In and lego me.
|# ¿ Jan 3, 2017 17:10|
|# ¿ May 28, 2022 16:24|
Matthew was sinking into his sandbox, wondering if this was what his mother meant when she had said, “If you spend too much time in the sandbox, you’ll turn into sand.” His thought was secondary to his terror as his head sunk fully below.
Having safely acquired food that day, Simon spent his free time digging through the sandy ruins, looking for something he could trade back at the village. When his curved stone hit something, he didn’t expect a loud “Ow!”
Simon backed up quickly, prepared to toss the rock and escape. A dusty form rose from the earth, short like Simon. It coughed and sputtered, and begged, “Water.”
It took only sixty-seven questions for Simon to trust the so-called ‘Matthew’ enough to offer his water skin.
As the sixty-eighth, Simon asked, “Why do you have hair, aren’t you afraid of skeletons grabbing it?”
Matthew coughed again, this time on water. “There are skeletons here?”
“You don’t have skeletons where you’re from?”
Both children stared at one another in equal amazement. Matthew then asked, “Is it safe here?”
Simon puffed out his chest and shouted, “Of course! I could handle any stupid skeleton!”
“No, look, two skeletons!”
Simon turned around. Two skeletons clicked and clacked towards him, reaching out with their large bony hands.
“Climb!” Simon ordered. He made his way to the nearest pillar and scrambled up it to the second floor.
Matthew tried to join him, but fell a short way up the pillar. “I can’t!”
Simon’s response was to throw his rock at one of the skeletons, missing. The ruins were littered with stones, so Simon continued throwing any light enough to lift.
From the attacks, one skeleton crumbled into a pile of bones, but the other managed to reach Matthew. It grasped him by the hair and easily lifted him up.
“Help! Throw a bigger rock!” Matthew pleaded.
Simon froze. He remembered needing to leave his mother behind a year ago, her shouting at him to run. He had run, all the way to the village for help, but the adults refused. They said there was no helping her, if the skeletons already got her.
He had hated that answer.
With a running start, Simon threw himself off the second floor, onto the skeleton. The impact knocked wind out of him. It also knocked the head off the skeleton. Matthew was dropped.
With both skeletons defeated, Matthew stood up and said, “You saved me. Thank you!”
However, Simon was on the ground, clutching his stomach, gasping for air, and crying. Matthew tried to help, but nothing he did could get Simon to stop. It was only after many minutes that he calmed down.
The first thing Simon said afterwards was, “You’re dumb if you can’t climb pillars.”
“I’m not dumb,” Matthew retorted.
They argued for a while, until Simon said, “We need to go back to the village. Two skeletons mean more.”
Six more, precisely, from three different directions. The children would have been cornered if Matthew hadn’t read words carved on a wall. “Here!”
“Where are you going?” Simon asked.
“The wall said there’s a safe spot this way!”
“You can read?”
Matthew quipped, “You’re dumb if you can’t read.”
Simon didn’t argue, but followed Matthew down.
Below, the only light was a soft blue glow coming from more writing. Matthew pointed at some and explained, “It says no skeletons.”
“Are you a priest?” Simon asked as the pair wandered through the ruin’s hall.
“My dad is a priest.”
“I knew it,” Simon said proudly, “only priests can read. My village had one visit for my mom’s funeral.”
Matthew frowned. “Your mom is dead?”
The two walked in silence for a bit.
Simon tried to smile. “What about your mom?”
Matthew thought for a little, then said, “I think she’ll be mad. One time, I went to a friend’s house and didn’t tell her. I was grounded for a week. When I get back, she might ground me for two weeks!” He looked frightened.
“Your mom puts you in the ground?” Simon matched Matthew’s fear.
“No, grounded means I can’t go outside.”
“Then why are you so scared?”
“It’s really boring.”
Simon shook his head, unable to understand. It was then the two reached a dead end, stopped by a door with writing that glowed red, not blue.
“It says behind the door is danger, but also treasure,” Matthew explained.
Simon’s smile was tinted red from the glow of the words. “We can’t go back, so let’s get treasure.”
“Why do you want treasure?” Matthew asked.
“If I had enough, then I could stay safe and pay other people to feed me.”
“Why should I go, though? I’d just get caught.”
“What if there’s a way back?”
