Spin like Tyrannosaurus's Gatling gun.
|# ¿ Aug 28, 2015 04:43|
|# ¿ Oct 17, 2021 21:37|
“Contraband, now.” Rude.
I flung the ‘contraband’ at Officer Shithead’s shithead, hitting. He only shrieked and stumbled back, so I ran deeper into the alley and around a corner. A dumpster let me climb to a roof, which let me leap to another roof, which let me run all the way home, safe but empty handed. drat, it took me forever to get that bottle.
“Where’s the alcohol?” demanded Sandy, my girlfriend.
“Drank it all,” I lied and smiled.
“Yeah, well, you’re sleeping on the couch until I get me some!” She would’ve said the same regardless of my excuse. I gathered my sheets and pillow, set up on the couch, and wished the bed bugs good night.
Three days later and I was sitting on a park bench, pen and paper in hand, still not drunk or laid. I had found a clue, though; an old buddy of mine got locked up for drinking and, though his pad was barren, he had a map tucked behind his TV. Problem was, the X marks the spot was here in this park, which was patrolled constantly by drones because of people like me doing things like what I wanted to do.
I finished writing down the patrol schedule. My best chance was tomorrow morning around three, so I had time to prepare. First, I went to a different old buddy’s house.
“Open up Karl! It’s Jax! I got a job!” I pounded on his door.
A short, glasses wearing, nervous looking man opened the door. Yup, that was Karl alright. He looked at me hopefully, “You got a job?”
“Yup, for the both of us,” I whispered.
“Oh.” He shrank back, “Jax, you know I don’t do that anymore. I have a wife now. Also, a real job.”
“Honey, who’s Jax?” yelled a shrill voice from deep into the home.
“Uh, just a friend from work!” yelled back Karl.
“Didn’t he say he got a job?”
“Um, yeah, he just got a job at the agency!” Smooth, Karl.
“Well, don’t let him stand outside! Invite him in for dinner!”
“He can’t stay for-“
“I’d love to! Thank you!” I interrupted Karl and stepped into his home. I whispered to him again, “This is the big one, okay? It’s the last time, split it fifty-fifty. You still like liquor, don’t you?”
Karl licked his lips, “I haven’t had it in seven years.”
Dinner went smoothly. I had no idea what a CPA was, still don’t, but apparently I was one. At the end, as the happy couple was seeing me off, I said, “By the way, ‘The Boss’ wants both of us by three in the morning.” Their mouths dropped open. “I know, I know, it's bullshit. Said it was for special training. Anyway, I’m not going to argue, I just got this job.”
Karl nodded, “Oh, um, yeah.” He turned to his wife. “Mr. Gillham sent an email along those lines last week. I completely forgot, dear.”
“What on earth will you be doing at three in the morning?”
“I, uh, don’t know. The email said it was a secret, but critical for our agency.”
His wife snorted. “Well, fine, but I’m complaining to Mr. Gillham next time he comes over.”
“O-of course, dear.” Karl was good at digging holes. I mentally noted to give him the shovel later.
“Well, anyway, it’s been great, but I really gotta go sleep. See ya.” Shaking Karl’s hand, I passed him the map.
I spent the rest of the day ‘borrowing’ tools; the shovel, nightwear, a dolly, rope, night binoculars, and a pellet pistol in case the drones needed shooting. Eventually it was time, Karl showing up on the dot, but why was he wearing a suit? I tossed him the shovel, “I would say suit up, but.”
He barely caught it. “It’s the only way I could get out of the house with the cover story intact. I tried to dress dark.”
“As long as you don’t mind getting it dirty. Follow me.” I lead our way into the park, around the patrols, and to the spot near a bush. “Start digging, I’ll keep watch.”
As Karl grunted and groaned, I lazily observed the drones buzzing in other parts. Then I saw Officer Shithead. What was he doing here? I chuckled, he had a bandage over his nose. That’s when he started marching over here.
“Karl, stop digging and get down.” I spat and pushed both of us into the bush. I peeked and saw that Officer Shithead wasn’t marching straight.
“Hahahahaha, I feel great!” Shithead shouted to the skies, drunk. Drunk on my ‘contraband’, the hypocrite. I stopped looking, but could still hear him coming this way. Then I heard unzipping. I clapped a hand over Karl’s mouth to keep him from screaming even as a stream poured down on him. I mentally noted to leave any light beer out of his share.
Eventually Shithead stopped and wandered off, so I took my hand off Karl’s mouth and wiped it on his tie. “Jax.” Karl said, strangely calm.
“You earned it.” I nodded and let him keep digging. Eventually we found the mother-load, an entire briefcase. “Wow, it’s full. Beer, vodka, whisky, it even has some alcoholic energy drinks. That stuff was banned before the prohibition!” I shouted too loudly. A drone noticed us. “Quick, tie it to the dolly and let’s get out.” I commanded Karl.
As he was busy with that, I took out the pellet pistol. “Eat lead!” I pulled the trigger, hitting.
“The rope snapped.” Karl whined.
“Ugh,” I shoved the useless gun into my waistband and grabbed Karl by the tie.
“W-what?” Karl closed his eyes. I pulled the tie off him and used it as a makeshift rope, glad they make them long. “Oh.”
“Now stop whining and start pulling.” I gripped a side of the dolly and sped off, Karl helping, but huffing.
When we made it out, Officer Shithead was waiting for us, a real gun in his hands. “Contraband, now.” Still rude.
“Jax, what now?” Karl shivered.
