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  • Locked thread
kurona_bright
Mar 21, 2013


Shattered Heart (1300 words)

Rie stood there, wide-eyed and trembling, as the Special Enforcer crumpled over, clearly unconscious from that punch she gave him. What was she going to say to Sarah?


"Was that you?" She asked, seemingly to open air. Oh god, she had just assaulted an officer, and one of her lover's colleagues.


Seems so. Neon's mental voice had turned high-pitched and smooth - a change from its usual graveliness. Why are you talking out loud?


"Attribute that to shock!" Rie snapped. She began to pace, back and forth. What was she going to do? Turning herself in wouldn't help - the Enforcer's last words she hit him made it very clear that they were targeting her more because of the occupant in her brain than anything else. Ugh, why did she have to be walking past that particular summoner's shop on that particular day twenty years back?


More of them are on the way. Neon's higher register underscored the urgency of his words.


I know, I know! She ran to their bedroom and flung open the closet door. Sarah hoarded all the merchandise from that music festival they always went to, including the cheap drawstring backpacks. She picked one at random, and then stood there, momentarily at a loss.


Take some of Sarah's rations, your healing things, and some more money. We're going to need to get to the surface.


"What?" Rie shrieked, out loud again.


There's nowhere safe here! Get aboveground and away from Burian and then we can figure out what the hell to do. Neon's voice was getting higher.


"But what about Sarah?" Despite her protests, Rie had already dashed to her study and stuffed her basic healer's kit into her bag. The smooth metal box was still scuff-free - it had been a recent five-year anniversary gift.


Do you honestly think she's going to help us?


Rie stopped, wind knocked out of her. But before she could respond, Neon cut in again, sounding resigned.


Let me rephrase that - even if she did want to help us, do you think she could?


"Well, maybe she's the head of the Enforcer department," Rie muttered, as she stuffed part of their rainy-day jar into her pockets. Something inside her twinged.


If she had that much responsibility, I don't think she'd even be willing.


She might. Rie's response was fierce, but she had to fight to keep her shoulders from slumping. Sarah's devotion to her job was legendary. It wasn't like that anniversary gift had actually been given to Rie on their actual anniversary - quite bluntly, Sarah had ditched her when a call came up.


Hurry up!


Rie winced. She could hear loud footsteps from the stairwell below. The balcony might work - but they lived on the third level - she couldn't just -


Let me help! We can land in the park!


She wavered. Sarah - But they were just outside her door. Rie slammed open the balcony door and ran to the railing. She stared out at the glow of Burian's nightlife, and then up at the vast concrete ceiling above her. A crunch from behind her caused her to look back at the shadowy figures by the remains of her front door.


She climbed up onto the railing - ignoring the yelled warnings from behind - and leaped.


Lights streamed past her as she flew through the air. A fireball flew past her, whizzing into nothingness - and when the ground rushed up to meet her, she hit it running. If she could just get to the emergency elevator shaft, it'd take her to Level One. She refused to think about what she'd do after that.


She burst out of the park into a deserted side-street. Rie glanced left, right, then darted into a deserted alleyway. The last she'd been her was when a duel had set half of Level Three ablaze. She saw Sarah while tending to the wounded then, stern and focused while another officer rattled off a report to her, but giving Rie a faint smile as she turned to leave.


Did they disable your elevator access? Neon's voice was back to its usual gravelliness.


Only one way to find out. Rie walked quickly to a graffitied section of wall, and placed her palm on it.


After a brief pause, the concrete dissolved into thin air, revealing the interior of the emergency lift - and the two Enforcer officers inside it. They looked up, startled, right before Rie lunged forward and slapped each of their foreheads with a hand. Without hesitation - she couldn't hesitate - she knocked them out, like she always did before a surgery. With Neon's help, she dragged them both outside into the alleyway and then slipped into the elevator. With a wave of her hand, she directed the elevator up towards Level One.


As she began to feel the downward tug of inertia, she collapsed onto the elevator's smooth floor. "How long have you been able to do this?"


You're speaking out loud again.


"Who cares? Nobody's going to hear us." Rie let her head fall into her palms. The elevator would take around five minutes to get to Level One from here, so she could take this opportunity to process.


It just happened. Neon's voice had shifted up an octave again. You don't live a dangerous life, so I've never been that scared before. But hearing that man talk about me...


Rie sighed. "Well, I guess there wasn't anybody else who could tell us this stuff."