Matthew clapped and jumped. “Okay, let’s get that treasure,” he said, and opened the door.
Past the door was a large pit. On the other side of the pit was another door and, inside the pit, was a mob of skeletons. Matthew closed the door.
“What, you’re going to let some skeletons scare you?” Simon asked, yet conspicuously backed away from the door.
“What are we going to do now? Are we trapped?” Matthew pondered.
“Well, maybe there was a clue on all the walls we walked by?” Simon shrugged.
“I was reading as we walked, but it was just about Key-Hay-Do?”
“Key-Hay-Do?” Simon was puzzled. Then he exclaimed, “Oh, you mean Kih’ado! Tell me what it said!”
“It said Kih’ado owned this place, but magic made him leave. Even so, he still dances. Who is Kih’ado?”
“Kih’ado is the god of the priests. I think it means we need to dance to beat the skeletons,” Simon reasoned.
“What if it doesn’t work?” Matthew tried to swallow, but his dry throat protested.
“I’ll do it, then. I want that treasure.” Simon went back to the door, threw it open, and began an awkward jig.
The skeletons chittered, but didn’t approach.
“Is it working?” Simon asked.
“You didn’t go in, yet,” Matthew said.
Simon laughed nervously, and approached slowly. As soon as he danced through the doorway, the skeletons surged towards him. They pulled him under before he had time to scream.
“Simon!” Matthew abandoned his safety and ran towards the skeletons, choosing to dance. Unlike with Simon, the skeletons didn’t grab him. Instead, they also began to dance. The rattle of bones deafened all other sounds.
Matthew spotted Simon, oddly squeezed between two skeletons. Matthew met up with Simon, and the two jointly danced to the other side of the pit, where the second door was.
“You open it,” Matthew said, continuing his dance.
Simon did, and sand poured out. They were both trapped within it.
Simon was the first to dig his way out. What greeted him was an unfamiliar patch of sand, surrounded by green. A house sat nearby.
Matthew dug out shortly after, and laughed joyously. “We’re back at my house!”
“Matthew, sweetie, dinner! Come in and wash up!” Matthew’s mom called from the house.
Simon frowned and asked, “Where’s the treasure?”
Matthew hugged Simon. “My mom makes really good Mac n’ Cheese.”
|# ¿ Jan 9, 2017 04:48|
sebmojo can eat a dick
There exist men of legend, powerful heroes,
skilled in the dick eating arts.
sebmojo wished he could be one of those men,
but the sight and smell repulsed him.
He trained every day,
staring at dicks,
licking his lips.
His stomach could only protest.
Until a wise mentor arrived,
and told seb to try another path.
He took the advice.
Now he writes.
through the irony of the universe,
sebmojo can now eat a dick.
Thank you, Thunderdome.
|# ¿ Jan 18, 2017 03:55|
|# ¿ Jan 18, 2017 07:07|
Beyond the Veil
Life is severed from what I dream.
To bring forward my new meanings,
There can be nothing to redeem.
Others hold me in false esteem,
But I can only make mistakes.
Life is severed from what I dream.
I am the puppet ruler of a team;
True rulers bring the mythos to masses.
There can be nothing to redeem.
Easily and happily they all misdeem,
Yet beyond their merry masks
Life is severed from what I dream.
Life is offered per diem.
Dreams are mistaken for menus.
There can be nothing to redeem.
Truly alone, I plot and scheme
With escalating ennui.
Life is severed from what I dream.
There can be nothing to redeem.
|# ¿ Jan 22, 2017 16:58|
in in in in in in in in in in
|# ¿ Jan 24, 2017 16:15|
Harold Jerin Blood checked his bank account online for the third time that day. Though he was lucky to have found the lucrative package delivery job, he hadn’t had a new delivery in over a month. The fifty percent deal on the collector’s tea set he wanted would only last until tomorrow. Harold clicked over to his email. His contact had said to only the message if it was an emergency, and Harold definitely thought this counted. He typed out a simple email, ‘I need a package job’, and hit send. It was only after that he realized he forgot to say please, thank you, or sign the email. Harold hoped they wouldn’t hold it against him.
