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Staggy posted:Who bought the toaster? The toaster was the last item pulled from the bag, an inviting turquoise, small and compact. Jeffrey placed it with both hands at the center of the table. Andy glanced up from the crumpled receipt. “That everything?” “Everything.” Jeffrey sat down among the vegetables, the cereals, the spoils of war. It had been Andy’s turn but Andy had been busy. Jeffrey didn’t mind. He enjoyed the walk. The two men subsisted in a shoebox apartment, a coffin overlooking a deep, blue bay. Andy had his laptop open. He entered the expenditures, seemingly satisfied. “Right,” he said. He pocketed the receipt. He reached for his wallet and thumbed through the bills. Selecting a creased, slightly crinkled one hundred, he tossed it on the table and tapped it twice. Jeffrey’s eyes flickered down to the money, a quiet concern in his furtive glance. “And seven,” he added, not as casually as he hoped. Andy had already started to rise. “Hmm?” “You’ve got the receipt. A hundred and seven. Seven thirty-seven, but you can keep the change.” Andy regarded his roommate with a dim confusion, as though he couldn’t be sure this moment was real. “What are you talking about?” “A hundred and seven!” Jeffrey said, his words accompanied by the sound of his stool scooting across the floor. He rounded the table in a few short hops. “There!” He pointed at Andy’s finances. “A hundred and seven dollars.” Andy drew his hand to his forehead, sighing. He scratched his head, his mop of hair, and sat back down. “Jeffrey, we’ve- He was interrupted by the sound of a broom against the ceiling - their floor - of the apartment below. Jeffrey scooted his stool one last time, either in acknowledgement or petty counter-protest. Andy waited for him to finish. “We’ve worked this out, we split the groceries: a hundred each.” He gestured towards his contribution. “Alternating.” He nodded. “Toaster’s not groceries. It’s a personal item.” “It’s a kitchen item.” “That only you use.” “You can use it, too.” “But I don’t,” said Jeffrey, “And I won’t.” He grabbed a box of cereal, shaking it ominously, his eyes transfixed on Andy. Andy’s own eyes greeted him with a dull exhaustion. “You’d have time if you woke up earlier.” “No I wouldn’t. You’d be using it.” “Well would you like me to make you some toast?” Andy said as he stood up, this time fully, turning out from his chair with a kind of flourish, his back to his roommate. “Not especially.” Andy combed his hair with his hands. “It’s seven dollars, Jeffrey.” “Thirty-seven, actually,” said Jeffrey. He leaned back on the stool, his back against the wall. He’d taken a cross-legged position during their conversation, and idly laid one hand on his ankle. “So you’ll need to factor that in too.” He tapped his nose. “For your own budget.” “Thirty… Jeffrey, the whole reason we came up with this plan was to keep things simple. It’s a kitchen item, anyone can use it, it’s part of the groceries.” “Like your coffee maker?” “That… was a gift.” Andy mouthed empty air. “And you don’t drink coffee.” “Not the point. It’s yours. It’s in the kitchen and I don’t use it. If this whole apartment block burned down, you’d grab it. It’s a personal item.” “Yes, in that case… it is. The toaster isn’t.” “You were the one who said you were thinking of getting a new toaster!” Jeffrey sprung from the stool, his full height considerable. “It wasn’t even added to the list yet. I thought I was doing you a favor.” He pointed at his own chest, as if accusing himself of some crime. “You were!” “It was your turn!” “It was! It was! And you did it, you picked everything up! And I, I paid you!” “Not for the toaster you didn’t!” “Because it’s our toaster.” “No, it’s my toaster until you give me that seven dollars.” “I don’t have seven dollars, I’ve got.” Andy grit his teeth, his skull quivering. “I’ve got three hundreds, I’d need to go to the bank.” “Well the ATM machine’s just down the way, let’s go brosephus.” “What, you need seven dollars right now?” “As a matter of fact I do Andy! As a matter of a fact- “Forget it.” Andy threw up his hand and turned toward the sofa. “What?” “Forget it! Andy fell back onto cushions, “Now I ain’t doing it just on principle.” “Well fine.” Jeffrey put one hand on each side of the toaster. “Then say hello to my new toaster.” “Fine, fine, whatever man. Can I borrow your toaster, Jeffrey?” “Oh absolutely.” He picked it up. “Let me just go get it.” He turned around and hurled it out the window. Andy’s eyes went wide. He jolted for the window. He wasn’t alone, either. No sooner had the toaster left his grasp, a cold realization bloomed on Jeffrey’s face. He scrambled after his emotional missile, reaching for the cord. The toaster sailed out, out into the sky, a majestic brick in pastel blue. It completed its arc and plummeted down, down down, into the sea. Andy and Jeffrey watched