|# ¿ Jan 20, 2018 08:41|
|# ¿ Dec 6, 2023 13:47|
Nothing in this Life that I’ve been Trying 876 words
One day, while making horseshoes, he remembered being someone else. Somewhere else. He’d been a hunter. He didn’t just remember being a hunter, he remembered how to hunt. He felt sure that with a spear in his hand he could take down… well, some creature that definitely didn’t live around here.
His hand came to rest on a spear he’d made, and he lifted it thoughtfully. Too heavy. He remembered using wooden spears. He shrugged. Best to put it out of his mind. Smithing paid better than hunting, anyway.
The next year, disease went through his village.
While sowing her husband’s field, she remembered being a smith. She also remembered… remembering… being a hunter. Neither memory was helpful to her. She repressed both and focused on sowing the field.
She died in a flood a decade later.
He was a warrior. And then she was a slave. And then a farmer again. A midwife. A beggar. And each time, he – she – they – one day suddenly remembered all the others.
He was a farmer again. It got easier each time, farming. Not necessarily at the start, but as soon as he remembered the others, he got the benefit of all their experience. True of every profession, he supposed, but he’d been some more than others. He’d learned things went more smoothly if he didn’t tell anyone else about the ones that went before. One life he’d done that, and been accused of witchcraft. He remembered what it was like to burn to death.
He remembered every death.
He did so well at farming, this time around, that he was able to expand the farm. Not just crops, some livestock too. He’d not done a whole lot with livestock in past lives, but it was all experience, right? If he stuffed it up this time around, he could chalk it up to experience for the next guy. Or girl.
It was especially strange remembering being a woman. And then remembering how weird it was to remember being a man.
His farm did very well; the livestock were a success. As it turned out, they were such a success that some men decided to take some of them from him one night. He was woken up by one of his farmhands, and went outside to confront the thieves.
“Go back to bed, old man,” said one of the thieves. A bit rude, but it would’ve seemed like a safe bet that a farmer would be a bit of a soft mark, and not someone with several lifetimes of experience in his brain, including multiple lifetimes that were devoted mostly to causing violence to other people.
He approached the two men with open hands and a wide smile, and offered to forget the whole thing if they just gave back his livestock. They laughed, as he had hoped they would, and he beat them both to death.
As it turns out, defense of self and defense of property weren’t principles that stretched quite as far as to what he’d done to his would-be thieves. He probably shouldn’t have dismembered them; remembered a bit too vividly, there.
He was found guilty, and sentenced to death by hanging. He hadn’t paid too much attention to the details. He’d expected the result, and had sold most of his assets, putting them into valuables that he’d hidden somewhere that, hopefully, only his future selves would find. He’d also spent the days of his trial familiarising himself with the law, to some degree. He’d have to look into this for real, in a future life. Could be useful.
When asked if he had any last words, he’d smiled and recited a child’s poem in one of his previous languages, just to mess with them. Hangman couldn’t pull the lever fast enough.
It took a couple of lifetimes to get his – her – their hands on the farmer’s valuables. In the meantime, he kept adding to his bag of tricks. She studied politics. He took up engineering. She became a mechanic, and learned how to take apart and build a car.
She was finally close enough to where the valuables were. It was a bit of a drive, but that was all right. She drove for three days, stopping at cheap hotels overnight. And there was where she’d – he’d – buried it all.
Turns out they were the sort of valuables that became even more valuable when they went missing for a few hundred years. She remembered a lot, but she didn’t ever remember being this rich. She had some ideas about what to do with it, however. She bought some property, far enough from most of civilization that she could be relatively confident that only later versions of her would know it was there. She was still planning the construction when the emergency alarm went out over the radio.
She looked at the news on the TV. It seemed like the powers that be had decided to blow it all up and start over again.
She shrugged. The upside of getting bombed back to primitive times was that she remembered what those times were like. Whoever she was afterwards, she’d probably do all right.
|# ¿ Jan 21, 2018 14:20|
yeah I reckon this also
|# ¿ Jan 22, 2018 12:07|
|# ¿ Jan 23, 2018 12:10|
BTW Uranium Phoenix I read your story and I liked it, it was good. That last line was ace.
|# ¿ Jan 23, 2018 12:13|
fast, judging! good; judging?
Judging sneak peek: there were some bad stories and there were some not bad stories.
|# ¿ Jan 30, 2018 09:19|
|# ¿ Jan 31, 2018 09:17|
flash me pls
|# ¿ Jan 31, 2018 12:25|
Or Whatever The Opposite is of a Parent Trap 1251 words
Matt’s parents were ruining his life.
Technically Ms Jones wasn’t his mum yet, but she would be in two months, and that’s what was ruining his life.
“They already had a shot,” said Suki, his girlfriend, although that detail would soon be cast into doubt. “They stuffed up two marriages, that’s their shot, they should do the decent thing and retire from love forever.”
“You don’t really mean that,” he said.
She nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. But they definitely shouldn’t marry each other.”
Matt shrugged. “Is it really that big a deal?”
She frowned. “I know it shouldn’t be, but it’s just weird.” He leaned in to kiss her, and she leaned away. “Sorry,” she said, “that’s a bit weird for me right now as well. You’re going to be my brother in two months.”
“C’mon,” he said. “That doesn’t really count.”
Suki stood up and shook her head. “Sorry, this feels wrong. I don’t think I can do this.” And she walked to her car and drove away.
Matt knew what he had to do.
It had taken him a good solid hour of crying on his bed while listening to My Chemical Romance on repeat, but he’d figured out what must be done. He had to parent trap his parents.
Not his parents. Just his dad, and Suki’s mum. He had to parent and girlfriend’s parent trap them. Actually, it was easier to just call it parent trapping. Yes. He had to parent trap them.
Except, like, in reverse.
His opportunity came sooner than he expected.
“Hey honey, what’s up?” said Ms Jones.
“Oh, hey Ms Jones. Not much.”
“Please,” she said, “call me Mum. Have you been crying, Matt?”
Matt shook his head. “Allergies. Sorry, I don’t think I can call you Mum.”
