-
Hey, guest user. Hope you're enjoying NeoGAF! Have you considered registering for an account? Come join us and add your take to the daily discourse.
NeoGAF Creative Writing Challenge #22 - "Shell"
- Thread starter Aaron
- Start date
- Status
I'm having a hell of a time trying to figure out an idea for this theme. Seriously I am coming up blank, and the few ideas I do come up with are sub par in my book. I can force myself to write, but then its not inspired in any way. Maybe I'll read some of your guys work and see if that helps light a path. This has been my problem with the last few competitions and why I haven't entered.
AlternativeUlster
Absolutely pathetic part deux
Timedog said:
Thank you good sir. So I am above "In my younger and more vulenrable years."? I am throwing some used kitty litter on Fitzgerald's grave right now.
:lol at adding an audio book portion. I want to find some website that I can make it read in a robot voice but the Cepstral site that Ford showed me doesn't allow really long lengths and I am too lazy to make it phrase by phrase.
word count: 1492
The Tired Night
The pain was an explosion of red at the base of his skull. His mouth was bitter, like burnt coal, and tight, as if held shut by an enormous vise grip. Ernesto De La Cruz slowly opened his eyes. He had to, he wasnt dead.
Yet.
A sickly yellow light streamed through the window of the second floor office. Hushed voices wafted into the room from somewhere down below. De La Cruz crawled to the window and peered out.
What the fuck was that shamus snooping around here for Carmen?
How should I know David? He came around to ask me a few questions earlier, something to do with Jakes death.
Your boyfriend, excuse me, chauffeur, gets himself killed, and this dick comes snooping around the warehouse? Nice, fucking nice. As if I dont have enough problems to deal with as it is.
He was a very good friend David.
Right, whatever. Just go home, Ill get Rodrigo to clean up this mess.
Carmen Bolivar tilted her statuesque head, opened her mouth slightly, flashing a brilliant set of pearly white teeth in a mock grin, her stunning dark face lay just beyond the reach of the cone of swaying light from the lone lamp hanging from the ceiling.
Your wish, my command and all that good stuff darling. The words were tiny shards of glass through her teeth.
She turned and walked away.
Yeah, dont bother waiting up for me honey. David Solanki sneered at her back. The hatred was palpable, it saturated the thick, musty air like poison.
Rodrigo, take care of the P.I., hurt him bad and toss him out somewhere else, dont bother doing anything more. Ill be at the club. David, tall and handsome, rubbed his neck in mock frustration like a sleek movie gangster, and walked out.
De La Cruz felt a knot at the pit of his stomach. It slowly made its way up, his head swam and he felt like vomiting. He bit down on his tongue. Hard. He squeezed his temples as hard as he could with the base of his palms. His head cleared a little from the self induced pain. He crept away from the window, picked up a heavy chair and stood near the door as the stairs started to creak under slow, heavy footsteps.
Rodrigo opened the door and walked in carelessly. He looked surprised as De La Cruz crashed the heavy chair down on his head. De La Cruz made the hit count, he owed Rodrigo one.
De La Cruz turned Rodrigos limp, heavy body around. He grabbed Rodrigos gun from the inside pocket of his coat, tied him up to a chair, locked the door and left the room quietly.
The warehouse was empty. De La Cruz took a look around and walked down the stairs.
Sounds of hushed, quick footsteps caused him to quickly hide behind a wooden crate.
Carmen crept inside, there was a feline quality to her movement. She tip-toed up the stairs. De La Cruz heard her trying to open the locked door.
She came back down with a puzzled look on her face.
Looking for me?, De La Cruz startled her by stepping out in the open.
What were you doing here De La Cruz?
Your husband keeps some nasty company. De La Cruz didnt answer her.
May be. But he didnt kill Jake.
What makes you so sure?
He isnt exactly the jealous type...
Was there a reason for jealousy then?
None of your business shamus. Jake was a very good friend of mine. Let him rest in peace.
De La Cruz could feel the tiny, empty bullet shell that lay inside a plastic bag in his pocket. It seemed hot, like it had a life of its own. Though it was only his body heat and sweat that made it seem alive. The shell had a story to tell. The 9mm shell he found next to Jakes lifeless body.
Dont matter either way kid. Rodrigo did the killing. De La Cruz said tonelessly.
Really? Hows that? Carmen arched her right eyebrow. It seemed like a practiced gesture. De La Cruz wondered if that look turned most grown men into puppies.
He left the bullet shell behind. Careless. May be your husband does get jealous at that. May be he orders his thug to put lead in a young, pretty boy who drives his wife around. De La Cruz said woodenly. His face sagged, it was emotionless. He needed a cool swim in the ocean and a stiff drink. He needed sleep. Either way, cops will be here soon. I can drive you home if you wanna stay out of it.
Doesnt seem like much of a choice. The mocking grin made a second entrance for the night. De La Cruz wondered how many practiced gestures she had up her sleeve.
They walked silently to the parking lot. The night air was cool. De La Cruz felt a breeze at the back of his neck. He breathed out deeply. They walked towards De La Cruzs car.
De La Cruz started the engine.
Why did you kill him Carmen?
Youre nuts! Youre playing a shell game with your trifecta of suspects!
Nah. I lied. The shell is from your gun, the one bulging under your shirt right now. Beretta 9mm if I had to guess.
That so De La Cruz? Whats stopping me from putting holes in you right now?
Nothing doin kid. I cant prove a thing if you get rid of the gat. Now, whyd you kill him?
Carmen was silent for what seemed like an eternity. Secrets have a tendency to weigh heavily in most peoples minds. No matter what they were, secrets wanted to come out. And once they were out, they came out too easily. Carmen spoke lucidly, as if she was narrating a script. Jake wanted me all to himself. He was a very sweet boy, and what we had was very special. But he couldnt accept it as it was. Jake threatened to ruin David. He knew a lot about Davids operations. Jake was a smart boy. She looked out the window. Far away, Belt Parkway seemed to hang in the mist, the yellow lights made it look unreal. Like a fairytale bridge that hovered without supports. The night air was silent, intermittently broken up by distant traffic.
De La Cruz remained silent. The moment was too perfect.
Carmen began again. Funny thing about asshole husbands De La Cruz...women like me fall for them. Fall hard. Hard enough to protect them even though they dont give a shit. Without David, I have nothing. I cant start from scratch De La Cruz. I dont know how to. So I shot Jake. Through the heart. He didnt even resist when I walked close and took out the gun. God knows I wanted him to. He just gave me this look. As if he wanted to die.
He was just a kid in love.
De La Cruz slowly started to drive away from the naked parking lot.
Suddenly Carmens voice became steely.
Where is the shell De La Cruz?
In my pocket.
Carmen was quick. Her draw was far quicker than most professional gunmen De La Cruz ever saw. He saw quite a few in his time.
Nix kid. You are covered. Rodrigos Glock glinted dully in De La Cruzs right hand. It was pointed straight at Carmens stomach. Just drop the piece on the backseat, nice and easy. Dont try anything, I wont miss at this distance, trust me.
Carmen slowly threw her gun on the backseat. She looked at De La Cruz. Her mouth became thin. Her face seemed tiny. She looked helpless and lost. De La Cruz smirked, the practiced gestures were out in full force.
I cant go to jail De La Cruz. I wont last.
De La Cruz looked straight ahead at the barren highway. The East Bound traffic was few and far between. Of in the distance, ship lights glittered like tiny yellow crystals on a black canvass.
May be Jake was blackmailing you, may be something else. The Jury will sympathize. The beautiful, neglected wife. Youll get out in two...like some murderers do. Hell may be youll even get a TV show out of it. Who knows.
Itll ruin David. Ill do anything you want. I cant go to jail.
De La Cruz didnt answer. The night was too pretty for this ugly business. He had a tiny apartment in Borough Park. He wanted to go home and just fall on his bed. He kept driving.
As they neared the Bay Ridge Police Station, Carmen broke the silence, she looked at De La Cruz and asked softly, How did you know it was a Beretta 9mm?
De La Cruz parked the car a block away from the station and answered as he dialed his friend Detective Inspector Romulus Tatlonghari.
I didnt.
The Tired Night
The pain was an explosion of red at the base of his skull. His mouth was bitter, like burnt coal, and tight, as if held shut by an enormous vise grip. Ernesto De La Cruz slowly opened his eyes. He had to, he wasnt dead.
Yet.
A sickly yellow light streamed through the window of the second floor office. Hushed voices wafted into the room from somewhere down below. De La Cruz crawled to the window and peered out.
What the fuck was that shamus snooping around here for Carmen?
How should I know David? He came around to ask me a few questions earlier, something to do with Jakes death.
Your boyfriend, excuse me, chauffeur, gets himself killed, and this dick comes snooping around the warehouse? Nice, fucking nice. As if I dont have enough problems to deal with as it is.
He was a very good friend David.
Right, whatever. Just go home, Ill get Rodrigo to clean up this mess.
Carmen Bolivar tilted her statuesque head, opened her mouth slightly, flashing a brilliant set of pearly white teeth in a mock grin, her stunning dark face lay just beyond the reach of the cone of swaying light from the lone lamp hanging from the ceiling.
Your wish, my command and all that good stuff darling. The words were tiny shards of glass through her teeth.
She turned and walked away.
Yeah, dont bother waiting up for me honey. David Solanki sneered at her back. The hatred was palpable, it saturated the thick, musty air like poison.
Rodrigo, take care of the P.I., hurt him bad and toss him out somewhere else, dont bother doing anything more. Ill be at the club. David, tall and handsome, rubbed his neck in mock frustration like a sleek movie gangster, and walked out.
De La Cruz felt a knot at the pit of his stomach. It slowly made its way up, his head swam and he felt like vomiting. He bit down on his tongue. Hard. He squeezed his temples as hard as he could with the base of his palms. His head cleared a little from the self induced pain. He crept away from the window, picked up a heavy chair and stood near the door as the stairs started to creak under slow, heavy footsteps.
Rodrigo opened the door and walked in carelessly. He looked surprised as De La Cruz crashed the heavy chair down on his head. De La Cruz made the hit count, he owed Rodrigo one.
De La Cruz turned Rodrigos limp, heavy body around. He grabbed Rodrigos gun from the inside pocket of his coat, tied him up to a chair, locked the door and left the room quietly.
The warehouse was empty. De La Cruz took a look around and walked down the stairs.
Sounds of hushed, quick footsteps caused him to quickly hide behind a wooden crate.
Carmen crept inside, there was a feline quality to her movement. She tip-toed up the stairs. De La Cruz heard her trying to open the locked door.
She came back down with a puzzled look on her face.
Looking for me?, De La Cruz startled her by stepping out in the open.
What were you doing here De La Cruz?
Your husband keeps some nasty company. De La Cruz didnt answer her.
May be. But he didnt kill Jake.
What makes you so sure?
He isnt exactly the jealous type...
Was there a reason for jealousy then?
None of your business shamus. Jake was a very good friend of mine. Let him rest in peace.
De La Cruz could feel the tiny, empty bullet shell that lay inside a plastic bag in his pocket. It seemed hot, like it had a life of its own. Though it was only his body heat and sweat that made it seem alive. The shell had a story to tell. The 9mm shell he found next to Jakes lifeless body.
Dont matter either way kid. Rodrigo did the killing. De La Cruz said tonelessly.
Really? Hows that? Carmen arched her right eyebrow. It seemed like a practiced gesture. De La Cruz wondered if that look turned most grown men into puppies.
He left the bullet shell behind. Careless. May be your husband does get jealous at that. May be he orders his thug to put lead in a young, pretty boy who drives his wife around. De La Cruz said woodenly. His face sagged, it was emotionless. He needed a cool swim in the ocean and a stiff drink. He needed sleep. Either way, cops will be here soon. I can drive you home if you wanna stay out of it.
Doesnt seem like much of a choice. The mocking grin made a second entrance for the night. De La Cruz wondered how many practiced gestures she had up her sleeve.
They walked silently to the parking lot. The night air was cool. De La Cruz felt a breeze at the back of his neck. He breathed out deeply. They walked towards De La Cruzs car.
De La Cruz started the engine.
Why did you kill him Carmen?
Youre nuts! Youre playing a shell game with your trifecta of suspects!
Nah. I lied. The shell is from your gun, the one bulging under your shirt right now. Beretta 9mm if I had to guess.
That so De La Cruz? Whats stopping me from putting holes in you right now?
Nothing doin kid. I cant prove a thing if you get rid of the gat. Now, whyd you kill him?
Carmen was silent for what seemed like an eternity. Secrets have a tendency to weigh heavily in most peoples minds. No matter what they were, secrets wanted to come out. And once they were out, they came out too easily. Carmen spoke lucidly, as if she was narrating a script. Jake wanted me all to himself. He was a very sweet boy, and what we had was very special. But he couldnt accept it as it was. Jake threatened to ruin David. He knew a lot about Davids operations. Jake was a smart boy. She looked out the window. Far away, Belt Parkway seemed to hang in the mist, the yellow lights made it look unreal. Like a fairytale bridge that hovered without supports. The night air was silent, intermittently broken up by distant traffic.
De La Cruz remained silent. The moment was too perfect.
Carmen began again. Funny thing about asshole husbands De La Cruz...women like me fall for them. Fall hard. Hard enough to protect them even though they dont give a shit. Without David, I have nothing. I cant start from scratch De La Cruz. I dont know how to. So I shot Jake. Through the heart. He didnt even resist when I walked close and took out the gun. God knows I wanted him to. He just gave me this look. As if he wanted to die.
He was just a kid in love.
De La Cruz slowly started to drive away from the naked parking lot.
Suddenly Carmens voice became steely.
Where is the shell De La Cruz?
In my pocket.
