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Dim Procession 1586 words Detective Debra Veirs had a new case, a short fuse, a headache, and a thirteen-year-old living in her house. The last two were probably related. After having spent the last three hours in a crime scene, she now walked into another. “Why is there paint on the floor?” was her greeting after work. A few drips of off-white led from the kitchen to the hall, then met a big splash right outside James’ bedroom door. He appeared at the door. “Yeah hi Mom, I tried to clean it up but paper towels didn’t do much and I didn’t want to use a sponge or something. That would probably be bad, I don’t know. Uh.” He blinked. “We need an alcohol, I think. A rubbing alcohol or something?” “Google didn’t tell you that would ruin the finish on the floor?” He shrugged, blank-faced. “Right. So, good thing you don’t know how to look in the closet—” “I did—” “—because it would have caused more damage. Why were you carrying an open paint can to your room?” Quiet now. “I just wanted a change.” She glanced at one wall of his room, half-painted. “You don’t have any newspaper down or furniture moved or covered. Not even your bed.” “Oh…” She sighed. “I’ll find a putty knife. This paint is dry already. You can start scraping—don’t damage the wood—and then I’m going to go get another gallon, to make up what you lost, and because I wasn’t done with my room yet.” Veirs came back carrying the paint and a stack of old newspapers. The front page described the revival of the old popular play, The King in Yellow, at the theater downtown. She called but heard no answer. She looked in James’ room and found him there, on the bed. He looked up when she came in. “I was calling you!” “Oh.” He switched off the radio on his bedside table. “I didn’t really hear you.” *** Another rough day at work. The Captain was breathing down her neck for progress, and she was behind on the paperwork. She had had a tooth-grinding conversation with her ex during lunch. And now, she came into the apartment and the first thing she saw were all-too-familiar sticky-dark drops on the floor outside the bathroom. Blood. “James?” No answer. Moving now, towards his room, louder, with an edge of panic: “James? Are you all right?” His door swung open as she reached it. He stood just inside, shirtless. “Oh, right, right, yeah. I’m fine.” His hand was wrapped with a cloth, and there was a dark stain on it. “I cut myself with a knife, that’s all.” “Let me see.” She instinctively reached forward. “No.” He shrunk back. “It… it stopped bleeding. I want to leave it like that. For now.” She sighed. She didn’t have the energy to fight him today. “Fine. But I want to see it when you change the dressing—in an hour,” she added, looking at the stained cloth. “If it’s still bleeding.” “It’s not. Uh, I don’t think so, anyway.” “I’m going to start dinner. Can you help?” James’ eyes slid back into his room. “I have a lot of homework…” She rubbed her temple. “All right,” she said. “But I want to see your hand before bed tonight.” He made a noncommittal noise and shut his door again. Veirs cooked dinner in an exhausted, menthol-fueled haze. She had to call three times and nearly reached James’ door before he opened it to come eat. It sounded like faint music playing in there. He shut the door behind him. *** “Can you check in on him, Crystal?” Veirs hated to ask her, mostly because her sister was less than reliable. But she was already running late, and she wouldn’t be able to get out of the station any time soon. No one else would probably be available on such short notice. “Absolutely. Whatever my dear sister needs.” Her voice crinkled like wrapping paper over the line. Veirs could tell she was enjoying this. She knew she would find a way to get her payback, sooner or later. But Veirs had no alternative. “Thanks again, Crystal. I owe you.” “Yes.” Her foot-wide smile was audible across the phone line. “You do.” When Veirs got home that night, James was already in bed. “Any problems?” she asked Crystal. “Oh, no. He’s never any problem when I’m around.” She smirked. “Well, thanks for your help, Crystal—” “That hand, though.” She was frowning. Veirs had been too tired the previous night; getting a good look at his hand had slipped her mind. “You let him play with knives? And the cut’s so deep!” Crystal tsked. “Mother would never have allowed this sort of thing…” She rolled her eyes. “Maybe I’ll take a…nother look at it.” Her sister nodded. “Well, I’d better get going before you start telling me how lovely everyone was at work today.” “Crystal, I wasn’t…” “Talk to you later, Dee. Good night.” She slipped out. Veirs looked in James’ room. The door was half open, dark inside. She moved to the door, heard light breathing and behind it, a man’s voice, distant. She couldn’t make out any words. It continued for a few minutes, then there was the tinkling of faint music. He must have the radio on, she realized. She stepped inside to shut it off. “We now return to our nightly performance of the King…” She turned it off and the voice faded as the capacitor discharged. She watched her son sleeping, one arm tucked by his side, the other with the bandaged hand splayed out at an angle towards the bedside table. His eyes were