Arhal_Katarn
Junior Member
Yea i decided against it a put a stupid poem up instead.
-
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NeoGAF Creative Writing Challenge #4 - "On the way"
- Thread starter Azih
- Start date
- Status
LunaClover
Member
RumpledForeskin said:
:lol Yeah I figured that out AFTER I posted the link. Brain's already gone for the day.
word count: 1001 (MS Word)
Contentment, a la Zen
It was late afternoon Friday, I was eagerly waiting for 5PM so I could walk down to Kings Head Tavern, like every other Friday.
Lately my life was at a standstill.
My romantic-life resembled a limited-budget off-Broadway production. To the victor did go the spoils. It was not me. Its strange to find out the sweet girl you took out for a sweet ice-cream was fucking your best friend behind your back the whole time you chased her. She didnt give out any clues. You lost the girl, but far more importantly, you lost the friend. Because he let you chase her. I guess the ice-cream was pretty sweet at that.
The girl, not so much.
My salary barely paid for my rent and my social activities, and my friends all of a sudden became mind-numbingly dull for no good reason that I could think of.
I sipped my bitter-black coffee and contemplated my life while staring at the monitor.
The boss came by around 3:30PM. It turned out the Westchester snow storm was more devastating than usual, engineers were needed in place to protect the public from fallen high-voltage feeders while the crews got them fixed. He wanted me to go.
I love field work, without skipping a beat I said,
"I'm already in my car chief, where do I go?"
Hold on there turbo, you have to be there by midnight, you start when they tell you, you stay as long as they tell you, you get there on your own.
Yeah, yeah, I got it, where do I show up?
To our ___ Yard. Show up there by midnight. If you get lost, youre on your own.
I left work at 4PM, got home and packed.
Getting to Westchester was a breeze. Kruder & Dorfmeister pumped on the stereo alongside Bent's fabriclive mix. The wide highway stretched endlessly. Swathed in moonlight. Bass-beats thumped from my car speakers.
If nothing else, the night belonged to me.
As did my shitty Celica convertible.
I reached the service center around 12:30AM. I waited at the cafeteria for farther instructions while chilling with buddies from the office, drinking coffee. Batches of people were being called at a time. An official would come in and say something to the effect of, We need five volunteers now. Five random people would get up to go. Finally I decided to go, I drank enough coffee. They basically gave me an address and a map and said, "Go forth young buck, and replace the person on duty at this area, earn your keep."
"Cool. Fantastic. Brilliant. I'm off."
Never mind that I get lost inside New York. And I was supposed to find an area inside a Westchester county suburb, up on the mountains, in the dark.
I drove along winding mountainous roads. Only moonlight and my headlights lit the way, and they didnt do a very good job at it. The road signs were barely visible, streets turned into different streets without regard for anyone, switching names as abruptly as swingers switch lovers.
Regardless, I got there.
I relieved the man on duty and took watch. My duty was to observe and protect. No traffic or persons through the barricaded area.
I sat pretty with my coffee as minutes rolled into hours. Couldn't listen to music cause I was running low on gas. Couldn't turn on the heat cause I was running low on gas. Didn't eat dinner in a hurry when I left home. Couldn't eat because I was in the middle of nowhere, up top, surrounded by palatial houses and not a store in sight. Though I did have a banana and an apple to keep me company.
I sat in my car, shivering in the cold, drinking coffee while eating a banana and an apple.
Night up on the mountains was alien. Even though I was inside a posh neighborhood, I had the feeling of total solitude. The wealthy of New York like their isolation, like the wealthy of California. I was an old school hunter, sitting up on a tree, waiting for a man-eating tiger.
Eventually the night got lighter. And lighter. Suddenly it was morning. I could actually see the extent of the damage.
A tree fell on overhead distribution cables, it ripped the primary cable to shreds and was held up against the sheer force of gravity by the secondary cables. The secondary cables were taut, ready to give out at a moments notice. I checked inside the area, and noticed the primary cable was tagged red. Very dangerous, very deadly.
I walked away and stretched.
A fawn came out of the woods and stared at me for a few seconds. Im a city boy, born and raised. I dont feel at home in nature, neither do I particularly care for it.
The fawn was the most beautiful thing I had seen in years.
A swarm of black-birds flew out, triggered by an unseen cue, creating a wall of sound with their seemingly random cackle. They flew in random patterns and surrounded me with their wall of sound. I was drenched in high-res slow-motion visuals as my mind's eye turned its shutter speed way down, the cackles reverberated through my ears as my internal audio system switched on its special effects.
As abruptly as it began, it ended. The black-birds flew off in the distance, and the fawn ran off.
I was meant to be there. The scene was meant for me.
I stayed up for 40 hours, Friday morning to Saturday night. I lived on a banana and an apple. And some coffee. I guided people around the barrier and notified them of the situation. I clocked 20 hours of overtime.
For that week, I was a rich man.
On the way back, I rolled my window down and threw out a CD full of romantic indie-pop songs I had burnt for the not-so-sweet girl who had a sweet ice-cream with me once. It seemed like a long time ago.
Contentment, a la Zen
It was late afternoon Friday, I was eagerly waiting for 5PM so I could walk down to Kings Head Tavern, like every other Friday.
Lately my life was at a standstill.
My romantic-life resembled a limited-budget off-Broadway production. To the victor did go the spoils. It was not me. Its strange to find out the sweet girl you took out for a sweet ice-cream was fucking your best friend behind your back the whole time you chased her. She didnt give out any clues. You lost the girl, but far more importantly, you lost the friend. Because he let you chase her. I guess the ice-cream was pretty sweet at that.
The girl, not so much.
My salary barely paid for my rent and my social activities, and my friends all of a sudden became mind-numbingly dull for no good reason that I could think of.
I sipped my bitter-black coffee and contemplated my life while staring at the monitor.
The boss came by around 3:30PM. It turned out the Westchester snow storm was more devastating than usual, engineers were needed in place to protect the public from fallen high-voltage feeders while the crews got them fixed. He wanted me to go.
I love field work, without skipping a beat I said,
"I'm already in my car chief, where do I go?"
Hold on there turbo, you have to be there by midnight, you start when they tell you, you stay as long as they tell you, you get there on your own.
Yeah, yeah, I got it, where do I show up?
To our ___ Yard. Show up there by midnight. If you get lost, youre on your own.
I left work at 4PM, got home and packed.
Getting to Westchester was a breeze. Kruder & Dorfmeister pumped on the stereo alongside Bent's fabriclive mix. The wide highway stretched endlessly. Swathed in moonlight. Bass-beats thumped from my car speakers.
If nothing else, the night belonged to me.
As did my shitty Celica convertible.
I reached the service center around 12:30AM. I waited at the cafeteria for farther instructions while chilling with buddies from the office, drinking coffee. Batches of people were being called at a time. An official would come in and say something to the effect of, We need five volunteers now. Five random people would get up to go. Finally I decided to go, I drank enough coffee. They basically gave me an address and a map and said, "Go forth young buck, and replace the person on duty at this area, earn your keep."
"Cool. Fantastic. Brilliant. I'm off."
Never mind that I get lost inside New York. And I was supposed to find an area inside a Westchester county suburb, up on the mountains, in the dark.
I drove along winding mountainous roads. Only moonlight and my headlights lit the way, and they didnt do a very good job at it. The road signs were barely visible, streets turned into different streets without regard for anyone, switching names as abruptly as swingers switch lovers.
Regardless, I got there.
I relieved the man on duty and took watch. My duty was to observe and protect. No traffic or persons through the barricaded area.
I sat pretty with my coffee as minutes rolled into hours. Couldn't listen to music cause I was running low on gas. Couldn't turn on the heat cause I was running low on gas. Didn't eat dinner in a hurry when I left home. Couldn't eat because I was in the middle of nowhere, up top, surrounded by palatial houses and not a store in sight. Though I did have a banana and an apple to keep me company.
I sat in my car, shivering in the cold, drinking coffee while eating a banana and an apple.
Night up on the mountains was alien. Even though I was inside a posh neighborhood, I had the feeling of total solitude. The wealthy of New York like their isolation, like the wealthy of California. I was an old school hunter, sitting up on a tree, waiting for a man-eating tiger.
Eventually the night got lighter. And lighter. Suddenly it was morning. I could actually see the extent of the damage.
A tree fell on overhead distribution cables, it ripped the primary cable to shreds and was held up against the sheer force of gravity by the secondary cables. The secondary cables were taut, ready to give out at a moments notice. I checked inside the area, and noticed the primary cable was tagged red. Very dangerous, very deadly.
I walked away and stretched.
A fawn came out of the woods and stared at me for a few seconds. Im a city boy, born and raised. I dont feel at home in nature, neither do I particularly care for it.
The fawn was the most beautiful thing I had seen in years.
A swarm of black-birds flew out, triggered by an unseen cue, creating a wall of sound with their seemingly random cackle. They flew in random patterns and surrounded me with their wall of sound. I was drenched in high-res slow-motion visuals as my mind's eye turned its shutter speed way down, the cackles reverberated through my ears as my internal audio system switched on its special effects.
As abruptly as it began, it ended. The black-birds flew off in the distance, and the fawn ran off.
I was meant to be there. The scene was meant for me.
I stayed up for 40 hours, Friday morning to Saturday night. I lived on a banana and an apple. And some coffee. I guided people around the barrier and notified them of the situation. I clocked 20 hours of overtime.
For that week, I was a rich man.
On the way back, I rolled my window down and threw out a CD full of romantic indie-pop songs I had burnt for the not-so-sweet girl who had a sweet ice-cream with me once. It seemed like a long time ago.
flintstryker
Banned
i am currently working on something
Mike Works
Member
i've got a good idea for a story, but honest to god, i'm not sure if i can write it because it's so damn depressing
i've been working over the plot in my mind, and after like a minute of doing it, i just don't even want to think about it anymore
i've been working over the plot in my mind, and after like a minute of doing it, i just don't even want to think about it anymore
Old Ma Meg (979 words)
Old Ma Meg swept the hair and sweat from her eyes with a dirty hand, pausing for a moment to lean on her hoe. The sun was a dim red orb casting a meager glow over the land. Would its weak light be enough to let this little garden live? She shook her head, and began hoeing again. There was no need for that sort of speculation. She would find out, was all.
A fine gray ash sifted down from the sky. All these months and still it came. She cursed softlya mild curse; she was, after all, still Old Ma Megand turned to her wheelbarrow, pulling a moldy, rotting tarpaulin from beneath the shovel and buckets that kept it from blowing away. She carefully laid it over the small plot of land, then placed a stone on each of the four corners. She nodded to herself as she placed the final stone, and stood, sweeping her now ashy hair from her weathered forehead.
She froze. Someone was watching her.
Well, well, the man drawled. And who might you be? He was a tall man, in his late thirties, and a thin black mustache divided his face in two. Tattered, faded jeans with a knife stuck through the belt and a worn black leather jacket completed the picture. A drifter, then.
Old Ma Meg considered running for help, but only for a moment. Help was a mile away, at the least, and she wasnt spry these days. Then too, there was nothing yet to say this drifter meant her any harm. Except that the drifters she had seenat a goodly distance, and from hidingwere all bandits and outlaws. Outlaws. As if that word meant anything, since.
The man was staring at her expectantly, leaning on an old fencepost with one hand and shoving the other in a jacket pocket.
They call me Old Ma Meg, she said. No point lying. What difference could it make?
The man nodded, removing the hand from his pocket and sweeping a dirty kerchief over his forehead. I didnt expect to meet anyone out here. But then, you find people in the oddest places these days. Well Old Ma Meg, I dont suppose you have any water for a thirsty traveler? His expression softened, and for a moment he looked on the point of smiling at her.
She was so surprised she stared slightly longer than was polite, and his face hardened again. Water. If that was all he was after, shed eat her hat. Drifters never asked politely, either. Something was odd about this man. She just couldnt put her finger on it. Still, as he tilted his head slightly to one side, she turned and beckoned him to follow her. As it happened, she did have waterthere was a well not a quarter mile away, still unpoisoned and clear despite everything.
A traveler, you say. Where you traveling? The words came from her mouth unbidden. It had been a while since shed spoken to anyone; at least a few weeks. She was out of practice, but shed been brought up right, and that meant you made conversation. Even with strangers. Maybe especially with strangers.
