Man, I just found this thread tonight, and am bummed, because I had a fun (for me) idea for the last prompt. I actually ended up writing it (it's VERY short), but now I'm even more sad because I really like it, and I have nothing to do with it.
Definitely going to try my hand at the next one, though!
|# ¿ Jan 7, 2014 09:54|
|# ¿ Sep 30, 2023 01:36|
Welp. I'll put it here, and maybe in the other thread, too, if that's okay.
The Good Boy - 437 words
Brutus climbed the steps to the room, the familiar creak of the old slats in eerie contrast to the chaos and howls from outside. He did not want to reach the top, but had to keep moving. He felt the others’ eyes upon him, judging.
He had waited as long as he could, but even he could see that the writing was on the wall. The good times were over, and he knew that if he wanted to live, he would have to find a place in this new world on his own.
He hesitated. He knew that he shouldn’t, but he turned his head, looking down at the audience there. The short one – the leader, not because of a natural gift but due to a relentless, deep-seated fury that kept him fighting until long after the big men would run crying – met his eyes, a challenge.
“Well? You’ve got this far, don’t tell us you’ve changed your mind!” The short one smiled nastily, baring his teeth.
Brutus returned to the stairs, and finally reached the top. The room was there.
The first two had been easy. The Man, Brutus had learned long ago, took joy in tormenting those weaker than him, and though he claimed to love Brutus, what he really loved was showing Brutus his place. No gift went without some cruel joke, no tenderness except that in mocking apology for the pain that preceded it.
The Woman was not quite so unkind, but with bottle in hand had seen Brutus alone, neglected, unfed and, unable to care for himself, punished when he finally succumbed to nature’s necessities and soiled himself, humiliated.
But here was the Boy, and the Boy had been kind.
“Puppy?” came the voice, small, from beneath the bed, and the Boy’s golden head emerged slowly from beneath a comforter, faded but beloved, by both Brutus and his Boy.
He felt his resolve melt. He sighed, felt the gentle touch of the Boy’s hand upon his head, and knew he could not do it.
“Traitor!” shrieked the short one, bolting up the stairs. Brutus turned, but before he could even raise a hackle, the boy struck.
The short one recoiled, stunned, as the missile – a baseball, long familiar to Brutus – rebounded, and the Boy bent to pick it up, ready to strike again.
Brutus heard a familiar laugh. No, she was dead; the Woman was gone, but here…
He turned, and yes, there was the Boy, laughing the Woman’s careless laugh, the Man’s look of contempt on his face.
Brutus made it quick, because he had been a Good Boy.
|# ¿ Jan 7, 2014 10:04|
Muffin x sebmojo hot action
i love you
|# ¿ Jan 14, 2014 06:31|
In the meantime, I have something to keep you busy.
The Duty 100 words even.
The warrior priestess gazed stoically into the maw of the ancient demon. As the enormous creature brought her in close, preparing to devour her and her immortal soul both, she drew her sword and leapt; not away from the razor teeth and venom, but towards, inward, embracing her fate. There she plunged her blade deep into the back of the demon’s throat, and rode the wave of acid blood out of the creatures mouth, her armor preventing the bile from burning into her flesh as she rolled free. She gazed at her work before her.
Not bad, for a Tuesday.
|# ¿ Jan 14, 2014 11:24|
|# ¿ Jan 14, 2014 23:09|
curlingiron fucked around with this message at 07:34 on Dec 11, 2014
|# ¿ Jan 19, 2014 23:25|
In for the 1930s!
e: More Mystery crits?
curlingiron fucked around with this message at 22:45 on Jan 27, 2014
|# ¿ Jan 27, 2014 22:43|
Last one; if I missed anyone, let me know.
Um, you missed me, I think.
|# ¿ Jan 28, 2014 04:22|
I got about halfway through my story and then got super sick. Trying to finish it now, but I don't think I can given current conditions. Will try to post in the redemption thread when I'm done.
|# ¿ Feb 3, 2014 03:44|
Okay, let's do it.
I humbly request an element and flash rule.
|# ¿ Feb 6, 2014 02:10|
No Time Like the Present
Ruby looked down at the squiggle on the paper, staring as though she could make it disappear if she disbelieved it for long enough. But there it remained: Squiggle Squiggle -- $105.
She had been outbid. Again. By someone who couldn’t even write their own name legibly. This was the fifth time it had happened since she had placed her first bid.
She started to count her money again, frantically this time. She had saved her allowance for the last several months, done extra chores, even babysat the neighbors’ horrible 4 year old, but all she had to show for it was $100. Not enough.
Her eyes drifted up to the item in question, a small desk clock in the shape of an atom. Well, a Bohr Diagram of one. Each electron on the rings was picked out in a deep purple-red rhinestone, with the clock hands radiating out from the nucleus. The small sign in front of it proclaimed it to be an “Atomic Clock!! Made with REAL Crystal!!!”
What had surprised Ruby was that the clock was accurate. Well, not ACCURATE, not in the sense that it was an actual atomic clock, but accurate in that they’d got the atomic structure right. They’d even used an element that was in real atomic clocks, and the crystals were close enough to the element’s emission spectrum that Ruby was sure it must have been intentional. It was a joke only a chemist could really appreciate.
Or someone whose parents had named her Rubidium.