I did the only thing I could do. “Gun down or the bystander gets it.” I pulled out the pellet gun and pushed it to Karl’s head.
“You wouldn’t.” Shithead called my bluff.
“You, of all people, should know what someone would do to get drunk.” I taunted.
Shithead stared at me. I stared at Shithead. Karl stared at the real gun. Finally, Shithead holstered his gun. “Fine, but I already called reinforcements. Don’t think you’re getting away.”
“I don’t have to think it.” I shoved Karl into the officer and they both fell down. I mentally noted to make it seventy-thirty as I ran faster than I ever had before, contraband in tow. No siren could catch me and I eventually made it home.
“Alcohol?” Sandy asked, hopeful.
“So much baby. So much.” I opened the case and pulled out two beers, handing one to her.
“Oh, Jax.” She pulled me to the bed. It may have been hard work, but one thing was for sure; the price was right.
|# ¿ Aug 31, 2015 01:31|
"Perhaps it was not a good idea," Weston wiped his face, "breaking into the waste treatment plant with C4."
Jon Joe fucked around with this message at 20:43 on Aug 31, 2015
|# ¿ Aug 31, 2015 17:13|
I'm willing to do a few line-by-line crits if anyone's interested
I'm interested, thank you.
|# ¿ Sep 1, 2015 14:33|
In it to win it
|# ¿ Sep 1, 2015 17:27|
Thanks for the crit Sitting Here. Okay done.
Jon Joe fucked around with this message at 23:41 on Sep 1, 2015
|# ¿ Sep 1, 2015 23:32|
Thanks for the critique, Sitting Here. And furthermore NOTHING BECAUSE THIS ISN'T THE THREAD FOR THAT YOU BUNCH OF WRITERS AT LEAST AS MEDIOCRE AS ME
Oh, sorry, I didn't realize.
|# ¿ Sep 1, 2015 23:41|
A Man's Work
Every day, my sons and I worked the fields. They would sometimes complain and I would laugh at them until their pride shut them up. Bartholomew, my oldest, left the farm as soon as he could; Ruth didn’t stop crying that night, or several nights after. I could only hold her and assure her that either Bartholomew had the guts to face the world, or would return home.
Every day, most of my sons and I worked the fields. It became more expensive each year, but we never wanted. Our neighbors were not so blessed. When the Pravins left for the city, they took Thomas with them, already a man with a son of his own on his way. Ruth cried less for him, happy for his new family, but held to our last three tighter.
Every day, most of my sons worked the fields. I watched over them, making sure they did it right, but was more concerned with Ruth. She had fallen ill and we did not have the means to cure her. I could only hold her and assure her that either she would be better soon, or she would be better later. Nobody could assure me.
Every day, some of my sons and I worked the fields. With the passing of Ruth, Melvin decided to go to college and become a doctor. Ruth couldn’t cry, so I did in her stead; I shook him, I yelled until he shouldn’t want to leave. He left anyway. Thomas showed for Ruth’s funeral and I saw my grandson, his eyes green like Ruth’s. There was no sign of Bartholomew.
Every day, I worked most of the fields. I begged my body to move more, so I took care of as much as I could. Omar would try to coax me away, but I pushed forward, content with every ache. Evan took care of the home and replaced every piece of rotten wood with a fresh plank; he built me a new room when I could no longer climb the stairs.
Every day, I worked most I could. I was limited to just a few acres, but would not stop until I could only stop. Melvin returned and told me I could only stop. I laughed at him, he was too deep in his books to assure me of his word, but Evan built him a clinic on the old Pravin land.
Every day, I worked my miniature field. Bending made me want to cry, but my pride shut me up. I held to this small work; it became more difficult each year, but I had the guts to face every ache. When I stopped working, would I still be a man? The only thing I would have left is most of my sons.
Every day, I worked on my single plant. I watched over it, making sure it grew right, but was more concerned with Omar. Evan had found a wife, became a man. Omar was not so blessed. He, alone, worked all the fields as I had once. I wanted to shake him, to yell until he should want to leave, but could only lay there in bed and assure that my plant was well.
Every day, there was no sign of Bartholomew. I didn’t stop crying. I cried less for him, but more for myself, the mistakes I must have made for him to hate me so. I laughed at myself until my pride shut up. I begged myself to make peace, so I took care of as much as I could. Melvin wrote my will to assure the world of my word; the only thing my sons would have left would be my fields.
My last day, I saw my grandson, his eyes green like Ruth’s. It became more awkward every minute, but he could only hold me and assure me. I thought back to my life, how every day my sons and I worked the fields. It became more distant every second, but I could only watch as it left my mind as soon as it could. With a splitting of light, my final moment, I saw Ruth, her eyes green like my grandson’s.
|# ¿ Sep 6, 2015 21:30|
In as a winner because I feel like ruining art.
|# ¿ Sep 8, 2015 22:36|
Flash rule me.
|# ¿ Sep 8, 2015 23:11|
thanks for the crit thranguy
Not an empty quote.
|# ¿ Sep 9, 2015 17:34|
What sounds more like you?
This fine fellow?
- "I think I am going to relax with a nice cup of joe and rewrite a nice story into a nicer story. Nice!"
Or this rear end in a top hat?
It's no contest. You're a winner!
|# ¿ Sep 11, 2015 04:34|
How Sy Lost His Hop
Flash rules: Modern day, Monopody
Once there was a world exactly like ours, except everyone had only one leg. Why? Well, why do we have two legs? It’s a hard question to answer.
