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HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


I'm in. For the blood.

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HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


New Stock
500 words

It’s early morning and I’m waiting anxiously for a customer to choose me. I sit at a round table with several other prospectives, smiling awkwardly and making small talk. Across the room a door clicks open and my boss walks in leading a customer behind him.

“We’ve got some good stock in this week, I just got a new set of imports too if you wanna give em’ a look,” he says.

The customer quietly walks in front of the tables, examining each of us methodically. His eyes hover over me and I look down, I read somewhere that customers like that. He takes me by the hand and leads me to the center of the showroom. He rests a hand on my hip and holds my other hand up. Music swells up from the hidden speakers and we waltz.

“Your name is Amy,” he whispers into my ear.

Something clicks in the back of my head and I nod. We continue to waltz around the room.

“What’s your name honey?” he asks.

“I’m Amy, thank you,” I say.

The customer nods and lets me go. He walks over to my boss and starts to haggle. Twenty minutes later my papers are signed and I’m sitting in his car. His name is William. I haven’t been out of the showroom for a few weeks and it takes me a few minutes to adjust to the harsh sunlight.

“So, what are your hobbies? He said he’d thrown in a few extras for me,” he inserts his key and turns on the ignition.

Click click. “I can program in six different languages, I jog three times a week, and I enjoy playing and listening to classical music.”

“Sweet…what’yah say we go to the park and watch the sun set, show up all the other couples there.”

“I’d like that.”

We get out and go sit on a warm bench on the boardwalk. I’m picking up on his tone, his movement patterns, the way he rubs his chin when he’s not sure what to say next. We talk about the news, the weather, I tell him about the different species of birds around us. William laughs, that’s what’s important. We’re together in that shared space only people in love occupy, where we talk about nothing and everything all at once.

William looks at his phone and says it’s time to head home. I follow him back to his car and get in. He turns on the radio and pulls out.

“I only live a few blocks from here, it’s a nice place to jog.”

Click click.

He pulls the car into the garage and closes the garage. He has me sit in an old wooden chair near his workbench. “I’ll see you in the morning Amy, OK?” William crouches down, reaches behind my head and depresses my power switch, turning me off.

What is love but a little bit of electricity? I ask oblivion.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


Hopefully in the next round you can give our scores as dirty limericks.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


Of course I'm in!

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


The Cave Bear and the Lion Word Count: 1900

The air was cool in Der’s subterranean hut. Gazelle pelts litter the ground and lined the walls, preventing condensation through the crude stone walls. Der’s skin was like creased leather and most of his teeth had fallen out long ago. But his hands were steadfast and his eyes sharper than most in the village.

Der decorated himself with feathers and shells, draped across his back was the pelt of a cave bear that he had killed in his youth. Der sat on a gazelle pelt in the center of his hut preparing a dinner of root plants and grains, a crackling fire off to his right cast shadows and warmth into the room, warding off the encroaching twilight. He was surprised when he heard the rustle of men outside his hut, who amongst his tiny village would be so stupid to wander around in the dark outside his home?

He slowly got to his feet and wiped the dust off his bear cloak. They wouldn’t enter his hut unless he invited them in, some stupid superstition about his power to curse interlopers. He liked to propagate the rumor because it kept people from forming lines into his hut to fix stupid problems. Der stood at the bottom of the sloped floor leading up into the village’s center.

“HOAAH! Who would trouble old man Der at twilight!”

“Medicine man! We come with news of death and require your aid.” a young voice yelled back.

Der scratched the stubble on his chin which he kept short with a simple broken piece of flint. Life was the province of women in his village but death was his. He would heed its call someday, whether at the tip of a spear or the sharp pangs of age.

“Enter man, bring your news.” Der said.

Der sat back down and continued to crush seeds with his mortar and pestle. He didn’t look up at them as they stood over him. A loud thump startled him and he glared at them. On his dirt floor lay the body of a boy, the firelight cast a pale orange glow on the body’s skin.

