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Arkane
Dec 19, 2006

by R. Guyovich


Image: http://bricker.info/images/sets/LEGO/6082_main.jpg
Flash: The seizure of breakfast food plays a significant role in your story.
Word count: 705

Morning Fire in the East

Day forty three thousand and five hundred and twenty two.

The world turned itself toward the sun, the dull glow of the dawn welcoming the world to a new day. In the rising light, Malachy’s green skin shone bright metallic as he flew: an emerald reflection and dark shadow danced a duet on the taiga treetops below. He was one of the last sky-dwelling verilin left, most of his kin had long-since migrated into the rocky domain below. After the drahga expanded in uncontrollable numbers across the surface of the world, his eldest brother led a retreat downward to seek gold and gems.

A hunger rumbled inside of him for the first time in twenty sun rises. He was eager to return to his home, eager to gorge himself on his gold. Long were the days he spent in his brother’s cavern city that stretched for miles below the surface, so deep into the Earth that the warmth came not from above but from below. The lights of golden-fires in the caverns would wane and wax to mimic the movement of the otherwise abandoned sun as if the younglings would know the rhythm of such a thing. Malachy preferred the briskness and exhilaration of the surface. The clear delineation of day and night, between those in the sky and those on the land. He flew onward.

He neared the stone drahga formation that he took as his home many seasons earlier. Malachy first smelled and then spotted a faint smoke rising from his residence. It was not left untouched in his absence. The first drahga he spotted stood atop the highest battlement, easily sighted with a pointed, azure-colored crown atop his head. Its arms flailed wildly as he caught sight of Malachy approaching. In one hand the drahga held a white stick and in the other a collection of parchment. Swinging the stick back and forth, it disrobed and showed itself to be a male, old to the point of whitened hair, a deteriorating body that was matched by the frailty of its mind.

Malachy surveyed the scene ahead and below: including the eldest, there were five of them barking at him and at each other with wild yelps and hollers. The leader rode a horse, steed and rider alike adorned in exotic multicolored metal. The horse bayed and its hooves skittishly pounded the dirt, revealing in itself a keener sense of danger than the mongrels accompanying it. One slid a chest of gold down an embankment, rod in hand made not of tree but iron. The purpose of their visit was clearly the theft of that gold.

Each of their group held a different armament, tools that did more to guard against natural inhibitions to flee than provided any usefulness in the way of self-preservation. Their body coverings all had crude drawings of verilin. He knew they worshipped him and his kind as of Gods, banners and chants and statues and now clothing. Their interests were in little else other than gold and verilin. Simple creatures motivated by desire, propelled onward to danger as if death itself cooed into their ears.

With golden-fire he made quick work of the five. His desire to quench his morning hunger overrode any proclivities toward amnesty. He noticed another separate from their bunch left alive, a dirty and dusty one who had bivouacked near the others by happenstance and watched the proceedings from afar, muted.

As he ate his pieces of gold and as the gold smelted into the golden-fire inside of him, he thought of the future. The movements of the sun were too long for the verilin. Next time it would be a dozen drahgas, then a hundred, then a thousand. Mindless creature driven by greed who multiplied too fast. He thought of his father and of his mother and of his brothers and of his sisters. He thought of his brother’s descent into the caverns below, deeper and deeper until time was no more. He looked across the lifeless drahgas. His eyes settled on sunlight peeking through the timberland. He knew that he preferred to battle for the surface like his father before him. Malachy eyed the orphan dragha then took flight towards the nearest citadel.

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Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

Oh poo poo, forgot to post what my flash rule was: "A forensic examination must be integral to your story" or something like that.

(also blarrrrrgh, there are a few spacing errors in my story and I can't edit it. <> )

Starter Wiggin
Feb 1, 2009

Screw the enemy's gate man, I've got a fucking TAIL!
Do you know how crazy the ladies go for those?


No Regrets
750 words
LEGO set 8061: Gateway of the squid
Flash rule: Ski jumpers/ski jumping

"This is bad. This is really, really bad, Sam. They've grown more intelligent than either of us could have ever predicted. And now they've stolen the key to the chest, and you know full well what happens if they figure out what's inside."

"Do you really think they'll figure out what to do with it, even if they manage to open the chest? Lance, we still have a chance."

"Goddamn it man, you're a professor, you should know better by now. At the rate they've matured, of course they'll open the chest, and of course they'll figure out how to use the..."

Lance was cut off as the slick sound of a something other made its way to his ears. They were just outside the door, waiting for the two men to drop some sort of clue to their own demise.

