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Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




In.

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Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Welp, I failed to submit anything my very first time in the dome. It won't happen again. In.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Nethilia posted:

Less than three hours to sign up!

ETA:



So you and any other skip outs throwing a on that or just gonna sit there like that. I know it ain't official but...

Very well, consider me 'ed. Submit or die.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Well my original idea didn't pan out at all so I ended up taking this prompt in a darker direction that I had intended. So, uh, sorry in advance.

The Siege (756 words)

http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?...title=The+Siege

Grizzled Patriarch fucked around with this message at Dec 9, 2014 around 23:53

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




I'll take one of them then!

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Thanks to everyone that offered a crit on my first-ever submission, it was all really helpful and I'm already planning a rewrite!

In the interest of paying it forward, I am also offering two crits to the first couple of people that express interest.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Looks like I've got the weekend off, which gives me no excuse. In.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




edit: poo poo, deadline got called while I was trying to format this drat thing. I fall to my knees in the blood-soaked sands of the Dome, crying out for mercy until my throat is raw. I expect none.

Frequency (811 words)

http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?...title=Frequency

Grizzled Patriarch fucked around with this message at Dec 9, 2014 around 23:53

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




lambeth posted:

As penance for submitting late, I'm offering three line-by-line crits to whomever asks first. If you want to crit my story in return, that would be cool too.

I'll trade a crit with you, I'm not used to writing stories this short and I need to figure it out.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Crit for lambeth.

quote:

Our Newest Display

1081 words

Overhead, the mermaids swam through the blue slightly awkward phrasing. Maybe just something like "The mermaids swam overhead,...", languidly following a school of small grey fish. I stared in disgust at the bony emaciated forms that passed by.You should be showing, not telling here. Also, your next line of dialogue basically makes this line redundant. Honestly I think it flows better if you just cut this line and go straight to the dialogue since it does a good job of rejecting reader expectations. “Those are seriously gross,” I whispered to my friend Melissa; misuse of semi-colon. she giggled in response. “Angie, Melissa,” our teacher snapped at us from a few seats over where she’d been giving a lecture. I sighed and slumped down in the red plush bench, pretending like I was paying attention. I, like every other high school-age child, was on a field trip to see the mermaids at the aquarium.I'd find a better way to say this. Establish the setting through interesting details instead of exposition. The teacher had said that it was so we could see the symptoms of the disease, to know what to look for—not so we could gawp gape? at the freaks, though that’s why everybody really went there.
Two years later,Cut this I’d begun It's not a hard and fast rule, but in general, try to stay away from "begin" in all its forms. It just creates unnecessary distance between the action. I'd do a manual break (use the little *** or what have you) to indicate time has passed and open with "I dreamed of the ocean every night..." to dream of the ocean every night, of gliding though the cool water, of grabbing at the small fish which darted around me, tearing into them in a slow floating cloud of red. A few weeks later, I’d found the first few scales on my thigh: glimmering little death sentences. Now, eight months later, I’d been caught and put in a tank to float among the other sick, like a bunch of grocery store lobsters. You are condensing a lot of time here, and this is definitely something you should be fleshing out. What is his reaction to the scales? Is he grossed out, scared someone will find out, or what? It almost feels like a magical realism set-up where the protagonist just accepts his fate (check out Julio Cortezar's "Axolotl" for a great example of this. It even takes place in an aquarium as well!) but the rest of the story doesn't bear this out.


I swam through the tunnel that connected the aquarium tanks to the island that was closed off in the back of the building. Here, the people who could still breathe on land lived until their gills came in. I could see three of them there this morning. The first ignored me when I called, and the second was too busy sobbing to pay attention to me. The third one, though, was new, a teenage girl staring up at the lights in the ceiling. She was tiny, with sunk-in dull should probably be "sunken" and I think "dull, sunken" flows better than "sunken, dull" eyes and stringy blonde hair, large patches of scales glistening on her back and legs. Someone who had been caught in the early stages, it seemed. I called to her, and after a minute, she finally turned her head in my direction.

“I’m Angie,” I said. It hurt to talk nowadays, so I kept what little conversation I made short.

“Laura,” she replied quietly.

“Any news about a cure?” I asked everyone who came in about this, but there was never any good news, any hope. For all the talk of research and cures, the only thing that’d changed in the last seven years was the increasing number of aquariums being built.

