Lord of truth/Maaty/stealing bread
The sun bore down on the shrub littered landscape of Maaty.
Ra’s journey must be difficult today, Samir thought as he blotted sweat from his brow with his forearm.
The market was bustling in spite of the intense heat, and this would work to Samir’s advantage.
Squeezing through legs and gaps left open by shuffling bodies, he found his way to Sadat’s food stand. The rich scent of fresh bread and spiced stew permeated Sadat’s corner of the market, and he had more than enough customers to keep his attention.
Samir crept down beside the carts blocked wheels, and gently lifted a towel from a basket of bread as Sadat filled orders.
His hand met a thick, oblong disc of bread that was almost too warm to touch, and his mouth began to salivate in anticipation of the meal.
He slid the piece into the sash that held up his suruali and began to reach his hand up for another when he realized that a market guard was coming his way. He hadn’t been seen yet, but he would be if he hung around much longer.
He turned to leave, and then remembered his sister Adya’s small, emaciated face and grit his teeth. He slunk behind the cart as Sadat was kept busy and crawled into an overturned crate.
The guard plodded past and Samir waited. After a few minutes, Samir slid out of the crate. Sadat was arguing with a woman over the price of grain, and Samir took the opportunity to grab another loaf from the basket overhead.
He tucked it into the sash and darted down a nearby alley. Looking over his shoulder in the direction he came, he didn’t expect to run into the unyielding wall of a body that was the market guard he had hoped to avoid.
Knocked into the dust and scrambling to hold onto the bread he had taken, he didn’t see the scimitar swinging down on him in time. A gleam off the edge of the blade surely signaled his demise. Samir held his breath and futilely raised his hands.
The scimitar cut through the air speeding to an unexpected stop as the world around Samir began to rearrange itself.
His surroundings disintegrated away in large fading cubes that were simultaneously replaced with a voluminous expanse of velveted robe that flowed like a crimson river underneath Samir’s feet and over the surface of all the world around him. It was all he could see, swallowing everything up under a full, yellow moon.
An impossibly tall figure in the distance beckoned Samir forward with an elongated, knobby finger.
A commanding voice rang out in his head.
“Come child, your moment of judgement is at hand.”
Samir grew pale as the robe beneath his feet pulled him towards the figure.
The flowing robe pulled into sleek, regal looking court dress. A shriveled, and stern looking face was mostly concealed by a solid ebony headpiece that completely hid the eyes. Long points stemmed off from it like needles that lanced the sky.
The figure craned its head like a bird as it observed Samir, then it leaned down lifting up his chin with the elongated fingers, pinching the tip of it softly between long, bulbous digits.
“You stand accused of theft. Theft that would see your life terminated. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Samir struggled to comprehend his situation and trembled as the creature surveyed him. He knew there was nothing he could do but answer.
“I… I did steal the bread!” he shouted, reaching at his sash to produce the two loaves he had taken. “It was so that my sister and I could eat. We haven’t eaten in days!”
“It was so that your sister and you could eat?” The figured interrogated, its intonation suggesting a deeper truth.
Samir recalled how his hungry sister was an afterthought. If he hadn’t tried to get the extra bread for her, he wouldn’t be here. He should have – “shared the first loaf?” The figure interrupted his thoughts.
“I… I got bread for myself, and when I was going to leave… I couldn’t leave without getting Adya food.”
“An act of kindness.”
“I don’t know… she’s just my kid sister, and her stomach noises are too loud when she’s hungry.”
“You’re all she has?”
“I mean, there are other kids that we stay with, we stay together for safety.”
“They aren’t hers though. You are her brother.”
“That’s true, I guess.”
“What do I do with you, Samir?”
Samir realized again for the first time in some minutes that this wasn’t an ordinary circumstance. That he wasn’t speaking to a normal person. This thing, whatever this was, it was far from being a person despite the exaggerated appearance as such. He tried to back away from the being, but the velveted robes coiled around his feet and legs, and slowly began to inch over him.
He panicked and began crying as the figure extended its large hand to comfort the boy. It rested it’s hand on its head, and then caressed his cheek. The robe was up to his neck now. Samir took in a deep breath.