In this world, there was a young man named Sy, and he was just a man.
Sy lived in a small house in a beautiful town. As a child, he loved to hop through the streets, everyone smiling and waving at him. He would hop through the playground in elementary school, hop through the hallways in middle school, and hop through the gym in high school. He loved to hop, but what he really wanted was to run. He had seen videos of rich people in the city, running with the help of a metal second leg.
Sy had a friend. Her name was Yuan and she had green hair. He had grown up with her, since before he knew of metal legs. She was like a sister to him, always willing to listen, sometimes cheering him up when he was upset. When he graduated high school and left his parents to go live on his own, she was there to greet him, helping him move into his new apartment.
One day, he told Yuan, “I saw it again.”
It was the metal leg, the thing that Sy wanted the most. He had watched every video, read every book, he could. If he could just get that, he could run all he wanted, anywhere he wanted, maybe even run to the moon and back.
“What color was this one?” asked Yuan, laying on the couch.
“Silver, with flames,” said Sy. He showed her a picture on his phone “Do you like it?”
There was silence as Yuan thought. Finally, she said “I guess.”
Sy hopped over to a chair and sat, “I want to move to the city.”
“I want to run, I need to run. It would be faster than hopping and I would love it.” Sy stared at the picture. “And I’ve seen how it looks on me in my dreams. I think I would look much better. I want to go the city and become rich, to afford it.”
Yuan nodded. “I want you to be happy. My sister, An, lives in the city. She can help you find a job and a new apartment. Her apartment is on Ocean Street.”
The next week, Sy set out towards the city. The masses of people scared him, as no one smiled or waved at him. They all just hopped along, ignoring everyone else. Sy got lost in the masses and did not find An’s apartment until night. When he knocks on her door, a woman with black hair answered, “Yeah?”
“Hi, I’m Sy. Are you An?”
“Ah, my sister sent you. Yes, I’m An. Come in, sit.” An let him in. He hopped over to a chair and sat. “So, you want a metal leg?”
“They’re expensive, you know,” An warned, “You could work for a long time before getting one.”
“I know. I’m willing to, though.”
An shook her head. “Yuan loves you, you know?”
Sy frowned. “What? Why didn’t she tell me?”
“She couldn’t tell you herself. She saw how much you wanted this metal leg, to go to the city, to run. She wouldn’t tell you not to. It’s not too late, though. You can still return to her.”
Sy thought silently. Then he said, “I will go back after I get the metal leg. I’m sure I can get it soon.”
An shrugged, “Okay, have it your way. I can get you some interviews and show you some apartments here in the city.”
Sy worked hard every day, saving money for the mechanical leg, but every month his money would go towards food and rent and he’d have none left to save. His hop became a limp. Yuan waited for him back home, but Sy never escaped the city, chasing his dream until he was just another one in the masses.
|# ¿ Sep 14, 2015 02:11|
Lapis lazuli amulet in the form of a vulture.
|# ¿ Sep 15, 2015 21:19|
How Jinwei Xu Became Immortal
Lapis lazuli amulet in the form of a vulture.
Jinwei Xu leaned against a boulder and pulled his greatest treasure from his pack. The silver jar reflected his wide eyes back towards him. As Jinwei Xu gazed at the jar and sighed, a second set of eyes were reflected, these ones sharp and beady. When he looked up, there was Xian Yao, sitting atop the boulder. “Very pretty.” Xian Yao said.
“It is a gift. For you. Please accept it.” Jinwei Xu held up the silver jar and Xian Yao snatched it from him.
“Very pretty.” Xian Yao repeated.
“Y-yes.” Jinwei Xu was unnerved by Xian Yao’s mannerisms. “I was hoping honored Xian Yao would bless me with a trinket.”
Xian Yao laughed. “Most do not address me so respectfully. Very well, I suppose a traveler such as yourself would need to ward off evil spirits.”
Jinwei Xu shook his head. “No. Rather, I want a trinket to bind an evil spirit to my service. It’s my goal to achieve immortality and I think an evil spirit can teach me.”
Xian Yao grasped Jinwei Xu by the wrist. No matter how he struggled, Jinwei Xu could not escape the grip. “Be careful, young one. Evil spirits are not easily played with. Are you sure this is what you want?”
He wanted to say no. He wanted to escape this weird man, run as far as he could, but he wanted immortality more. While trembling, Jinwei Xu gave a weak nod.
“Excellent!” Xian Yao laughed. Without releasing Jinwei Xu or the silver jar, Xian Yao jumped from the boulder and firmly landed. “Follow me,” he commanded. With his wrist still gripped, Jinwei Xu didn’t have a choice.
The inside of Xian Yao’s hovel was filled with stones, some half-carved. Completed trinkets hung from the walls, stacked upon themselves like waves rolling from the ceiling to floor. There was no open space for Xian Yao to sleep. “Let me find what you need,” said Xian Yao, tossing the silver jar into a corner before digging through the amulets.
As Xian Yao searched, Jinwei Xu thought. Once he was an immortal, he could return to his homeland and kill the invaders. When they came, Jinwei Xu had fled for fear of his life. Immortality would make him fearless! Only then could he respect himself once more. Only then would he-
“Ah, here you are.” Xian Yao’s voice broke Jinwei Xu’s thoughts. Xian Yao was holding forward a blue amulet in the form of a vulture. It was strung at the bottom, to be worn upside down. The two holes made the amulet look as much like a skull as it did a vulture.