“Not that I know of. My brother, Mike,kind of a nitpick, but I feel like in most casual conversations people don't name drop like this. got sick with it, so the doctors examined me as well. He ran away before they could take him too.” Her eyes teared up. “I’d been hiding the scales with long sleeves and pants until then. I was so scared.”

I nodded. I’d done the same with clothes and make-up until my legs had fused down to the point where I’d been unable to walk anymore without falling. Every day I’d woken up and examined every inch of skin in the mirror, feeling as though someone was wringing my stomach out with every new change I found.Here's a bit of reaction that should have come earlier

I continued to visit Laura, and as time went by, we became what could be considered friends, if you consider commiserating about turning into monsters together to be a type of friendship.[awkward. This line has kind of a sarcastic tone, doesn't really fit.[/b] Laura held out hope that one day, Mike would save her. I tried to share her enthusiasm, but I figured Mike was probably dead or in a tank somewhere. I could still breathe out of water for a short time, though it made me feel faint, so I spent what time I could with her on the sand. I was trying as hard as I could to try to stay human, but at times, all I could focus on was the water and my next meal.


We were woken up one night by the sound of running and muffled voices outside. The door outside the island opened and a small group of people came in. They shone flashlights around, whispering to each other as we all peered over at them anxiously cut the adverb and show their anxiety. Are they hiding underwater, ducking behind the rocks, trying to get a read on these people?. Laura perked up when she saw them.

“Mike?” she called quietly "called quietly" reads oddly.. A man in a wool hat came closer. “Oh, Darryl, hey,” she said, smiling. She turned to me and said, “He’s one of my brother’s friends.”

“Laura?” Darryl said. “poo poo, I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“Have you seen Mike recently?” Laura asked. Her webbed hands trembled slightly.

“No, I haven’t. I’m with one of the underground groups. We’ve been rescuing people who aren’t too far gone and trying to keep them alive until there’s a breakthrough. There’s no reason to keep you guys in a zoo; bad semicolon again. I can't think of many times a semicolon would show up in dialogue. If you're not 100% sure it should be a semicolon, just use a period or a comma instead, whatever flows better. Especially with dialogue. we’ve got some scientists who can look after you while they study this.”

“I can still walk—my legs are only fused at the top,” Laura said cheerfullyA lot of Laura's dialogue attribution ends with an adverb. Cut it and show us her eyes lighting up or her body perking up or something.. She glanced at me. “What about her?”

Darryl shook his head. “Too hard to carry, plus she’d probably die before we can get her in water again. You should be ok though.”

Laura shot a desperate look at me. I wanted to cry and scream for them to take me along, but I knew it was hopeless. Instead, I simplyredundant, cut simply just said “Go.” She put her arm around Darryl’s shoulder, and in a few minutes, they were gone.


I returned to the glass and thought only of fish, watching the high school kids snicker at us as they sat and enjoyed their safe, dry lives. All I could do was watch my body continue to shrink, to find myself forgetting details from my previous life. Who was it that I’d sat with at the aquarium that time? They were a complete blank to me.

One day, they hung up a bright red banner nearby. It was hard to read through the glass, but I managed to make out that it was for a new exhibit.

“Mermaid bodies on display…” I trailed off as I noticed the picture beneath it. It was of the head and shoulders of a mermaid girl with stringy blonde hair, the eyes closed and peaceful. Her face was mostly scaly now, but a patch of skin still curved around her left eye like a crescent moon.

I swam off, feeling like someone had driven a hook through my insides. Oh, to be a Siren at this moment. We were forgetting what it was like to be human, but it was clear that humanity had forgotten who we were long ago.Cut this whole last bit, imo. It's just kind of heavy-handed and comes off as preachy. The lines before this are pretty creepy and it's a nice way to wrap everything up.

You've got an interesting idea here. You need to flesh out the protagonist a bit, let us get in their head and see their reactions, how they're feeling, especially since it's in first person. You could clean it up a bit by cutting unnecessary adverbs and reworking a few clunky sentences, but all in all it's a solid effort, even though I wrote comments all over the place.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Holy poo poo.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Just realized I hadn't entered yet. In.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Time to submit stories in the form of passive-agressive acrostic jabs. Man's game charges a man's price.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Mutilés (812 words)

http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?...title=Mutil%E9s

Grizzled Patriarch fucked around with this message at Dec 9, 2014 around 23:54

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




If anyone feels like trading crits, let me know. I've got some free time and I'm definitely looking for some brutally honest opinions on where I'm loving up so I can gently caress up less this week. (If this isn't kosher just tell me to shut up.)

