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Chairchucker posted:but without any unpleasant cussing. Yeah I'm in. edit: being honest though, I was trying to dodge out of the prompt because it's what I do pretty much every week for Thunderdome and I feel like I've been taking it too far the last month or two. I'm trying to be more stripped down and human in my writing right now. I'll do it though, because I've got other stuff I'm writing to keep me sane and I DON'T BACK DOWN FROM A FIGHT KIDDO.
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Dec 26, 2012 02:47
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Well no one got me the bloody entrails of the fallen this Christmas so I'm in
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Dec 26, 2012 03:18
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I'll do it.
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Dec 26, 2012 03:20
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Also my writing has been really uninspired and seemingly not compelling so if someone wants to give me some kind of flash rule maybe it will give me the sack-up that I need
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Dec 26, 2012 03:27
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Chairchucker posted:Suck on these Flash Rules, 'domers Chairchucker is sitting the hell out of that throne of miscellaneous torture devices  Go on judging, you miracle of 2012, you.
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Dec 26, 2012 04:38
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Happy Holidays people. And I want a special callout for our good friends that don't believe the myth of Jesus but have other beliefs. I have been told twice now that this video represents me, and I think it fits. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BgV9QCzXm0I p.s. I'm more handsome
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Dec 26, 2012 04:50
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Sitting Here posted:Also my writing has been really uninspired and seemingly not compelling so if someone wants to give me some kind of flash rule maybe it will give me the sack-up that I need Well as our learned (yet seemingly not yet signed up for this week, hmm) friend Erik has pointed out, I've possibly over-catered for team Jesus and under-catered for our heathen brethren. So. Did you know that the day after Christmas is also the first day of Kwanzaa? I don't know what the heck Kwanzaa is, but maybe you'd like to help us understand through the magic of story. This is your flash rule.
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Dec 26, 2012 06:17
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=we2iWTJqo98 This is my only knowledge of this festive festival.
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Dec 26, 2012 06:30
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Chairchucker posted:Well as our learned (yet seemingly not yet signed up for this week, hmm) friend Erik has pointed out, I've possibly over-catered for team Jesus and under-catered for our heathen brethren. i want to murder each and every one of you people irl https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cvMy1xOh6cw
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Dec 26, 2012 06:32
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Alright, I'll take this prompt for a spin, I guess.
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Dec 26, 2012 16:16
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also in case you missed it, I'm writing poo poo in another thread and you should join the party. If you say useful things I may have more mercy on you when I inevitably conquer the dome. You may even be given a weapon before being thrown to the wolves and Fankies. NEPOTISM I hear you scream. That's good, start practicing. Warm up your vocal chords. Get the blood pumping.
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Dec 27, 2012 02:06
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first to fire. let the blood flow. (1000 words) HARDTACK I'm stuck in the assfuck of southern West Virginia doing surveys on power lines. I'm from Richmond and though used to certain oddities from rural folk, this place is outright foreign. My contracts are usually closer, but the money is too good to pass up. The wetness of night is evaporating into a hot late morning. I step out the truck. I'm tracking down this certain power pole and it took me most of the morning because the county changed the road names since the last survey and nothing matches up on the maps. A lady comes out while I'm unloading the tripod. "You're not unhooking my cable are you," she says to my back. "No. I work for the power company," I say without turning. "Oh, I don't care about that." Then, "Where'd you get that yellow vest." What? From work of course, I think but the question is so asinine I can't bring myself to answer it. I turn around and look at her good for the first time. Surprise. Well groomed and straight-backed. The first decent looking woman over 20 I've seen in the holler. Ladies in West Virginia tend to get old young. This lady, she reminds me of a golden retriever the way her head seems a little higher up on her neck than it should be like she's peering around, taking a lay of the land, maybe working sentry across her four corners. And like a lot of pretty dogs I've known, she also seems slightly touched. "I've always wanted one of those," still referring to the vest. After a few beats, "Can I have that one?" Sorta stupefied I