Carmen was quick. Her draw was far quicker than most professional gunmen De La Cruz ever saw. He saw quite a few in his time.
Nix kid. You are covered. Rodrigos Glock glinted dully in De La Cruzs right hand. It was pointed straight at Carmens stomach. Just drop the piece on the backseat, nice and easy. Dont try anything, I wont miss at this distance, trust me.
Carmen slowly threw her gun on the backseat. She looked at De La Cruz. Her mouth became thin. Her face seemed tiny. She looked helpless and lost. De La Cruz smirked, the practiced gestures were out in full force.
I cant go to jail De La Cruz. I wont last.
De La Cruz looked straight ahead at the barren highway. The East Bound traffic was few and far between. Of in the distance, ship lights glittered like tiny yellow crystals on a black canvass.
May be Jake was blackmailing you, may be something else. The Jury will sympathize. The beautiful, neglected wife. Youll get out in two...like some murderers do. Hell may be youll even get a TV show out of it. Who knows.
Itll ruin David. Ill do anything you want. I cant go to jail.
De La Cruz didnt answer. The night was too pretty for this ugly business. He had a tiny apartment in Borough Park. He wanted to go home and just fall on his bed. He kept driving.
As they neared the Bay Ridge Police Station, Carmen broke the silence, she looked at De La Cruz and asked softly, How did you know it was a Beretta 9mm?
De La Cruz parked the car a block away from the station and answered as he dialed his friend Detective Inspector Romulus Tatlonghari.
I didnt.
The Scoundrel of Ayssia
word count: 1,499
"Ayssia is doomed," one senator lamented as the masts of a half dozen ships crested the horizon. There was little more than a hundred soldiers and a low seaside wall to stand against them, for the people of this village had long since fled.
"We should have never bowed to the will of the masses, and allowed that... pirate bastard command of the army," a second observed as he gestured with contempt to the figure sitting silently upon the edge of the stone wall, staring out to sea. "He meditates and our soldiers fish while the savages of Pahret draw near."
"It was your boast that brought this all upon our heads. Your belief in this 'great hero,'" the final official scoffed with well practiced sarcasm. "We should have rounded up every able bodied man fit to carry a sword. Instead, he chooses to bring a mere handful of soldiers and six worthless female admirers."
A dozen feminine eyes regarded him coldly, as young women left to suffer the lecherous looks of old men. However, their golden faces beamed in delight when the tanned and muscled figure of a man arose, with faint scars marking his face and a boyish grin upon his lips. He wore a tunic of faded white, secured by a serpent skin belt where tail devoured mouth, and sandals of heavy wood that clacked as he crossed the cobblestone pavilion.
"Well, Kargus? How do you feel about those six war galleons, each one gorged with ruthless marauders, bearing down upon us like a plague of rats?" the second senator fiercely demanded as he adjusted the weight of his toga.
"Insulted. With six ships, they could only outnumber us by six to one," Kargus responded with a roll of his broad shoulders. Though commander of their forces, he carried neither sword nor shield, but a conch shell he had discovered upon their arrival to this doomed port.
"'Only,'" the third senator repeated with a strong dose of his famous cynicism.
Kargus ignored the senators and silent adoration of his female admirers, instead raising his gaze above the ominous enemy ships painted blood red to the afternoon sky where small grey clouds were slowly drifting in from the north. He shut his eyes and smiled as a faint breeze caressed his weathered face, while the soldiers below slashed wriggling fish with long knives before dumping the bleeding catch into waiting urns. Others wrapped the jagged tips of arrows with soft bits of cloth, while the senator wondered if they were surrounded by madmen.
Several minutes passed this way before Kargus finally spoke, "It's going to be a lovely sunset."
Stunned into silence, the senators were comforted moments later when the men were ordered to stop fishing. Only to stand aghast when those same soldiers raised the heavy clay urns, and dumped their contents into the sea, allowing the mixture of fish and blood to drift off with the tide. One senator observed that there seemed far too much blood for so small a catch, but could not see the point in it. Nor could he see the reason the men lit torches when evening was still hours off.
The half ring of blood and floating corpses slowly expanded outward as the tall ships drew close enough to behold the black mark upon their sails in the form of a solemn face that fears neither death nor pain. With his eyes upon those familiar marks, Kargus spoke once more, "Do you know why the men from the isle of Pahret are such vicious and unrelenting warriors? It's because they starve their army. Enough to raise the bloodlust, make them eager to get it over with just so they can feed. Hence their tendency to feast upon their enemies..."
"Is there a point to this?" the first senator spoke up, somewhat older and more squeamish than the rest.
"It makes them fierce, but easily distracted. So we're going to give them something to savor," Kargus answered.
The sails of the advancing ships were lowered before the wave of blood and fish. Distant cries in a foreign tongue could be heard from the shore, but the commotion was short lived. Finding nothing to fear, the men of Pahret broke out the long paddles, and boldly rowed directly into this line of blood.
That was when Kargus signaled the torchbearers, who set alight the tips of the wrapped arrows that archers held high. Bows were pulled back, and a hundred flaming arrows flew. A few struck the crimson hulls of the advancing ships, though the building wind quickly snuffed them out. Most fell into the sea, rising as an inferno set ablaze by the oil mixed in with the marine catch. The distant voices became shouts of alarm as flames leapt onto their paddles and clung to their hulls, though this fire on water lasted no more than moments among the gentle waves and frantic efforts of the sailors.
"Nothing like the smell of well cooked fish," Kargus observed with a chuckle, though the senators were less amused when the scorched paddles were lowered again, and the six scarred but unbroken ships rowed towards the shore.
Kargus did nothing more to impede this. He simply sat upon the stone wall with the conch in his lap, and stared up at the clouds. The senators felt a little reassurance as the soldiers turned small boats into barricades while dumping the remaining oil upon the wooden docks, holding swords and shields close as they waited in the shadows for the bellow of war.
The docks were set ablaze, but that only helped illuminate the arrival of the Pahret horde while the sun drifted near the edge of the horizon. They were dark-skinned men with darker eyes, wrapped in a tattered raiment of black and red that concealed the lower halves of their faces, but left their tattooed arms bare. They bore jagged cleavers in either hand, swiping at the air as they moved swiftly with their heads low. While from the decks of their ships came the cry of horns setting the rhythm of the hunt.
Some growled in pain as their bare feet trod upon jagged metal bits hidden beneath the sand, but their comrades only flowed past them like a surging wave, breaking upon the makeshift barrier of flimsy wood. A scattering of arrows were fired into the mob, but their numbers were too great, and the archers too few, to cause any loss of momentum. They carved into barriers and soldiers alike with the same flat gazes, deaf to all but the sound of horns.
A breach was breaking in the ramshackle defenses. The horns changed and the attack changed with it, only for a sudden discordant note to intrude, drowning out these orders. Kargus stood upon the high wall, blowing into the conch in mocking imitation of these careful commands, leaving his enemies enraged, but without direction as they carelessly slashed and collided with one another to reach this smug fiend. While the defenders of Ayssia closed in, and carved into their numbers.
The horns fell silent, but the captains of the six ships now anchored in the bay were undaunted as they took advantage of the failing light to raise signal fires, directing the flashes of light to the low seaside wall where the anger of their men had been drawn. Yet just as they were regaining their calm and restoring order to their ranks, a new sight was illuminated by these signals. Kargus was gone, and in his place stood six pale-skinned women wrapped in simple robes of deep crimson. Robes that parted to reveal the pale skin of their naked forms beneath.
The men of Ayssia knew not what had stunned these fearsome warriors, leaving them standing still as statues. Only that Kargus stood behind him with the legendary sword that had slain a rampaging lion in one powerful stroke, ordering them under the pain of death not to turn their heads away from their enemies. So these soldiers slew without mercy, while the men of Pahret stumbled and gave ground until they found their feet again.
Yet the winds of battle had shifted just as the grey clouds swept in with howling wind and driving rain. The signal fires were silenced, leaving the men of Pahret in the near dark on an unfamiliar shore, aggressions dulled by other desires. They could do no more than hold their place. Then with a roar of pure fury Kargus himself burst into their midst, cutting swathes through their ranks with a strength that none could equal.
Horns blared as sails were raised, nearly ripped from their masts from the power of the driving storm. Never before had the men of Pahret fled from battle, but with the sand becoming mud under their feet and the eyes of their enemy shining with the cold light of a demon, they turned and fled.
So Ayssia lived to see another sunset.
word count: 1,499
"Ayssia is doomed," one senator lamented as the masts of a half dozen ships crested the horizon. There was little more than a hundred soldiers and a low seaside wall to stand against them, for the people of this village had long since fled.
"We should have never bowed to the will of the masses, and allowed that... pirate bastard command of the army," a second observed as he gestured with contempt to the figure sitting silently upon the edge of the stone wall, staring out to sea. "He meditates and our soldiers fish while the savages of Pahret draw near."
"It was your boast that brought this all upon our heads. Your belief in this 'great hero,'" the final official scoffed with well practiced sarcasm. "We should have rounded up every able bodied man fit to carry a sword. Instead, he chooses to bring a mere handful of soldiers and six worthless female admirers."
A dozen feminine eyes regarded him coldly, as young women left to suffer the lecherous looks of old men. However, their golden faces beamed in delight when the tanned and muscled figure of a man arose, with faint scars marking his face and a boyish grin upon his lips. He wore a tunic of faded white, secured by a serpent skin belt where tail devoured mouth, and sandals of heavy wood that clacked as he crossed the cobblestone pavilion.
"Well, Kargus? How do you feel about those six war galleons, each one gorged with ruthless marauders, bearing down upon us like a plague of rats?" the second senator fiercely demanded as he adjusted the weight of his toga.
"Insulted. With six ships, they could only outnumber us by six to one," Kargus responded with a roll of his broad shoulders. Though commander of their forces, he carried neither sword nor shield, but a conch shell he had discovered upon their arrival to this doomed port.
"'Only,'" the third senator repeated with a strong dose of his famous cynicism.
Kargus ignored the senators and silent adoration of his female admirers, instead raising his gaze above the ominous enemy ships painted blood red to the afternoon sky where small grey clouds were slowly drifting in from the north. He shut his eyes and smiled as a faint breeze caressed his weathered face, while the soldiers below slashed wriggling fish with long knives before dumping the bleeding catch into waiting urns. Others wrapped the jagged tips of arrows with soft bits of cloth, while the senator wondered if they were surrounded by madmen.
Several minutes passed this way before Kargus finally spoke, "It's going to be a lovely sunset."
Stunned into silence, the senators were comforted moments later when the men were ordered to stop fishing. Only to stand aghast when those same soldiers raised the heavy clay urns, and dumped their contents into the sea, allowing the mixture of fish and blood to drift off with the tide. One senator observed that there seemed far too much blood for so small a catch, but could not see the point in it. Nor could he see the reason the men lit torches when evening was still hours off.
The half ring of blood and floating corpses slowly expanded outward as the tall ships drew close enough to behold the black mark upon their sails in the form of a solemn face that fears neither death nor pain. With his eyes upon those familiar marks, Kargus spoke once more, "Do you know why the men from the isle of Pahret are such vicious and unrelenting warriors? It's because they starve their army. Enough to raise the bloodlust, make them eager to get it over with just so they can feed. Hence their tendency to feast upon their enemies..."
"Is there a point to this?" the first senator spoke up, somewhat older and more squeamish than the rest.
"It makes them fierce, but easily distracted. So we're going to give them something to savor," Kargus answered.
The sails of the advancing ships were lowered before the wave of blood and fish. Distant cries in a foreign tongue could be heard from the shore, but the commotion was short lived. Finding nothing to fear, the men of Pahret broke out the long paddles, and boldly rowed directly into this line of blood.
That was when Kargus signaled the torchbearers, who set alight the tips of the wrapped arrows that archers held high. Bows were pulled back, and a hundred flaming arrows flew. A few struck the crimson hulls of the advancing ships, though the building wind quickly snuffed them out. Most fell into the sea, rising as an inferno set ablaze by the oil mixed in with the marine catch. The distant voices became shouts of alarm as flames leapt onto their paddles and clung to their hulls, though this fire on water lasted no more than moments among the gentle waves and frantic efforts of the sailors.
"Nothing like the smell of well cooked fish," Kargus observed with a chuckle, though the senators were less amused when the scorched paddles were lowered again, and the six scarred but unbroken ships rowed towards the shore.
Kargus did nothing more to impede this. He simply sat upon the stone wall with the conch in his lap, and stared up at the clouds. The senators felt a little reassurance as the soldiers turned small boats into barricades while dumping the remaining oil upon the wooden docks, holding swords and shields close as they waited in the shadows for the bellow of war.
The docks were set ablaze, but that only helped illuminate the arrival of the Pahret horde while the sun drifted near the edge of the horizon. They were dark-skinned men with darker eyes, wrapped in a tattered raiment of black and red that concealed the lower halves of their faces, but left their tattooed arms bare. They bore jagged cleavers in either hand, swiping at the air as they moved swiftly with their heads low. While from the decks of their ships came the cry of horns setting the rhythm of the hunt.
Some growled in pain as their bare feet trod upon jagged metal bits hidden beneath the sand, but their comrades only flowed past them like a surging wave, breaking upon the makeshift barrier of flimsy wood. A scattering of arrows were fired into the mob, but their numbers were too great, and the archers too few, to cause any loss of momentum. They carved into barriers and soldiers alike with the same flat gazes, deaf to all but the sound of horns.
A breach was breaking in the ramshackle defenses. The horns changed and the attack changed with it, only for a sudden discordant note to intrude, drowning out these orders. Kargus stood upon the high wall, blowing into the conch in mocking imitation of these careful commands, leaving his enemies enraged, but without direction as they carelessly slashed and collided with one another to reach this smug fiend. While the defenders of Ayssia closed in, and carved into their numbers.
