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Dragging my carcass back in for Voidmart because I reaaaallly need the job. Might as well throw a  on there too for good measure. Also, I don't have references and drug tests are against my religion. Can't wait to hear back from you!
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Jul 1, 2015 20:34
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fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck I'm inquote:09[19:16] <AClassyGhost> Next TD I enter I'm toxxing myself and requesting a flash from all three judges fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck edit - also: quote:[19:12] <AClassyGhost> Red can I buy some of your honey A Classy Ghost fucked around with this message at 00:27 on Jul 2, 2015 |
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Jul 2, 2015 00:19
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A Classy Ghost posted:fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck I'm in I'm preparing a sweet reward for ACG if he wins this week.
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Jul 2, 2015 00:28
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Enchanted Hat posted:In, I need something to do while I'm ignoring Voidmart customers Your character works in Guns, Ammo, and Liquor. One stop shopping! skwidmonster posted:Dragging my carcass back in for Voidmart because I reaaaallly need the job. Might as well throw a Your character works in Construction Supplies and Heavy Machinery. Hard hats required. A Classy Ghost posted:fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck I'm in Your character works in Nutrition Supplements and Organic Body Products. Voidmart knows our customers' chakras are misaligned, which is why we created a wide selection of products to keep their aura swole and their DNA redacted.
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Jul 2, 2015 00:55
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I'm studying for exams, but here's some Week 149 line-by-lines for SlipUp and SkaAndScreenplays. The rest to come next week.
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Jul 2, 2015 01:02
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RedTonic posted:I'm preparing a sweet reward for ACG if he wins this week. Do you harvest honey irl
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Jul 2, 2015 01:09
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Martello posted:Do you harvest u can't just ask a woman if she harvests, check your privilege
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Jul 2, 2015 01:12
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In with a ! Let's see if I can pull this off.
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Jul 2, 2015 03:10
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*Hands in an application full of unintelligible crayon scribbles, coffee stains and baby poop smeared across the bottom edge*
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Jul 2, 2015 03:56
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gently caress it. I'm in. If I'm still banned on Sunday, someone else can post the story for me.
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Jul 2, 2015 12:43
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Martello posted:Do you harvest crabrock posted:u can't just ask a woman if she harvests, check your privilege All honeys are strictly analog. Honeys are provided "as is" without warranty of any kind, either express or implied, including, but not limited to, the implied warranties of kickin' rad comb or fitness for a particular recipe. The entire risk as to the quantity of beestings and crystallization performance of the honeys is with the recipient. Should the honeys prove defective, you assume the cost of getting crunk on bomb-rear end fermented honeys. 
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Jul 2, 2015 16:43
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I would like one jerb please. In -ing because I am an abject failure.
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Jul 2, 2015 18:38
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kurona_bright posted:In with a Beep boop. Your character is in Electronics. They're an expert in all mainstream games, consoles, and gadgets plus the many Voidmart Licensed alternatives, though customers often complain the latter don't usually work as expected... Mercedes posted:*Hands in an application full of unintelligible crayon scribbles, coffee stains and baby poop smeared across the bottom edge* Your character works in the Baby Supply Department. Everything a parent needs to raise another cherished Voidmart customer. painted bird posted:gently caress it. Your character works in The Meat Department. The blood the blood the bloo (No refunds on mystery meat) JuniperCake posted:I would like one jerb please. In Your character also works in The Back, taking in freight and stocking shelves. Sidenote, customers have an annoying habit of thinking anything, even out-of-stock items, can be found in The Back. Usually, they're wrong. Occasionally, they're not...
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Jul 2, 2015 19:32
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I'm back from ban hiatus and I am in.
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Jul 3, 2015 07:20
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Oh poo poo, sorry dude, I saw your post but forgot to actually give you something!Bompacho posted:I'm back from ban hiatus and I am in. You are the Lobby Attendant at the Golden Bean Cafe and Coffee Shop. The Golden Bean's guest seating area is a culture unto itself. It's Voidmart's watering hole. Customers are happy to tell you their suggestions for "improving" the store, and you frequently have to shoo away feral shoppers who creep in to try and pilfer pastries.
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Jul 4, 2015 01:05
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Bompacho please report to IRC to RedTonic for debriefing.
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Jul 4, 2015 02:32
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I have nothing better to do for a while and I feel like doing some crits, so I'm offering 3 line-by-lines for any week with a that they will be finished by next sunday. Please link me the story, preferably from the archives.
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Jul 4, 2015 07:35
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Well, if you have nothing better to do, half of the stories in the Perfume week literally got zero crits of any kind. I've been meaning to do some myself but haven't gotten round to it yet.
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Jul 4, 2015 09:19
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Signups are closed
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Jul 4, 2015 09:19
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Sitting Here posted:
I'm one of these, FYI. A Classy Ghost posted:09[19:16] <AClassyGhost> Next TD I enter I'm toxxing myself and requesting a flash from all three judges This weekend, Phil Walsh, the head coach of the Adelaide Crows Football Club, (that's Aussie Rules BTW) passed away. Your flash rule is to honour his memory by working Aussie Rules footy into your story somehow.
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Jul 4, 2015 09:24
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Chairchucker posted:I'm one of these, FYI. that's a good falsh rule give me one plz (also newbies one judge slot is free so pm sh and cc if you think the throne will fit your rear end)
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Jul 4, 2015 12:06
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sebmojo posted:that's a good falsh rule I'll give you one if you know what I mean mojo  There's a crow in your story. I dunno what it's doing, that's up to you.
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Jul 5, 2015 00:09
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A Classy Ghost posted:fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck I'm in Oh, right. Your flashrule is: I deserve a discount!!!
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Jul 5, 2015 00:58
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Gimme a flash rule, too.
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Jul 5, 2015 00:59
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painted bird posted:Gimme a flash rule, too. This store is too large. You should make it smaller. Yes, you personally, peon. Note: If you get one of my flashrules, keep in mind these aren't phrases you have to use verbatim. They're just some inspiration for possible retail-related conflict, for you to interpret as you wish.
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Jul 5, 2015 01:06
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A Classy Ghost posted:fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck I'm in FLASH RULE: You don't believe in the Holistic bullshit that your department shills - so you've been swapping the contents of the 'home remedies' with pharmaceuticals and some of the stranger plants from the garden center. If the squirrels are having that much fun eating them - you're pretty sure they'll do the trick for your customers.
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Jul 5, 2015 05:56
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Thank you SkaAndScreenplays for stepping up to judge BTW
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Jul 5, 2015 07:34
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Sitting Here posted:Thank you SkaAndScreenplays for stepping up to judge BTW No problem, just let me know on IRC when it's time to start the discussion. Might need a walk-through on how judgemode works on writocracy too, but I'll let you know when it gets to that.
