hey babydome, how’s it been? having a nice time with your friends, writing bad words, being dumb, etc etc? well, its time to change all of that because it is time for blood. it is time to announce:
No restrictions you say? Then I'll make my first stand here. IN.
|# ¿ Aug 12, 2017 20:34|
|# ¿ May 27, 2022 21:18|
Uhhhh, hey, is there a reason I'm not on that list? Because I did sign up, or so I thought.
It won't be me, but there's a chance someone will shame their family, ancestors, name, and gods by not posting and then Fleta could take their spot? Flerp has it already planned? Someone gets a secret bye round?
|# ¿ Aug 13, 2017 10:30|
Prompt: unlikable protagonist set in 19th century written in 2nd person
At the Pub in Morwellham Quay
Word Count: 997
I first saw your overly-fancy waistcoat when you came right up to my counter and interrupted me.
“Where would I find the Devon Great Consuls?”
“Just upstream,” I answered. “The mine's rail goes straight to it.”
“And I can find the boss there?”
“No, sir. He'd be up at Tavistock.” Your clean shaven little face started to look as irritated as I felt.
“And how do I get to Tavistock?” I gave you the directions to the canal and you left. Lucas, the pharmacist, called out.
“Another bitter, if you would.” I filled his glass, watching the beer swirl at just the right speed for just the right amount of head. “Fellow there's in for a long walk.” I smiled.
“He didn't ask if there were any barges, did he?”
* * *
Later that day, I was wiping down tables while the sailors laughed at their own conversations. They were regulars from the Swallow who brought dry goods and coal to the port, then drank in my pub while they waited for the tide to change. I liked them better than the mule drivers, who stayed all evening until I had to kick them out at close.
I certainly didn't expect to see you back. I didn't really think about you after you left my doors. You again came right up to the counter, but this time you waited until I acknowledged you.
“Successful trip?” I asked. Your eyes slid away from mine and you shuffled your feet.
“By the time I made it to town, the boss had left for the day. A cart driver gave me a lift back.” I wondered if you had been forced to walk the whole five miles. “Do, ah, you happen to know where I could find a place to stay the night?”
I didn't want to deal with you all night. I didn't want to have to be polite to you. I didn't want to encourage you. “There are inns down in Plymouth,” I offered. You shook your head.
“Even if anyone was willing to take me there, if I had to come back tomorrow, there's a good chance I'll miss him again.” One of the sailors spoke up.
“Martin has a room for reasonable. We've stayed before when the winds were too bad.” I barely kept from glaring at him.
“Would you let me stay, sir? I'll pay of course.”
* * *
And so I was forced to play host to you all night. After setting up the guest bed with the third-best mattress, setting a fresh fire in the hearth, getting you a good plate of stew and bread, and promising to wake you in the morning, I finally was able to close up and go to my own rest. As I snuffed the lights, I suddenly thought of Mary, dear Mary. I hadn't thought of her for weeks. Months, probably. And something about your overly expressive lips, your washed-out gray eyes made me think of her. drat you to hell.
* * *
I am a pub keep. I have run this establishment for twenty-two years. I am neither a butler, a footman, nor a maid. But I keep my word, so once I had gotten some porridge started I got your water ready as I said I would. When I entered your room after a perfunctory knock, I saw your clothes neatly folded and hung over the chair. You looked very peaceful. I deliberately kicked the foot of the bed, causing you to start up like a scared rabbit.
“Sorry. The porridge'll be ready in about half an hour. How do you take your tea?”
“Oh. However you like. I'm not particular, thanks.” I left you to your ablutions and got to my work. I was honestly surprised when you came down looking as sharp as you had yesterday. I would have laid money down that your butler did everything for you. As I served you tea and porridge and sat down to eat as well, I discovered that you are chatty over breakfast.
