Hello! I've been here before. Last time I signed up I failed to submit. It was shameful and I stayed up late at night for two days thinking about my failure but life is hard and sometimes poo poo happens and then ends with you in a jail cell, eating breakfast at four in the morning while your heroin addled celly shits his brains out.
All of that was to say that I want IN with a toxx and a sexy flash rule.
|# ¿ Aug 22, 2018 01:13|
|# ¿ Jan 26, 2022 19:54|
Pete woke up early in the morning to find that the bomb was still wrapped around his neck. He was of two minds on the subject; on the one hand, having a bomb locked to your neck is a less than ideal way to go about living. On the other hand, it's better to wake up with a bomb wrapped around your neck than to have your head blown off and not wake up at all. He planned on waking up with a head for the foreseeable future.
"Count your blessings" was a thing his mother would say to him every night before she went out to blow strange men on familiar park benches. Actually now that he thought about it maybe she used to say "Count your money before you swallow a dick." She was always giving out good, practical advice like that.
On the way to the kitchen to throw a frozen waffle into the nuke machine, Paul noticed something unusual; a beautiful lady with eyes that sparkled like dull diamonds.
"Hello, Pete. You don't know who I am," said the mysterious woman with the cubic zirconium stuffed in her face. "But I know you. Very well indeed. I know how that bomb got strapped to your turkey neck, for instance."
Pete heard everything Dull Eyes said but he wasn't actually listening. Instead he allowed his eyes to wander the room in search of some sort of weapon. When they found their way back to Dull Eyes he was surprised to see she was pointing a garage opener at him.
"Don't get carried away, Pete," said Dull Eyes. "I'd hate to blow the slight contents of your head onto the walls of this quaint apartment. Now pick your jaw up off the floor and listen close. What I say next will be the difference between life with a head and death with a closed casket."
Pete grabbed his jaw and took a seat at a table on the opposite side of the room.
“Time falls short today,” Dull Eyes said. “So listen closely and maybe you'll leave this room alive. Or at least you'll leave in a bag as a beautiful corpse with head intact.”
Dull Eyes had his attention.
“There are three questions I must ask,” Dull Eyes said. “Three answers you must give. Answer in truth and I shall leave. Nod your head if you understand.”
Pete weighed his options. As far as he could tell, he had nothing to lose. He might even be able to come out ahead. Or a head. Pete shifted his neck and gave Dull Eyes her nod.
“Do you remember the name of your freshman year English teacher,” asked Dull Eyes.
“Yes. I do.”
“What was her name?”
“How did she die?”
“Her guts got pulled out during a plastic surgery. The doctors didn't know how to put them back in.”
“Where are we?”
“Who am I?”
“The lady with the detonator.”
And then the lady clicked the button and Pete's neck exploded inward and sent his brains onto the linoleum.
“That was four questions,” Dull Eyes said. “Guess I'll have to do this again.”
|# ¿ Aug 27, 2018 01:47|
I'm in and I want another toxx. This week I'm going for the gold! Flash me.
AllNewJonasSalk fucked around with this message at 14:44 on Aug 28, 2018
|# ¿ Aug 28, 2018 14:20|
Your powerful figure is: the President’s therapist
Quick question: Can my president be a brain in a vase or must it be President Dump?
|# ¿ Aug 28, 2018 20:38|
One story about a presidential dead brain in a vase on the way. I'm always weary of writing any stories about the current political poo poo because it already seems like a wet dream fan fiction that somehow transposed itself on real life.
|# ¿ Aug 28, 2018 22:33|
The words flowed quickly for me, I just hope that it meets your tastes, mighty nobles.
Take everything I say with a grain of salt because I'm a five time loser here in the dome.
As a person who has received this criticism often (5 time loser remember?) I know a thing or two about stories that spend a lot of time telling and little time showing. This story didn't show anything at all. I love good exposition. I've always had a thing for good fantasy novels that spend thousands of words describing lakes. This was bad exposition and made me want to stick my head in a lake for 4 minutes until I stop breathing.
Also, this is more of a nitpick, but I have never seen Office Space. This normally wouldn't be a problem but you rely on knowledge of that film to sort of give a shorthand as to what's going on in your story. That's not necessarily a bad idea, I guess but the way you did it was terrible. I'd say you were hamfisted about it but that would be an insult to porky pugilists.