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Jul 5, 2015 09:27
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Neddy and Roger Hunt a Giant Spider in the Voidmart™ Rare Meat Vault 1295 words Neddy surveyed the array of knives in the butcher’s block and selected a square chinese cleaver; sharp, but heavy enough to crack chitin. He pulled on a chainmail glove, then took the big tenderizer, the two-handed one reserved for megafauna, and pressed it into Roger’s clumsy hands. The giant spider had been gone for a while. It would have been nice if Arnult had told him it was only stunned when he delivered it. Arachnae Infatuatus were dangerous fuckers — labrador-sized, and with fangs like mechanical pencils. The meat was an acquired taste, with the flavour of latex and blue cheese, but the real money was in the venom, a powerful psychoactive. The sacs and glands, once extracted, would be sent down to the pharmacy and made into some of the world’s most effective aphrodisiacs. Arnult had said it was for some Bulgarian king, a friend of Voidmart’s™ CEO, but then again that druggy freak was always talking poo poo. One thing was for sure, there was nowhere for it to hide in the butchery itself, which was all white tile soaked in caustic halogen light. Neddy looked at where the door to the vault hung open. There were decades’ worth of rare, alphabetically catalogued meats back there, everything from the offal of species long extinct, to steaks filleted from the most bizarre cryptids to ever dubiously exist. It went back miles. He’d never seen the end. When he looked back at his assistant, Roger, there was a square of paper stuck to the looming man’s apron. Neddy froze and struggled to control his breathing. It was a Voidmart™ brand Stick-R-Note, in an unassuming pastel pink. It was just like the one that had summoned Roger to the CEO’s office a few months back. The once-cheerful giant had returned from that meeting with a neatly stitched cranial incision, and without a frontal lobe. The note read “A mistake is just an opportunity to learn! Remember your priority is the customer and their access to rare and delicious meats. I’m sure you’ll do just dandy - Regards, CEO.” The handwriting was rounded and wandered around the paper like a child’s. The i’s and j’s were dotted with little stars and love hearts. There was even a smiley face doodled in the corner. Neddy felt like throwing up. Roger’s lights had gone again, he was just staring into space and swaying slightly, like a side of beef dangling from a hook. Neddy peeled a scrap of flayed skin off his apron and flung it at Roger. It hit square in the middle of his vast white expanse of forehead, just below the scar, and stuck with a sad squelch. It hung for a few seconds, like a mutated third eyebrow, before sliding and dropping off his nose. He blinked, and managed to make eye contact. “Kill the spider.” Neddy spoke slowly, deliberately. “Got it?” When the order failed to register Neddy produced the pink note and waved it in front of Roger’s face. His eyes widened and he started shaking when he recognized it, then a single drop of blood rolled out of his nostril and down his upper lip. A panicked grunt signaled his understanding, and they headed for the door. The vault was a warehouse crammed with over a hundred refrigerated shipping containers. Their collected evaporator fans sent tangy ozone drafts down the narrow alleys between them, and a sparking spaghetti of extension cords and multi-boxes snaked along the floor and sagged over their heads like vines. Neddy couldn’t hear himself think over the electric drone, let alone catch the skitter of eight little feet. the bugger could be anywhere. The alleys ran in a vague loop, so they split up at the first t-junction. After a while Neddy turned a sharp corner and heard a sucking sound as his shoes adhered to a mostly-dried pool of pale pink liquid. He saw the container door, ajar, a few seconds before the smell hit him. “Irrawaddy Dolphin - Jackalope,” was stencilled on the door, but when Neddy pulled it open there was no categorizing the festering, mold-encrusted carcasses inside. A perfect feast for a recovering giant spider. He stepped out of the doorway to let the light in, and felt something tug at his hair. It was webbing, thick and strong and sticky like velcro. He pulled away, but only got stucker. That’s when he heard Roger approaching. In addition to the thud of lumbering footsteps, Roger, mute for months, was making other sounds. Ecstatic yelps and groans, stitched together into a vestigial melody. It got louder, and when he came into view his normally blank face was a rictus of pleasure. It was hard to make out in the dark, but he was holding the tenderizer in one hand, with the other swinging in time with the music. “Yes, I get it, you killed it. Well done”, said Neddy, “now pull me out, big guy.” As his eyes adjusted, he saw that Roger’s eyes were fully dilated. He could pick out the tune, too. It was twinkle twinkle little star, the lullaby. Then he saw it, the spider, cradled in the crook of Roger’s huge arm. It hissed and climbed up Roger’s torso onto his shoulder. He stopped singing, and his grin changed, baring his teeth. He raised the massive tenderizer, showing the series of swollen, necrotizing puncture wounds on the underside of his arm, exactly the size of the spider’s fangs. With only his left arm free, Neddy got hold of his cleaver just as the spiked head of the tenderizer hit him in the side like a sledgehammer. He could feel the tough meat of his flank softening, just fit for the grill like the perforated steaks in the bargain bin. The impact tore him free of just enough web to bring the cleaver round in a wide arc, severing the rest of the threads. Another crunching smash bounced him off the wall, which rung like a gong. The spider peeked over Roger’s shoulder as the hulking man wound up for a finishing blow, but Neddy ducked to the side, and the momentum carried Roger face first into the densest patch of web. The spider, clinging to Roger’s back, reared on it’s back legs and bared its dripping fangs. Neddy swung the cleaver with all his butcher’s strength and precision, but the spider was quick. His first chop took off half of two of it’s legs, but also filleted a piece of back-strap off Roger. The second grazed the spider’s cephalothorax, then carved deep into Roger’s spare-ribs, embedding the cleaver in bone. While he tugged on the handle the spider struck, sinking his fangs into Neddy’s arm. They throbbed with venom, and he felt a pleasant warmth radiate from the bite. Suddenly the spider didn’t seem so repulsive, in fact the brown hairs made it look kind of cuddly, and it’s eight small eyes took on a pretty sparkle. Then a jet of Roger’s blood hit him in the eyes, jerking him back to reality. He released the cleaver, raised his chainmail-clad fist above his head, and brought it down onto the spider’s thorax with all his strength. It exploded in a shower of something that Neddy quickly realized wasn’t blood. The spider’s last act was to become a mother to thousands. The babies landed softly then scattered, working their way into every corner of the vault, into the meat lockers, burrowing into Neddy’s hair, and into the air conditioning ducts that lead to the rest of Voidmart™. He was acutely aware of the blinking red lights on the security cameras in the roof. “At least we got it,” said Neddy, applying pressure to Roger’s wounds. “Hope that keeps the CEO happy.”
