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Jul 4, 2023 15:22
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Gravity 989 words Nicola’s stomach was trying to eat itself. “We’re not supposed to be here, Gee!” Gaius waved him off like only a big brother could: dismissive, confident, with a mild eye roll that highlighted Nicola’s inherent wrongness. Nicola’s older brother had always seemed smarter than everyone. Part of this was the three-year gap between them, but it was more than that. Gaius was better with computers than nearly every adult Nicola knew. This is how he found himself sneaking onto a deserted bridge during sleep hours. “We’re going to get caught! Can we go?” “We’re not going to get caught, Nick. Wallace is taking his fifteen minute break, and I faked a message to Maria that her son was sick. I disabled the cameras. There’s no one to catch us. Now shut up and watch this.” Gaius played his hands over the keys at the command post. Nicola jolted as the observation panels banged into life. They slid open, revealing the glowing abyss below. Nicola was speechless. His mouth hung in awe as he stared at the black hole. He had never seen it like this before. “I told you it would be awesome!” Gaius smirked at his brother, who stood transfixed. “It’s the best seat in the house.” It was beautiful. A glowing halo surrounding a pure black mouth that ate anything… no, everything. Nicola wiped tears from his face and continued to watch the array of orbital analysis equipment fire probes toward the horizon. “Totally worth it” Nicola whispered. He came out of his reverie when Gaius slugged him in the arm. “Are you crying, you nerd?” “What? No!” Nicola tried to slug him back, but Gaius danced out of the way. They scuffled for a bit in the light of the accretion disk. It ended when Gaius gave his younger brother a hug. “Thanks for coming, Nick. Stuff like this is more fun with someone than alone.” “Thanks for bringing me. We should probably go, right?” The fact of their rule-breaking had come back strong. Nicola moved toward the exit, tugging on Gaius’s uniform. “One second, I wanna try something.” Gaius pressed a few more keys at the command post, and stood back as the helm transformed at his touch. Two knurled, chrome handles emerged from the post, and the computer’s artificial voice rang out. “WARNING: MANUAL CONTROL WILL ABORT HELD ORBITAL PATTERN. RE-ENTER COMMAND AUTHORIZATION TO ENABLE MANUAL CONTROL.” “Gee, what are you doing?! Did you break into Dad’s office?” Gaius grinned as he tapped in the code and gripped the controls. “It pays to be the captain’s kid, huh?” He pushed forward and they saw the landscape start to move. The ship inched closer to the void, giving them a closer view of the analysis equipment. Letting go of the handles, he stood back to take pictures with his digital assistant. “The guys are gonna flip when they see this!” Nicola’s stomach, momentarily forgotten, made its presence known once more with a twisting pain. Their dad would absolutely find out about this, and the amount of trouble they were in surpassed anything Nicola was capable of imagining. He was frozen in horror just thinking about it. The ship continued to move. “WARNING: CURRENT TRAJECTORY INCOMPATIBLE WITH SAFETY PARAMETERS. ADJUST FLIGHT PLAN NOW.” The boys snapped toward the flashing klaxon on the navigation window’s HUD. “Oh, poo poo, that’s not good!” Gaius shoved his PDA back in his pocket. He grabbed the sticks and yanked back. The ship lurched at the overcorrection, tilting upward but not slowing down, and Nicola slapped at his brother in response. “Gee, you’re pulling too hard, stop it! Make it stop!” “I’m trying, you idiot! Get off me!” “Turn the autopilot back on!” Gaius pushed his brother away and used one hand to peck at the keys while the other attempted to wrestle the ship back to neutral. “WARNING: TRAJECTORY OVERRIDE WILL DISABLE MANUAL CONTROL. ENTER COMMAND AUTHORIZATION TO CONFIRM.” Gaius started to enter the code he memorized from his father’s datapad after everyone had gone to bed earlier that night. “Gaius, don’t do that! Didn’t you hear the computer?” “Will you shut up! I’m trying to get us back onto the original trajectory!” A pounding sounded at the door to the bridge. Gaius had locked it to buy them some time in case they needed it. He wished he hadn’t. “Open the door at least! Wallace can fix this!” “I can’t do everything at once! You open the door!” Nicola obeyed his brother, running towards the bulkhead. He fumbled uselessly at the controls. Gaius entered the trajectory override. “WARNING: CURRENT TRAJECTORY INCOMPATIBLE WITH SAFETY PARAMETERS. RE-ENTER COMMAND AUTHORIZATION TO CONFIRM.” Nicola whirled back toward the command post. “Gee, no, don’t!” “I know what I’m doing!” Gaius entered the code again. “TRAJECTORY CONFIRMED.” The boys waited. The ship continued to move. They noticed that a positioning overlay had popped up on the observation window HUD. It read “PREDICTED TRAJECTORY” and showed a thin dotted line spiraling from the ship–into the black hole. “Gaius…?” Gaius looked at his brother, his eyes wide. Bile shot up his throat and spilled into the back of his mouth. He dropped onto his knees and vomited onto the floor. “Gaius, look!” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and followed his brother’s pointing finger to the window. They were passing the probe launchers. The ship was slowly accelerating. The door override pinged loudly and a group of adults stormed the room. Strong hands grabbed both boys by the arms and hurled them out of the way. Their father was shouting commands among the chaos as people shrieked out status updates. The ship was moving even faster. The brothers sat on the ground, sobbing quietly. The commotion died down. Nicola looked up towards his dad, waiting for him to continue shouting orders, but he didn’t. All the adults were staring towards the window, and no one was talking.
