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 Results of the 90th Thunderdome! Well kids, this week was certainly on prompt: not only were your stories sickening, they made at least two of the judges literally ill. Seriously, I may or may not be running a fever right now. But no one cares about that, so here are your results! Inventor of the Cure, and Winner of this round: theblunderbuss! You wrote an interesting contagion that was on-prompt and told a compelling story. You also managed to get this song stuck in my head, so I thought I'd return the favor. Lab Assistants to the Noble Doctor and Honorable Mentions: Erogenous Beef - You almost won, but the contagion was a little too real. I really liked this one, though. Kaishai - An interesting contagion with an ending that didn't quite live up to its auspicious beginnings. Djeser - Sweet and a little predictable, but well done and enjoyable. God Over Djinn - Hip and interesting, but you put in a little too much Bad Science to pass the crabrock mandate successfully. The Vile Plague Rats and Dishonorable Mentions: Griff Lee - Misuse of language, tinges of racism, and no ending? Sign me the gently caress up! leekster - THOSE drat DIRTY KIDS ARE LIKE A DISEASE! RunningIntoWalls - Not really a contagion and extremely rough. Also, question marks go inside the dialogue. Paladinus - You managed to put one judge to sleep, delaying this judgement by several hours. Way to go! And the Ultimate Disease Vector, and Loser: Narahari You ruined not just a fruit, but our faith in humanity. Congratulations to and/or shame on all of the entrants! I now pass this wretched torch on to theblunderbuss, and leave you to go reconsider my life choices. curlingiron fucked around with this message at 06:10 on Apr 29, 2014 |
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Apr 29, 2014 06:08
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Seconding the "gently caress you, it's still Friday" sentiment. Chimera 79 words 
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May 3, 2014 04:15
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Yo, I'm in and I need a flash rule.
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May 20, 2014 21:03
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Eternal Blossom 817 words In a small hut near a hill where blue flowers grew, a little girl dreamed of a god. *** Aiyana climbed the hill slowly, picking her way through scrub grass and rocks. The hill jutted out from the land abruptly, like a sleeping form beneath a blanket, and the climb was steep. Six months ago, Aiyana would have had no problem climbing to the summit, but age was finally starting to catch up with her. She sat down in a flat clearing at the top, on a rock that had been put there especially for her. Vines began to twine around her legs in an embrace, and a clay bowl full of spring water rolled along over pebbles to rest by her feet. “Thank you, my friend,” she said, taking the bowl gratefully. As she drank, she felt a slight pressure, like an invisible hand settling on the crown of her head. The ache in her bones and muscles eased, and there was a sense of warmth, an embrace and whispered endearments. She could sense where the spring was on the hill, and how fast it was flowing; the location of several berry and root caches, as well as how ripe they were; felt the hoofbeats of deer and wild boar, and knew how best to hunt them. There was a time when Aiyana would not have had to climb to commune with the hill this way, but age and life was catching up with them all. She felt a question in her mind, then, and her surroundings showed a quiet agitation; grass rippled and changed hues, pebbles rolled about forming and breaking patterns, and the trees rustled their leaves together. I am happy to see you, it said, but what of the others? Aiyana sighed. She had been enjoying the brief respite from their mutual troubles, but she understood the hill’s impatience. “Things are not well,” she said after a pause. “Too many of us have left, either by death or cowardice. We are too few to fight on our own merits, and, forgive me, you are no longer strong enough to protect us.” The grass around her feet wilted, the trees drooped, and she felt an intense sorrow from the hill. “The new peoples are too close. They kill us when they find us, and I fear that they will not remain ignorant of this place for much longer. I have told the others that they should go.” Shock and anger buffeted her, and she fell from the rock where she had sat. The plants on the hill whipped about as if in a wind storm, and the ground gave a small tremor. Aiyana could feel the animals on the hill scampering about in terror, their minds unable to hear the cries of despair the hill gave. Don’t leave me, don’t leave me! It was some time before the hill subsided, and Aiyana bore it patiently. When her village had been a prosperous one, the hill had been a wise and caring beneficiary to her people, and a mentor to her, in particular. Since the village had been in decline, the hill had grown weaker, more child-like. She had expected an outburst like this, and she knew that it would pass. When the ground was still again, Aiyana rose to her feet, and sat back down on her rock. “I must do what is best for the village, my friend, but you will not be alone. I