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Radioactive Bears
Jun 27, 2012

Creatures of horrid visage and disposition.


I am in.

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Radioactive Bears
Jun 27, 2012

Creatures of horrid visage and disposition.


I waited until the last minute to begin writing, and ended up with something too personal to post. I suppose that is what happens when you don't do things early.

I have shamed myself in this dome of thunder.




Edit: My microphone also sounds like an angry robot jerking off right now. A recording is not in the cards.

VV Edit: Thanks dude, it's not that bad. It's my own fault anyway for waiting until the day of to write.. VV

Radioactive Bears
Jun 27, 2012

Creatures of horrid visage and disposition.


Martello posted:

Radioactive Bears is basically the gimp riding the motorcycle dude right now.

I've never actually seen any of the Mad Max movies. I'm just assuming this is a bad thing to be.

Radioactive Bears
Jun 27, 2012

Creatures of horrid visage and disposition.


I am in.

Radioactive Bears
Jun 27, 2012

Creatures of horrid visage and disposition.


Minenow

Harlen cradled his jagged red brick in his hands. The cheap wooden door shook a bit in it's mooring, the dust and mold shook loose from the frame setting a light line on the dark floor. "Verynice, won'thurt, opendoor," the hosed up tinny voice from the other side called. "Feedfood, verygood food, have some. Won'tregret." The corner of the door began to peel off it's hinge, like aged paper, and a single gloved hand reached over into the dark dirty room with balled hand.

Harlen yelped in surprise and held his brick up ready to throw. The hand opened to reveal dark red and bright white chunks, wet and soaking into the wool glove. "Verygood, from lasttenent. Won't missthem, minenow. Yoursnow minenow." The door started go give way and the top crumpled down onto the floor with a dry and resounding crack in the abandoned building. A small thing, no bigger than a child peered through the kicked up dust and the dying air.

Harlan's mouth dried, and he desperately looked for any part of the thing on the other side of the door he could see. He readied the brick and backed up into the empty corner. Nothing but swaddled clothes, coats, scarves and hoods. The only thing he could see in the dark was a mouth. "Verynice now, verymuch. Yoursmine minenow," the teeth spread into a sharp smile, and the bottom of the door fell limply to the dirty floor, "mine."






------

Full disclosure I am bad at horror.

Radioactive Bears
Jun 27, 2012

Creatures of horrid visage and disposition.


I just realized I have no idea if we're allowed to fix grammar and errors and what not after we post. I really should not have tried this while off my gourd on cold medicine.

Radioactive Bears
Jun 27, 2012

Creatures of horrid visage and disposition.


sebmojo posted:

What do you think?

I think the Thunderdome has claimed my most basic ability to reason.

Radioactive Bears
Jun 27, 2012

Creatures of horrid visage and disposition.


If I already have a loser's avatar, how am I supposed to know if I lost?

Radioactive Bears
Jun 27, 2012

Creatures of horrid visage and disposition.


I am in. Gonna try and write something good this time.

Radioactive Bears
Jun 27, 2012

Creatures of horrid visage and disposition.


A high speed chase down my street ended when a guy plowed into the utility pole, knocking out the power until 6:30 AM. For the second time I have shamed myself in the thunderdome because I didn't get anything done earlier .

Radioactive Bears
Jun 27, 2012

Creatures of horrid visage and disposition.


Pluto's Jazz House

I nursed a whiskey and water at the faded wooden bar with a scowl on my face. The whole jazz house gave me a bad feeling, deep in the pit of me. The raggedy old bartender just smiled, swaying toward his rows of old bottles. There wasn't much space for a band or even just a single bassist, but I swore I heard the very razor's edge of some song somewhere in the crowded room.

The patrons seemed almost asleep, barely a murmur in the whole joint. Only a few men smoked cigarettes, thick mustaches and beaten suits billowing blue clouds into the worn out room. I heard them laugh in some strange language I never heard before, and I swear one of them plucked out a glass eye, causing the other fellow to near fall out of his chair.