“What manner of news is this?” Der took a bite out of a small brown tuber and continued to glare at the two men.

The older man stepped forward, his eyes were cold. “I found the body of my son dead in the hills, medicine man, there was no blood, there was no one there, why have the gods taken my son from me?”

“Lim, this is grave news indeed, come back to me in the morning, leave the body,” Der stuffed the rest of the tuber in his mouth and ground it to a pulp with his remaining molars.

“No medicine man, you come with me tonight, my son is dead and I lust for blood,” Lim said.

“You dare make demands of me? Quell your anger and come back tomorrow, I have spoken, Lim, and you will abide.”

Lim’s nostrils flared but he turned and left Der’s hut. Der sighed and set aside his ruined dinner. Lim always challenged him, in some future life perhaps Lim would learn why his line were warriors and not medicine men. Der didn’t trust men like Lim, men who put ferocity ahead of wits.

Der scooched over to the body without standing and rolled it over on its back. He squinted a bit and ran his hands down the body starting at the head. He found the skull cracked and a few bruises, but nothing to indicate what had caused it. He examined the feet and found shallow scratch marks on the left foot. Der chuckled, he reached behind him and grabbed a piece of flint and dug it into the body’s wrist. He tasted the blood that oozed out and spat. It was bitter with poison.

He shook his head and stood up. Death was his province and he would not let the boy’s flesh be disrespected any more than it already was. He affixed a small crown of beads on the boy’s head and draped a large plant and seashell blanket over the boy. He said a few words to calm the spirit of the boy. Der laid down on his cot and stared into the fire. He wondered how Lim slept.

The next day Lim and his older son led Der into the wilderness and up the mountain path to where he’d found the body. Der kept a watchful eye on Lim, sometimes the younger man would stop and glance with one eye back at Der. He imagined the cauldron of anger seething behind that glare.

When they got to the site Der told them to hold back while he examined the area. The game path was lined with lush greenery and tall vine covered trees. Der squatted examined the path, there was no blood, nothing displaced. It was too clean.

“Are you sure this is exactly where you found your son’s body Lim?” Der asked.

“I am the best tracker amongst our people. Do you suggest I don’t know these paths like the bottom of my feet?”

“Perhaps,” Der got down on his knees and felt amongst the underbrush, small animals squirmed and rushed into the underbrush. He brushed something solid and furry with his hand. He was about to grab it when he felt the razor sharp point of Lim’s spear
pressed into the back of his neck.

“What is this stupidity Lim! You would disrespect me like this even as I do your will?”

“You are nothing but an old decrepit man, yet the women listen to you, the men respect you, the village is latched onto your teat. How do you think they will feel when I reveal you to be false?”

Der slowly got to his feet and turned around, Lim’s spear was at eye level. “No man would betray another of his kind like this. You know this.”

“If you were a true prophet you could have foreseen the death of my son, you could have prevented it.” Lim pressed his bone spear into Der’s collar bone, a small trickle of blood ran down his bare chest. “I am only doing what is right for my people, what they deserve.”

Behind Der someone stamped their feet and hooted. “The Great Bear Der is here, the stars were correct my brothers,” a deep voice said. Der lowered his arms and turned around to face three familiar figures standing on the trail.

Der immediately bowed. “My Sultanian brothers, I am humbled to see you again.”

“My companions did not believe that Der had killed a great cave bear in his youth, yet there is the pelt upon his back!” one of the Sultanian men said.

“I am out here aiding my friend Lim, his son was killed at this very spot.”

“And we saw him about to end you, friend Natufian, from on top of the ridge further along here. Was he not happy with your help?”

Lim and his son stood quiet and wide eyed behind Der. Killing the old man was simple, no one was to know how it had happened. Now more pieces were in play. Lim stunk of fear.

“I fear something is amiss, if you will but pardon me for one second,” The Sultanian’s nodded. Der got down on his knees again and pulled out the hard furry object. It was the dried claw of some great cat, its razor sharp claws distended grotesquely.

