Yes OK give me
|# ¿ Jan 8, 2019 10:04|
|# ¿ Jul 2, 2022 15:16|
If you squint it's totally there
Back from the Officially Dead 800 words exactly
Sandra was dead, and she was not at all pleased with the situation.
“What? Check your system again.”
The clerk dutifully looked her up again. “Yes, deceased last night, I’m afraid.”
“I’m clearly not dead, though.”
“The system doesn’t lie,” said the clerk. “Passed away peacefully in your sleep, burnt horribly to a crisp. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have live customers to attend to.”
Sandra was not inclined to behave in a reasonable and compliant manner that befitted the recently deceased, and before long the clerk was obliged to summon security to have her corpse escorted from the building.
Sandra’s day did not improve when she went to the market.
“Come on, I just got paid yesterday.”
“Sorry,” said the shopkeeper. “Card’s declined.”
“Maybe if I put some of it back.”
The shopkeeper did shakings of the head. “The machine says the card’s been deactivated entirely. I’d get in touch with your bank.”
The bank manager looked at Sandra over his spectacles. “Ah yes, Ms Sandra Jones. I was terribly sorry to hear about your untimely demise.”
“Thanks, but I’m definitely not dead.”
“Sorry,” he said, “there’s nothing I can do. Your will has already been actioned. As per your will, your funds have been split 50-50 between your parents and your partner, Chris.”
“What?” Sandra frowned. “We broke up a month ago.”
“Well,” said the manager, “we really do recommend people keep their will up to date.”
“Thanks,” said Sandra. “I’ll go talk to my lawyer.”
“Might be a bit late for that,” said the manager, but Sandra was not listening.
There were a number of cars outside Sandra’s parents’ house when she got there. Her father answered the door, and upon seeing Sandra his jaw dropped. “Sandy? But…”
“Ah, I take it you’ve heard?”
He nodded. “Police arrived late last night to deliver the news.”
She frowned. “How am I the last to find out about this?”
“Well, now that you’re here, you can clear it all up.”
“Wait.” Sandra thought a bit. “Don’t tell anyone yet. I saw there were a few cars here. Is Chris here?”
“Didn’t the two of you break up?”
Sandra nodded. “We were together for a while though. And it turned out I didn’t think to change my will after the break up.”
“Huh,” said her dad. “That’s interesting. No, Chris hasn’t been here.”
Sandra nodded again. “Go back with the others, I need to find something out. Don’t tell them yet that I’m not dead.”
He nodded, and she left again.
“Sorry, explain again what you’re after.”
Sandra tried again. It was difficult to explain to the police that you needed information on your own death, but eventually she managed.
“Ah,” said the constable. “Yes, terribly sad that, my commiserations to the family.”
“I’m not dead, though,” she said.
The constable shrugged. “The body was quite beyond resuscitation, and your partner was able to positively identify it as you.”
“Ex,” said Sandra.
“We broke up a month ago.”
“Huh,” said the constable. “I definitely didn’t get that impression at all.”
“And I thought my – the body was burnt to a crisp. How could anyone identify it?”
The constable shrugged. “Your partner seemed quite confident. I figured if you’ve loved someone that much for that long, you just know.”
“So, you didn’t DNA test the body or anything?”
The constable shrugged. “We had a positive identification. It seemed unnecessary. And it’ll be hard to convince anyone to reopen that case. It was so neat.”
“But Chris probably broke the law by lying to you.”
“Hmmm,” said the constable. “Our lab guys did say they were getting bored. Tell you what, I’ll give them a call.”
He did so, and then they awkwardly sat in the foyer for a while.
“How long does the DNA testing usually take?”
He shrugged. “Not my area, ma’am. Possibly overnight, though. Do you have somewhere to stay, what with your house being burned down and all?”
“I hadn’t really thought of that,” she said. “Did it really burn down? Glad I slept in an alley last night.” He raised an eyebrow, and she shrugged. “I had a pretty big night; I was celebrating a month of singleness.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “Anyway, we’ve got a room you can spend the night in. It’s not great, because it’s usually for drunks to sleep it off, but it should be better than what you had last night.”
She took the cell, and in the morning the DNA test came back.
“Good news,” said the constable. “You’re not dead.”
She nodded. “Good to hear.”
“Also, we arrested your ex for arson.”
“That was sudden.”
