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Out. Not going to git r done at this point.
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Nov 9, 2015 05:50
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Black Yolk 763 words I was in my second month at the refinery when Idiot Jorge fumbled the crane controls and slammed a two tonne impeller into the pipe assembly on the number 3 feeder gantry. The gantry splintered, naturally, and sent a ten metre jet of thick glistening crude arcing over the catalytic cracker arrays. I saw it splatter on the deck, a black stinking snake of viscous goo sucked out of the bowels of the earth in Russia and shipped to Morelos to be massaged into money. I gaped at it for a moment, then the alarm sounded. It was the worst one - hydrogen sulphide. There is no sound more horrible than the shrieking, warbling wail of the H2S alarm on a refinery. It says terror, it says run, it says you may already be dead. I smelt the rotten eggs, covered the fifty meters to the nearest mask in what felt like a neatly snipped segment of no-time, and sprawled into the safe zone. I fumbled the mask over my head then goggled at the rest of my crew ambling in behind me. Miguel was laughing at me, big fat face glistening with delight, his loud voice muffled through the already sweat slick rubber of my gas mask. “Newbie, if you smell it you are ok. If it’s strong enough the sulphuro kills your nose first, dead, bam. Then it kills you.” He’d reached out and tapped my chest, just above the Pemex hawk logo on my regulation green cotton shirt. He turned to the others, hands. “Speaking of dead, this has to be it for Jorge, eh? 200 pesos he’s fired before he gets down from the--” That was when the floor started shaking. It was a little shudder at first, as though a giant kitten had tapped the building with its paw twice, pam pam. Then there was a roaring, distant and muffled, but absolute. The door was still open and i saw the big road the tanker trucks used to get back to town lift and shatter, saw one of the tank trucks swerve and topple. I didn’t see what happened next, because the whole refinery was moving. The floor tilted up, then back, then the other with a grinding, gnashing groan. I grabbed the floor as it tried to shake me loose, saw Miguel grab for the stanchion block, miss and go sprawling. Over his shoulder through blurring eyes I saw the hot, lazy expanse of Coatzacoalcos ripple and shudder as the quake hit it. Miguel was screaming, his moon face stripped of its usual smug sheen. The refinery’s ten thousand pipes were ripping each other apart. The big crude tanks on the edge of the plant had been shattered like eggs, and their black yolk was pouring into the trench the serpent had dug behind it. I pulled myself to my knees and watched my city crumble, Streamers of smoke were puffing out, hundreds of meters high, across the land between the two branches of the river mouth, along a line from Morelos. Underneath the plumes of dust something was rising, something long and serpentine, hundreds of metres across, glistening slick and black in the blazing hateful sun. It was covered in thick matted coating, layers upon layers of oil-wet feathers. It raised high up, up about the river then came crashing down like a giant whipping a puddle with a knotted rope, sending dirty spray flying. A wave that must have been thirty metres high went careerning down the river mouth, catching bridges and snapping them like twigs, sending cars spiralling high in the air like pebbles to splash into the churned up water. The snake writhed, smashing through the tall buildings along Zaragoza as though they weren’t even there. It ground forward through the city, leaving behind it a furrow that was hundreds of metres wide, an arrow straight towards the refinery The floor was still moving, shuddering with each distant spasm but seemed to be stabilised on a lean. Miguel and the others were slumped, clutching whatever they could hold. Miguel’s face was blue and a stream of blood was coming from his nose. I scrambled over him and started to pull my mask off. I don’t even know why. He stopped me, his hand hard like a trembling iron bar. He was having trouble breathing. The alarm was still shrieking. “No… Quetzalcoatl. He said he would come back. This is the day. We have suckled on his bounty. Now, he is taking it back. All we have made. All of it." I watched him die through the foggy plastic circles of my mask, watched the feathered serpent take his retribution, remembered when my grandmother had told me the story of Moctezuma and Cortes, of the emperor hailing him as the returned lord of light: "You have graciously come on earth, you have graciously approached your water, your high place of Mexico, you have come down to your mat, your throne, which I have briefly kept for you, I who used to keep it for you." Coatzacoalcos, Mexico
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Nov 9, 2015 05:55
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Lost Cause (1400words) Sealand - 2002 "This is really all your fault, you know." Marie was sounded particularly surly. Small wonder. Nobody liked to be woken up at the crack of dawn to the shudders caused by an enraged... something charging at the towers. "You weren't there." Richard sounded defensive, as he peered over the edge at the black monster determinedly ramming the eastern pillar. "It looked like a ship in the light, and Sealand has a policy for ships that get too close." Arnold stayed silent. He'd been there, and he'd told Richard that no, that really didn't look like a ship, and that it'd probably be a good idea to see what it was before shooting at it, but he didn't really feel like getting between Mr. Unstoppable Force and Mrs. Immovable Object. It never ended well. Marie snorted. "Whatever. I'm going to go get the Mini-M from below, just so you can go call up his Royal Highness and tell him why exactly the sixth and seventh floors of the east pillar are now flooded with seawater." They both watched as she stomped down the stairwell into the west tower. "Women, am I right?" Richard grinned at Arnold, who very deliberately avoided eye contact. Instead, he braced himself against the knee-high lip of Sealand's upper deck and looked down at the pitch-black sea creature below, which was still determinedly bashing away at the concrete pillars below. "Do you think it might go away if we just leave it alone?" "Do you really want to wait until it's flooded both pillars?" Arnold didn't respond, but pulled himself back up and away from the edge after a particularly nasty jolt. He rubbed at his aching legs. A nap would really hit the spot about now. A couple minutes later, Arnold heard something scratch against the metal deck. When Arnold turned, it took him a couple seconds to realize what was going on. In front of Richard was the other oil drum he had brought up last night and the welding torch they used for repairs. As Arnold watched, Richard twisted the cap off the oil drum and stuck the head of the torch inside. A twist of the valve, the hiss of oxygen and acetylene, and the pieces fell into place. "Are you insane?" Arnold would flush at the octave his voice hit later. "You're just going to piss it off even more!" Another shudder from below. Richard appeared to be counting under his breath. Finally, he pulled the torch head out of the barrel and capped it. He pulled one of the detonators he'd used last night and Richard just continued rolling the drum towards the lip of the deck. Another ram from the angry beast below forced Arnold to take a stumbling step forward. The drum jerked forward and struck against the metal lip of the deck's edge. Arnold may have shrieked. When he finally pulled his hands off his eyes, he saw Richard crouched by an upright barrel, waving him over. A moment's hesitation, a jerk of Richard's head, and Arnold finally acquiesced and walked towards the edge, barely managing to avoid faceplanting along the way. When Arnold had drawn close enough to hear, Richard growled, "Don't be such a baby. All I need you to do is help me get this over the edge when I say so." Richard braced himself against the knee-high wall and peered down at the monster below. What he saw evidently satisfied him, if the grunt he gave when pushing himself back into position was any indication. "I've attached a timer to the detonator inside the barrel. When I start it, it'll take twenty seconds to go off. We'll have five seconds to get it over the edge, and then hopefully it'll blow as soon as it hits the water. Got it?" At Arnold's tremulous nod, he rolled his eyes. "Then stop cowering and get into position!" Arnold quickly stuck his fingers