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Jul 5, 2015 11:35
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SkaAndScreenplays posted:No problem, just let me know on IRC when it's time to start the discussion. Might need a walk-through on how judgemode works on writocracy too, but I'll let you know when it gets to that. u push judgemode button and author names are hidden from week and story view
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Jul 5, 2015 15:42
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1297 words A Cat-Sized Void in My Heart http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=3737&title=A+Cat-Sized+Void+in+My+Heart flerp fucked around with this message at 04:03 on Jul 27, 2015 |
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Jul 5, 2015 21:17
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The (One Note) Ballad of Bean Hill WC: 1299 “Do you see this? This worm-eaten bean wouldn’t get past me,” Lara said. She pinched a pale coffee bean and held it up. It had a dark fleck which might have been a pinhole. Her other hand pointed at the faux gold “You know what this pin means? I’m nearly a master coffee sommelier. I love coffee. I live coffee. I wish I could say the same about you.” She dropped the bean back into the sample tray and stared at her manager until he backed up against the milk dispenser. He bumped his wrist against the skim lever and squirted himself. “Erk. Well, I’m sure everyone here appreciates your passion, Lara, but this doesn’t explain what’s going on in the walk-in… Or why you’re organizing a committee!” He grabbed a rag and dabbed at the milk. His soul patch quivered. Lara’s master conversation deflection technique had failed. “You know that’s not how we do things-” “So what’s your hourly pay, Jim?” she asked. “That’s against corporate poli-” “Doesn’t that seem a little weird? We can’t even talk about it? All that means is it’s harder to know how much your time is worth. Who does that benefit?” “It’s a privacy issue!” White shone all around Jim’s eyes. He clutched at his golden manager nametag like he might rip it off at any second. “Payroll doesn’t need to share that, but how does it hurt me to tell you that I’m making ten-fifty an hour?” Lara drew a line through the beans on the sorting tray. “Ten-fifty?” Jim’s voice cracked on fifty just loudly enough to make one of their patrons look up from his newspaper. “You make--goddammit! I won’t be dragged into this. If anyone else sees you waving around membership cards, you’re gonna end up fired. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” He hurled the rag onto the counter and stalked off. The rag slid off the edge and plopped onto the floor, spattering milk everywhere. “I just mopped that… rear end in a top hat.” She tidied up the mess Jim had left and stared into the empty cafe. The Golden Bean only had seven employees for the time being. Seven crewmates stranded on an island in a sea of piss… The only hint of civilization beating within the heart of Voidmart. Anyone without a golden pinstripe apron was an enemy. They wanted free mocha choke ya lattes and they never tipped. They didn’t even know how to appreciate good coffee when it was offered to them. The Bean was Voidmart’s crown jewel! Anyone who didn’t get that simple fact was an irredeemable moron. Of course, upper management was full of irredeemable morons who had failed upwards. Whenever they came to visit, they carried around cups of off brand coffee. What kind of messaging was that? Lara’s fondest fantasy involved slapping one of those 32 ounce Starbucks liquid crack confections into the DM’s face. All that caramel and cream would be a bitch to get dry cleaned. And he was paid more than she was for that disloyalty? “Lara!” The sing-song call rang from the walk-in. “I’m gonna take some more of the brew, okay?” “Again? You’ve already had over seventy ounces today. And I don’t have your card!” Lara slapped her palm against the countertop. Now she was the irritated one. Freeloaders were as bad as morons. “I forgot it at home,” Bruce said. “One sec.” Lara flared her nostrils, surveyed the empty cafe, and then stomped into the huge refrigerator. It was a relic of a more ambitious period in The Golden Bean’s history, but it was still useful. Several employees kept their little experiments stashed inside. Lara was no exception. She interposed herself between Bruce and the precious, precious bucket. Food-grade, BPA-free plastic, of course. No poisons or off flavors would go into her miracle brew. “I have your card right here. Sign it, and you can have more of our preciousss…” “Don’t you think the level’s getting low?” Bruce asked. Lara turned to look. Bruce tried to dart past with his cup, but Lara was a yellow belt in kickboxing. After an exchange of fruitless slaps, both of them had to stop to catch their breaths. “It is getting a little low,” Lara admitted. “Now sign up!” Bruce groaned, but he scribbled on the card. That made three, including Lara. She needed at least one more… Optimally, she’d have all seven. “Alright, you can have some -- but clean the filter if it gets clogged.” Lara couldn’t ambush everyone she had with the cold brew honeypot, but she could at least keep good enough track to guilt any of the suckers who tried it. The brew was a true miracle. She had been adding beans to it nonstop without removing previous grounds. The older stuff should have resulted in harsh bitterness and a wet dishrag finish, but instead the coffee only became richer and more complex, with a velvety chocolate note lightened with fruity tannins. The secret was the Golden Beans’ blend. The beans never turned stale and never tasted over-extracted. She had figured that much out months ago after one of the coffee machines went bad. She had accepted that she couldn’t convince anyone to organize based on the merits. Her only option was bribery if she wanted to unionize, so she’d decided to sacrifice the brew. The latter half of her shift was hectic. She caught the lobby guy sneaking a cup out of the walk-in, but with customers everywhere, all she could do was threateningly wave an imaginary card at him. Jim didn’t emerge until after her shift’s final rush. His eyes were bloodshot and glassy. “About that contraband cold brew -- look, I’m working late tonight.” He glanced around the trashed cafe. The lobby guy was sweeping with a look of utter despair, but no one else was around to listen. “I need some of that.” “Not without your X on one of these cards,” Lara said. She whipped one out of her sleeve Gambit-style. His glare could have stripped rust from a bumper, but she stood firm. “If you want my million dollar flavor, you have to pay the toll.” “Be reasonable,” he tried, but she shook her head sharply. “Fine! Then I’ll have to confiscate the vat, since it’s theft of both our stock and our time.” “Go ahead,” she said and crossed her arms. “Then you can’t try it either, since you’d be a thief too.” “You know you can be fired with cause for this?” Jim’s jaw settled into a miserably grim cant. “If I go, you’ll go next. You don’t have anyone who can compare to my bean inspection power level. All I want is to make sure we’re well-represented. Everyone at the Bean deserves better. That includes you, too. If you sign on, I know the rest will, too. We have three. Be my fourth.” “I don’t have the time to think about this right now-” “If you spend too much time thinking about a thing, you’ll never get it done,” she said in her best sage tone. “That tactic only works on Bruce!” But Jim was wavering. “It’s the right thing to do.” Lara extended the card and a clicky pen from her apron pocket. He took them and stared at the card. He had only been on the job for a little while. Turnover for head bean inspectors was high. A complex series of tics wracked his face from hairline to chin, but he filled out the card in slow and halting cursive. “Here.” Jim extended the card. She had to jerk it out of his grip, almost tearing it. “Ten-fifty an hour,” he grumbled, then disappeared into the walk-in. Four cards. This Golden Bean was going to organize.
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Jul 5, 2015 22:52
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I got nothin' this week. I am a failure. As penance, will do crits for anyone who want one, or just some random ones if no one does.