“I do hope I'll be able to meet up with the mine boss. My brother, you see, asked me to come out. I thought he'd be better suited for it but he keeps the business running day to day and while I help out with the ordering and that sort of thing, I can be spared. Or so he said. I think he wants me out of his hair for a bit.”
I didn't really want to encourage this verbal diarrhea, but you are a customer. “Oh?”
“Archie's the oldest, with Lenora next and then me, the baby. Everyone says I have Father's eyes though...” Here you trailed off and after a longer pause than seemed reasonable I looked up to see you staring into your empty teacup. I refilled it.
“Dead a year this April.”
“That's sort of why I'm here, you know. Father had wanted to source the copper from Devon rather than importing it from God knows where, but prices were always too high. Now we're on a strong enough footing to afford it, and, well. I'm going to carry out his wishes, come hell or high water.”
What do I say to that? That you're a fool and I think your father was one, too? “Good luck to you, then. If you hurry, the barges should start leaving up the canal and you can catch a ride with them.”
“Thank you, sir. I really appreciate what you've done for me. I hope I'll be back with good news.”
As I watch you leave with a stupid spring in your stupid step, I look at the outrageous tip you've left me. I don't want to see you again, but I won't let you know it if you keep tipping like that.
* * *
For optional info on the setting, start here:
|# ¿ Aug 17, 2017 22:21|
Questions! Is there a word count? What is the word count? What date is the sign up deadline? What date is the posting deadline? What is the land speed of an American alligator?
|# ¿ Aug 21, 2017 20:22|
In with Julie Dormouse.
|# ¿ Aug 29, 2017 18:57|
Thanks for the crits, flerp!
|# ¿ Sep 9, 2017 12:52|
I was gonna do a dumb waffle joke! Oh well, I guess I can't mussel my way out of this... I'm in with a
Also and flash rule plz
(USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST)
|# ¿ Oct 2, 2017 13:53|
I never knew Thunderdome would teach me so much about Belgium! Thank you for all of this!
|# ¿ Oct 4, 2017 12:16|
Fail fail fail. Fail? Fail.
Fail, fail fail fail faily fail. Fail fail. Fail fail fail, fail Trex fail.
Fail fail fail, failed. Fail.
|# ¿ Oct 9, 2017 16:53|
MY GOD YOU JUDGES AND YOUR SLOW DEBATING OF 43 STORIES.
I know, right?
Anyone up for interprompt? Because I was thinking about tomatoes that may or may not be rotten.
|# ¿ Oct 23, 2017 14:32|
INTERPROMPT: Man Agonizes over Tomatoes
Storms lash the cabin.
Hungry woman eyes prized veg.
Bleak night for tomate'
|# ¿ Oct 23, 2017 22:24|
Let's do this! I'm in!
|# ¿ Oct 24, 2017 22:44|
Girls Night In
“Morning, ladies.” Lyn walked in and slid into her seat. She lightly touched Tavi's shoulder and elbowed Bonita on her way.
“A little late, aren't you?” Bonita asked, handing Lyn a coffee cup. “Your cappa-frappa-whatsit is probably cold.”
“Whatever. Did you miss me?”
“Always,” Tavi said. Lyn glanced over but only saw the older woman's profile lit by the screens in shades of blue.
“So any action yet?” Lyn asked.
“No. Boss said full audio and video but we were waiting for you.”
“You know what that means! Adventures in the mundane!” Bonita elbowed Lyn as she spoke.
“Well let's get the tests done before the mark gets here.”
“You ok, Lyn?” Static hissed as Tavi adjusted the microphones.
“Just missed my coffee.”
“No really,” Tavi pressed. “You don't seem yourself today.”
Lyn and Bonita flipped switches in unison and their screens flashed on. “Didn't know they opened another Red Lobster over here.”
“Isn't that the police chief?” Bonita pointed. While Lyn swatted her hand, she zoomed the picture in. Tavi's fingers flashed over her controls and the audio came in.
"You can't be serious."
