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N. Senada
May 17, 2011


http://cincinnati.craigslist.org/mis/4703827871.html


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N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Secure Facilities 750 words

Jeremy Plathers leaned back in his comfortable, padded chair. The coffee Zach brought was especially good today. He noticed that the cameras in the emergency stairwell were still down from yesterday. He stood up with a tiny, frustrated sigh. He reached the emergency doors and for his keys. Looking down, he realized they weren’t there. He let his head tilt down in this small defeat.

“Having one of those days, huh Jer?” Zachary Gray, the senior security guard at Detesolc Corporate Headquarters, said with a smile. He held a box of doughnuts.

Jeremy turned with surprise. “Yeah. The cameras are still down in the stairwell, we should check it out.”

“If anybody opens those doors without our keys, alarms will light up our panels,” said Zach, “Speaking of keys, here’s yours.” Jeremy turned red. Zach slapped his back playfully, “C’mon, I got us snacks from the company store. Let’s get back to our station and enjoy the morning.”

Hours later, Jeremy contemplated whether his wife could claim his life insurance if he actually died of boredom. The coffee had given him enough energy to be aware of exactly how little was happening. Several blank monitors seemed to taunt him.

Keys in hand, Jeremy approached the door to the emergency stairwell on the other end of the room, just outside of the view of the security desk. He began the process all new security guards went through which is struggling to figure out which of the dozens of keys fit into this particular lock.

Over the radio, Zach said, “Jer, where are you?” Panicking, Jeremy rushed back. Seeing Zach, he said, “Sorry, I was just checking on those broken cameras.”

“We have to have at least one man at the station at all times.”

“I’m really sorry sir.” Jeremy felt his eyes water.

“Hey, it’s okay Jer,” Zach had that endearing smile back, “I can keep a secret.”

“Thanks Zach.” Relief washed over him as he sat back down in his nice, comfortable, padded chair. He stretched and let out a yawn as a man said, “Hello gentlemen.”

"Hello there Mr. Proctorbilt, lovely evening isn’t it,” Zach said.
Recognizing the name, Jeremy stood up and awkwardly repeated, “Y-yes, lovely evening isn’t it, Mr. Proctorbilt, sir.”

“I assume everything’s fine down here, Mr. Gray?”

“Yes, quiet all day,” said Zach.

“Very good,” Reginald Proctorbilt replied. There was an uneasy moment of silence.

He then extended his hand to Zach. Zach met it with a handshake. The glare from Proctobilt’s ring made Jeremy squint. Mr. Proctorbilt turned to him, “Welcome to the team.”
His eyes scrunched together, Jeremy said “You too, Mr. Proctorbilt!”
Moments later, Jeremy expressed his disappointment. In hushed yells, “I looked like an idiot! Oh, god, he’s going to think I’m slow. He didn’t even offer to shake my hand.”

Finally it was six o’clock. Jeremy smiled and gathered his lunch pail and stained coffee mug. He wondered, for a moment, where Zach was. But, then, Mr. Proctorbilt walked past his station.

Dropping his items, he said, “Mr. Proctorbilt, sir, good evening!”
“Uh, yes. Very good. I’m just, uh, stopping by the concessions area. I’m a little thirsty. I was under the impression you – that is to say, this station – retired at six.”
“Yes, sir, getting ready to go now.”
“Yes, good.” He walked towards the company store, looking back to Jeremy before going behind the divider which separated them.

Believing that to have gone at least slightly better, Jeremy recollected his items. On the monitor he saw Zach on a hallway camera entering the emergency exit stairwell. Jeremy thought, I can’t believe nobody fixed those cameras. He yawned. I guess I could use one more cup of coffee, he thought, and another chance to impress Proctorbilt.

