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I'm going to regret this but I can't turn down a prompt about Dragons, not even with a midterm next week. IN. Flash pls.
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Apr 2, 2021 19:08
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| # ¿ Apr 26, 2024 07:51 |
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Antivehicular posted:Your dragon only hoards completely ruined things. It subsists on fungus, maggots, and ash. 1366 words There’s an old saying that “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” You may be surprised to learn the saying holds true for dragons as well. Meet Pongo. Pongo is a North American Speckled Spineback. Like all North American dragons, the Speckled Spineback is endangered. Pongo is one of only a hundred Spinebacks still living in the wilds of the American Northeast. At only two and a half meters long from his red-speckled nose to the tip of his whip-like tail, the Speckled Spineback is one of the smallest varieties of “true dragon” left in the world. Like nearly all true dragons, Speckled Spinebacks collect treasures to add to their hoards. But it’s not gold or gems Pongo is looking for. It’s trash. And what better place to find it, than Green Rivers Waste Disposal Park in New Jersey? Green Rivers takes in, on average, eight thousand tons of garbage a day and spans over two thousand acres. It’s the perfect scavenging ground for Pongo. There are mountains of trash as far as a dragon’s eye can see. But not just any trash will do. Pongo collects only completely ruined things. If it’s even remotely salvageable, Pongo isn’t interested. Perhaps this discarded pram? It’s quite rusty and a bit dented… but apparently still too serviceable for Pongo’s discerning tastes. Ah here we go: a torn umbrella. There’s no chance of anyone fixing this. Pongo adds the treasure to the growing pile he carries on his back. The specially-curved spines from whence the Spineback draws its name act as a sort of natural Velcro, keeping Pongo’s treasures in places as he roams the trash piles. In conjunction with their wings and tail for stability, a Spineback can carry a pile up to three meters in height. All day long, Pongo roams the peaks and valleys of trash. The vast majority of the litter he finds will be rejected. Humans are so quick to discard as waste items that are still useful or repairable. Look here! This chair is practically brand new! Pongo tosses it aside with obvious disgust. Imagine how much smaller the world’s landfills would be if people were as discerning as Spinebacks when it came to throwing things out. It’s now midday, and Pongo has accumulated quite a trove of valuable junk. It’s too much to carry, so he piles his treasure up in a safe place to retrieve later. With each trip, the pile grows larger. Pongo is doing very well for himself. A little too well. Pongo’s treasure trove has now grown so large; it’s attracted the attention of a rival male. Pongo curls defensively around his treasure. He flares his brightly-colored neck flaps and raises his wings to show off the bright red eyespots for a threat display. The rival flares his. It’s a showdown. The Spineback’s diet of fungus, maggots and ash gives them a toxic bite; moreover, specialized glands in a Spineback’s throat allow it to spit acid up to twenty meters. The rival douses Pongo with a spray of acid. The corrosive liquid leaves smoking holes in Pongo’s treasures, but it largely ineffective against Pongo’s tough, oily scales. Pongo answers back with a spray of his own, but the rival shrugs it off just as easily. Clearly this contest will come down to brute strength. The rival charges. It’s a brutal struggle. Pongo quickly finds himself trapped between his opponent’s powerful jaws. A nasty bite! But Pongo gets his own back, raking his claws across his rival’s delicate underbelly. Pongo struggles valiantly, but the rival is bigger and stronger than he is and Pongo is forced to withdraw. Pongo retreats behind a trash pile to lick his wounds. He’s received a few scratches but he’ll live. To the victor go the spoils. With the day almost over and Pongo now back where he started, he scavenges what little he can in the remaining daylight. It’s a meager haul, but at least he doesn’t return home completely empty-handed. Pongo’s hoard is a sizable