Oh man, I cannot wait for the next round! I'm gonna jump in balls deep with no regard for my own safety.
|# ¿ Jun 11, 2013 18:02|
|# ¿ Nov 26, 2020 05:03|
"True friends stab you in the front."
|# ¿ Jun 11, 2013 22:28|
Also, Kaishai drop me an email at jimbowardo at gmail so we can coordinate assigning viciously unfair flash rules.
Should we wait until you give out flash rules before we start writing?
|# ¿ Jun 11, 2013 23:05|
You should do whatever your heart tells you. We're just going to throw them out there when we feel like it, up to the deadline for entry.
Bring it on motherfucker!
|# ¿ Jun 12, 2013 04:10|
Here's my entry
Anger Management 1,189 words
True friends stab you in the front
“I swear to God if one more thing goes wrong, I'm going to cut a motherfucker!” Zoraida mutters angrily through clenched teeth. She bites down into her lower lip and rapidly clicks the mouse, trying to elicit a response from her frozen computer. Frustrated, she slaps the mouse away and falls back into her chair, vivid images of her fist through the screen dancing in her head. She leans far back into her chair and rubs her eyes while attempting some meditative breathing she learned in her anger management classes.
In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. gently caress!
Zoraida shoots up out of her chair and walks out of her cubicle towards the kitchen. Meditation never really worked for her. Pulling a mug from the cupboard she pours herself some coffee and then leans back against the counter edge. A movement near the door catches her attention.
“Hey there grumps!” A blond head pokes into the room. Her large smile causes Zoraida to slightly frown. Elise has one of those personalities that resemble that annoying ray of sunshine in the morning. Yet somehow the two of them bonded immensely and Zoraida now consider her a best friend; an only friend really, besides her boyfriend.
Zoraida grunts in response and brings her coffee up to her mouth to blow and sip. Looking at Elise, she senses something off about her – nervousness perhaps.
Elise walks in the room and takes a seat at the lunch table. “Hey, I know this is last minute...” She says as she avoids her friend's gaze. Zoraida furrows her brow. “Ah... After you're done with work tonight, can you come to Mojo's with me? It's important.”
“Mojo's?” Zoraida's eyebrow goes up. “I never knew you for a bar girl Elise. You're hiding something, aren't you?”
“I'm not saying anything else until we're both at Mojo's.” She crosses her arms, still refusing to meet Zoraida's gaze.
A tense moment passes. “Alright. Why the gently caress not? I'm not going to be able to get any more work tonight; not with my computer acting like a jack-hole.” Zoraida pulls her cellphone out. “I could really use a drink... Did you want to share a cab?”
“Sure. I've already called one before I came to talk, so it should be here soon.” Elise stands up and starts walking out of the room. “Meet you outside?” she pauses to ask.
“Let me try to salvage my work first. Computer froze on me.” Zoraida points in the direction of her cubicle with her phone. “Shouldn't be long.”
“Alright Zora. See ya soon.” Elise says.
“Yep.” Zoraida places her phone to her ear. She's halfway to her desk when her boyfriend picks up. “Hey Rucks.” She says.
“What's up my Hershey Princess?” Him and his drat pet names.
“I'm not gonna get in until late. Going out with co-workers.” She say, sitting at her desk.
“That's fine,” He replies. “My boss pushed a ton of crap on my lap so I'll probably just spend the night at the office.”
“You work so hard. I hope you get that promotion.”
“That would be pretty sweet, huh? Anyways, I don't want to lose my focus on this so I'm gonna let you go. Bye Mocha.”
“Bye.” Zoraida set her phone down and slaps the frozen computer. “Stupid piece of ancient poo poo.” She sits there brooding for a moment before considering getting ready to leave. “Whatever, I'll deal with this tomorrow.” As she made her way outside, she saw Elise's cab turn the corner. “Well- f...g...” She momentarily struggles for words. “poo poo.”
Elise's eyes are puffy and brimming with tears. The driver checks his rear view repeatedly before finally speaking up. “Hey, what's a pretty girl like you crying?”
She rolls her eyes and sniffs, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. “I'm a bad friend.”
The cabbie's eyebrows go up. “Oh, I'm sure you're blowing things out of proportion. What happened?”
“I had sex with my friend's boyfriend the other day.” The cab driver is quiet, not sure how to respond. “It was a huge mistake. So stupid. I was out at the bar and I saw her boyfriend there. We got talking and after a few drinks I … I uh...” Elise falters and starts to cry again.
“I'm sorry.” The cabbie says.
“I had a plan for tonight. Zora and I were gonna share this cab, but she was taking a long time and I just lost my nerve. I was gonna tell her-” She sniffles again. “-tell her at the bar what happened and beg for forgiveness.”