The horns fell silent, but the captains of the six ships now anchored in the bay were undaunted as they took advantage of the failing light to raise signal fires, directing the flashes of light to the low seaside wall where the anger of their men had been drawn. Yet just as they were regaining their calm and restoring order to their ranks, a new sight was illuminated by these signals. Kargus was gone, and in his place stood six pale-skinned women wrapped in simple robes of deep crimson. Robes that parted to reveal the pale skin of their naked forms beneath.
The men of Ayssia knew not what had stunned these fearsome warriors, leaving them standing still as statues. Only that Kargus stood behind him with the legendary sword that had slain a rampaging lion in one powerful stroke, ordering them under the pain of death not to turn their heads away from their enemies. So these soldiers slew without mercy, while the men of Pahret stumbled and gave ground until they found their feet again.
Yet the winds of battle had shifted just as the grey clouds swept in with howling wind and driving rain. The signal fires were silenced, leaving the men of Pahret in the near dark on an unfamiliar shore, aggressions dulled by other desires. They could do no more than hold their place. Then with a roar of pure fury Kargus himself burst into their midst, cutting swathes through their ranks with a strength that none could equal.
Horns blared as sails were raised, nearly ripped from their masts from the power of the driving storm. Never before had the men of Pahret fled from battle, but with the sand becoming mud under their feet and the eyes of their enemy shining with the cold light of a demon, they turned and fled.
So Ayssia lived to see another sunset.
Shells on a Balinese beach
word count: 1,414
My problems had always seemed to come in packages of negligible size. It was true, they had come frequently. Sometimes the deliveries were daily or even hourly, but never, ever that big package on my doorway. That big package that when opened, reveals a cage with a beast inside of which gaze you can never be rid of.
The doorbell rang and I woke up from my nap on the couch. Creaking and groaning I made my way to the front door and spied with my spying eye through the peephole. A broad shouldered figure in a bright red wind jack stood on the front porch, looking forlorn. It was one of my neighbors from a few houses away. I recalled with a shock that he was the acting linchpin of my neighborhood since a few weeks. No longer hesitating I opened the door. Hello neighbor, I said, What can I do for you? The man had already turned to go away and now turned back to face me. Hank, he said, slightly out of breath in the typical manner of an habitual smoker. Let me come in and talk to you. He coughed, pushed me aside and entered my house without further ado.
I stood there a while, suddenly shaking and noticed my hurried breath coming out in little clouds of vapor. It was cold outside and I was still in jeans and t-shirt. I glanced up and down the street, saw nobody, closed the door and went inside.
When I entered the living room, Bill Hoag - I remembered his name now was already sitting on my couch and was fiddling with my Wii Console. He looked up and grumbled Just checking the wires. Your screen name is Procrast, right ?. Yes, I said. He nodded and opened his tool belt and fished out a Wii checker. One by one he connected the eight wires that came from behind the console and switched on the device. It swished and wirred and a neat row of eight green lights lit up. Nothing wrong with it, he said simply in an almost inaudible whisper. He set the console down on the coffee table and bowed his head as in silent prayer. An awkward silence was broken when he struck the table with his fist. Did you write it?, he asked in a loud voice and his wild eyes met mine.
Yes, I said, I did, and I accept the consequences. Why, he almost pleaded, why did you do it? I I dont know. Someone had to. , I said. Bill shook his head violently. Nobody cares! It is meaningless and you put our lives in danger. He beat his chest My daughter, my eleven year old daughter is control subject tonight, did you know that, you fuckup! I swallowed. I cant help that, but as I said, I accept the consequences He nodded, Youd better! Youd better! There are eight watchers for tonights show, so youd better get hooked up real fast and dont fuck up. Not even once! He was almost crying at this point.
Routinely I hooked up the wires, one on my left earlobe, one on my bottom lip, two on my nipples, two on my private parts, one on my little finger and one on my little toe. I turned on the Wii, scrolled past Super Mario Galaxy and chose the appropriate channel. It was depicted by a stupidly happy looking little man that was jumping around as lightning flashes were hurled at him. It was labeled TermyMatez. I clicked the Wiimote and all the lightning flashes hit the little man and a cartoon skeleton flickered inside him. The program started up.
It showed a 3d outline of my body recorded through the three webcams which were mounted on the TV. Green shells with white numbers 1 though 8 represented the cables which were attached to my body. To the right side a number of parameters were displayed among which my heart rate. It was pretty high. Eight green camera icons and one red camera icon blinked on at the top of the screen. I looked at the red camera icon. Bills daughter, hooked up like me. I tried not to think about it and closed my eyes. Bill was beginning the arduous task of communicating the verdict through the Wii keyboard. That meant I still had at least a quarter of an hour left.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Entry into Wii diary, User Procrast, November 5th, 2014, 3:14
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It is 2014, just four years after The Collapse happened. In short, someone forgot to pay the bill, split like lickety split, and left us with the shit. Money and individual property were cancelled. Banks closed down. Many people died. Yada yada yada.
We all did it. We knew it was too good to be true, but still we pretended not to see it. 80% of the world was dead poor, but we, we were somehow different, elevated above the starving masses. We booked holidays to these countries, saw the impossible hunger in their seemingly smiling eyes, the thirsty, dusty ground which called out for their bones, generation after generation after generation.
Money had worked its magic, but was run down like a broken down race horse. They tried to revive it, but every trick failed. OK. If money is not a viable incentive anymore to make people work, what remains? Right, the rule of force. This however posed a problem for our beloved nameless authorities. The police force was not large enough and maybe more importantly not willing. What to do?
Well, unluckily enough some idiot nerd came up with the only right answer. Rule by mutual terror. Make everybody responsible for terrorizing everybody. How ? By implementing a device in all households that can be used to spy upon, question and torture. Alas! Such a device did not exist and how do you get it into every household ? Enter the Wii. As luck had it, everybody and their grandmother especially she had such a device already in their living room. In the last months before The Collapse it had been extraordinarily successful in penetrating every household.
The only thing the authorities had to do was provide the accessories. At first, people received free heart rate monitors, supposedly to further the health of the working men and women of our great country. Free games were designed to increase the attach rate. It was a huge success, because well, there was little other entertainment. The riots of 2012 almost thwarted their plans, but by April of that year more and more reports were mentioned of malfunctioning cables. Cables that mysteriously sent out shocks to their owners. People began to see the real intentions of the authorities. But by then it was too late. If you didnt report every night through your console and had your daily questioning active or passive - you were picked up and put into a camp for unpatriotic people. There were not many people that did not comply. I bet the authorities were shocked at how easily and sheepishly people accepted their fate. I was.
Please. Someone. Remember who we were. We were better than this.
Werent we ?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Deleted from Wii network, November 5th, 2014, 3:16
Designated for secure archival.
To be destroyed on November 5th, 2016
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bill touched my shoulder. He pointed at the TV screen. Eight brightly clad Italian plumbers appeared across my body sporting heavy duty bright yellow jackhammers. My eight executors must have been in a good mood. They were jumping for joy across my body and on each other until Bill called them to their task. They moved each to a green shell, the yellow pixel steel of the jackhammer pricking into the green.
A yellow star appeared from nowhere and engulfed the universe.
Crushed yellow flowers on the pavement of a nameless Balinese town, offerings to the gods. Gods that do not grant forgiveness, yet do not judge. Gods that lead their own lives in isolated splendor.
A bat is hanging from the roof of the Goa Lawah Bat Cave near the eastern coast of Bali and blinks away the light of the setting sun. The hours pass as a new moon is carved into the vast expanse of the nightly sky. Without warning it sounds its wordless scream and flies toward the ocean, carrying the shell of my soul to its resting place beneath the crescent of the waves.
word count: 1,414
My problems had always seemed to come in packages of negligible size. It was true, they had come frequently. Sometimes the deliveries were daily or even hourly, but never, ever that big package on my doorway. That big package that when opened, reveals a cage with a beast inside of which gaze you can never be rid of.
The doorbell rang and I woke up from my nap on the couch. Creaking and groaning I made my way to the front door and spied with my spying eye through the peephole. A broad shouldered figure in a bright red wind jack stood on the front porch, looking forlorn. It was one of my neighbors from a few houses away. I recalled with a shock that he was the acting linchpin of my neighborhood since a few weeks. No longer hesitating I opened the door. Hello neighbor, I said, What can I do for you? The man had already turned to go away and now turned back to face me. Hank, he said, slightly out of breath in the typical manner of an habitual smoker. Let me come in and talk to you. He coughed, pushed me aside and entered my house without further ado.
I stood there a while, suddenly shaking and noticed my hurried breath coming out in little clouds of vapor. It was cold outside and I was still in jeans and t-shirt. I glanced up and down the street, saw nobody, closed the door and went inside.
When I entered the living room, Bill Hoag - I remembered his name now was already sitting on my couch and was fiddling with my Wii Console. He looked up and grumbled Just checking the wires. Your screen name is Procrast, right ?. Yes, I said. He nodded and opened his tool belt and fished out a Wii checker. One by one he connected the eight wires that came from behind the console and switched on the device. It swished and wirred and a neat row of eight green lights lit up. Nothing wrong with it, he said simply in an almost inaudible whisper. He set the console down on the coffee table and bowed his head as in silent prayer. An awkward silence was broken when he struck the table with his fist. Did you write it?, he asked in a loud voice and his wild eyes met mine.
Yes, I said, I did, and I accept the consequences. Why, he almost pleaded, why did you do it? I I dont know. Someone had to. , I said. Bill shook his head violently. Nobody cares! It is meaningless and you put our lives in danger. He beat his chest My daughter, my eleven year old daughter is control subject tonight, did you know that, you fuckup! I swallowed. I cant help that, but as I said, I accept the consequences He nodded, Youd better! Youd better! There are eight watchers for tonights show, so youd better get hooked up real fast and dont fuck up. Not even once! He was almost crying at this point.
Routinely I hooked up the wires, one on my left earlobe, one on my bottom lip, two on my nipples, two on my private parts, one on my little finger and one on my little toe. I turned on the Wii, scrolled past Super Mario Galaxy and chose the appropriate channel. It was depicted by a stupidly happy looking little man that was jumping around as lightning flashes were hurled at him. It was labeled TermyMatez. I clicked the Wiimote and all the lightning flashes hit the little man and a cartoon skeleton flickered inside him. The program started up.
It showed a 3d outline of my body recorded through the three webcams which were mounted on the TV. Green shells with white numbers 1 though 8 represented the cables which were attached to my body. To the right side a number of parameters were displayed among which my heart rate. It was pretty high. Eight green camera icons and one red camera icon blinked on at the top of the screen. I looked at the red camera icon. Bills daughter, hooked up like me. I tried not to think about it and closed my eyes. Bill was beginning the arduous task of communicating the verdict through the Wii keyboard. That meant I still had at least a quarter of an hour left.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Entry into Wii diary, User Procrast, November 5th, 2014, 3:14
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It is 2014, just four years after The Collapse happened. In short, someone forgot to pay the bill, split like lickety split, and left us with the shit. Money and individual property were cancelled. Banks closed down. Many people died. Yada yada yada.
We all did it. We knew it was too good to be true, but still we pretended not to see it. 80% of the world was dead poor, but we, we were somehow different, elevated above the starving masses. We booked holidays to these countries, saw the impossible hunger in their seemingly smiling eyes, the thirsty, dusty ground which called out for their bones, generation after generation after generation.
Money had worked its magic, but was run down like a broken down race horse. They tried to revive it, but every trick failed. OK. If money is not a viable incentive anymore to make people work, what remains? Right, the rule of force. This however posed a problem for our beloved nameless authorities. The police force was not large enough and maybe more importantly not willing. What to do?
Well, unluckily enough some idiot nerd came up with the only right answer. Rule by mutual terror. Make everybody responsible for terrorizing everybody. How ? By implementing a device in all households that can be used to spy upon, question and torture. Alas! Such a device did not exist and how do you get it into every household ? Enter the Wii. As luck had it, everybody and their grandmother especially she had such a device already in their living room. In the last months before The Collapse it had been extraordinarily successful in penetrating every household.
The only thing the authorities had to do was provide the accessories. At first, people received free heart rate monitors, supposedly to further the health of the working men and women of our great country. Free games were designed to increase the attach rate. It was a huge success, because well, there was little other entertainment. The riots of 2012 almost thwarted their plans, but by April of that year more and more reports were mentioned of malfunctioning cables. Cables that mysteriously sent out shocks to their owners. People began to see the real intentions of the authorities. But by then it was too late. If you didnt report every night through your console and had your daily questioning active or passive - you were picked up and put into a camp for unpatriotic people. There were not many people that did not comply. I bet the authorities were shocked at how easily and sheepishly people accepted their fate. I was.
Please. Someone. Remember who we were. We were better than this.
Werent we ?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Deleted from Wii network, November 5th, 2014, 3:16
Designated for secure archival.
To be destroyed on November 5th, 2016
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bill touched my shoulder. He pointed at the TV screen. Eight brightly clad Italian plumbers appeared across my body sporting heavy duty bright yellow jackhammers. My eight executors must have been in a good mood. They were jumping for joy across my body and on each other until Bill called them to their task. They moved each to a green shell, the yellow pixel steel of the jackhammer pricking into the green.
A yellow star appeared from nowhere and engulfed the universe.
Crushed yellow flowers on the pavement of a nameless Balinese town, offerings to the gods. Gods that do not grant forgiveness, yet do not judge. Gods that lead their own lives in isolated splendor.
A bat is hanging from the roof of the Goa Lawah Bat Cave near the eastern coast of Bali and blinks away the light of the setting sun. The hours pass as a new moon is carved into the vast expanse of the nightly sky. Without warning it sounds its wordless scream and flies toward the ocean, carrying the shell of my soul to its resting place beneath the crescent of the waves.