it all from their pinhole apartment. “Holy poo poo,” said Jeffrey, “Andy, I- But Andy wasn’t listening. He had burst out laughing, slumped against the windowsill, one arm hanging out. An infectious sound, it soon found itself in Jeffrey’s gut, then his throat. He collapsed as well, a stupid giggle reverberating throughout his whole body. “That,” Andy struggled to speak, “Was the stupidest… ha ha ha ha!” “Someone… someone could’a,” Jeffrey attempted, a sense of responsibility welling up within him, but the laughter was too much. He collapsed again. The sound of the broom from below only made it worse. At long last, after what felt like minutes, the two helped each other to their feet. “That was…” Andy clicked his tongue. “That was something.” “It was stupid,” Jeffrey said, “I was stupid. I’m… I’m sorry.” “It’s… it’s fine.” Andy assured him. “You… you need anything?” “Nah, ha ha, no no, I’m good. You?” “Well.” Andy looked at him. “I could use another toast- Again their laughter summoned the broom.
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Feb 28, 2022 08:57
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 Submissions are closed As a reminder, the winner this week will judge week 501. The shenanigans for week 500 may or may not kick off before this week's results are posted.
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Feb 28, 2022 11:18
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I whiffed this one. Lost the paper I was writing on before I could transcribe it and didn't have the heart to try to recall it. I accept my loss. (Though if mods want to give me a month off probation rather than an av change, I would gladly accept that--I love my creepy dog. That said, I will abide by whatever Thunderdome punishment is deemed suitable).
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Feb 28, 2022 19:08
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yeah ok ok yeah posted:I whiffed this one. Lost the paper I was writing on before I could transcribe it and didn't have the heart to try to recall it. I accept my loss. Don't do this, just write again and write better.
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Feb 28, 2022 19:28
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yeah ok ok yeah posted:I whiffed this one. Lost the paper I was writing on before I could transcribe it and didn't have the heart to try to recall it. I accept my loss. To clarify, you don't lose (or have your avatar changed) for failing. You should write again, though! 
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Feb 28, 2022 23:25
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TD Week 500: 500DRED WEEKS OF THUNDERDOME 500 weeks of Thunderdome. 500 weeks of Thunderdome.  500 WEEKS OF THUNDERDOME  We’ll save the sentimental carrying on for Thunderdome’s tenth birthday in August. For now, let’s all bask in the terrible glory of 500 weeks of the greatest flash fiction contest on Earth. Before I share the prompt, I want to tell you what the judges want from this week: Give us your madness, your hijinks, your collaborations, your best solo work. Don’t worry too much about doing things right. If this is your first week, jump in and go nuts. You’re still expected to submit pieces that are worth the judge’s time, but don’t overthink what you’re “supposed” to do. This week we are channeling purestrain  Judgment will be a little different from the typical week, too. Prizes! Fun mention categories! Surprise upsets! All of this and more can be yours this week. So that brings us to…  The 500th prompt.
Flash rules!You can ask for two kinds of flash rules! For inspiration, you can ask for something from Dr. Cindy's box (this will make sense later). For those whose buttholes are truly hardened to the harsh coruscations of the 'dome, you may ask for a hellrule from Sebmojo. Once a flash rule is in play, anyone may use it for their story! Please note all flash rules in your post for archival purposes. Word count: 500 words per story, no limit on number of entries. Signup Deadline: NONE (please do sign up if you intend to write, though. It will help us estimate how many stories to expect) Submission deadline 11:59:59PM PST on Sunday the 6th Judges: Sh Sebmojo Crabrock 500hunders: A special message about writing, the world, and you: It’s understandable that everyone is having trouble being creative right now. History is rarely kind to artists, even as it creates the context for the art we make. For those of you whose hearts are breaking for the world, I encourage you to make this your momentary respite from reality. If now isn’t the time, then know that writing, and Thunderdome, will be there for you when you’re ready.
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Mar 1, 2022 01:25
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for a certain number of entries or whatever other zany thing your heart desires.