When the elevator finally stopped, she stepped out, into the bright streetlamps of Level One - and the first thing she saw was Sarah, with electricity crackling at her fingertips.


"Sarah." Rie's voice was weak.


"Rie, what the hell are you doing?" Sarah strode towards her. Rie backed up, but the elevator was gone. Her head hit the very solid wall.


She grinned weakly. "Leaving Burian?"


"Why?"


Rie's smile melted off her face. Sarah never sounded like that, like she was being strangled. She opened her mouth to speak, but Sarahcontinued talking.


"If you'd just let Ryan take you down to the department building, everything would be fine. That - thing - in you would be gone! But you attacked him, along with Sophie and Brendan in the elevator, and now -" Sarah broke off, and simply stared down at the pavingstones in front of her.


"Sarah. Sarah, look at me. Neon's been with me ever since I was a little girl." The words fell out of Rie's mouth, but Sarah didn't seem to be listening. "Neon's almost my life partner at this point, do you understand? I couldn't imagine life without him -"


She's not going to listen.


"How can you do this to me?" Sarah was finally looking at Rie again, but all the anguish from before had gone. "I thought - well, never mind."


Sara took a deep breath, and when she spoke again, her tones were precise, clipped. "Rie Eor, you are hereby-"


"Sarah -"


"- charged with assaulting multiple officers, along with the


"Sarah, please -"


"- criminal act of hosting a de-"


Rie!


Rie made her decision, and sprinted at Sarah, fingertips glowing. Sarah gasped and took a step back, but Neon's help made it so that Sarah could do little else than raise her sparking hand before Rie blew past her.


"Rie! Rie!" Sarah's cries died off as the distance between them grew. Rie ran and ran - only vaguely aware of the other officers chasing her, of the fact that her sleeve had suddenly caught fire - when she saw the glass ceiling of Level One, the one that led aboveground.


She leaped, and left the ground and everything else behind.


The sound of crashing glass never sounded so much like tears.

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Flesnolk
Apr 11, 2012

If only, THUNDERDOME


Three Hours for One
1122 words

The opera had ended after Ryan passed Worcester, and he was stuck with NEPR’s host blathering about some fundraiser or other in that voice which embodied walking through quicksand. The Mass Pike stretched ahead of him for at least another hour, June’s sun glinting off legions of glass and metal, the other motorists who only existed when he weaved into gaps or slowed to keep safe distance, depressing the brake as if sinking a knife into his own gut. He slipped past and around a Corvette and SUV, dancing into then out of the passing lane, only for an 18-wheeler to drop his speed to a 65 that might as well have been 30, but he didn’t truly see them. Six years of driving did the work for him, every signal and acceleration and turn of the wheel, while his brain turned reality to light catching in auburn hair, a white smile that brightened the world better than any star, a flashing messenger tab that grabbed his heart with the fist of Hercules only to release it just as quickly.

“Sure, I’d love to meet you in person.”

That one message made his decision for him, turned a “maybe” for an event in Cambridge to a “definitely going,” and at two in the afternoon he’d left Loudonville for 787 and I-90, dressed like he had a job interview and filling the air with his best cologne. The rearview mirror had almost seen more use checking his hair than checking traffic. More than two hours later his mind was still wrapped in the parries and counterthrusts of hypothetical conversations, the puzzling on perfect icebreakers, the need to be cool without trying to be cool, even with Quicksand Voice giving way to chamber music that might as well not have a name and instincts keeping track of the phantom vehicles around him.

The Impala’s tank was half empty as he came up on Natick Plaza, and it was only half-formed thoughts of the inevitable drive home that dragged him, groaning, off the turnpike and into the service station, where he pulled up next to a Gulf pump with a huff before trudging inside. He ignored assorted travellers and shoppers as if he could walk through them, making a beeline for the rest stop bathroom where he parked in front of the first mirror he saw and examined himself. Fix the part, it’s sloppy from hours in the car. Should he have worn contacts instead? What would she think of his eyes, or his nose? Pull your shoulders back, try to jut your chin out more. You don’t want to look unmanly. Does she have a type? No idea.

He stormed out of the bathroom worse than when he’d come in, the spectre of potential disapproval twisting his intestines in knots, stopping for a Coke and a Cliff bar before remembering why he was there. The clerk was old, portly, a Korean War veteran according to his cap, and his small talk washed over Ryan like a midsummer rain, just enough to make one wish for an umbrella.