open, looking at her. “Are you awake?” she whispered. His breathing remained slow and regular. He must be asleep, she thought. She moved for the door and his eyes didn’t follow. Just somehow had fallen asleep with his eyes open. *** “I need to go out on a field investigation.” James kept his eyes on his bowl of cereal. Grape Crunch, his favorite. She couldn’t stand the sickly sweet stuff. But despite his attention focused on it, he hardly seemed interested in eating. “Your father said he’d take you this week.” “A week? You’re not, like, going out of state?” James asked. Veirs studied his face, still locked on the corn flakes floating in a pool of purple milk. He seemed to be ignoring her like never before, or trying to hide something from her. She felt like she was losing him, and she didn’t know what to do. “No. I just have long postings, 24 hours or longer each… it’s kind of like a stakeout…” She sighed and started over. “I know you don’t always get along, you and him, but can you at least—” “OK, I’ll go.” He looked up. “Just for the week, right?” “That’s right. Your father and I… we appreciate this, James.” He rolled his eyes, then popped out of his chair. “I need to… go get ready.” *** Veirs hoped things would be different when James came back. They weren’t. Every answer from him had become one-word. He wouldn’t look her in the eyes. He spent nearly every waking hour shut up in his room. He had stitches in his hand. He wouldn't answer any questions about it. The endless paperwork from closing out the last case combined with his behavior was driving her nutty. Their dinners together were nonexistent. If he showed up to eat, it was after the food had gone cold. Veirs came home one day the next week to find loud music blaring from his room. She walked in and a candle broke underfoot. Several others were strewn around. Gobs of wax had melted into the carpet. She unplugged the radio and carted it out of there. She confronted James when he got home, but he seemed taken aback… almost confused. “No. I didn’t light any candles.” He frowned. She saw red. “You did! There were candles burnt on the floor, and wax dripped into the carpet! How else did they get there?” He had no answer. She was losing her mind. That night, a loud noise woke her. She came out to find James walking in his pajamas. He ignored her, walking back and forth up and down the hall—sleepwalking? There was a dim light coming from his room. Flickering. Candles covered every part of his desk and side table, and several more were on the floor, nearly half of them lit, all different sizes and lengths, tall and short, thick and red or small and white. Every surface was covered in crude designs of thick black jagged lines. “James,” she gasped, not comprehending what she saw. “The King is coming,” came his voice from just behind her, and she jumped. Her foot caught a tall candle in a saucer on the floor and it toppled over. The bedspread ignited. Flames leaped onto the curtain. It took three hours to extinguish the fire in the complex. *** James didn’t mind his time in the Center, really. Every day, James got to draw as much as he wanted, though sometimes Nurse looked at them and got mad and yelled and took his drawings away. They kept James away from the other people after he told Frank he was going to get hurt. Being alone was how James liked it. And it meant James had time to think. To prepare. For the coming of the King. . You got a G! For Grape Flavored Items! Somewhere in your story, there should be someone disliking/or loving the taste of a grape flavored SOMETHING.
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Oct 2, 2017 02:06
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Exmond posted:I don't know CantDecideOnAName posted:It was okay Mrenda posted:Something definitely happened in this story, but at no point did I care. Thranguy posted:the story isn’t great Deltasquid posted:For the record, I'm still looking for one or two snobs to judge the contestants at my sides! You have my 
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Oct 3, 2017 14:40
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Week 270 Crits As Deltasquid said, this week could be summed up as "meh". No stories were really hideously awful, but none was hideously awesome, either. Most felt lacking in some way; my suggestions may not be exactly what your story needs, but most felt like they needed something, and probably a from-the-ground-up rebuild as well. Sourdough Opening with two comma splices is not a good start. Punctuation doesn't seem to be your strong suit in general. I can understand your meaning, but punctuation should be stepping stones invisibly guiding the reader through the sentences, not jagged boulders requiring conscious navigation to get through. Peak is not *the verb you want here. Breath is never one. OK, it's not a bad little story once it gets going. I feel like the endless descriptive morass of the first half could be compressed down to maybe a paragraph or two so we can get down to the point when things actually start happening. Light of Other Days Well written. You ought to replace the double hyphen-minuses with emdashes—, though. A good story, pretty well told. A meaty deal Not a bad opening. "100 of years"? What