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I know I'm probably going to regret this, but I keep telling myself that I am going to enter one of these things and I never do. Today I am going to change that. In
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Sep 25, 2021 02:48
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| # ¿ Mar 27, 2025 15:05 |
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A Small Indulgence 1419 Words Okay, listen. I’ll bring the thing out, but I need you to understand something first. The early 2010s were a very different time. I know, I know, it’s an odd thing to own. And believe me, I don’t wear it anymore. I didn’t wear it much back then either. I thought it would be a nice souvenir. Obviously, the context for these things has changed. I don’t just show it to anyone. I have to trust them first. It’s from the trip I took with Federico. His mom worked as a stewardess, so she got the occasional discount for friends and family. You couldn’t choose the location, but the deals were unbeatable. One day, a pair of tickets popped up for the Philippines. Federico didn’t care one way or the other, he just wanted to get drunk, and the legal drinking age there was 18, instead of 21. For me, it was in Asia, so I was happy. This would be the first time both of us were out of the country. I’m not going to lie to you, most of the trip was awful. We spent far too much time in the city. We should have ventured out more. What was wrong with the city? The smells, the commotion of the people. The ugly buildings all decorated with an exposed rat’s nest of electrical wires constantly humming and buzzing at frequencies that, quite frankly, did not feel safe. I remember the feeling of constantly being boxed in on all sides, in every direction, no matter which direction I went. I remember it being a pedestrian hell, as the sidewalks were always filled with street vendors selling greasy food or illegally parked motorbikes, and that’s if there was a sidewalk there at all. Often times, you would just have to co-mingle with the motorized traffic in the street which seemed to abide only by that old truism: Traffics laws here are only a mere suggestion. I remember the people constantly begging. Every few yards, you would be stopped and stopped again. It would be the same introduction, “Hey Joe!”, the same questions, “What do you do? Where are you from? Can you help?” It was relentless. I am used to it back here in America, but the scale and scope was different in the Philippines. Here, it’s easy to ignore. Driving past the same guy with a “Help Me” sign on the highway off-ramp every day doesn’t exactly pull at your heart strings. If you ever have the misfortune of catching the red light getting off of I-95 on the McNab exit, watch the guys on the shoulder. They get at least one sucker every stop. How many times does that light change in a day? And it’s always the same people. I bet you they make triple what we do, while only doing a fraction of the work. It’s hard to be like that in the Philippines. It’s not able-bodied men with signs. It’s men missing limbs. Women with tumors on their neck. It’s children. Whenever I visited the corner stores, the cashiers behind the counter would tell me the same thing. “Don’t give them money. They’re all part of a gang. Even the street kids. And make sure you keep your wallet close, they’re pickpockets too.” I had suspected as much, but it was always tough saying no to the children. Getting off the streets wasn’t much of a reprieve either. Even in the ornate Catholic church, there were clergymen asking for a donation. Such splendor has to be financed somehow; I suppose. Honestly, the longer I stayed in the city, the more I began to doubt that I would enjoy this whole enterprise of travel. Perhaps I had fallen victim to a different type of scam. But that’s enough about the city. This is a story about the countryside. Even before I got off the plane, hell, even before the tickets were ever purchased, I knew what I wanted. I wanted one of those. I had seen them in video games and on T.V., in comics and history books. They seemed to be everywhere. Little did I know, they really weren’t a thing in the Philippines anymore. Most people had moved on. They weren’t at the markets. They weren’t at the shops. We were going to have to find one in the wild. The only solution was for us to go further afield. We chartered a trike driver for the day. He said that for a upfront flat fee, he’d take us anywhere we needed to go. We choose a direction at random, and off we went. I’ll admit that it took a lot longer than expected for our view out of the trike frame to shift from the concrete monolithic megastructures of the city to the stilted wooden shacks of the countryside. I would watch the people working the rice paddies as we passed them by. Not a single person had it. I suspect that Federico’s patience was probably wearing thin for this whole endeavor. It was a good thing I bought a couple of six packs before we left. I even had a few cans myself. The sun was beginning its descent. When was I going to admit defeat? That’s when I saw her. A woman in a barren field. As the trike approached, her features became more apparent. She was wearing a beige shirt that enthusiastically proclaimed her membership in the “DULUTH BOWLING LEAGUE OF CHAMPIONS 1992” and purple leggings that had little pictures of ducks on them. She looked to be no older than 25. But most importantly… Is what she had on her head. The conical hat. There it was. Later the next day, when Federico was sober, he told me that the way that hat