Hey everyone, I'm a lovely first-time writer.
In, and I'll take a stab at "Transatlantic"
Marshmallow Blue fucked around with this message at 14:32 on May 12, 2016
|# ¿ May 12, 2016 14:05|
|# ¿ Oct 18, 2021 12:16|
The Senator's Crossing (1498)
The phone rang. It was New York Senator Charles Brisbane. Ben knew he was going to be calling after he told him the weather was too hazardous for Alexandria’s maiden voyage across the Atlantic, not to mention the lifeboats.
“Ben, are you even listening to me?” Charles spat through the phone.
He wasn’t listening. There wasn’t any point in telling him that the ship wouldn’t be ready by Friday night. It was Monday, and the crew hasn’t finished testing all the equipment. Twenty-three of forty lifeboats failed their initial inspection and need to be replaced. These drat politicians and their unrealistic deadlines.
“I have 3,700 VIP guests booked for this trip to England, Ben. You need to make it happen. There’s a lot of election money riding on this fund raising voyage.”
“Listen… Charles, we really need to consider cancelling the…”
“CANCEL! I CAN’T do that! You can’t do that to me! And you’re a worthless captain if you can’t sail through a little poo poo weather for your friend. I got you this job in the first place, don’t forget that.” Charles hung up the phone before Ben could respond.
This ship was sailing with or without Ben.
“Maybe I shouldn’t even show up.” Ben thought. “He’d have my head on a platter though, and unfortunately, I need to pay the rent, which is already two months late. Of course Clarabell had to get pneumonia, and the doctor needed payments up front. I guess I’ll be sailing from New York on Friday.”
Friday August 26th
“Ryan don’t be such a ninny...” Georgia chuckled “get in the crate, It’s labeled Alexandria. That’s the big ship going to England... Haven’t you always wanted to see the world?”
“Ok” Ryan said smiling while climbing in, “but you’re coming with me!” He exclaimed as he pulled Georgia into the crate. Georgia screamed in surprise, and then laughed. She popped her head up to make sure the coast was clear before getting out. Two dockhands were walking nearby towards the crates.
“Down, down” She said pushing Ryan back into the crate. She made a shushing gesture with her finger. “They’re right here, stay down and be quiet she whispered”.
Just then the crate slammed shut, and nails were being hammered into the crate. Georgia and Ryan tried screaming for help but the dockhands couldn’t hear them over the hustle and bustle of the port.
“I’ve got to tell him I’m not going, I don’t like this storm. He’ll have to find another captain.”
Ben paced back and forth along the dock. The towering Alexandria floating behind in the mid-morning sun.
“Ben!” Charles cried as he bumbled over. “Great news! Look! The most recent weather report says the storm has moved North. It’s nothing but smooth sailing from here to the UK.”
Ben snatched the report from Charles. “Holy poo poo, I don’t believe it.” Ben was suddenly feeling better about the trip. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad afterall. Ben was also informed earlier that the engines were all in check, and all the decommissioned lifeboats were replaced.
“Well I guess that settles things” Ben stated “Charles is going to win re-election by way of outspending the opposition 10-to-1” Ben and Charles both laughed, and climbed aboard to greet the first guests arriving.
Saturday August 27th 6:55PM
Charles paced back and forth.
“You need to keep the ship level!” Charles demanded of Ben. “I can’t be expected give a speech with the ship rocking like a baby’s crib on a tree top Ben!”
“Just where did the loving storm come from Charles? I saw the same report you did. There’s nothing we can do but ride it out and hope for the best.”
The ship took wave after wave in the churning sea.
“I lied about the storm.” Another wave came up and sent Charles to the ground.
“You Lied about the storm? How?”
“The weather report Ben... It’s from two weeks ago. And not to add any pressure, but the lifeboats weren’t replaced either. I paid some crew off to tell you that they had come in and were loaded up.” Charles said getting to his feet.
