In and requesting a fairy tale from a judge.
Me too, please. This one sounds fun.
|# ¿ Jan 28, 2015 02:33|
|# ¿ Feb 5, 2023 16:42|
|# ¿ Apr 16, 2015 23:47|
mfw i write the story and lose it and write it again in rage
The sting feels virtuous as the whip strikes my back. I always make sure to bring myself pain, but to draw no blood. Blood is a giveaway, one too difficult to cover up.
'Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,' I murmur. Thwack. The relief is immeasurable and I begin to feel clean, whole again.
Thou shalt not lie. A commandment that is surprisingly difficult to keep. In the open, on the streets and in the market I must constantly break my promises, but here in my home I will obey my Lord. I clasp my hands together, letting the pain seep in for a time, and pray.
This flagellation is to stave off Hell; it's a laughable concept for the citizens of Perturbo. But I know Hell to be true, a real place. As real as Heaven, as real as the angels and as real as God himself. At night I often dream of Hell, and I’ve envisioned its many levels and depravities. It is not a place I wish to visit. I pray to the crucifix, grasp at my Rosary beads and try to cleanse myself of the sin I have incurred today. Every day is the same; every day I must wash away my mistakes.
I snap out of the trance, my heart springing into overtime. My nerves dance across my skin in cold, electric waves. Delicately – but quickly – I place my tools of worship in the floor space, covering them with floorboards. I pull up my robe, mostly to cover the welts that are no doubt forming. I check myself for a cross and make sure I’m not holding my beads any more. My father taught me to always check thrice. I head toward the door.
It slides open silently, and I’m met by a police officer. His arm is half-raised as if to strike the door again.
‘Good morning officer, what can I do for you?’
‘You Abdiel Cullen?’
‘You’ll have to come with me.’
I take a step back and freeze. My mind races back through the day, trying to pick up what I might have done to give myself up. Nothing comes to mind so I compose myself.
‘What for officer?’ I ask. Perhaps I’m merely a witness; maybe there’s no evidence.
‘I said, you’ll have to come with me.’ The police officer, his helmet visor blaring, fully armoured, makes a motion. A pair of magnetic cuffs appear in his hand.
I take another step back. Behind him are three more officers loitering in the hallway, dim light casting them as shadows moving in the background.
‘What about my rights?’ I stammer.
A smirk breaks out below the visor.
‘You people don’t have no rights.’
Before I can protest a hologram appears between us. There I am, in the market speaking to a vendor. I turn away and walk down a nearby alley. And clear as anything, as damning as if I were holding a crucifix at the officer right now, I make the sign of the cross.
I hold out my arms. I’ve failed the Father and betrayed my father. Generations of secrecy lost in a moment of habit. I know now that I go to Hell, but this is a Hell I’ve never seen. I am not prepared.
thehomemaster fucked around with this message at 08:09 on Apr 19, 2015
|# ¿ Apr 19, 2015 06:18|
|# ¿ Apr 20, 2015 20:41|
This is too good to be true.
|# ¿ Apr 23, 2015 02:24|
You can see the hidden geometry. You can pass through the world at odd angles. You see into the crawlspaces and secret passages of reality.
Luke's apartment building on Amberlin Street aged in just a few moments. Cracks appeared. Paint peeled. Numerous light bulbs blew. And all just because he didn't want to take the stairs.
Emerging into the middle of his lounge room, Luke went straight to the bookcase. His fuzzy eyebrows came together as he pulled out first one tome, then another, before throwing both to the ground as he found a third. The bookshelf stood apart from the rest of the modern features in the penthouse. These were ancient things, ridiculous in amongst the designer couches and massive television. But they were the most utilised items.
Luke ran his finger down the page, scanning quickly, leaping over paragraphs, looking for key words. Some of what he read were stories and ancient descriptions from people just like him. A lot of it was maths, shapes and lines with degrees and algebra crammed amongst them. They represented his life. He saw them even when he looked up from the page.
A vibration rippled through Luke's body. He turned just as Isaac appeared, emerging in the middle of the room as if from behind a mirror.
'Could you please take the stairs next time,' Luke shot.
'Oh, shut your mouth, Luke dear, it's just a small hop.'
