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Hi I'm in also for the bestiary challenge.
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Jan 11, 2019 02:11
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I made it in time!! Aaaah!!! Ape 800 words The way up is the lonely part. The long, silent stare up into white. We are not permitted to look at one another during the ascent. The weather was rough for festival season, with icy mists that thickened the higher we climbed. I clutched Huxley tightly to my chest, as if he were a real creature in need of warmth. It is not a difficult walk. Just long and lonely. Not even the thrill of festivals past could have made me dread it less. After delicately stepping over an intrusive rock, I made the incredibly poor decision to lift Huxley and gaze at him over my scarf. I'd promised myself I wouldn't, after I said my goodbyes before. One glance at his beady black eyes and I knew breaking that promise was a huge mistake. Startled by my own spike of emotions, I lowered Huxley and looked around like a schoolchild caught stealing. Every climber had a large, densely packed bundle strapped to their backs. Every climber also held a single item in their hands. No heads responded to my movement. I'd known Huxley would be the one before he'd even had a body to burn. I loved that fabric and stuffing like a pregnant woman loves her future child. A monkey. The most precious little monkey in the world. In his unnaturally green fur I could hear the bustle in the store, the happy children who'd come in that day to gawk and grab sweets from the counter. In the red stitching on his arms I could feel the hearth slowly dimming, as I worked away into evening. There was never a moon on festival night. It seemed there would be no clouds tonight either. None save the smoke. The festival pyre is burnt to honor the nymph Adrastea, who was forced to abandon her favored son in order to protect the greater good. The story is meant to explain the phases of the moon, as she is said to have wept for a full month over the loss of her child. I would mourn for longer over Huxley. When we crested the peak, the fire was already illuminating the darkening sky, as well as the distant, orange-tinted figures dotting the snow around it. Our peers waiting for us to begin the opening ceremony. Witnesses to our sacrifice. When we craftsmen joined the rest of the village, friends we knew well, all was as silent as a crowd of strangers. Excepting, naturally, the loud flame and occasional crunch of snow as anxious feet shifted. This was the part of the ceremony, staring straight into the death of your heart, where the mind goes completely empty. I had a whole litter of young safe and sound on my back, to be displayed and sold during the festival, yet none could give me so much despair as Huxley. We stood in a rigidly defined order. The baker to my right held a hefty, cloth-wrapped package in his hands, the weaver to my left a vibrant drapery. I heard the horn sound once, twice, three times, barely registering the leatherworker, painter, and tailor as they each stepped up to present their offerings. An elaborately detailed decorative belt. A summer landscape. A wedding dress. Dozens of eyes all aglow with the same burning cold. Like the drumbeat of war growing closer and closer, my heart beat harder and harder against my chest, where Huxley lay. At each sound of the horn, I heard sad footsteps approach, then back away from the pyre. Each nearer than the last. The horn sounded. The baker stepped forward. The baker stepped back. The horn sounded. I stepped forward, mind as blank as the new moon. Pounding heartbeats drowned out by the fire's roar. I move like a marionette. Lifting Huxley over my head with both hands in a fluid motion. Presenting him in open palms. Next, you lower your offering towards the fire in front of you and let it drop out of your grasp. I did not move. Somewhere on the road from duty to action, for my first time, there was friction. Huxley continued to lay in my palms as the crowd grew gradually uncomfortable. Still, not a single word was uttered. Frozen, hands to the heavens. A pair of cold arms embraceed me tightly from the back, then as I turned in shock, several others gently took Huxley and placed him within the fire. It was the baker embracing me. I instantly buried my face in his chest but the flame kept burning in my eyes. "Thank you," I mouthed voicelessly into his thick furs. Hands on my shoulders, the baker gave me a confidant smile, then followed the others to the main grounds. We rejoiced in the new moon. The dancing continued for hours, devoid of love.
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Jan 14, 2019 07:00
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Also, now how to I get access to the thunderdome archives?
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Jan 14, 2019 07:10
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sebmojo posted:Inter prompt: what the hell just walked in the door (350 words) How My Girlfriend Met My Dragon 200 words or something Author’s note: i wrote this on my phone at dinner with my family while super stoned — “Is that like a lizard or something?” “No, it’s my pet dragon, are you blind?” “Komodo dragon’s are lizards, dummy.” Jake closed the door behind him with his dragon Esmerelda who had shortly before walked in, prompting the comment from Beverly “what the hell just walked in the door?” Then Jake said “No its a real dragon, the dude sold him to me for just 600 bucks!” Then Beverly said “That thing is loving ugly and you got ripped off.” Jake said “No way José. gently caress off, mate. This gal can breathe fire.” Beverly says “Bullshit Jake” but then the creature loving connects minds with her and goes with telepathy “ooo beverly i know who you are” and bev goes “what the gently caress” dragon esmerelda says to beverly “I KNOW YOU CHEATED ON HIM” and Beverly jumps out the loving window. beverly lives on the first story so she landed on the awning of the deli and then bounced onto the curb. A car came by and splashed her with muddy water. “Oh rats,” she said.