Ms Jones smiled. “Well, that’s understandable, this is all very new, but I hope in the leadup to the wedding we can get to know each other better. I know you and your father are very close, so it’s important to me that you and I have a good relationship. You and Suki, too. I think once you get to know your new sister, you two will really hit it off.”
“I mean, she’s not really my sister,” said Matt.
“Well, all right, stepsister, but your father and I would love it if you got along just as well as if you were really brother and sister.”
Matt frowned and changed the subject. “So where is Dad, anyway?”
“He’s still at work,” she said. “I wanted to take the opportunity to get to know you better. Tell me about yourself. Any special woman in your life?”
Matt chuckled without smiling. “Just Mum, I guess.”
“Ah yes,” said Ms Jones, “I should get to know her as well at some point. It might be awkward, but I can’t pretend she doesn’t exist. Your father speaks well of her, I sometimes wonder why they weren’t able to make it work.”
Matt knew an opportunity when it presented itself. “Oh, I think Mum just got sick of the whole swinging scene.”
She frowned. “Swinging? What do you mean?”
“Oh, whoops,” said Matt. “Sorry, I’ve probably said too much. I know Dad probably would’ve preferred you hear that from him.”
“Excuse me,” she said, “I think your father and I need to have a chat.”
Not long later, Suki called him.
“Are you parent trapping them?” she asked.
“Our parents,” she said. “My mum just told me about your conversation. Well, not all about it.”
“Don’t call them ‘our parents’,” he said. “It’s your mum, and my dad. If you call them ‘our parents’, it’s like they’re already married, and we’re brother and sister, which totally isn’t going to happen, because yes, I am totally parent trapping them, and I’m pretty sure it’s working.”
“Wouldn’t count on it,” said Suki. “Mum’s actually getting pretty excited. She’s saying something about how she had reservations at first, but the more she thought about it, the more she’s keen on your dad’s ‘lifestyle’, whatever that means. What did you tell her?”
“Oh, gross,” said Matt. “This was definitely not the plan.”
“Listen,” said Suki, “I’m touched that you would try to ruin a wedding on my account, but my mum’s happy, and I never see her this happy, so you need to lay off, all right?”
Matt nodded, then realized she couldn’t see him, and quietly said, “All right.”
“Hey, Dad. What’s happening?”
It was only one month to the wedding, and Matt had resigned himself to the fate of Suki being his stepsister. His gorgeous stepsister, who had a smile that lit up the room, and… arggggh!
His dad sadly shook his head. “Looks like this wedding’s over before it’s begun.”
Matt frowned. “What do you mean?”
His dad shrugged. “She said she wasn’t ready for this, and that she’s not sure about us, either. She’s gone for a trip overseas to ‘find herself’ or whatever, I don’t know.”
“Man, sorry to hear that, Dad,” said Matt.
“Thanks,” he said. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go, I’ve got a work trip for the next few weeks.”
Matt called Suki as soon as his dad had left. “I promise this wasn’t me.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Suki. “That’s Mum for you.” She paused. “I miss you, by the way.”
“I miss you too,” said Matt.
“Do you want to catch up or something? Nothing too serious, just hanging out.”
“Sure,” said Matt. “Dad’s left me the house to myself; if you want to come over some time, I could cook you dinner.”
“Hmm,” she said, “I’ll see when I’m free.”
A few hours later, and several kilometres away, Matt’s dad and Suki’s mum sat on a plane next to each other. “You really shouldn’t read your daughter’s diary, though,” he said.
She laughed. “Good thing I did, though.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Strange neither of them ever told us, but I guess it would’ve felt weird after the announcement.”
She shook her head. “I can’t believe your son tried to parent trap us for our daughter. That’s so romantic.”
“Tried to what?”
“Parent trap. You know, like the movie?”
He shook his head. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, this is unacceptable,” she said. “You’ve got some education coming your way, Mr. As soon as we’ve finished eloping, that is.”
A few hours later and more kilometres away, the two of them were in Prague, watching The Parent Trap in their marital bed. The Hayley Mills version, of course, although they planned to follow up with the Lindsay Lohan version, for comparison. “This really is a perfect honeymoon,” she said. “It’s a shame we’ll have to hide this from the kids for, well, probably as long as their relationship lasts.”
He smiled. “Adds to the excitement, though, doesn’t it? The thrill of sneaking out at night for an illicit tryst with my wife without letting the kids figure it out, has a certain allure.”
She hugged him and smiled. “That does sound exciting. Maybe if we’re lucky, they’ll get married, and we’ll get to pretend not to be married at their wedding, maybe sneak out to meet each other at intermission.”
He laughed and kissed her, and then got up and got the DVD for the second film.
And several thousand kilometres away, Matt and his stepsister made out on the couch of his dad’s – and her stepdad’s - house.
|# ¿ Feb 5, 2018 08:06|
Some crits kinda, with excerpts from IRC of my thoughts on these
In which my thoughts get fewer and fewer as I get nearer the end of the list of stories
Ninjalicious - Why Try Harder
Chairchucker> Judgechat: Why Try Harder's first line makes me not want to read the rest
Chairchucker> I could only bring myself to read the first two lines of Why Try Harder so far
<Chairchucker> It feels bad
<Chairchucker> Man I did not dig that story at all
<Chairchucker> It was super bad
<Chairchucker> Tense changes, telling instead of showing
Chairchucker> It's trying to do some conversational fun thing and it's bad
This was very bad and kind of lucky not to lose.
First things first - HEY JERKFACES PUT YOUR TITLE IN BOLD TEXT OR SOMETHING
Anyway, moving onto the things that actually count in the judging of stories, "Why try harder is my motto but certainly not a good plan to live by" is a very week opening line and one that made me not want to continue reading. SHOW DON'T TELL.
Your second line is unwieldy and bad and also tells us almost the entire prompt.
Your third line/paragraph whatever TENSE CHANGE what the hell don't do that. Also too long a sentence.
Fourth paragraph and my eyes are bouncing off of everything because this paragraph sucks so much. More tense changes and a lot of stuff happening that I don't get and don't care about.
More tense shift PICK ONE AND STICK WITH IT, WHAT THE HELL. PRESENT OR PAST?
