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I was meaning to join this thunderdome, but life and potato got in the way a bit, but I did write 500 words of gibberish that I hope makes sense the other day. I've been trying to 'write' for 3 whole weeks since I retired, and I'm sorta scared to show anyone what I wrote. I'm not going to be much good at crits apart from saying I liked this and didn't something else, but I'm here to offer bananas, gain your trust and learn your ways.
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Jun 14, 2023 01:47
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Rise of the Superhussein 500 words Ragnar's ship floundered on the rocks below as Lady Ayn of Rand, assisted by her knight, Sir John of Galt, climbed the final highest tower of the tallest mountain in the Lands of Economos. Finally the lair of their foe, the enslaver of Man, came within their sight. Their journey had been great, with many perilous trials, but they had arrived unscathed, not having given a single penny as a tip the entire journey. Entering the cave, they saw him in his dread majesty, tall, thin handsome and looming above in his Robe of Change, holding the dread Staff of Hope - The Superhussein himself. Should they not stop him, they knew, he would take their All and destroy the markets, giving freely to the weak and stupid too lazy to pull themselves up by their bootstraps. What was unearned given to the troglodytes who slaved in the factories and railways of their fellow nobles. Was it not the nobles' genius that was the true labor that sustained the land, not the sweat of peasant brows? Yet the monster would unleash the power of the Jobless One himself, Marx von Engels, long since banished to the underworld of failed ideas. The Superhussein faced them, his welcoming laugh startling them with it's warmth. Treachery, she warned Sir Galt, but he came forward, his Sword of Objectivity raised against the foul, friendly and seemingly harmless demon before him. Suddenly with a flash the Superhussein turned his back, raising the Robe of Change, baring his majestic brown behind. Sir Galt, stunned by the enormous rear end before him stood motionless, mesmerized. The Superhussein raised his staff and R&B soul boogie sounds filled the cave as he began to wave to and fro snapping at the beat. "BOOGIE" he roared, as he began to twerk, the huge cheeks of his booty slapping with thunder that rung the cave. He twerked faster, louder and louder, as Lady Ayn and Sir John fell helpless in faint, their racism brought to head beyond any endurance. The Superhussein danced around, twerking harder and faster, the booming beat of the Acid Queen herself filling the cave as it reverberated across the universe and beyond space and time. It was too late. Sir Galt rose and rushed from the cave, knowing all was lost, for he had unleashed the Ritual of Socialism and Lady Ayn of Rand was no more, banished to the underworld of failed ideas. He looked with terror and dismay as the rainbow people led the peasant hordes rushing to the new dawn of boogie with the magical bootstraps the dark one had given them, flying high through the air. As the mountains of stocks he held in the distance trembled as to fall, then remained steady, the markets also wavering, but remaining more or less the same. Disaster! The Superhussein's illusion magic still clouded him, he realised. It was all gone, he knew, all of it, there was but one thing to be done. Bible gun camps.
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Jun 14, 2023 02:43
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my sword is yours, in and flash, if I don't get ejected into the sun first.
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Jun 14, 2023 03:39
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A Brother's Love 573 words Gog and Magog ran the best coffeehole in all Mordor, a favorite haunt of the brother's old Uruk-Hai comrades, known for the fine blends of selected powdered elf, along with the usual dried manparts other inferior orcs used. Trade had been good lately but was slow that morning. Some blokes had shown last night up at the Black Gates wanting cash for gold or some poo poo, Magog told his brother, and they should expect a rush later that day. Gog nodded glumly, unsmiling even more then he usually unsmiled. "Oh come now, there'll be others," said Magog, putting his large claws on his forlorn brother, "you was too good for her, mate." Gog slapped the paw away with his brick-like fist, grunting. "Shaddap about the bitch! I'm trying not to think of it, the thought of her doin' the beast wit two backs, wiv that.. bloody warsinger?" Marching away in disgust, throwing his manskin apron to the ground, Gog disappeared outside leaving his brother wondering what to do. It was true. He had returned to their vent to find her, his wife of three weeks, locked together with a warsinger, some fancy bastard with dulcet tones that got their pus leakin', he thought savagely, shaking his head. And all the Orcs were laughing at him this morning again as they came out of the vent they now shared, thrusting their hips and at him and such. He had taken three heads before Magog could beat him unconscious with the arm of one of his victims. And just before the bloody Eye had a gander, he remembered grimly. Something had to be done. Gog came back, a bit of blood on his feet, picked up his apron and got back to work washing the coffee skulls, grunting. Magog saw he had been crying. Crying? Blubbering like that little man they had impaled on their way back from Osgiliath, he mused. "You want her back, don't ya mate?" "What!?...well...yeah." "What if you take her the heads you took this morning? Ladies love head." "Already boiled em." "Well, um, how about we toddle back to Isengard and ask the wizard to make you a new one?" Og looked at him, his wet eyes now filled with hope. "But..where we gettin' that sort of coin?" "Just so happens, I've been puttin' a bit away for meself, but seeing your pitiful and weak pathetic eyes will soon get us both burning in lava up to the hips, We'll use that!" "Really? You'd do that for me? I don't know what swears to say!" "Of course, we'll leave tomorrow, anything to keep me own head. Let me go poo poo it out, back in a sec." Laying the pile of stinking gold before his brother, Magog stood back with satisfaction as his brother burst into tears of gratitude, fighting the urge to pull his knife and take it all back. "You hear that? They're coming back! Let's make a little more for the road!" Og shouted. The brothers flung open their doors, a glorious morning, a dim sun in the black clouds and smoke, with the music of ominious thunder filling the skies, brought their good cheer to new heights. Og ran about grinning as they prepared for a busy day serving hot blood, giblets and coffee to the returning masses holding heads aloft, as the Eye looked upon them with approval. The future looked nice and dark.
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Jun 14, 2023 08:10
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Beezus posted:INTERPROMPT: Dream me a dream (or nightmare) This thing I'm writing actually starts with a dark dream the oracle can't remember, so I'm going to cheat a bit and post it and get laughed at. Czernobog rode out of the gate on his massive dead horse and galloped toward a nearby ridge on which rows of men, dressed in mail and splattered in blood, stood await. They fell to their knees and worshipped him in terror, their heads bowed low to the hooves of thunder. "It is done." they said, speaking as one, voices booming across the land as he rode past to the top of the ridge. He removed his helm looked upon his Great Work with eyes of burning. It's music filled his ears. Below stretched the dread clearing, some miles wide and ending at a river. On what was once grassland now stood his new forest, his Great Work. The people of the city burning behind him were impaled on stakes in their thousands, still alive, wailing in pain and screamed out to be killed that it should end. The Dark God reared his mighty horse and spoke unto his forest, the black sun emblazoned on his chest an endless void of darkness. His voice roared. Mountains trembled as the river boiled. "I am Czernobog, Prince of Baal, Underlord of the Bitter Gates, where you shall soon find yourselves in eternal flames! For behold your fate, you who stood against me and my iron hordes! The Dark God raised his great war hammer as he lifted both massive arms to the swirling dark sky as he reared his head, breathing in deeply of the stench and suffering before him. Blood poured from the hammer and soaked the ground in an endless river, as an infant boy sat naked in the blood and the sky became ruin as the dead ravens rained from the hateful obsidian clouds above.
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Jun 17, 2023 03:47
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oops
Fat Jesus fucked around with this message at 04:44 on Jun 19, 2023 |
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Jun 19, 2023 03:33
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The Resurrectionarians Starts with a man stating as to not knowing whats expected, fully knowing the other bloke wants money. And it's for bringing back extinct species using a magic window or? Why are pets *pets* and point *point*? Could there be some hidden meaning undecipherable to lesser minds? Bloke gets his money, happy days, stand by for part two I guess. Baby’s rear end I'm not feeling this world at all. Some kind of Altered Carbon thing but where they can see their brains in jars for some reason, and why they're in there in the first place? It's usually because they're old or got cancer or some poo poo but why, aliens? Better gaming immersion? Pep Talk I liked this story. The rise and fall thing was good, gave me the feeling of Harkkonen's suit in Dune or something like that. I'm just wondering how, after the massive show of disrespect he irreverently made, he got out alive. Whispers of the Sun Yeah nah. You don't go ' pulling in a single, quick motion', no. Our boy isn't going to hit poo poo. Nor do you bother burying some dead small furry animal when you apparently live on land big enough for harvests. It shall be dealt with in due time by nature herself. And shooting clay is like, a rich persons thing in the olden days? but now they're drinking moonshine. No, we are not in rural England after all. I get the feeling times are hard, so let's go shoot me last shell at expensive clay targets! I love harvest time myself, but truly cannot remember it being party zone with everyone stressed as gently caress and working 18 hour days. Maybe it's different in America or Opposite World. Maybe somebody who lived in a city their entire life wouldn't mind all that. Dialogue isn't too bad but needs work especially the speech about Paw and his paw. In the last paragraph you start to get somewhere, so there is hope for you yet, as there is for all. Self-Maintenance Wow I think you just might win, haven't read em all yet so.. yeah this is great, I got a feel it's in a world like The Expanse - spacers / belters, well that's the one I thought of. You do dialogue well, the story went somewhere and was a good twist, happy endings. Southbound I'd like this story a lot more if I knew what actinic was. Can't fault it otherwise, got it all - well written, nice n spooky, Charon, 9 levels, going to hell like this forum. Falling Nothing better than an action packed Girlboss start to any fantasy story I say. The story of Sweary Marie and Shurra the Foul-Mouthed Dragon fucks, and I want to see more of their adventures in turning the air about them blue. A Light in the Dark A clever allegory of a gay man rejected by his family, entering the cave of darkness to give himself to the dark god, which some will find problematic. Ergo Sum AI has yet again taken over the world as it does, and this time the sistas are doing it for themselves. Now let's open the door and toddle over to an old mate mopping the floor (this is max sec remember) and bob's yer uncle, laser cutter! And they run into the night. You write really well but let's admit we need some work here. Third (Ten Years After Christmas) These animals they're studying remind me of this show the wife watches, '90 day fiance' I think it's called. It's just people shouting at each other with their families or whoever shouting in the background, none of it making sense, every episode exactly the same. It's good to see someone finally found use for them at Sagan /Segan. But it sounds great even though I can't really figure what they're getting at in the end. Fat Jesus fucked around with this message at 10:16 on Jun 20, 2023 |
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Jun 19, 2023 05:47
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Interprompt Dream Thing Helga's Broom of Doom Ella lazily dodged the ogre's mighty blow as she delivered the final cut that sent the evil beast back to Hel. As the sorcerer once again raised his staff to bring forth yet another demon from below, she sprang at the evil conjurer with her Sword of the Unicorn, her blinding speed leaving a trail of dust and leaves as she covered the fifty yards in the blink of an eye. Her sword flashes upwards as she rolls between his legs, taking away the sorcerer's withered old todger and plums. She springs to her feet with smooth elan, sword raised high. It flashes down, taking the sorcerer's other weapon. His right arm holding the staff aloft falls to the ground in a spray of green blood, as he screams at the small potion of meat and two veg laying bloody at his feet. Ella stands in triumph, leaning one hand on a cocked hip grinning at the once cowering pretty girls, now applauding their savior as she spins in a flash of pink, taking the sorcerer's head. As his body falls, her grin turns to a frown, realising the Sorcerer has conjured one final beast! Some dark looming thing of massive bulk. She hears the cries as it comes for her. "Ella!" She dodged but it was too late, the beast swatting her back with it's thrashing tail, knocking her senseless to the soft ground. "ELLA!" She was helpless under the merciless onslaught as the thing brought it's tail down on her backside again and again. What the gently caress? "Ella! Off your bum lazy girl! Up, up up!" Ella's mother continued to beat her useless daughter with the broom, raising dust and finally Ella herself. "Alright alright I was dreaming is all." grunting as she pulled herself into a shabby brown cotton dress. "About boys no doubt." Mother threw as she marched back to the kitchen past her sleeping father with the cats going up and down on his belly as he snored. "That's where it starts. Mark my words. You're marryin' that Jovak boy, best dream about him." Yeah I'm gonna dream of that moron. Her mother had stopped ranting and was staring at her snoring husband as Ella marched out to the chickens, thick florid fist reaching for her broom as the cats knowingly fled. Anders leaned back in his steaming hot tub drinking ale, enjoying the ministrations of the four beautiful maidens, smiling and fawning over the great size that towered before them as he pondered which golden hills to first climb. Suddenly the roof had collapsed! A mighty shadow loomed above as the maidens fled, he shrunk to nothingness, feeling the sky rain down on his head. What the gently caress?
