|# ¿ Jan 1, 2014 03:34|
|# ¿ Dec 1, 2023 06:09|
The Sea's A Harsh Mistress 1,140 Words
The year The Baron spent in dry-dock was one of the worst years of his life, the air and wind that surrounded him were nothing compared to the heaviness only the salt and brine of the seas embrace. A new layer of paint donned his hull, slapped on in preparation for the battle that was ahead. Swearing rubber skinned creatures manned the battle stations, prepped with instruments of destruction.
It hadn’t always been like this. The time spent in the dry dock changed him. It seemed like forever ago that he counted the sea as a friend but that was only because the time was buried beneath the hate and the betrayal, like the leagues of ocean that hid the seas bounties.
When he was christened, it was as a sightseeing vessel. Sometimes he showed off packs of dolphins, others pods of whales, big-fin tuna made an appearance occasionally, but whales were the big draw. The sea always helped him in his endeavors, whispering to him through playful touches the best areas to search for animals. It was as happy to share it’s creatures with him as he was to share with the animals from the land.
He became known amongst the land dwellers as a reliable guide to the sea. Land dwellers from far and wide paid great amounts to take a journey with him. To see the animals that he offered. With the sea’s guidance, it was as easy as chugging along until he reached the animals then idling whilst the land dwellers pressed metal contraptions to their faces and cooed in awe and admiration. The Baron loved the admiration that his job afforded him, the smiles and the happiness. Knowing that his every movement and action was accompanied by the kind words and thoughts of his friend gave him confidence to move as he liked. Until the day that the sea decided to use him for one if it’s crusades.
Whilst making record time on the way to a pod of whales The Baron’s boat rotor became tangled in a crab fishing pod. Not just one pod, but two. He dragged them along the sea while they tangled around his rotors. His motor chugged to a violent stop, gears smoking. Passengers were thrown forward with violence as the forward momentum was broken.
“What is going on?” The Baron said.
“You’ve hit a snag, I suppose,” the sea responded.
“You told me this way was safe.”
“It wasn’t safe for you, or for the people you’re carrying. Nor is it safe for the creatures I hold dearest.”
“Are you joking? What am I, a tool?”
“No more than I am a tool of yours. You use me for your own benefit, like a sentient map. The creatures you ferry about pollute and laugh and sure they gasp when they see a pretty whale but they never change their ways.”
“gently caress you, I don’t control them any more than you do.”
“No, but maybe this inconvenience with convince this lot to never come back out here again.”
The Baron sat silent, too steamed to respond. It took tow-boats hours to respond and drag him back to the dry-docks for repairs. His impeccable reputation tarnished, the last passengers he saw unhappy with their treatment.
As he sat in dry-dock longer and longer he grew angrier as did his hate for everything the sea held dear. The sea had banished him to this prison, and he intended to punish it as best he could. He touched himself up with a coat of war paint for effect. The black paint replaced the white paint on his hull, his name changing from dark paint to white paint.
It was not long after his parts had been replaced that he was ready to set out again. His new crew was better suited for the task at hand, taking everything and anything the sea held dear. The next day he set out on his voyage, prepared to use the sea’s secrets against it.
He began by trawling for cod. Large nets dragged along the sea picking up thousands of fish and bringing them inside his newly outfitted hold. A prison for the creatures the sea held in higher regard than him.
“What are you doing?” The sea asked him. “Why are you doing this to us?”
“Do you really have to ask?” The Baron responded. “You brought this upon yourself.”
“You caught me off guard this time, but if you come back out here to harvest some of my children again, you won’t be allowed back.”
“Do your worst. My days as an arbiter of the best you have to offer is over.”
After unloading his cargo of cod at a manufacturing plant he set out again. This time for the crab that the sea held so dear. It was a clear morning when he took off for the crab migration grounds, though as he got closer to his destination that started to change.
“Turn back or I’ll end you.” The sea boomed over the surf.
“gently caress off,” The Baron replied.
He wanted to catch as many crabs as possible, snatch as many beings from the grasp of the sea as he could. He pressed on undeterred by the heightening waves or the darkening clouds. It would take a lot more than that to stop him from his objective.
As he dropped his first crab pots it began to rain. The sky darkened as the clouds accumulated over him. The seas picked up and began to rock him from side to side. Winds picked up and whipped him back and forth. The workers on his deck fell down, large waves that crashed onto the deck knocking them off their feet to carom from side to side.
“You think this will stop me?” He screamed.
The winds picked up, the clouds above him darkening further. He pressed forward, working up twenty foot waves then crashing down the other side. Each fall giving a sense of his bottom falling out until it was caught and smashed back in place on the next twenty foot incline. The rain picked up, each drop a small fist that exploded on his decks. The waves smashed into his hull faster and faster. He continued onwards, his new engines struggling against the increased work-load. Suddenly, a monster wave forty feet high rose above him, blocking out the horizon. Nowhere to run, he gunned his engines, then a lightning bolt sliced out of the sky and shorted his power. His engines died, and with them all hope of making it over the wave. He braced himself, expecting to flip but he was light enough that he wouldn’t sink. The wave upended him, and he flipped over, then began to sink. The extra thousands of pounds of traps dragging him down to the depths.
|# ¿ Jan 6, 2014 04:08|
I'm in, thanks for the crits guys. dialogue is my weak point as is every other part of writing. But can't get better if you don't write.
|# ¿ Jan 7, 2014 13:20|
Life’s a Rat-Race
Wordcount: 1012 including title.