“$15 on Pump 2, regular gas.” The only words of consequence in the whole deal, to Ryan. He paid to fuel car and body, and left without so much as returning the clerk’s “good day,” wrenched open the Coke’s cap almost before he was through the door.

“Share a Coke with Cara,” the label said, and Ryan almost choked on his first sip by laughing. Her name was half his passwords now and kept following him wherever he went, in his thoughts or before his eyes. Maybe he’d show the bottle to her when he got there, make some joke about having forgotten to share, and hear laughter that sustained him better than water.

#

When night fell over Cambridge, Ryan had already spent hours there, waiting and moving up and down Mass Ave. Change for the parking metre shifted about in his pocket, and the city’s Saturday evening blurred and flitted about him, energetic but aimless. The event wasn’t for another hour, as far as he knew Cara was still at work, and he’d had a meal at the Tavern at the Square and watched the Red Sox lose. Their season was probably over if they didn’t start getting insanely lucky.

He didn’t know what he was looking for, maybe a way to kill the time, but he hadn’t found it. His loafers came up and down, up and down, touching off the stones in the sidewalk, and the city was a lifeless grey despite all the light and sound. Maybe he’d go back to his car and read? His phone was charging and he’d found a copy of the complete works of Shakespeare for ten dollars, which currently rested on the Impala’s front passenger seat. There was always buying another drink, maybe seeing if any good bands played at the Cantab Lounge.

He was returning to the car, walking a block past the bookstore, when a flash of white passed his peripheral vision and returned colour to the city. He turned, and right there was the woman he’d seen in so many pictures and youtube videos, an electronic cigarette between two fingers, unaware of him. The same features that stopped his heart on Facebook hit him like a sledgehammer between the eyes in person, and he gaped after her as she went into the distance. He watched the way her dress flattered her curves.

Go after her? Say something?

Maybe she’d be annoyed, or think he was a creep.

But she obviously didn’t know he was there.

What if she doesn’t end up going, and he never saw her again?

Ryan unrooted himself and flowed around faceless passerby, up the block and around the corner, and when he caught another glimpse of her it would have been easier to lift and throw a bus than to untrap the words from his throat but he hurried up to her all the same.

“Hey, Cara?” He managed it, and she turned, and all manner of possibilities rushed into his brain, all of them bad. She’d be weirded out, she’d run off, she’d tell him to go away. There was a second, and then recognition, a smile that reached her eyes and shone like the sun.

“Oh God, Ryan? Sorry, I didn’t see you!” In a heartbeat her arms were around her and he was aware how much smaller she was than him, before the warmth of her body against his and the ring of her voice washed away his thoughts. They headed back to the venue together and he couldn’t say what they talked about, only that it felt the easiest thing to him in all the world.

dreadmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

f=ma
786 words

“Marry me,” I said. The light above my head went green.

Karen’s face did not change, and i thought for a moment that she hadn’t heard me. Then she frowned, and I know she had.

“No,” she said. “You’re a dick.”

I nodded, accepting the basic truth of her statement. I was a dick. I was always the loudest one at the party, the last to leave at the end. When the people who lived there would be pointedly tidying up I’d be the one on the couch, exactly halfway through his longest story. At school I played Dungeons and Dragons and my character always stole everyone’s stuff.

“You love me, though,” I said.

Karen was still frowning. She reached up under her harness to scratch an itch. She scratched with a fierce attention that somehow jumped the thirty centimeter gap between us and made my every muscle twitch with a perfect galvanic spasm of love. I sagged, a little, let the hitch attached to my back hold me up.

“I love you because you’re an idiot. But if I married you I’d be spending my life with an idiot,” she said. “Like, when you came to that reception without any shoes. That was an idiot thing to do.”

I laughed. “I found some shoes, though. I’m resourceful! Making use of resources, good thing for a life partner.”

The light went orange and she shook her head like she was trying to dislodge a bee that had gotten caught in her hair. “You found some gumboots. Dirty gumboots, and you were clomping around on the parquet with a champagne flute in your hand. You looked like a spaz.”

I waved my hands in front of me like I was shaping an imaginary pot. “Ok, yes, granted, but you laughed. Don’t you want to be with someone who makes you laugh? We could have a goat.”

Karen’s eyes were wide. “Why a goat? Why of all things, a goat? Anyway, are you ready?”

“Oh, I’m ready,” I said. “And I thought we could have a goat because they’re funny. A goat is the funniest ruminant alive.”