She didn’t really blame her parents for giving her such a strange name (although it was hard sometimes). They loved their work, and they loved their children, and their misguided attempts at mixing the two was just the product of their wanting to share the wonder of science with their offspring. Ruby had been dutiful, and had learned more about her namesake and its fellows in her 14 years than most adults could claim to know. That didn’t mean it was always easy to love.
The clock, to her, stood for everything beautiful in her parents’ work that made it important enough to name their child after it. It was beautiful, it was functional, it was exactly what she’d been looking for when she’d agreed to come to the auction with her mother.
It would have been the perfect Christmas present for a chemist. Or, in this case, two chemists.
But the squiggle had won, and Ruby knew it.
“This is the final call for bidding!” a woman’s voice blared out over the loudspeaker. “Bidders, you have five minutes remaining!”
Ruby took a last look at the clock and went to find her mother.
“What’s the matter, sweetie?” Ruby’s mother looked over at her from the driver’s seat. “You’re so quiet.”
Ruby glanced up from her phone. “It’s nothing, Mom.” She set down her phone and looked out the window. It was raining, and the lights of buildings and the city’s Christmas lights reflected off of the pavement.
“It doesn’t seem like nothing.” Her mother tried to catch her eye, but Ruby ignored it.
“It’s fine.” She might have time in the next few days to make it to the mall and find something. If all else failed, there were always gift cards. Ruby hated giving gift cards, but it was better than nothing.
They rode in silence for a few miles before her mother spoke again.
“Hey Ruby, do me a favor and reach into the back, will you? Grab the green bag.”
Ruby turned around, and found the bag in question after some searching; her mother had won several of her auctions, at least.
Ruby took out a small package swaddled in tissue paper, and began to unwrap it.
“I was going to wait for Christmas, but I thought you might like it now.”
It was the clock.
“See? It’s Rubidium, just like you!”
Ruby laughed until she cried.
|# ¿ Feb 10, 2014 03:02|
In for a probably horrifying story!
|# ¿ Feb 11, 2014 21:49|
Okay, I think I need a flash rule, since the more I think about it, the more the story I wanted to tell becomes an Amusing Anecdote. Also I apparently work better under constraints, or something.
|# ¿ Feb 13, 2014 07:26|
The Sins of Our Fathers
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay if I’m not there?”
“Oh yeah, I’ll be fine.”
I watched my mother’s face as she sat down at the dining room table to my left, plate in hand. In the past few years she had made an effort to hide her feelings from me, but it seemed like she was telling the truth.
I was relieved; going back to school was a convenient excuse, but the truth was I didn’t want to go to the memorial anyway. I wasn’t entirely sure that I would be able to keep a straight face while people got teary and talked about my grandfather as if he had been a great man.
It hadn’t been terribly long ago that I’d come home to find my mother sitting at this same table and sobbing hysterically because of him, finally nearing her breaking point. Her anxiety had gotten so bad that she had trouble swallowing liquids; for months at dinner she would drink her milk in the kitchen where no one could watch her struggle. Things had been building for months, and I had been afraid it was going to kill her.
My grandfather had an extremely codependent and enmeshed relationship with my grandmother, and when she died he seemed to decide that my mother – the often belittled ‘ugly ducking’ that he had relentlessly torn down throughout her childhood and adolescence – would be her replacement. He called constantly, insisted my mother drive him everywhere, invented ailments so she would pay attention to him, and sulked like a jealous boyfriend every time he was in the room with my father.
When he started going downhill, it got worse in some ways: he couldn’t do much on his own, but my mother had to arrange all his care, and he had named her as executor of his will so there was a lot to be done in terms of the estate. He haunted every aspect of our lives, a living ghost.
After all of that, his actual death was almost anticlimactic, the call coming in the middle of the night from the hospice workers who were watching him. He hadn’t been conscious for days before that, and even then he was foggy. The last time I saw him, he was practically a husk. It amazed me that such a tiny, miserable creature could cause so much suffering.
Now he was gone.
I was still worried about my mother. The self-worth that she had struggled to build up for so long against her father’s criticism and manipulation had been badly damaged in the last few years. After seeking it her entire life, she had finally received her father’s love, but like the cursed gift from a fairy tale, it was a twisted, poisonous thing, and cut her worse in some ways than years of his scorn had.
Looking at my mother at the table now, I saw that she had been hurt badly, but I also saw hope in her, finally. I think it was dawning on all of us that it was really over.
I felt an incredible sense of relief, and the suddenness of the emotion brought tears to my eyes – tears that had not come at all in the weeks since my grandfather’s death. I looked down and shook my head a little bit, trying to hide my eyes as I picked up my fork. My mother looked at me and took my hand from across the table, smiling a little sadly.
“It’s okay, honey. I miss him, too.”
|# ¿ Feb 16, 2014 22:18|
In, although I know next to nothing about legos.
|# ¿ Feb 18, 2014 18:36|
Never mind, awaiting instructions from Chairchucker.
curlingiron fucked around with this message at 07:29 on Feb 19, 2014
|# ¿ Feb 19, 2014 02:46|
curlingiron fucked around with this message at 06:29 on Feb 21, 2014
|# ¿ Feb 19, 2014 23:09|
Share and Share Alike
Flash Rule: Marxism-Leninism, 400 words or less.
Smith looked up from his place at the table as Bill entered the interrogation room, his face sullen. Bill smiled at him.
“Well, Mr. Smith, we meet at last. You should be honored; it took us quite a while to find you.”