To his surprise, it only took ten minutes for a response. It listed the pick-up and drop-off locations, which Harold noted were each in less than ideal parts of the city. He hoped nobody would accost him, but was confident in his ability to run away if it came to that. The tea set was too enticing. Harold put on his tie and coat – professionalism never hurt, and it was a bit chilly outside – and journeyed from his apartment.
Meanwhile, in the headquarters for the local mafia, sat the Job Man. When the email came in from Mr. Blood, his heart nearly exploded. Wasn’t this the guy who obliterated a rival group just to deliver a few cases of money? Even with the money, they couldn’t have bought enough explosives to do what he did. The email was insistent. Was this monster looking for more violence?
Every other gang and lowlife group in the city had threatened to band together against the mafia if they ever used Mr. Blood’s services again. The Boss was quick to agree at the time, but the Job Man remembered a specific warning, “Getting on Mr. Blood’s bad side would be worse than ten times what those punks could muster. If there’s ever a choice to make, bet on Blood.” The Boss had said to only give another job if it was an emergency, and the Job Man definitely thought this counted.
The Job Man typed out the details and hit send, hoping the time he had taken to panic didn’t insult Mr. Blood.
Harold’s stroll to the pick-up location was pleasant, if a bit odd. He tried to wave and smile at a couple walking the opposite way, but they began whispering frantically and detoured into an alleyway before he could wish them a fine day. Harold wondered if they simply hadn’t seen him, as they looked to be in an awful hurry.
Busy strangers aside, Harold had a tea set to earn. The location was inside of an abandoned building which really needed an unsafe zone sign. There was only one package this time, a backpack, and it wasn’t too heavy. He put it on and crept out, just in time to watch the building collapse in on itself. Too close! “Someone ought to report that,” he said aloud to himself, deciding he’d do it himself after finishing his job.
“Jack” and “Jill” were out scouting when they spotted Mr. Blood casually walking down the street. They discussed this apocalypse as they moved to cover in a nearby alleyway.
“We need to tell our gang,” Jack whispered.
“We need to tell every gang!” Jill responded.
“Wait, let’s not panic. You saw how he smiled at us, maybe he’s here by coincidence?”
“You mean that bloodthirsty smile? No, no no! We need to report this!”
The two gangsters peeked from the alleyway when they saw Mr. Blood enter an abandoned building. They shuffled to its side and listened. They only heard the creaking of floorboards. When Mr. Blood exited, they saw the backpack. “poo poo,” Jack muttered, right before a two-by-four fell from the now collapsing building and shattered his left arm. His screams were only kept back by Jill covering his mouth.
“Someone ought to report that,” they heard Mr. Blood darkly intone.
Jill shivered. “He knew we were here, and he wants to fight the gangs? God, I think the only reason we’re alive is because of that.”
Jack whimpered in agreement.
“Let’s pool our resources, hire the best hit squad money can buy, and roast that sunnavabitch!” The newly elected leader of the Gangsters Against Blood Alliance declared, earning much applause.
Behind every pair of clapping hands, was a powerful criminal afraid for their life, scheming how they sabotage the hit to garner favor with Mr. Blood.
When Harold was halfway through his route, there came the moment he feared; a group of frightening looking men accosted him in a circle.
“Mr. Blood?” One asked.
Harold placed a foot behind himself, prepared to run through them if he had to. “Yes?”
“Some dangerous men are after you.”
Harold presumed they were talking about themselves in the third person, for some reason. How did they know his name, though? “That’s nice, but could those dangerous men leave me alone? I’m very busy, you see,” he tried.
The men looked at one another, then back to Harold. “Of course. We’d hate it if you were delayed.”
Harold stopped his preparation to book it. That worked? Ha, he had always known that politeness was key to living well! All his mother’s warnings about what a dangerous world it was simply didn’t apply if you stated everything kindly, yet firmly. “I’ll be going, then. You lads have fun.”
As Harold walked away, he swore he could hear those men say something about him being amazing. Harold nodded and picked up his pace in joy.
The Bloody Defenders, as they had been dubbed, were charged with guarding Mr. Blood from the hit squad. When they found him, he was already being targeted by three snipers. His nonchalant attitude when they moved in to protect and warn him was baffling. Though they had heard the rumors, no man could shrug off bullets. Could he?
Yet even after he left their circle of safety by his own instance, there were no gunshots. They checked the snipers’ locations again, only to notice that each was already decommissioned via a slit throat.