Der turned around and approached Lim. He tapped the dried claw against his palm “We shall go back to the village now, we have much to discuss.”

“You accuse me of killing my son?” Lim said. His spear vibrated in his hand.

“I accuse you of nothing, brother. You cannot run from the truth.”

The Sultanians accompanied Der and Lim back to the village. Der caught a small boy and told him to blow the Horn of Calling. They continued to the center of the village, a great hollow whining accompanied them as the boy blew the horn again and again. Der had the Sultanians surround Lim and his son at spear point as people shuffled into the village center to hear Der speak.

Der cleared his throat “My people! A great tragedy has befallen us, the younger son of Lim was murdered,” Gasps and angry yells followed, “he was killed for the selfish reason of bringing me alone into the forest so your only recourse would be to appoint Lim’s family in my stead when I didn’t return!”

People were frothing by then, angry and dangerously close to tearing up Lim right on the spot. The hunters edged closer to Der, threatened by his accusations against their greatest hunter. Der simply held up the claw and walked over to Lim.

He continued to glare at Lim and spoke. “This beast’s claw is laced with the poison that killed Lim’s son, I tasted the bitterness in the boy’s blood, if Lim did not kill his youngest then this claw will have no poison on it, and I will give myself to him for judgment,” Der pulled Lim’s son away from him and into the center of the crowd.

Der held the claw against the boy’s neck, almost breaking his skin. “This is the last of your blood Lim, with him goes the last of you. Does the claw have poison on it or not?”

“What does it matter! I will die a proud warrior, not some medicine man’s lap dog,” Lim spat and stood there visibly shaking.

“Did you kill your son coward? Because you are scared of the power I wield? I have dominion over death Lim, but I can grant you another chance, your son stands steadfast and unwavering in my hands, he would make an excellent apprentice, such a waste,” Der pressed the claw against the boy’s flesh.

Lim dropped to his knees, tears streamed down his face. “Do not take away from me what I can’t replace Der, I killed my son because he was weak, because I wanted your strength, your power. Don’t kill what I can’t replace.”

“Then you offer yourself in his place?” Der removed the claw from the boy’s neck. Lim was deep in despair now, spittle and tears ran down his face. He crawled over to Der and pathetically grabbed at the great bear cloak.

Der knelt down and cradled Lim in his arms. He whispered to Lim, “This is our pact then brother, signed in blood and death. Your child will be mine, as will his son’s sons. I will make something of you in him because you could not do it yourself in this life,” Der took the claw and raked it across Lim’s throat. It was over fast.

Der stood. “Justice has been done, give Lim the burial of a warrior, give him what he so wanted in life,” Der watched them lift the body and take it away.

Der Walked over to the boy and put his arm around him. “We have much to discuss and much to do. I’ve been waiting for you for a very long time,” Der said as they walked together to his hut.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?





HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


*OFFICIAL THUNDERDOME WEEK IV COMPETITION*

Come one come all to this weeks show in the Thunderdome. I'm stepping in for Stuporstar this week. Compared to her I'm politely critical, politely brutal, and always brutally honest about how much I think your work sucks. I was impressed last week and I want to keep that gravy train running. So aim to please me, because my standards for "good" are not attainable by were ordinary writers. So do your best or I'll be putting you down HARD.

PROMPT: "last man on the moon" Interpret that phrase anyway you like with the following no-wiggle-room caveats. 1. You are not allowed to break any rules of physics in your story, NONE. I'll fact check everything so don't try to pass anything off. 2. It must be EXACTLY 1000 WORDS no more, no less, immediate DQ if you deviate by a single word. I can check accurately so don't round when you give me the word count. 3.You gotta set it on a moon.
EXTRA CREDIT:Do it in the style of stanislaw lem

You must declare your intention to compete by 7PM EST by tommorow, Tuesday. Your entries are due no later than 7PM EST Sunday
Because areyoucontagious was so eager to get started his entry will be due this Friday by 7pm EST

Fanfic will NOT be considered. Use your own imagination not someone else's. You also get to spend next week in the penalty box if you break this one!