pile of detritus, junk and litter gathered together over years and sculpted with meticulous attention to detail. Everything has its place, arranged in an eye-catching mosaic of color and shape. With mating season right around the corner, the eye Pongo most wants to catch is that of a female Spineback. To do that, Pongo needs the best and biggest hoard on the block. There are no prizes given for congeniality in the contest of survival. *** Spring comes quickly for Pongo. The little dragon has been working tirelessly to build up his hoard, but lately most of his time is spent arranging and rearranging… and rearranging! He can’t afford to be away for long. Any day now, a female Spineback might happen along, and rival males are quick to sabotage an unattended hoard. When Pongo isn’t out hunting, he’s minding the store. And it looks like he finally has a customer. Meet Linda. She’s a female Spineback. She enjoys long walks through the dump, and men with big hoards of trash. Looks like Pongo’s hoard has caught her eye. If dragons could sweat, Pongo would be sweating buckets right now. He frets on the sidelines as Linda has a look ‘round. Each female’s criteria are different. Some prize volume over substance, others are looking for unique shapes or artistic color combinations. Whatever it is, Pongo’s hoard has got it. She climbs on top of the hoard and wraps her tail around to signify she approves. But it’s not a sure thing yet. All this means is she’s ready to see Pongo’s mating dance. The North American Speckled Spineback has one of the most elaborate mating displays of all dragons. Pongo leaps. Pongo twirls. He flares his neck flaps and raises his wings up high. A Spineback’s dance can continue for up to forty minutes. Unfortunately, Linda doesn’t even stay through the first act. She’s seen enough. Pongo watches her disappear into the forest. Perhaps it was just opening night jitters. It’s only the first day of the mating season after all. The next day, Pongo is still forlorn. He barely seems to have the energy to tidy up his hoard. With the shrinking number of Spinebacks in North America, Pongo’s chances of finding a mate get smaller every year. If nothing is done about mankind’s intrusion into the dragons’ natural habitats, it won’t be long before Pongo and the rest of the Speckled Spinebacks disappear forever. Pongo sits in long contemplation of his hoard. The meticulously arranged pile has been painstakingly curated from the most broken and completely ruined things humanity has ever discarded. And right now Pongo is feeling broken and completely ruined himself. He burrows into his hoard and settles down for a long depression nap. Pongo is awakened by the sound of falling debris. It’s the male from before, come to raid Pongo’s hoard! The rival male thinks Pongo has left his treasures unattended. This time, Pongo has the element of surprise. He leaps out of his burrow, fangs bared for combat! The rival’s superior size and strength aren’t enough to overcome Pongo’s home field advantage. The pair tussle and thrash, but Pongo has the rival male by the throat and he’s not about to let go. Pongo is triumphant! But it is a pyrrhic victory. The struggle has completely demolished Pongo’s trash sculpture. Garbage is strewn all over the clearing. Months of work, completely obliterated. Pongo stares in shock. Piece by piece, Pongo starts tidying up. Maybe this disaster was a blessing in disguise. Now Pongo has a chance to rebuild his hoard better and more beautiful than before. There’s still a few months left in the mating season. If he works hard, he may just catch the tail end. Not to mention he has a new treasure to add to his collection: the bones of his vanquished rival. Most of us would probably balk at hanging a rotting dragon corpse up over our mantelpiece, but as they say, “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” Good luck, Pongo! Join us next week when we take a trip to the jungles of Argentina where we’ll meet the largest dragon in the Southern Hemisphere.
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Apr 5, 2021 03:46
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I'm actually free this week. In with: Soda - Your story begins and ends with the same line. Chips and Cookies -Two female characters must have a 200 word conversation about something other than a man.