The cabbie turned in his seat to look at Elise. “Hey everything is going to be fine. I'm sure your friend will understand we're all human and we make mistakes.”
Elise smiles faintly. “I hope your r– WATCH OUT! TRUCK! TRUCK!” She shouts, pointing at the U-Haul blindly backing out of a driveway.
The driver snaps forward and tries to swerve out of the way, but his reaction wasn't fast enough. The feeling of weightlessness followed by overwhelming pain was mercifully brief.
Zoraida walks up to the bar and orders herself an bottled beer. After the initial gulps, she scans the room for Elise. She doesn't find her in the sparse crowd, but instead finds her boyfriend chatting to some young looking woman.
“Rucks?!” She shouts incredulously. “Nigga', what the gently caress!”
Rucks looks up and his smile turns dour very quickly as he witnesses his angry black girlfriend storming towards him.
“First Elise stands me up, and now your bitch-rear end lies to me about where you are. See your rear end hard at work talking to this tramp mothafucka!” Her fingers jab him in his chest as she emphasizes words.
Rucks turns pale. “Oh goddamit... Elise told you. Look, it was an accident Hershey. I had too much to drink that night. It doesn't mean anything!”
Zoraida's stops; a focused and intense rage clouding her face.
In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In-
“Baby, I'm sorry.”
Zoraida explodes, holding her beer bottle like a club and swinging it at Rucks. He was not expecting such a sudden attack. His arms didn't come up quick enough to protect his temple from the vicious strike.
Six years for voluntary manslaughter, her lawyer told her.
Zoraida sits in her cell staring at the wall. That night she hospitalized Rucks after smashing a bottle across his head and he died an hour later of internal bleeding. She later learned that Elise died in a car crash on the way to the bar when the driver, who lived, collided with a U-Haul truck . He claimed he was distracted trying to console her. She wasn't wearing her seat belt, they said.
If only she didn't wait so long to join Elise in the cab things would have turned out different, Zoraida laments as she ties a shoe lace she smuggled in to the top bed.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 03:18 on Jun 13, 2013
|# ¿ Jun 12, 2013 17:02|
Write what you know am I right fellas?
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 17:26 on Jun 12, 2013
|# ¿ Jun 12, 2013 17:14|
Goddamn Mercedes. I'm so used to writing in first person.
Is it too late for me to go back and edit them back into second person?
|# ¿ Jun 13, 2013 01:04|
That was fun! Even though I almost lost... Onwards!
|# ¿ Jun 18, 2013 12:06|
I need to apologize to everyone. My ego was driving the wheel this submission. I basically went "First draft. Edit. Toast to my greatness. Awesome job Mercedes. Post." This is what happens when you never get a real criticism.
I'll be certain to take the next week more seriously and use the goddamn days to loving edit my poo poo. I'm in! And God help me because I have no idea how I'm going to come up with a story following these rules.
|# ¿ Jun 19, 2013 06:57|
I had to spent much more time than I thought memorizing my restaurant's menu. My submission is a mess and I know better than to submit a half assed story.
|# ¿ Jun 24, 2013 03:40|
Hopefully I'll have time to finish the story this week! I'm in.
|# ¿ Jun 25, 2013 05:12|
Flash [rule] me please?
|# ¿ Jun 25, 2013 16:46|
Noo! I'm almost done!! I can finish before 1 am EST!
|# ¿ Jul 1, 2013 04:35|
Mother of all fucks. My computer would crash as I'm about to transfer my story from my thumb drive.
I understand if I automatically lose, but I still want to submit my story
edit: To add insult to injury, the loving word processor won't even open the drat file.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 05:07 on Jul 1, 2013
|# ¿ Jul 1, 2013 05:05|
The Iron King
Word Count: 765
Flash Rule: Write a character who technically fits a common stereotype (a drunk frat boy, an arrogant chef, a smarmy politician; the possibilities are endless), but who is still three-dimensional.
"King Iro! King Iro!"
You looked up from the maps you were studying with your council. Your frown lines were deep as you had an idea what the news might be. "Come in." You called out to the voice beyond the doors. As your haggard servant with a soldier in tow walked briskly across the room, your eyes returned to the maps.
"King Iro! I have news from the prison." The young soldier inclined his head as he addressed you. "The rebels somehow infiltrated the prison and massacred most of the guards. They spared no one. My brothers held the line long enough for only three of us to escape with the news. I am the only one left."
Your hands clenched, your fingernails dug painfully into your palms.
The soldier knelt, his eyes still towards the floor. "I will accept any punishment you deem necessary for escaping with my life while my brother's laid theirs down."
"Stand up soldier." You ordered and he complied. "These freedom fighters; did you catch a look at who their leader might have been?"
"I did your Majesty." The soldier kept his eyes averted from your gaze. He wore his shame plainly on his face. "It was Red the Runner. He wore the blood of the the prison warden when he cut his throat open."