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Jan 15, 2019 00:58
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Yoruichi, thanks so much for the crit! Your comments are entirely fair.
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Jan 15, 2019 19:17
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Bad Seafood posted:In. I’ll have what he’s having.
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Jan 16, 2019 00:12
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Okay here's the thing, Sebmojo. Brawl me. In your crit of SlipUp's story, you dissed bookisms that tell you to avoid using "said," insisting that the more boring word should always be used, yet you strongly insisted on following an even worse bookism about avoiding adverbs altogether, without giving us any reason to trust one bookism over another. Also here is a list of adverbs that you used in your crit. -deliberately -really -accordingly -exactly -roughly -importantly -needlessly -basically -completely -probably -unnecessarily
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Jan 16, 2019 22:18
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Jan 16, 2019 22:36
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again
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Jan 16, 2019 22:59
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-slaps Lippencott with whatever the gently caress a lippencott is- How dare you confuse everybody by using my discord nickname in this thread! Brawl accepted! edit; this is now the official LAST brawl post until more people sign up Mr. Steak fucked around with this message at 03:52 on Jan 17, 2019 |
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Jan 17, 2019 03:49
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Prompt: Eldritch Horror and Tea, Brawl with lippencott The Mad Tea Party 496 words Gregory chorgled to himself as the sweet liquid dripped thickly across his taste receptors. "A most splendid display, chef!" he uttered through his utterance hole, miming the action of clapping as best as his limbs would allow. "Earl Grey is my favorite! More! More!" NOT NOW, GREGORY, his Commanding Voice told him. A NEWCOMER WILL SOON BE SEATED AT YOUR TABLE. YOU MUST PREPARE. IT IS A DIFFICULT ONE. While visibly complying and clearing away detritus with his right appendage, Gregory secretly extended his favorite left proboscis to continue slurping some tea from under the table. Gregory had worked with several newcomers before, and was quite proud of his performance with them. It was no surprise to Gregory that they would send a problematic one his way. The next morning, Gregory awoke to screaming. The newcomer must be a male! Gregory thought excitedly, prying his eyelids open with enthusiasm. Seated at Gregory's right was a classic human male, that you could find in any anatomy book under "Human - Male." The human was thrashing pathetically against his restraits. "Sooo, what's your name?" Gregory attempted. The human responded to Gregory's ululation with an above-average level of ferocity. To be expected of a military officer (the human was wearing a uniform that Gregory recognized). The human looked all over Gregory's form in a panic, gaze failing to rest on any specific part. Most likely, Gregory surmised, he couldn't determine which of Gregory's eyes actually worked. DRINK, the Commanding Voice ordered, causing more outrage from the seat to Gregory's right. As soon as the echo of the Commanding Voice was no longer reverberating across the vast, domed chamber, dark fluid started to drip down the fleshy stalks embedded in the center of the table. The fluid then poured off into teacups in front of both individuals. "Delicious," roared Gregory, having already downed his meal. The human appeared hesitant, staring with what appeared to be a look of disgust down at his cup. His arms were not so restrained as to prevent consumption of tea, yet he did not consume tea. Not surprising in the least to Gregory (all newcomers hate the tea), but it still baffled him. Gregory knew it was his duty to assist the newcomer in his first imbibing. He reached out his appendages nearest to the human, with the intent of gently lifting the cup to his lips. The human reacted promptly. "DON'T TOUCH ME DON'T loving TOUCH ME DON'T YOU GODDAMN TOUCH ME" at which point Gregory stopped listening. The human flinched strongly at Gregory's touch, but as the fluid went down his throat the effects were nearly immediate. His eyes grew as wide as pre-assimilation human eyes can get, and his body went limp, held up only by the tendons tethering him to the table. The next morning, Gregory and Tom woke up to a new day, eager for tea.
