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Jan 7, 2020 20:31
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The Elephants in the Room Flash: Elephants 1298 words It was just past dawn at the Tsavo Elephant Sanctuary, and breakfast time was winding down. The orphans had been well-fed, the milk was all gone and the humans were stacking the empty bottles into the trailer, ready to take them away to await the next morning’s milk run. Nyumbani flicked her trunk thoughtfully, and turned to Kauwi. “I’ve been thinking. We’re good elephants, are we not?” “Yes…” Kauwi eyed her warily. She was using the tone of voice that meant she was up to something. “And does Matriarch Mwala not say that every good little elephant deserves their milk?” “Yes. Which is why we get milk, every morning. Look, you’ve even still got some on your face,” said Kauwi. He could tell that ‘Bani was leading him somewhere by the trunk, but he couldn’t figure out where. “But do you think,” she asked, smacking her lips as her pink tongue did a lap around her mouth to catch the stray drops of milk Kauwi had pointed out, “that we get enough milk? Because I think we’re very good, and so we deserve more milk. All the milk that there is.” Kauwi laughed. “‘Bani, don’t be ridiculous! We know the humans make us the milk every morning, and if there was more milk they’d bring it with them. That’s just a basic milk fact.” “No, hear me out. What if… there was more milk?” She waggled her ears to emphasise her point. “Every morning they bring it to us, without fail. It has to come from somewhere, right? Maybe they keep it inside one of their big hollow trees.” “But ‘Bani…” “No buts! If I’m wrong, so what? We’ll get to see the human trees up close. But if I’m right, we get so much milk, Kauwi. Imagine it! More milk than even Matriarch Mwala could drink! Come on Kauwi, don’t you want to know? You love mysteries!” It was true. Kauwi thought back to the last mystery he and ‘Bani had solved. There hadn’t been any milk, but Matriarch Mwala had said she was very impressed with them when they’d discovered that hollowed-out log by the watering hole. Maybe this would impress her too. “Fiiiine,” he trumpeted. “We can follow the humans when they leave.” ‘Bani hooted with happiness. “I knew you couldn’t say no to me!” During the time it had taken ‘Bani to convince Kauwi, the humans had finished stacking the bottles and had hopped into their truck. They pulled away from the feeding area, and set off towards wherever it was they came from every morning. They set off after the truck. Though they were still young, ‘Bani and Kauwi could move quickly when they wanted to - especially where milk was concerned. But their short legs couldn’t keep up with the human’s truck, and they soon fell behind. Before long, even the truck’s dust cloud had slipped from view. Panting, Kauwi looked over at ‘Bani. “What now?” Rather than answer him, ‘Bani just kept trotting, and flicked her tail in what might have been irritation, or might just have been to keep away the flies. Kauwi could never tell the difference. Eventually, ‘Bani stopped. “Okay, now we’re going to hide behind those rocks and wait for the next truck to come by.” she instructed. The two elephants left the road, and lowered themselves down behind a rock that was almost entirely inadequate at hiding the two large children. Just as Kauwi was getting ready to give up and abandon ‘Bani to her quest, they heard the tell-tale sign of a truck approaching, and saw the dust cloud on the horizon. Kauwi held his breath, and they both remained very, very still as the truck rolled past at a crawl. One of the humans looked out of the truck and stared directly at the two elephants. Fortunately, it didn’t seem to notice them. Rather than stopping and getting out to take them back to their bed-stalls, the humans just kept moving. “See? Nothing to worry about! Humans aren’t as naturally inquisitive as elephants, and their eyes aren’t well developed. And their ears! Ha!” ‘Bani hooted with laughter. “They can’t hear a thing. I bet they won’t even notice if we follow them.” “But why are they going so slowly?” asked Kauwi “Do you think they saw us?” “No, they would have stopped if they had. Maybe they’re just tired out from the heat. You know they don’t work as well in the sun. Anyway, let’s follow them. But we’ll be careful, just in case.” The two young elephants crept out from behind the rock, and cautiously followed the slow-moving truck. It took most of the afternoon, but the truck finally pulled up at its destination. “Look, there’s the other truck. This must be it! The tree where they keep the milk! ” ‘Bani couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice. “But how do we get inside?” The two humans had got out of their car, and headed towards the hollow tree. They were making the strange hooting noise that humans liked to make when they were happy, and they kept glancing over their shoulders towards ‘Bani and Kauwi. Kauwi was sure they’d been spotted, but the humans didn’t do anything to stop them, so he decided