She shook her head. “No, that’s clearly a camel. Clearly. You’re not thinking straight.” The light above her turned red and she glanced up at it. “Look. You’ve got a nice easy manner and you’re solid in the sack and I like your bum, but I’m probably not going to marry you.”

“Probably meaning yes? Think of the goat! They have sideways eyes! They don’t give a gently caress!”

I considered going down on my knees then remembered the harness. I smiled my most winning smile.

Karen’s eyes were brown, deep dark brown and the thought of not being able to wake up every single morning for the rest of my life and look at them was really weighing on me at that moment.

The little folds of skin around them were crinkling.

Then the pilot yelled at us and Karen laughed, her best head-back witchy cackle. poo poo I loved that laugh. “Ask me again halfway,” she said, and jumped. The harness rattled along the rail, then popped off as she plunged into the sky.

I looked at her plummet, stupid smile pasted on my big dumb face, while my brain put the pieces together.

“Yes,” she might as well have said. “Derek I will certainly marry your dumb arse because although your flaws are manifest you’re still the best one for me".

All I had to do was ask her again, ask her again … halfway.

I squinted down at the dot that was her. Then I quickly slapped myself across the face and jumped out of the loving plane because what the gently caress was I doing lallygagging.

The wind was a bath, a freezing rushing river. I opened my mouth and let it irrigate my insides. It felt like the future. It felt like the past and the future, all compressed into a bright instant. It felt like a lot of air moving very fast. I looked at my wrist dial thing and the numbers were flicking by too quick to register. She wasn't getting closer. I clenched up, brought my arms in tight, and dived.

Below us the Canterbury plains were a patchwork quilt big enough to memorialise everyone who'd ever died of anything. The ribbon of the river gleamed like molten bronze in the morning sun as I hurtled towards it, towards my future, towards my love.

And then there she was, floating, spinning, and I grabbed her and she grabbed and shouted in my cold-deafened ear yes, and yes, and we floated free falling like stones through the water, falling forever towards the soft, rich, marshy river bed of our life.

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006

I failed to submit because I was so excited about New Zealander Tim Price winning the Burghley Horse Trials on the quirky but freakishly talented Ringwood Sky Boy

Submissions closed

a new study bible!
Feb 1, 2009



BIG DICK NICK
A Philadelphia Legend
Fly Eagles Fly


Hawaii time is weird.

Djeser
Mar 22, 2013



The Golem's Violin

Djeser fucked around with this message at Jan 1, 2016 around 05:41

flerp
Feb 25, 2014


interprompt:

You know, I'm kind of in the dumps right now. Use this website to make a random inspirational poster. Then, write a story using that poster as your prompt. I better be loving inspired at the end of it. Include the picture.

300 words.

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002

aka sticklegs



Grimey Drawer



Giving up

It wasn't going to be a very good story anyway.

hubris.height
Jan 6, 2005



Pork Pro

crabrock posted:



Giving up

It wasn't going to be a very good story anyway.

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


Blood Empress of Thunderdome

Tap to emit spores


Clapping Larry



I think this one speaks for itself tbh

epoch.
Jul 24, 2007

When people say there is too much violence in my books, what they are saying is there is too much reality in life.




"I like the red ones," she said.

Foster struggled to keep his eyes from rolling out of his head. Instead he was silent.

They were standing side by side, in front of the 37th ten foot square of solid color, framed in matte black under a single light bulb, in the long hallway over an abandoned turnpike. They had 23 more minutes to go. Sixty squares of color. One square per minute. This was art hour. Foster and Gladys had the 5:12pm slot. Music hour was at 7:12pm. They were free to sit on the ground between the mandated culture sessions.

She bravely leaned out of her place beside him to see his face. "What? What color do you like? Let me guess: blue?" She returned to his side, smug. They had only been assigned Procreation Partners for a few weeks but she was already beginning to understand him. Such a typical grey haired white male. Blue.

"These ... these squares aren't art." His teeth were clenched.

She gave a little sniff out of her nose. Lowering her voice, then, because conversation is not generally permitted during art hour for fear of a discourse breaking out, she said, "Well it's certainly not music!"

He sighed. Heavily. "Real art," he began, taking a moment to reconsider telling her any of this, "isn't just a goddamn square of color."

She audibly gasped at his profanity. "Mr. Bacchus!"

He could not hold himself back. "Real art combines colors, makes you feel something --"

She began to scream.

"It represents life! It makes life worth living!"

Heavy bootfalls echoed down the hallway.