will stay here with you.” The vines and grass twined about her legs again, and Aiyana’s mind was filled with a happy purr. The hill was content, a child offered its favorite toy. Aiyana smiled. She knew that she would not last long, and that the hill would be alone in the end; it had kept her alive for a span far beyond what was natural, and as its power waned, so too would she. “Someday, my friend, I believe that we will meet again. You must promise not to give up hope, even when I am gone, because I believe that you will return to yourself one day.” Aiyana stroked the ground and smiled. The clearing filled, then, with the blue flowers that she had loved so much as a child, pushing up out of the ground and unfurling before her eyes. It was the flowers that had drawn her to the hill, the flowers that even now she kept in her hut. I will wait for you. Even if it takes a thousand years, I will wait. Aiyana lay down among the flowers that bent to embrace her as she closed her eyes, and went to sleep for the last time. *** In an apartment building near a hill where blue flowers grew, a little girl dreamed of a god.
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May 26, 2014 03:29
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Okay, you got me. I'm in, with this glorious image:
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May 27, 2014 04:45
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http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=696 Facsimile 698 Words “All of the clothes in the world could stay on the ground forever so long as I don't have to ever have an eighth performance review.” Shawna sighed and leaned back on a pile of boxes in the storeroom while Robyn worked on her displays. “See, this is the reason why you’re not meeting standards, Shawna,” Robyn said. “They can tell if your heart’s not in it.” She straightened the collar on the mannequin body before fitting her carefully-selected head on its neck. Her most recent ex was standing in front of her, a look of contrition in his eyes. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately - “ he began, before Robyn cut him off. “Yes, yes, very good.” She gave him a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, and he blushed. “You’re on floor 3, in formal wear. They’re expecting you.” “See, I don’t even understand how you do that sort of thing,” Shawna said, as the mannequin wandered away. “My displays always look good, but I can’t pull off the emotional connections like you can.” “Well, you’re practicing, so that’s a start. The bad attitude will get you every time, though. You just need a little more confidence, is all.” She settled another mannequin’s head on, and directed her estranged father to the top floor before he could finish telling her how proud of her he was. “Well, I appreciate all of your help. I don’t know how I would have ever made it this far without you.” Robyn smiled. “It’s not a problem. Look, you want to help me finish this last one?” “Can I? I don’t want to ruin it or anything.” Shawna took the head from Robyn and eyed the mannequin body nervously. “Look, you’re not going to ruin it. I keep telling you, you can’t overthink it. You know all of the motions, you just have to keep yourself in the right headspace.” “Great, now I’m thinking too hard about not thinking too hard.” “Come on, just put the head on.” Robyn put her hands over Shawna’s and guided them to finish the mannequin. Their boss stood in front of them. “I just wanted you to know that I think you’re doing a great job, and you deserve a raise.” Shawna burst out laughing. “Now, why can’t you have been the one doing my review?” “See? That wasn’t so hard.” Robyn took her hands away, but Shawna grabbed and held them. “Look, Robyn, I…” Shawna trailed off and looked her in the eyes. “I really appreciate all the time you’ve put into working with me. I know I said it before, but it really means a lot.” Robyn smiled at her, and felt a faint flush in her cheeks. “It really isn’t a big deal -” She stopped abruptly as Shawna suddenly leaned forward and kissed her. They stared at each other for a moment, Shawna with trepidation, and Robyn in surprise. “Sorry,” Shawna said at last. “I guess I shouldn’t have done that.” “No, it’s - I mean, it was just a surprise, is all. You don’t - There’s nothing to be sorry for.” “I should probably go.” Shawna turned away abruptly. “Wait, don’t leave, just -” The back room phone rang and both women froze. “I’ll get it. Just stay here for a minute, okay?” Robyn grabbed the old handset from its cradle. “This is Robyn, how can I help you?” “Hey!” Shawna’s voice came clearly through the receiver. “So what do you think of my latest display?” “I- What?” Robyn stared at Shawna in confusion, who was currently sitting on the stack of crates next to the rest of the unfinished mannequins and studying her shoes. “The display I left in the back room! I worked all night on it, didn’t you see it?” “I- Yeah, I saw it. Unrequited crush?” “Oh yeah, sorry. I probably should have left a note or something… Did I fool you?” “Yeah,” Robyn said with a sigh. “You did a good job, Shawna. Looks like I finally owe you that drink.” “...How about we make it dinner?” Robyn paused, and looked at the mannequin Shawna, now lifeless on the crate. “Yeah, actually, I’d like that.”
