I'm confused, I thought signups were open until November 9th and we had to turn things in on the 11th.
|# ¿ Apr 8, 2017 09:52|
|# ¿ Oct 15, 2021 21:41|
Addendum, since editing isn't allowed: I would have requested Disorder of Extreme Stress, Not Otherwise Specified, for my primary, and box 13.
|# ¿ Apr 8, 2017 09:54|
What did I get with Box 13?
|# ¿ Apr 8, 2017 10:29|
My understanding is that the DSM 5 has basically turned PTSD as a catch-all for most trauma disorders. But I'm intimately familiar with why that wouldn't be the case. This'll give you an idea about what I have in mind.
|# ¿ Apr 8, 2017 21:44|
I'm having difficulties with my story. I thought we had more time, and while the topic is very familiar the stumbling blocks are painful as ever.
|# ¿ Apr 10, 2017 01:45|
Mental Illness in a World of Magic
753 out of words 1601
Tim had just started checking his email when he heard the door open. The woman who entered looked familiar but he couldn’t place her. She was a bit short, her jeans were seasonally appropriate, but her overly baggy sweatjacket wasn’t. It was also missing the drawstrings. Her hair was in tight golden curls, her face was just a bit too thin. She wore prescription glasses with thick lenses and a thick purple frame. They couldn’t have been comfortable and couldn’t have been her first choice. Remembering her gained extra urgency when he noticed her looking at him looking at her. He waved a quick hello and pretended to go back to his emails while he figured it out.
Amber, Amy, Jaime, Janelle, Janet. That was it, Janet. The glasses and the jacket were the key. The first time he saw her was a month earlier, on his way out of the psych ward. He was in a partial-hospitalization program to improve his self-compassion abilities -- there wasn’t an improvement.
Janet was being checked in for a stay. She didn’t have the glasses on but she was wearing the sweatshirt and it still had the drawstrings at the time. The stay couldn’t have been planned because she only had a purse with her and they’d have warned her off clothes with drawstrings. But it couldn’t have been involuntary either because there wasn’t someone to make sure she didn’t run off.
The last time he saw her was his last day of partial hospitalization, the first group therapy session of the day. She was barely late but Gary, the group facilitator, was even later. She was wearing the glasses, a dressing gown for a top, pants, and slip-resistant slipper/socks. She was ashamed and humiliated. And she sat next to Tim because that was the last seat left. They talked but he forgot what it was about. He hoped it wasn’t anything important.
At the start of the first group, the facilitator made a crack to Tim about watching his pen around her. Just about everyone gave that guy the stink eye. He didn’t know what the reference was too, just that it crossed the line. The damage was done, she went straight to her room after that group ended. And she didn’t come out for the rest of Tim’s time there. What was the session about. Alcoholism?
Tim waved a quick hello to Janet and pretended to go back to emails. He didn’t feel comfortable striking up a conversation at that time and he wasn’t going to impose one. The important thing was staying calm and collected. If she happened to strike up a conversation that’d make things harder, but things could still be managed.
“Hi Tim, would you like some gum?”
Tim anticipated any conversation throwing him for a loop, but a different loop. Like him having to remember what they talked about. Or her sharing too much information. Or him sharing too much information. He was still in that confused frame of mind when he answered in a stammer.
“Yes, hi, thanks, Hi, um, thank you. Janet right? This is embarrassing, but, well, things have been crazy for the past few days. I remember your name, that we met before but I don’t remember the circumstances. If you could remind me what we talked about that might help jiggle my memory.”
He wouldn’t remember using the word crazy at the time but he would later, and that would eat at him. She frowned.
“It was about my sister. She’d just died and everyone was saying things that were really painful. Everyone expects me to be the strong one who keeps things moving and keeps things together. You gave some advice, and it really meant a lot.”
Tim didn’t remember the conversation but he did remember the advice, because it was advice he kept having to give. It generally took this form:
“I’m sorry for your loss. You’re going thru a lot, you’re going to go thru a lot more, and I’ve got to share something that’ll be a lot to take in.
“People are going to say things to try to make you feel better and they’ll hurt a lot. The words shouldn’t feel like they’d hurt. It won’t make any sense. But that’s because they usually have no idea what to say after a death. They might not have even experienced death before. So they’ll say things that they think they’re supposed to say or that they think you’ll want to hear.”