that they were more well concealed than he first thought. “Well, it looks like the humans just pushed on that knothole with one of those strange little side-trunks they have, and they can go right on in. Let’s try that.” Slowly and surely, they slipped towards their goal. ‘Bani tried the knothole first, prodding it with her trunk. When it didn’t open, she stepped aside to let Kauwi try. He fumbled with it for a few moments, but to no avail. “It’s not working. Maybe we should go back now…” He trailed off. No, he couldn’t give up now. ‘Bani would never let him hear the end of it. “Actually, I have an idea.” He gently felt around with his trunk, prodding and pressing. Now certain that it wasn’t going to budge, he unleashed his secret plan. He sidled up to the human tree, and carefully leaned his shoulder against it, casually so as not to arouse any suspicions if a human came wandering by. He took a deep breath, leaned in deeper and— CRASH! The tree splintered under his full weight. He trumpeted triumphantly. Inside the tree were several humans, and at once they all started making their strange hooting noise, that sounded so much like speech. One of them was carrying a big branch with spiny leaves at the end. But there it was! So much milk. This must be all the milk in the world. But before they could get the milk, the humans rushed up, making shooing motions with their two weird trunks. Clearly they weren’t happy. This was all going wrong. They were going to chase the two elephants back to their bed-stalls. Maybe he could distract them while ‘Bani stole the milk. He did the only thing he could think of. Reaching out with his trunk, he grabbed the little thing on top of the head of the nearest human and stuffed it in his mouth. Guaranteed distraction. Would it work? He held his breath, and waited to see what the humans would do next... *** It was just past dawn at the Tsavo Elephant Sanctuary, and breakfast time was winding down. The orphans had been well-fed, the milk was all gone and the humans were stacking the empty bottles into the trailer, ready to take them away to await the next morning’s milk run. ‘Bani waggled her ears. “Okay, so they caught us yesterday. But now we know where they keep the milk. Today’s the day, for sure.”
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Jan 13, 2020 00:37
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Howdy howdy howdy I'm definitely the real cptn_dr and I am *IN* this week bring it on bitches Also because I've been a HUGE SCAREDY about writing in sci fi if I don't submit or submit a cop out this week I invite everyone to BRAWL MY QUIVERING rear end and beat the joy of writing into me Yours sincerely, Definitely the real captain Doctor cause I'd have to be a real loving dipshit to give my phone to certain SNEAKY FRIENDS
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Jan 17, 2020 02:32
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Bring it, Surreptitious Muffintop. I'll brawl anytime.
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Jan 17, 2020 03:57
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I'll fight anyone, I don't care. I'll grind your word bones to make my story bread.
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Jan 17, 2020 04:31
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In The Bleak Midwinter 1221 Words The miracle came on the shortest day of the year. Aroha was reading Old Huhu to her moko before work. She’d read it to them hundreds of times before, and would probably read it hundreds of times again, before the words finally became illegible and the pages fell apart from overuse. “Okay pēpi, I’m going to be late. Gav, come here and look after your sisters. Girls, Gav’s gonna tell you a story.” Her eldest grandchild came over to take over storytime duties. Today was another ‘stories for breakfast’ day. While she bustled about getting ready, she could hear Gav telling the girls a story about how their mountain used to be covered in snow, and the adventures that people would have on its slopes and its summit. She stopped to listen, forgetting she was in a hurry, remembering what the mountain was like when she was a kid. She shook her head, chasing away nostalgia. Nostalgia could wait until her belly wasn’t empty and she wasn’t late for work. She gave Gav a grateful smile, kissed the girls on their cheeks, then put on her ill-fitting face mask and hurried out the door. *** The barbed wire fence surrounding the compound was rusting away and filled with gaps, but the gate was still manned twenty-four hours a day. The guard currently on duty recognised her and waved her through without demanding her ID, while a drone buzzed somewhere overhead. “Bad news, Aroha.” He grumbled by way of greeting. “The cable car’s stuffed again, so you’re going to have to walk up.” “Again? Does it ever work?” “Yeah, well, since Murray got sick, nobody knows how to look after it. And since the boss never comes down…” “Yeah, yeah, it’s not a priority for him. Urgh, I’m getting too old for this.” Aroha sighed. “Whatever. I’m