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Jul 10, 2023 02:43
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In and spin, please
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Jul 11, 2023 16:56
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NAUTICAL ADVENTURE X POLITICAL THRILLER Damage Assessment 1500 words >How was therapy? >>It was fine >Just fine? >>It was good. >Tell me about it later? Ted sighed. He wished he could tell her everything. >>Definitely >I love you, Theo-baby Ted knew all about Audrey, the dental hygienist from Tampa. He knew about the occasional pills, the credit card debt she hid from him. But that was okay, nobody’s perfect; she loved him, and that was enough. He loved her back. >>Love you too Ted unlocked his front door and went inside. It was a rental, badly maintained, with a lovely patch of dead grass and concrete. He looked through the kitchen window at Dan, who was sitting in one of Ted's lawn chairs. Dan was dressed in a striped polo and khakis, looking like he had just come from the golf course. He was holding a folder. Ted grabbed two Coronas from the fridge and walked out to say hello. Dan smiled and offered a handshake. The man was in his late fifties, but looked a healthy forty and had the forearm muscles of a bear. Ted winced as they shook. I'm twenty loving years younger and I look like chopped poo poo compared to this guy. “Really great work last month on that Lebanese thing, Ted. Great work. The office really appreciates the hustle.” Dan cracked the beer and drank deeply. “Yeah, Dan, no problem. Glad it worked out.” The “Lebanese thing” had left him with broken ribs that freaked Audrey out and took days of explaining to smooth over. She thought Ted worked as a nondescript analyst for the federal government that had to attend a lot of meetings overseas. Ted actually did other work for Uncle Sam; work that as of late had given him tremors and crippling anxiety. He was a NOC agent. Lebanon had involved a “sight-seeing” trip where Ted flushed out two Hizballah operatives for local agents to "process" for information. A few days prior to the trip Dan had stopped him while he was downtown picking up pho for Audrey. Dan had handed him a folder that looked a lot like the one he held now. Ted nodded toward the folder. “What’s up?” Dan flopped the folder open, revealing a few typed pages and several large, glossy color photos. “I need you to go to Finland.” Ted looked through the file. An oligarch’s wife, Alyona Sergeyevna, and preteen son Lev were fleeing Russia in possession of state secrets. Intel was suggesting it involved nuclear assets, and management considered it adequate barter for safe passage. Considering what happened to the oligarch’s previous wife, Ted thought this was a smart move on Alyona’s part. Anything was better than the business end of a chainsaw or worse, handed over to Putin. His job was to meet her at the Finnish border, get her across, and then board one of those Viking cruises they advertised before Downton Abbey. He’d hand her off to agents in Iceland for transport back to the US. “What support can I expect?” “Bad news on that front. This is full deniability. You'll be on your own. No fire support. We can't inform the Fins we're running anything at all.” The warm beer in Ted’s hand sloshed inside the bottle. He clenched his hand against the glass, willing the shaking to stop. “That gonna be okay?” Ted met Dan’s eyes. “Yeah, shouldn’t be an issue. Might need help with a return flight home, though.” “Sure, buddy, anything! I’ll even see if I can bump you up to business class.” *** The ship was starting to list. Ted was pretty sure Alyona had given the flash drive to Lev sometime earlier, and Lev was likely hiding belowdecks. If the ship was listing, it was taking on water. Have to be sure. Ted quickly searched Alyona’s body, moving systematically through each of her pockets, passing hands over stitching to make sure nothing was sewn in. His face was pulled tight with concentration, his awareness split between the search and listening for footsteps on the deck behind him. He was unconscious of the tears streaming down his face, the metal stench of blood that hung in the air. The flash drive wasn’t in her clothing. Ted stood. He took a last look at the corpse, trying to avoid the ruin of her face, her bullet-shattered eye socket. He went away then, lost into a memory of sitting on a split rail fence with his father, watching fireflies wink in semi-darkness. He came back, confused. Hands shaking again. “gently caress it, it’s not here.” Ted checked the magazine on the Grach he pulled off the dead mercenary. Three rounds left, and no spares. The guy had mag-dumped through the door. Ted was lucky he didn’t check the corners. Shouting - Russian. Ted flew to the door. Pacing on the wooden floor just outside. Wait. Wait for it. The mercenary crept to the door, gun up, trying to sight through the bullet-riddled wood. He got close enough to reach for the knob when Ted kicked it open. “BLYAT!” The man caught the edge of the door on his cheek, sending him crashing to the ground. Ted whirled through, putting a round down into the merc's chest and spraying two more towards another in the hall.They went wide but sent the man sprawling. The door to the lower decks was just around the corner. Ted sprinted for it. A bullet thunked into the paneling to his left and he was through, slamming the bulkhead shut behind him. He spun the lock shut and tossed the empty gun. Ted was safe, but only for the moment. He moved downward. The lower deck in this area was a warren of storage rooms. Kid could be anywhere. “Lev!” The ship lurched, throwing Ted into the wall. “Lev! Where are you!” He made it to the end of the maze where the door to the engine room stood ajar. Water pooled at Ted’s feet, and he could hear the rough intake of the ocean just inside. Whatever charge they used to blow the engine had knocked a hole the size of a watermelon in the hull. It wouldn’t take long for the room to flood completely. “Lev!” “Help!” Ted’s heartbeat spiked. “Where are you?!” “Back here!” Ted waded in deeper. He spotted Lev crouched on top of disabled bilge pump, clutching a support beam. The boy’s eyes were wide, and wet. His young face brought another memory to Ted–his dad showing him pictures from Vietnam. Kids pushed to the limit, faces lined with terror. “Lev! Can you climb down?” “I’m scared! Where is my mom?” Ted paused. “She’s just upstairs! We’ve got to get to the lifeboats!” He waded closer, raising his arms to Lev. “Jump down!” Lev hesitated, and then jumped. Ted caught him roughly, half-dropping him into the saltwater. They clutched each other as they waded back toward the exit. Outside, Ted crouched to look at Lev in the eyes. “Lev, did your mom give you anything? A flash drive or something?” Lev reached into a soaked pocket and pulled out a thumbstick. “It got wet. I’m sorry.” The boy’s reedy voice quavered, full of anxiety, of grief. Ted took it and put it in his jacket pocket. “It’s okay, Lev. I’m sure it’s fine. Let’s move.” A thud followed by crunching metal came from behind them, and a fresh surge of frigid water swirled at their feet. They ran. *** The merc surprised Ted at the stairs. He thrust a gun into Ted's face, and instinct alone brought Ted's arm up to knock it aside. It went off an inch from Ted's right ear. It was sound converted to pure pain, an awl shoved through previously unknown anatomies. Ted fell against the wall, clutching his ear and screaming. Lev was screaming too. The boy ran back towards the engine room, away from the pursuing mercenary. They both disappeared around the corner. Ted wouldn't see them again. The water level continued to rise. *** The water was up to Ted's waist when he recovered enough to climb the stairs. He went on hands and feet, trying to balance as the ship rolled beneath him. Reaching the outer deck, he saw it was nearly a 45-degree angle. The lifeboats were furiously chugging away from the suck of the sinking ship. In the background he spotted a powerboat jetting away, back towards Russia. Ted let go of the door and slid to the railing. He leapt into the water, body already numb, and swam towards the closest lifeboat. Someone threw a lifering. Ted grabbed it, using his last strength to worm his body through. As soon as he felt the tug of the rope, he blacked out. *** Ted sat on a bench, wrapped in a stranger's coat, watching the rescue ships move in. He felt in his pocket for the flash drive. It was gone.
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Jul 16, 2023 21:43
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I wanted to contribute a bit so I thought I’d give some quick critiques of stories that caught my eye during the last few prompts. Please let me know if you’d prefer I take it down (either here or in Discord). Firstborn Skater 1000 words I enjoyed this opener a lot. I appreciate you trusting the reader to keep up, and so it was easy to take everything at face value. The opening paragraph was just the right mix of quirk and humor without getting too silly with it. Initially, I was put off by some of your transitions, and really that remains my main comment: the story is too short. The speed at which you have to build the narrative to beat the word count from the initial discovery of the jacket to training Tom to Jackie becoming Jack was too fast to really appreciate what was happening. After a second read-through I still think it’s too abrupt, but it doesn’t make it unreadable. She was a bit older, and now knew that a talking jacket was a bit more out of the ordinary than she’d thought at age seven. Still, Stacy had a magic pocketknife with a blade that glowed when there were hot guys around, and around Jackie for some reason, so maybe it wasn’t that odd. “Which prophecy is that?” she asked, and after a moment, “Are you a magic jacket, then?” >I did not like this paragraph. Specifically the reference to the magic pocketknife and hot guys - the reference to Jackie was probably there to help build towards Jack, but I found it forced and a bit clunky, like you’re trying too hard. A small quibble, however, because I do like the idea of a knife that glows when hot dudes are about.< “Right,” said Jackie. “Well, prophecies aside, I’m keeping the jacket for now, because it looks sick on me.” Her mum sighed again, but nodded. “It kinda does, doesn’t it?” > This was cute  I really liked the mom coming around.<Tom had achieved a basic level of competence at skating, which the three of them were thrilled about because, yay, prophecy and destiny, but Tom was less thrilled about because he still didn’t really love skating, and it didn’t seem like he was anywhere close to the level of skill required to destroy capitalism, and every time he tried the jacket on, it just didn’t look like him. Whereas on Jackie, it looked right. >Another paragraph where it seemed a little forced. There were times throughout the story where you play fast and loose with the boundary between fun quirky and too much quirky, and this touches that line. I think with some editing here it would smooth that transition from your training bit to the climax. As for the tunnel bit and onward, everything develops very quickly. This is where I would focus any extra word count, were you inclined to keep tooling on this story. It deserves more time than it got, imo< Jackie looked around. “Hmmm, feels like an underground cavern is something you’d want to be aware of before digging a swimming pool.” “Good point,” said Kevin. “You should write someone a sternly worded letter. Did they even have planning permission?” >This dialogue didn’t vibe as much as some of your other matter-of-fact stuff from earlier between Jackie and her mom or her jacket. It felt a bit Gilmore Girls here< Good job! It was a fun read. Noise 1100w This was a cool story if only because I really felt like I was in your protag’s head, and your writing about the music was very unique. Your description of Gillian’s music was haunting, and it’s why the story stuck in my head. Some thoughts: Name-dropping the headphones was off-putting. It felt like an add to show your street cred, but since I know nothing about it, it felt forced. Your first three paragraphs are too long and slow. You could probably cut nearly all of the words there and be more succinct with the open, allowing a direct shot at the action. I started to feel like skimming during the description of the park- I don’t think it adds anything to what we know about your protag. I enjoyed your onomatopoeia to describe the music. Layering it in was a cool style choice and I thought it worked well. I don’t think you needed to make the prof a creep - the story plays just as well, if not better, with a music snob. It’s okay if he has a complex relationship with the student just because he himself isn’t sure if it’s actually music she’s submitting, it doesn’t need that dimension of creep factor. At least for me it doesn’t. The description of the cello that changes his mind needs more punch. The diamonds line was a bit meh, it didn’t do enough for me. Part of me also really didn’t like that it was the opus you name-dropped earlier in the story. I wanted Gillian’s music to stand on its own. Solid last few lines. The last line could be cut, but the silent contemplation of what Rosco has done was effective.