1) Disorder of Extreme Stress: Not Otherwise Specificed
|# ¿ Apr 10, 2017 04:01|
A husband's dreams of his wife, their next morning, and their future together.
|# ¿ Apr 12, 2017 08:35|
A husband works on understanding his marriage in his sleep.
|# ¿ Apr 13, 2017 00:44|
I'll probably take a forfeit. Family stuff that has been in the background is in the foreground now.
|# ¿ Apr 17, 2017 00:13|
In with a story and flash rule please
|# ¿ Jun 7, 2017 06:52|
in with the boats image, and a flashrule please. Just 800 words right? I think I'm anxious and tense enough to get that much out tonight.
RandomPauI fucked around with this message at 06:28 on Jul 28, 2017
|# ¿ Jul 28, 2017 06:25|
Just Glue and Sand and Glass
Twenty-three year old Victoria lived in Echo Park because the rent was affordable since the recession hit. She wrote and made sand-art because they were cheap ways to kill time. And in under thirty minutes she’d be meeting Joan, a friend she hadn’t seen in a decade. One who expected a reunion with the sort of easy-going and joyful person she thought Vicki grew into. Victoria wanted to be more like that person.
Victoria spent the most time and money getting the look right for that personality and her own body-type. Her brown ankle boots and new-ish blue jeans were fine, but her other clothes didn’t work. She bought a sheer white blouse, a coppery cropped vest, and a blue cadet jacket. She also decided on very light makeup, with her hair in a simple ponytail and side-swept to the left.
There would be a tour: casual, affordable, and avoiding the touristy spots. Start off with a late lunch at the French bistro and an early show at the UCB Theater. Kill two hours with the activity determined by Joan’s mood. And end the night with dinner and Wall-E at the Cinerama Dome. Or pizza and wine at Victoria’s place. Joan would sleep on the living room futon until 5 am, time enough for a quick breakfast and shower before leaving for the airport with happy memories and a few lovingly handmade gifts for her and her family.
Victoria was carefully arranging the three gift pieces on her kitchenette counter/dining area when the plans were scuttled. She got a text from Joan. "Family emergency. Going to LAX now. Very sorry."
Victoria’s reply was an instinctive “I’m sorry, I’ll keep you in my prayers.”
At first there were no feelings, then there was a flood of them. Victoria decided to meditate instead of medicate. “Sit comfortably, breathe from the abdomen, think of the ocean rolling in and out; just let the thoughts flow.”
She thought of the relative peace and isolation of her favorite beach – Will Roger’s beach, several miles north of the Santa Monica pier. And then Breakwater Beach on Arrowhead Island. Where everything started going downhill. She continued breathing. And thinking. And breathing. And thinking. Until she needed to yell.
"gently caress that loving ship! That loving island! That loving year! And all the flakes in my life!"
Still enraged, she picked up the three sand-art pieces for Joan and threw them at the tile floor. "Seafloor", and "Desert Sunrise" were destroyed instantly. “Holiday”, a repurposed baby-food jar, landed on the remains of the others without shattering.
Victoria’s anger was replaced with shame. But if she knew where, when, and how things went wrong maybe she could figure out a fix. Unfortunately that information was essentially just a list of jumbled, incomplete facts. She claimed the largest breakwater as her ship, dubbing her the Queen Victoria. The Q.V. looked regal and seaworthy but she must not have been needed as a ship.
The pier was neglected and falling apart, negating the purpose of the breakwater. The beach itself was technically unnamed and poorly fenced off; “Breakwater Beach” was just an informal name. The island was where she met and became a thing with James. She was the older woman by a year and two months. And then they were intimate on the beach. And then he died. She couldn't remember the cause. Something to do with Q.V. Maybe he hit his head diving, or he went on board to explore her. She had her paper journals still, and her old livejournal. They could clear things up, but there was a mess to clean.
Victoria changed into sweats, a t-shirt, and slippers. She wiped “Holiday” off with a damp paper towel and placed it back on the kitchen counter. Then she swept the sand and glass up with a hand-held broom and dust pan. And then the entire kitchenette with a regular broom just to be thorough. Cleaning done, it was time for a new plan. Nobody would have to know about her loss of composure. She could shower, reapply makeup, change back into the “fashionably casual” costume, and go out to any of the places she planned on taking Joan. Or any place else!