He shut his eyes as it inched over the bottom half of his face, over his mouth and nose. He felt it slither over his closed eyes, and over every clumped strand of dirty hair.
“Do your best to live honestly, Samir.” The figure’s voice commanded before trailing off into a quiet echo.
He exhaled and opened his eyes and found himself in a sea of stars looking down at the marketplace he had just been taken from. He saw himself hunkered down in the crate alongside Sadat’s food stall.
Samir swam through the stars back into the stifling heat of his arid hometown. He opened his eyes and found himself back inside the crate, a single loaf of bread in his sash, and exploded out of the crate from behind Sadat.
Sadat grabbed his arm, and Samir grew cold as he feared the worst. Sadat tucked an extra loaf into his sash and leaned in close with a smile that seemed faintly familiar. He rested his hand on Samir’s head, running his calloused fingers through the tufts, and said, “Live honestly.”
Samir looked at the man with awestruck recognition, nodded solemnly, and retreated warily from the market.
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 03:29|
|# ? Oct 5, 2022 10:58|
Owner of Faces/Nedjefet/Impatience
The Assessment at Miccosukee Indian Village
Seth Brunacini's bottled-up rage was finally about to boil over.
Seth's anger was a total lack of patience towards the minor inconveniences any one of us might face in a typical day. For most people, deep breathing would be sufficient to deal with an unexpected traffic jam or a boss asking for "just one more thing, before you leave." For Seth, these were personal slights against his happiness, courtesy of an uncaring and unjust universe.
While it normally took him about 30 minutes to get home, today's commute had stretched to well over an hour. He screamed until he was red in the face at the stop-and-start traffic, punching his steering wheel and dashboard. But nothing Seth did seemed to let the other drivers know that he had to be home *immediately* to check the same websites he spent all day at work checking.
After nearly five minutes of weaving through the rows of the outdoor mall's parking lot, he finally found a spot near the entrance closest to the Baskin Robbins. He *deserved* to reward himself after having to go through that hell. In and out, doing his best to avoid the lollygaggers and aimless windowshoppers.
But as he grew closer, Seth stopped in his tracks. A throng of middle-schoolers, all wearing neon-yellow t-shirts from a class trip to Adventure Landing, swarmed into the ice cream parlor from the opposite side of the mall. Immediately, the line grew from nothing to spilling out towards an Auntie Anne's Pretzels.
"I'S FURSE! Gyefurt!" he shouted at a passing eleven year old, enjoying his Cookies'n Cream. "Nedjefet!" Seth's teeth gnashed. A blood-vessel in his left eye burst. He collapsed, flipping a table and sending a container of used pretzel dipping cheese soaring across the mall. A shock of neon yellow filled his vision as he lost consciousness.
"You up? All here, now?"
A woman crouched over Seth, slapping his face with a latex-gloved hand. Her round face beamed down at him with a gapped, toothy grimace. He saw his own relfection in her mirrored aviators, and noticed that his shirt had been cut up the front, exposing his pale chest.
"I think so..." Seth trailed off, realizing that he had been moved out to the parking lot. The woman stood up, and was not a typical EMT. Her black tanktop was splattered with orange bleach stains, and her denim shorts revealed legs adorned all over with band-aids. In his confusion, all he could think to ask was, "Are you a nurse?"
The woman cackled. "Get in the car, dummy!" She shed her gloves like snake skins, letting them *flop* onto the black top as she walked to the driver's side of an '87 El Camino. "Come on, where's that famous sense of urgency?"
Seth did not have time to process what was happening before he was in the passenger seat. "Folks call me Sia," she said, eyes locked on the road. Sia flipped open the center console, and produced a glass pipe and zippo lighter. Bracing the steering wheel between her knees, she lit whatever was inside and inhaled deeply. Then, she passed it over to Seth.
"Do you think it's a good idea?"
"'Do you think it's a good idea?'" Sia mockingly repeated. "'Are you a nurse?' Lemme ask you a question, what was sooo important you couldn't wait ten minutes for those kids to get ice cream? Had to go ruin my night instead, draggin' my rear end down to the goddamn Everglades..."
