I'm in for my first time ever, because I need to get good at writing and involved in a community of talented jerks
Describe a day in the life of an old dentist who is always getting into trouble with her parents.
e: Scrambler, 4-6
Wungus fucked around with this message at 20:57 on Jul 2, 2013
|# ¿ Jul 2, 2013 20:00|
|# ¿ Oct 19, 2021 11:06|
I'm really excited to get my first Thunderdome "please don't write any more" critique
Prompt: Describe a day in the life of an old dentist who is always getting into trouble with her parents.
Scramble, 4-6th grade
Dental Plan 1,300 words
"You had three more cancellations, Dr Agnelli, and two were the Johnson twins' crown jobs. Your root canal at eight also cancelled, and asked to have his records transferred to Dr Martinez's practice." Pietra skimmed a calender on her phone and smiled. "We should finish early today; outside of that wisdom tooth extraction at two, everything is just fillings or cleaning and checkups."
Simone nodded absently, letting the gears in her head spin up to work speed. "I'm sorry, you said that Sandeep cancelled his root canal? A shame. I prepped the midazolam when I came in this morning. Anything else?"
Pietra indicated no, then excused herself and left to go to the front desk of Angelli Dental Associates. Simone looked at the folder she had carried into the back office of her practice and sighed. The morning huddle didn't seem as important when her only hygienist was also the receptionist. She rubbed her fingertips into the bags under her eyes and sighed. Despite spending most of her divorce settlement money refurbishing, Agnelli Dental Associates would always be a slightly retooled version of Simone's childhood home. She winced at a creaking sound overhead and hurried into the front office to meet the first of her daily patients.
"I told you to make me first for the day, angel. I can't be expected to put off my morning walk until you've dealt with the rabble." Vincenzo Agnelli waved his arm at a young woman hiding in a magazine before turning his attention back to his daughter. "You think she's more important than me? I don't have much time left!"
"Pa, please." Simone touched her father's arm. "Mrs. Kelly booked with me a month ago and is very important to my practice. She," Simone shot an apologetic look towards the young lady, "has very nice teeth and only needs a quick check up, then I will send her back out here to Pietra and I can bring you back with me. I can't be expected to neglect everybody else just because you had a toothache last night."
Vincenzo folded his arms. "You can be expected to respect your father. I can't have breakfast with Saul and the boys if I can't chew."
Simone sighed and escorted her father to a back room. She sat him in a chair, opened his mouth and hurriedly spun a dental mirror throughout his mouth. There was a minor obstruction between the second premolar and first molar on the left hand side. She probed it gently and, when her father didn't flinch, picked up some floss and quickly dislodged the piece of chewed grey steak. "You need to floss, pa."
Her father pushed his way upright and patted her on the cheek. He smacked his lips twice and walked out, nodding to Pietra as he left. Simone apologized to Mrs. Kelly and led her back to the actual patient treatment room.
"You know why they cancelled on you? It's because you changed your name back. They don't got any trust in you no more. A good dentist can hold on to her man, Simone Veronica Agnelli." Francesca Agnelli sipped from a demitasse cup, not breaking eye contact with her daughter.
Simone finished chewing her biscotti and swallowed. "I remember a time when you didn't want me to get rid of the family name, mother."
"Sure, before you turned David into a business for yourself. You know, that's why he left you."
You're why he left me, Simone thought bitterly, and he said so in as many words. "I have to go and prep some anesthetics, I just wanted you to know I will be finishing early, and I'll cook tonight."
"You're always leaving early these days. I thought you were going to be a serious doctor, not some lazy half-rear end bare minimum nothing. You're lucky little Roman's not even big enough to drive yet. You don't know the heartbreak."
Simone bit her tongue; her son's residency at St Helen's had been almost over when he dropped out to become a mechanic. It was a good sign, she thought, that Francesca was beginning to forget her grandson's age. It meant certain arguments would stop resurfacing. "You're right. I'll see you and Dad just after five."
"We'll eat too late, but sure. You're the big name dentist now."