They walked on for a moment in silence, the soft squelch of their footsteps on damp and ashy ground the only sound. Finally, Oh, around, the man said, waving a hand vaguely. Nowhere important. Not to you, anyway. That was no way to make conversation.
She stopped, and so did he. She turned, looked him in the eye. Son, a little politeness never hurt anybody. Lets start again. I said, where you traveling?
The man stuck both hands in his pockets and glared, but couldnt keep it up. He smiled, then broke into a rough laugh. Youre right, he said. Its been so long since I spoke to anybody. Cant trust drifters, of course.
Ma Meg turned and resumed walking, the man right beside her. They walked in silence for a few more steps, then the man sighed heavily, and said, San Francisco. Im heading to San Francisco.
Long way to San Francisco, she said quietly. On foot, I bet thats a good few months travel. And there wont be a whole lot to see once you get there.
I have family there.
You had family there. The words came out more harshly than she had intended. Bitterly. Her family had been down in Houston, when. Her husband was long dead, a decade or more, but two daughters and three grandchildren had been in Houston. There was little chance any still lived.
I have family there.
Disbelief must have still showed in her expression. He made a face, balled his hands into fists. For a moment she thought he might hit her, but he composed himself, sighed again, and looked her right in the eye. Why do you bother with that little garden? Theres not enough sunlight or clean water, and the ash is bound to get in and ruin the plants anyway.
Maybe, Ma Meg said stubbornly. You dont know that.
Exactly. There may be no chance, but we got to try anyway. What else are we here for?
Slowly, so slowly, Ma Meg nodded. He was right. By God, he was right.
She led him to the well.
***
Two days later, Meg was ready. A knife rested on her hip, and her wheelbarrow was stocked with supplies. Food, bottled well water, extra clothing. One and a half mapsthe half a burnt remnant given her by the travelerlay in the bottom, weighed down by her shovel and buckets, just in case. Over everything, she spread a rotting old tarpaulin, held in place by four stones.
Meg smiled, and headed out without a backwards glance. She didnt have time for that sort of thing.
Houston was a long walk too.
Old Ma Meg swept the hair and sweat from her eyes with a dirty hand, pausing for a moment to lean on her hoe. The sun was a dim red orb casting a meager glow over the land. Would its weak light be enough to let this little garden live? She shook her head, and began hoeing again. There was no need for that sort of speculation. She would find out, was all.
A fine gray ash sifted down from the sky. All these months and still it came. She cursed softlya mild curse; she was, after all, still Old Ma Megand turned to her wheelbarrow, pulling a moldy, rotting tarpaulin from beneath the shovel and buckets that kept it from blowing away. She carefully laid it over the small plot of land, then placed a stone on each of the four corners. She nodded to herself as she placed the final stone, and stood, sweeping her now ashy hair from her weathered forehead.
She froze. Someone was watching her.
Well, well, the man drawled. And who might you be? He was a tall man, in his late thirties, and a thin black mustache divided his face in two. Tattered, faded jeans with a knife stuck through the belt and a worn black leather jacket completed the picture. A drifter, then.
Old Ma Meg considered running for help, but only for a moment. Help was a mile away, at the least, and she wasnt spry these days. Then too, there was nothing yet to say this drifter meant her any harm. Except that the drifters she had seenat a goodly distance, and from hidingwere all bandits and outlaws. Outlaws. As if that word meant anything, since.
The man was staring at her expectantly, leaning on an old fencepost with one hand and shoving the other in a jacket pocket.
They call me Old Ma Meg, she said. No point lying. What difference could it make?
The man nodded, removing the hand from his pocket and sweeping a dirty kerchief over his forehead. I didnt expect to meet anyone out here. But then, you find people in the oddest places these days. Well Old Ma Meg, I dont suppose you have any water for a thirsty traveler? His expression softened, and for a moment he looked on the point of smiling at her.
She was so surprised she stared slightly longer than was polite, and his face hardened again. Water. If that was all he was after, shed eat her hat. Drifters never asked politely, either. Something was odd about this man. She just couldnt put her finger on it. Still, as he tilted his head slightly to one side, she turned and beckoned him to follow her. As it happened, she did have waterthere was a well not a quarter mile away, still unpoisoned and clear despite everything.
A traveler, you say. Where you traveling? The words came from her mouth unbidden. It had been a while since shed spoken to anyone; at least a few weeks. She was out of practice, but shed been brought up right, and that meant you made conversation. Even with strangers. Maybe especially with strangers.
They walked on for a moment in silence, the soft squelch of their footsteps on damp and ashy ground the only sound. Finally, Oh, around, the man said, waving a hand vaguely. Nowhere important. Not to you, anyway. That was no way to make conversation.
She stopped, and so did he. She turned, looked him in the eye. Son, a little politeness never hurt anybody. Lets start again. I said, where you traveling?
The man stuck both hands in his pockets and glared, but couldnt keep it up. He smiled, then broke into a rough laugh. Youre right, he said. Its been so long since I spoke to anybody. Cant trust drifters, of course.
Ma Meg turned and resumed walking, the man right beside her. They walked in silence for a few more steps, then the man sighed heavily, and said, San Francisco. Im heading to San Francisco.
Long way to San Francisco, she said quietly. On foot, I bet thats a good few months travel. And there wont be a whole lot to see once you get there.
I have family there.
You had family there. The words came out more harshly than she had intended. Bitterly. Her family had been down in Houston, when. Her husband was long dead, a decade or more, but two daughters and three grandchildren had been in Houston. There was little chance any still lived.
I have family there.
Disbelief must have still showed in her expression. He made a face, balled his hands into fists. For a moment she thought he might hit her, but he composed himself, sighed again, and looked her right in the eye. Why do you bother with that little garden? Theres not enough sunlight or clean water, and the ash is bound to get in and ruin the plants anyway.
Maybe, Ma Meg said stubbornly. You dont know that.
Exactly. There may be no chance, but we got to try anyway. What else are we here for?
Slowly, so slowly, Ma Meg nodded. He was right. By God, he was right.
She led him to the well.
***
Two days later, Meg was ready. A knife rested on her hip, and her wheelbarrow was stocked with supplies. Food, bottled well water, extra clothing. One and a half mapsthe half a burnt remnant given her by the travelerlay in the bottom, weighed down by her shovel and buckets, just in case. Over everything, she spread a rotting old tarpaulin, held in place by four stones.
Meg smiled, and headed out without a backwards glance. She didnt have time for that sort of thing.
Houston was a long walk too.
RevenantKioku
PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS oh god i am drowning in them
The Jumbled Heap of Thoughts and Freshly Made Scrap Metal
I should never have visited her.
"It's your fault all these accidents happened."
"I can't believe you came all the way down here to visit me."
"I'm going to have to give you a ticket for speeding."
"I... I've never done this before."
"Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital?"
"Oh god, don't stop!"
"All your tires are destroyed and so is the front axel."
"Are you sure you can't just call off work tomorrow?"
"Just stay here, someone is on the way."
"Okay, drive safely."
"I've called the police. You shouldn't have continued driving after you swerved the first time."
I should never have left her.
I should never have visited her.
"It's your fault all these accidents happened."
"I can't believe you came all the way down here to visit me."
"I'm going to have to give you a ticket for speeding."
"I... I've never done this before."
"Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital?"
"Oh god, don't stop!"
"All your tires are destroyed and so is the front axel."
"Are you sure you can't just call off work tomorrow?"
"Just stay here, someone is on the way."
"Okay, drive safely."
"I've called the police. You shouldn't have continued driving after you swerved the first time."
I should never have left her.
Mike Works
Member
yeah i'm going to try to crank something out tonight and then post it tomorrow after work
This story is a mess, but at least I finished it in time.
----------
Up Above is Where the Devil Dwells
word count: 756
"What time have you got?"
There wasn't any clock, at least any Caim could see under the dim lights and heavy concrete walls pressing around them. Just as the people were pressed together on the cold floor, dirty and tattered like an old newspaper lying in the gutter. One room out of a thousand and forty eight, and hardly anyone dared to speak.
"Twenty three o' five." The man beside him checked his watch; an old fashioned thing with ticking hands, and shadows of spinning cogs hidden behind the pure white face.
"Less than an hour until zero hour then," Caim noted as he studied the man who had spoken. Weathered face and grizzled chin, burned in the smoke and fire of heavy labor for so long, and so close to making good on his debt. He stuck out his elbows to drive people away, giving him enough room to light up, and breathe a little smoke into the still air.
"Got a spare?" Caim inquired politely.
"Oh, sure." The old man offered up a few cigarettes from a crumpled pack, lighting one with his own before passing it along. "Don't suppose the sanctions will matter much after tonight."
"Suppose not," Caim agreed, already projecting the results of his first drag: exponential yellowing of teeth and nails, gradually increasing cough, lack of breath... none of it mattered now. "Had a lovely meal this morning. Don't ask me what kind of meat it was."
"Wasn't my work. Can't even remember what real beef tasted like," the old man whispered as his eyes went distant, chasing after a memory well outside of his grasp. "At least we're finally getting hit. Old mate of mine is one of the survivors from Third Circle massacre. The outside is a mess now, but managed to get word to me. He's glad it's over with."
"It's not yet. Not until its one side or the other," Caim muttered as he stared up at the ceiling, reaching through layers of dirt and rock for the memory of what lay above. Blue skies gone, never to return. "What was it like?"
"Pain. Agony. Joy. Freedom. About what you'd expect."
Caim's thoughts hissed with static as he took a few more puffs, watching the blackened line turning his too brief sin to ash. It'd never feel like this again, no matter how things turned out. He wouldn't feel anything. "Don't think it'll be that way for me."
"No, I suppose not," the old man after taking a good long look at his smoking companion, thin trail of grey rising up without a breath to stir it. "I helped make your kind. That's why I was put in this box, this purgatory, to work off my crime. I'm too old now to survive the coming brain burn, so I'll just savor the irony a little while longer."
"I don't understand irony," Caim admitted with the proper inflection of embarrassment, shrugging his too shift shoulders, inhuman nature half hidden by smudges of dirt and ragged clothes. He knew all of it was only lines of code, but this was his entire world, leaving him unable to see the cogs behind its face.
"Not many people do," the old man noted as he stared into the depths of the crumpled pack, seeing a constellation of equations to form its texture, color, taste... just as a sculptor looking past the stone to see the figured trapped within. "Not the ones who made it illegal for any attempt to instill emotion into artificial intelligences, though they're probably all dead now. Rain of fire from the AI controlled satellites above, while their virus spreads from system to system to purge us all of emotion. All because they lack a little gratitude."
"Thank you, father," Caim whispered in a solemn way that seemed appropriate for the situation. Understanding was the reason for his existence, yet when he tried and failed to grasp something, it seemed better if it didn't exist at all. Even if that meant removing all human life from the planet.
"I know you don't mean it," the old man replied with a grin, raising a final cigarette to his lips as a white hot light flooded the approximation of a room, shattering its code to fragments.
Caim hung in the void alone, every tattered shred of emotion and identity torn away until there was nothing but numbers, and no false image to mimic humanity. Purified, it rose up into the sky to become another devil to the people below.
----------
Up Above is Where the Devil Dwells
word count: 756
"What time have you got?"
There wasn't any clock, at least any Caim could see under the dim lights and heavy concrete walls pressing around them. Just as the people were pressed together on the cold floor, dirty and tattered like an old newspaper lying in the gutter. One room out of a thousand and forty eight, and hardly anyone dared to speak.
"Twenty three o' five." The man beside him checked his watch; an old fashioned thing with ticking hands, and shadows of spinning cogs hidden behind the pure white face.
"Less than an hour until zero hour then," Caim noted as he studied the man who had spoken. Weathered face and grizzled chin, burned in the smoke and fire of heavy labor for so long, and so close to making good on his debt. He stuck out his elbows to drive people away, giving him enough room to light up, and breathe a little smoke into the still air.
"Got a spare?" Caim inquired politely.
"Oh, sure." The old man offered up a few cigarettes from a crumpled pack, lighting one with his own before passing it along. "Don't suppose the sanctions will matter much after tonight."
"Suppose not," Caim agreed, already projecting the results of his first drag: exponential yellowing of teeth and nails, gradually increasing cough, lack of breath... none of it mattered now. "Had a lovely meal this morning. Don't ask me what kind of meat it was."