As he turned the corner, he saw the store was locked, lights were off, and no cashier was present. Confused, Jeremy returned to his relaxing, nice, comfortable, padded chair. I guess he had his own set of keys to the building, he thought. He blinked his eyes, barely trying to hold back the sleep. Must’ve not even noticed him walk back by, he thought. The idea slipped away as did Jeremy’s neck. As his head sunk, his eyes, fluttering, glanced at the silent and black feed on several monitors.

Jeremy Plathers’ eyes opened wide. His whole body became alert as he stood up. Walking towards the emergency doors to the stairwells, Jeremy squinted from the smallest glint of sunlight coming off a key.


N. Senada
May 17, 2011


In.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Second Chances

1020 words

Too loving cold tonight, he thought. Tommy lifted another cigarette to his mouth and lit it. The snow gathered around his feet. He looked up into the night sky and saw nothing. Green light washed over his face from a bright, neon sign. He threw the cigarette butt into a pile of grey and black slush and walked back into the bar.

“Another whiskey sour, Bill,” said Tommy.
“Gotcha,” Bill replied.

Tommy turned around in his stool and saw the people who were normally here Friday nights. The folks who didn’t fit in at other clubs. The folks who’d rather have a drink in silence. The folks who knew how much they could drink, thank you very much. Tommy realized for the first time that he only knew Bill’s name, and, even then, only just Bill.

The cold gust of wind from the door drew Tommy’s attention. Under the glowing red “EXIT” sign stood Vincent Domingo covered in snow. Tommy stood up from his chair and smiled. Vincent shook loose some powder and stamped his feet on the mottled rug at the entrance.

“Bill, I got whatever he’s drinking,” Tommy said, pointing to Vincent. Vincent weakly smiled in return and held his hand up to decline.
“I’ll just have a club soda. Hey Tommy.”
“Hey Vinnie, I was expecting you to call not just show up here. Is it good news?”
“Here’s the papers.” Vincent pulled out a clean envelope. Written neatly on the front was Screening Results – Domingo, V. regarding Dalton, T. It ripped in Vincent’s hand as Tommy grabbed it.

Tommy removed several papers. He put aside official looking medical charts and read the accompanying letter written in a language he could actually read – plain English.
“You read it, right?” Tommy scanned each line.
“Yeah,” said Vincent.
“So you know what it says right?”
“Yeah.”
Both men were silent, then, “Holy poo poo, you’re a match.” Tommy’s hand tightened on the paper, leaving crimped edges. “I’ve got a chance now, I’ve got a real chance.” Tommy finished his whiskey sour in one drink and motioned for Bill to set up another one.

“Vinnie, this is something worth celebrating, you got to drink with me.”
Vincent shook his head, “No, Tom. I can’t drink. Doctor said not to drink any more if I was going to donate.”
“Well, I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Come out with me for a smoke then.”
“I haven’t smoked since high school.”
“Well gently caress,” Tommy laughed, “What do you do then, Vinnie?”
“Not a lot of the stuff we used to do.”
“I guess we all got to get old eventually,” said Tommy, still smiling with a fresh drink in front of him.
“Yeah,” said Vincent, “When do you think that’ll happen for you?” Vincent’s voice was severe.
“What are you talking about, I’m already old. I’ve got bum kidneys and am stuck on a blood pump 4 days a week. If that ain’t living like an old fart, I don’t know what else I have to do.”
“Maybe stop drinking so much.”
“Hey man, I don’t judge how you live your life, don’t judge how I live mine.”
“I think I have a right to when you’re asking me to go under the knife for you.”
Tommy put down his drink. A few of the other bar patrons looked up from their drinks. Some hoped for a fight, others were just curious what all the noise was about.

“I talked to that doctor for a long while Tom. Asked him all sorts of questions. When I told him I was thinking about donating a kidney to a friend, he told me to know the risks. Said my life would be ‘irrevocably altered.’ Asked him about drinking, he told me it’s not a good idea. Could do a little here and there, ‘moderate drinking,’ but that it would be best to lay off until a doctor told me it’d be okay to start again. Said it raises your blood pressure, makes your kidneys work harder. Then he asked me if I smoked, told him I did when I was a kid but not anymore. He told me good, smoking’s probably the worst thing you can do to your kidneys. Said it’s not healthy anyways, but that I really can’t do it if I’m giving up a kidney.