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This is the first story in the story chain. Who will write the first sequel? What crazy branching timelines will you drag the judges through??? Written by Crabrock. WEEK 500DRED Prologue 500 words “Might wanna stand back,” said the old man I’d contacted on Craigslist. He opened his garage door and a few obsolete chaos generators tumbled out onto the driveway. He kicked them to the side and pulled out the reason I’d contacted him: the RealitySmasher500. They only made three prototypes before it was deemed too powerful. It’d taken me nearly ten years to track this one down. A few pieces fell off the device, which resembled a giant french horn with a lot of knobs and superfluous circuitry. “I was on mushrooms when I designed this thing.” He picked up a loose circuit board, scratched his head, and shrugged. “You know it won’t work without a gem, right?” I nodded. “I found another seller in Milwaukee with a whole box of gems.” Mostly gems, anyway. I hadn’t bothered to sort the random garage junk from the useful stuff yet. The old man smiled ruefully. “I’ve only tested it with quartz. No idea what’ll happen if you put something less stable in it—like hackmanite or, god forbid, icosahedrite—so I’d strongly advise against it.” I peered into his garage, saw several items I’d have liked to get my hands on. Maybe later. I drove the RealitySmasher500 back to the lab. A few hours of scrubbing and the device shone like new…ish. The superfluous circuitry was hard to clean. Dave, my assistant, walked in eating an apple. “Hey Dr. Cindy, want one?” he asked with his mouth full. I accepted the apple. “Anybody call while I was out?” I asked hopefully. “Sorry, doc. Still nothing.” Dammit. That call was too important. I wouldn’t be able to focus until it came. I occupied myself by explaining the different functions of the RealitySmasher500 to Dave. “And this,” I said, “ is the time-scale dial. Determines where the alternate timeline branch is created.” “So if I spin it far enough to the left, I can gently caress with some dinosaurs?” “Let’s not just yet.” I walked him through some of the other knobs. “This one affects the fundamental laws of physics, this one reverses polarity.” “Of what?” “Of everything.” “Huh!” he said. “But not for us, right? Just for some other timeline.” I shrugged. “It’s all the same, really. Each new timeline contains a complete copy of the timeline it branched off from. So let’s leave this one set to default, for the sake of our other selves,” I said. I looked at my phone to make sure I hadn’t missed any calls. Nothing. Dave was saying, “And this only takes crystals, right? So if I took your uneaten apple and put it in this receptacle here…then push that button there…nothing’ll happen, right?” Distracted, I didn’t register Dave’s question until I looked up, saw my apple in the gem slot and Dave’s finger depressing the big red BISECT TIMELINE button. “You idiot, what did you do!?” I cried, every hair on my body standing on end. Just as the room filled with bright light, the phone began to ring.
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Mar 1, 2022 01:25
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Dr Cindy's box pls
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Mar 1, 2022 01:29
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Chairchucker posted:Dr Cindy's box pls Dave reaches into Dr. Cindy's box and hands you...a diamond made from the cremated ashes of some sort of pirate (Dave is pretty sure it's some sort of pirate)
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Mar 1, 2022 01:33
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I would like something from Dr. Cindy's Box please!
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Mar 1, 2022 01:33
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I am fully ready to lose for multiple times in one week. in. Edit: What’s in the box?? The man called M fucked around with this message at 01:40 on Mar 1, 2022 |
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Mar 1, 2022 01:35
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Chernobyl Princess posted:I would like something from Dr. Cindy's Box please! Dave reaches into Dr. Cindy's box and hands you...A Faberge egg full of sand
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Mar 1, 2022 01:36
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In toxx Cindy box
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Mar 1, 2022 01:38
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sparksbloom posted:In toxx Cindy box Dave reaches into Dr. Cindy's box and hands you...An old, worn-out locket with something stuck inside
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Mar 1, 2022 01:40
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what’s in the box?