Simone knew the patient in Treatment Room One could be difficult at times, and had dosed him with more marcaine than usual. She stepped out to collect some patient records and paused at the door before entering. This used to be her bedroom, once upon a time. She stepped back in to see John Chang patting his left cheek with a huge smile on the right side of his face. "I love dish part, Docton Nartinish."
She flashed him a professional smile. "I'm glad I could finally convince you to remove that wisdom tooth."
"Oh, it washn't jusht you. Ken condinshed ne it'd helt, and that he could afford it. I like the new tlace, it'sh real hon-ey. Shnall, dut hon-ey." John nodded as a string of drool fell directly into his shirt pocket. "Sho why the nove? Doesh Agnenny pay you nore?"
"That's me, Mr. Chang." Simone had told fifteen other people today, and each time was a minor knife twist to her navel. "I'm not Martinez anymore."
"Oh." He looked away, his cheeks mildly flushed. "poo poo."
Simone wiped the sweat from her palms before taking two plates of eggplant parmesan to her parents. She was nervous but excited; she wasn't following her mother's recipe, and it felt good. Simone carried a bottle of red wine to the table and corked it before getting her own plate. Her mother had already eaten a mouthful before Simone sat.
"Too bitter, Simone. Did you even salt this eggplant?"
"Yes, mother." Simone poured wine for everyone, filling her glass significantly higher than those of her parents. "I just can't find some of the ingredients your recipe asks for."
"Well, I think it's absolutely fine for a first try." Vincenzo smiled across the table, tomato sauce dirtying his chin.
"It's not her first try, she has been ruining this once a week for years. You know, Simone, your cooking is why David left." Francesca reached over and dabbed the sauce from her husband's mouth. "You want a good marriage, you don't go ruining your mother's food."
Simone smirked and nodded. She saluted lightly with her glass before draining it and pouring some more. Her eyes slowly swung from one parent to the other. "So, pa, what did you get up to after you saw me this morning?"
"I saw you? When did that happen?"
"This morning. You had some meat stuck in between two teeth and thought it was a toothache." Silence. Simone stifled a grin. "You remember? You said you were going to breakfast with Saul and the boys?"
Francesca stood up. "If he said he was going to breakfast with Saul and the boys, that's what he did. You want to disrespect your father like this? In his house? In my kitchen?" She put a hand to her temple and steadied herself on a chair. "Your father, of all people, deserved to be... to be..."
Simone watched as Francesca toppled, her arms not having the strength to keep her upright. Her father jumped to his feet and wobbled too; he caught himself from falling and lowered to his wife's side. Simone took a sip from her wine and peered over the edge of the table, standing only when she heard her mother moan.
"What did you do to your mother?" Vincenzo's face was red with anger. "What did you do?"
"Nothing," Simone lied. She glanced to the cap of the bottle of midazolam she'd left on the kitchen counter. "Nothing at all."
|# ¿ Jul 7, 2013 21:02|
I'm amazed I didn't get a WORST IN SHOW ribbon; maybe I should start submitting writing to people/places more in life and stop being such a mincy baby.
I'm loving in for Choose Your Own Adventure, this sounds difficult and hilariously awesome as hell. By Sunday, you'll all be reading Tattoo of Death!
|# ¿ Jul 10, 2013 04:45|
For anyone who wants a kind of easier time putting their story together, there's a free web tool called Inklewriter that basically creates CYOA stories for you; all that'd be left is copying paragraphs out of that and replacing old posts that desperately argue facts about japanese role playing games.
|# ¿ Jul 10, 2013 13:05|
I gotta drop out because my hard drive shorted out while I was at work tonight and I'm working all day tomorrow, but at least I'm totally sold on finally making the switch to Google Drive
|# ¿ Jul 14, 2013 03:28|
I'd love to be a part of this Thunderdome, and I'm open to any dang color.
|# ¿ Jul 16, 2013 00:51|
865-ish words, color: Robin Egg Blue. I kind of wish I'd picked something myself, because that was a really hard color for me to develop a story from. Who cares though Thunderdome ain't supposed to be easy
Return To The Nest
Don't Ask, Don't Tell suited me just fine. It's a lesson I learned when I was fourteen when Saheed got real close to me and I tried to hold his hand. He got five friends and I got thirty stitches and my nose bent like this. Of course, my first day in Iraq, we get the word that it's been repealed. Three soldiers came out in support, thinking that this is the time to make a statement.