say, "No, its the only one I got and if people see me on their property without it they're likely going to shoot." I can't believe I'm qualifying my 'no'. Of course she can't have it, what kind of complete stranger asks that. "Oh they will take a shot alright," she says, "barely need a reason." "Not the friendliest place," I say back. "Yeah, its home though. I left once. The hills bring you back." She tilts her nose sniffing mountain air. The way she stands, its obvious that her body is bred for the terrain. Poppy legs, energetic torso. She eagle-eyes in a few directions, then says, "Lot's of drug addicts around." "Yeah, I've seen some." "I don't even let the kids outside hardly. They'll just wander up in the yard. Inside the fence." "That's no good," I say. I'm not sure where this is going. I have no experience to tell me what to do next, how to make a conversation like this work. I have the feeling maybe she'd just as easily talk to the power pole. But I'm a captive audience, trapped by the necessity of job and geography. A fact backward lonely fucks take full advantage of. At this point she pulls out from I don't know where a strange cracker thing about postcard size, breaks off a piece, sticks it in her mouth, and leaves the rest in her hand as she bends her arm akimbo with her wrist against her hipbone and the remaining wafer on palm-up level with the ground pointing away from her body. It sits there as if it belongs, put on a shelf and forgot about. She whips her head around a few more times. Crumbs are present on her chin. "What is that," I ask her gesturing to the cracker. "Hardtack," she replies as she breaks off a piece then offers it to me without further explanation. The word sounds familiar. I think of boiled shoe-leather eaten by sailors for survival, MRE rations, and communist food lines. I take a bite. Not bad. A softer peanut brittle but without the flavor. Keeps the mouth busy and fills a knot in the stomach. Nothing more, nothing less. The economy of it is appealing and I imagine myself eating it on the road when I'm in a rush. "Can I have that one in your truck?" she says pointing with her face to a spare safety vest in the back cab. "I forgot about that one," I say honestly, though it wouldn't have changed my mind a few minutes ago. "There's something about the color of that thing. It makes me itchy." The vests are that day-glow yellow-green, the color of nausea. You can always tell who's hung-over on a construction crew by how much energy they spend looking away from safety vests. "I've always wanted one. It's like I can feel that color in my skin," she says. She's sorta raising herself up on her toes now, inching toward the vest. "Yeah , sure," I tell her finally. I like this lady, I don't know why exactly, but her request seems less insane now. She's viscerally attracted to it, not just going around asking strangers weird things. She needs it. "Thanks," she says, "my husband says not to worry about the drug addicts, they ain't going to mess with us he says." She's still looking around, now as if trying to decide which way to go instead of back in the house. "But he's dumber than the rocks he scrapes from this god's earth," she says, "Some men get dumb and crazy spending all their time underground." Then, "Good day," and takes off walking with pace. Later that night, doing my recap, I trace back the route crisscrossing the mountains toward that first pole when I see a big collie wearing a safety-vest. The dog trots down the side of the road, stopping and peering into houses now and then. "What the hell," I say aloud. Being alone for long stretches in a foreign place gets you to talking to yourself. The dog stands on the shoulder and watches me slide by and soon it disappears into the dark behind me as I watch it in the mirror. At that moment, I have a memory from childhood. Hardtack, it tastes like dog biscuits.
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Dec 27, 2012 04:04
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 OPTIONAL FLASH RULE (applicable to all) There is a Post Your Setting thread in CC. Your task is to contribute to that thread with a setting which must contain at least one wooden penis (frenchness not necessary) (erection not necessary). Completing this task may or may not afford leniency in judging your work.
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Dec 27, 2012 04:26
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I'm in. I want to be the first doubleloserwinner.
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Dec 27, 2012 17:33
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Let's not do that.
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Dec 27, 2012 18:25
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Winnerlosers are dead and gone, never to return.
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Dec 27, 2012 18:43
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pipes! posted:Let's not do that. Everyone thank pipes! for being such a great mod for us > : D if you're a newbie idiot, read the rest of the thread and realize that it's a reference to an earlier event.
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Dec 27, 2012 22:26
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dromer posted:I'm in. I want to be the first doubleloserwinner. What you can have, for being our final entrant (as entries are closed as of like a day ago) is a flash rule! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BSQ2FiKxGMI The object these superstars are singing about must be in your story.