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Djeser posted:

WLOTM expressed an interest in a more detailed crit. If anyone else wants more detail than what I gave in my general crits, just ask.




I'd definitely take one. I've only written three stories in here so far but it's really great to feel like I'm actually getting better, and most of that is because of the crits ripping me a new one. You guys put a lot of effort into it and it's really appreciated.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




I'm In, and my unsolicited gift to you all is a missing person.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Mostly They Come Home 1,321 words

Prompts:

Psychological Horror
A Missing Person
Good Booze

Francis was in the back with his knees up squeezed against the driver’s seat, teeth rattling each time the truck bounced in a rut. June, his wife, sat next to him clutching her travel bag as if it might fly out the window. She didn’t relax until they turned onto the flat dirt road leading up to the cabin. The driver stopped right out front and waited for Francis to slide their luggage out of the flatbed. Francis handed the man a few dollars for a tip and rapped on the cab roof with his knuckles.

“Call up to the store if you have any problems,” the man said, then added without enthusiasm, “Enjoy your stay.” The suspension groaned as he turned the truck around. Then he was off back the way they’d come, kicking up a swirl of yellow dust.

Francis put an arm around his wife’s waist. “How do you like it?”

“It’s just like in the brochure,” June said, and Francis felt a stirring of pride in himself for picking it out. The whole trip had been his idea, a sort of present to celebrate retirement.

The cabin was made to look rustic, though the inside was fully furnished. They’d even painted the door and windowsills green. Around back a covered patio overlooked the lake, and there was a pier with an aluminum rowboat tied off to it nearby.

“We should go out on the lake while we’re here,” he said. “Good weather for it.”

“Hmm,” June said. “In the meantime, we’ve got sandwiches in the cooler for supper. Tomorrow morning we can pick up some real food.”

They sat on the patio and drank cokes and ate the egg sandwiches June had packed. Once the sun went down, they could see town across the lake, lit up like a Christmas tree along the waterfront where all the tourists were dining and drinking overpriced drinks. Bar music drifted across the lake and Francis drummed his fingers on the table in time with it. He glanced over to find June napping and smiled to himself.

***

The grocery store was about a mile’s walk away along the dirt road, but the view made it feel shorter. Inside there was a welcome breeze from the noisy overhead fans. Francis and June navigated the narrow aisles, picking out things to eat for the week: eggs, a bag of oranges, pork chops, a microwave pizza, coffee.

The man at the register was talking on the phone. He was turned away from them and had his other hand cupped over the speaker. There was a small portable radio next to him, turned down so low that it sounded like a buzzing insect. Another man leaned straddlelegged against the counter, breathing through his mouth like a pug dog. He wore a dingy shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and there was a filet knife in a leather sheathe tucked into his belt.

“You a fisherman?” Francis asked, hoping to make conversation until the cashier was finished.

The man’s head shot around as if he hadn’t noticed them before, or else wasn’t expecting them to say anything to him. He looked confused for a moment, then followed Francis’s eyes to the knife. He patted the handle of the knife. “Yessir. A fisherman. Here on the lake.”

“I like to fish a bit myself.” Francis tilted his head in the general direction of the lake. “What’s out there?”

The man straightened up. He looked down at the floor and made a scuff mark on the linoleum with his boot. “Bass and perch, mostly. Some good sized ones.” The man looked up again, at Francis and then at June, as if he was trying to memorize their faces. “You the folks renting out that cabin?”

Francis laughed. “Is it that obvious?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. I just didn’t recognize you, is all. Not many new faces around here, you know. Most folks visiting stay farther in town.” He rubbed his bottom lip. “Well anyway, nice meeting you. I better get on.” The man tipped his head and sidled past Francis to the door.

The cashier was still on the phone, only now he wasn’t making any effort at privacy. “Christ,” he muttered. “The last thing we need is posters up all over the place right in the middle of summer. I’ll put one up at the register, maybe someone’s seen her.” The cashier sighed and mopped his brow with the back of his hand. “Yeah, yeah, I hope so too. Just bring it by any time.” He hung up and turned to Francis and June with an apologetic shrug.

“Has someone gone missing?” June asked.