"We had a deal, John."
"Yes, and if you aren't paying up, then it's off."
"No. I'll talk to you Monday."
“Boss'll want to hear that.” Lyn tapped at her keyboard.
“I still want to hear what's bothering you,” Tavi said as they watched the other man leave and the police chief continue to wait at his table.
“I don't want to talk about it, Tavi.”
“Our mark's here,” Bonita interrupted. “And sitting down with the police chief.” Three sets of eyes met, all dark in the reflected light of the monitors.
"I've got a surprise for you, John." The mark started rummaging in her backpack. Without a word, Lyn and Bonita adjusted the cameras to focus on the backpack and Chief John Verdino's face. The audio hissed again as Tavi adjusted.
"Max, you shouldn't have!" He grinned and took what looked like a dozen roses from his companion, leaning over to sniff them.
“Red roses?” Lyn asked. Tavi laughed softly. Bonita leaned over to Lyn's ear.
“I prefer yellow.” Lyn blushed.
“What about you, Tavi?” Lyn asked quickly. Their eyes met.
“Pink for me, but I wouldn't turn away any color.”
“And you, Lyn?” Bonita asked, her chair still over next to Lyn's. Lyn continued to blush and started to stammer.
“I'm not so much for flowers.” Bonita smiled and Tavi's eyes slid away.
“So chocolates, then?”
“We need to get back to work,” Lyn said, sending another message to their boss. Bonita turned to her screen and logged the video.
“That guy Chief Verdino was talking to is still at the bar,” Tavi pointed out. Bonita split the screens.
“Can we hear over there?” Lyn asked.
Tavi nodded, holding half the headset to her ear as she adjusted the microphones. “I'm picking up the bartender pretty well, so if the other guy says anything, we got it. The chief is still having a boringly predictable date.”
“I told you it would be boring,” Bonita said.
“What are you all doing after this?” Lyn asked. “Do you want to go out for a drink? I found a nice little place to try.”
“I'd love to,” Bonita said, meeting Lyn's eyes. Lyn smiled and licked suddenly dry lips. She turned to Tavi.
“What about you?” Tavi didn't immediately turn, but when she did she glanced at Bonita, then back to Lyn.
“I don't know, Lyn. It's the end of the week for me.” Lyn looked over at Bonita, then back to Tavi.
“I'll tell you what's been bothering me, but I want to tell you both,” Lyn said.
“It won't be the same without you,” Bonita added.
“Ok, then.” The light flickered on their faces, rippling like light under water. Tavi glanced at one of the screens behind Lyn. “I think bar guy is waiting for someone.”
“Maybe he'll be more interesting than the two love bugs,” Bonita said.
“Has to be,” Tavi said, listening. “They're talking about Law and Order episodes.”
“Dude keeps glancing back to the table,” Lyn pointed out. They saw him pull out his phone to text. Then Chief Verdino put is hand to his pocket. He didn't stop listening to his companion.
“Did you catch what the text said?”
“No, wrong angle.” Lyn backed through the past few seconds to double-check.
“The chief got the text, though.”
“Better and better. Maybe we'll get the rear end in a top hat this time.”
“Maybe we'll have something to celebrate tonight.”
(Link to card because it's early and I couldn't figure out how to embed the image)
|# ¿ Oct 29, 2017 10:28|
Brexit happened, yes.
Fires, pants, silliness, and lies.
Like the cake at tea.
|# ¿ Oct 30, 2017 21:33|
THE BEST PART OF WAKING UP IS PROOOOOOOOOOOOOMPT
|# ¿ Oct 31, 2017 10:54|
My story was flawless.
More like something flawful.
|# ¿ Oct 31, 2017 12:12|
my judge crits part 1
For my part, these are good crits and I thank you for them!
|# ¿ Nov 1, 2017 17:44|
|# ¿ Nov 13, 2017 14:30|
I hate this
Well, I hate you, but surely we can all chill out.