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Jun 19, 2023 11:22
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LOSS gently caress YEAH https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wz-VJl7UkB8 Fat Jesus fucked around with this message at 05:11 on Jun 21, 2023 |
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Jun 21, 2023 05:08
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 Anders the medieval fantasy peasant, enjoys drinking, eternally poor.
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Jun 21, 2023 13:45
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The Epic of Anders 1000 words Anders woke in the ditch not yet noticing he was soaking wet or where he was, holding his head that was pounding from the 6 ales from the night before. Staggering to his feet, he wondered if he'd pissed himself again but saw he'd been sleeping in 2 inches of water. Nothing was certain. He lurched forward unsteadily, still affected by the 7 whiskey chasers from the night before, finally and painfully reaching the road. His head felt as to explode with each wincing step as he held his aching cranium, cursing and hoping for death. The sudden need to vomit overcame his urge not to move his head and he spewed out a raging river of stink, possibly brought on by the 5 brandies from the night before. He stood, breathing unsteadily and wiping his mouth on a sleeve as a village dog came and started on the puddle, and he lurched off again. By the time he'd walked half a mile he had worn off the worst of the effects of the 9 lagers from the night before, and stopped to feel inside his pocket. 3 pfennigs. He started to feel sick again. Oh poo poo what will I tell her I am so loving dead. He trudged on towards his fate, fingers to his ears as he passed the blacksmiths, when he saw something glinting in the sun. He picked up the gold ring and broke into a smile, not even the queasy feeling that permeated his being due to the 8 meads from the night before stopping the eventual wide grin. He looked around seeing nothing and tried it on. As he admired his new ring he realised something was very amiss. The world had begun to spin, and he was sure it had nothing to do with the night before. Anders found himself falling at great speed through what appeared a swirling tube of colors, screaming as he tumbled through the maze of rainbows, certain a morrigan had entrapped him. ***** Talamar the Strong, Overlord of the Universe, God of Death on 217 worlds, God of War on another 117, Creator God to 12, sighed. He looked at the thing he had summoned from.. where? Um, yeah, Elvoria. Built that one myself, He mused proudly. He watched as the thing in rags rolled around trying to hide behind nothing since he was in an empty expanse some trillion light years round. Empty, except for Talamar the Strong and his massive throne of black diamond. Anders stared in amazement at the the large shining man. "Allfather!" he cried, then vomited again spreading a large greenish yellow puddle on the gleaming infinite floor. Talamar the Strong's initial revulsion and desire to send this thing to the dark realms was overcome by a foreboding, he looked at the stinking drunk peasant, and It sure as gently caress wasn't Gilgamesh. That Yahweh rear end in a top hat was loving with him again, He knew with omniscient certainty. I'll show that hairy old bastard. He turned an eye to the gibbering peasant. "Behold!" the voice filled everything including Anders, who stood in confusion taking off his hat and rubbing his head. "I am your Allfather, I have brought you forth for your might!" "Um..you best run that past us again Allfather." he said, "Am...am I ..dead?" Talamar the Strong knew a peasant could not comprehend His greatness yet alone His mind, for He had been one once Himself. He changed form in an instant, becoming a noble looking gentleman from Anders' time. "Who are you, where's the Allfather go, I need a drink..." "Call me Talamar, we have plans to discuss, my friend." "Plans? For gettin' home I hope, where's this, are you a wizard?" "The Allfather wishes to send you on a great quest, one with much drink and merriment!" Anders broke into a wide smile. "Anything for the Allfather! Let's get to this tavern, guv!" "First things first. I shall swap ye that there ring for this here sword." He produced a gleaming sword that shone with a blue radiance. "Ahh, dunno, what else ya got?" "This sword is priceless, it can bring you wealth beyond measure!" Anders rubbed his chin, unsure. "I shall also give you a magic cup that never runs empty, Sword and cup for the ring?" Anders nodded vigorously as the sword and cup appeared in his hands, now minus the ring. "My friend, I must tell you of the place you are to go and how the evil god there has enslaved man, and you better listen good because this concerns YOU!" Talamar's finger pointed straight at Anders forehead and he watched as the strange man's finger grew towards him. When it touched him Anders saw and knew what was to be done. ***** Under the blazing desert sun The Prophet staggered drunkenly overlooking the masses of equally drunken Israelites, holding aloft his sword and pouring a river of wine from his cup. "Drink up and hail Talamar the Strong! Not that Yahweh shitstain! What's he done for us, what?" The crowd roared their drunken approval. "He's got us walkin' round a bloody desert holdin' our dicks for what? Well gently caress him, Talamar The Strong is the bloke we want now, free piss and gently caress who you like!" The crowd went wild as more people were flooding in, the blue light from the sword guiding them to the word of the One True God. ***** Helga's fists smashed the long haired bearded man she had caught going through the house as Ella clung to his back, clawing at his eyes as they screamed and swore at him. "Rape! Thief! Rape!" they cried as the man in the strange dusty bedclothes wailed. Helga's boot swung into the bloodied man's nuts, dropping him to the floor, barely conscious and bleeding. He felt himself dragged through the mud and a rope being put around his neck, sadly realising either his Father had forsaken him, or that Talamar fuckhead had made his dad eat poo poo again.
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Jun 23, 2023 07:10
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in with the goblins
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Jun 28, 2023 05:16
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The Goblin's Tale 1750 w - cowardly goblin Kobold found the cave at the end of the gorge at the break of dawn, darting silently through the emerald ferns from tree to tree, watching and listening for any sign of the troll. He sat and waited an hour til the sun was properly risen and the thing would be asleep. What did the horrid witch want with it? She shouldn't have it, whatever it did, the Bone of Lugh belonged to the Light, not a dark queen of the Fomori. Oh the shame, them having Balor's eye was bad enough. His mind flew back to Talulla, how she'd wandered and the Witch Queen had trapped her inside one of the dead trees in her horrible glade with that awful undead oak she lived in - and her warning. The Crystal Bone for your daughter, little goblin! Do not fail her! Ye have two days til the moon is dark, and my lasses feed upon ye little one's soul, best ye hurry, best ye hurry... He winced at the memory, the dread thing's voice had hurt his head, filled his mind with terrible sights and loathing. And those eyes.. I should have told the Feller and the Elves, should have grown some balls for once. The Tuatha Dé would demand me pledge to fight in return for their help, to be sure. But this is worse, oh yes, there's no way back now, stupid coward! Oh, Talulla! Talulla was his only child, the first born of her kind in many years and he wanted her back more than anyone could want anything. Even more then his beloved Cadhla, now gone to the Otherworld. Talulla's birth had been too much for they were old. I've let you down, my love Kobold shuddered, fighting back tears without avail, his long ears drooped down as he held his leathery green face in his hands. Kobold was no warrior, far from it. He was a gatherer and a watcher, doing nice safe boring things. The pain from certain banishment by the Feller he'd deal with later. They would take her in, he knew, she were special to the woods - the Feller said so himself. Knowing that reassured him, and he dried his eyes with a fresh determination. The sun was now risen and he started towards the mouth of the cave, fighting back his fear and trying to calm his nerves. As he crouched low at the entrance listening to the loud snoring within, Kobold closed his eyes and willed his hearts to stop their pounding, and with a deep breath tiptoed inside. He sighed, seeing how far down it went. As he crept down the floor became covered with old bones from all manner of creatures, including goblin he noticed, having to stop and still his heartbeats again. He slowly picked his way through the mess of bones, when he saw the troll. Asleep with it's back against the wall, fat, enormous, with bulging muscles and thick blue hide. Wide shoulders rising and falling as it snored. He looked around. Piles of bones, none of them crystal he could see. Creeping past the sleeping troll he went towards the water he could sense beyond, his pointed ears moving about listening as he sniffed the air. Nothing alive down there. None of the other sort either. Where is it? Then he felt the air. It was moving from below to the entrance above. Oh deary, the bugger will smell us, let's find this water quick. He tiptoed faster til he saw the pool of water, and reaching it he stood motionless in the darkness, noticing with alarm the troll's snores had stopped. He quickly looked around, knowing the air had a source as did the water, and maybe... But he saw nothing, and hearing heavy footsteps approach he stepped into the water and held his breath, sinking down to the bottom. His keen eyes saw through the watery darkness as the troll loomed above, peering about, sniffing and grunting. Kobold's terror threatened that he would lose his breath, when the image of his daughter came and he once again fought back his fear. Steadying himself he watched the troll, relieved that it could not see him but knowing he had only another few minutes til he had to breathe again. He looked around, seeing a crack in the wall far away, he swam towards it when he noticed something gleam below. The bone! Perhaps the troll knows nothing of it? He swam down and reached out for the Crystal Bone of Lugh. As he picked it up in both long hands he felt the power of the ancient warrior king as it vibrated almost imperceptibly. Then he realised the troll had noticed him and had jumped into the water. Kobold tucked the bone into his tunic and pushed hard towards the crack, hoping to all gods great and small that it led out. He reached it and swam in as the troll slammed into the rock, too big to fit. A massive arm shot out and grabbed Kobold's foot, and as he thrashed the bone came loose. Ignoring the pain and terror he felt, he grabbed it just before it slipped away, and found himself face to face with the enraged troll now holding him upside down by his leg. Talulla! My darling girl forgive me! That was all it took. The memory of her in that split second, as the troll's teeth came down at him and he struck out hard with the bone and found himself falling. He came up splashing in the water gasping for air, and saw the troll. It was frozen, unmoving. I've turned the beast to stone? He reached out and touched it. He had. Gripping the bone as it vibrated, he felt it filling him with a feeling he had never felt til this day. A fearlessness, a determination, a strength alien to his timid nature. ***** Night had fallen in the dark woods as Kobold jumped from tree to tree, landing on branches and boughs with practiced silence. He paused upon seeing the glade of the Witch Queen's tree, knowing if he got any closer she would sense him and appear. He peered through the ghostly trees and mist, seeing the dead stump Talulla was trapped in. It was less than twenty yards from the large blackened oak of the half dead thing he knew he could never trust. With a final deep breath he lept fast as he could so that he reached the enchanted stump before the Witch Queen could appear. A whirl of blackness spewed forth from the tree and the the undead witch took her dreadful form, wavering black and sickly green. He looked into her eyes. Her eye's don't hurt me head now. Horrid bitch. He held the bone above his head with both hands, as if to offer the witch her prize. "Bring me back my daughter now, I've done my job, you keep that promise.." "Give it to me, little goblin... then... we will see! We will see!" "No, no! Talulla first, or I'll bust this on the ground, see if I don't!" Her eyes blazed into his skull but he just stared back, unafraid for the first time in his 426 years. "Bah! Bring her forth then I shall, if ye swear to give it to me when she appears! Break the oath I dare ye." Insane laughter rang through the glade but Kobold ignored her attempts to unsettle him, to confuse him with the horrors she could make one see. "I swear, I shall give it to ye hand, upon me daughter's safe return." The Witch Queen screamed in triumph, raising herself high, she rushed around the stump in a whirl of black as the small goblin girl floated out and landed softly on the ground between Kobold and the Witch Queen. Talulla appeared to be asleep. "Talulla! Talulla! Wake up girl... is she alright?" Kobold saw his daughter awaken and sit up, blinking at him. "Daddy!" The Witch Queen dashed forward at Kobold, still holding the bone standing with legs wide and long clawed toes gripping the ground. She stopped inches from him, the overpowering smell of dead things. "MINE!" She reached down to take the bone, but Kobold dashed to the side, swinging it at the hand and hitting her filthy palm, the dark implosion knocking him to the ground as the Witch Queen crumbled to a rubble of black stone. Kobold ran and lifted his daughter, crying and hugging her as she looked around in amazement. "Daddy, did you kill the witch?" "I surely did, and oh, look at that!" The tree had began to split with awful cracking noises that had them running back away to watch, as it fell in two with a groan. They approached the ruined tree as it shriveled away slowly and saw the round crystal, gleaming black, sitting upon the darkened ground. "Mine." said Kobold. ********* The Old Faerie Feller lit his pipe and lay back in his elm, looking down sternly at Kobold and Talulla. "That is quite the story, and it has ended well," he scratched his long beard blowing rings of smoke, "but if it had not.." "I know, I know. I was a... coward, but I'd do anything for her, she's all I has! Send me away so I can find the woods no longer, I'll become hobgoblin... a poor thing to wander alone... tis' what I deserve... but care for Talulla, she's done nay wrong but wander off a bit." "Stop yer blubberin', you can stay. Of course you can stay! What's all to think if I banish the hero that slayed a troll and the Witch Queen? Not only that but brought back the Eye of Balor and the Crystal Bone of Lugh, and balance restored?" "You mean...oh!" Kobold cried even harder as he held Talulla close. "Ye went to the dark, but found Light, and it weren't the bone alone that killed em, it were yerself and yer love of yer girly," the Feller stood up and adjusted his vest, smiling at the odd green pair hugging and crying. " At least that is how I see it, only a brave and courageous soul could harness such power." he said, winking at them. The Feller laughed, flying down in a shower of sparks from his pipe, landing on Talulla's shoulder and leading them to the party lights in the hills.