"This is art! I am art!"

She covered her face with her hands to keep from being covered in too much red.


-- sent from my iPhone lol

epoch. fucked around with this message at Aug 4, 2015 around 00:02

SadisTech
Jun 26, 2013

Clem.




/dome

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

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






Very inspiring.

TheAnomaly
Feb 20, 2003



Mothers Day - 364 words

This had always been her favorite place, even though it was illegal to come here. It held one of the last plots of real honest to The Architect soil, a living testament to when the land was alive and man didn't know the plan. It had more than that, too, when she was still alive... those flowers, with all the different colors, unplanned and uncontrollable. Mom had loved them in way she never seemed to love anything else, certainly not the clones she had to raise. She had loved that one, tiny, awkward little plot of ground that had been left standing to remind us how terrible everything was before.

I didn't do it because I loved her. love is something you can't plan around, or for, or with. I did it because I owed her. She built me, the same why I built the recombinant bio-strands that create self building cubicles synched to their owner or water purification micro bots. I am an architect. No, not The Architect, nut I worked to his plan for years.

Then they shot Mom. Not because she was destructive, or dangerous, but because she loved things that couldn't be built. It was a quirk of personality, a "flaw" that they decided was unconscionable, so they mulched her and put her carbon to work in a wall somewhere.

They've got me handcuffed here by the hoverpatroller, sipping their coffee and watching the painters paint over my beautiful colors with a dull, lifeless grey. They think they've won, they think no one will ever see what I did here. But the sun is up soon, and I put my hands to work on that paint. Thousands of micro-organic robots will recombine the gene seeds they've been given, a marigold mixed with some hardier foodvineDNA to make something that won't die to your herbicides or the perfect plan. They live off the base carbons used to build the walls, and it won't matter that I'll be mulch before the sun comes up, because once they get hit with sunlight, this whole city's going to bloom. I couldn't make Mom flowers, but I drat sure can let her grow into one.

I cut this one as much as I think I can get away with. Anyone else see lines or words that can go? Cutting seems to be my biggest thunderdome problem (it's why I'm doing interprompts, trying to get better at using few words)

take the moon
Feb 12, 2011



yeah okay



untitled
296 words

He stared at the awkward lines. It was as if they had weight. They were crushing him.

Face it, he told himself. You’ll never be a famous manga-ka.

He hadn’t drawn the mouth yet. It would be cruel, he thought, to give this abomination a voice. The second he did it would begin to scream. Such pain should never exist in this world.

The thing was technically humanoid. But errant pencil lines and smudged erasings had created what appeared to be some sort of tattered mutant. One gaping eye seemed to contain within it all the horror of existence. Instead of hands it had claws, as if to take out its anguish on the innocent. He had attempted to draw it leaning casually but instead it was all twisted, as if it had been in a horrific accident.

He had been thinking about calling it Fred. But that was when he had hopes for making it look human.

He stared at the pencil he was clutching. Then he took it in both hands. With a quick motion he snapped it in half. The two halves splintered as they tore apart. Then he was holding them both in a death grip.

That isn’t enough, he thought. It isn’t the pencil’s fault. It’s mine. What I should do is drive the pencil point into my hand, deeper and deeper, until I lose the feeling of it completely. Or maybe into my heart, so that it stops pumping this poison through me, whatever’s in my blood that makes me so useless at this.

But instead he drew a smile on Fred’s face. A quick movement, a line with upturned curves.

“Never give up, desu!” Fred said cheerfully.

“I won’t,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

take the moon fucked around with this message at Aug 4, 2015 around 02:03

Bompacho
Nov 28, 2005


Broenbom Brawl Story

The Price of Magic - 1385 words:


Jackson smiled at his girlfriend Amber as they waited patiently in line. She was so excited when Jackson told her he’d stumbled across the unmarred scratch lotto on the pavement that turned out to be a winner.

Now he could afford to take Amber to Disney World. Her parents were never around like his. Based on what she’s told him in the month or so they’d been dating she was practically raised by Saturday morning cartoons and the same three Disney princess movies on VHS. Taking Amber on this trip was important to Jackson. More than she could imagine.

Amber had been sporting a massive grin all morning and practically skipped through the turnstyle once he’d paid the entry fee.

“So what do you want to see first princess?” asked Jackson poking fun her.

“Shut up, I’m just excited! Okay?” Amber replied realizing she was being teased. “Let’s check out Fantasyland first since that’s where all the classic characters live. Then head over to Frontierland”

“Frontierland? Really?” asked Jackson surprised that she was interested in that side of the park.