was hanging off of her head reminded him of those weird circular halos we saw on the angels in the stained-glass windows of the Church. I didn’t see it myself, but I could understand the feeling. But yeah, getting back to the woman... We tell the trike driver to stop and to wait for us to return. As we’re walking up to her I say, “Hey lady!” She responds, but in Tagalog. I have no idea what she is saying. Well, that’s not true. I knew “po” meant “sir”, like an honorific in Japan, but that’s the only word I understood. I nod and say, “That’s a lovely hat.” She looks confused, “…Me?” “No, your hat. I mean, sure, you too” and I point to her hat. She places her fingers on the rim and starts saying “Sakalot.” I didn’t realize it at the time, but that was the name of the thing. So, I just say “No, hat” again. There is an awkward pause, it looks like she is thinking about something. She says a few more words in Tagalog. Then suddenly she removes the hat from her head and places it on mine. A nervous smile forms on her face. Finally. I pull out my wallet and try to find an appropriate bill. The currency there was so hard to decipher. Strange colors and weird denominations. Honestly, it felt like Monopoly money most of the time. As she sees me fumbling through my wallet, she throws her hands up in protest. “No, no, no” she says. Federico starts getting nervous. He says, “Does she think we’re trying to rob her?” I think it's a silly question, but as I stare back at her, her expression becomes more and more nervous. She continues to repeat “No, no, no” with more words in Tagalog interspersed. I start to feel guilty. I take all money in my wallet and throw it at her feet. It is all the spending money I have left for the trip. I turn around and start sprinting away. Federico follows suit. Jogging behind me, Federico asks “That should be more than enough, right?” I tell him, “Yeah”. We look ahead at the trike, and suddenly Federico interjects: “Wait a minute! We’re dumb idiots! Let’s get the trike driver to translate for us! His English isn’t great, but it’s better than hers! He can clear this whole situation up!” I turn around and tell him that it’s probably for the best if we just leave. It’s getting late anyway. And so we did. And that’s how I got it. … Sure, you can try it on. Just be gentle. The edges are fraying and it’s starting to crack along its right side.
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Sep 27, 2021 06:36
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Hey... Could I get a link to the Discord?
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Sep 29, 2021 09:34
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Thanks!
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Sep 29, 2021 12:58
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In with flash.
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Oct 26, 2021 04:44
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The Saxon Influence 989 Words Flash Rule: ...aliens attacked!!! Junko had always imagined herself as a Parisian, and that’s why she chose to visit New Orleans for her spring break. Spending a semester abroad could be an exhausting affair, and she found America especially exhausting. She did not begrudge Iowa or its inhabitants, they were a hard-working and kind people, but they lacked a certain appreciation for the finer things. Too Germanic in their sensibilities. No, Junko knew that her heart would lie further down the Mississippi. Her first instinct was to charter a riverboat. Any time she encountered a particularly hard math problem on an exam, she would allow her mind to wander to visions of that massive machine, its paddle wheel rhythmically splashing in the water. She could see herself on its fine wooden deck, in her favorite floral dress, her glass filled with Champagne, and her view unobstructed by the sun thanks to her most comfortable straw hat. She would arrive properly, by boat, in a city built for the river, not for the roadway or the rail line. Such sweet scenes only made the reality of the situation that much harsher. Fifteen thousand dollars. That’s how much it would cost. Junko couldn’t believe it. And Dubuque wasn’t the port of departure but instead just a port of call, meaning that she would either have to fly to Saint Paul or join a cruise already one-third finished. The vagaries of economics reared their ugly head. The Saxon influence was felt once more. It would not be a terrestrial or aquatic form of transit that took Junko to New Orleans. *** Staring out the window of the terminal, Junko could see a 737 spooling up its engine, preparing for takeoff. As the turbine accelerated, she momentarily wondered how much thrust it was producing. Then she tried her best to think about absolutely anything else. “Zone 6!”, a crackling speaker announced. Looking down at her boarding pass she could see that her group was soon to be called. This entire process had been a continued frustration for Junko. “Zone 7! Now boarding Zone 7!” She was ready for it to be over. Making her way on to the aircraft, the interior was even smaller than she imagined. What the online seat configurator called a Window Seat was now revealed to be a wall seat, the window being sandwiched into the next row. Junko tried to look out of it, but its shutter was slammed down before she got the chance. The passenger in the next row needed a place to rest his head. Junko sighed and waited for her row mates to show up. First came a lady, laptop in hand who politely nodded and then went straight to work as soon as she sat down. Next was an older man. He had a balding