(chill like the Ice Age Am I right?)
|# ¿ Nov 13, 2017 21:33|
Interprompt: Aliens and Wizards Are Actually the Driving Force of All History, Literally All of It (Except the Russian Revolution)
How The Aliens And The Wizards Started Their 546,897th War
Dengihash sputtered and flailed it's tentacles in surprise. "The Tsar cannot mean to give that order! The army is already on the verge of riot!"
"He has made repeated, bad decisions recently." That was Jergoshilai, Dengihash's superior.
"Lesser Poobah, I have been studying this leader for it's short life and I question if this makes even a human amount of sense."
"What are you saying, Dengihash?"
"This may be the work of The Council."
"Get the Grand Poobah on the line right now! We must report!"
"Your Wizardliness." As Marshall Yymyrrrillywnii, Most High Executor of the Council of Wizards turned, the messenger bowed to the ground.
"What is it this time?"
"The Tsar has ordered that the army use force to quell the riots. Mutiny is beginning as we speak."
"I thought I told Cedric Tailimarrr to stay out of it!" The High One thundered.
"He has, as reported on by the three committees that are spying on him."
"Then it must be those alien scum! Sound the alarms! This means war!"
|# ¿ Nov 20, 2017 13:57|
Hit me with that poo poo, I'm in.
|# ¿ Nov 21, 2017 11:55|
Word count: 964
Future Not Included by ThirdEmperor
Severance Pay by leekster
Sharon inhaled and exhaled like her therapist taught her. She smelled the stale urine, rancid food, and body odor of the subway and blew it out. I've smelled much worse: some of it in meat space. She clattered down the last few stairs. The slight twitching in her thumbs warned her and she set her cane firmly on the ground to brace herself.
A bright beach careened below her. Dipping lower, she felt the salt spray and the warm wind on her face. A sultry voice in her ear told her that Orange Tours would take her there. Sharon took a blind step forward and the beach popped out of reality. The subway platform was crowded and Sharon counted thirty-six people before a squeal of straining metal ripped through her ears.
And she was dodging behind the nearby pillar, scanning the shadows for the enemy. She checked down, safety off, brace for impact, blood in her mouth and smoke in her eyes. But when no impact happened, Sharon blinked and saw the crowd shying away from her. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe. She flung through her thoughts to try to separate reality from memory and too-real games.
“I don't know if I can do it.”
“You're brave enough. Not everyone signs up to have titanium and optisteel implanted in their heads. Not everyone signs up to fight in the wars. You've got the techniques, you're reliably recognizing when the VR comes up; I think it's time.”
Her therapist was right, and Sharon thought so at the appointment yesterday, too. The ratty sofa in the cramped office at the end of the VA hospital oozed stale cigarette smell, but it was grounding. Comforting, even. There had been a time not long before she started going that Sharon couldn't leave her apartment for flashbacks to when the maimer bombs went off. When she couldn't stand to stay in her apartment because even when she plugged out of the games, the walls still pounded with her heartbeat and dripped with the blood of her sisters and brothers.
Sharon opened her eyes in the present and the station had emptied out, though others were clattering down the stairs. She could do this. Sharon walked forward to wait at the edge of the platform, focusing on her goal through the intrusive sizzling of Emperor Burgers. She counted people as they joined her. At least I only worry about bombs, hidden and open, and new methods of mass mutilation. Not men and their perversions like so many of my sisters. Another squeal of sparking metal, but this time Sharon was ready and she white-knuckled her cane until the train stopped in front of her. Just one stop. You can do this. Sharon stepped through the doors and felt her thumbs tingle.
The distinctive sound of bullets hitting metal greeted her and Sharon turned her head to see what was being advertised. Gunpowder hit her nose and her gut churned. Sharon saw the movie actors' smudged faces and waited it out as the screams started and the whole subway car canted crazily. She just breathed through it, though she had to grab onto the nearest bar to avoid falling. She saw a gritty actor crumple against the ceiling and was starting to relax despite the VR pumping adrenaline through her own veins. Then a body hit her own, pinning her to the nearest surface.