under the bottom ridge of the drum and braced himself. A couple of beeps sounded from above, and then Richard barked, "Now!" It was at this point that Marie finally came up from the stairwell, with the Mini-M phone safely wrapped in a garbage bag and tucked underneath her arm. Her snapped-out "What the hell are you two doing?", when combined with the fact that the barrel was significantly lighter than Arnold had been expecting, meant he gave a much larger shove than he needed to. He heard a muffled curse from the other side of the barrel as it collided with Richard's face, and as he watched, the barrel went flying into the air as Richard clutched at his bleeding nose. Praise the gods, it didn't land back on the deck. But Arnold's sigh of relief was interrupted by the strongest quake yet - and he fell flat on his back. By the time he got back up, Marie was staring at the spot where Richard had been, hands over mouth. The tightly-wrapped phone hit the ground. They both dashed over to the side. What met their eyes then was the explosion of detonating acetylene. Marie pulled Arnold's head back from the edge, just in time to avoid a tumbling metal shard of oil drum shooting up from below. Arnold looked over at her. She was sitting, hands on knees, face drawn and white. He swore he could hear her murmur something along the lines of you bloody idiot. A couple more seconds passed, but before Arnold could decide on exactly what to say, the deck began to shake again. Then it tilted - only a small amount, but perceptibly. Arnold peered over the edge again. The black creature was thrashing in the pink-tinted water, flailing and smashing against both of the pillars. Sealand was shuddering very, very regularly now. The metal deck tilted again, and Arnold pushed himself backwards onto safety as fast as he could. Marie helped pull him to his feet, Mini-M tucked under her arm again. "I think we need to get off this thing." Marie's eyes were wide, but her lips were pressed into a firm line. "Help me get one of the lifeboats loaded onto the Dolphin." "Abandon ship? But what's Michael going to say?" Even as he said those words, Arnold was already pulling off one of the tarps She joined him, and in very little time, the two of them were very cautiously carrying it over the crane that would lower down to the sea. It was only when the crane's hook had been attached to the lifeboat's tether and they were both hanging in the air - many, many meters above the ocean's surface - that Arnold finally realized something. "Wait, how are we going to get down?" Someone usually had to man the crane in order to both bring the boat up to Sealand's deck or down to the ocean's surface. Marie grinned at him. "Like this." She clambered up the ropes until she reached the point where the crane's hook held the lifeboat's tethers. Then she produced an impressively wicked-looking knife - probably stolen from the kitchens - and began sawing away at the thick rope right above the hook. Arnold covered his eyes. The next thing Arnold could remember was Marie slapping him awake. "Geez, you really are a wimp." But it failed to come out as anything approaching mean. He sat up, and looked around. When he caught sight of the remnants of Sealand, he just stared for a good ten seconds. "Yeah. While you were out, the entire upper half slipped into the sea. Don't know what happened to that thing, but I'm pretty sure I saw a couple of sharks around the place, so I can guess." Arnold sat there for a couple more seconds. Then he looked up, and asked, "What now?" "Well, now you go and call Mr. Bates and tell him just what the hell happened." Marie bent over and dragged out the still-wrapped Mini-M from where she had stashed it under her seat. At his blank look, she said, "I don't really feel like being yelled at. And well, I... I need to think." She looked out towards the Sealand pillars. Arnold nodded, and unwrapped the phone. He dialed the number taped to it, and listened to the phone ring. When it finally picked up, he said, "Um, Michael? I have some bad news..."
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Nov 9, 2015 05:59
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Unique 847 words Ruir had been in one place for a long time, so he decided to move. He pulled himself from the ground with a loud cracking sound, like someone had snapped the sky in half. The snow fell from him in drifts. It fell onto his brothers and he could hear them grumbling. The humans are used to us not moving now, they were saying. They’re not going to like it. Ruir and his brothers all looked the same. Sure, some of their crags were more jagged. Some were covered in crevasses, formed when they were young and never smoothed over. Ruir had a serac on his right shoulder; some of them had seracs, some did not. But when you looked at all of them you just saw a gray mass. It rose up in some places and dipped in others, but it was still just a gray blur. And Ruir had been part of this mass, since he and his brothers had moved here, and stood still, and let the earth shape around them, and the ice freeze over them, and the humans settle next to them. Ruir was tired of being just one of many. As he walked towards the settlement his feet smashed craters in the earth below, and ripped apart trees. He could see the humans scurrying around, but he was still too far, and too high up, to really get a close look at them. His mind wandered back through time to when the humans had first decided to live next to them. That wasn’t clear, either. It had been so long ago. It was a small group of people, he thought, and maybe they had settled to the north, at first? And there had been fire, and smoke. Another group of people had come along and they hadn’t gotten along. Well, after the fire and smoke, there was still a small group of people there. And they had travelled south, gotten a bit closer. But they had never been close enough for Ruir to see them as anything but pink dots set against the earth. They built castles out of stone and towers that rose up high and arched at the top, as if to get as close to the sky as possible. But that wasn’t them, that was just what they had built, where they lived. What they used to close themselves off from everything outside. He could hear something now, though it was quiet, like his brothers whispering in their sleep. It was only one sound, just drawn out. Ooooooooo. They had noticed him, he thought. Maybe this was the sound they made when they were impressed. Some things that he didn’t think were humans were coming out to meet him. The things coming out were the colour of trees and earth. They were low against the ground and moving towards him steadily. They all looked the same. Soon he was close enough to make out details. They all had the same nose, but it was really noticeable. They appeared to have a lot of control over these noses. They could raise them at will and they were all doing that, mostly in unison. As he watched the noses all spit embers. He saw these embers arcing towards him, almost reaching halfway up him in height. He watched them as they collided against his lower body. They singed a little, blackening the areas they hit; his skin cracked, and pieces of him fell off, clattering down his body, falling to the ground below. Now Ruir understood what his brothers had meant. He spoke to them, then, struggling to find what to say. He used the only language he knew, the old language. It was the language of patience, of knowledge learned through waiting, of letting the world wash over you as you let it happen. It was a centred language, a language of regret and expectation. The things that all looked the same kept spitting embers. The humans had all stopped moving. Many were clustered in the streets, but some were on top of their structures; they were looking at him, though he couldn’t see their eyes. They were still just a blur. If they had understood him, it hadn’t affected them. The nose things kept spitting embers; more and more pieces of him were falling off. Turning around took some time. Eventually he was moving away; he could feel the embers against his back, but they soon stopped. The sound, almost imperceptible in the first place, was gone. His brothers were still awake. They had watched him the whole time, not moving, not saying anything. Fire and smoke, he said to them lamely. What did you lose, his brothers asked him. When you were scattered to earth? He thought about this. He thought about it as the sun set and he was still thinking about it as it rose again. His brothers waited for him to answer. He thought about how his skin had blackened and cracked.. I have lost nothing, he said. I am different now.
