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sebmojo posted:inter prompt: yarn (50 words) Widow (Word count: 125. Yeah I know, I'm a piece of poo poo) My momma wanted to know why she had no father so she paid Grandma a visit. Grandma was rocking back and forth knitting a river when we arrived. Momma sat me on a rocking horse and asked her, "Where is my father?" The old woman click-clacked quietly and considered the question. She replied, "You had no father. I made you from wool and time." Momma didn't like the answer and left in a huff. Grandma called me over and said, "Hello, my child. Is your momma taking care of you?" I was shy and didn't answer. She pulled me close and picked a stray thread from my scalp. She snipped it and said, "That's always bothered me. Glad I had a chance to fix it."
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Jul 11, 2017 04:35
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Hey kids! Your stories were so bright, wonderful, and luminescent that you caused our head judge to get so verklempt that she needed to excuse herself. Either that, or her internet is down and so, through my magical wizarding power, I will channel her for a judgement post...   You all did great, and we’re just so stinkin’ proud of you! Seriously, we don’t even know where to begin. Oh let’s just start at the very top; it’s our most favorite place!  Dr. Kloctopussy’s Luck Be a Lady told a wonderful story that unanimously collected the judges pick for the win! Congratulations, and may I just say, you have radiant hands.  Kaishai’s From Death spooked us all and made us clutch our hot cocoas quite close to our chests. What a nice story, with a powerful ending, and rumor has it; you bake delicious brownies. Thranguy’s Protean worried us. Are you OK Thranguy? Perhaps you should indulge in some of Kaishai’s brownies. We hear they’re delicious. Regardless, though we may be concerned about you, we are not at all concerned about your writing. You truly are a triple threat. A powerful writer, a member of MENSA, and the only person ever to eat a Denny’s Grand Slam and keep it down. You are a hero. Muffin’s Inter was flashy, stylish, and accomplished a lot in a tiny space. It’s stories like this that support the pet theory that Muffin is an Ewok. Well done Muffin, you earned yourself some head scritchings and to one day be portrayed by Warwick Davis. Capnfalcon’s Diamonds are a Wizard's Biggest Headache provided us all with a magnificent breath of fresh air. Though that may have just been Falcon’s natural appealing musk. It’s hard to tell, sometimes, what’s so appealing about a flash fiction writer. In this case, though, it may very well just have been a well-told story, with a humorous and consistent voice. If Falcon keeps writing stories like this, keeps up their card counting, and doesn’t lose their spot as 2nd chair Bassoon for the Boston Pops, they may very well be in the running for most fascinating Thunderdomer. Onto slightly less wonderful things: OUR FARTHEST AWAY FROM WINNER Phobia’s The Alter on the Mount, left some things to be desired. We respect the choices you made with your prose, but we don’t think they helped your story. The prose made it difficult to navigate, and so we give you the greatest gift of all, the most space possible to improve. We’ve seen you do better, so go and do better. This story may be our loser for the week, but we look forward to more from you! OUR SECOND FARTHEST AWAY FROM WINNER Sokoban’s The Apprentice was a messy endeavor that didn’t seem to accomplish all that much. We are hopeful that, through detailed feedback and more time, we will one day see you at the top of this glorious enterprise, holding the baton as we all yell PROMPT at you. Come back, Sokoban, and show us what you’ve got.
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Jul 11, 2017 08:15
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I approve the above post. RIP my internet
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Jul 11, 2017 08:17
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I will be posting my crits to this doc: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1lYFPKch9RLo52enEp0ZZ--KXd_hLb_jjeCEU_UES7f0/edit?usp=sharing I'm doing them backwards, which is the order I read and judged in. Killer-of-Lawyers fucked around with this message at 08:51 on Jul 12, 2017 |
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Jul 11, 2017 08:17
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If anything this judgment is a little meaner than I prefer In any case prooooompt
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Jul 11, 2017 08:18
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Chili posted:
My virginity has been taken. It feels... good.
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Jul 11, 2017 08:39
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Chili posted:So we give you the greatest gift of all, the most space possible to improve.