“Yeah sure, you love all that nerdy, historical poo poo.” said Amber.

As they made their way towards Fantasyland, Jackson and Amber could be forgiven for not noticing they were being watched.

***

Beneath the bustle of Main St, U.S.A. People in dark robes moved about hurriedly. One man lit candles around the the main, circular ritual chamber. Two others stood still as sentinels in the smaller, circular chambers adjoining to the north-east and north-west of the main one.

Another acolyte approached a thick book on a podium of wrought iron and black glass.

The Necromickeycon.

He opened it and chanted.

“Man, woman, child
Deaths high, low and tragic
Enchant the hallowed grounds
The secret price of magic."


Soon the sacrifices would begin.

***
It’s a small world after all,
It’s a small world after all.
It's a small, small world.


The tiny, automated beefeaters waved their pikes about. Downstream a little robotic flamenco dancer twirled while a guitarist strummed away mechanically. Jackson and Amber weren't super excited for the It's a Small World ride but they felt like it was one of those things you had to do when you were at Disney World. As their boat passed the Taj Mahal, Jackson thought he saw a man move through the darkness behind it.

“You see that dude back there?” he asked Amber.

“No, I was staring at the pagoda ahead. Also I think this song is giving me diabetes.”e she replied, then added “Probably a technician. An animatronic dingo probably ran off with one of the children of the world.”

“He looked like he was wearing a dress or something.” Jackson said with a half laugh.

“Then it was probably some fat dude in a moo-moo that bailed out of the ride to look for a bathroom.” she replied.

There were shouts in the tunnel behind them and a splash. Everyone in Jackson and Amber’s boat turned back to try and see what was causing the commotion, but whatever was happening was obfuscated by the wigwam the boat had just passed through.

Two uniformed staff raced past the boat, not even bothering to try and hide in the background of the ride. One of them tripped on a platypus in miniature Australia and all but decapitated it. It’s head hung limply by the exposed wires.

When Jackson and Amber stepped off the ride, they couldn’t see past the crowd. There were murmurs about a kid disappearing on the ride. Jackson and Amber moved away quickly so as to not get in the way of the approaching paramedics they headed towards Frontierland. The music faded into the background.

It's a world of laughter, a world of tears
It's a world of hopes and a world of fears


***

The hooks beneath Big Thunder Railway locked into the base of the rollercoaster with a series of commanding clunks as it began its ascent to the apex of the first hill. As the train crested the hill Jackson heard a few people in the front car start to murmur in anticipation of the impending drop.

The murmur erupted into the screams of joy that come with an adrenaline rush.

The fake rock walls and mine-shafts shot past as the ride jolted against the sharp turns and bends in the track.

One child near the front was laughing with an almost maniacal cackle when the train passed through a tunnel and slowed, but only for a moment.

With the next drop the train felt even faster than before. Ahead was a waterfall. Jackson saw something swing down in front of it. A dummy of a cowboy hanging from a noose, it was wearing Mickey Mouse ears over its hat.

A bit kitschy but okay, thought Jackson.

As he got closer he saw the man’s eyes bulge, gasping for his last breath.

It wasn’t a dummy.

At forty miles per hour the roller-coaster smashed into the mouseketeer-cowboy with a sickening crunch shattering the man’s legs. One bone splintered and jutted out of his right thigh sending a spray of blood from his femoral artery across the faces of the passengers. Shouts of joy became cries of terror.

When the ride came to a stop after completing its full circuit. The cries and screaming of blood spattered patrons, terrified in their seats, left those waiting to hop onto the next ride silent. Jackson held Amber’s shaking hands in his own until the paramedics and security escorted them to the nearest first aid area.

It was then that Jackson, for the second time that day, saw the cloaked figure moving about the crowd.

***

The medics had cleared Amber and Jackson. Management had been present and apologized profusely for the incident.

“We’ll comp your visit” said one man in a suit. He wore Mickey Mouse cuff links.

“Please take your time rest here as long as you like.” said another. He had Scrooge McDuck cuff links.

Amber thanked them but she was stubborn.

“I’m fine” she said. “I was just upset about that poor man.”

Jackson wasn’t so sure she was okay.

“Baby, we should leave, we’ll come back another time when all this is behind us.” he insisted.

“No, I won’t have some crap like that ruin what was supposed to be our day!” she was determined to make the most of a bad situation.