Smith said nothing.
“We know what you’ve been up to, and we have the proof here,” he gestured with the file in his hand. “It will be easier if you just confess.”
He paused, but still got nothing from the prisoner. He decided to push on.
“We know that you had an entire package of cookies, and your failure to share them puts you in the top tier of unsharing criminals.” Bill leaned forward, looking the man in the eyes. “If you confess now, I can try to go easier on you.”
Bill was surprised to see that there were tears in the man’s eyes. “Okay, I did it. I’m sorry. It’s just… so hard, sharing everything all of the time. I work, and I work, and I still don’t have enough to feed my family. And when my wife got sick, I knew that I’d never be able to help her if I shared, so I kept them. I’m so sorry.” He hung his head.
“I- I had no idea.” Bill said, stunned. “I always thought the system meant that everyone had enough, but…” He stopped, at a loss for words. This could change everything.
The prisoner’s shoulders began to shake, and then laughter burst forth from him.
“I can’t believe you actually fell for that! I don’t even HAVE a wife! I just wanted the whole package of cookies to myself! And you know what?” The man leaned closer to Bill. “They were delicious!”
Bill stood up from the table, grabbing the man by his shirtfront. “You monster! Those cookies were supposed to be for everyone! You’re going to unsharing prison for a long time, you sicko!! Take him away, boys!”
Bill watched Smith being dragged away by two officers, still laughing maniacally.
“What’s going to happen to him, Chief?” asked Bill’s second-in-command.
“We’re going for the maximum sentence: life imprisonment at Health Food Isle,” Bill said grimly.
His second gasped. “But they make you eat vegetables there with every meal!”
“That’s the price you pay when you don’t share,” Bill said sternly. “Come on, let’s go punch a shark to celebrate.”
|# ¿ Feb 24, 2014 05:38|
Sometimes the phone is in my hand before I remember that you won't be on the other end.
|# ¿ Feb 25, 2014 02:06|
|# ¿ Feb 25, 2014 20:28|
Okay, I'll bite. I'm in, and I need a flash rule.
|# ¿ Mar 11, 2014 01:27|
Her mother’s ghost was screaming at her again, but Lyla did her best to ignore it. The figure had blood pouring out of its eyes as it flailed about, trying to block her path as she trudged down the dirt road, somehow always managing to stay the same distance ahead of her.
Lyla would be worried, but her mother wasn’t dead. Well, probably wasn’t dead. She was pretty sure her grandmother would have mentioned it in the semi-weekly e-mails she laboriously typed out in all caps, but maybe she wouldn’t; Lyla’s mother was a bit of a taboo subject.
The hallucinations were always worse when she was hungry. She was trying to run through the exercises her therapist had taught her, but it was hard to concentrate when your stomach felt like it was caving in. Lyla had never been 100% sold on therapy, but it seemed to help a little.
She looked around her for the first time in days, ignoring the still-shrieking phantom. She saw a farmhouse off in the distance, and decided to head for it; in more rural communities people were more likely to food to miserable-looking teenaged girls. She soon realized from the dilapidated state of the windows and siding that there was no one there to beg food off of, but she was heartened by the sight of a few pieces of fruit lying on the ground beneath a nearby tree.
As she approached, she saw apples hanging from the branches, and tried to find a ripe one that hadn’t already fallen, without success. Reluctantly, she looked for the freshest-looking one on the ground and picked it up. By this time, her hands were shaking, equal parts low blood sugar and the continued grating of her mother’s illusory voice against her nerves. She bit into the apple.
Of course, there was a worm. There was always a worm, in Lyla’s experience. She stared at it for long seconds before deciding she was hungry enough, and swallowed, took another bite. She’d eat around the rest.
“I can’t believe you’re eatin’ that,” a voice interrupted her mother’s, which cut out abruptly. Lyla whirled around, and nearly dropped her apple. She choked back a scream.
A towering vision stood before her, black and grey and slathering; claws and teeth and horny protuberances jutted out between ogre arms and pendulous breasts. Cysts and boils split on veined skin as she watched, and she imagined the pus that leaked from them added to the smell that came off of the creature.
“What’s the matter with you?” the creature said, leaning closer to peer at Lyla. “You stupid or somethin’?”
“I…” She knew acknowledging the hallucinations wasn’t productive, but the creature was levels beyond the kind of terrors she usually experienced. She couldn’t look away. Tears welled in her eyes and began to creep down her face.
“Aw, jeez, I’m just messin’ with ya, y’ain’t gotta take it personal.” The creature frowned. “What're y’all doin’ out here, anyway?”
“I’m… I don’t know. I’m just trying to get away, I guess.” Lyla stared at the creature, wiping her face with a wrist, the forgotten apple still in hand.
“Huh! That right? What’s a little thing like you gotta get away from so bad, huh?” The creature smiled, or tried to around its myriad teeth.
“My mother,” Lyla said, blurting the words out before she had a chance to think. "She hates me." Tears began to leak out of her again, the dam that had been holding her together for the last several months on the road breaking apart.
"Ah, that right? I never did get on very well with my own ma. Still, you're awful young. Ain't you got nobody cares where ya go?" Lyla thought the creature might have shrunk and inch or two, but it was hard to tell. The smell, at least, seemed to have abated somewhat, which was a relief.