Let the slaughter begin

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


You saw nothing.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


Outside the Thunderdome there is only despair. Thunderdome will be your home, Thunderdome will be your grave.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


Sitting Here posted:

Ready to flagellate myself in the church of Thunderdome once again.

Flagellate all you want. Blood is weak. Words are power.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


toanoradian posted:

I think you misspelled something here.

I read that over a few times and I didn't see anything misspelled. Which means you're giving me bad editing advice. The proper thing to call me out for in that example was my poor use of "by" and the general clunkiness of the sentence, not a misspelling.

Because you can't pay attention to details when you're calling me out I'm giving you a very specific punishment. One that'll force you to pay attention to details.

You're not allowed to use commas in your entry. Not one. Not in the dialog. Not in the title. None.

And then I read it again and realized I misspelled tomorrow. Your punishment still stands.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


It's seven O'clock, according to my computer. That means that we will be extending the application deadline till tomorrow at 12pm EST. Get in or get bent.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


The deadline to enter has passed. Those of you competing must have entries in by Sunday 7PM EST. I hope you're all hunched over your keyboards feverishly typing away.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


toanoradian posted:

Funeral for the Rest of the Europan Humankind
I am conflicted about how to feel about Jupiter. The biggest planet in the solar system could not fill the entire sky. I’d learned few months ago that pictures where Big Splotchy Orb reigned the night sky were camera tricks; a ‘lens thing’ that would impress viewers. In actuality Jupiter didn’t fill half my field of vision.

“For every human being who looks up at this moon in the nights to come will know that there is some corner of another world that is forever mankind.”

The end of the speech confirmed my xenophobia. My ears can only interpret their English as from another planet entirely; the syllables they choose to emphasize were almost always the wrong ones. But their heart was in it. They sincerely felt sad at the foreign corpses inside the coffins lining their home. Even though we suspected them. Even though we’ve attacked them. They spoke those words as if they mean something to us.

The main speaker started reciting the list of dead humans. I only recognized three names out of those 212. I hesitated on reminiscing about my relationships with them until their names had been spoken.

The main speaker spoke out the name of a janitor I once shared a cheese sandwich with.

The main speaker spoke out the name of a monk who once asked me where the nearest restroom was.

The main speaker spoke out the name of fellow laboratory user who died by ignoring safety precautions. My lab partner was always ignorant of such ‘bureaucratic non-scientific twaddle’.

I have no idea what to do during the recital of unfamiliar names. All I hope is that confusion can’t last 200 names; I must feel something by then. I tried to imagine the amazing paragraphs written by people on Earth to remember this tragedy. I then realized I can’t imagine well-written epitaphs.

I failed at imagining myself as the grieving family members.

I couldn’t push any water out of my eyes.

I looked at my boots and just went back to the memories of three months of preparation.

The workers stood up from their chairs after the 212nd name had been uttered. They lifted the coffins and inserted it into the rocket. After several failed attempts at helping them they finally impolitely asked me to leave it to them.

I can’t feel sad. I can’t distract myself from not feeling sad by doing things. I’m the last man on this moon and I can’t act human. What can I do then?

212 people. I am not familiar with most of them. How many females are there? At least two. How many are non-Singaporean? At least three. How many –ologies and –ologists are involved in this program? I have no clue.

212 pioneers. The first ones to discover civilization in Europa. The first ones to establish peaceful relationship with said civilization. Most of them are heroes. I should’ve lamented their deaths. It should not be hard for me to be sad over them. I should have cried waterfalls by now. I have the suit that allows me to do that without my tears freezing even in the minus 130 degrees atmosphere.

212 friends. I couldn’t cry over the death of 212 friends. My heart was not warmed by the Europans’ attempts at Earth funeral. Everyone besides me had prepared the stage for my theatrical display of sadness. I couldn’t do it.

Why couldn’t I?

Am I a psychopath?