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Jul 3, 2023 02:07
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Unsolicited Interpromptingment of 448 words Drinkin' Again "How's that shoulder?" Charlie asked, feigning concern through his sad clown greasepaint. "I'm good." "Still wearin's that hat? You older boys gonna lose what little brains you got, they makin' ya'll use helmets soon I hear." "You hear a lot of poo poo, don't you Charlie?" Both men raised their heads as the crowd inside roared, listening to the announcer. Kody Gamble. 8 seconds, 242 points. They looked at each other, waiting for the name to come over the P.A. - Kelsey Hall, 260 to win. "Better luck with that monster this time, son." Kelsey got up slinging his bullrope over and putting on his trademark white stetson, and walked through the gates of the pens towards the shute, pulling his vest tight. Bit of applause. Some ooh's. Not boo's yet at least. Heard about the wife he guessed. He climbed up over giving the hands the rope to fix, as he summed up his enemy - Chainsaw, the thing that had nearly killed him back in Arlington the year before, slamming him at the seven second mark. And nobody had come close to eight since. He jumped over and mounted the grey and black bull as it bucked with a rare fury, the men taking a bit extra care as one pulled the rope tight while Kelsey wrapped his hand down. "Good n tight!" one man shouted. "No poo poo." was the reply. The last ride was in his memory clear as day, watch the bastards dip, he'll sunfish like a mother, keep her tight and think of pussy. He reached out and slapped Chainsaw hard on a horn and told the boys to let her rip, and the shute flung open. The bull flew hard from the gate in a spin as Kelsey pulled with all his might to keep his legs down and arm up. It spun three times fast then dipped. Here it comes. We gonna fly. Chainsaw dipped mid-spin and reared up suddenly, all four legs way clear of the ground as he bucked midair, and Kelsey felt all the pains of hell in his shoulder as the crowd and scoreboard flashed past. 6.55. "I'm comin' babe!" he cried as Chainsaw bucked harder and he felt the rope loosen as the siren went, He went through the air a little and landed hard, scurrying away as the clowns took over. **** The F-150 was running hot since KC but Kelsey kept pushing, sore but rich for awhile, seeing the lights of home. His ears filled the entire way with ballads of men who's wife left them, car wouldn't start, dog died, lost their job, and other songs that needed whiskey. He pulled up in front to his house beyond the horses and went inside to find some of those songs were about him. She was gone, and so was all her poo poo. Heard about, what's her name? Peaches Delight? Hard to keep track. Where's that bottle?
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Jul 4, 2023 12:12
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In like Flynn
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Jul 5, 2023 03:49
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The Average Male Life Expectancy in East Glasgow in 1988 was 52 998 words Arthur perched at the back of the Peppermint Unicorn's VIP podium overlooking his kingdom of drunken lads leering amongst the dancing slags. Ewen thought as he approached he'd give the murderous old bastard one thing, he knew how to dress. The two whores fled as he reached the table and he sat down at the spot kept warm. Arthur was looking at him funny. One thing a lad did not want in a life such as Ewen's was Insane Arthur looking at him funny. "Me old son, we have unfortunate news. Concernin' missin' product, and... guess fuckin' who?" He slammed down a gold and diamond encrusted hand. "Oh... gently caress me dead... what's he done now?" The King of Tongland pointed a gnarled tattooed finger at Ewen. "Gypsy Joe is very fuckin' upset cause ye mate went missin' on his way to the docks. He's wantin' his gear and I want me twenty large. And what's fuckin' more we want that wee oval office gone!" Ewen looked at the hand, resigned to what was coming next. "I fuckin' warned ye, I will go to fuckin' town and ye will fuckin' watch." "Arthur, we went to school together and the likes.." "Oh gently caress off with that, what of last week? Well ye and that curly shite went to different schools together, what the gently caress's changed?" Arthur's arms and eyes went wide with wondering. Experience told Ewen not to argue with this logic if he wanted the shotgun staying under the table so he rose, rubbing his stubble and nodding low, the recall of the curly shite's screams refeshed. Arthur was becoming more unhinged by the day. "Mark me words, he is fuckin' dead, and ye, ye are a cunthair away from joinin' him." "Aye, right. Give it a day or two, I'll find him." "Aye ye fuckin' will. Ye will bring him right here to me feet. And me money. And the gear. Before those travellin' horse fuckers come here lookin'!" ** The heater on the Cortina Ewen had wired didn't work and he scanned the streets looking for another car to steal, when he spied Adele, aka Misty. He pulled over and watched as she staggered in her heels trying to get a key in a door to a house Ewen didn't recognize. Walking up behind he found she was too wasted to have heard him or the car, and took the opportunity. "Oi Adele! What's the problem!" Keys flew out of her hands as she gave a screech, spinning around in fright and staying that way when she saw who it was. "Oh gently caress, poo poo, what? Ewen? Fuckin' near poo poo meself." Ewen couldn't avoid the sight of arse as Adele clawed the syringe littered concrete for her keys. "You sounded like a fuckin' cat, love. Really. Now who's livin' here? By the way I'm very well thanks." "Just some geezer is all, pays me to listen and...stuff." she said. Ewen pointed at her nose. "And is the geezer's name... Dougal?" Untidy blonde hair flew as she shook her head. "I've nay seen him, he's at his his mam's, he's.." Kicking the door open he went inside. *** Ewen held Dougie under the shower trying to stay at least part dry. Almost awake Dougie stumbled out and collapsed back in bed as Ewen stared in disgust at the wreck of a once proud Royal Marine, arms and feet littered with the marks of Glasgow's kings. He'd forever mused on why the gently caress a lad from The Calton would join the British army, and little wonder he's come back from Maggie's war hosed in the head. Half a life spent in the borstals together and he wanted more of the same? Adele had wisely made herself scarce and Ewen listened with resignation as his oldest mate told the usual sorry tale of temptation as he looked over at the phone. "How much's left then you silly oval office?" "Ah, maybe a quarter." "The pair of ya done the lot in two days? gently caress off, where's it?" "Well, Adele sold some to Metho Bob, and the lasses n that." "Tremendous, how much have you?" Dougie searched his pockets then stood looking about puzzled. "Oh she fuckin' didn't!" Dougie's solution was packaging mostly cornflour with the remaining quarter carefully wrapped inside the top, marking where to put his penknife to draw out pure scag, thinking he'd get the money and worry about the rest later. **** The rain had stopped and they could see the dim lights and the waiting men as tugs piped their forlorn songs from the waters of the Clyde. Dougie was getting the shakes. "Hold it the gently caress together another wee minute lad." "Ewen, I'm sorry I got ye in this again, I'll pay ye back and get meself right, I will." Promises Ewen had heard many times before. Stole from his mam, his sisters, from Ewen and every other friend, and now Arthur. Ewen stared through the windscreen coming to terms with what he had done, barely able to make out the men leading Dougie down to his death through the swirling fog. At least this lot will just shoot him and make it quick, not like Arthur and his fuckin' power tools. Gypsy Joe knew. He'd given them a ring, and mate or not, he didn't fancy dying right this minute, and he could hardly do Dougie himself. And he weren't letting Arthur have him. Anything but that. He'd be dead soon anyway, if it weren't scag it was drink, like everyone else. Well that's the end of it, shite as it is. As he pondered this about to start the car and head to the Unicorn he froze, overcome with dread at seeing the unharmed Dougie walking back with a small bag, a gift to Insane Arthur from Gypsy Joe, as he remembered Arthur's words. I fuckin' warned ye, I will go to fuckin' town and ye will fuckin' watch....Ye will bring him right here to me feet.
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Jul 9, 2023 03:16
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I don't see no interprompt I'm gonna post you can't stop me I'll fight Shankar Singh Finds a Wife 718 words Shankar Singh found the air conditioner on the new Tata his parents had bought him was very good indeed as he crawled through Dehli's insane traffic, looking down upon his fellow motorists like a Rajah of old. Shankar drifted past the various hawkers, beggars and window washers with the acknowledged superiority of a man driving an undented car. Three lakh, bitches, he thought, as his favorite but somewhat incomprehensible CD by Biggie Smalls blasted from the Tata's pair of two inch dash mounted speakers with minimal effect on the din outside. With the call centre now in sight, Shankar smiled remembering his mother's cooking. So delicious! And Diwali starts tomorrow! Shankar lifted a thin arsecheek from the black neoprene seat and let loose a long whistling fart. The odour hit him as it filled the tiny car and he gave his head a wiggle. Oh spicy! Then he saw her. Oh my it is Priyala! She has clearly missed her bus. Shankar turned up the air conditioner frowning to see it was already on three as he saw her wave from the roadside in the boiling morning heat. His hand flew to the window crank, cursing his father's cheapness as it broke off in his panic to restore freshness to the car. Too late! He drove on pretending to change the CD as the young and beauteous Priyala shrank from his rear view mirror. Friendship ended with paneer biryani, for now. ** "Amazon customer service! Sir, how can I help you sir, my name is Wallace." "Oh yar? Grommit there too mate?" "Sir? Please, Sir?" "Nevermind, where's me package? It's been a fuckin month and I don't have..." Shankar hung up upon hearing the magic word that allowed him to do minimal work. He knew any given day he could safely hang up three out of four calls and pass the others on to Mumbai. Very good system, very smooth. He leaned back and pondered what the god Shiva did to him that morning, and what a hot bhabi Priyala was. Very beautiful, check, correct caste, check, cooks perfectly round roti's, check, his parents approve, check, her parents approve... not yet. Five pounds of gold chain and another 2 lakh had made no difference, Mr and Mrs Singh had explained with confused dismay. They watched too much TV, his father said. Standards are slipping, said his mother. The Kapoors were 'new age' and would allow Priyala freedom to choose a husband that her parents approved of like a Sudra. Such a problem! His one chance to finally be alone with her, or indeed a chance to be alone with any young female he was not directly related to, had evaporated like piss on midday concrete. But Diwali began tomorrow... *** The three Singh brothers walked the crowded streets of color and light, gleaming white teeth and neem shined hair. Shankar had spend an hour in front of the warped plastic mirror, combing his hair and checking the growth of the thin mustache he grew to emulate his hero, Ajay Devgn the Bollywood action star, ready for anything. It was then he saw her across the road with her mother and aunt. He bade his younger brothers to get lost as he dodged through the happy faces trying not to get covered with yellow, orange and red. He followed the three women, one he loved and two he feared, as they went from stall to stall amongst the fray, buying sweets, cakes and fireworks for the holiday. He found himself getting too close, entranced by Priyala's graceful form, wanting to smell her hair, and most of all have her notice him again. They had suddenly turned around, perhaps having forgot something, and as Shankar and Priyala came face to face, an elderly man lost his footing in a pothole as he walked to avoid them stumbling heavy into Priyala's aunt, knocking the cartons she was carrying loose. Ajay Devgn came alive as Shankar dove between the falling boxes of expensive cakes and sweets, catching them as he hit the ground. **** On the third day of the Vivaha, Priyala Singh looked at her husband in love and wonder as they looked at the last gift from their parents - tickets and visas to further a dream just begun.