None of this would have mattered a bit if this had proved to be in any way entertaining. Sadly, your story is boring as poo poo. Man decides he wants to be rich, man creates lovely computer program that would never get the job done in real life, and then man goes to prison because he's a moron that doesn't understand how decimals work. How does a computer programmer make a mistake that dumb?
Good job on being first, I guess.
And don't worry, because based on my past experiences here you're gonna be able to really poo poo all over my beautiful words and make me cry!
Now I'm off to find a lake.
|# ¿ Aug 30, 2018 01:02|
He's The President
I thought it might be best to start off with a light jog as a way to gauge the President's physical ability. After making sure he was on the treadmill, I set the machine at a low pace and pressed start. As soon as the tread started rolling the president fell off and sent water spilling all over the floor.
I called in one of his assistants and they quickly got the brain back into the vase and on the treadmill. Clearly, the president didn't believe in himself. I was sure of that. I hadn't even seen him attempt to move the vase. A little hop would have sufficed.
“Now, listen, Prez,” I say. “I'm sure you'd like to walk again.”
This gets no response. I haven't worked with many brains in vases before but I'm sure this must be the most sullen vase brain I've met.
All day, I am met with nothing but silence and staring as I try to get the president to come out of his shell. Though, at first, it's hard to tell he's staring until I draw some eyes on his vase. I even go so far as to remove him from the vase and place him directly on the treadmill. This proves to be a bad idea as the president begins to quickly dry out when removed from his domicile.
Eventually, I realize that the problem is that, at the moment, we're entirely within his territory. Often, when trying to make a person ambulatory again, you need to get them somewhere uncomfortable and break them down to their basic self. The president is already just a brain in a jar so all I gotta do is get him out of the White House.
I run the idea by some senior staff and they don't seem to give much of a gently caress either way. They mutter some poo poo about having a world to run and then me and President Brain are off to visit a local neighborhood.
Ordinarily I'd be surprised at the low-key way in which the president travels. He doesn't even have a secret service guard to protect his vase. Today this lax security works in my favor as I just load him into my car and off we go.
I'm professionally embarrassed to say that as I drive, I kinda start to unload on him. He's not the most talkative brain in a vase but his listening skills are out of this world. The only people I know that listen this well are corpses.
But we pull up in the neighborhood and I carry him out the car and we make our way towards a playground. The children playing run screaming for their mothers when I put the vase in a swing, push the swing as hard as I can, and watch the president splash his way out of the jar. You'd think these kids had never seen a brain outside of a skull before.
President Brain has terrible survival instincts and makes no attempt at all to brace himself. And that's pretty sad because maybe if he'd tried to save himself the rabid dog waiting around the corner wouldn't have grabbed him and took off.
And that's how I lost the president and learned to love myself.
|# ¿ Sep 3, 2018 03:14|
Too Many Teeth
There's a very bad pudding. I taste it with the tongues between each of my toes. Mother pours the pudding out for me to walk through every morning. It's the only thing I eat. Every day. Once every 24 hours.
Mother says that the pudding will make me big and strong, but mostly it just makes the teeth between my toes smell like poo poo. I spend many hours in the bathroom brushing my teeth. I use the same toothbrush for the set in my mouth that I do for the ones below. My toothbrush tastes of fungus.
A boy in my class told me that my breath smelled terrible. I cried and mother paddled him. I cried more after the paddling as I am the only boy in my class. Mother says that she's never had a student like me. I believe her as I'm the only student she's ever had.
My mother loves me very much. She doesn't allow me to leave the house because the people outside won't love me at all. She says they just won't understand a handsome boy with tongues between his toes and a finger where his nose should be.
The very bad pudding is filled with very bad things. It's a deadly pudding. Things made from the refuse of the neighborhood children are often deadly and very bad indeed.
|# ¿ Sep 3, 2018 07:34|
It's time to try again. In.
|# ¿ Sep 4, 2018 11:39|
I'm in the bathroom ridding my bowels of yesterday's lunch. The only problem is the colon highway is backed up for miles so all the poo poo has to reroute and take the next exit through my mouth. Projectile style.
It's a painful experience made worse by the fact that some rear end in a top hat keeps banging on the door. Can't he hear the stall is occupied?