sure he won’t notice that the cleaning’s half an hour behind schedule.” She stomped off grumpily, passing by the currently-useless cable car that would usually ferry her up the side of the mountain, and began to climb the long staircase dug into the side of the mountain. The sun still wasn’t up, so it wasn’t too hot, but she knew that by the time she got to the bunker’s entrance, the sky would be orange, it would be stinking hot and the humidity would be making her sweat like a pig. If the cable car wasn’t fixed by spring, she wouldn’t be able to get to work - the heat would kill her before she got even halfway up the staircase. *** “Hey, it’s the swamp thing! Come to clean the bog?” “gently caress off, Saeed.” Aroha, as predicted, was drenched in sweat and out of breath. “And open the loving door.” “I can’t do both.” Saeed replied cheerfully. “But I’ll open the door for you, since I shouldn’t leave my station. Make an effort to keep out of his way today, he’s having a ‘midwinter christmas’, whatever the gently caress that is, and doesn’t want anything to ‘ruin the magic’.” Aroha groaned, and Saeed rolled his eyes sympathetically. The door to the bunker hissed as it unsealed and dilated, and Aroha stepped into the cool, dark interior of her boss’s own personal subterranean fiefdom. She wasn’t sure how deep into the mountain it burrowed, but the levels that she had been hired to keep spotless - the ones that weren’t strictly off limits to everyone except the boss and his personal cronies- went deep enough. She trudged off down the long, poorly-lit corridor, not even bothering to try and dodge the drops of fluid leaking from the air conditioning ducts. *** Someone had left the screens on in the office. It was probably the boss, since he usually had people to turn things off after him. Aroha wondered where they were. Maybe someone else had left their job - and the dilapidated bunker - behind. People were doing that a lot these days. They’d get sick of the boss’s petty tyranny, or get sick of life, or get actually sick, and just stop showing up. If she didn’t have the girls to worry about, Aroha wouldn’t still be coming in. But even though the pay was poo poo, it was still worth something down in the Queen’s town. On the screen, a news broadcast was showing a city on fire somewhere. Wildfires swept across skyscrapers and caravans of refugees abandoned their homes and fled on foot. She couldn’t tell which city it was, but she hoped it wasn’t anywhere nearby. She finished cleaning the office, and moved on to the next room. In the middle of the room was a long table, covered with food. At the head of the table sat the boss, head laid on his arms, an empty wine bottle clutched in one hand, snoring loudly. The clock on the wall said it was approaching midnight, even though it couldn’t be much past late afternoon. But if you never left your bunker, you could choose your own time zone. Carefully and quietly, she cleaned around the room, not waking the boss. She wondered what would happen to the feast. *** Eventually, she finished the day’s cleaning. It was getting late. The coolers in one of the specimen rooms had stopped working, and cleaning up biological material always took forever. Her back ached, and she wasn’t looking forward to the long walk back home. She thought about the ‘christmas’ dinner, lying on the table uneaten. She knew better than the steal from the boss, but… Before she could stop herself, she found her feet carrying her towards the dining room that she’d cleaned earlier. The boss hadn’t moved at all. The food had clearly been sitting there untouched the entire time. The gravy had congealed, the meat was sitting in puddles of greasy red juice, the cut fruit was going brown. gently caress it. Taking care to not disturb the boss, she quickly loaded some of the food into her pack. It might get a bit squashed on the trip back down, but the kids wouldn’t care. If the boss noticed… she’d burn that bridge when she reached it. She wouldn’t be the first to quit. Or the first to be fired, at that. *** When the kids woke up the next morning, she’d told them it was Christmas. It never used to be a winter holiday here, but the girls didn’t know that, and Gav didn’t care. All they knew was that this was the best meal they’d ever had. Real meat, actual fruit, not even a hint of algae. After they’d eaten, as the sun rose into the orange sky, she took them outside to play. She didn’t think she’d go in to work today. The rich gently caress holed up in his mountain fortress could deal with a dusty toilet bowl for one day. He probably wouldn’t even notice. As she watched her girls running around, something white started drifting down from the sky. “Is this snow, Nan? Gav told me snow was just in stories.” Aroha reached out and let some of the substance settle on her outstretched hand. It wasn’t cold and it wasn’t wet. She hesitated for a moment. Ash falling from the sky couldn’t mean anything good, but she didn’t want to worry the girls. “Yes, sweetie. It’s snow. It’s a winter miracle. Merry Christmas.”