“How did he do it?”
“He really didn’t need us.”
“That man is amazing.”
Discovering and covertly murdering every member of the hit squad was child’s play for its own members. The internal schism arose between those who always put the job first, and those who worshiped Mr. Blood as a living god. That man could kill anyone, even them if they tried, so the logic went that they may as well save him some work while they saved their own skin. The International Hit Organization was quickly taken over by these rebels, renaming it to International Blood Organization.
The actual delivery was just a pleasant exchange with a distinguished looking old man.
“I’m glad you asked to deliver this,” the man said.
“It’s nothing. I did it for what matters,” Harold replied.
“Oh? What matters to you?” The old man politely asked.
Harold thought about his response for a bit, “It’s good to relax, you know? I enjoy fine tea on a cold day.” Harold laughed.
The old man laughed with him. “The world needs more men like you,” he complimented.
Before Harold left, he tried another joke, “I think any man can be like me, most just don’t want to.” It must have been a bad joke, because the old man only frowned.
Three days later, the local mafia disbanded its chapter, the Boss citing that he had a revelation as to what it takes to really be involved in the criminal life, and he didn’t like it. Mr. Blood had told him, killing was like relaxing. It was then the Boss had realized he could never be happy with blood. Like Blood.
Most agreed and followed the Boss into retirement. Those that didn’t, joined the International Blood Organization.
Three days later, Harold’s tea set arrived in the mail. It was actually cheaply made, and damaged during delivery. “Cheap crap,” Harold said, before kicking himself for cursing. Not all deliveries were perfect, and it was important to look at things in a positive light.
|# ¿ Jan 30, 2017 05:00|
*bows to the crits*
|# ¿ Jan 31, 2017 15:27|
Alright, enough pussyfooting out of me; in.
|# ¿ Feb 2, 2017 22:13|
In with Kid Kid
|# ¿ Aug 30, 2017 00:50|
A goat head screamed next to the title: “Kids’ Letters to Kid Kid”
Frank ripped the monochrome article from its monochrome magazine. With practiced movements, he crumpled it, set down his beer, and tossed the ball between his hands. He looked towards Dick, that impish man with greying hair firm beneath a captain’s hat, who blocked the wastebin like a silent dalmatian considering a rare choice ‘tween two meals. Frank nodded. Dick squatted. His legs were wider than three his thin form, in what Frank thought was the near stupidest outline he’d ever seen the cartoonist create.
Frank laughed, focus lost. “I’m going to miss this job,” he said. “Ever wonder if we’d done things differently?”
Dick thumbed his wedding ring. “Like what?”
“Like if we’d gone for your dumb idea of a character,” Frank said. He prepared again, craning for an angle Dick didn’t guard.
“Hey, leave my beautiful Bat Boy out of this.”
Frank laughed again and scratched his yellow hair. “God drat it, even the name. Bat Boy.”
Dick raised his hands as he bounced from side to side. “I think he’d have saved us. You could see it in eyes, that glimmer of hope that all people could relate to. Who relates to a goat?”
Forearm steady, Frank was opportune. He said, “Kid Kid’s dad.”
Dick laughed. Frank scored.
“You’re a cheater,” said Dick. He walked sideways to the magazine and ripped out another page.
“Like you aren’t trying for the same with your crab routine.” Frank wagged his finger with the full force of a million tisking mothers. “You can’t be trusted, you little old sociopath…”
Frank felt tired. He felt it all at once, like he’d— like—
Like he’d slammed his head.
Frank tiptoed through the garden of pain to open his eyes. The office was the same. The carpet had a flowery scent, but tasted of crusted rear end. The baby was crying. The only things missing were the wastebin and Dick. Frank tried to stand once, yet couldn’t get up; twice, yet cheated with the wall; six times before he could hold the floor with his feet instead other places or body parts. It was in that moment of his grandest masculinity that he remembered the office didn’t own a baby.
He checked himself with a sharp pinch. No luck, he thought. The baby was wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, bugging from barely a walk away. He wasn’t sure how to pick it up, so he settled on freeing it from what he hoped was the head-end and not the end-end.
The kid, glassy-eyed, stared up at him. “Baa, baa,” it bleated mechanically.