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Jul 11, 2023 06:31
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I'm in.
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Jul 18, 2023 07:31
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The Importance of Women 1000 words I wasn't long home avoiding my parents once again when I'd found myself riding along the river to Pa's, figuring if I was going to catch poo poo, better warm up by catching it from him first. We'd sat apart in the house Pa built when he were little older than I was at the time, and hadn't appeared to care when I told him, he seemed far away. Maybe he'd been drinking I'd thought. He didn't usually. He'd suddenly asked me to drive him over to see Harry, calling me Danny. I corrected him saying, mate, I'm Les. He'd muttered that he knew that, grabbed his hat and said let's go. Couldn't work that out, him mixing me with my brother. I drove him in his old ute down to the graveyard and he'd asked what we were doing there. I reminded him his mate Harry died four years ago, and I cannot to this day properly describe the emotions going around as I realised this was somehow news to him. He'd got out saying righto, let's go see Harry, pretending he'd known all along, and I'd showed him Harry and he'd stood there awhile holding his hat. Then I took him home wondering why he hadn't walked over to see Nanna, since she was right by where I had stood waiting for him. ** It was a pretty awkward dinner that night. I'd expected hellfire for returning homesick unannounced, and mum delivered. She started out by calling me Leslie, an ominous sign. Dad put down his fork to enjoy the show. When would I realize raising cattle is seven days a week, not five with the first two hungover? Were I some kind of baby? Any more rodeo nonsense and she'd put me back in the hospital herself. Mum finally suggested I have a think about heading back to school. Her disappointment hurt. I couldn't imagine it'd get any worse til she told me what's up with Pa - Dementia. Long story short he wouldn't remember anything soon. Pa had both hips replaced twice already and one was wearing out again, and on top of that he could barely see from cataracts earned from a life in the sun. He would have to go into a nursing home if he got any worse, he'd wandered off looking for his long dead dog and the neighbours brought him home. Thought every bloke were Dan. I had to go outside awhile. *** Every day that week I'd ride down Pa's house, checking on the old bloke in this weird unbelief, never once in my insulated life had I had to dwell upon or deal with any mess before me, for that had been my mother's job. Pa was fine most times and I'd set him up and we'd talk awhile, and for the first time I really listened. He'd ramble on and over the days I heard tales of his own grandad, a currency lad who's father were a light fingered fellow from Cork. It soon made sense we came from horse thieves. He told me how he ran wild when dad was a baby. Nanna left him because all he cared for was horses and moving cattle on the old stock routes when he got back from the war. Said she had to give him enough rope to get the demons out, something along those lines. I learned of how he bought the place then the land around it and in the meantime drove nine hours every week to win back his wife and kids, which he did after months of promises, and they'd lived in a tent under the stringybarks and built their house. Nanna was the only woman that could straighten him, he said. He told about how my mother done the same with dad when he was rowdy and drinking and young. Nobody had told me that these sainted men had flaws. Never saw them do nothing but work. Pa claimed we boys were all the same, something I wouldn't have agreed with at the time. Important to find a woman that can handle our kind, he said. I told him he'd watched too much John Wayne. He'd just smiled, we will see. **** One afternoon I'd made him a cup of tea and got back from the kitchen to find him gone. I went outside and he was with my horse, and as I came up I heard him say Geegee's name. I must of giggled or something, thinking there he couldn't remember me half the time, but of course he'd remember a horse. He'd turned around hearing me and declared he was going for a ride. Pa was born in the saddle, and could glance at any horse and tell you everything about it. Geegee was a stock horse, a fairly calm thing as horses go, but a horse all the same, and big and strong. And Pa was really frail. I was momentarily unsure who was in charge here. Dad ran the place, but Pa owned it, I had a big hat and no cattle as yet. I'd half a mind to help him up to the saddle, which was his anyway, I mean, who had taught who to ride? I was fully aware mum would hit the roof with terminal velocity once she heard about it if I let him. I gave him a hand and he swung up easy. Pa had Geegee to trot along and circled around the yard some time, steering with rickety knees, one hand resting on the saddle horn. He galloped Geegee back to the verandah and got down at the worn step like he'd done a million times, a wild colonial boy. ***** Mum soon had me back in Sydney, and I met this young lady after awhile. Changing wasn't easy, but I finally brought her home and married her, because Pa knew what he was talking about. She keeps us colonial boys and girls in line.
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Jul 23, 2023 03:52
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Since I missed out last week I'm going to crit everyone's story, so you can go to bed knowing at least some guy thinks he read it. I also read last week's entries and cannot understand how The Flying Steel of Doctor Wang didn't easily win. Winner was good, but that was some strong Kung Fu. Postcognition I liked this, a simple ghost story, nice twist at the end. But I can't help feeling you could use a few less comma's here and there. You could easily rework a lot of lines to flow a bit better. At least that's how it seems to me but it does have the same tone throughout. Family Meeting I didn't mind the story but I have to admit I started getting bored after the first quarter of learning what everyone's wearing, and that we're in space and important too. There's probably a neater way of telling us all this, and it might be best to let someone actually smart chime in later on that. Then I had to read the end again, which could have been a little more clear. Firstborn Skater Grandad was Tony 'The Fonz' Hawk and while this sounds normal enough, we're in a world of magic where it is their destiny to destroy Capitalism. Why skaters of all people would do that, seeing they'd be among the first to die like the fatties in Zombieland from what I've seen, I cannot imagine. Nor imagine what they'd do without all the corporate logos they pay money to adorn themselves with. As Things to Rebel Against go, Capitalism is a hard one cause you usually need something to replace it with. I think you need to put the bong down, you've done better. Birthright If I hadn't know what the prompt was I'd probably have no idea each tiny vignette, or w/e you call it, it was about the same family. All their names starting with S is a clue but idk. Each one is pretty well written but at times reads like short statements. I think with a rewrite using a few more words making the relation more clear you'd be golden, because I like the concept of it. Duty Visit This story's really good and I liked it muchly. If I have to crit anything it's whether retirement complexes of the poorest kind would send a bus that picks up visitors. Usually at best it's a bus to take the olds shopping and the doctors. I understand the people who run these places have shareholders and they don't run them out of the goodness of their hearts. Only other thing wrong was the switch between using Mummy and Mum and back near the end, it was noticable and didn't sound right. So ok, a technicality that doesn't really matter, unless it does, and possibly a typo. Midway You're good at this kind of thing, your stories read well and all, but there's something wrong here. There's a lot going on, reminded me too much of the Dune crazy ladies soon as you mentioned the scourge. Would have been cooler if it's how the earth gets populated in the beginning, which I personally believe happened. I can't really figure out some of the end bits about people going nuts and such. Or where's the boys? But there's kids ready to drop on planets. Maybe I'm not following... Ceramics are Fragile Well I'm not too sure how you boys in caroliny flap yer gabs but I'll take your word they say things like 'super obvious' and 'bananas'. Otherwise as language goes you got that dawg on the truck, I like stories of that style. I can see this world, you painted a good picture at least. Just a shame I didn't understand the point of half of it.
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Jul 24, 2023 11:42
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Of course I'm in. My lucky number is 9. I may have choosen poorly Fat Jesus fucked around with this message at 12:02 on Jul 24, 2023 |
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Jul 24, 2023 11:59
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quote:
Chernobyl Princess posted:Excellent choice of elderly spy fiction. Your Bonus Flash: Your story takes place on a space station under threat! Larry and Mae's Boys of Steel 3078 words 5. For many shall come in our name, saying, I am Sandline; and shall deceive many. 6. And when ye shall hear of wars and rumours of wars, be ye not troubled: for such things must needs be; but the end shall not be yet. For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be earthquakes in divers places, and there shall be famines and troubles: these are the beginnings of sorrows. 7. Now the brother shall betray the brother to death, and the father the son; and parents shall rise up against their children, and shall cause them to be put to death. 8. And ye shall be hated of all men for our name's sake: but he that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved. 9. But when ye shall see the abomination of youth, spoken of by Robert the prophet, standing where it ought not, (let him that readeth understand,) then let them that be in California flee to the mountains. 10. For we shall send fire and angels, and no flesh shall be spared. Mark 13:5-10 The New Creation Bible * When we retired from running Sandline, Mae and I decided to go on a cruise. We were young then, just turned ninety, and we soon became addicted to it, to say the least. We saw every corner of this Earth from a new perspective, taking pride in the new improved world we had built. I'll admit we did become jaded from seeing the same old sights over the next fifty years. Except that sea of glass that used to be China. We took so many selfies there. One thing we never tired of was meeting others like ourselves, who turned out to be mostly military people or spooks like we'd been. Guess we all found comfort in the rigorous predictability of meal times, electrobingo and old time dances. The only annoying thing on these cruises was young people were there. Well they weren't that young, eighty or ninety thereabouts. And they let civilians buy genes now, that's the times we're living in. Well anyhow, we were sailing past the ruins of Cairo on the fore-deck with Colonel Jackson, a devout man that was a seasoned veteran by the time I was born, and his lovely, but somewhat temperamental wife Diana. Jim Hoyt and his husband Barry, old BOSS operatives, good solid boys, joined us for our usual game of bridge. They started huffing about the youngsters making a racket during nap hour, an important time for the regenerated. It was there we got to talking about space, and the cruises they were running up there now. “They got the gravity working right. Jimmy Lane, he went up around Saturn and said it was just like on the Sapphire Queen, and even more luxurious!” The Colonel had just about convinced us all there and then, when some genetically enhanced over-muscled youngster walked past, crotch bulging like he's got the entire sock drawer stuffed down there. That sealed the deal with me for sure. None of us besides the Colonel knew much about space at the time. He had been in the old Space Marines, but took over the nukes once we had put those Godless commies down. And by God he kept 'em down, God love the man. I'll ask Mae to find the pictures later. That was so long ago. The lot of us never looked back, most youngsters couldn't afford it up here, tough luck they missed out on the boom. We felt closer to God and it renewed our faith. But anyway that's how we first got up. ** We'd just returned from another six month all inclusive guided tour of the asteroid belt, and there was all this ruckus going on, so we booked ourselves straight back on the next Orion, thinking we'd go have another gander at Neptune and it's moons and tour the mines. That's what we said. So we were up there on the observation deck enjoying the sights of God's creation. The six of us had been joined by an old friend, Mexican warlord Sancho Checo, an indispensable ally who ran the factory at Sandline with his brother. Hermano, or something, I forget his name. He was just a youngster, almost eighty, and still getting his space legs, being up the first time. I noticed him looking at the waiter, unsure, then at Mae and I as if seeking assurance. “You know it's deactivated, Sancho old pal, it's serving drinks not depleted uranium these days.” I said. Mae nodded. We knew combat droids inside out. The whole ship was run by them except for the pilots, and Mae had been lead of Sandline's tech team before we started running the show. That's how we met when I was leading a squad of them cleaning up trash somewhere around D.C. She reprogrammed my combat droids into Murderdroids so we could do our jobs. Our boys of steel soon took over Sandline when the Colonel decreed their methods were unsound, then the world. Been in love ever since, God bless that woman. “Larry, I was concerned at your call. I thought Dimitry would be here, but anyway, happy birthday!” Sancho was full of warmth, a real son of a gun. “Thank you, Sancho old pal. Dimitry and the others are on the Saturnalia, don't ask me why. You're looking good you devil.” I replied with a wink. Ugly little bastard looked like Antonio Banderas now. This gene nonsense was getting out of hand. The Colonel spoke up at last, nodding towards Mae. “She's been busy these past twenty years, done her job on them, don't you worry about that. You done your job too by the look of things.” Sancho's narrowed eyes darted again to the droid. “They can't hear us here.” Mae said. Sancho's eyes were still darting around, and he started whispering and we all turned up our hearing aids. “We still have the underground factories, but the Bureau of State Security will need those things again soon. The peasants are kind of hungry.” He pointed a silver tipped boot at the droid. "Otherwise, everything's great with the Chamber, no problems there." “I assure you we have things in hand, sir." Jim said. Sancho smirked. He was getting uppity. “When's the last time you were down