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Mar 1, 2022 01:54
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cindy's box pls
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Mar 1, 2022 02:05
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it is important to have an anchor up-go-one one nose two ears two eyes 9.7mg/dL calcium predominantly in bones, sink feet wet earth hear cicada-song and wonder who who who let the owls out, who spun the kaleidoscope, it was you, and that means you exist, and that tethers you to a reality that is gradually fragmenting prisming dancing in a widening gyre (where's that from?) self-mind-shatter-shock apart apart no not that, possibility laid out in a matrix, attended by electric elves, machine-minds and whirling gears, attend attend, disperse disperse no not that, sail-shriek, wander-wide whaleroad, drowning in the sound but coming whole again, emerge from the fractured place slick as a newborn calf but whole again
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Mar 1, 2022 02:20
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Just hopping in to say, drat, when me and our two other dysfunctional OGs started the Dome, none of us expected it to come this far. I’ll never regret the day I detected a whiff of burnout, wrested the judging out of our own grip, and handed it to y’all. I only have a real sense of what it was like in those early days, but I can see you’ve all made it into something way more than it was when it started. You all kick rear end!
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Mar 1, 2022 02:26
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ive lost the will to write, boss I just can’t write this kind of thing anymore, I just...” Jon drops the manuscript with a weak slapping sound onto the desk across from his agent. “I want to write something with depth you know? With meaning. How am I ever going to create art when I’m writing about...about mad scientists and... and alternate timelines? No one wants to consider life’s profundity or feel ennui while reading this, they want fist fights and sex and explosions. And I have written so goddamn many explosions--I can’t do this anymore, Ted? Can you hear me?” Ted has been slowly lowering his sunglasses and carefully setting his smoldering cigar into an ashtray and then very heavily and ominously standing up and deliberately rolling up the sleeves of his sweat-stained white button up shirt and taking a long breath of musty air into his huge barrel chest and now he says: “You will WRITE the GODDAMN WORDS that MAKE US MONEY. You hear? Your flimsy ideals about aesthetics and beauty mean poo poo to REAL PEOPLE who pay REAL DOLLARS for a book on a shelf. You had your chance, Jonny. You sell a lot of books so I gave you chance. You got to write your art piece, you birthed your paper child or whatever TRIPE you were SPITTING at the press that week--you had that chance, JON, and you know what happened?” Jon has been shrinking into his seat, slumping down and his head bowing and his chin touching his chest and his head bobbing submissively up and down and his mouth making the shape of the word yes. Ted slaps his hands down on the desk and shouts “No one BOUGHT IT JON! You sold EIGHT copies and the shelves were overflowing with them and we lost TENS of THOUSANDS and you know what? I KNEW it would happen and I considered it a sunk cost to get it through your thick skull that NO ONE WANTS your art, Jon, they want fun, they want simple and understandable. So GET back to the TYPEWRITER and GIVE IT TO THEM or your contract is OVER. Get it?” Jon got it. And he got home, and he sat down and he looked at the blank page, and waves of cold sorrow flowed up from that white desert and washed over him. “That’s life,” he said to no one but himself and the dark. He began to type.
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Mar 1, 2022 02:27
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Spaceman Jim versus the Plague Beasts of Venus 295 words Spaceman Jim hit the wall hard and spun round, panther-like, his Atomo-Ray humming in his gauntleted fist. Towering above him was the Slovg'nar - a Martian "ostrich" of hideous dimension! Jim's eyes narrowed - he would only have one shot, and he'd have to make it count! Just then the phone rang, bring, bring. Eyes narrowed, he answered the phone with a subvocal command. "Speak," he rasped. "Hello?" Jim was following the Slovg'nar's hypnotically undulating head cluster with the glowing tip of his lazer gun. Typically the Martian "ostrich", which took 78 Mars years to grow to full size in its home territory of the Syrtis Major basin and outlying regions, utilised the motion of its head to 'hypnotise' its prey, making them easy prey for its gnashing mandibles, Jim remembered. "Yes? Who is this?" There was a crackle at the other end of the phone, as though the call was coming from somewhere both unthinkably ... distant... and also with bad radio reception. "You called me!" The beast lunged, seeing its efforts were to no avail! Jim darted sideways, bringing the heavy butt of his plasmer pistol around and hitting the "ostrich" - 'clonk' - on the side of its 'head'! "I certainly did not. How did you get this number," he snarled. "Are you a buyer? Do you want a jewel?" Distantly Jim could hear the ecstatic roar of the vast crowd of Jovian slug-things that were watching his every move in this, the climactic fight of the Galactic Hippodrome. He put the vibrating tip of his heat blaster to the neck of the "ostrich", then jumped back as it instantly caught fire. "I do not." "Well, I'm sorry for wasting your time, then," said the voice. "Quite alright," said Jim. "Have a nice day." "Thanks, you too."