Between gags I somehow chain together a couple foul tasting expletives and shudder myself back into my bearings. Next thing I know the rear end in a top hat starts banging louder and then someone yells something about security and men open the door and grab at me.
A couple moments later I'm thrown from the club. I land on my head but, luckily for me, my head lands on a bum. I mutter an apology. The bum mutters a “gently caress you,” and we both go about our lives.
I walk along the sidewalk as the sky unzips it's trousers and pisses all over me. There's a pizza place a couple streets from here where I know I can take shelter. I head that way and wonder how long it'll be before my friends realize I haven't returned with their drinks.
Walking always unlocks my eye for detail. I push the eye back into my skull and notice that the mayor's war on poverty is moving along nicely. I've never seen this many homeless people downtown in my life. I've also never seen so many cops cracking so many homeless skulls with their flashlights before stuffing them into the backs of so many squad cars. Taxpayer dollars will make sure these bums have a nice home and lukewarm food for the foreseeable future. I personally haven't paid taxes in many years and have no interest about the details of where your tax dollars go. Mine go up my nose when I can afford it.
After what seems like minutes of deep introspective bullshit I'm at the pizza spot.
“Roach Box is the name and pizza is the game” is how they style themselves on their television advertisements. My friends say the pizza tastes of filth and decay but I wouldn't know. I've never actually ate a single slice of pizza here. Usually if I'm in this joint I can be found on one of the arcade machines watching Pac Man eat pills and chase ghosts.
Tonight I'm denied entry after I rifle through my pockets and notice all my money is gone. I guess the bummy headrest from earlier snagged a couple bucks as payment.
“What kinda pizza place has an entrance fee anyway,” I start to say as the door is firmly slammed in my face.
The rain still hasn't let up but there's a bus stop that looks reasonably clean. With only three used syringes and a mostly fresh tampon for company, I begin to wait out the storm and wonder when someone will text me a “Where'd you go, bro?”
Within minutes a police officer shows up to surveil the scene and surmise my business here at this bus stop.
“You one of them homeless people? Show me your papers,” barks the cop.
It's now that I remember that all my papers were in the wallet that guy from earlier absconded with. In lieu of response I point towards a now very well dressed bum walking up the street towards us.
“You're not gonna believe this officer,” I say. “But that man robbed me earlier. He's got all my poo poo. And he even bought a parasol. Can you believe the balls on that guy?”
True to prophecy the cop doesn't believe a word of my story and knocks me on the head with his fancy baton. Just before I descend into unconsciousness I hear him relay news of his victory over the radio.
“I got another one. Now I'll be able to afford that fancy toaster that actually toasts the bread instead of setting everything on fire like my old one,” the cop loudly intones.
“Roger that, Mike,” the radio chimes back. “The chief says you should stop using your radio to chatter about your toaster.”
And then everything goes black.
I wake up a couple hours later feeling like my head's been split open. After pressing my fingers to my skull and feeling soft squishiness where I normally feel hard firmness, I confirm my diagnosis.
I look around and find myself in a dimly lit room. I can just make out the bodies of several sleeping men. They're possibly women but it's hard to tell in the dark. My sex life is very adventurous.
Within moments the lights skyrocket in intensity and a loud voice booms over a PA system.
“I'm sure you're all aware of the mayor's mission to rid our city of poverty one bum at a time,” says the voice.
Those of us not able to sleep through the deafening roar mutter in acknowledgement.
“Good. Good,” says the voice. “Now fiscal finance not being what it used to be. We can't afford to house and feed you all. Don't worry. The city has come up with a solution to all of our problems. Notice how hot your quarters are?”
“You're sitting above a pit that leads all the way to hell. Allow us to guide you there.”
And then we hear the distinct sound of a finger pressing a button right before we fall at an alarming rate. I'm not even given proper time to investigate my astonishment at the fact that hell does indeed exist before I'm burned into many foul smelling ashes.
I wonder if hell has blow. I can certainly use a toot or three.
|# ¿ Sep 9, 2018 19:13|
You'd be surprised how far you could fall off a ship sailing on the back of the wind. I'm not all that surprised. Mostly I'm embarrassed.
Falling through sky like this, after being caught in the Captain's quarters betwixt a pair of his daughters with nothing but skin clothing my body, can knock life into any man but I think the ground will take care of that.
The wind rushes past me so quickly. And the ground appears so close.