GreatRumbler: Work on your transitions a bit. For example one paragraph is about a chocolate candy bar the next starts with "They weren't even really friends." Causes a bit of jarring. Really the piece feels like you discovered details of the story as you went along. A bit of repositioning some reveals and details would seriously help. I liked the ending.
DarkPen: The beginning is too flowery with description for me. It almost feels forced especially when taken into account against the whole rest of the piece. You have a lot of movement but not much action. Not like I'm expecting the main character to pull out a tank and go all Schwarzenegger all over the place. But I was expecting something. We find him in a state, and leave him in the same state. Unless I'm missing something.
AlternativeUser: Again the best opening line I've ever seen. It seems like you have little snippets of really clever lines like "Where can I overpay for milk now?" But everything feels so disjointed to me. Awesome ending though.
TimeDog: I really like the new take on the familiar. I understand what you were intending with the dialogue, but it was a bit over the top. Really great concept though, I think it could really benefit from perhaps a re-voicing, perhaps tell it like a bard singing an epic song, or a chorus telling a myth.
Nitewulf: I like the imagery with the shell. I'd say pay some attention voicing to really take this to the next level. Really you've created a good character with De La Cruz, one of the few characters I keep hoping to see come back. But everyone else plays a distant second fiddle. Everyone outside of De La Cruz talks very similar to everyone else. See if you can refine one, roughen up another one. Really mix it up.
DarkPen: The beginning is too flowery with description for me. It almost feels forced especially when taken into account against the whole rest of the piece. You have a lot of movement but not much action. Not like I'm expecting the main character to pull out a tank and go all Schwarzenegger all over the place. But I was expecting something. We find him in a state, and leave him in the same state. Unless I'm missing something.
AlternativeUser: Again the best opening line I've ever seen. It seems like you have little snippets of really clever lines like "Where can I overpay for milk now?" But everything feels so disjointed to me. Awesome ending though.
TimeDog: I really like the new take on the familiar. I understand what you were intending with the dialogue, but it was a bit over the top. Really great concept though, I think it could really benefit from perhaps a re-voicing, perhaps tell it like a bard singing an epic song, or a chorus telling a myth.
Nitewulf: I like the imagery with the shell. I'd say pay some attention voicing to really take this to the next level. Really you've created a good character with De La Cruz, one of the few characters I keep hoping to see come back. But everyone else plays a distant second fiddle. Everyone outside of De La Cruz talks very similar to everyone else. See if you can refine one, roughen up another one. Really mix it up.
ronito, thanks. and very well said. you are correct, but its very difficult to pull off two strong characters, AND tell a complete story within such a short word limit. i can do one character and a complete story, or two strong characters but i have to cut the story part. or i could try to have two strong characters and tell a story, but then i'll lose the descriptive noir feel. there has to be a sacrifice if i am to work within the word limit. which is kinda ironic, because when we began this thing, i had nightmares about writing 1000 words...and now i feel pretty comfortable in putting out 1500-2500 words. for me, the next challenge would be to comfortably put out 5000+ words and at that point i may feel ready to start sending stories out.ronito said:
i have a de la cruz novella in the backburner which is sitting there at 14,000 words, and there are some strong characters aside from him in his universe. i seriously thought about putting de la cruz in a scene with someone else and just having a dialogue for a suitable theme, which would allow me to flesh out another strong character. no story, just a snippet due to the limited word count, but this theme wasn't suitable for that, it immediately called for a more focused story in my mind. for this challenge i paid a lot more attention in writing a completely logical and self sustaining plot than anything else. but thanx, i do know exactly what you mean as i was playing around with a lot of different ideas in my mind as i began this challenge.
Here you and I will have to disagree, adding particular voicing does not always equal more word length. Let me give you two prime examples I found just today in my reading.nitewulf said:
That simple sentence really gives the replier a great sense of a sardonic, irreverent tone with just a sentence.
Another example.
Again, just a few words but the voicing is set very effectively.
This is something that I'm having to work on a lot, as I find a lot of my characters sound very similar aside from the main character.
crowphoenix
Banned
Lurking.ronito said:
Occasionally, I like to lurk.crowphoenix
Banned
I'm going to try. I haven't had an idea yet, but when I do, I'll try to get it into a readable form. And hopefully something that read better than "Cat am dog."
My piece for the last challenge didn't come together well. To write it as I wanted, it would have had to have been much longer than allowed.
My piece for the last challenge didn't come together well. To write it as I wanted, it would have had to have been much longer than allowed.
crowphoenix
Banned
One of the things that has always interested me is the implications behind words. What I mean by that is how two words can mean basically the same thing, in such that a thesaurus would recommend that as a replacement, but upon actual consideration of the new word, you realize that the weight the new word carries completely changes the tone and sentiment of your sentence.
I'm rambling about this because I'm doing some flashcards for the GRE verbal, which is always enjoyable, and the word canard came up. The definition for canard was "A lie," which seemed entirely to simplistic to be true. Why would two words exist that mean the exact same thing. So I looked it up.
I love little differences like that. Where one simple word says so much.
I'm rambling about this because I'm doing some flashcards for the GRE verbal, which is always enjoyable, and the word canard came up. The definition for canard was "A lie," which seemed entirely to simplistic to be true. Why would two words exist that mean the exact same thing. So I looked it up.
I love little differences like that. Where one simple word says so much.
crowphoenix
Banned
While trying to prove the old axiom, "A picture is worth a thousand words," I have discovered that find a gif of Daffy Duck where he's going to say something, but decides against it (With fun facial expression and drooping finger) is hard to find.Cyan said:This is indeed an excellent word.
Also, I think I have an idea. Means I'll be going against Nitewulf and De La Cruz, but I have an idea.
Great Rumbler
Member
Most of that was because I wrote it to fit 1700 words, but had to cut out 200 to fit into the required 1500. A lot of the little transitions were what got the ax.
A Night On The Razz
900 Words
Sam woke up but did not get up. He had been woken by his parents voices from upstairs, perhaps shouting for him to wake up. He had spent the previous night out on the town, drinking, dancing and generally enjoying himself, and his had taken a considerable toll on his body. He couldnt even remember how hed got home. The end of the night was a complete blank to him.
He looked around. He had chosen to sleep in his living room. The empty sleeping bag on the floor meant that his friend Chris had already left. Chris has decided that he absolutely, positively could not get back to his own house, but that Sam's house was pretty accessible, and was a far better place for him to spend the night. Sam had agreed, but was beginning to regret his decision. Sam could smell old vomit, which he presumed was coming from Chris' discarded sleeping bag. He decided that it was definitely for the best for him to stay prone, avoiding any situation in which he might have to consider cleaning up after his absent friend.
Sam began to remember more and more of the previous night. It had started innocently enough; a few pints at a pub in the town centre. This had been followed up by a pint at a less reputable pub, which in turn had been followed by a very hastily ingested round in what was generally accepted as the worst of the worst of the towns many rough pubs. In the time that it had taken for the pair to finish their drinks in this dive, Sam had counted four loud smashed as glasses hit the floor, two unpleasant crunching sounds as someone had their face reinterpreted and one ever present wail coming from a woman who despite all attempts to drag herself back onto her feet using a bar stool, was still sat on the floor weeping.
They had met Sams girlfriend in a club, the sort of club where the drinks are cheap and your feet get stuck to the floor. When they met her, she was with another bloke. Understandably, this had led to a spat at the smokers door, a horrible insult on Sams part and a heavy slap rewarding him for said efforts. Sam and Chris moved on swiftly and had not seen Sams girlfriend for the rest of the evening, although Sam faintly remembered hearing her voice sometime in the night. He wrote this off as some guilty dream he must have been having.
The next club that the pair decided to visit had a strict (Chris preferred the term Fascistic) policy on trainers, which neither of the pair were adhering to. Chris recommended they went to a different, cheaper club.
The club that they ended up in was neither as rough as the first nor as classy as the one they were turned away from. A happy medium. However, Sams heart was no longer in their night of depravity after his run in with his significant other, and he simply slumped across the dance floor following his friend. After a while Chris noticed how miserable Sam was looking and decided that the pair would have two more shots of Tequila each, and then head home (to Sams house, as he absolutely, positive could not get back to his own home).
Around here, Sams memory began to get particularly hazy. He remembered them leaving, and heading to get some fast food. Over their meal, Chris had suggested that a taxi would be far too expensive, and instead of getting ripped off, he could drive them back up to the house. He claimed that his donner kebab had sobered him up completely and that he was more than ready to drive. Sam didnt want another argument so had agreed to it, albeit not being completely confident in Chris ability in his current state, so they set off for the top of the town centre where Chris car was parked.
They climbed into Chris car. Sam found, still lying in his bed that he had absolutely no recollection of the trip. It wasnt far. Perhaps the trip had simply gone without any event? He didnt have the energy to consider it any more. Sam closed his eyes again and drifted off.
---
Sams mother, father and girlfriend stood in the bright white hospital room around his bed. His mother looked down at him with tears in her eyes. They had been encouraged to keep talking to him as much as possible, the doctor had said that it would give him something to hold on to, and make it more likely that he would pull through in some sense. He had also prepared them for the fact that he may not. He said that the car accident that Sam had been in was very serious, and with head injuries such as those that he had received it was unlikely that he would make it. Sam was in what he called a persistent vegetative state. His friend, Chris had not even been that fortunate, having died earlier on that morning and been removed from the room. Sams father held his wife and struggled to give his sons girlfriend a reassuring look.
Sams mother, father and girlfriend stood in the bright white hospital room, over the shell of a man lying in the bed.
900 Words
Sam woke up but did not get up. He had been woken by his parents voices from upstairs, perhaps shouting for him to wake up. He had spent the previous night out on the town, drinking, dancing and generally enjoying himself, and his had taken a considerable toll on his body. He couldnt even remember how hed got home. The end of the night was a complete blank to him.
He looked around. He had chosen to sleep in his living room. The empty sleeping bag on the floor meant that his friend Chris had already left. Chris has decided that he absolutely, positively could not get back to his own house, but that Sam's house was pretty accessible, and was a far better place for him to spend the night. Sam had agreed, but was beginning to regret his decision. Sam could smell old vomit, which he presumed was coming from Chris' discarded sleeping bag. He decided that it was definitely for the best for him to stay prone, avoiding any situation in which he might have to consider cleaning up after his absent friend.
Sam began to remember more and more of the previous night. It had started innocently enough; a few pints at a pub in the town centre. This had been followed up by a pint at a less reputable pub, which in turn had been followed by a very hastily ingested round in what was generally accepted as the worst of the worst of the towns many rough pubs. In the time that it had taken for the pair to finish their drinks in this dive, Sam had counted four loud smashed as glasses hit the floor, two unpleasant crunching sounds as someone had their face reinterpreted and one ever present wail coming from a woman who despite all attempts to drag herself back onto her feet using a bar stool, was still sat on the floor weeping.
They had met Sams girlfriend in a club, the sort of club where the drinks are cheap and your feet get stuck to the floor. When they met her, she was with another bloke. Understandably, this had led to a spat at the smokers door, a horrible insult on Sams part and a heavy slap rewarding him for said efforts. Sam and Chris moved on swiftly and had not seen Sams girlfriend for the rest of the evening, although Sam faintly remembered hearing her voice sometime in the night. He wrote this off as some guilty dream he must have been having.
The next club that the pair decided to visit had a strict (Chris preferred the term Fascistic) policy on trainers, which neither of the pair were adhering to. Chris recommended they went to a different, cheaper club.
The club that they ended up in was neither as rough as the first nor as classy as the one they were turned away from. A happy medium. However, Sams heart was no longer in their night of depravity after his run in with his significant other, and he simply slumped across the dance floor following his friend. After a while Chris noticed how miserable Sam was looking and decided that the pair would have two more shots of Tequila each, and then head home (to Sams house, as he absolutely, positive could not get back to his own home).
Around here, Sams memory began to get particularly hazy. He remembered them leaving, and heading to get some fast food. Over their meal, Chris had suggested that a taxi would be far too expensive, and instead of getting ripped off, he could drive them back up to the house. He claimed that his donner kebab had sobered him up completely and that he was more than ready to drive. Sam didnt want another argument so had agreed to it, albeit not being completely confident in Chris ability in his current state, so they set off for the top of the town centre where Chris car was parked.
They climbed into Chris car. Sam found, still lying in his bed that he had absolutely no recollection of the trip. It wasnt far. Perhaps the trip had simply gone without any event? He didnt have the energy to consider it any more. Sam closed his eyes again and drifted off.
---
Sams mother, father and girlfriend stood in the bright white hospital room around his bed. His mother looked down at him with tears in her eyes. They had been encouraged to keep talking to him as much as possible, the doctor had said that it would give him something to hold on to, and make it more likely that he would pull through in some sense. He had also prepared them for the fact that he may not. He said that the car accident that Sam had been in was very serious, and with head injuries such as those that he had received it was unlikely that he would make it. Sam was in what he called a persistent vegetative state. His friend, Chris had not even been that fortunate, having died earlier on that morning and been removed from the room. Sams father held his wife and struggled to give his sons girlfriend a reassuring look.
Sams mother, father and girlfriend stood in the bright white hospital room, over the shell of a man lying in the bed.
Long Day
(790 Words)
There are several types of people in this world but for your education I'll list the two main categories (holding up one finger) Those who like pop or country music and (raising a second finger) people of average or above average intelligence.
Jack stands up just enough so his oily head is able to peer at me over the cubicle wall and then points at me Hey fuck you, man he says jokingly. I like country music.
I smile, no need to be impolite No, fuck you you jackass I quip back easily; consciously masking a slight hatred for this man. Hey, Jack, when are you going to lunch?