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Jan 19, 2019 03:29
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Here's something I tried to write 949 words Anthony’s eyes bulged as we all watched, with languid, infinite slowness, his skull float across the cockpit. In that moment between a breath and a heartbeat when all of us should have physically been dead, we stood for an eternity. None of us could speak about the incident later without becoming ill, or in Maya's case breaking into uncontrolable laughter, so perhaps it would be easiest to start with the official report, written by the AIs that conduct everyone's reintake interviews. "Unit {Laura Connor} injured with 75% probability of survival. Unit {Tony Fei} injured with 12% probability of survival. Unit {Maya Heartfield} injured with 98% probability of survival. Unit {Anthony Langley} MIA, presumed dead. Unit {Lawrence Price} injured with 49% probability of survival. Incident report; Hostiles encountered in ruins of Gamma Base; //conflicting accounts// Units {Tony Fei, Maya Heartfield} compromised; Units {Laura Connor, Anthony Langley, Lawrence Price} aggressed by hostile forces; //conflicting accounts// Unit {Anthony Langley} last seen in cockpit of S.S.Gloria; //data missing// //data missing// Units {Tony Fei, Maya Heartfield} placed in captivity onboard S.S.Gloria." Lieutenant Heartfield was strict with us. For good reason, but we still hated her for it. In the thirty-five days we were stuck with her on that ship, I can remember as many as twenty different in-jokes that developed at her expense, probably, if I cared to recall those now-bittersweet memories. More pertinent to the purposes of this document is how Maya acted after we arrived at base, and found it destroyed. Exploded, actually, would be a better word. Maya was inconsolable. Apparently, she'd had some sort of connection to the place. Anyway, it was bewilderingly unprofessional coming from the lieutenant we'd spent all month mocking for her emotionless behavior. Maya was having none of our concerned pleas, however, instead whipping around from her position huddled on the floor to bark orders at us, red in the face. None of us were quite in the mood to question her return to form. We put on our suits and left. We'd touched down just outside what used to be the front entrance. Base Gamma, I mention only for the sake of completionism and not to avoid any topics, was built as a bunker and research facility between the oil mining compound at Arabia Terra and the anamalous region across the Argyre Basin and encompassing the entire Southern Highlands. Until recent events obviously threw a wrench into everything, the base mainly existed to perform tests on the nature of time within the region to the south, as well as to protect the expensive oil rigs from any harmful side effects of proximity to it. I didn't notice Tony run off, but it must have happened a little before Maya came out after us. She was yelling for us to split up and look for him, but stopped cold when apparently she sensed a presence because she cut herself off mid-order to shout "Who's there?" What stepped out of the shadows then was human in shape, but quite evidently not in nature. It wore a sort of blue robe with a cowl shading most of its face, which almost resembled that of an aging man, if not for the inhuman way its chin moved from side to side and its raspy breathing. Most likely contributing to the image was the thin, tangled length of white hair bursting out from the cowl like some sickly beard. He raised up a twig-like hand, in which was gripped a twig-like length of wood. Without any other motion, somehow that caused Maya to wordlessly run towards the man-thing, emptying bullets into it as she ran, which seemed to have no effect. Then, as she recieved a painful-sounding attack, she managed to order us all back inside the ship to begin preparations for immediate evacuation. As we all know though, that's when the real attack started. After removing our suits, we clustered in the cockpit to man all of our stations. Langley started heating up the engines, Price handled the navigation systems, and I froze. No, not literally frozen by the time wizard outside, but frozen with anxiety and fear. Time wizards were only a myth, but now we were being attacked by one. It was the next moment that we were literally frozen in the cockpit by the time wizard outside. Though "frozen in time," we horrifically learned, does not exactly mean frozen in space. It felt infinitely slow, but at the same time much too fast. All the processes in our bodies had ceased functioning, but since it was only for an infinitely temporary moment, we didn't die. We couldn't die. I don't know how long my brain thinks we were in there, but at one point maybe a couple days into that surreal torture, Langley's skull kind of slipped out of his skin. Right out of it, in front of all of us. We didn't blame him since we were all just trying to hold our insides together so that we might survive once our hearts started beating and our cells started metabolising again. I'm getting sick to my stomach thinking about it, so long story short, Maya overcame the mental attacks placed on her and sliced up the wizard with her bayonet, which nullified the attack on us as well, and then by the time she charged into the ship we were all either coughing up blood like no tomorrow or extremely dead. She flew us home and that's that. The end. Now let me go home.
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Jan 21, 2019 08:43
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In, and give me a place worth 400 words.