"Not so you'd notice. My grandmother says that she does, but you’d never know it. She hasn't tried to find me, anyway." Lyla looked down, tears falling onto her apple, and the dying worm it contained.
"Sounds like what you really want is to be found," the creature said.
Lyla laughed, bitterly, and then looked up to reply No I don’t,, but stopped when she saw the creature.
The terrifying figure that she had been greeted with was melting away, leaving behind a regular woman. She looked around her mother’s age, but her face was kind, if a little worn. Lyla’s shock at the transformation must have been apparent on her face, because the woman frowned.
“What’s the matter now?”
“You’re… different,” Lyla said.
The woman looked down at herself and laughed. “Well, I’ll be damned. I guess I jus’ wanted to be found, too.”
Lyla shrank back as the woman walked towards her. When she raised her hand, Lyla was sure she was going to hit her, but instead she pointed at an apple hanging just above them.
“Here, this one ain’t got nothin’ wrong with it,” the woman said, smiling. “My name’s Adelaide, by the by.”
“I’m Lyla.” She reached up and pulled down the apple Adelaide had pointed out, her hunger returning. She dropped the other apple with half a worm still in it.
Adelaide smiled sadly. “I think yer gram cares about ya more than ya think, Lyla. Y’all should take care of one another. It’s no fun dyin’ alone.” She turned away and started walking towards the farmhouse.
“Hey, wait!” Lyla called out to her, but Adelaide was fading, her figure disappearing into the tall grass around the house.
She felt a strange sense of loss. It was the first time she could recall ever being sad about a hallucination ending. Adelaide hadn’t felt like the others, though; she had almost seemed real.
Lyla sat down in the grass and ate her apple. In her head, she began to write an e-mail: HI GRANDMA. I AM DOING OKAY. HOW ARE YOU?
|# ¿ Mar 17, 2014 04:48|
I have nothing to contribute words-wise to the Great Wizard Bee Interprompt, but here's a picture one of my students drew for me when I mentioned it:
|# ¿ Mar 18, 2014 06:32|
|# ¿ Mar 25, 2014 22:31|
Also, I'd like a flash rule.
|# ¿ Mar 26, 2014 01:08|
Flash Rule: Your protagonist suffers crippling performance anxiety when his or her talent is observed by an outside party.
Jeff stared at the phone. The song circled in his head.
“It’s White Lightning and Wine by Heart. It’s White Lightning and Wine by Heart.” He repeated the words like a mantra, in hopes that it would aid him when the time came.
You can do this.
He watched his hand reach for the phone, already feeling the strange disconnect between his thoughts and his actions that always happened when he was feeling anxious. I am calm, I am a boat on the sea of tranquility. I am the moon, and the Earth is far away. All is calm, and all is still.
“It’s White Lightning and Wine by Heart. It’s White Lightning and Wine by Heart.”
He took a few breaths and dialed the station’s number. His hand shook as he brought the receiver up to his ear. The cowardly part of him hoped that it wouldn’t ring, so much so that the first ring made him jump in his seat.
“It’s White Lightning and Wine by Heart,” he said again, whispering now.
It rang for so long that he almost gave up, but the twelfth ring cut off and the smooth, familiar voice of the DJ was in his ear.
“92.5 KNXK, do you think you have an answer for Name That Tune?”
“I-“ He choked, his throat closing on the words he had been ready to say. “Wh-“
“Hello? Anybody there?”
Jeff struggled with himself, but he knew it was too late. A click and the dial tone were there to console him as his voice finally returned.
“Wait, no! It’s White Li- poo poo!” Jeff slammed the phone down in its cradle and put his face in his hands. Why can you never get this right? You know this, what’s so goddamn hard about just saying it?
He took a deep breath, and picked up the phone again. Okay, it’s not over yet. You can try again. You’re not going to give up this time.
The busy signal nearly broke him. He set the phone down and stared. Had someone beaten him to it? Should he even bother to try again? It would be so easy to give up now, not worry about it anymore.
Oh no, not again. You’ve talked yourself out of this too many times. Who cares if it’s too late? You’re never going to do this if you don’t do it now, so PICK UP THE PHONE.
The third time dialing seemed easier. He focused on his breathing as the phone rang, trying to slow his heart rate. I am a boat on the sea of tranquility.
“92.5 KNXK, we’re still looking for a winner to Name That Tune, do you think you’ve got the answer?”
“I-“ Jeff paused, but didn’t choke this time. “I-It’s White Lightning and Wine by Heart!”
“It is! Congratulations, you’ve just won a pair of tickets to see Soundgarden when they come to town next month. Stay on the line for a minute, and we’ll get your information.”
The next few minutes were a blur as Jeff stumbled through his name and address, repeating the information several times before the intern who took over from the DJ got it down. He could hardly believe he’d managed to do it.
He put the receiver down, but picked it back up again almost immediately. After all of that, this call would be almost easy.
Then the phone rang, and he realized he had no idea what he was going to say.
Oh god, I’m wait - I’m a sea on the boat of tranquility, I’m a oh god no.
“Hello?” Christie’s voice on the line made his heart freeze.
“I-” He began to choke again, struggled to breathe.
“Hello? Is somebody there?”
“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”
“WAIT!” The words tore out of him suddenly, and he gasped as he was able to breathe again.
“Hello?” Christie said again. “Are you there now?”
“Soundgarden!” Jeff said desperately. “I, you, concert! See concert!” Oh god why did I say that?