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Jul 27, 2021 00:12
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Cake (+600): It’s someone’s birthday! Soda (+100): Your story begins and ends with the same line. Chips and Cookies (+200): Two female characters must have a 200 word conversation about something other than a man. Many Happy Returns 900 words *Captain’s Log, THE GO-GO’S (VFC 399) 31 JUL 2722: GGS has entered the Birthday Zone to celebrate a very special birthday…* The ISU Very Fast Cutter The Go-Go’s cut its overdrive and drifted on inertia through a marvelous cloud of incandescent gases and crackling energy. “Behold, the Birthday Zone!” declared Captain Belinda Carlisle, standing proudly underneath the main observation dome. Above her, a rainbow of color shimmered and shifted like a cross between an oil slick and a neon dance rave. The assembled crew applauded. The color-shifting clouds of the Birthday Zone were a wonder of the galaxy. Nobody was sure if the liquid crystal particles were naturally occurring, or the remnant of some ancient civilization’s attempt to build an HD TV the size of a solar system. What everyone could agree on, however, was that the Zone held the highest concentrations of Birthday Magic in the known galaxy. According to superstition, a wish made in the Birthday Zone was almost certain to come true. “This was totally worth the extra fuel we expended to get here in time for Matilda’s birthday,” said Lt. Sarah Crittenden, the Chief Engineer, marveling up at the lightshow unfolding above the dome. Captain Carlisle stood up on a chair and made a toast to Matilda. “Science Officer Matilda Matthews, you’ve saved my butt and the butts of every woman on this ship too many times to count,” said the Captain. “So when I saw that we were within range of the Birthday Zone to be there in time for your birthday, I knew I had to pull every string possible to make sure you had the best birthday ever!” Matilda blushed and did her best to be humble before the hail of accolades from her grateful crew. “Reversing the polarity of the engines to repel that space jellyfish was a stroke of genius!” “Thanks for curing my space pox!” “You didn’t judge me when I went too fast and got turned into a giant catfish.” While everyone gathered around Matilda to wish her a happy birthday, Zerinka, the ship’s Navigator, stood off to the side at parade rest. “Not your kind of party, Nav?” asked the Captain. “I don’t think I shall ever understand the Earthling obsession with ‘birthdays,’ complained Zerinka. “Is it not merely the celebration of coming one year closer to death?” The curmudgeonly Skulltronian claimed to be an acolyte of the Path of Pure Logic, though most of the crew agreed there was nothing logical about being a constant pessimist. Captain Carlisle laughed boisterously and wrapped her arm around the Zerinka’s shoulder, squeezing her close. “Zerinka, it’s not about coming one day closer to death, it’s about being grateful for the year you just enjoyed.” Carlisle swept her arm across the heavens in a grandiose gesture. “I see.” Zerinka rubbed her chin. “So you do not celebrate birthdays for years you do not enjoy. This makes a little more sense.” “Well, no,” said Carlisle. “The quality of the previous year doesn’t really factor in to whether we celebrate a birthday. It’s more about gratitude for just being alive I guess.” “I see no reason why simply existing is cause for celebration,” countered Zerinka. “There are many circumstances in which death might be preferable to the continued pain of existence. My people—” “Have a remarkably low rate of auto-euthanization for a bunch of depressed party-poopers.” Lt. Glenda threw her arms around the Captain and Zerinka. The ship’s Force Projection Officer was already very drunk considering the party started only ten minutes ago. “Look, okay.” Glenda leaned heavily on the Captain and Zerinka as her legs wobbled beneath her. “Okay, look. Birthdays. We celebrate birthdays because nothing in life is guaranteed. You gotta seize life by the horns because nobody knows how much time we have left!” The Chief Engineer butted in. “You’re coming at this the wrong way,” she said. “A birthday celebration isn’t about seizing life by the horns or being thankful for surviving another year. A birthday is a day someone’s friends set aside to celebrate how special that person is to them. It’s about spending time together and working to give someone you love and care about a perfect day.” Sarah gestured for the others to look over at Matilda. The four all turned to look. The Science Officer was laughing joyously at a joke Tina “Catfish” Lyon had just told. PX-T-11, an android The Go-Go’s had rescued from a planet that had destroyed itself in a nuclear war, walked up behind the captain and tapped on her shoulder. “Captain, why do humans celebrate birthdays?” asked PX-T-11, cocking her head slightly to the right like a curious puppy. “Alright I’m out. I’m not having this conversation again.” Captain Carlisle struggled to extricate herself from Glenda and Zerinka. “It’s time for the cake.” Captain Carlisle got back up on the chair and tapped her glass with a fork to get everyone’s attention as the ship’s cook wheeled in the cake. “My friends, I love you all so much!” said Matilda. “This really has been a perfect day. I just wish every day could—” “Don’t tell us or it won’t come true!” interrupted the Captain. Matilda nodded and blew out the candles. The air sparkled with Birthday Magic. *Captain’s Log, THE GO-GO’S (VFC 399) 31 JUL 2722: GGS has entered the Birthday Zone to celebrate a very special birthday…*
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Aug 2, 2021 00:09
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I'll have some breathing room after midterms, in.