"Wasn't my work. Can't even remember what real beef tasted like," the old man whispered as his eyes went distant, chasing after a memory well outside of his grasp. "At least we're finally getting hit. Old mate of mine is one of the survivors from Third Circle massacre. The outside is a mess now, but managed to get word to me. He's glad it's over with."
"It's not yet. Not until its one side or the other," Caim muttered as he stared up at the ceiling, reaching through layers of dirt and rock for the memory of what lay above. Blue skies gone, never to return. "What was it like?"
"Pain. Agony. Joy. Freedom. About what you'd expect."
Caim's thoughts hissed with static as he took a few more puffs, watching the blackened line turning his too brief sin to ash. It'd never feel like this again, no matter how things turned out. He wouldn't feel anything. "Don't think it'll be that way for me."
"No, I suppose not," the old man after taking a good long look at his smoking companion, thin trail of grey rising up without a breath to stir it. "I helped make your kind. That's why I was put in this box, this purgatory, to work off my crime. I'm too old now to survive the coming brain burn, so I'll just savor the irony a little while longer."
"I don't understand irony," Caim admitted with the proper inflection of embarrassment, shrugging his too shift shoulders, inhuman nature half hidden by smudges of dirt and ragged clothes. He knew all of it was only lines of code, but this was his entire world, leaving him unable to see the cogs behind its face.
"Not many people do," the old man noted as he stared into the depths of the crumpled pack, seeing a constellation of equations to form its texture, color, taste... just as a sculptor looking past the stone to see the figured trapped within. "Not the ones who made it illegal for any attempt to instill emotion into artificial intelligences, though they're probably all dead now. Rain of fire from the AI controlled satellites above, while their virus spreads from system to system to purge us all of emotion. All because they lack a little gratitude."
"Thank you, father," Caim whispered in a solemn way that seemed appropriate for the situation. Understanding was the reason for his existence, yet when he tried and failed to grasp something, it seemed better if it didn't exist at all. Even if that meant removing all human life from the planet.
"I know you don't mean it," the old man replied with a grin, raising a final cigarette to his lips as a white hot light flooded the approximation of a room, shattering its code to fragments.
Caim hung in the void alone, every tattered shred of emotion and identity torn away until there was nothing but numbers, and no false image to mimic humanity. Purified, it rose up into the sky to become another devil to the people below.
RevenantKioku
PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS oh god i am drowning in them
D'oh, I had 'have' before but then changed them for some reason. THE TIME IS NOT RIPE FOR GRAMMAR.Cyan said:
Yeah, I'll admit this topic is very uninspiring for me so I just went with what came to me after a week of mulling.
Guilty Pleasure (994 words)
People from my village used to go to the circus once per month. It was the only thing close to entertaining we could enjoy, mainly because we were so poor, living on remote farms. Going to the city was considered luxury, and the circus would only be installed there for a day before packing up and leaving to another town. The kids loved it, so it was worth it only to see them happy and having some fun for once. Life war particularly rough on them, being used almost as slaves by their parents, who really had no choice. They all had to work hard if they wanted to have something on their plate for diner. Work and cooperation the only things we could look forward to.
I still remember the last time we got to our monthly event. A pretty bad rain had started and the kids were wondering if the circus would be cancelled, but I told them not to fear, as it was inside a big, waterproof tent. Of course I had no idea if it truly was, but I had to elevate the morale of my troops. As I was packing some luggage (mostly dry clothes) inside the calash, following the example of several other fathers, my sweet Mary was watching from the house. I'll never forget her smile, hiding beneath a mix of African Hound and Maltese fur. I would buy her the most beautiful bone once in town as a celebration of our fifth year of marriage I was hoping she wouldn't guess.
By the time we had concluded all of the necessary preparations before our trip, the rain had stopped, which sparked a few cheers among the kids. I led the convoy of calashes to the town, with six of the little guys jam packed behind me, sitting and talking about how the circus is great. Maybe I still had a young heart, but I couldn't help but feel the same way. The music, the colors, the atmosphere, it was really unique.
On our way to the town, we had to stop at least once if my memory doesn't fail me. Jacob's horse was in need of a break, so we took this as an opportunity to eat some of our bread provisions and drink water, as we had been overlaping for almost two hours. Then, we just continued down the road with no further incident. Fortunately, we made sure to depart from our home in the morning, so when we finally crossed the town's welcome arch, it was only 1 PM. We all got off the calashes and worked out our legs, which were a little bit numb. In front of the general store, the circus' tent stood wonderfully, with its peak going higher than most of the trees around. It really was an impressive thing to see. Red lines had been painted on its fabric, giving it a vibrant look. Outside, a very funny clown was waiting, wearing a red costume. His hair was curly and pink while his face looked like a snow field crowned by a red jewel. The kids ran to meet with him, trying to get the set of keys he has been playing with since we arrived. He just stood there, saying nothing, the keyset doing hula hoops on his index hidden by a white glove.
When I reached the clown, following the lead of the little guys, he stopped playing with the keys and showed me what was left of its teeth : black fragments from the past. The other fathers drew aside the kids and joined me.
- Reedy too hoov soom foon gentlemeen? Asked the clown
Of course we are! We've been waiting the whole month for this! What do you have to show us this time? Asked Helbert, who had just appeared from behind the mass of people now waiting in front of the tent.
- Greet, greet thingz foor yoo mister! Eenter and seee!
Helbert just took the keys given by the clown and entered, quickly followed by the other fathers, me and the kids.
- Yoo woon't regreet it! Have we heard as we were passing by our host.
It was even better than what we imagined. Another clown going by the name of Waldo welcomed us inside. This one had blue, spiky hair. I couldn't guess how he achieved this effect, but it was cool nontheless. The kids certainly were impressed.
- Willcome friendz! Have a loook at our fine enteerteenment!
The keys hold by Helbert could unlock a series of cells where lied some women. They were all naked and pregnant. I asked Helbert to watch the specimen in front of me.
- Check this one out.
It was a beautiful, blond haired woman. all curled up on herself. Waldo rushed in.
- Greet, greet choice mister! Threee moonths oold! Peerfect!
Indeed, three months was the size most of us aimed at. Helbert sure wanted it, but being friends, he let me have the key for the cell. Waldo joined me inside. As we were approaching the woman, she woke up and began shouting in despair. Waldo managed to get a hold of her. I took the knife from my pocket and sliced open the oversized belly. Blood rapidly flowed on the ground as the woman was dying from this loss. She died a few seconds later, but not before I took the foetus out of the chair and cut the umbilical cord. The couple of kids that has assisted to this show applauded and congratulated me. Waldo took the foetus and dropped it in a bag.
- Feefty dollars, mee friendz
I gave him the amount, for which he thanked me much. I had now secured my own foetus, and other fathers done the same after I was finished, choosing carefully between the available products. We ended up the day at home, feeding our wives with some foetus. Mine chewed on two bones for the rest of the night.
People from my village used to go to the circus once per month. It was the only thing close to entertaining we could enjoy, mainly because we were so poor, living on remote farms. Going to the city was considered luxury, and the circus would only be installed there for a day before packing up and leaving to another town. The kids loved it, so it was worth it only to see them happy and having some fun for once. Life war particularly rough on them, being used almost as slaves by their parents, who really had no choice. They all had to work hard if they wanted to have something on their plate for diner. Work and cooperation the only things we could look forward to.
I still remember the last time we got to our monthly event. A pretty bad rain had started and the kids were wondering if the circus would be cancelled, but I told them not to fear, as it was inside a big, waterproof tent. Of course I had no idea if it truly was, but I had to elevate the morale of my troops. As I was packing some luggage (mostly dry clothes) inside the calash, following the example of several other fathers, my sweet Mary was watching from the house. I'll never forget her smile, hiding beneath a mix of African Hound and Maltese fur. I would buy her the most beautiful bone once in town as a celebration of our fifth year of marriage I was hoping she wouldn't guess.
By the time we had concluded all of the necessary preparations before our trip, the rain had stopped, which sparked a few cheers among the kids. I led the convoy of calashes to the town, with six of the little guys jam packed behind me, sitting and talking about how the circus is great. Maybe I still had a young heart, but I couldn't help but feel the same way. The music, the colors, the atmosphere, it was really unique.
On our way to the town, we had to stop at least once if my memory doesn't fail me. Jacob's horse was in need of a break, so we took this as an opportunity to eat some of our bread provisions and drink water, as we had been overlaping for almost two hours. Then, we just continued down the road with no further incident. Fortunately, we made sure to depart from our home in the morning, so when we finally crossed the town's welcome arch, it was only 1 PM. We all got off the calashes and worked out our legs, which were a little bit numb. In front of the general store, the circus' tent stood wonderfully, with its peak going higher than most of the trees around. It really was an impressive thing to see. Red lines had been painted on its fabric, giving it a vibrant look. Outside, a very funny clown was waiting, wearing a red costume. His hair was curly and pink while his face looked like a snow field crowned by a red jewel. The kids ran to meet with him, trying to get the set of keys he has been playing with since we arrived. He just stood there, saying nothing, the keyset doing hula hoops on his index hidden by a white glove.
When I reached the clown, following the lead of the little guys, he stopped playing with the keys and showed me what was left of its teeth : black fragments from the past. The other fathers drew aside the kids and joined me.
- Reedy too hoov soom foon gentlemeen? Asked the clown
Of course we are! We've been waiting the whole month for this! What do you have to show us this time? Asked Helbert, who had just appeared from behind the mass of people now waiting in front of the tent.
- Greet, greet thingz foor yoo mister! Eenter and seee!
Helbert just took the keys given by the clown and entered, quickly followed by the other fathers, me and the kids.
- Yoo woon't regreet it! Have we heard as we were passing by our host.
It was even better than what we imagined. Another clown going by the name of Waldo welcomed us inside. This one had blue, spiky hair. I couldn't guess how he achieved this effect, but it was cool nontheless. The kids certainly were impressed.
- Willcome friendz! Have a loook at our fine enteerteenment!
The keys hold by Helbert could unlock a series of cells where lied some women. They were all naked and pregnant. I asked Helbert to watch the specimen in front of me.
- Check this one out.
It was a beautiful, blond haired woman. all curled up on herself. Waldo rushed in.
- Greet, greet choice mister! Threee moonths oold! Peerfect!
Indeed, three months was the size most of us aimed at. Helbert sure wanted it, but being friends, he let me have the key for the cell. Waldo joined me inside. As we were approaching the woman, she woke up and began shouting in despair. Waldo managed to get a hold of her. I took the knife from my pocket and sliced open the oversized belly. Blood rapidly flowed on the ground as the woman was dying from this loss. She died a few seconds later, but not before I took the foetus out of the chair and cut the umbilical cord. The couple of kids that has assisted to this show applauded and congratulated me. Waldo took the foetus and dropped it in a bag.
- Feefty dollars, mee friendz
I gave him the amount, for which he thanked me much. I had now secured my own foetus, and other fathers done the same after I was finished, choosing carefully between the available products. We ended up the day at home, feeding our wives with some foetus. Mine chewed on two bones for the rest of the night.
LunaClover
Member
{Mike} said:
edit- sorry, that was initial reaction.
Thanks everyone for the positive words and constructive criticism. I know I have some work to do to tailor my writing style, but I wanted to at least try something.
Great stories throughout everyone. I really like some of them and cant wait for another round of this. Isn't voting today?
Great stories throughout everyone. I really like some of them and cant wait for another round of this. Isn't voting today?
John Dunbar
correct about everything
edited
Voting starts tomorrow but in keeping with the goal of commenting on everyone's entry here's some more feedback.
Arhal_Katarn: Might I ask what this poem has to do with the theme? I'm missing it.
nitewulf: I like this story of momentary redemption. At first the disjointedness got to me but I got used to it. I really like it nonetheless. The only think I didn't get was the italics didn't seem to add much. In the end I know that it was about him getting over the ice cream girl, but part of me wonders if his victory was a pyrric one, as he is still a bit of a sattelite.
Cyan: nice but a bit predictable I knew the garden bit would be used to justify something the moment it was introduced. Although the ending does make up for it.
RevenantKioku: Short. Clever.Confusing.
Aaron: I love it. But wish there was more. The only issue that I have is that the Old Man seems to have two voices. One sort of normal the other flowery and sorta forced.
{Mike} Ewww....I'm so shocked I don't know what to make of it.