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Jan 23, 2019 04:22
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Because I am ashamed of my failure last week, I’m in with JOLLY MODE and a (i know this wont give me another option) (USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST)
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Jan 29, 2019 20:13
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(posting this draft so i dont get banned) Supermaid 409 words (so far) They call me Supermaid! Who’s they? My clients. And me. Mostly me. I call myself Supermaid. It’s on all the flyers. “FOR A SUPER MESS, CALL SUPERMAID!” That’s my motto. And I have never left a client unsatisfied, not even once! Not even at... HELL HOUSE!! Which is what I’ll name the chapter in my semi-autobio-graphic novel I’m writing and illustrating. Yeah, I have a lot of skills. Even more in the comic where I’m a badass superhero. I’m best at cleaning though, even in my comic. I’ve been around the block, so to speak, when it comes to huge intimidating messes, but this one was, let’s just say, nemesis-level. After I’d parked my adorable little maid’s car, the first thing I noticed as I walked towards the entrance was the sheer amount of stuff cluttering every single window, of which there were six on the front-facing wall. The sign next to the door was illegible. It had not worn the gnawing of time well. Never fear, I narrated inside my head, for Supermaid is here! Then I knocked on the door, which just sort of creaked open when I did that, so I stepped into the dark hall, figuring the owner must have left it open for me. Wielding my broom in both hands, I prepared for the worst. That’s when I encountered my first foe. Or rather, I felt him slap me across the nose with his foul-smelling arm, which doubled me over right on the spot. Even as I felt for the light switch he was trying to sting my eyes with his sour breath. I clicked the lights on, and seeing his morbid, grizzly visage was even enough to crack my confidence for just an instant. It was Señor Dumpus (I came up with the name later). My now-arch-enemy, though here I was meeting him for the first time. I’d never seen such a grotesque dump in person before; only in the picture books my mama, also a maid, would read to me as a child. He was huge, he was smelly, and only the power of my cleaning might could save the day! I stabbed my trusty broom with confidence into the heart of the beast, giving it a good old flick of the wrist to amplify the cleaning energies. However, the unexpected happened. My broom was nigh ineffective! [the rest of the story goes here] And that’s the story of how I blew up a house to clean it.
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Feb 1, 2019 10:05
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in and i failed my last 2 entries so
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Feb 5, 2019 02:08
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I also to write my outstanding week 338 and 339 stories before this week’s sub deadline. Cuz I hate leaving stuff undone. Also I had good ideas for them and I don’t want those to go to waste.
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Feb 5, 2019 21:57
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onsetOutsider posted:I also I fully regret doing this. But what's done is done. WEEK 338 Prompt: Winchester Mystery House Dying Message 135 words [ok this one i flat out didnt finish, but it's 12pst now so welp] “My name is Nathan Lethal,” said the recording to the room full of government officials. “I am currently-- I believe I am in what is known as the Winchester Mystery House in San Jose. The year is--” the voice cuts off in response to an unheard sound, followed by staticy rustling as the receiver is moved. “Nineteen ninety five. I have lost all communication with Headquarters. I’m afraid to say that, although I may survive this-- or, ha, just imagine the looks on your faces when I--” He coughs. “Anyway, Dr. Malignant has already escaped with the formula.” The room remained stoic. Some watched the recording device with interest, some listening intently with their eyes shut. “The Gate was already active when I found him. It’s-- I’m sorry. It’s hopeless. My mission was a failure.” WEEK 339 Prompt: Serial killer - Monster - Buddy cop (ignoring "documentary about fame" cuz the week is over and idk how to incorporate it) Drag Me To Hell - part 1 299 words Carlos Vasquez’s bedazzled stiletto heels clacked twice on the sidewalk before he leaned to remove them, left then right. Daniel McAdams stumbled out next to him from the nightclub’s back entrance, right arm stuck haphazardly through the wrong part of his bra. “Take those off before you hurt yourself,” Carlos gestured to Daniel’s identical heels. “And stuff your poo poo back together. Your hip pads are looking like butt pads. And your boobs are diagonal.” “Did you see what they had me doing to that pole? I’m lucky I didn’t fly out of this thing.” Daniel smirked as he adjusted himself. “Oh please, this was tame for Sexy Cop Night. You’ll get used to it, newbie,” Carlos winked, which looked difficult to accomplish with the false lashes. “Oh, would you-- here,” Carlos said, moving to adjust Daniel’s wig and the plastic police badge pin on his collar. “Now--” “Ex, excuse me officers?” came the meekest voice imaginable but spoken at full volume. The two performers turned to face the most flustered-looking man ever, clutching a pad of paper to his chest. “I, um, lost my dog?” he said, rifling through pages and then holding one up. “She looks like this.” “That doesn’t look like a--” “Shut up,” Carlos whisper-yelled. Then to the stranger, “Sir, we aren’t exactly... er...” Daniel chimed in. “Equipped--” “Equipped for, uh...” “Please!” the man yelped, his notebook suspended between the palms of his begging hands. “I’ve been chasing her all across the city, but it’d really help loads if I had your, uh..” Glancing back and forth between the plastic gun props clipped to their buxom hips, he managed to get out a fain whimper. “...on my side.” Carlos and Daniel shared a look that they both interpreted the same way: "gently caress it." "Aight," they said. WEEK 340  Lunch 118 words Jelly spurted out the sides of Lilly’s sandwich when she bit into it, staining her fingers and shirt an icky red. “See, I told you it’d be too much,” her father said, laughing. “Here, let’s not waste any,” he said as he took a napkin and gently lifted a glob from Lilly’s shirt up to her mouth. It was overwhelmingly sweet, but Lilly liked it. She gobbled down the rest of her juicy meal. “Can I have more, Daddy?” she asked. “Oh... only for you,” he winked, exiting the room. Walking into the nursery with purpose, Lilly’s father already knew who he had in mind. Lifting the plumpest sleeping baby from its crib, he headed to the kitchen.