His own laughter cleared him of pain, fear, tension. It let him think. Doll with a goat’s head, brilliant. Best of Dick’s pranks yet. What a Dick move.
“Alright buddy, you got me. I wouldn’t call it fair, but I’ll pay the drinks for the party,” he said.
The doll’s continued bleating was the only response. Even the oft-talkative break room ice machine was silent. Frank figured that Dick was concealed in some form, so he’d go find him, because what was some hide-and-seek between buds? He wandered down halls, searched under desks, and listened for breaths. The office was empty, silent.
Frank meandered back, thinking he’d go through the exit and and find Dick outside, probably looking into a camera he’d hidden to record Frank’s embarrassment. What a dick move. The party wasn’t for another week, plenty of time to turn things around despite his promise. When he returned to the main room, he was stopped by a terrible noise.
“Baa,” it said.
The bleat was like a trumpet blaring through brimstone. A massive beast, with black suit and goat head, approached as though Frank was the beast and it would hunt him for sport. Behind the hunter laid its last kill.
Dick stained the carpet.
Frank turned, trying to escape. He ran down halls. He hid beneath a desk. He held his breath. Bleats filled the office, short whispered extended screams in random order.
Silence eventually returned.
Frank crawled from under the desk, prepared to run immediately if the monster was there, but it wasn’t. His plan was to sneak his way down the halls as far as he could, then sprint the rest of the way to the exit. Dick was the only obstacle.
Lightly stepping into the hall, Frank checked both ways for any reckless drivers. The beast wasn’t there, either. Although, plastered over the walls were page after page of the Weekly World News. They were all magazine covers or pages about Kid Kid. Each displayed the same black and white photo of the screaming goat head.
“Kid Kid found on West Virginia Mountain!”
“Kid Kid escapes!”
“FBI captures Kid Kid!”
Just his own breath.
“Kid Kid on the Loose!”
“‘I Will Hunt Down Kid Kid and Kill Him!’”
“Kid Kid Still on the Lam!”
He didn’t laugh.
"Dynamic Duo! Kid Kid Lobbying Hard for Kerry's No. 2 Spot."
“Terrorists Kidnap Kid Kid!”
“Kid Saving Up for Plastic Surgery—to Look Like Kid Kid!”
"Candidate Visits Kid Kid's Home! Romney Promises to Protect Climbers from Monsters"
"Kids' Letters to Kid Kid"
The unfurled article was drawn over with a caricature of Frank kissing Kid Kid’s snout, blood lines pouring down. A heart was drawn below them. Frank felt repulsed, but kept staring, wondering what kind of monster would taunt with love.
His sprint ended two steps in as he tripped over the doll. He shouted and kicked it into the wall. Again. Again. Again and again, until it was implanted there.
Hellish bleating returned. Frank shot up and ran. He was out of the halls. He went over Dick’s head. He was almost to the exit. He thought, come on—
It stepped in his way.
“No!” shouted Frank. If that was his fate, he would embrace his inner beast. He lowered his head as he charged faster, prepared to ram his goatly foe in his final display of animalistic defiance, where dying felt best while loving or fighting.
It stepped out his way.
Frank concussed against the exit and fell. The floor welcomed him back with comfort, though now its scent was red. Nothing about him could move, which was fine because the world moved plenty. Through blurred vision, he watched the monster approach.
“Baa,” it, “ha”, laughed, “ha,” as it loomed over him.
He struggled to remain awake as his pain melted into dreams. The monster squatted, its snout nearly close enough to strike. His jellied limbs didn’t matter. He refused to end like Dick.
“I’m sorry, Kid Kid!” Frank squealed, “I didn’t know you were real!”
It snarled, “You aren’t.” It snapped, “You did.” It swore and sang and sobbed and snorted, “Why, dad?”
‘Kid Kid’ stood and removed the sweaty goat head containing his short yellow hair. The tall teen sighed at the unconscious man.
Dick, continuing to stain the floor, walked over to them. Prosthetic guts were still dangling from his artificial wounds. He asked, “Well? How was your ‘real’ dad?”
|# ¿ Sep 4, 2017 01:21|
In and the moral of the story is: "Don't say anything you wouldn't want repeated."
|# ¿ Sep 4, 2017 23:59|
Signups are closed! If you snost and lost, there is a moral to this story.