Jack looks down at his laptop squinting at the screen. He bends over, audibly exhaling as if the mere act of ducking three inches is enough to knock the wind out of him. Probably is. Hmm he starts 'm probably gonna start my break in 20 minutes. It'll depend on how long it takes for this batch to transfer.
Alright I say just let me know before you leave I smile and turn back to Michelle who seems to have calmed down since I called her out, jokingly of course, on the blithering idiot that she is. Sorry about that, we were talking about some peoples' questionable taste in music, right?
She rolls her eyes at me and turns off, heading back to her office. Laughing I call back to her Hey hey, I'm sorry. I was just messin' with ya. (fucking hell, do I HATE having to dumb down my speech just to sound nice to some idiots) Hey, I'll get back to you, alright? Look, I was seriously just joking around. Alright?
My groveling must have had its desired effect, my lowering myself to her level, because she turns around and smiles. Come get me before you go to lunch she says as she walks off. I nod my head in acceptance. The sinking feeling in my stomach gets a little deeper.
Fuck it I tell myself if I'm going to make my morning this unpleasant I might as well go all the way, I step out of my cube and head over to my supervisor's. He's hard at work distilling the progress that we did before into the five or so short sentences that he uses for his project report. Simple enough so all the retards at corporate can understand. He's sweating mildly. He must be nervous at the daunting task at hand, unaware that the suits will never even open his email and when it comes time for the axe to drop, those not on a first name basis are the first to go.
Craig, did you see my report last night?
He holds up one finger for a second as if I were some sort of animal or child One second he says in his thick southern accent. He continues to type for another fifteen seconds before turning around to look up at me. What is it he says slowly as if he were trying yet failing to recall what it was I had just asked him seconds ago.
Nothing really was just wondering if you had managed to get to my report from yesterday I state coolly.
He shakes his head no I haven't gotten to your yet. Why? What does it say? He raises his eye brows showing obvious signs of concern. Am I going to make his job harder is what he's asking himself.
I fight hard to hold back a smile
"Hey, jackass, get back to work"
It's Craig. His nipples are leaving little dents in his starched blue shirt. I don't know why I noticed this. "I'm sorry, Craig" I state, sorrily.
The look he levels on me is little more than that of indifference.
I can't tell what he's thinking.
"Look," he begins in his heavy southern accent as he sits down on the waist high file cabinet to my right, "I want to make sure that we're as productive as we can bethe whole team, you know?"
I begin to nod at him and his facial expression turns to that of one who pities someone smaller than him. "Have you seen the, uh, my report from yesterday?"
"Yeah, I've seen it. The deadline's still Friday. Noon. This project is your baby and employee reviews are in a week, so the better you do on this the better off you'll be." He looks at me for a second longer, then stands up and starts to walk away from my cubicle.
I don't leave work until 9:46 that night.
I need at least 3 more days until I am finished. It's a cold Thursday night and I feel like getting wasted.
(790 Words)
There are several types of people in this world but for your education I'll list the two main categories (holding up one finger) Those who like pop or country music and (raising a second finger) people of average or above average intelligence.
Jack stands up just enough so his oily head is able to peer at me over the cubicle wall and then points at me Hey fuck you, man he says jokingly. I like country music.
I smile, no need to be impolite No, fuck you you jackass I quip back easily; consciously masking a slight hatred for this man. Hey, Jack, when are you going to lunch?
Jack looks down at his laptop squinting at the screen. He bends over, audibly exhaling as if the mere act of ducking three inches is enough to knock the wind out of him. Probably is. Hmm he starts 'm probably gonna start my break in 20 minutes. It'll depend on how long it takes for this batch to transfer.
Alright I say just let me know before you leave I smile and turn back to Michelle who seems to have calmed down since I called her out, jokingly of course, on the blithering idiot that she is. Sorry about that, we were talking about some peoples' questionable taste in music, right?
She rolls her eyes at me and turns off, heading back to her office. Laughing I call back to her Hey hey, I'm sorry. I was just messin' with ya. (fucking hell, do I HATE having to dumb down my speech just to sound nice to some idiots) Hey, I'll get back to you, alright? Look, I was seriously just joking around. Alright?
My groveling must have had its desired effect, my lowering myself to her level, because she turns around and smiles. Come get me before you go to lunch she says as she walks off. I nod my head in acceptance. The sinking feeling in my stomach gets a little deeper.
Fuck it I tell myself if I'm going to make my morning this unpleasant I might as well go all the way, I step out of my cube and head over to my supervisor's. He's hard at work distilling the progress that we did before into the five or so short sentences that he uses for his project report. Simple enough so all the retards at corporate can understand. He's sweating mildly. He must be nervous at the daunting task at hand, unaware that the suits will never even open his email and when it comes time for the axe to drop, those not on a first name basis are the first to go.
Craig, did you see my report last night?
He holds up one finger for a second as if I were some sort of animal or child One second he says in his thick southern accent. He continues to type for another fifteen seconds before turning around to look up at me. What is it he says slowly as if he were trying yet failing to recall what it was I had just asked him seconds ago.
Nothing really was just wondering if you had managed to get to my report from yesterday I state coolly.
He shakes his head no I haven't gotten to your yet. Why? What does it say? He raises his eye brows showing obvious signs of concern. Am I going to make his job harder is what he's asking himself.
I fight hard to hold back a smile
"Hey, jackass, get back to work"
It's Craig. His nipples are leaving little dents in his starched blue shirt. I don't know why I noticed this. "I'm sorry, Craig" I state, sorrily.
The look he levels on me is little more than that of indifference.
I can't tell what he's thinking.
"Look," he begins in his heavy southern accent as he sits down on the waist high file cabinet to my right, "I want to make sure that we're as productive as we can bethe whole team, you know?"
I begin to nod at him and his facial expression turns to that of one who pities someone smaller than him. "Have you seen the, uh, my report from yesterday?"
"Yeah, I've seen it. The deadline's still Friday. Noon. This project is your baby and employee reviews are in a week, so the better you do on this the better off you'll be." He looks at me for a second longer, then stands up and starts to walk away from my cubicle.
I don't leave work until 9:46 that night.
I need at least 3 more days until I am finished. It's a cold Thursday night and I feel like getting wasted.
Ward: the gear? Metal Gear?! You seem to have gotten a little loose with case as well as with grammar in general. Editing would go a long way to help this along. Also work on pacing it seemed important/exciting parts were short while the less important parts were longer.
Aaron: I dunno how I feel about this one. I need more time to think on it.
Zamorro: Nice way to start it, though you switched case. "nap on the coach, sitting on my coach." Goodness, that coach gets around. Heyo! Grammar and editing would've helped make it more readable. It all just felt so disjointed. I never felt like it all came together.
DarkBanjo: It's all so matter of fact. Try to add a bit more spice to your descriptions like the "the sort of club where the drinks are cheap and your feet get stuck to the floor" that was good, more of that. Also pay attention to the words you use and try not to use the same ones in succession. For example you use "up" four times in two sentences, also He, him, his, make more than regular appearances. Also the last line was really not needed.
Gattsu25: Quotation marks are good, they are your friend.
(fucking hell, do I HATE having to dumb down my speach just to sound nice to some idiots)
I don't often laugh in these. But that's too funny.What's nipples got to do with anything? It might be corny, but I'm a believer that the reader has to like something about the main character. Doesn't mean that they have to be all lovey dovey, but if your main character acts like an ass to everyone with little reason it's that much harder for the reader to be pulled in.
Aaron: I dunno how I feel about this one. I need more time to think on it.
Zamorro: Nice way to start it, though you switched case. "nap on the coach, sitting on my coach." Goodness, that coach gets around. Heyo! Grammar and editing would've helped make it more readable. It all just felt so disjointed. I never felt like it all came together.
DarkBanjo: It's all so matter of fact. Try to add a bit more spice to your descriptions like the "the sort of club where the drinks are cheap and your feet get stuck to the floor" that was good, more of that. Also pay attention to the words you use and try not to use the same ones in succession. For example you use "up" four times in two sentences, also He, him, his, make more than regular appearances. Also the last line was really not needed.
Gattsu25: Quotation marks are good, they are your friend.
(fucking hell, do I HATE having to dumb down my speach just to sound nice to some idiots)
I don't often laugh in these. But that's too funny.What's nipples got to do with anything? It might be corny, but I'm a believer that the reader has to like something about the main character. Doesn't mean that they have to be all lovey dovey, but if your main character acts like an ass to everyone with little reason it's that much harder for the reader to be pulled in.
ZephyrFate
Banned
Dreams in a Cage
Word Count: 1352
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
The rhythmic undulations of the grandfather clock in his room. He should be asleep by now. If he didn't overcome his insomnia again, they'd come for him again. He was lucky before. Just count sheep, like the cliché. It has to work, Tom. You can do this. He focused his gaze on the brown, elongated pendulum in its glass house. Every swing became hypnotic, his eyes swinging back and forth, becoming one with the rhythm. He found his eyes get heavy, the lids like apples about ready to fall from a tree. He felt his body loosen, his muscles like feathers, his blankets encapsulating all the heat in the world. Tom could still hear the hail hitting the windows like pellet guns that couldn't quite break the glass.
Squeak.
Creak.
Crack.
The noises of the house breathing in and out. The house becoming halcyon. Peace breezed through the house like a stray zephyr. All these noises snapping him out of his trance. No... no. I have to focus again. He furrowed his brow in annoyance at his room making so many noises. Once again, he focused on the pendulum. Tom, come on, sleep is your safe haven. The thing that stands between you and them. His stress was making this trance a lot more difficult to undergo, and he felt that the pendulum no longer had its desired effect. He felt the presence of hands wrapping around his arm, but not quite. Instead of trapping him there, they merely stroked the hairs, toying with him. He could hear laughter in his ear. A deep, hearty laugh that rang through his head, bursting through his thoughts, seizing his body in fear paralysis. This is all fake... but mom won't believe me again. She'll just say, 'You're thirteen, get over it!' and then send me back here.
Shuffle.
Pound.
Crash.
A plate on his dresser fell over, shattering on the floor. The sides of his bed were being hit by something, but whenever he looked, he could see nothing but yet still hear the sound. Feet scurrying around his bed, as if never quite leaving the floor. The hands around his arms began to tighten, and he felt his arms begin to move upwards, leaving the sanctity of the blankets, pinning themselves at a diagonal from his body towards the northwest and northeast corners of the bed. He felt a heavy, cold weight rest on his wrists, then tighten. Shackles...? He felt like screaming but a hand closed around his barely-open mouth, silencing him. He felt hands on his inner thighs, spreading his legs apart. Familiar weights bound his ankles, the weight even stronger, more painful. He felt part of his ankle bones shatter . He couldn't scream, only whimper, streams of tears rolling down his cheeks, pooling on the pillow underneath him. Tom laid there, spread-eagle on his back.
Bzzzzz.
Ka-chunk.
Click.
Loud, cacophonous sounds echoed through the room. Tom knew he was stuck. There was no way to escape them in his dreams, now. A whirring noise, as if a machine were starting up. This machine, however, sounded like something from a hellish place. He felt a warmth on his stomach, as his shirt was pulled upwards. The warmth became like fire, scorching the skin slightly, increasing in intensity over time. A small pinprick of blood began to form in the center of his stomach, as something began to pierce into it. Sounds like a... oh my god, a drill. Mom! PLEASE MOM HELP ME! The drill began to whir invisibly, breaking through skin, tearing apart his stomach, blood flying everywhere. He felt his stomach burst, his skin sticking to the drill, his own blood flying in his face, blinding his vision. His insides torn apart, his shock giving way to the respite of death.
Sunlight warmed his face as he slowly opened his eyes. His covers were thrown to the floor, his body soaked in sweat. He lifted his shirt, finding nothing there. Tom's heart rate was rapid, racing as fast as a draft horse, erasing any way for him to relax. He lay there trying to slow his breath, closing his eyes and focusing on... something. Anything. Images of a girl he liked floated through, and he envisioned himself standing next to her. His slender frame underneath an expensive white suit, his short, brown shaggy hair combed neatly, his face next to hers. His red lips touching hers. Her pale white skin holy and blessed. Tom's heart slowed, its pace lessened. Opening his eyes, he found his mother standing over his bed, arms at her hips. She looked worried, but at the same time annoyed.
Get up already! You're going to be late for school again! She yelled at him.
He threw back his sheets, which were still soaked, and struggled to throw some clothes on. His mother left, random vulgarities underneath her breath as she disappeared down the hall. After he assembled an outfit, he walked over to the mirror. His image was no longer there. What replaced it was a dark figure, with bulging red eyes staring at him. A mouth appeared, lengthening into a grin. Tom ran from the room instantly, shutting the door behind him.
The day came and went, with very little of worth to mention. The nighttime became something to dread for Tom, who knew that yet another battle was waiting for him as soon as he lay down in his bed. It was unfortunate that his mother kept such a strict curfew on him, for it gave him even less time to prepare. He made sure to take as much sleeping medicine as possible, while staying under a limit that would kill him. This is the only way I'm going to make it through tonight.
Goodnight, Tom. His mother said, before retreating into her bedroom on a lower floor.
'Night mom. He replied, before trudging up the long staircase to the third floor, where his bedroom, a bathroom, and a closet were to be found.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
That old clock eternally swinging away, already lulling him into hypnosis. The drugs were having an even greater effect on him than usual. His eyes shut completely within minutes. This time, though, lights danced around his vision as if he were under several shifting spotlights. He fought against them, trying not to let them wake him up. The intensity of the light became too painful to bear, and after opening his eyes quickly they disappeared. He was also still alone in his room. Alright, this battle isn't over. He heard sounds all around him, going to and from his field of hearing, as if the sound was leaving and entering the room quickly. They blended together like white noise, everywhere at once. He forced his eyes closed as much as he could, and over time the sounds waned, fading as silence began to wrestle its claim over the room. I've won this time. They're not going to meddle with my dreams anymore.