“Some girl from out of town, her parents haven’t seen her since last night.” The cashier waved his hand like he was shooing away a fly. “You know how girls are at that age. They come out here with their mom and dad, get a little stir crazy, maybe go chasing boys or off to find a party someplace. Mostly they come home in a day or so. Mostly they do, you just watch and see.”

***

Francis heard June calling for him and stepped out onto the patio. She was pointing out at the water.

“Somebody’s out there, just floating,” she said.

Francis squinted in the direction of her finger. There was a person lying on their back in the shallows near a stony patch of shore, pale as a fishbelly, bobbing with the current. It was too far away to make out any features. An icy knot formed in his stomach.

“God, what if it’s that girl?” June said. “I’m calling the police.”

Francis turned, but the screen door was already flapping. When he turned back, the person in the water was moving, making languid backstrokes. As he watched, the swimmer dove under the surface, came back up, and clambered onto shore. Francis yelled for his wife and she came back outside.

“It’s just some kid swimming,” Francis said. “Probably someone else renting on the lake.”

“Just as well, I guess. The phone wouldn’t even ring. I think the line’s dead.”

“I’ll ask somebody in town about it tomorrow.” Francis pecked her on the cheek. “Why don’t you make us up a couple rum and cokes? I packed a bottle in with my shirts.”

“Hah! You never can resist.”

While June busied herself with the drinks, Francis ambled down the short slope to the water’s edge. He picked up a handful of little stones and tried to see how far he could throw each one. He dusted off his hands and meant to head back to the cabin when he noticed the rowboat was gone. He went to the pier and knelt down, joints in both knees clicking in protest. He held the end of the rope in his hand. It had been cut clean through. He guessed there was no point in checking about the phone line. His breath let out like a punctured tire, and that cold knot wriggled back into his stomach.

He went back to the porch and sat down hard on his wicker chair. He thought about the dirt road into town, how in the evening, in the dark, it now seemed like a much longer walk.

June came back out with the rum and cokes. She’d already finished half of hers. The music drifting out across the lake was something she recognized, so she smiled and stood there swaying to it. Francis tried to think of the last time she’d looked so beautiful. He felt a pang in his chest, like a dam had burst inside and soon he would be filled with cold water.

June cocked her head at him. “What’s the matter hon?”

“Nothing. Keep dancing.”

June danced. Francis laced his fingers together in his lap and watched her until the lights across the lake went out.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Well poo poo, honor must be restored. In.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Ironically I have to take a DQ because I'm packing for an early flight. Oh well, gonna finish the story tomorrow and post it anyways because this thread has finally got me writing again.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




In. Sorry in advance.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




I'm in with a this week since I hosed up and ended up getting way too drunk at a Game of Thrones party last weekend instead of writing.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




sebmojo posted:

Grizzled Patriarch and Paladinus, you ed but did not submit. You have 40 minutes and change before that gets called in.

I beg your mercy, I just moved to a new time zone and I'm all screwed up. I'll have my story up in the next ten minutes.

The Apple Tree

http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?...=The+Apple+Tree

Grizzled Patriarch fucked around with this message at Dec 9, 2014 around 23:55

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Forgot my picture:

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




In. Making sure I'm using the right drat timezone this time.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Fresh Powder (722 words)

http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?...le=Fresh+Powder

Grizzled Patriarch fucked around with this message at Dec 9, 2014 around 23:55

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




In as hell.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

I'll do two big line-by-line crits for last week's entries. First in, first served. Who wants 'em?

I'd love one!

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




In.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Filament (600 words)

http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?...&title=Filament

Grizzled Patriarch fucked around with this message at Dec 9, 2014 around 23:56

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




I'm in.


edit:

Hector is a wharf rat. He's semi-indigent, crashing where he can, and he worries constantly about making ends meet. Recently he's gotten into trouble with some dangerous people, and now he just wants to get as far away from Los Grano D'Oro as possible.

Grizzled Patriarch fucked around with this message at Jul 1, 2014 around 13:13

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Phobia posted:


Contact me if you want to do crossovers, either in this particular story or otherwise. I also want to request an extension of the word count but I'm not holding my breath and I will talk to the judges privately about that.