“This is?” Jinwei Xu was hesitant to touch such an unlucky looking trinket.
“Only what you asked for. It will give you access to the strongest evil spirit I have ever encountered, Vulture.” Xian Yao pushed the amulet nearer to Jinwei Xu, who involuntarily took a step back. “Perhaps you are not pleased by my generosity?” Xian Yao frowned.
“N-no, it’s what I want. Thank you.” Jinwei Xu carefully received the amulet, as not to anger either Xian Yao or the spirit. When he placed it around his neck, he felt much calmer, as though his fears had fled. “I feel great!
“Good, good.” Xian Yao gave a small smile. “To summon the spirit and receive its aid, you must go to the mountain and rub the amulet while praising Vulture. It will not answer your call here,” he explained.
“Of course. Thank you once more for all your help, honored Xian Yao.” Jinwei Xu bowed. Xian Yao did not respond, instead fretting over one of his half-finished trinkets. Jinwei Xu quietly withdrew.
“Oh great and powerful Vulture, I am in awe of your form. Please, grant this humble one your heavenly presence,” Jinwei Xu muttered while rubbing the amulet. In response, the mountain forest silenced. Then, with a loud cry, a bleeding boar stumbled out towards Jinwei Xu. Though struggling, it finally gave into death. Jinwei waited for Vulture to descend. Instead, the boar exploded into gore. There, standing atop its bones and feasting on its heart, was Vulture.
Jinwei Xu wiped this blood from his face. “Greetings, honored Vulture. I am Jinwei Xu.”
“I know.” Vulture finished its dinner and began gnawing at bones for desert.
“Then, you must also know I desire immortality?”
“Of course.” Vulture snapped a bone in half with its beak.
“Then how do I-“
“Enough. You will train to grow stronger. Within these mountains are many beasts tougher and tastier than this boar. You will hunt them to death and I shall feed on their corpses. Only after I grow tired of their taste shall I grant you immortality.”
“Of course. I shall start now.” Thus Jinwei Xu began his three years of training.
“Very good, young one.” Vulture praised Jinwei Xu as it feasted upon the ape’s corpse. “There is one more test I have for you, then you shall become immortal. Near the peak of the mountain lives the largest pack of wolves on the continent. Two hundred strong, you must slaughter every one of them!”
“Of course.” Jinwei Xu bowed, even his servile form rippling with power.
The journey to the peak was easy to the new Jinwei Xu, but the fight was not. Though he could kill a wolf with a single strike, they overwhelmed him in numbers and tore at his flesh, every killed member only infuriating the pack to redouble their efforts. The forthcoming gift of immortality kept Jinwei Xu fighting through the pain, the haze of blood, the ceaseless howling. Vulture lazily ate the wolf carcasses while Jinwei Xu continued to battle.
When Jinwei Xu struck down the last wolf, he gave into pain and could no longer stand. “Vulture, please, grant me immortality now,” he pleaded.
“Patience, young one. Immortal or not, you should not rush your meals.” Vulture continued his feast. Jinwei Xu used every ounce of willpower to not give into his wounds. Finally, when all the wolves were eaten, Vulture turned to Jinwei Xu. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Jinwei Xu said weakly.
Vulture flew to him and laughed like Xian Yao before it tore and ate a chunk of flesh from Jinwei Xu. “Delicious. The strongest are always the best tasting.”
“W-what is this?” Jinwei Xu could not believe it.
“Only what you asked for. You shall live forever as part of me. Lucky, lucky.” Vulture ate another chunk.
The screams of Jinwei Xu echoed down the mountain to Xian Yao’s hovel, where the silver jar lay and Xian Yao did not.
|# ¿ Sep 20, 2015 19:22|
|# ¿ Sep 22, 2015 03:33|
Thank you for the crit DocKloc.
|# ¿ Sep 24, 2015 22:42|
Failure to submit.
|# ¿ Sep 28, 2015 05:06|
This prompt is simple. When you sign up, I am going to give you the synopsis of a single episode of Judge Judy. This is now the synopsis for your story. These synopses are fairly focused, although you are certainly welcome to take some liberties for the sake of storytelling. However, if you stray too far, you will be held in contempt of Thunderdome, and dealt with accordingly when judgment comes.
Didn't complete last time, so I'm ing this time.
|# ¿ Nov 12, 2015 05:35|
Thanks for the crit!
|# ¿ Nov 14, 2015 18:32|
A woman claims a man conned her into buying a car without a title and presses charges against him for fraud.
“You give me the title,” Satan offered, “and I’ll give you back your soul.”
“That simple? A title is worth my soul?” I asked. As a used car salesman, I knew there was a catch.
It had started three weeks ago. A woman named Jasmine had come to my dealership, said she was on a tight budget, but wouldn’t buy a piece of junk. I knew her type, willing to spend more than she said if you got her frustrated enough. I had her on the ropes, exhausted and dead-eyed. In the end, she spent fourteen thousand on a car that wasn’t worth ten. Better yet, that was before the interest-accruing payment plan for the half of the money she didn’t have.
Two days later, she came back. “Hey, rear end in a top hat Steve, where’s the title?” Lovely.
I gave her a wide smile. “It’s in the glovebox, Jasmine.”
“No it ain’t. I checked and double-checked. You’re cheating me.”
“Not a problem. For only eleven dollars, I can go down to the DMV and get a new one. Just come back in two weeks and it’ll be here for you.” I continued smiling.
“Oh no! You ain’t getting more of money. Get me the title by tomorrow, or my boyfriend will teach you a lesson.”