Seth looked down at his shirt, frayed from being cut with medical shears. He flipped down the sun visor and opened the mirror. He first observed his bloody left eye, but then noticed that his pupils seemed depthless and empty, with no light shining out from behind them.
Sia groaned in exasperation. "Look, I got all your answers right here," she said, again offering him the glass pipe. "Consider it orientation. I thought you hated wasting time."
The orange and yellow swirls of pigmentation in the glass seemed shift like desert sands. He let the smoke pour into his lungs. By the time he exhaled, Seth understood that they were not really driving through Florida. This was a waypoint between Life and Whatever-Comes-Next. Sia was taking him to an assessor, who'd determine whatever that Whatever would be: death, rebirth, or return.
"We're close, you were gone for quite a while." Sia turned off a podcast about notable ergot poisoning epidemics throughout history. "What did you see?"
"For a long time, I was in a waiting room. Weeks, maybe months. I read through every magazine they had a hundred times.
"Then, they finally called me in, and I was in a Publix with a list of groceries. I'd start to go down an aisle to grab something, and there'd be an old man right in front of whatever I had to get. And I'd do all of the things I'd normally do: I'd grit my teeth, loudly exhale through my nostrils, every passive aggressive lovely little thing I could do to let this guy know I was waiting for him.
"Except, then I'd turn to look at another customer like 'Can you believe this?' But, they'd be doing the same things to me! And I'd look at my hands and realize that I was the Old Man, just trying his best to get everything he needed- literally as fast as my body allowed.
"By the time I got to the next aisle, I'd be me again. Over and over. Thousands of aisles. Exactly the same, every single time."
Sia lit two cigarettes then passed one to Seth, who didn't hesitate at the offer this time.
The Assessor's long black robes fell off the back of a bench in front of a statue of a Native American man in cut-offs wrestling an Alligator. They were flanked on each side by totem poles, each topped with eagles. One's wings were spread, the other's were not.
As Sia and Seth approached, the Assessor rose from the bench. They shook Sia's hand. Gazing into the hood of their robe, Seth felt as though each pair of eyes he'd ever seen stared back at him. They handed him a manila envelope.
Seth removed a single sheet of dot-matrix printer paper. Under official assessment of the Owner of Faces, it was determined that the soul inhabiting Seth Brunacini had acted with impatience, but was redeemable and should be returned to Earth immediately.
Sia gave him a pat on the back. "Always remember how happy you were when you read that."
When Seth's consciousness returned to his body, he became acutely aware that he felt no sensation whatsoever. Physically, he was unable to do little more than blink voluntarily. A young doctor first noticed Seth's eyes fluttering during her nightly rounds. After confirming that he was able to hear her, she read him his chart.
"We'll start some assessments tomorrow, and then develop a recovery schedule based on what we find. That being said, the damage the aneurysm caused was extensive, and we should try to keep our expectations realistic. The most important thing we'll need from you is patience."
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 05:01|
See whom you bring/House of Min/misbehavior
The magic kids at Kennedy West High School were just another outcast group. We didn't show off, and even if we wanted to everything we could do was sort of lame anyway. There were a few like me, minor talents who could learn minor spells out of grimoires. I knew a bunch of plant spells. Make flowers bloom on command kind of thing. The rest of us were one-spell-wonders, and the spells were nothing special. Tommy Keane's coin-flips always came up tails. Darryl Cowan could make any machine generate chiptune music. Stacy Biers kept her keys in an invisible pocket dimension that wasn't big enough for anything else. We didn't have much in common beyond the magic, but that was enough. We thought we were special, and everyone else knew we weren't much. And we all hung out at Min's house.
Min, short for Minimum, Minimum Lux Reynolds. In my class, when she showed up at all. She had white unruly hair over a vaguely asymmetrical face, dressed like a tomboy, and her mother let her have the run of the house, let her invite as many of us any time. Min's mother was nothing like her: tall, orange curly hair, always wore skirts or dresses. She was cool with magic, unlike most of our parents. She mostly left us alone, except when she came in quietly with a plate full of no-bake brownies.