“Of course the politician is a scheming liar! You realize that if this ship takes on water, thousands of people will load onto lifeboats that aren’t seaworthy!” Ben yelled, turning the wheel to avoid the largest waves. “Thousands... of… lives… Charles… On my hands!”
“Come off it Ben, we’re fine. Just keep the ship level.” Charles said, leaving the room on the way to the concert hall.
Ryan finally was able to push the crate open with his feet. It was hot, damp, and disgusting inside Alexandria’s bowels. Georgia climbed out of the crate, drenched in sweat. Her and Ryan spent the first twelve hours yelling at each other, and taking turns getting “fresh” air from a small hole in the crate, and the next six hours trying to get out.
“You’re a real idiot, you know that? Get in the crate, that’s funny poo poo isn’t it. Now we’re well and truly hosed. This is why we broke things off in the first place. You were always so drat irresponsible. Now what? Now we’re on our way to England. Cherioh to you rear end in a top hat!” Ryan raged. Georgia knew he was right, and didn’t say much to continue the argument further.
“I’m exhausted. Let’s find some food…” Ryan marched off towards the door. “Of course it’s loving locked!” He yelled trying to pull open the door kicking it. Ryan stormed around the room, pounding on crates. Then he found a pipe and began banging it on some pipes that were running along the wall.
“Someone’s got to hear this racket!” Ryan fumed, banging on the pipes. Sparks flew, and noise echoed loudly.
“Don’t do that! You don’t even know what you’re doing!” Georgia pleaded.
“Shut up, I know what I’m doing!” Ryan responded. He swung the pipe as hard as he could and one of the pipes came loose along with a hissing sound. “Can anyone loving hear me! HELLO!” he shouted.
Ryan slammed the pipe again. *Clang* Sparks flew. He slammed it again and again. *Clang CLANG*. He banged on the pipe, sparks flew again, igniting the fumes from the gas line he ruptured. The explosion sent Ryan back into a metal beam, knocking him unconscious. Water surged in from a twelve foot hole on the side of the ship.
“RYAN!” Georgia waded through the frigid water to Ryan’s side. She held him close and began crying as water filled the room.
Guests filled the concert hall to hear Senator Brisbane's speech. While they waited, cocktails were served, and a performer sat at a piano, playing music, and collecting tips. The round hall was still an elegant place for a fundraiser, despite the raging seas outside the Alexandria.
Senator Brisbane stepped out and began to speak.
“Thank you everyone. I’m glad you could make it on our excursion. I’ve just spoke with the captain, and he reassured me that we are fine. This is just a small every day storm front, and we’ll be clear of it in no time…”
Suddenly a BANG! Alarms sounded. Alexandria kiltered to the left. Noises from stressed twisting metal, shattering glasses, and screams filled the hall. Everybody began rushing to the exits. The ship turned to the right, and continued in circles to avoid keeling to the left again.
“Hello, this is your captain speaking.” Ben’s voice came through the intercom “The ship is damaged and can not continue. The Coast Guard has been alerted. Make your way to the lifeboats. The ship’s attendants will assist you.”
Ben knew half the lifeboats were death traps, and he was actively sending some people to their grave, but it was better than everyone dying wasn’t it? The coast guard was seven hours away.
The ship managed to stay level for the time being, and lifeboats were being loaded. Some waited in the concert hall with the Senator for their turn to board a lifeboat. Ben was there as well. He had locked the wheel in its position to keep the ship level, but turning in slow, large circles.
Just then another large wave crashed against the ship, sending the ship out of balance again. Passengers on deck were thrown into the water. The Piano slid across the hall, maiming passengers in its path.
Screams erupted again. The ship swayed back and forth freely in the storm. A wave from the other side hit. The piano slid again, pinning Charles against the wall. Blood was coming out his mouth. Ben got to his feet and pulled out a gun, and walked towards Charles.
Charles looked up to Ben, almost apologetically, coughing blood. “Shoot me.”