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Nov 9, 2015 05:59
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Mermen redemption for last week The Gipsys, Snap and Pedro Are none of Tom's comradoes, The punk I scorn, and the cutpurse sworn And the roaring boy's bravadoes. 494 words The Not-So-Kind Merman Tom learned pretty quickly not to trust a merman that didn’t sparkle. Unfortunately, he learned this when he was thrown into the back of the van. “So, uhhh,” Tom started, “Why is it that you don’t sparkle?” Snap looked back at him and spat at him. Tom then realized also not to trust a merman whose name is Snap. “Is it because your mom didn’t sparkle? Some kind of genetic disease?” Tom asked. Snap shook his head, then went to light a cigarette, but he was underwater, so it didn’t light. Tom was a little confused as to why he had a cigarette in the first place. He tossed it out the window, littering. For some reason, Tom was more upset by his disregard for the environment then the lack of sparkling. “I’m sure a doctor could help with that. I mean, it’s not like it’s necessarily wrong to not sparkle, and it’s a bit weird. Anyways, it kind of makes you seem a bit less nice.” Tom paused at those words. “Not that I think you’re mean or anything.” Snap just kept shaking his head, but Tom shrugged it off, and tried to keep talking. “I think you’d look really great if you sparkled, personally. Not that you like bad now. I like how dark your scales are, they look kind of mysterious. And that hat, it’s pretty rad. Where’d you get it?” Snap swam over to him. “Still, I think you’d look even better. Also, if you do stuff like this, not sparkling makes you stand out pretty hard.” Snap picked Tom up by the collar of his plaid button-up shirt and opened up the back of the van. He shoved his face down close to the road. “If you don’t shut the hell up I’m throwing you out of here.” Tom tried to wiggle out of Snap’s grip, but couldn’t quite get free. “Ok, ok, I just thought we’d have nice little conversation, jeez.” Snap pulled him back up, glared into his eyes, and threw him into his seat. Snap walked back to other side of the van, leaned back, and pulled open a book. “Oh cool, you like to read? What you reading?” Snap peeked his head over the book. “None of your drat business.” “Oh c’mon now. I always like reading a good book. You ever hear of cyberpunk? That’s stuff pretty good imo.” Snap closed the book and threw it at Tom’s head. “Ouch, what the heck’s your deal?” Snap swam over to him and grabbed onto him. “Say one more thing and you’re out of here.” “Look, there’s no reason to be so mean.” Snap grinned, then lifted Tom up by his shirt. He opened the back of the van and tossed him out. However, since they are mermen, he didn’t really hit the ground, just kind of floated in the water. Tom smiled, waved goodbye, and went on his merry way.
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Nov 9, 2015 06:06
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interprompt: a fatal case of butt cramp, 100 words
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Nov 9, 2015 08:50
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sebmojo posted:interprompt: a fatal case of butt cramp, 100 words
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Nov 9, 2015 08:55
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Twerkzilla.
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Nov 9, 2015 09:15
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sebmojo posted:interprompt: a fatal case of butt cramp, 100 words quote:every td entry ever
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Nov 9, 2015 09:19
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Sorry, SH, I unclench my cheeks for every one of my masterpieces.
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Nov 9, 2015 09:24
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Umbra Vesuvii 1499 words The earth had shaken, and fire had razed the city. We were under siege from the gods, but we hadn’t known it then. We had thought the gods angry because of the pauper prince, little Nero, and his orgies, but he was gone now, and we were still besieged. Pompeii has always been loved by the emperors, but the emperors have not always been loved by the gods. The tumultuous land had tossed our lamps to the ground, and fires had spread wildly. In the aftermath many people had left, fearing more from their angry gods. But many stayed and we repaired our town, and rebuilt their villas. It was our home, even if it was the pissing ground of the rich. More than a decade had passed since then, and out of the ashes, a demon rose. And it plagued Pompeii still. It was taller than Vesuvius itself. Shaped like a man with the posture of a creeping faun. It had no features, just a black demon sucking all light. When it was not terrorizing us, it slept behind the mountain. We spent our mornings collecting the corpses. We did not want their souls wandering our city; we had angered the gods enough already. The priests cried out that we must appease the gods; and so we would have soon ran out of lambs. They knew that the gods were angry, but they didn’t know why. And worst still, they didn’t know how to undo their rage. We’ve all done bad things, I know I’m no virgin priestess, but what could an entire city have done to deserve this beast? Again, we looked to the emperor and his relationship with the gods. Nero had fled life, and Vespasian had ruled for two years. His reign had been less extravagant than his predecessor. He introduced so many taxes that even piss had one. Quite fittingly he died struggling to stand in a poo poo-smeared toga. The current emperor, Titus, was no priest, but he paled in comparison to some of the divine jesters who have ruled our empire. Some say it was the god of the Jewish people who was angry because of Titus razing their holy land. But why did Pompeii suffer alone? I said to those people, “Look at yourselves, that is where the fault lies.” They did not like being told this. They said, “Look at Rome, it too burned. Twice!” Yes, but the first was because of the Christians, so they said, while Nero sang a lament and tried to sate the fires with his tears. The second because Nero rebuilt thoughtlessly. But we’re all bad here, worse than the rest of the empire; even the poor are too decadent here. Pompeii was the favored toy of the emperors, and the gods, being good parents, were taking it away from them until they learn to behave. Grumbles were heard from the nearby Phlegraean Fields to the west. We feared another demon would come. I woke early as I did each day. My home looked out across the bay; the sun created a golden facade on the sea. I could see Neapolis. The people there had not been bothered by the demon. They said it was because they were still following the old way, revering the gods correctly, not putting too much emphasis on earthly goods. But we didn’t either, not in this house. We lived in the less affluent section of Pompeii, but it had nothing on the slums of Rome. We lived comfortably. If it weren’t for the shadow. I left my house and went about my morning duty; clearing the streets of the dead. My wife often asked why didn’t we just leave. I said, “The demon follows us wherever we go. Remember those who fled to Neapolis? The shadow still loomed over them, it followed them there.” We were at the mercy of its whim. Others tried to leave, but they always returned to Pompeii, dead. I feared we weren’t meant to survive. That Pompeii was to