that?” Asked the King.

“Well, no magic is perfect, and many spells that are used to effect other beings are easily negated by certain materials,” Hrokar said.

King Bernan nodded. “Most of the quartz comes from Trelvinas. It looks like we’ll have to visit Verinas.” He looked to his companions. “Let’s get going.”

******

“So the quartz negates the mind control spell? I see,” Lord Verinas said. “There are quartz mines near here, and I’ll let you take as much as you need, on one condition.”

King Bernan glared at Verinas. “Our tithes are already set in stone. Besides, Trivinnian’s actions threaten your lands as well as mine!”

Lord Verinas grimaced, but before he could retort, Gertol crash landed in the courtyard, ichor oozing from several fresh wounds. “The gryphons are on their way here! They attacked me while delivering a message to one of our villages.”

Verinas growled under his breath as he commanded a dragon take the chubby blue dragon to the infirmary. He then turned to King Bernan. “If you fly southwest from here for five minutes, you’ll arrive at the quartz mine. Take what you need,” Lord Verinas said, resigned. “You’d better be right about this.”

******

King Bernan clutched his straps Hrokar flew with breakneck speed towards the mines.

“The mines are near,” Hrokar said.

“How are we going to get the quartz?” Asked the King.

“Well,” Hrokar replied, “There should be some piles of loose quartz there. I’ll be able to grab enough in my claws for my spell.”

“Your spell?”

“Yes, because throwing the quartz at them isn’t going to be enough,” Hrokar said before warning, “I’m going in! Hold on tight!”

The descent was quick enough that King Bernan squeezed his eyes shut out of fear. Hrokar broke out of his dive and quickly rose again with such speed that his passenger had to steel himself so he didn’t hurl. “Are you okay, m’lord?” The dragon asked as he steered back the way they came.

“I’ll be fine. Let’s hurry back.”

******

The brainwashed gryphons were already on the horizon when Bernan and Hrokar flew over Verinas’ castle.

“Do you want me to drop you off down there, sire?” Hrokar asked.

“No,” said the King, “I trust you enough to keep me safe.”

“I am honored,” Hrokar said as he flew towards the gryphons head on.

Hrokar chanted as the gryphons drew closer. The King thought that the gryphons were seconds away from shredding him to pieces when Hrokar’s spell was completed, and the gryphons were sprayed with a fine quartz dust.

In unison, the gryphons stumbled midflight, some of them almost falling entirely to the ground as the spell was broken.

King Bernan hollered with triumph. “It worked! Now we just need to find Trivinnian.”

“I got the bastard!”

That shout came from Nethlinus, who was flying towards them with a rather pissed off lord struggling in his grasp.

“Good job, Nethlinus!” King Bernan said. “Go meet up with the guards to dispose of him.”

As Nethlinus followed the order, the King slumped forward in his saddle, exhausted. “When we get home, Hrokar, we’re having a feast to recognize your valiance.”

Ever humble, the dragon smiled. “I am honored to serve you, King Bernan. Thank you.”

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.



Dispatches from the Capital City
(1,058 words)
"The king wonders why is son can't be more like that nice boy until that nice boy starts a rebellion."



snip. See Archive

Grizzled Patriarch fucked around with this message at 21:27 on Jul 24, 2015

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Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

to ride eternal, shiny and chrome

THUNDERDOME LOSER 2022




I don't know that this is a rule or anything, but putting the title of your story in bold is cool and good IMO, and people who, in the past, have not done this, should commence the practice (or practise I forget which is which) stat.

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