“You know?” Ben said, “You always were a poo poo friend and a poo poo Senator” and pulled the trigger on himself. The Senator’s crossing was not as painless.
|# ¿ May 15, 2016 12:56|
Entrants, please do the archivists a favor and include your block of prompts in your submission post. Check the two posts above this one if you want examples of good formatting.
permission to edit mine into my post? Or should I just re-post with the prompt in it?
|# ¿ May 15, 2016 19:06|
One is a parrot who can speak intelligently, but only 4 words at a time. The other is his owner, the army veteran who works in a used car lot.
|# ¿ May 16, 2016 19:06|
Thanks for the crit Tharanguy.
|# ¿ May 17, 2016 00:19|
How do you guys keep your stories within word-count limits. Aghh I have to cut out so many "good" (lovely) words, and I was blessed with 1300!
|# ¿ May 18, 2016 16:48|
They’ve Taken Mr. Chips - 1297
Mr. Chips, flew over to a couple looking at some of the used vehicles at Banjo’s Auto Emporium. Mr. Chips, was an honorary employee there, who worked with his owner Brady Johnson, a tired Vietnam veteran who found peace in selling cars with his feathered companion.
How can you say no to a 1995 Toyota Avalon with 265,700 miles and a questionable frame? Easily… Unless Mr Chips was on the lot.
“You Looking for wheels?” Mr chips squawked.
“Honey, did that bird just ask us about cars?” Jim Gorges asked his wife, Sarah.
“Oh that’s so cute” Sarah exclaimed “Hi birdy birdy.” she said turning to Mr. Chips using a baby voice and bending her finger up and down like a puppet. “Do you like to eat cwackers?”
“You seen our Jeeps?” Mr. Chips intervened. “Just what you need!” the parrot continued. Jim and Sarah looked on in amazement. They couldn’t believe what they were seeing, and hearing.
Jim was skeptical. “He’s probably just repeating things he hears on a daily basis.”
“Hey bird, go get the keys for the 09’ Cherokee.” Jim was confident that Mr. Chips would give some unrelated reply about gas mileage on the Hondas.
“Okay be right back.” The parrot flew back to the office. After a few minutes, Mr Chips emerged from the office, and took off towards Jim and Sarah with a key in his mouth and toting dealer plates in his claws.
Jim couldn’t say anything. He was astounded. Sarah nudged Jim in the ribs, and Jim turned to her and gave a slight nod.
After the test drive, Jim, Sarah, Mr. Chips, and Brady sat in a dusty office. The sun crept its way through the blinds, and bathed stacks of papers in scattered light.
“Let’s talk some numbers.” Mr Chips got to the point.
“Well we just love your parrot, Brady is it?” Sarah was giving Mr. Chips a neck rub while speaking to the aging, salt and pepper haired veteran, Brady.
“Yeah Brady’s the name, and…”
“Selling Cars the Game!” Mr chips finished Brady’s sentence. Mr. Chips hopped down to a cup of nuts and berries and began munching.
“5400 is bottom dollar” Mr Chips said with his mouth full.
“Well… 5400 is kind of above what we were looking to spend. I think we can do 5000” Jim negotiated.
“5200 and new wipers” Mr. Chips countered.
“Jim just take the deal, we’ve got an appointment to get to” Sarah said rolling her eyes, reaching for her checkbook. Brady stood up and shook their hands.
“I’ll go get some paperwork for you to sign, and you can be on your way.”
After Jim and Sarah drove off, Brady sat back in his chair, and looked at Mr. Chips, who was bobbing his head up and down. Brady began to sing.
“ Ba-Da-Bum, Bum, Bum, Bum” Brady’s singing was wretched. “Another one bites the dust.”
“And another one gone!” Mr. Chips screeched. His singing was significantly worse than Brady’s.
After finishing the song, Brady and Mr. Chips did a fist-to-claw bump of their own invention.
Up, down, and pound.
“Boom!” Brady and Mr Chips both said at the same time after finishing the handshake.
Late the next night, Brady woke up to smashing glass and violent squawking.
“They’re taking Mr. Chips!” Mr Chips Squawked and flapped violently. “They're Taking Mr. Chips!” the parrot continued frantically.