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Jun 2, 2014 06:52
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poo poo yes, let's do this. In, motherfuckers!
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Jun 18, 2014 00:26
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Plus, if the judges are choosing no one will end up with this song, which is what I would pick because I hate you all (and also myself).
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Jun 18, 2014 06:02
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Song - Heaven is a Place on Earth Heaven and Hell 932 words For Bea, the sound of gravel crunching under tires was the sound of Hell. She had known it was coming by the fading light, had begun to imagine the sound for hours beforehand, straining her ears, and hoping that it would not come. But it always did. A car door slammed, and after a moment the locks on the front door began to open. If the neighbors wondered why there were so many locks, they were sure to get some flippant answer. This wasn’t the part of town where the neighbors wondered much of anything, though. The door opened, and footsteps approached. Her heart hammered in her throat as she set eyes on him, and she felt herself slipping, down through the cracks and drains in her psyche, down to the place he sent her. Her quiet place, her haven. Distantly, she felt his touch, his arms around her body, holding her in a twisted semblance of gentleness. He whispered to her in ways he thought of as tender, pressed his mouth over hers like a kiss. She felt herself sway against him, and he drew her close. Time passed around her, over her, through her, but did not touch her. Sound and color and light ran together, sensations as distant as the stars, the sky, the world beyond the house. She caught snatches of things, dripping down on her like cold rain: rough hands; the smell of sweat; her own voice, hoarse and high with fear. In her place, she did not feel the fear, but she knew it was there still, would always be there. When she awoke, it was to the sound of the tires, receding this time, a promise to return again. Bea lay where she was, on a bed she could not feel, under sheets like chains, tucked carefully around her shoulders by hands poorly aping love. The ceiling’s shadows faded as the sun rose, and she strove to memorize their shapes as they dissolved. At last she broke the spell, climbed back into control of her body and out of bed. She was not sure what it was that woke her from her stupor. Sharp light against her face, perhaps, or the hush of the empty house. Perhaps it was the wrinkles that she knew were appearing across her body, harshly worn by the emotions she no longer acknowledged, but ravaged her nonetheless; a reminder that time was passing, and her life was, too. Today, it said. Tonight, or never. She rose, and began to search, all of it in places she had looked before, but now with the vigor of determination, and the creative eye of true desperation. She pried and dug and worried away, all at avenues she had considered hopeless to this point. At last, she settled on the direction of her plan. He had become accustomed to her complacency, and in doing so, had brought her something she might use. She took her toothbrush from the holder, the pink half of a his-and-hers set, and set to work. Deprived of any tools that might make the job simpler, she labored at sawing the end against any rough surface she could find. When this proved all but hopeless, she began to chew, gnawing away at the clear plastic, not caring whether or not she broke a tooth if it meant her freedom. At last, after hours of labor, she held her weapon. The key to her cage, crude and twisted though it was. She had never seen anything more beautiful. She did not know how long she stared at the object in her hands, taking in its planes and edges, her hope imbuing it with an inner light that did not fade, even as the sun began to sink. And suddenly, there it was; the sound of tires. The tires stopped, and the engine’s rough growl cut short. The slam of the car door came next, and footsteps she heard so clearly through the double-glazed windows. She wondered if it was just a hallucination - she knew from experience that the windows were well sound-proofed. And yet she heard every step, every pebble underfoot, every dead leaf on the drive; each one a sound so deep it became a taste in her mouth. She swallowed a mouthful of bile, and positioned herself to meet him when he entered, her body hiding her makeshift knife from view. Her pulse quickened at the keys in the door. The jingle of the keyring, punctuated by the dull thud of bolts sliding back. One... Two... Three... Her grip tightened. The door opened on hinges smooth and well-oiled, but the swish of the carpet as it swung inwards sent chills down her spine. Was time slowing? Did it always take so long? She tried to remember, but the days and weeks and years ran together, and although she held her weapon fiercely, she began to slip away. No! Desperately, she tried to hang on, digging her nails into her palm, biting her tongue until it bled, but she could not stop her descent. The pathways she had walked so many times, the sanctuary of the mind that she had so lovingly constructed, called to her, pulling her into its dark heart. He walked in the room. Her grip faltered. She dropped the weapon. His arms were around her, but she did not feel it. She had been afraid, but she was not afraid then. There were no more emotions. She was falling, sinking, drowning in the place that she had built for herself. Her haven was her Hell.