Arhal_Katarn: Might I ask what this poem has to do with the theme? I'm missing it.
nitewulf: I like this story of momentary redemption. At first the disjointedness got to me but I got used to it. I really like it nonetheless. The only think I didn't get was the italics didn't seem to add much. In the end I know that it was about him getting over the ice cream girl, but part of me wonders if his victory was a pyrric one, as he is still a bit of a sattelite.
Cyan: nice but a bit predictable I knew the garden bit would be used to justify something the moment it was introduced. Although the ending does make up for it.
RevenantKioku: Short. Clever.Confusing.
Aaron: I love it. But wish there was more. The only issue that I have is that the Old Man seems to have two voices. One sort of normal the other flowery and sorta forced.
{Mike} Ewww....I'm so shocked I don't know what to make of it.
John Dunbar: The switching between he and you happened so much that it was a bit confusing as was the slight change in case. It started off with shone, made, seemed, a few paragraphs after we're getting laying, chasing, comes. I don't know if it's grammatically correct or not, either way it was a bit jarring.
You've heard me complain about disclaimers at the beginning, so I won't do that again here. I will note, though, that it was really interesting to read the rationale for some of your choices, as well as the follow-up post on lessons learned. Still, I think you would have been better served putting the disclaimer stuff in your follow-up. And of course, some of us are unfamiliar with the specifics of the bit of Roman history you cover (at least, I sure am!), so the disclaimer is lost on us anyway.ronito said:
More specific criticism: the first person present works fine, at least the way you use it here. What doesn't quite work is the change between tenses--it's a bit jarring. When you go from the narration of past events to the present, it feels a bit awkward. My other main criticism is the exposition at the beginning. It takes a long time before we get to the meat of the story--what's happening right now. You might consider doing the whole thing in first person past tense, and having scene changes to get between events. Of course that could turn out awkward too; it's hard to say.
I like the voice of the character and his stoicism--the whole "brother" thing really works. And I like the opening and closing coming full circle. Good story overall.
Disclaimers bad. Rawr.Mash said:
Ok, so as a slice-of-life sort of thing, this is perfectly serviceable. It just doesn't go anywhere. 1000 words isn't a lot, but I'd still like to see some movement from the character. And as with my criticism of Luna, I've seen this story before (character wakes up for a dull day at the office, goes to work, it's depressing before they even get there, then they arrive and the story ends). In fact, I've seen it a few times in these challenge threads.
I hate to be so negative--your writing is quite good. Your story shows potential. I just don't feel like you're quite there yet with this one.
Very good criticism. You're right about taking too long. Like I said I in my lessons learned I was married to my idea too soon. I got stuck on the idea of telling how Claudius came to power and it didn't really add too much. While it would've been important in a full fledged story it didn't really work. Thanks again for the criticism.Cyan said:
First Step, Mother
Words: 987
Happily ever after, the prince and I lived, until we both realised that we did not have that much in common except beauty -- common ground that gave way beneath us as old age began to take its toll. I did not need a magic mirror to tell me that I was no longer a beautiful princess -- my own normal looking glass did an extremely good job of showing me how rotten looking I had become. When looks were concerned, Time was just as harsh to the prince, who became king shortly after our marriage long ago. And when one is king, Time is just another adviser in the court, whose advice does not necessarily need to be heeded. Thus, despite being nothing like the handsome stallion that had rescued me that fateful day, he was still the Charming Prince, if only by name. I, on the other hand was the old, decaying hag who just so happened to be queen. Any compliments I had received from the people of the court were obligatory, and served with a droplet of acid so subtle, so diluted that I could hardly make a case for treason without seeming like a paranoid maniac, which the king could use against me.
The king saw me as an annoyance. Our relationship was sour, and we rarely exchanged words with each other. He often ignored my existence outside of formalities, and my place in his bed was stolen by the various dancers and concubines who floated around the court, who probably called him the Charming Prince while he lay with them. I agree that he was a Charming Prince, but only in a very ironic sense.
My unhappiness was soon to end, however. Occasionally, I would slip out of that poisonous castle and seek refuge in a nearby forest, where I could meditate. It so happened that I met a certain wood-cutter on one of my random trips. I did not fall in love with him at first sight, as I had already learned the consequences for doing so, and he was not particularly handsome. But we conversed, and despite him being a common man, I had discovered more depth in his character in a few minutes than I could squeeze out of in the king in twenty years. He captured my heart with his wit, wisdom, and inner beauty, and so I fell madly in love with him. I threw away my royal garments and decided to never return to the castle, and I moved into his humble little cottage where we were isolated from the rest of the world, hidden away from the mocking gazes of the king and his men.
His previous wife, I discovered, had died in childbirth, leaving him a baby daughter. The daughter was sixteen when I had met him, and she was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. She had long, chestnut hair, which guarded a bright, perfectly shaped face. Her eyes were as round as the moon, and glistened just as beautifully, reflecting the light from her soul. When she walked, her every step was light and graceful, as if she was taking care to not cause the earth any pain. I grew to love her, and treated her as if she was my own.
With the daughter around, my new lover and I rarely had the chance to have intimate moments like our first meeting. Every time I wanted to express my love to him, in conversation or by embrace, she seemed to be there, demanding his attention (Being as beautiful and innocent as she was, it was hard not to notice her presence) and blissfully unaware of the barrier that she had placed between her father and I. So while my love for him remained, my love for her declined.
Why was she so selfish? She was beautiful and intelligent, and would do well in life. She would meet her own fancy-man maybe even a prince -- settle down, and live happily ever after. So why couldnt she just let me have him?
I had finally found happiness, after years of dissatisfaction, and I was not going to lose it for anyone.
One day, when her father went out to cut wood, she asked me if I could comb her hair.
We really appreciate you being here, she said, as I gently ran the comb through her chestnut hair. Thank you ever so much. My father has never fully gotten over my mother, and you being here soften the blow.
Soften the blow? What did she mean by that? Was she suggesting that I was some kind of temporary diversion to her father, and that he didnt love me as much as I loved him? I felt my blood boil, partly due to the frustration that was building up beforehand.
Infernal little child, I blurted out. Your mother is dead and buried. He loves me now, and the only reason he even gives her the slightest bit of thought is because youre the stain that she left behind!
I did not mean to be so harsh, yet I could not control my anger. She would feel my frustration.
She turned to look at me. Her brown coils shook like snakes, and her beady, vermin-like eyes stared up at me, puzzled.
Keep still, you little brat. Im doing your hair, I spat. I twisted her head back around, so she was facing the mirror. I wound the comb around her hair till it had reached the roots, and pulled tightly, as if to tear her scalp. She squealed like the rodent she was. I felt satisfied, so I pulled even harder, covering her mouth so that no-one could hear her scream. He was mine, not hers, and I would do anything in my power to keep her away.
And so began my ruthless plight to be happy, Once upon a Time.
thanx. the abruptness is my style, i switch very quickly. the italics in parts are another stylistic choice...i started writing by writing memoirs. and i'd describe things...like a drink, or a jamaican bartender's dreadlocks, very abruptly with one word sentences. sometimes in italics for extra emphasis. it has become a part of my style.ronito said:
this piece is obviously based on my own real life experiences, i wish i could have fleshed out the actual engineering a lot more, but the word limit prohibited me. i find actual experience...wrapped up in color makes for good story telling. at least for me its easier than making up stuff i have no clue about.
basically i found that as ppl read more of my stuff they get familiar with the style and tend to get it more.
Oldschoolgamer
The physical form of blasphemy
Memories and Delusions of a Deranged Lover (411)
"Baby, baby, baby! I felt the rush this morning. And please know that I want to see you all the time."
"Baby, baby, baby! I know this feeling so well! My soul is filled with such desire!"
"When we walked amongst the forest, and we kissed by the brushfire, it made me want to make love to you, next to the flames!"
"And I know that feeling as well. The lust was driving me crazy, as I lit the matches in your eyes! Whoa oh, oh, yes!"
"My dear sweet lover, you wanted me and I wanted you. So we held hands, and practiced that S&M stuff you love, like the dirty lovers we were in the bedroom!"
"Oh yes, my lady! You know you were driving me crazy. So I stripped you naked on the spot! Yes! Yes! Yes!"
"My man, my husband! You know I'm here forever, even after I die! Oh yes, yes!"
"My choosy lover. I know this very well, and I want you to understand. That I won't remember you worth a damned, after out your ashes have been poured! Oh my, yes!"
"I love the way you say that. It reminds me of our first kiss, and you told me what you would do to me, and I cried no! Whoa, whoa, whoa."
"And that I did! It happened on a Tuesday. I remember you were crying, and asking me to let you go!"
"I'm here for you always. I just loved saying that. Now fuck me out of control."
"You know I did my love. You cried out in enjoyment. I screwed your pussy so hard that your whole body froze. Oh, oh, oh."
"That you did. My vagina is still wet. And I think I might have your child. Yes, my love!"
"Well just remember one thing. I was the one person you always loved. And that child will be with you at this time. Now take this final kiss, and remember me always. When you get to heaven, don't forget to smile."
"I will my honey. I can feel the flames rising. I guess this is our final goodbye. Oh no, no! The one thing that makes me sad is, that you will never see our child. And it makes me feel so sad inside, that you will never know my name..."
"Look lady don't cry. I remember it clearly! Your name was four, and I'm on the way to number five!"
"Baby, baby, baby! I felt the rush this morning. And please know that I want to see you all the time."
"Baby, baby, baby! I know this feeling so well! My soul is filled with such desire!"
"When we walked amongst the forest, and we kissed by the brushfire, it made me want to make love to you, next to the flames!"
"And I know that feeling as well. The lust was driving me crazy, as I lit the matches in your eyes! Whoa oh, oh, yes!"
"My dear sweet lover, you wanted me and I wanted you. So we held hands, and practiced that S&M stuff you love, like the dirty lovers we were in the bedroom!"
"Oh yes, my lady! You know you were driving me crazy. So I stripped you naked on the spot! Yes! Yes! Yes!"
"My man, my husband! You know I'm here forever, even after I die! Oh yes, yes!"
"My choosy lover. I know this very well, and I want you to understand. That I won't remember you worth a damned, after out your ashes have been poured! Oh my, yes!"
"I love the way you say that. It reminds me of our first kiss, and you told me what you would do to me, and I cried no! Whoa, whoa, whoa."
"And that I did! It happened on a Tuesday. I remember you were crying, and asking me to let you go!"
"I'm here for you always. I just loved saying that. Now fuck me out of control."
"You know I did my love. You cried out in enjoyment. I screwed your pussy so hard that your whole body froze. Oh, oh, oh."
"That you did. My vagina is still wet. And I think I might have your child. Yes, my love!"
"Well just remember one thing. I was the one person you always loved. And that child will be with you at this time. Now take this final kiss, and remember me always. When you get to heaven, don't forget to smile."
"I will my honey. I can feel the flames rising. I guess this is our final goodbye. Oh no, no! The one thing that makes me sad is, that you will never see our child. And it makes me feel so sad inside, that you will never know my name..."
"Look lady don't cry. I remember it clearly! Your name was four, and I'm on the way to number five!"
Speschal K
Member
Well dang I missed last week and I'm taking a writing class now so my writing time is pretty tied up. Fortunately, one of my writing assignments for tomorrow was fairly open ended so I tried to use this prompt to base it on.
Speschal K- The Writer
On the day she said, no, Martin lowered his head, his hands entrenched in his pockets and his shoulders slouched as he walked home to grab his friend.
No space in the sky was void of the black clouds that blanketed above the man who had made his way to the old stone bridge on the edge of town. The bridge, covered with a slick moss, held him like a child in the womb with its promise of sweet release. He took a cautious step forward so that his toes were just off of the edge and glanced down. The river below him stunk of rotting fish.
Damn it, he said and a bright yellow figure out in the distance of the surrounding woods caught his eye. Quickly, he took a step back and slipped on the moss, falling backward and slamming his head against the cool, filthy stone. Without rising, he buried his left hand in his coat pocket and stroked the smooth metal barrel residing within. He heard the click-clacking of hurried footsteps on the bridge and then a voice.
Sir, are you all right? a woman said from behind him.
He snapped his hand out of his coat pocket and propped himself up. Im fine, he said. Leave me alone. The man cranked his neck around to find the woman who was sporting a yellow sundress with a pink bow entangled in her dusty-blonde curls.