“Shut up bird” A muffled voice exclaimed as Brady ran downstairs. His pistol was already loaded. He kept it in the dresser drawer for emergencies such as this.
Brady was too late though, as he opened the front door, he heard Mr Chips one last time.
“Crate Bait …” He was cut off by the trunk of an SUV closing, and the owner hopping in the passenger seat. Brady fired his pistol angrily at the car, but they were too far off. Brady ran inside to get his car keys, but it was too late. They were gone.
The police report was filed, but they cops didn’t seem to care too much.
“Stolen… parrot.” the officer wrote aloud. “Unknown SUV, no suspects.” The officer dramatically wrote a period and flipped the notebook closed. “Listen, Brady, we’re going to do what we can to get your pet bird back…”
“It’s Mr. Chips...” Brady interrupted
“Yes. Mr Chips. We’re going to do what we can.” The officers who answered the 911 call returned to their squad cars and drove off.
The phone call came to Brady that morning at Banjo’s.
“Hello, If you ever want your bird back, you’ll bring 25,000 dollars cash to the Brook’s pharmacy parking lot” The voice on the line demanded.
“Hey who is this?! Where's Mr. Chips!?” Brady yelled excitedly. His voice was shaking.
“Crate Bait Sixty Aye” Mr Chips squaked in the background.
“Mr Chips!” Brady Yelled. “Let me talk to him!”
“25,000… Cash… Brook’s parking lot 11 PM tomorrow” The voice on the phone stated, then hung up.
Brady pounded his fists on his desk, throwing stacks of papers off the side.
“God Damnit!” Brady yelled, and kicked his chair over. He scribbled what Mr. Chips was saying in the background of the phone call.
Crate Bait Sixty Aye
“What the gently caress Chips? That doesn’t even make sense” Brady thought outloud.
“Wait a Minute” Brady continued.
CR8 B8 60 A
“It’s a License Plate!” Brady realized. He picked up his chair, rolled it over to his computer, and ran the plate number. One Hit. A Jeep Cherokee registered to:
65 Hurricane Mountain Road,
“I’m coming Mr. Chips.”
“Pack the parrot.” Jim instructed. “I’ll call Aaron and let him know he’ll have his money tonight.”
Jim loaded the SUV up while Sarah went to get the cage Mr Chips was held in.
“Brady’s gonna get you.” Mr Chips chirped.
“Shut up bird.” Sarah responded. She felt silly having a conversation with a bird. “We’re going to kill your Brady, take the cash, and sell you on the black market.” Sarah elaborated.
“You…. Know... nothing… Saaaarrrrraahhhhhhhh” Mr. Chips spoke out in a slow cracky sentence.
“Ha! You’re a funny bird.” Sarah laughed, grabbing the cage and loading it into the car.
“Let’s go” Jim said. “I want to be there before him”
The car pulled out of the driveway, and as it went down the hill the tire blew out. “gently caress it all” Jim yelled. Jim pulled to the side of the road. The low fuel light turned on as well.
“Sarah. I thought you filled the tank!” Jim was at wits end.
“I did!” Sarah responded testily as Jim jacked up the car.
Brady popped out from the back seat and broke Sarah’s neck. Brady let Mr. Chips out of the cage.
Jim ran up to the back door. Brady opened the door forcefully, knocking Jim off balance. Jim swung at Brady. Brady dodged left and kneed Jim in the stomach. Jim knocked Brady in the jaw, and pinned him against the car. He put a knife to Brady’s throat.
“I was going to kill you in the parking lot, but here will work.”
Mr. Chips flew in and clawed Jim, breaking his hold on Brady. Brady elbowed Jim in the temple, putting him on the pavement. Brady released the jack, dropping the flat tire on Jim’s shoulder. Jim screamed in agony.
Brady and Chips began walking away.
“Hey you fucker! You’re a dead man!” Jim yelled to Brady.
Brady looked over his shoulder, lit a match, and threw it onto the trail of gasoline leading to the Jeep. As the SUV went up in flames, Brady turned to Mr Chips. They both nodded.