He shrugged. “Well we were almost out of words; had to wrap it up.”
|# ¿ Jan 14, 2019 07:10|
Good fast judging.
|# ¿ Jan 15, 2019 19:30|
Gimme a sentence so I can make it into a story please.
|# ¿ Jan 16, 2019 06:20|
"Get ready to take a virtual tour of sydney australia through the backyards of a kangaroo who will punch you in the head fifty times!"
It’s Virtual Web 2.0 Or Something 843 words
Get ready to take a virtual tour of sydney australia through the backyards of a kangaroo who will punch you in the head fifty times!
Tyler looked at the flier, then back at Mary. “So, this is your ad?”
Mary nodded. “Yeah, it’s very Web 2.0 or something I think.”
“I’m not sure what Web 2.0 is,” said Tyler, “but I’m pretty sure this isn’t it.”
Mary shrugged. “I dunno, I just heard someone use the phrase the other day.”
Tyler shrugged. All the other tours were a bit out of his price range. “So, what kind of deals do you offer?”
Mary considered the question. “Do you want the full fifty punch tour?”
“Honestly,” said Tyler, “and I don’t want to be demanding, because I know tour guides probably have their routine or whatever, but I was thinking I’d prefer a non-punching tour.”
Mary nodded, then took a pen and notepad out of her pouch, carefully wrote something in the corner of the notepad, then put them back in her pouch. “When did you want to start this tour?”
“I’m good to go whenever,” said Tyler. “How much does that tour cost?”
Mary reached out a paw and pointed at the text at the bottom of the flier. Payment accepted in lamingtons or frog cakes. “Either of those, or I could also go a fairy bread.”
“I have some lamingtons in my backpack,” said Tyler, and produced said lamingtons.
Mary took one between her paws, sniffed it, and then ate it. “We have a deal,” she said. She reached into her pouch and pulled out a pocket watch. “It appears we have time right now.” She took the rest of Tyler’s lamingtons from him and put them in her pouch. “Please follow me.”
Tyler followed her around a tree, and found himself at the Sydney Opera House. “What. Your house is nowhere near the Opera House.”
“It’s virtual or whatever,” said Mary.
“This doesn’t feel virtual.”
Mary shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe virtual means something different to what I thought. Anyway, check it, Opera House. Sure you don’t want those punches?”
“Maybe later,” said Tyler. “Can we go inside?”
“Yeah, why not,” said Mary. “I know a side entrance.”
She opened an inconspicuous door on the side of the Opera House, and they both went inside. Tyler pushed through a curtain and found himself in a box seat overlooking a stage. “There’s no way that door could’ve led all the way up here.”
“I dunno,” said Mary, “I think it’s virtual or Web 2.0 or something. Lucky this box is empty, we can catch the show.”
The show had not yet started, so they both crept inside and sat down. Or rather, Tyler sat down and Mary stood there because her tail kinda got in the way when trying to sit down in chairs. She took two sets of binoculars from her pouch and handed one to Tyler. It soon became apparent that the show they’d managed to gatecrash was Crocodile Dundee: The Musical. “Wow,” said Tyler, “this is probably the greatest show I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah,” said Mary, “It’s genius.”
The show continued to be the most amazing thing ever until the intermission, when masked assailants stood up in various parts of the room, wielding absurdly oversized and futuristic firearms. “I don’t remember this part from the movie,” said Tyler.
One of the assailants started yelling out instructions, and the other assailants started passing out sacks and directing the people around them to put their valuables into the sacks. “Hmm,” said Mary, “being robbed wasn’t really part of the tour.”
An assailant burst into their box and pointed his comically large space age firearm at Tyler.
“No pointing guns at my customers,” said Mary, and pulled boxing gloves out of her pouch, then punched the assailant in the head fifty times. Dazed, the assailant dropped his gun, staggered to the edge of the box, and dramatically fell over the side. The other assailants, noticing the commotion, started pointing their ridiculously large guns at their box.
“Hang on,” said Mary, “I’ve got this.” She took a radio out of her pouch. “G’day Commander. Need your boys to drop in on some grommets at the waves.”
“What does that mean?” asked Tyler.
The answer to his question came in the form of a troop* of drop bears who descended from somewhere in the shadows and landed on every masked assailant, plus a few American tourists, and started to bite and scratch quite painfully.
“Right, I’d best make myself scarce,” said Mary. “Sorry mate, no refunds.” And she scarpered.
Eventually the police showed up and cuffed all of the assailants, and told the maimed American tourists to stop being such whingers, and the performers resumed the second half of Crocodile Dundee: The Musical.
And Tyler never found Mary again, so he never got to undertake the rest of the tour.