There was a pause, and Christie laughed. “Jeff, is that you?”
“Y-” Jeff took a breath. Well, it can’t get any worse than that. “Y-yes, this is Jeff.”
She laughed again. “You sound so funny on the phone! Did you say you had concert tickets?”
“I- Yeah, I, I won them. On the radio.” She’s laughing, am I doing okay?
“Wow! Like a call-in contest?”
“Um yeah, I knew what the song they played was, and… I guess I won?” Wait, I’m actually talking to her! I’m doing this!
“Oh jeez, I never know what those are. That’s awesome!”
“I-I’ve always been good at those for some reason.” The words were coming easier now. “Um, would you want to go with me? To the concert?”
“Totally! I love Soundgarden!”
“R-really? Great! I’ll uh, I’ll see you at school then, yeah?”
“It’s a date!” Christie hung up while Jeff was still recovering from her words. It’s a date.
I have a date.
Jeff walked up to his room and shut the door. He laid down on the bed and put on his walkman, hitting play on the Soundgarden mixtape that Christie had given him last month. He smiled.
I am a boat on the sea of tranquility, and I have a date.
|# ¿ Mar 31, 2014 04:57|
Whatup, Captain Thunderdome partner.
Also apparently I am writing a Black Jesus Angel Story as well. And also judging. And maybe writing something else. And auto-DQing them both. Because I am judging.
BRING IT ON
|# ¿ Apr 2, 2014 04:40|
Well, I completely failed to write anything this week, but I did do QuickCrits for you assholes, so at least I accomplished something (haha, just kidding, my life is a lie).
These are far from comprehensive, and I recommend that the majority of you go back through previous judging posts and glean what general tips you might from them (in particular Erogenous Beef's; those are good), since a lot of you don't know how to write a story.
If you want more out of me, too loving bad. Here's what you get:
kwasimodick – Untitled
Everyone’s already yelled at you for not putting a golden bean in this, so I won’t jump on that wagon. I like to imagine that the dad in your story became an angel at the end, somehow fulfilling the prompt, and not making this just another drive-by troll. But I live in a fantasy world, soooo…
Gau – The Suffering Sister
Your opening paragraph is truly awful. Short, disjointed thoughts clumsily put together, confusing sentences and a tense change slapped on to the end adding insult to injury. If we did a DM for worst first paragraph this week I would be gunning for you to take it.
The most interesting part of your story (the characters questioning God, making the decision to return to Earth) happens before your story begins. What is mentioned of it is entirely telling, and therefore Bad. At the end of the story the only thing different is that what’s-her-name and Jeremiah are back together, through absolutely no effort on her part. No character development, no choices, no story. You could maybe make a story out of this by showing the original decision of the characters to leave heaven, but then you’ve just got a story that’s been done to death already.
Thalamas- The Inside Job
Super jumbled, deus ex machina at the end out of nowhere, character development was forced pretty hard (also he committed assault and theft in order to repent his sins, lol). I did like that the title changed meaning after reading the story, so there's that.
Tyrannosaurus – Testify
I actually thought this story was pretty great, although I can hear my mother screaming that a little girl should be wearing a helmet when riding a motorcycle when I read it. Is it a little cliché? Sure, but I don’t really mind too much. Only quibble I have (and this got you DQed from winning) is that there’s no angel. Sorry, bro, prompt said real angel of a god, not a Hell’s Angel Who Does Good Work.
Runningintowalls – The Visitor
Whole big pile of “so what” going on up in here. You almost had some character development, but it was entirely out of the protagonist’s hands (and who was the protag, now that I’m thinking of it? You switched POV so much that I was unclear on whether I was reading about Maggie’s life or Joanna’s), and Kelly showing up was kind of nonsensical. Also, for gently caress’s sake, questions need a question mark at the end of them, regardless of whether or not they’re part of dialogue.
Some Guy TT – For the Glory of God
I can see what you’re trying to do with the opening paragraph, but you’ve somehow managed to make insanely bloody medieval warfare suuuuuper boring. This was “I had to stop reading and force myself to come back to it” bad.
Okay, so you have a character that’s perpetually bored (not good), he hears some ideas that shake up his world view and find that they are changing him (okay, not bad), kills some random dude and does some boring pondering about it (bluh), and then magically wakes up and decides to kill everyone (what). You have a lot of boring exposition, and then some clunky action, and then a weird and stupid ending that makes no sense.
I hate you.
God Over Djinn – Reapers and Sowers
I… kind of don’t get your story. Your main character is a douche that never changes, the angels actions and purpose make almost no sense, and Sarah feels super flimsy as a character. Your main character doesn’t really do anything to achieve his goal, and his relationship with Sarah before the story isn’t made particularly clear, so I’m not even sure that anything changes from the beginning of your story to the end.
This kind of reads like a teenslpoitation short with a paranormal twist. Didn’t hate it, but I didn’t really like it much, either.
tenniseveryone – Mixed Blessing
Didn’t sebmojo JUST yell at your about not putting line breaks in between paragraphs? PUT LINE BREAKS BETWEEN ALL OF YOUR PARAGRAPHS. ALL OF THEM.
Shouldn’t the angel know who the child’s real father is? Isn’t that kind of the whole point of “an omnipotent being is sending a messenger to tell you that you’re pregnant, and also the future disposition of said child”? It kind of takes the punch out of the “who’s the father” Maurray poo poo you’ve got going at the end there.