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Jun 23, 2014 02:35
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Week 99 crits yes I know I still haven't done crits from contagion week, I'm sorry First of all, I'd like to say that the mean quality of the stories this round was probably the highest for any week that I've judged so far. Not once during the judgment process did I want to die, nor did I pop a rage boner, which was an incredibly refreshing change of pace. That having been said, this is Thunderdome, and in hindsight my crits are perhaps a little more vitriolic than necessary in some cases, considering I did them as I read last night. A majority of these complaints I would actually consider fairly nitpicky, to be honest. There are several of you who still need to work on figuring out basic story structure, and a few of you for whom basic grammar lessons would not be amiss, but again, for the most part, I had far fewer complaints than I'm used to having. GO TEAM! Yeah, okay, whatever. Here are crits: Schneider Heim Pretty eh on this one. Nothing terribly distinguishing about it, but not terrible by any stretch. I thought the “AND NO ONE ELSE CAME TO HER FUNERAL” thing was a little over the top, and, uh, how did the sister learn sign language if her mother didn’t teach it to her? Did the younger brother come out of the womb magically knowing sign language and make the effort to engage his older sister in conversation? That seemed weird to me. I guess that’s all, though. D.O.G.O.G.B.Y.N Was the terrible grammar and syntax supposed to be a stylistic thing here? I kept vacillating between thinking it was something you were doing intentionally, and thinking that maybe English isn’t your first language. If it was the former, I don’t think that it works in this case, since you’re using a third person narrative, and even if you weren’t, it’s a little racist, don’t you think? If it was the latter, then, uh, sorry? Read more, I guess. Also, what the gently caress was up with the poles around the village? Were they supposed to be lightning rods? I had this weird moment where I thought this was some kind of post-apocalyptic scenario, but there really wasn’t enough information to figure out what was going on. That’s frustrating as a reader, and really detracts from what you’re trying to do. P.S. Maggots only eat dead flesh, I don’t think they’d do anything in your ears but try to get out. Benny the Snake Ugh, I loving hate perspective shifts within a scene. I hate them so much. There are some more weird things you’ve got going on here (no hipster bartender calls himself a “mixologist,” that term is on the menus at Red Robin ffs; you’ve got excessive scene-setting that isn’t really necessary – like the bartender; random characters pop up without introduction – who the gently caress is Mark?; etc.), but that was my biggest complaint. Oh yeah, and the fact that it’s not really a story. At the end of your piece, I not only wasn’t sure if the chef was actually a bear or not, I didn’t really care at all. It could have been the beginning of a longer plotline, like the introduction to this weird bear-chef with a smoking habit (I’m not up on e-cig tech, either, but you might want to research this a little more before you use it in a story again), who then gets pulled into a Chinese mafia turf war or something, but this? Isn’t much of anything. God Over Djinn You bitch, you know I’m a math nerd. Augh, I like this a lot, and I feel like it’s pandering to me somehow. Like, throw a cat in there and you’ve basically got “hey curlingiron, I wrote you this”.txt. …But I still love it.  