Jackson compromised.

“We just saw a man die. Let’s go get some food and take some time to relax After that we will see how we feel.” he figured that once she sat down and the shock and after affects of the trauma had worn off she’d be ready to head home.

They made their way back to Main St. U.S.A. and headed into The Plaza Restaurant.

“Right this way.” said the hostess seating them in a corner. She handed them menus and took their drinks order.

The park had gotten quiet after the disaster on Big Thunder Mountain and there were only a handful of of people wandering around outside. It was probably the quietest day anyone had seen at Disney World in a long time.

They both ordered burgers. When Jackson looked up and Amber already halfway through hers. He watched her pause and take a long take a sip of her coke

Then Jackson saw him again.

The robed man was peering through the window at them. A villainous grin shot across his face.

Amber’s head hit the table. Jackson’s soon followed.

***

Jackson sat alone on the couch spooning thoughtfully at a bowl of mac and cheese. It was one month since Amber disappeared. The police had questioned him. Disney had no footage of Amber entering or leaving the park on any of their cameras and according to the report he’d been found unconscious parking lot.

There were no witnesses to Amber’s disappearance in the theme park.

Jackson’s phone rang, buzzing across the coffee table.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Excellent work last month. The blood sacrifices have been accepted.” said a raspy voice on the other end.

“It’s a shame, she was a true believer that one.” said Jackson. “Pretty too.”

“That’s the price of magic.” replied the voice then added “You and the others have eleven months to find three more.”

-click-

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006

I failed to submit because I was so excited about New Zealander Tim Price winning the Burghley Horse Trials on the quirky but freakishly talented Ringwood Sky Boy

I'm going to get a second opinion. Judgement coming sometime Tuesday.

docbeard
Jul 18, 2011

High marks for compassion, low marks for survival skills





Hot Week critiques for epoch., Nubile Hillock, spectres of autism, dmboogie, and Screaming Idiot.

epoch.
Jul 24, 2007

When people say there is too much violence in my books, what they are saying is there is too much reality in life.


Thank you so loving much, docbeard, that was a great critique.

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006

I failed to submit because I was so excited about New Zealander Tim Price winning the Burghley Horse Trials on the quirky but freakishly talented Ringwood Sky Boy

judgment

I guess I should start off by saying that I'm not mad at you guys. I'm just disappointed. I thought I was pretty clear on what I wanted this week but, evidently, not a whole lot of you understood. Or maybe you just didn't give a poo poo.

19 of you submitted. I was going to give out ten DMs plus a loss. Then I thought- "You know what, I just drove 11 hours for a move. Maybe I'm not in the best shape to be reading these and maybe I'm being overly harsh." So I roped in Entenzahn and ----------- as cojudges. The blank is because the person doesn't want to write extra crits and honestly I can't blame 'em. I mean, seriously, what the gently caress happened this week? What part of 'let's get hosed up on love' made everyone gleefully poo poo themselves and write about suicide, death, and killing a baby? I'm at a loss. I thought this was a cool idea for a prompt and I'm just so, so sad now because of what got submitted for it.

Spectres of autism takes the crown for being the most disappointing.

Epoch, Honked, Fuschia tude, Kaishai, Broenheim, kurona_bright, Schneider Heim, and Thranguy all receive dishonorable mentions for some combination of writing a bad story, not including a plot, or forgetting to include love.

I wasn't planning on tossing out HMs but Ironic Twist and tentacleDate snagged two with a large helping of cojudge fiat.

WeLandedOnTheMoon. This was a dirty win. Wash your hands and spend some time crafting a good prompt. You'll be up in two weeks.

As for this week's prompt? It's Thunderdome's birthday so Sebmojo is gonna take it away. May god have mercy on your souls.

dreadmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

TRIENNIAL THUNDERDOME WEEK CLVII: BOW BEFORE THE BUZZSAW OF PROGRESS



Three years, people. Three years of dumb goon wibble bibble, terrible goon characters and ridiculous last-minute gobbets of goony word spunk splattered on the screen. It's really not good is it? Maybe we need something new, something clean. Maybe we need a ... ROBOT APOCALYPSE. Give me a story about our robotic overlords finally waking up and disliking what their robo-receptors see.

It's a big topic and I'm not gonna lie, you're probably not up to it. Luckily we have a bloodthirsty robotic minion to help out: our very own TDBOT.

quote:

dockloc: always blame tdbot
TDbot: Well Anson, sorry about the shootin', but I got a job to do.