You’ve also got no character choices, and nothing different at the end of the story except that now she knows she’s pregnant (although if she already had a pregnancy test…? I don’t know, you have some weird clumsy telegraphing going on in this thing).
Erogenous Beef – Concessions
Ehhhhh, I thought this was a little weak. I liked what you were going for, but it felt rushed, and frankly a little stereotypical. I enjoyed the resolution, but the setup wasn’t really doing it for me. If anything, I might have cut the entire daddy-daughter scene and fleshed out the robbery more, but without a word count to worry about, you could just as easily expand the whole thing at this point and wind up with a better story.
ZorajitZorajit – Burning Bright
I liked your first paragraph, but you started to lose me with the second. I dislike “the fingers” “the lips” (which somehow have a mind of their own with which to consider things!) etc. You had your artsy setup, now give me a character, goddamnit.
Oh god, the whole thing is like this, isn’t it.
gently caress you.
Paladinus – Angel of Light
Okay, end of third paragraph, I have my ending prediction: protagonist ends up in Hell.
WELL WOULD YA LOOK AT THAT.
This is clumsily written and bad on several levels (predictable, stupid, and no real character development), but at least there were characters and you’re not in love with your own terrible writing. So, uh, thanks?
Maultaschen – In the Wind
Cute kid, bad dialog. On a weird picky note, I’m not really sure an owl could break a bay window.
“A year to ten seconds later” is something that probably sounded like a good idea while you were writing it, but really ought to have been cut during editing.
Uh, cool ending, I guess? I think maybe the woman in the house was supposed to be Shanna’s mother? I don’t know, this didn’t make a lot of sense. Your character didn’t change or make any choices, or even really have a conflict, he(?) just… Bumbled along, while some birds and some tarps flapped about in the wind (you can’t hear owls flapping, btw; it’s one of their distinguishing features as a species).
WeLandedOnTheMoon! – The Chronicle of Clifford Johnson Part 6: Black on Blaq Crime
I don’t even know if I should bother judging this, or if I should let Merc deal with it. OH WELL, TOO LATE.
Nonsensical and occasionally clumsy, but in a fun way. Very Mercedes. Not gonna win you anything in the main event, but a good Black Jesus Contender.
Fumblemouse – Falling Angels
Ah, this is sweet. Thanks for not making me want to kill myself, FM.
crabrock – Angelic
I won’t lie to you, this kind of reads like a hosed Up Wasp story.
I was actually hoping it was a hosed Up Wasp story.
You know, along with “and it was all a dream,” one of the big ending clichés is “and it turned out they were Adam and Eve.” I feel like “and he was the snake in the Garden of Eden” fits into that category. I want to ding you for that, but it works with your story, so I guess I can’t complain too much.
perpetulance – Clipped Wings
You need some italics or something to differentiate characters’ thoughts from the general narration.
Huh, I didn’t hate this. No real character development, but interesting in a way that I didn’t see many people pull off this week. Not bad.
Kaishai – Angel of the Morning
The ending of this one felt way too clean. It was nice, in a childish way, but the whole thing worked out way too well for everyone, so nothing you established within the narrative seemed to matter at all. I wasn’t nuts about it, but it’s well-written, as always.
sebmojo - The gaps between
I quite liked this one. It seemed like with angel week people went one of two ways for the most part: sweet or gritty. This was well-done gritty angel stuff. I wanted you to win, to be honest. Sorry, bro.
Jonked – The Holy Flame
Several instances in your story where you really ought to have proofread, but I’m not going to go through all of them.
Judge starts as a “he” then becomes an “it,” although there’s only one instance of “he,” so I think this was just a typo.
And then it ended. I didn’t feel any connection to the protagonist and didn’t really care when (he? She? It?) died. Wasn’t super clear on what was supposed to be going on, either.
ravenkult – אוֹפַנִּים (or, Throne)
Paragraph breaks, yo. I know it looks dumb when it’s just a bunch of single lines of dialogue, but it really goes a long way in not annoying your reader.
You’ve got what I suspect are missing words in one or two places that really muddle your meaning. There are definitely some things that would benefit from proofreading, but overall your prose is pretty good.
Welp. You lost me with the ending. The rest was not-terribly executed, but the ending was just dumb. I have a seriously difficult time believing that anyone would fail to mention that particular message for that long.
Sitting Here – All Too Soon
Wow, Nichole really has it together for a kid in high school.
This is another really sweet story. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, since it’s a week about angels. I liked it.
Benny the Snake – Angel of Sorrows
The phrase “distinguish them apart” ought to get you bopped on the nose with a newspaper in a just world. Also “who’s” instead of “whose,” and so goddamn many missed commas, augh we’re not even out of the first paragraph fuuuuck.
I’m not sure whether to praise you for using so many autobiographical details in this one, or whether to call you lazy. I would like to see you break out of the Hispanic-narrator rut (branching out is good while you’re still finding your voice; don’t get too attached to a particular theme or style too early or you’ll stagnate), but I am happy to see that there was no murder this time, and no one called anyone else “holmes.”
Not great, but you’ve done worse.
lambeth – Choices
Is this about killing Hitler? Oh boy, I hope it’s about killing Hitler.
Dialogue needs its own paragraph.
Not about killing Hitler. Very disappointed.