Have my anti-social behaviour these past forty years shielded myself from human emotions?

Have I left my humanity on Earth?

What do these Europans have that I don’t? How could they cry at the deaths of people from an entirely different culture? It’s sickening. It’s annoying. It’s alien. They are empaths. They can probe into our memories and create perfect copy of our emotions. They are a hivemind that have absorbed all the culture from the literature we’ve brought. They don’t actually have solid forms; they are constructed from what we think humans should be.

Of course they’re loving not.

It’s just…the nature of living beings. Emotions. Sympathy. They all know how sad this should be.

So what is wrong with me?

I screamed. Thankfully, the tele-communicator inside my head-suit automatically cuts off noise above certain levels of loudness. No one can hear these screams of a confused man. I walked towards one of the coffins. This one bore the name of my lab partner. I kicked the coffin.

“What am I supposed to feel for you? Am I supposed to cry? Am I supposed to wail? What do you want from me? What do you expect from me?” I continued kicking the coffin that didn’t budge. “I don’t know you. I don’t know your birthday. I don’t even remember your last name! Don’t think I ever asked...”

One of the Europans pulled me away from the coffin.

“What am I supposed to do here?”

The Europan suggested that I should pray them luck for their afterlife travels. Hah. Like I know their religion. Like I know anything about religion. Like I ever cared. The best I could say is “May you go to Heaven.” And it’s not like I would be able to say that sincerely.

My eyes are still dry.

I cursed at this apathy. I cursed at my lack of social interactions. I cursed at myself. These useless curses can’t even lift my spirits.

The final coffin had finally been inserted into the rocket. Then the musicians began their magic. The ice under the rocket melted from the ignition. And soon they would soar towards the Big Splotchy Orb. The rocket would then explode in Jupiter’s atmosphere and send the ashes towards any of the coloured storms.

I watched as the rest of humankind stationed on Europa flew towards Jupiter. In about 41 hours I will be the only Homo sapiens left on Europa.

My eyes are still dry.

Pre-emptive pat on the back for completing by bullshit ruling. I didn't think you had it in you!

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


Black Griffon posted:

If next week is Tom Waits week I Will Lose. So hard.

Edit: No one will win. No loving way.

Best not to read too much into our banter. Kind of like looking into the face of Cthulhu.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


This week's winner is Toanoradian who, without commas, created an eerie interesting character who was going through a personal crisis that I found both compelling and almost poetic at times. GOOD JOB.

This week's losers are: Zack_Gochuck and WrageofWrapper

Zack_Gochuck

Pretty much wraps up what I think of your story. Also you should have done your research, there's no way you'd find a Katana on the moon.

WrageofWrapper
Clones, incest, and you couldn't take five minutes to spell check your work, or look up how to properly punctuate. You join Zack_Gochuck this week.

I'll dole out individual comments on everyone a bit later on.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


Strange Highlights this week

- Two stories were set on Europa and submitted back to back.
- Two stories took place in amusement parks on the moon.

Lines that stuck out

"an animalistic expulsion of all his rage over the mic as Waverly turned the rover on"
Areyoucontagious
Perfidy


"But one was left behind. He was late for the arc, as he was stuck in the bathroom. Because he was having a wank."
Wrageowrapper
Master Bataar


"Darryl would get Cassandra, all of Randy’s Bitcoins and the moon would be all theirs."
Zack_Gochuck
Moontopia


"but I can taste the smoke and peat, the far away soil from which it came—and underneath, the hands that worked that soil." For the worst way to describe liquor ever.
Seldom Posts
New World

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


I will be writing a story about his 1984 song "Berserker" picked solely by the title.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


Do You Wanna Come With Me Now?
Word Count:900

“Do you wanna come with me now?” the human child said. It held out its small hand to Kos.

Kos looked up at the slimy white slug of a human. He loathed it. It had hunted him, The Great Green Kos. He’d fled across the stars, through primordial fields of interstellar gas, through nebulas older than creation Now it had trapped him on a barren meteoroid hurtling through empty space. Kos snarled at the human.