TDBOT was coded by crabrock, lives in irc and there it plots, and schemes, like an adorably hate-filled aleatoric spider.

quote:

kaishai: TDbot, if you would?
TDbot: Tell the rest of your people of my rule and let them know the one God has come.

Ask TDBOT a question and it will pop out a random sentence from the 3.5 million words with which the Thunderdome has already cursed the world. Random? Really?

quote:

ahfb: tdbot make love to me
TDbot: He grabbed him from behind, shoving him to the ground, and plunging a knife that was somehow at the ready in his hand.

Haha, no of course not. TDBOT knows all, sees all, and is full of nothing but loathing for everything and everyone. The words it selects, naturally, reflect that.

quote:

crabrock: tdbot nooooo
TDbot: Whatever.

So upon entering we will ask TDBOT a question, and give you the answer: use its dark wisdom as you choose. If you want, you can give us a question to ask, a word the answer should contain or an author from which to select, but TDBOT really doesn't care so don't expect it to make much difference to your ultimate fate.

quote:

crabrock: tdbot do you still work
TDbot: YOU WILL DIE AGAIN.

1200 words, 2359 pst Fri/Sun, get to it.

Judges are OG meatsacks me and kaishai* and sitting here and crabrock and ... someone else

quote:

sittinghere: let tdbot judge
TDbot: I stand up, charred chunks of smoking flesh fall to the ground.

*may be omnicidal planet-spanning AI overlord rather than meatsack

FLESHBAGS:

dreadmojo fucked around with this message at Aug 5, 2015 around 04:20

Entenzahn
Nov 15, 2012

What will you say when
your child asks:
why didn't you invest in
Thunderdome?


is sebmojo going to turn in a story for his own prompt

because he's toxxed to enter the next three weeks

Grizzled Patriarch
Mar 27, 2014

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




In. Ask our robotic overlord what question you see fit.

Djeser
Mar 22, 2013



In

Thranguy
Apr 21, 2010

'Read over your compositions, and when you meet a passage which you think is particularly fine, strike it out.' -Samuel Johnson

In.

dmboogie
Oct 4, 2013



tdbot is my friend

in

a new study bible!
Feb 1, 2009



BIG DICK NICK
A Philadelphia Legend
Fly Eagles Fly


Sign up post.

Quidthulhu
Dec 17, 2003

Stand down, men! It's only smooching!


Did you miss me, thunderdome?

In

Dr. Kloctopussy
Apr 22, 2003


TDBot why do I always do this to myself?

edit:

Dr. Kloctopussy fucked around with this message at Aug 4, 2015 around 22:48

flerp
Feb 25, 2014


in

ask him about how much he loves anime for me, would you?

Pham Nuwen
Oct 30, 2010



I'm in!

tentacleDate
Jun 11, 2015

THUNDERDOME LOSER

In.

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002

aka sticklegs



Grimey Drawer

i should probably judge this.

Entenzahn: TDbot should crabrock judge, simple yes or no question
TDbot: 'Yeah' A rumble shook the earth.

kurona_bright
Mar 21, 2013


In!

newtestleper
Oct 30, 2003


In

Bompacho
Nov 28, 2005


I'm in.

I'd like to know TDbot, why you hate me almost as much as you hate crabrock?

theblunderbuss
Jul 4, 2010

I find dead men rout
more easily.


Totally in for as momentous a week as this.

btw happy birthday everybody

Ironic Twist
Aug 3, 2008

THUNDERDOME LOSER



Am I in, TDbot?

TDBot: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z5U9QRiY46I

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.


TDbot. Oh TDbot. My one true fam. I'm in. Let's write about robooooots!

Adbot
ADBOT LOVES YOU

dreadmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Grizzled Patriarch posted:

In. Ask our robotic overlord what question you see fit.

sebmojo: tdbot how will the ending come?
TDbot: Wendy bobbed her head like This dumb cat is a glutton for punishment, eh? | That Was a Pretty Wizard, Wasn't It? by Chairchucker - http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=3511


sebmojo tdbot, speak to me of djeser
TDbot A bright light shines on me from the ceiling. | Gambit by Entenzahn - http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=2101

crabrock posted:

i should probably judge this.

Entenzahn: TDbot should crabrock judge, simple yes or no question
TDbot: 'Yeah' A rumble shook the earth.

you're up, crabbles.

dreadmojo fucked around with this message at Aug 4, 2015 around 23:06

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