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Jul 25, 2023 06:42
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I will be in please!
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Aug 1, 2023 12:13
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Kanaloa 1499 w Te Jah darted into the pile of scrap, worming his way deeper into the twisted mess. The shark swam above, its elongated head swinging back and forth. He understood little of its speech, a low frequency pulse that made him sick, but the body language of a predator was plain in its meaning. It could smell the blood oozing from his stumps, and would hunt him to his death. Irrationally, he looked at his remaining five arms, and worried about being unable to make the Symbol of Reverence in the presence of the king. He had failed and his clan was dead. The great lord would exile him, and he would swim the ocean alone, a scarred, friendless freak. A splash of red above pulled him from the depths of his self-pity. It was Yi Loa! She survived! His mate rushed across the metal heap. He longed to call out, cursing his lack of speech. Propelling himself forward, Te Jah flew into the open, flashing a warning. red-orange-white-red-white “Come here! Here!” Yi Loa spotted him. She swung around and dived toward her partner, pursued closely by the hammerhead. They barely made it into a niche, escaping the snapping jaws behind them. Purple-red-pink-green-red "Te Jah, you're alive!" Te Jah burst into pink. He had never been happier. The shark continued to look for them, but pressed against Yi Loa, Te Jah was momentarily content. *** At the top of the tallest tower Lord Ra Io rested, taking in the vastness of the sea. Schools of fish moved to and fro, some carrying messages but others perhaps just traveling through. When the sages had finally deciphered their language, the fish quickly agreed to an alliance. But while the tang and angel and roughy were useful in their ways, they would not last in a fight. To his knowledge, he was the oldest of his species; some sixty migrations of the great humpbacks had been counted by his sages. Yet still he was faced with this unsolvable problem of forming bonds with larger species. Ra Io’s network had yet to find any organism as intelligent as themselves. Attempts at alliances had ranged from unproductive to dangerous. He watched a swordfish dart in and out of the windows of a nearby, smaller tower. Would that he could leverage those blades in his defense! A shifting rock pulled his attention from the view and to his adjutant, Ur Baa, who floated into the chamber. Ur Baa was nearly black in color. “Sire, our scout has returned from her journey to the south. The hammerhead group is still there, moving toward the Great Reef. There is no sign of Te Jah’s clan. She believes they were wiped out.” Ra Io’s skin surged with scarlet. To lose the minds in Te Jah’s clan was cataclysmic! He had sent them for good reason. They had survival skills and were excellent diplomats. Training a new cadre would take years. And yet that struggle was nothing against the loss of their lives. The mission was a dangerous one. He knew whoever he ordered to the southern waters to attempt to entreaty the hammerheads might die. The sages thought the hammerheads would be the smartest of the greater predators, and thus hopefully rational and willing to bargain. It appeared they were wrong. The king arranged his arms into the Symbol of Grief. His subordinate displayed a deep purple and returned the Symbol in response. The king said nothing, drifting in the current, lost in thought. Ur Baa wondered whether he should go, and started to turn away. A clacking of a rock against the window drew his attention back to the king. The king dropped the rock. “There may be survivors. Bring me Wa Vol.” Ur Baa flashed an affirmative and departed, waiting until he was out of sight to let his skin diffuse back into a sky blue–the color of hope. The summoning of Wa Vol, the royal tactician & war leader, could mean only one thing. Lord Ra Io wanted a rescue mission. *** Wa Vol swam back and forth in front of the assembly. She had never seen this many of her kind grouped together outside of the kingdom. They all watched her intensely. “Te Jah and his clan may still be alive. We will be swimming to some of the most dangerous waters known to our kind. We do this because it is an honor to obey the king.” Her skin took on a shade of pink-red as something akin to love burned in her three hearts. “But it is more than just service to our lord. As individuals, we are intelligent, but weak. Defenseless. But look at what we have achieved together! United in our bonds to each other, we have become greater than the most fearsome predators of the ocean!” The warriors and sages before her all burst in color, ranging from yellows of joy to reds of anger/passion. “We will go find Te Jah because it is our duty to our kind! Not a single one of us will be left alone in the depths! Let’s go!” Wa Vol led them forth, a rainbow of excitement, fury, and hope. *** Krauvel flashed a warning to her mate, Honak. Honak messaged back. “Tell me when it’s in position!” It had been a shock to them both to witness the spectacle of dozens of foreign octopuses swarming across the metal pile, dodging a large hammerhead. They were trying to escape. Krauvel and Honak, without concern for their own lives, dived in to help. *** Wa Vol watched the two strangers do a cautious bait-and-switch with the shark. Finding Te Jah had been surprisingly easy, but their escape was not. The warband had performed as expected, and now all were safe, but Wa Vol was now alone by her own command. She had assumed she would trade her life for Te Jah’s, but perhaps these two had tricks she didn’t yet know. *** Honak waited, arms tense. He was bigger than most of her species, and strong. The shark swam forward as all sharks were programmed to do. These predators had not yet learned to change their ways like the octopus had when the ocean grew. “NOW!” She heaved, wrenching on the car door, causing it to topple from its perch. It smashed into the shark, spearing it beneath two tons of jagged metal. Both shark and wreck sank, finally coming to rest at the base of the overpass. Firing her arms out in the elaborate Pattern of Victory, Honak’s skin burst into a rainbow of colors. “It worked! A genius plan, Krauvel!” Krauvel watched the wreckage to make sure the shark would not return. They had saved lives, she was sure of it. Honak was bright pink, clearly pleased with herself, but Krauvel could not help but start to weave their defeat of the shark into a tale for the next consortium. Honak’s ego would be unbearable, but also cute. The pair were about to depart when Krauvel saw a spot of color emerge from the scrap. *** Ra Io stared out the window. So many cycles of light and darkness had passed since Wa Vol had departed. It was a certainty that they were all dead. Skin jet black, his body slumped against the window. What would he do to atone for this? He heard the shifting of stones behind him. The king rolled in the current to watch as Ur Baa dropped the signal stones. Behind him floated Wa Vol and a small gathering of his subjects! She had returned! The king puffed himself up, yellow suffusing across his surface. “Wa Vol! I’m so happy to see you!” He swam forward to place one arm on his war leader. She was the closest thing he had to a confidant, and it was good to have her home. Wa Vol formed the Symbol of Reverence. Most of the group followed suit, but two made unfamiliar gestures and one other seemed to be missing arms. The king puzzled at this, until it dawned on him. “TE JAH!” Ra Io pushed through the group to embrace the damaged octopus, his skin a mix of pink and blue and brown and purple, awash in a tangle of emotions. Soon all of them were a glorious bouquet of yellows. The king acknowledged them all in turn, pleased to see the return of Yi Loa as well. Te Jah had thankfully not lost everything. He finally turned to the two strangers. “And who are you?” “I am Krauvel and this is Honak. We are emissaries of Queen Prue to the south. We are honored to bring her greeting to you, King Ra Io.” The king marveled at this news, overwhelmed. Other kingdoms, new allies, and Te Jah returned safe was more than he could have hoped for. He sent Ur Baa for food. This demanded a celebration! As they dined together, the king listened with pleasure as Krauvel told the tale of the shark’s defeat.