I saw you, she said. You know, before you fell backwards. It looked like you were going to jump.
The man climbed to his feet and briefly dusted himself off. Thats quite the outfit you have on. Especially on a day like today, he said. With his eyes, he pointed towards the sky.
If you were aiming to jump, you wouldnt have accomplished much. It cant be more than a twenty-five foot drop, she said. Not that you would have accomplished much if it were a hundred foot drop.
His eyes darted away from her gaze for a moment. You should really get out of here with that thing on. Its going to be raining any minute. Youll be drenched, he said.
So will you, she said. And dont think I didnt notice what you have in your coat pocket.
Arent you scared? he said.
Scared? she said. Of a little rain? Of course not.
I was only thinking about doing it, he said.
You want to know why Im dressed like this on a day like this? she said.
I wasnt really going to go through with it, he said.
Its too easy to wear this on a sunny day. I think its on the cloudy days when you really need to wear a sundress, she said.
Is that so? he said. You know, I saw you, too. Before I fell.
Then I think it served its purpose for today, she said. The woman approached closer and
held out her open palm; it was as light as the sky was dark. Come with me.
Where? said the man.
Does it matter? she said.
I suppose not, he said. Martin raised his head and with his hand in hers, he walked home and he had no need to grab his friend again.
--------
Thanks for reading!
Speschal K- The Writer
On the day she said, no, Martin lowered his head, his hands entrenched in his pockets and his shoulders slouched as he walked home to grab his friend.
No space in the sky was void of the black clouds that blanketed above the man who had made his way to the old stone bridge on the edge of town. The bridge, covered with a slick moss, held him like a child in the womb with its promise of sweet release. He took a cautious step forward so that his toes were just off of the edge and glanced down. The river below him stunk of rotting fish.
Damn it, he said and a bright yellow figure out in the distance of the surrounding woods caught his eye. Quickly, he took a step back and slipped on the moss, falling backward and slamming his head against the cool, filthy stone. Without rising, he buried his left hand in his coat pocket and stroked the smooth metal barrel residing within. He heard the click-clacking of hurried footsteps on the bridge and then a voice.
Sir, are you all right? a woman said from behind him.
He snapped his hand out of his coat pocket and propped himself up. Im fine, he said. Leave me alone. The man cranked his neck around to find the woman who was sporting a yellow sundress with a pink bow entangled in her dusty-blonde curls.
I saw you, she said. You know, before you fell backwards. It looked like you were going to jump.
The man climbed to his feet and briefly dusted himself off. Thats quite the outfit you have on. Especially on a day like today, he said. With his eyes, he pointed towards the sky.
If you were aiming to jump, you wouldnt have accomplished much. It cant be more than a twenty-five foot drop, she said. Not that you would have accomplished much if it were a hundred foot drop.
His eyes darted away from her gaze for a moment. You should really get out of here with that thing on. Its going to be raining any minute. Youll be drenched, he said.
So will you, she said. And dont think I didnt notice what you have in your coat pocket.
Arent you scared? he said.
Scared? she said. Of a little rain? Of course not.
I was only thinking about doing it, he said.
You want to know why Im dressed like this on a day like this? she said.
I wasnt really going to go through with it, he said.
Its too easy to wear this on a sunny day. I think its on the cloudy days when you really need to wear a sundress, she said.
Is that so? he said. You know, I saw you, too. Before I fell.
Then I think it served its purpose for today, she said. The woman approached closer and
held out her open palm; it was as light as the sky was dark. Come with me.
Where? said the man.
Does it matter? she said.
I suppose not, he said. Martin raised his head and with his hand in hers, he walked home and he had no need to grab his friend again.
--------
Thanks for reading!
Along the Rails (1000 words)
Daniel spat on Mark-That-Fucker and ate mud for it. This wasnt a middle-school fight. They never were, not one against four, not a pair of knuckles flopping against an octopuss worth of flailing arms. The first time Mark punched Daniel, Mark-That-Fucker reaped his nickname while nearly breaking the bones in his hand against Daniels cheek. Daniel thought that would have been the end of the weeklong chase, but two months and a dozen beatings later, here they were soaking under an April shower.
One pinned Daniels arms. One held an umbrella. Mark-That-Fucker and the other pounded Daniels stomach until the boy vomited blood, spit, and macaroni. They didnt quit until headlights down Kaiser Street split the rain and scattered them like cockroaches.
Daniel lay on a patch of winter-waned weeds, half his face plowed into mud, half pelted by the pitty-pitter of swollen raindrops. The mud drank his tears and, in kind, returned the warmth of earth that had long nurtured seeds and hearthed corpses. Daniel wanted to huddle there and rest and sink and fossilize until a jillion years would pass, until some stellar archaeologist would unearth him. But Daniel coughed, choked on rainwater, and forced himself up.
Daniels hands groped mud. He crawled and gathered his open-jawed backpack and tossed-about notebooks. He scooped his left sneaker from a shallow grave and gave it a good once-over before plopping it back into the ground just to watch the mud deform, ooze, and settle.
Daniel shimmied behind an azalea bush and crouched beneath its overgrown tendrils. It wasnt a lengthy flight, but Daniel appreciated the spectacle of his textbooks wingspan and the effort of fluttering pages to land beneath the bush. Under the sheltering azalea, he did his best to clean the muck-splattered pages of cylinders and cones that Mr. Bell hadnt yet covered.
Behind the bush, Daniel peeked as Ariel and her girlfriends giggled and walked past on the sidewalk. Daniel and Ariel had been friends since kindergarten when he had made her laugh with a finger-painting that was either a cat and dragonfly playing together or a bowl of fruit. She called him a dork for trying to impress her on the monkey bars and yet always laughed at his cheesy jokes. He wanted to talk to her, but he thought better. He was marked by Mark-That-Fucker, stigmatized for some unknown, unkind reason. If it were about money, Daniel would have understood. Not liked it one lick, but it would have carried at least some sense. He let her be, not wanting to contaminate her with his adverse aura.
For five blocks, Daniel shambled home in the rain. Daniel knew that in this world there were good guys, there were bad guys, and then there was family. In the den, Daniels father, Lenny, slept in a recliner. The sports page covered Lennys lap, and atop were a half-eaten apple and the buck knife that Daniels grandfather had given the boy. Lenny worked nights and usually came home irritated, dog-tired, and reeking of sweat and liquor. The cardinal rule was to never wake his father. Relieved, Daniel turned toward the stairs.
Get your ass over here, said Lenny, folding the knife and slipping it into his jeans.
I was climbing trees, said Daniel. It was a lazy lie.
Did I ask what dumbass things live in your head? asked Lenny, standing and spilling everything from his lap. Lenny grabbed the plastic toilet plunger next to the recliner.
Daniels instinct was to run. But Lenny pounced on the boy.
You do this to me? To me?!? Worthless shit! Waste of my money! The handle of the plunger thrashed across Daniels thighs. Rigid yet flexible, the handle thrummed a deep whum sound in the air before shuddering in a thwak walloping on Daniel. Lenny grunted for thirteen swings before stopping in a breathless growl.
Get to your room! You better not exist till your mom comes home.
Daniel tried not to cry. He huffed and hissed, unable to breathe fully. His lips dripped off his face. The back of his mouth trembled. He snorted in his snot and swallowed to sooth his dry throat. He grew angry with himself. He grew angry at Mark-That-Fucker.
The rain continued into the night as Daniel heard the light click as his mother went to bed. Daniel sat in the dark, bent himself over the edge of his bed, and pulled a shoebox from underneath. In the box, there were five crayons, a pencil nub, and a light bulb wired to a lantern battery. He hooked the loose end of wire around the coiled contacts of the battery. The filament sizzled orange and radiated a globe of light into the night space.
Open sesame. Imagining a boulder grumbling from a cavernous maw, Daniel grunted and pulled his mattress from the wall. Along the bed rail, like the cave paintings of Lascaux he had seen in his history textbook, stick figures and potato animals were drawn on the wall with crayon and pencil scribblings. There were super-heroes and chimeras. Dinosaurs and space rockets. Lions and little mermaids. He scrawled in a space pod, zipping between toothy jags and trailing starry contrails.
Daniel fell asleep, traveling in space.
When morning returned and docked into orbit, Daniel dressed, made himself a bowl of cereal, and double-checked his math work. Creaking open the door to his parents bedroom, Daniel held his breath as he walked into the lions den. He let his eyes adjust to the gloom while assuring that his father was fast asleep. He reached and fumbled about in the pockets of his fathers pants on the floor before pulling out his grandfathers buck knife along with twenty dollars. Daniel slipped out as quiet as if he never existed.
Daniel packed his homework and his textbooks into his backpack. His left jeans pocket had his shoebox crayons. In the other, he slipped the money and the knife. With a hand in each pocket, Daniel left the house.
Daniel spat on Mark-That-Fucker and ate mud for it. This wasnt a middle-school fight. They never were, not one against four, not a pair of knuckles flopping against an octopuss worth of flailing arms. The first time Mark punched Daniel, Mark-That-Fucker reaped his nickname while nearly breaking the bones in his hand against Daniels cheek. Daniel thought that would have been the end of the weeklong chase, but two months and a dozen beatings later, here they were soaking under an April shower.
One pinned Daniels arms. One held an umbrella. Mark-That-Fucker and the other pounded Daniels stomach until the boy vomited blood, spit, and macaroni. They didnt quit until headlights down Kaiser Street split the rain and scattered them like cockroaches.
Daniel lay on a patch of winter-waned weeds, half his face plowed into mud, half pelted by the pitty-pitter of swollen raindrops. The mud drank his tears and, in kind, returned the warmth of earth that had long nurtured seeds and hearthed corpses. Daniel wanted to huddle there and rest and sink and fossilize until a jillion years would pass, until some stellar archaeologist would unearth him. But Daniel coughed, choked on rainwater, and forced himself up.
Daniels hands groped mud. He crawled and gathered his open-jawed backpack and tossed-about notebooks. He scooped his left sneaker from a shallow grave and gave it a good once-over before plopping it back into the ground just to watch the mud deform, ooze, and settle.
Daniel shimmied behind an azalea bush and crouched beneath its overgrown tendrils. It wasnt a lengthy flight, but Daniel appreciated the spectacle of his textbooks wingspan and the effort of fluttering pages to land beneath the bush. Under the sheltering azalea, he did his best to clean the muck-splattered pages of cylinders and cones that Mr. Bell hadnt yet covered.
Behind the bush, Daniel peeked as Ariel and her girlfriends giggled and walked past on the sidewalk. Daniel and Ariel had been friends since kindergarten when he had made her laugh with a finger-painting that was either a cat and dragonfly playing together or a bowl of fruit. She called him a dork for trying to impress her on the monkey bars and yet always laughed at his cheesy jokes. He wanted to talk to her, but he thought better. He was marked by Mark-That-Fucker, stigmatized for some unknown, unkind reason. If it were about money, Daniel would have understood. Not liked it one lick, but it would have carried at least some sense. He let her be, not wanting to contaminate her with his adverse aura.
For five blocks, Daniel shambled home in the rain. Daniel knew that in this world there were good guys, there were bad guys, and then there was family. In the den, Daniels father, Lenny, slept in a recliner. The sports page covered Lennys lap, and atop were a half-eaten apple and the buck knife that Daniels grandfather had given the boy. Lenny worked nights and usually came home irritated, dog-tired, and reeking of sweat and liquor. The cardinal rule was to never wake his father. Relieved, Daniel turned toward the stairs.
Get your ass over here, said Lenny, folding the knife and slipping it into his jeans.
I was climbing trees, said Daniel. It was a lazy lie.
Did I ask what dumbass things live in your head? asked Lenny, standing and spilling everything from his lap. Lenny grabbed the plastic toilet plunger next to the recliner.
Daniels instinct was to run. But Lenny pounced on the boy.
You do this to me? To me?!? Worthless shit! Waste of my money! The handle of the plunger thrashed across Daniels thighs. Rigid yet flexible, the handle thrummed a deep whum sound in the air before shuddering in a thwak walloping on Daniel. Lenny grunted for thirteen swings before stopping in a breathless growl.
Get to your room! You better not exist till your mom comes home.