Sam and Lance were silent, the sound of their own heartbeats echoing in their ears as they held their breath and waited for the intruder to grow tired of waiting and leave. To their horror, they instead heard the telltale clicking of hyper-matured beaks, communicating over their stolen waterproof radio.

The clicking died off after a few minutes, and they heard the, "splort, splort, splort" that signaled they were moving down the hallway, towards the chamber their queen was holed-up in.

"poo poo. poo poo, poo poo, poo poo. Lance, do you think that means they've opened the chest? Why else would they leave, when they could have easily picked the lock and killed us?"

"I don't know, Sam."

Lance slid down the wall to sit on the cold stone floor. He put his head in his hands. "We should have never come down here, Sam. We should have taken one look at that drat golden altar and left. The alien glyphs, the trace of radioactivity, the fact that it didn't show up on radar, all the clues were there in front of us. Why were we so drat stupid, Sam?"

"I don't know. Lance, I just wanted to study their culture. I never wanted this. I just wanted to be the first, you know? Just be the expert, the one people associate immediately with the biggest find of the century."

"I get that, I really do. I just wanted to see it first, see things that no one else on earth had seen before, and blaze the trail. Dammit, I'm a ski jumper. And I'd be a loving liar if I pretended that the gold wasn't a good incentive."

The two men were alone with their thoughts, wishing they could reverse the decisions of their past and put back this horror that they had unleashed on the world.

A distant gong aroused them from their misery. The gong sounded again, and a third time. Lance and Sam chanced opening the door and found the hallway empty and glistening with slime trails from the sentries that had been going past the last few days.

"If we're going to die, we might was well die as informed as possible." That was Sam, a scientist through and through.

The men moved quickly down the hall, towards the ever-louder gong. They peered around the corner to the main entrance, and what they saw shocked them more than they would have thought possible, even with the events of the last few days.

The squid queen sat upon a hastily constructed, yet no less regal, throne of fish. The chest that had been the center of their research sat in front of her, and what seemed to be a royal guard moved towards her, a golden key held aloft on a pillow of kelp.

The contingent reached their ruler and kneeled before her, proffering the key with an extreme air of reverence. She reached towards it with one lithe tentacle, the cups suctioning to the key with fierce pleasure. Her beak clicked rapidly, clearly in ecstasy of what was to come. She motioned for her guard to present the chest to her. They bore it to her in the manner that Egyptian royalty was paraded through the streets and knelt before her, their multiple limbs shivering with anticipation.

The queen snaked the key through the air, towards the golden lock engraved with arcane symbols. It slid in, and a click was heard echoing through the hall. She turned the key, and a hiss of air escaped as the lid of the chest popped up, released after all this time. Two of her tentacles on top, she opened it.

Jeep
Feb 20, 2013


Another Brick In The Wall
750 Words
http://lego.wikia.com/wiki/1352_Explosion_Studio
Flash Rule: Your story takes place at high speed, high altitude, or both.


“You spent so much time tryin’ to find me, Det. Disco, well here I am, boy.”

Tex was seated on his motorbike and he had the briefcase. A lone sun, just peaking above the city skyline, caused round little globules of sweat to form on Det. Disco’s little round face.

“What did you do to The Manager, Tex?”

“Oh, he’s doin’ fine. Just disassembled in the vault. All the parts are there, detective. He’s probably hollerin’ this and that in there right now, waitin’ to be put back together.”

Tex revved the engine of his bike.

“Give me briefcase, Tex. You aren’t getting away from this one.”

“Detective, now— do you really think I’m gonna go back to jail on Lego Island, back to bein’ cell mates with The Brickster? Not a chance.”

“Tex, wait! What about the baby!”

But Tex kicked off and sped to the TNT detonator. Making sure Disco was still in place, he hit the switch and set off the explosives: the clock fell; windows flew outwards in every direction; the pillars of the bank collapsed, their collective body sort of encircling Disco but leaving him entirely untouched in the settling dust.

“Disco, you’ll never find—“

‘CUT!’

“…Mon dieu,” the Director said “Okay, come in please, everyone come in.”

Years ago, the Director had been working part-time as a servant over in the Royal Night’s Castle. He had written smaller budgeted films during his spare time and moved out to Studio Set after he’d received funding for Bricks and Hearts (243AL) — a breakout petite rom-com/black comedy affair that would go on to be nominated for 5 Academy of Studio Set Film awards, and he himself would win the ASSF for Best Director, only two years later, for Rebuild Over Me (245AL). He had, he thought, earned his way up to where he could take a few big-budgeted summer blockbuster scripts and run them by the numbers, a quick pay check for all involved, and now here he was, filming the climactic chase/explosion/fight scene to Live Hard, Build Hard (Slated 247AL) .