*Did you know there's no collective noun for drop bears or koalas? Someone should sort that out TBH.
|# ¿ Jan 20, 2019 12:11|
uhhhhh where the gently caress is the prompt
Reasonable question TBH.
|# ¿ Jan 29, 2019 12:18|
Good prompt, in.
|# ¿ Jan 29, 2019 19:27|
|# ¿ Feb 19, 2019 19:45|
Don't edit your entry posts and don't be afraid to just make a new post with the extra stuff
|# ¿ Feb 26, 2019 05:55|
It's not like your interprompt entry can get DQed or anything anyway, so what're they gonna do.
Besides FJGJ ofc
|# ¿ Mar 5, 2019 12:47|
|# ¿ Jul 3, 2019 07:38|
|# ¿ Jul 5, 2019 22:48|
Chairchucker fucked around with this message at 12:33 on Jul 9, 2019
|# ¿ Jul 7, 2019 19:04|
I will brawl in Exmonds place, but only if afterward, Exmond is mod-challenged to write a story about how cool the winner is
Sounds like a dumb idea TBH, there's not supposed to be any kind of obligation on people to participate in brawls (which are dumb) or repercussions for making the objectively correct decision not to.
|# ¿ Jul 16, 2019 20:34|
Top to bottom, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.
I am simple Chucker.
|# ¿ Jul 22, 2019 12:45|
|# ¿ Jul 22, 2019 13:12|
Fun Tawny Frogmouth Trivia: They Rule 495 words.
The Owl was sent for. There was only one owl inside The Beast, and that was The Owl.
The Owl surveyed the scene before it. A lot of smaller birds were clustered around a wound in The Beast. The Owl peered inside, and saw blood and flesh. Delicious. It couldn’t remember the last time it had tasted proper meat. Oh, insects got into The Beast, and The Owl made do, but it wasn’t the same as a nice warm mammal, or even a little bird, that was still alive and wriggling as it went down the hatch.
The Owl also saw the cause of the wound. A small fishhook. It quickly gave the appropriate orders. The Tawny Frogmouth and a cockatoo would stay. The Tawny Frogmouth was a good assistant because it looked kind of like an owl, and there weren’t any other actual owls. The cockatoo was a good assistant because it looked too big to be a meal for an owl, and would therefore be less distracting.
The other birds were shooed away.
The Owl was the most skilled surgeon inside The Beast, as long as the surgery mostly involved cutting things. The cockatoo and The Tawny Frogmouth gently pulled the flesh on either side of the wound apart, and The Owl reached inside the wound with its beak. It cut away at the flesh beside the fishhook; it would agitate The Beast slightly, but it would be better in the long term.
The wound shook slightly as The Owl sliced, and the cockatoo and The Tawny Frogmouth almost let go. The Owl turned its head around to stare at them, and they quickly steadied their grip.
After a little more slicing, The Owl gingerly pulled the hook from the wound, then nodded to The Tawny Frogmouth and the cockatoo, who released and let the wound close.
The Owl then sent for The Chickens. No other inhabitant of The Beast could tell either of them apart, so they were always referred to in the plural. The Chickens also made good assistants, because they, also, were too big to be an owl meal.
Also, The Chickens could open a portal to the Demonic Realm of the Wollongong KFC.
The Chickens started squawking in unison, softly at first, then louder and louder until they raised an unholy cackle that shook the insides of The Beast. Between them, a red and white portal opened. On the other side of the portal was a deep fat fryer. The Owl took the fishhook and tossed it through the portal, where it sunk into the boiling fryer to eventually join with chicken flesh and maybe eventually, Beast willing, an unsuspecting customer’s mouth.
The Chickens ceased their cackling, and the portal closed.
The Owl nodded to The Tawny Frogmouth, The Chickens and the cockatoo, and went back to its roost. In time, with the fishhook gone, The Beast’s wound was able to heal over.
|# ¿ Jul 28, 2019 12:56|
Contribute any of my stories ever to any 'Zine should you so choose. Except for the one I deleted from this thread, probs.
|# ¿ Aug 2, 2019 12:03|
Thank you for the compliment, Chili, contractually obligated though it may be it was still appreciated.
|# ¿ Aug 15, 2019 07:35|
I'll unburden your face with my fist
(and also another)
|# ¿ Aug 21, 2019 12:46|
PROMPT: your muse leaves you.
That You Wanted to See Fly 388 words
Wilson picked up his paintbrush and started to paint Charlie.