I stopped smiling. Couldn’t say I was surprised, though. “Threats are not okay. Leave immediately, or I’m calling the police.”
“I should be the one calling the police on you!” she yelled as she stomped off.
Before closing that night, I checked through paperwork in case I really hadn’t given her the title. A bottle of scotch kept me company. The title wasn’t there, meaning she definitely got it, probably trying to scam me in some way. I briefly considered various revenge fantasies as I drained another glass. The life of a used car salesman was boring.
“A title is a soul. The distilled existence of the car. It’s a nice enough car, as it’s not every day someone comes down here clutching a title,” Satan explained while I tried not to think too hard of the metaphysical implications. “I’d like to drive it.”
I slowly nodded. “Do I get to go back? You know, to living?”
Satan laughed. I expected it to be accompanied by a thousand screaming souls of the damned, or punctuated with a surge of hellfire. Instead, it was just a nasally. The death of a used car salesman was boring, too. “Yes, don’t worry about that. Same body, except alive. Don’t expect miraculous healing though, you’re going to be in the hospital for a little while.”
The bitch really had brought her boyfriend. Big guy, looked like Thor hosed a bear, and called himself Daddy in the third person. The fight went out of him real quick when I pointed to the security cameras, so at least he wasn’t stupid.
I wished he was stupid.
The last two weeks of my life were hell, except for the part where hell isn’t all that bad. ’Daddy’ didn’t hurt me, but he did hurt things I cared about. Security cameras smashed. Used car tires slashed. Wasn’t sure if he was the one who took a dump in the coffee pot, might’ve been the new janitor who didn’t look right in the head. The police wouldn’t help without proof, something about selling the chief’s son a piece of junk. For the record, the vehicle I had sold him was very nice. For a six time salvage.
The more days passed, the worse the harassment got, until the day of my death. On that day, I found the title “Yes, yes!” I gripped it tighter than I’d grip a winning lottery ticket. It had been in the janitor’s closet, covered in indescribable stains. I was so excited by my discovery that I hadn’t bothered washing my hands before dialing Jasmine.
It was ‘Daddy’ who answered to respond to my good news, “Yeah, that’s right, nobody fucks with Daddy’s girl.”
Thirty minutes later and he was here, Jasmine with him. As I was going to hand him the title, he shoved me. I think he was just trying to teach me one last lesson, show off more, but the shove caused me to step back into a pool of motor oil. I fell backwards and, before my head split open on the pavement, my last thought was ‘I need to fire my janitor.’
“I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for this stupid thing,” I said, waving the title closer to Satan. “Fine. Deal. If you’re tricking me, I don’t even care anymore.”
“Everyone always thinks that. I don’t know why.” Satan took the title from my hands and snapped his fingers. Everything started to go blurry.
“I just hope I can do something, legally speaking,” I said during my last moments of death.
He waved me off with a smile. “Well, if you ever need a lawyer, I know a few.”
Jon Joe fucked around with this message at 02:23 on Nov 16, 2015
|# ¿ Nov 16, 2015 02:16|
I am a business man with a business plan and I'm not going to let the rest of you steal my fantastic ideas! In alone!
|# ¿ Nov 16, 2015 23:10|
The app launched five years ago, yet not a single relationship formed through it had failed. Even my sister, with all her neuroses, had found true love with a guy in Iraq. I couldn’t say I wasn’t curious, but my husband and I promised we wouldn’t use it.
My ex’s match, was me.
Without raising my head, I said, “Maybe we are soulmates.” When I looked up, I explored his shining blue eyes. They weren’t new, but I explored. Even his too-big smile fit well, like happiness was holding the rest of his face hostage.
“I’m glad,” he began.
“But,” I interrupted, “my husband and I are in love, and it didn’t take an app to tell us.” I didn’t slam the door, but closed it normally, softly. Only after I turned the lock and heard it click, could I put myself back into my life.
|# ¿ Nov 23, 2015 04:23|
I journeyed to Thunderdome and found it in need of stories. In!
|# ¿ Nov 24, 2015 00:55|
Thanks for the crit, Thranguy!
|# ¿ Nov 24, 2015 20:48|
‘I’m a Christian, not a Buddhist,’ I assured myself as I meditated in Bodh Gaya. I changed my posture every minute, an excuse to open my eyes and glance at my guide, as his wrinkled face seemed familiar despite the lack of Indian people back home. That faint familiarity spun in my head, a revolver without a trigger.
“You are restless,” he stated.
“I can’t clear my mind. I am supposed to clear my mind, yeah?”
“You can, but it is difficult. I suggest you focus on a positive emotion. When you desire to move your body, instead smile.”
I briefly wondered if curiosity was a positive emotion. At the very least, I was not a cat. Instead I tried to capture my happier days, but they were drained. It was as though they had the happiness strangled out them when they squeezed from my memories to my thoughts. I smiled and held it till my face hurt. “It’s not working,” I said, opening my eyes.
“That is fine,” he offered and stood. “We shall do walking meditation.”
“That’s a thing?” I also stood.
“Yes,” he did not explain further. His gait was spritely, more skip than shuffle, such that I wondered what he ate and where I could buy some. I followed behind him for some time, eventually concluding that he had forgotten I was there. As I considered reminding him, he finally spoke, “The key to walking meditation is to focus on the movement, making each step purposeful.”
“Do I need to close my eyes?” I asked.
“You need to keep them open.”