“And that’s when I thought about all the talks we’ve had recently. How you told me about your dialysis and how you still feel like death itself nearly every day. And how you’d excuse yourself to get another beer or light up a cigarette. You must’ve single-handedly kept that convenience mart open considering how many empty boxes of cigarettes and booze I saw in your apartment.”

Tommy tried to defend himself, “Hey man, we all got our vices!”
“Yeah, and yours are killing you right now.”
“It’ll change when I get that kidney, Vinnie.”
“I don’t believe you Tom. It didn’t change when you first got diagnosed. It didn’t change when you went on that dialysis. I don’t think it’ll change this time,” said Vincent, “Know what else I asked him Tom? I asked him how people get replacement kidneys. I found out not everybody’s got a donor lined up. Doctor said there’s a list, that kids are usually at the top of it. Told me donating an organ is a way of giving a second chance to somebody.”

“Yeah, I could really use that second chance, Vinnie!”
“You’ve already had one Tom, and you threw it away,” Vincent sipped at his club soda, “I’m not giving you the kidney.”
“You selfish bastard! After all the stuff we did together as kids, you’re just going to toss me aside?!”
“I’m still giving it to somebody.”
“What, why? Who?”
“I don’t know who. But there’s somebody out there who does deserve a second chance.”

Tom stared after Vincent who immediately became lost in the growing snowstorm. The heater had died in the bar. And then the yellow bulbs covered in dust went out. The only light came from the red “EXIT” sign above the door. Tom shivered.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


"You're Expected Wait Time is 1 Glorious Round of Chariot Bloodsport"

The competition between Uber and Lyft reached unprecedented heights during the great Oil Wars of 2045. Forced to rely on the more fuel efficient ethanol engines, drivers made use of modified motorcycle chariots. And, as the new rules dictated by the free market (as revealed by Liberalism-Bot), each driver was forced to do badass races to the death to attain a client.
While spectators truly enjoyed the sport, patrons were less than thrilled by the long wait times and copious amounts of blood which stained the chariot seats.

“Horatio, son of Thompson, do you believe there could be another way?”
“You mean that we could perhaps have three people racing?”
“No, no Horatio, son of Thompson. I mean, simply let whoever arrives first take the client.”
“You speak of heresies Humphrey, first son of Taggart. You’d be wise not to share those thoughts again.”

Horatio, son of Thompson, put on his chromium helmet. He grabbed the pleather reins to his mighty metal stallions and wondered again what life was like in the before-times, in the long-long-ago. And then he was shoved into a wall at 90 miles an hour as a crowd of thousands cheered.

Wyatt Apple, consummate businessman and house minority leader, waited impatiently in the center of the ring, briefcase in tow. He tapped his foot and worried that the gods would be upset if he did not submit his offering in a timely fashion.

The gods looked down from high and wondered how they had hosed up so bad.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Forgot to include wordcount

252

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


In.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Mercedes posted:

MERC-BRAWL 6: MERCALICIOUS: Surreal Halloween

I'll give it a shot, in.


Also, are we supposed to be posting our images or is that just for people requesting them from judges?

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Merc-Brawl - pictures to inspire (from another thread)









N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Kwame was Thirsty
725 words

Kwame was thirsty. He leaned over sharp grass and ripped it from the roots. He brushed away a clod of thick, red dirt. His dry teeth snapped the white base of the plant. Precious little moisture hit his parched tongue. He was thankful for it, but it was not enough.

The sweat had left large stains on his shirt. Dark circles marred his threadbare shirt under his armpits and on the small of his back. There was another stain, however. A large, red one that made the shirt stick to his side. His fingers gingerly touched at it and his body involuntarily recoiled. The sun seemed brighter. Kwame sweated, but he shivered from a deep, mortal cold.