do you mean, centuries, or only one century? You need to learn how quotation marks and other punctuation interact. Hint: the quotation marks don't eat the commas and periods. Besides that, you have the same punctuation problems as Sourdough. "slowly she unfurled from me"  Uh. So I got to the end but I'm not exactly sure what was going on and I'm not sure why the characters were doing what they did. I kind of feel like this whole story could have been compressed to a paragraph or two, and then you can tell the actual story about how two immortals stole the Eiffel Tower or whatever. You wrote only the debriefing in between the actual daring thefts or whatever it is they were doing. The opposite of the interesting parts of a story. The City of Crust Eh. Some interesting worldbuilding early on, I guess, but not enough is actually happening. Effect as a verb means "to cause to come into being". I think you mean the farmers were the most affected. OK. A bit of irony there at the end, but I don't know. I feel like this story needs something more to make it resonate. Right now it feels hollow, maybe because of the structure, namely flashbacks alternated with exposition? I feel like there could be some emotional heft to this, but the punch doesn't land. The part with the son especially feels abstract and distant. Every section being 1-2 giant unbroken paragraphs doesn't help, either. The Devil's Kittens Well that was cool. I don't really have any complaints about this. Include Me Out ,,,What is going on?''' These quirks of punctuation started out as an interesting feature, but they got all tied up and tripped over each other around the middle. Adding a third form, unexplained (I guess the single angle brackets indicate a nested quote?), is one too many. And then what are the double angle brackets? Eh. I don't know. I didn't find much reason to feel or care for these characters. I know it's a Romeo and Juliet kind of thing, but I hardly know what anyone else cares about or wants, besides the two nominal main characters. The Long War Shouldn't that be "Prince's"? Otherwise it's an army composed of heirs to the throne. He brewed a boy? That sounds illegal  OK, this is nicely described and I don't have any real fault in the sentence-level construction, but the story itself seems kinda slapdash or underdeveloped. Boy disappears, strange merchant sells magical hops, monk brews immortality potions from them, feeds the last one to a random dying soldier. (We don't even know if that will save him, but I guess it can be assumed.) But we're left with more questions than answers at the end: why does he recognize the monk? Surely he's 8 decades too young to be the boy from the beginning. Was the boy in fact killed? Why did the merchant give the monk the longevity hops? Why did he never show up again? I don't understaaaand You Have Nothing To Lose But Your Chains Cool story, though it treads very well-worn ground. Starting before the war is probably a good idea. One thing is kind of minor, but it bothered me: AI-directed AI development would most likely not hew to past, human-centric designs for troops and vehicles. When there's no need to fit a gun into human hands or need for life support for drivers and gunners, or to use drivers and gunners at all, the design constraints are much fewer. (Why do you need android shapes, anyway? Surely that's just a holdover from their originally being designed by people?) Story wise, I'm not quite sure what 491 is... also an android? Could be good to make that clearer from the start. A Good Dog Meh. This story starts with the cutesy cliche and continues it all the way through. It's a dog meme stretched out to 1250 words. At least it's consistent, I guess. No real problem at the sentence level. The story just didn't feel like it had any stakes; nothing felt dangerous or at risk, especially once the magic coat started magicking. That just felt like a deus ex machina. Trappist again Early impression: Uh. Most of these metaphors are landing like rotten grapefruit. You commit the same crimes against punctuation (especially comma use) as a few other stories this week. Turns out it's a fairly straightforward story, once you put aside the ridiculous dialog. Slight, but not every story needs to aspire to literary greatness. But I think there's a mismatch between the absurd goal and dialog of the characters, and the matter-of-fact tone of the writing. If the narration echoed the incredulity of Krasimir, or the absurd single-mindedness of Van Hecke, I think it would be a much stronger telling. You might even consider writing it from the first-person perspective of one of the characters. This story needs something to make it more than its dreary subject and progression of events. Fuschia tude fucked around with this message at 03:25 on Oct 10, 2017 |
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Oct 10, 2017 01:23
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Uranium Phoenix posted:Week #257 - Judge failures week, or Wizard Week 2: Cast Freedom of Movement or Die Hard (CRITS Part 2 of 4) Thank you!
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Nov 6, 2017 20:40
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Jay W. Friks posted:Grammarpunk Crits part 3 Thank you!