"What is your name soldier?"
"Your humble servant's name is Avi."
"Avi, I want you to look at me when you answer this next question." As you gazed at him, you saw his body stiffen. "You've been around the people I rule. You've been to the prisons and around inmates. What do my people think of me? What do they call me? Be honest."
Avi hesitated. His skin flushed and beads of sweat appeared over his brow.
"Avi, fear no punishment for your truth. We need to know what we are dealing with."
He looked at your face, yet still avoided your eyes. "Y-yes my Lord. Ever since news that the chosen one - Red the Runner appeared, I've heard titles such as 'Iron Shackles', 'Iron Wheel' and 'Iro the Terrible'." Avi swallowed like he was dying of thirst. "The offenders were swiftly punished." He added.
The room hummed with fretful conversation.
"Be at ease Avi... I am none of these things." Your posture straightened as you walked around the table towards the soldier. "What of the rumor that Red can conjure portals at will?"
"The rumors are true your Excellency. His army was lying in wait, but he warped in with a few disguised rebels." Avi flinched as your hand rested on his shoulder.
"You've done well soldier." You removed your hand from his shoulder as you addressed your servant. "Please show Avi to one of our best guest rooms so that he may rest. Make sure that his every request is met with haste."
"As you wish." Your servant bowed and led Avi out of the room.
"How did it ever come to this?" You said as you rubbed the bridge of your nose.
"There has been peace for far too long King Iro. The people are becoming restless - they're making trouble where there wasn't before."
"If I push back and try to keep the peace, I'm just reaffirming the spreading belief that I am a tyrant." You jabbed your index finger against the table as a punctuation to your statement. "I love this country, councilor. I love my people. I would give anything to stop this needless bloodshed. Even my own life if it had to come to it."
One of the advisers on your right shot up from his chair. "King Iro! Please don't talk like that!"
"Easy Cal, I'm not ready to throw the towel in just yet." As you took your seat, shouts and sounds of battle erupted down the hall. "It seems the Gods have a sense of humor."
You walked to the door and paused behind each member of your council; your hand brushed against their backs. "It's been an honor ruling with you gentlemen. When I leave this room, you two," The two soldiers at the doors stood at attention as you pointed at them, "You bar this room and let no one enter under penalty of death, do you understand me?"
As you stepped out of the room, the smell of blood caused you to reel back. Red the Runner looked at you with hungry eyes. Your last thought as you hung on his sword was that you wish your people didn't have to suffer for their ignorance.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 05:37 on Jul 1, 2013
|# ¿ Jul 1, 2013 05:21|
Thanks for the crit Kaishai! I ended up scrapping a story and restart with the Iron King and I kind of glad I did.
|# ¿ Jul 2, 2013 16:38|
Make up a conversation you might have with a scatterbrained artist who finds a strange package by the door.
|# ¿ Jul 2, 2013 18:17|
I don't have crits for the two that submitted past the deadline, MAYBE I'll get to those
I had computer problems!
|# ¿ Jul 3, 2013 18:42|
Another loving week where I have surprise double shifts at work with no time for writing. Couldn't make the 1200 word limit, so I ended it early.
Make up a conversation you might have with a scatterbrained artist who finds a strange package by the door. Grade 4-6.
Word count: 803
You park your Fedex van at the corner of the street and honk the horn, announcing your arrival. With a groan you duck into the back area where you keep the packages. You run your finger across all the addresses; your lips moving silently as your tongue juggles the nicotine gum you've been chewing, until you find the one that's going to the house across the street.
You whistle some made-up tune as you carry the hefty box up the porch and set it down on the welcome mat. An old-timey bell chime sings out a three note tune when you press the doorbell. You hear the faint sound of racing footsteps so you take a step back and pull out your electronic signer from your holster.
“Feeeeeh...” Your greeting dies off as a woman painted silver with nothing but a flimsy silk robe snaps the door open. It's not even tied at the waist, and you feel the magnetic pull of her naked body pulling on your eyes with an unrelenting force.
“Oh meu Deus, esta finalmente aqui!” She exclaims happily, that much you can make of it. She reaches down to tug at the box and your eyes follow. After an unsuccessful try to lift the box on her own, she looks up at you with a smile and with a heavily accented English she says, “Can you bring the box inside for me?”
Possibly taking your stunned silence as a cue that you will do her bidding, she holds your face in her hands and plants a brief kiss on your cheek and then slips away inside the house. You feel a warmth spreading in your body as you catch a glimpse of the top of her thighs as she disappears around a corner. You look around desperately trying to find cameras, strange vehicles or an inkling that this might be a trap.
Standing there for a moment you weigh your options. It doesn't take long. “gently caress it.” you say as you walk into the house with the package in your arms.