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Nov 3, 2021 03:18
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 Guerilla Music 1490 words Kat Peyton was obsessed with “guerilla music.” It was the newest fad in the post-COVID world. Any speaker connected to the internet was a potential target. Someone might be sitting alone at home and suddenly, out of nowhere, music starts playing! It might be classical music or heavy metal or hip hop, but it was sure to startle the crap out of whoever was around. Kat logged into her preferred guerilla music website. The first and the best: GuerillaMusic dot com. “Over fifty million devices connected!” boasted the site’s tagline. A real time counter tracked the number of web-connected devices with which GuerillaMusic could interact. Kat dragged and dropped the MP3 file for “Macarthur Park” into her playlist and hit play. The website sent Kat’s song to a randomly-selected speaker somewhere in the world. “Now playing in… Brunei,” the website informed her. Imagine how confused and freaked out you’d be if you were in Brunei buying fish or something and minding your own business when suddenly “Macarthur Park” started blasting over the PA! With the click of a button, Kat could bring music to the farthest corners of the world. She was an agent of karma sending out ripples that could change the course of entire lives. When she was having a good day, she played happy, cheerful music to bring joy and laughter. She was partial to Katrina and the Waves because she shared a first name with the lead singer. It made her happy to picture someone feeling down when all of a sudden their radio starts playing “Walking on Sunshine.” The universe was sending them a signal to cheer up! When Kat was feeling sad, she played Emo music. When she was feeling mischievous, she played Weird Al Yankovic. She giggled to herself. Those people would never know it had been Kat Peyton of Scrump, Ohio who’d interrupted their regularly scheduled elevator music to bring them a bit of Weird Al. Sometimes she imagined her song playing in an empty house from a smart speaker left on while the owner was at work. She thought about the music playing to the empty air, creating an island of song in an ocean of silence. Maybe the house isn’t empty and there’s a startled dog barking furiously at “My Sharona.” She always listened for the whole song, immersing herself in the thought that she was sharing an experience—a connection—with someone else thousands of miles away. Kat’s mother had been fond of saying, “The energy you put out into the world comes back ten times over.” Kat thought about that every time she pushed the play button on GuerillaMusic dot com. When she sent out more happy songs, Kat felt happiness washing over her. Everyone she met seemed to be in a good mood, as if they’d all just heard the song she’d played for them. Maybe they had. Kat uploaded song after song, addicted to the thrill of playing god. She wiled away whole hours at work, just uploading songs for GuerillaMusic to play to the world. Donna, Kat’s friend, had once dabbled in guerilla music as well, but her interest had waned after a week or so. “Why do you spend so much time on that site?” asked Donna. The middle-aged redhead sipped her coffee and frowned down at the indicator sliding across the GuerillaMusic progress bar. “You know you can just listen to the music on your player, right?” “But this way I know I’m listening to the song with someone else somewhere in the world,” said Kat. “That makes it more special.” Unfortunately, not everyone in the world was as enamored with guerilla music as Kat. People didn’t like their speakers getting hacked. GuerillaMusic dot com exploited several security flaws in web-connected devices that could be used for more sinister purposes than just playing music. Software companies rushed to implement patches that would lock out guerilla music exploits for good. “It’s not fair!” cried Kat. “What’s their problem with bringing a little music into the lives of strangers?” “I think it’s more the invasion of privacy people take issue with,” suggested Donna. Kat watched in dismay as the GuerillaMusic counter for connected devices dwindled away. The numbers plunged faster than a coked-up plumber. “Over twenty million devices connected!” “Over ten million devices connected!” “Over one million devices connected!” One advice from the internet, Kat tried a few of the alternate guerilla music websites because some of them supposedly used different methods to bypass security that hadn’t been patched yet. It worked for a while, but she was used to GuerillaMusic’s interface and the alternate sites weren’t faring much better anyway. Soon all the major security exploits had been patched and all that remained were a handful of devices too primitive to accept software patches. Most of those were just disconnected from the internet. GuerillaMusic was down to just six thousand connected devices worldwide. Kat was inconsolable. “Six thousand is still a lot,” said Donna. “But there’s more than sixty thousand