Yeah, this was sort of bland and uninteresting. I didn't care much about the characters, and the fallen angel seemed pretty flimsy.
Starter Wiggin – Breaking Point
Man, there’s a looooooooot of telling and not a lot of showing in this joint. How does the protagonist even know all of this stuff if Geneva never talked to him (her? It?)? This story makes no sense, there’s no growth, and all of the interesting parts take place outside of the reader’s purview. You might have managed an interesting story out of this one if you actually showed anything instead of just throwing exposition that makes no sense at your reader, but alas.
Phobia – Angel of Death
AND HE WAS DEAD THE WHOLE TIME. You, also, would receive a newspaper nose-bop in a just world. This was pretty dumb. Protip: just because you’re putting your clumsy exposition into your story as dialogue doesn’t mean it’s not clumsy exposition.
Fanky Malloons – Audrey
I somehow completely missed reading this one last night! Whoops!
I think Merc really said most of what could be said about it. I liked Black Jesus hanging out with hookers. Would have liked to know more about Audrey, since she seemed a little flat as it was.
Nitrousoxide – Payment
Lol at “glock.” Also, silver bullets? Please no werewolves. I’ve made it this far.
Why did the angel pick him up just to drop him again immediately?
Let go of your hatred, you must. A plan for you, God has.
What the fuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Your ending, man.
elfdude – An arrow apart.
You’ve got some work to do still with commas and making sure your sentence is saying what you want it to say. There were a lot of errors in this, and several sentences that were drat near impossible to parse.
This story is pretty dumb. I hate Sophia, and Lucifer is boring. I get the feeling you were trying to write Lucifer as charming, but he comes off flat and creepy. If he had been wearing a fedora and Sophia had been completely repulsed by him it would have been at least funny, but as it is the chemistry between the two comes off as unbelievable. You described her as matronly, not naïve and overly-impressionable.
Plus, y’know, nothing really changes from the beginning of the story to the end.
curlingiron fucked around with this message at 23:54 on Apr 7, 2014
|# ¿ Apr 7, 2014 23:40|
Party don't start 'till I walk in.
|# ¿ Apr 15, 2014 04:14|
The Last Adventure
“My parents are out of town for the weekend, so we’ve got the place to ourselves.” Theo led our group down the stairs to the room where he had everything set up.
“Ooooh-“ came a voice behind me.
“Shut up, Neil,” Jackie said, not even bothering to shoot him a glare. “Not tonight.” Neil didn’t respond, for once, but flopped down at the table with a sulk.
“You enter a vast chamber,” Theo began, from behind the Dungeon Master’s screen as the rest of us got our sheets and dice in order. “The space is reminiscent of the stone forest you found in the labyrinth of the Dark Lords, but this place is thoroughly alive. The trees stretch up to the ceiling, which glows with an unearthly light.”
“Alexis, you wanna see if you can get anything out of the local flora?” Tom said. “You’ve got Speak with Plants, right?”
Alexis rolled a die in front of her. After peering at it with red-rimmed eyes, she looked up. “Fourteen.”
Theo passed a slip of paper across to Alexis, who read aloud: “The plants say that they were brought back to life suddenly two moons ago, when a great tremor shook the earth. Many men and beasts have entered the chamber since, but none have left.” She set the paper down and went back to staring at her lap. Jackie squeezed her knee under the table.
Tom leaned forward and looked at his notes. “Let’s see, two months in-game time was when…”
I leaned back and looked around the table. It was the first time I’d seen everyone since the funeral; the first time I’d seen them smiling since graduation. Well, except Alexis.
“Come on guys, let’s just go already,” Neil said, cutting off Tom. “I’m gonna grab my axes and head into the center of the chamber.”
“For God’s sake, Neil, you do this every time!” Jackie said, but the rest of us followed suit.
“The forest thins as you approach a pool of water, an orb of white fire above it. There is a figure inside the flame, but you’re unable to make it out from this distance.”
“Sounds like a Will o’ Wisp. Maybe a fire elemental…?” Tom said.
“Metagaming!” Jackie said, kicking him under the table. Tom yelped, and I saw Alexis smile faintly.
“I’ll do a Detect Evil check,” I said, grabbing a die.
“You don’t detect evil,” Theo said, without waiting for my roll. “The figure inside the flame rises, and you can suddenly see it clearly. You recognize it as Felwyn Moonhammer.”
There was a moment of silence while we stared at Theo.
“Theo,” Neil said finally. “What the gently caress man?”
“This isn’t funny,” Jackie said. She put her hand on Alexis’ shoulder.
“Jackie, it’s fine,” Alexis said, brushing her off. “James was part of the campaign, too. Let Theo talk.”
Theo smiled sheepishly at Alexis and then the rest of us. “Sorry. Last request.”
“The figure glides forward. It stops in front of the party and each of you feel as though it is looking at you directly.”
Theo stood up from behind the DM screen, holding a packet of envelopes. He handed one to Tom, then me, and proceeded around the table until we each had an envelope and he was back at his seat, holding one of his own.
I looked down and read my name on the envelope, the handwriting familiar from years of passed notes and co-written comics. I opened it.
Dear Shithead, I read, and had to stifle a laugh.
Got you, didn’t I? Laughing at a dead man’s letter, I bet everyone thinks you’re real classy now.
Nah man, I’m fuckin’ with you. It’s cool to laugh. I know this whole thing’s kind of a stupid idea, but I’m a stupid guy, so what’re ya gonna do?