He remembered.

“We have heard they are going to attack us,” said the young man.
“We have nothing, what could they want from us?” asked Kwame.
“I do not know. But take your family away from here.”
“But my wife, she is sick, she cannot move.”
“You must,” he said, “I have to go and warn the others.”

Now,

Kwame had to stop walking. His legs burned. He sat down beside the sharp grass and weakly lifted his hand. It cast a little shade, providing some relief. He was thankful for it, but it was not enough.

He coughed violently, his tongue becoming coated in blood. A sickly mix of fear and relief hit him. He desperately held the liquid in his mouth, trying to coat his tongue, his gums, his lips. The metallic taste was too much and he spit it on the ground in front of him. His eyes failed to see the difference between it and the soil.


Yesterday,

The village was in flames.

A boy no older than 10 stood in front of Kwame. There was no anger in the child’s eyes, and no fear. Small, callused hands held onto a rifle. He clumsily let the barrel lean against the ground, the boy unsure of how to handle the device which was as long as he was tall. Kwame stood at the door, his hands on either side of the frame. If they weren’t gripping that, they would be shaking.

Kwame stared into those fearless, calm eyes. Did the child know what he was? Did the child know what his leaders did, what they wanted? The boy’s eyes widened and his mouth slightly opened. Before he could speak, a loud shot rang in the distance. The boy did not turn to look but Kwame did. He saw emerge from his neighbor’s house a soldier – no, a monster. In its eyes Kwame saw a depraved hunger. His eyes watered from the smoke which was quickly spreading.

Today,

Kwame ran his hands through the sharp grass. His back was against a brown and dry patch. With every movement, there was a loud crunch. He felt a beetle run across his arm, tickling him. He wished he could laugh but he was afraid of the pain it would bring. He turned his head to see the yellow-green bug. Another crunch. The beetle stopped and faced Kwame. He wondered if it came from his farm. Thick plates opened on its side and two transparent wings filled with brown veins emerged. Kwame felt the smallest stirring of winds as the beetle lifted itself to the blue, cloudless sky. He watched the yellow-green dot until it passed the sun. Kwame lost it as the beetle became one with the heavenly body.

Kwame closed his eyes and tried to rest. But, a crunch. A shadow covered Kwame’s eyes. He opened them and saw a young cub. Its eyes without malice. Kwame lifted his hand towards the cub and it leaned in closer. Kwame felt the soft, golden fur and silky, white whiskers. He looked deep into yellow eyes. The cat lazily licked Kwame’s hand with its scratchy, pink tongue. The cub rubbed itself against large, callused hands. It mewled quietly. And in this, Kwame found a peace.

From behind the cub, Kwame saw a pride noiselessly emerge. Lions surrounded him now but they simply stood and watched. Kwame’s eyes struggled to stay open as his head fell back to the dry and brittle grass. Another crunch. Kwame saw again the white and blinding sun. This whiteness became all he saw. And then, he felt nothing at all. He was thankful for this.

Only registered members can see post attachments!

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


LOU BEGAS MUSTACHE posted:

my reign of bumbling, inconsistent mediocrity continues forth

for us, victory is our name's not being on the board at all.



also, thx 4 the crits

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


I'll take the requests, I'm out this week.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


I prefer PMs but email is there for those who need it.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011



Really, don't post about the prompt unless you are me or crabrock, instead

Sitting Here posted:

POST THE 'DOMEST PICS U GOT

Only registered members can see post attachments!

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Every cute animal in these pictures represents one entry.









which is 21 in case you guys are too lazy to count

Good luck with the submissions folk, I eagerly await them!

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Also, we've got a this week

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Since I guess it wasn't explicitly stated, please include your word count with your entry. I've gotten a couple already where I've had to look it up myself.