That was when the pain started and Sharon kicked the other off of her, not letting go of the bar. As she registered the blood oozing from a civilian who had come on the train with her, she realized that her thumbs weren't twitching anymore.
Like when she flashed back to that damned alley where she lost her leg and her mind, Sharon had a lot of trouble distinguishing what was real. Bodies were scattered along the subway car and she could hear moaning and retching. Blood filled her nose – no, just the smell, and Sharon gave in. She checked herself down; arms yes, weapon yes, legs... There was the pain; hands and eyes found shattered bones again no not again, this is a flashback, no, no it can't be. I never worry about my leg in my flashback only in light space. A quick glance around showed her prosthetic broken and lying preposterously across the face of someone who was almost certainly dead. It wasn't a rifle in her hand, but the cane was frankly more useful to help her start moving towards the exit. She checked bodies as she went, then it occurred to her to call 911.
It shouldn't have been possible to drop a call that routed through optisteel and neurons, but that's what happened when Sharon heard another squeal of subway metal. Maybe it was her tunnel focus that ignored it as her injury was forgotten to get the gently caress out. All Sharon saw was the exit and obstacles. She knew she would eventually feel the shattered glass of the window but for now all she felt was the hot breath of the subway, of the oncoming train. Sharon knew this wasn't going to work, she would have to start from her last save, but there was nook in the tunnel. It was almost made for her broken body and she thought that was a convenient deus ex machina as she covered her head, closed her eyes, and breathed through the explosive crash of two subway cars into rust, scrap, blood, and heat.
“Ma'am? Ma'am? Are you there? This is 911 dispatch.”
“Yes? I'm here.”
“Crews are on their way. Stay calm. We'll get you out.”
“Ok.” Sharon decided that she was never taking the subway ever again.
|# ¿ Nov 27, 2017 06:47|
i think judging will be slow and methodical
|# ¿ Nov 27, 2017 17:29|
Thoughts and prayers go out to the families and loved ones of those three judges.
Indeed! They fought bravely and shall be remembered for all time, the judges who list themselves during The poo poo Bowl 2017.
|# ¿ Nov 29, 2017 00:57|
Thank you for the crits, Sham and CantDecide! I'll take a line by line if you're up for it.
|# ¿ Nov 29, 2017 18:25|
Crabrock, those are some fabulous graphs and good crits. Thank you!
(I forgot italics tags in posting my story. Proofreading is important! Mea culpa)
Aesclepia fucked around with this message at 16:59 on Dec 3, 2017
|# ¿ Dec 3, 2017 16:54|
Yeah, let's do this! I'm in.
|# ¿ Dec 5, 2017 01:49|
Happy birthday, Entenzahn!
Among these bloody sands
You stand above the rest
For now. Judge well and fast
As we know you will, your
Polished sword separating
Meat from gristle and strong
From weak. You lead our group
Of unherdable cats with
Promises of video game prizes.
Well done! I don't know where
I'm going with this but
I hope your day is full of
Joy or at least not-bad things.
In conclusion, happy birthday
To you, you delightful goon.
|# ¿ Dec 13, 2017 13:45|
Not looking for extra words – don't have time to join in the Mermen sparkle excitement - but I did want to crit! After all, what's more in the winter holiday spirit than telling someone how and why their bad writing was bad?