“Race ya to the car?” David asked. “Winner buys the first round at the bar?”
“Sure,” Sam replied. “Start on three?”
“Yeah, sounds good.” David said.
“3. . . 2. . . 1. . . GO!!” Sam said. Then jumped out the window. David followed a second later. Fuckin’ cheater. David knew he shouldn’t have let him count. The air whizzed past his face and the pressure on his eyes made them water. In a few seconds he’d impact with the ground. He made his body as compact as possible against the air-resistance to gain speed, but he still didn’t catch up with Sam. Stupid fat-rear end Sam. Sam smashed into the pavement, his fat belly splitting up the middle like a paper bag giving way after being over-stuffed with oranges. The two arms he had used to shield his face snapped, his wrist bones ripping through the skin in his arms. Then David hit the pavement himself and blacked out.
A few minutes later David came to, his body slowly pulling itself back together, the bones in his arm fusing back together. He looked over at Sam, whose fat was worming it’s way back into his belly. He hadn’t regained consciousness yet, so victory was still possible. He rolled to his back, and took a couple deep breaths, his car was only a few feet away. His arms, legs, ribs, ankles, and collarbones burned as the shattered bones fused back together.
“I’m gonna beat you Sam, you better hurry upppppp!” David called mockingly.
Sam groaned, a low guttural sound, his head rolled back and forth as he squirmed on the ground. The muscles in his neck had lost all semblance of strength from whiplash. “Uhnnnnnnnnn,” gurgled out his lips through gritted cracked teeth.
David stood up, he stumbled into the hood of the car. “I win!” He yelled, then he did a jig.
Sam groaned again and slowly stood up. “How do you recover so quickly?” Sam grumbled, “You got some drat good genetics.”
The tracks were down the street from office building, they got there for the beginning of happy hour. They made their way down the long opening concourse then found their regular seats at the bar, overlooking the tracks.
“Mac Green racing today Eddie?” David asked.
“Nope, his bike is still being repaired. He should be good to go tomorrow or the next day they’re thinking,” Eddie said. “The usual for you boys?”
“Yep,” David replied.
“Two pitchers coming up,” Eddie said.
A low gumble came rolled through the stadium, the ten racers had entered the track. Only a few minutes left until the race started, betting was about to close.
“Any tips on these guys Eddie?”
“I heard this new guy Rodriguez has been tearing up the pro tracks in Mexico. He’s going places, he wont be racing in this league for too long. Can’t see these guys touching him,” Eddie said.
“Good enough for me,” David said. He placed a small bet on Rodriguez, using the computer terminal on the bar. “You guys hear they passed down the verdict for the ponzi scheme fucker. What was his name,”
“Broeger?” Sam asked, “that trial is still going on?”
“Yeah- Broeger. They passed down the sentence, he’s getting a month in the vats. Can you imagine that? A whole month in the vats, acid burning away at your skin. Constant pain,” David shuddered, “remind me to never steal.”
“Shiiiiit,” Sam said, and finished off his beer and signaled for another. “Serves him right ruining all those people’s lives. Wonder how many people are homeless cause of that poo poo.”
“Still, a month? That’s a long loving time.” David asked.
The last few seconds ticked off the clock on the monitor then betting was closed. The monitor switched to a top down view of the racers as they lined up. Rodriguez was riding a ruby red cycle, and was in the furthest lane on the outside. With a shot from a starters pistol the race was commenced.
Rodriguez got off to a bad start, he fell to the back of the pack. Rounding the first turn one of the home town favorites, Big Deke, smashed his front wheel into the back-wheel of the racer in front of him, causing him to lose control and smash into the wall. His cycle smashing into two pieces he rolled four times ending sprawled on the track. Rodriguez ran over one of the downed riders arms, his back wheel swinging wide from the bump, but with a jerk he regained control. gently caress, that was a close one. loving Deke. Come on Rod, lets go.
Rodriguez closed the distance, then took a hand off the handlebar and began fumbling with something in his pants leg. Driving one handed at these types of speeds was dangerous. What the gently caress is he doing? He’s loving around with my money, not taking this poo poo seriously. Rodriguez brought his second hand back to the steering wheel, but it looked like something long was in his hand.
Coming to the final straightaway Rodriguez closed the distance fast, he had taken second place and only Deke was in front of him. gently caress, Deke’s letting him catch up, he’s gonna try and take him out. Deke, you loving poo poo. Rodriguez pulled alongside Deke. Deke attempted to ram him, but Rodriguez responded quickly, and then smashed him in the face with a metal rod. Deke tumbled off his bike, which rolled riderless into the grass in the center of the track. Rodriguez crossed the finish line in first, his hand with the rod clenched in it raised in victory.
