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N. Senada
May 17, 2011


In

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N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Subject: I love you I’m sorry 973 words



7:01>Hey, I’m sorry about the bad news. : (

7:01>I thought I was dreaming when I first heard

7:02>The internet was out again this morning so I heard it on my phone radio

7:02>It works surprisingly well lol

7:35>Did you leave early for school today? I’m going to be heading out soon

7:50>Traffic’s awful like it always is. I know you say don’t text and drive but when I haven’t moved in 5 minutes does that rule really apply?

8:40>Alright, I’m guessing you forgot your phone at home again, I’ll expect you to call when you get back to your house.

8:45>Everyone at the office is feeling really down today. I gotta admit I’m there with them. I can’t imagine having to see his picture every time I walk into the building. Aisha called out sick, she told me she just can’t manage today.

1:12>Finally getting to eat lunch. A lot of worried people out there. Thanks for emailing me, I’m saving it for the end of work as a reward for getting through today. : )

5:34>I don’t understand this, please call me

- - - - - - - -

Hey Rachel,

When I started writing this, I wondered if you’d even read this. I’m sure you have a ton of other things to take care of today. There’s probably countless emails from coworkers about what you all are going to do in light of the election. Probably even more from all the communities you work with.

And maybe you’re feeling scared. I keep thinking about my family. I wonder what’s going through their heads. I think about my friends back home and what they’re thinking. I’m wondering what the people in here are thinking. And for the first time in a long time I really feel like I’m far away from home.

I remember when I first got here, how much you helped me. The first time I went to the market with you, how you helped me learn the art of bartering. I’m still really bad at it. And when that hurricane almost hit the island. How you talked me through what to expect. How you helped me nail up boards and set up sandbags. I was so scared. The heat was truly oppressive that night but I still wanted to hold you tight against me, sweat and all.

I doubt I would have been able to do so much without you. I feel like all the progress I made, the kids I worked with, the gardens I built, weren’t just my own. They belonged to us. That picture Tasafa drew had your name written on it too. It was for us. When I first got here, she didn’t even know her alphabet.

I know we talked about me staying for another year, or at least extending through the summer. But all I can think about now is home.

There’s this one incident I keep reliving in my head, this thing that happened back in high school. I was at school and it was lunchtime. We had one really big cafeteria and grades took turns eating. All of the 9th graders were coming down for lunch and the 10th graders were still there, waiting for a staff member to let them throw away their plates and then line up to leave. One kid dropped his mostly empty plate on this black kid, Adam. This was the only black kid in our school district. He came from probably the only black family in the county.

Adam stood up, and, while brushing off some pizza, shouted at the other kid to apologize. A third kid came up and pushed Adam down, telling him to calm down. Then a bunch of other kids started shouting Adam down too about how it was an accident. He stood back up and he was yelling too. I couldn’t make out what everyone was saying, it was all so loud.

The kids started circling around Adam and this much bigger 10th grader. I got pushed along with the crowd and I saw that big teen punch Adam straight in the face. Adam fell hard but jumped right back up and started fighting back. Everybody started chanting and then there was blood. I don’t remember much else from that day, but I do remember what happened when I got home

I told my mom what had happened. I remember saying, “that black kid got beat up today.” And I remember what she said: “What did he do?” I remember my dad said something like “Adam should’ve tried being a little nicer, that that kind of stuff doesn’t happen to nice, young men.” I remember what my parents said really well right now. I remember it better than I remember the fight. I remember it better than the crappy pizzas they would serve us on Friday. I’ve been rolling that memory around in my head a lot today.

The other memory I have in my head right now is what my dad said to me right before I left the country. He told me to not “let any black women snatch me up.”

I love you Rachel. And I love my parents. I’m going to go home. I think I need to talk to my parents about what I’ve been doing here, who I’ve been working alongside. When I go home and see my father, I don’t know that I will be able to tell him about about us. I'm not sure they're ready for something like that. I’m just not sure we should go to the United States together now. I think things are going to get worse before they get better. And maybe it’s better we stay with our own people.

I don’t know.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this in person. I really do like you but maybe we’re not supposed to be together.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


In, requesting beast and flash rule.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Beast and Flash Rule: Kobold & Gets into trouble trying to prove itself.


The Best Laid Plans of Green Hands 1056 Words

Sniffles, the two-foot Kobold with a four-foot attitude, stood with one furry hand on his hip and the other outstretched to the crowd of his similarly nebbish mine-dwellers. He held an elaborate looking parchment. His eyes scanned over the crowd he had assembled in the dark, dank cavern. In the very back, the critical eyes of the elder Kobolds watched him carefully.
“Comrades!” he shouted, his high-pitched voice bouncing off the dirt walls, “This is our time! I have in my paw a letter that I have intercepted from the terrible Green Hands.” Several kobolds squeaked in reaction, and all eyes nervously glanced around each other. The mention of the Green Hands conjured visions of war, dark magics, and debilitating poisons. The 7-foot-tall, 300-pound-fat orcs were fond of snatching Kobolds from hovels and testing out all manner of evil works upon them.