be removed by divine will or otherwise. The first soul I had to sweep still lived. His legs were broken, making harsh angles where lines should have been straight. His child's arms were crushed against his bleeding body. The only thing which moved was his left eye; a crow pecked at his right. I shooed the bird away from the living carrion. I covered his eye with my hand, said my prayers to the gods, and then slit his throat. If we were being punished, I became numb to it then. How could we be held accountable for the slaying of children? When would it come for my own? I hoped it would come for me before, but I suspected the young weren’t being punished, we were. A sound like the striking of an anvil added to the grumble from the west. Was the beast manufactured? Was its creator working on another? Were the other cities working against us, envious of our wealth? It was said that Titus was on his way to Pompeii. To save us, I supposed. But what can a mortal do against such a thing? Not even Vespasian in death had been granted divinity, a purely administrative thing in the past. So what claim to divine right could Titus have in life, if the tax man had none in death? Where even the likes of Nero were allowed a place in Olympus away from the drudgery. They said now, “The beast comes from Hades. It is the Styx ushering us below.” It is said that Aeneas came to Cumae, only a few leagues from here, and there the Sybil allowed him passage to the underworld. If the way goes down, it must come up. And each day the darkness sent countless to Hades. Weeks later as I wheeled a pile of bodies down a cobbled street, jarred by each stone, a shadow loomed in the horizon. It came from the Fields, not Vesuvius. Another beast had come! What had we done? I cried then, and my tears fell on the faces of the dead. I stared at the ever growing shadow. But it never grew upwards. And then a mass appeared. It wasn’t dark. It shone. And as its shadow covered my face, I saw it. An Olympian. On Earth. He limped; Hephaestus. He wore brilliant armor, the likes he had created for the heroes of old and the other more mighty gods, like his brother Mars who had stolen his love. In his hand he held his hammer. Were we saved? He bellowed to the shade, commanding him to wake. The animated darkness rose from behind Vesuvius, a roaring storm. Hephaestus pointed his hammer at the mountainous shade. “Son of Fire, return to your cell!” The god charged towards the product of his power, the sun reflected off him so he appeared like fire himself. His hammer crashed towards the head of the beast. It lurched down and leaped forward. He grabbed the legs of the blacksmith, lifted him high above the ground, and threw him down. The god struck the world like a bolt of lightening. He rolled away from Vesuvius towards our town. I feared the god would roll through our homes, but he stopped abruptly on the city's parameter and jumped to his feet. The darkness fled towards our city crashing through homes and tossing men towards the sea as it went. Hephaestus turned, and threw his hammer. It struck the black monster in its featureless head, and it fell to the ground. Before it could rise, the god dashed forward, picked up his hammer, and fell about smashing the beast. Each crash was met with a cheer from the people of Pompeii. For now, we weren't forsaken. He crushed the demon into a tiny, dense, black box and tossed him into Vesuvius. There was a mighty roar, and the ground shook. If it had been night, another great fire would have ruined our town. But the mountain relented. Hephaestus bellowed again, imploring us to leave this forsaken town. Then he limped back from where he had come from, grumbling loudly enough for our mortal ears to hear the words. Forsaken. Decay. Rome. Downfall. Time. Pompeii. And first. Over the hills he went, and with him the wonderful light left our lives. The darkness had left too, but the shadow of Vesuvius still loomed over us. My wife and I gathered our children in our arms, and we headed to the harbor. We would sail for Sicily and hope that we had suffered enough for our sins. But still some remained as if they hadn't heard the words of the god. As if they didn't expect Pompeii would be removed from existence. That it wasn't cursed, just like the entire empire. Perhaps they hoped the gods would return. I believed that they had just delayed fate. A fate we had created. And even gods are powerless against fate. Lazy Beggar fucked around with this message at 09:45 on Nov 9, 2015 |
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Nov 9, 2015 09:40
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Beggar is in, I'm deccing the thunderdome week 170 finished.
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Nov 9, 2015 10:56
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I appreciate your kindness. Many thanks.
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Nov 9, 2015 11:47
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crabrock posted:Perth, Australia And I wasn't mindful of the deadline (sorry! I'm new here! I am trying to figure this out), but dude, Perth is hosed even without a kaiju. Think about it. Those things originate in Japan. Granted, the guy before me got Busan, and that is a tasty place to start, but as the kaiju crawls its way across the Pacific, Perth, the single most isolated city on the planet, is the only conceivable pit stop to get its godzilla on en route to Sydney and Los Angeles. Chowing down on these golden people from the land down under is the only conceivable fuel for the kaiju to storm its way across the outback, stomping on venemous creatures in anticipation of the myriad tasties on the Gold Coast. Once again, my deepest apologies. Please afford me one more chance~
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Nov 9, 2015 11:59
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Propaganda Machine posted:And I wasn't mindful of the deadline (sorry! I'm new here! I am trying to figure this out), but dude, Perth is hosed even without a kaiju. Toxx urself before Plinkett Rocks ur elf. And by elf I mean your lungs. With cans of RAID. In his creepy basement.
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Nov 9, 2015 12:05
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Propaganda Machine posted:And I wasn't mindful of the deadline (sorry! I'm new here! I am trying to figure this out), but dude, Perth is hosed even without a kaiju. Uh, please realize that the only response you're going to get to this is a bunch of overblown scorn (the tilde doesn't help). Just submit next time (and keep in mind late submissions are still better than nothing at all). e: whoops, too late
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Nov 9, 2015 12:06
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Djeser posted:
As a reminder, one hour till the deadline.
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Nov 9, 2015 12:07
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kurona_bright posted:Uh, please realize that the only response you're going to get to this is a bunch of overblown scorn (the tilde doesn't help). your mum is an overblown scorn e: oh yes right ok ^
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Nov 9, 2015 12:09
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Propaganda Machine posted:And I wasn't mindful of the deadline (sorry! I'm new here! I am trying to figure this out), but dude, Perth is hosed even without a kaiju. Write something anyway, then post it late, IMO.