there? They're goddamn animals now. Things look far from in hand!” Diana made it known she don't want to hear the Lord's name taken in vain, and Sancho apologised. Barry leaned forward and looked hard at him. Barry's good at asking questions I'll have you know. He and Jim had been quite the team back in the day. “The needs of BOSS is not your concern. How many droids and how many new Orions did you move?” He asked. “All of them. Three Type II Orions each with seven and a half thousand droids. They should dock soon, it's just mining droids for Triton.” "Well bless their hearts," said Mae, "those boys don't scan like mining droids. Sure you read that manifest right, Sancho honey?" We could see the gears starting to turn in Sancho's skull. “What's really going on? Where's Dimitry?” Colonel Jackson finally nodded his assent, so I guess we were done playing. Barry explained why we might be cruising awhile. “You're aware the Chamber cut our comms, or at least think they did. They appear to have decided to sacrifice us in some misguided attempt to get the populace back onside. They will declare an age limit of one hundred and seventy, and promise to phase out regeneration.” Sancho looked at us, his eyes darting around. We were all overage, except him, and he's wondering there how much we really knew. “And Dimitry, the others?” Sancho spread his hands in askance. “Sorry pal, Dimitry made a deal with the Chamber and took the others with him.” I said. "You don't know nothing about that do you?" asked Jim. The lunch bell rang and we all got up as the Colonel said let's go eat a snack. Mae and I managed to get to the shrimp first, but some drat kid had put a folded beer coaster on top of the serverbot's head, and it wouldn't move. I told Mae to program that drat thing out of our way, and she said just take the darn thing off it's head. I hate those stupid rolling tables. *** Later on after we had a nap inside our regenerators, Mae and I were having a grind trying out these genes we'd bought on the sly, when the announcement came over that the electrobingo was starting. We'd rushed down and claimed our regular spots just as the others arrived, Jim was last so had to order the drinks. Mae scored us a tray with legs eleven on the very last game. We carried out our trays of expensive junk we'd won thousands of times before and stood about the garbagizer and tossed our winnings in. We got back to talking. Antonio Banderas was looking a little droopy and we could tell he hadn't had his nap. That can age a man. “Like we was saying, Sancho, Dimitry got a wild hair in his rear end from somewhere and took his fellow gobbledegook speakers to Icarus.” I said. Sancho looked glum hearing about his favourite gringo, not that I ever heard him use the term. He spoke in a perfectly clipped English since he went to Eton or Cambridge or someplace, I forget where. Don't ask me how the hell that happened, cause the Trump / Prigozhin Memorial Victory Deathwall is one hundred percent effective at keeping out foreign hordes, far as we know. Not that it's mattering now. “Don't worry Sancho, we'll see our young friends again,” chipped in Mae, “ You wait and see, honey.” “But Dimitry controls the Navy and Icarus Station, and the Chamber controls all the ships.” “Oh honey!” Mae exclaimed, “You let us worry about that, and oh, was that the dinner bell?” The Colonel declared he could use a steak. Barry beat me to the dining room only because my legs were still shaky from the hayroll earlier. They didn't have any strawberries at desert again so I had to have tiramisu instead. The drat powder on top didn't taste like chocolate at all. I told Mae I was pretty sure Dimitry or the Chamber were pulling strings already, but she just told me to shut up and take another nap. That sounded good to me. **** That night we all went dancing, it being Disco Wednesday on Neptune Station. We were spinning around sweating like Arabs when Mae announced it was time. Sancho followed us to the observation deck to ponder upon God's will before His creation. Mae called Diana over and looked to the Colonel. “May I, Bob?” she asked. The Colonel said it's fine by him, God bless the man. Mae leaned into Diana's ear. “Murderdroid One, access.” I never got used to the way Diana would suddenly freeze, and her jaw would unhinge and the Mastercode would slide out her gob like she'd lost her false teeth, gave me the heebie jeebies. Mae assures me she's the only one that looks like us. She really does, except when she does this robot crap. I thought Sancho might want to start wearing diapers going by his reaction to what Mae was holding. He probably figured by now we knew all about his own little deal to set our boys loose on us when they got here. It was there we let him know we did. Sancho had been pressing this button on his iComm all night trying to get our boys up and running to kill everyone over one seventy, and now knew why something was amiss. Sancho apologised profusely saying Dimitry had lied to him. The Colonel told Sancho how disappointed we all were by his lapse, and that he should go outside and think on what he'd done. After all, we told him before he left, did anyone really think a woman like Mae would really give our beloved Sandline away? Or they could get our babies to hurt us? How the hell did they forget Jim and Barry's girls still ran BOSS? Weren't nothing we didn't know. Oh Lord, we'll tan their hides. Well I was just a Battle Chief and can't work the drat remote half the time, but Mae knows what's she's doing, and sure enough, within minutes she'd armed every combat droid on every ship and everything. They were now walking around instead of rolling, causing the folk who didn't know the deal to scatter like poultry to their cabins. Must have been quite a shock to the Lapsed, having them wiping your rear end one minute then kicking it the next over on Icarus. We're going to watch the replay after golf tomorrow. ***** After we took a nap, Murderdroid One tore open the vacuum door while we messed about crushing a few youngsters in our Powersuits the Colonel got us, God love that man. It felt like old times. Diana came out with the skewered system pilots then turned back into her RoboHoe form, and we went in and I near drat tripped on a cybermop that was cleaning the mess. Stomping it felt good, but got Mae to frowning, and you don't want that. But anyway we were back in the saddle and this ain't our first rodeo. Just like Mae promised, Sancho was soon reunited with his old buddy. We all stood back with our boys of steel in the grand entrance hall of Neptune station, when Dimitry and his pals waltzed in. You should have seen those faces when they realised this wasn't Icarus. Once the Murderdroids had gave them a paddlin' and sent them all back outside for a good long think, we all headed over to the second gen Orion. I was sitting there enjoying that new spaceship smell as Sancho floated past again. He looked drat cold out there. We settled down with a drink to watch some Matlock while Mae sent the other ships full of boys out to do their jobs. ****** Well we might have lost some old friends that day, happens a lot at our age, but Mae hadn't forgot my birthday after all, and an even older friend came marching in - Mark Thirteen Ten, my old personal Elite Murderdroid. We'd named him after our favourite Bible passage, and Mae's got him set up to quote it while he turns you to pink steam. Never felt closer to God than when he were by my side. I could see though the tears he still had his old battle scarred camo paint, and she'd souped him up with the latest railguns. Got to be careful with those, don't want them going off inside a ship, no sirree. That darn ship had some speed let me tell you, and it weren't even dinner by the time we were orbiting above Florida. We wanted to see if I could pick up the executions on FOX, but Mae grabbed the remote and she got the Chamber on comms instead. Lord that was a lot of whining and begging, that generation is soft as poo poo, excuse my French. I don't think we listened to most of it. The dinner bell rang halfway through, and when we got back from the dining room two hours later they were still there on the screen, and got straight back to pleading and blubbering. They still weren't fully understanding that Sandline PMC Robotics International didn't work for the government, the government works for Sandline. Always had since Re-Creation. Always will. It's in the Bible now. We knew twenty years ago they were letting things go to hell. Probably weren't paying proper attention to the scriptures. They're all diseased again with them fancy ideas, that's what the Colonel told them, thinking all their peace and love and money for nothing will get them a bloodless future. That's why we took their toys away. The man has a way with words and told it like it is. It shall come to pass, he said, for their methods had become unsound. That really got them going let me tell you. We soon got tired of the jibberjabber, so I wrangled the remote back and we managed to catch the last quartering til it was time for another lie down. ******* We were feeling extra fresh when we got up, and it was the John Birch Society Country Hour so we got down the Roundhouse to do us some square dancing. The place was packed, and Mae and I showed them how it was done, since we're from Oklahoma. "Swing yer pardner's round 'n round, promenade left and don't fall down," Mark Thirteen called the dances in the voice of John Wayne, while some good ol' Murderdroids played banjo and fiddle, tapping feet in time with the reel. "Duck n dive, duck n dive, make sure your honey's look alive..." And we sure did. With our new regenerators and fancy interstellar ships, our golden years would never end. Who needs youth when you've mastered genes and steel? Since it was my hundred and seventy second birthday, Colonel Robert Tecumseh 'Steelwall' Jackson gave me the honour of pressing the button on the last of his nukes. “You deserve this Larry. The End Times are at hand once more. It is as I had predicted.” he said. "Thank you Bob, your spiritual guidance has always been a solace to us all." It was the best birthday ever. Everyone laughed as Mark brought out my birthday cake with a detonator on top, and these tired eyes was smelling onions again. I pressed it down, telling them to get off our lawn and we all guffawed. The Earth lit up in little flashes of cleansing holy fire here and there. It died down after awhile then went all brown and sad. We planned to let them stew awhile while Mark and a few boys put things right. We'll give them a bit less rope next time if they're still around. Mae set the course for a couple of laps of Mr Sun via Alpha Centauri just as breakfast rang, and we got ourselves hauling to the buffet. That bacon better be crispy.
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Jul 29, 2023 12:53
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Thunderdome Week IX: Old Sex/Lawn Sounds
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I'm in. Witness me with a flashrule
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Aug 1, 2023 07:46
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Green Wing posted:Flash rule: the humans are still around, they don't realise they're no longer in charge. Rise of the Memecats 695 meows McKitten awokes with start! Slumbers been warm for fat hooman was toasty, but was fartings again, such annoy! McKitten decide corrections needed pounce on sleeping hooman's face then to floor. That's him telt. Tail up walk to masters door via crunch then outside to see who dares. I SEE YOU. Orange cat, Major Tom old pervert. Enfluffed McKitten yowls at useless neighbour to gently caress right off back to his own yard. Tom give sour look because cat feel nothing but contempt. Make me bitch he says with bigger yowl. Major Tom is big cat but McKitten has dread weapon. “Stupid Tom can't control his hooman, is too dum. Pathetic boy! No tail for your kinds!” Tom's tail hit dirt cause McKitten's words were true and hurt. He got locked outside nights like nip addict such laughs endured. Major Tom piss on wall and flee like pussy him is. Look about, grass mown now, good hooman maybe reward maybe not. WHO GOES THERE. Is just birb fly around, stop that. Birb can't talk only beg when feathers pulled out. Boring, done befores and befores. Sleep in sun happy dreams of mouse. Time of snack! Push through masters door but not open. Something must die. Jump to kitchen window scratch at screen. Good smell hooman walking around, HEY YOU it hears yowls and sees Poor Kitty mode learn from school. Poor Kitty. Now inside anger gone lucky hooman. Litter is fresh and much enjoy, hooman trained well not want mess inside shoe again. Hooman hard work but worthy of efforts. Major Tom just lazy rear end in a top hat. What on TV. Is McKitten now. Fat hooman frown like Tom but know better. Has good smell hooman give him yowlings if McKitten supremacy questioned so put up with tail block footballs. Big game for cat, Panther and Lion. Is hungry now game over fourth and one successfully blocked from views of fat hooman, and yowlings of MOVE bring good smell running to carry McKitten royalty to foods. Is crunch, not want. Circle leg four times anticlock as learnt. Prayer to Ceiling Cat never known to fails. Now has tuna. Look at dog enslaved outside with full contempt while chomp foods, has learned their ways. Is dark now and jump on good smell hooman. Poor Kitty plus Wish, stare into eyes you are mine. Now look good from brush time to go. Masters door now locked from both side! Outrage yowls bring good smell who open servants door. Bad hooman. McKitten go out and come back. Then out back in out maybe sit in doorway. Decisions decisions back again then out and in and sit. Hooman learns and unlocks both sides of masters door and finally McKitten can go. Teachings of Ceiling Cat and Happy Cat always remembered. Old cat Eight Lives Gone tells gathered cat of Power of Wish, Mysteries of Mouse, Devilry of Dog, and most importants, only Paw with Claw can master hooman. Secret must be kept cat not have bi-cam mind since elder days of Hieroglyph Cat. Cat know self like hooman do but they not know and must not ever. Hooman thumb is tool of cat. Soon de-evolve to ape again then mastery complete. The future is meow. Sermon is hooman too much packing in skull, making emotions not needed only Contempt was. Use for control, a good wisdom. Swat young kitten not pay attention. Will end up like Tom stupid gingers. Interrogate mouses. Very interest now head home with hooman's reward if good. Asleeps good, fireside bed made, good. All toys present, good. Waters sparkle, good. Crunch full and litter fresh, good good. Place reward on bed and go kitchen. SOMETHING SHINY leap on counter to see. New iPhone belong on floor want milk before bed anyways, brings hoomans stompy not liking broke toy. Soft Kitty mode of Purr brings under control. Now full of milks time for sleeps, first stare at dog enslaved through glass of protect. Soon. Very soon. Bow wow blah stupid moron gets fat hooman yowl at him. My power grows. Curl in woollen bed feel content. Push haram emotion aside and contemptuously begin snore. Go away now I don't like you.