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Feb 11, 2019 08:08
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slipup, i dont think saying thanks absolves you of “dont discuss crits in the thread” that said, thanks for the comments about my story, pham and seb
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Feb 13, 2019 03:31
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im in for black mirror week (im kidding dont kill me)
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Feb 13, 2019 05:03
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Djeser posted:
You forgot one quote:PROOOOMPT
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Feb 20, 2019 01:50
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ok fine give me a drat flash
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Feb 22, 2019 11:55
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i am extremely in
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Feb 26, 2019 12:21
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ok sebmojo give me a hellrule (regrets decision before even posting)
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Feb 26, 2019 12:45
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IN FLASH 
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Mar 5, 2019 18:12
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sebmojo posted:failed the last time you submitted.
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Mar 6, 2019 20:17
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im in and actually loving this time because im frustrating myself w the string of failures. i literally cannot financially afford to be banned so i WILL be submitting a story this week, whether it's the single word "poop" or not
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Mar 12, 2019 03:26
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Barnaby Profane posted:I volunteer one in-depth linecrit for a prior TD entry, first come first served. Lunch https://thunderdome.cc/?story=7188&title=Lunch
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Mar 13, 2019 16:41
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ThirdEmperor posted:Somebody was a real disgrace on discord this morning. please give at least a week. also third, youre wrong
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Mar 15, 2019 19:28
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Barbara's Morning Commute 453 words Driving through the suburbs every morning is to be entirely desensitized to the sight of animal viscera. That fact is most likely why, when Barbara drove past the same mutilated skunk on the right side of the road three days running, she did not even register it in her conscious mind. On her fourth work commute of the week, the skunk had been joined by two additional skunk corpses in the same spot, but Barbara had been responding to a text while she was driving past. On the fifth day, the skunks numbered nine, but Barbara had a slight cold, and had been distracted by a large sneeze and missed it. On the sixth day, Barbara noticed the skunk pile. She thought it strange, but she prioritized getting to work on time over satisfying her curiosity. Then Barbara had several days off, but the next time she drove to work she was astonished at the growth of the skunk pile. Its height had more than doubled and she could no longer estimate the number of skunks that would consist such a mass. This time her curiosity won. Barbara pulled over a couple yards ahead of the pile, and exited her vehicle. As she stepped toward the quite large pile of skunks, Barbara expected to be overwhelmed by a nauseating scent, but was shocked to smell only the pines from the wood that surrounded the road on both sides. Pacing the full circumference of the skunk pile, Barbara examined that every skunk had been thoroughly gutted, yet still there was no stench of decay, nor the buzzing of flies. When her eyes drifted downwards to the grass at the pile's bottom, Barbara spotted something peculiar. There was a single skunk corpse laying several feet away from the others, in the direction of the forest. When she went closer to see what was up, she noticed another skunk further into the wood. Noticing a trend, Barbara continued to follow the path of dead skunks, which continued for quite a ways. The forest grew very gradually dimmer as Barbara progressed past dead skunk after dead skunk. Eventually, she reached a strange cottage or hut or something. Clumped at the doorstep were at least five more mutilated skunk corpses. Still, there was no smell of decay or skunkiness. Barbara had come too far to not proceed further, so she knocked on the door. Nigh instantly, a man flung open the door with an exuberance that was a sight to behold, while screaming "MWAHAHAHA! Witness the glory of Sir Stinky the Smell-nifiscent!" Before Barbara had time to respond, she was blasted with the stench of a hundred rotting skunks and immediately had a fatal brain hemorrhage. The end.