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Jul 5, 2015 23:30
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LEAVES BY NIGHT AND FLOWERS BY DAY (Wordcount: 1112) Late at night, the red moonlight came slanting down through the sectioned glass ceiling and painted the plants with smears of pale pink. Angie liked to get up in the middle of the night sometimes and go around with a mister, catching the few night-active pests. During the day, Garden Supplies was a riot of colour, and she could get to feeling overwhelmed with all the things there were to look at. Even so, the nights were lonely. Angie's co-worker Bill would never get up at night. He said his bones were too old, and he stayed asleep in the cubby under the counter. Often, Angie found herself wishing for someone to share the beauty of the evening with her. Oh sure, the rest of Voidmart was still running, and through the swing doors was a world of colour and noise and customers still bustling on. Angie was glad to work in Garden Supplies, which closed at night ever since a dozen customers got lost and tried to follow the lights to safety. That was one carnivorous angler flower that wouldn't need feeding again for a few years. One late Thursday, with Bill snoozing and the squirrels all beaten back for the night, Angie made her way up to the canteen to hunt through the vending machines for a sandwich. One of the late-night cashiers was there, wrestling with the coffee machine; it had eaten her quarter and Angie gave her one to replace it. Somehow they'd never spoken at length before but as they sat down, Angie was surprised at how easily the conversation flowed. Jen was lively and exciting. She had huge dark eyes and a hundred long braids in her hair, with coloured beads that swung when she moved her head. She had hobbies, too, like Angie! Sometimes after her shift she'd go for a walk in the produce section and imagine she was in a garden, surrounded by fruiting plants. Angie thought for a moment of asking Jen to come visit the real Garden section, but she found herself touched by an unusual shyness. What if Jen didn't like it there? It seemed, somehow, that Jen thinking badly of her would be the worst thing in the world. The next day, Angie and Bill were spraying for pixies. Jim walked behind with the big tank of Agent Purple and Angie, masked and gloved, sprayed it into the little nooks and crannies between planters. "You're different today," Bill said as they paused in their spraying to let a terrified group of customers sprint past. Angie couldn't help but smile, and she felt herself blushing behind the mask. She mentioned Jen and Bill chuckled. "Like that, is it? I'm too old for that sort of thing now." "You are not!" Angie cried. Bill was old, she supposed, but what about that? It's not like anyone who worked for Voidmart could die unexpectedly. Only as Management required, and Bill's time wouldn't be up for ever so long. He'd shown her his contract once. "You're a sweetheart," Bill said, "but I am too old for chasing cashiers, that's for sure. Ask her out, why don't you?" As if it were that simple! "She's so - so clever and bright and exciting, Bill," Angie said. "I'm not like that." "I don't know," Bill said, smiling his warm smile. "You might be." For the next couple of hours, as they sprayed, Angie was in a haze, thinking of all the things she might say to Jen and all the ways it might go wrong. Suppose Jen wasn't interested in Angie that way? Suppose she thought Angie was just a sad fat gardener with greying hair and big hands? That night Angie broke off her wanderings a little early to go up to the canteen again, and her heart did a glad little skip when Jen was there once more, grabbing herself a Golden Bean Brand Coffee from the staff machine. They sat together and this time, Angie mentioned her plants and her walks at night. Jen really listened, in a way hardly anyone ever did, and Angie went back downstairs filled with a warmth and happiness she barely recognised in herself. Next morning all her uncertainty rushed back. Wasn't it better in some ways to just have the dream, the possibility of perfection without risking disappointment? She said this to Bill as they sprayed and he told her she was talking nonsense. Angie was almost relieved when the loudspeaker switched itself on. At least a commandment from Management would give her something else to think about. The many voices of Management roared their Voidmart greeting. "VERMIN IN THE MAIN STORE," bellowed the chorus of snarls. "GARDEN SUPPLIES TO THE CHECKOUT DESK." A pixie had somehow evaded their net! It had probably hitched a ride with those running customers the day before. Angie swore and Bill kicked a planter. "I'll go," Angie said, snatching up the portable sprayer. "You finish up here." She left Bill sweeping up heaps of tiny, tangled corpses and pounded out into the riotous colour and harsh lighting of Voidmart proper. People stared at her muddy boots and masked face, at the canister of hissing gas on her back, but she ignored them as she stormed towards the checkouts. The pixie was crouched on top of a cash register, hissing and howling in confusion and rage. Every so often it made a snatch at the cashier - the cashier! It was Jen, staying barely out of reach, panic on her beautiful face. Angie felt a stab of white-hot rage and fear. She stormed towards the checkout desk, sprayer in hand. "Jen!" she roared, "get down!" Jen made a dive under the counter, braids flying, and Angie triggered the sprayer. Purple liquid soaked the pixie head-to-toe in an instant as it tried to leap away. It fell to the floor, gasping and kicking, and Jen slammed a basket down over it. She looked up at Angie and her eyes were wide, but she was starting to smile. "Wow," she said. "Thanks. My hero." Angie blushed. "I don't -- why are you even here? Don't you work nights?" Jen lowered her head and shrugged one shoulder. "I, um. I switched a shift. I was hoping, I mean. I thought that maybe, if our shifts matched, that." She ran out of words. Angie crouched down and rested one gloved hand on the basket. She caught Jen's eye. "Let's get dinner together after work? Then maybe - you'd like to come and see the garden." Angie smiled, and Jen smiled back, and it felt like she'd never be lonely again.
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Jul 5, 2015 23:33
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look against, fade together 839 words Adam awoke sitting on the floor in front of a mirror. He stared at the reflection. He couldn't see his face. It was a blur, churning shades of dark gray. The rising light of the sun crept through a gap in the curtains and worked its way across the mirror. He saw the image of his blood-smeared waxen skin and the matted hairs on his body. He saw the reflections of the blood-soaked fibers of the bed sheet, the splinters of the broken closet, and the shards of the shattered bulb. But his face was a dark blur and he had no memory of what it should look like. He felt for his face. His hand found his nose, mouth, eyes. It was all there but it felt different. His fingers fell into hardened trenches which spanned across his face. What was wrong with him? Where was this place? Adam's heart rushed blood through his body as his eyes scanned the room. Clothes spilled out from the closet behind the bed. He climbed onto it and placed his hand on someone else's ankle. It was cold and rigid. His hand recoiled from it, and he screamed. What about my ankles, do you like them? His body folded to the ground and he wept. He sat for some time, lost in his head. He then took a deep breath, traversed the linen coffin and gathered some clothes. He pulled on a pair of jeans. And my thighs too? “What are these thoughts? Where am I?” His shouts echoed unheard throughout the apartment. “Who am I?” He ran out of the bedroom and down the corridor into an open plan kitchen and living room. He saw many framed pictures of the dead man and another man who he guessed was himself because always the face was blurred. What did he have to do with this dead man? He must have known him. The sight of his face and his arm embracing his body soothed Adam. It evoked a warm belief in him. A hint of hope. But why couldn't he remember him? And why was his face blurred even in the photos? He gazed at a vase beside one of the pictures. It was filled with tulips. Do you think they're pretty? He hurried out of the kitchen and found the exit. But the door was locked and no keys were in it. “gently caress! gently caress...” Adam kicked the door. He returned to the kitchen and slammed the drawers as he rummaged through them all. He found no keys. The windows maybe, he thought. He opened the blinds. Only the first floor and the window was ajar. Hope! But it would not open any further. Adam heaved until his veins revolted and the room pirouetted. He fell into a chair. A breeze came through the opening. It caressed his neck, and he rose from the chair and upturned the table. Used plates and cutlery rebounded off the floor and sunlight flickered across a stack of photos as they too fell. He collected them from the floor. The