He had discovered Charlie on the path of one of his walks. The walks he hadn’t needed since he’d found him. Charlie had had a damaged wing, so Wilson had taken him home, cleaned him off and borrowed an old budgie cage to hold him. And he’d drawn Charlie.
He didn’t know what it was about Charlie, but after that first drawing the floodgates had opened. It wasn’t just pictures of Charlie. Charlie’s chirping had made him paint a river scene. When he’d accidentally left Charlie out in the rain – not for long mind you – Charlie’s indignant squawks and shaking off water had made him sketch a dog, blurrily shaking muddy water onto people around it.
The first time Charlie had tried to fly, he’d started to draw him before checking to see if he’d injured himself with his less than smooth landing. Charlie had seemed fine, so Wilson had gone back to the drawing.
He’d never found out what kind of bird Charlie was. It seemed almost obscene to cage Charlie’s potential by putting a label on him. “Quite right,” a voice within him had sarcastically said, “much better to cage him with an actual literal cage.” A voice he’d ignored because after all, Charlie hadn’t been able to fly properly.
Until he had been able to. And he’d painted Charlie as he’d flapped around his small living room, flying into the window again and again as he’d tried to get out.
Now, as Wilson picked up his paintbrush, Charlie seemed to be sulking. He was still beautiful, though. Still worth painting.
Wilson put the paintbrush to the canvas, then put it down again. He opened the door to his backyard, then the door to Charlie’s cage. He watched as Charlie hopped to the edge of the cage, cocked his head to one side as if expecting a trick, then slowly flew out his door and over the trees.
The image of Charlie’s flight still in his mind, Wilson picked up the paintbrush again, then shook his head and put it down again. The image was already fading, as was his desire to paint.
Maybe he would become a writer instead, he thought, they probably didn’t have this problem.
|# ¿ Aug 25, 2019 13:15|
Not sure I really have time to write this weekend
Nevertheless, I am in, gimme some pirates.
|# ¿ Sep 17, 2019 07:30|
Extremely enthusiastic pirates
Plunder 991 words including title
Sometimes, one’s recent experiences can affect the choices one makes. For example, I’d just moments ago experienced the sight of my boyfriend, Mike, cheating on me with some random bikini model at the party, in his cabin on his yacht, and that may have influenced my choices immediately after meeting the pirates.
“Avast, wench!” said the shortest of the pirates, and I felt like I didn’t really need personal comments about my size from underaged delinquents, but then I realized he was being piratey or whatever.
“What?” I asked, because it’d been a rough day and this added situation was hard to process.
“Hand over your booty,” said a pirate with an eyepatch that was flipped up so she could still see out of that eye.
“Aren’t you a bit young for… ohhhh.”
“Never too young to be a pirate,” said the last of the pirates, who had a hat that marked him as probably being the Captain. “We’re here to plunder jewels or whatever loot you have.”
I looked around. “Where’s your ship?” Eyepatch pointed over the side of the ship. I peered over to see the last remnant of a canoe get crushed underneath the prow of the yacht. “I may have some bad news about your ship,” I told them.
“Hmmm,” said Captain, “well, we’ll have to do something about that, but first, we have to plunder this vessel. I sense there’ll be jewels or a TV or something in the captain’s cabin.”
“Yeah,” I said, “I maybe wouldn’t go in there right now. There’s a couple of naked people in there.”
“Gross,” said Shorty.
“Yeah, gross,” said Captain, although with slightly less conviction. I guess he was kinda around puberty age, confusing time for any kid, let alone a pirate.
“Anyway,” I said, “the captain keeps his best stuff in the hold.” Best stuff was, of course, subjective. But the stuff that would hurt him most to lose was in there. Now maybe technically it was stealing to help the pirates knock off some of my soon to be ex’s belongings, but possessions are a funny thing, aren’t they? For example, he’d previously told me that I owned his heart, but at that moment he was ’giving it’ to some bimbo.
You know, when I thought about it, I was probably being unfair on her. In all likelihood, he’d told her that it was over between us and that I was just hanging around because I didn’t know how to let go.
Like he’d told me about his previous ex when he started with me.
Dammit, I was the previous home wrecker, wasn’t I?
So anyway, I was in a rather confused state of mind when I showed the pirates how to break into the hold.
“Wow, keen gear,” said Shorty, and he was right, much as I hated to admit it, Mike’s gear was extremely keen. Maybe that was part of why it’d been so easy for me to overlook what was now, in retrospect, so obvious: that he was a complete jackass. And every time he’d do something that I shouldn’t have been able to overlook, he’d be extremely generous to me, and I’d forget that I was mad, because it was so nice of him to take me out to that fancy restaurant, and dammit now I was getting angry at myself. So now I needed to get revenge on him for that, too.