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Mar 1, 2022 02:45
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Gimme a thing from Cindy's box and a hellrule, I've been doing this for 232 weeks, you don't scare me
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Mar 1, 2022 02:57
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give me a box thing idk i havent read the prompt over my 400(!!!!) weeks and im not starting now
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Mar 1, 2022 03:05
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Sitting Here posted:
The Call 461 words “Don’t hang up the phone. They might be listening…are you alone?” “Uh, what?” Dave looked confused, struggling to hear the voice in the receiver over the device’s high-pitched whine. “Listen, my position has been compromised, we don’t have much time. They’re going to come for you tonight. Might be a smash and grab raid, might be a stealth op. Can you get out?” Dave looked at the open door of the lab while Dr. Cindy desperately tried to shut the RealitySmasher500 down. “Yeah, I guess.” “Good, then you need to get to the safe house as soon as you possibly can. Only take what you can carry with you and don’t leave any identification at the scene. We think these people work for the good aliens… The ones that kidnap hobos and dissolve them in vats of acid under Denver International. Consume the slurry by spreading it on their skin and absorbing it through metabolizing pores. You know, the good aliens. God help you if it’s the bad ones.” Dave tried to gesture at Dr. Cindy, something that would convey You should be the person taking this call. She saw him flap his hand at her gracelessly and shouted “NOT NOW!” in return. “If you can make it to the safe house, we’ll have a team ready to evacuate you to the Vatican. Otherwise, the buzzards are going to be picking your bones out by the big blue mustang statue by the end of the week.” “Hang on.” Dave covered the mouthpiece of the phone and raised his voice above the din of the infernal machine. “Hey Doc, do you want to go to see the Pope?” “Goddamn it, Dave! We’re going to be meeting his boss if I can’t unfuck whatever you did to this thing!” Dave nodded sagely and out the handset back to his ear. “I dunno, we don’t go to church or anything.” “The real Vatican of course, not the fake Vatican. But you must move! Go now! Where the sands have shifted, the sentry stands and awaits the illuminated.” “S-sure. That must be a pretty clutch job.” There was dead air on the phone for a moment. Then the voice spoke again, enunciating each word carefully, “The antlers unfold and cast a shadow. Around the embers, the salted circle.” “What?” “You’re… That’s not the passphrase. This isn’t Order of the Night Moose, Lodge 500. Who is this?” “Dave. Who’s this?” “poo poo!” The line went dead. Dave turned to ask Dr. Cindy if she knew that moose (mooses?) were from outer space when the RealitySmasher500 grounded itself with a flash of purple energy and he felt as if he was in two places at once. Neither place was Denver, so he breathed a small sigh of relief.
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Mar 1, 2022 03:12
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Sitting Here posted:
Week 500 Submission Sewing the Seeds 500 Words Baa dee bing! I perk up at the intercom. I wasn’t dozing exactly, but Dr. Ferza’s genetics textbook was dense. More like when you concentrate so hard on something that’s just a little beyond you. It’s exhausting to have something be so close but not quite be able to grasp it. I suppose that’s a little un-PC to say, given Dr. Ferza’s physical limitations, so I should watch myself in the lab. “Intern Seven-Six-Seven report to Facility One immediately.” Wait, that’s me. Wait, that’s Dr. Ferza’s lab. Holy poo poo, it’s happening. I leap out of the chair and the little desk tips, sending the books and my notes flying. My bunkmate sits up and through the flurry says, “You need those?” “No time for that now.” Besha goes back to idly scrolling her pad as I bustle out of the room, realizing my foot is really asleep. I hobble-run down the hall, picking the little wad of chewing gum off my ID badge, and running my digits over my head in a vain attempt to look presentable. Surely the greatest mind on the planet won’t mind if I’m a little unkempt. The door opens with a pneumatic puff. There’s Dr. Ferza, looming large over the other scientists. Oh, to be in her presence. Nerves, don’t fail me now. I take another wobble in as Dr. Ferza turns those eyes on me. Such determination. They may seem cold to the uninitiated, but I see the singular focus of a predator who only has eyes on their prey—science. “Intern, are you injured?” she asks. I knew there was some warmth below that calculating brow. “My foot’s just asleep, Doctor. It’s fine. Heh.” Hoo-boy. “You have been selected, Seven-Six-Seven. Step forward.” The other interns part as I approach the labyrinthine spider of a machine. The floor pulses with energy. Even Dr. Ferza seems insignificant beside that majestic device. Hell if I know what it is though. “Interns,” she bellows. They swarm around the machine tapping buttons and dialing knobs with a united mind, like a flock in flight. “Seven-Six-Seven, take the object.” There’s a sturdy metal case at her feet. The handle is smooth, and the thing is lighter than it looks. I try to smile, but my lips aren’t cooperating. It’s weird. Probably thinks I’m an idiot. Hopefully she’s used to nervous interns. Practically in unison the other interns declare, “It’s ready,” and then Dr. Ferza smiles. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I get a wash of fear and awe and excitement. There’s a gossamer shimmer in the air and the facility winks out of existence. It feels and looks like meteors are smacking me square in the eyes. Then it’s over, and I blink out the brightness. What the—where am I? There’s a flashing button on the case. I press it and it pops open with a sweet gust of freshness. Inside, a bright red fruit of some sort and a note: It’s time to gently caress with the humans.