Crabrock gently caress, dude. gently caress. …I got nothing. This is rad as poo poo. The ending was maybe a little cheesy, but I was into it. PoshAlligator I don’t know what it is about your prose, but it’s really hard to parse. I might have to put this aside and read it again later to make sure it’s not just me, but even beyond your over-fondness for sentence fragments in your first paragraph (which I know Kaishai has discussed already), your word choice – particularly adjectives and adverbs – is… Really odd sometimes. I’m not sure how to explain it other than that. Here, for example: “hearing them crumple defeated, as he wished he could.” What? Again, maybe it’s me, but this is loving weird to try and parse in my head as I’m reading. Okay, now that I’ve read the whole thing… What? So what? Why do I care about any of this? Is this some kind of metaphor for something that I’m not getting? I’m only saying this as a possibility because I have been completely oblivious to subtleties of a story on at least one occasion while judging, but this just smacks of “pretty vignette” to me. You showed me some senses (semi-obtrusively), but you forgot to put any sort of plot in there. C’mon, man. Obliterati Your first line makes me hate your character. Was this intentional? ‘Startled deer in a faeces factory.’ I can actually hear you chuckling over this line. I hate it. Did your main character just kill a man with an elbow to the stomach? I’m torn between irritated and impressed. Okay, so if I’m reading this right, Nameless Business Dude pays Barry to do drugs for him, but only on the weekends? I guess that’s… kind of interesting. What makes NBD’s bond with Barry so special that he can feel it across such a great distance, when he has such a weak connection with everyone else? I feel like there are a lot of odd holes that detract from the piece. I don’t really resonate at all with any of the characters (who are barely characters), which doesn’t help. Kalyco Please don’t name two characters two things that are nigh impossible to tell apart when you’re reading quickly. I kept having to go back to figure out which one was Arny and which was Ary. It was annoying, and totally unnecessary. Rule zero of writing should be ‘don’t intentionally piss off your readers.’ We get that they’re twins and it’s confusing to everyone else, but I don’t read books to get annoyed and confused (unless I’m reading Gene Wolfe, and at least then it’s confusing in a good way). Speaking of Wolfe, your ending is weird, and I am somewhat nonplussed by it. Is this a commentary on one brother always wanting what the other has, but being unable to attain it? Is Erin his ~Twue Wuv~? I don’t get it. Oh yeah, and there’s no way that they would put a kid in a separate track in school because he was colorblind. We’re looking at reintegration in schooling whenever possible; colorblindness requires pretty minimal accommodations, afaik. I teach high school math, though, so maybe somebody else can fact check me on this one. /teacher rant Teddybear This… Is actually pretty good. I have maybe some quibbles with it being a little too rushed, but I think that’s just because you put in a lot of story into a short space. There’s also a weird thing going on with the voice of the narrator in this… Is it passive voice? I’m not sure exactly what it is, but it feels like I’m reading a very detached narrative of events instead of a person’s experiences, which is what I expect when I’m reading something in the first person. But it was a pretty decent little narrative for what it was, and I appreciated it. Good job! Ironic Twist What just happened here? What is going on? Who has a missing sense or an extra one? Is that a thing in this story? I am seriously confused as hell right now. Did they go to the hospital after she STUCK HER loving HAND IN BOILING WATER??? Or was it just “oh, hee hee, I’ll recreate the day we met and our love will be restored~”? I know nothing about these characters, and none of their motivations make any sense to me. You need to either give your reader more clues as to what’s going on, or maybe just rethink the whole plotline. SittingHere drat, girl, I got nothing to say to you, either. Your prose is lovely as always. This sort of reminded me of your entry for Captain Thunderdome, actually; maybe just because of the sinkholes and houses bit. Sorry I don’t have more for you.  