I'm actually getting kinda worried now.
A yanking at my shirt. I'm being hoisted through the air. This is not what I imagined being smashed to bits to feel like. I remember to thank god or whoever later and twist around to get a better look at my rescuer.
What being could grip a man falling from the clouds like a lazily tossed ball?
Of course. I see it now. It's a large bird. Bigger than any creature I've ever seen. A new species.
It's got the face of a lizard and the scaly wings of a lizard with wings. But the mouth? The mouth is all beak.
The bird flies high and I hang slackjawed in sheet awe at the grace of this creature. At the apex of it's flight it shoots down at a ninety degree angle. A small thunderclap is heard with every beat of it's wings and then it drops me. And I smash against some rocks on a cliff.
|# ¿ Sep 11, 2018 03:08|
Another week where I get to take home that loser status. Next week I shall be back to break the curse.
Thanks for the crits guys. I am absorbing them with my power.
AllNewJonasSalk fucked around with this message at 06:52 on Sep 11, 2018
|# ¿ Sep 11, 2018 06:49|
I'm in. Ready and rocking.
|# ¿ Sep 11, 2018 14:03|
AllNewJonasSalk, crits below.
Thanks for the crit. I will take your well thought out criticisms and plug them into my brain. Eventually I'll get good at this or die trying.
E: a heartfelt thanks to the judges as well. After reading the other stories I was pretty sure I'd be the loser but it's always nice to know exactly why.
|# ¿ Sep 11, 2018 20:36|
I'm a dirty failure so I need a
With that said I'm IN and supremely lazy so I need a random.
|# ¿ Sep 19, 2018 01:06|
Prompt - Bought and Paid For, by Entenzahn!
A Wizard and A Pipsqueak 901 words
The glint of a sword, bathed in the rays of the rising sun. This was a sight, precious to Gavin and the men he stood beside this morning.
Another day spent in this foreign land. Damnation. He'd have a word with his brother about this affront later. After the city was claimed. Before the next march.
The men. His men. He'd not spent as much time with them as he'd wished. Lately, he'd been forced to play at being civilized. Days wasted in towers, planning and plotting. Dining and games of diplomacy. All these things felt the same to the man that once claimed the Sword of Light from the clutching fingers of Jhota the Head Clipper. So much time that might have been better spent sawing the heads from his enemies.
Now, though, there was reason to be happy. Across the field, Gavin could see a paltry force of goat fuckers lined up to protect their poo poo hole. Was this all that Temez had to defend her walls? No matter. Gavin would see them all dead before day's end.
The kid wouldn't shut the gently caress up about his mom.
“She's really a nice lady,” Davey said over the intercom. “You'd like her.”
We'd been flying nonstop for hours and if I heard this little poo poo say one more thing about his mother, I'd blast him out of space myself. Normally, I'm an understanding guy and the kid pays good credits, but this is a fool's errand and he's beginning to grate on me.
I'll never understand why they gave him the Minstrel. She's a sight to see in flight and he's a crackerjack behind her controls but the pipsqueaks gotta be 100 soaking wet. I'd prefer him stowed away below deck so I don't gotta hear a word out of him.
“She smells really nice,” crackled Davey's voice.
Either we stop somewhere soon or I'm vaporizing the jit.
Gavin heard the arrow before he saw it. There was a thump. Felt like being tossed about by an angry Jerzik. It threw him off his feet and by the time he'd recovered his senses he saw the plume poking out at an odd angle. Maybe not so odd to most but very odd to Gavin as it was sticking from his arm He steeled himself before pulling it out. It never ceased to amaze him that the pain always felt the same though he'd been shot through with hundreds of the buggers in his day.
No time to think on this one as the battle still raged. This should have been finished an hour ago, but these were better men than he'd initially given credit.
No matter. They would all be dead another hour from now.
“Do you see it, kid,” I asked over comms.
“Yeah,” he said. “Do you really think she's down there somewhere?”
I actually hadn't the slightest idea but I did know that the local fauna was said to possess the best liquor in the sector.
“Yeah. Yeah. No stone left unturned right,” I said.
The battle had raged on for nearly another hour and Gavin could tell that it had taken a quarter of his men. Friends who would now watch over them all from the Night Veil.