“Brothers and sisters, I too have shared in your anxieties,” said Sniffles, “but I assure you, with this letter, we will never have to worry about the Green Hands again. With this letter, we will become the saviors of the kingdom!” Some dismissive snorts could be heard from the crowd. An older Kobold with thick, gray fur shouted, “It’ll be a bright day in the cavern when a Kobold is received warmly by the humans.”

Sniffles ignored the dissent. “This letter details the plans to assassinate the Queen herself!” The crowd gasped. Kill the Queen? It would throw the world into chaos! It would start a Civil War! Humans would begin mining more, which could mean the devastation of Kobold homes in mines across the continent. One portly Kobold with a weak constitution fainted at the thought.

“This plan details every particularity of the plan. How the assassin will infiltrate the castle, what route they will take, the guards’ patrols, which beams creak when you step on them and which don’t. It has a map that shows you exactly how to get into the Queen’s chamber. This letter even tells me when the assassin plans on attack: this Friday. The Green Hands have thought of everything. And it is with their own information that I will defeat them.”

“What in the Great Gem’s name are you talking about?” shouted a mangy, mud-crusted Kobold in the middle of the crowd.

“I will follow the path in this letter and wait for the assassin. Then, I will kill him and I- uh, I mean we will be welcomed with warm arms as saviors and heroes!”

Many eyebrows raised with suspicion. An elder Kobold named Dirtfoot pushed his way to the front. “Sniffles, if you are willing to do this, you have my permission. But you must go now, and prepare yourself for your great journey. Go speak with the Dwarf trader Hargerblarger, I will pay for the climbing rope and hooks you will need. With haste, young one.”

With that, Sniffles rushed through the crowd, racing towards the surface. His mind filled with images of royal appointments, dining with knights, owning a castle. Dirtfoot waited until Sniffles had left the meeting cavern.

“Alright everybody,” Dirtfoot said, turning to the crowd. “I want one of the scribes to draft a letter to the Queen saying we heard that the Green Hands are attempting an assassination on Friday. We’ll hold funeral services for Sniffles on Saturday morning.” The crowd nodded in agreement. A Kobold with a flattened tail, wearing goggles turned to his buddy. Sipping at his ale, the bespectacled Kobold said, “Something just ain’t right with that Sniffles boy, I tell you what.”

----------

Sniffles stood nearby the castle’s moat. He reviewed the steps in the letter.
1. Enter the sewer drain on the south side
2. Climb up into the fifth drain which leads into a toilet in a closed bathroom
3. Wait for the guards to change shift at 5:00 (the bell will ring five times) and then run through the hallway into the fifth door which will be marked with a large elephant etching
4. Inside the room, crawl up the curtains onto the beams near the ceiling.
5. Head north across the beams and wait near the very small hole which leads to the Queen’s chambers.
6. Change into the butler disguise, exit the room, turn right, enter door on right which is Queen’s chambers, and pretend to give Queen her evening drink but actually it’s poison


It sounds simple enough, he thought. And thank goodness it was written in Kobold and not that awful, illegible Orc script. He squeezed narrowly through the sewer, climbed up the toilet pipe, waited patiently for the guards to change shift, scurried through the hallway, entered the elephant door, climbed the silk curtains, and rested for a moment. Everything had gone off without a hitch.

Sniffles was amazed at how easy everything had been for him so far. And, if he was reading this plan correctly, he should soon expect the Green Hand assassin. Sniffles didn’t expect to win in a fair fight, but if he could somehow get a drop on the Green Hand, he might stand a chance. I’ll slip into this narrow hole, it should place me right above the Queen and the assassin, he thought. Then, I’ll wait for him to strike and take him out before he has a chance.

Sniffles inched through the convenient hole next to him and waited patiently. He sat high on the Queen’s bedpost, made invisible by the elaborate silk sheets that decorated it. He heard somebody, presumably the Queen, flipping pages of a book. He had a clear line of sight to the door. Eventually, a man dressed in finery entered the Queen’s room. He had all the trappings of a butler, carrying a silver platter with a crystal goblet filled with what could only be the poison. The assassin!

Sniffles readied himself, his tiny claws poised to strike. Then, he jumped!

----------

Sniffles sat in his dank cell, wondering how long the Green Hand assassin could keep up the charade of being a butler. The Orc had disguised himself excellently as a human, shrinking by over a foot and losing nearly 100 pounds. And his accent was immaculate. He’d sounded just like a human butler.

Regardless, Sniffles relaxed and put his feet up on the bench. Soon enough they would see how heroic he had really been.