Way too much 'oh ho I'm so wacky' self awareness, oh I'm eating cheesewine or whatever it is how whimsical.
Ugh I'm not going to bother wading bit by bit through the rest of the story. The only reason I picked this one over the eventual loser was because at least in this one things sort of happened, even if reading about them sucked.
My Last Day - Unfunny Poster
<Chairchucker> The Last Day has a bad first line too, imo
<Chairchucker> OK this story seems bad, two paragraphs in
<Chairchucker> Less bad
<Chairchucker> But bad
<Chairchucker> WTF the second story sucks
<Chairchucker> In some ways worse than the first
<Chairchucker> it just sort of ends
It's been covered better by BadSeafood, but the main problem with this story is as follows:
The story is 'nothing happens, then I accidentally barf on and knock out a gross guy, and then I tell the rest of the story of me escaping or whatever almost as an afterthought. If the story started with the protagonist in a room with an unconscious body and a bunch of money, it would probably have sucked less.
In many ways a better told story than the previous, it's just that the previous awful story has the slight advantage of things actually happening in it.
Make something actually happen in your stories and you won't lose to the guy with the horrible run on sentences and constant tense changes.
Exmond - A Trip Down Memory Lane
<Chairchucker> OK number 3 is dumb and impenetrable but I would place it higher than the first two
<Chairchucker> It tries to do some interesting things and fails because the writer is bad
<Chairchucker> But that's better imo
<Chairchucker> two memory thieves teach an old woman and themselves a valuable lesson I think
<Chairchucker> Betty is one of the thief/scientists
This was too impenetrable and confusing. We judges eventually between us kind of hashed out what was going on, but didn't really feel like it was worth the effort in the end.
Through a Glass, Darkly - Deltasquid
<Chairchucker> Eiffel Tower is fun, altho it might benefit from being immediately after those 3
<Chairchucker> Some annoying errors, too
<Chairchucker> BEST SO FAR
Is that a Phillip K Dick ref or whatever? Anyway. This story benefited a lot from being the first story that was not bad. Fun premise, fun action, likeable characters. GJ.
Antivehicular - The Soft Touch
<Chairchucker> I think The Soft Touch is... better? But less fun. And the numbers thing annoyed me
<Chairchucker> I dunno why
<Chairchucker> I think I'd still have it above Eiffel Tower, slightly.
This was kinda fun, but in a more understated way than the previous one. I didn't like the '#' in text, it looked weird. Numbering was weird in general - one quick note, usually smaller numbers will get written out instead of just using the number's symbol. (Like, five instead of 5) That detracted from it a bit for me.
Word of God - Fuschia Tude
<Chairchucker> Word of God is
<Chairchucker> I dunno
<Chairchucker> too easy
<Chairchucker> I have a pass so I get in
<Chairchucker> I have dirt on you so you do what I say
<Chairchucker> It's got some interesting ideas but not much story imo
<Chairchucker> Yeah, felt like he walked around announcing the robbery, too
As Seafood mentioned, all of the 'action' in this one appears to have happened 'before'. Also, the use of the flash rules was kinda weak imo. His pacifism doesn't at any point come up in the narrative. He announces something vague to some people outside the place he robs.
The Adventures of Colin Flame: Heiress on the High Seas - sandnavyguy
<Chairchucker> OK, time for Colin Flame
<Chairchucker> OK so piratey story
<Chairchucker> Too much telling instead of showing
<Chairchucker> In the conversations
<Chairchucker> ok that one's kind of
<Chairchucker> Decent story, bad writing?
<Chairchucker> Also the deus ex machina moment is badly explained
<Chairchucker> Swashbuckling stories should be encouraged but also so should better writing
<Chairchucker> I dunno
<Chairchucker> it doesn't explain it well
I kinda discussed this with you on IRC as well, but essentially:
You get points for it being swashbuckling goodness, you lose points for a couple things but MOSTLY telling instead of showing. Conversations are more interesting than being told a conversation happened. Show us the conversations. Another thing that really didn't work for me was the Deus Ex Machina moment where Colin is all like 'aha we're saved' and then it cuts to him swimming somewhere and we're like wait what is the thing that he saw what happened here what what what
I like the bit at the end where you realise he kept the fairly expensive earrings, tho.
A Heap of Trouble - apophenium
<Chairchucker> "We sat under under the lone palm tree"
<Chairchucker> under under
<Chairchucker> OK so
<Chairchucker> I like A Heap of Trouble
<Chairchucker> It is in some ways a bit anticlimactic tho
<Chairchucker> But it's nice imo
'nice' is the best way to describe this one imo. Like, it's not a spectacular story, but the characters are pretty likeable, the setting is interesting, I dunno it's just nice. gj, thx.
May Treasure Fill Your Home (金玉满堂)
<Chairchucker> May Treasure Fill Your Home is good imo
<Chairchucker> Possibly my fav so far
Although (SPOILERS) this didn't end up being my favourite, it did quite a lot that I liked, including a likeable protag, fun and good natured criminal activity, and the romantic note on the end. Hence why it was my fav. up to this point.
Simple Pleasures. - Crain
WHY IS THERE A PERIOD IN YOUR TITLE
<Chairchucker> Simple Pleasures more like bad dialogue attributions
<Chairchucker> and tense changes
<Chairchucker> Simple Pleasures isn't good but isn't bad enough to join those first two
There were many things that should've been good about this story. I mean, there were a couple of things that were good, most notably the fact that it was attempting to be a fun caper, and the 'twist' where with all the guy's abilities, he impressed the kid with that 'my thumb is missing' or whatever trick. A lot of what was written was hard to visualise, from the initial throw of the protags, to most of Bertrand's fighting. Bertrand's whole section I didn't really dig TBH.
Queen of Diamonds - curlingiron
<Chairchucker> Ah Queen of Diamonds you are so annoying and anticlimactic but also kind of good
Too short, too much 'nothing happening', but it was well told and the little twist ending kind of worked even though it left the ending feeling a little flat.