“Of course,” the stupidity of my question threatened my attempts to walk with purpose. Each step made me feel more out of place, what the heck was I doing in India? Prayer costs less than a plane ticket. That was when I knocked shoulders with another man passing me. He started yelling at me and, though I couldn’t understand his words, I could hear him cursing.
My guide planted himself between the man and I. The man yelled. My guide spoke. The man spoke. My guide and the man laughed. The man left. “Careful, let’s continue,” was all my guide said to me.
“What was funny?” I asked, suspicious that it was at my expense.
“You,” he said.
“What was funny about me?” I demanded, ashamed that it bothered me that much.
Instead of answering my question, my guide beckoned me to a food stall. I realized my stomach’s emptiness as barbeque-like scents swung a left hook into my nose. He negotiated with the vendor, eventually passing over some of the money I had given him. In return, he received two piles of goop in paper bowls and handed one to me. I prayed it tasted closer to its smell than look.
I copied my guide in shoveling the goop with flatbread. I had two problems with the dish. First, despite the smell, there was no meat. Second, its spiciness committed a double-homicide on my lips and tongue and was currently being charged with aggravated assault against my stomach. If this was what had given my guide energy, it wasn’t worth it.
“Would you like more?” My guide asked.
I wondered if he was a sadist, or more a masochist. “No, thank you.”
“Yeah, I think I need it. Cold, please.”
He nodded. As he made his way to another stall, I idly watched other people flow around him, around one another, as they traveled wherever they needed, or wanted. I even saw a few people like me, tourists, navigating with their own guides. One of them took a wrong step and shoulder checked a man. I watched a copy of my own experience play, right down to the shared laughter. I couldn’t read lips, but I’d have liked to know if the tourist questioned the meaning of the laugh.
“Tea.” My guide handed a bottle to me. I was somewhat disappointed it wasn’t in a fancy cup, but was mostly glad to be given a chance to revive my taste buds. It didn’t work.
“Thanks,” I said only after draining the bottle. “Can we go sit down? Not like meditation, but just relax a bit?”
“That is fine,” my guide approved. He pointed to a nearby rock, away from the stalls.
I walked to the rock, sat, and cried.
“What is wrong?” My guide asked. He held out napkins.
I took them, but my tears tore through them too quickly. “I don’t know! I don’t know!”
“Ah,” he uttered. No wise words, no kind words, no words that could bring me my happiness, just ‘Ah.’
I looked at him between my tears, still feeling as though he were faintly familiar. I wanted to hug him, I thought it would make the tears go away. No, that would be weird, so instead I smiled. I smiled and held it till my face hurt, but my tears didn’t stop.
|# ¿ Nov 30, 2015 05:59|
Interprompt: in a world where metaphor are all literal, one man struggles to complete simple tasks.
He Was Suffering
|# ¿ Nov 30, 2015 06:35|
|# ¿ Dec 1, 2015 04:04|
Thanks for the crit, Entezahn.
|# ¿ Dec 6, 2015 18:13|
Barrel of Fun
Twirling high above, the acrobat entertains the lively market below. Within the crowd, there is a pair, a pretty parrot and a greedy rat.
“Need more, need more,” the greedy rat declares. He’s picking through a barrel of stuff and things and doodads and widgets, filled to infinity.
“Oh greedy rat, you always need more,” the pretty parrot complains.
“Buy something,” an angry snail says, “or leave.”
“Yes. Yes, yes, yes-yes-yes.” The greedy rat digs in further, half his body inside the barrel. “Found it, hehehe.” When he grabs what he found, the barrel sucks him further in. The pretty parrot tries to pull him out, but the barrels suck her in, too.
The stuff and things and doodads and widgets form walls of the pit the pair is falling through. The pretty parrot flaps her wings, but it doesn’t help. The greedy rat tries to grab onto the walls, but it causes the walls to fall with them.
The acrobat is still twirling when a hole appears above her. From it spills stuff and things and doodads and widgets. More than that, it spills a rat, who hits the acrobat and knocks her from her rope, but the acrobat lands gently upon the ground. She’s holding a furry ball, which opens to reveal the greedy rat. “Thanks,” is all he says.
The pretty parrot glides gracefully down. “We’re so sorry,” she says to the acrobat. Then she glares at the greedy rat.
“Please, can you two help me get back to my rope?” The acrobat asks. “If I don’t return soon, I won’t be able to be an acrobat anymore.”
The greedy rat hops from her hands to the floor, “Okay, only because I found this.” He holds up nothing. “Where? Where?”
“It must have mixed with everything else when we fell, but that’s what you get for being greedy,” the pretty parrot says.
“Have to find it, have to find it.” The greedy rat searches through the scattered items.
“Greedy rat, this is no time for that. We have to help the acrobat.”
“If you return me to my rope, from that point high above, I can find your missing object.”
“I can fly you, but I need to know the way up first. I have bad sight,” the pretty parrot explains.
The greedy rat says, “This way, this way. Market is back of my paw.”
The pretty parrot and acrobat follow him through winding stalls. A very angry snail soon blocks them. “You stole my inventory!”
“We’re really sorry, Mr. Snail, we-” the pretty parrot begins.
“I don’t want sorry! Fix it! Give it all back to me!”
“But I need your help to get me back to my rope.” The acrobat tugs the pretty parrot’s wing.
The pretty parrot’s feathers ruffle. Then she calms down. “Greedy rat, can you help the acrobat while I pick up Mr. Snail’s inventory?”
“Yes, yes,” the greedy rat agrees.