Up, Down, and Pound.
“Boom” they both exclaimed as the Jeep exploded.
|# ¿ May 22, 2016 22:22|
In drat it. I've hit rock bottom, and it's time to rise up and suck just a little less this week.
|# ¿ May 23, 2016 23:37|
Thanks Jitzu! Looks like I've got some (lots of) work to do, but at least I got some stuff right.
|# ¿ May 24, 2016 01:28|
This thread sucks and I hope you all die in a fiery explosion.
Poorly written by yours truly.
|# ¿ May 24, 2016 20:19|
In for Wednesday - Or if that's full, Thursday I guess.
And cause I failed to submit last week
(USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST)
|# ¿ May 31, 2016 13:52|
Wednesday is for war
And your word is crapulous.
I knew I'd have my revenge. I just didn't know it would be so soon.
|# ¿ Jun 1, 2016 10:08|
Did i miss Wednesday's rule?
|# ¿ Jun 2, 2016 00:54|
Flash rule me or somethin.
|# ¿ Jun 2, 2016 02:35|
Am i writing about itch and sight and potatoes?
|# ¿ Jun 2, 2016 11:05|
Ok now that I'm free from writing about a blind itch anime i feel a little relieved.
I'll take Gag Anime and Grawlix (assigned via toxx)
|# ¿ Jun 3, 2016 11:56|
if you're thinking of bowing out this week, of being a disgusting miserable failure, of disappointing everybody, of admitting that you're actually a sack of poo poo who can't stick with their obligations, even when it's something enjoyable like writing: as a judge this week, i salute you. you're the real hero.
I'd bow out, but I'm toxxed, so you're just going to have to read my lovely story by the spoonful.
|# ¿ Jun 3, 2016 16:48|
This worked well with my stupid anime story. And even then it was weird throwing it in.
|# ¿ Jun 3, 2016 17:22|
But there's flashrules and poo poo. Should I just trudge forward and force my flashrule into the story after the fact? (Which I of course NEVER EVER do.)
Yeah you can always fail, and just toxx the next time you write to make your problems go away.
|# ¿ Jun 3, 2016 19:36|
stop giving lovely advice and write, nerdlinger
gently caress, I've missed this bloodstained corner of the internet.
Look who's calling the lovely advice kettle black.
|# ¿ Jun 3, 2016 19:45|
no, toxxing is the right thing to do. it's saying
Yes not writing a story you said isn't good, but if real life gets in the way of your internet writing plans what exactly are you supposed to do? Not sign up because you might not have the time 2 days down the road is what I'm saying.
What the gently caress is anime
Just wait til you try to write it.
|# ¿ Jun 3, 2016 20:18|
Don't need em. But I'll stop.
|# ¿ Jun 3, 2016 20:50|
Who needs 25 more words about anime? You're welcome
|# ¿ Jun 3, 2016 21:02|
pour out a 40 for Marshmallow Blue, or just drink it if y'all don't wanna waste good liquor
I have sinned. Lay it on me
Here's the late story-
King of Starch
Anime: Gag Trope
Potatoes always were king in Jing Fong Garden, the outdoor marketplace just outside of Tokyo. While rice had always been a staple in Japan, Mao always thought differently. He saw that potatoes were the king of starches, and his love for the tubers couldn’t be understated. So every weekend he rode his bicycle to the bustling market to peddle his spuds.
However this weekend was different, when Mao arrived, another vendor had taken his spot. Mao leaped into the air, arms flailing he ran to the to the vendor who was setting up his rice stall so fast that his sandals flew off in the process.
“Hey you! That’s my spot. You need to move. I sell potatoes here every week.” Mao said. The rice man chuckled
“No one buy your dirty potatoes. Maybe you go sell them to dumpster.” Rice man continued laughing and turned to one of the neighboring stalls.
“Hey you see this fool? He try selling his brown turds at market. No potato better than rice.” The rice man finished setting up his stall.