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Dec 29, 2012 15:05
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24 hours remain, children.
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Dec 29, 2012 17:17
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Dec 29, 2012 18:10
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24 hours from now you will be reading the most bullshit synesthesia kwanzaa story ever. Chairchucker is a hard and unforgiving master
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Dec 29, 2012 20:38
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Christ, can someone make an official time? Changing it every week is stupid and even more stupid.
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Dec 29, 2012 20:46
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Noah posted:Christ, can someone make an official time? I'm a new warrior at the !!!!THUNDERDOME!!!!, so I realize what I have to say means less than nothing... but yes, official regular time helps. Or am I missing a point about being harassed by byzantine system that allows overlords to gently caress with contestants at will.
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Dec 29, 2012 21:24
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twinkle cave posted:I'm a fagget newb at the !!!!THUNDERDOME!!!!, so I realize what I have to say means less than nothing... but yes, official regular time helps. fixed lol
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Dec 29, 2012 21:31
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The official time is always calculated in the same way:code:
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Dec 29, 2012 21:32
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Last night I was really drunk in the LES and got some tasty meat pies from a spaced-out Kiwi dude
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Dec 29, 2012 21:33
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Hey Chairchucker, I only have two flash rules and both are for babies. Give me another one like now so I have to change the story I already started writing.
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Dec 29, 2012 22:16
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671 words Wisdom of the Greeks I wake to the smell of dawn: cypress and straw. Meager light filters through the narrow window above my head. It hits me, cold and damp, washing over me. I turn, trying to see beyond the bars: my chains hold me. It is useless, anyway. The guard comes up, his boots heavy with thunder. He drops a wooden bowl in front of me, sounding with a heavy green thud. More steps, a gentle caress as I hear the key enter the lock, then a sharp pain as fall to the stone floor. I grope for it hesitatingly, finding the rough trencher after several long moments. The porridge is thick and rich as I scoop it into my mouth, not caring as its heat burns my fingers. Full, I turn over onto my back, resting my hands on my stomach. Visions dance above me, teasing with my memories, taunting. Rooms with flowing fountains, gardens with dancing girls. My thoughts drift away from the now. Soft steps, slippered, blue and gold on smooth stone. A few words are spoken to the guards, short and clear. Heavy steps approach me again. A blue click informs me that my shackles are undone. The leathery skin of the guards abrades against mine as they drag me out of my cell. It feels comforting, like a wife's touch. They ease me into a chair and I run my hands along the seat, grasping the few adornments along the front edge. Red. I have sat in a chair like this before, cushioned and aired. It was another life. A softness envelopes my face, smelling of cinnamon. It reaches down, grabbing my arms and pulling them up to its face. I can feel the aquiline nose, I can see those dark eyes staring down at me, piercing. His fingers dance across my face, rubbing gently across ancient scars, brushing some drabs of oatmeal out of the stubble, pausing over the empty sockets, circling them. Happy shouts, a perfumed room, boys at play. “Brother.” My voice comes out in a rasp, sending a jolt of yellow pain down my spine. “Peace be with you, my old friend. The guards, they have been kind, yes?” His touch pulls away, the echoes of it leave me begging. The taste of dark wine fills my mouth. “More than.” “Good. Good.” A curt sigh. “I did not want it to come to this, but alas, here we sit.” A clap, more footsteps. I am blinded for a moment, pain shining in my ruined vision. A clatter rises from the table, and the sounds of sloppy eating. Raising my hand, I rub my temples. The whiteness subsides. I can smell the armor behind me, gold ringed mail. “Solomon, what possessed you so? I remember playing together as children . . . why struggle against fate?” For a long, blessed, moment, words do not come. The silence rings in the room. My brother continues speaking, his voice low and sorrowful. “So many years together, we both knew what was to come. And yet, still you refuse me.” Anger over some trifle. A shove, blood on red sandstone. Silence. “I am Sultan! God's chosen on Earth! Who are you to defy me!” I answer, lifting a hand to my ruined face. “I have been told that the Greeks used to do this to their enemies, robbing them of the world. What do your eyes show you, that you can speak with men like that? What is it you see? What does it say about our future? Brother.” The last word comes out more saliva than noise. I begin to laugh. It is a soft thing. Our mother used to tell me that I had the laughter of a child. “I am told the world seems brightest just before death. Please, tell me, what does a blind man see before he enters Paradise?” The silk garrotte slips around my neck; it smells of lilacs and sounds of blood.