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Mar 1, 2022 03:13
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Spaceman Jim Discovers The Secret of the Universe It was a sunny day on Glorblax 5 when Spaceman Jim emerged from the portal, slick with sweat, to greet his friend Spaceman Jeff, who was also there and also a spaceman! “Spaceman Jim!” said Spaceman Jeff, “I see you’ve emerged from a portal! Has the universe unfolded before you like a lotus?” “No,” said Spaceman Jim. “I have instead seen the strings of this place, seen the faces of the cruel gods keeping us here and making us dance for their amusement,” said Spaceman Jim. “Oh no!” said Spaceman Jeff, “what ruffians! Whatever shall we do about it?” Spaceman Jim lifted his visor and stared upwards at the stars with cold resolve. “It’s simple,” he said, “we kill Thunderdome.”
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Mar 1, 2022 03:17
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Yoruichi posted:Gimme a thing from Cindy's box and a hellrule, I've been doing this for 232 weeks, you don't scare me Your characters are all made of Lego
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Mar 1, 2022 03:26
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It's canon that there's a character called Trip Balls, who is super cool and has the supernatural ability to make people trip balls.
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Mar 1, 2022 03:27
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I'll take one of them there hell rules for my next pass.
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Mar 1, 2022 03:45
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It’s in the Back (476 words) The backroom aisles stretched infinitely onward, laden with stock, mass-produced, wrapped in plastic. Someone, an intern perhaps, had affixed a post-it note pointing the way. Bruce offered a quick, two-finger salute. Freya, from corporate, frowned. “You’re sure it’s back here.” “Baby, if we don’t have it, nobody has it.” Freya clicked her tongue, then her pencil. She added a tick to a column on her clipboard, a running tally of babes, baby, doll, and the like. Bruce’s performance review was in her hands. The two of them rounded the corner. Against the shelves slumped a lone skeleton, long-since bleached by substandard warehouse lighting, clad only in a faded on-brand apron. Bruce took note and bowed his pompadour, his hands together. “Shift’s over, friend,” he said, then, “Oh, right. Better rehydrate.” He pulled a hip flask and raised it to his lips. Empty. “Hmm.” Re-corking it, he glanced to upper rungs of the complex. There, precariously perched, sat a selection of plastic water bottles. Taking aim, he hurled the flask, and managed to knock one down. Catching it as it fell, he twisted off the top. “Ahem.” Freya tapped her foot. “Oh, right!” Bruce reached into his pocket. “Two, right?” “Three. We’re in a recession.” Bruce pressed three crumpled bills into Freya’s outstretched palm. She held up each to the scrutiny of the LED bulbs above while Bruce slaked his thirst on ache-two-oh. Satisfied, she smoothed out the bills. Folded into a perfect square, she tucked them within the confines of her suit. She looked up to Bruce. He was offering her a drink. “Appreciated,” she said, “But unnecessary.” She waved him off. Everyone knew upper management didn’t subsist on water. “Suit yourself, babe.” Bruce winked. Returning his attention to his fellow departed retail worker, he bent down and examined the bones. A crooked nametag identified the departed as Carl. “Time to clock out, Carl.” Bruce adjusted the tag. “See ya at the big company picnic in the sky.” Presumes authority to dismiss fellow employees, Freja recorded, including another tick and reminder to review Carl’s timecard, deducting excess wages if unstamped. They were running a business after all, not a charity. She glanced again at the apron-clad corpse. Out of dress code, she added. Standing up, Bruce adjusted his customer service vest. He offered a Catholic cross with his free hand, the water bottle in the other, then beckoned Freya on. “Right. This way, babe.” Tick. “And we’re almost there?” “It’s just around this corner babe; in that you can believe!” Tick. As they approached the far corner, a sound cut through the silence of the stockroom. A small mounted telephone, a company standard red, cried out from the concrete column that held it aloft. “‘Scuze me babe,” Bruce said (tick). He lifted the receiver, his fingers turning, coiled within the cord. “Yellow?”