It was always cold in Min's house. In the summer that was a good thing. That was when everyone even close to being magic would show up, all of the one-spells. Like a floating party, except none of us drank or knew enough magic to get high that way. Not much sex either, with Min and Stacy and me being the only girls and none of the guys appealing to any of us. Four of the guys were gay, and would lock themselves in the guest room in various combinations, but I'm pretty sure most of the time they were just faking sex sounds to try and freak the rest of us out. Most of the time.
During the winter it was almost unbearably cold. There was a charm, for resisting the chill, but only a few of us could do it. During the winter, Min's house was more intimate, just an inner circle.
And we didn't even do much magic, apart from the cold charm. Just sat around, watched TV or had long boring conversations about moral hypotheticals or eighteenth century poetry or whether Babs and Buster Bunny meant 'to Bugs' or 'to each other' when they said "No relation."
That was the way things went sophomore and junior years, up until I ruined everything.
It was about a guy, of course. Matt Vickers. A full year older but in the same class; his parents held him back from kindergarten in hopes of him being some kind of sports hero, but he wasn't a jock then. He was an outlaw. He rode a motorcycle. He didn't run with a gang, but his older brother did. He was a one-spell-wonder, secretly. It wasn't a public kind of spell. He...
Let me just say it: he could make his penis vibrate. Variable speeds and patterns. Hums and pulses. It was a glorious thing, that cock. Shame about the prick it was attached to.
I took him to Min's house, when we were a thing, lots of times that summer. He was pretty popular. He could get beer. He could get weed. Min didn't like him much, and neither did Min's mother, but they didn't kick him out either, not with me vouching that he had magic and wasn't just a 'plus one'.
It was a summer romance. As soon as school started back up again, he started sniffing around half a dozen other girls, almost like he was begging to get caught. I did, and I dumped him hard, and got on with trying to read between the lines of the college materials, find out which ones had secret magic curricula.
Then in the middle of October, with the crowds mid-way between the summer and winter, during another bullshit hangout at Min's house, Matt came bursting through the door. "Laura," he shouted, "You loving bitch."
I turned around. "What?" He was red-faced, sweating, trembling a little.
"You know what you did," he said.
"I do not," I said.
"The crop," he said. "That was ten thousand dollars that you cost us with your plant witch bullshit."
"Don't lie to me, slut." He pulled out a gun, pointed it at me. It looked huge and heavy and shiny-black.
Everyone got very quiet. Maybe a real wizard doesn't have to worry about guns, but none of us had any bullet-charms or battle magic faster than his twitchy finger.
"How about you come with me," he said, gesturing with the gun but not aiming away. "Explain it to my brother and the guys. Maybe they'll-"
Min's mother came out from the kitchen behind Matt, carrying a plate of brownies. She bumped into him. He spun around. The gun went off.
Min's mother shattered into a million shards of ice, melting to droplets as they hit the living room carpet, soaking into the shag. Matt vomited all over the ice and ran. We later found out he tried to hold up a liquor store that night and got arrested, wound up with five years in jail.
* * *
I didn't come back for months, not until January. Min answered the door. She was alone.
"It wasn't your fault," she said. "It was me."
"What do you mean?" I said.
"They realized what I could do. How I'd been lying all the time."
"You're a serious bad-rear end ice wizard. You can make an ice sculpture come alive." I said.
"I can't do ice sculpture. The magic does all that, just from a block," she said.
"You say that as though it makes it less impressive." I said.
"Well, they didn't like me pretending to be just another hedge witch."
"Not to mention the living alone with a magic mom doll."
"Okay, yeah, that was a bit weird."
"Someone had to sign the permission slips and cash the checks."
We had a long talk that night. She told me about her real mother, who looked more like her. She sounded like something out of a fairy tale. The original version, not the ones for modern kids. She had her in some horrible awful magic home-school for most of her life, and then one day she just dropped dead.
We talked more, about ways to get the house title in her name without risking the police finding the grave in the back yard. We couldn't think of anything.
Before I left, she opened her arms, and we hugged. I don't remember Min hugging anyone before that moment. Our cheeks touched. Her skin was cool. Not cold. Cool.
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 05:19|
Water-smiter/the abyss/being loud-voiced
My father was a soft voiced man. His words, though barbed more often than not, were rarely delivered above the conversational level of a polite tea room. He would sit most days in his chair, at his table, with his paper and glass of wine. Below him the lake spread its cold blue arms across the view outside his window.