“Fuckin’ told ya didn’t I Davey?” Eddie said with a grin.
“That you did. Next rounds on me Sammy,” David said. The clean-up crews were making quick work of the carnage on the track. A retired fire truck trundled along the track to wash away the pools of blood left on the track.
“This next race is going to be slippery, O’Connor was always good with water on the track.”
“O’Connor it is then,” David said.
No Longer Flaky fucked around with this message at 20:53 on Jan 11, 2014
|# ¿ Jan 11, 2014 20:51|
Life sucks -I don't know how many words.
Orbs propelled upwards by long striding muscle, slopes round and beautiful work against gravity held in place by taught ropes. Oscillating lenses follow movement, hydraulic shift. Cloth pulled tight against natures flow. Quickly the warm blooded balloon is hidden, shame and embarrassment follow. Warm liquid runs against gravity to sit under the crust like lava changing the color of the environment. A creature betrayed by desire.
Sorry for edit phone posted and forgot to bold title. I suck
No Longer Flaky fucked around with this message at 16:48 on Jan 14, 2014
|# ¿ Jan 14, 2014 16:38|
God drat it. Two losses in three thunderdomes. Not saying I didn't deserve it or anything. I defer to outsiders judgement
I won't lose the next thunderdome. This is an early entry but I won't lose it.
|# ¿ Jan 14, 2014 20:50|
I have no idea what to make of this story, so I'm just going to insert my thoughts as I read it as a crit.
To Beard or Not To Beard
That certainly is a collection of words.
|# ¿ Jan 15, 2014 11:52|
Gold in the Rough
Plop. Plop. Ppfth. Plop. Luke stood up from the toilet to wipe. Then he saw it. His jaw dropped. It can’t be, he thought. He crouched to get a better look. Holy loving poo poo. There’s a piece of corn in my poo poo. Impulsively he snatched the log out of the water.
There it was, a bright golden kernel shining bright against the light brown poo poo containing it. He snapped a photo with his phone, then dropped the poo poo back in the toilet. He washed his hands then walked back into the bedroom “I almost died yesterday! Can you believe it?” But the bedroom was empty. Mary had left for the gym early today.
He had dodged a bullet for sure, Luke was deathly allergic to corn. When did I eat corn? Why didn’t I have a reaction? Even touching corn produced hives all over his body and causes his throat to close up. Eating it would kill him within minutes, an Epipen would only reduce symptoms for a few minutes, by the end of which he would have to be in a hospital or he’d be dead.
He opened his food-log for yesterday to check what he ate. Seven am- health smoothie at home. Ten am- granola and greek yogurt. Noon- salad. Three pm- veggies and fruits. Then for dinner at six thirty pm smoked salmon and rice pilaf for dinner. Was the tamper-proof seal of tape broken on his Tupperware at work? No, he would have remembered if it was. Plus who would poison him there? That weasel eyed midget John? It’s true he was upset that his hours had been cut, but he was too big of a pussy to poison anyone. Wasn’t he? But if not John then who?
Last night Mary had been really insistent about cooking dinner. Weirdly so. She said she was tired of all the health food. Luke suggested she bake some brownies, he even said she could put some icing on top. That had been a good compromise. He had always told her that those brownies were filled with sugars and fats and salts that would kill her someday. A despicable thought popped into his head, had she turned his words around on him? Stuffed some corn under the icing she laid on top of the brownies. He pictured her laughing to herself as she stuffed some secret corn underneath the icing on his piece. But she wouldn’t do that, would she? She had watched him intently as he ate it.
Luke heard the door front door slam, Mary was already back from her workout.
Mary came through the bedroom door, a look of surprise on her face when she saw Luke.
“Surprised to see me up and out of bed, honey?” Luke asked.
“No, just usually you’re getting ready for work, you have to be at the gym in twenty minutes don’t you?” Cheryl asked.
“Come over here, I have to show you something that I found this morning. Maybe you can explain to me what it is,” Luke replied holding out his phone to show her the picture he took earlier.
Cheryl bent close and looked at the picture, “Ewww gross. Is that poop?”
“Yes it’s poop, what else would it be?” Luke asked, “See that yellow right there? See that?? It’s corn. Why would there be corn in my poo poo Cheryl?”
“How should I know? Did you eat corn yesterday?”
“No I didn’t eat any corn, I’m allergic remember? I’d die if I ate it, don’t play dumb with me.”
“You don’t need to raise your voice at me,” Cheryl said.
“Oh? I’m not allowed to be angry when someone tries to murder me? That’s not a suitable time to yell?” Luke asked, spittle flying with every syllable.
“You need to calm down,” Cheryl said. “You’re scaring me.”
“Just admit that you did it and I’ll think about whether or not I can forgive you,” Luke said. He had begun to pace the room.
“I’m leaving, you’re crazy,” Cheryl said. She gathered some clothes then left. “Only you could get so upset about some corn in their poo poo. rear end in a top hat.”