buzz cut and was surprisingly spherical in both head and body. He was wearing a pair of Docksiders. Junko wondered if he was an engineer. Maybe he also wished that he were on a boat right now. *** Once the plane was in the air, Junko could relax. In fact, there was pleasant surprise. The man in the next row was finished with his nap and had decided to lift the shutter of his window. It was only a sliver, but at least Junko could see outside now. Just clouds and a blue sky, but they were calming as the plane briskly flew past them. As she was watching, a streak of light zipped past her view. What was that? Junko thought that it must have been the sun’s reflection. Then she noticed that the clouds stopped moving. Junko could feel the hairs on her head stand up. She looked around and saw that everyone else was in a similar state. It was like they were all about to be struck by lightning. Then there was a pop. Where there was once nothing, there was now a pulsating black hole in the center of the plane. In mere moments, humans became strings of lights being coiled around that black mass. They didn’t even have enough time to scream. Junko could no longer trust her eyes. The images she was seeing just did not make sense. And then the hole spoke. “MADEMOISELLE JUNKO SAITOU, WE HAVE BEEN WATCHING YOU.” Its words sounded like metallic screeching to Junko’s ears. “OUR RECON SHIP HAS FAILED. ONLY YOU POSSESS THE KNOWLEDGE.” But even in all of the absurdity, all of the strangeness… Junko could still hear it… “DO NOT RESIST. YOUR FATE HAS BEEN DETERMINED.” That Teutonic tinge… “COME WITH US NOW.” The Saxon Influence. Junko was not about to spend her whole life working for such beings. Looking to her right, she could see the spherical man with his hand on his waist. Junko suddenly knew what he was. She grabbed his arm only a few seconds before being swallowed by the black hole. They were teleported to an empty room. No light was visible save for a command console. Junko could tell that this console had be designed for human hands. “YOU MUST START BY-“ Junko turned to the portly man, “Start shooting!” Without a moment’s hesitation, the Air Marshal quick drew his service pistol and started firing indiscriminately. Metallic screams filled the darkness. Junko ran over to the console and started speed reading the translated notes. Blah Blah Blah Central Node Acting Phlegmatically. Junko didn’t care, she pushed the button for maximum acceleration. She could hear something spinning at a high-pitched whine and then there was an explosion. *** James had always imagined himself as an astronomer and that’s why he had the most expensive gear. It would be his photos that showed most clearly the descending vessel, it’s hull on fire. They would show the Japanese tourist standing atop it, the flowers on her dress now pollinated with dried alien viscera, and her view of New Orleans unobstructed thanks to her most comfortable straw hat.
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Nov 1, 2021 07:13
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Hell Yeah, In!
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Nov 9, 2021 16:05
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| # ¿ Mar 27, 2025 15:05 |
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“Replacable Parts”, all known surviving fragments [Sequence Debated] Flashrule: your protagonist must be the center of the piece Word: 381 …no more quahogging for Mr. Andino. He would be spending his free time in… …money. The amazement of watching the moon landing had not yet… …He would still have his Jal alai, and more than enough to… …asn’t only a just reward for a life of toil. It would be for his grandson. That’s how Mr. Andino would justify it. He could hardly wait t… …he size captivated him the most. He watched it sail down the assembly line, there was his land yacht. Painted the same color as the sea it would now be parked next to. He had flown all the way out to Detriot to see it firsthand. Built by union hands, just like… …nterrupted along the 1-95, until… …a car had skidded off the road. I could barely see it through the snow. The hazards weren’t on, but the engine was. The tree had done minimal damage to the front, but a tree branch had pierced the windshield. As I got closer, I could see… [Veracity Debated] …nter didn’t mind swapping paint with the other idiots in the parking lot. The joke was on them. Every time they traded paint, a new shade would be revealed. Last month, a brilliant ruby red on the door. This week was a nice teal tint on the trun…[Veracity Debated] …oleum Engineering may not have been Hunter’s strong suit, but it was better than the prospect of Computer I… [Veracity Debated] …the cost of gas and the cost of his tuit… [Veracity Debated] …nder no other circumstance would the professor have been able to convince his wife to enter “that deathtrap." Subtle hints about the thing were quickly becoming declarations of intent. Either it would be sold by the time the baby arrived o… …ere was a worrying knocking sound coming from under the hood as he sped down the interstate. The vinyl seats were doing their best to absorb the membranous material emanating from Arushi. The baby wou… …And that’s where he was born. In the back seat of a beat-up Cadillac, only a mile away from Jackson Memorial Hospital. He didn’t know it at the time. How could he? But only two short decades later, he would be the primary patron of that organization. This would be his centu...
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Nov 15, 2021 08:59
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