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Dec 29, 2012 23:05
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chips beer babies shirts blood 1000 words "The light's green," Linnea said. It was one of those weird lights that wasn't bright, and I couldn't tell which one was on. The sunlight reflecting off the day-old snow didn't help. I grunted and stepped on the gas. She squeezed my thigh. "Sorry, honey, I know you don't like me to tell you." I didn't say anything, and her hand moved to my crotch. I smiled. "It just makes me feel stupid, babe." I hardened against her hand. "And you certainly know how to cheer me up." "Uh-huh," she giggled. "We got about forty-five minutes to Jonas', right?" "Yup." I turned onto the I-81 North on-ramp. "More than enough time." Linnea unbuckled and leaned across, unzipped my fly. # The poker game was at Jonas' place in South Onondaga. Kevin and Shane were sitting around his dining room table with beers. A rangy guy I didn't know was standing in the kitchen talking to Jonas' wife Carolyn. "Max, this is Tommy Halligan," Jonas said. "Good to meet you," Tommy said. His handshake was firm, but his hands soft. "You too." "Tommy and I went to Binghamton together," Jonas said. "He's up visiting from Jersey." "Cool," I said. "We ready to start playing?" "Yup," Jonas said. "What kind of beer you want? I got Porkslap, a couple Raison d'Etres, and one of my own red ales left." "Gimme the red.” I patted Linnea's big rear end as she started talking to Carolyn, leaving us boys to our cards. # Four hands in, and I was losing badly. Jonas was dealing, I was big blind followed by Kevin, Tommy, and Shane. Shane, as usual, was winning. It was only a fifty-dollar buy-in, but I'd been playing and losing too much lately. Linnea always came to Jonas' games, but she didn't know about the others I played in basements back in Marathon. I needed to win this one, or get another floor job soon. "Did I tell you that Mary's pregnant?" Tommy was asking Jonas. "No, you didn't. Congratulations, dude!" Jonas toasted Tommy's glass of rum and Coke. "Thanks," Tommy said. "Will this be your first?" Kevin asked. "Yup." Tommy's was slurring already. "Didn't plan it. Not sure I'm looking forward to it all that much either." Jonas said some reassuring things that I ignored, thinking about Linnea's apparent infertility. We'd been trying for close to a year, and still nothing. I tried to focus on the game, squinting at the two eights and the king of clubs on the table. I had pocket jacks, spades and diamonds. Shane was the last to bet. He looked at me, his eyebrows low. "Call," he said, tossing two blacks into the pot. "Pot's right," Jonas said. He burned a card and flipped the turn. The jack of hearts. I covered my excitement with a long swig of beer. Shane was looking at me, his blue eyes burning into me. I didn't want to spook him, so I pushed in three black chips. He raised his eyebrows. "I fold," Kevin said. "Too rich for my blood." "Pussy," Tommy slurred. "Call your thirty and raise you thirty more." He pushed a stack of six chips into the pot, knocking them over. "Call," Shane said. He slid two stacks of three into the middle. "Fold," Jonas said. "Max?" "Call.” I only had one black ten-chip left, a green twenty, and seven white fives. I made a stack of four whites and a black and shoved them in. "Now we're getting somewhere!" Tommy slapped the table with a big hand. Shane glared at him, but said nothing. "Call or bet, rear end in a top hat?" Jonas asked. "Call, motherfucker. Let's see that river!" Tommy downed his glass and poured another from the bottles of Bacardi and Coke next to his chips. "I call too," Shane said. Jonas burned one, flipped the river. The king of diamonds. "Christ on a cracker," Tommy said. "poo poo just got real, huh?" "Shut up," Jonas said. "Max?" I stared at the cards. Did someone else have a king? gently caress it, I decided. I was so short I'd be out the next round anyway. "gently caress it. All in." I pushed my pile across. "Fold, bitch, I loving fold!" Tommy tossed his cards at Jonas. "Fuckin' king, huh?" "I'll see you.” Shane’s face was expressionless. "Show 'em," Jonas said. I flipped my jacks and grinned