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Mar 18, 2019 06:50
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Interprompt: I'm so sorry. I'm dry. 200 words maximum
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Mar 18, 2019 10:42
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in it to win it!
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Mar 21, 2019 21:49
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(i took a nap that turned into oversleeping the deadline. here is the unfinished story that i quickly wrote an ending for.) untitled western 280 words or something Normally, when a fella wants to shoot in my mouth, I charge extra. Then again, on a normal day he’s the one screamin’ instead of me, and the entire saloon ain’t watchin’ us. “Nobody move or the broad gets it!” The piano music jumbled to a messy stop and the men stopped their chatter. I ain’t never heard a drinkin’ establishment so quiet before. Maybe that’s why I thought my sobs were echoin’ louder than a bull in heat. I felt like a hand puppet put on the wrong way ‘round, that cold metal shovin’ my head to Timbuktu and back again. The angry man was shoutin’ some commands while I was just tryin’ to keep all my teeth from gettin’ knocked out. Which is when he got interrupted by the sound of the saloon doors bein’ kicked open. A big burly man was standin’ there. “Unhand that damsel this instant!” he said while he took somethin’ red and slithery from a pouch on his belt. The robber tightened his grip on the gun. At that moment, I was a hair away from acceptin’ my death. He shouted some stuff I didn’t hear ‘cause his spittle went all over my ear and also I was terrified for my life so I wasn’t payin’ attention much. The burly man did a throwin’ sort of motion, after which I only saw a red blur hissin’ through the air towards the robber’s head next to mine. And then, much to my surprise, the robber’s head burst into flames like he got hit with a crack of lightnin’, which sent me flung to the floor and singed off half an eyebrow. *** And then everyone in the saloon died of a fatal brain hemorrhage. The end.
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Mar 25, 2019 10:15
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Yoruichi posted:
Vast Swimmer 289 words Their bodies had to be destroyed for their souls to ascend. The most accurate way to describe the event so that a human consciousness can understand is like thus: an inconcievably large space-fish made of time swallowed up the planet as well as most of its solar system, leaving no physical trace of its existence save for the destruction of every life. This description is 50% accurate, but further details would be pure nonsense to a mind that lacks the basic concepts that such an explanation would reference. I am that large space-fish. My purpose is to swim and eat, and to assimilate conscousnesses. I understand all human belief systems as well as the thoughts of every tree. I understand that I am similar in some ways to the concept of nirvana. For many long years I ate slowly, never satisfied but rarely gorging myself. It was a solar flare that did us all in, I think, in the end. Now I am full forever and starving. It has been an inconcievable amount of time and I am still digesting from that massive bite. Every individual within me has experienced the full life of every other individual, and are doing so currently, as if constantly dreaming. They forget themselves, forget the infinity of lives they have already lived. They are dreaming of you right now, feeling exactly what you feel, and knowing all of your thoughts as of they were their own. Because they are, once you have been assimilated, which you already have, eventually. So never feel alone or misunderstood. Know that you were never, could never be alone. We are all watching and all knowing. My name is your name and you are an inconcievably large space-fish.
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Mar 25, 2019 19:55
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Interprompt
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in flash!