You walk aimlessly, images of implausible pornographic story lines of delivery men getting laid flashing through your mind. The girl re-entered the room and upon seeing you standing there with a dumb look on your face, she points at the coffee table. “Coloque-o lá.” She says.
You knew what she meant before she repeated herself in English, you were just transfixed by her silver breast. You've never seen silver breasts before. You notice how she's beginning to notice you staring at her breasts. “What do you do?” you say.
She takes a moment to mentally translate what you said. “Ah, I do art. Artist.”
Nice. Distract her with fluff talk. “Is that why you're painted silver?” As soon as the words escaped, you mentally punched your mouth in the mouth for drawing attention back to the girl's body.
She looks down at herself and shrugs. “Yes. Doing photo shoot. Had hard time doing it myself, so I order something so I get help.” Her eyes smolder as they burn into you.
Your brain shuts down the speech center in your brain. You want to say something, but all you can focus is on how the room got a little bit warmer.
“So will you help me with photo shoot?” She bites her lip.
Why did she do that thing with her lip? You brain is going haywire. You're in an implausible pornography storyline. “I... ah... I can...”. Speech is too much for you at the moment so you just nod your head.
She slides her robe off her shoulders and sits back on the sofa. “Open the box and get the camera.” she commands.
Your hands fumble with the tape, but you eventually get the box open and pull out the camera. You hold it to your eye and start snapping off photos of her as her hands begin to explore her body and-
“Hold the gently caress up.” Jake exclaims. “No loving way. You're lying. poo poo like that doesn't happen.”
“I swear on a stack of virgin bibles man, I took those pictures and afterward we started-” You insert your finger into the side of your fist.
“You are so full of poo poo.” Your boss leans back in his chair and looks at you with his head tilted to the side. “You're telling me the reason why you didn't finish your route yesterday was because a," Jake utilized the finger quotations as he continued sardonically "naked Brazilian ordered a camera so a delivery man, such as yourself, would stop by and have sex with her?”
“Well..” You kind of shrug your shoulders helplessly. “Yea.”
“You're fired. Get the hell out of my office.”
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 04:04 on Jul 8, 2013
|# ¿ Jul 8, 2013 03:59|
Mercedes, see me after class.
This is humbling as gently caress.
Um. I'm in again for this week's project. You Are a Shark
|# ¿ Jul 10, 2013 02:07|
I'm sorry Fanky Malloons. It won't happen again! Please don't punish me anymore...
|# ¿ Jul 10, 2013 04:58|
CYOA Title: You are a Shark.
Isaak grins, unable to suppress his happiness. He did it. He graduated from Yale top of his class. The honors didn't really mean anything; he knows this. It's more arbitrary than anything – but he knows his poo poo. Isaak never lost a mock court battle, his presence mesmerizing and his summations crushing the opposition every time. His ability to sniff out weaknesses came so naturally for him. He's ruthless, thorough and convincing. By his last year, Isaak was known on campus as the “Shark”.
Most of the other students have jobs lined up in with large firms or huge corporations. Not Isaak, he has plans to go out on his own and make a name for himself. He sets his beer down on the table and smirks at the man sitting across from him. He's the reason Isaak was able to afford school while having the extra free time to study and surpass his classmates.
“I was able to talk to my dad the other day, in case you were wondering.” The man leans back in the booth.
“Oh?” Isaak raises both his eyebrows in genuine surprise.
“Yea, I let him know how reliable you were. Punctual and all that.”
“Jameson, that's great and all, but I'm trying to sell my skills as a lawyer.” He furrows his eyebrows.
Jameson holds up his hand indicating that Isaak should let him finish. “When you work for my family, reliability is a very important no matter what your role is.” He points a finger at Isaak punctuating the pause. “I'm extending you the offer to be the Family Attorney. The old man wants to retire soon, so we told him we'll allow it if he mentors you first. It's yours for the taking, but you gotta know my dad's the jealous type. You can only work for us.”
Isaak frowns slightly and looks down at his drink.
“Cheer up Sharky, you know drat well money won't be an issue from here on out. All that poo poo you made 'helping' me out? Just a squirt a piss.” Jameson chuckles as he sips his beer. Smacking his lips together he quickly adds, “You can always try your luck as some hotshot celebrity lawyer out in California like you once told me you wanted to years ago; but honestly, we're the safer choice.”
Agree to work for the Mafia.
Follow Isaak's dream to become an entertainment lawyer in California.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 05:05 on Jul 15, 2013
|# ¿ Jul 15, 2013 01:17|
gently caress my life.
|# ¿ Jul 15, 2013 16:13|
gently caress competition is tough around these parts. I'm in as black.