“I’m pillaging this awesome statue,” said Shorty. The statue was one of Mike’s sporting trophies. Not just any trophy, though, it was inlaid with actual gems. He’d gotten it for shooting.
Shooting. What kind of tool does recreational shooting?
OK, so now I was just getting angry at any activity Mike did. Sorry sports shooters, I’m sure you’re mostly fine, and would never cheat on your girlfriend but tell the new one that you’d already ended it.
The statue was very awesome, though.
“This book looks pretty piratey,” said Eyepatch, and you know what, I can kind of see it. It was also extremely rare and expensive, so good choice, girl. “The Crownomicon,” she read off the cover.
I shrugged. “It’s about birds.” I couldn’t think of anything to despise about that, birds are rad.
“Neat!” she said.
Captain appeared to have found his chosen loot, as well. “This hat looks a little bit fancier than mine,” he said. And it’s true, Mike’s tricorn hat was the genuine article.
“Can I have the Captain’s hat then?” asked Eyepatches.
“Sure,” he said. “But now I’m the Ultra Captain, and that outranks the Captain.”
She shrugged in acceptance, and the trade was made.
“All right,” said Captain. “We need to find a new pirate ship, now. We can’t take this one, it’s too big.”
“If you’ll take me on your crew, I think I can help you with that,” I said.
“You have to be cabin girl, though,” said Shorty. “Which means I outrank you.”
“All right,” I said. So, I led the three of them to the dinghy that hung over the side of the yacht. “Wait here,” I said, “I’ll be right back.”
“What took you so long?” asked Eyepatches when I returned.
“Had to make sure we couldn’t be followed.” I pressed the button that lowered the dinghy into the water, then disconnected it and activated the motor. Never mind discretion, I wanted Mike to notice someone stealing his lifeboat.
Sure enough, in a few minutes, the yacht turned about and started to follow us. Or it would’ve, if anyone had bothered to check the anchor, which I’d lowered while the pirates waited for me. The yacht laboured, then the prow dove into the water, and then water started to cover it.
“Wow,” said Shorty.
“Oh, don’t worry about them, they’ll be fine,” I said. “They can swim.”
“We sunk another ship! We’re amazing pirates!”
“Yeah,” I said, and gave him a hug. “You’re the best pirates ever.”
|# ¿ Sep 22, 2019 15:15|
Thanks for fast(ish) judgin' and crits, Mojo.
|# ¿ Sep 25, 2019 07:20|
|# ¿ Oct 2, 2019 13:19|
I appreciate the Judge's feedback. As it seems my intent was not fully understood, I have done a reading of my story to hopefully emphasize what I was trying to do.
Someone is going to yell or passive aggressively snark at you soon, so to pre-emptively clarify their position, responding to crits within this thread is frowned upon. You can do so in Discord or whatever, and there might be a separate thread or something I dunno.
|# ¿ Oct 26, 2019 00:46|
You've gone soft Mojo
|# ¿ Oct 26, 2019 05:08|
OK. Yes. Merc. I will do this. In.
Also grats on winning.
|# ¿ Oct 30, 2019 06:22|
A sudden and violent bout of laziness
I am Weary, Let Me Rest 1000 words including title.
“Get up, Bob.”
“What?” Bob rolled over and looked out the window. The sun was barely up. “Too early. Few more hours.” He rolled back over.
“There’s adventurers in the tower. Come on, look sharp. Time to earn our keep.”
Bob grumbled, then swung his legs over the end of his bed and stretched. They’d only sent one person to wake him up. Presumably everyone else was either fighting the adventurers or getting to their stations. “It’ll take them ages to get this high up the tower anyway. I could afford to sleep for at least another hour.”
“Stop being a lazy git, Bob. Don’t know why Paul keeps you on staff.”
Paul, the Dark Lord of Necromancy, kept Bob on staff because he could punch a hole through an adventurer. He was also a bit less inclined toward eating his colleagues than other ogres were. Bob needed his sleep, though, and Paul and his other minions needed to understand that. Bob got up, stretched again, then walked over to the man who’d woken him up and picked him up.
“What are you doing, Bob? Put me down you oaf!” Bob threw him out the window, then went back to bed.
Bob woke up again to a discussion between two Death Knights.
“So, why’d we capture it instead of just killing it?”
The ‘it’ in question was a Pixie, whom they’d somehow captured and stuffed into a potion bottle.