guerilla music users out there!” complained Kat. “These speakers must be going off every day! If anyone cared they’d be disconnected by now.” “Maybe they haven’t disconnected because they really enjoy hearing random songs at all hours of the day,” suggested Donna. “Maybe, but they’re all in other countries it looks like!” complained Kat, determined not to let Donna spoil her bad mood. She felt like a crucial barbaton had been kicked out from underneath her life. “I thought you liked sending music to other countries?” asked Donna. “I like sending music everywhere!” said Kat. “I guess… I guess I always hoped that someday, the song I played would come on right where I was and I’d get to see the looks on everyone’s face.” “You might still have a shot,” Donna leaned over and pointed at the GuerillaMusic list of connected devices. “Look, one of the speakers is here in Scrump.” Kat’s eyes nearly exploded out of her head. “We have to find out where it is!” Kat declared, grabbing up her coat and laptop and pushing her way past Donna. Kat cashed in all her vacation days at work and made it her personal mission to find the last speaker in Ohio still connected to Guerilla Music. Scrump, Ohio wasn’t exactly a bustling metropolis, but even a city of just thirty nine thousand people is huge when you’re trying to track down a single speaker. Kat’s only hope was that the speaker was in a public place somewhere. Maybe at a diner or inside a nail salon. If the speaker was in someone’s house she’d never find it. Kat drove up and down Main Street, spamming her playlist and listening out the window for the sounds of random music. She visited every hair salon, beauty parlor, grocery store and bar in town, anyplace and every place that played public music. She’s sit there and click the play button over and over until she saw the words come up: “Now playing in… Ohio.” Kat cocked her ear and listened for the sounds of Katrina and the Waves to come over the PA, but it was always just the same old same old. “Maybe it’s in someone’s apartment,” said Donna. “Just be glad you’re bringing joy to some lonely person out there.” “I suppose.” Kat thought it was more likely playing to the forgotten corpse of a dead grandma than to some lonely heart. “Also, the boss says he wants you back on Monday or you’re fired,” added Donna. “You were supposed to be back at work last week. I had to tell him you were sick to stop him from firing you right then!” “Tell him I’ll be back at work on Monday,” sighed Kat. Kat had been everywhere in town. There was nowhere else to go. She set her laptop down on a park bench and plopped down beside it, thoroughly exhausted. Wherever the last unsecured speaker in Scrump Ohio was, it was out of her reach. Lost forever. The owner would probably disconnect it soon, and then all the rest would follow, and she’d never get to brighten some stranger’s day with “Walkin’ on Sunshine” again. “Mmm yeah! I used to think maybe you loved me, now baby I’m sure… ” sang Katrina Leskanich. Kat groaned. She’d been listening to the song non-stop for two weeks. The lyrics had lost all meaning. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to it again. She leaned over to hit “stop playing” on GuerillaMusic. It took her a moment of pointless clicking to realize her player wasn’t running. “Oooh oh! I’m walkin’ on sunshine!” sang Katrina. Kat’s laptop was the last unsecured device in Scrump, Ohio. Every time she’d sent a song to Scrump, it had come right back to her! She sat back and laughed. It really did brighten her day. If the stranger on the other end could only see her face.
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Nov 8, 2021 04:12
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| # ¿ Apr 26, 2024 07:51 |
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It's Crazy but it Just Might Work! 178 words “We’re at top speed, but the black hole is still pulling us in!” said Captain Rocket. Captain Rocket’s ship, the Lady Dancer, strained with all her might to escape the terrible, crushing weight of the singularity, but even with the engines at maximum thrust, Lady Dancer was still slipping backward into the howling maelstrom. “There’s only one thing to do!” said Captain Rocket. “What’s that?” asked Captain Rocket’s loyal sidekick, Skippy. “We need to eject the fuel core and detonate it behind the ship,” said Captain Rocket. “We’ll ride the blast wave to safety!” “That’s crazy,” said Skippy. “But it just might work!” interrupted Captain Rocket. “Ejecting fuel core!” Captain Rocket pressed the big red button and ejected the fuel core. The core exploded a few seconds later and all the energy from the explosion was quickly swallowed by the abyss. “Why didn’t it work?” asked Captain Rocket. “Because it was a stupid idea!” shouted Skippy. Those were Skippy’s last words. Seconds after that, Lady Dancer’s engines cut off and the ship immediately got sucked into the black hole. The End.
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Nov 9, 2021 00:48
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