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Jan 20, 2020 04:16
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Anomalous Blowout posted:Captain Muffin Quivering rear end Brawl Lockdown “Attention, passengers on flight NZ413 to Sydney, your flight has been cancelled. We apologise for any inconvenience this might cause.” Andrew gritted his teeth and exhaled sharply. What else could go wrong? He glanced over his shoulder at the damp suit jacket stretched out over the back of his chair to make sure it was still there, patted the lapel to make sure his wallet was still in the breast pocket. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if it wasn’t, but the action of checking calmed him. He wondered if he’d accidentally cut a witch off in traffic or something. The taxi had been late (something about gridlock on the motorway?) and the less said about the weather, the better (how could it drizzle non-stop for sixteen consecutive days?). He just wanted to get home. Was that too much to ask? Someone was still reading an announcement over the loudspeaker, but he’d tuned them out already. He pulled out his phone, then groaned when the little x in the corner informed him that there was no signal. He threw his head back, slouched in his seat and let out a long wordless grinding noise from the back of his throat. Having vocalised his deep displeasure with the universe, he sat up and focused again on the announcements that were still coming. “Attention, passengers on flight NZ425 to Singapore, your flight has been cancelled. We apologise for any inconvenience this might cause.” Ten second passed, and then came the notification chime, that somehow managed to sound passive aggressive. “Attention, passengers on flight NZ427 to Los Angeles, your flight has been cancelled. We apologise for any inconvenience this might cause.” Andrew scowled. The usual noise of the departure lounge slowly died down. As the announcements kept coming, conversations ceased and the now-stranded travellers all stopped to listen to the dispassionate voice informing them of the sudden changes to their plans. They kept coming, the litany of cancellations. One would finish, ten seconds would pass, then the chime would sound again, and another flight would be cancelled. Another cancellation (E340 to Qatar) echoed out across the concourse. When it ended, everyone kept silent, waiting for the next cancellation announcement. The usual ten seconds passed, then another ten. Chatter started to break out, now the flood announcements seemed to be over. The chime rang out again. All the chatter stopped. “Attention, travellers. We are now in lockdown. The chime, again. “Please remain calm. Thank you for your patience.” Everything was still, for just a moment, before the room erupted in chaos, drowning out the clacking as every flight on the departure board flipped to ‘cancelled’. *** Six hours of interminable fuckin’ waiting, with no indication of what was going on. The airline staff had stuck around for an hour or so, fending off questions and making empty apologies, but now the service desk was abandoned, with no indication of when anyone would return. Occasionally a staff member or airport employee would flit through the lounge looking grim, but they never stuck around long enough for any of the stranded travellers to corner. From what Andrew could tell, phone signals were down for everyone, a fact which he was trying to ignore—if he didn’t think about it, he could avoid the feeling of dread that surged every time he wondered what was going on. Every thirty minutes or so, another announcement would come across the speakers, but it was always just another plea for calm. After the first few hours, people had mostly stopped yelling and settled into an uneasy equilibrium. Due to lockdown, they weren’t allowed out of the departure lounge, which had quickly sold out of everything edible. Andrew hadn’t expected lockdown to last very long, and he had a bag of Mint Imperials in his carry-on, so had smugly watched as seemingly everyone else in the lounge had stampeded towards the sandwich stand and travel conveniences store and cleaned them out. After six hours with no food, though, he felt like he was being punished for his smugness. So when another chime rang out, he was inclined to ignore it. “Attention travellers. Thank you for your patience. We will be serving a light meal to everyone currently delayed. Your options are a light continental breakfast, or scrambled eggs with sausages. There is a vegan option available, and both meals will be served with a dessert. Thank you for your patience.” The old woman sitting near Andrew snorted. He exchanged a look with her but didn’t say anything, just wordlessly held out the green Mint Imperials bag. She took one, shoved it into her mouth and eyed the empty service desk resentfully. A pimply kid in their late teens sat nearby, snacking on the seemingly-endless packets of corn nibbles they kept pulling from their bag. Eventually a food cart, and the steward wheeling it, reached them. They were sitting near the back of the departure lounge, and it seemed like the cart had visited every other row of seats before it arrived at their corner. Its trip had taken even longer as, nearly every step of the