His arm hurt something fierce and the people of the city cowered in their homes instead of presenting themselves to their conquerors. No matter. If they would not be gracious in defeat, he'd burn their homes in return to send them scattering like the rodents they were. And then his men would pick the best women from the lot and burn the rest over coals as sacrifice to The Mother.
Davey hadn't said a word as he we walked through the field of dead. One time it looked like he was gonna speak but he slipped in what I can only assume used to be a person's stomach and puked his own guts up all over the place instead.
I understood the feeling.
Whatever happened here, I hoped it was over. I didn't particularly feel like killing anybody today.
We could hear what sounded like a celebration going on behind the city walls and I saw flames leaping up to clap the sky. I pressed the kid to walk a little faster. Drinks have to be flowing by now.
A strange man stood before Gavin. He'd come in from outside earlier in the night with a child and when one of his men grabbed a spear to run them through, he'd pulled out a queer device that fired light. It hit the man square and put a hole in him where his chest once sat. Nobody else grabbed a spear after that. Clearly the man was a wizard. Intelligent people showed wizards respect.
The man spoke a language Gavin had never heard but seemed happy enough when someone poured him a cup of brew. The kid on the other hand could not be contained. He was everywhere and bothering with everything. He'd even grabbed meat from The Mother's sacrifice and eaten some. What kind of beast ate human flesh?
Before long the two left the warriors from the way they came. And then two gigantic metal birds took off into the night and headed straight for the moon. Strange things happen in this country. Gavin would tell his brother the whole thing should be burnt to the ground.
|# ¿ Sep 24, 2018 04:38|
I'm in and if possible I'd like to be a bag of meth.
|# ¿ Sep 26, 2018 13:11|
I'm a bag of meth.
Exhibit A 634 words
I'm fighting for my right to exist here and losing… Not through any fault of my own, I'll have you know. It's just that I'm on trial. Caught in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong person. You know how it is.
Everything started back a year or so ago. It's a normal day like any other. The birds are chirping. This guy I'm hanging out with is picking at his face.
I guess, he'd seen a pimple or something an hour earlier and it had been sorta gnawing at him because now he's in the mirror, clawing away at his cheek. Within twenty minutes his flesh is a wet, pulpy mess of exposed tissue and blood. I see poo poo like this all the time so I don't pay much attention to him.
I do wonder if he's had anything to eat. A few days have gone by since I last saw him ingest anything. Man can't survive on meth alone. At least that's what they say. The way this guy's been going he might prove them wrong.
I'm sitting over on a counter that faces directly into the bathroom. Otherwise I'd never have been able to see the pick session. The thin syringe the guy's been using to suck me up isn't too far away. Boy, do I love breaking off a piece of that from time to time.
I hear the guy talking to himself. He's been doing this off and on all week. He's saying something about walking to the store for a pack of squares.
I don't really feel like going. I don't think I wanna be seen with him. Not when he's acting the way he is. He's got that fidget. Looks like he's fit to burst and can barely contain himself. You know how it is when a meth head gets started. The way their mouth seems to run a mile a minute before they even open their lips to speak. Too much convulsing and his eyes are doing this wild bug out thing. Somebody is bound to notice.
Against my better judgement, I find myself stuffed in an empty Newport box deep in his pocket as he rides a bike to the gas station. It's dark in here and everything smells like mint. I loving hate that smell but whatever.
He's riding pretty fast but not unusually so. Seems to have okay control of himself. I think he'll play this cool.
“The gently caress. There's no way my card is declined,” is what the guy is screaming at the sad poo poo sack working the register. Imagine being this kid, locked away behind bulletproof glass for hours at a time while drug addicts berate you until your overnight ends. Probably sucks. “The card just got loaded up with cash a couple days ago. I should have a hundred bucks on there.”
That's what he says before grabbing the pack of cigarettes off the counter and beating his feet toward the exit. Just when I think he'll make it, he slams into the door. Hard. Of course. People probably steal from this place all the time. There's a panic button somewhere. Automatically locked doors.
All I can hope is that the guy tosses me before the cops get here. Don't take me down with you. We're friends, man. Right?
Turns out we're not really friends at all. He doesn’t have to pretend anymore.
My “pal” turned state witness against me. Swore in open court that we were together. Copped a plea. He'll get probation. Before the day is over he'll probably be vein deep in a bag of horse.
Me? I've been railroaded. hosed over by the law. I'm headed for that big bubble in the sky. Death by incinerator.