This was up for an HM, but there was some trepidation on giving out a million of those this week. Sorry!WeLandedOnTheMoon! This is another one where it feels like it ends really abruptly. You packed a lot of poo poo in here, and it’s lost a lot of its emotional impact because of it. I think your premise is interesting, but it’s lacking the emotional depth that would make me really connect with any of the characters. You’ve got a few random typos, too, which are annoying, but I’m sure you’ll pick up on if you give it another read-through. Kaishai Aww, sweet. I’m sorry, some of these crits aren’t going to be very helpful, especially when they stories are of high caliber like this one. This story has a nice depth of prose, but feels a little light in the plot department. I did enjoy your use of both a missing and additional sense, and I thought that this sense was very creative, if a little weird. Good weird, though. Thalamas Oh, this was a nice one, too. You leave a lot of things unsaid here, but I really enjoy the parts that you left out; they’re not necessary, but they’re intimated appropriately, and in a way that makes them feel natural. If that makes any sense. I think your opening paragraphs border on overblown, but I enjoyed them anyway. You have some nice imagery in there, but there are a few parts you could probably pare down without losing any of the power you have going for you. This was a sweet story, and I really liked it.  Nethilia Aaaaaugh, sad story?!? We were doing so well this week, why’d you kill the love?? Nah, this was good, and I liked it a lot. You did a brief genderswap on the baby at the very end, though, which might be my only complaint. Oh, and your opening sentence uses “had been” instead of “was,” which I think reads a little easier. That’s about it, though. I’M HELPING!!  Grizzled Patriarch Oh my god, what did I just read.  Was this a story? I have phantom itching all over my body, I’m thoroughly uncomfortable, and I hate you. I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY!! Tyrannosaurus The other judges liked this piece, but I was pretty disappointed in the ending. You had almost 500 more words to play with, and you chose to end it THERE? Right when the interesting part happens? Why? Hell, you probably could have just scrapped most of what you wrote here, and just written about going to Iraq to get a dude’s leg back, and it would have been pretty rad. I don’t know, I like your idea, but I think that you mishandled it here. This piece is entirely setup and no follow-through.
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Jul 1, 2014 00:42
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Aww yiss, in.
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Jul 15, 2014 04:51
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Dr. Kloctopussy posted:
I'll take a crit for 98, if there's still one available. 
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Jul 24, 2014 05:25
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Mr. Clean 136 words The creature crawled across the cold floor, its belly leaving a cold trail of black ooze in its wake. It could smell the life within in the house, vibrant and bright. Its purple-red tongue flickered over its needle teeth in anticipation of the sweet taste of heartsblood. Abruptly, the creature found its skull in collision with a Swiffer brand mop, and the black pits where its eyes had once been were afire with Lysol Original Lemon Scent spray. It tried to recoil, to escape the searing pain, but was suddenly trapped within the confines of a Glad(TM) Heavy Duty garbage bag with Lavender Febreeze scent. It opened its jaws to scream, but was abruptly cut off when its mouth was filled with Arm and Hammer Odor Fighter Baking Soda. Luckily for everyone, it was garbage day.