at Shane. "Beat that, big guy." Shane smiled, turned his cards. Two kings, hearts and spades. I leaned back, groaning. "God loving drat it." I looked into the kitchen. "Linnea, let's get going. I'm out." "Okay, honey.” "You don't wanna buy back in, huh human being?" Tommy’s wide face was twisted into an aggressive leer. "No." I stood up and put my jacket on. "Good game, guys. Good luck to the rest of you." They all expressed sympathy and said good-bye, except Tommy who kept that stupid look on his face. "human being," he said again. I stopped and turned around. Linnea's grip tightened on my arm. "Either shut the gently caress up or follow me outside," I said. "C'mon, Max, don't be like that," Kevin said. I turned to leave and heard Tommy's chair scrape as he got up. Linnea and I walked outside, and Tommy was right behind me. He stepped down to the lawn and peeled his sweater off. "Let's do this, human being," he said. He had plenty of muscle, but with those soft hands I figured he wore gloves in the gym. I shrugged my jacket off and put my hands up. # It was over in a couple minutes. Tommy lay bleeding in the snow, his bare skin already bright red to the cold. The other guys were watching from the porch. Linnea had tears in her eyes but knew not to say anything. I climbed into the truck without another word. "Sorry babe," I said to Linnea as we rolled out of the driveway. She didn't say anything. I drove into the cold night, thinking about the baby I wished we had.
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Dec 30, 2012 00:21
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So clarification: am I allowed to swear in my piece? What counts as swearing? Can I say "poop"? Can I say "socks"?
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Dec 30, 2012 03:22
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:So clarification: am I allowed to swear in my piece? What counts as swearing? Can I say "poop"? Can I say "socks"? If Captain Haddock would say it, you can too.
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Dec 30, 2012 03:34
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Kk well in my fanfiction Captain Haddock gets drunk and verbally abuses the Thompsons. If you take issue with that, I would direct you to the texts below. What is the one rule of the 'dome? You keep what you kill. loving bring it, loserwinner. Little King (I can't believe it's not Rimbaud) Could I take the air around you and shape it as clay, I would make a pug. A little, droopy, smelly thing with a face too frail to hold all its self-importance. I would roll that pug in poo poo and paste a smile on its face and a big friendly tongue that says “nobody home” without uttering a sound. You're lucky that I cannot make a shape of a smell, of an essence as it were. That little clay poo poo-smell puggy canisculi would be a vessel of loathing- not hate (which is opposed to love and just as dangerous) but loathing I feel for the taste of worms or the touch of a fart in the elevator. Your soul is a fart in an elevator and I'm an industrial fan. Blow away, fart-soul. Blow away with your conviction. If you had strength in your terrible thoughts, I'd at least respect that but they are tangible discurses and bloody rotten fallow fall. In a hole in the woods there is a white creature covered in hair (apres moi le deluge, rear end in a top hat) and I guess it runs the family. Do you know the smell of gypsies with ribbons? It is a sweet smell tinged with sadness and a thing I truly hate- because hate is the opposite of love and just as seductive. I hate it because it stirs my soul too much as to have me weep. It is such a boundless love that I cannot bear myself to face it, so I look away. That is what I call hate, you clay-dog-fart-in-an-elevator no good motherfucker. That is what I see what I say, when I drop words like a lesser man spitting bullets. You are that lesser man, who does not deserve my hatred because the only emotion you stir in me is a limp dick and a moistness upon the flat walls of my soul. You are moist made flesh, dog fart. You are to blame for all the minor, sweating evil of the world. Take your clipboard and stick it up your rear end.