Daniel tried not to cry. He huffed and hissed, unable to breathe fully. His lips dripped off his face. The back of his mouth trembled. He snorted in his snot and swallowed to sooth his dry throat. He grew angry with himself. He grew angry at Mark-That-Fucker.
The rain continued into the night as Daniel heard the light click as his mother went to bed. Daniel sat in the dark, bent himself over the edge of his bed, and pulled a shoebox from underneath. In the box, there were five crayons, a pencil nub, and a light bulb wired to a lantern battery. He hooked the loose end of wire around the coiled contacts of the battery. The filament sizzled orange and radiated a globe of light into the night space.
Open sesame. Imagining a boulder grumbling from a cavernous maw, Daniel grunted and pulled his mattress from the wall. Along the bed rail, like the cave paintings of Lascaux he had seen in his history textbook, stick figures and potato animals were drawn on the wall with crayon and pencil scribblings. There were super-heroes and chimeras. Dinosaurs and space rockets. Lions and little mermaids. He scrawled in a space pod, zipping between toothy jags and trailing starry contrails.
Daniel fell asleep, traveling in space.
When morning returned and docked into orbit, Daniel dressed, made himself a bowl of cereal, and double-checked his math work. Creaking open the door to his parents bedroom, Daniel held his breath as he walked into the lions den. He let his eyes adjust to the gloom while assuring that his father was fast asleep. He reached and fumbled about in the pockets of his fathers pants on the floor before pulling out his grandfathers buck knife along with twenty dollars. Daniel slipped out as quiet as if he never existed.
Daniel packed his homework and his textbooks into his backpack. His left jeans pocket had his shoebox crayons. In the other, he slipped the money and the knife. With a hand in each pocket, Daniel left the house.
Sure thing. And likewise.ronito said:
An interesting and unusual choice. I applaud you for that. I like the concept. But like ronito, I'm left wanting more. Maybe this is because you give us the end, and a tiny bit of the beginning, but not the middle of the journey. Maybe a bit more description is what is needed--what's it like to travel through nebulae and dust clouds, to blaze a path between alien suns of blue and red, to be bent off course by a black hole, to nearly impact on and be absorbed by an asteroid? Just a thought.Solaros said:
I like it. I dig your writing style. I particularly like the line about losing the friend, and the closing line about the CD. The first for it's resonance, the second because it was a great closer. However, the story feels very slightly off--I can't put my finger on why (the italicized fruit?). I'd like to give more useful feedback than that, but I really can't. :/nitewulf said:
I might follow ronito's lead a bit later, and comment on my own. Later.Cyan said:
Iceman, Mike Works, you've got one more hour!
The Case word count 1000
Rod clutched the case and stared. The sight of three guns dominated his view making the rest of what he saw seem very unimportant by comparison. This was mainly because two of the guns were pointed straight at him.
Uh he began as sweat pored over his rapidly blinking chubby eyes. Maybe we can talk about this?
***
To understand a situation it is sometimes important to pull back and examine the historical context in which it takes place and so we must turn our attention to an earlier, more innocent time. A time ten minutes ago when Rod walked into the warehouse.
Things had been simpler back then. All he was supposed to do was get to the specified address, find the case and drop it off where instructed. Just another simple odd job in a simple odd job kind of life.
The first part of the three part plan had gone off without a hitch. The address might have been in a run down abandoned industrial part of town but it was still laid out on a grid. Only a total idiot would have had a hard time finding the nondescript warehouse on the rusting edge of the city.
Which explains why Paul was frantically trying to find a way into the warehouse at the same time that Rod was walking through the unlocked front door. Paul wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. He was more of a walking talking blunt instrument. A bit of luck and the sheer ability to intimidate his targets into submission had fooled his masters into believing he had the finesse abilities of a fixer rather than the straightforward bruiser that he actually was. And so the simple goon found himself ordered to the leaked location of the warehouse to find the case before the pickup was made. A few wrong turns, a bad sense of direction, and Paul was at the back of the warehouse flanked by sagging chain link fences peering in through a dirt streaked window wondering where the the hell the doors were.
Now if this warehouse information had been given to someone like Pierce the warehouse would have been staked out, every exit would have been noted, and the place strip searched for the case long before Rod got anywhere close to it. That was just the kind of operator Pierce was. As it was he had been stalking Rod unnoticed and while Paul was struggling over the fence at the back Pierce was standing in the cool morning sunlight observing Rod walk deep into the warehouse.
***
The second part of Rod's plan went as smoothly as the first. One meter from the far end of the warehouse on the left side sat a sad broken down forklift next to a pillar. The loose moldering seat cushion was removed to reveal the case.
Pierce watched Rod retrieve the case as his silenced rubber soles glided him smoothly forward
Paul fell over the fence with a muffled thump and unheard oomph.
Rod turned.
The simple times ended.
***
The gun (attached to a slim arm clad in the black sleeves of a sensible spring coat) had just made the third part of Rod's plan a lot more complicated. Getting out of the warehouse alive was the first step in the rapidly expanding process and just before his brain completely froze Rod reflected that this in and of itself would probably be a multi-step undertaking of its own.
I'm not being paid enough to kill you The slim goateed face in the periphery of Rod's vision began. Lower the case, turn around slowly with your arms up.
Rod didn't, transfixed by the gun. His open mouth stayed open, his eyes started glazing over.
This seemed to irritate the gun. It jerked towards Rod's groin and as his eyes followed it he heard the voice repeating itself.
Lower the case. Turn around. Now.
The slower menacing tones penetrated Rod's consciousness and Rod started bending over to comply.
Crash
The sound of glass breaking reverberated across the almost empty warehouse. Rod jerked up and cringed away to his left at the same time that Pierce's left hand whipped out a second pistol at snakebite speed aiming in the direction of the sound.
Through shocked eyes Rod saw a large man built like a rugby player grunting himself up and over the ledge of the recently broken window; sudden daylight bursting in from a portal that had been completely caked with dirt.
Paul looked up (ignoring the pain from his bleeding hands) and saw the case he had been ordered to retrieve in the hands of a chubby man of average height with sad scraggly blond wisps of hair covering a balding scalp. He took out a seldom used gun from his waistband and pointed it with meaty fingers at the man with the case.
Pierce saw nothing as the pillar blocked his view of the window completely. He felt kind of stupid for aiming his gun at it.
Uh Rod gulped as sweat pooled in his armpits. Maybe we can talk about this?
Gimme the case Paul said as he strode at the cringing man in front of him.
Pierce who was tracking the sound of the voice with his left hand saw Paul's head appear from behind the pillar moving fast. With pin point precision he fired. The bullet hit the side of the forklift and ricocheted off.
Lucky Pierce's mind snarled as he moved to the back of the forklift for cover.
Shit Paul thought as he dove forward into the forklift seat.
The forklift, unused to this excitement, shifted, rolled off its blocks and slowly smashed into Pierce's face. Paul's luck ran out as the sleeve of his coat caught on a suddenly rotating wheel and his arm was dragged under the two ton machine.
Rod stood there. Then snapping out of his stupor started a fat man sprint towards the exit. The case was on the way home.
Rod clutched the case and stared. The sight of three guns dominated his view making the rest of what he saw seem very unimportant by comparison. This was mainly because two of the guns were pointed straight at him.
Uh he began as sweat pored over his rapidly blinking chubby eyes. Maybe we can talk about this?
***
To understand a situation it is sometimes important to pull back and examine the historical context in which it takes place and so we must turn our attention to an earlier, more innocent time. A time ten minutes ago when Rod walked into the warehouse.
Things had been simpler back then. All he was supposed to do was get to the specified address, find the case and drop it off where instructed. Just another simple odd job in a simple odd job kind of life.
The first part of the three part plan had gone off without a hitch. The address might have been in a run down abandoned industrial part of town but it was still laid out on a grid. Only a total idiot would have had a hard time finding the nondescript warehouse on the rusting edge of the city.
Which explains why Paul was frantically trying to find a way into the warehouse at the same time that Rod was walking through the unlocked front door. Paul wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. He was more of a walking talking blunt instrument. A bit of luck and the sheer ability to intimidate his targets into submission had fooled his masters into believing he had the finesse abilities of a fixer rather than the straightforward bruiser that he actually was. And so the simple goon found himself ordered to the leaked location of the warehouse to find the case before the pickup was made. A few wrong turns, a bad sense of direction, and Paul was at the back of the warehouse flanked by sagging chain link fences peering in through a dirt streaked window wondering where the the hell the doors were.
Now if this warehouse information had been given to someone like Pierce the warehouse would have been staked out, every exit would have been noted, and the place strip searched for the case long before Rod got anywhere close to it. That was just the kind of operator Pierce was. As it was he had been stalking Rod unnoticed and while Paul was struggling over the fence at the back Pierce was standing in the cool morning sunlight observing Rod walk deep into the warehouse.
***
The second part of Rod's plan went as smoothly as the first. One meter from the far end of the warehouse on the left side sat a sad broken down forklift next to a pillar. The loose moldering seat cushion was removed to reveal the case.
Pierce watched Rod retrieve the case as his silenced rubber soles glided him smoothly forward
Paul fell over the fence with a muffled thump and unheard oomph.
Rod turned.
The simple times ended.
***
The gun (attached to a slim arm clad in the black sleeves of a sensible spring coat) had just made the third part of Rod's plan a lot more complicated. Getting out of the warehouse alive was the first step in the rapidly expanding process and just before his brain completely froze Rod reflected that this in and of itself would probably be a multi-step undertaking of its own.
I'm not being paid enough to kill you The slim goateed face in the periphery of Rod's vision began. Lower the case, turn around slowly with your arms up.
Rod didn't, transfixed by the gun. His open mouth stayed open, his eyes started glazing over.
This seemed to irritate the gun. It jerked towards Rod's groin and as his eyes followed it he heard the voice repeating itself.
Lower the case. Turn around. Now.
The slower menacing tones penetrated Rod's consciousness and Rod started bending over to comply.
Crash
The sound of glass breaking reverberated across the almost empty warehouse. Rod jerked up and cringed away to his left at the same time that Pierce's left hand whipped out a second pistol at snakebite speed aiming in the direction of the sound.
Through shocked eyes Rod saw a large man built like a rugby player grunting himself up and over the ledge of the recently broken window; sudden daylight bursting in from a portal that had been completely caked with dirt.
Paul looked up (ignoring the pain from his bleeding hands) and saw the case he had been ordered to retrieve in the hands of a chubby man of average height with sad scraggly blond wisps of hair covering a balding scalp. He took out a seldom used gun from his waistband and pointed it with meaty fingers at the man with the case.
Pierce saw nothing as the pillar blocked his view of the window completely. He felt kind of stupid for aiming his gun at it.
Uh Rod gulped as sweat pooled in his armpits. Maybe we can talk about this?
Gimme the case Paul said as he strode at the cringing man in front of him.
Pierce who was tracking the sound of the voice with his left hand saw Paul's head appear from behind the pillar moving fast. With pin point precision he fired. The bullet hit the side of the forklift and ricocheted off.
Lucky Pierce's mind snarled as he moved to the back of the forklift for cover.
Shit Paul thought as he dove forward into the forklift seat.
The forklift, unused to this excitement, shifted, rolled off its blocks and slowly smashed into Pierce's face. Paul's luck ran out as the sleeve of his coat caught on a suddenly rotating wheel and his arm was dragged under the two ton machine.
Rod stood there. Then snapping out of his stupor started a fat man sprint towards the exit. The case was on the way home.
Mike Works
Member
Ruby Lake
She had always loved the green plastic bags Eric Tiller provided for his customers; no other store or business in the county used green for their shopping bags. Perhaps they worried that the abundance of pines would mask the attention of their company's name. Most other bags were yellow or white, bright colors, but normal. Acceptable. But she loved the green. Green signified an unexpected break in the clouds. Whenever Kurt walked through their back door with one of those green bags in hand, she knew he would be preoccupied with whatever new tool he'd decided to buy himself that day. Sometimes he'd be busy all week fixing up the patio or working on the hitch. He wouldn't pay any attention to her at all. All because of those green bags. And she loved them for it.
Eric Tiller hollered out a goodbye from behind his counter as Jenny leaned her shoulder into the glass door. The door's tiny brass bell danced overhead as she turned to shoot him a smile. Once outside, the afternoon mountain air broke through her rolled up sleeves and puffed up her shirt. Jenny shivered and waited for the hairs on the back of her neck to prick up before she recognized the fault in her expectations and simply continued to walk.