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Aug 25, 2014 06:47
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In with 2, 9, and a 
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Sep 16, 2014 18:49
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Clay and Moonlight 982 words The wind was at my back as I climbed the tower. “There are two guards on the door to your sister’s room. Be careful, as they have swords and knives in their belts.” “Thank you, Brother. I will remember your words.” I pulled myself up over the window ledge. There was no one here, but I knew that there would not be; the tall pine tree outside the gates had told me that the guards did not come by the stretch of hallway for another half hour. I turned to the left, and began to walk quietly towards where the Moon had imprisoned my sister. The guards were where the wind had told me they would be. I watched them around the corner for a few minutes, and then turned to the torch on the wall. “Sister Flame,” I whispered to the burning pitch. “I am far from home, and so is my sister. Would you be so kind as to distract those men for me while I rescue her?” “Because you ask so politely, Younger Brother, I will,” replied the flame in a hissing voice. “There are many of us in the sconces on the wall. It would not be so hard to break one of these glass containers and set alight one of the tapestries here. You will have the distraction that you need.” “You do me honor, Sister. I will not forget your help.” I turned to watch around the corner as a shout came from the distance. Both guards turned to look at the voice, and then turned to one another in confusion. After a moment, one ran off towards the sounds of disturbance, while the other looked after him, clearly torn. I took advantage of this and stole up to the second guard while his back was turned, the wind carrying the sound of my passage away from his ears. A few moments later, he was on his back, gasping as the life drained out of him from the wound in his back. I laid the knife I had taken from his scabbard on the ground next to him. “I am sorry, Brother, but I cannot allow the Moon to marry my sister. You were honorable, and I will pray for your safe journey to the afterlife.” I bowed to the guard and made the ritual gestures quickly before turning to the door. The guard’s key turned back the lock, and I slipped carefully into the room. My sister was there, sitting in a pool of moonlight from the high, barred windows of the room she had been imprisoned in. She looked up at me with tear-stained eyes, and I was struck for a moment at her incredible beauty. For a moment I understood why the Moon had stolen her from our home. “Brother? Is that really you?” My sister ran to embrace me as I shut the door. “I had given up hope of ever seeing you again!” “It took me nearly three days to find this place, and then another to plan your rescue. I am sorry that it took me so long.” “No; I forgive you, because you are here now, and I know that I am safe.” “Not yet.” I took her hand. “We still need to escape this place. I do not know how long it will be until someone comes by here again. Come, we must be swift.” We ran together, back the way that I had come, and to the window ledge that I had climbed through. I spoke to the vines on the wall, and they obligingly made a rope that I tied to my sister’s waist while I lowered her to the ground and climbed after her. I had just touched the ground myself, when we heard the scream. It was long and wailing, a high-pitched keen with discordant harmonics that raised the hair on my body like a cat taking fright. I knew that the Wizard Moon had found my sister gone from her room, and I knew that we did not have much time. I clutched my sister’s wrist and we sprinted into the darkness of the surrounding forest, the wind speeding us from behind, and the trees and plants moving out of our way so that we could run all the faster. “Where are we going?” my sister called from behind me. “We cannot go home, for he will find us.” “The stream told me of a clearing deep within the forest, where no human has set foot before. The undergrowth will let us through. We will live there together until the Moon’s wrath has passed us by. He will find another bride eventually, and you will be safe again.” We ran through the night, past hills and meadows, through thickets and swamp, until we reached the clearing the stream had told me of. We rested then, and drank deeply from the stream herself, since she burbled nearby. “So you have come here after all!” the stream called in her melodious voice. “But who is that who you have brought with you?” I turned in confusion, and saw the first rays of dawn light my sister’s face. Instead of the warm flesh and blood that had been there a moment before, I now saw that it was not my sister I had carried home, but a beautiful doll made of porcelain. “Who are you?” I said, staring at the creature as the spell evaporated from its form. “I am a creature of clay and moonlight. I was made to take your sister’s place by the Wizard Moon.” The doll began to cry. “I am sorry.” I ran, all the way back to the Wizard’s tower, but when I arrived, there was nothing but an abandoned ruin. I never found my sister, but I keep the doll with me. In the moonlight, sometimes, I can pretend.
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Sep 22, 2014 05:59
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poo poo yes, let's do this. IN.
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Sep 30, 2014 05:09
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I am going out of town (to Disneyland!) in two days, but gently caress it, surrealism says I'm in with a
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Dec 11, 2014 05:58
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Oh, gently caress, I thought submissions closed at 10.  I just got home, I should be done within 30 min, but I accept a lack of mercy should it come to pass. If I get banned I'll post after I re-reg.