If you don't do this, in return for this very minor inconvenience, I will replace every instance of one commonly used word with the phrase cum-guzzler.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Thanks for the crit.

ALSO,

I'm going to start posting stories anonymously here. For the love of god, don't point out which one is yours.

They will be trickling in slowly until the deadline hits. I don't know about you others, but I enjoy reading other people's stories and I didn't want to take that away from you during Anonymous Week. I'm also going to include pumpkin pictures with some relevance to the story, to stay in the spirit of all of this.



I've been informed that this may not be too cool to do. I won't be posting more stories.

N. Senada fucked around with this message at Nov 2, 2014 around 21:20

N. Senada
May 17, 2011




______________________________________

N. Senada fucked around with this message at Nov 2, 2014 around 21:20

N. Senada
May 17, 2011



_____________________________________________________

N. Senada fucked around with this message at Nov 2, 2014 around 21:20

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


N. Senada posted:

I've been informed that this may not be too cool to do. I won't be posting more stories.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


8 stories submitted

1 person admitted failure

That leaves a lot unaccounted for. Others may not know your shame for not submitting this week, but I shall etch your name into pristine ebony and my children's children shall know your failures.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Your generosity knows very specific, clock-based bounds.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


The most frequently used word - excluding poo poo like 'the' - when all texts were combined was Pumpkin with 154 occurrences.


crabrock posted:

Results Post for Week 117: Pumpkin Carving Adventures Doledrums

This is the Wall of Shame/Fame

Congrats to the latter, what the gently caress? to the former.


crabrock posted:

Winner - Pumpkin Dreams, one of the only stories that actually managed to TELL A STORY, not have some out-of-place gore insert, and bring us to a satisfying conclusion.
Obviously Kaishai

crabrock posted:

HM - A Curious Thing, a fun tale of time travel and who-dun-it that unfortunately ends too abruptly and doesn't have enough depth to be considered for the win
Chairchucker

crabrock posted:

HM - In Memoriam - A fun, jaunty tale of some kid and his dad, which unfortunately is just that. We all agreed we'd like to read more, but in and of itself, this is not a complete story.
{b}Tyrannosaurus[/b} and I'm personally [i}very{/i] sorry about the confusion on
code:
formatting
.

crabrock posted:

Loser - A Mother's Worst Fear - Holy MRA Batman. What the christ was going on in this story? It started off that one judge had this for the loss. As we discussed it more, the other two judges started frothing at the mouth and deemed that yes, this was the worst story. Not the most incomprehensible (congratulations #14), but the one that tried the most and fell flat on its face. We all hated reading this. Chicks sure are sluts, right?
Some Guy TT




crabrock posted:

DM - The Pilgrims and the Great Pumpkin - It's like somebody took a history lesson, put it into some sort of Google Translate, did that back and forth a few times and then pasted it as a story.

Tomn - Nonpartisan note 1 - this was the first submission I got and I didn't particularly dislike and it made me optimistic for the kind of insane stuff this prompt might provide.

Also, congrats Tomn on making the board your first time in TD. Stick with it, I lost, I think, my very first time (if not second).

crabrock posted:

DM - The Balad of Igor Shishkin - You typoed your title dude. I think that says enough.

JcDent - Nonpartisan Note 2 - This was the 6th story I received, and I was starting to feel less optimistic.


crabrock posted:

DM - Sclerotinia - Nobody knew what this story was trying to say or get at, even if some of the imagery is nice.

Hammer Bro

crabrock posted:

DM - Harvest Rites - Literally not one judge understood what the hell was going on here, and if this is even English.

ThirdEmperor This was story #14

crabrock posted:

DM - Pumpking - While this could have easily been stuck in the middle, your tactless portrayal of your side character really brought this down a level. Add in a totally unlikable main char, and you have a recipe for disaster.



Your Sledgehammer - fulfilling the Congratulations on not getting banned!


People who signed up but did not submit this week.