Week CCLXXV: Little Man History
So the judgment of the week pointed out that this was confusing and poorly proofread. You misspelled one of the main character's names once (Andrew for Andre) and there was lack of proper capitalization in the first paragraph. I got that an armed but bloodless coup was being attempted and that there was some bro/unresolved romantic feelings tension between Camilo and Andre, but it was often VERY difficult to figure out who was speaking or thinking. All the reader knows about Camilo is that he is a revolutionary and he is sickly. You mention this multiple times in the first part of the story, but never really get to why that's important or relevant. Were you going for the idea of powerless people getting fed up and going postal? Were you going for the AIDS angle? (I read the story first, then realized what time period we were in). Maybe tuberculosis/consumption, then? Show us why this is important enough to you that you mention it six times! It's one of his only character traits and it's not enough to differentiate him from Andre, who is on the opposite political side, and... that's all we know? You hint at their past, and their past is the crux of the emotional payoff of this story, and there isn't enough there to care.
"I suppose you want destroy it for fear you will lose it,” he said after regaining himself“ ...or that it will take too great a hold on you." Camilo recalled some of the eloquent phrases he had heard at meetings. He had shared them with Andre, back when they were still living together. The words seemed so ridiculous to Andre. But to Camilo, they were more true then the truth could hold.
Shifting point of view in the middle of a paragraph is bad. This is so very unclear, even after two read-throughs.
I think you spent too much time on the historical event and not nearly enough on the actual people. Since that was the point of this prompt, you kind of failed in every possible way. But you tried and did post something, even if it was bad, so that's something? Do better.
- - -
Week 279 – How to Write a Story
I signed up and then didn't write, so in my shame I shall crit one of the people who didn't suck.
flerp, The Fable of the Camel
I liked the light tone and the use of the prompts. Judge crits noted that the bulk of the story didn't meet up with the ending and I agree with that. The part where Camel has a revelation that he's just going to slide into her DMs and ask if she has a boyfriend seemed to come out of nowhere. That broke the derpy, light, I'm-not-sure-what-this-love-is-but-I-just-want-to-be-near-her that you had earlier.
To be honest, I laughed when Camel got eaten. I'm a horrible person.
My other “what?” moment was when Camel got the advice about sleek and shiny hair (which I took as using the non-camel half of your prompt) from Heron and then saw Dog eating exactly the right fish. I thought Camel would have asked for some, or thought “damnnit, I could have eaten some and had fabulous flowing locks like Dog” or something tying those two bits together. Everything else was discrete encounters, so when Heron and Dog were joined by the mentions of and eating of gray fish, I thought there would be something coming out of that. When there wasn't, I was disappointed. Maybe either connect it or leave out the connecting thread?
Overall I liked it but it could have been better.
|# ¿ Dec 21, 2017 14:27|
Happy Christmas and fast judging!
|# ¿ Dec 26, 2017 12:50|
2018teen: something maybe in Sanskrit
2018teen: making the better argument seem worse
2018teen: bad words good words ogg ock ook
|# ¿ Dec 27, 2017 15:50|
who would willingly read all these words just for fun
Seriously, I like this group of writers trying to make each other better and have fun. It's refreshing knowing that the feedback here is real. I liked the megabrawl, even if I got stomped because it got me into TD and that's pretty cool.
|# ¿ Dec 28, 2017 23:36|
she'll do it she's (whispers) craaazy
You're not wrong! I'm IN with sci-fi plz and thx
|# ¿ Dec 29, 2017 12:11|
God, Sebmojo, twist my arm, why don't you?
Flerp, I'll take a crit of this one thank you very much.
|# ¿ Dec 30, 2017 10:19|
I have the ability to go through time, he suddenly remembered while at a bus stop near a tree. Cars passed, gusts of heat and exhaust on the otherwise still day. He shifted his weight as a young couple joined him in waiting. They were talking about dinner tonight. Kimchi and grilled cheese. I could just skip this whole thing. Or at least the wait.
Brad inhaled and flexed the tiny muscles in his mind. He knew they didn't exist: mind is made up of fat, water, and blood, a gooey mixture of neuroses. But that's what he always thought of, and it worked as it always had, at least since that first time. When he blinked, the bus was there and the driver was yelling.
“On or not, sir!”