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Aug 6, 2023 15:12
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I will play.
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Aug 8, 2023 14:27
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Underwater Welding: Principles and Hazards 873w Case: O’ROARK VS MERRIL OFFSHORE DRILLING Date: August 27th, 2017 Court: UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT FOR THE SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF TEXAS GALVESTON, TX EXHIBIT 31: Audio Log Transcript - Merril Offshore Drilling Excursion #717, March 11th, 2013 Participants: Samuelson, Timothy - Welder Team Lead O’Roark, John - Welder Gonzalez, Tina - Surface Support Staff Lead - - - SAMUELSON: OK, Johnny Boy, how’s the nerves? O’ROAK: Not too bad. Is visibility normally this good? SAMUELSON: Nope, usually it’s clogged as hell. Must be some weather up top moving the currents around. O’ROARK: I’ve only been in pools. It’s so cold here! [Laughs] SAMUELSON: We all got to start somewhere. Go ahead and start slowing your descent, now. Nice and easy. O’ROARK: Like that? SAMUELSON: Yep. The leak is about twenty feet north once we reach the bottom. Touch down light, try not to kick a lot of poo poo up. O’ROARK: OK. SAMUELSON: Good job. Go ahead and move up to that area with the lights. Don’t catch your lines on any [intelligible]. Watch out for sea life. O’ROARK: Did you hear that? SAMUELSON: What? O’ROARK: That grinding noise. SAMUELSON: Probably just a line dragging on a strut. Anything tugging? O’ROARK: No. It sounded bigger than that. SAMUELSON: You’ll hear a lot of weird stuff down here. You get used to it. If nothing feels caught up, let’s keep going. If any of your gear starts to feel off though, you tell me quick. O’ROARK: I will. SAMUELSON: Tina, we’re down. GONAZALEZ: Everything is looking fine up here, Tim. O’ROARK: I’m there. I see the leak. SAMUELSON: Yep, I see it too. Now this is going to work just like your standard stick weld up top. First, check your gas gauges, make sure Tina's not asleep at the wheel. [Laughs] GONZALEZ: Don’t let Tim screw with you too much, John. We’ve got your back. SAMUELSON: [Laughs] O’ROARK: [Laughs] SAMUELSON: When you’re ready, go ahead and get your electrode in touch with the breach. You know where the knife switch is? O’ROARK: It’s this one? SAMUELSON: Glad you pay attention when I’m talking. That’ll let you switch out your stinger. Once you’ve made contact, let Tina know you’re ready. O’ROARK: Tina, make it hot. GONZALEZ: Making it hot. SAMUELSON: OK, good. Just like in training. Open the knife switch. You see the bubble? O’ROARK: Yeah. SAMUELSON: You’re going to keep that bubble just like you’re doing. Don’t let it collapse on you. O’ROARK: There’s a lot of gas coming off. Are there normally this many bubbles? SAMUELSON: Don't get distracted. The only bubble you need to care about is the one on that weld. It's gonna keep your arc protected. As long as the gas isn’t getting trapped somewhere, we’re OK. GONZALEZ: Still looking good, Tim. SAMUELSON: -sunk a bit. GONZALEZ: Tim, repeat? SAMUELSON: I said, it looks like the ground’s sunk a bit. There’s a lot more space around the pipe compared to yesterday. O’ROARK: Should I stop? SAMUELSON: No, keep going. You're doing great. I’m going to check out that section of pipe over there, OK? O’ROARK: OK. SAMUELSON: Tina, there’s been a bunch of movement here. drat, I think there’s another leak. GONZALEZ: Yates says there was a bit of activity a few days back. O’ROARK: Who’s Yates? GONZALEZ: Geophysicist. You’ll meet him when he flies in on Friday. SAMUELSON: There’s been more than a bit. This section of pipe looks to be under a lot of strain. I knew that moron… What the hell. Tina, make it cold. GONZALEZ: Roger, making it cold. O’ROARK: Is something wrong? SAMUELSON: O’Roark, close the switch and come look at this. O’ROARK: What’s doing that? SAMUELSON: I have no goodly idea. O’ROARK: Where’s it all going? GONZALEZ: Tim? What’s going on? SAMUELSON: There’s a sinkhole or something forming down here. Looks like the sand is draining away. GONZALEZ: How big? SAMUELSON: I don’t know. I think- Jesus. That scared the hell out of me. GONZALEZ: What’s going on? SAMUELSON: The ground is a bit soft here. Nearly fell. GONZALEZ: Everyone OK? O’ROARK: Look over there. SAMUELSON: I see it. Gonzalez, call Yates, get him out today. He’s going to want to look at this. There’s another sinkhole nearby. This ground is unstable. O’Roark, get ready to ascend. I’m calling this one off. O’ROARK: What’s that noise? SAMUELSON: poo poo. O’ROARK: The crack. Look at the crack. SAMUELSON: Double time, O’Roark. Let’s get out of here. Back to the bell. GONAZLEZ: Tim? John? O’ROARK: Help. [Screams] SAMUELSON: poo poo. poo poo. GONZALEZ: Someone tell me what’s going on. O’ROARK: Help. Help. Help me. SAMUELSON: Grab my hand. Grab it. O’ROARK: [Screams] SAMUELSON: No. Gonzalez. I can't- Tina. The line. Help. Tina. GONZALEZ: Tim. Tim, are you there? Tim, talk to me. SAMUELSON: [Screams] GONZALEZ: Oh, Jesus. Jesus. - - - END OF TRANSCRIPT- - - Qualified transcription services provided by Scribewell Ltd. on behalf of Catherine O'Roark (Plaintiff) and Merril Offshore Drilling (Defendant). Transcription by: Gloria Stein Qualified Transcriptionist Transcription License: RQ388910 I, Gloria Stein, hereby attest that this foregoing transcription is a true and accurate representation of the proceedings as recorded. I have reviewed the transcript for accuracy to the best of my ability. Date: January 23rd, 2017
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Aug 13, 2023 14:35
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Yeah, ok, in
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Aug 15, 2023 01:11
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Gull at Pike’s City: Seattle, WA - USA Book Inspiration: The Peregrine, by JA Baker 514w Hungry. Wet stone but no rain, no wind, a good day to fly. Smells of bake, and fish. Down to where the animals gather, again to wait, to watch. Keen eyes to spot the big ones that take notice of me. Most don’t see me, part of the surroundings. Those that do try to hit me or shout–better to avoid. Big ones lead small ones. This small one has two big ones on either side to protect it. They are looking to the sides. They do not watch the small one’s sweet warm delicious spiral treat. It falls to the ground, and the big one with fur on its face squawks. It drags the small one forward–quick! Grab the spiral! Eat and eat. Happy. - - - Hungry, but rain today. Lots of rain. No flying on days like today. Watch as the big things gather and yell. They toss the fish back and forth. Back and forth. No catching that fish no matter how good it smells. Hungry, and cold. Tuck head under wing and wait. - - - Hungry! Rain, rain, rain. Sweep wings and stay low. Under the cover, away from the rain. No flying where the animals wait in a row. Always here, always in line. Stay on the ground. Walk slow. Not too close. A big one comes out, struggling with its black wing. One paw holds the brown paper with more sweet bread. Now fly! Grab the paper! Fly Fly! The animals are so loud! They shake their paws and yell and squawk but it doesn’t ruin the taste of bread. Bread bread bread. - - - Hungry. No rain, bright sun. Means more big ones and more small ones. More food. A big one raises a hot yellow stick, the ones that taste so good. It’s holding the stick and a gray square and not watching me watch. Soar! Fly fast! The big one falls to the ground and squawks. The yellow hot sticks are delicious. - - - Hungry. All the bigs today are bright and colorful. They have purple feathers on their necks but not their bodies. Shiny, loud, big ones everywhere, some with face fur and some without. Lots of sounds, voices, noise from black boxes tangled with black cords. Too many animals, too dangerous. But they have the sweet rings! No saying no to sweet rings! Rings waved in the air, dropped on the ground, rings everywhere in animal fists. Get one! Find and eat the rings off sun warm stone. Fight and cry and flap wings to scare brothers and sisters and eat eat eat. Happy! - - - Hungry! Colder but no rain. One of the big animals is alone. Sweep down and walk. Slow. It’s watching the big loud boats on the water. Boats bringing more big ones back and forth, back and forth. This big one has twisty chewy bread. The bread sits on the rail. Get closer. The boat makes its loud call and the animal waves a paw and knocks the bread! Quick! Fly down to the water, fly before–cry, cry, cry the fish got it first. Time for more flying, above where the animals gather, and watch for more bread.