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Mar 1, 2022 03:47
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Weltlich posted:I'll take one of them there hell rules for my next pass. Everyone in your story is on fire
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Mar 1, 2022 03:58
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Fundamentals of Muffin's anchor: 1) there is a liminal space between universes which is a sort of terrifying fractal kaleidoscope Tool album art 2) the characters in our stories are aware of the Thunderdome fiction competition 3) to stop their endless torment, they are going to attempt to use 1 to murder everybody in 2
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Mar 1, 2022 03:58
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More stuff from Dr. Cindy's box flerp posted:give me a box thing idk i havent read the prompt over my 400(!!!!) weeks and im not starting now Dave reaches into Dr. Cindy's box and hands you...A box of markers that's missing a marker Yoruichi posted:Gimme a thing from Cindy's box and a hellrule, I've been doing this for 232 weeks, you don't scare me Dave reaches into Dr. Cindy's box and hands you...A spool of extremely pretty ribbon. It's SO pretty. Dave can't even. rohan posted:what’s in the box? Dave reaches into Dr. Cindy's box and hands you...A piece of especially blue lapis lazuli The Saddest Rhino posted:cindy's box pls Dave reaches into Dr. Cindy's box and hands you...An extremely rude item made of muddy pink rhodochrosite. Dave won't look at it.
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Mar 1, 2022 04:56
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I'm in, and give me something from Dr. Cindy's Box!
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Mar 1, 2022 05:33
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The Way of the Worm 500 words Even for a worm, Kevin didn’t have high ambitions. All he wanted in life was to eat some dirt, excrete some dirt, and reproduce parthenogenetically once or twice. Like most people at every stratum of reality, he hoped to live a life a little better than his father and mother had done. (His father and mother were the same worm, who was also his clone–see the parthenogenesis thing above). So Kevin was more surprised than anyone when he was summoned to an audience with the God of Worms. The journey to the Throne of the God of Worms was long and arduous, but at last he arrived. The God of Worms hung spinning in the air, an ourobouros endlessly copulating with itself to renew the world. “Kevin. You have been chosen for a special mission on behalf of all wormkind.” “O God,” pleaded Kevin, “I’m not suitable for such a task.” (All worm heroes say something like this when summoned. It’s known as the Refusal of the Crawl.) “Silence. Your role has already been appointed. An event is taking place that threatens the very fabric of the multiverse and all the gods. Even the gods above the gods.” Kevin shivered, for he knew the God was speaking of those utmost gods who inhabit the celestial Dome. “As you know, it is our duty to protect reality in secret, and bind the timelines together with our noodly bodies. But this event has torn reality asunder. Already, certain vertebrates have perceived the gods of the Dome, and now wish to do them harm. Only you can prevent this most abhorrent of possibilities!” It turned out that Kevin had been chosen because he lived in the garden of the house where the cosmic event had taken place (or was taking place, or would take place–time being an illusion to the God of Worms.) Kevin wormed his way into the house and onto a bench, where he saw an apple. His destiny vibrated within him and he knew exactly what to do. He burrowed deep into the apple’s core. It was not for Kevin to know why this action would protect the universe. All he knew was his role to play in the great web of destiny. That was the Worm Way. Some time later, a vertebrate came into the room, took the apple and after a bit of talking, put it in some sort of machine. Now! said the voice of destiny. Now is your moment, Kevin! Kevin wriggled halfway out of the apple and pulled with all his might. He hauled the apple to the lip of the machine. One more pull and it would fall free… The vertebrate pushed a button on the machine. Kevin’s world flooded with catastrophic light. Kevin awoke before the dying body of the God of Worms. It has ceased to copulate at long last. “Kevin, you idiot… you made things even worse…” Above them, worms crisscrossed the cosmos like party streamers, devouring galaxies. Everything was worms.