The Army isn't something you join because you really want to find some cute guys to gently caress. I enlisted because sometimes things happen and you just need to kill people legally. There's no way I'm the only one. These three guys, three goddamn soldiers, they want to take time out of protecting our country, out of sweating in the fuckin' sand and that light blue haze of a sky to talk about who they want to gently caress? They weren't never asked, they didn't have to tell, and I joined in beating the poo poo out of those little faggots. We never enlisted to gently caress.
Outside of one drunken makeout session in eleventh grade, I never touched another guy. I'm not ashamed or anything like that, I'm queer as poo poo and happy with it. I just never had reason to act on anything after Saheed got his friends to make their point. I went to war a gay virgin, came back a goddamned American hero. Parents threw a party and everything. My sister told me that Saheed came out the day I shipped off. Funny how poo poo happens.
I'd been back six months when my therapist tells me I've gotta get out there. Make a human connection, be true to myself. I put on a ball cap and walked into Sexxperts, asked where gays in this little drat town hang out. Learned a few things, went to a rack of handkerchiefs. Grabbed this little robin egg blue piece, saw a tag saying you wear that in your back pocket when you want someone to perform a 69 with. It's fitting, you know? I always thought you should really give back as good as you get.
My second time at Al's, I got brave. Took the handkerchief out of my American bison leather jacket pocket and slipped it into the back of my jeans. Stood against the wall for two hours after that. This fake blue Tiffany logo wasn't the color for a soldier, but I hadn't been one of them for a while. Not after what I did when I killed my first Arab. Sent me home, gave me a doctor and a big stack of pills. I finally got brave when I saw someone with the same flag hanging from his rear end as I had on mine.
I didn't even see what he looked like at first, I just stared at his pocket and his rear end and beelined right through that club. When I tapped him on the shoulder, he turned around and I almost shat at how much he looked like my first victim. He smiled, his cute-as-poo poo brown skin covered in stubble and sweat. I took my handkerchief out of my pocket and wiped his face. We left together.
He'd been drinking, so I drove to my parent's lake house. White chipped paint, dusty air, the whole stereotype in one house. He had his hand around my cock half the drive back. We didn't really talk much in the car and when we got out, it was go time. He pinned me up against the car at first, his tongue fighting mine, both our dicks hard in our jeans. I chuckled when I realized mine was bigger.
I led him up to the house, pulling at his belt. We got to the door and I pinned him against it, getting stubble rash on my lips from his neck. He chuckled this time, and pointed out how quiet it was. He started to crouch down to blow me right there, when I stopped him and unlocked the door.
"I like to give as good as I get, you know?"
He smiled and blocked the doorway. He wanted to know my name. I had changed a lot over six years; I put on muscle, cut my hair, got a tan and a few tattoos; I'm changed. I lied to him and said my name's David. I didn't bother to ask him his, he never told.
We hosed and drank that night. I woke up before him and looked outside; the sky was the same blue as the two handkerchiefs tying his wrists to the bed. I got up and pulled on a pair of jeans - real, American 501s, not his European Diesel prefaded things laying on the floor. I lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in his face to wake him up, but it didn't work. No matter. I put the fag out on the fag, right there on his left nipple. I've got a similar scar. He woke up swearing at me and in the anger looked just like he did when he broke my nose so many years ago.
I gave him as good as I got.
|# ¿ Jul 21, 2013 17:32|
I'm in because I haven't been crowned Thunderdome Winner Champ yet. I want to be a great writer, and I can't be that if I can't even be a Thunder Champ.