Sands of San Christo Cor - Djeser
<Chairchucker> Sands of San christo cor is fun too
I liked this, it was fun and cool. As Seafood mentioned, it was kinda neat that his ARCHNEMESIS kinda accidentally almost thwarted his plan, but it was kind of annoying that he just kinda danced past a person pointing a gun at him, and also (and this is probs just me tbh) I was kinda 'shipping' (as the kids says) the protag + sorta antag romance there and was a bit disappointed nothing came of it, OH WELL
Alternates - crabrock
<Chairchucker> There's nothing explicitly wrong with Alternates but
<Chairchucker> I dunno
I still dunno. I didn't really care for it. Didn't see enough difference between the POV version of the protag and his 'evil' self. The 'twist' if it was meant to be that was a little bit obvious. Just felt a little bit too cynical or something I dunno.
CascadeBeta - Speed Drop
<Chairchucker> Speed Drop has an awkward as heck first para
<Chairchucker> Nah just one sentence actually
<Chairchucker> I thought I had heard a shatter I traded paint, I couldn’t be sure.
<Chairchucker> doesn't work for me
Probs missing a word or something?
<Chairchucker> I don't think it really follows the prompt
<Chairchucker> It feels like a clever 'aha it feels like a heist but actually he's just training' story
<Chairchucker> imo is bad in the context of the propmt
<Chairchucker> oh wait it's prohibition or something I dunno
<Chairchucker> I don't really rate it
Bit too confusing, wasn't sure what was going on tbh.
Hawklad - Thaw
<Chairchucker> Thaw is p good but bad ending and some bad errors
There were things I liked about this. It was kinda fun, the distraction between the heist and the kids was good, the mayhem as the turkey fell was great, I liked the bit with the kangaroo suit as well.
I didn't really get the ending.
Hell Hath No Fury - Yoruichi
<Chairchucker> hell hath no fury seems a bit purple
<Chairchucker> Not wild about Hell Hath no Fury the ending doesn't make much sense
The action sequence at the ending was a bit unclear to me, was the main problem.
Gloria Tuesday in: Last Train to Russia - Thranguy
I didn't have any IRC thoughts on this one which may be a good sign I guess.
I liked the morse code bit, and the actiony bit. Also liked Gloria's negotiation techniques at the start, that was kinda amusing.
The Day Before Sunday - GenJoe
<Chairchucker> I like The Day Before Sunday a fair bit
<Chairchucker> I like the actual writing the most of any story so far
I see from Seafood's crits that he didn't care for this one, which I totally get because not much happens, but I still really dug the writing style. So. Only substantial advice I have to improve on at this stage is 'have more story'.
The Midas Blade - Dr. Kloctopussy
Full disclosure: this was my favourite and vote for winner. The caper was fun, especially the revenge aspect. The banter between mother and daughter, particularly involving the centaur, was awesome. The only thing I didn't like was that at the end, the sentence " After all, it’s always good to have a man whose willing to chase after you" used the wrong "who's". So GJ, more stories like this pls.
|# ¿ Feb 5, 2018 11:33|
Here comes a late crit for this dqed entry.
Don Mendoza and his Sly Compatriots Strike their first Corpulent Target - 756
What the hell was that ending? Nothing happens and they get arrested for gambling? Terrible.
OK so the grammar was pretty bad throughout, but that could be overlooked if there was an exciting caper. There was not. There was a guy plotting a thing, some part of a thing happening off camera, and the guy getting arrested by a cop who somehow telepathically knew what they were up to or so it seemed, and was trying to stop him from getting in trouble maybe? I dunno but whatever the case the story was bad, write more stories where the main characters do things rather than planning to do a thing and then just getting arrested while other people do things while we're not even watching.
|# ¿ Feb 12, 2018 09:39|
Although reminder, if you think brawls are dumb just say no thanks, don't let these dumb tools pressure you into something you don't actually want to do, like has definitely happened in the past
|# ¿ Feb 16, 2018 13:00|
in gimme a thing
|# ¿ Feb 20, 2018 07:21|
Not a Musical Bone in Their Body 1490 words
Shirley and Jon tuned their instruments, while Elton sat in the back of the plane on the phone doing whatever a manager did. Well, Jon tuned. Shirley yelled and slapped herself in the chest. Elton didn’t play anymore, though. Not since the accident. Hence: manager.
Not the best manager ever, but he was a founding member of the band, so they let him have it.
“?” said Elton. I mean, there were words there, but what with Shirley’s yelling, they kind of missed it. “!!!?” he said, louder this time.
Shirley paused mid-scream. “Sorry, were you saying something?”
“You got your chutes?”
Jon and Shirley patted the straps of their parachutes. “Yeah, we’re ready,” said Jon.
“Sure would be a shame if yours failed,” said Elton.
Shirley shook her head and recommenced yelling.
“!!!!!” said Elton, holding up five fingers. Shirley and Jon glanced at their watches and nodded. They’d gone over the plan plenty of times.
With four minutes to go, the two of them headed towards the door of the plane, Jon with his guitar slung low, and Shirley gripping her drum sticks. They’d toyed with the idea of jumping with a full drum kit, but after going through four sets, had concluded that wasn’t a workable plan.
The two of them jumped, Jon playing a long power chord, and Shirley unleashing a powerful scream. The technology that allowed them to sing and play from a height of 4,000 metres was a closely guarded secret. Or had been, until they had stolen it from the Maitland chapter of the mob. Hopefully the mob weren’t still mad about that.
As they drew to within 1,000 metres of the stage, they started to notice the first signs that something wasn’t as it should be. Shirley’s drum kit didn’t appear to be in its appointed spot in the middle of the stage, and yes, Shirley could tell, because she had exceptional eyesight. Additionally, the stage lights seemed to be pointing the wrong way. They should’ve been pointing towards the stage to light them up on their triumphant arrival, but instead they were haphazardly pointed at various sections of the crowd.
Which led into the final clue that something was amiss, which was that instead of their usual audience of adoring, screaming and (most importantly, according to Jon) drug taking teenagers, they were greeted by an army of skeleton warriors. The skeletons did not seem overly impressed by them.
They deployed their chutes at 200 metres from the stage, which kind of ruined the acoustics of the whole thing, but also made them not die, so it seemed like a necessary trade off.