Arnold (Tex), Frederick (Det. Disco) and Darl (camera man) all crowded around the Director. He had put on his extra weary face today, making his eyes look like mounds of darkness encroaching on two tiny dead dots.

“This is just, uh, not working,” the Director said “Darl, we need the shot to feel just a little bit more claustrophobic, ok? Is that ok? Think… Fish lens.”

“Did you see what I was doing there, boss,” Arnold said “I was taking the whole situation more metaphorically. Like, like it stood for something bigger, you know?”

“Yes, uh, that was good. I enjoyed it. Fred, can we just—“ and the Director and Fred walked away from the collapsed bank set.

“Fred, you, as Disco, you uh, you are tired, no? You, you do want to catch Tex of course, but—“

“Rooftop Camera is out of film,” Darl called out.

“But- yes, you’re tired. You need to keep in mind, that, Disco has had his epiphany by now. He knows that the job won’t save him, no? He—“

“The lights to the right of the bank got hit, gonna be down for a while.”

“What was I saying, again? Right, you as Tex… sorry, Disco, you as Disco have come full circle now, yes, and you would—“

Windows won’t slot back into the practical set.

“rather be—“

Explosives aren’t going to be ready again until Friday at the earliest.

“back at home—“

Gonna need a new wheel for Tex’s bike, somebody call props…

“with a glass of milk—“

… or uh, who do we call for a wheel again?

“and of course with your loving—“

Looks like rain, we’ll have to delay another take until-

“What do you mean delay? What is it you can’t do? This is Studio Set! You’re supposed to be able to do anything, and now you tell me that rain will stop the shoot? No. Go, we do it again. Go, get in position and we roll. Go! And get Arnold a new set of legs, his look atrocious!”

And so they shifted back into place, the camera man quickly replaced Arnold’s legs with a new grey and black pair, and they began to roll, the set still in ruins but the director didn’t seem to notice.

“You spent so much time tryin’ to find me…”

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

The man was stunningly well dressed. He had a smart looking jacket, and a really neat looking cape, the lining of which was shimmering and sparkling in more than Oriental splendour, which is a great deal of splendour indeed, just ask Kipling.

You got an hour extra because I just got home from work but time is most definitely expired for submissions. Gonna start reading your stories.

Djeser
Mar 22, 2013



I am late, but I am posting, because I care. I may fail, but I give a poo poo.

My set: http://lego.wikia.com/wiki/6987_Message-Intercept_Base


My flash rule: Must be set in a Midwestern megachurch

In Limbo
(750 words)

Djeser fucked around with this message at Dec 31, 2014 around 19:48

Quidthulhu
Dec 17, 2003

Stand down, men! It's only smooching!


~IRC Sanctioned Microprompt for Interim Waiting and Teeth Gnashing~

I want you to give me 25 words on loss. Make of that what you want, and try to make it interesting.

I will crit these after the ruling gets posted.

The News at 5
Dec 25, 2009

I'm Chance Everyman.


Microprompt submission:

Room for One More
25 words

Ethan burst into the room to see Lila crying in the hospital bed.

“Dammit!” he screamed. “Now I’ll never have a drummer for Rock Band!”

The News at 5 fucked around with this message at Feb 25, 2014 around 00:44

Quidthulhu
Dec 17, 2003

Stand down, men! It's only smooching!


Submissions should have titles and word counts because I demand it.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Vanished in the flow
25 words

I saw her a month before she was murdered. She’d been arguing with her dad; I kissed her. She shrugged, smiled.

What to do, eh?

sebmojo fucked around with this message at Mar 28, 2014 around 10:57

Noah
May 31, 2011

Come at me baby bitch


Unsettled
words: 25
The deadbeat wasn’t home, so we had to leave him a message, but his dog ran out of blood before we finished writing.

Starter Wiggin
Feb 1, 2009

Screw the enemy's gate man, I've got a fucking TAIL!
Do you know how crazy the ladies go for those?


Soft Sighs

24 words

Musk and tension hung in the air. A soft snore to his right, the same, cold moon out the window. He didn't feel different.

Techno Remix
Feb 13, 2012



Microprompt!

Fatal Exception
25 words

All I could do was slam my fists and curse under my breath. My window to the world froze, and I had not saved recently.