The sound of her chocolate brown boots scraping the light grey pavement gave her away. Allison was already up and looking out the driver side window before she had reached the door. Jenny raised the skin which used to have an eyebrow under her bandana and gave her daughter a look. The six year old girl was moved over and back sitting in the passenger seat by the time Jenny tossed the bag back into the back of the pickup.
"What did you get mom?"
"Oh, just somethin for your father."
"Where are we going next?"
"Well we ain't goin nowhere yet, are we?"
Allison's eyes widened. Pivoting in her seat, she quickly reached over and pulled the seatbelt down, fumbling with the buckle like she always did. As Jenny watched her daughter, she began to wish the little blonde girl she left sleeping in the truck outside Tiller's Hardware had stayed sleeping. She was so beautiful. Her daughter's deep green eyes shot up the moment the buckle clicked.
"So where are we going?"
"Well I could take you back to school if that's what you wanted."
"No no no no."
"Or I suppose we could just go for a drive."
"Yeah, yeah."
Jenny smirked.
"Alright."
She placed her right hand on the stick while her left stayed gripped to the wheel. Her knuckles on both hands were whiter than milk.
The sun's reflection seeped in and out of the streetside rows of pines as they rolled along the highway. Allison's window was lowered halfway down, pulling in the smells of fresh wooden needles and a bevy of wind to play with her daughter's honey silken hair. Jenny felt the occasional wisk of the golden strands brush against her right arm, but she couldn't bring herself to look at it. Not out of envy, but
The sun shot through the trees again. Its glare pulled Jenny out.
"Mom, are we goin down to Ruby Lake?"
"Well I hadn't planned on it, but I s'pose it ain't far off."
"Can we have a picnic there too?"
"I don't have any food, Ally. Did ya want to go back to town and get some?"
"No, I want to go to Ruby Lake."
"Then Ruby Lake it is."
The pickup spat rubble as Jenny pulled it onto the dirt road. She loved going to the lake almost as much as her daughter seemed to. Even though the whole town came here during the summer, the path to the lake still felt secluded every drive through. Pine trees littered identical in the county, yet the ones teaming over the narrow path of beaten earth always felt different to her. Maybe she appreciated them for distracting her from the pain rought by the bumpy road and her bruises. She thought about green again. The green of these pines, of Tiller's bags, of her daughters eyes. Angels in escapes.
As they turned one last corner, the lake opened up before them, greeting them with a level of invite that only empty nature could. Jenny was happy that she would be able to be alone with her daughter here. She never enjoyed swimming, but right now, the lake never looked more comfortable. The pickup was still rolling to a stop by the time Allison burst out of its doors.
The ranges of green pines had turned black against the orange pink sky. Thin, weak lines of grey clouds stretched themselves along the horizon. All was mirrored in the lake, but Jenny sat in the driver's seat and looked at absolutely nothing but her daughter's face pressed against her lap. Allison's cheeks were dashed with a red hue and an afternoon of playing. Jenny played with her daughter's hair in one hand and held her daughter's arm in the other. Her knuckles were no longer white. Allison's pale arm felt cold in Jenny's hand, so she continued to stroke it. She began to think about the bruises just under her rolled up plaid denim sleeves when her daughter spoke without opening her eyes.
"Are we goin home yet mom?"
"Not yet, sweety."
"But what about my flowers? I don't want them to die."
Jenny glanced over at the stems of starry white fairy bells in her daughter's hand.
"They'll be okay, I promise."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
Allison's shoulders lowered as she slipped into sleep. Jenny quietly opened the front door and slid out, gently lowering her daughter's head into her seat. The sun now fully set, she reached into the truck's cab and grasped the plastic bag from Tiller's. Even though she couldn't see it's color, the bright green of the garden hose inside gave Jenny comfort.
Mike Works - Ruby Lake
She had always loved the green plastic bags Eric Tiller provided for his customers; no other store or business in the county used green for their shopping bags. Perhaps they worried that the abundance of pines would mask the attention of their company's name. Most other bags were yellow or white, bright colors, but normal. Acceptable. But she loved the green. Green signified an unexpected break in the clouds. Whenever Kurt walked through their back door with one of those green bags in hand, she knew he would be preoccupied with whatever new tool he'd decided to buy himself that day. Sometimes he'd be busy all week fixing up the patio or working on the hitch. He wouldn't pay any attention to her at all. All because of those green bags. And she loved them for it.
Eric Tiller hollered out a goodbye from behind his counter as Jenny leaned her shoulder into the glass door. The door's tiny brass bell danced overhead as she turned to shoot him a smile. Once outside, the afternoon mountain air broke through her rolled up sleeves and puffed up her shirt. Jenny shivered and waited for the hairs on the back of her neck to prick up before she recognized the fault in her expectations and simply continued to walk.
The sound of her chocolate brown boots scraping the light grey pavement gave her away. Allison was already up and looking out the driver side window before she had reached the door. Jenny raised the skin which used to have an eyebrow under her bandana and gave her daughter a look. The six year old girl was moved over and back sitting in the passenger seat by the time Jenny tossed the bag back into the back of the pickup.
"What did you get mom?"
"Oh, just somethin for your father."
"Where are we going next?"
"Well we ain't goin nowhere yet, are we?"
Allison's eyes widened. Pivoting in her seat, she quickly reached over and pulled the seatbelt down, fumbling with the buckle like she always did. As Jenny watched her daughter, she began to wish the little blonde girl she left sleeping in the truck outside Tiller's Hardware had stayed sleeping. She was so beautiful. Her daughter's deep green eyes shot up the moment the buckle clicked.
"So where are we going?"
"Well I could take you back to school if that's what you wanted."
"No no no no."
"Or I suppose we could just go for a drive."
"Yeah, yeah."
Jenny smirked.
"Alright."
She placed her right hand on the stick while her left stayed gripped to the wheel. Her knuckles on both hands were whiter than milk.
The sun's reflection seeped in and out of the streetside rows of pines as they rolled along the highway. Allison's window was lowered halfway down, pulling in the smells of fresh wooden needles and a bevy of wind to play with her daughter's honey silken hair. Jenny felt the occasional wisk of the golden strands brush against her right arm, but she couldn't bring herself to look at it. Not out of envy, but
The sun shot through the trees again. Its glare pulled Jenny out.
"Mom, are we goin down to Ruby Lake?"
"Well I hadn't planned on it, but I s'pose it ain't far off."
"Can we have a picnic there too?"
"I don't have any food, Ally. Did ya want to go back to town and get some?"
"No, I want to go to Ruby Lake."
"Then Ruby Lake it is."
The pickup spat rubble as Jenny pulled it onto the dirt road. She loved going to the lake almost as much as her daughter seemed to. Even though the whole town came here during the summer, the path to the lake still felt secluded every drive through. Pine trees littered identical in the county, yet the ones teaming over the narrow path of beaten earth always felt different to her. Maybe she appreciated them for distracting her from the pain rought by the bumpy road and her bruises. She thought about green again. The green of these pines, of Tiller's bags, of her daughters eyes. Angels in escapes.
As they turned one last corner, the lake opened up before them, greeting them with a level of invite that only empty nature could. Jenny was happy that she would be able to be alone with her daughter here. She never enjoyed swimming, but right now, the lake never looked more comfortable. The pickup was still rolling to a stop by the time Allison burst out of its doors.
The ranges of green pines had turned black against the orange pink sky. Thin, weak lines of grey clouds stretched themselves along the horizon. All was mirrored in the lake, but Jenny sat in the driver's seat and looked at absolutely nothing but her daughter's face pressed against her lap. Allison's cheeks were dashed with a red hue and an afternoon of playing. Jenny played with her daughter's hair in one hand and held her daughter's arm in the other. Her knuckles were no longer white. Allison's pale arm felt cold in Jenny's hand, so she continued to stroke it. She began to think about the bruises just under her rolled up plaid denim sleeves when her daughter spoke without opening her eyes.
"Are we goin home yet mom?"
"Not yet, sweety."
"But what about my flowers? I don't want them to die."
Jenny glanced over at the stems of starry white fairy bells in her daughter's hand.
"They'll be okay, I promise."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
Allison's shoulders lowered as she slipped into sleep. Jenny quietly opened the front door and slid out, gently lowering her daughter's head into her seat. The sun now fully set, she reached into the truck's cab and grasped the plastic bag from Tiller's. Even though she couldn't see it's color, the bright green of the garden hose inside gave Jenny comfort.
Mike Works - Ruby Lake
Another tough one to vote on. Again, there were five or six excellent ones that I had a really hard time choosing between.
1. Great Rumbler- A Funny Thing Happened... [a few flaws, but I enjoyed it so much I just had to vote for it]
2. DumbNameD- Along the Rails [beautiful writing as always, and this one is far more accessible than your last one, at least for me]
3. Mike Works- Ruby Lake [depressing, yes, but also beautifully written]
Runners-up: nitewulf- Contentment, a la Zen; ronito- Gratus and Claudius
1. Great Rumbler- A Funny Thing Happened... [a few flaws, but I enjoyed it so much I just had to vote for it]
2. DumbNameD- Along the Rails [beautiful writing as always, and this one is far more accessible than your last one, at least for me]
3. Mike Works- Ruby Lake [depressing, yes, but also beautifully written]
Runners-up: nitewulf- Contentment, a la Zen; ronito- Gratus and Claudius
1) dumbnamed - along the rails
2) aaron - up above is where the devil duels
3) cyan - old ma meg
comments:
davedough - well written, overall quite good. the reason for the 10 year haunting isnt explained, so it would have been better not to mention the period at all.
rumbler - light hearted, i dont know if ppl would act so nonchalant while falling into a star. i did get the references...still, could have been better by making them even more absurd i think. they were almost normal, but not quite, in desperate settings...it didnt jibe. sillier would have been better.
luna - ok. ending is too abrupt.
2dmention - good! flesh it out more, use the word count.
mato - this serious entry from you is a good one. very good intro, ending is very ambiguous. you have to work on clarity.
ronito - it has been 12 years since i was a high school sophomore and took greco-roman history...forgot everything. this piece is meant for a more specific audience and as such it was boring for me. had i recalled the subject matter, im sure i would have enjoyed it more. but technically there was nothing at fault.
mash - old subject matter...make it more interesting.
cyan - old ma meg...reminded of the dark tower. nice post-apocalyptic feel if a bit derivative...but well written and tight.
revenant - you will have to explain this one. i was trying hard to get it but couldnt follow. good intro and conclusion.
aaron - gets the vote for the ending. i dont know if you were going for it, but it was as if instead of the soul rising to the heavens, its his soul-less conscience that rises to hell. if you were going for that, then brilliant.
mike - good, quite descriptive. confused as to whether the narrator is married to a dog? in which case the children are what...exactly? if going for dark fantasy then ok...and fresh fetus would be a delicacy, but why a circus? interesting stuff, expand more.
dunbar - not interesting enough. it goes nowhere.
scribble - good take...
oldschoolgamer - i want the sex to be more passionate.
specialK - well written. i dont like the happy ending.
dumbnamed - mind blowing. you do this for a living or what?
azih - the wit could have been tighter, it came off as silly rather than slick...the ending sorta falls apart. i like the setting, the characters...setup is great...the narration feels off.
ruby lake - very good.
2) aaron - up above is where the devil duels
3) cyan - old ma meg
comments:
davedough - well written, overall quite good. the reason for the 10 year haunting isnt explained, so it would have been better not to mention the period at all.
rumbler - light hearted, i dont know if ppl would act so nonchalant while falling into a star. i did get the references...still, could have been better by making them even more absurd i think. they were almost normal, but not quite, in desperate settings...it didnt jibe. sillier would have been better.
luna - ok. ending is too abrupt.