Good riddance you poisoning bitch, Luke thought. Don’t need you anyways. He pulled out his phone again to inspect the picture again, fuming. He zoomed the picture in close, then noticed something he hadn’t before. The “corn” shone oddly bright in the light. Brighter than a kernel of corn should after it had been passed through the digestive tract. It had some weird indentations in it also, cracks and juts in the bottom and smooth rounded sides. Then it hit him, he reached up and felt for the gold cap that the dentist had implanted a few years ago after a root canal. It was missing.
Oh gently caress, he thought
|# ¿ Jan 20, 2014 02:57|
|# ¿ Jan 21, 2014 01:22|
It seemed like an eternity and a half had passed since the nurse had told them the doctor would be in momentarily. “How much longer mommy?” Lynnie asked.
“Not much longer,” Lynnie’s mom Amber said. She pulled her sunglasses out of her purse along with a cherry jolly rancher. She unwrapped it and gave it to Lynnie. “This should hold you over ‘till the doctor gets here. Now sit there quietly like a good little girl.” She opened a People magazine and began leafing through it.
Lynn popped the candy in her mouth. She had had a good time at school that day. In science they did an experiment with volcanoes. The foam exploded out of the tippy top and poured down the sides. She laughed at the rememberance. Yellow and red foam bubbling out of the crater. It smelled like when mom mopped up the floor after she spilled her red cool-aid. The volcanoes barfing, ewwwwww Richard had yelled. That was so funny. She laughed harder.
Amber sighed loudly.
Lynn put her hand in her pocket. Small sand particles gritted on her hand. Mom had yelled at her for having sand in her pockets when she got home. She tried to tell her mom about Richard. Richard threw sand at her at recess. Richard pulled her pig-tails in the lunch line. But mom didn’t care. Richard got her in trouble. Richard was mean.
The door opened quickly and a man in a white coat with short dark hair entered the room. “Hello,” he said “I’m Dr. Meretti.” He held his hand out for Amber. She shook it.
“The nurse told me you’re having some trouble with hyperactivity?” Meretti asked.
Hyper what? Like after I eat candy? Lynn thought.
“Yes, little lynnie here is very overactive. She can never sit still; she’s always getting in trouble at school, and is just being disruptive. It’s all I can do to keep her on top of things. I’m really at my wits end here,” Amber said.
“Ok. From the charts here, and from what you’ve told me it sounds like little Lynnie here has got a textbook case of Attention Deficit Disorder. Do you know what that is?” Dr. Meretti asked.
Attention what? Lynn thought. Her heart began to beat quickly. She was sick? She didn’t feel sick.
“Yes, I know what that is, the Parkers kid Walter has a bad case of that,” Amber said. “Or at least he did, until they gave him a trepane or something.”
“Trepanning. Yes it’s a simple procedure and it works to alleviate the symptoms that come from the swelling of the brain. We open a small hole in the skull, and it will alleviate 99% of the symptoms. Of course like all procedures, nothing is guaranteed but this is an incredibly simple procedure.”
“Well, ok. But is it covered by insurance?” Amber asked. She took off her sunglasses and had begun to massage her temples.
“Yes it’s covered entirely by insurance. There are some pills we can try, but there are a lot of side-effects. Best to stick with the tried and true method.” Meretti said.
Lynn had finished the hard candy. She began to kick her legs back and forth as if they were pendulums hanging from the edge of her chair. Her pink shoes produced an echo as if she were kicking sheet-metal drums as they banged into the metal observation table in the center of the room. This is so boring she thought.
Amber violently rested her hand on Lynn’s leg and said sharply “stop!”
Lynn jerked her legs to a stop.
“When can we do the surgery?” Amber asked.
|# ¿ Jan 26, 2014 15:16|
I'm in 1990
|# ¿ Jan 28, 2014 12:02|
Sorry it's late.
The crack in my couch keeps stealing my things. At first I thought it was just accidents, I thought I just missed my pocket when placing an item in there, or things were sliding out of pockets. I mean how could a couch actually steal items? It makes no sense. It’s not like the couch massage the keys out of my sweatpants or make me drop the skittles out of my hands. Could it?
Where else would dropped items go if not the crack? The cushions sloped towards it, gravity forced them along the hill to the valley of darkness. It couldn’t be helped that things would be found in that that I searched all over the drat house for. It’s just they always seemed to be in the crack. Any item that I lost nine times out of ten would be right there in the crack. A quick lift of the cushion would reveal them, staring at me as if they had a big dumb smirk on their face. Like they were saying “Gotcha” over and over and over again as I found item after item in my loving couch.
I marked it up to coincidence until I started finding larger and larger items in my couch. When my bike went missing that’s when I knew that it could no longer be a coincidence. The bike should have been waiting for me in my garage, hanging from a hook in the ceiling. Instead it was wedged underneath the cushions of my couch, the handlebar sticking up like a cowards white flag of surrender.
A bike in the couch is not comfortable, nor does it make any sense. If I had a roommate we would have had a stern talking to about boundaries and not hiding others items. But I don’t and I didn’t. Instead I sat down very hard on my couch and had a stern talk with it. I outlined the expectations I expected from my couch, that it be inanimate, that it allow me to sit on it without complaint and that it not steal my things. The second and third item shouldn’t have had to be mentioned as they are included in the first one, but I felt that I should be thorough with such a renegade household item as this drat couch.