Toaster Beef

Fuschia Tude

Ironic Twist

NewTestLeper

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Also, for the Judges, here's the names linked with the story #
code:
1.	Tomn
2.	Jitzu the Monk
3.	Flosofl 
4.	Cacto
5.	Chairchucker
6.	Jc Dent
7.	Hammer Bro
8.	Ze Bourgeoisie
9.	Sitting Here
10.	Fumblemouse
11.	Some Guy TT
12.	Kaishai
13.	Grizzled Patriarch
14.	Third Emperor
15.	Nethilia
16.	Tyrannosaurus
17.	Your Sledgehammer (TOXX)
18.	Toaster Beef – No Entry
19.	Fuschia Tude – No Entry
20.	Ironic Twist – No Entry - Confirmed
21.	NewTestLeper – No Entry - Confirmed

N. Senada fucked around with this message at Nov 4, 2014 around 03:23

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


I'll post a key for the rest of you with story titles tomorrow, but I've been dealing with a sick kid all day and am ready to pass out.

It was fun getting to help out. Sorry about formatting issues, that was probably my fault. I tried to catch it before I posted it for judging. Sorry if I still messed up!

ceaselessfuture posted:

Wait, did you guys not get my story then?

I might have sent it to the wrong email, I guess. NSenada@gmail.com?


e: oh poo poo, NSenadaSA haha ha ha..

Mind if I post it anyway?

ee: gently caress i am actually upset about this, sorry dudes.

Sorry about that, hope there's somebody out there that really enjoyed reading unsolicited flash fiction with pumpkin references.

kurona_bright posted:

The second one, I guess. I honestly thought I pm'd N. Senada...
Oh, well. Sorry about that.

I double-checked my messages and emails but didn't see your entry. Sorry

Maybe claim it's Lowtax's fault and sue him or something.

flosofl posted:

Correction: 3. Flosofl

poo poo, sorry, I blame my tired brain and poor writing skills. Fixed

N. Senada
May 17, 2011



This legit spooked me into thinking I had missed the deadline for the brawl.

I'll have my story up in a few hours.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Mercedes posted:

MERC-BRAWL 6: MERCALICIOUS: Surreal Halloween



N. Senada


This was a neat challenge and I had fun trying to come up with ways to do this perspective. I've never written anything that tried to be 2spooky before.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Maternal Drives – 1771 words

I am to become Legion. I sit in the red warmth, nibbling at every platelet that passes by me. I nourish myself on the never-ending supply of nutrients. I thank my host the only way I know how. I evacuate myself over every cell I meet, coating them with my most intimate of products. Slowly, they are me. At first one, but with one I take two. Now I am four and soon I am Legion.

I love. I seek to please myself and my beautiful host. My siblings surround me and we produce incestuous beauty. I penetrate their waste-covered exteriors and reach deep. I grab my siblings at their core, and rip out ribosomes. I devour them with a lustful hunger. In the void, I relieve myself. I am in ecstasy.

With every cell I turn sibling, with every cell I love, we grow. I am above them all but cannot, will not remove myself from them. We are loving and we are sensuous. Without them, I would be so scared. How thankful I am to my host. In return for its precious cells, I spread my message throughout. I call to all parts. I send my lovers, my precious children and siblings, to all places. Soon, my host is filled with the sensuous love of my excrement.

It is the only way I know how to say thank you.

There are times where I miss Mother. I know that once I was like all other cells. They are anonymous and without pleasure. But then Mother gave me identity, Mother filled me with sticky love. I was awakened and I loved. I miss Mother.

When She fell to the violence, to the ignorant explorers, I was one of the many fragments that exploded from Her. In the terrifying void, I flew, being carried by forces I did not see. Not like here, not like with my host. Every movement, every contraction is understood. The great organ pushes and pulls me hither and thither. I am among similar beasts who work for the host. I liberate them from their dreariness so that we may celebrate the host. In this safe and warm space, all things make sense. And in this safety, I love.