“Bait, see. Its friends will come and try to rescue it, then we’ve got them too.”
“Oi Bob, wake up, you lazy prat. We’re setting a trap.”
“Wake me up when they’re closer.”
“No, we need you fresh. Get up now!”
“Just give me half an hour.” One of them kicked him. “Ow! Fine, I’m up!”
He got up, swung his legs over the end of the bed, and stretched.
You know what, Death Knight or no, they still weren’t that big. And having woken him up, they weren’t paying attention to him. He grabbed the one closest to him. “What? Bob, put me -“ but it was too late, and Death Knight number one was on his way out the window.
Death Knight number two turned around at the sound of his screaming comrade, dropped the potion bottle with the Pixie in it and reached for his sword, but Bob thumped him over the head and he crumpled to the ground. After sending him out the window to join his fellow Death Knight, Bob picked up the potion bottle and inspected the Pixie inside.
“Are you going to eat me?” she asked.
“Not much meat on a Pixie,” said Bob.
“So, what are you going to do to me?”
“Are you going to try to stop me from sleeping?”
“Good,” said Bob. He put the potion bottle down, then went back to bed. “Keep quiet, and you stay unsquashed.”
The pixie kept quiet, and Bob fell asleep.
Bob woke up again to the adventurers discussing what to do with a sleeping ogre.
“Ogres are evil,” said the Knight. “That’s just science. We should kill him.”
“He seemed pretty chill,” said the Pixie. “Considerately didn’t eat or squish me, and saved me from the Death Knights.”
“All right,” said a Priest, “but it’s his job to stop us from getting to the top of the tower.”
Bob cleared his throat, and they all turned to him. Apart from the Pixie, the Knight and the Priest, there was also an Enchantress. Pretty standard as far as adventuring parties go. Well, the Pixie was a bit exotic. “Any chance you could have this discussion elsewhere?” he asked. “It’s hard to get some shuteye with you lot bickering about whether to heroically murder me in my sleep.”
“If all you want is sleep, why don’t I just put a sleeping enchantment on you?” asked the Enchantress. “You’ll have a couple more hours of the most refreshing sleep you ever had.”
“If you can give magically enhanced sleep, why aren’t we doing that every night?” asked the Knight.
“We might need to be able to wake you up. Our large friend here won’t be woken up by anything short of a counterspell until the spell expires.”
“Make it so,” said Bob, and she made it so.
It was the best sleep Bob had ever had. He figured he’d better go up the tower and see where the adventurers had gotten to. See if Paul – the Dark Lord of Necromancy – needed a hand.
The adventurers seemed to have done quite well. The corpses of Paul’s other minions littered the area. As Bob climbed even higher, some of the corpses started to rise again. Bob sighed. I mean sure, as a Dark Lord of Necromancy that was kind of Paul’s ‘thing’, but the walking dead were just unbelievably creepy. Bob made sure to swat any undead he passed into the walls, or pull their heads off.
He finally made it to Paul’s throne room. Paul (TDLON) was hovering about ten feet above the ground, hands outstretched in a magical battle with the Enchantress. The Enchantress had enchanted a forcefield, which the Pixie and the priest were both also inside. The Knight was lying at Bob’s feet.
“Oh, so nice of you to join us,” said Paul, the Dark Lord of Necromancy. “Have a good sleep, did you? After we’re done dispatching this lot, you and I are going to have a serious chat about worker responsibilities, like not sleeping on the job when adventurers are in the tower.”
Bob considered this. Paul TDLON had shifted his attention back to the Enchantress in her bubble. Bob picked up the Knight and threw him. The armour clad missile collided with the levitating Dark Lord, the momentum carrying them both out the window.
Bob’s unemployment was fortunately brief, as the adventurers had a sudden opening for someone with his skillset, and a keen understanding of his need for sleep.
|# ¿ Nov 3, 2019 11:53|
|# ¿ Nov 14, 2019 06:01|
Didn’t I Make You Feel? 1292 words including title
I woke up in a hotel bathtub filled with ice, which in my experience is never the best way to start your afternoon. My chest hurt, and I looked down to see a scar. I didn’t feel anything but sore, and my lack of other feelings is something that would normally have worried me, except… well you can see where this is going, I think. The conversation from the other room seemed worth listening into.
“So, why did we stitch her back up again?”
“Miss Hathaway likes it that way. It’s neater. Less mess makes the room cheaper, and makes it easier to get a booking in the future.”