Missed you on IRC but I'm down to do a crossover, I'll try to catch you next time you are on.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Random offer since I've got some free time this week:

If anyone wants a crit on any story from the past few weeks, let me know. I've got time to handle five of them, so first come first served. Just let me know what story you want me to take a look at.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Not really happy with this one, but better than nothing:

Somewhere Else 840 words

A meaty fist connected with the bridge of Hector’s nose and bounced his head off of the drywall. He stumbled, hands held out in front of him, waiting for the second blow. Instead the man grabbed his collar and twisted.

“I’m done chasing you around your little hidey holes.”

Hector licked his lips, trying to invent an excuse. “This is my friend’s place. I’m just crashing on the couch. I swear I wasn’t trying to hide, man, I swear.”

“I don’t care.” The man drew his fist back. His knuckles were swollen and smeared dark red.

“Wait,” Hector whimpered. “Jesus, wait. I’ve got it.”

“Here?”

Hector nodded toward the bedroom behind him. The man shoved him inside and stood in the doorway. Hector dropped to his hands and knees next to the bed and reached between the mattress and the box spring, arm sweeping back and forth in the empty space until for a sickening instant he thought it was gone. Then his fingers settled on cool metal.

Hector yanked the .38 free and thumbed back the hammer. The man’s expression collapsed like someone cutting the strings of a marionette. Then his face screwed up and turned a livid shade of purple.

“You stupid son of a bitch,” he said. “You won’t be able to run far enough.”

***

Hector ducked under the piers and tried to collect himself. The whole place stunk with the remains of fish and crabs, washed up and festering in the dark. The sand was peppered with whatever garbage the tide brought in—cans and bottles, a lone sandal, yellowing condoms.

Hector waded out into the ankle-deep water to end of the pier, hoisting the briefcase so it wouldn’t get wet. He reached above the pillar for the coffee can he’d stashed there. He pried off the lid and counted the money inside. Four hundred dollars in crisp bills. All the money he had left in the world. He stuffed it in his pocket. He lifted his shirt and took the .38 from his waistband, wiped it down, and dropped it in the can before putting it back in place. His mind raced. There weren’t any options left anymore. He’d have enough to skip town, maybe lay low in a lovely motel for a few days while he worked out what came next. First he had to put some distance between himself and whoever was after him.

Five minutes later he was at the corner of Vera Cruz, bent over and trying to catch his breath. People passing by turned their faces away or looked down at the sidewalk, and Hector realized how he must have looked. He knew his nose was broken. He tested it with his fingertip and winced. The blood dripping from it made his shirt look like a Jackson Pollock painting. He waved for a cab and it took four tries before one stopped.

***

Hector asked the cabbie to tune his radio to the local news. He sat in silence the whole way, his stomach doing anxious loops, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The cabbie kept looking over at him, but he never said anything.

They passed the city limits and a signpost that said LOS GRANOS D’ORO—WHERE ALL THAT GLITTERS IS GOLD.

A little ways on Hector pointed out an empty bus stop. “Here’s fine.”

“You sure? It’ll be dark soon, I don’t think another bus comes ‘til morning.”

“Here’s fine.”

The cabbie shrugged and pulled up next to the bench. Hector got out and counted the fare into his hand.

He sat on the bench with the briefcase in his lap. He didn’t even know what was in the drat thing. It was heavy, but when he shook it there wasn’t any sound. To pass the time he tried random numbers on the combination lock, wondering if he wasn’t due for a lucky break after everything, but none of them worked.
Now and then a car or semi would go hurtling past him, sucking up dust and foam cups and greasy wrappers. He imagined each of them stopping, full of men who wouldn’t give him the opportunity to run again. Behind him he could see the city lit up against the darkening sky. Then, just as the sun sunk below the horizon and the bats came swooping over the streetlights, a bus. One bit of luck, after all. The bus hissed to a stop and the door hinged open.

Hector looked down at his lap. He’d been fooling himself, thinking he was cut out for this. Whatever was in the briefcase, it wouldn’t be enough. It was a fantasy, a game he’d been playing, and he’d finally come to realize that it was going to hurt when it was all over. He held the briefcase in his upturned palms and laid it on the bench beside him, like an offering. He stepped onto the bus and found a seat. He didn’t know the route, but it didn’t matter. He just wanted to be somewhere else.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Haha awesome. In.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




My picks:

Best in Show: Hallelujah, Bye and Bye (Tyrannosaurus)
Best Collaboration / Continuity: Running Into Walls through Meeple for continuity, Tyrannosaurus and godoverdjinn for collab)
Most Interesting Character: Vincent (crabrock)