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Nov 9, 2015 12:20
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Chairchucker posted:Write something anyway, then post it late, IMO. i'll give you a crit if you do this
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Nov 9, 2015 12:29
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wordcount: 600 Dancing Man The diner's kitschy cuckoo clock sang out nine times and right on cue Dancing Man waltzed in. "Hey, girl," he called, bopping to the music in his head. "Shift’s over. Time to go dancing, get a little wild." Marjorie pulled her cardigan on over her waitress uniform and picked up her backpack with a grunt. "If only," she yawned. "It's been weeks since I went out. But I’m exhausted, I’ve still got a ton of study and I’m dressed like a complete dweeb." "You sure, girl?" asked Dancing Man, following her toward the door, hands and feet constantly in motion. "Dancing Man knows places where they don't care 'bout that. Special places. Dancing Man knows where to take a girl." He spun around her in a circle, ending up leaning on the door enough to open it for her. Marjorie slipped past, catching a whiff of lavender about him. "Not tonight, Dancing Dude. See you." Dancing Man tipped his green fedora in her direction. "Sooner than you think, girl." --- Once back at her building Marjorie cursed the broken elevator, climbed the five flights to her apartment and let herself in. She dumped her backpack out on the living room table, laid out her pens and pencils, and opened her Psych textbook. A sharp rap on the window made Marjorie jump. She hadn't yet closed her curtains, and there, floating against the backdrop of the city at night, was Dancing Man, sweeping his feet to inaudible rhythms. Marjorie yelped and ran to the window to check there was no new scaffolding outside. There wasn’t. “Stress-induced episode?” she wondered. “Can I call an ambulance for that?” Dancing Man kept on dancing, doing the Robot, the Blue Monkey, the Charleston. By the time he did the Caterpillar, undulating his body like a dolphin swimming through the night air, Marjorie had forgotten her alarm and started to enjoy the show. Bouncing to his feet, Dancing Man tap-danced toward her. He held out his hand and it passed through the window, where it waggled in invitation. "Some kind of sleep-deprived hallucination," decided Marjorie. "I suppose I might as well enjoy it." She took his hand in her own... ...and found herself swinging among the stars, the lights of the city far below her, the wind laced with lavender. Dancing Man spun and caught her, dipped and twisted with her, threw her around and around the night sky beneath the glorious full moon. They boogied, jived and tangoed. They boot-scooted and electro-slid. Marjorie felt the music of the spheres reverberate around her, felt dizzy and giggly like she was drinking celestial champagne. She stopped to catch her breath for a moment and leaned on a nearby window, not realising it was her own until she tumbled through it onto her living room floor. She scrambled up to look outside, but there was nothing and no one to see. --- The cuckoo sang nine times and Dancing Man popped and locked into the diner. Marjorie sashayed toward him, grabbed his hand, shimmied. "Thank you for last night. I needed that so badly. Dancing among the stars, the city spread out beneath us, the sounds of the universe. It was magical!" Dancing Man spun her and she twirled away but at the last moment he let go her hand, and Marjorie collapsed in a heap beside a booth. "Dammit, girl," said Dancing Man. "You talking crazy. Dancing Man can't be swinging with no crazy people." He moonwalked back to the entrance, spun on his heel and was gone, with only the briefest scent of lavender to mark his passing.
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Nov 9, 2015 12:41
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sebmojo fucked around with this message at 23:05 on Jan 2, 2016 |
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Nov 9, 2015 12:59
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Fumblemouse posted:a story sebmojo posted:a story good, also good night, judgement tomorrow
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Nov 9, 2015 13:09
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Schneider Heim posted:
Thanks for crits!
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Nov 9, 2015 19:01
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quote:“When we generalize and judge people quickly without taking ample time, we've chosen a shortcut. It's superficial of us, and a lack of wisdom.” let us meditate for a moment on how very wrong this is
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Nov 10, 2015 01:01
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sebmojo posted:let us meditate for a moment on how very wrong this is Fast meditation good meditation
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Nov 10, 2015 01:17
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sebmojo posted:let us meditate for a moment on how very wrong this is
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Nov 10, 2015 01:29
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Just wanted to pop in and say I hate you all, and that some of my DM choices were pretty surprising once I turned off judgemode.
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Nov 10, 2015 06:23
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Pham Nuwen posted:Just wanted to pop in and say I hate you all, and that some of my DM choices were pretty surprising once I turned off judgemode. smells like thunder dome
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Nov 10, 2015 06:27
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Hates the cheapest way to keep warm tho with winter coming. You should thank me for hating me.
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Nov 10, 2015 06:28
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prompt e: that was a little fast. unlike the judges this week.
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Nov 10, 2015 06:30
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 Results for Week 170: Cities & Kaiju This was a hard prompt, apparently, because almost everybody did the same thing, which was have people running from a monster that had questionable motives, and some of them had to go back and save somebody? I dunno. Sebmojo two of the judges really hated your story. I thought it had some good imagery, but other than that, there was little there for me to keep their frothing at bay. Screaming Idiot, this was like half erotica, half lifetime movie, and it was painful to read. You both earn DMs. But some of the stories were a little better. Let's focus on those. brotherly made a good show with a power shovel suit, an interesting setting in a city that felt like more than an amalgamation of wikipedia facts, but ultimately fell a little flat at the end. Spectres of Autism wrote a story about mountains and swiss army tanks, but reekked a little too much of Ents for my taste. Entenzahn wrote a great trash monster with motivation to boot, but the plot of running away ultimately did him in. Fumblemouse wrote a tale of a Buddhist monk praying away a monster guy, which was filled with lots of cool poo poo, but "it was all in my meditation" is a little too close to "it was all a dream" for me. All four of you get Honorable mentions. The winner this week wasn't necessarily anybody's favorite per se, but it did paint a fun picture of dystopian Detroit, bee monsters, and glowing poo poo. Everybody enjoyed it and it captured the spirit of the Kaiju genre the best, I think. WeLandedOnTheMoon! takes away this week's win. Last, and by definition least, is the loser. It pains me even write this poo poo, but all three judges were in agreement that this was simply the worst story written this week. I had third party eyes read it and they agreed. I don't know what the heck you were trying to do here, Sitting Here, but this story was just awful  I don't know if you were going for a parody or like, totally irreverant, but your story was stuck somewhere in between "serious, good poo poo," and "what the hell is happening with twitter hashtags and lattes."Take 'er away, WLOTM! crabrock fucked around with this message at 09:09 on Nov 10, 2015 |
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Nov 10, 2015 09:06
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Nov 10, 2015 09:36
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nobody tell Kaiju
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Nov 10, 2015 09:39
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Nov 10, 2015 09:52
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So yeah, as the resident worst writer and voiceman, this was fun. I'll have the long rear end vocal crit/thing up hopefully by Friday (long and quality takes time yo). If anyone wants me as an easy subjudge again, feel free to pm or whatever.