Right. They probably didn’t expect me to still be alive, either, which to be fair is entirely reasonable. Not too many people were sufficiently connected or paranoid to arrange for ‘insurance’. I looked around the room. I was naked, my clothes were not in the room, and two people who thought I was dead and would probably like to ensure that I became that way were on the other side of the room’s only door.
The shower curtain rod came away relatively easily, although not as quietly as I might’ve hoped, and the conversation in the other room stopped. I slipped behind the door, struck the first man to come through the door in the head from behind with the shower curtain rod, then slammed the door on the second man until he stopped moving.
It was a bit messy, but it wasn’t my hotel booking so I didn’t let it worry me.
My clothes and purse were in a neat pile in the next room, presumably ready to be disposed of or sold or whatever organ thieves do with the stuff of people they’ve killed. I grabbed my phone and called Geoff while I got dressed.
“Hey mate,” I said when he answered the phone. “So, good news, the insurance worked, to the extent that I’m not dead.”
“Great,” he said, “although I take it that means you’re in a bit of a situation right now.”
“A bit, of one, yeah,” I agreed.
“Got any information for the second step?”
“They mentioned a Miss Hathaway, but then they heard me moving about and I had to kill them both.”
“That’s a start. I’ll run some searches. Meanwhile, maybe go through their pockets or something.”
“Right. Talk later.”
Nothing in their pockets but the room key. I washed everything that I’d touched, then locked the corpses in and left.
Bentley jumped up on me and licked my face when I got home, so I guess my involuntary surgery hadn’t changed me enough that he noticed. I was in a hurry, though, so I pushed him aside and went to check on Thomas. Part two of the insurance was kicking in, which meant I was feeling a compulsion to go and get back what had been taken from me. Without that step, becoming Heartless tended to be something people didn’t try to reverse. People who didn’t feel didn’t go out of their way to be able to.
“Hey Mum!” said Thomas. He stopped when he saw my face. I may not have smelled different to Bentley, but I looked different to Thomas. “What’s happening, Mum?”
“Pack a bag with some things. You need to stay with your aunt.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Something came up.” I had no intention of explaining the intricacies of Heartlessness Insurance to a child, and I couldn’t leave him home by himself; someone might call child services if a child was unattended too long, and that was an inconvenience that might slow me down.
Bentley jumped up on me again, and I booted him in the ribs, not hard enough to do any damage – a trip to the vet was an inconvenience that I didn’t need – but enough to discourage. He whimpered and left.
“Mum!” Thomas was staring at me.
“Pack your bags, now. I’m in a hurry.”
“You kicked Bentley!”
“He’ll be fine, it wasn’t that hard. I’ve got to get some things, your bags had better be packed by the time I’m done.”
I went to my room and grabbed the pistol I’d stashed for this occasion, plus some extra money and a few changes of clothes.
Thomas was still staring at his wardrobe with an empty bag when I got to his room.
“Here,” I said, grabbing clothes from his wardrobe. “Underwear, socks, shirts, pants, toothbrush. This was not that hard. Let’s go.”
“What about Bentley?”
“There’s food in his bowl for at least a week. He’ll be fine.”
“Let’s go. Get in the car.”
Forty minutes later, Thomas was at Julia’s place, and I was at Geoff’s.
“So, there’s one notable Heartless with a surname of Hathaway,” he said.
“Only lead I’ve got,” I said. “Where’s she live?”
“Currently staying at the Penthouse Suite of the Pelagio Hotel.”
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“You know it?”
“I just had heart surgery there. She’s really harvesting organs in the hotel she’s staying in?”
“Indeed. Anything I need to know for this step?”
“If your heart has been put in someone, don’t kill them.”
He shrugged. “We’re approaching uncharted territory in Heartlessness Insurance.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “I asked for budget insurance.”
He handed me an esky. “Put your heart in that and bring it back here.”
I shook my head, but I took it from him. “While I’m there I’ll see if I can steal you some proper organ shipping containers, too.”
“Can I help you?” asked the man at the front desk.
“I’m a friend of Miss Hathaway,” I said. “She’s up at the penthouse. I’m just here to visit her.”
“Hmm,” he said, “she didn’t tell us to expect anyone. I’ll just give her a call.”
There was no one else in the lobby, so I pointed my pistol at his head, and said, “Please don’t. Just give me the key to the penthouse, and keep your hands away from the panic button or whatever you’ve got on that side.”
He nodded, took the key from behind him, and handed it to me.
“Thanks,” I said, and then I shot him in the head. On the whole, I didn’t think I could trust him not to raise the alarm, and this way seemed simplest and quickest.