way, the steward had been accosted by angry passengers demanding answers. “Can I have the vegan option?” Andrew asked. “Sorry,” replied the steward with an apologetic shrug, “We only have the dessert left. We can give you two, if you’d like?” “Is it vegan?” “I, uh, think so. “ “What is it?” “Jelly. And ice cream, but the ice cream definitely isn’t vegan.” “Uhh. Do you know how they make jelly? Oh, whatever. gently caress it. Yeah, I’ll have the jelly.” Andrew held his hand out, and the steward handed him to small plastic cups of bright green jelly. “You’re welcome. Thank you for your patience.” “Are we going to be able to leave any time soon?” “A customer service representative will be with you soon. Please remain here until that time. Thank you for your patience.” The old woman seemed equally unimpressed with the food options, but tucked into the jelly and ice cream enthusiastically once she had snatched it from the hands of the hapless steward. “What do you think’s going on, then?” she asked in a thick American accent. “Dunno. Civil defense emergency?” “I bet it’s the Russians. Always knew they’d come back for us eventually.” Andrew mumbled something about the Cold War having been over for almost forty years. “What’s that? I’m telling you, it’s the Russians. We should get under the furniture, duck and hold.” The pimply kid leaned over and chimed in. “Nah, I reckon someone detonated a payload in low orbit. Knocked out global communications and bought all the planes down. Blam!” They seemed pretty sure of themselves. *** Another couple of hours passed. Andrew had convinced the kid, whose name was Riley, to share the corn nibbles they had stashed away in the backpack, by trading them the last of his Mint Imperials. The lounge had slowly been emptying for a few hours now, people drifting away in the hopes of getting more information from somewhere, or to find a more comfortable spot along the concourse somewhere. People were stretched out in odd corners, napping where they could. “gently caress this. I’m leaving.” Andrew declared. He’d had enough. “I don’t think they’re letting people out, man,” said Riley “They can try to stop me.” Outside the departure lounge, the lights had been dimmed. All the shops were shuttered, and the poorly-lit concourse seemed entirely empty of people. He retraced his steps from hours ago, making his way back through to aviation security. For an airport in lockdown, there were surprisingly few… well, anything. He’d expected there to be more security guards, more stranded travellers, more customs agents or baggage handlers or baristas or… anything. Everywhere in the airport, other than their departure lounge, seemed abandoned, and the concourse seemed to stretch on forever. The air was still and quiet, punctuated only by the click-clacking sound of Andrew’s footsteps, and of Riley’s as they tagged along behind him. Panic rose in him. He patted his breast pocket compulsively, hand twitching towards his chest as his nerves got the better of him. His heart rate rose, and he picked up his pace, forcing Riley to jog to keep up “Hey, man, calm down. We should probably go back, right? To the lounge?” Andrew ignored him. A metal detector made a harsh beep as he brushed through it, causing him to jump, but he kept up his quick pace. It didn’t beep for Riley. Out, past the gates that separated travellers from the friends and family farewelling them. Bag drop was empty of people, but there was luggage scattered about the place, and some clothing strewn over the floor. Down the escalators, frozen in place. The room was suffused with an orange glow from outside. He stumbled through the nearest of the several doors, and squinted into the strange light. The car park was filled with corpses. He felt Riley’s long fingers on his shoulders as he screamed.
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Jan 31, 2020 11:39
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Hey. Now, we like to have a good time here in the Thunderdome. It's all fun and laughs. But I'm here, atop my jiggling throne, to talk about something that's not funny at all. Identity Theft. Sometimes, people go on the internet and pretend to be someone they're not. They post things that are completely out of character and write cheques that someone else's words have to cash. Is was okay this time, because obviously I'm the best at every word. But eventually, your word crimes catch up to you. Hey, ArbitraryFairy. Fight me.
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Feb 4, 2020 09:56
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Spooky bullshit is my favourite kind.
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Feb 4, 2020 10:26
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Antivehicular posted:I'll judge this thing. Your prompt is "the lake at the bottom of the ocean," which is the title of a lovely creepypasta that I think could be a better story in the hands of people who can actually write. Prove me right. Hey AV, can we please get an extension on this?
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Feb 12, 2020 09:24
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Antivehicular posted:Sure. One week work for you, or do you need more time? A week would be great, thanks.