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Nov 10, 2015 10:42
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Ah gently caress. Sebmojo got a DM and the Blood Queen got a loss? No one will ever speak to me again Fumblemouse fucked around with this message at 11:18 on Nov 10, 2015 |
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Nov 10, 2015 11:08
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Blood Queen gets a loss Mojo gets DM poo poo is all hosed up In this writer's den KoL and Thyrork go unscathed But the judging now is done Kaiju were the catalyst To end her perfect run Thunder Dome Thunder Dome It's a screwed up place Kayfabe rules everything And we tell it to your face Thunder Dome Thunder Dome You can't avoid your loss Duhumanize your worthless self And Face To Blood Shed Booooooooooooss 
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Nov 10, 2015 12:12
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Play this while you read my crits and reflect on why Gamera has abandoned you in your time of need: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TvQWBXJOgAI Anyway, here they come. These crits were written stream-of consciousness as I read the stories. I had judgemode on, so I haven’t really tried to spare anyone’s delicate feelings. I’ve since added in the names so you can find your crit more easily. One thing I’ve definitely noticed is that the best stories are using the monsters as a framing device to tell another story. The problem is that “a monster comes, wrecks the city, but gets defeated in the end” works a hell of a lot better as a movie than as a short story. You have to have more going on; see “Assumption”. Parkour Lewis: El Cuco - Guadalajara, Mexico First three sentences start off with ‘we’? Description of the creature is weak--it was “mostly shapeless” but also “seemed to almost have the form of some kind of animal I couldn’t identify”? “seemed”, “almost” “some kind”, “couldn’t identify”. Now its head is “almost wolf-like”? The final third of the story is an odd place to put in characterization; you did a decent job establishing in the first paragraph that your character was into Mary but not sure if she reciprocated, and this further development isn’t needed. Cut out all the parts about how the protag had a crush on Mary, and just leave the last 2 sentences of that paragraph: “Mary deserved better than this, and as she shook uncontrollably in the bed of that pickup, I took her hand and tried to calm her. I didn’t know if I could be of any comfort, but at least I could be there.” Add in something about how she’s a good person if you have to. Its hind legs appear more human now? And its head is bigger? So it keeps changing shape? Make that more apparent if so. I don’t know what to say about the ending. El Cuco eats her, and for some reason he’s taunting our protagonist. We have no clue why he’s so special, or why El Cuco the monster that eats naughty kids would come after him, a grown-rear end man. I’m in judgemode but I think this may be from a first-timer, especially because first-timers like to post early. It’s also full of first-timer giveaways, there’s a lot of words (adjectives and such) that could have been deleted. The story isn’t, like, incoherent, it’s just not very interesting. Guy likes Mary, takes her to Mexico, monster appears and chases them particularly, eats Mary, taunts protagonist, and leaves. Why? We don’t know. Lower in the pack. Maybe DM but it’s not so offensive. Screaming Idiot: The Perfect Man - Agra, India Goddamn these are some stereotypical-rear end Indians. My wife is Indian, so I’m gonna judge this stuff mercilessly. You named the guy “King”, will this have some significance later? Putting the romance in it is good, I assume you’re going for a Bollywood style thing; even a monster movie has to have a wedding in it! Seems like they didn’t try very hard to convince him before dropping off the mecha-godzilla thing; “You are monsters” doesn’t necessarily preclude him going along with them. “The CIA’s methods to fuse metal and flesh are not as… elegant as those” -- “Mr Bond, I think you’ll find there are certain… cliches… that must be observed?” Goldfinger mused with a smirk. “the beast’s corrosive ate” -- corrosive blood? proofread, son. So I guess the Islamic terror cell kidnapped Rajeed Gupta and forced him into a sort of Iron Man situation? And just like in Iron Man, they allowed him to build a man-shaped robot with zero supervision, despite it being haraam? Why the hell would he send Priya to America when it seems pretty obvious he was fighting against a CIA kaiju just a minute ago? Overall I liked the general concept, despite what my comments above say. The dialog is a little overdone, and I think you could have done something more interesting with the idea of an Indian robot; I’d have gone with mecha-Shiva, myself. Story structure is all there, I didn’t see any glaring plot holes, but on the other hand it’s just a scene from a movie: “go on my love, I’ll hold them off here” Middle-low brotherly: The Shovel Warrior - Eko Atlantic City, Nigeria Ok we’re pretty clearly in some sort of ultra-capitalist future society. You’ve made that clear in the first few paragraphs without explicitly saying “In the grim capitalist future of 2050, there is only capitalism”. I’m liking this so far, the kid who has to shovel monster guts but dreams of being the monster-killer instead. The monsters are created by the companies? A sort of bread-and-circuses thing? I like it. It sets up an interesting situation and a plausible (in the context of the story) reason for these monsters to be attacking all the time. The instant you showed the ShovelSuit, it was sort of obvious what he’d do, but the execution of the whole thing was neat. I’d have liked a little more for the closing, though--did he kill that loving ape-lizard? Or did he screw up and fall down? Did you run out of words here? HM candidate. Jocoserious: The Other Uprising - Warsaw, Poland Uh-oh, Jews in Poland. If this story ends with a Nazi kaiju I’m gonna recommend a DM. A rabbi is a priest, not a preacher. Ah, now I see, he made a golem. At least it’s not a Nazi kaiju, it’s a… Kaijew. Zeppelins were no longer in use by this time  It’s not bad. I would have liked to see some more conflict in the characters themselves; Klopot makes a golem, it kills Germans, Klopot and Uli are both very happy. I think it may have worked better with a young rabbi making the golem and his older mentor advising against it--yes, it’s cliche, but it would give some more depth to the story as Klopot and his mentor argue, while the golem stomps Nazi and Jew alike in its rampage to the Parliament. Middle. WeLandedOnTheMoon!: Detroit, Neon City - Detroit, Michigan, USA You’re diving right into the Neon City thing and I’m digging it. Taxi driver is a classic lovely-future job (see: Fifth Element, Heavy Metal, etc.) that really fits the genre (Is neonpunk a genre? I think of it as cyberpunk in a sort of Neuromancer/Blade Runner environment) I forgot for a second that this is a kaiju story, hell. And it’s a BEE KAIJU story which really owns. You better make this good… is this you, RedTonic? “Down the street a man is speared on a monster’s stinger while the creature feeds on its spread innards.” His spread innards, not its. One more proofreading pass would have really helped this story, it’s the small things like this that break my reading flow. Magenta and Kinsey both get spacebee pollen on them, I hope somebody fires this gun or Chekhov’s gonna be pissed. Well, I enjoyed the feel of the story. The ending let me down a bit, but you portrayed a cool neonpunk Detroit throughout. Liked the bees too; having more than one monster makes it easier to keep the threat level up without explaining why the monster is always chasing your protagonist. possible HM Guiness13: The Fall of Palembang - Palembang, Sumatra, Indonesia Ok, established a reason for our rich guy protagonist to run straight into danger--his wife and daughter are there. When the guy had to decide between going to the hotel to save his wife, or the Menpora to save his daughter, I really had to stop and think for a minute--it wasn’t super clear why he was trying to decide between the hotel and the bridge, because you only mentioned that the Menpora was located right by the bridge. You could say “one of them shot to *her* feet”, “their feet” just sounds weird. This story is competently written, in that the sentences are formed right and the punctuation works, but the actual content doesn’t do much for me. The city doesn’t feel very well developed beyond “has a river”, and I didn’t have much reason to care about any of the characters. The part that should have been really dramatic--when he had to decide between his wife or his daughter--was barely there! He just looks back and forth, says “Damnit!”, and moves on. Middle Broenheim: The Last Death in Deadwood - Deadwood, South Dakota, USA “No such thing as monsters,” what do they call that? When somebody says something so incredibly obviously false? Ok mom’s really sick, and she’s doing that movie thing where she pretends nothing is wrong and everyone’s an idiot for trying to help her. Could have used a better description than “he thought of that monster lumbering over the house, and stepping on it, splinters of wood flying through the air.” So you wrote a sad story about a sick mom and a dead dad on kaiju monster week. It’s a perfectly competent sick mom/dead dad story, and I do appreciate an attempt to go beyond “Godzilla really stomped the poo poo out of that city!” but honestly you could have replaced the monster with a wildfire and had the exact same result. Mid-low. Thyrork: A Childhood Monstrosity. - Bartin, Turkey Too many stories start with “Pain,” imo. “The illumination didn’t help improve the state of the room none either.” What the gently caress is this. I know Turkish people can be blonde, but when I see blonde I definitely don’t immediately jump to “Ah, he must be a Turk!” Also, Turk should be capitalized throughout. Although you are telling the flashback in past-tense, his wife would have said “It’s too hot”, not “It was too hot” Is this a giant hermit crab that lives in a shipwreck and shoots the cannons somehow? That’s pretty awesome. “it was the only one I remember”, this is not in dialog, pick first person or third person and stick with it. Also, “the beach fled in horror”? The very sand on the shore ran inland? Do recorders make a lot of noise? You missed an opportunity here, a HELL of an opportunity, in that you appear to be describing a pair of crabs making a nest, but you don’t have Charles say that he managed to escape because he’s a marine biologist and recognized the behavior or whatever. This story needed a hell of a lot more editing. It also needs to tell us more about those drat crabs shooting cannons, and why exactly the Turkish government is treating the only survivor of a disaster like a criminal. Is he a genetic engineer working with a secret UK government weapons lab? That would be a reason. Low, maybe DM but we’re still early. Entenzahn: The Fish and the Barrel - Fort Bragg, California, USA Is this a garbage monster? People need to stop killing daughters or putting them in danger just to goad the protagonist into action. Try a son, try a best friend! I assume the monster regarded him, not regaled him, since it doesn’t seem the talkative sort. I don’t get the ending. The monster seems to be the personification of the pollution of the sea, coming to gently caress some poo poo up with the humans. Then Robert says “I didn’t do that, none of us did” when clearly that’s false, I mean, who the gently caress threw those six-pack rings into the ocean? A goat or something? Especially when his job was apparently ferrying tourists back and forth to a literal landfill, the glass beach (people dumped glass bottles there, eventually they wore down into pretty glass sand). Middle docbeard: You Are Alive - Dikson, Russia Pre-reading note: Heh, Dikson, it sounds like “dick”. Oh poo poo it’s the alien from that one Star Trek TNG episode! SPACE JELLYFISH I don’t have a lot to say, really, except that it could have used another proofreading pass. I’m not in love with the dialog, but it’s functional. It’s also hard to walk that line between having your characters sound like Russians speaking English or just having everything in perfect, normal American English because they’re actually speaking Russian and we understand through the ~magic of fiction~. Middle-high Benny Profane: Sir Donald Aberfeldy presents: Long loving Title - Bukavu, Democratic Republic of Congo Mmm, glad I just opened a bag of chips in time to read about putrid entrails and goopy innards. Cut-rate David Attenborough over here. You switch into a sort of dry Colonial Britain voice when navigating Sir Donald and it works. I think it would work a little better if you weren’t Lovecrafting it up with squamous and rugose descriptions elsewhere, for a little more contrast. Ah, it’s a crab that lives on fart gas! Oh, later on the General even says exactly that. I don’t know that “ornery” really fits the character of Sir Donald, maybe “unpleasant” would be a more voice-appropriate choice. I feel like you had a good time writing this in a particular style, and I’m gonna give you lots of props for using all the 50-cent words you used *correctly* rather than just sprinkling them around haphazardly. That said, the story goes like this: crab comes out, Sir Donald runs away and finds the military dudes, Sir Donald suggests a solution, they implement it, it works. We didn’t really care about the cameraman who died, because he was hardly a character. There’s not really any conflict--after the initial tsunami, Sir Donald doesn’t seem to be in much danger, and nobody ever stands in his way, everything he says they should do gets done immediately with no arguments, etc. Now, replace “Good heavens” at the end with a really loving good pun or joke, and all is forgiven. Middle Sitting Here: Salamonster - Valleta, Malta There are many places in the story that would have made better starting points. Honestly, I’d consider cutting out everything up until “While Stella and Clarkia had a quiet argument on Valletta’s busiest street, a monster was waking up.” Don’t just drop in with that giant salamander in sentence 1 and then not actually get to it for another 8 paragraphs. “The faces around Stella all seemed bovine and idiotic, now that she wasn’t seeing them through her camera app, their cheeks flushed and their eyes lolling in their heads.” Those foolish sheeple! I think the idea of a monster formed by the current zeitgeist has been done plenty, but it’s still a cool thing if done well. Unfortunately, two unlikeable people save the day with loving Twitter. And what the gently caress does it mean for “UN helicopters” to “douse the thing with tanks of scalding latte”? What loving universe is this set in, where tourist brochures calmly advertise occasional monster rampages and the UN fights fires with coffee? DM for Twitter Obliterati: Desperate Ground - Vijayanagar, India I honestly don’t know what the first paragraph means, except that the protagonist’s dad went to China and brought back something. Oh it’s the Art of War. Are you calling the people of Vijayanagar “Nagas” to foreshadow the creature being a giant snake? Because it’s obviously a giant snake as soon as he sees the marks on the ground, and having the word “naga” put in your head over and over does nothing to delay that realization. Ok so the snake isn’t a surprise, but I still dig this story for a couple reasons. The style conveys a certain tone without being so overdone as to be hard to read, which is nice. You also wove together the story of the