By the time Victoria started her makeup she realized she couldn’t go through with it. Not that night. Not alone. She finished getting ready and ordered a medium pepperoni pizza; greeting the pizza-man as if she were expecting a friend or two. She wasn’t sure what she told him and he didn’t care. That was never the point: she just wanted anything about her noticed to keep from becoming abandoned and purposeless.
|# ¿ Jul 30, 2017 08:27|
I know we can't edit, I hope posting this one post down is acceptable.
She kept her memories in jars.
|# ¿ Jul 30, 2017 08:40|
I'm sad to get a DM but my goals of finishing a story and not being last place we're met.
Do we have to choose a room number from past thunderdomes?
|# ¿ Aug 1, 2017 21:25|
Edit: In, and I'll take a room.
RandomPauI fucked around with this message at 23:47 on Aug 1, 2017
|# ¿ Aug 1, 2017 23:38|
Thanks for the crit.
|# ¿ Aug 2, 2017 14:38|
Any commoner invited to Lord Domerci's event rehearsals knew they would be bound to a vow of silence. They would see sights that could only exist in their wildest dreams. Sometimes they'd leave with trinkets, advice, jobs. And when someone was injured, died, or disappeared along with the way then the survivors would receive extravagant compensation.
So it was that 12-year old Alice was forced to accompany her parents and siblings to attend a "dry-run" for the grand reopening of "The Anatomical, Botanical, and Zoological Exhibition for all Ages." Alice dreaded going; each year the Lord would find new means to subjugate his animals and his employees alike. And on her way in all the wrought-iron cages would be empty. She never found out where the animals went and she wasn't sure she wanted to know.
Twelve-year old Alice was tasked with escorting siblings Mathew, Eliza, and Elisa to the partially-filled petting zoo. The perverse hybrid of an animal enclosure and a playground horrified her. Young Asian elephants had boards strapped to their noses and served as one-person see-saws. Things were no better for the much taller African elephants. They had step-ladders attached strapped to their rear. From there, children would walk or scoot their way to the front of the elephants and shoot down a slide precariously strapped to the elephants' tusks. Orangutangs took the place of swings for the swing sets, lifting children up in the air as they swung back and forth.
Every animal was kept from running by bright red and orange anklets connected to the ground with copper chains and stakes. Alice dreaded the thought of what else the Lord planned to add to the animal attractions. The grotesque attraction was well-staffed by heavily jeweled and costumed professionals. Their supervision gave Alice an excuse to meet with her peers. She could barely hear them off in the distance competing with the cacophony of sounds coming solely from the children. They must have been at the bleachers in front of the open field.
Alice ran as fast to her mates as she could, hoping she wasn't too late. She was welcomed to the sight of legless men on stilts reloading his sack with wrapped hot dogs, popcorn, and soda to give to the people in the stadiums. He was equipped with a raccoon on a leash to collect the money and deliver the snacks.
The business team-up was an odd sight, but not one that could prepare her for what she was about to see. She walked onto the bleachers just in time to see the "The Freaks of Humanity" and "The Savage Brutes of Nature" shaking hand to pay for a game well played, final score 8 to 7. Someone in the crowd threw a crumpled up paper at her. She picked it up and walked away to join her parent's by the aviary. If they wouldn't let her leave, maybe they'd let her join them.
She opened the paper during her short walk. It was a diagram showing the positions of the players, represented by small characters of their faces inside small circles. Thier "names" and the details of the match were to the side of the diagram.
[qoute=Exhibition game between the Freaks of Humanity and the Savage Brutes of Nature.]
A rousing 7 vs. 7 match which will give these malformed anomalies an opportunity to assert their humanity and man's dominion over animal life.
Match to last from 10:30 am to 11:45 am.
Refereed by the good Reverends Charles Thacher and George Whiststone.