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Fleta Mcgurn posted:

there is no prompt for me
paromptapromptprompt

N. Senada
May 17, 2011


In with a flash, please.

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N. Senada
May 17, 2011


Weather Forecast: Dust Storm
Flash:One of your characters is extremely wealthy


Osmond Diaz, King of Kings
870 words

Near a gray spire atop a grand castle, deep in a devastated land, the wind picked up a mote of dust. And then another.


Supreme Lord Osmond Diaz stood on his northern balcony admiring the scorched earth that he had conquered. Where once there were teeming rivers and countless farms, now only barren waste. Osmond’s military had been brutally efficient and left no one to stand against him. He walked to the eastern balcony, then southern, admiring the brutal sights. Percy, his most trusted personal guard, followed behind him awaiting any order.

“The key to my campaign’s success, dear Percy, was an inflexible and iron will. If you bow before any, then you only show them just how truly weak you are. This tower stands as a stark reminder of that philosophy. Like me, Percy, it will never bow to another.” Percy nodded at his Supreme Lord’s sage advice. Osmond always enjoyed reminiscing with Percy, he was a good, obedient audience.

Above the burned and salted earth that had once fed a civilization, a dust storm gathered. And as it grew, it traveled across the arid plains. In the dead of night it crept. And soon, it was upon Osmond Diaz’s tower.

The storm gathered around the castle grounds, creeping into every nook and cranny. It dropped sand here and there. Slowly it found its way into the deep wells and reservoirs that fed the castle. Every ounce of water became tan sludge.

In the morning, Osmond rose leisurely from his bed and picked out his finery for the day. The silk felt smooth on his callused hands. “Sir,” Percy said, entering the room, “the well has been polluted.”

“Unfortunate,” said Osmond, “I suppose we will have to ration it for the staff. Pull the bare minimum from my private reservoir.” He placed his clothing on the bed and laid out the ceremonial sword he would wear today. “Go run my bath before you do.”

Percy moved to the bath and began pumping water. The sludge crawled up the pipes. Clumps of wet sand plopped into the tub. The reservoir is compromised, thought Percy, there’s no clean water left in this castle. He swallowed dryly.

Osmond stood at the northern balcony’s closed door, looking through the window panes that adorned. The storm had made it nearly impossible to see the horizon. He heard Percy enter from the bath. “Sir, the storm has polluted the reservoir as well.” Osmond began to face Percy when a gust of wind smashed the window.

Osmond fell to the ground, feeling shards of glass prick his body. Sand coated his eyes, blinding him. He looked up, blinking, trying to see Percy. Pushing himself up, Osmond ordered Percy to seal the window. The guard quickly recovered nails and a hammer from his own quarters and then covered the window with some curtains. Osmond sat on his bed, next to his ceremonial sword. Percy worked diligently against the storm.

White crept in at the edge of Osmond’s vision. He rubbed at his eyes. “Percy,” he barked, “Go fetch a dozen staff and have them bring pails of water to me. Now.”

“My most benevolent Supreme Lord, please allows us to leave the tower,” Percy begged, “We must escape the storm.”

“If you defy my order again,” shouted Osmond, “I will personally see to your dismemberment. Go!”

Osmond watched the vague outline of Percy leave. His lenses shriveled as his vision left him. In a blind stupor, Osmond clutched his sword. It gave him some semblance of confidence.

But this shattered as the other windows in his chamber broke. The storm picked up shards of glass and tossed them all towards the center of the room where Osmond sat helplessly. Transparent daggers cut at his arms, legs, and face.

Screaming at the storm, Osmond struck out with his sword. He became a whirling dervish. As he fought against the storm, it danced around him. More pieces of glass cut away his flesh. Sand dug into his wounds, scratching away skin and muddying his blood. Osmond raged against the storm until exhaustion overtook him. He fell to the ground. Sand slowly gathered around his body.

As the storm consumed Osmond, it continued to grow around the tower. Each grain slashed at the stones, cutting it bit by bit. Slowly the tower eroded. Every crevice filled with sand. Stones creaked against the weight as granule after granule fell to rest on the floor. The storm climbed higher and higher into the heavens.



Percy stood at the edge of the forest, staring into the shadowy woods. He looked over the cadre of defectors, traitors, and cowards who had joined him in escaping the storm and the Supreme Lord’s wrath. It had been hours since they escaped both but Percy still trembled. His body was rigid with fright.

“Look yonder!” shouted one of the brigands Percy now traveled with, “That bastard’s tower’s falling.” Percy turned to the castle. The tower had snapped in half and was falling. Percy recalled Osmond’s last order, the demand to return with water. He swallowed hard. He must be dead, he thought, he must be.

Percy’s body gradually lost its tension as relief washed over him. A strong wind blew from the woods. The trees’ branches bent and waved. The wind pushed Percy but he allowed himself to sway with it.

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