The night was not quite as safe as he thought. Nightmares cluttered his normal sleep, though not of the same intensity as before. Tom constantly saw the dark figure from the previous day, and each new dream the figure got closer. Towards the end of the night, the figure was in front of his face. Wet, pungent breath coating his face in moisture. Its bulging red eyes oozing blood, dripping down his nose. The wide grin painted on the creature's face still there, the breath seemingly coming from nowhere. He awoke, seeing that the creature was no longer in his dream world, but became reality.
It stared at him, grinning, then disappeared. He got up from his bed and went to the mirror, seeing the creature standing behind him, stroking his neck. His mother heard the ensuing scream of horror, the shattering of the mirror glass, and Tom collapsing on the floor.
She put him into a mental institution the following day.
For even in that shell of dreams, he could not escape.
Word Count: 1352
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
The rhythmic undulations of the grandfather clock in his room. He should be asleep by now. If he didn't overcome his insomnia again, they'd come for him again. He was lucky before. Just count sheep, like the cliché. It has to work, Tom. You can do this. He focused his gaze on the brown, elongated pendulum in its glass house. Every swing became hypnotic, his eyes swinging back and forth, becoming one with the rhythm. He found his eyes get heavy, the lids like apples about ready to fall from a tree. He felt his body loosen, his muscles like feathers, his blankets encapsulating all the heat in the world. Tom could still hear the hail hitting the windows like pellet guns that couldn't quite break the glass.
Squeak.
Creak.
Crack.
The noises of the house breathing in and out. The house becoming halcyon. Peace breezed through the house like a stray zephyr. All these noises snapping him out of his trance. No... no. I have to focus again. He furrowed his brow in annoyance at his room making so many noises. Once again, he focused on the pendulum. Tom, come on, sleep is your safe haven. The thing that stands between you and them. His stress was making this trance a lot more difficult to undergo, and he felt that the pendulum no longer had its desired effect. He felt the presence of hands wrapping around his arm, but not quite. Instead of trapping him there, they merely stroked the hairs, toying with him. He could hear laughter in his ear. A deep, hearty laugh that rang through his head, bursting through his thoughts, seizing his body in fear paralysis. This is all fake... but mom won't believe me again. She'll just say, 'You're thirteen, get over it!' and then send me back here.
Shuffle.
Pound.
Crash.
A plate on his dresser fell over, shattering on the floor. The sides of his bed were being hit by something, but whenever he looked, he could see nothing but yet still hear the sound. Feet scurrying around his bed, as if never quite leaving the floor. The hands around his arms began to tighten, and he felt his arms begin to move upwards, leaving the sanctity of the blankets, pinning themselves at a diagonal from his body towards the northwest and northeast corners of the bed. He felt a heavy, cold weight rest on his wrists, then tighten. Shackles...? He felt like screaming but a hand closed around his barely-open mouth, silencing him. He felt hands on his inner thighs, spreading his legs apart. Familiar weights bound his ankles, the weight even stronger, more painful. He felt part of his ankle bones shatter . He couldn't scream, only whimper, streams of tears rolling down his cheeks, pooling on the pillow underneath him. Tom laid there, spread-eagle on his back.
Bzzzzz.
Ka-chunk.
Click.
Loud, cacophonous sounds echoed through the room. Tom knew he was stuck. There was no way to escape them in his dreams, now. A whirring noise, as if a machine were starting up. This machine, however, sounded like something from a hellish place. He felt a warmth on his stomach, as his shirt was pulled upwards. The warmth became like fire, scorching the skin slightly, increasing in intensity over time. A small pinprick of blood began to form in the center of his stomach, as something began to pierce into it. Sounds like a... oh my god, a drill. Mom! PLEASE MOM HELP ME! The drill began to whir invisibly, breaking through skin, tearing apart his stomach, blood flying everywhere. He felt his stomach burst, his skin sticking to the drill, his own blood flying in his face, blinding his vision. His insides torn apart, his shock giving way to the respite of death.
Sunlight warmed his face as he slowly opened his eyes. His covers were thrown to the floor, his body soaked in sweat. He lifted his shirt, finding nothing there. Tom's heart rate was rapid, racing as fast as a draft horse, erasing any way for him to relax. He lay there trying to slow his breath, closing his eyes and focusing on... something. Anything. Images of a girl he liked floated through, and he envisioned himself standing next to her. His slender frame underneath an expensive white suit, his short, brown shaggy hair combed neatly, his face next to hers. His red lips touching hers. Her pale white skin holy and blessed. Tom's heart slowed, its pace lessened. Opening his eyes, he found his mother standing over his bed, arms at her hips. She looked worried, but at the same time annoyed.
Get up already! You're going to be late for school again! She yelled at him.
He threw back his sheets, which were still soaked, and struggled to throw some clothes on. His mother left, random vulgarities underneath her breath as she disappeared down the hall. After he assembled an outfit, he walked over to the mirror. His image was no longer there. What replaced it was a dark figure, with bulging red eyes staring at him. A mouth appeared, lengthening into a grin. Tom ran from the room instantly, shutting the door behind him.
The day came and went, with very little of worth to mention. The nighttime became something to dread for Tom, who knew that yet another battle was waiting for him as soon as he lay down in his bed. It was unfortunate that his mother kept such a strict curfew on him, for it gave him even less time to prepare. He made sure to take as much sleeping medicine as possible, while staying under a limit that would kill him. This is the only way I'm going to make it through tonight.
Goodnight, Tom. His mother said, before retreating into her bedroom on a lower floor.
'Night mom. He replied, before trudging up the long staircase to the third floor, where his bedroom, a bathroom, and a closet were to be found.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
That old clock eternally swinging away, already lulling him into hypnosis. The drugs were having an even greater effect on him than usual. His eyes shut completely within minutes. This time, though, lights danced around his vision as if he were under several shifting spotlights. He fought against them, trying not to let them wake him up. The intensity of the light became too painful to bear, and after opening his eyes quickly they disappeared. He was also still alone in his room. Alright, this battle isn't over. He heard sounds all around him, going to and from his field of hearing, as if the sound was leaving and entering the room quickly. They blended together like white noise, everywhere at once. He forced his eyes closed as much as he could, and over time the sounds waned, fading as silence began to wrestle its claim over the room. I've won this time. They're not going to meddle with my dreams anymore.
The night was not quite as safe as he thought. Nightmares cluttered his normal sleep, though not of the same intensity as before. Tom constantly saw the dark figure from the previous day, and each new dream the figure got closer. Towards the end of the night, the figure was in front of his face. Wet, pungent breath coating his face in moisture. Its bulging red eyes oozing blood, dripping down his nose. The wide grin painted on the creature's face still there, the breath seemingly coming from nowhere. He awoke, seeing that the creature was no longer in his dream world, but became reality.
It stared at him, grinning, then disappeared. He got up from his bed and went to the mirror, seeing the creature standing behind him, stroking his neck. His mother heard the ensuing scream of horror, the shattering of the mirror glass, and Tom collapsing on the floor.
She put him into a mental institution the following day.
For even in that shell of dreams, he could not escape.
crowphoenix
Banned
Sitting at 1517. Need to shave off a few words here and there, but I can do that no sweat. I really like the idea behind this piece, but I don't believe I executed it very well. At least I finally did a secondary objective. :lol
AlternativeUlster
Absolutely pathetic part deux
crowphoenix said:
I know how that is. I submitted something for the Austin Chronicle Short Story contest and I came to 2500 words way too quick while the story itself should have been probably twice that but even if I was given 150 more words, I could have tied together some more loose ends. I might eventually get to a rewrite of it someday after I finish writing my book which hopefully I can get it done within the end of this week.
I totally understand what you mean by the beginning feeling a bit forced, and I'd even go so far as to say pretentious or fake. I'll keep that in mind for the next challenge.ronito said:
As for the lack of action, that was with the idea of the kind of state that the character's in. That was kind of the point.
I'm ready for the next challenge already
This string of writing challenge threads is the greatest thing I've ever found on the internet.
I went from not having written a story for fun since second grade to multiple stories and ideas a week.
They aren't good, but I actually like writing for the first time since a teacher told me not to pursue professions that involve writing.
To conclude, I want to thank everyone for contributing and critiquing every week. I really enjoy these threads.
This string of writing challenge threads is the greatest thing I've ever found on the internet.
I went from not having written a story for fun since second grade to multiple stories and ideas a week.
They aren't good, but I actually like writing for the first time since a teacher told me not to pursue professions that involve writing.
To conclude, I want to thank everyone for contributing and critiquing every week. I really enjoy these threads.
Aaron said:
Yes sir!
Ward said:I'm ready for the next challenge already
This string of writing challenge threads is the greatest thing I've ever found on the internet.
I went from not having written a story for fun since second grade to multiple stories and ideas a week.
They aren't good, but I actually like writing for the first time since a teacher told me not to pursue professions that involve writing.
To conclude, I want to thank everyone for contributing and critiquing every week. I really enjoy these threads.
Yup. When I was in primary school (elementary school), my teacher had write . He seemed to enjoy my stories, showing it to other teachers and to the rest of the class (Much to my embarrassment). Then the secondary school years came along, I caught up in adolescent life and stopped writing and lost whatever potential I had at that time. Ten years later or whatever these challenges came along and rejuvenated my love of writing, and even though I went through the Alas, am I good, or am I not? writer self-doubt at one point, thanks to these challenges I can detach myself from my work and be practical in my quest for improvement, and enjoy myself while I'm at it =P
I honestly don't know know what made me submit for that first time (It was pretty out-of-character because I'm so lazy). But it was the best thing I could have done on the internet. Through all the stories (Some talented people here) and feedback/criticism here, I've learned a lot. Thanks!
Plain Jane
625 words
Janes normal pace seemed slow as she neared her living room window. Looking out, the rain poured heavily upon the street, though the sun was shining fully.
Would you look at that, she said to no one in particular.
Perhaps she was speaking to Penelope, her cat, who never seemed to move from her spot just beneath the couch, where one could see the entire room and into the kitchen.
Joining the sound of talk radio coming from the kitchen, a teapot whistled. Penelope raised her head slightly, but was largely uninterested.
Jane raised the window shade to its highest point to let the sun in, and enjoy the rain. She made her way back into the kitchen. Each step felt rushed, though she tried to pace herself. A spell of dizziness caused her to stop in the kitchen doorway. She blinked. Okay, she thought, easy does it.
With the elegance of a toddler learning to walk, she slowly made her way to the stove top. The sound of the whistling teapot was overbearing, enough to throw her entire concentration off.
Okay, easy on the noise, she said to no one.
Reaching for the teapot, her head rushed of warm blood. She blinked heavily and lifted the pot from the heat. Instantly, as the whistling died to a sound of rushing air, and the talk radio seemed to quiet.
Jane breathed a sigh as her balance returned. Carefully she poured the tea into a mug. Her hands quivered, and some of the tea poured onto the counter, but disappeared before she could wipe it up.
She shook her head. Checking the floor for spilled tea, she made a mental note of the liquid vanishing, to address it later.
Slowly she walked towards the couch to enjoy her tea. As she neared the couch, Penelope raised her head slightly, but was largely uninterested.
Cmon kitty, said Jane, frustrated at Penelopes demeanor. Remember what we taught you?
The last few steps towards the couch seemed slippery. After another brief spell of dizziness, Jane sat. Her tea was a perfect amber color and it seemed warm as steam rose from the mug, but there was no taste to it.
Sipping on the tasteless tea, Jane looked again out the window. The once clear sky was suddenly filled with clouds. The sun had set already as morning turned into night with no pause for a day.
Jane shook her head. Penelope walked out from beneath the couch, cleaned herself for a moment, and then walked right back to her spot and plopped down. Jane three a ball of yarn that was supposed to prompt Penelope to be active, but the cat only raised her head slightly, largely uninterested.
Janes greatest fear had become reality. He finally ended it.
Im ready, guys, he said.
The rest of the team removed Jim from the apparatus. They took off his helmet, which was filled with sweat.
These things dont work, so screw em, he said, pulling off the sensors attached to his fingers.
Dont work? said another.
The freaking tea was steaming, but the mug wasnt hot at all. And the weather I thought we fixed that!
One of the team members shrugged. There was silence as they helped Jim off of the rolling floor. He slowly strolled to the office kitchen, trying to regain his balance.
The team supervisor was the first to ask the one question no one wanted to know. Was it real?
Jim stopped. He realized that he wanted to feel the warmth of a hot drink in his hands. He turned to face the others. It was just boring, guys. It was simply boring.
The office cat, Penelope, ran into the room, chasing her ball of yarn.
625 words
Janes normal pace seemed slow as she neared her living room window. Looking out, the rain poured heavily upon the street, though the sun was shining fully.
Would you look at that, she said to no one in particular.
Perhaps she was speaking to Penelope, her cat, who never seemed to move from her spot just beneath the couch, where one could see the entire room and into the kitchen.
Joining the sound of talk radio coming from the kitchen, a teapot whistled. Penelope raised her head slightly, but was largely uninterested.
Jane raised the window shade to its highest point to let the sun in, and enjoy the rain. She made her way back into the kitchen. Each step felt rushed, though she tried to pace herself. A spell of dizziness caused her to stop in the kitchen doorway. She blinked. Okay, she thought, easy does it.
With the elegance of a toddler learning to walk, she slowly made her way to the stove top. The sound of the whistling teapot was overbearing, enough to throw her entire concentration off.
Okay, easy on the noise, she said to no one.