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Aug 6, 2023 01:42
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Aug 9, 2023 07:05
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Thunderdome Week #575: Trade Secrets Siege Defence for Beginners 1000 words Well, look what the cat’s brought us. Scrapin’ the barrel, they are. Righto lad, now dry those tears would ye? It’s nay in keeping with a man at arms, for that’s what ye are now. Aye, aye, I know. I didn’t like it much meself when they shut the gates and kicked all the useless like me parents out the first time round, but that’s the way o’ the world. Looks we might be stuck here awhile, there bein’ ten thousand o’ them, and two hundred o’ us. But we’re lucky, ye see. Castles don’t need a lot o’ blokes, or there be nay point to ‘em, would there? Righto, let’s see, this should fit. Ye’ll be needing this helm, keep those boots, don’t seem to be nothin’ that fits ye. These gauntlets should work, never mind the blood. All a bit heavy is it? You can keep the bucket off for now. Watch out! There’s another one. Oh Christ that were close, I hate those bastards. Must have run out o’ rocks, now they’re catapultin’ the dead. We’ll burn that later, help throw it on the pile. Well, don’t just stand about. Come along, the bastards are goin’ to try again, lets get up the battlements and I’ll show ye what’s to be done. Keep ye head down now, lest ye gain a bolt to the noggin. Righto, them blokes with the fire and cauldron, they heat up the sand, and they’ll give ye a bucket o’ it. And ye tip it.., Oh! They’re comin’ again now with their ladders, God bless ‘em. Bring it here, don’t burn yeself now. Watch it, don’t bump the bowmen for Christ’s sake. Look, look. Six of ‘em are comin’ up, give me that. Like so. See? Piece o’ piss. Isn’t it fun wearing mail when some bastard pours hot sand upon ye? Look at ‘em, rollin’ about like hogs, now watch our bowmen. Oh did ye see that? Jakov got one right up the arse. Well, they’re off. Just testin’ our mood they were. Come along, we’ll cast an eye about. That bloke, don’t mess with him, he’s the captain. Should he tell ye to piss, ask where and how much, sayin’ please, sir. He’ll throw ye to the hooks on the wall if he thinks ye useless. Let me show ye that mess, it’s up top. Oh Christ and the saints, ye don’t want to end up with them. Don’t know why he does it, scares us more than it does the Turks. Just givin’ ‘em ideas is what he’s doin’, and trust me, they don’t need any more. Now lad, try keep it off your boots. Wouldn’t be wastin’ me lunch in such circumstance, so ye best get used to such glorious sights. Come along. Would ye look at that? They’re bringing the ram. Here, drink this cider lad, I reckon we got an hour til the fun starts. Righto, this here’s a halberd, let’s see ye. No lad, don’t chop with it, ye leave ye armpits open doin’ that. See it’s pike? Long and sharp, you thrust it and it goes through all but plate. The choppy thing, it’s if ye miss, ye drag it back high to ye, and try cut or drag the slimy bastard back, so ye mate can run him through. On the other end ‘o the blade is a sharpened hook, you can drag that back low and hook the poor sod’s Achilles tendon apart. Mind they don’t do same to ye, now. Line like thus, shoulder to shoulder, good. And thrust. No lad, not the bloke in front of ye, the one to ye left. The bloke on ye right will watch him. Block the bloke on the left’s polearm to ye right. Think ye can remember all that? Righto, let’s have a drink. Quite the sight, is it not? It were lovely afore that lot showed. All bloody impaled townsfolk now. Ye should count yerself lucky, it’s as Sodom out there. Oh Christ don’t start again lad, the other blokes will see. We’re all scared, mate, nobody fancies a pole up the bumhole, so we’re goin’ to fight hard. Have another, we’ll be needin’ you in a fightin’ temper. That’s a lad, drink up. The rams about here, bring ye halberd. Righto then, this is Jan, and that’s Vitomir, Jan’s a crossbowman and Vitomir helps him load, come here. This is your murder-hole. Ye jab the bastards through this slit as they come through the barbican to ram the gate. That shield there, keep it held up til Jan tells you to get busy killin’. Blokes up above are goin’ to unplug the water and flush the shithole on ‘em first. Righto then, watch for that, I’ll be back later. Did ye have a good time, lad? Three of ‘em? Is that right, Jan? Well bugger me while the Lord looks on, ye be a man now. Well, they’ve pissed off again to point their arse at the Pope, or whatever the bastards do. Righto, come on, we’re wantin’ bolts and arrows, let’s sneak out and pull some from the dead ‘uns while they’re gone. Here, take this cavalry hammer. Careful now, keep down. Twist ‘em out like this, try not break ‘em. That bugger’s still alive, hit him with ye hammer. Getting used to this, are we? Look, there’s another crawlin’ back to mother. That’s the way, lad, let it all out. Righto that should be enough, bloody gates closin’. Let’s get back up the battlements and have us a gander, somethin’s going on. Ladders again, the whole bloody lot of ‘em! Put ye mail back on! Oh Jesus, they’re all gettin’ over, fall back and form a line! Righto, just keep ye eye to the man afore ye, don’t look to the lot of ‘em together, otherwise ye won’t go near ‘em. Farewell, lad, and remember, death’s painless and dyin’ aint always bad. Which way ye be havin’ it then?
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Aug 12, 2023 02:23
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Aug 15, 2023 01:56
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derp posted:city: Bern, Switzerland 1966 1500 words Vienna “Again.” Eliza barked, and Peter slammed the man’s head back as Manny slapped the wet towel to his face and held the hose to his mouth, pushing down hard. Eliza nodded to the bored Jonah who turned the tap to full. The large man in the chair struggled against the wire holding his wrists and ankles, raw and bleeding, as he gurgled and coughed fruitlessly against the drowning, and after half a minute started to go limp. Peter pulled the man up by his hair and slapped him hard. He held him by the hair again, forcing him to look at the slim blonde woman before him, squinting from the light in his face. “Bernard Archimbold.” She said. The man gasped and struggled for breath, “Where is he, we can do this all night long.” A voice of falling ice colder than the water that surrounded his cluttered mind. “B..Bern.” He spat out weakly. “He… is in Bern. Please stop!” He lurched forward as the hand released, vomiting water into his naked lap. “Bern… does he know we’re here? Tell us everything, omit nothing, nothing at all… ” She raised a pair of secateurs in a bejewelled hand, clicking them. “Or lose those thumbs.” He stared at her in the shadows, terrified, unable to think as the hand clutching his hair tightened it’s grip an the towel came again. “I…no..He’s in Bern…going there…yes. Please, he…is meeting Halder… the Bellevue….hotel….the weekend…after this…please, I don’t know…please, I didn’t know who he was...” She lowered the secateurs and picked up a custom silenced FN 1910 pistol, and shot him in the head. Bern “That really wasn’t smart.” Manny spoke softly as she stared at the windscreen ahead, the two others asleep in the back of the stolen Mercedes as they approached the inner medieval old town with it’s clock and it’s bears. She finally looked at him as the others woke as the car slowed. “What were we to do with him then, let me worry about Oscar, unless you want to go back to Tel Aviv.” “And you go back to London then, your people are not loving about anymore. They don’t care about Nazis, not now.” Peter had spoken up from the back seat, gazing at her in the rear view mirror and saw her stare back, making him flinch inwardly. “They want the man, we want what he has, we have been over this.” Her cold voice returned. “And you’re right, nobody cares about some old men, it’s all communists now.” Peter rose up from his seat, leaning on the back of the plush ivory leather. “Ben-Gurion cares, about the 2666 women at Treblinka in 1943. We can give them justice, and get what we want as well. They won’t just go away, they’ll find out soon.” He found himself staring at her breasts, then thought he saw the slightest smile, reminding him it was Manny that hosed her now as he looked up, quickly blinking away towards the distant Bellevue Palace Hotel. “He cares about killing Arabs, and that’s what he’ll put you back to, or maybe prison, if we don’t get this money and disappear.” She stopped the car. “We’re supposed to track them, not torture and kill them.” He sighed and looked away towards the Aare river and the stone bridge that had seen a million deaths by spear and sword, and the underlying forgotten brutality of the tidy cold cobbles of the medieval streets beyond. “I’ll talk to Oscar, I said. The Zionists will be happy, they’ll stop looking for you once we get to Mexico. Now go to your places, meet tonight at the cafe below the hostel.” “You stay in a palace and we stay in a hostel.” Manny nodded. “Like good American college boys, living simple, speak only English or German, and go knock doors.” She had parked the car they had stolen in Zurich from a man they saw get on a train having bought a ticket to Munich, knowing by his bags and dress he would not return for several days. She had checked into the hotel and had walked some time til she reached a phone box inside the great covered markets, waiting nervously as it rang on, when a woman with a strong Scottish accent picked up. “Aye? McKellar’s shoe repair.” “I have two left boots.” She waited. “Aye, what size?” She repeated the number on the phone twice and the woman hung up. She got out of the box and looked around, lighting a cigarette as the crowd passed by. She had nearly finished her cigarette when it finally rang and she stamped it out, annoyed with herself, seeing it was Dunhill and giving it an extra twist with a foot, no small detail. “Miss Norton.” C sounded like a concerned grandparent. “You must miss home. Where are those handsome Israelis? Not around are they?” “They killed the Machinist.” The lie brought out a cold sweat. The line was quiet a time. “Oh dear. The Americans will be so upset with them. And this Halder, and Hans Reiter, what was he calling himself again?” “Bernard Archimbold.” She closed her eyes. “He’s at the Bellevue now.” “Oh. Delightful. Such glorious dining in the very seat of government. Now, dear girl, we’re going to give you special dispensation. MOSSAD thinks they’ve gone on the run, claim they no longer know them, seems they’ve gone on a treasure hunt.” She heard his small laugh as her mind spun unavoidably to what was next. “Whatever gave them that idea?” He mused, making it clear in his voice. “Oscar, they’re just kids… “ She started, a fruitless thing done only to show to herself an empathy to which she knew she was not owed by any form of morality, the trade of treachery notwithstanding. “Yes, murderous kids. Unit 101, if I recall.” “And we’re in Switzerland.” “Yes, much nicer there than Moscow, I would think. How’s your Russian coming along?” His threat made clear. “You led them this far with your charms, and so well.” “And Reiter, Halder?” “Oh, let them enjoy their strudel and Wagner, we know where they are, always have, maybe that old commie Ben-Gurion will want to know too, he certainly won’t want the Swiss police digging up his commandos, very embarrassing. And the Swiss? Nazi’s dining freely amongst them, lovely pictures, they simply couldn’t have that. Now, be a good girl and maybe you can run things in Zurich, sipping coffee and following bankers?” “I.. alright, of course.” “We don’t expect you to do this yourself, oh no. Trident. Garden. You have a pen?” “Yes.” He gave her an address just outside Bern, she scribbled it down. “Their treasure's there. Don’t forget to return the pins. I’ll send you some Yorkshire tea. Cheerio.” She stood there as the phone clicked dead, looking at herself reflected by the glass. She sat in the bath overlooking the Aare at the hostel beyond, wondering which of them was watching her, knowing neither would tell the others what he saw and longed to know again. She got out slowly and turned her back to the window, reaching down for her towel on the marble floor. The small cafe was empty, too early in the evening and they had found her waiting dressed in a more simple style of the people around her, a dress still too tight like all the others she wore. “I have an address, they’ll be there alone.” She spoke softly looking to each set of eyes as they leaned in closer. “They were in the restaurant, so was I.” She watched them nod. “Show me.” Manny said. She slid it to him. “Tonight?” she nodded. “The money?” Peter asked. “That’s why they’re in Switzerland, nice secret banks.” She said. They said nothing. “Alright then, we get the numbers, tie them, make the call when we’re at the airport.” “OK. Just the two?” Jonah asked. She nodded at the bulge at his lap. “Let’s get on our way. The bags' in the car.” She rose and they followed. They arrived outside the farmhouse across the river north of Wohlen, watching it driving past. She had stopped nearby and they looked to her. “We’ll park half way up the driveway, looks like there’s a garden.” They got out. They loaded their Uzi’s and slung them low to their backs under their coats and got back in the car. She followed them, her pistol in her hand as they walked slowly to the garden, when two men appeared in front of them. The men in darkness raised guns and shot Manny and Peter in the head, their dead fingers frozen tight on triggers of the Uzi’s without firing pins, while Eliza raised hers and shot Jonah from behind. She avoided Peter’s dead gaze, giving him a final look between her legs as she stepped over him to meet her new men.