Sponsored by the noble Lord Domerci
The Freaks of Humanity (In black vests)
Bertha, The Bearded Fat Lady (GC)
Jacque, Dog Haired Boy (LD)
Chang, The Four Legged Oriental (RD)
Lydia, The Snake Inked Woman. (RM)
Umbutu, The African Pygmy (LM)
Hercules, The 8-Foot Muscle Man (CF)
Janus, The Man with Three Heads (Attacker)
The Savage Bruthes of Nature (in white vests)
Ching Cong, The Panda (2 legs) (GC)
Eskimo, The Young Polar Bear (2 legs) (LD)
Walla-Walla, the Emu (2 legs) (RD)
Edwin, The Boar (LM)
Alexander, The St. Bernard (RM)
Arthur, The Teenaged Lion (CF)
Kerchak, The Great Ape (2 legs) (Attacker)[/quote]
Alive's efforts to join her parents was a failure. The aviary closed for lunch at noon, which meant her mother and father would already be riding with other adults in an open-top carriage to take them to a quasi-formal banquet.
"Their carriages are being pulled by dinosaurs or mammoths, no doubt." she said to no one.
Alice only saw two choices: she could try to hide until everything was over. Or she could find a way to escape. The latter decision was made for her when she saw a parade of clowns, their pony's in tow carrying an assortment of instruments and bags of clown tricks. A bright orange truck with black trim and white walled tires took the rear. After it passed, Alice saw that the truck carried an assortment of boxed lunches, blankets, and other accessories for the children's picnic. If the driver left the keys in the truck and if it were left alone then that could be her way out.
Alice joined the rear of the parade until it came to a stop by a small picnic field. She couldn't help but notice that the others were joining her too, without prompting. She saw teens talking with each other and kids skipping along as if following the truck was the natural thing to do. This made her more determined to leave.
Alive figured the easiest way to gain access to the truck in the first place would be to offer to help in some way. Unloading the truck, setting blankets up, the particulars didn't matter. She needed to earn their trust. But her escape was made even simpler than that.
Before the driver exited the truck he yelled at Alice. "Hey kid", the driver said in a low gruff, "make sure no one gets into here without my permission."
Alice responded over-eagerly. "Oh, yes I will, gladly. I just want to thank you and Lord Domerci and everyone for holding such a marvelous event!" The driver didn't seem to care. "He must want to get this over with." she thought. And what luck! He left the key's in the ignition.
Alice waited for the last box to be unloaded and for everyone to exit the truck's back before she climbed in, unseen as far as she could tell. And then she floored it. Alice wasn't sure how to change gears, but 30 miles per hour would be more than enough speed to leave the horrible Manor. She just needed to keep traveling straight forward to the exit.
The zoo refused to cooperate. Once straight roads split in half. Signs and animals that could place her approximate position disappeared, leaving empty cages behind. In the rear view mirror, she saw thick wrought-iron bars shoot up from the ground, preventing her from escaping. Her heart sank when she saw the exit. It was behind a large, cement, below-ground enclosure. Somehow she'd have to jump straight down 12 feet into the empty pit, scale up the 3-foot tall steps, and get past the gate.
This hindered her plan, but it wasn't an insurmountable obstacle. She got out of the truck, shifted it in neutral, and pushed it into the pit. This would serve as her way down into the pit. But when Alice climbed off the wreckage she saw them. The driver of the truck, and a bangle tiger.
First, he barked "Show me your right hand!". Alice fearfully complied. Her body uncontrollably shivered as grabbed her wrist with rough, long leather gloves. Next, he took her pulse and read her palm thru them. Finally, he started shouting questions at her.
"What's your name?"
"How old are you?"
"I just turned 12"
"What animal do you see next to me?"
"A, a tiger"
"You're the one with the fire in you then. If you hadn't gone on your little joy ride someone else would'a had to find and retrieve you. Put these on. We're going back to the party."
Alice fearfully complied. One was a red and orange bakelite ring. The other was a copper-colored watch. The scruffy, dark-eyed stranger got onto the tiger and she felt compelled to follow him, holding onto his waist as they rode back to the party.
|# ¿ Aug 7, 2017 07:37|
In, and dibs on this cover
|# ¿ Sep 12, 2017 02:43|
|# ¿ Oct 15, 2021 21:41|
I'm taking the loss. I saw this as a way to finish a Thunderdome and to tackle some of my own fears and terrifying experiences. But the more I tried to add details the more emotionally painful it got.
|# ¿ Sep 18, 2017 03:49|