“On. Sorry.” Brad jumped up and scanned the bar code on his wrist. The light shone green and the driver started, forcing Brad to balance against the nearest pole. He slid into the nearest seat and looked out the window, watching the houses and trees go by.
He meant to obey. Really, he did. After the whole mess, after all the papers were signed, after the large sum credited to his account, after the slim and smiling woman in the severe black suit told him he would never see them again unless he himself transgressed, Brad had sworn to himself and his little potted ficus tree that he would never try it again.
They had put a recording camera in his ficus. Brad made sure to water it whenever he watered the tree.
It had started when he couldn't sleep one night. He had been so loving tired, but he just couldn't sleep. He had paced. He had thrashed. He had made himself some warm milk, then had nearly thrown it up from nerves. Finally, he had lain down in bed with all the lights off and had closed his eyes. He had flexed those tiny muscles just a little. Only get me to morning, he had thought. And then his alarm had started blaring at him. He had felt, well, not rested per se, but at least the time had passed.
Brad had decided that he would only use it in little bits. Waiting for the bus, for example. Skipping forward to when the roast chicken was done. The asparagus was overcooked, but the chicken was perfect, he remembered. Getting through stupid meetings at work where nothing happened anyway. Waiting for his code to compile. That one was dangerous, as it happened at home where he knew they were watching him, but whatever. He had closed his eyes so it looked like he was napping.
It wasn't without problems, of course. Nothing in life is free except death and taxes, right? When they had tested him, they had always asked about things that happened during the skip. Did anyone come into the room? What colors blinked on the wall? Was there a computer terminal in that room and had he fooled around with it? Brad hadn't been able to say then and he couldn't now. Fortunately for his nerves, they had always seemed satisfied with his answers. They had pushed him but not too hard. They had believed him.
Brad returned his thoughts to the present as the bus pulled up to the hospital. It was an ugly, old chrome and glass building, all curves and sweeping edges. He walked in, scanned his wrist, and a smiling security guard who had to be three times Brad's size, weight and height, scanned him for danger. Brad resisted the urge to skip through it. He was admitted in and proceeded on through the hallways of bland greenery and glass to the elevators.
As he stepped out of the elevator and onto the floor of the doctor's office, Brad faced his fear sideways, a glancing blow. Why was he even coming to this appointment? He could have just canceled. That was a normal thing that normal people do. Wouldn't have to time skip, or worse, actually sit through this and probably vomit on the ugly waiting room carpet. At least I didn't eat lunch, so there's nothing there to come up. Brad continued forward, knocking at the warm gray door. Who paints things warm gray? The nurse answered the door.
“Come in, Henessey. You're right on time.” She led him back and his glance caught others sitting and waiting. They either pretended not to be looking or smiled weakly, trying to be kind but caught up in their own worry. Brad felt a moment of anger in the pit of his stomach, though it could have been nausea, too. At least your issues are from random mutations or God or whatever. I don't have that luxury. As the nurse opened the door to the little office with bland orchid prints on the warm gray wall, Brad threw up.
“Sorry,” he mumbled as she calmly opened a cabinet to let the carpet cleaning robot out.
“Happens all the time,” she said with a smile and a touch to his shoulder. She brought him a damp washcloth and a glass of cold water. “The doctor will be in shortly.”
Last chance, Brad thought as he sat in the chair and sipped his water. As he watched the robot finish its job, he thought about all the nights he skipped because he couldn't sleep since he had noticed how off he felt. Since the blood test came back abnormal. He took a deep breath. Nah. Better to know. I probably won't throw up again.
The doctor came in. He shook her hand. She looked him right in the eyes.
“You don't have cancer.”
Brad threw up again.
|# ¿ Dec 31, 2017 11:17|
|# ¿ May 27, 2022 21:18|
judging: why not done?
I hear that fast judging is good judging.
|# ¿ Jan 2, 2018 22:56|