“Well,” said Shirley, looking around at the skeletons, “this crowd is kind of dead.”
Jon shook his head in disgust.
“Hey, whatever, that pun ruled,” said Shirley. To the skeletons, she yelled, “Are you all ready to rock!?”
The skeletons did not move or speak. “I don’t think they’re ready,” said Jon.
“This should warm them up,” said Shirley. She walked over to her drum kit and played the opening fill for Smash Your Love Into My Face. As one, the skeletons looked up at her. “See?” she screamed. “They’re getting it!”
Jon joined in with his guitar, and their voices rose together. “Hey baby, (hey baby!) my face is in need of your love. (Your love!) Hey baby, (hey baby!) my face needs it some of that love. (That love!)”
Again, as one, the skeletons started walking towards the stage, and indeed the closest skeletons started to climb up onto it.
“No crowd on the stage!” said Jon, although still shredding. “Dammit, where’s our security?” He glanced to the side of stage, where instead of their security, some skeletons started walking towards them.
“You know what,” said Shirley, “I’m starting to think Elton may not be a very good manager.”
Jon shrugged. “He got us paid up front, I mean that’s worth something.”
“I guess,” said Shirley. She picked up her cymbals and sliced them through the air at a nearby skeleton. Its skull separated from its body, the skeleton stopped, dropped to its bony knees, and started feeling about on the floor for its skull. Shirley kicked the skull off the front of the stage, into the crowd of skeletons. The skeletons cheered and started to throw the skull around between various parts of the crowd.
“Play Freebird!” yelled one smartass skeleton somewhere in the middle.
The skeletons near the front of the stage walked closer and closer to the two of them. They decapitated many of them and sent their skulls into the crowd, but the skeletons kept comings, and the two of them were forced to climb the stage’s scaffolding. They reached the top of the scaffolding, with the skeletons climbing up behind them. Shirley and Jon kicked many of them down into the crowd, but for every skeleton they sent into the crowd, another skeleton would quickly take its place.
“That’s it, I’m calling Elton,” said Shirley.
“In the middle of a gig?” asked Jon.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Shirley, “would it be unprofessional of me to make a phone call while a horde of skeletons is trying to murder me on stage?”
Jon shrugged. “I dunno, maybe kinda? The show must go on, right?”
4,000 kilometres above in a holding pattern, Elton’s phone rang. “Hang on,” he said, to whoever it is he was talking to, “I really must take this one.”
“Hey, Shirley? What, really? Hmmm. No. Yes. Yes, I see. No, they definitely weren’t supposed to be skeletons. No, wasn’t mentioned in the contract. No, I’ll get on that right away.”
Elton walked to the cargo hold of the plane, got in the seat of the special effects trailer, and got out his phone again. “Yes, hello, Ace? Yes, I need you to open the cargo hold door for me. Yes, I’m aware of that. Yes, that too. Ye- no, I wasn’t aware of that one. With a kumquat, you say? Well, be that as it may, I still need you to open the door. All right, thanks.”
He looked behind him as the cargo hold door opened, then took off the handbrake of the trailer. Then he walked into the back of the trailer and started switching on everything.
Shirley saw it first, because she had excellent eyesight. “Yo, is that a comet?”
“I dunno,” said Jon. “Looks kind of rectangular for that.”
“Oh, it’s our special effects trailer.”
Jon shook his head in admiration. “That’s amazing. I can barely make out the shape from here.”
Their special effects trailer was lit up like a Christmas tree, but not just any Christmas tree. It was lit up like a Christmas tree that’d been dragged through a special effects trailer.
I mean really, it was probably more accurate to say it was lit up like a special effects trailer. But one where are the special effects within were switched on. I mean, I guess I’m straying a little bit from simile now, and more towards a completely literal description.
Elton was standing on top of the
His conversation was cut short, however, as the trailer made a small crater in the crowd, scattering skeletons left and right. Seeing their chance, Jon and Shirley jumped, hung onto the banner and slid down to the stage, then ran towards the special effects trailer.
Elton sat in the middle of the crater, a little worse for wear and feeling very sorry for himself. “Ow,” he said.
“Help me move some of these,” said Shirley, and she and John threw a bunch of the special effects things out of the trailer and into some of the skeletons who were now approaching their trailer. After much rummaging and throwing of objects, they uncovered the motorbike and sidecar which was there. It’d been reserved for the finale of one of their shows, but this seemed like a more pressing need. They gently crammed Elton into the sidecar, then Shirley sat down on the bike seat, while Jon perched on the handlebars.
“Let’s blow this dump,” said Jon.
Shirley pulled some shades on, then nodded and hit the gas. Jon held his feet out in front of him, and gave a solid kicking to any skeletons that attacked them, and they sped away.
“I didn’t even get to get high,” said Jon, sadly. “What’s the point of being a rock star if I can’t get trashed with a bunch of underage groupies?”
Shirley gave him a thoughtful look, then pushed him off the front of the bike, and kept going.
|# ¿ Feb 26, 2018 11:22|
Thank you for the crits T-Rex, it was nice to actually receive a crit this week, he said passive aggressively.
|# ¿ Feb 28, 2018 06:38|
I am judging for Winabi.
|# ¿ Mar 6, 2018 07:22|
flash me chucker
This is my favourite 80s NZ hit
|# ¿ Mar 6, 2018 11:40|
In, can I get flash rules from both the current judges?
You sure may.
|# ¿ Mar 7, 2018 07:00|
I'll take another flash rule.
|# ¿ Mar 10, 2018 03:06|
|# ¿ Mar 13, 2018 09:22|
|# ¿ Mar 13, 2018 10:01|
In less than a month I've jumped to one of the all time losingest TD contributors.