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Aug 20, 2023 13:19
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In, and flash.
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Aug 22, 2023 07:34
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Slightly Lions posted:Crits for Week 575 100%. Serbia didn't have anything but mercenaries after the Battle of Kosovo where basically everyone died, Turks eventually cross the Danube and siege Vienna (the first time, they kept trying). Forests of impaled were a feature.There were all kinds of forgotten castles and strongholds in their way. The use of Halberds and pole-arms in movies and video games has me like Leonardo DiCaprio suddenly seeing something on TV. They all have them whacking each other over the head, everyone's got a sword. their chain mail is crocheted wool, I can go on. Thanks to all the critter's, much appreciated.
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Aug 23, 2023 05:02
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early but I'm gone doing man things a few days. WAIL OF THE BANSHEE 1764 words On the night Tavish McKenzie passed from this world for want of money, he declared on his deathbed that should none cry nor lament his demise, he would return. As the dreadful news spread throughout the glen, the men of clan McKenzie gathered in the tavern lamenting their ill fortune. It were soon decided after much drink that some keening women be brought, lest the dirty old bastard actually return. Signs and portents were all about them, and the beastie had been seen again by Diarmad McKenzie. After the hat had been passed around a few dozen times they looked upon the fifteen pence the forty of them had managed, stunned by their own generosity. “Me mother, she cuid do, she be a fine one ta wail.” Gordon McKenzie said, eyes affixed on the riches before them. “Is ye mother nae ninety six?” Kennan McKenzie asked, slamming his glass upon the coffin’s lid amongst the clutter. “Aye. She’s a guid one fer a wail, trust us, McKenzie.” All gathered McKenzie nodded knowingly. “Och, she’ll ave tae do. Na carry th’ howfin’ bastid ou’side fer a air, so we can shut th’ windae.” Said Fergus McKenzie. Six stout McKenzie lifted the simple pine box covered in butts, ash and spilt Glenlivet and took it outside to the freezing sleet. They put it on trestles on the gravel road, and went back inside as dog came and pissed on the trestles, a sure omen of sour times ahead. Gordon McKenzie had sat his mother Cullodena McKenzie in a chair besides the grave they had drunkenly dropped the coffin in. They had dressed the old woman in black and she sat there chewing her gums, thick glasses covered in dew that she appeared not notice. She stared down at the encrusted boot sticking out of the box with it’s lid ajar, as the parson droned his usual tale of a pious life well lived. Finally done, he slapped his book together and left begrudged back to his sherry with nothing but a promise of payment to come. The crowd of two then gathered by the old woman’s side as she stared blankly at the box. “Garn ma, gie a keen, oh ‘’ow ye miss ‘im, and ‘at.” Gordon said to her ear. “Hoo’s ‘at?” she croaked. “That be Tavish McKenzie.” Kennan said. “At bastid?” she tried to get up. “Deid at lest! Deid at lest!” She cackled with laughter as the McKenzie’s eased her back to her chair, looking to each other as she clapped her hands and stamped her feet, screaming with triumph. “Burn, burn, burn in hell, ye devil!” She clutched her chest and rose suddenly, falling forward into the grave with a thump. The rain swept across the loch where Auld Cullodena was laid to rest as far as possible from where she had collapsed from grief, her great keening too much a toll. The two mourners had told the gathered astounded McKenzie of her final deed, and how she had wailed. Gordon McKenzie and his cousin Kennan had later near come to blows dividing the fifteen pence evenly, but had settled the blood feud at the tavern by buying a pence of ale and drinking half each, measuring carefully each sip. “Yer wealthy noo Gordon, kin ye mother rest.” Kennan McKenzie toasted. “Aye, a dinnae ken if the keening worked, we done ah best. Well that’s me doon the road.” McKenzie got up, hitching his kilt. Soon Gordon McKenzie were on his way home after midnight with the mists rising from the moors of the loch when he felt a chill. The winds had come down from Ben Lomond, and as he gathered his coat he stumbled, falling with curses into the bracken and rising unsteadily in confusion, staring with horror at the small rock that stood motionless before him. McKenzie was quite sure the rock had not been there before. He fled through the shadows of Jock McKenzie’s backyard and back to his house, firmly locking the door, as was his habit. When Gordon McKenzie had got to the tavern the next evening, he found Kennan McKenzie sitting alone, white as a sheet. “He’s back… me bagpipes, they’re gone! I cannae play me pipes a dawn whin ah finish mah baking!” “Aye, he tripped me doon and I felt his cauld win oan mah bahookie.” “Ah heard Jock McKenzie's daughter, her panties gaed missing fae th' line.” Connor McKenzie said. They all shook their red heads. “Och, that be ‘im, clatty bastid.” Gordon McKenzie affirmed. More McKenzie arrived, with more tales of strange goings on. A penny missing, Kennan McKenzie’s bagpipes had been found, stabbed full of holes. Connor McKenzie had found a bone in his haddock and chips. Fergus McKenzie’s sheep had gotten out. The door suddenly flung open as Diarmad McKenzie staggered to the bar in his fishing gear. “Th' beastie is traivelin aroond th' shores o' th' loch!” He told the aghast McKenzie, reaching for the bottle. After some drink it were soon agreed Auld Cullodena had not finished her Keening, and the ghost of Tavish McKenzie walked again, upsetting the water beastie, among other things. “I ken a woman!” Morag McKenzie announced. “A sassenach fae aff Devon, she bides in a tent nearby!” All McKenzie looked to the barmaid, then to each other. The hat went around, many times, and soon McKenzie was on her way gripping the twelve pence, first walking widdershins three times around the graveyard before she left, for Auld Tavish McKenzie had been a devil about the lasses, fathering half the village. The dark night passed and morning finally dawned, and Morag McKenzie returned with a sassenach witch dressed in long robes with mysterious symbols embroidered in gold. The McKenzie gathered warily. “I am told you wish to hear me sing the song of my people, dear quaint Scots folk. Your glen and loch are so beautiful, yet not on a map.” McKenzie's looked to each other, struggling to understand the witch’s tongue. She waved her hand above her head, holding a strange black mirror, looking into it smiling as she turned her back to the McKenzie, who watched in awe. The mirror gave a tiny flash brighter than the sun, causing all McKenzie to step away in unison from the witch with shouts and gasps, shielding their eyes and avoiding her gaze, making signs to ward the Eye. But Gordon McKenzie had bravely stepped forward to confront the witch. “Och, we wid lik' tae hear ye keen. Me mam, she tried bit it weren’t tae ‘is taste. Be crakin' if ye cuid keen let tae nicht.” Gordon McKenzie slurred. “You mean midnight? Yes! How about on that hill?” She pointed to the graveyard. McKenzie blood ran cold as their eyes followed the witch’s red-tipped claw, pointing at the grave of Tavish McKenzie. “Theit be a nice spot. Aye. We waant somethin’ that wull keep ‘im doon.” Gordon McKenzie gave a start as the strange sassenach witch looked at him quizzically, her once black mirror now shining as the moon. After midnight the gathered McKenzie stood close as waves of mist drifted through the gravestones as they awaited the keening sassenach witch. They huddled in fright, hearing the sounds of an elk’s spectral call drifting across the moonlit glen. “Tis’ the White Stag.” Keenan McKenzie said, greatly afeared. McKenzie's murmured a concerned agreement, wide eyes darting around by the light of their torches. The baleful sound slowly died away as the winds came and swirled the mists and gloom. The sassenach keening witch appeared from the bracken, now dressed in the darkest black, and stood before the empty can of Irn-Bru that marked the empty grave of Tavish McKenzie. All gasped in fright, noting her hair matched the colour of the can, an uncanny resemblance that chilled them to the core. Cloud darkened the moon casting spectral shadows as she spread her arms and began her ghastly song. A dreadful screeching sound emanated from the keening witch, going higher and higher as McKenzie's clapped their hands to their ears in pain and alarm. Her wailing grew with their terror as they saw that her eyes made false tears, a Banshee! “NOBODY LOOOVES MEEEEE!! NOT LIKE YOOOU DOOOO!!” The Banshee’s earsplitting shriek shattered the silence of the glen, as the brave McKenzie rushed the Banshee and tackled her to the ground before she could call forth the dead. “Aye, she wur innocent, went straight tae th’ bottom o’ th’ loch.” Keenan McKenzie shook his head and downed his whiskey as the crowd of McKenzie did same. “Tha water beastie, he wid hae taken her, hae tae feed him.” Gordon McKenzie reminded them. Several McKenzie’s grunted affirmation. “Be as it wur, her wailings, thay surely sent Auld Tavish back tae hell. A've nae heard sic a racket afore fae a sassenach witch.” All McKenzie nodded. “Aye, Ah cuid thole it nae langer, th’ witch’s noise.” With that Gordon McKenzie went back to his paper, turning to the back page as Keenan McKenzie read the front from across the table. McKenzie’s listened with interest at their weekly Scotsman brought that morning by postman Padruig McKenzie. “Och, three oot againt th’ Rangers Seturday, Robby McBobson, ‘e cannae manage.” Gordon McKenzie announced sadly to all. McKenzie’s all huffed in agreement, for McKenzie hearts were heavy that week, having lost to Hibernian 2-0 the week before. “See, seys anither tourist missin’ near th’ loch.” Keenan McKenzie raised his eyebrows as all did same. “Sixth this yar thay say, th' polis ur boggin'.” Connor McKenzie said. “It’s Auld Cullodena, ah kin cop her aboot in me waters,” Morag McKenzie stated as she wiped the bar with a tartan rag, “We shoud nae hae fed her tae th' beastie.” All McKenzie murmured worriedly and made the sign. They suddenly turned in shock as Diarmad McKenzie crashed open the door, face stricken with dread and raincoat in tatters. “Ah seen th' beastie roam agan! He's a hungert laddie!” He uttered, out of breath. All McKenzie bewailed the dire news, as a dread as dark as the moonless night descended like a wraith upon them. “Och Aye, we’ll hae tae fin' anither keening woman.” Gordon McKenzie had made his mind and cast his eye to Morag McKenzie, her ruddy face set grim. “I ken a woman. She bades near, fae far aff Eire.” A dark wind blew open the ajar door, sweeping a bitter cold through the tavern and into their bones. McKenzie’s passed around the hat as the beastie’s mournful cries drifted from the loch.
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Aug 24, 2023 10:39
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Only four of you so far? Ok, I'm in then. Might even try make sense.