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Jul 11, 2017 08:42
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 DOUBLE TROUBLE with BAD CAT 1 and BAD CAT 2 They say good things come in pairs, which must be why I won Wizard Week twice! Yay! Or was it bad things that come in pairs? Well, if there's one thing we can all agree on, it's that some things come in pairs: twins, shoes, eyes. Bad Cats. But what about cops and robbers? Cops and their Buddy Cop? Husbands and Wives? Mistresses and Wives? Ups and Downs! Ins and Outs! Heavens and Hells! Winners and Losers! (that's some foreshadowing for you, fyi) So, pick a pair of some sort. Two of a kind, opposites, vague parallels. It can be literal, it can be esoteric, it can be quite nearly anything you want, except a solo or a trio. And then! A story! Well, you knew it had to come sometime. Write a story that at the very least touches on the pair of things/people/places/ideas/etc. and how they relate to each other. What ties them together? How do they mirror each other? How does the reflection thrown back by one affect the other? If you want to share your pair when you sign up, go for it, they are cool to see. If not, I will forgive you. Because you know what goes together? Transparency and dirty secrets. DON'T post them in your story post, please. Other than that, go As ever, all entries will be judged nearly entirely on how much they are enjoyed. Definitely not by printing them out and putting them in front of some Bad Cats and seeing which ones they try to eat first. Definitely not. But wait! There's more! PRIZES! Everyone likes getting prizes, and now you can get one just for signing up! (kind of) People who  will get an extra-special custom picture of a Bad Cat, holding a little placard with your username or whatever else you want on it (some limitations may apply). Or you can make some other request, maybe the Bad Cats will be a little less bad out of pity and/or respect and do it for you. Who knows what a cat even thinks.The winner will get 5 minutes of bonafide cuddling with the Bad Cat of their choice! (transportation to and from Bad Cat Mansion not included.) Cat pictures aren't flash rules, they are just prizes. You don't need to write about cats. Cats are not part of the prompt. They are just here to keep me company, so I feel a little less alone in the world. If you want a Flash Rule you will be assigned a 90s dance hit. The usual fine print: Sign up deadline: Friday 7/14/2017 11:59:59pm PST Submission deadline: Sunday 7/16/2017 11:59:59 PST Maximum Word Count: 1500 Special Double Bonus! You can, if you want, work in groups of two (2) this week! That means 2 people, 1 story. Party Time! Excellent! (No 90s comedy fan fiction please) Special Double Bonus Maximum Word Count: 2000 Judges DocKloc BaddestRhino Double Djeserdy Bad Cats 1. Beige 2. Fuubi 3. ModeSix 4. Jay W. Fricks 5. Uranium Phoenix 6. flerp 7. Sokoban 8. Ze Bourgeoisie 9. Thranguy 10. big scary monsters 11. super sweet best pal 12. Third 13. Phobia 14. Mrenda 15. Killer-Of-Lawyers 16. QuoProQuid 17. Chili Dr. Kloctopussy fucked around with this message at 20:33 on Jul 16, 2017 |
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Jul 11, 2017 11:05
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In. In.
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Jul 11, 2017 11:10
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Mind and Matter.
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Jul 11, 2017 11:24
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I'm in for this. Let's hope I don't suck.
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Jul 11, 2017 12:51
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Organic and Inorganic In
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Jul 11, 2017 16:06
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I'm in Edit: Dr. Kloctopussy posted:Special Double Bonus! Uranium Phoenix fucked around with this message at 20:17 on Jul 11, 2017 |
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Jul 11, 2017 16:32
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in
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Jul 11, 2017 21:35
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IN is the only way to improve.
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Jul 11, 2017 22:03
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In.
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Jul 12, 2017 03:02
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In, and I'll take a 90's dance flash.
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Jul 12, 2017 03:05
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Since I know you mysteriously prefer dogs to cats, I tried to take a picture of Bad Cat 1 with two pictures of dogs. You can see how that went: 
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Jul 12, 2017 04:31
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Thranguy posted:In, and I'll take a 90's dance flash. Your wish is my command, you get: Christina Aguilera - Genie in a Bottle https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kIDWgqDBNXA
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Jul 12, 2017 04:33
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Uranium Phoenix posted:I'm in Two people submit a single story. If you want to break that story up into two 1000 word stories, I guess I can't stop you.
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Jul 12, 2017 04:37
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Hello, I hate cats, I hate my job, I hate you, and I'm your third judge.
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Jul 12, 2017 04:40
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In this 2 win this. And since it's my first time I'll too, show me those bad, bad cats.
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Jul 12, 2017 05:22
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Djeser posted:Hello, I hate cats, I hate my job, I hate you, and I'm your third judge. How do you feel about 90s dance music, though?
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Jul 12, 2017 05:22
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In and down vs up and out. Flash me!
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Jul 12, 2017 05:40
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Dr. Kloctopussy posted:How do you feel about 90s dance music, though? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2JVNNRmxupo
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Jul 12, 2017 06:15
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big scary monsters posted:In this 2 win this. And since it's my first time I'll Alright, I didn't have any big scary monsters hanging around, so I made this monster mask and put it on a stuffed cat. I thought maybe this would clean up Bad Cat 2's act, like one of those scared straight things, but I think maybe she has adopted it instead? 