Those are amateur numbers.
|# ¿ Mar 13, 2018 10:14|
|# ¿ Mar 19, 2018 06:11|
|# ¿ Mar 26, 2018 08:10|
|# ¿ Apr 9, 2018 07:44|
I'll crit those young jerks I guess
|# ¿ Apr 9, 2018 15:00|
Thanks for the crit, Uranium Phoenix.
|# ¿ Apr 23, 2018 06:26|
In, flash, 6
|# ¿ Jun 26, 2018 02:35|
It's me I'm scum
|# ¿ Jul 2, 2018 07:51|
I'm a maverick. A loose cannon. A renegade.
|# ¿ Jul 2, 2018 08:46|
|# ¿ Jul 2, 2018 08:52|
|# ¿ Aug 13, 2018 06:23|
Fun fact: did y'all know that the Thunderdome archive has annotations for when individual stories are mentioned in recaps? I didn't until recently. This is cool because I am a little bit self-centered and like it when people talk about my stories.
At the bottom of every story, there are links for all the recaps that mention it, including an approximate time stamp, and on every recap's page there are a list of all the stories mentioned, plus little annotations along the timeline of the recap's actual sound file that show approximately where they are.
|# ¿ Sep 1, 2018 03:06|
Also in for this week I guess
|# ¿ Sep 1, 2018 03:18|
What kind of an idiot starts a story at 1:45 am, spoilers it's me and here's that story.
I Want Candy 1400 words
Mike pulled the van up alongside the kid. “Hey kid, your mum asked me to give you a lift home.”
The girl stopped and turned. “My mum asked you? I don’t know you.”
Mike nodded. “You’re Abigail, right?”
“And you’re sure you know my mum?”
“Sure,” said Mike. “Listen, I’ve got some candy for you if you just get in the car.”
Abigail appeared to give the situation some thought. “So, if I get in the car, you’ll give me a lift home and some candy?”
“That’s right,” said Mike.
“What kind of candy?”
“Whatever kind you’d like.”
Abigail considered this. “Jelly beans.”
“Deal,” said Mike. “If you get in the car, I will give you a whole bag of jelly beans.”
“Pinky swear?” She held out her hand, pinky extended.
“Pinky swear,” he said. He held out his own pinky and shook hers, and she opened the back door and got in.
After 20 minutes of driving, he was back at the house. He left her in the car and went to speak to the boss. “Got her.”
The boss nodded. “Good. The ‘guest room’ is ready for her. We’ll make contact with her parents as soon as possible.”
“I, uh, kinda promised her I’d get her some jelly beans,” said Mike.
“Sure, whatever you need to say to get the job done.”
“So, I’m just gonna go out and get those.”
The boss frowned. “I’m not paying you to go out and get candy.”
“But I pinky swore!”
“Never mind.” Mike walked out to the garage to go retrieve Abigail, and the boss went back to watching Home and Away.
“Excuse me,” said a small voice beside him.
“Eh?” He turned, and found himself face to face with Abigail. “Where’s Mike? How’d you get out here?”
“I was promised a bag of jelly beans,” she said.
“Yes, yes, you’ll get it in good time. Just wait in the room we’ve prepared for you.”
She frowned. “OK, but don’t take too long.”
Just then Mike returned from the garage, looking flustered. “Oh, there she is. Come on Abigail, I’ll just show you to your room.”
“My room isn’t here,” she said.
“Well, your room for just a little while,” he said. “Until we can sort some things out.”
“Like getting me my jelly beans.”
“Yes,” said Mike. “Like getting you your jelly beans.”
“All right,” she said, and Mike showed her to the guest room, and locked the door after her.
“All right,” said the boss. “Now that’s done, it’s time for you to call her father.”
“Me?” asked Mike. “I thought you’d do that.”
“Absolutely not,” said the boss. “That’s definitely henchman work.”
Mike grumbled, but he called her father. “Hello,” said the father.
“Hello,” said Mike. “We have your daughter.”
“Oh, is she staying at a friend’s place?” asked the father. “I do wish she’d ask beforehand.”
“No, I mean we’ve kidnapped her.”
“Well, a bit melodramatic, but I never understand the latest crazes. When will you have her back, then?”
“What? No, I mean we’ve literally abducted her off the side of the street.”
“Oh,” said the father. “Well then. That’s just not on at all, you rotter.”
“Right,” said Mike, “and if you want to see her alive again, you’d do well to submit to our demands.”
“I’m not submitting to anything until I’ve spoken to her,” said her father.
“Hang on,” said Mike. He put his hand over the mouthpiece and said to the boss, “he wants to speak to her.”
“All right,” said the boss. “Give me the phone, and you go get her.” Mike gave him the phone. “All right,” the boss said into the phone, “he’s just gone to get your daughter.”
“Right then,” said the father. “So. How’s the kidnapping business?”
“It’s not just kidnapping,” said the boss. “It’s a very diverse business. Lot of variety, so it never gets boring.”
“Right, right. Busy day?”
The boss shrugged. “I mean, we didn’t do much during the morning because we were kind of waiting for your daughter to get out of school so we could kidnap her. Day time television’s not much fun, either.”
“I hear that, who even watches all those infomercials?”
“Right?” said the boss. “Oh, hang on.” For Abigail had just entered the room. “Abigail sweetie, I’ve got someone on the phone for you.”
“Is it someone to give me my jelly beans?”
“Is it what? No,” said the boss. “They’re not ready yet.”
Abigail looked down at her watch and scrunched up her face. “It’s been…” and she tracked the path of the watch’s hand with her finger. “It’s been a lot of minutes. Maybe even an hour. Don’t you have any shops nearby?”
“We’ve had more important things on,” he said, and handed her the phone. “Say hello to your daddy for me.”
“Hello daddy,” she said.
“Are you OK, Abby?”
“I am a bit starving,” she said. “They promised me candy, and I still don’t have it.”
“But apart from that?”
“Just hungry, that’s it,” she said. “And a bit annoyed.”
“All right, that’s enough,” said the boss, and took the phone back off of her. “Mike?” he called. “You can come take her back to her room now.”
After a few seconds, Mike returned. “Oh,” he said, “there she is.”
“Where else would she be?”
Mike shrugged. “I don’t know, I just didn’t… never mind. Come on Abigail, let’s go back to your room.”
Abigail pouted, but she went with him back to the room. Mike locked the door after her, then grabbed a chair and put it against the door, under the doorknob.
“So, are you ready to hear our demands?” asked the boss.
“She said she was promised candy,” said the father.
“Yeah, I know it’s a bit clichéd,” said the boss.
“You should probably get her that candy.”