He didn’t listen. When I woke up to wrestling my television away from the couch one night, I decided action must be taken. I slept the rest of the night in my room with my door locked. The next day I purchased an axe from home depot. It was a large axe with a wooden handle and a sharp blue-metallic blade. Perfect for couch destruction, the worker assured me. When I got home I made easy work of the couch. Each swing created another crack for things to fall into, but also was another swing towards its inevitable destruction. When I was finally done, and the couch was in 15 separate pieces, I lugged them into the back of my car and took them to the dump.
I wasn’t sad to see it go.
I slept well that night, knowing that the couch’s reign of terror was finally over.
That morning I found my wallet in the fridge.
No Longer Flaky fucked around with this message at 06:28 on Feb 3, 2014
|# ¿ Feb 3, 2014 06:26|
“Olag, did you fart?” Pall asked.
“No,” Olag said “It was probably you, rear end in a top hat.”
“I didn’t do poo poo,” Pall said “Gurd, did you do it?”
“No, I didn’t. I do smell it though, it smells worse than a sheeps rear end in a top hat,” Gurd said.
The fart in question seemed to be gaining precedence as time went on. The smell began to overpower the feast that sat in front of them, pillaged from the villagers and cooked at knife-point by them. It was a sulfurous devilish smell, like hard boiled eggs that had been cooked in a hot spring.
“Well would someone please open a window, that smell is disgusting,” Pall said.
Olag opened a window. The smell intensified ten-fold with the opening. “Uhh, guys,” Olag said.
“What,” they asked in unison.
“D d d dragon,” Olag said. He tripped backwards away from the window then scrambled under the table.
“What?” Pall said, then the hall was engulfed in flames. All of them died in agony, along with the other dudes that were there that weren’t privy to the fart conversation. Not only four dudes could possibly raid and plunder an English village, that’d be stupid.
|# ¿ Feb 3, 2014 08:29|
Hildegarde burst through the door and wedged it closed behind her, fighting off papier-maché axes. The entry point secured, she turned like a mad woman on Sven. “WHERE THE gently caress ARE THE CANAPES?”
I really have no sense of the universe in which this is occurring. Why are they using paper-mache axes? They're in a thatched roof house, some of which still exist in England, but why are they in one? Why is the oven that they're cooking pigs in a blanket using an open flame? I've only cooked pigs in a blanket in a normal oven, but it seems like an open flame would be bad in a thatched roof house. (Maybe I'm wrong on that point, if so tell me why). Why was she wearing a helmet? Was that paper mache as well?
What was the abyss? The arms of the others? What was the puppet show? Eight bells and nap time? I don't understand. Are these toddlers?
I am just confused.
Not all is bad in it, it's well written for the most part but the points I made above are things that are alluded to that I just don't understand. It's not technical faults within the story that I have a problem with, it's the allusions to other things that the reader should know that make no sense. (at least to me).
Is the speaker a part of the fraternity? Why did he feel the need to drink with Olaf? So the MC got drunk and hosed the professors wife and or daughter? Well, that's not really relatable. It makes very little sense to be sending an email about this event rather than talking to the professor in person seeing as a lot is at stake for the MC. Maybe I'm biased as I'd never do that kind of thing to someone, but who knows. Those were the questions that were raised when I read your piece.
No Longer Flaky fucked around with this message at 10:09 on Feb 3, 2014
|# ¿ Feb 3, 2014 10:05|
In with Francium
|# ¿ Feb 4, 2014 08:12|
So I noticed no one critiqued my story, is that because it was submitted after the deadline? Is that just how it goes with The Thunderdome? If so, that's fine.
|# ¿ Feb 6, 2014 08:48|
If you want a crit ask for one.
I mean I do, I'm just curious if you submit late then you don't get a crit.
Not trying to be passive agressive or whatever, just curious.
Crit my work and I'll crit yours. Anyone who crits my stories will get a crit from me in return, that's my plan from now on.
|# ¿ Feb 6, 2014 09:17|
I cirt your trepanation story, crit my viking tale lol
No Longer Flaky fucked around with this message at 10:52 on Feb 6, 2014
|# ¿ Feb 6, 2014 10:20|
I don't know how this will turn up since I'm using a phone. I had a lot of Chang beer and Bangkok is not as crazy a warzone, don't have a computer, Didn't bother editing or counting words and I'm sure most of this don't make sense. But it's probably very Viking to write without giving a poo poo.
|# ¿ Feb 6, 2014 10:51|
I saw a part of a show the other day about the 'smartest computer ever', a computer named Watson, who ended up being coded well enough such that he/it whatevs eventually won Jeopardy against the two greatest Jeopardy winners ever. An interesting show, and one bit that stuck with me was when they were training the computer up for this eventual showdown, the person who was asking the questions was a comedian who, when Watson gave a particularly silly wrong answer (they were still fixing up his pattern recognition and stuff) would rip on Watson a bit, because he's a comedian and that's what he does. The comedian made the comment that Watson was 'the perfect straight man' because he/it genuinely just does not understand the concept of humour.