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Mar 1, 2022 05:39
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Sitting Here posted:Written by Crabrock. sebmojo posted:Your characters are all made of Lego Love in the Legosphere 490 words G’day and welcome to Bonza Airlines, this is Captain Bonza speaking. Dr. Cindy was surprised to discover that she was on an aeroplane, that the plane was made of lego, and that she was also made of lego. We’re about to experience a patch of turb-- “Crickey!” said the flight attendant next to Cindy. The corks on his hat swung wildly. Cindy bonked her plastic hands against the chair’s armrest. She tried to grip the - what were they called? Bumps? Knobs? - on its surface, but her hands were too big. Panicked, Cindy cast around for Dave, her useless intern, but he wasn’t in any of the seats she could see. Cindy was alone. “Beer or wine, Miss?” said the flight attendant. “It’s Doctor, actually,” said Cindy. “Neato! Actually, I’ve got this thing, could I show it to--” “Not that kind of doctor.” “Oh.” “I’m a physicist.” “Crikey.” “I’ve got a PhD in crystal-spatio temporal-manipulation.” “Beer or wine?” Utterly alone. But then, what was new. Cindy had been alone her whole life. The flight attendant leant closer, corks swinging in front of his face. The curved black line of his smile didn’t move, yet Cindy thought she saw concern in his expression. “Or I could get you a sausage? In bread? With tomato sauce?” He really was quite attractive, Cindy realised. Skin an appealing yellow. Logan, his name badge read. “I would die for a cup of tea,” said Cindy. “Steady on mate, no need to go dying on me, haha!” Logan held out a plastic mug. Cindy couldn’t open her fingers to take the mug, so she just pushed them against its side. Her hand wouldn’t go, but then Cindy felt Logan pushing back, with just the right amount of pressure, so that-- Click! The mug was in Cindy’s hand. But it was also still in Logan’s hand. Their hands were one above the other, joined together by the mug. Logan’s other hand was clicked to the drinks trolley, and his feet, Cindy realised, were connected to the - bumps? No, studs - on the floor. Cindy’s rear end, too, had studs in it, studs from her chair, holding her tight. And the chair was connected to the plane, and so were all the other passengers - they were all connected! A great wave of understanding washed over Cindy. Everything was connected! Round bricks, rectangle bricks, square bricks… They all fit together! And if any brick could connect to any other brick, then-- Cindy met Logan’s eyes. He nodded, a slow up down. Cindy pulled her tea towards her face, but Logan made no move to unclick his hand from the mug. She put the brim to her lips… Meanwhile, Dave had to wrestle a crocodile that had somehow gotten into the toilet, but they’d resolved their differences by the time they got to Adelaide, and Dave and Cindy and Logan all went to the crocodile's house for a barbie.
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Mar 1, 2022 05:52
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Nikaer Drekin posted:I'm in, and give me something from Dr. Cindy's Box! Dave reaches into Dr. Cindy's box and hands you...A preserved head with buttons for eyes. Dave comments that it looks friendly.
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Mar 1, 2022 07:47
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:it is important to have an anchor a soul again congealing in the puddled sick where you collect your elves, no that's not quite right, your Elvises and their hounded dogs and tramped down graveside, the shellfish shells shed everywhere, autochitenous coral reeves patrolling by fleshlight spoor and what was it left behind in the puddled sick of bile and bitters, cheese and crackers on the cross with the martyr and the thief in dismal silence echoes gnomically the sound of one clam happy in the puddled sick beneath the thing that was so important you had to forget it, no, forge at it, no, forgo it before four gentlemen, the warm gravy hungry and sick, four whores' men in the puddled sick where rests your restless skin and bones cellphones and there it is the wakeup tone collapsing into paradox, observer and observed together bound and you see you hear you taste the vomitous conclusion con-fusion: 'you' implies 'I' and there is no distance from one to the other any more than there is between infinity and infinity doubled, and you, no, and I press against the hidden bottom of that puddle and rise, I rise
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Mar 1, 2022 11:33
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Hellrule for the next one please.
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Mar 1, 2022 11:33
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Thranguy posted:Hellrule for the next one please. your next story cannot use the same vowel twice in a row, e.g. you cannot write "The excited elephant," but "The bird was cute." is fine.
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Mar 1, 2022 11:45
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I hosed up and forgot to write my first entry but 500 words seems doable so count me in.
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Mar 1, 2022 14:35
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