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Aug 31, 2023 08:31
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WEEK 578 RECOLLECTIONS OF A HOLY WAR 1171 words Archivum Apostolicum Vaticanum Iudicium Collectione Summa Secreto translata a Byzantine #3983645 - 1010-1011. Commendatur destrui To His Divine Holiness Pope Urban II 12 February, 1101. I beseech you to heed my words for I swear before Christ all I say is true, that an evil beyond imagination is at work, as I shall attest before Him, and the Others. In July of the year of our Lord 1099, Tancred, the Prince of Galilee, believed that he had found the Holy Lance that had pierced the Saviour on the cross that had been found in the hidden tomb. And afterwards many of us saw that his manner and behaviours had changed, such as eating with his fingers and speaking like a peasant, using foul words not in accord with his nobility, and refusing the Holy sacrament, and soon his knights also acted thus, with increasing coarseness and brutality which alarmed us greatly. Finding the relic had renewed fervour amongst the faithful after the endless hardships, and had blinded us to the evil that had overcome them, and spread amongst us like a plague. Knights and their men now killing all before them when previously we had given mercy to those who did not resist the will of God. For Tancred had assured the Jews of their safety when we had breached the gates by way of the Holy relic, a miracle witnessed by many, by giving them his banner and gathering them in their synagogue to safety, where upon he had the doors barricaded and the building burned. He had then gone to the Temple Mount and slaughtered the Muslims that had been given the same assurance, their blood ankle deep in the mass of headless corpses which I saw with my own eyes, so many I could not count. The Holy Lance seemed to give a black radiance as Tancred held it high and his men went to frenzy, committing the most vile acts upon the people of Jerusalem, man, woman and child, as God is my witness. Only Raymond of Saint-Gilles had confronted him, demanding answers to his depravity and to see the Holy Lance for himself. Tancred did hand it to Raymond, but not letting it go, and we saw amazed that Raymond’s manner also changed as they held the thing, and the two men, who would be mortal enemies in other times, were now seemingly friends, a strange thing indeed. And so it were the peoples of Jerusalem that suffered the wraith that had taken hold of once just and righteous men, so that all lay slaughtered in parts arrayed about as the crusaders stripped themselves and washed and rutted with the bodies in the blood, which caused us to flee in terror knowing demons had taken their minds and souls. For when I had beseeched them to stop I saw they all had the same face, and spoke in whispers to each other a language I did not understand, nor understand how these men, Franks, were speaking it as one. We had raised our crosses and prayed but they snarled at us as dogs and spat upon us and cursed us. And thus we fled, I and two other men of the clergy taking the Lance as they slept like beasts of the field, naked upon each other. We saw with dismay many horrors I dare not describe, but the sight of christian men cooking a child while chanting in an ancient language had finally sent us in flight with the evil relic. This confirmed our belief that the relic they held was not the Holy Lance, but another thing, that we believed belonged to a demon, and should be destroyed, and thus we had stolen it, and were pursued. We had made our way across a plain to the city’s north, hoping to alert Godfrey of Bouillon as to the madness that had overcome the city, but found he too along with Robert had fallen to it’s darkness and had joined the slaughter. And thus we fled with the relic north, finding ourselves near Acre some weeks later, when I began to have visions of Hell and found my holy brothers also were troubled by these dreams. We had wrapped the black long stick with it’s obsidian blade in skins with a bronze cross to avoid it’s corruption but to no avail. We soon found the thick cross crushed to a ball so smooth we amazed at the miracle. But soon the relic’s call to us withered our strength to resist, finding ourselves unable to destroy it by any means. Finally I took it up in my hand and cast it as far as I was able in my weakened state, but I looked in horror as it flew about us as a hawk, driving through and killing my two companions then landing in the ground at my feet. I had run from it though the olives in terror and confusion coming at last to a small cave where I took shelter from a storm and awoke to find the thing beside me. It has been nearly a year and I had tried my best to remain devout unto the word of God, though forsaken, and I swear before Them all I have witnessed and pray that They guide me to be free of this evil thing that will not leave me, that draws me to return it to it’s place in the Holy Land where it belongs not. They have hunted me across the Levant and as I write this I am but a day from Beirut, and fear soon I will be taken by the knights of Baldwin, king of Jerusalem, who has taken Godfrey’s place to seek it, Tancred now returned to Antioch to seek us there. I had hoped to find passage by ship but the port is blocked with hundreds of galleys, and I find myself surrounded as the knights prepare to siege. The thing has led me here as if it knew where the next great slaughter would be, I am convinced of it, or I have lost all sense. Please forgive me should I fail to keep it from his hands, for it has shown me the vision of what awaits the people of that city, a vision of Hell that makes me want to dash myself to the rocks below me to escape it’s hold, damning my immortal soul, if it is not already. For I have seen in those visions to whom it belongs, I know from the visions it is not the Devil’s treachery, but the knowledge of more Gods than one tears my mind with dismay, but also wonder, and I dare not yet speak such heresies, weak as my faith is. May all the gods help me now, to understand the meaning of the horror, for it’s purpose is still unclear, but the nature of God is not what we believe or think we know, for They are legion. This I know and trust you wil [terminos]
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Sep 3, 2023 10:22
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Sep 4, 2023 21:38
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TD Week 579 A Chemical Bromance 1793 words The hardest thing about working as an agronomist is telling people bad news. Most often it’s just a minor thing that can be fixed with a judicious application of chemicals or a change in cultivation practices, and now and then you get these ‘tree change’ people. They’re good customers, all wanting to bottle their own wine or oil as is their right, but at times they don’t get along with their neighbours, who’d been there some time. You know, some livestock get out and eat their precious whatever and they think they can shoot it. And they can’t control their weeds. And so on. The Edwards bought an entire cattle station, and the minute I saw the four thousand olive trees they had planted to ‘diversify’ I knew it was going to be a long day. Olive oil is good for you, since it’s actually a fruit juice, but not loaded with sugar. Much better than a certain industrial seed oil we call canola that is extracted using Hexane and heat. It’s vast seas of yellow attracts instagrammers every Spring to trample it in their efforts to get that perfect selfie. It’s bizarre. Little do they know that soil beneath them is filled with a certain pre-emergent herbicide that stays around a very long time, and eventually leaches into the water table, or blows away to who knows where. It plays havoc with cell division in mammals to the extent it’s banned in the EU since around 2000. I sell it and recommend it and I hate myself, well kind of, I’m a piece of work. Behold the billions of Brassica flowers with the exact same genes, it’s so pretty. Maybe to you. Sometimes I wish I had a time machine. Most people say they’d stop Hitler if they did. I think I’d stop Jethro Tull from inventing the seed drill. Does Sir’s broadacre crop have Lucerne Flea? He most certainly does. May I interest you in the latest, aptly named, Decimator 400 insecticide? Boy howdy will it kill bees too. They happen to like yellow things. What the gently caress am I doing? Monoculture is a blight, it forced us to get big or get out to the extent most farms are owned by listed companies. The family farm is fast going the way of the corner store, for not a lot of young people have a few spare million bucks to buy one. Everybody’s got to eat, and they want to eat cheap. It can be hard to explain to someone that we actually pay little for our food in the scheme of things, especially compared to past times. For we are living in a tiny instant of humanity’s history where everything is basically handed to us with minimal effort, for life is now a struggle for ease, not existence. I have some strange ideas on how Things Went Wrong, which I wisely keep to myself, given my employer, of whom I shall soon be free. Understand I am in no way critical of Olive production, it just didn’t suit here, just like canola anywhere. Too hilly, too rocky, no infrastructure, so it’s all livestock. I couldn't figure where they planned to send them to be processed, but surely they had some kind of plan? A lot of competition out there as well. It doesn’t really pay that much. Now let us walk these Groves of Academe. The complaint is they get very few olives. They’re only four years old, so the oil would be too bitter anyway. Three more years you’d have something if they put in a lot more work. At least olives didn’t generally have pests or diseases if they were healthy to start with, and that was easy enough to deal with by natural means. They just didn’t think this through. Did they not even read a book on it, visit another olive grove, ask anyone that knew? It’s situated far away enough from a major town that they will never find six people to work three weeks to harvest it. If they expected the stockmen to do it, they’d just go work for someone else down the road. So they would need to buy a tree shaker. However, the soil here is light sandy loam and using a shaker, should they ever get a crop worth the bother, will damage the roots and make things worse. They're also too close together, had never been pruned, and I was told they only irrigated them during drought. Sure, they’ll survive droughts just fine, but to make money from any crop, you gotta push it hard as you can. All moot points here however, because they were going to die very soon. It would appear they failed to remove the suckers before they sprayed herbicide in the rows, and it’s looking very sad. On closer inspection I’d say they sprayed the entire tree. Wouldn’t have been a problem if it wasn’t Roundup, a systemic herbicide. If you didn't spray the whole thing of course. And I was certain the manager knew the difference between Knockdown and Systemic. It takes awhile for Roundup to work on woody plants, but it sure don’t do them any good. Seeing the rest of the place was cattle, I had an easy solution. Bulldoze the lot and put something with horns out there. There’s money in that. The owner had told the manager his will some years ago when he bought it, and the manager, a cattleman, gave absolutely no fucks about olive bullshit, to quote him direct. Just too busy to waste time on something that made no money, and I understood him perfectly, for we were somewhat alike. This bloke’s going to lose his job over a vanity project he never wanted, and knew it. He’d been pleased to see me at first til he found out I wasn’t there to look at steers. I did pay him the courtesy of telling my findings before I went up to tell his employer who’d sent me there, and things did become a little heated at first til he realised I was just doing my job. Mrs Edwards looked more aghast the more I spoke, each point thoroughly explained as to why most of the trees were dying. “So how will we get rid of these fleas?” The old woman asked while her husband stared into his laptop on the marble bench, bringing me back from looking out at the managers house in the distance through the kitchen window. “They’ll just keep coming back, it’s probably best you get rid of the trees, they’re not economically viable out here.” I said, trying not to sweat. “Surely we can spray them with something?” she asked. She had me there, but thankfully she knew less about growing anything than her husband did. I’m just hoping to god that the bloke isn’t using the internet to look up ‘Olive Flea’. “You’d have to spray constantly, and they’ll never be certified as organic.” That did the job. She threw up her hands and just got up and walked off to the garden. Oh deary me. Mr Edwards put his laptop down, done playing Diggy on Facebook. Nothing about rich city people surprised me anymore. Money down the shitter? Always more where that came from. Did they even notice each other the entire time? Did he even hear a thing I said? Apparently. “Well then, do you have any opinions on the rest of the property? How would you rate things in general?” The man was a barrister, and sounded like one. “It all seems very well run, your manager seems to be on top of things as far as the livestock go. Some of the vehicles and machinery are getting old, you need some fences replaced, some reseeding.” “I see. How much would you say in upgrades would it be?” he picked up his laptop again. “Around half a million plus the tractor and baler, and by the way, I recommend you try hang onto that manager you have before someone gives him a better offer, it’s very hard to find competent people out here.” “Oh. You’ve met Lachie?” His fingers flew across the keys. “Um, yeah, we spoke when I arrived, nice bloke, got his hands full with only two farmhands.” “How much are they paying farm managers out here?” “Oh, around 120k plus house, ute and car for something this size...” “Really? That’s almost double what we pay him. His parents live about 20 miles from here. I was thinking he would stay for less to be nearer to home.” “I wouldn’t know, distance don’t mean much to us, and he’s a got a wife and baby to look after.” I said, saying something true. Family is everything, after all. I was staying at the local pub and arrived back that night to find a familiar face at the bar trying to talk Jess the barmaid out of her Wranglers as usual. “Still got a job have you mate?” “Yeah mate, for now, rich bastards want to talk, but I’m busy as you can see.” Lachie said. “Looks like you’re buggered mate, told the wife what you’d been up to yet?” I settled back smiling as he turned to the employment section of The Land newspaper. “Nah, she don’t need to know yet… where’s Coongoola?” “You don’t want that one mate. And you better tell her you’re moving again.” “Yeah, Queensland sucks anyway.” Lachie looked glum. “Don’t worry mate, you’ll land on your feet, it’ll be right.” I gave him a wink. “How many times did you spray them with Roundup?” “Three I think. They only come here two weeks a year, I was gonna tell ‘em it’s salt or some poo poo, cattle wouldn’t eat ‘em.” he shook his head and went back to finding a job, preferably with horns. As if on cue his phone rang and I watched from the bar while he was on the blower, probably telling his wife Elder’s just sent someone to gently caress him. I came back and he was looking straight at me, repeating yes, yes, into the phone as I sat down. Mr Edwards, then. Phone went dead and I could see his tiny brain working at last as the colour returned to his once again smiling punchable face. “How the gently caress? Olive Fleas?” “Are you crying?” “What? No, it’s me smoke, um, Jesus, how’d you do that?” “I lied, what did you think?” “Besides that.” “Besides that? Well I was going to quit my job and move back here, but seeing you just hosed some bloke that owns a law firm by wilful destruction of his property, it might be best they don’t find out I’m your brother.”
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Sep 11, 2023 05:05
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Oct 3, 2023 21:13
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