I let myself into the penthouse, and walked into the master bedroom, where a young woman was playing on her phone.
“You must be Miss Hathaway,” I said.
“And who the blazes are you?”
“I want my heart back.”
“Oh that.” She waved dismissively at a box on the nearby dresser. “I looked it up, and it seems like it would be more trouble than it’s worth, putting that thing inside me. Better to remain Heartless. You’re welcome to take it.”
“Thanks,” I said, and picked up the box. I started to leave, then stopped in the bedroom’s doorway.
An hour or so later, when I returned to Geoff’s place and had my heart put back, all my feelings gradually came back. I remembered kicking Bentley, and remembered how cold I was towards Thomas. I remembered killing two men in the hotel bathroom, and another in the hotel lobby. I felt terrible about all of that. Well, more just nauseous about the men in the bathroom. I can’t believe I bashed a man’s brains out with a shower rod.
I don’t feel bad about shooting Miss Hathaway, though. Not one bit. I almost wish I’d cared enough to ask her why first, but I’d been Heartless long enough to know.
The thing I feel worst about is that part of me misses being Heartless.
|# ¿ Nov 17, 2019 13:07|
Hello Dome merry Christmas
|# ¿ Dec 25, 2019 06:41|
Hello I am in this week give me an addiction please.
|# ¿ Dec 27, 2019 16:06|
|# ¿ Jul 2, 2022 15:16|
Selected Phone Logs of Mr Theodore McDevitt 563 words including title
17 Apr 2010, 5:34 pm
“Hey Ted, you coming or what?”
“Nah mate, told you, single dad life doesn’t leave much time for pub crawls.”
“You’ve changed, man. Old Ted would’ve strapped that kid to his back and joined the lads.”
“Yeah, I know, probably would’ve tried to trade her in for a beer too. It’s not all bad though, turns out the ladies love a single dad.”
“Yeah, just gotta get a babysitter if you want to seal the deal, right?”
“Nah, I could just strap her on my back.”
“Mate. Too far.”
“Oh, for the love of… she’s out of her pram again. How? I have attached every baby restraining device known to man to this kid.”
“Good luck with the baby wrangling. We’ll think of you while we’re getting blind.”
“Oh great, she’s out of her clothes too. See ya mate, I gotta deal with this situation.”
02 Mar 2019, 3:32 pm
“Hey Marisa, honey, what’s happening?”
“OK, so Dad, I don’t need a lift from school anymore – I’m at Karen’s place.”
“Uh huh. I thought you had Friday afternoon detention.”
“Yeah, but it was really boring.”
“It’s a punishment, it’s not supposed to be fun. How’d you even get out?”
“You know what, that’s not important, the important thing is that you don’t need to pick me up from school anymore. I saved you a trip!”
“That’s so thoughtful. We’re going to have a conversation about this later, young lady, but for now… when were you planning on coming home?”
“Can I stay the night, Dad?”
“You know what, sure. If it’s fine by her parents, sure.”
“Thanks, Dad! Her mum said it’s fine. See you tomorrow!”
“Yeah, sure. See you tomorrow.”
19 Nov 2027, 9:13 pm
“Out the window, Marisa?”
“No walls can hold me, warden.”
“All right, calm down, Harriet Houdini.”
“I think I’m more of a McQueen girl.”
“Steph McQueen, huh?”
“I was thinking Stevie, like Stevie Nicks. Except McQueen instead.”
“Of course. Dare I ask whether you’ve finished studying?”
“Come on Dad, it’s Friday night! I need to be partying, my people call me!”
“No, then. Right. I shall be sure and remind you of this moment when you are stressing about your exams.”
“Stay safe. At least call me if you need to be picked up.”
“Of course, love you Dad, bye!”
16 Aug 2029, 3:30 am
“I know I always say you can call me any time, honey, but this is surely taking the piss.”
“I know Dad, I’m sorry.”
“What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
“I’ll explain when you get here. I’m at the police station.”
“What’s happened? Did someone hurt you?”
“No Dad, I’m fine. I got arrested, Dad. Please let’s just talk about it when you’re here.”
“I’m on my way.”
30 Nov 2031, 12:37 pm
“Hi Dad. I know you’ve got an appointment at the moment, and this will go straight to message. I just want you to know, before you hear it on the news, I’m out. I couldn’t stay in there, and you and I both know no one can make me stay where I don’t wanna be. I probably won’t be able to talk to you again. Not for a long while, anyway. I love you Dad. Stevie McQueen out.”
|# ¿ Dec 29, 2019 15:59|