Mao was fuming. He turned around in anger and hoisted his sack of potatoes to find another stall only to see a rat running away with one of his sandals.
“Hey get back here” Mao said as he began chasing the rat. Potatoes began spilling out of a hole in the sack and rolling around the market while Mao chased the rat. The rat dodged left and right of Mao’s attempts to capture the creature. It took a hard left and began running the other way. The chase had garnered many onlookers as Mao frantically tried to catch the rat and stop the potatoes from spilling out.
He ran past the rice man who was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Mao shook his fist towards the rice man as he sprinted by. While he wasn’t paying attention to the chase, Mao slipped on a loose potato and fell to the earth.
Mao stood up and the rice vendor was rolling on the ground laughing.
The rice man could only imagine the grawlix popping out of Mao’s head and began emoting the speech bubbles of angry text.
“ #$%! $&%!! ” The rice man said repeatedly while opening and closing his hands above his head like fireworks.
Mao picked up the potato by his bare feet, wound up, and hurled it as hard as he could at the rice vendor. He missed by a wide margin and the potato clocked an elderly woman in face.
“Rude man!” the lady raised her cane and began running towards Mao. He was truly embarrassed and everyone at the market was laughing at him. The elderly woman reached Mao and began hitting him in the butt repeatedly.
“Yaaooooooo!” Mao shouted as he hoisted his sack again and began to run from the assault.
Mao sat on an ice pack in his tool shed that night, looking at a potato. He stared longingly at the lumpy brown oval.
“You are perfect” he whispered to the potato and gave it a light kiss. Mao began running his fingers along the rough skin of the potato. He gazed into the potato’s many eyes and he could feel the root vegetable speaking to him.
“If only they knew how tasty you are when boiled and mashed.” Then Mao had an idea. He ran out to the field and harvested every last potato. “Yes, I’ll show them all.”
Mao arrived extremely early to the market next weekend. He rented a Tuk-Tuk to haul the massive amount of potatoes he brought. As the sun rose over the empty market, Mao was finished with his masterpiece.
A towering throne of potatoes was erected in the center of the street. Mao placed his hands on his hips and admired his work as a few vendors began arriving. He also brought with him a vat of mashed goop and a spoon.
What no one else could see was the potatoes Mao had place on top of all the stall overhangs. With one pull of a cord, the street would be flooded with potatoes.
“Today, I am the king of starch.” He said to himself as he climbed the throne and sprawled across it. The vat rested by his side. He held a giant spoon to serve the masses. A scepter fit only for a potato king. Lastly, he wore a necklace with a single potato dangling from it.
Mao was high enough in the air on the throne of potatoes to see the rice man coming in the distance.
“Rice man!” Mao shouted down to the vendor. “Today you answer to the king of starch! You have one chance to bow down to me, or feel my wrath.”
The rice man was prepared with insults “How long did it take you to crap those out? You’re bum must be tired. I will not bow to any king of turds.”
“Then this means war!” Mao shouted, dipping his spoon into the vat. He jumped down from the potato throne with the spoon in his right hand, and the vat in the left.
“Today you face the the wrath of the potato!” Mao loaded up the spoon and flung it at the rice vendor.
“Ahhh!” He shouted jokingly “Potato man is trying to hit me with his warm white goop!” The rice man started another laughing fit.
Mao ran to a cord on one of the stalls and pulled it. Potatoes rained from the tops of the stalls. Mao jumped into the air with his spoon held high and began flinging the mashed mixture at the rice vendor in a rapid fashion. He must have flung forty spoonfuls before landing on a bed of potatoes.
*Splat* *Splork* *Splat*
The rice vendor couldn’t dodge the onslaught as his legs were immobilized by several feet of potatoes littering the street.
Mao walked across the potatoes with ease.
“Now rice man, do you submit?” Mao asked, scooping up a giant spoonful from the vat.
“Neve---!” As the rice man shouted, Mao stuffed a heaping spoonful of the starch into his mouth.
“How does that poo poo taste rice man?!” Mao said laughing. Before the rice man could answer he stuffed more and more and more into his mouth.