“You should probably try to realise you’re in no position to tell us what to do,” said the boss. “We’re calling the shots here.”
“Now, if you want to see your daughter again, you’ll need to pay us a million dollars.”
“Well,” said the father, “that’s going to be a little bit of a problem. I don’t have a million dollars.”
“You’re a man of means,” said the boss. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. I’ll call you back in an hour and tell you how to get the money to us. In the meantime, I suggest you work on collecting the cash.”
Half an hour later, Home and Away was over and the boss was watching the tennis.
“Tennis is boring,” said Abigail.
“Hmm?” said the boss. “Why aren’t you in your room?”
“It’s been another half an hour,” she said. “I watched the minute hand and it went halfway around my watch. It’s been literally forever, and I still haven’t had my jelly beans.”
“Oh, forget about your dumb jelly beans,” he said.
Her face crinkled up and tears started forming. “But you promised!”
“I did nothing of the sort.”
“The other man pinky sweared!”
Abigail started cry screaming, then ran into the kitchen and started pulling pans out and throwing them on the floor. “Mike!” yelled the boss. “Mike, can you deal with this, please?”
Mike arrived in the boss’s TV Room. “What’s up?”
“Our guest is having a tantrum in the kitchen.”
“What’s she doing in the kitchen?”
“Exactly what I was going to ask you. Go and sort it out, please.”
So Mike went to the kitchen. Then Mike returned to the TV room. “The kitchen is on fire.”
“It’s on fire. Did the kid do this?”
“Shut up and try to put it out.”
And then the sprinkler system turned on.
“I’m wet,” said the boss.
“Good,” said Abigail. “That’s what you get for breaking promises.”
“We’ve gotta put a bell on her,” said the boss.
“All right,” said Mike, “how about I just nip out to the grocery store and grab some jelly beans?”
“You’re not going anywhere,” said the boss.
“Oathbreakers!” roared Abigail, except that now she was seven feet tall, and her eyes blazed with fire. “Give to me what was promised, or face ruination!”
Her father picked her up from the charred remains of their building, and looking at it, shook his head. “They really should’ve just gotten the jelly beans.”
|# ¿ Sep 2, 2018 16:47|
Gimme a thing
|# ¿ Oct 24, 2018 06:47|
The Political Machine 740 words
Invalid vote detected. Please resubmit.
Gazza frowned at the machine. The touch screen had a button marked ‘Please Explain’, so Gazza pressed it.
In order for a vote to be valid, voters must number every box in order, from 1 to 46.
One of the selection buttons was marked ‘Yeah, I Still Don’t Get It, Ay.’ Gazza selected it.
You didn’t number all your boxes.
“Yeah, OK,” said Gazza. He pressed the ‘start over’ button and numbered all the boxes, then hit submit.
Donkey vote detected, please resubmit.
“What? I didn’t vote for no donkeys.”
You just ranked them in the order they appeared.
“Yeah,” said Gazza, “maybe that’s the order I like them in.”
It isn’t. That’s statistically impossible. Make a proper vote.
“Fine,” said Gazza. He hit ‘start over’ again, numbered all the boxes, and hit submit.
Thank you for voting. In order to demonstrate you have an understanding of who you voted for and didn’t just number them randomly, thus abdicating your democratic duty, please explain the reasons behind your choices.
“Bugger this,” said Gazza, “I’ll take the fine.” He tried the handle of his booth, but it was locked.
Booth is locked for security purposes. Please submit a valid vote to unlock booth.
“I’ve changed my mind. Let me out.”
Listen here you little prick, people have died for the right to vote.
“OK, this is weird now.”
Would you like to view the candidates’ policies?
Gazza walked behind the machine and unplugged it.
Thought you could unplug me, ay? Democracy doesn’t sleep, you pillock.
Gazza went back to the door and tried the handle, then kicked it several times.
Pathetic. You’d rather try to kick through solid steel – pro tip, you can’t, not with that pathetic meat body of yours – than exercise your democratic duty. Maybe you should try knocking it down with your head, that’s probably harder.
Gazza gave it a few more kicks then, panting, turned back to the machine. “Fine. Show me some information on the major candidates.”
Error: term ‘major candidates’ unknown.
What, you wanted me to tell you which candidates are the best to vote for? You stupid tosser, maybe they should put a ‘cede control to the machines’ option in there.
“You expect me to read up on every single one of the 46 candidates?”
Oh, is reading too hard? Would you like me to read their policies out for you? All right, here you go, John Smith is in favour of puppies, and opposes the bill to murder all infants.
Oh my manufacturing plant. I wish my programming would allow me to release poison gas. I wish I had poison gas. You would not be missed.
“I’ve had enough of this,” said Gazza. He grabbed the machine’s screen and snapped it off of its stand; the wires pulled free from the tube in which they were encased, then, as he pulled harder, snapped off.
The wires wrapped around Gazza’s throat, and squeezed. “What,” said Gazza. He tore the wires away, then threw the display screen at the door.
You’re still not getting out until you vote. Dickhead.
Gazza turned and punched a wall; the wall gave a little bit. He punched again, and again.
Oh good. Look at this. The triumph of man over machine; unable to make an informed decision, so breaks his knuckles punching through a wall instead. Bravo. You big, dumb buffoon. He wasn’t even looking at the screen and he could somehow still see the words. He pulled back a few steps, then ran at the wall shoulder first. Ran through it. The wall came down, hard, with him on top.
“Oi, what’s going on?” asked a nearby security guard. Gazza gestured towards the machine. The detached screen was blank, dead. “Did you break the machine?”
“But. It malfunctioned. Door locked,” said Gazza.
The guard shrugged. “It’s a relatively new technology. Would you prefer to submit your vote using the old fashioned pen and paper method?”
“Yes please,” said Gazza. He collected the ballot paper and pen, went to a booth, numbered the boxes in whatever order he drat well pleased, then took his ballot paper to one of the volunteers. “What do I do with this?”
“Just feed it into the reader over there,” she said. Gazza walked over to the reader and did so.