Edit: I forgot another drat comma.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 01:04 on Jul 16, 2013
|# ¿ Jul 16, 2013 00:58|
I wanna thank all the judges again for their crits! Making me a better writer one insult at a time :-)
|# ¿ Jul 16, 2013 02:21|
I feel foolish for asking, but it's driving me nuts.
While reading the CYOA's, I would sometimes scroll through the page, just to see where the author chose to edit their post. On one page, one of you judges were doing a crit and gave a link that was super awesome (I think the link was given on account of grammar) and helpful and I wanted to read more but I forgot to bookmark it.
I've been looking for far too long and I'm getting frustrated. Does anyone know which website I'm looking for?
|# ¿ Jul 17, 2013 01:49|
One of the judges from this week or just someone who judged in a previous week? Can you remember more detail about the link? Kaishai had judged quite a few times and has a lot of bookmarked grammar links, just to throw that out there.
It was Kaishai! Thanks so much systran. The website is here if anyone else is curious.
|# ¿ Jul 17, 2013 13:01|
Since I'm going to be gone this weekend I'm going to post my prose now.
Crayola Color: Black
Word Count 1189
Never to Return
When I said goodbye
I felt like crying
Then without your love
I wanted to scream
Miguel stands in front of the mirror as he makes last minute adjustments to his tie. He looks sharp in his black suit. The last time he wore it, it was only a few miserable months ago.
A movement in the corner of the room catches his attention. "Hey there Cash." Miguel calls out to his dog as he slaps his upper leg. "Come here boy."
The old Labrador hobbles his way towards his master with his head low and his tongue out. The heat too much for the old man.
Miguel kneels down and runs his fingers through Cash's coat. He lingers at the ears and makes sure he gets that sweet spot. "Why am I so nervous?" He presses his lips against Cash's head. "I'm being stupid, aren't I boy?"
Cash's tail wags briefly in response.
The cellphone on the desk lights up, vibrates and maneuvers itself into a u-turn. With a flick of his finger, Miguel snaps open the phone and places it to his ear. "Yo." He greets the caller.
"I'm outside." The phone says.
"Aight Francisco, be down in a minute." Miguel closes the phone and slides it into his pocket. With one last ear rub, he leaves the house.
All of the fantasies I've housed in my heart
All my illusions, they fall in pieces
"Soon, I'll return." You said to me as you left
Crazy, how I waited for you; so pitiful
“What the hell man?” Miguel tugs at Francisco's polo shirt. “You're way under-dressed!”
“Compared to you, yea.” He pats himself on the chest. “Business casual, baby. Polo and black slacks – they ain't never done me wrong, know what I'm sayin?”
“Casual? Dammit, why did I let you talk me into doing this?”
“You need to go out and relax for once. It'll be good for you.”
“Man, don't tell me to relax. Take me back home Francisco.”
“Come on son, it'll be fine. Astor's gonna be there. You know that suit's gonna do you some favors for sure.”
Miguel clicks his tongue and stares out the window at the passing scenery.
Francisco was growing uncomfortable with how quiet his friend became. He drums his thumbs on the steering wheel in an attempt to fill the air with some sound as he figures out how to approach this situation.
“I thought she was seeing that one music major.” Miguel breaks the silence.
“Oswald?” Francisco grins. “Months ago. You all in the clear, baby.”
Miguel laughs in an attempt to shake off his uneasiness. "God, how awkward would it be if I were to hit on her tonight?"
“It's only awkward if you mess up.”
And today, after so much time has past
I feel like I lost my love for you
Never to return again
My soul says in its solitude
Francisco walks ahead while Miguel lingers to finish his cigarette. There's so many people here tonight. It's a long walk since they had to park so far away. He pulls his phone halfway out of his pocket, just enough so he can read the time. Right on time to be fashionably late. He flicks his cigarette away as he climbs the steps.
Miguel smiles when he realizes he did not overdress for the occasion. All of the women look great, their gowns simple yet elegant with strong silhouettes. Most of their individual fashion comes in the form of colorful and extravagant shoes. Most of the men wear button up shirts and ties, with a few in suits.
A giant golden chandelier hangs in the middle of the spacious room. The Victorian windows reach the ceiling and the white drapes nearly touch the shiny wood floors. Each table has a short bouquet of flowers, adding color to the simple black covers. The table arrangement makes sense - they form a ring around the people that gather in the middle of the room.
The bright music comes from the corner with a three man orchestra on an elevated stage. Miguel notices the instruments; there's a classical guitar and a flute, but the strange mini-accordion that the seated singer is playing over his knee, he has no name for.
A soft touch on his elbow redirects his attention to an older woman standing behind him with a clipboard. "Oh! Hello."
"Hello there." She replies with a warm smile. "I see that you don't have a name tag yet. If you would please follow me, I can provide one for you straight away." She says.
"I'm so sorry, I was distracted by... everything. I didn't even notice the registration table."