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Jul 12, 2017 07:34
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super sweet best pal posted:In and down vs up and out. Flash me! I don't know what "it" is, but I hope it's good, because you get: CeCe Peniston - Finally https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xk8mm1Qmt-Y Acceptable. If you want a dumb prompt-related pun name, you might want to come up with your own b/c I've only had 9 hours of sleep over the past 2 days and all I can think of is Double Djeserdy. Dr. Kloctopussy fucked around with this message at 07:41 on Jul 12, 2017 |
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Jul 12, 2017 07:38
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cat stupid song all the gimmicks pls
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Jul 12, 2017 07:46
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ThirdEmperor posted:
I tried like 50 times to get Bad Cat 1 to literally just stand in front of a mockup of your avatar, but even when I tried to lure her over with a piece of pizza she was all "gently caress this." Then she clawed the poo poo out of me. I know we joke about blood throne and stuff, but there's only so much actual blood I'm willing to shed here.  I'm not even sure which one of us this song is for, but in honor of this ordeal, you get: Real McCoy - Runaway https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0p7mIvO1uHo AND. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so since you helped so much with the Double Trouble image banner, I figure you've already used a thousand of yours! your maximum word count is now 500! Dr. Kloctopussy fucked around with this message at 22:59 on Jul 12, 2017 |
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Jul 12, 2017 22:40
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The rest of you fuckers didn't help me with poo poo, so you're all stuck with 1500.
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Jul 12, 2017 22:58
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Dr. Kloctopussy posted:Alright, I didn't have any big scary monsters hanging around, so I made this monster mask and put it on a stuffed cat. I thought maybe this would clean up Bad Cat 2's act, like one of those scared straight things, but I think maybe she has adopted it instead? Two good bad cats imo. 
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Jul 13, 2017 22:02
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I'm in. Dead or alive. Let's .
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Jul 13, 2017 23:59
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Yep. I'm in this week. I'll do a pair take on Parent/Child, or at least the idea of parent/child..
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Jul 14, 2017 20:09
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Phobia posted:I'm in. Dead or alive. Let's You and everyone who toxxes from here on out will get your cat gifs on Sunday!! Sorry for the delay!! You and everyone who toxxes from here on out will get your cat gifs on Sunday!! Sorry for the delay!!
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Jul 14, 2017 22:44
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In.
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Jul 15, 2017 03:25
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in
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Jul 15, 2017 03:27
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In.
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Jul 15, 2017 04:38
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And the Cure 1497 words I take a dislike to the white robed healer almost as soon as he steps into my little store, ducking under the low lintel, out of the midmorning sun and into the cool, dim interior. He doesn't shake my welcoming hand, thus avoiding a dose from the dogroot-laced hand cream I keep in a convenient jar under the counter. When I guide him through into my cramped back room — office and laboratory both — and show him to the visitors' chair he says he prefers to stand, though he looks somewhat unsteady. The chair's deep padding hides tiny needles, so small and so sharp that you won't feel a thing as they go in, and will continue not to feel a thing for the next half hour as the sea snake venom paralyses your legs. I offer him a freshly baked dainty (sorrowfruit pulp blended into the cream), which he refuses, claiming a lack of appetite. I try to tempt him with some tea, which he also declines. There's nothing wrong with my tea; it's a refreshing, minty blend from my own herb garden and I'm rather proud of it. None of these little japes can affect me, of course. You don't last long as a poisoner without developing a healthy immunity to the profession's more common agents. Some of my apprentices don't even last a week. In fact, it's thanks to just such an incautious youth, and my ensuing midnight walk in the forest with a shovel and much-stained rug, that I'm feeling so tired and out of sorts this morning. My hospitality doesn't cause any long term ills; it's rather poor business to kill your clients before taking their money. But poisoners aren't universally loved, and on those occasions when someone steps into my humble store with an eye for revenge, rather than great service at a reasonable rate, it helps to have a subtle something to give me the edge. Then I give them an edge too, and once the blood is cleaned up it's just a matter of waiting 'til night to take my shovel for another stroll through the woods. I sit behind my desk, cluttered with yellowing papers, pour myself a nice, hot cup of tea, and take a pastry. Then I ask the healer how I can be of service. The pleasant, musky, purple scent of incense flows from an ornate brass censer hanging from the low ceiling. I'll just have to hope that its mildly sedative smoke will be enough of an advantage should this turn sour. The healer explains his problem and I like him even less — he doesn't even really want what I'm selling. He's looking for a cure. I thought he looked a little peaky. Now I've nothing against healers, they have their job to do just like I have mine, and those jobs are more similar than you might think. The successful poisoner is just