I'll take Tyranno's orphaned "An apple a day keeps the doctor away" as a flash rule, to complete the circle.
|# ¿ Sep 9, 2017 04:38|
The Adventures of [Protagonist]
Adventuring is a nasty business, my father always told me. Sword-deep in the mercenary I hired is when I realize my father was right. I can hardly tell whose blood covers me anymore, but I don’t think it matters, because how am I going to get home with the jewels?
Look, you can’t just– Yes, I understand dragons don’t just rain from the sky, but I’ve heard rumors. I don’t care if it hurts. Okay, listen here you stupid elf. You are going to continue guiding us, or else I’m going to snap your other arm and use you as bait. Yeah, that’s what I thought.
It is with few regrets that I pen these final hours of my life. Necromancy is no option I would take, even if I were more versed in its masteries. I have lived full, joyously, and with an open mind, unlike my rival. I hope that, should my laboratory be discovered, you heed my words:
Twice she’s stolen from us, no more. If that brat isn’t dead or wishing she was dead by the end of the day, you knuckleheads will replace her. And this time, no setting anything on fire! It’s too conspicuous.
Merchants are supposed to be clever, so why am I so stupid? Of course the injured traveler was just faking it! Oldest sob story in the book, ‘oh I got betrayed and now I’m injured, oh no please help me!’ and I fell for it! Of course first thing in the morning he’s gone, along with my food. Now I’m going to starve out here while chasing after him.
Tasty humans. Remember what High Dragon tell me. Burn, then eat. Burn, then eat. Pointy bits bad. Could I burn them while eating?
Augh, pointy bits! Die humans, burn burn burn!
I don’t know where I am, but at least I got away from those goons. There’s some kind of note on the wall. Oh well, no time to learn reading on the street. There’s all these weird looking potions, I heard those are supposed to be expensive. Could they help me escape?
Dispatch the entire archer league! Rally the knights! Forget the conscripts, they’ll just panic. Give me the Magi-Phone. Thank you. OKAY TROOPS, WE HAVE A SEVERE CASE OF ILLEGAL DRAGONRY SOUTH OF THE CITY. CHARGE! IN AN ORDERLY FASHION!
Can’t say I’m too upset. Sure, arm’s still broke and dragonfire is killing everyone, but at least everyone includes those ruffians. Adventurers are nasty folk, my mother always told me. Wait, what’s that coming out of the ground?
Boss, we didn’t have nothing to do with the fire.
Yeah Boss, it’s all the dragon’s fault.
That’s right, that flying lizard. Please don’t hurt us.
Yeah! We’ll catch the girl still.
Why you taking out your, uh, crossbow?
What kind of stupid merchant only carries apples? I almost wish I didn’t steal from him, I’d be more heroic that way. It’s okay though, I still have the jewels and the city isn’t too far now.
Is that the army? Is that a dragon?! And why is the ground shaking?
Stupid pointy humans, I melt you all! Melt, melt, melt in my mouth!
Humans shooting themselves out the ground now? Snack delivery? But it’s only a little human!
The Grand Merchant’s life changed when he witnessed the dragon attack. The exact sequence of events were so ludacris as to demand recording. The printing of this tale made him the wealthiest person on the entire continent, to date the highest recorded valuation for a bushel of apples. Without further ado:
That’s right, I’m a talking crossbow, so what? Just because I’m your tool doesn’t mean I want your grubby hands all over me. Hey, are you even listening? Oh, pointing me at a dragon, that’s actually quite heroic of you, very worthy of my splendor. I appr– wait, you’re aiming at the girl? I demand you put me down this instant!
I can feel everything. I can do anything. I am everything. Rising from the earth, I use my momentum to slam into the dragon. Yes, perfect. After this is over, I will need to find a different body, this girl’s mind is too fragile to house mine. Looks like I get the last laugh over that old fool in the end. Oh, a crossbow bolt? You think that could stop me, the All Powerf–
Jewels. Girl falling from the sky. Jewels. Girl falling from the sky. Girl. I’m better than some mercenary. I’m an adventurer! Distressed maidens are the highest calling, my father always told me.
I might not be the bravest, I might have only one working arm, and I might die if I leave this rock, but that little girl falling from the sky needs my help. I’m better than some adventurer. I’m an elf!