"You should head over to Kingston," he said, shortly after we’d arrived one frosty July morning. “Take the car.” His bushy eyebrows bristled at us.
My mum died a few years back, while we were overseas, and I thought he’d become more himself in the intervening time. Quieter, more barbed. I explained it to my wife Mariana as we drove the three quarters of a hour to Kingston.
“It’s like anyone, you know? You sort of grow into your niche.” It didn’t sound convincing, and she wasn’t convinced, just looked out the window at the deep blue of the lake as it scrolled past the window like scenery in a videogame. She was more impressed with Kingston, which had a big steam train. We bought tickets, climbed on board, settled into the hard wooden seats for the round trip. There were a few shouts up and down the body of the train outside, something at the front hissed, and the wheels started to turn with a sense of immense gravity. Our carriage was empty, like we had the train to ourselves. The last time I’d been on it was with my father, when I was a kid.
“It’s all water, isn’t it?”
Mariana was prone to these sort of gnomic utterances, so I put my feet up on the seat opposite us while I considered this one. “You mean the lake, or…”
She tilted her head from side to side, then looked back out the window. “Steam. We’re born out of water, the heat hits us, turns it into steam. Steam makes things happen.”
I thought for a bit, watching a herd of cows turn to look at our puffing, rattling progress then dismiss us and turn back to their grass.
“So does water. The Grand Canyon is basically water damage.” I looked at Mariana to see if she liked the line, but she just shrugged, impatient.
“Steam makes new things happen, water dissolves.”
The train whisked us to Lumsden and back in a whirl of coalsmoke and whirring steel. We clambered off and talked about where we would have dinner in Queenstown on the drive back. I noticed the smell as we walked into my dad’s house, a cool musty smell. It smelt like the mould cupboard back at our house in London, which had defeated a series of tradies over the three years we’d had it.
Mariana pointed at the carpet in front of the closed door into the living room. A black stain was coming from under it, as though someone had emptied a saucepan of water on the other side of the door and neglected to clean it up. I reached for the doorknob, which was cold. "Dad?" I said. There was no reply. I turned the knob and pushed the door open.
Water was dripping from the ceiling, pouring over the light socket and the three round glass lampshades and splattering on the carpet below. My father was there, in the corner of the room at his table with his paper and a glass of wine.
"You took your time," he said. "Could you get this cleaned up? I don't think I can do it."
I looked at him and felt a coal of resentment glow brighter inside me, making my belly warm.
But it was cold, and there was too much water.
"Sure," I said quietly.
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 05:28|
Entries closed. Getsuya and Siddhartha Glutamate have until judgement is posted to submit.
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 06:02|
word count: 935
It was amongst the crumbling bricks and pottery shards of Tell-Basta, or Bubastis, that I came across the inscription. Your mother found it, a thin strip of linen wrapped around a cat’s skull. The writing was clearly hieroglyphics, most of which appeared to be names, it appeared strange and foriegn. Not only did it contain unknown hieroglyphs, they were all arranged in a way neither of us had ever seen before. In spite of this mystery we didn’t spend much time on it, there is always more piles of detritus to be shifted through at an archeological site. So we cataloged the find and kept on with our work, but I never forgot about it.
We were at your cousin Kafele’s aqiqah and I was thinking about the meaning of his name, one for whom you would die, picturing the hieroglyphs in my mind. That’s when it came to me. In traditional hieroglyphics there are three ways in which they can be used, the simplest is to represent a word, another is a sound, and the last is as a determinative, always placed at the end, to clarify the meaning of a word. In this way the sun-disc can refer directly to the sun, or to the god Ra, or even to a specific moment in time. The inscription, however, didn’t have the standard determinative structure as these came in the middle of the word.
And this doesn’t matter, does it?
The point is that I could finally see it. The untranslated hieroglyphs served a similar function as determinatives, but they expressed a different kind of relationship, a familial one such as between a father and son. I could picture Kafele’s name translated into the hieroglyphics of the inscription, and while I did not know them all I believed his name to mean “he who judges hastily” or perhaps “he who causes strife.” I was elated, not for the bizarre meaning of his name, but for having finally cracked the code.