'Small hops add up,' Luke said, his eyes now back to the book in hand.
'Have any luck recently?'
'Nope,' Luke grunted.' I did manage to cause a quake in Indonesia when I went to visit an Aboriginal elder last week. Total waste of time.'
'Well, can I be of service?'
Luke looked up, shoulders hunched. He'd known Isaac for as long as he could remember, and Isaac had known of his quest for a long time. The other man understood it but had never really accepted it, nor offered to help. Instead he always tried to help Luke enjoy the lighter side of their talents.
So this offer was more than a surprise.
'Well, I think you're being too bookish. I mean, sure, there are plenty of paths to learn about whether reading or asking people. Safer routes, interesting places, which paths not to take. But I've got a gut feeling, and I say it's time you trusted to intuition for a change.'
‘Don’t be coy with me, Isaac. What's your suggestion?'
Luke looked back blankly.
It's a holy mountain in Tibet, revered in multiple religions. I reckon if a path was every formed, it would be there.'
'And no doubt closed there, too.'
Of course Luke had inquired and researched about high places – Everest, K2 – as well as holy sites like cathedrals and Stonehenge (he'd been so sure of Stonehenge). But a combination of the two? It seemed obvious in hindsight.
'Brilliant idea, my friend. The only question now: will you join me?'
Isaac smiled, looking down and shaking his head.
'I'm afraid not, dear. This is your path. I'll let you tell me all about it once you're home.'
And with that, Luke's oldest friend turned and left via the door.
The wind howled as Luke trudged around the peak of Kailash. He'd been walking for about thirty minutes, eyes darting up, down and all around. He was looking for a gap, a nook, a cranny, some break in the world that would reveal a path.
Balls, he thought, I should have worn an extra layer.
As soon as he had arrived he knew this had to be it. There was power here. It was hidden from normal eyes, but definitely there in the background, like the qualia of when someone comes up behind you unannounced. Now all Luke had to do was spy it.
Even if the path were closed there would be a sign. Numbers flowing, the perfect algorithms of reality providing a whisper. And just as he imagined it, he spied it. The numbers were golden, like nothing he'd ever seen before. Gorgeous.
Though only a tiny slit allowed the numbers out, the power emanating was immense. Luke drew his hands together, projecting his will into the gap and tried to force it open.
A shockwave blew out, throwing Luke backwards. His vision clouded with numbers; the sky crackled above him. But when he got back up and had another looked, he knew the gap was larger.
He tried again, and this time he entered.
Before he knew it, Luke was sucked into the path. All around him geometries of light cascaded in perfect flow. He felt himself vibrating as he moved to his destination.
With a sucking noise he appeared in a waiting room.
There were few souls around, especially given how big the room was. In fact, as Luke looked around, he realised he couldn't see any walls. There were chairs stretching in endless rows in every direction forever.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Luke spun, startled. Before him was a balding man with spectacles, wearing a plain white shirt and black tie. His name badge read 'Peter'.
'Hello, Luke, we weren't expecting you.'
Luke stared back, mouth open. He'd done it. Saint Peter standing before him was all the proof he needed.
He let out a whoop of joy. Peter stepped back, perplexed.
'Well of course you weren't expecting me, Peter, I'm not dead!'
Peter looked confused for a moment. Then his features hardened, his forehead creasing unnaturally.
But before he could say anything, the room went red and a siren blazed. The lights flashed in sync with the noise. The anger left Peter’s face, a look of pure fear replacing it.
'Jesus loving Christ, what have you done?' Peter said. He turned and sprinted to a little booth not far away.
He left Luke in shock. The noise was deafening and the realisation lurking in Luke’s stomach. Then people started to pop into existence around Luke. Everywhere. Just before his vision was obscured by the bodies, Luke saw Peter pointing in his direction. He was talking to two burly looking men. With wings on their backs.
Luke bailed. He turned and he ran like he'd never run in his life. People were still appearing all around him, and in his escape his knocked them over. Most were crying: men, women and children. The sound began to rise above the wailing of the siren.
Without warning a wall appeared in front of him, with a door directly in his path. He slammed into it. He was in a hallway. He'd escaped.
He paused. The noise was behind him now, but he had to escape. The angels were descending. This was Heaven though, and those in Heaven get what they want.