It takes a long while, but I am finally here in the great organ. Its reverberating rhythm carried me here and I embrace it. Every pump excites me, arouses me. I cannot help but release myself in this orgy. Every cell in the great organ speeds up as the pumping gets faster. It loves me back! I return the gesture with similar zeal as I call my children over the organ, surrounding it. Yes, oh Mother, yes. I push myself deep into the chambers and fill every one with my most intimate fluids. Yes, faster, faster, faster, I want to love you host! I think of Mother and I ejaculate with a force that renders me dizzy. When I realize where I am, I know that there is nowhere I am not. I am Legion and I love my host.


It has been some time since I took residence in the great organ which I’ve come to know as the heart. I have spread to every part and my children now carry my message of love all over the host. Soon all cells will be my lovers, be my cherished darlings. I am embarrassed to admit that I cannot recall the minute details about them all anymore. I lose myself among them and wish I could count them all again and again, like I did in the beginning. I know now my Mother’s pain. I never thought I’d be in this position, I thought I could stay in Her bosom forever. How I miss being penetrated by Her.

I am now everywhere, infiltrating every cell and I cannot help but see imperfections in my host. It would be rude not to correct these. I reform the tissues and organs. I meet in the lungs a cancer. My children encounter it and it is foolish enough to attempt to take my children. Does this cancer not know the love of a Mother? I spread myself into the corrupted cells, attempting to reconcile with the lost one. It rejects me? It rejects me! I consume it. With violence I surround the beast and I eat every cell. In the void where the lungs would be, I feel an emptiness. At my seat deep in my host’s chest, I notice the calming rhythm has stopped. My children are static.

In my zeal to protect my children, I have hurt my host. It is more vulnerable than I thought. It has so many organs, why would this one pair matter so much? It is not my place to rudely question however. I replace the void with my children, forming them into more perfect lungs. My children link together and take form. I excite the heart and pump my children deep into a gray, curvaceous, and superior replica of the host’s lungs.

Preemptively, I replace the others parts as well. I will not let my host succumb to villains like that cancer. Kidneys, bladder, pancreas, and – what are these? I find two luscious orbs which are filled with a new sort of cell. How have I never been with these before? Their smell is erotic, their flavor like milky tears. I cannot help but relieve myself. I push deeper and find a flimsy, fleshy rod. My children engorge it and, in response, my host convulses involuntarily in delight. My joy is overwhelming.

I have found a way to please my host and I continue to do so. Over and over again I excite my host. These new cells rush past me and free themselves into the void. What brave creatures they are. I do this again and again and again and again and again and again. My host is shaking with pleasure, or is it exhaustion? I seek out more of the white, wriggling cells that I originally found. There are none though, just a translucent liquid which seeps out through the rod. It is a flavorless paste.

I am disappointed until the next day when I discover more of the sickly sweet spermatozoa emerge from the depths of these orbs. I excite my host again and again and again…

Elsewhere, I head in another direction. I discover a fleshy mass which seems to already be made in my image. I know I have not been here, though. My children saturate a mass of grey lumps. Shocks of sodium hit me as I massage this tightly packed mass of neurons.

As I reach deep into folds, I sense something other than my children. I feel crying, I feel pain. I reach out to this pain and offer my love. But, I am spurned. Is this another cancer, another callous entity that would challenge my host and me? But no, that was unfeeling, uncaring, and unafraid. This new thing is different. I find myself forming words to reach out to the cowering being but I am unable to speak or it is unable to hear. So I just listen.

“Please God, let this end. That thing killed so many of us. I tried to stop it, but it just kept coming back. No, no, no, God, no! I am getting the same hard masses on my body that Jeremy did. We should’ve never come up here. Man isn’t meant to be up here. God, please let the cancer kill me now. Oh god, it’s happening again! Oh god, why do I keep coming, why is this happening to me!”