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Aug 21, 2023 02:21
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https://thunderdome.cc/?story=11399&title=Internal+Thoughts+Projected+On+Setting
Ouzo Maki fucked around with this message at 21:49 on Aug 28, 2023 |
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Aug 27, 2023 13:36
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get me in
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Aug 31, 2023 13:52
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The Great Anarch 1775w In the beginning, in Her infinite wisdom, The Universe made a place for her children to play. She built the Village of Law out of raw stone hewn from Her very body, and was pleased to watch the young ones frolic in the cradle of creation. To each child She gave a gift, a power that would enable them to shape the Village and make it their own. I will not give you a complete accounting of these gifts, because you know them already. But I must remind you of a few. To Gravity She gave the power of attraction. He went around the village drawing all the children to his side; he was tall, vibrant, handsome, with fine, straight teeth and glossy, dark skin. There was no one who could resist him. It was Gravity who was the first to understand love. I remember the day when Gravity declared that Mass was his lover. All of us were in the kgotla, some wrestling in the dry, red dust, others just basking in the warmth of the morning. They walked up, hand in hand, and Gravity’s smile was a beaming crescent made from pure sunlight. Beside him towered Mass, the largest of us all, a walking mountain of ruddy, hairless flesh. Mass nodded, silent as was his way, and together they went to walk the grassy bank of the river and kiss under the shade of the palms. I crept after them, to watch. Their tryst was a spear thrust through my heart, for those kisses were my kisses. My lifeblood warmed when I looked upon that face, carved from ebony, and I knew I would love no other. Others found their mates, some romantic, others friends, and our childhood games were quickly left behind like so much chaff from our harvests. Understand that there was no formal process for this; those that became lovers simply cleaved to one another because it was natural, as if The Universe had intended it all along. Not all in the village were so lucky, however. One such was Entropy, to whom The Universe had granted the power of chaos. None of the other children could appreciate this power, for while Gravity brought them together, Entropy drove them apart. She loved the sound a clay pot made breaking against stone. The sound of an argument was a chorus of melodious voices to her ear. As she walked through the village, singing her own songs, the others would flee because her voice was full of discord. When she would speak, they heard only scorn. When she joined their games, they would find soon that their toys were broken and friends were made enemies. And so Entropy found herself alone, her pale skin ghostly in the moonlight as she now stalked the village’s edge. Over time, she became a specter, one so misunderstood that when the children told each other stories around late-night fires, her name was one cloaked in fear and monstrosity. The village aged, as did we all, for that is natural. I must thank you, Sister Time, to whom our Mother granted the power of measurement, for tracking the passage of our days. As you counted our minutes, so we grew in our strength, and in our understanding of ourselves and each other. Pairings yielded offspring, variations on The Universe’s original design. Our roles solidified, as did our standing within the social circles. Gravity eased naturally into the role of village chief, others falling neatly in line with his will. I remember the feeling, a twisting of my insides, as I listened to Gravity on the morning of his ascension. It was my first experience with despair, for while I loved him, I knew Gravity’s ego relied on the constant attention of those around him. You could see him going around the village, joking and laughing and play-fighting, but never willing to listen. He could not understand when people needed to pull away. Despite this, our lives went on, everyone believing that these moments together would never end. But this isn’t a story about beginnings, or middles, but rather the end of things. One day, while Inertia and Density were out among the wheat, they noticed a whorl of dust hanging above one corner of the field. The cloud was stagnant, seemingly immune to the breeze. Upon inspection, Inertia could see that the things that were there before, the stones and dirt and wheat, even the air itself, had all been taken apart and jumbled together. Where once was ground a perfect square of darkness was carved, plummeting down into the earth. The two looked up and saw a void etched high into the sky as well. They fled back to the village, screaming for everyone to come and witness the strangeness. The village emptied, and when they saw the infinite blackness, they cowered in fear. Gravity came forward, sweeping his hand through the cloud of matter, nudging particles aside that seemed stuck in space like it was honey. He turned to his subjects, watching the fear twist their faces. “Subjects! Do not fear! This is simply a trick from that wretch Entropy. She seeks to scare us! Let her come out and deny it if this is untrue!” His voice was confident, kingly, as befit a leader. The villagers waited, breathless. But Entropy did not come to claim or deny responsibility, and so the crowd dispersed, leaving the squares of darkness to be forgotten. Gravity stayed behind and tried to remake the wheat and ground and sky, but with all his powers of attraction he could not put the pieces together. The dust cloud was a stain upon his heart, and to cover his shame he piled rocks over the hole and forbade everyone from looking at that patch of sky. More tricks followed. Things around the village were unmade, split into their constituent parts. Clay figurines were reduced to a pile of dirt, water, and pigments. Mbege transformed overnight from the familiar sweet liquor to a pot full of overripe bananas, bark, and porridge. The village was terrified. These inexplicable events made them wail and gnash, and beg first Gravity, and then The Universe Herself, to deliver them from this evil. Gravity tried in vain to restore order, but a mania had swept through the people. Some fled from the village, while others cooped themselves up in their huts, refusing to come out. I was there, watching from the shadows, when Gravity was raging at the village gate. “It is that viper, Entropy!” He was yelling at Mass, who stood impassive. “I will find her and drag her from the forest. I will take my club and smash in her head!” Mass shrugged. “If you can find her.” Gravity’s marble face was slack in shock. Mass had never spoken, and yet here he spoke with doubt to undermine. This disorder was tearing him apart. He searched every inch of the forest, beginning when the sun rose and stopping when the sun set. Entropy could not be found. On the hundredth day, as he returned to the village, he came upon the riverbed, dry as firebed ashes. He went quickly upstream, only to see that the river now flowed into an inky abyss, disappearing to pool in some other unseen point of creation. There was nothing to be done, but it should be noted that even Gravity saw it as the beginning of the end. He rent his garments and cried out, but The Universe did not answer. The next day, the first person went missing. The two Energies, Kinetic and Potential, were so enmeshed that at times it seemed they shared one body. And so when Kinetic ran through the village, calling for her twin, the villagers all dropped whatever they were doing to help in the search. I did not help search, of course, because I knew that Potential had been returned to Mother. Gravity did not help either, consumed with his own search. The villagers noted their chief’s absence, and when he returned from his fruitless pursuit the villagers all turned their backs upon him. He fell to the dirt; his hair was matted, and