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Dec 30, 2012 03:51
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removed
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Dec 30, 2012 05:08
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Noah posted:Christ, can someone make an official time? I understand the concern but the word "stupid" is bandied irresponsibly hence FLASH RULE (EXCLUSIVE TO NOAH) : Your story cannot contain the word "stupid" or any other word synonymous with the word "stupid". PS: 11 hours remain.
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Dec 30, 2012 05:51
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Martello posted:fixed lol for that i challenge you to a flash brawl. 4 stories in 4 days. 700-1000 words each. you may choose the start date of your demise, or you can use Ph.D Bohner's random algorithm. any story that reeks of "i just slapped it down like a bitch whore journal entry" is automatic disqualification. in otherwords BME and reasonable quality. you may choose the judge, or just take your shame now and back away from this challenge only fit for those who had parents with kids that lived.
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Dec 30, 2012 07:11
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twinkle cave posted:for that i challenge you to a flash brawl. 4 stories in 4 days. 700-1000 words each. you may choose the start date of your demise, or you can use Ph.D Bohner's random algorithm. any story that reeks of "i just slapped it down like a bitch whore journal entry" is automatic disqualification. in otherwords BME and reasonable quality. you may choose the judge, or just take your shame now and back away from this challenge only fit for those who had parents with kids that lived. Impressive. I will judge, unless you are all scared of me (because I am quite scary). vvv Noah, no problem with me. Can't noone stop you posting, blood.
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Dec 30, 2012 09:36
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Silence is Golden Spoon Words: 660 Diet Coke? Why does he taste like Diet Coke? “…You were brought in with extreme dehydration, vomiting, and…” That’s weird. Diet? What does that mean? Is it the chemicals? “Hey, hey you,” the doctor said, snapping his fingers at Kristin. Kristin shook her head and returned her eyes to the doctor’s browns. “I’m sorry, what?” She asked. “Did someone put something in your drink?” “No, I don’t think so. No, I just, got sick.” “You just got sick?” There it was again, that aftertaste. Sort of sweet, but empty. Refreshing at first, a little oily after. But, why? “I said, are you doing any drugs?” “What? No!” Kristin said. The doctor sighed and leaned onto his knees. “I told you, sometimes I get these tastes that make me really sick. This guy, he was saying something to me, and all I could taste was this, ugh.” “You could taste what he was saying?” “I told you, yes. I can taste what people are saying to me. Its in their voice, like their tone, I can taste it. I know what they want to do to me.” The doctor put the cap back onto his pen. “You don’t have to tell me, I’m just someone trying to make sure you don’t die,” he said. Chemicals? Made in a lab? Substitute? A fake Coke— “Hey you think I’m lying to you!” “I have other patients to attend to, you can check yourself out.” “I’m not lying, you, you, you guy! Aagh,” Kristin said shaking her sheet at the doctor as he left her ER space. Heel after heel, Kristin looked down when she walked the street. Jaw ache from chewing gum meant it was time to switch to Altoids. The distinct doodle from her iPod said get home soon. She pulled her cap further over her ears as a Chopin etude set the background for her walk home from the emergency room. Avoid eye contact, blow bubbles, smack gum, get inside. Hum if necessary. The door slammed behind Kristin and she pulled the over-ear headphones off. Sore, she had been wearing them too long. Stopping by the trash can, she opened her mouth and a large wad of gum tumbled out slowly. It joined several others in the bottom of the waste bin. “Hey!” Fred her roommate called out to her from down the hall. Doritos tingled her tongue. Cheese and saltiness fought its way through the wintergreen gum taste and she smiled. She pulled her ears, stretching them out. Letting her jaw hang loose, she shook it, trying to get it to feel like it was back in the right place. She waved to Fred as she went by and closed the room to her door. The utter laziness and lack of sexuality refreshed her. Smoke pot, eat some chips, that was all Fred wanted. From the first time she ever heard his voice, she knew she would take him on as a roommate. Nacho cheese, a girl’s best friend. Closed captions flashed periodically across her television. Kristin watched the television in silence as she flipped through the channels. Bonks come from the computer behind her. She had left it on all night. Dozens of messages left unanswered from online friends. As she sat down to type out messages, her phone buzz startled her. She peered over at the phone as it shook on her table, and she withdrew. “Dad.” Her stomach dropped out from under her. She pulled her knees to her chest and she stared at the phone until it stopped ringing. Stillness. Then another spasm of buzzes from the voicemail alert. Tears began to streak down Kristin’s face. She reached towards the phone, and another buzz made her jump. Text message. “Hi honey, did the hospital release you? Are you okay? I’m sorry I couldn’t go with you, I had to get back to work. I’ve never seen so much vomit, lol. Call me when you can, ilu.”