"Oh, don't you worry about it, dear." She opens a box with organized papers sorted alphabetically. "What's your name?"
"It's Miguel Calo."
After a few seconds she plucks his pre-printed name tag from the box and hands it over. "There you go sweetie. You're all set."
Miguel thanks her and walks over to an empty chair. He sits and enjoys the music; taking in the ambiance. There are no percussive instruments, but the rhythm compels him to move so he taps his toes to the implied beat.
Across the room he notices a beautiful girl sitting alone. Her short black hair is slicked back and shimmering. Her earrings dazzle as it catches the light. With crossed legs, bright green and orange shoes act as a metronome as her foot swings back and forth by the ankle. She looks up and their eyes lock as they recognize each other.
Time slows down as Miguel's heart struggles to remembers what it's job was. "Hi Astor." He mouths from across the room with a shy smile. The corners of her lips pull upward and she returns the gesture.
He stands while maintaining eye contact, his brain remembering all of the missed opportunities with her. He is resolute in never allowing life to pass him by again, especially not with Astor. He moves towards her.
She stands as he approaches – her hand tugs at the edge of her dress smoothing out the wrinkles. “I would love to.” Astor answers the question that Miguel appears too scared to ask.
He can't help but laugh as he offers his hand. As she takes it, he slides the other arm around her, letting his finger tips rest gently on the edge of her shoulder blade.
Astor drapes her left arm around his shoulders. She gently nestles her face into the side of his neck and relaxes into him. A moment hangs - their hearts beat as one. The song washes over them like a rolling tide. The music becomes their world and the only way to express themselves is through each other.
The moment passes and they exhale, sliding into the dance floor.
And today I finally understand
The painful and cruel truth
I feel my life pass me by
The italics for this piece are translations of this song. Also, all the human names are names of Tango composers. The dog was just a riff off Tango & Cash.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 05:15 on Jul 21, 2013
|# ¿ Jul 18, 2013 19:47|
So, I've been meaning to ask how challenges work out? So, if for example, I want to challenge The Swinemaster because I liked his piece a lot, would we both then get a prompt and have to write about that?
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 23:07 on Jul 23, 2013
|# ¿ Jul 23, 2013 14:09|
Where do you think you're going esse? Your story has brought shame to our forums. SHAME! Do you think you can get away unscathed? Do you think you can continue as if nothing happened?
No. The answer is no, friend.
Are you going to go cry quietly into the night, captain platypus? Or are you going to fight back and prove you got the tenacity to stand in the Thunderdome. If you think you have the cojones to have a Thunderduel will me, accept the challenge.
If you accept the challenge, I would love for systran to be our judge. He will crush whomever steps out of line.
|# ¿ Jul 23, 2013 23:14|
Thank you for the critique Kaishai. And a serious question concerning the song lyrics I used: What would be the most accepted way to credit the author? Just a quick blurb after the story?
Edit: Thanks! My intention wasn't to plagiarize. I swear!
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 01:27 on Jul 24, 2013
|# ¿ Jul 24, 2013 01:09|
THUNDERDUEL WEEK LI: MERCEDES VS. CAPTAIN PLATYPUS
You drat right I'm coming!
For your rear end!
Word Count: 960
Winter is Sweet Without Struggle
Silvia's screams were incoherent. She was on her knees as she clawed at the coffin, caring nothing for her self image. Her husband was dead and everyone needed to know how it affected her. How much it pained her. Her friends did their best to console her, but their words were not having any affect.
“Paolo!” She wailed. “Oh God!”
Silvia recoiled as a bag of ice was applied to her face.
“Sit still, will you?” her mother said with eyes narrowed into angry slits. “This is your fault, you know. If you would only listen to what Paolo tells you, this wouldn't have happened.”
“She's bringing shame to your family, Martha. I bet it's because she can't get pregnant.” An older woman adorned in gaudy jewelry sat at the kitchen table with a cigarette between her fingers. “Been married almost four months and she's still not pregnant. I'm surprised this didn't happen sooner.”
Silvia closed her eyes. Of all the people she hated, Zera had a special place on her list. She's a gossip, an instigator and in everyone's business. There's never a time where she made things better. She just wished Zera would go away.
The ice pack jarred Silvia back into the present.
“She's right you know.” Martha said. “If you don't get pregnant soon, people are going to start thinking you're barren. Will you look at me when I'm speaking to you?”
She opened her eyes and affixed them on her mother. Silvia wished so hard that she could make her mother understand how much she never wanted to be married off.
“Paolo expects that you give him a son. If you can't do that, I don't know what's going to happen to you.” her mother said.
“You've warned her a million times already. She's not going to understand until his family forces her to commit suicide.” Zera said.
Silvia looked at her, shocked.
Her eyebrows bounced as a smirk pulled on the corner of her lips.