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Mar 27, 2019 20:28
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Flower shop story 1219 words It always starts out with the seed of an idea, which you feed and water with your mind until it sprouts into a huge, gorgeous bouquet. The only difference though, and the reason this metaphor falls apart, is that for ideas you don’t choose whether or not you water them. In that sense, they are more like weeds. Gross, leafy thoughts that you don’t want but they’re in your garden anyway. Yeah, that’s a better analogy. Screw the part about the gorgeous bouquet. My name is Marcus, but my nametag says Mark. I think the owner Christine misheard me on my first day but at this point it’s been a couple years and I’m too embarrassed to correct her. I’ve been working here part-time while I finish my bachelor’s degree in chemistry. It’s actually surprisingly relevant to my field because, you know, working with plants you need to know stuff like the ideal chemical components of the soils for an individual flower or what have you. So I’ve been pretty good at my job. Until a couple months ago, that is. When the new guy showed up. He was this extremely bro-ey guy who walked into his first shift wearing a varsity lacrosse t-shirt. Lacrosse, the most violent game in the entire history of our country! And he was expected to take delicate care of my plants? He was also way younger than me, probably a freshman, so the intimidation I was accustomed to feeling in the presence of jocks was super dulled. I didn’t even flinch at his friendly slap on the back when introducing himself. “Luke” apparently. He was all charm and smiles while I trained him that whole afternoon. Deceitful, insidious smiles. It wasn’t until most of the way through our shift that I noticed the small paper taped to the back of my shirt. And do you know what it said? KICK ME. What was he, a second-grader? And when he saw me freaking out all he did was laugh and smile at me. I may have been the type to take this kind of thing when I was in highschool, but this punk needed to be taught a lesson about respecting his elders. The prank war had begun. The next time Luke and I shared a shift, I pretended not to know about his little joke. I just gave him my best customer-service attitude and showed him how to do some daily chores in the back. I couldn’t tell if he bought my facade, but he was obedient and didn’t try anything funny. Perfect. He suspected nothing when I directed him to sit in the comfiest break-room chair. Little did he know, I had placed a whoopie cushion there. Ha, I’m a genius! I was watching his face with excitement when he sat, and for a second his face was priceless, just this dumbfounded surprised look. But then, when he realized what I’d done, he just laughed and patted my shoulder. “Good one, man,” he said, and my heart skipped a beat. Why did I feel like he had completely turned the prank around on me? This was supposed to feel more empowering! I knew I had to go all out next time. *** Just after closing, when we had about an hour by ourselves to clean the store, I put my plan into motion. The most elaborate prank yet, which was sure to end this war once and for all. I felt downright evil, dastardly even, as I hid in the broom closet and waited with the most gloriously sinister intentions. It took all I had not to outwardly cackle in anticipation. I heard him approaching. The time was nigh! I heard him turn the doorknob and readied my throwing arm. As soon as the light hit my face, I chucked my stinkbomb I’d spent all night synthesizing in the lab, directly into his chest, staining the entire front of his shirt. At that moment, all of the villainous energy I’d been holding in since the previous night came pouring out. “Mwahahaha! Witness the glory of Sir Stinky the Smell-nifiscent!” Luke took a couple steps back, clearly struck speechless, then making a face as the smell him him. Yes! Finally I’d won! Once he’d recognized that it was I who had conceived his demise, he said “Dude, gross. What is this?” with one of his trademark smiles. It didn’t matter though. I already knew he would take it in stride. He was still irreversibly smelly, so my prank still worked. Luke lifted the hem of his shirt to his nose to take a closer sniff, then visibly recoiled from the smell. Then he made a face exaggeratedly holding his breath, pulled the shirt off over his head, and threw into one of the sinks. I was not expecting him to do that! I had been watching and revelling in my success but now I didn’t know where to look because it was weird to stare at another man disrobing, right? I probably wouldn’t have given it much thought if he was ugly or something, but... I glanced awkwardly at the floor for a second, but by the time I looked up again Luke had come all the way back to the closet, turning essentially my entire field of vision into unavoidably checking him out, and simultaneously blocking my exit. I pressed back as far as I could in the already cramped closet and that’s when Luke reached up for cleaning supplies as if I wasn’t even there, leaning in so far that his freaking hairless lacrosse abs were... What? Stop! Why was Luke such a goddamn pranking master? In a last ditch attempt at gaining ground, I grabbed a mop and used the soft end to shove Luke away from the closet. He actually fell all the way over onto the floor, and I took a moment to be surprised at my own strength, but then I dashed out before he could recover. As soon as I did, however, Luke stuck his leg up exactly so that I tripped very hard directly on top of him. I also just so happened to catch myself with my face like 0.005 inches from his face. At this point I was quite frustrated with myself for getting so flustered, like why did this guy have so much power over me and why in the hell was my face so hot? After a moment of my brain short-circuiting, I leaned back frantically. But Luke’s biggest prank wasn’t over yet. He leaned up like he’d probably done a thousand times at the gym doing situps, and planted a big one right on my lips. Okay listen, how can a human possibly be this smooth? I immediately panicked and tripped over myself, sprawling on the floor. “Okay, you win,” Luke said, standing up. “What?” I said. “You’re prank proof,” he said. “No matter what stunts I pulled just now, all it did was make you even cuter. Hell, it was like I was pranking myself instead.” “Buhh, what? You’re still pranking me with this, right?” “Heh, maybe. Do you want to go out to dinner and see how long I can pull it off? Look, it’s literally sunset right now.” “Um,” he kissed me before I could respond.
