|
I have only ever done one of these and I lost, however on the advice of the other thread I am back to try again. In and all three, please.
|
#
¿
Mar 8, 2022 21:17
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ Apr 26, 2024 14:41 |
|
|
Varmints 1181 Words. Hank spat on the floor. The brown gob landed square between Skeeter’s feet. ‘Watch it!’ warned Skeeter. Hank spread his arms apologetically, baring a yellow grin. Dressed all in black, he looked like a menacing scarecrow. Skeeter glared, then turned back to his mount. The Ropony idled quietly, awaiting it’s master’s command. ‘We’ll have to leave them here, only way in is up.’ ‘I don’t like it,’ said Hank. Hank was overly attached to his Ropony, he had even named it - ‘Lyra’. Speculation was rife that he was trying to fornicate with the machine. Biff sighed, tired of this argument. ‘We have to do it, so quit your bellyaching!’ the interjection of the bigger man quieted the others. Biff was the defacto leader, if only because everyone feared his quick temper. Biff had thrown a lasso and managed to snare the ‘T’ in the ‘Camelot’ sign. Though long deserted, the theme park’s imposing gates remained sealed shut. Biff was convinced however that the ‘T’ would hold and deliver them into the park so they could complete their mission. ‘Go on, git,’ Biff gestured at Hank. ‘Why me?’ ‘Cos I said so, that’s why.’ Hank scowled and grabbed the rope. Hank was tall but skinny as a rail, making quick work of the rope. ‘I can see it! I can see King Arthur’s Hall!’ Hank shouted happily. ‘Told ya. If you two just did what I told ya to first time we’d be a lot younger.’ Biff gestured to Skeeter he was next. The squat man held the rope in a white knuckle grip. His progress was slower than Hank’s. ‘Don’t look down!’ Hank advised. Skeeter took his advice literally by glaring at him. Slowly, he ascended. Biff seized the rope, testing it once more for good luck. He began the climb, sweating more than his predecessors, feeling every one of his 250lbs. The ‘T’ felt it too, rusted metal making tortured groans as time went on. ‘I’d git if I were you!’ Hank shouted. Biff took the hint, picking up the pace. His breath ran shallow as he reached the top, arms on fire, Hank and Skeeter hauling him on to the gate roof. The ‘T’ crashed to the earth seconds later. The Roponies watched on. ‘Well that’s just peachy!’ said Hank. ‘You’ve been squirting lemon juice in my eye all day day boy, there’s a service ladder over there! So quit your belly aching and hustle!’ Biff pointed at the ladder. Hank stalked away, Skeeter giving Biff a knowing look before following on. Biff took a moment to survey the park below from his newfound perch. Camelot was a relic from the old world, a theme park depicting a time from ancient history where knights battled to the death with swords. The attractions were seemingly intact but ravaged by centuries of neglect as mother nature reclaimed the land. Biff pulled a small tin from his back pocket and opened it. Inside a folded pamphlet, tattered and faded. He carefully unfolded it, holding it gingerly at the edges as if it might disintegrate at any second. Biff smiled as the sight before him matched the images on the pamphlet. The ancient map depicted the scene below: King Arthur’s Hall, Sir Lancelot’s Log Flume, Merlin’s School of Magic, Guinevere’s Go Karts, the Excalibur roller coaster and the Jousting Arena. Feint text along the bottom read ‘Only the greatest horsemen dare ride in the Jousting Arena!’. ‘It’s real,’ whispered Biff. Blinking back tears, he hastily put the pamphlet away in it’s tin and hastened after the others. They stood frozen in awe at the bottom of the ladder, the rotten skeleton of Excalibur towering over them. ‘What was it?’ asked Skeeter. ‘Whatever it was, it’s long dead.’ Replied Hank. The paving stones beneath their feet were cracked and uneven by the foliage that had sprouted unopposed in solitude. Biff started forward. ‘Come on, we need to get those gates open.’ What had once been a straight forward path to the entrance had been eroded in an explosion of green. Thick bushes with spiny branches and carpets of nettles now framed the path. ‘Watch your step boys, don’t need any last minute accidents,’ said Biff. He pulled a bowie knife from a sheath on his belt and began hacking his way through the brush. Rats and insects scurried away at the sound of this, their haven finally breached again by humans. The gate was in sight. Solid and wrought from iron, the design was in keeping with the theme of the park but had mimicked the siege defence of castles too well, keeping invaders out long after the designers had perished. ‘I reckon if we plant our dynamite in both bottom corners it will blow it clean off the hinges,’ said Skeeter. Hank agreed, for once. ‘Let’s run it on a short fuse and finish it already.’ The men set to work. Skeeter had a satchel with cloth bundles in. He handed one to Hank and unwrapped the other himself, revealing crude red sticks of dynamite that glistened with an oily film. Biff played foreman as the other two planted them, watching their progress as he rolled cigarettes from his tobacco tin. Hank and Skeeter returned as the third cigarette was rolled. Biff handed the men a cigarette each, then struck a match. He lit theirs, then his. Finally, he flicked the match at the fuse on the ground with deft precision, igniting it instantly. ‘Godspeed, gentlemen!’ cried Biff as they braced themselves for the explosion. Skeeter’s hypothesis was proved correct. The dynamite blew with a mighty roar, the sound as deafening as the blast was hot. The entire gate structure shuddered at the blow, but ultimately only the gate fell with a ponderous clang. Dust swirled up from the impact, then slowly cleared to reveal the Roponies still stood, impassive. The men crossed the threshold again to retrieve their mounts. Skeeter grabbed the reins to lead his into the park. ‘Mount up, we ride in to meet our destiny!’ proclaimed Biff. Hank grinned his yellow smile and started onward. The path from the gate to the Jousting Arena was straight forward, wider but still overgrown. The Roponies adeptly picked their way through the brush. A tattered arch loomed above them, odd triangles of bunting left with images of horses on them. ‘Who goes first?’ asked Hank. ‘We ride in together,’ replied Biff. The three cowboys trotted into the Jousting Arena, a long rectangular sand pit with a rusted metal fence diving it in half. As the space opened up, all three urged their mounts into a gallop, hollering as the pace picked up. ‘YEEEEHAAAAW!’ cried Hank, the sound echoing across the empty stalls. ‘We did it! We actually did it!’ said Skeeter. Biff smiled. ‘We are the greatest horsemen! We fulfilled the prophecy of our ancestors!’ Biff threw his hat in the air, Skeeter did the same. Hank had Lyra rear up on hind legs, the sun dancing off metallic muscles. ‘What do we do now?’ asked Hank. ‘Whatever we want,’ answered Biff.
|
|
#
¿
Mar 14, 2022 00:10
|
|
|
Bacon Terrorist posted:Varmints Subprompt: The last cowboys exploring a deserted theme park must resolve an ancient prophecy
|
|
#
¿
Mar 14, 2022 08:27
|
|
|
In.
|
|
#
¿
Mar 15, 2022 23:30
|
|
|
I managed 498 words of a story called Pasta La Vista, about an ancient Sardinian mafia hit man on a mission to avenge the family who's pasta secrets were stolen by a Canadian chef. Then between a teething puppy and a work emergency I got no further and it wasn't more than vomit draft so I am this week's loser, 2 for 2.
|
|
#
¿
Mar 21, 2022 09:07
|
|