first photo was of two men embracing. Neither face was blurred out. One was the dead man. The sight of the second face made his teeth grind and his breath deepen. Do you like my face too? The stack of photos became more and more graphic in the sexual acts they portrayed. He gasped as memories harassed his mind. “Sorry, Jeff. I'm so sorry...” He then sobbed, but now with arid eyes. He had lain on the bed, almost naked. "Do you like my face too?” Adam had screamed. “Yes, I love your face.” Jeff searched for solace on the floor, his eyes avoiding the face he claimed to love. “Then why did you gently caress him, Jeff? That ugly loving oval office.” Adam revealed a knife. He pushed it against his own face. "Will you love me if I am ugly too?” “Please don't do anything stupid, Adam. I do love you!” Jeff raised his hands, urging Adam to drop the blade. “I don't know why I did it. I'm so sorry.” “You've done it before, I know! And you'll do it again!” He swept the blade across his face, causing deep gashes. Jeff launched across the room. He tried to grab the blade. They wrestled for the knife, destroying the closet and breaking the lampshade. During the struggle the knife had slipped and plunged into Jeff's stomach. Adam had sobbed while he died in his arms. Then he had taken the blade to his own wrists. Adam stumbled back to the bedroom and gazed at the face of the man he had loved. He turned to the mirror and saw his own marred face. He fell to the ground and wailed until exhaustion arrested his awareness. Much later, Adam awoke sitting on the floor in front of a mirror. Adam stared at the reflection. He couldn't see his face. It was a blur. And he had no memory of what it should look like. Lazy Beggar fucked around with this message at 22:56 on Jul 10, 2015 |
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Jul 6, 2015 00:24
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These Diode Stars 1297 words Dr. Keane Farley didn’t have an office with a fancy desk and couch. Instead he conducted his therapy sessions in whatever department of Voidmart™ his patient worked, both of them just lying on the floor as one talked and the other listened. It was a dirty job. "Do you remember the last time you’ve been outside?” Jolyne said. "I don't even remember the outside," Keane said. Hands folded, he stared up into the dimmed office lights. “I think I’ve been in here for years.” “Sounds harsh.” “Just remember what we talked about. It could always be worse.” Jolyne said nothing. Keane’s wristwatch buzzed. “Looks like our time’s up.” He pulled himself up along her desk, a neutral workspace void of family photos or decorations. “You feeling better?” “I think I’ll be stuck here forever.” He helped her up, gave her that amicable pat on the back that cemented the end of their session. “Therapy is a long-term process. You’ll be fine.” “Sure.” Jolyne said it with all the energy of a corpse. “Whatever you say, Dr. Farley.” She sat down and leaned into the welcoming glow of her computer screen. It didn’t take more than a few moments for her to develop that faraway-gaze that most shift supervisors had. He let himself out. Walking down the service hallway to the mart’s ridiculously large shopping area, he noticed a post-it note stuck to the wall. He froze. There was a smilie at the bottom. Somehow the notes always found their mark. Many things about Voidmart™ were odd, but that part creeped him right out. “Valued employee Benny from Guns, Ammo, and Liquor applying for other workplaces. Please ensure full satisfaction with current position. - the CEO :).” Keane’s job was to facilitate an optimal employee turnover rate at Voidmart™. By definition of management, that was zero. Anything else and he would have failed to keep employee motivation at that critical level right between Too Depressed To Work and Too Eager To Stay. And that would mean a review with the CEO. He picked up the pace. # Benny could have best been described as a gentle grizzly bear. He stood behind a glass display filled with a haphazard arrangement of pistols and cheap whisky, and threw a sheepish smile at the customer-less void in front of him. The lack of people shopping for booze probably meant it was early in the day. Keane didn’t know for sure. He hadn’t lied when he’d said that he couldn’t recall the outside. For as long as he remembered, he’d been in the mart doing therapy sessions. He probably had a home, somewhere. Maybe even a family. But right now he couldn’t even remember when he last slept. Likewise, his clock didn’t tell time. It just counted down for fifty minutes, and then it buzzed. “Benny, mind if I disturb a little?” The big man jolted like he’d been poked with a stick. “Oh, hello mister. Sure, not much going here anyways.” “I hear you are unsatisfied with your job?” “I don’t like the guns.” “What do you want to do instead?” Benny shrugged. “Anything.” A smile formed on Keane’s face. “Let’s go for a walk. I want to show you something.” # Keane gave him the usual tour – a trip around Voidmart’s™ menagerie, employees just broken enough to go through the motions. There was Jolyne, the shift supervisor who spent her days staring into the monitor, sighing and waiting for her next therapy session. There was Marshal, the fitting room attendant, a bulging vein on his forehead as he stuffed a customer’s fat belly into a pair of purple lederhosen. There were the grimy toilets… the janitors were nowhere to be found, but just imagine working here! Really, the world had no shortage of jobs worse than Benny’s. The status quo was perfect for him. “That shift supervisor,” Benny said, “had a nice chair. And all the things I’d learn about fashion if I was a fitting room attendant.” As it turned out, he was an irredeemable optimist. That was bad, because optimists were convinced their lives could improve, which basically meant they believed they could find a job outside Voidmart™. The meat department was manned by three people. Two butchers stood at the counter, one talking to the fist-sized pet spider in his hands, the other feigning indifference while slowly edging away. Their assistant was in the back. He didn’t say a single word, never moved from his place, just had this thousand-yard-stare on his face as he chopped the meat that was put before him, jerking his arm up and down, up and down, with the grace of an unoiled tin robot. “What happened to him?” Benny said. “He was called to the CEO one day. Been like that ever since.” Gravely, Keane turned and looked Benny in the eyes because what he said now had to be understood: “The CEO will want to speak to you as well, if you are going to leave.” “I’m not afraid of him.” “What?” “What do I know? Maybe he’s so nice it left the youngster speechless. Maybe I just won’t go.” He shrugged. His optimism hung between them like spider webbing – cumbersome to penetrate and hard not to get caught up in. Keane swatted it aside. “I don’t think you understand the risk.” “Because change is risky?” “Precisely.” “I’m a vegetarian now,” Benny said. “I-- what?” “Sarah, she works in the pet store. Used to avoid eating with me because she couldn’t stand the smell of meat. We have dinner at vegan places. I like her a lot. And I think you’re wrong, Dr. Farley. I think sometimes change is good.” “Is this too about Sarah?” “You are married, right?” Keane left the question unanswered. He didn’t remember. “Sarah has hair blond as the sun. She’s so sweet. Is your wife blond?” “She… sure.” No. That wasn’t right. Brunette. “Sarah loves the sun. Just soaks it up all weekend.” Danielle. She had long, brown hair. “I sure miss her right now. What about you?” Sometimes a hair of hers got caught up in the pancakes she made. She made them late because she worked the night shift. She drowned them in syrup. She’d sit out on the porch with him, having breakfast amongst the stars, enjoying the breeze. His watch faintly rumbled. He blinked. “Well, that about does it for our session.” “Oh… well, I don’t know if it did much.” “I think it did,” Keane said. # “Do you remember the last time you’ve been outside?” Jolyne said. “Yes,” Keane said. He let the answer hang in the air for a second. “I remember, and so should you.” The office light burned him. It was artificial, like everything else in this place. He wasn’t even a proper therapist. The real world was out there. Her name was Danielle and she had brown hair. Keane jumped to his feet. His watch was at 24 minutes. He ripped it off. “Dr. Farley? Is everything alright?” “No,” he said. “This is all wrong.” “Well… what can we do?” “We leave.” Leave. The word hung in the air between them like an unspoken threat. Keane hurried out the room, took a left down the service hallway. Jolyne followed until just outside her office. She protested, but trailed off mid-sentence. The exit was at the end of the hallway. On the door was a post-it with a smilie at the bottom. Keane tore it off. It crumpled up in his fist like any regular piece of paper. He threw it over his shoulder, and Jolyne jumped away from it like it was a mutant spider. He pushed the door open. A gentle breeze fluttered past him. It was night outside, and the sky was full of stars.