The rice vendor spat it out in resistance.
“Hah! Rice man not man enough to swallow?” Mao asked.
“I won’t this. It tastes like potato man’s poo poo” the Rice vendor replied.
Mao began laughing hysterically.
“What’s so funny potato man? You got another one coming out of your bum?”
“No” Mao said. “The vat is full of rice paste, not potatoes! You just said you think rice tastes like poo poo!”
The onlookers began laughing at the rice vendor’s faux pas. They giggled, whispered, and pointed, getting extreme enjoyment out of what had transpired.
Mao bent down and placed the potato necklace around the rice vendor and walked away.
|# ¿ Jun 6, 2016 12:21|
Things to work on:
I was going for cartoons cause the stupid cartoony crap is my entire limited knowledge of anime.
Thank you for the rest of the crit about the grammar and better descriptions.
|# ¿ Jun 7, 2016 02:42|
In it not not lose it.
|# ¿ Jun 7, 2016 12:50|
Looks like the ban washed my loser tar away just like rain washes tainted souls. I am reborn a new man and will not lose again.
|# ¿ Jun 7, 2016 17:33|
Oh, QuoProQuid since you don't want to look up Grawlix, it's that stupid using "#%%%!" for swears. Also, I want to thank you again for the inline crit as it really helped my story this week.
|# ¿ Jun 8, 2016 12:44|
Thanks! Yeah I felt I'd be somewhere in the bottom with this story...
Same, climbing out of having to write anime is basically guaranteed to be better. And if I wasn't late, I would have had that loss.
|# ¿ Jun 9, 2016 13:43|
Thanks for the Crit Sitting Here!
|# ¿ Jun 10, 2016 13:04|
Ok this week, I tried to fix some tense issues, as well as better descriptions of things.
The Other Side of the Wall (1198)
Alex leaned against the bullet drenched wall and took a long draw from his cigarette. The tail of ashes formed and floated away once they couldn’t support their own weight. Death was everywhere, feasting on the revolution that was just taking hold. To the right, a spirited rebel, slumped over on the ground in a pool of their own blood. On the left, his young love who had hidden him from the authorities. The punishment for both was a front row seat to the firing squad. Commissar Viktor Kyvol was death’s right hand man.
Every day was the same. Find rebels and their sympathizers, line them up for the firing squad, and leave their lifeless corpses as a message for the rest of the rebels to see. There was no trial or jury. Just Viktor, who would shoot ten civilians if it meant killing one rebel. It’s that kind of dedication that made Alex wonder if he was on the right side of things.
But it’s better to be on the wrong side of things than on the business end of the firing squad Alex thought. He took another draw from his cigarette and shifted his stance.
Not everyone died so quickly. After hundreds and hundreds of killings, Alex had seen it all. Slow deaths, quick deaths, people desperately running with their hands bound for just a few more breaths of life. After a while he became numb to it all. The only absolute was once Viktor declared you a rebel, you were dead.
Alex finished his cigarette and flinged the butt to the ground. It landed in the pooling blood and expired with a hiss. Perhaps they are the lucky ones, their souls now at rest.
“Alex.” Viktor called from around the corner. “Break is over, there is a rebellion to crush”. It was time to kill again.
The line was set, and nine other riflemen stood waiting for Alex to take his place one the firing squad. There were no rifles loaded with blanks on Viktor’s line. From his perspective, there should be no emotional despair over killing a rebel, less you are a rebel yourself.
Only three rebels stood against the abandoned building. Alex believed it was lucky to be in a small group. You were dead either way, but there were more bullets with your name on it, and that meant quicker death. Alex took his spot on the firing line and aimed his rifle towards the rebels. They all looked angry, ready to die for their cause. He couldn’t look at their rage filled eyes. At first he had tried, but he couldn’t. Alex was numb to the blood and bits of brain and flesh that painted the walls. He was numb to the lifeless corpses that lay about, but not the life still residing in those soon to be corpses.