“Mr. Snail, I promise I’ll get you all your stuff before the day is done.”
Soon, the pretty parrot is picking up the stuff and things and doodads and widgets to place within the infinite barrel, but her eyesight is too bad to find them all. “I wish greedy rat was here, he’s good at gathering.”
Meanwhile, the greedy rat reaches the acrobat’s pole. “Can’t fly? Can’t fly? You’re a bat.”
“I’m an acrobat. Acrobats aren’t bats.”
“Pole too high. Pretty parrot can fly.”
Thus they go to find the pretty parrot, while she tries to find them. Soon, the pretty parrot is lost, too many people and stalls and noises and options. She flies above it all, trying to find them, but can’t. That’s when she sees the angry snail again. “Mr. Snail,” she says.
“Where’s the barrel?”
“I tried to find everything, but I couldn’t, so I tried to find my friends, but found you instead. Can you help?”
“Where’s the barrel?!”
“I got lost. Sorry, I-“
“You useless parrot! I don’t want your help anymore!”
The pretty parrot, no, the useless parrot doesn’t respond. Instead, she uselessly wanders towards nowhere useful.
Meanwhile, the greedy rat and acrobat go to where the pretty parrot was, but all they see is the barrel. They look for her. Then the angry snail arrives. “My barrel! Give me back my barrel!”
“Pretty parrot?” The greedy rat asks.
“That useless parrot? She left my barrel, so I left her. Now get away from my barrel, I don’t want you jumping through it again!”
The greedy rat frowns, but then smiles. He grabs the acrobat and they jump into the barrel. As they whistle down the pit, the angry snail’s rantings follow them. They pop out above the rope once more, but this time the acrobat grabs hold. She swings herself atop for balance and steadies the greedy rat with her. “We made it,” she says.
“No time, no time, where’s pretty parrot?”
The acrobat studies the crowd. “Found her, she’s over there.”
“Come with me. Promise we’ll get you back.”
Useless parrot is perched atop a stall. When she sees greedy rat, she says, “Go away greedy rat, I can’t help. I’m useless.”
“Not true, not true. Pretty, flying, and good at making friends. Unlike me,” the greedy rat jokes.
“But I can’t find anything and Mr. Snail hates me for losing his barrel. I’m no good.”
“Always angry, always angry. Not your fault,” the greedy rat explains. “Need your help. Acrobat.”
The acrobat stands beside the greedy rat, “Can you please help me? Greedy rat found the way you can fly me up.”
The useless parrot, no, the pretty parrot flies from her perch to the pair. “Show me the way.”
Finally, the three are atop the rope. “Thanks for the help,” the acrobat says.
“No problem, no problem. Where’s the item?”
“Oh greedy rat, even after all that, you still want whatever it is you found?” The pretty parrot asks.
The greedy rat whispers into the acrobat’s ear. She scans the scattered stuff and things and doodads and widgets below. “There it is.”
The pretty parrot flies the greedy rat to the item. He scoops it up, singing, “Yes, yes.”
“What is it?”
The greedy rat turns around. He places the folded glasses atop the pretty parrot’s beak, so now she can see. “Present.”
The pretty parrot hugs the greedy rat with her wings. “Thank you, greedy rat. I almost think we should change your name.”
After the hug, the greedy rat runs to some people and tries to sell them other stuff and things and doodads and widgets he has.
The pretty parrot laughs. “Almost.”
|# ¿ Dec 7, 2015 01:48|
Interprompt: GRIMDARKNESS OF SKULLS AND BLOOD AND GORE
The skull scribbled upon the flesh with a blood-dipped quill, "To whom it may concern, it is too dark here now. I have no eyes, but I seek the light, and so with this I say goodbye. -Skull"
It went outside from its cave, which broke it into dust. But the dust still traveled by the wind, 'till the forest edge it met. There it soaked the soil, and in twenty years a might oak stood proud.
A lumberjack found the oak, thump thump with each axe swing. The tree did fall upon his skull, which tumbled to the cave. It found the darkness most pleasing, and stayed there for eternity.
|# ¿ Dec 7, 2015 19:19|
BLOOD POURED FROM THE HEAVENS TO FORM THE LETTERS:
|# ¿ Dec 8, 2015 05:39|
In, I desire you teach me one of these magic spells.
|# ¿ Dec 8, 2015 17:43|
Magic Spell: Grimner's Nid
“Moistman, we have a job. Grim Nidder is causing trouble downtown.” Captain Steampunk placed his pneumatic fist on my shoulder. It slipped off, but not before a green light flashed to indicate it was full. This was all I could do, be slippery and fill objects with water, like a greased watering can. I hated my name, but apparently I was the first hero to join the Super Enforcers after the PR decision to try sillier names. I wanted to be a real hero.
We went to the garage which homed the Steamcycle. I was facing the back in a harness, my hands gripping the water tank, the only way it would have enough to run. If it wasn’t for my first power, I’m sure my name would be The Amazing Water Supply. Why couldn’t I have better powers, like Shooting Star’s explosive flight? When we arrived downtown, buildings were rubble, people were screaming, and dark clouds gathered above. Hundreds of goblin-things, some made of stone and others of wood, continued the destruction. I had read Grim Nidder’s file, they were called landvaettir, earth spirits. In the middle of the chaos was Nidder himself, constantly raising more minions from the ground by chanting and waving his horsehead staff. I undid my harness.