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Jul 6, 2015 00:27
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Sitting Here posted:Your character works in Guns, Ammo, and Liquor. One stop shopping! Forever Voidmart 1,281 words "Would you look at this beauty, Travis!" said Dayton, pulling a rifle out of its crate. "Yeah, looks great", I said. I didn't turn to look, but I doubt he noticed. Dayton loved it when we got new stock. In fact, he would probably live in the guns and ammo department if he could. "Real American craftsmanship! They don't make 'em like this anymore." "Well, except that one", I said. "They did make that." "Nowadays they make everything China or Africa or some other country full of godless communists", said Dayton, not listening to a word I said. I had been here too long to be offended by Dayton, the guy was probably senile anyway. Besides, as soon as I'd made a few more paycheques I'd be out of this place. A customer walked into the department. I gave him a small wave, but he didn't seem to notice, and he wandered off to the liquor section. Dayton came over and tugged at my sleeve. "Look, there's one of them now. One of those orientals. You think he's up to something?" "I think he might have a devious plot to buy booze", I said. "Can't trust them, you know. You think I should call security?" "gently caress no! You know what Voidmart security is like", I said. I thought back to the last time the old fart had called in security. We had to close shop for days to scrape off the blood. The customer came up to the counter and paid for a couple of bottles while Dayton gave him the evil eye. When he left, Dayton ran behind one of the stalls and surreptitiously watched him wander off into the Voidmart crowd. "He's gone. I think we're safe", Dayton said. "Thank God, he might have stayed and bought an ammo pouch. Then we'd really be in trouble." "Well, don't worry. I always keep some of the guns behind the counter loaded in case of emergency." Before I could tell him that that was a really bad idea, another customer walked in. It was an old guy wearing a civil war cap. Talking to customers like that always gave me a headache, so I asked Dayton to take over the counter while I took a break. I wandered out to the parking lot for a smoke. As soon as I stepped out of the store, I felt a heavy cloud lifting from me. I guess it might just be relief from getting to leave work for a while, but I still felt as if there was a weird sensation specifically tied to being inside Voidmark.The customers were all assholes, and all the staff were either depressed, cynical or mad. It was as if the place was sucking away your will to live and drawing out all that was worst about you. I took a drag on my cigarette. Just a couple of months. I'd spend a few more months in there and build up a cash reserve, then I'd finally be able to quit and do what I really wanted to do. Come to think of it, what was it that I really wanted to do? I thought back to when I took the job. I had a clear plan for what I wanted to do afterwards, but it was all hazy now. It was as if someoe had pried open my skull and scrubbed that part of it with a cheap erasor, leaving behind smudges of memory but nothing more. I'd figure it out, though. It wasn't as if I would have to spend the rest of my life there. I stubbed the cigarette against the wall. I figured I had better get back before the old coot did something stupid and got us both in trouble. I took a deep breath and went back into Voidmart. I had to wade through a throng of shoppers trying to leave the store. Couldn't blame them, I thought. I'd quite like to leave as well. When I got through, Voidmart was actually pretty quiet. Usually it was a swarming beehive of grease and obesity, but now most of the aisles were empty. I squinted and saw that there were at least some people in guns and ammo. A thunderclap rang out through the store as one of the stalls in guns and ammo splintered into a million pieces. The guys in the department turned out to be store security, and they crouched behind cover as another shot was fired off, cutting in half a cardboard cutout of a grinning cowboy. "Jesus gently caress!" I cried as I ran to the department. A member of store security said "halt!" and raised his gun, carefully watching me through his futuristic orange visor. "We have a beta-four staff management situation, this area is off-limits!" "No, hold on, I work at guns and ammo", I said, my hands in the air. "Let me talk to him, I can make him calm down!" Two of the store security guys exchanged glances, then one said "okay, kid, he's all yours." "Any of you want some more, you come right up!" I heard Dayton shout from behind the stalls. "Dayton, you bastard, stop this craziness!" I yelled back. "Oh hey, Travis!" he called out. "Be careful, there are some dangerous people out there, they're besieging the store!" "Look, can I come over?" "Yeah, come quick! But no tricks, you hear me?" I walked down one of the aisles towards the counter. On the ground, I saw a guy with a pair of Crocs and no head lying splayed out, bloodspatter painting the displays around him. When I turned the corner, I saw Dayton and the civil war guy from earlier peering out from over the counter, shotguns pointed at me. "Dayton, what the gently caress are you doing?" I said. "The evil forces of the communist government have taken over the store, it's every man for himself now!" said Dayton. "Quick, grab a gun and help us out, will you?" "Look, you need to put the gun down right now and surrender to security. I'll even help you fill out the paperwork for HR." "Surrender? Oh please, this is nothing, I faced much worse in the war! Have I told you about when I..." "Of course you loving have!" I interrupted. "Hey Dayton, you sure we can trust this guy?" said the customer from earlier. "Sure, this is Travis. He helps me in the store." "Yeah, but he might have been brainwashed. You know, the way the commies used to do." "Hmm, yeah" said Dayton. He cocked his shotgun and said "how do we know you're not brainwashed?" "You know I'm not brainwashed because that's loving stupid. Put down the gun!" "No, you put down your gun!" the customer yelled back. "I don't have a gun!" "Don't fall for it, Dayton, it's one of his tricks!" "Yeah, I won't fall for that!" said Dayton, still aiming his shotgun at me. "What, you want me to drop my gun even though I don't have one?" I looked to my left and saw a rack of handguns. "All right, I'll take one of these guns, then drop it." I reached out for a gun, then the customer cried "look out, Dayton, he's got a gun!" "I knew it! Lousy traitor!" I tried to protest, by no words came out. My ears started ringing, and my knees were shaking. I looked down at my hand, but all I could see was red. Then my vision fogged over and I slumped to the ground. As I lay there dying and my mind faded away, there was only one thought in my mind: Voidmart Voidmart Voidmart
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Jul 6, 2015 01:02
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Brian, the Bean, and the Ball pit 1300 Words She has a blue ponyhawk, a nose stud, and a gallon of orange juice barely concealed under her shirt. She heads for the exit. I make eye contact and say “Excuse me” in a loud voice. She bolts. I tackle her from behind. The orange juice container slips free and hits the floor, bursting open. I call Security and Cleanup. Gunter and Anton soon arrive to escort the young punkster to Legal, and right after them follows Grant from Janitorial. “Sorry to make more work for you,” I tell him. “No probs, Brian,” he says, sizing up the spill. “You're already doing me a solid tonight.” There is one task that is undeniably the worst job in Voidmart. It is so unpleasant that it's not a regular duty of any position, since anyone did it on a regular basis would quit, kill themselves, or kill their supervisor. Instead, it's assigned randomly on a weekly basis, and an offer to take it becomes the most valuable bargaining token in the shift switching economy. That task? Cleaning the ball pit. You would not believe how disgusting kids get in those things. I end up doing it far more often than any sane man should for two reasons. First, I've needed a lot of favors lately. Second, it's the most reliable way for employees to get stolen property out of the building, so Loss Prevention is not-so-subtly encouraged to jump in and disrupt things whenever someone seems a bit too eager to get stuck on the pit. I look at the ball pit, closed for reasons of filth, and shudder. I had it last week, too. I don't know anyone who's done it twice in a row and survived. I move on, reaching the meat counter. Catching actual shoplifters is easy and mostly showing off. A thieving employee costs Voidmart more money, so that's where we spend our time, more on deterrence than