Left, right, left, straight. There, a door. Luke barged through. He closed the door, locked it. Nothing else was in the room. Almost nothing. Luke could see it, exactly what he wanted. Sometimes when you've dug yourself into a hole, the only option is to keep digging.
With a big breath Luke gripped on to the gap he could see, the red equations burning his hands. With the angels bashing at the door behind him, Luke stepped into the pathway to Hell.
thehomemaster fucked around with this message at 08:20 on Apr 26, 2015
|# ¿ Apr 26, 2015 04:12|
I'm putting my hand up for judging next week early.
|# ¿ Apr 27, 2015 07:03|
maybe make sure you don't lose first hey
if I lose
|# ¿ Apr 27, 2015 12:11|
Wesley the Wizard 1298 Words.
Three Dimensions, More or Less 1272 words
Nine Wolves, 1220 words
Joy 1,247 words
Colours and Councils
The Rules of Return
Not really much to say. Nailed the prompt, great conflict and character. Only thing maybe was that I was confused about who was who at the start. Perhaps you could work on your scene setting. It's definitely the best of what I've read so far.
thehomemaster fucked around with this message at 02:01 on Apr 28, 2015
|# ¿ Apr 28, 2015 00:09|
Also my story has no crits yet and it feels lonely and unloved
Firstly, it read similarly to another story I just read, which had a lot more conflict than this (https://docs.google.com/document/d/1hBWRL3qm_IEJxwaVgj7_iWOgqsCG9eE1WRc17A2_FTk/edit). But most of all it was just two people talking at each other. Explaining everything. I feel it didn't hit the prompt, or it tried to but then just gave a bunch of dialogue in and around the subject matter. There wasn't a reason to become invested, no urgency (could be a by-product of the topic). I mean, sure the dude's dad died but I still didn't care. There was no tension, and I think that's just from how you decided to portray the magic.
Pretty deep though, I like your thinking even if I didn't really fully understand the system! Also your writing is good and I could definitely envision the characters and how they were speaking, but perhaps the dialogue could flow better (use conjunctions for example).
EDIT: drat, I feel spent after that, dunno how the judges are going.
|# ¿ Apr 28, 2015 02:35|
(you are a TD critting hero)
Cheers Hammer Bro.
|# ¿ Apr 28, 2015 03:01|
Bob the Utilitarian Barbarian looks up at the judges upon the dais in front of him. He hefts his Warhammer – the only tool that works every time – on to his shoulder.
‘You question me?’ Bob says, pointing a finger at the seated arbiters.
‘Indeed Bob,’ croaks a beaked face. ‘We feel that your motives have no purpose, that you take too long just to get things done, and that you are confusing to your underlings. What is worse, you refuse to learn. It is time you moved on.’
Bob’s gut falls in anticipation; he can feel an agenda at play behind the panel’s words. Subtly, he shifts his weight.
‘You just don't understand,’ he says, lowering his face and his hammer.
In a flash he leaps to the dais, swinging the hammer as he does. With one blow he crushes the three heads that judge him. He hits the ground before their bodies have time to convulse.
‘I am the one who crits,’ Bob whispers to the corpses
thehomemaster fucked around with this message at 06:44 on Apr 28, 2015
|# ¿ Apr 28, 2015 03:27|
Cheers matey, I'm sensing a theme.
PS. I am madly resfreshing CC every 5 minutes.
thehomemaster fucked around with this message at 01:52 on Apr 29, 2015
|# ¿ Apr 29, 2015 01:25|
Phew, can't believe I dodged a DM. I'm in it to win it this week.
(Unless you want to hold me to my word about judging this week.)
|# ¿ Apr 29, 2015 03:53|
thehomemaster, you requested an archive account and for the verification to be sent through forums PM, but you don't have PMs.
Ah, OK I emailed you.
|# ¿ Apr 29, 2015 04:32|
I, too, had to laugh, but hey, I've seen stranger ways to make a buck.
My potion of choice is Embalming Fluid BonBon.
Because: how could I not?
|# ¿ Apr 30, 2015 05:32|
|# ¿ Feb 5, 2023 16:42|
In, please flash me with your best.
|# ¿ Jun 16, 2015 21:17|