Walamor
Dec 31, 2006

Fork 'em Devils!


gently caress Open Caskets
25 Words

It's a cruel charade, forcing a look of unnatural sleep. It hurts more, seeing the undeceiving imitation of life, an unjust final memory. Incinerate me.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

GodOverDjinn you tired Hofstadter knock-off.

I will be the slick-witted Tortoise to your bumbling Achilles as we slug back our popping tonic and descend the layers to the heart of the harmonic labyrinth. There's a cantatata that needs quining and I aim to be the one to do it.

In short: this challenge no refuse. Brawltime.

curlingiron
Dec 15, 2006

Adventure Awaits!


Fun Shoe

Cold Call
18 words

Sometimes the phone is in my hand before I remember that you won't be on the other end.

Kaishai
Nov 3, 2010

Scoffing at modernity.

Realization
(19 words)

I found out soon what she had known: "I love you" would be her last words to me.

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002


Grimey Drawer

Chairchucker posted:

Fast judgin's good judgin', argh where's my prompt you jerks.

Chairchucker posted:

HEY SEBMOJO WHERE'S OUR PROMPT.

Chairchucker posted:

Where's our prompt, you jerk?

Chairchucker posted:

Re: our prompt.

Where is it?

Season's greetings etc.

Chairchucker posted:

Fast judgin's good judgin', also Merry Christmas from THE FUTURE.

God Over Djinn
Jan 17, 2005

onwards and upwards


sebmojo posted:

GodOverDjinn you tired Hofstadter knock-off.

I will be the slick-witted Tortoise to your bumbling Achilles as we slug back our popping tonic and descend the layers to the heart of the harmonic labyrinth. There's a cantatata that needs quining and I aim to be the one to do it.

In short: this challenge no refuse. Brawltime.

Oh, look at that, you've read a book. Very impressive.

I accept, gleefully.

(Judge: I need a bit of extra time, since I'm going to be traveling from Feb. 28 to March 4.)

Jeza
Feb 13, 2011

The cries of the dead are terrible indeed; you should try not to hear them.


Odyssey - 25 Words

The siren song of the high-tension cabling calls, and they come, teetering, wind-swept like ancient heroes at the edge. They seek, but they shan't find.

Little Mac
Jan 3, 2006

Super Mario Bros 3

True Story 23 Words

Dad died suddenly on my sixteenth birthday. The PlayStation RPG Maker was still the worst gift I got that year. I'm still mourning.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


Microprompt submission


The one time I was in the bathroom and there was no toilet paper anywhere in the house

"No, God. WHY?!"

FreudianSlippers
Apr 12, 2010

Shooting and Fucking
are the same thing!


Microprompt

The Effects of Morhpine
25 words.

I awoke a white room feeling numb. Trying to esacpe I threw the sheet and realized that I had no right leg and remembered why.

FreudianSlippers fucked around with this message at Feb 25, 2014 around 01:43

V for Vegas
Aug 31, 2004

THUNDERDOME LOSER

25 words about loess

Loess is homogeneous, porous, friable, pale yellow, buff, slightly coherent, typically non-stratified and often calcareous. Just like sebmojo.

Nikaer Drekin
Oct 11, 2012


risk
(23 words)

come on baby ace or eight ace or eight

daddy needs a new pair of shoes

daddy needs to eat

...

well poo poo

Whalley
Mar 5, 2004

Drinking shows a real commitment to becoming a cooler person!


Terrible Secrets 23 words
She hid her bowlegged walk from her parents almost as well as she hid the smirk to her brother across the breakfast table.

Cpt. Mahatma Gandhi
Mar 26, 2005



First Love Lost
25 words

We’d been robbed. Jewelry, money, family heirlooms—gone. But the pristine square in a sea of dust where my SNES had been?

That destroyed me.

docbeard
Jul 18, 2011

High marks for compassion, low marks for survival skills





Consent
24 words

"She's made her wishes clear, but we need your authorization," the doctor said.

I signed the forms. She's resting peacefully. It won't be long.

Jeep
Feb 20, 2013


Nighttime
10 Words.

It's only the ceiling fan keeping you from falling asleep.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


Chairchucker posted:

Fast judgin's good judgin', argh where's my prompt you jerks.

Chairchucker posted:

HEY SEBMOJO WHERE'S OUR PROMPT.

Chairchucker posted:

Where's our prompt, you jerk?

Chairchucker posted:

Re: our prompt.

Where is it?

Season's greetings etc.