interception. Shoplifters take a plea deal. Employees countersue, claim discrimination, and make everyone connected to the case's lives hellish for months. Just walking by, letting Coleen know I'm watching her makes her put that many fewer about-to-expire sirloins in her purse. Sharply at noon the flash mob starts. There are fifty of them, all dressed in blue jeans and bright red shirts, and they've all put on gorilla masks. They're part of some protest group that calls itself Occupy Corporate Kapitalism, and they'll be chanting and making nuisances of themselves for hours before someone decides to call the police. They form a conga line, start chanting, and move slowly through the store, blocking the flow of traffic wherever they go. Not my problem, so I head over to Guns, Ammo, and Liquor. There's one kind of internal shrinkage that Voidmart hates so much that it pursues relentlessly, and that's unionization. I have my suspicions about both the new hires, Leslie and Kilgore, but haven't found any hard evidence yet. They're talking pig wrestling, which might be some kind of code but not one for labor organization. That's when the explosion happens. It's from the back bathroom, where someone set off enough M-80s to break pipes and get both the men's and women's rooms flooding. There were already long lines thanks to the special on giant-sizes at the Golden Bean, and when people realize those rooms are going to be out of service for a long time they practically sprint for the restrooms on the other side of the Voidmart, along a path straight through Guns, Ammo, and Liquor. In the confusion, two men in MT University shirts approach the counter, blocking Leslie and Kilgore's view while a woman in the same shirt grabs a display crossbow, loads it, cranks it until fully cocked, and lets a bolt fly toward the center top of the Voidmart. In the middle of the store, suspended by a thick rope harness, is a large, glistening golden bean, shaped like a coffee bean the size of a football. The crossbow bolt hits the rope, which was already tense from the weight of the golden bean. It snaps in half. The harness, no longer under tension from the weight, slips loose entirely and a fourth college prankster wearing a MTU football jersey and built like an offensive linesman catches the bean with a great struggle. Even though it's far, far heavier than a regulation football, he's athletic enough to carry it at a run. Exactly as they planned three weeks ago. People know that the cameras here don't record audio, by law, and rarely consider that the person watching might read lips. The Occupy Corporate Kapitalism protesters' conga line and associated gawkers blocks the direct route between the bean carrier and the exit, so he angles to the right to clear them, then back to the left to reach the exit. This puts him running at full speed over the freshly cleaned and waxed spot of floor where the orange juice spill was. He loses his footing, falls forward, and lets go of the golden bean. Its momentum carries it directly into the ball pit. The other pranksters are close behind. They help him up. He, not being versed on the horrors of a 6-day-since-cleaning ball pit, digs around, quickly pulling out the golden bean and running out the exit. If they knew what they were stealing, they wouldn't have let their faces be caught on camera. I knew that Corporate would do their very best to keep them from ever finding out, so they wouldn't act too quickly, but would make sure that the police stopped by soon to reprimand them for their youthful shenanigans, and to retrieve their souvenir. I learned this from Gloria, a nice girl in accounting who I dated for a few months. Voidmart has extensive insurance, based on the replacement cost of everything in the store. But sometimes they manage to drastically cut those costs. If they reported those low costs to the insurers immediately, their competition might get wind, but if they don't and something happened right then, they could get dinged for insurance fraud. So instead they substitute out the gold-plated tungsten steel golden bean floating above the shoppers for one of solid gold, so that the total value of everything in the store matches up. Today's a real golden bean day. At the end of my shift I walk to the ball pit, make absolutely sure it's child-free, insert my key and press the button. It sinks into the floor and is conveyed underground to the back alley, because Voidmart doesn't ever want customers to see this. I walk around the long way and start cleaning. First step: triple gloves. Second step: transfer all balls into the cleaning tub. Third step: remove all foreign objects. There's lots. Shoes, cans, wrappers. No hypodermic needles this time around, but there is a mid-sized beanbag chair up against the back wall, utterly ruined. I pull it out and set it down. Fourth step: douse both tub and pit in a mixture of near-boiling water and industrial solvents technically illegal for use within five miles of any woman who is or might become pregnant. Fifth step: drain and repeat. Sixth step: final rinse. Last step: return the balls to the pit and press the button to reverse the conveyor.. Then I lug the beanbag chair to the dumpsters, look back to make sure the camera here is still malfunctioning, walk past the dumpsters, open up my trunk, turn the beanbag over, and let the real golden bean flop into the car. By the time Voidmart recovers the one the college kids took and realizes it's one of the tungsten ones (which I left in the pit last week) I'll be living the good life somewhere tropical and without extradition.
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Jul 6, 2015 01:11
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oop north, in the devil’s den Right out the gate, the spider’s nest was a shitshow- the intern hung upside-down trying to scream in fear and sing in jubilation at the same time so her vocal chords harmonized like one of them Mongolian Monks what sing. The walls of the flat that had once belonged to a Birmingham fishmonger now played host to a network of pencil-thick sticky webbing. Arnult “Arnie” Hughes was happy to be back in Blighty, but less happy for it to be like this. Some Hungarian wanted a Mindfuck Spider for his ugly daughter’s 18th birthday though, and Voidmart® were only too happy to provide. Always another favour for another rich bloke. Was no secret that Arnie would be doing this forever, or until he died. Whichever came first. Just killing monsters and riding the white dragon off into the sunset; he only had one baggie left, which was in his jacket pocket. The men up top didn’t care what he did with his free time, so long as he got them their goddam meat. The new owner of the flat had et the old owner at some point in the previous week so there were just chunks of flesh and strings of gut spread all over the place. Great holy goddam, it was not good at all. On a scale from sloppy blowjob to ‘go see the CEO <3’ it was somewhere windowless where men shrieked as though their souls were escaping. Arnie very much did not want to see the CEO, oh no. He wanted to finish this job, then blow all his paycheck on Medellín Marching Powder and go back to ruining his goddam nose in goddam loving peace. Julie the Intern’s Voidmart® regulation issue hunters’ trousers (beige) were torn, exposing a pale leg with two large welts in it. Big creepy arachnoid bastard had bitten her good, and now she was weeping and saying “baby baby I love you don’t hurt me I’ll try to be good,” as if she hadn’t been briefed on the brain-chemical fuckery that would transpire if (let’s face it, when) she got bit. Goddam interns. Had she signed a waiver? gently caress, no she hadn’t. They’d got the call before she’d been through all the paperwork. If she got et by a mondo mindfucker the size of a Maremma it would be him up in front of the high-ups saying “yessir I did all my best but she was kinda dumb” and he didn’t want that at all. He might lose his job and then where would papa buy his medicine? He would shrivel up without it, and blow away on a strong breeze and float off to the special hell they have for people who were too loving boring to get into heaven. Too slow, grandpa, now you’re gonna burn. Thanks for playing, better luck next time! A dark shape skittered over to his left. Arnie spun and fired. A Voidmart® regulation 12ga “Bugzapper” taser shotgun round punched through the tangle of webbing, and the two nearest walls. There was silence except for Julie’s goddam sing-weeping and the distant groaning of tortured wood. Something gave in the next room over, and there was a small symphony of smashing porcelain. Arnie cocked the shotgun, then took a step towards Julie. He needed to get her down, then he needed to get the mindfucker, then he needed to go home and let the good chemicals blast all these bad chemicals to