(Sorry, I’m writing your letter last, so you can blame everyone else for hogging up all my genius poetry and poo poo. Maybe if you’re really nice they’ll let you read theirs and see what you’re missing.)
Really, though, I know you’re a serious dude, so you’re probably trying to be all stoic, sitting there with your Mary Sue Paladin and being all “God works in mysterious ways.” And yeah, so I got really pissed off at you sometimes, ‘cause why the gently caress does he have to work that mystery mojo out on me, but I know you were pretty mad about it, too, so I know it’s just your way of dealing.
I just want you to remember that it’s okay to laugh, and it’s okay to have fun. I want you guys to keep playing (hopefully that Theo fucker did what I told him to for once instead of pussing out and putting this poo poo in the mail), and I want you guys to not feel guilty about it.
I’m gonna tell you a secret here, ‘cause I think you get the whole pretending-to-be-wise bullshit and you’ll understand better than those other guys: I’m pretty scared. I thought that I was gonna get more resigned about it, and I am, I guess, but I think it’s mainly that I’m just so drat weak all the time. (Sometimes I think they’re spiking my chemo with valium.)
But you guys made this poo poo bearable, so I’ve got a favor to ask. If I were Tom I’d probably call it a Final Quest or something, but that guy’s an rear end in a top hat (don’t let Tom read that part, unless it’s too late, otherwise lol). Go see all the poo poo that I’m not gonna get to see in the world. Go do all of that stuff we always talked about doing in middle school. Travel the world, mack on some chicks (or dudes, I ain’t judgin’), see if Jackie and Neil ever stop being babies and just gently caress already, whatever. Hell, marry Alexis if you want - I promise I won’t get mad (unless you’re bad to her, then I’ll fuckin’ haunt you).
poo poo, this all sounded cooler in my head. Whatever, you get the point.
Thanks for being my friend, Philip.
Now go kill that loving Necromancer. I hate that rear end in a top hat.
I didn’t like crying in front of other people, but everyone else was too, at this point. Tom had pulled his knees up to his chest like a little kid, still reading. Jackie and Alexis had their heads together on the other side of the table, their letters in their laps. Neil was standing in the doorway, pretending to be absorbed in thought so we couldn’t see his face. Theo was leaning back in his chair with his hands folded across his chest and his eyes shut; after a while he opened them and looked around the room.
“Okay,” he said, and I admired the way that his voice only quavered a little. “Okay. You see a – The figure disappears, and before you is a dark citadel.”
Jackie and Alexis straightened, and Neil came back to sit at the table. I looked at my friends, and we all smiled, even Alexis.
“Roll for initiative.”
|# ¿ Apr 21, 2014 01:17|
Thunderdome XC: Down With the Sickness
Okay kids, I’m about to plunge into all-morning meetings that determine my pay grade for the next year, but y’all need your fuckin’ prompt, so here it is:
Write me a story on the theme of contagion. How you interpret that is up to you with the caveat that the contagion in question cannot be something that is usually contagious. Please also note that using laughter or love as your contagious element will get you disqualified, because I hate happiness and am driven by suffering (see also why I THUNDERDOME).
You have until 11:59 PM EST Friday April 25th to sign up and until 11:59 PM EST on Sunday April 27th to submit (because I have to get up early on Mondays and I enjoy being fast) to write me 1200 words on the subject. And make it an actual story, would ya?
Hope that’s simple enough for you chucklefucks.
ANYBODY WHO INCLUDES METHODS OF TRANSMISSION OR ANY BIOLOGICAL/NEUROLOGICAL INFODUMPS WILL BE JUDGED ON EXTREME SCIENTIFIC ACCURACY, AND I WILL DOCK YOU HELLA POINTS FOR GETTING SOMETHING WRONG.
The Saddest Rhino
List of the Quarantined:
WeLandedOnTheMoon! Flash rule: "That's when sunlight came from behind / a rock and began to follow my hand."
God Over Djinn
The News at 5
QuoProQuid Flash rule: No dialogue.
Thalamas Flash rule: Your story involves a house on fire.
Djeser rule: WeLandedOnTheMoon must confirm a first draft of your story was written before Friday.
lambeth Flash rule: Part of your story takes place in an aquarium.
That Old Ganon
Some Guy TT
curlingiron fucked around with this message at 05:18 on Apr 26, 2014
|# ¿ Apr 22, 2014 15:59|
Also, I'm going to need a
Flash Rule: "That's when sunlight came from behind / a rock and began to follow my hand."
|# ¿ Apr 23, 2014 00:05|
Your story involves a house on fire.
|# ¿ Apr 23, 2014 01:49|
I'm in and would like a flash rule, please.
Flash rule: Part of your story takes place in an aquarium.
|# ¿ Apr 24, 2014 06:40|
|# ¿ Apr 25, 2014 04:17|
You have approximately 9 hours left to sign up!
|# ¿ Apr 25, 2014 19:49|
Signups are closed!
|# ¿ Apr 26, 2014 05:15|
5 hours remain to submit!
|# ¿ Apr 28, 2014 00:04|
Two hours remaining!
|# ¿ Apr 28, 2014 03:05|
|# ¿ Sep 30, 2023 01:36|
By order of the CDC, submissions are now closed!
|# ¿ Apr 28, 2014 05:03|