Is this my host? This pathetic, whining beast? It wishes to embrace the cancer, the selfish thing that served only itself and did not think about the welfare of the host. It wishes for death. It spurns the excitement I made for it. I have been a fool.

This host cares not for me, then I shall no longer rule for its benefit. I could have provided you immortality, an unending love that would last the ages. But you seek out death, that terrifying evil which ends pleasure, ends existence. I understand now why Mother sought to destroy those other sentient creatures like my host. They were foolish idolaters, a cult of disparate creatures who embraced mortality. They were not united like my children and I.

I overtake my host, removing this thinking organ from it. I fill the void and take the body as my own. If the host will not seek to celebrate pleasure, than I will in its place. I send my children to all parts and I continue to excite and bring joy to this body. Once I control everything, I will spread my message of love to other creatures. I am Legion.



-------------------------------



“Why haven’t they called back yet?” asked Bill.
“Everything’s reporting back like it’s fine. Autopilot’s engaged, but the stasis chambers are turned off. I guess the comms might be broken,” said Harry.
“Christ, it’s just one thing after another with this loving mission.”
“Come on, we need to meet with them at the dock or else they won’t get in.”

Bill and Harry made their way to the docking station and began the procedure of linking the small ship to the satellite. The third and only other person on the station examined them using a video feed. His name was Christopher. Christopher saw a figure covered in gray lumps emerge from the ship. It was Ben. Christopher ran to the weapons locker.


Harry and Bill, when they first saw Ben, were confused. They both opened their mouths to ask questions, but they never got the chance. Ben, or whatever Ben had become, reached out to them with a sickly mix of semen and blood which propelled out of an erect and necrotic penis. Harry and Bill began to choke as their eyes filled with fear. They both reached into their mouths and tried to claw out the substance, but they found instead that their hands would get caught in it.

The Ben-Creature’s mouth formed a crude and inhuman smile. That was when Christopher arrived. He impotently pointed his weapon against the Ben-Creature. The Ben-Creature laughed from a place deep within and shambled towards Christopher. He unleashed a torrent of gunfire and the Ben-Creature laughed. Harry and Bill, struggling to breathe, collapsed to the ground as their faces turned sickly shades of gray and blue. Where there was four, was now two. Soon there would be one.


Christopher stared into the face of an unending and inhuman Motherly love.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Mercedes posted:

Feels great when people submit (on time.)

We must give merc to the merc-god.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


When you get in the Dome, prepared to be hit hard.

You went too far Crabrock, I am weeping

Only registered members can see post attachments!

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


quote:


Also N. Senada gets a free precrit and line crit useable at any time for being so kind as to expose himself to the impact of all these bad, bad stories.
Thanks!

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


I'll do this and am In.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


blue squares posted:

1. This is unfair and I'm going to cry.
2. What am I even supposed to do with that video
1b. That was more an explicative like when stubbing one's toe than a name-calling. Just for the Official Thunderdome Record.

Edit

Hey hey I'm new. Calm down motherfucker

you are a superstar, embrace the fame

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


I like how your av is slightly bigger than others that are otherwise the same.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


You have an unnecessary comma in your third sentence.

E. You could use one there, but there's no ambiguity as to who's doing the action.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


When you use 'thrown' as an adjective, you deprive us of the action that would otherwise describe the scene. While not a technical fault, I still do not like it.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


What I'm saying is you should probably edit your document and correct these few things we've pointed out. What's the worst that could happen?

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Sitting Here posted:

Cash-Bro Brawl

I want you to tell me, in 2000 words, due by November 21st at midnight PST, a story inspired by the concept of social capital. Cache Cab, you will have to use your imagination because you'll never know what it's like to have social capital.

Remember, this is a . If either of you fail to submit, your name will forever be stricken from the book of goon. At least until you cough up :tenbux:

If Cab loses, can he get a still bigger version of the avatar? This is my thanksgiving and bday wish.

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N. Senada
May 17, 2011


It's like there's an end-of-year reckoning taking over the dome.

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