Grizzled Patriarch fucked around with this message at Jul 12, 2014 around 03:31

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Stopping by the Burn Ward on a Snowy Evening (An Ode to Ironic Twist) (27 words)

If losing is your main objective
Your words may be finally effective
You’re a malodorous loser
An English language abuser
Though not bad for a mental defective

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




A Sound Like Distant Thunder (800 words)

The Nevada desert at dawn was a deceiving thing. Joseph stared down the blazing strip of blacktop at Camp Mercury, the tight mass of tents and Quonset huts wobbling in the heat. They were a dozen miles away, at least, but it the desert made everything look close enough to walk to.

They waited in the trucks, percolating in their own sweat while the useless air conditioners rattled and wheezed. Nobody knew quite what to expect. Someone tried to start up a cadence, but after a few seconds Charlie Powell asked him would he kindly shut the gently caress up. Usually that would have started a fight, but people felt sorry for Charlie after the letter. When he read it he sat down and went real quiet and everyone knew what that meant.

Joseph thought he was lucky, in a way. Most of the time it wasn’t clean: letters just came less and less, then not at all. But nobody ever really gave up. They carried hope like a millstone around their necks.

Joseph peeled his back away from the vinyl bench and fished the diamond ring out of his breast pocket. He turned it in his palm, studying it like an insect trapped in amber. He slipped it over the tip of his ring finger, but it wouldn’t go any farther than that.

When he looked up again Charlie was watching him, biting his lip like he planned to say something. Joseph thought about explaining. About coming home to a dark apartment, how she’d scooped out every trace of herself except for the stale smell of her cigarettes. Not even a note. But Charlie just looked away and pretended that he hadn’t seen anything.

***

When the order came they poured out of the trucks and formed up in lines as their names were called off. The asphalt was sticky and sucked at their boots. Drivers circled each truck, opening all the windows and folding the windshields down. Joseph felt fingers of sweat racing down the ladder of his ribs. When at last everyone was accounted for, they were herded off to the observation point.

They sat cross-legged in the sunbaked dirt and guzzled from canteens while the major briefed them over the public address system. His voice was muffled and tinny, so that Joseph had to strain to make out what he was saying. He asked everyone to take out their maps and locate the road junction that marked ground zero. Some of the men shielded their eyes and squinted out into the desert, trying to spot the road.

Even if it were visible from seven miles away, Joseph would not have seen it. His mind was somewhere else, somewhere before he picked up the ring he’d saved three months for from the carpet and put it in his shirt pocket.

The PA squawked again, shaking him out of his thoughts. The major announced that the bomber was making a final wind run. Joseph craned his neck to see the B-50 circling overhead, its polished underbelly flashing like sunlight through a shard of glass.

The seconds were being counted down. Joseph felt sour bile rising up from his stomach and forced himself to swallow it. Behind him, someone was praying. Joseph reached into his pocket to feel the ring. To make sure it was still there.

A voice over the loudspeaker: Bomb away. Then everything turned white.

At first Joseph thought he’d gone deaf. He looked up at the boiling column of smoke, the billows folding over on themselves like dough in mixing bowl. An enormous ball of fire hung at the center of it, so bright that it erased shadows and made the distant mountains look flat and unreal, like a child’s drawing.

A wall of dust stalked across the desert floor. The sound and the pressure hit them all at once. The dust stung Joseph’s eyes, whipping across his skin and caking in his sweat. The ground buckled and swayed like a heaving sea and he felt the force of it travel up through his boots, along the lengths of his shinbones. For a brief moment the walls they’d built around themselves gave way. The man next to him reached over and squeezed his hand, hard, and Joseph squeezed back. Behind them the trucks pitched and settled.

There was a sound like distant thunder rumbling across the mountains, then uneasy silence. The air was still and no one spoke. Finally Charlie Powell said that if they were still looking for ground zero, he was pretty sure he’d just found it, and laughter broke out, spreading outward like an aftershock, because they didn’t know what else to do. There wasn’t a need for words. They’d all come through something together, and that was enough.

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




So many good prompts lately. I'm in.

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Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

These dentures won't stop me from tearing out jugulars in Thunderdome.




Dance Lessons 953 words

http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?...e=Dance+Lessons

Grizzled Patriarch fucked around with this message at Dec 9, 2014 around 23:56

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