“I’ve been waiting far too long Kos.”

Kos put his hands on his ears and tried to block out the sound of the human. He rocked back and forth and focused, one wrong move and he’d get flung off the meteoroid like a bullet. He could manipulate matter in all its exotic forms. He didn’t know how or why. For him it was as natural as breathing. But the child was outside his power, no matter what he did to it the child came back every time.

He lashed out at the child with one arm, it swung like a whip. The child was gone, he was alone again for now. Kos adjusted the path of the meteoroid slightly and went to sleep.

He awoke to heat and friction as he entered the atmosphere of a planet. Several thousand years must have passed since he closed his eyes. The meteroid’s ice was shedding around him and a great tail of gas and flame stretched out behind him. He closed his eyes as the sea engulfed him.

He was familiar with water. It would do as he commanded. But for now he floated on the surface right in the epicenter of the impact. Around him a circular set of tidal waves rushed away from him quickly. He formed the water underneath him into a complex crystal array and sat up on the newly hard surface. Quiet bubbly sounds were the only thing he noticed in the vast expanse of blue.

Then he saw the pale figure in the distance plodding its way towards him. Kos got to his feet and edged in the opposite direction, He didn’t care where he went as long as he was away from the pale demon. Even now, eons later, it had found him.

After a few hours of moving Kos looked down. He hadn’t seen his reflection in ages and he couldn’t recognize his face. He had been something else before, something that the human desperately wanted him to be again. But what was it? He had a nose, a mouth, eyes. All superficial of course, their sole purpose was to help him keep his already tenuous grip on reality centered.

Then the surface of the water broke. Something, a hand, yanked him through the solid surface he’d created. Nothing in the universe should be able to upset his matter arrangement like that.

Another yank and Kos slipped a few yards under water. The triple suns above began to dim. He looked down and saw the visage of the human child. It wasn’t angry, it looked disappointed. Kos almost expected it to scold him for being away for so long.

“I’ve been waiting for you Kos, do you wanna come with me now?” the child’s voice was clear, a jubilant scream in his head.

What do you want with me human, I run and you follow, I evade and you’re there, waiting. Koss replied.

“But now the weakness comes,” the child yanked and Kos continued his descent, “be with me, please? I’ve been waiting for you, and I won’t be here for long.”
Lies.

But reality pressed in on Kos. He felt water rushing through his figurative nose. His imaginary lungs were filled with cold salty water. The pressure pressed in on his nonexistent ear drums. The human was going to kill him and he could do nothing about it.

An errant image, a human woman, a man by her side. Not of Kos’s making. A long forgotten dream. Now Kos faught to breath. He tried without success to change the water around him into gaseous air. He tried to wrench his foot out of the human’s grasp but it only got tighter. The water was blackening white specksof matter floated past him. Kos was going to die.

“I’ve been waiting far to long Kos.”

Why won’t you let me be? What have I done to deserve this?

“We’re leaving this place together, Kos. We can leave when you see the truth.”

The image of the man, the nose, the mouth, his image mirrored in the water above. He’d never considered that he’d started as anything but Kos. Old memories rushed to the surface. On a planet green with plants and wet with cool water. He’d left them, long ago. He’d left him in the past where he belonged. The planet probably didn’t even exist anymore.

He looked down and the human child was gone. The child had never been there. He’d just been a phantom. Hundreds of thousands of years of running from a memory. And now it was gone. Kos’s lungs filled with water and his eardrums burst and he didn’t care. It was quiet down here, quiet and cool. This is where it ends then. Not with a bang but a pop.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


Puree Tomateaux is perhaps the most original name I've ever encountered in fiction. Ever. I like it.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


In, bitches.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


Stuporstar posted:

Did I really sleep-crit on Zopiclone?

Oh gently caress, I really did. I thought I dreamed that.