Chairchucker posted:

Fast judgin's good judgin', also Merry Christmas from THE FUTURE.
The other two judges have finished and sent in their results, but Chairchucker remains elusive.

Maybe a dingo ate his baby.

Arkane
Dec 19, 2006

by R. Guyovich


maybe kidnapped by Lord Business

Jonked
Feb 15, 2005

by exmarx


Summer Camp
25 words

It was a stupid activity. Carry a stone, it's someone that you lost - my grandfather. At the end, leave it.

I still have it, somewhere.

Lake Jucas
Feb 20, 2011


Cousins
Words: 25

“Shut your loving mouth,” he grunted between thrusts. She buried her sobs in her pillow until it's pristine white cover was soaked through with tears.

God Over Djinn
Jan 17, 2005

onwards and upwards


Time is the Enemy (25 words)

we loved each other in moth-winged sunlight (and once)
rain-sodden under the eighth street bus shelter (and finally)
in that antiseptic room (code-alarms and all).

ThirdEmperor
Aug 7, 2013

BEHOLD MY GLORY

AND THEN

BRAWL ME


Spaces
-25 words

She left the house riddled with spaces where she wasn't, every empty seat a reminder, the sudden lurch of missing a step in the dark.


((Edited in word count))

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk


IS ONLY EVER SHORT FOR 'IT IS'

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002


Grimey Drawer

Punishment
22 words


You were the lens I gazed through to make sense of the world, like the perfect metaphor. Now it hurts to simile.

crabrock fucked around with this message at Feb 25, 2014 around 04:00

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


Blood Empress of Thunderdome

Tap to emit spores


Clapping Larry

Swan Dive
25 words

My child self would've been disappointed, but some of us just weren't cut out for this life.

One last breath.

Take the step.

I'm free.

Kaishai
Nov 3, 2010

Scoffing at modernity.

Dr. Kloctopussy posted:

Lo, I have been summoned, and I have responded to said summons and do thusly respond, as follows:

You've written baroque, but I've had enough of it. Instead give me a story written clearly, concisely, verging on sparse, even. Not like that sentence.

In the spirit of eliminating the extraneous, this theme shall be your just desserts.

Deserts.

Interpret as broadly as you like, but please don't write a prose poem describing sand.

Deserts
(443 words)

Alexander tasted grit as he came to Elena's door. He dragged his hand over his face. Scrubbed the sweat onto his jeans. He knocked, and the wood burned his knuckles.

The door opened, and his ex stood there, drawn and sallow. Red lines webbed her wide eyes. He spoke fast. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"You left."

"I didn't know."

"You left me," she said with the same edge he'd fled. It crossed his mind to flee again.

Inside the mobile home, the baby wailed. Elena shoved at the door, but Alexander blocked it with his boot. "I want to meet her," he said.

"You have no right. Get out of here, Sandy. Go back to wherever you went."

She bashed his foot with cheap plywood. She cursed him when he stood still for it. The baby's cry got louder, shriller. Drive him away or go to her child: Elena chose the second, and Alexander followed her into the cramped house.

She bent to gather the sobbing bundle of pink from the crib. The baby's face was flushed to match her onesie. Elena cradled the girl against her shoulder and swayed, murmuring nonsense. Her eyes were too dull to spit hate at him.

Their daughter kept crying.

"Let me hold her. Let me give you a break."

"She's mine!" Elena tightened her hold; the baby screamed. Elena's face turned white.

Alexander held out his arms. "Christ, Elena, no one could take her from you."

It cost her to give him the child. The sound she made was like a sob itself. Then his right hand cupped the baby's fragile head, his left her padded bottom, and he drew her in to his chest.

She howled at being held by a stranger. She squirmed. Alexander rocked her, stroked a finger along her cheek. Would her wispy hair turn red or dark? "Hush, darling," he said. "Sahara. Hush now."

Her wails softened to mews: she was exhausted too. He looked up at her mother. "You should have told me."

"You left," Elena said, and he couldn't deny what was true.

"She should have a father, and now I'm here. It's not fair to her for you to do this alone."

Silence. Elena had always been at least as honest as he.

A gust blew baked dust from outside through an open window. Alexander turned, shielding Sahara from it with his body. She snuffled against his shirt, quiet and limp in his hold. Water pricked his eyes for the first time in years.

Elena's gaze had a heavy weight. "Maybe," she said at last. "Maybe."

It was less than his desire. More than his desert.

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Black Griffon
Mar 12, 2005


Go Long, Hemingway! - 6 words

For sale: baby chainsaw, used once

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