Whatever. It really sucks being Exhibit A.
|# ¿ Oct 1, 2018 06:50|
A week where I'm neither a loser or a DM? Oh poo poo. This almost feels like being a winner.
Great work, John Madness. Keep showing the gimmicks how a professional gets it done!
|# ¿ Oct 2, 2018 04:07|
I am IN for this. Give me an object, John The Don.
|# ¿ Oct 2, 2018 18:38|
I suck for not getting my entry in for last week so I am in for this week's blood letting.
Also thanks for the crit, Sitting Here. Thanks a whole bunch.
AllNewJonasSalk fucked around with this message at 15:58 on Oct 15, 2018
|# ¿ Oct 9, 2018 16:37|
Exmond, I thank thee for the crit. now I must do even better.
|# ¿ Oct 11, 2018 18:05|
Well I'm a filthy disqualified mfailure and here's a failure poem
I'm poo poo (124 Words)
What do you know about the WU?
Not poo poo!
Those boys in space now
Seriously, I'm in space too
Looking below at a big blue ball
While the visual scanner paints Earth
Remember that once Earth was vibrant
Now she be a corpse
Brown and green, deadly colors
Nuclear irradiated Earth ain't nothing to gently caress with
Blip! Blip! Blip!
There's a indication, it's on the scanner
Yo, check out the contenders:
We got a ghost from Old Brooklyn and plastic bag from the Atlantic
The ghost stumbles, his ghost feet caught up in the bag
Is that even how ghosts work? Probably not.
A strong wind blows
The bag? Fight or flight.
Bye Bye Mr. Bag
Bye Bye WU
Bye Bye Earth
|# ¿ Oct 15, 2018 16:37|
As soon as I read the prompt I knew I wanted IN.
|# ¿ Oct 18, 2018 17:48|
Frozen Hanes 504 Words it is pathological, you know; it does not become a virtue by being orderly.
Five degrees below zero and somehow I still feel the numbing heat of the heroin as I mainline it into the thickest vein on my right arm. I'm tired and I'm sick.
It will get better soon. Eventually. Within minutes. Maybe.
Or, maybe, it'll get worse. I still can't feel my left arm. I look down at it to make sure it's still there. It is. As black as it was a day ago. The veins are all shot out from missed shots. You know how they say you miss every shot you don’t take? Seems to me like I miss every shot. Even the ones I let other people aim for me. Been plunging dope with a syringe for ten years and I still have trouble hitting the poo poo right.
My last dope partner said it was because I had very small veins. She seemed to take pride every time she was able to connect that needle without raising a blister bump. I missed her. Sometimes. Death is inevitable but with the right questions it can be avoided. Questions like “Is this a bag of heroin or a bag of fentanyl?” Or “Please, please can you call an ambulance? I promise I won't say anything about where I got the poo poo.”
These days I spend too much time selling laced bags of heroin to cash strapped junkies looking for a cheaper high.
Wow. I already feel it. There's this feeling you get when you hit a bag of particularly strong dog food. It's like kissing God while he sucks your dick clean off. Seriously. I'm cumming my pants right now. I wonder if it'll freeze to my underwear.
I wonder if my mother is happy. Five years since I last saw her. Bad blood there. Most of it pouring out of her gut. It was an accident. She and I both know it. Walking through the kitchen with a butter knife right before God wrapped his ruby red lips around my penis and I sorta stumbled and tripped over. The knife sunk deep into her stomach. The police had a hard time believing that but it was the truth. Scout's honor. No charges were pressed but I was banned from her presence.
It feels like there's a frog hopping around my throat. No. That's wrong. It feels like there's a frog trying to hop out of my throat. It can't though because of the skin and the muscle. After a few minutes of this the frog settles right over my air supply.
Now God's sucking my dick again.
Now he's trying to bite it clean off. And I'm trying to push him away but I can't because my arms won't move.
That frog is moving though. Moving and transforming. He's a bear now and he's finally ripped through my throat to drop his rear end on my chest.
It's getting harder to breathe.
Five degrees below zero. Did I shoot the wrong bag? Will the cum freeze to my underwear?
|# ¿ Oct 22, 2018 01:48|
Interprompt: they grow up so young (300 words)
I haven't paid for sex in a long while. And I'd never be likely to pay again. Not after what happened the last time anyway. It was very much a misunderstanding. The evening was drawing towards a close. The sun peeked out over the horizon and the early morning hues of pink and gold seemed to stretch out for eternity.