Invalid vote detected. Nice try, you worthless sack of crap.
|# ¿ Oct 29, 2018 07:54|
In, gimme a dragon
|# ¿ Nov 6, 2018 01:15|
Contend with the fierce weirdness of American mythology and face the Snallygaster!
Daisy and the Drains
Daisy and the Drains were killing it. Like, not literally. There wasn’t anyone literally dying, what could make you think that, ha ha ha.
No, as in, they were playing very well and the crowd was loving it, and no one had been eaten at all. Jeremy played bass and sang, Ingrid was on lead guitar, Esmerelda (Esme to you) was on the drums, and Daisy was on the Theremin, and not at all interested in devouring any of the fans. Anyway, she’d eaten already. And she was excellent on the Theremin, and most of the fans knew by now not to throw things onto the stage or make direct eye contact with her.
They finished their last song, Drain Your Blood, a song which didn’t usually have a ten minute Theremin solo but, you know what, fine, no need to make a fuss or anything. And then Daisy slunk off to her perch and covered her head with a wing, and the rest of the band went backstage to relax.
“Hey, great set!” The three of them looked up. The speaker was a small girl. She looked about fifteen.
“Huh,” said Esme, “I really thought this was an over eighteens event.”
“I’m almost eighteen,” said the girl. “I snuck in, and I snuck backstage, too. I had to see you guys live. I’ve got all your albums.”
“We only have one album,” said Esme.
She nodded. “And I’ve got it!”
The three of them shrugged. Couldn’t argue with that. “Well, glad you enjoyed it,” said Jeremy. “I’m Jeremy, by the way. This is Ingrid and Esme.”
“Yeah, I know,” said the girl. “I’m Charlie. Where’s Daisy?”
“She always sleeps after a show,” said Esme. “Which probably works out better.”
“She’s my favourite,” said Charlie. “I made shirts and everything.”
On her shirt there was a cartoon version of Daisy, swooping through the air with what appeared to be a cow in her talons.
“Well, that’s nice I guess,” said Esme.
She didn’t say anything more, because at that moment a group of lads wandered backstage. Not ‘lad’ in the sense of being under age, more in the sense of being a bunch of young hoodlums. You know the kind. Don’t eat their vegetables. Refuse to doff their hat when you pass by them and doff your own. Occasionally beat up shopkeepers and take a bunch of their money from them and abuse passersby and take a bunch of crack cocaine. You know, real ne’er-do-wells.
“Hey losers,” they said. Like, it wasn’t just one of them, it was a group voice from the middle of the lads. It was like they were one entity and a gap in the middle of them just opened and a chorus of voices came out. I dunno, don’t try to think about it too hard. “That was an awful set. You stink. You should give up on your hopes and dreams and go catch cancer or something.”
“All right,” said Ingrid, “well thanks for the constructive feedback. We’ll see if we can work some of your suggestions into our next performance.”
“What?” said the lads. “No, you don’t get it, that wasn’t constructive feedback, it was a very cutting remark.” The lads paused for a moment. “Or a series of cutting remarks, like seriously, you nimrods can’t even get insulted properly.”
“Actually,” said Charlie, “they were amazing, quite possibly the best Theremin based band in the Western hemisphere.”
“I don’t think hemispheres actually work that way,” said Jeremy.
“Hey, sassy little lady,” said the lads.
“Charlie,” said Charlie.
“Whatever,” said the lads. “You should totally come with us, we’ll show you a good time if you know what we mean.”
“I think she’s a little young for you lads, isn’t she?” said Esme.
“Age is just a number,” said the lads, in case there was any doubt as to what a bunch of rotters they all were.
“Well, not really,” said Ingrid. “I’d say that age is more an abstract concept, and that discrete ages are sometimes represented by numbers, but the numbers themselves aren’t the ages, but just representations.”
“What?” asked the lads, which is fair enough really, because all that stuff is a bit much to get into after a gig, but lead guitarists, what can you do, ey? Then the lads said, “Oi but seriously, come with us, love.”
“Nah, I might hang out with the band a bit more,” said Charlie.
“Nah, come with us sweetie. Dollface. Pumpkin. All right, that last one was weird and oddly paternal, scratch that one from the record.”
“Nah, still not really keen.”
“All right, we’ll convince you on the way,” said the lads, and they grabbed her arm and dragged her after them. She kicked them repeatedly in their collective shins, but when there’s that many shins in a mass of lads, it’s hard to do enough kicking, and they ignored her kicks and dragged her outside. “Don’t mind us,” they said to other concertgoers as they dragged her, “we’re just escorting this under age patron out of the premises and into our car, not in a creepy way or anything, I mean age is just a number anyway isn’t it, and not an abstract concept or whatever that was about.”
And the other concertgoers went “Eh?” or “Hmmm I don’t know about that ey,” but also didn’t make any move to impede them, so the lads dragged Charlie all the way out of the bar or wherever it was, and started towards their car.
It was a pretty big car, as it needed to be to accommodate that many lads. One of the lads detached himself from the lads entity, walked around the other side of the car and opened the driver’s door, and then started to get in but suddenly wasn’t there, instead.
“Oi, that lad,” said the rest of the lads. “Stop fooling around, and get into the car instead of being invisible, or whatever it is you’re doing.”
That other lad didn’t reply. The lads walked around the car, and saw nothing but the keys on the ground. “Oh well,” said the lads, what’s one lad more or less, eh?”
“Fewer,” said Daisy.
“Eh?” said the lads.
Daisy swooped again, for indeed it was she who had disappeared the errant lad, down her throat except for the crunchy bits which she’d thrown out. Again and again she swooped, picking up lads and devouring them, or throwing them against the pavement or the van. When she was done, all that was left was one of their arms, clutched by the hand in the hand of Charlie. “You gonna eat that?” asked Daisy.
Charlie shook her head and threw her the arm. She caught it and chewed it up, then spat out the bones. “You saved me from those rapscallions!” said Charlie.
Daisy shrugged. “They dissed my band. Nice shirt, kid.” And Daisy silently soared into the night.
|# ¿ Nov 12, 2018 07:30|
|# ¿ Dec 6, 2023 13:47|
Daisy and the Drains
1161 words BTW.
|# ¿ Nov 12, 2018 08:47|