his skin and teeth were dull. The force of his pull had weakened. It did not stop there, of course. More of the sky was consumed by the void. The river disappeared entirely. Those villagers that had yet to disappear overnight sat around the fire struggling to stay awake, eyes and faces lined with worry and exhaustion. Like Gravity, they found that their own gifts were sapped away, and so they discarded them, leaving them behind for me to collect one by one. The end came suddenly, a cataclysm in the form of a great un-making. There was no sound to announce its arrival. One moment the villagers sat, waiting, and the next they were gone, each returning to the aether from which they were born. You see, Sister Time, deep in the shadowed places of the jungle, where the green fades to gray and the lesser beings crawl freely without fear of predation, I studied the truth of myself. I thought I was broken, a mistake of creation, but I was wrong. Our Mother, in Her infinite wisdom, did not give me an impulse for destruction. I do not simply cause disorder; I am disorder. What we did not know as children, but what I know now, is that this is the natural state of things. Let my teeth snap shut forever if this is a lie. The village stands empty now, my sister. You and I are the last. I met Gravity and Mass on the road, just outside the gate. With a click of my tongue, I turned Mass into nothingness. First he was there, and then he was not. I looked into Gravity’s eyes, a beautiful vastness of burnt umber, and the tears I saw there would have shattered me were I not already shattered. His lips were still full, and I thought I could still steal kisses, but he recoiled from my touch. For the first time in his existence, he wanted distance. He could not know, however, that I was already a part of him. Deep in the spaces between his atoms disorder lurked, put there from the beginning. I snatched that chaos and made it grow, and in a swirl of darkness, I absorbed him. Now, sister, I come for you. As I place my hands upon your wizened body, I hope that you feel the Mother’s touch, for She and I are one, as soon you too shall be.
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Sep 3, 2023 16:57
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Sep 4, 2023 17:01
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Ouzo Maki fucked around with this message at 10:57 on Sep 13, 2023 |
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Sep 10, 2023 14:38
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Sep 20, 2023 12:34
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The Queen of Air and Shadow When I was a lass I met a Queen on the bog, a lady I could not see. She danced in the light of the no-shine moon, swept up by the wind that moaned off the peat. I curtsied as my Ma had taught me, standing on midnight moss. Out of a zephyr the darkness was woven, crafted of stars royal hands stitched away. It whispered to me of wisp and of gloaming. Come to the court, where we dine on fog and flower. Come see the place where the night does not die. Unseelie I wake before an empty throne, in the moment when twilight fades. The poor sun is shamed, chased away into ruin. “Make it bow!” rings the reedy chorus, their melody thick with sap and plucked with wormwood. The courtiers watch me with faces sharp and grinning, and I find not a friend among them. The unseen queen laughs cold like winter’s bite, and bends my spine to a supplicant’s gnarl. Blades of grass stretch up to cut my face. I must caper for their evening’s amusement. My fine green coat has torn away, and my hair is tangled with brambles. Primrose Hag though some call me, I once held youth like you; it thrummed in my breast like a starling. My careless steps carried me among birch and rowan, farther than any would dare. I heeded neither old wives’ wisdom nor lateness of hour. One midnight I met a Shaded Queen, dancing above moonlit moss. Woe betide a stupid lass who knows not the proper cant! Thorned fingers took me as a plaything, whisking me away through air and darkness. Learn from my withered face, children. Mind your manners. The cost of your rudeness may be the bloom of your years.
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Sep 23, 2023 13:31
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It occurs to me that I did not sign up because I am a filthy degenerate If this is a d/q I accept my fate, and throw myself on the mercy of derp Regicide 738w I walk to the shore with everyone else, a teeming mass of chattering gulls that fights in a cacophony against the crash of the surf. We crowd through the sandy streets, the taffy shop and dive bar emptying quickly to further swell our ranks.You can already smell it, the burning stench of ammonia that presses upon us like wool blankets soaked in brine. As we get closer to the beach, we can see the swell of the beast, and we begin to run. It–he–is titanic, and sublime. His body is an amalgam of glittering purple carapace and pale, wet flesh; he stretches across a hundred feet of coast, a woven mat of thin tentacles and chitin married to a torso of sculpted muscle. I cannot count his arms for there are many, some ending in claws, or hands that clench and unclench mindlessly against the wet sand. When my hazel eyes meet the abyssal black of his, I’m struck by the humanity I see there. He is handsome, regal, his features marked by an aquiline nose and the pouty lips of a Renaissance heartthrob. Atop his head, growing directly from the meat of his brow, is a crown of gold, studded with barnacles and pearlescent opals. Some bastardized version of whale song, a low-frequency groan that I feel in my bones, wheezes from those plump, gorgeous lips. Without question, he is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. The throng of people, a mix of locals and tourists, huddle together away from his body. They are mixed between fear and awe; I can tell by the way their gull-like squawks fade into a susurrus of whispers. They keep their distance from this thing birthed from the sea, whose pink gill slits weep with a syrupy, clear liquid. Eventually, some brave or foolish teen breaks the spell, and approaches close enough to stretch one hand up to rest on the heaving ribs. People push each other forward, a thousand palms now slapping against his skin. Who could resist being able to say they touched a god? The surf is coming in, swelling around his body, gently rocking him as a mother would her infant. As the dying day streaks its dull orange across the sky, making his shell sparkle, tears spring from my eyes. He is dying on the shore, and I wonder if I’m the only one who realizes it. I fight my way to his side, suffocating from the smell of his skin and the crush of bodies. My pleas to the other humans to move him, to return him to the waves, are lost among the noise. I can’t see who throws the first rock. The rage just boils out abruptly from the people behind me, a sudden cataclysm of screams and profanity I do not comprehend. Rough hands grab my collar and drag me backward. The stones are few, at first, but then blacken the sky like birds as they pelt upon the supine form of this gentle king. I collapse upon the sand, frozen, incapable of processing the desecration I must now witness. A tall, corpulent man in a boater hat stands next to me, clearly a tourist with his hangdog wife and terrified children in tow. He bends with a grunt and snatches an agate from the beach, raising one ham hock arm to toss it toward one of the colossal, twitching eyes. I marvel at the meager nature of this protest, amazed by its futility. This fat man, a giant among humans, is pathetic in his demand of supremacy from this extraordinary lord of the sea. The man grins as the rock finds its target, denting the soft tissue. He barks at his family, who immediately scramble to find their own missiles to launch. The ocean is aroar, gray and churning under a sky that has rapidly turned from orange to slate. Black storm clouds roll in, and an hour's worth of rain falls all at once to mix with purple ichor leaking across the regal, resplendent face. The crowd departs as quick as it formed, a sizzling caldera quenched by the deluge, and I am left alone. I add my sobs to the chorus of the ocean and wind and rain as the light slowly dies from the king’s great eye. There is nothing I can do but pray that the tides are enough to drag him back home.