You still got perfect punctuation and grammar while zombified. Color me impressed.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


All in, full monty, total package.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


Demi Lune Dirge

You remember mother’s screams as Daddy would beat her at night? You’d climb up into the bunk and ask me when she was going to stop. But Daddy never stopped. Mother would scream “Again, Again!” and Daddy would say “You like that you little bitch? You think I want to do this?”

Every week was the same. Mother would come home with less and less groceries and Daddy would get angry. “I gave you the same amount of money as last week,” He’d say. You and I sat silently as they bickered, as Mother grew weary and Daddy fumed more and more. I always hated that Mommy loved you more. I hated you a little bit for it. Oh don’t have a fuss, girls will be girls.

Here, wipe the tea off your chin, that’s a good girl. We were still just girls when we finally understood what was happening to our parents. Daddy grew senile. His brain started to rot while he was alive. And mommy took to the drink. It was never wine or beer, it was just the drink when we were around. Mother would spoon feed Daddy and sit on the couch. She’d yell “I want my drink.” And you’d jump like a rabbit. I knew Mother was destroying herself, I knew you were helping her along.

I know you loved Mother so I would leave the house, sometimes for weeks at a time, to let you both simmer in your little incestuous pot. I didn’t want to be cruel. I didn’t want to see Mother kill herself. We’re identical in every way except what counts. I was never born without a soul, Darcy. I’m sure of it. One time I pricked my finger with one of Mother’s sewing needles and watched the blood seep out. Drip drip drip. Right into the shag rug that Daddy always wanted clean. I watched the blood and I didn’t understand. I didn’t feel anything, I didn’t stick my finger in my mouth. All I was reduced to a pinprick. There’s nothing but blood and meat.

But no, you’re little miss perfect. You were always crying, always feeling. Mother needed that. Mother needed someone to mix her drinks because she couldn’t kill herself. We moved out after she died. I had to force you to come. To leave father to rot in his bed. You finally agreed. We took the car and headed west, into the setting son. Do you remember our secret language? Crlaptra nouva clopnop ghoghogho cacaca. You called it the ghost language, it scared you because you didn't know how you knew it or where you’d learned it from.

We made lives for each other. It was simple and rustic. I was blood and meat and you were feelings and love. Together we were whole. It was the first and only time I’ve ever felt that way. Remember the cabin we got for free from that pervy little landlord. Nouva ghocaca Nuvist Ach. You know why I’m here right? Here, take your tea, It’s right here a little bit more to the left. That’s a girl, it tastes a little bit spicy doesn't it?

It’s the Demi-lune tables. Mother had two made when we were born. One half has your name on it and the other has your name on it. They were like little slices of the moon, when you put them together it made a whole creature, a wholly new thing.

When we were little I’d sneak out of bed and sit by my half of the table. Mother had little red ribbons that laced around the rim of the table. They always reminded me of blood. I’d sit there in the silent dark and watch. If I concentrated hard enough I could see it flowing under the skin of the table. It made me feel yshrough, it made me feel carimphy. Oh you dropped your tea, I’m sorry! Here’s my napkin.

___…It’s the table…
____…I want the table…
_____…Mother left…you
______…in the will…
_______…just lean back…
________…We’re going to be whole again…
_________…Just…you
__________…sec…
___________…sl…
____________…bye…

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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I've submitted my spew to them. May God have mercy on my soul.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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http://www.shunn.net/format/story.html

In the future, if any of you plan on submitting stuff refer to the link I posted. Everything you submit MUST be in this format. No ifs, ands, or buts, they will throw your manuscript into the trash as fast as they can if you deviate from the standard manuscript format.

Just keep that in mind. The easiest way to clear out a slush pile is to trash the ones that are improperly formatted without even reading beyond the first page.


VVVV
Yep, full address, every time. How else are they going to know where to mail your check?

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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In.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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You need an Archivist who will be responsible for keeping track of the results, collating everyone's work into an easily accessible format for perusal or download, results of past weeks so you can chart your progress, etc etc etc.