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Feb 13, 2020 08:57
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Captain/Fairy LakeBrawl The Lake at the Bottom of the Ocean 1288 words There’s a lake at the bottom of the ocean. I know it’s there. I’ve seen it. Not many people ever find themselves on a boat in the middle of the Ross Sea, and of those that do, even fewer will know about the lake. I think that’s probably for the best. It was a pretty standard oceanography expedition. I was on the bathymetrics team, working to develop a more accurate and detailed map of the depths of the ocean floor. I’d always loved the ocean as a kid. I used to dream about floating deep under water, hovering just off the seabed, submerged in the peaceful blue silence. So nobody was surprised when I got a degree in marine geology and then found a comfortable science job. The Tangaroa had been at sea for almost a month, and we were on our way back to port. The views were pretty spectacular, but at the end of a trip even the most breathtaking sub-antarctic vistas can get a little… samey. So everyone had to find something to break the monotony—my team was running the fathometer and gathering a big slice of data about the seabed that we sailed over as the Tangaroa carried us all home. I know, that probably doesn’t sound all that exciting, but we were a bunch of data geeks, and this kind of thing was our bread and butter. Around mid-morning, Harrison noticed something weird. He called me over, and told me to check out the readings. The average depth of the Ross Sea is about 500 meters. Sometimes it’s deeper than that, sometimes it’s more shallow, but it’s generally pretty consistent. The fathometer was telling us that the area we were over was more like triple that. We weren’t near any already-recorded basins, so this was an unexpected bonus. We asked the captain if we could stop and take some more detailed measurements. He grumbled, but we were ahead of schedule, and if this turned out to be something big, he’d be glad we stopped. Together, we reviewed the data from the last couple of kilometres. It was definitely showing a downward trend. Nobody was sure how this basin, or whatever it was, had gone unnoticed—it was an isolated spot, sure, but hardly un-travelled. It was decided that the best thing to do would be to send down a camera first. The video team didn’t take much convincing. They got one of the cameras ready and launched it into the water. As it descended, we gathered around a screen to watch the camera feed. Movies would have you think that all live video involved in underwater science is grainy and distorted, but in reality it’s just like watching TV. The camera sank lower and lower. 500 metres. 750. 1000. 1500. 2000. The video on the screen started to dim as it got deeper, but it was still easy to make out. There, at the bottom of the ocean, was a lake. I know that sounds insane, but it’s the only way to describe it - a vast stretch of water, sitting on the seabed. Still, glassy water, reflecting the light that I knew couldn’t penetrate to that depth. At least, it looked like water on the screen. But given that everything down there was water, there’s no way that’s what it actually was. The camera winch had reached its full extent, so we couldn’t get any further down. But even from a bit of a distance, I could tell that this wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen before. Everyone worth their salt knows about those underwater brine pools that’ll kill you if you ever touch them and get named lurid things like the ‘hot tub of despair’, but I’d seen them before and this didn’t look like anything like that. The rest of the bathymetrics team started getting excited. This was the kind of discovery that you could make a career off the back of. Maybe not particularly interesting to your average person on the street, but it’s the sort of thing that would mean you’d never have to buy your own drink at a conference ever again. We tried to measure the depth of the lake with the tight-beam fathometer but it had started going funny. The readings we got back told us that the lake was simultaneously 500 meters down, 10,000 meters down, or “depth not found”. The general theory was that it had something to do with the properties of whatever liquid the lake consisted of. So we rigged up a bundle of sensors and attached them to the end of the deep ocean winch—good up to 10,000 meters. We figured that’d be enough. Now, I know it’s not the 1800s anymore, but every good ocean research ship has a giant winch. Sometimes analogue is the way to go, after all. The sensor bundle would reach the seabed and then, hopefully, keep descending until it hit the lakebed. We tossed it over the side, and it started spooling out. We watched on the screen as it sank lazily past the camera. Everyone seemed to let out a collectively-held breath as the camera watched the sensor bundle disappear beneath the lake’s surface. As it passed through, it seemed to be enveloped by the lake. No ripples or splashes—it was just gone. But it was still sending readings, so we kept unwinding the cable, down into that impossible lake. The cable unwound to its full length with a clang. The deepest point of the ocean, that we know of, is the Mariana Trench. At its deepest, it’s 10,984 meters deep. At that sort of depth, no known multicellular organism can survive. The pressure is phenomenal and I had begun to worry that our sensor bundle wouldn’t be able to take it. I wondered if, had there been another 985 meters of cable, it would have reached the seabed. I suspected it wouldn’t. I wasn’t sure if I wanted myself to be right or not. Then the cable started jerking rhythmically. Tug. Tug. Tug. At first I wasn’t sure what was happening, but then it struck me. Before I could voice my concerns, the camera cut out. I stared, eyes darting between the static-filled screen and the cable for a moment, before I realised what I had to do. There was a toolbox nearby. I grabbed some wire-cutters and a heavy wrench. Before anyone could stop me, I had sliced through both cables and had started to bash up the winch mechanisms while screaming that we had to go, we had to go right now, or everyone on board was going to die. I think they thought I was threatening them. It didn’t matter. As my colleagues tackled me to the ground and wrestled the tools out of my hands, I felt the ship shudder as her engines roared to life. I spent most of the rest of the trip sedated, dreaming about floating deep under water, hovering just off the seabed, submerged in the oppressive blue silence, as a pair of pale, long fingered hands climbed a cable that wasn’t quite long enough. Once we made it ashore, I lost my job. Apparently the organisation doesn’t look too kindly on the destruction of official equipment, or on threatening the captain with violence. They said I was lucky that they weren’t prosecuting me. Can’t say I blame them really. I don’t mind, though. Once I’ve sold my flat I’m moving to America—one of the landlocked states. I just don’t feel safe in New Zealand anymore. The furthest inland point is only 120 kilometres from the beach. And that’s not nearly far enough.