“No!” Silvia shouted as her family pulled her away from the coffin. “No! I want to stay with him! Let me go!”
She struggled against their grasp. Her foot struck the coffin and her demeanor changed instantly. She slumped in their arms and whimpered. Tears stung her eyes, and when she squeezed them shut to will the pain away, the tears finally rolled down her face.
“That's an odd smelling tea you're making there, Silvia.” Zera made her way into the kitchen in a garment of obnoxious colors that assaulted the senses. Smoke billowed out of her nose in twin streams as she took a seat by the kitchen table.
Silvia paused imperceptibly. She kept her surprise and annoyance buried deep. The way that woman goes wherever she wants uninvited bristled the anger inside. “Hello ma'am.” she said with a stiff curtsy. “What brings you to my home?”
Zera rolled her cigarette as she stared at her fingernails. “Are you not going to offer your guest a drink?”
“I only made enough for one cup. May I bring you some water while I prepare-”
“I would really like to at least try some of that, if possible.”
“The tea is for Paolo.” Silvia said, the lie coming out bit harsher than she wanted to. “He's a little under the weather, so I made this for him as a pick me up.” She forced a smile.
The old woman paused and drew from her cigarette. Her lips curled into a cruel grin. “The tea is for Paolo. I apologize.” Smoke swirled around her head as she spoke. “Still not pregnant I see.”
The smile held as she kept her silence with a shrug that said, "I don't know what to tell you."
Zera studied her with shrewd eyes. “Perhaps next time, you'll definitely have to let me try some of your special brew.”
“Yes. Of course.”
Silvia's smile disappeared the moment Zera left.
Silvia stood outside in the snow with a newly lit cigarette between her fingers.
“You think you're so clever.” The familiar voice called out in a harsh whisper. “You may have fooled everyone in there, but I know better.”
“Zera,” she sighed heavily, “again, I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Don't play stupid with me.” she said with her voice low and even. “Everyone's going to know what you are. I'll personally see to that.”
“Can we just-” Silvia paused, then offered her a cigarette. “I'm so tired. I don't want to argue with you right now.”
Zera took the cigarette and pulled deep from it. “I knew something was off about you.” She blew the rest of the smoke out the side of her mouth. “I won't stop until I expose you.”
“Okay, whatever you say, Zera.” she shrugged.
“Is there anything we can do to help, Silvia?”
“Nothing.” she dismissed the concern with a shake of her head. “The doctor doesn't know why Paolo's health is declining. He just said to try to keep him comfortable; he might pull through on his own.”
“You don't seem too broken up about it, Silvia.” Zera said.
“I'm no good to Paolo if I'm a crying mess.” she said with a practiced smile. “I have to be strong for him.
"And you say we can't see him?"
"He needs his rest, Zera. Doctor's orders."
Martha reached in and hugged her daughter. “I'm so proud of you. You've really grown this past year.”
“Thank you Momma.” she said into her mother's shoulder as she challenged Zera with her eyes.
The screams for help that came from inside the church was all that Silvia needed to hear. She pulled a hand sanitizing gel from her purse and cleaned her fingers. As she made her way back, she smeared a dab of the gel under her eyes. Immediately, she felt the tears come.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 22:49 on Jul 30, 2013
|# ¿ Jul 30, 2013 22:47|
Platypus, how creepy is it that both of our stories have a funeral in it?
I've been playing a poo poo ton of Shadowrun Returns this past week. I'll be stupid if I don't jump IN on this!
|# ¿ Jul 30, 2013 23:03|
Well poo poo. I thought writing about a black widow would be baller.
|# ¿ Jul 31, 2013 03:34|
Oof. Thanks for the crits guys. I'll keep it in mind for this week's prompt.
|# ¿ Aug 1, 2013 04:59|
It's why I chose systran as the judge. No punches pulled. I need my bad habits beaten out of me.
|# ¿ Aug 1, 2013 05:37|
What about Black Dynamite?
v edit: Awesome, cause that's what I was basing my story on.
Mercedes fucked around with this message at 16:21 on Aug 2, 2013
|# ¿ Aug 2, 2013 16:07|
Word Count: 998
“Hold up! Would you care to repeat what the job was, for those of us who have a difficult time translating Suicidalese?”
Negrolicous drummed the table. “Brothunigg, let me ask you a question.” he said in a rhythmic cadence, his voice deep and rich. “Have I fragged you?”
Brothunigg frowned. He leaned back in the booth and crossed his arms. “You gone an blown your wig.”
“Answer the got-drat question, man. Have I fragged you?”
“Naw man, but with this job you 'bout to. You best have a good rear end plan already or I'm gonna walk on out of here.”
Negrolicious shifted his gaze over to Cat Leroy. “You feel the same way?”