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Dec 30, 2012 09:43
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twinkle cave posted:for that i challenge you to a flash brawl. 4 stories in 4 days. 700-1000 words each. you may choose the start date of your demise, or you can use Ph.D Bohner's random algorithm. any story that reeks of "i just slapped it down like a bitch whore journal entry" is automatic disqualification. in otherwords BME and reasonable quality. you may choose the judge, or just take your shame now and back away from this challenge only fit for those who had parents with kids that lived. I'll take you up on that challenge, if there is room for more in it.
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Dec 30, 2012 09:44
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Breeze 949 words The ocean wind clung to their skin in a clammy embrace that prickled gooseflesh on their arms. Maja reached into her purse and removed a blindfold. "What's this then?" Kyle said. He took it from her and hung it by the straps from his index fingers. The black silk shimmered in the early morning sunlight. "I wanted you to see what it's like for me." "How is this going to accomplish that?" "Just put it on, please," she said. Her voice was weary. He rolled his eyes and put on the blindfold. "Now what?" "Just listen. Feel. The breeze over your skin, the tang of the sea on your tongue, that zesty smell as you breathe in? They're all the same thing, right? But they're not. That's what it's like." "I'm not really sure that it's working," he said. He picked at the straps behind his ears. "That's because you're not trying, Kyle. You have to relax and open up, it's not going to be perfect but it's the best I can do," she said. He threw his hands in the air. "Fine, fine! Just give me a second, alright?" he said. Kyle took a deep breath and was silent for a few moments, still as he took it all in. He breathed out and shrugged. "Yeah, sure, I guess." "You guess? " "Yeah, well, I mean it's not exactly a life-changing experience. It's not like I've never been to the beach before." "What happened?" Maja whispered, her voice battered by the raucous cries of gulls and the crashing waves. "Excuse me?" "What happened? You used to be so into this. You always asked about it, you always wanted to know what it was like, what a song looked like, the sound of a scent, and I'm trying to show you. Why are you acting like a kid?" "Maybe I'd be more into it if I knew I wouldn't have to fight with you about it. Yeah, it's kinda cool, I get the point, what more do you want from me?" he said. She looked at the ground and picked at the hem of her shirt. "Maybe some enthusiasm?" Maja said. Kyle frowned at her. "Act like you still give half a poo poo about me?" "Of course I give a poo poo, Maja, it's just hard to act like I do when every little thing is a new contest where I have to prove something to you and I never have any idea what it is." They stood in silence. She rubbed her temples, her eyes squeezed shut. He sighed again and she scowled at him. An eternity seemed to pass between them. "You can take it off now," she said. Her tone was sickly sweet. "I will when I'm done," he said. She glanced at him. He reached out blindly and grasped for her hand, melting the wrinkles out of her forehead. Maja took his hand squeezed. He took another deep breath and exhaled it slowly through his nose. "Yeah. I think I get it." "Oh yeah?" "Yeah. You know, all that. Scent, sound, feel, all of that's part of one thing. So you just experience most things with more senses than I do?" "Yeah, basically." "Well, poo poo, way to make it a lot less interesting," Kyle said. Maja snorted and gave his arm a light slap. "It was the closest thing I could think of." "Yeah. I can tell you spent a lot of time thinking of this. It was really sweet of you," he said. He wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned his forehead against hers. She laced her fingers behind his neck and closed her eyes. "Can I take this off now?" Maja laughed and kissed him on the forehead, pulling off the blindfold with her teeth. She cast it aside in the sand and they swayed softly together in the breeze to a song that only she could hear. "You know I love you, right?" He buried his head between her neck and shoulder. His breath could only stir her hair before it was whipped away by the wind. "I love you too." "That's not enough. You have to know I do." Kyle let his hands drop from her waist and cupped his hand under her chin. His eyes searched hers for