as much a student of the human body, its functions and failings, as any conscientious physician, and my practice no less a science than theirs. But curing people isn't what I do; it's just not my passion. Admittedly, for almost every poison there is a cure, and I'd say I know more of them than most. I keep a small stock for those embarrassing moments when a client switches the goblets one time too many, or nicks themselves practicing flourishes with a tainted blade. Sometimes they even make it back to me in time to take advantage of my customer loyalty scheme. To apply the right cure though, that can be tricky. I need to know exactly what poison was used; the wrong cure is deadly in itself. So many clients ask me for the same type of poison: odourless, colourless, tasteless, fast-acting and incurable. I can do it, I tell them, but it's going to cost you. The ingredients for a poison like that are rare and hard to get: seaweed growing only in far off, frozen fjords, dainty purple flowers blooming under the midnight sun, the gallbladder of an especially vicious and cunning species of weasel. And they're a pain to work with: more than one master poisoner has come to an extremely nasty end working up a batch of one of the Great Poisons. Better to use something less exotic, less expensive, and less dangerous to my health. Add a bit of pepper to your husband's steak and he won't notice the bitter, spicy taste of lover's wort. Pour the tincture into wine rather than beer and its deep ruby colour won't show. And if your victim doesn't know what he's been dosed with, what does it matter if there's a cure? Most people wise up and settle on a lesser toxin, easier on the purse and on my nerves. They appreciate that I don't try to upsell them. It's that kind of trusted service that keeps my clients coming back again and again. I ask the healer his symptoms. Headache, nausea, blurred vision. That's me every morning before my first cuppa, friend. Vomiting, diarrhoea, stomach cramps. So generic it could be anything, and I'm glad he didn't sit down now. Fever, shivering, sweating, a sense of impending doom. Sounds like he's been poisoned all right. That or the inn's beer last night was a bit staler than usual, the end-of-night special stew a week or two past its best. Flaky, grey spots on his chest and legs, blackening of the genitals. Ah, now we're getting somewhere. No, I don't need to see the afflicted genitals. In fact, now we're getting I know exactly where. The signs of wraithblight poisoning are unmistakeable. By remarkable coincidence, I happened to sell a good sized dose of the stuff to a very pleasant young lady just yesterday, shortly before my apprentice quietly helped himself to one of my personal cigarettes and found out why nine out of ten reputable healers recommend against smoking nightweed. This particular healer seems to be still in the poison's early stages — no delirium or loss of body parts yet — meaning he was probably poisoned this morning. I'm the only poisoner in town (there was another, but she fell mysteriously ill), so it's no doubt my wraithblight contaminating his blood and causing it to leak from where blood ought certainly not leak. Unfortunately for the poor man, the lady last night was one of those picky clients, insistent the poison I sold her be deadly (of course), impossible to detect, and above all lacking an antidote. She didn't specify that the method of death need be especially horrible; I threw that in for free. You have to be able to amuse yourself in this job; if you aren't doing what you love then what's it all for? And now the result of my craft is standing here in my shop, violently shivering, gently swaying, and very likely about to add yet more stains to my second grimiest rug. I explain to the healer that today is not his lucky day. He takes it remarkably calmly — the drifting smoke of my incense doing its work. He mostly keeps his composure as I lay out for him his next and final few hours. If he gets a little queasy as I detail the increasingly gruesome effects of the poison irreversibly destroying his body it's quite understandable and, I assure him, nothing ten minutes scrubbing with a bucket of soapy water won't fix. He's looking really quite ill now, and doesn't resist as I help him into my other chair: hard, straight-backed and needle free. I don't think I need to worry about being attacked at this point. "There's really nothing you can do for me?" he whispers. "Please. The pain is so strong." That's when, in a moment of remarkable insight, I realise: there may be a sale here after all. Soon enough I've brewed up a little potion of green yomberries: strong smelling, dark, and foul tasting, but then that's hardly important to this client. What matters to him is that it brings a death quick and painless; I've heard it's even quite pleasant. At any rate, the healer dies with a look of relief on his face. Call me a soft touch, but I gave him a discount on this one. As I strip him of his robes of office I look at the white fabric, now badly soiled. Perhaps my work and the healer's are more alike even than I thought. On a whim I try on his loose cloak, adjust the cowl over my head and fasten the intricately worked pin at my neck, then admire myself in the tarnished silver mirror standing in a dusty corner of my lab. Certainly not a healer, but maybe more than just a poisoner? Poison, and the cure. This really could open up a whole new market for me, an exciting opportunity for business diversification. Something to think about while I take my shovel for its evening walk.
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Jul 15, 2017 23:31
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 Entrants: If you have PMs, please send me a message telling me your pair when you post your story. If not, post it in the thread sometime after judgment.
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Jul 16, 2017 20:19
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| # ? Apr 19, 2024 21:27 |
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The Parent 1,413 Words Mrenda fucked around with this message at 08:06 on Jul 18, 2017 |
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Jul 16, 2017 20:21
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