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Dec 15, 2014 05:16
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And The Days Go By 835 words Maria had not expected to see herself when she opened the door, but there she was, breezing right past her and into the house. “We need to talk,” her doppelganger said, heading for the kitchen table where she sat down with an authoritative air. Maria followed, pulling a seat out for herself and sitting tentatively. “I’m sorry, but… What’s going on?” “Come on, Maria, don’t be stupid,” her other self said, glaring fiercely in a way that Maria vaguely remembered once seeing in the mirror. “You’re miserable, and I’m tired of it. It’s time to get out.” “What? Get out of what?” “This!” the other her gestured around herself angrily. “The misery, the lying, the trappings of a life you never wanted! What on earth have you been thinking this whole time? Did you really manage to convince yourself that you were happy?” Maria looked around herself at the house. The walls and furniture seemed suddenly too vivid to be real, as though the place that she had spent the last ten years of her life was an advertisement printed on an over-glossy page. She wondered how she had managed to not notice before now. “Hadn’t it occurred to you that you’re not who you meant to be?” Maria glanced sharply back at herself, who now appeared substantially younger, in her twenties, with the traces of worry and care that had begun to dog Maria’s face now rewound and erased. Maria reached out to her and recoiled in alarm at the sight of her own hand - wrinkles and veins suddenly sprouted across it in a web, and spots of age marred her knuckles. “What are you doing to me?” Maria said, touching her wizened hand to a face that was sagging and shriveling beneath her fingers. Her other self, across the table, smiled sadly at her. “Nothing you haven’t done to yourself.” Maria stood and rushed to an ornate, full-length mirror in the hallway, it’s too-bright glass reflecting her face in perfect, harsh detail. Wrinkles that had started near her eyes and forehead blossomed across her face, deepening and spreading their tendrils in fractal folds. A bruise appeared along her jaw and faded; a livid scar flushed one cheek and then washed to a pale crescent. “Has he hit you yet?” her other self asked from behind her, a teenager now, with dark, imploring eyes. “No,” Maria said, tracing the scar with a bony finger. “He would never.” “Wouldn’t he?” A child stood behind her, her eyes wide with fear. “I…” Maria turned around. A baby lay behind her in swaddling clothes, eyes closed in a fitful sleep. A note was pinned to her front like a foundling: Save us. She picked up the baby in trembling, arthritic hands, and held the tiny bundle to her chest. She turned around, searching, lost. Her eyes settled on the door, and she took her first, agonizing step towards it. Her bones ached, but she kept moving. Her joints screamed, but she kept moving. Her muscles tore and stabbed at her, but she kept moving. The paper veneer of the life she had been living crinkled and tore around her, and from the blackness behind it burst chains of gold and diamond, rings and bracelets, and wreaths of lilies, her favorite flower. They twined around her legs and sang to her, stay, stay. Her wedding ring burned on her finger like a torturer’s iron. She felt herself slow. A mewling came from the precious cargo she carried, and she looked down to see the baby fade and disappear, leaving nothing but the blanket she had been wrapped in. The ring on her finger burned a dark hole through the soft material, until it began to smolder and singe, finally burning away into nothing. All that remained was the ring, tightening like a vice around her ancient, care-worn hand. Maria screamed, a sound that started deep within her and that reverberated out and through the cardboard diorama of her life. It shattered the chains that bound her, melting the gold and burning the lilies. Diamonds and jewels turned to dust and blew away. The magazine ad furniture, the house, the garden, all melted like spun sugar left too long in the sun. She wrenched the ring off of her finger, and with it, the years fell away, peeling off like a shed skin. She threw it to the floor, and her old life crumbled around her, subsiding into nothing. It started to rain, softly, a warm shower touching her new skin. She stepped out of what had once been her house and gazed at the sky. Slowly, dazedly, she fished her phone from her pocket, surprised that it was still there after all that had happened. She opened it and dialed a number she knew by heart. “Hi, Mom? Um, would it be okay if I came and stayed with you for a while? Yeah, I thought it was about time.” Somewhere inside her, her other self smiled.
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Dec 15, 2014 05:39
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Wait... poo poo. 17 words "Okay," she said. "Midnight EST is 10 pm PST, right? I've got another hour, there's no problem!"
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Dec 15, 2014 05:45
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| # ¿ Jan 14, 2025 09:22 |
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Thunderdome 2015teen: We Said FLASH Fiction, Not SLASH Fiction!
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Dec 24, 2014 03:59
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