Captain Steampunk would take care of the problem, as usual. The first landvaettir that charged him was turned to splinters with a pop of his pneumatic fist. The second had its head chopped off with a whirling gear axe. The third thought it could sneak behind us, but Captain Steampunk drew and fired his pistonle, piston pistol, probably the only thing with a name dumber than mine. Effective, though, because the piston smashed through the landvaettir’s stone heart, causing it to collapse. I tapped his equipment throughout the fight, here and there, to keep all fuel lights green.
Three down, an army to go. The ground split between us and another landvaettir crawled out, bending its wooden form in strange directions. It tried to swipe at me and I slid away, but before I could move back beside Captain Steampunk, six more engaged him and kept him from helping. The wooden one approached and swiped at me again, but I ducked under and behind it. When it swung back, I tried to block, but using my power caused its arm to double in size as it grew branches, which clawed across my hands. I fell from the pain. As the landvaettir was going to strike again, Captain Clockwork shouted, “Moistman!” He fired the pistonle, stopping the landvaettir attacking me, but another one grabbed him from behind. It choked him, but he managed to say before passing out, “Moistman, protect the citizens.”
There was no way I could do this alone, I had to get backup. Shooting Star could show up soon, if I could reach her. I ran, occasionally glancing behind to see the landvaettir tearing down more buildings. What made me stop was the sight of a crying child, so I changed course to her and said, “You need to run with me.”
She looked up at me and said, “Who’re you?”
“Moistman,” I said, embarrassed. She looked shocked. I continued, “I know it’s a dumb name.” Then she pointed. I looked, there were landvaettir already here, so we couldn’t run now.
“You can beat them. You’re a superhero, Moistman,” the child said. A stone vaettir jumped past me to her.
“No!” I grabbed it. It stopped, but not because I secretly had super strength. Instead, water flowed from its joints. First a trickle, then a stream, then a flood as its minerals were eroded in seconds, leaving only pebbles in a puddle. I briefly marveled at the result of my power. I couldn’t marvel too much, though, because I had to deal with more. I defeated the stone ones with just a touch, but the wooden ones were tougher until I remembered what happened before. I touched one’s feet, causing roots to sprout which bound it to the ground. I continued to pour water into it and eventually an unmoving tree stood in place my opponent. I dealt with the others the same way.
“I knew you could it, Moistman!” The child smiled.
“I need you to stay safe here, okay? I need to stop the bad guy,” I said.
Confident that she would listen, I strolled through hordes of landvaettir, disabling them all. Grim Nidder wasn’t chanting when I reached him, instead he held a knife to Captain Steampunk’s unconscious form. “Another step and I make him a blood sacrifice,” Nidder threatened.
“Let him go, you’ve lost.”
“Aww, the two-bit upstart hero thinks he has me. What’s your name?”
“Hehe, what an unfortunate name. Well Moistman, I still have a trick up my sleeve.” Still holding the knife in one hand, he shook his horsehead staff with the other. As he chanted, there was an earthquake. A gigantic hand exploded from the asphalt, then another, and together they pushed a titanic form from the earth. Grim Nidder’s file had mentioned it too, Moldthurs, a demonic earth giant. It looked down on me with dead eyes.
“Yes, it is an unfortunate name. For you.” I tapped Moldthurs and it collapsed, then I rushed Grim Nidder while he was disoriented. He recovered as I grabbed for Captain Steampunk. Nidder thrusted the knife at him, but I put myself between them and the knife pierced directly through my heart. At least it would have, if it didn’t rust and break and slip away. “Are you done?” I asked.
“I will have my revenge, Moistman!”
I decided to practice a heroic punchline. “I hate to rain on your parade.” Then I knocked him out. I’d need to work on that.
“It is with great honor that I present the New Hero of the Year award to my partner, Moistman,” announced Captain Steampunk. Clapping rumbled around me, even Shooting Star was applauding me. As I marched onto stage, I looked at the child in the crowd who I had saved. She smiled at me. Camera flashes ambushed me at the podium. I took the award with one hand and shook Captain Steampunk’s pneumatic fist with the other. A green light flashed.
I leaned into the mic and began, “When I started, I hated my name.”
|# ¿ Dec 14, 2015 06:33|
By the spellbook.
|# ¿ Dec 14, 2015 07:38|
You should all know, *farrrrrrrrrrrttt*
|# ¿ Dec 15, 2015 04:56|
Nobody Can Know
I approached, sanitation wipes in hand. "Would you like me to wipe you down?"
"Right away," I said. I slowly and carefully cleaned my master, until there was nary a nugget remaining.
"You're welcome, it was my pleasure."
"What do you mean?" I asked. Then, another servant approached. He held an envelope. Green. "I can explain."
*pbbtttt pbbbbbtttt pbbbbbbbbbtttttt*
"No! I would never betray you!"
Guards grabbed me. As I was hauled off, I decided the act was no longer worth more than expressing my anger. I shouted, "You can't stop the resistance. We will overthrow you, Trump!"
|# ¿ Dec 15, 2015 18:54|
wtf no you dont get mentioned in the results post and just walk away that's a resultless result WHAT ARE YOU DOING *slaps judgement out of your hands* let me handle this
gently caress it, I'm in for my first brawl.
to submit, as well.
|# ¿ Dec 16, 2015 00:52|
In with: Florida Man Walks Into Grocery Store With Human Skull
|# ¿ Dec 16, 2015 01:54|
|# ¿ Oct 17, 2021 21:37|
Danks dor da drits.
|# ¿ Dec 18, 2015 17:04|