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Dec 4, 2017 06:34
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Dec 5, 2017 06:12
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So, You Want to be Fabulously Wealthy 1055 words You hold here on your device the most important document you will ever read. Sounds incredible, doesn’t it? Sounds completely outrageous, in fact, so outrageous that if you met me in the street you might be tempted to punch out my two front teeth and then sue my dentist. But that would be a grave mistake. My dentist is long dead. I have no living heirs. However, this does not pose any problem to my goal of unimaginable wealth generation, as I shall shortly explain. I think of my teeth like I think of any part of me—my hair, my words, my thoughts, my limbs and organs—as investments. And just like any other investments, they require refreshing from time to time with the fresh fertilizer of blood, sweat, and tears wrought from the pain and labor of a job well done. You too will be able to plant your teeth in the rich fertilizer of life experience. Allow me to explain where I am coming from. I hail from the Great Kingdom of Canada. No, it is not a member of the Commonwealth of Nations, nor a representative democracy, as you may have been led to believe. But that is a tale for another time. You may be wondering why I have come here, to this nation. The answer of course is to spread awareness and improve the lives of as many as I can. And if I can do that while warning the world of the perfidy of Louise May Alcott, then I shall do precisely that. I came here with nothing more than the clothes on my back and a phone number. It was a phone number to the Noma Ranch outside Billings, Montana, though I didn’t know that at the time. No sir, when I came here I didn’t even know how to operate a phone. Now I run the phone business. And so can you. Have you ever said to yourself, I need to get out of here? What about, I want to start over? Or, I’m looking for an excellent store of value that won’t degrade and is always in demand? The answer is gold. Yes, gold, that brilliant yellow-hued metal mined from the earth and made into precious jewelry or just simple bars. Nothing is more stable, solid, or a better store of wealth retroactive throughout human history. Read on to find out how you too can access this great antichronological wonder. Click Here to buy Part II of my three-part series! Part II: How to get scratch fast How many times has this happened to you: you’re on the run from the law with supplies running low and no un-security-cammed store around for miles? Or: you’re out on a ship on the open ocean and you forgot your wallet? Or: your sister comes home for the fifth time with the door banging and wakes you up and you can’t stand it you’ve told her not to do it so many times? Well, now there’s a solution. That solution is unarmed combat. Self-defense comes in many flavors, but the tastiest comes from Israel. Believe me, I know from experience. Regardless, once you’ve selected your source of this training, your work is already 90% complete. Now, it’s just a matter of putting pen to paper. Sign the agreement slowly and deliberately. Make eye contact with the worker and maintain it for the entire length of this process. With luck, that person is the owner. If not, demand to see him. (In my experience, it’s always been a him. I have some theories as to why the cosmology might have taken this form, but I will not speculate on it here.) If he’s not around, you can come back later. It’s that important. Good. Now look him in the eye. Focus on the left pupil. Observe how it dilates. You can see the twitching in the musculature as the blood flows through—there—there—do you see it? Look deep into his eyes and ask for forgiveness. Now he raises his right hand in supplication, his brow furrowed. The lips part, hesitate, tongue slightly extended. This is your chance. Seize hold of the tongue and do not let go. Sever it with deft working of your sharpened nails and HOLD OFF FROM CELEBRATION until you are safely back in your vehicle. This is your secret. Cook it in a stew with ginger and parsley. Drink it to the last. This is your secret. You are energized. You are vitalized and exigent. You drive time. This is your secret. You now possess the power to arrange the motes in the air. Do not breathe, lest you disturb their paths. Observe their initial positions well. You will need to return to this later. Unlock your true wealth potential in the thrilling conclusion to this three-part saga! Part III: How to accede Rage. You are a rock in stormy seas. Sullen. The wind howls. Enervated. There is a procedure. Rampant. We lack what we do not understand. Now, dear ruler. We come to the end of the beginning, and with it, to the registration of new life. The sere vigor of peristalization will divide the wheat from the chaff and the fool from his money. Go outside. Take a grasp of earth. Let it run through your fingers. This is rarified earth. Fry an egg. This is the golden yolk of life. Eat it and you can now buy commodity-specific exchange-traded funds from the comfort of your own home. The modern online-only brokerage is a full-service brokerage, a one-stop shop for all your investment needs. Buying a gold fund is as good as holding the physical object—better, in fact, as it is much more liquid and easily divisible. Arrange yourself by wealth: thought-wealth; food-wealth; land-wealth; gold-wealth; body-wealth. When all have been aligned, you will taste the first drop of true awareness. There can be no greater achievement than self-actualization. We have done this now. Ignore the protestations of the feckless overseers and their jackbooted lickspittles. They are to have no power over us in the next consciousness. With your material strength and superiority of will, you can crush all comers. Sign up now for my mailing list to receive the latest scientific insights and prepare yourself for the coming new age! 👀👀👍💯 Prompt: Buy Gold Stocks Punch Harder and Faster
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Dec 11, 2017 08:13
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Thranguy posted:
What is this "comedy" you speak of? Thanks!
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Dec 13, 2017 23:27
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Exmond posted:Crits are HERE . Sorry about the Outline being.. weird.. haven't figured out that yet. Oh yeah, since I missed this the first time around (you should probably write the prompt/week name/number on these!) thank you for the crit!
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Dec 24, 2017 22:49
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