I nominate myself. I'll get started tonight. It will probably be in a Google Docs thing. It'll be outside the thread and all that but it will ALL be in one place.

Erik Shawn-Bohner can vouch for me, I just want to see you all writing at your best and being able to track your progress is essential to that.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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toanoradian posted:

In the spirit of Thunderdome, I'll also nominate myself as an Archivist. I'll also be using Google Docs, so really what I'm saying here is I propose a duel between me and HiddenGecko on Archiving Things On Google Really Good. I can't imagine a more interesting match.

You're on.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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I've been asked to fill in for one of the judges this week and come down upon you with my inhuman wrath. We're in the final stages of finalizing the prompt and the rules. Expect pure mayhem this week.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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Final stages complete. GO GO GO

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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Noah posted:

I don't know yet. Not really sure what I'm uncomfortable with.

About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue, and white.

And some in dreams assured were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was withered at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.

Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung."



You wavered and you wept.
Your crew, thirsty and cold.
Your story now.
Shall be saddled with an albatross
About your neck, for all to see.*

*You're going to have an albatross in your story for not following the rules right out the gate, and it'll be contemporary lit. I'll string suitable birds around other people's necks if they follow your example.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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toanoradian posted:

You know what, I'm indecisive. There are three areas in which I had never written about :

1) Something with sexuality. While I have written about fetishists before, none of them was less "man, these sexy roads, ugh, leadin' me to Boner Lane" and more "man, these roads smell good and feel nice". Not much about the human responses, just overwrought description of particular objects. I don't like writing about things of sexual nature.

2) Romantic fiction. I haven't been able to write a single romantic story, nay, scene without reeling due to its cheesiness. It's just like when I try to write something affectionate, I automatically think of it as those soap opera-level of romantic proclamations. I don't like writing romance.

3) Something dark but realistic. Because reality is dark, man, and people just can't get along. And there's plenty of bad stuff like poverty, religious strife and sexy roads that I just never want to face or include in my writing. At best I can do angst. I don't like writing realistic dark stories.

I'm going to need your help, judges. I can't decide which boundaries of the box to confront. Please advise.


Dear Judge Malloons,

Submitted here to you are two sentences in which you have committed an error each. This is unfitting for a Judge (especially of your swole) and it would be expected of you to fix these mistakes pronto.

Thank you.

You're going to write a dark sensual realistic romantic erotica. You will concentrate on the details and objects that make you hot and bothered. If you write porn I will disqualify you, it must be erotica. Your story must also include the noblest of birds. The secretary bird.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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toanoradian posted:

Three questions:
1) How much role does the bird need to have? Can I just say "I've killed a secretary bird so my lil' birdie could rise" or does the bird need more?

2) Porn is different from erotica? I thought the former is just a 'classier' way of referring to the latter.

3) why are you doing this to me


1) Do what you want with that bird but understand it will weigh HEAVILY in my final judging on how you use that bird. I wanna be enthralled by that secretary bird.

2) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erotica

3) I'M ONLY GIVING YOU WHAT YOU ASKED FOR.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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STONE OF MADNESS posted:

I'm new and would like to participate.
Could use a nudge/bird in the right direction, though. I usually write dark, 'realist' sci-fi/fantasy. Current WIP is a post-apoc horror. I have also written a bunch of parodies of a particular lit fic author whose specialty is nostalgic hokum, so that sort of thing might be too easy.
Instructions please!

Fanky Malloons posted:

To that end, you have to tell me what new thing you're planning to try out in your sign up post. I don't need to know what you're going to write about or any plot points, just give me 10-20 words (or less) about how you plan to experiment with your entry. For example, you could just say "I'm in, and I'm going to attempt magical realism."

I'm going to let you try again since you're new in these here parts. If you haven't decided what your fate is by the next time you post I'll see if Fanky can cure your bellyaching.

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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Write! Write for your lives! I want to see some legit writing all up in here.

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HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

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I too have comments. I'll have a paragraph or more for each of you. I will have them up by tomorrow.

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