Sir, reporting on the situation. The dragon appears to be diving for some bag left by a man. We suspect he may be trying to lure the dragon using gems or gold, sir. It’s the perfect opportunity to attack.
Aha! No mere crossbow can kill me! I’ve even managed to jump to the fool who thought he could do it. Now, to plan world domination…
Is my crossbow talking to me?
Immense pressure on laboratory roof detected. Brute force entry suspected. Entity analyzed: Dragon. Engaging self-destruct protocols. Thank you for using Magi-Tech.
Did Boss’ crossbow just turn around and shoot him?
Did the the dragon just explode?
We should go.
It is with great honor that I award these brave adventurers with medals and gold for the protection our fine city from the dragon menace. Please clap.
New mom and dad are fighting again. At least I can ignore them while I write in you, diary. I still don’t remember how I helped stop the dragon, but I’m sure it had something to do with that weird potion I drank. If only I could have read that note back then.
I wonder if I’ll have a little brother, or a little sister.
Hello? Abandoned talking crossbow here. Helped stop the real bad guy? Hello?
|# ¿ Sep 11, 2017 00:33|
thanx for the crit, benny
|# ¿ Sep 12, 2017 01:59|
I play the card Pot of Greed, which allows me to draw two cards from my deck!
And then I play in, which allows me to submit one story!
|# ¿ Sep 19, 2017 21:46|
The adventures of [Prtagonist], jon joe
thanks for the crit, it is me who is dumb
|# ¿ Sep 24, 2017 19:49|
“Judith, we don’t believe in demons,” I said.
“I’m telling you Micah,” she said, “it’s right through there, in my garage. I have in chained up with silver. I read they don’t like silver.”
“Judith, that’s werewolves. Which also don’t exist.”
“You told me you were a Satanist, so why don’t you believe me?”
“Satanists don’t believe in demons. We don’t even believe in Satan.”
“It’s in my garage,” she whimpered. She stared at the ground and began shaking.
“Hey, no crying now,” I said and wrapped an arm around her. “You say there’s a demon? Okay, let’s see it.”
“You can’t see the demon. It’s invisible.”
“Right. Invisible demon. Of course.” I looked over to Judith’s neighbor, a middle aged woman, who had stepped outside and was now staring at us. It took a second, but she looked away.
“You don’t believe me!”
“Okay, just take me to see the demon.” Judith frowned. “Er, hear the demon. It must make awful noises, right?”
“You can’t hear the demon, either.”
“Then how do you know there’s a demon?”
“I can feel it.”
“Just to be clear, when you say you can feel it, do you mean you can touch the demon? It has physical form? Is that what you mean?”
“No, I can feel it with my sixth sense.”
The neighbor was talking on her phone, as far from us as possible. She glanced at us, so I scowled at her. To Judith I said, “Okay, let’s go inside in and you can tell me more about the demon, like how you chained it up even though you can’t touch it.”
“You still don’t believe me!”
“Listen sweetie, you say there’s a demon, right? So it shouldn’t matter if I believe you. If there’s a demon, I’ll feel it myself. We need to go inside first, okay?”
“What if the demon hurts you?” Judith asked. She hugged me like she really believed it.
“How would the demon hurt me?”
“It breaths fire.”
“Did it breath fire at you?”
I hugged her back, tighter. “Were you hurt?”
“Just a little.”
“Show me,” I demanded. I looked her over closely now, searching for burns. Her dyed-black hair was untouched, as were her pink shirt and blue jeans. Her bare feet, toes gripping the grass, were the same.
“Then show me inside.”
“If you think that’s best,” she whispered.
I nodded fervently and pulled her towards her house before she could change her mind. I made sure to flip off the neighbor as we went inside. Judith hesitated on in, but I did my best to assure her. I said, “I’m a Satanist, so I’m sure I can handle one lame demon.”
"Silver Found at Scene of Tragic Electrical Fire"
|# ¿ Sep 25, 2017 03:19|
I have nothing further to add, your honor.
|# ¿ Sep 26, 2017 02:47|
I know this is a McDonald's drive-thru, but I would like to order a
edit: Never-mind put me in instead!!
|# ¿ Sep 26, 2017 03:55|
|# ¿ May 28, 2022 16:24|
I am going to need to unsign for this week
|# ¿ Sep 28, 2017 15:05|