protagonist’s father, the Art of War quotes, the actual historical Islamic invasions of India, and oh yeah that giant snake into something that was coherent and worked. High middle. Grizzled Patriarch: Garugon Rises - Natchitoches, Louisiana, USA A monster who just wants to be loved / not be alone… it’s a first among these stories so far, and your descriptions are bringing it out nicely Welp that didn’t last long, nice destruction though. Short and sweet. Is this Grizzled Patriarch? Your poo poo seems to tend toward high-quality brevity, and that’s what this is. I like that the monster hurts itself as it destroys the town; it’s not invincible, just really big and strong. Hurting itself in its rage makes it very human. If you told me this was a Twilight Zone episode, I’d believe it. HM Fumblemouse: Assumption - Ghandruk, Nepal Ok it’s about Buddhists but then, what else even goes on in Nepal? Better this than a yeti. Bibek the Abbot is imagining killing Ratnamara… that sounds like something he’d be warned about, especially when Ratnamara is basically shouting out Buddhist quotes that say Bibek sucks. Ok that was actually pretty cool. Until Ratnamara said, “Do not assume you will recognise your own Nibbana”, I had absolutely no suspicion of how it was going to end. It was something different than the usual and I really dig this. Post-judgment note: crabrock pointed out this skirts mighty close to “it was all a dream” but it was done a hell of a lot better than most “it was all a dream” stories so gently caress crabrock. HM Killer-of-Lawyers: She Who Fights Monsters - Yellowknife, Northwest Territories, Canada Ah, a bunny, huh? If you make any Monty Python jokes I’m pushing for DM “The rabbit lay just outside a vast chasm that was dug from the very rock of the mine itself.” This sounds really awkward, ought to re-work it. I don’t know what happened in the rest of the story. Yes, I’m in a rush to get all this judging done, but honestly I read it twice and I don’t know what happened after they dropped the bombs. And Then Woods Was A Monster? Some sort of monster with vines that come out of it? Oh, Woods, it’s a loving tree. Why did she change into a tree, besides puns? What happened to the rabbit? Where did this bear come from? The first half is pretty good, but then it all just goes in a place that perplexes and frightens me. Yes I know she who fights monsters becomes monsters etc. Ok, StealthArcher explained this, I still don’t think it works. Were we supposed to google that the mine is full of a super-deadly contamination, and then make the leap that rather than poisoning all the wildlife it’s turning them into monsters? And that Woods survives a direct bomb strike only to turn into a tree an hour later? Mid-low. Kaishai: Left at Albuquerque - Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA Ok I assigned this one to you so 1) I know who wrote it and 2) you better not gently caress up because this is my town. Pull any Breaking Bad poo poo and I’ll cut you. Oh yeah talk petroglyphs to me. I’m not sure what you mean by the “woman his own size sits on the bank with her feet in the Rio Grande. Her pale Spanish face and obsidian hair remind him of peoples he saw on his last waking. Skirts of cream and rust trail behind her, ribboned with asphalt and tarmac”. I’m hoping it becomes clear as I go on. Well, ok, so the monster fights the personification, the genius loci, of Albuquerque? But what is the monster? I feel like you’ve successfully included the high points of the Wikipedia page on Albuquerque, and I especially like the bit about sending off 4 balloons (the traditional start of a balloon fiesta day), but there’s got to be more to it. Maybe I’m just too dense to understand what the monster represents, which is why I’m giving this a neutral score--my own stupidity should never be discounted. Middle. Thranguy: Three Monsters - Puerto Varas, Chile I like the opening for “like an idiot’s guide to a military salute.” Rocket launchers are recoil-less weapons U MOTHERFUCKRE! How much did you like Stross’s Laundry Files novels? Because *I* like the Laundry Files novels, I liked this, although it needs editing. For instance, I’d cut out the whole bit where Ace visits the protagonist in the hospital. It’s not necessary and I think the story is better without it. I imagined him as some sort of R. Lee Ermey character screaming at this tied-down dragon that may or may not have any connection to Communists; frankly I want the natives to be right and for it to be just a natural occurrence that some nutjob CIA type has obsessed over. Middle. Ironic Twist: Vici - Alexandria, Egypt It took me a minute to figure out this is set in the modern day, I thought it was going to be about the original destruction of the library at Alexandria. Ok so let me get this straight: prior to the destruction of the library, somebody wrote a papyrus document that described how to summon a giant monster that will, as it wrecks the city, also transmit the lost knowledge of the as-yet undestroyed library? The guy keeps saying “all roads lead to Rome” but that doesn’t really have any relevance to anything. If there’s an allusion being made, if the monster is meant to represent something (the Roman Empire?), then I didn’t catch it. Middle-low for being muddled sebmojo: Black Yolk - Coatzacoalcos, Mexico You forgot to finish “layers upon layers of oil-wet”. This needs to be edited. Preferably while editing you should insert a story somewhere. The scene at the start where the oil leaks and the guy runs for a gas mask was nice. Unfortunately all the rest was just “monster appears”, with no further conflict or much of anything beyond descriptions of destruction. DM. kurona_bright: Lost Cause - Sealand This one should be interesting, I forgot that anyone even got Sealand. “He pulled one of the detonators he'd used last night and” And what? That’s it? He pulled one of the detonators he’d used last night and here’s a million dollars… and here’s your own spaceship? I mean what the f--Oh I get it… They got him! Somebody stuck him with a stake through the heart! Oh, this is so sad. Oh Trevor, I pine for you! I didn’t care much for this story. Arnold’s a wuss, Richard falls off, they run away and the monster finishes wrecking poo poo up. Needs editing too. Middle-low spectres of autism: Unique - Bern, Switzerland 2 sentences in: is the monster a mountain? It’s a mountain isn’t it. Yeah it was a mountain. This is a weird story but I kind of like it. It’s the second story this week that makes the “monster” a relatable thing, and it’s good. Unlike many stories this week, I don’t regret reading it, and I’d probably show it to someone who wanted to see an unorthodox short story. Mid-high, maybe maybe maybe HM. Lazy Beggar: Umbra Vesuvii - Pompeii, Roman Empire Olympus, Styx, Hades, these names are all from Greek mythology, not Roman. Anyway, I think the story is interesting. I’m not a student of history, but the way you wrote the protagonist is neat because it shows the sort of magical thinking that I would expect from that time and place, to such an extent that I find myself questioning how much the “monster” and Hephaestus even existed, or whether the monster was a poisonous ash cloud and Hephaestus a thunderstorm that drove the cloud away. On the other hand, I hesitate to call him the “protagonist” (that’s another Greek word, by the way) because he doesn’t really do much besides watch the action unfold. Maybe Hephaestus is the protagonist and the monster the antagonist? Middle. Pham Nuwen fucked around with this message at 16:06 on Nov 10, 2015 |
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Nov 10, 2015 16:02
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moon man, prompt us alrdy im dying over here
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Nov 10, 2015 17:24
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