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Mar 2, 2020 11:11
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Fumblemouse posted:Oh, yeah. I'll judge. I can't promise to be either F or G, but I can't resist the lure of terrible words.
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Mar 6, 2020 01:17
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In, , I'll pick a movie when I'm not at work.
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Aug 5, 2020 03:50
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A Drop of Roberts' Blood The Princess Bride 657 words Now, I’m sure you’re wondering what the rest of the Dread Pirate Roberts’ crew was doing while he found himself rolling around in swamp-mud, wrestling a very large rodent. As it happens, at that very moment, his ship was anchored in a cove not far from the border between Guilder and Florin. Most of the crew were below deck, locked in a battle of wits over a card game of their own devising. Jez and Davy, who weren’t often invited to these games for reasons of their not having a single wit to share between them, were up in the crow’s nest keeping watch in case the Dread Pirate Roberts came back early or one of his enemies tried to ambush them while they weren’t paying attention. Over the distant sounds of shrieking eels, Davy tried to make conversation. “Ay, Jez, give us some of that dried seal.” said Davy, reaching towards his best mate. Have you ever eaten dried seal? Oh, it’s a treat! Salty, chewy, blubberous, a single strip will keep you feeling full for days. Everyone who’s ever eaten even a mouthful can tell you–you’ll never want to eat anything else. “’Ere, take the whole thing. I’m so sick of dried seal,” said Jez as he tossed it over. “Every day, it’s seal this and seal that, I’ve ‘ad enough. Why can’t we have some eel? Or whale’s tongue? I used to be a tonguer, d’y’know? It was good ‘onest work, so in the final summation it weren’t really for me, but at least there was always some nice tongue to be had.” Jez’s words trailed off and he stared out at the waves, lost in conflicting memories of good tongue and hard work. “Well when the captain gets back, you can take it up with him.” Davy suggested. “When’s he due back anyway?” “Well, he said he was off to save his true love from a fate worse than death, and that he’d rescue her successfully or die trying. He’s probably swashbuckling his way past one ‘undred armed men, while his love waits for him in a tower or dungeon or et cetera. Or something equally romantic, I would suspect.” Another couple of hours passed. The Dread Pirate Roberts, at this point, remained up to his elbows in rodents and swamp. The sound of shanties from below deck rose up to meet Davy and Jez, still up in the crow’s nest. From the sounds of things, it was time to roll the old chariot along. “Ay, Jez. Why are we sitting up here anyway?” asked Davy, “What are we keeping watch for?” “We’re looking out for His Dreadliness’s enemies. We need to be careful, pirates can happen to anyone, at any time. If you’re not always paying attention, they might sneak up on you without warning.” Jez answered. “Yeah, but Jez, we’re the pirates. We happen to people, not the other way around.” Davy pointed out, not unreasonably he thought. “Right, and that’s ‘ow we know the way pirates operate. Anyway, Pierre told us to come up ‘here, and Pierre’s in charge ‘til the captain gets back.” Jez folded his arms, clearly convinced he’d won the discussion. Davy, never one to enjoy long silences, changed tack and asked, “What do you reckon the captain’s doing now?” “I think he’s in a swamp where tongues of fire erupt from the ground all about him, wrestling giant rats while being pursued by armed soldiers.” “That seems a bit unlikely, Jez.” “Yeah...” “Yeah.” “Do y’ever wonder why the captain looks like he’s only about 25 but stories of the Dread Pirate Roberts ‘ave been around for decades?” “Yeah. It’s a funny old world. Really makes you think.” –What? You want to get back to Westley and Buttercup? Fine, fine. But don’t complain when you never find out what happened to Jez and Davy. Anyway, where were we? Oh, that’s right, the Rodents of Unusual Size…
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Sitting Here posted:Contributor It’s been three months since I moved to this shithole town on an adventure to claim an island. “Head to the frontier for a new life,” the whisper networks said, “A vast archipelago, untouched by humans for centuries, growing vaster every day. A fortune beyond anything you could possibly imagine awaits.” The dome was slowly collapsing, and society with it too, so I said gently caress it and set out for the coast. Ma’ told me that if I left the dome that I’d be as good as dead, but poo poo, I’d rather be dead out here than alive in there. Or dead in there, for that matter. I know what they do to corpses in Dome City X12, and it’s not pretty. So I found myself out here at the edge of the world, vying with a hundred other forsaken assholes to carve out a new world from a little shard of the old one. I felt bad about leaving, for a little while. I know it wasn’t fair to leave Rufus with Ma’, but I couldn’t bring him. The coast was no place for an