2dmention - good! flesh it out more, use the word count.
mato - this serious entry from you is a good one. very good intro, ending is very ambiguous. you have to work on clarity.
ronito - it has been 12 years since i was a high school sophomore and took greco-roman history...forgot everything. this piece is meant for a more specific audience and as such it was boring for me. had i recalled the subject matter, im sure i would have enjoyed it more. but technically there was nothing at fault.
mash - old subject matter...make it more interesting.
cyan - old ma meg...reminded of the dark tower. nice post-apocalyptic feel if a bit derivative...but well written and tight.
revenant - you will have to explain this one. i was trying hard to get it but couldnt follow. good intro and conclusion.
aaron - gets the vote for the ending. i dont know if you were going for it, but it was as if instead of the soul rising to the heavens, its his soul-less conscience that rises to hell. if you were going for that, then brilliant.
mike - good, quite descriptive. confused as to whether the narrator is married to a dog? in which case the children are what...exactly? if going for dark fantasy then ok...and fresh fetus would be a delicacy, but why a circus? interesting stuff, expand more.
dunbar - not interesting enough. it goes nowhere.
scribble - good take...
oldschoolgamer - i want the sex to be more passionate.
specialK - well written. i dont like the happy ending.
dumbnamed - mind blowing. you do this for a living or what?
azih - the wit could have been tighter, it came off as silly rather than slick...the ending sorta falls apart. i like the setting, the characters...setup is great...the narration feels off.
ruby lake - very good.
1. Along the Rails, by DumbNameD - This is my favourite because of the way it was written, particularly the description. I really wish I could write like that, good job.
2. Gratus and Claudius, by Ronito - It was a good idea, writing a historical fiction. The writing is solid, and I like how you linked the protagonist's dedication to Rome, to his execution at the end.
3. A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Pluto, by Great Rumbler - Although, yeah, you wouldn't be as happy-go-lucky if you fell into the sun, I loved the dialogue and chemistry between the characters.
Well done to everybody who contributed. And interesting poem (Which we don't get many of), Arhal_Katarn :lol
2. Gratus and Claudius, by Ronito - It was a good idea, writing a historical fiction. The writing is solid, and I like how you linked the protagonist's dedication to Rome, to his execution at the end.
3. A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Pluto, by Great Rumbler - Although, yeah, you wouldn't be as happy-go-lucky if you fell into the sun, I loved the dialogue and chemistry between the characters.
Well done to everybody who contributed. And interesting poem (Which we don't get many of), Arhal_Katarn :lol
RevenantKioku
PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS PEINS oh god i am drowning in them
Based on a true story!nitewulf said:
I drove a few hours away to meet up again with a girl who I had seen a few times prior. We boned then I went back the next day but a snowstorm occurred mid-trip. Lost my virginity then I lost my car! Everything said were quotes from those two days and everything in my head from the events is still a jumble. Every other line belongs to the two events. Me with the girl and after the crash. Every other line after the first quote is the girl talking to me, and going in reverse from the last quote is the paramedics/police talking to me.
I just wasn't inspired for by this topic like I was prior.
Here's my last set of comments:
Scribble: I see what you're trying to do here, but the change is too abrupt. If you had more space you could do more with it. Also the last line needs some work. We don't really need to be told. We've guessed it by then. The thing that I like most is the imagery.
old schoolgamer:it felt like it was over before it even began. Which is ironic, given the subject.
Speshal K: I don't know doesn't seem very realistic to me. It seems the best of all possible worlds.
DumbNameD: I'm very impressed. Got nothing to say here.
Azih: It seems a bit cliche to start off with a guy with a gun pointed at his head and then to move to what happened to get him there. It's been done. A lot. Also it did tend to fall apart at the end.
Mike Works: You promised sad. That's what we got. Well done.
Scribble: I see what you're trying to do here, but the change is too abrupt. If you had more space you could do more with it. Also the last line needs some work. We don't really need to be told. We've guessed it by then. The thing that I like most is the imagery.
old schoolgamer:it felt like it was over before it even began. Which is ironic, given the subject.
Speshal K: I don't know doesn't seem very realistic to me. It seems the best of all possible worlds.
DumbNameD: I'm very impressed. Got nothing to say here.
Azih: It seems a bit cliche to start off with a guy with a gun pointed at his head and then to move to what happened to get him there. It's been done. A lot. Also it did tend to fall apart at the end.
Mike Works: You promised sad. That's what we got. Well done.
And here are my votes:
DumbNameD: Well done. Very impressive. Can't wait for more.
2DMention: Pregnant truckers? Give me more! Honestly though, this theme was really about a moment in time. The last line of your entry summed it up better than any other entry in the challenge.
Nitewulf: I couldn't keep away from the story of momentary redemption. Very real. I really liked it.
I'm not noticing very much feedback and/or votes. Come on guys!!
DumbNameD: Well done. Very impressive. Can't wait for more.
2DMention: Pregnant truckers? Give me more! Honestly though, this theme was really about a moment in time. The last line of your entry summed it up better than any other entry in the challenge.
Nitewulf: I couldn't keep away from the story of momentary redemption. Very real. I really liked it.
I'm not noticing very much feedback and/or votes. Come on guys!!
Edited for comments: If I were a shallow man, I'd vote for me 3 times, but there are some works out there that are far and away better than what I put up. Good job everyone.
Great Rumbler: I liked it, but I just wasn't feeling it. I understood the premise just fine and nothing wrong with the writing itself, I just felt like the 1000 word limit may have hurt you in fleshing out the characters and their maniacal ways. Overall well done and funny, but lacks a bit of depth.
LunaClover: Good story, predictable, but what really threw me off was the need for editing. There were some spelling, punctuation and grammar mistakes all through the work that were distracting to me. Thats just a personal thing.
RumpledForeskin: Short, concise, neat, I liked it.
2DMention: Needs more. The story was just starting to get off the ground and it ended. I understand the day-in-the-life thing, but you had just hooked the reader in. Go with it. You have 400 words left to write. =)
Mato: Very interesting concept. Ending felt a little rushed though. Overall I enjoyed it.
ronito: Very well done. I enjoyed it quite a bit. I could actually visualize the entire thing as if I were watching it on television or something. Good job.
Mash: Well written and likable character, but needs some sort of conclusion, I felt.
Solaros: I think it could be longer to flesh out the experiences in the spheres further.
nitewulf: I really thoroughly enjoyed this. Very well written. Good job.
Cyan: I've always been a sucker for post-apocalyptic stories. That was a good page out of what could be an entertaining book. I liked it.
RevenantKioku: No offense but. Huh?
Aaron: Good job. I enjoyed it.
{Mike}: Nice style. Well written. Subject matter was a little out there. I liked it.
John Dunbar: I like what you did, but I felt you could have used a bit more of the word count to make the reader care more about the character. Overall good piece though.
Scribble: Very good character. Reminds me of an ex I had. Good story, although a bit predictable.
Oldschoolgamer: A bit crude for my tastes. I understood the story well enough, but I couldn't catch your tempo in your writing. Some of the language used threw me off a bit.
Speschal K : I like the scattered conversation between the two characters. I like the fact that they were talking about two different things, yet still arrived at the same conclusion. Well done.
DumbNameD: Brilliant and beautiful.
Azih: I appreciate your style and like the clever way in which you wrapped the reader around the entire situation, but the conclusion to me left a bit to be desired. Overall I enjoyed it though.
Mike Works: Good story, but the ending confused me. I may be a dolt, but am I correct in assuming she was using the green bag to do something horrible to her daughter, or was she just grabbing it out of comfort?
SO MY VOTES:
1. DumbNameD
2. nitewulf
3. Cyan
Thanks all.
Great Rumbler: I liked it, but I just wasn't feeling it. I understood the premise just fine and nothing wrong with the writing itself, I just felt like the 1000 word limit may have hurt you in fleshing out the characters and their maniacal ways. Overall well done and funny, but lacks a bit of depth.
LunaClover: Good story, predictable, but what really threw me off was the need for editing. There were some spelling, punctuation and grammar mistakes all through the work that were distracting to me. Thats just a personal thing.
RumpledForeskin: Short, concise, neat, I liked it.
2DMention: Needs more. The story was just starting to get off the ground and it ended. I understand the day-in-the-life thing, but you had just hooked the reader in. Go with it. You have 400 words left to write. =)
Mato: Very interesting concept. Ending felt a little rushed though. Overall I enjoyed it.
ronito: Very well done. I enjoyed it quite a bit. I could actually visualize the entire thing as if I were watching it on television or something. Good job.
Mash: Well written and likable character, but needs some sort of conclusion, I felt.
Solaros: I think it could be longer to flesh out the experiences in the spheres further.
nitewulf: I really thoroughly enjoyed this. Very well written. Good job.
Cyan: I've always been a sucker for post-apocalyptic stories. That was a good page out of what could be an entertaining book. I liked it.
RevenantKioku: No offense but. Huh?
Aaron: Good job. I enjoyed it.
{Mike}: Nice style. Well written. Subject matter was a little out there. I liked it.
John Dunbar: I like what you did, but I felt you could have used a bit more of the word count to make the reader care more about the character. Overall good piece though.
Scribble: Very good character. Reminds me of an ex I had. Good story, although a bit predictable.
Oldschoolgamer: A bit crude for my tastes. I understood the story well enough, but I couldn't catch your tempo in your writing. Some of the language used threw me off a bit.
Speschal K : I like the scattered conversation between the two characters. I like the fact that they were talking about two different things, yet still arrived at the same conclusion. Well done.
DumbNameD: Brilliant and beautiful.
Azih: I appreciate your style and like the clever way in which you wrapped the reader around the entire situation, but the conclusion to me left a bit to be desired. Overall I enjoyed it though.
Mike Works: Good story, but the ending confused me. I may be a dolt, but am I correct in assuming she was using the green bag to do something horrible to her daughter, or was she just grabbing it out of comfort?
SO MY VOTES:
1. DumbNameD
2. nitewulf
3. Cyan
Thanks all.
I... don't get it.RevenantKioku said:
Well ok, now that you've explained it, I understand what's going on, but I still don't get it. I guess I see what you're trying to do, but it's a bit too abstract for me.You're right--this was a bit messy, particularly compared to your tightly written previous entries. It was still interesting and clever though. The setting was too Matrix-y for my taste, although the feeling was completely different.Aaron said:
Yikes. Just going for pure shock value?{Mike} said:
I like the subtlety of this one. Still, could definitely use some fleshing out. Why did he leave his home? What sort of dreams of the "other side" did he have? What was his home like? These things are all very vague, which gives the story a sort of generic feel. Or maybe he doesn't remember the answers to these questions--how does that make him feel? Asking these sorts of questions would really strengthen this piece.John Dunbar said:
A nice take on the theme. The transformation doesn't quite feel justified--I think you would've needed more words to really do it justice--and too much of the story is taken up in exposition. But it's nicely done. I do like the beginning and end coming full circle. Oh, also I'm not sure what "my ruthless plight to be happy" means. I think I know what you intended, but "plight" isn't the right word.Scribble said:
Ouch. Ice cold. An odd style, but it was interesting to see something different. My only complaint was being unable to tell who was speaking at the beginning--only towards the end do they develop different voices.Oldschoolgamer said:
You know, I like this one, but it just feels too easy! He doesn't really do anything to help himself, and he doesn't say anything particularly interesting to the woman. I dunno... I guess I just want to see more challenge for the main character.Speschal K said:
So awesome. Love the metaphors and imagery--"an octupus's worth of flailing arms" "headlights... scattered them like cockroaches." Great. My only criticism is that the voice is slightly inconsistent--mostly it feels like a tight third person viewpoint (i.e. Daniel narrating), but in one or two spots, it kind of breaks from that as words are used that Daniel probably wouldn't use (e.g. "the boy" in a couple places).DumbNameD said:
Great idea, but the execution is lacking. With the viewpoint switches and the kind of similar names, it quickly confused me. I had to go back and reread bits several times just to figure out what was going on.Azih said:
Very nice. And I'm glad I actually got this one, unlike the Luc story. :lolMike Works said:
This whole story felt very solidly grounded--the characters and places feel real. However, it breaks from that at one or two places. Jenny smirking is odd. Why does she smirk at her daughter? It doesn't feel right for the character.
Oh, and I loved the "green" thing. I think that quirk was a big part of what made Jenny feel real. And it was a nice way to open and close.
Edit:
No worries, there's a day and a half yet. A lot of people will come in and vote at the last second. Anyway, I think a pattern in the voting has established that will probably continue.Davedough said:
Mike Works
Member
Davedough said:
Jenny was grabbing a garden hose she bought from the hardware store to use to commit suicide (with her daughter) via carbon monoxide poisoning out of fear that she won't be able to protect her daughter from her abusive husband once she dies from her cancer.
I'm going to do my voting on Thursday since I'm swamped with stuff today, but keep those votes coming!
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