There was a time when it was a game. I would translate everyone’s name I knew. The President of the Archaeological Museum of Zagazig University, Professor Hasaun Bakr, was the worker of grief, which seemed apt from the blessedly few interactions I had with him. Others were he who acts guilefully, speaker of lies, supporter of false accusations, unheard of truth, and for myself: eavesdropper.
I cannot explain it, but there seemed to be power in these names. Sometimes it was a stretch, but always the more I knew the person the better I could see how the translation of their names fit them. It became as if I saw branded on their foreheads a person’s greatest faults and struggles in life. As I became more proficient in the inscription’s particular dialect I discovered that the meanings of a name could shift with time, some softening, while most twisted into something darker.
That’s when your mother became pregnant.
She wanted to name you after her father, Latif, a fine name. It means gentle. But I could see the markings, I knew how it would shape you. She made more suggestions, but each one I rejected as soon as I translated them. I never told her the true reason why, if she had known she surely would have thought me mad. But I could not bear the thought of condemning you to a troubled fate.
Still, I had no suggestion of my own. I thought that there surely must be a name out which would give you a pure heart. But I could find none. As the weeks passed I grew terrified, I couldn’t put off naming you forever, sooner or later your mother would name you without any input from me at all. I knew I must pick the name with the least worse fate, but what? An unholy child? One who acts wickedly?
Your mother, bless her, she put up with my indecision. So you were born without a name. Just a chubby faced babe with a tuft of curly hair, and all the best possibilities ahead of you. You were pure. When the Doctor spanked you, you did not cry, only whimpered. The first night you slept through the whole night. I saw you the next morning, swaddled in your mother’s arms, and I knew I was right to protect you from our imperfect existence. Who could put a name on you?
I didn’t listen as your mother complained that you did not suckle, or while the Doctors and Nurses worried about your heart. Your heart! Could they not see how wonderful your heart was? But they were right. You grew weaker, refused to feed, and I could not understand it. How could there be anything wrong with someone as perfect as you?
But I understand it now. No one is meant to be born with a pure heart. A child cannot afford to think of others first, or give of itself. A child must think only of its own needs, its wants, and cry out to the world and demand that they be met, in order to survive. We live in an imperfect world, and to be a part of it you must be imperfect.
So we will name you. I will mark you, and you will want. You will think only of yourself. But you will grow strong and you will be a part of this world. But do not fear, my child, for your mother and I will be there to love you, to show you how to be better, and accept our imperfect nature.
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 06:20|
This week, we shall celebrate the conclusion of Thunderdome’s 7th year with the
If you’ve held a smartphone in your hand sometime over the past decade, you’ve likely run into a Gacha game. These games are designed to entice players with mysterious unlockable content in the hopes that they will go rooting through their parent's wallets, dig out their credit card, and drive their family to destitution all to procure a virtual sword!
It’s a jolly good time, for one and all!
Sound like too much? Well, great, then all you have to do is post that you’re in and write a story, that’s at longest 777 words. Submit said story by 7/28 11:59 EDT. The prompt for this week is Luck. Loose, and up for interpretation as you see fit. Write a story about a character down on it, or overflowing with it. Write a story that explores the consequences of the belief in it all together, or just name your protag’s dog Luck. Whatever, go nuts. Winners and HM’s shall be rewarded!
Still here? Good, now the fun begins!
As you’ll note in the post below this one, I, along with the help of Kaishai, have personally stuffed 100 capsules with bonus words! You will PAY FOR THESE EXTRA WORDS… by incorporating the various flash rules found within each capsule. The number of bonus words have been randomized, because of course they have, and are somewhere between 25 and 200 per capsule! The capsules, generally, are not terribly difficult or specific. Some may be, but GACHA is all about MASS APPEAL. And besides, it’ll be plenty difficult to incorporate a multitude of capsules in one story. But, definitely go for it!
Each entrant may pick up to one capsule from each category.
BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE!
Strewn about the selection of 100 capsules are 30 FREEMIUM DIAMOND CAPSULES!!!!
These INCREDIBLY RARE capsules are loaded up with BONUS PRIZES!!!!!!!