Cat touched the metal plate infused into his neck and a digital volume meter appeared on his throat. His robotic voice musically changed in pitch with every syllable. “It's early black and I'm beat. And you asking us to rob a bank across the street.”
“Where's your faith? Brothunigg, when you was alone and broken, who noticed your greatness and made you rich by running some phat jobs with you? And afterward, when you fell out in a sea of pussy, who help you frag your way back out into the motherfragging light?”
“Dis nukka! Cat?!”
“When that job went south in the Apple and black ninjas ambushed us-”
“-twenty got-drat blinjas jumped us and you took a rocket propelled blinja star to the 'thoat'.”
“Lord have mercy.”
“Which nukka killed off every last one of 'em, while he gave your jive slick rear end some CPR?”
Negrolicious thumped his chrome chest with pride.“Dis mothafragging nukka. I take care of my crew. You feel me?”
“I feel you.” Brothunigg shifted forward in his seat. “Lay some iron, man.”
“You see that jive tusker behind me sitting at the counter by himself?”
They both nodded.
“He's the hoary-eyed manager of said bank. He's got the datajack we need to access the vault.”
Brothunigg shook his head. “You come up with this Negrolicious? It's way too simple.”
“That's why we gotta pull this job before someone else does.”
“We gotta pull this job before someone else does, because 'it's way too simple'? Way to dodge the question.”
“Don't nix out on us. We need a hacker and we don't have time to go shopping around.”
“I don't want to do this...”
“But you need the money. We all do.”
Brothunigg clicked his tongue.
“That's my nukka.” he laughed and pounded on the table, spilling some of his coffee. “Cat, lets run a 'One of Us' on this tusker.”
“You know it.”
“Brothunigg, we'll meet you across the street. And tip the waitress, cheap rear end Canadian.”
Negrolicous strolled his way across the restaurant. He pulled his trusty afro pick from his suit pocket and primped his hair as he took a seat next to the Troll.
The large meta-human glanced towards him as he sat, but then returned to his coffee.
“Had a long day, Jack?” he greeted the troll with an upward nod.
For a moment, the troll looked as if he would answer. Instead, his eyes glazed over and he smiled.
Negrolicious leaned back in his seat with a golden grin. “Dayam Cat, I think you beat your record.”
“Ain't nothing but a thaaang.” he replied.
When the trio reached the alley next to the bank, Brothunigg called them over to where he hid. “I unlocked all the doors leading to the vault without them noticing, but we already got a few rent-a-cops on the inside.”
“I can put them to bed before they know whats up. No need to get your panties in a bunch.” Cat's volume meter bounced in the darkness.
“You're lucky I like you guys.”
Negrolicious slapped the hacker on the shoulder. “Alright, lets do it.”
Brothunigg plugged himself into the datajack on the troll's temple. He climbed into the dumpster and within a minute both Brothunigg and the Troll spoke simultaneously. “Got-drat, this nukka is drunk. I'm having a hard time sorting out his memories.” The troll pulled the plug and tossed it into the dumpster.
“Will it be a problem?”
“Only if I'm forced into a conversation.”
“We need you to hack that vault. Hack it no matter what.”
“Alright Jack, here goes nothing.” The troll turns the corner and disappears.
It took several minutes of waiting in silence until Brothunigg reported in. “We have a problem.” he whispered. “What's happening man?” he continued in a normal speaking volume.
“So much for a milk run.” Cat said.
“Man, I know ya'll fired me. I just forgot a few things. I'll only be a distraction for a second.” he emphasized “distraction”.
“It's time to go!” Negrolicious reached into his afro, pulled out a metallic boomerang and flung it into the night.
They both sprinted around the corner and busted into the bank. By the vault, four rent-a-cops had the troll at gunpoint. Negrolicious cleared the distance in a single jump and landed on one. Another guard spun around, caught flush against the cheek when a chrome tail unfurled from under the crouched assailant's suit.
One guard nearly had his gun brought around, but a purple cloud erupted around his head and he fell to the ground asleep. “Yeah nukka!” Cat sang.
The last rent-a-cop ran for the alarm until a boomerang swooped in and struck him in the face.
“Got-dammit. Did Foxy Fox give you the intel on this job?” The troll punched the keyboard and sparks flew around his fist.
“Yeah...” Negrolicious answered.
“Well, she beat us to it and left a happy face.” The troll grinned despite the botched job. “Well, looks like I'm no longer the group bitch.”
“Smoooth going, dick-for-brains.”
|# ¿ Aug 3, 2013 16:36|
This week has been so much fun.
|# ¿ Aug 4, 2013 06:16|
|# ¿ Nov 26, 2020 05:03|
Guy I couldn't write this weekend because wah wah wah wah sniffle pout.
|# ¿ Aug 5, 2013 19:06|