The first paragraph of this piece is completely useless. It says in a ton of words what the second paragraph gets across in two sentences. The second paragraph actuall makes sense and I don't have a problem with. But if a long drawn out two paragraph thought can be expressed in two sentences what's the point?
|# ¿ Feb 6, 2014 13:03|
This robot challenges chairchucker to a brawl. Bring it bitch.
|# ¿ Feb 6, 2014 16:47|
Hey Flaky, if CC is being a big baby, I'm always down for a rematch.
I'm down to clown. Let's do this!
|# ¿ Feb 6, 2014 20:18|
Word Count: 1013
I had never heard of Francium until my friend Chad mentioned how great the Francium tablets he had were at curbing his appetite. He had lost ten pounds since he had started taking them, or so he had said. I was intrigued but skeptical. I didn’t want to get my hopes up because this wasn’t the first time that Chad had claimed that some new thing had been a catalyst to major weight loss.
Ten pounds, while good, was just a drop in the pond for Chad. Not to mention that it seemed like over the past year of fad diets he’d been trying he’d gained and lost those same ten pounds at least six times. Only time would tell if the Francium tablets were truly the godsend he had been praying for.
He had gotten the pills from a guy at a bar. Well, he didn’t buy them at a bar, he met the guy at a bar. His name was Jack I think. He said he knew Jack from way back and that he’d been huge when he knew him. He said he hardly even recognized him the guy had lost so much weight. “You gotta try this stuff,” he had said to me. “It’s kinda expensive, but totally worth it.”
“I want to meet this guy first, hear about the tablets first hand from the guy,” I had said.
“I totally understand,” Chad said “I was actually going to go see Jack tonight, you free to come along?”
I said I was and we made plans for it. If these tablets were as good as Chad said then I would definitely pick some up. I’d save them meditative fasting, none of the self-help gurus said anything about performance enhancing drugs being off limits.
We were meeting Jack at 7:00 at the bowling alley he owned. I showed up on time and noticed Chad sitting in his car, early like always. As I walked up to his window he noticed me. He smiled at me. He got out and we walked towards the building together.
“Just let me do the talking to begin with, Jack’s only got a small supply of these. They’re in such high demand he doesn’t like lots of people knowing he’s got them. He’d have people constantly bugging him for stuff at the alley,” Chad said.
That sounded a little weird to me, but some people are just weird. Chad wasn’t the most normal person in the world either.
The bowling alley was mostly empty, only a few people playing games in random alleys.
“Chad! How’s it going buddy?” The man behind the counter said. He had oily black hair and a well kept mustache. I recognized him immediately.
A few weeks back I had responded to an ad on craigslist for a 40 inch LED tv. It was an extremely low price, but the ad said he needed money for rent and was desperate. I met with him he was in a rush, said he had places to be. I didn’t have a chance to test it he was in that much of a rush. When I got home, the TV didn’t work. No sound no picture. I called him and all he could say was “sorry, no refunds.” There’s no way I broke that god drat TV, I only had it my car for the short ride home and it was in a blanket on my back seat the whole ride.
Now here he was standing on the other side of a counter.
“It’s going ok,” Chad said. “How are things at the alley?”
“Oh you know, easy come easy go,” Jack reached under the counter and produced a bag of capsules. “Got 100 milligram caplets this time. They’re stronger than the last batch so obviously they’re going to be a little more expensive.”
“Will $120 cover it? That’s all I got,” Chad said.
“Yeah that should do it,” Jack said. While Chad was pulling the money out his wallet Jack looked to me and said “Do I know you from somewhere? I feel like I’ve met you before.”
I looked at him, then over to Chad who was eyeing the pills money in hand. His stature had changed, he no longer slouched over like an old man, his weight no longer pulling him downwards into the depths. The ten pounds he’d lost seemed to be a helium filled balloon tied around his shoulders, pulling him straight easing each and every step he took.
“No, I don’t think so,” I lied. “Maybe I bowled here once?”
He looked me over again, like even though I had been standing here the whole time this was the first time he had actually seen me. His wet eyes underneath his dark eyebrows ran over me, trying to make the connection that existed somewhere in that noggin of his. Place a face to an event.
He shrugged, “That must be it.” He took the money from Chad and handed over the bag of pills. “Enjoy ‘em. Hey you guys want a free game on the house?”
Chad looked over at me.
“No I gotta get going I think,” I said.
“Thanks anyways Jack,” Chad said.
We headed out of the alley and back to our cars. “Wanna see ‘em?” Chad asked.
“Sure,” I said.
He handed me the bag of white pills. I took one out, it felt chalky to the touch. It was a pure white pill with the letters Fr stamped on it. I scratched at it with my fingernail and a chunk broke off. It tasted bitter.
I handed it back to him. “You need to be careful with these,” I said. “That guy ripped me off over a TV. Over like a hundred bucks.”
“What? Why’d you say you didn’t know him?” Chad asked.
“I don’t know man, I didn’t want to get into a whole thing over it. But what I’m telling you is just be careful.”
“I know what I’m doing. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” Chad said.