Also, thanks for the critique!
e: In with Do You Like Rollercoasters?
Wungus fucked around with this message at 14:46 on Jul 24, 2013
|# ¿ Jul 24, 2013 02:13|
I've spent the last week frantically moving apartments, now I'll post my embarrassingly terrible story and sleep for days.
660 words, thread: Do You Like Rollercoasters?
Mona liked rollercoasters. She didn't like riding them; truth be told, she had never actually sat in one long enough to have the safety harness locked in place. What Mona liked was the concept: paying a small entrance fee to be locked into a chair (or dangled from a harness) and rocketed through a thrilling course of twists, turns, loops and spirals at, in some cases, over a hundred miles an hour. She had followed the development of fifty different rides and would spend hours on message boards arguing upside down harnesses over seated, wooden over steel, speed over theme. She could quote safety guidelines and occupancy limits in thirty five states in her sleep; Mona liked rollercoasters.
She just preferred to like from a distance.
The Texas Giant was something of a recent focus of Mona. It went into repairs in 2011, upping its speed and capacity from average numbers to record breaking highs for a wooden coaster. Mona had flown from Seattle to Dallas to see the ride in action. She was petrified of actually riding the thing; despite safety regulations being as familiar as air, she couldn't help but fear that one in a thousand chance of becoming a statistic.
Her two nephews rode the first, third and fourth runs once the ride was open to public. Mona sat nearby, dissolving cotton candy over her tongue and balancing the sugar with cigarettes. She watched run after run of people leave the exit, elation marking their faces with the shaky glee that comes from quickly grazing the farce of danger that trademarks the entire rollercoaster industry.
With a one-in-one-point-five-billion chance of a fatal accident, Mona knew that a theme park was one of the safest places she would ever exist in her life. She'd spent months of her life watching carriages clank up and shoot down twisted, turning pipes, filling her stomach with all manner of knock-off candies and imitation hotdogs. Still, when her nephews grabbed her hands and dragged her towards the entrance gate, Six Flags seemed like a coffin waiting for her corpse.
She wiped her brow from the sweat that usually builds from walking quickly. The speakers above the passenger line blared 90s pop hits - this one, Alanis Morrisette's Ironic - as she winced at the oncoming sign declaring she had to be this tall to ride. Darryl and Tony knew their aunt knew everything about rollercoasters; Mona didn't have the strength to protest that this was her first time.
The safety restraints slapped against Mona's stomach. She gestured to the attendant and tried to lift the bar, but he just smiled and nodded. Mona gulped - she hadn't ever read anything online about harness bars not fitting right. Still, this was just a wooden coaster, and they never did anything really dangerous.
The first drop sent Mona's stomach up into her oesophagus then plunged down into the top of her bladder. She grabbed the harness with both hands and screamed as two quick turns shook her carriage; the voices that had been present around her at launch had disappeared. She saw her nephews ahead raise their hands as the train rose slightly over a hill - they were seasoned veterans, they clearly knew how to enjoy a coaster. Mona let go of her harness and raised her hands.
The carriage dropped and accellerated, sending Mona's head shaking. She saw another corner coming ahead; every person who hit it started laughing. Mona's nephews in front still had their hands raised, so she did too. She closed her eyes; inside her mind, she could just pretend she was watching the opening title to the sitcom Step By Step. The coaster jerked to the side and she heard screams die away. It was relaxing, until she opened her eyes and realized when the coaster flew to the left, she had launched to the right. Mona turned her head and screamed as the parking lot closed in.
Wungus fucked around with this message at 02:15 on Jul 29, 2013
|# ¿ Jul 29, 2013 01:17|
|# ¿ Oct 19, 2021 11:06|
Eeuch. I didn't have any time to edit this week and wow, that criticism of my entry is pulling a lot of punches. I hope I can do a lot better next week; I should actually be able to find more than two hours of free time in which to write and edit. And plan. And sleep.
I'm in awe of how some of y'all managed to create such great pieces from this prompt this time around.
|# ¿ Jul 29, 2013 23:37|