What are they loaded up with? Well, the answer is predetermined, but you won’t find out, and claim the prize UNTIL YOU SUBMIT YOUR STORY!!!!!
Submitting a story that incorporates the prompt that won you the diamond capsule will unlock your diamond capsule! We will be super loving lenient about prompt inclusion in this aspect. We just need to barely see it.
Opening a diamond capsule will be glorious. You will become the envy of all of your friends with your new prizes. Prizes include, but are not limited to….
But, you’ll only be able to open your diamond capsule if you submit.
SO DON’T FAIL, YOU GOOBER.
Failure might mean flushing a DIAMOND loving CAPSULE DOWN THE THUNDER TOILET.
Again, entrants may select up to five capsules, one from each category. Entrants may select one at a time, or all five at once. You could win up to FIVE DIAMOND CAPSULES HOLY poo poo!
So, in summary. When you select a capsule, the following happens…
Choose a Capsule by Picking the category and the number. Example RFT:8, or Genre:20
You get your flash rule
You get your bonus words
If there were any SUPER DIAMOND CAPSULES in the capsule, you get those as well, but they remain sealed until you submit your story.
All of the capsules have been filled and locked. To ensure this, all of the judges have access to the spreadsheet and can see that all capsules and drawings shall be done fairly.
Now go, and remember, the prompt is LUCK
Chili fucked around with this message at 00:23 on Jul 26, 2019
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 11:23|
Once a capsule is claimed, it's off the table! Go snag them quickly!
Chili fucked around with this message at 19:42 on Jul 23, 2019
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 11:23|
Yeah of course I'll need Capsules 7, 7 and 7 from Setting, Genre and RFT!
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 11:39|
Give me 13, 13, 13 across the board! gimme all of the fuckers. and IN.
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 11:44|
In. Let's go 6 6 6 on Character, Setting and Genre and 6 9 on Song and RFT.
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 11:50|
In! 16 16 16 for character condition, song, and RFT. Also
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 11:52|
In! 6 6 6 for character condition, song, and RFT. Also
Re-pick please! You got pwned.
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 11:52|
Re-pick please! You got pwned.
EDIT: Oh wait, I am the pwner, not the pwnee.
Megazver fucked around with this message at 12:02 on Jul 22, 2019
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 11:59|
Simply Simon your…..
Setting is… AT SEA + 84 Words!
Genre is… THRILLER +58 Words!
RFT is… CHRISTMAS LIGHTS +79 Words!
Fleta McGurn your…
Central Character is… A CLERGYPERSON + 98 Words!
Setting is… IN SCHOOL! + 106 Words!
Song is… Wannabe, by the Spice Girls https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gJLIiF15wjQ +70 Words
Genre is… HUMOR +66 Words and a….. DIAMOND CAPSULE
RFT is… A RUBBER CHICKEN +186 Words!
More coming when I get my baby down for a nap!
And Megazver, you're picking 6 for everything but 9 for RFT. Am I reading you correctly?
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 12:03|
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 12:05|
Central Character is… AN AUCTIONEER +120 Words and and a... DIAMOND CAPSULE
Setting is… On a Train +49 Words
Song is… Run Boy Run, by Woodkid +119 Words
Genre is… Steampunk +31 Words
RFT is… Conspiracy! +191 Words
Central Character is… A STARVING ARTIST + 78 WOords
Song is… Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood, Nina Simone +104 Words and a... DIAMOND CAPSULE
RFT are… Death Traps! +139 Words and... DIAMOND CAPSULE
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 12:10|
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 12:25|
Can I get a random capsule from genre and setting pleeeease? I'm ing up as well. If random is too hard I'll take 1 and 3 from those flavors, respectively.
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 12:38|
Alright down the rack:
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 12:44|
Top to bottom, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.
I am simple Chucker.
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 12:45|
Can I get a random capsule from genre and setting pleeeease? I'm ing up as well. If random is too hard I'll take 1 and 3 from those flavors, respectively.
Refresh until you get numbers that haven't been used yet and post!
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 12:50|
Top to bottom, 10, 20, 10, 20, 10. In.