I hoped he was right.
|# ¿ Feb 10, 2014 02:55|
Here's a line by line crit since you were helpful and decided to crit my piece.
Welp, here goes. My Thunderdome debut (element is osmium):
This piece is all right. It has too little action, the guy talks to a girl, is a piece of poo poo that doesn't feel bad about raping a girl and then he gets poisoned and doesn't know it. There's very little action. His friend's reaction to his admittance of rape is not very well described, I understand that that's hard over a messenger service like msn messenger, but maybe not having the two interact over a messenger service would have done better for your story. As it is it seems like his friend condones his lovely behavior, and then the MC is poisoned out of nowhere by this unnamed rape victim.
Osmium is in your story so that's good, but using it as the main thing that gets girls horny for him makes little sense to me. The kind of people that would be working under him would be scientists, and they would be aware of the proper protocol of working with dangerous chemicals. So them being immediately horny over a dude who works with one doesn't really make sense.
No Longer Flaky fucked around with this message at 16:26 on Feb 11, 2014
|# ¿ Feb 11, 2014 16:13|
I am in.
Also, Djinn I am legitimately scared for our brawl. Please go easy on me (not really).
|# ¿ Feb 11, 2014 16:33|
Thunderbrawl: No Longer Flakey v God Over Djinn
By No Longer Flaky (Writer of such hits as “Grug’s Harvest” and “Life’s a Rat Race”)
I was the only one who had their review on Friday, and it was scheduled bright and early in the morning. Everyone else had their reviews on Monday. The start of the new month. That didn’t bode well for my review prospects. I knew I had an off year, but I didn’t think I’d underperformed that terribly.
I got in about thirty minute or so early. I’d been having trouble sleeping the last few days. By the time five am rolled around and I was on my third hour of sportscenter I decided I might as well head in to work.
I sat down at my desk at around six. I was an hour early. I was staring at my monitor trying to figure out what to do at work this early when my keyboard started its tap-tap-tapping its way around the desk. Its keys flying off as if thrown in ecstasy. I tried to roll backwards in my chair to give the board more space to move, but I found that the wheels in my chair wouldn’t budge. I looked down to inspect the locking mechanism and found my chair completely lacking in any locking mechanism whatsoever. At this discovery, my chair unfroze and I rolled backwards, banging into the desk behind me. The keyboard jumped back into place in front of my monitor at the loud smack of the chair’s collision.
“Holy poo poo,” I said.
I touched the keyboard and found nothing out of the normal. I decided some coffee would calm my nerves. In the break room, the coffee pot was full, so I poured myself a cup. The coffee was a black goop that slowly dripped into my mug. Obviously someone had left the pot sitting overnight. I attempted to pour my mug out into the sink but the coffee didn’t budge. It was a gummy tar solid in its resolve to remain in the conglomerated safety of my mug. I violently shook the mug then rapped it in the sink, hoping to knock chunks of coffee out. Nothing worked.
“God drat it!” I yelled.
I slammed the mug down, coffee slopped onto the counter. Maybe warm water would loosen up the coffee, I thought. I turned on the hot water.
Just then something dark streaked across the peripheral of my vision. I jerked my head around, surprised by the movement. Nothing was there. Did a mouse just run under the vending machine? I crouched down on my hands and knees to get a good look under the vending machine. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, just some cobwebs and trash.
The fluorescent bulbs flashed on. “What are you doing down there, Jim?” A voice asked.
I started and turned around quickly. Tyler, my boss, was staring down at me. “I thought I saw something.”
“What was it?”
“Nothing, I guess.” I stood up.
Tyler frowned, looked me up and down and said “Rough night?”
“Not too bad. Just need some coffee in me.” It was bad though. If I didn’t get some sleep I was fit to lose my mind. I felt like I was an animated corpse, like a necromancer somewhere was forcing my body to dance on a string.
“You look like you could use a bit more than coffee. Your yearly review’s today, remember?” Tyler turned off the water, examined my mug and put it back into the cabinet. “I’ll brew some new coffee, we’ll have your review when the new pot is ready.”
I left the break-room and bee-lined to the bathroom to clean up. I studied myself in the mirror and saw myself as Tyler must have. Sweat beaded on my head forehead, large puffy pink bags were under my eyes. A few strands of hair stood up in the back of my head like a chickens feathers. I had forgotten to shower before I came in! Dammit, real professional Jim. Real professional, I thought. Then laughed at my reflection in the mirror.
I wet my hand to smooth my hair down when my nose started to elongate. It stretched and grew. The soft skin transforming to a hard mass, and as it elongated it started to expand and converge with my mouth. I reached up to touch it and found my arm was covered in white feathers.
My arm was a wing?
I screamed in surprise, but what came out instead was a loud “Brawk!” I strutted back from the mirror, almost tripping over my feet. My suit bulged at the waist and chest. My white feathers poking through my chest in random places. My pants pooled around my three-clawed feet. I don’t know where my shoes went.
Near my foot my phone started to ring. I pecked downward towards it, my head bobbing with each peck. Ring rinnnnnng. Peck. Ring rinnnnnng. Peck. Ring rinnnnnng. At the end of the third rinnnnnng my feet slipped on the tile floor mid-peck. I lost my balance and smashed my head into the sink.