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Oct 8, 2023 02:15
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Trick me
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Oct 31, 2023 21:43
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I am in
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Nov 10, 2023 22:53
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Peter Principle 1612 words Ulf picked up the antique bronze automaton, glass dome and all, and hurled it against a nearby wall. It exploded in a spray of glass and bronze scrap, lacerating the art there and showering the cowered assembly before him. “Why didn’t anyone see this coming?!” Ulf screamed at the peons, tendons taut as he used his whole body to express his displeasure. Some nameless schmuck with a tablet stammered out the beginning of an answer. “S-sir, there were reports dated July 2019 that-” “Reports?! You think I want to hear about reports from four loving years ago?!” Ulf stormed from behind his desk and continued to lay waste to his office. He picked up a vase of fresh cut flowers from a nearby coffee table and heaved it to the floor. He was dimly aware the vase was expensive, and that technically this was his stuff he was destroying, but his stupid assistant Hendrika had picked it all out. So really it was like breaking her poo poo, when you thought about it. She had bad taste. Ulf whirled on the spot, hoping she looked devastated, but scoffed in frustration when he couldn’t find her among the worried faces. It wasn’t hard to spot a six-foot-three blonde, dammit! He exclusively hired Netherlanders for his admin needs. It revved him up to be dwarfed by tall, attractive women who had to obey his every whim. “Where the gently caress is Hendrika?” Another mouse, a woman, Jane or Julie or Sarah–”She’s off today, Mr. Schneider, remember? Her mom’s having surgery?” Surgery? Ulf didn’t remember that. Did he, though? He was suddenly struck by an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. He shook his head. “Well, gently caress! Get her here! It’s all hands on deck!” First the goddamned EPA decides to perform some bullshit environmental impact audit that digs up a waste disposal paper trail Ulf didn’t think existed because he had people to handle it... then the board decides to poo poo a brick when NatureRight’s stock price drops forty loving points in less than twenty-four hours. And now Hendrika wasn’t at her post! The world was falling the gently caress apart. Ulf watched the mouse scamper toward the door when he abruptly changed his mind. “You know what, Julie, gently caress it, she’s fired. You’re my new assistant.” “It’s Margaret, Mr. Schneider, and actually I work in your finan-” Ulf held up a hand for silence, and the mouse shut up. “Listen, I hired you all to deal with things like this, and now I find out you’re all incompetent! How do you think that makes me feel? Do you know how disappointing this is?” There was no response at first, but then a voice that sounded like it issued from a throat coated in tar whispered from among the throng. “Idiot.” Ulf’s eyes bugged and he gasped like a flustered southern woman. Storming forward, he shoved his employees aside. “Who said that? Who loving said that?!” More whispers, but no culprit. Ulf began to shake. “Fine! Is that how you want it?” He pointed at the mouse. “You’re fired too. Get out of here!” He swung an arm towards the others. “You’re all fired! Get out of my office!” Spittle burst from his mouth as his face purpled and rage took him completely. Everyone fled, leaving Ulf alone to suck breath in great hitches and tremble in his powerlessness. He stomped to his desk and punched the computer monitor, sending it crashing to the ground. His whole hand felt broken, but it felt good to do something. He’d fix it. He’d fix all of it. # The press conference was not going well. Hendrika might have warned him to stay away from any suggestion that he knew about the improper containment, or even to have the in-house counsel handle the questions entirely. But per usual she was useless, and Ulf figured he could slap down a few reporters. Ulf had been struggling to tell the press that NatureRight had been working on a solution since January, but all it did was give the crowd more ammo. The questions came in staccato bursts, and when accompanied by the flashbulbs of cameras everything ran together and gave Ulf the feeling he was in front of a firing squad. “Listen, all of this can and will be explained. I will liaise with my subject matter experts and develop an action plan by the end of the day.” He glanced down toward his pocket, where his phone was pinging with greater frequency the longer the questioning went on. “So are you acknowledging you were aware the plant was leaking waste into the reservoir?” “How do you plan to compensate the nearby towns for ecological damage to their farmlands?” “Are you aware of a class action lawsuit being brought on behalf of the families of Chaffee Spring?” “How does it feel to be so worthless?” It was the sticky, tarred voice, back in the room, or back in his head. Ulf scanned the press but no one seemed to fit the voice. His pulse rocketed upwards and his face drained of blood. Was he going crazy? Get a grip! He was about to answer one of the questions, it didn’t matter which, just keep talking, when something within him burst like a bomb, a sudden explosive shredding of important parts deep in his torso. Ulf faltered. “I, uh, no more comments. No comment!” He held one hand to his chest and waved to his lawyer, who quickly took the podium and swatted back questions. He swept away from the press room towards the safety of the heart of the building, pursued by a team of lackeys. When he managed to unlock his phone after several fat-fingered, enraging attempts, he managed to see that in the twenty-two minute Q&A debacle, his company’s stock had dropped further from 47 to 12 a share. An endless stream of email notifications covered the screen. The board wanted to hold an emergency meeting. His wife wanted to know what the hell was going on, that she saw the news conference. Some investigative reporter wanted comment on his sexual assault of an assistant he fired years ago?! Ulf stopped, surrounded by aides and lawyers all talking over one another. He stumbled, coming to rest slumped against the wall. His phone held his gaze until the silence around him finally penetrated his deep contemplation of the downfall of his house. He looked up to see the yes-men step aside, revealing an abyss from which a new hell now rose to greet him. Ulf turned and looked up into the face of a plainclothes detective, complete with a stereotypical bushy mustache and piercing brown eyes. Behind the cop stood two others in beat patrol blues. “Mr. Schneider?” The man’s voice had a deep resonance that, inanely, Ulf jealously wished he could replicate with his own. Ulf swallowed, and found that his throat didn’t want to comply. His tie felt tight, too tight. He unconsciously fingered the knot. “Yes?” His reply was shrill. “Do you know a woman named Effje Vokkert?” He did. Six-one and a graduate from Brown who was particularly good at surreptitious handjobs on long transatlantic flights. Ulf couldn’t remember why he fired her in the first place. “I do, yes.” “Would you mind coming with us? We’d like to ask you some questions.” Someone grabbed Ulf by the left shoulder, a grip he imagined must feel like getting an appendage caught in industrial machinery. For a moment he couldn’t believe the cop would lay a hand on him, but when Ulf turned to look, nothing was there. He fell to his knees, his left arm useless and limp at his side. There was a crescendo of noise around him, and still the hand clamped down. The pain was incredible, far beyond anything he’d ever felt before in his life. And now, just before his vision faded, Ulf could see it! There was a hand! It was a dull red, swarthy and veined, and its black talon-like nails sunk deep into the gray of his suit. Where they pierced him he could feel heat, a bonfire–no, more than that, it was the intensity of the sun, a thousand suns, and then, in his ear, a voice, guttural, mocking, dripping with the acid of contempt. “Stupid… weak… impotent...” “I’m… I didn’t…” Saliva ran out of Ulf’s slack, gaping mouth. The voice in his ear chuckled, a gurgle that sounded like blood and poo poo being pumped through miles of rusted, unmaintained pipe in a waste treatment plant. “Do it again.” # Ulf stared at the crowd of simpering fools in front of him. They stood before his desk, waiting for some acknowledgement of what they were trying to convey. He wasn’t stupid. He could see the reports, and the email chains, and the warning from the EPA. Sonofabitch! He had staffed those plants with trusted men, men he thought would take care of the problem. Instead, not only were there problems but they were public! He might as well have been getting rear end-hosed by Michael Regan on the front page of the Times! Ulf turned to the idiots he’d hired and frowned, hands clenched into fists. Like always, he’d probably have to find a fix to this all by himself. An immediate need to break something filled his head, a need to destroy, if only to have a half-second of agency over his surroundings.. There was a bronze statue in a glass dome on his desk. That would do. Ulf picked it up and just before he hurled it against the wall, he had the feeling he’d done this all before.