Reaching for the teapot, her head rushed of warm blood. She blinked heavily and lifted the pot from the heat. Instantly, as the whistling died to a sound of rushing air, and the talk radio seemed to quiet.
Jane breathed a sigh as her balance returned. Carefully she poured the tea into a mug. Her hands quivered, and some of the tea poured onto the counter, but disappeared before she could wipe it up.
She shook her head. Checking the floor for spilled tea, she made a mental note of the liquid vanishing, to address it later.
Slowly she walked towards the couch to enjoy her tea. As she neared the couch, Penelope raised her head slightly, but was largely uninterested.
Cmon kitty, said Jane, frustrated at Penelopes demeanor. Remember what we taught you?
The last few steps towards the couch seemed slippery. After another brief spell of dizziness, Jane sat. Her tea was a perfect amber color and it seemed warm as steam rose from the mug, but there was no taste to it.
Sipping on the tasteless tea, Jane looked again out the window. The once clear sky was suddenly filled with clouds. The sun had set already as morning turned into night with no pause for a day.
Jane shook her head. Penelope walked out from beneath the couch, cleaned herself for a moment, and then walked right back to her spot and plopped down. Jane three a ball of yarn that was supposed to prompt Penelope to be active, but the cat only raised her head slightly, largely uninterested.
Janes greatest fear had become reality. He finally ended it.
Im ready, guys, he said.
The rest of the team removed Jim from the apparatus. They took off his helmet, which was filled with sweat.
These things dont work, so screw em, he said, pulling off the sensors attached to his fingers.
Dont work? said another.
The freaking tea was steaming, but the mug wasnt hot at all. And the weather I thought we fixed that!
One of the team members shrugged. There was silence as they helped Jim off of the rolling floor. He slowly strolled to the office kitchen, trying to regain his balance.
The team supervisor was the first to ask the one question no one wanted to know. Was it real?
Jim stopped. He realized that he wanted to feel the warmth of a hot drink in his hands. He turned to face the others. It was just boring, guys. It was simply boring.
The office cat, Penelope, ran into the room, chasing her ball of yarn.
Barrage
Member
Jeez, haven't read a NeoGaf writing challenge thread in forever and a day. I really should go back on the horse and throw together a story. I'm throwing my hat in for Challenge #23 like Lebron in the Slam Dunk contest!
Nitewulf, am I crazy or did you do a story with a character named De La Cruz before?
Nitewulf, am I crazy or did you do a story with a character named De La Cruz before?
hmm, i introduced De La Cruz in challenge #3, and then followed-up in #14. i didn't create him for the challenges, i initiated a long story with him a while back which i havent finished yet, hopefully this summer. but the stories i posted here are created specifically for the challenges, though the first one doesnt really portray him accurately. and the second one is more like a snippet than a story.Barrage said:
Rabbit Hole (1500)
Whats the point? he thought to himself, there must be some point, and then just this side of flipping the bird to a meaningless page and just that side of three-sheets-to-the-wind, Joel found himself falling.
He was squeezed.
And he was stretched.
And then thought vanished into inky blackness, and blackness into a great star-speckled expanse of blueness, and he was falling.
An enormous vista of greens and browns and yellows and purples opened beneath him, and all he could think was "oh dear, this is very high up," and down near his right foot there was a great blueness that mirrored the starry sky as wind and clouds rushed past his ears, and he hoped hopelessly for a lake, for a haystack, for anything, and then green rushed at him like a locomotive, resolving into trees and a house and a small brook, and with an unpleasant but altogether non-fatal thump, he hit the ground.
He lay there for a moment in the loamy leaves, then swiveled his head to check his limbs were still attached. To his mild surprise, they were, so he stood himself up and brushed off his clothes.
A man walked into him from behind.
"Whoops!" said the man, as Joel tumbled back into the leaves. He reached down and gave Joel a hand up, then looked him up and down. "You're very dirty, you know."
Joel pushed the man aside and brushed himself off again. "I wouldn't be dirty if you hadn't knocked me down."
"Now, now," the man said, clicking his tongue, "there's no need for personal remarks."
Joel blinked.
"I'm Shel, by the way," said the man. He had gray hair and an air of southern haberdashery about him.
Joel extended his hand, but the man just looked at it, then back up at Joel. He gave up, and said simply, "Joel."
"No, Shel," said Shel, and he turned and began walking away.
Joel hurried after him. "Wait, Shel. Can you tell me where I am?"
Shel stopped and looked at him again. "In olden days, theyd say here." He tapped Joel's chest. "But modern science says you're here." He tapped Joels head. Then he resumed walking.
Odder and odder. Joel tried again. "Do you know how I got here?"
"Well, that you can answer for yourself." Shel kept walking, looking straight ahead.
"No I dont know, or what would be the point of asking?" Joel was getting exasperated.
"No? Well. In order to get to Here, you must pass through Somewhere. But in order to pass through Somewhere, it must in fact be Somewhere, for if it were not, then it would be Nowhere, and everyone knows that Nowhere is awfully different from Somewhere. You haven't been Nowhere, for Nowhere only leads Nowhere, and so you must have passed through Somewhere. You see? Now would you like to come in?"
And as Shel finished this confusing speech, Joel realized that they had come to the house he had seen while falling. It was an oddly proportioned little thing, twenty feet tall and ten feet wide, with only a front door and a single window visible on the front of the house. He couldnt see the sides, but from what he could see of the fence he guessed it was only ten feet in that direction as well.
All right, said Joel, goggling. Then as he hurried to catch up to Shel again, he said, I dont suppose you can tell me how to get back?
The man frowned at him, and looked thoughtful. I guess you'll have to find the wabe, he said, and at Joels puzzled look he went on, "You know, where the sidewalk ends," as though that explained everything.
And where does it end?
Full of questions today, arent we? Lets try Somewhere.
Well I suppose the wabe must be somewhere.
Not necessarily. It depends on your point of view. Shel opened the front door and marched into and through the house, which was a great deal larger within than without.
Joel hurried to keep up with Shel, who was awfully spry for his age. After theyd walked a good hundred yards or so, there was still no sign of an end to the house, and he could no longer see the front door. Whats the point of such a large house? he wondered aloud.
There are several points of view. Ah, yes, were coming to one now. Shel came to a stop in front of what looked to be the back door, which Joel wouldve sworn hadnt been there a moment before. Keep your head now.
And then Shel opened the back door, and they stepped through.
Joel rubbed his eyes. There were no trees, no brook or garden fence; they were now in a city. But what a city! In the distance were several skyscrapers, and right alongside them, what appeared to be a mile-high stack of garbage. The houses around him were all proportioned like Shels house, and along the street in front of him an enormous snail was making its stately, deliberate way. On the front lawn of one of the houses was an enormous hat. But no. He looked againit was a boa constrictor that had just eaten something.
Now were Somewhere, said Shel, So youd better start looking.
A large triangle rolled by on the street, crashing into a square. They went down in a heap, then leapt up and began shoving each other and yelling. But if it could be anywhere, what would be the point?
The point? Shel gave him a pitying look. Youll never find it with that attitude. He pondered for a moment. And no, it cant be Anywhere. Its definitely Somewhere.
Oh, this is nonsense, said Joel, and he stormed off down the sidewalk. If he was looking for where it ended, he might as well start.
After walking a few blocks, he began to regret his haste in abandoning Shel, for he now had no notion where he was or where he was going. Although, he reflected, this was small loss, as he had no notion before, either.
Perhaps he should ask for directions. But the next man he passed had wild eyes and an enormous beard, so long that he carried the end of it and wrapped the rest around himself. The next man was swathed in grime and buzzing with flies, and Joel found he didnt want directions that badly.
As he walked further, the houses got sparser, and the street became more cracked and crazed. The sidewalk, too. Could he be closer to where it ended?
A sudden high-pitched squeak brought him up short. He looked around for the source of the noise.
Down here, came a squeaky voice.
He looked down. There, near his feet, was a man who couldnt have been more than one inch tall. I didnt see you down there.
Obviously not, said the man. You nearly stepped on me!
Sorry, said Joel. Say, I dont suppose you could tell me where I am?
Youre coming up on the edge of the world. The ledge where everything stops and you can fall forever if youre not careful.
Is that where the sidewalk ends?
Hmm? No, the edge and wabe are different, though people do confuse them. Might as well go to the edge as Anywhere.
Joel kept on, but a bit more carefully now. He wouldnt want to fall off the edge. He passed a man sitting on his own head, who waved cheerfully at him, and a man with a very long neck, who glowered.
At last, the houses and gardens and mailboxes stopped altogether, and he came to the edge. There was nothing fancy about it. No waterfalls, no golden rainbows. Everything just stopped. A sign warned him to be careful.
There you are, said a voice behind him. It was Shel.
Joel was suddenly furious. Whats the point of all this? He gestured at the edge, the odd houses, the enormous stack of garbage still visible in the distance. None of it makes any sense!
Should it?
Well of course it should. There must be some meaning behind it. But even as he said this, he wasnt sure. Did everything have to have meaning? Could there be things with no meaning; things that just were, for sheer perversity or the joy of existing, or just because?
Maybe not everything had to have a point. Maybe there were moments when you had to let go of searching for meaning and realize that meaningless things could exist, and that it was perfectly ok.
He found that he was standing halfway between the sidewalk and the road, on a small strip of grass he hadnt noticed before. A faint, cool peppermint scent came on the wind.
Joel leapt off the edge.
He was stretched.
And he was squeezed.
And then he was staring again at a page full of meaninglessness and a half-empty bottle of whiskey. He smiled.
Whats the point? he thought to himself, there must be some point, and then just this side of flipping the bird to a meaningless page and just that side of three-sheets-to-the-wind, Joel found himself falling.
He was squeezed.
And he was stretched.
And then thought vanished into inky blackness, and blackness into a great star-speckled expanse of blueness, and he was falling.
An enormous vista of greens and browns and yellows and purples opened beneath him, and all he could think was "oh dear, this is very high up," and down near his right foot there was a great blueness that mirrored the starry sky as wind and clouds rushed past his ears, and he hoped hopelessly for a lake, for a haystack, for anything, and then green rushed at him like a locomotive, resolving into trees and a house and a small brook, and with an unpleasant but altogether non-fatal thump, he hit the ground.
He lay there for a moment in the loamy leaves, then swiveled his head to check his limbs were still attached. To his mild surprise, they were, so he stood himself up and brushed off his clothes.
A man walked into him from behind.
"Whoops!" said the man, as Joel tumbled back into the leaves. He reached down and gave Joel a hand up, then looked him up and down. "You're very dirty, you know."
Joel pushed the man aside and brushed himself off again. "I wouldn't be dirty if you hadn't knocked me down."
"Now, now," the man said, clicking his tongue, "there's no need for personal remarks."
Joel blinked.
"I'm Shel, by the way," said the man. He had gray hair and an air of southern haberdashery about him.
Joel extended his hand, but the man just looked at it, then back up at Joel. He gave up, and said simply, "Joel."
"No, Shel," said Shel, and he turned and began walking away.
Joel hurried after him. "Wait, Shel. Can you tell me where I am?"
Shel stopped and looked at him again. "In olden days, theyd say here." He tapped Joel's chest. "But modern science says you're here." He tapped Joels head. Then he resumed walking.
Odder and odder. Joel tried again. "Do you know how I got here?"
"Well, that you can answer for yourself." Shel kept walking, looking straight ahead.
"No I dont know, or what would be the point of asking?" Joel was getting exasperated.
"No? Well. In order to get to Here, you must pass through Somewhere. But in order to pass through Somewhere, it must in fact be Somewhere, for if it were not, then it would be Nowhere, and everyone knows that Nowhere is awfully different from Somewhere. You haven't been Nowhere, for Nowhere only leads Nowhere, and so you must have passed through Somewhere. You see? Now would you like to come in?"
And as Shel finished this confusing speech, Joel realized that they had come to the house he had seen while falling. It was an oddly proportioned little thing, twenty feet tall and ten feet wide, with only a front door and a single window visible on the front of the house. He couldnt see the sides, but from what he could see of the fence he guessed it was only ten feet in that direction as well.
All right, said Joel, goggling. Then as he hurried to catch up to Shel again, he said, I dont suppose you can tell me how to get back?
The man frowned at him, and looked thoughtful. I guess you'll have to find the wabe, he said, and at Joels puzzled look he went on, "You know, where the sidewalk ends," as though that explained everything.
And where does it end?
Full of questions today, arent we? Lets try Somewhere.
Well I suppose the wabe must be somewhere.
Not necessarily. It depends on your point of view. Shel opened the front door and marched into and through the house, which was a great deal larger within than without.
Joel hurried to keep up with Shel, who was awfully spry for his age. After theyd walked a good hundred yards or so, there was still no sign of an end to the house, and he could no longer see the front door. Whats the point of such a large house? he wondered aloud.
There are several points of view. Ah, yes, were coming to one now. Shel came to a stop in front of what looked to be the back door, which Joel wouldve sworn hadnt been there a moment before. Keep your head now.
And then Shel opened the back door, and they stepped through.
Joel rubbed his eyes. There were no trees, no brook or garden fence; they were now in a city. But what a city! In the distance were several skyscrapers, and right alongside them, what appeared to be a mile-high stack of garbage. The houses around him were all proportioned like Shels house, and along the street in front of him an enormous snail was making its stately, deliberate way. On the front lawn of one of the houses was an enormous hat. But no. He looked againit was a boa constrictor that had just eaten something.
Now were Somewhere, said Shel, So youd better start looking.
A large triangle rolled by on the street, crashing into a square. They went down in a heap, then leapt up and began shoving each other and yelling. But if it could be anywhere, what would be the point?