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 12:56|
11 11 11 RFT SETTING CCC, IN
Anomalous Amalgam fucked around with this message at 13:27 on Jul 22, 2019
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 12:56|
(add 1 to each number that has been picked until you get one that hasn't)
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 13:02|
Top to bottom, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 13:10|
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 13:12|
This is not a good post. You gave me four numbers, didn't specify which to apply them too, and are making me do more work. Halp please.
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 13:24|
top to bottom, idgaf, add 1 to any number that doesn't work
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 13:26|
Pepe Silvia Browne your…
Central Character is… WIDOWED +82 Words
Setting is… AT A TOURIST ATTRACTION +122 Words
Genre is… CRIME +129 Words
Song is… Buttmachine, by That 1 Guy +178 Words https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tHlDfejCHkc
RFT is…A TWIST! +77 Words
Black Griffon your...
Central Character is… an ORPHAN +179 Words
Setting is… on A LARGE ANIMAL+51 Words
Genre is… FOLKLORE +48 Words
Song is… I Belong to You, by Muse +194 Words https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZQoqM7l-vlQ
RFT is…Hiding! +124 Words and a…. DIAMOND CAPSULE
Central Character is… DEPRESSED +165 Words
Setting is… IN A VOID +55 Words and a…. DIAMOND CAPSULE
Genre is… FANTASY +87 Words
Song is… What’s Good, by Lou Reed +145 Words and a…. DIAMOND CAPSULE
RFT is…STORY TAKES PLACE WITHIN 5 MINUTES +60 Words
Anonmalous Amalgam your…
Central Character is… QUADRAPALEGIC +30 Words and a…. DIAMOND CAPSULE
Setting is… IN A BOTTLE +95 Words
RFT is… A TRIAL! +98 Words
Central Character is… A HUNTER +117 Words and a…. DIAMOND CAPSULE
Setting is… INSIDE A LIVING CREATURE +38 Words
Genre is…MEDICAL +48 Words and a…. DIAMOND CAPSULE
Song is… Little Bird, by The Weepies +69 Words https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SfqRtd5u-2Q
RFT is…NO DIALOGUE +127 Words
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 13:28|
In with all of the 19s!
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 13:30|
I'm getting to those of you who can't be arsed to pick a number. Standby.
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 13:30|
In! Gimme all the 15s you got!
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 13:38|
Setting is… ON A STAGE +64 Words and a…. DIAMOND CAPSULE
Genre is… COSMIC HORROR +68 Words
Central Character is… 7 FEET TALL +55 Words
Setting is… IN A DINER +66 Words and a…. DIAMOND CAPSULE
Genre is… TIME TRAVEL +70 Words
Song is… My Boy Builds Coffins, by Florence + The Machine +28 Words https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=clF_Df_Jrm0
RFT is… ELEMENTAL PROBLEMS +179 Words
Adam Vegas your…
Central Character is… OVER 60 +173 Words
Setting is… IN A DESERT +56 Words and a…. DIAMOND CAPSULE
Genre is…ADVENTURE +47 Words and a…. DIAMOND CAPSULE
Song is… Piece of Clay, by Marvin Gaye +37 Words
RFT is…A Flying Jacob (google this) +125 Words
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 13:42|
Central Character is… A MARTYR +159 Words
Setting is… UNDER THE SEA +168 Words
Genre is…FABLE +58 Words
Song is… Rocket to the Stars, by Slavko Kalezic +66 Words and a…. DIAMOND CAPSULE
RFT is…CONSTELLATIONS +149 Words
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 13:45|
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 14:06|
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 14:13|
Uranium Phoenix your…
Central Character is… A PYROMANIAC +56 Words
Setting is… IN THE SKY +78 WORDS and a…. DIAMOND CAPSULE
Song is… I Can See for Miles, by The Who +61 Words
RFT is…MUTATION! +32 Words
Pham Nuwen your…
Central Character is… POOR +165 words and a…. DIAMOND CAPSULE
Setting is… IN A SLUM +136 words
RFT 8 is claimed already, 6 is closest to 8 so that's what you're getting.
RFT is... DUEL! +67 words
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 14:18|
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 14:32|
|# ? Oct 5, 2022 10:58|
Try again, crimea.
Look at the picture.
|# ? Jul 22, 2019 14:42|