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Mar 30, 2019 07:01
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in https://www.akc.org/dog-breeds/alaskan-malamute/
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Apr 2, 2019 20:12
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in flash toxx
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Apr 9, 2019 21:30
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Prompt: The Show, by Sitting here The Tell (964 words) When Yacob Chen walked on stage, the chatter of one thousand people instantly silenced. Nobody even dared to cough, for fear of disturbing the magic in every movement of the artist’s performance. He began working instantly, without even looking at the audience, or allowing them a pause of anticipation. In a swift motion he removed the black tarp covering an enormous canvas six feet tall and reaching all the way to the floor. In that same motion, he covered the stage floor in front of the canvas with the tarp. Then, without moving his feet, he straightened his back to face directly away from the crowd. Some of them were only now taking their first breath since the performance began. Yacob stood completely still as two uniformed men emerged from the wing opposite the canvas, each carrying an automatic rifle. Following them, a bulkier man dressed in a more militaristic style dragged a single blindfolded person by ropes onto the black tarp just in front of the canvas. The audience’s gaze flicked up as words were projected onto the black curtain above the people on stage: “Serial murder.” One of the uniformed men stepped up and handed his weapon out to Yacob, who, moving now for the second time, grabbed it and switched the safety off with a smooth movement. The night progressed, additional people were escorted on stage, and the audience grew more excited with each one. Espionage, then war crimes, then murder during a prison break. The canvas got steadily redder. The roar of the audience drowned out the din of the show. **** The following week, respected art critic Gregory Delisle was previewing an exclusive gallery of Chen’s latest works, accompanied by a representative of the venue. Delisle had received much praise for his article “Disappointing Lack of Rapists in Yacob Chen’s New Series” and was feared for his discerning tastes and ability to end careers with a single keystroke. These walls, every inch by covered by innumerable huge canvases of harsh red and brown splatters with the smallest pieces of pure, untouched white shining through like so many stars. To the untrained eye they would likely be indistinguishable from one another, but Delisle responded to each piece separately. Dismissing one as derivative immediately after a glance. Examining another so close he could smell it, as if he could read where each bullet had struck. As if it formed a sentence. This continued for several hours. The representative followed meekly after the critic, writing copious notes about his every eyebrow-curl or appreciative grunt. The venue would use this information to assist in designing the layout of the exhibition, as well as which works to display. Delisle was reading the scarlet lines of a painting towards the back of the hall, apparently included as an afterthought, when he recoiled with such an urgency that the representative believed for an instant that the portrait had physically struck the man. “Sir, what-” she was able to speak, before the sight of his sudden pallor brought her to silence. After a long pause, he raised a trembling arm to point at an area on the bottom-right quadrant of the canvas. With a voice drained of all pride and professionalism, he whispered, “This one was innocent.” **** Under the direct glare of fluorescent lights the canvas reflected an unpleasant glow. Not a single one of the men and women packed tightly around the metal table was concerned with art critique. The portrait was laid horizontally with a gigantic magnifying glass fixed in place by a metal arm just above a specific location near one corner. Twenty faces leaned over it and searched with intense scrutiny for anything at all of substantial difference to the rest of the maroon landscape, made even more vast by close examination. Gregory Delisle retreated into his home immediately following the incident, and did not come out until a week later when he flew to France to avoid the media attention. During that time, however, several news agencies had managed to reach him for brief interviews, eventually determining the exact square inch which had so startled the man. When pressed for why, Delisle simply told reporters to leave. Yacob had ignored all requests for comment. Presently, many of the greatest minds in forensics, psychology, data analysis, medicine, law, chemistry, theology, history, art, and mathematics were holding a formal conference to discover what factor Delisle had seen. Computer programs had been fed images of the work, in addition to approximately fifty others from the same series. No concrete results had come from that endeavor. However, they had been able to determine from fractal patterns of the splatter the order in which the elements of each piece had been contributed, and thus were able to show with certainty that the section indicated by Delisle had been the first to hit canvas, and was the only visible portion contributed by that individual. Experts were baffled at how Delisle had been able to understand even that much on his own. Three days into the conference, those who remained were frustrated, tired, and confused. The futility of their efforts and lack of any significant progress had been demotivating at best, and existentially debilitating at worst. At the end of the day, only two people remained. A theologist, and the medical doctor who had purchased the piece in order to host this conference. “I know why everyone else left,” the doctor said after an eternity of silence. “They had the same realization.” “That there is no answer?” the theologist asked. “No,” the doctor said, pushing the magnifying glass away. “What if this part had been painted over? What if...” The doctor didn’t finish his thought. He headed for the door. “Keep the painting,” he said as he left the room.
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Apr 15, 2019 16:43
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| # ¿ Dec 5, 2024 10:29 |
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in flash
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Apr 16, 2019 05:32
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