“Fire!” Alex heard Viktor’s signal, and a round of gunfire echoed in his ears. Alex still thinking about the souls in those bodies fired significantly late. Alex came out of his daze to see bodies dropping to the earth and screams of pain. Blood sprayed from the left and right onto the center rebel. So much blood Alex thought.
“Alex!” Viktor said while approaching from the side, reaching for his pistol. “Wake up. Finish that one off.” He said as he motioned his pistol towards the rebel in the center who had been grazed twice, but not fatally wounded. Viktor placed the pistol in Alex’s hand.
Alex walked over to the rebel, who was curled on the ground, drenched in his own blood and the blood of his comrades. No problem he thought. Alex was numb to the gore. He pointed the pistol towards the man’s head when suddenly he looked up towards Alex. His face and clothes were red with blood, and he laid on a ground of shimmering red. His eyes were a bright penetrating white. Alex stood frozen with the pistol aimed square at the rebel. His eyes pierced through Alex like the coldest of winter winds. Alex’s soul was naked for all to see. He tried to pull the trigger, but his fingers wouldn’t listen.
The rebel swung out his leg and took out Alex’s knees. He sat up and ripped the gun from Alex, then pointed it at Alex’s head as they both rose to their feet. Three soldiers on the firing squad had reloaded their rifles and aimed them at Alex and the rebel.
The rebel switched between aiming the pistol at the soldiers and Alex’s head. “Nobody do anything. Nobody move. Lower your rifles.” The rebel said frantically, trying to limp to a safer vantage point with Alex as a shield.
“Nobody lowers their rifle.” Viktor said.
“I’ll shoot him.” The rebel said pointing the gun at Alex again.
“Fire” Viktor said.
Almost immediately, three gunshots rang out as one. One hit the rebel square between the eyes. The both fell. One bullet took a large portion of flesh from Alex’s shoulder, and the other hit his leg. Alex closed his eyes as he heard footsteps splashing towards him through the blood pooled street.
Alex woke up in the military hospital. Pain radiated on his entire right side, pulsing like rat trying to gnaw its way through his flesh to freedom taking short breaks between bites. He tried to lift his arm to ring for a nurse, but was only met with resistance and more pain. Alex sat motionless as Viktor walked into the room.
“Always pay attention in the field Alex. I hope you learned a valuable lesson yesterday. You always have to be aware of your situation. You’re lucky to be alive. The good news is the rebel is dead, and we got you to the hospital before you bled out.” Viktor continued.
“The bad news is…” Viktor paused with a look of concern “You will no longer be able to serve. You’re receiving a medical discharge, as well as facing five years in prison for insubordination.”
Viktor handed two sealed letters to Alex and left the room. Alex let out a slight smile. No more killing. No more blood. Alex felt the heavy burden of all the death he caused fall away, and he cried tears of joy. His body hurt as the tears came in shudders; but no pain could stop the relief he felt.
5 Years Later:
Alex walked from the prison with a slight, but noticeable limp, carrying all of his possessions in a gray duffel bag. The rebellion had come and gone as quickly as it erupted four years ago. The sky was sunny, and Spring was overflowing with new life. Alex smiled at the sight of rebirth from another dark Winter.
Alex walked down the street and leaned against a one of the many fateful walls of his past. He lit a cigarette. Children played in the street, men and women carried out errands, and others worked on planting flowers in garden boxes. He took a long drag from his cigarette. The ashes grew and floated away when they could no longer hold their own weight, just like the burden’s he once carried himself. Death was nowhere.
|# ¿ Jun 10, 2016 13:34|
In it not not lose it.
Also my pic
|# ¿ Jun 10, 2016 13:35|
In with cookie crisp
|# ¿ Jun 14, 2016 03:09|
|# ¿ Oct 18, 2021 12:16|
I had some cookie crisp for breakfast and I realized it's the same chemical formula flavor as fruit loops and Trix etc, and that I was indeed not eating cookies for breakfast, but a placebo.
|# ¿ Jun 14, 2016 14:56|