My nose leaked cocaine and had I blown into a napkin the police would have been able to use my mucus as evidence against me in every court of law. I marveled at the white flakes as they streamed from my nose. Digging for gold took on a new meaning every evening as I used a saline flush to remove the remnants of blow my body refused to absorb and assimilate.
Just as I prepared to make the journey home, a black child appeared in my path. He dressed in purple and blue and his fedora was tilted at an angle. He couldn't have been more than twelve but when he spoke his voice carried across the distance between us like a foghorn bellowing against the soft white blanket that enshrouded in.
"You looking for a good time? I got some people I think you'd love to meet," he said.
I was indeed looking for a good time, but I had been thinking more along the lines of pornography in the comfort of my own home. I started to say this but instead the cocaine spoke for me.
"Sure, kid, as long as they're of age I'm down for anything."
He assured me that all his girls were perfectly legal as far as illegal prostitutes went. I followed him as he led me down an empty alley I'd never noticed before.
And then older children appeared from the shadows with knives and knuckles of brass. They beat me and warned that I should never return to their neighborhood. Drug tourists would no longer be tolerated.
|# ¿ Oct 22, 2018 19:50|
Haha for a second I thought that would be about a dog, Bolt Crank. Another Scooter to round out the bunch!
|# ¿ Oct 22, 2018 21:48|
I also want to chime in and say I like all of the stories I've read so far this week. They all have something interesting in them that really nails that uncomfortable feeling I get when I stare into the abyss that lies deep within my mind. So thanks for that!
|# ¿ Oct 23, 2018 00:05|
In like Flynn
|# ¿ Oct 24, 2018 03:40|
Last week my train stopped at Depression Town and kicked me out because I'd hopped the turnstile without paying several weeks back. That's no excuse for my irreedemable failure though so I'm and IN.
Woop at a haunted house next to a dirty house blowing loud and the opening piano keys of this song make the hair on my neck stand up when I'm really stoned so hear you go! This man gave me nightmares for a week during a very stressful period when I sat in a jail cell because he would stare at me every day through a glass barrier for an hour without saying anything. A very chilling local celebrity encounter.
AllNewJonasSalk fucked around with this message at 05:45 on Oct 31, 2018
|# ¿ Oct 31, 2018 05:33|
Vanheil 887 Words
The day Cynderlane died Jason renounced both God and his wayward child Lucifer. Let them both choke on his festering hatred and free the world from their capricious dominion.
Jason left the city of Sulderleif. With him he took only Cynderlane's favorite pair of shoes; red pumps that sparkled under the blazing touch of the sun. Once, as children, he'd called them “blood diamonds” and from that moment on he thought of them that way always.
He walked the roads with a diamond in each hand and sometimes, when the night was particularly lonesome, he would clutch them to his chest, seeking the warmth of her embrace. She was more than his friend, you see. She was his only love and like the Church to Christ, so she was to him; a bride. They were soulmates bound by the celestial whim of fate. Star crossed lovers cast in the mold of Tristan and Iseult.
On the fifth day of his exile, Jason came upon a small inn tucked away behind a curtain of oak. Inside he found the owner, a squat man maybe half his height, twirling a recently dead cat by the tail. The innkeeper explained that this was to ward off evil spirits.
Dwarves were, by nature, a superstitious lot. Jason was not superstitious but listened to the innkeep all the same, as he babbled about the dark creatures that roamed his inn every night until the first trickle of sunlight pierced its windows and banished them back to Vanheil, the dark dimension the spirits inhabited under the light of day.
“Listen,” Jason said after the innkeeper finished speaking. “I have no money but, if you allow me to stay an evening, and feed me some stew from your pot, I will be bound in your service. This I swear upon the eyes of Old Nick.”
“What could you possibly do for me, boy? Besides warm my bed,” asked the dwarf.
“For starters, I could slay the spirits,” Jason said. This was not true of course. Jason had as much chance of slaying a spirit as the dwarf, but the innkeeper seemed stupid and desperate. He agreed to the terms and gave Jason a key and a bowl of stew.