animal, especially not one as nervous as he is, and every day I spend in this place convinces me more and more that I made the right choice. The thing about living in a town inhabited solely by people who want to leave it behind is that anybody still there is, by definition, angry about it. Once you got within a hundred miles of the shore, you could feel it. A yearning just below your navel, snatches of songs sparking through your mind, a tugging at the base of the skull, pulling you towards your island. You knew your island was out there somewhere, and the longer it took you to find it, the worse the itch got. So every couple of days, when the Bridgers connect the dots from the shore to the new islands, there’s a rush as people desperately try to claim their spot. Eventually they’re all occupied, and the poor landless bastards (well, the surviving ones) head back to town to lick our wounds and fight over scraps. It was late in the afternoon that I called it, gave up on claiming an island today, and went back to the saloon on what passed for Main Street. There were only a handful of corpses in the surf today, covering the black rocks in a greasy red and attracting those strange animals that looked almost like dogs if you squinted. They mostly left us alone, especially when they had easier pickings, but you never knew—best not to dawdle. I felt a twinge of guilt at leaving the bodies to be picked clean (you can’t be an undertaker for most of your adult life without at least some respect for the dead), but not enough to take a risk for them. I didn’t recognise them, at least, so that made it easier. Once I was safely ensconced in the saloon, I tucked into a bowl of grits and watched to see who else would make it back—failures, but failures that had survived. Bill Ketch came back first, Elise Locke following not far behind. I waved them over, and they joined me. “No luck again today?” I asked blandly, not really caring if either of them answered. The answer was obvious, anyway. Bill just grunted and tucked into his grits, but Elise actually replied. “I was so close but that loving rat, Dobson, beat me to it. He hopped a bridge, and by the time I reached it, he’d sealed it up tighter than Ketch’s rear end in a top hat. I stayed to watch a little while, and by the time I left he already had the process underway.” She spat a gob of synth out onto the floor and kept talking, seemingly oblivious to the tears now streaming down her face. “It was lit up like a midwinter tree, ready for him to start climbing. I bet he’s out there now, all wrapped up and communing with his island—should’ve been my island—he didn’t deserve the island anyway. I wonder what it’s like.” She trailed off, and stared thoughtfully into the bowl of grey slop. See, nobody really knew what happened when you claimed an island. poo poo, they weren’t even really islands, as far as we could tell. They were chunks of what looked like land, floating in something that was probably an ocean, but nobody really knew anything beyond that. But when you were the first person to cross a bridge to one of them, everything would change. They were calling to us, and we knew that everything would be okay in the end if we could just make it out to our own island. I couldn’t sleep that night. The song in my head was too loud, the tingle in my skull too much. I lay there, tossing and turning, and waiting for the signal to come. It didn’t come the next day, nor the day after, but eventually, one morning, we all heard it. The high pitched whine followed by something like a thundercrack, that indicated there were more islands. I rushed to the shore, straight away. I hadn’t slept in days, but I don’t think anyone else had either. I knew the other land hoppers would be there too, but I didn’t care. I picked my way across the rocks and sloshed out into the water. It came up to my ankles, then my knees, then my waist, but I kept going. I don’t really know how long I was in the water for, but at some point I found the rocky reef that marked the start of the archipelago. I crawled out onto it, spluttering, soaked, and shivering. I glanced around and saw a bridge, shimmering and humming quietly. “Hey!” It was Elise, and she was holding her gun, pointing it level at my chest. I twitched my hand towards my own, and she shot me. It burnt a neat little hole, right below my heart. I didn’t feel a thing. With the last of my strength, I threw myself backwards. I knew it was a risk, but what did I have to lose? I expected to feel my head collide with rock, and for everything to go dark. But it didn’t. It worked. As the bridge surrounded me, cradling me in light, I could feel my body becoming weightless. Music swelled inside my head—or was it outside now? As the world unfolded, and I unfolded along with it, the difference became academic. I could hear Elise keening, a raw scream of heartbreak and frustration. I didn’t care anymore, though. I was on my way to my island. I floated across the bridge. Oh. It’s not an island at all. But it’s mine. It’s enveloping me now, swallowing me, and bearing me up to the brilliant sky.
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Aug 24, 2020 08:00
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