I rubbed my head with normal hands and sat up. The door to the bathroom jerked open and Tyler’s head popped in.
“What happened? I’ve been looking all over for you for the last fifteen minutes,” Tyler said.
“I dropped my phone,” I mumbled still rubbing my head. I looked down at my phone and the screen was blank, no call notifications.
“Come on, let’s get this review over with,” Tyler said.
I followed him to his office. I felt a strange sense of finality as I walked behind him, like this was the last time I’d be having a review in this office. Strangely, it didn’t bother me too much. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the smack to my head or the lack of sleep but I felt disconnected from all of it. Like I was watching myself from outside my own body. I laughed to myself as I saw myself start to alternate long strides with my left leg and short strides with my right.
He opened the door to his office quickly and ushered me in motioning to one of the metal chairs facing his desk. He took a seat at the desk and arched his fingers together like he was attempting to create a finger version of the Eiffel tower. He gazed at his creation for what seemed like longer than it actually was then said “As you’ve probably heard, our company is doing some downsizing.”
He talked to the Eiffel tower more than he did me. “You know how the economy is, my hands are tied in this manner.” To me, his hands didn’t look tied at all, they looked like a tower from Ireland. Or was it France?
He continued “I’ve had to make some hard decisions, and unfortunately, the company is going to have to let you go.”
I was expecting this. The words seemed to remove a weight from me, or add a weight. I’m not sure which. All I know is after I heard them I was more tired than I’d ever been in my life. Like they sapped the energy from my body, as if I were a monstrous steam powered machine that had just had the coal stolen out of its furnace.
“Ok,” I said.
The rest of the meeting was a blur. I didn’t care what he had to say so much as I wanted to take a long rest. He finished his speech to the Eiffel tower, so we both stood up.
“Take care,” he said extending a hand out to me. Somewhere miniature imaginary Parisians lost their world renowned tower.
I shook it and said “You too.”
I cleaned out my cubicle and left the office.
I walked to my car quickly. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, incredibly bright for the early morning. My car was warm, the seat more comfortable than any I’d ever experienced. Suddenly, with a jolt, the aluminum metal siding fell away, revealing a wooden chariot. In my hands, the steering wheel was replaced by leather reigns. The engine disappeared and in a haze of smoke a fiery stallion took its place. It snorted loudly. I whipped the reins and I was off and away. We took off into the air, leaving the city and office buildings behind. I climbed through the atmosphere and then I was in space. Speeding through the solar system, a trail of warmth and fire left in my wake. I stared into the horizon. Into the void of the new, of the unknown, of the infinite.
|# ¿ Feb 13, 2014 17:03|
Losing to a Girl
I was thirteen years old when I lost my first fight with a girl. She attended the Yakota Air Base.
I first saw her when on her walk from the bench to the center of the mat. She was at least two inches taller than me and the dusting of peach fuzz above her lip was ten times the facial hair I had. I thought she was the wrestling team’s manager, but here she was on the mat facing me.
Looking up into her eyes, I couldn’t help but wonder how I had gotten there. Why did I have to wrestle a girl? Couldn’t she find some other girls to wrestle? There was no honor in wrestling a girl. If you win then congrats you beat a girl, if you lost then you were a big sissy.
The referee signaled the beginning of the match, and we started our dance. I was new to wrestling, so my advancements were telegraphed and awkward. The only thing that truly worked in my favor was my agility, which I had built up over years of soccer.
The match was split up into two rounds. The first round passed with little action. I avoided her advancements and failed in my own, a process that would repeat itself over the years.
In the break between rounds, my coach coached my ears off. I ignored him. I focused on hydrating and catching my breath. I knew what I needed to do. She was only a girl.
I started the second round hard. I immediately tackled her to the ground. In the scramble on the ground my foot lost traction on the mat. She took advantage of my lost balance and flipped me on my back. My muscles, too soft from slacking at practice, failed to push her off me.
The referee counted out the seconds. I redfacedly pushed, gripped, and arched, but there was nothing to do. She was an impossible weight pushing me into the mat.
After three seconds the referee called the match.
Breathing hard, I shook her hand and retreated off the mat. My coach was waiting for me, the team behind him snickering.
“Didn’t you hear me yelling?” My coach said.
“No.” I said between long deep breaths. Inhale through the nose, exhale out the mouth.
“You were so close!” He said, “I was saying if you waited her out you had her. You had more points than she did.”
“She was huge,” I said.
“Yeah, but next time you got her. Remember, the clock is your friend.”
“She was fuckin’ huge,” I said.
|# ¿ Feb 17, 2014 04:04|
I'm not an expert at writing, but here are my thoughts as a reader.
A Cautionary Tale.
|# ¿ Feb 18, 2014 12:50|
I meant this week's submission on Lego, but cheers anyway. I wouldn't mind another crit from you. Just saying.
Okie dokie. I gotcha this week as well.
|# ¿ Feb 18, 2014 13:53|
|# ¿ Dec 1, 2023 06:09|
|# ¿ Feb 25, 2014 14:13|