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Nov 12, 2023 18:22
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Week 589: A Haunting in the Thunderdome That was a really uplifting week 588, wasn't it? Who doesn't like seeing corrupt fat cats get absolutely dumpstered, as they so rightly deserve. But now that we've had our moment of catharsis, we're going to downshift a bit. Get a little melancholy. I want stories about hauntings. What's considered a "haunting"? Whatever you want! Is it a literal ghost? Is it someone haunted by a long lost love? It is a room being haunted by a fart? Totally up to you, but the story unequivocally must feature some sense of metaphorical baggage, a weight attached to the situation or protagonist. Your story doesn't have to be a melancholy bummer, of course. As long as there's a haunt I'll be satisfied. Also: gently caress plot. Like yeah, I get it, plot is important, I get yelled at about it all the time. What I'm wanting for this week is VIBE. I want to see evocative language, lavish prose, I want to feel stuff. Because of this, I'm limiting your words. Be effective, be efficient, but I'm not looking for a complete arc. So, with that said, 666 word limit. Usual rules apply Flash Rule: For an extra 100 words, I will give you a moody vibe song that you must incorporate somehow into your story. Super Flash: For an extra 244(!) words, I will give you both a moody song AND a one word vibe check for your haunting (e.g. ennui, breakup, crime, forest) Don't really care if you signup, but if you want access to Flash / Super Flash Rules you gotta ask for one before Friday Midnight EST Submission deadline Sunday midnight EST Lossless week unless circumstances demand retribution. Judges: Yours Truly Beezus FlippinPageman Entrants: Beep Beep - Motorcycle - Cotter Wall - Vibe: Longing Cut of Your Jib - Turn on the Dark - Nick Shoulders - Vibe: Bequest Albatrossy_Rodent - The Bottle Never Lets Me Down - Sarah Shook and the Disarmers - Vibe: Catastrophe derp - The Only Cowboy Bar in Portland - Lightning Luke Thranguy - Anthem for the Already Defeated - Rock Plaza Central - Vibe: Futility Ouzo Maki fucked around with this message at 21:56 on Nov 13, 2023 |
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Nov 13, 2023 16:58
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beep-beep car is go posted:In, Supa Flash. Your Song: Motorcycle by Cotter Wall https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=twSOw2wAf4Q Your Vibe: Longing The Cut of Your Jib posted:supa pls Your Song: Turn on the Dark by Nick Shoulders https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zyy1aIXlFRc Your Vibe: Bequest
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Nov 13, 2023 17:19
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Albatrossy_Rodent posted:In dub flash plz Your Song: The Bottle Never Lets Me Down - Sarah Shook and the Disarmers https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=paaU1Qewcss Your Vibe: Catastrophe
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Nov 13, 2023 17:22
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derp posted:hell yeah, in and song flash Your Song: The Only Cowboy Bar in Portland - Lightning Luke https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lYG9r1uO3B4
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Nov 13, 2023 17:40
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Thranguy posted:In super flash Your Song: Anthem for the Already Defeated - Rock Plaza Central https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nK-YsL58VDs Your Vibe: Futility
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Nov 13, 2023 21:55
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Week 589 Judgment Thank you all for your stories of haunts. It was a pleasure to read them. The judges have agreed, and this week our winner is Thranguy, with a tale of enduring mystery - "One Must Imagine" Of the stories told this week, yours was the one that made me feel things the most. Please take your rightful seat on the throne! No HMs or DMs or Losses this week Judgments to follow also submissions are closed 
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Nov 20, 2023 21:20
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Crits for Week 589 Syzygy - Jib I get what you were going for, but I think what happened was my brain just slipped off of the words. There's a lot of imagery here, a ton of really crunchy and evocative lines, but the problem for me, subjective reader, is that it became word salad very quickly. I had to read it several times before I started to get the central line of thought (still not sure I entirely get it), and by that time I was so concerned with trying to parse it all out that I didn't have a chance to feel anything. For me, for this to be effective, you needed to bring it down to earth just a *little* bit more, take the machine stream of consciousness down from 11 to 10. Unrealized Dreams - Beep This was funny. At the reveal, I actually laughed at loud. The juxtaposition of the maudlin intro to the cookies was solid. You've got some stuff holding you back, unfortunately. The shoehorning in of the motorcycle was not effective. It was definitely just in there because of the song. I think you could have rolled the idea of the song into what you've got pretty well - you're halfway there anyway with that intro, the angst. Once you get to the cookies, however, the idea quickly wears out its welcome. This might have been more effective by letting your joke land and not having the back-and-forth with the partner. Just "Is this about the cookies?!" and fin. Sometimes less is more, especially for a joke story. The Goddess's Champion - The Mack I have issues with this one. It so badly wanted to be this intense meditation of a guy who let himself get so hosed up, but it misses the mark on a few fronts. First, you're on a well-worn path here with the fallen paladin and your language doesn't have enough punch to make it interesting for me. This was an opportunity to get purple, but there wasn't a lot there to make me feel things. Second, you're too passive. The whole description of the murder and cover-up were told very matter-of-fact, and it left me out in the cold. This was a haunting, but told third-hand by someone who didn't know the gory details. Give me the fallen paladin, surrounded by flames that reflect in his wide, unblinking eyes as the gravity of his sin finally weighs upon him! Give me a guy who flits from bar to bivouac, looking over his shoulder forever for angry ghosts or disappointed gods! the only cowboy in a bar in portland - derp This could have won if it wasn't for the loving name drop of the artist, derp. What the heck. You have a solid story that made me feel things, all sorts of stuff about aging and loss and love and then- wait, who the hell is lightning luke? Titled differently and without the name drop this would have been a different conversation. The second paragraph also didn't do much imo to add to the vibe, beginning after the name drop. Probably could have stopped at "and I did it for her". Good job though on capturing the spirit of the song, at least how I feel when I listen to it. One Must Imagine - Thran Excellent. You left me wanting so much more - a civilization haunted by something understood on a time scale so long species die out. I loved the bones, it was a deft touch that instantly drew me back to the song without being over the top. Great job with giving me enough detail without going too deep or too esoteric - it was like I was watching the first john wick all over again, before everything got turned up 1000x. If I had one comment it would be to smooth out your time jumps a bit. The jumps seemed arbitrary, and so I don't think I cared about them. You could have just parted the text with section breaks and let me guess how much time elapsed with a ~later~, and I think it might be more effective. Thank you all for your words. If you would like to discuss anything or want an in-depth crit I would be delighted to see you on Discord.
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Nov 21, 2023 02:47
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