The stew was vile and maggots swam through it like fish but Jason paid them no mind. The innkeeper watched him drink it all in two gulps and when Jason proffered the bowl for a second helping he didn't protest. The worms wriggled around his stomach, growing fat on the things they found there, for a long while before finally falling still.
After the second bowl, Jason retired to his room and began to plan.
The innkeeper, not nearly as stupid as he seemed, also began to plan. There were no spirits of course. In this inn resided only a dwarf and his greed.
Night came quickly and Jason, fast asleep, instantly awoke at the first caress of the moon's touch. Perfectly still, he listened to the sound of his own breathing and after a moment became aware that another breathed as well. He remained silent and listened while clutching a small blade he never slept without.
An hour passed like this with neither Jason nor his visitor moving an inch. All that could be heard was breathing and a muffled buzzing sound.
Of course, Jason knew the innkeeper was the other source of breathing but the laws of hospitality forbade he kill his host without just provocation.
Another hour passed and Jason felt a pair of eyes drawing closer. Finally, Jason thought, the dwarf will make his move.
After five more minutes of palpable menace, Jason called out.
“Be gone, dark spirit, or I will slay you.”
For a moment the breathing stopped and Jason was sure he had frightened the cowardly innkeeper off but then a voice spoke back, high and keen. “Give me the shoes, traveller, or die here.”
Jason said no more after this and for a time the room was silent and the dwarf still.
After another hour of this that same high voice called again from the dark, this time only a foot from where Jason lay.
“The shoes, boy. Don't die like an idiot over a pair of shoes.”
Jason said nothing at all.
Instead he drew the dagger across his belly and slit open the sack that lay beneath the flesh there and waited for the innkeeper to step just a bit closer.
In seconds, the innkeeper was upon him and Jason, hearing the sound of an axe whistling through the air almost too late, shifted slightly to the left so that the axe just missed and then he squeezed the muscles in his abdomen together as tightly as he could. That muffled buzzing now flew forth from his stomach and, in the silence of the night, was a thunderclap. Flies swarmed the dwarf, engulfed him whole, and tore the flesh from his body with their many sharp teeth. He screamed and Jason crowed. Neither sound could be heard over the buzzing.
Afterwards, Jason closed up the hole in his belly and thanked the flies for their protection before opening a window so they could fly off into the night like locusts. Pleased with himself he fell asleep clutching the red pumps and dreamt of his sister, Cynderlane.
|# ¿ Nov 5, 2018 07:43|
Good job, Antivehicular. Congrats also to cptn_dr and autism ZX spectrum. And I totally forgot to make my story beautiful. Got too caught up in gross maggot body horror. For the next prompt I myself to stay completely on prompt and not gently caress it up entirely. I'm IN before I even know what I'm signing up for.
Thanks for fine and quick judging and also reading my bullshit, Anomalous! Praise be to the other brave judges who sat and read a bunch of words that were probably terrible in a number of mind bending ways. Y'all the real MVPs.
AllNewJonasSalk fucked around with this message at 01:06 on Nov 6, 2018
|# ¿ Nov 6, 2018 00:55|
This garbage is disgusting. Nobody told me I'd be drinking wizard blood. I mean, somebody did but I thought it was a joke. Like a Halloween gag or something. It smells like poo poo and honestly I think I'd rather drink poo poo water from a toilet after a chilli dog eating contest. I'd rather have somebody poo poo into my open rear end in a top hat. That's how terrible this is. I can't believe my Bono piece got axed to make room for this poo poo. gently caress wizards and butt gently caress the Boy Who Lived. How's that for an impartial review?
Paid For by Hogwarts Vineyard
E: Guess this interprompt was late as hell. Still IN. Definitely in. Also flash me.
AllNewJonasSalk fucked around with this message at 01:20 on Nov 6, 2018
|# ¿ Nov 6, 2018 01:15|
Dragon me if dragoning entails a dragon. Preferably a dragon draggin a tail.
|# ¿ Nov 6, 2018 03:18|
|# ¿ Jan 26, 2022 19:54|
Thanks for the crit! Originally there was gonna be a real weird sister angle but Sitting Here was able to pull me from the abyss. For the most part anyway.
I haven't read too much Terry Pratchett but I did like what he and Gaiman did with Good Omens so thanks for the compliment. I take all criticism as veiled flattery!
|# ¿ Nov 7, 2018 00:45|