pieces. Blammo! No more bad feelings ever again, or until his stash ran out. Whichever came first. A twanging in the network of webs alerted him to another attack. He ducked just in time for the lunatic hairy eight-leg beast to go sailing overhead while Julie crooned. “She’s gonna gently caress you up!” she said, “my baby’s gonna gently caress you up, you limey rear end in a top hat. She’s gonna grow babies in your chest. They’re gonna eat you and grow strong. It’s feeding time ding ding ding ding motherfucker that’s the dinner bell.” She howled like a rabid dog for a bit. It was bizarre, but maybe it was an American thing. While his mind was occupied by this bit of colonial weirdness, the mindfucker swung down again. For such a big piece of nasty, it was fast. Something with that many legs shouldn’t be able to get them all in order that quickly. It slammed into him and he screamed. It was wrapped around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. Its mouth was wide open- a goddam mess of bristles and fangs with a whippy brown tongue covered in thick hair. He screamed again, and screeched back at him. It brought its two largest fangs together, then rammed them straight into the meat above his heart For a moment, he felt nothing. Then he felt some more nothing, and slightly more nothing. The mindfucker’s grip loosened, then it twitched once, twice, three times, four five six seven it was twitching twitching twitching -- the little fucker was spazzing out real good. Its eight legs slipped from Arnie’s chest, and it fell to the floor. On the tip of each fang was white powder. Arnie’s white powder. He looked down to where the beast had bit him and saw two holes in his jacket pocket, each one trickling high quality Bolivian Nose Candy. His eye twitched once, twice, three times, four then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the perforated baggie. It was almost all gone. On the plus side, the mindfucker was out for the count, and he was still alive. The gods had spoken: more cocaine forever. He bundled the spider up in a Voidmart® regulation tarpaulin (blue), then dragged it out to the van and slung it into the back. It was still twitching. He’d seen dudes twitching like that at parties, and it usually meant it was time to call an ambulance then geddafuckout. He took a machete from the back, then strolled back into the house. Julie was whimpering. Her face was that shade of purple that people get when they’ve been upside-down for too long- a shade of purple that members of the Acquisitions Branch of the Meat Department were all too familiar with. Too much poo poo that rich men wanted to eat wanted to eat the poor men sent to catch it. Lurkers and stalkers and all sorts of no-good bullshit that laid in wait in the darkness. He shot her in the throat with a Voidmart® tranquilizer dart, then cut her down. “it’s not- uggh,” she said, “not over pigfucker she’s gonna eat your fa-” Night night, Julie. Off in lala land, and hopefully out for the whole trip home. There wasn’t enough room for two crazy people in the van. Arnult sighed, then slung the woman over his shoulder and went back to the van. “Mission accomplished,” he said to himself, then stifled a laugh. Like hell. The world got crazier every day. People killing and thieving and generally treating things like people and treating people like things. Better to ride the white dragon and slay giant spiders than face the real monsters -- the men in suits with big smiles and bigger checkbooks. “Mission accomplished,” he said again. “gently caress yeah.” There was nobody listening. Meat department, 1216 words
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Jul 6, 2015 01:37
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Babies Are Cute Because They Want You To Think That 902 words Jack rolled a Dominican cigar from one side of his mouth to the other as he stared at the customer cowering beneath his gaze. “What the gently caress do you mean I shouldn’t smoke in here?” he asked, dragging a match across the stubble on his chin. The match burst into an orange flame and he held it up to the tip of his stogie. He tapped ash from the cigar and hooked his thumb into his apron which was five sizes too small for his herculean build. The customer studied his nametag while bouncing a baby on her hip. When she spoke, she was ‘matter of fact’ and entitled. “You’re the supervisor of the Baby Supply section of this store and not only did you refuse to help me find where the diapers were, you’re smoking-”. A cloud of cigar smoke blew into her face and she sputtered, going into a coughing fit.. She scurried away, waving a hand in front of her face trying to disperse the smoke. “Voidmart employee, one,” Jack drew from his cigar and put it out on a bib, the embers sizzling a nice hole in the fabric, “customers, one hundred. We’ll get even one day.” His voice sounded like he was gargling gravel. Overhead, the loudspeaker crackled to life and a prepubescent voice, slipping in and out of tenor spoke, “Cleanup on aisle 3,261.” Jack’s eyes dilated into black, shaky pinpricks, the whites in his eyes large as golf balls. Aisle 3,261 was in his section of the store. The diaper section. The memories flipped through his head like a strong breeze blowing the pages of an open book. Poop. Vomit. Helicopter parents. Like a hymen on prom night, he broke. He was back in the cleanup of 79’. ಏಏಏ “Have you seen Jackie anywhere?” asked a sweet, little old lady with a Baby Supply apron to another sweet, little old lady with the same apron. “It’s been an hour and aisle 3,261 still hasn’t - ooooph!” Perched over the old lady, Jack pressed his finger to his lips. “Why do you have baby formula smeared across your face?” “Babies have a keen sense of smell. This is the only way to avoid being detected by those monsters,” Jack said. “Babies?” She managed to ask before Jack’s giant hands clamped over her wrinkly, old people mouth. Jack whispered, “They’re nearby, It’s that new baby scent.” He sniffed hard at the air, his nostrils flaring wide. He pulled a rattle out from his belt and bit down on the handle. He stalked away and disappeared into the clearance rack. “I think my hip is broken,” said the sweet old lady who lay crumpled on the floor. ಏಏಏ “There you are, you little tit vampire,” Jack said while staring at the perfectly harmless baby sitting alone in aisle 3,261. He emerged from his hiding spot behind the display of Huggies diaper boxes and slowly made his approach. His steps were light and he moved smoothly. He held the rattle in his clammy fist and pulled his arm back to attack. Sweat fell from his chin and splashed to the floor with an imperceptive sound. The baby whirled around, its evil red eyes pinning Jack in place. It flew at him with arms outstretched and a piercing wail that gave Jack a nosebleed. Jack dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the baby. He rolled onto his back and brought the rattle up just in time to block the baby’s next attack. It gummed at the rattle and spoke into Jack’s head, the voice a mix between fingernails on chalkboard and the dumbed down speech adult humans use when speaking to babies or cats. “Wewl that escawated quickwy,” it said, “do you always atwack in gweeting?” “You won’t fool me again, Balthazar Anubis Beezlebub Yllgris,” said Jack, rolling over and pinning the baby to the ground with the rattle. “Yea, you little fucker, I know your name.” Balthazar hissed angrily. He flailed his stubby baby arms and legs and with an explosion of psionic energy, Jack was launched up into the air. The sudden burst of power didn’t faze Jack. His shirt was blown off, flapping behind him in tatters, but it only served to make him look all the more majestic as he soared through the air. Falling back towards the ground, Jack held the rattle above his head with both hands and he screamed like a savage, “FREEDOOOOOOM!!!!” From above, high in the rafters of Voidmart, fireworks went off backlighting Jack in glorious red, white and blue sparkles. The earth rumbled as the rattle connected with Balthazar. Random baby supplies shook off the shelves as pulses of Balthazar’s psionic power fought against Jack. “Do you think this is over?! Ewery day miwwions of peowple make sexy time and make mowe of us!” The psionic force field around Balthazar cracked under the strain of Jack’s attack. “You won’t see the wast of wus!” Balthazar exploded like a can of beans left in the microwave for too long. Stoic, Jack stood and wiped the baby goop from his face. He pulled out his apron and cinched it around his waist. He squinted, glaring down aisle 3,261. Cleanup indeed. “Voidmart employee, two,” he said, pulling out a cigar and lighting it with a match dragged across his hairy chest.
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Jul 6, 2015 01:43
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