confirmation. "Yeah. It just takes me a second to remember sometimes." Maja gave him a wavering smile. "That's not good enough. I can't keep getting so bogged down in everything that I can't even see what's in front of me." He pulled her head against his chest and stroked her hair. "It's been a rough year." "I know. We both need to work on that, I guess. I'm not perfect either." She shrugged. "We still have time, though." "We don't know that, this might be our last day together. I know, you hate it when I think like that but it's just that...don't get too confident in what you've got, you know?" he said. She nodded. He kissed her and grinned, "I could do a lot worse." "That's sweet of you," she scoffed. She drew away from him and ruffled his hair. He pulled an exaggerated scowl that dissolved into laughter. Their fingers wound together, between them, and Maja smiled up at him. "I really do love you, you know. I just need to get my head in the game." "No, I do too. We just need to stop letting everything else come between us." She drew him close, her arms clasped around his waist with all her strength. He wrapped his arms around her and in that moment there was no room for even the wind to cut between them.
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Dec 30, 2012 11:28
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| # ? May 30, 2024 02:37 |
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the girl who saw the music 567 words I was most of the way through our last song when I realised I couldn't remember the loving ending. poo poo. There was some really specific crap I had to do and I couldn't remember it for the life of me. I glanced to my left, saw Jake on his knees hammering out fast pull-offs. Useless, wanker, no help. My mind was a sunbaked sargasso. I ran through the chorus chords for the second-to-last time, looked out at the crowd for inspiration, 400 stoned fuckheads thrashing back and forth like smoke-soaked seaweed. Also useless. poo poo. That's when I saw her. She was standing at the front of the crowd, short hair, dark eyes. Staring at me. Lips moving, shaping words that noone could hear. I saw her tongue moving in her mouth, tip of the teeth, lips. She was saying, "delay". A grateful wave of memory washed over me. Oh gently caress yes. That was it. Jake was on his back now, posing (wanker), so instead I caught Matt's eye and slammed my foot on the delay pedal. The roaring waves of sound hit like a tsunami as I slashed the strings. I dropped down to turn the knob hard right, giggled with relief as the noise tumbled over the abyss. I looked up, wanting to thank my saviour with my eyes. Her face was right in front of mine, leaning forward over the low stage. Her mouth tasted of cigarettes as we kissed for the first time. Later that night, in bed, she was evasive. "I just knew, Damian" she insisted. She had the sexiest Scots brogue you could imagine. Sounded like she was giving my name a long slow one. "I could see it. What needed to happen. An'y'looked all cute and bemused so I thought I'd better share it with you." Then I think we had more sex. I honestly didn't think it was that strange. And her other habits, that should have tipped me off, I found adorable. Like sitting on my balcony for hours with headphones on, drawing. As near as I could tell from the glimpses she let me see she wasn't even drawing anything. Just swirls, patterns, shapes. She wouldn't tell me what she was listening to, though. Then one morning I pulled out the headphone cord by accident and Mariah Carey gave my hungover ears a coloratura enema. Mariah Cocksucking Carey, as I characterised her in the ensuing discussion. I ended up spending a few nights away, probably should have taken it for a sign. But signs are always most visible in the rear-view mirror. So we kept on, we kept on. Had some fights. She missed a few gigs. Couple of times I called her mobile and she didn't answer, then it went straight to answerphone for the next five calls. Then one night we were driving to a gig, I was driving and humming a tune that had been in my head for a few days, thought it might make a good song. A song-foetus. I stopped at the lights and turned to see if any cars were coming from the side. She was staring at me. Her lips were moving, I couldn't tell what the word was. She shuddered, picked up her bag. Got out of the car. I shouted after her but she didn't turn round. I never saw her again.
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Dec 30, 2012 13:33
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