My attention was drawn away from the two by a small man in a far-too large overcoat. He tipped his hat, showing dirty grey-green skin, and whispered to me over my drink. It was time to see the owner. I hefted my heavy bass case over my shoulder and began following the little man toward a low slung doorway hidden behind a few hung rugs.

The hallway beyond was pitch-black, and it was almost enough to make me turn around right then. Not much good comes of playing jazz in the dark. Cobwebs and dust clung heavy against my nicest dress, and I tried to brush them off and hurry out the door. I was ready to turn around with the little man tugged on my hand. "Down."

A few candles lit in his hand, and he started walking with me. We must have walked for an half-hour before I even got the courage to break the stone stairwell's silence. I asked him how deep the join went, who the owner was, and if I would really get all the money I was promised for a private show. The little man just nodded, not even listening. Must have walked for drat near an hour before we reached some old stone door with the club's sign painted over it with sloppy red ink.

It slid aside, and revealed a room just barely small enough to let in a band, lit by an old lantern. I saw a few other little men, in their too-big suits and with their crooked smiles. They readied instruments, and gestured to a simple wooden chair in the center of the basement. I will admit that it took me a few minutes to sit down and get comfortable with all of them staring at me.

I asked where the boss was, and what we were playing, and the little man in the big coat just pointed at the far wall. I was surprised to notice that the whole thing was a large curtain, the same gray and blue as the fading wall. A barely visible figure reached out a hand from the almost sheer wall and beckoned at us. The little man in the coat pulled out a horn from his jacket lining somewhere, and one of his friends shoved a pile of aging yellow papers into my hand.

The whole thing was so old I had trouble making out what it even meant. If it weren't for my mama teaching me sheet music, I wouldn't have even realized that the pages were notes. The old paper felt like autumn leaves in my hands. I was more than a bit worried that I'd hurt the sheet, but it slotted into a brass stand in front of my seat solidly, shaking motes of dust loose into the stifled basement. I put fingers to string with a broken sound, and played as best I could.

The notes came easier than I thought they would, but they came slow. The faded notes and melodies sang off the ancient sheets better than anything I'd played before or since. The old man behind the curtain just swayed that long bony hand of his to the beat, and the strange little creature with the horn behind me started his bit, and his odd little friends joined in one by one

It must have only been a five minute piece, but when I played in that old jazz house it felt like I'd been plucking my old bass for years. We played, rose, fell, and I have to admit I started to weep a bit at the sound of it. I am not a weak woman, but that music was something else. The old man behind the curtain drew his hand in, and I could see his tall shadow wipe it's eyes in the dusty room.

I couldn't tell you what the finish was like. I faded in and out of that room with the beat of the music and with that strange little man pulling on my sleeve once it was over. The little horner pointed to the bony hand, drawn back through the sheer blue curtain balled up around some kind of fruit. I called the bar's owner on it and he laughed. He called it an old habit.

He drew back, and then tossed a stack of bills in a rubbered band out of his little hidey-hole, too quick for me to see inside. It was more than enough to cover rent, food, ConEd, and a little something on the side. All for a single song.

I told the old man, nice as a could, that he was a drat fool to throw that kind of money around, with everything going to seed in those days. He just gave that weird chuckle, like a mockingbird call. He said that one day he'd love to see me play there again. I told him right out that I might not be around those parts again.

He gave off that chuckle, and said that wherever I'd go, he'd be willing to find me. Everyone finds a way to his bar in the end, he said.



-----

I came in a bit under 1000 words, and I know it's not as good as some other stuff put forward.

I still like it. I know it doesn't count for much since I missed the deadline, and wrote it the day of the deadline to begin with. I still had fun writing this. Thanks for letting me post it Thunderdome.

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Radioactive Bears
Jun 27, 2012

Creatures of horrid visage and disposition.


Or my story was so bad it killed the contest .

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