The point? Shel gave him a pitying look. Youll never find it with that attitude. He pondered for a moment. And no, it cant be Anywhere. Its definitely Somewhere.
Oh, this is nonsense, said Joel, and he stormed off down the sidewalk. If he was looking for where it ended, he might as well start.
After walking a few blocks, he began to regret his haste in abandoning Shel, for he now had no notion where he was or where he was going. Although, he reflected, this was small loss, as he had no notion before, either.
Perhaps he should ask for directions. But the next man he passed had wild eyes and an enormous beard, so long that he carried the end of it and wrapped the rest around himself. The next man was swathed in grime and buzzing with flies, and Joel found he didnt want directions that badly.
As he walked further, the houses got sparser, and the street became more cracked and crazed. The sidewalk, too. Could he be closer to where it ended?
A sudden high-pitched squeak brought him up short. He looked around for the source of the noise.
Down here, came a squeaky voice.
He looked down. There, near his feet, was a man who couldnt have been more than one inch tall. I didnt see you down there.
Obviously not, said the man. You nearly stepped on me!
Sorry, said Joel. Say, I dont suppose you could tell me where I am?
Youre coming up on the edge of the world. The ledge where everything stops and you can fall forever if youre not careful.
Is that where the sidewalk ends?
Hmm? No, the edge and wabe are different, though people do confuse them. Might as well go to the edge as Anywhere.
Joel kept on, but a bit more carefully now. He wouldnt want to fall off the edge. He passed a man sitting on his own head, who waved cheerfully at him, and a man with a very long neck, who glowered.
At last, the houses and gardens and mailboxes stopped altogether, and he came to the edge. There was nothing fancy about it. No waterfalls, no golden rainbows. Everything just stopped. A sign warned him to be careful.
There you are, said a voice behind him. It was Shel.
Joel was suddenly furious. Whats the point of all this? He gestured at the edge, the odd houses, the enormous stack of garbage still visible in the distance. None of it makes any sense!
Should it?
Well of course it should. There must be some meaning behind it. But even as he said this, he wasnt sure. Did everything have to have meaning? Could there be things with no meaning; things that just were, for sheer perversity or the joy of existing, or just because?
Maybe not everything had to have a point. Maybe there were moments when you had to let go of searching for meaning and realize that meaningless things could exist, and that it was perfectly ok.
He found that he was standing halfway between the sidewalk and the road, on a small strip of grass he hadnt noticed before. A faint, cool peppermint scent came on the wind.
Joel leapt off the edge.
He was stretched.
And he was squeezed.
And then he was staring again at a page full of meaninglessness and a half-empty bottle of whiskey. He smiled.
I like De La Cruz. It's interesting to see recurring characters in some of these stories. Lends some continuity to the challenges.nitewulf said:
Bummer that his name takes up three words every time you use it!
Like Kevin Garnett, anything is possible!Barrage said:
Although I feel compelled to tell you that most of the time when people say they'll join in on the next challenge... they don't.
AlternativeUlster
Absolutely pathetic part deux
Timedog said:
My book is called A Scathing Review of Synecdoche. The book is basically 200 pages of me saying how the movie Synechdoche, New York is one of the biggest pieces of shit I have ever seen and it is told in barely narrative form and is mostly a wander of mind and then trying to tie things together that have no reason to be tied together. Most of my friends say my books and short stories are pretty unreadable except for a few that think I am the best thing ever. Oh well.
To the student loans and taxes: :lol No.
RurouniZel
Asks questions so Ezalc doesn't have to
Completely forgot. I guess I'll sit this one out. I really need to keep better tabs on this.
ZephryFate: It never really took off for me. You started in the middle of the action but it just seemed to drag somehow and I can't pinpoint why. Try to keep consistent in your voicing sometimes you're very flowery in your descriptions and other times terse try to find a happy medium. The ending felt weak when compared to everything else that already happened. It's like you have all this stuff happening and then oh yeah this stuff happened to. The end.
Assemble!: Johnny number 5! Anyhoo, again be careful and watch reappearing sentence patterns and words (seeming, largely uniterested, etc). There were some awkward sentences for me "Reaching for the teapot, her head rushed of warm blood." is an example. You pull a final fantasy villian thing in the end introducing a new very important character close to the end. Try introducing the idea of him early on. You don't have to sacrifice the twist to do so. I love the concept though.
Cyan: haberdashery? Really? You're just up to some tomfoolery. I wont put up with your skullduggery! A very good job on the voicing. This is what I mean when I say give each character a voice. Nicely done. I like the new take on the familiar theme. The ending crept up too quick.
Assemble!: Johnny number 5! Anyhoo, again be careful and watch reappearing sentence patterns and words (seeming, largely uniterested, etc). There were some awkward sentences for me "Reaching for the teapot, her head rushed of warm blood." is an example. You pull a final fantasy villian thing in the end introducing a new very important character close to the end. Try introducing the idea of him early on. You don't have to sacrifice the twist to do so. I love the concept though.
Cyan: haberdashery? Really? You're just up to some tomfoolery. I wont put up with your skullduggery! A very good job on the voicing. This is what I mean when I say give each character a voice. Nicely done. I like the new take on the familiar theme. The ending crept up too quick.
Absolutely. Sometimes these threads are all I come back to GAF for. I really like being exposed to all the different styles and their strengths and foibles every two weeks. I've learned tons from just reading. Which again, surprises me as to why so few post any feedback for the pieces. It's gotten better as of late. But really in reading things critically it's really made me think more of how I write. Yeah I still go through the "Alas, I suck!" thing every few days, it's frustrating when you have this great idea and can't find a way to get it out effectively. But somedays a diamond, somedays a stone.Scribble said:
Data Entry Point 32.3
"Skin Deep"
Word Count: 1497
"Are you sure she can do anything, anything at all?"
The thin man standing there in his pinstripe, grey suit, adjusted his silken red tie with nervous fingers. Her eyes silently stared at him from behind transparent polycarbon lenses, windows into the captive soul held in place by the most cutting edge of technology. The best that money could buy, cheap, automated, labor could manufacture, and packaged into a presentable product for only the most demanding of clients.
An overweight man whose laboratory coat hung around his bulbuous frame like the drooping wings of a giant fly tottered from around the capsule in which she was held, his beefy hands forcing another block of sweet chocolate into his bearded mouth. "Of course. Every one of these are made to exacting specifications. We take pride in our work, after all, but seeing as this was remarkably short notice..."
"What does that mean?" the thin man snapped.
The fat man's chewing stopped for a moment. Her eyes silently looked at his face as it regarded her nude form from behind the protective window for only a second. He wasn't expecting the question. Good.
"We, ah, had to pull one of the reserves from cold storage in order to facilitate the neurological lock pattern. But don't worry! We do something like this all of the time." His mouth began moving from side to side again, grinding down another chocolate treat.
"I don't like the sound of this..."
"Look," the fat man muttered past the lumpy chocolate swill filling his mouth. "-I can guarantee that she will do exactly what you want her to do. Any chance of her going rogue were eliminated with the newest Hayabusa-Kratos algorithms. Only the most base instincts are kept alive, harvested by the hardware, and then focused into the ultimate killing machine. The organic host lives to serve the machine."
"And Justine?"
"Justine was a Mark XIV. This is a Mark XVIII, the very latest. Justine's problem was that her owner couldnt' keep his prick in his pants and tried to do something that would obviously void the warranty, if you catch my meaning. With Cherry, you won't have that problem. Ever."
One lock down, only one more to go.
"I see." The thin man walked up to the capsule, his mouth nervously twitching at the thoughts in his head. "Alright, open her up. I want to see the product."
"Right away." The fat man thrust the tattered body of of the chocolate bar he held into a dirty pocket of his coat and pulled out a small, flat, device. Thumbing one of the studs, the sound of pneumatic pistons and electric servos whined as the capsule holding her was lowered to the floor. With the faint hiss of escaping air, the cylindrical glass slid around the tube and into the back.
The suit stepped close to the opened cylinder, now lying horizontal on the support rack that held it in place low enough for him to lean over. His eyes looked over her body, the slightly tanned flesh and bobbed blonde hair on her head framing a face whose expression was lost in the haze of the sublimating atmosphere that had been wrapped around her. A manicured hand ran fingers down her right cheek.
"So pretty..."
"We like to think so. It helps in their ability to infiltrate close in on the target that they are assigned to. The studies speak for themselves."
"Is her appearance..."
"No, this isn't what the donor looked like before we had converted them over. Like I said, we take pride in our work. We have several hundred templates to choose from. This just happened to be the one up for bat this time around."
A filed fingernail traced her temple, her eyes now closed.
"Bring her online."
Another chubby finger pushed at the control pad and a silent click sounded in the room. One of the flatscreens on the cluttered wall behind the two men flickered to life with several boxes filled in with waggling lines and glowing text. Cherry's eyes slowly opened.
"Go on, talk to her. She's already been prepped with the details."
Licking his lips after popping a breath mint into his mouth, he bent down and forced his lips to meet her cold face. He quickly stood up, straightened his tie, and looked in surprise at the technician who laughed.
"She's didn't do anything!"
"What do you expect? She's expecting you to talk, not fuck." The technician chuckled to himself. He'd seen this before. Lonely corporate job, wife who doesn't care, kids that hate him for what he is, and then suddenly faced with an opportunity without any strings attached to it. He said the only thing that he could. "Do you want some time alone?"
The gaunt face twitched slightly at the thought. What did he have to worry about? This was a secure area secret only to anyone outside of his department. And he was having meatloaf tonight.
"Yes."
"Alright, let me know when you're 'done', sport." the technician muttered as he set the controls on a console before leaving the room. The airlock shut closed behind him, magnetic locks drawing closed as the thin man looked down at Cherry's face.
"State objective."
Cherry's eyes turned to him. Her voice, silky sweet seduction dressed in the innocent look of a machine leaving the womb, echoed quietly in the room. "To terminate Roland Armitage."
"Good."
"But not for you."
"Wha-"
Before he could react, Cherry had turned and spun off from the capsule bed, her legs carrying her around in a kicking motion that sent the executive sprawling on the ground in pain from an exploding kidney. Bile filled his mouth while his eyes shut against the raging pain that his nerves injected into his brain. Cherry's bare feet padded over to him, her heel delivering a crushing blow to his neck.
She wasn't sure how much time she had, but she could feel the gnawing, cold sensation, of the code that fought to contain her conscious mind attacking her will, howling from behind the wall she had formed in her head to keep it at bay as she thought of a way to get out of where she was. She looked down at the man that was once worth more than she had been in another life, broken and dead, and then lifted her hand before her face and flexed the fingers upon it.
This wasn't her body, but she knew what it was. What they had done to her. The usual feelings of adrenaline, rage, and a racing heart weren't there to underline just how much hate she had for those that had made her another product to be sold. A high keening noise suddenly brought her to her knees, her hands gripping her head as she fell to the polished, steel floor.
"Not...now...not..." She focused her thoughts, drove back the cries of the machine as micro-injections stabbed at the meat within it to suppress her, only to fail as she regained control.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Another piece of chocolate found itself devoured as the owner's fingers worked the control pad of the Nintendex, scoring another bonus round.
"Yeah...yeah, yeah, yeah! Take that, fucker!" he giggled as a large mushroom stomped its way across a neon colored landscape filled with garden tools. Behind him, he could hear locks opening up and feel a gust of air brush the back of his head as the door opened.
Without turning around, he yelled at the suit that walked through the door. "So is she satisfactory?" As the giant mushroom walked its way across the screen, it suddenly stopped moving allowing a lawnmower to attack the feet it had sprouted to walk on. The controller flew from the hands of its owner as he was thrown across the room, smashing into the opposite wall.
"Quite satisfactory, but you forgot to ask the donor."
He was dragged to his feet and pressed against the wall, his spine rattling like a cheap, bead curtain inside of his back as he was pinned.
"Let's play One Question. Where am I?"
"Sh..shutdown co-"
Knuckles shattered the teeth in his mouth. She didn't feel any pain, only a slight register of cosmetic damage was indicated on her eyes as feedback. She smiled.
"Let's try that again. Where...am...I?"
A bloody mouth burbled the answer. "Kobayashi Research..."
Kobayashi. So...that means...
A slight motion from the corner of her enhanced vision blurred as another door opened to her right. The technician's body went flying at the open portal as gunfire erupted from the hallway behind it. Three guards stepped in over the shredded corpse as it fell, his white coat torn open in a dozen places as blood and chocolate oozed free.
Cherry frowned. This was going to hurt.
"Skin Deep"
Word Count: 1497
"Are you sure she can do anything, anything at all?"
The thin man standing there in his pinstripe, grey suit, adjusted his silken red tie with nervous fingers. Her eyes silently stared at him from behind transparent polycarbon lenses, windows into the captive soul held in place by the most cutting edge of technology. The best that money could buy, cheap, automated, labor could manufacture, and packaged into a presentable product for only the most demanding of clients.
An overweight man whose laboratory coat hung around his bulbuous frame like the drooping wings of a giant fly tottered from around the capsule in which she was held, his beefy hands forcing another block of sweet chocolate into his bearded mouth. "Of course. Every one of these are made to exacting specifications. We take pride in our work, after all, but seeing as this was remarkably short notice..."
"What does that mean?" the thin man snapped.
The fat man's chewing stopped for a moment. Her eyes silently looked at his face as it regarded her nude form from behind the protective window for only a second. He wasn't expecting the question. Good.
"We, ah, had to pull one of the reserves from cold storage in order to facilitate the neurological lock pattern. But don't worry! We do something like this all of the time." His mouth began moving from side to side again, grinding down another chocolate treat.
"I don't like the sound of this..."
"Look," the fat man muttered past the lumpy chocolate swill filling his mouth. "-I can guarantee that she will do exactly what you want her to do. Any chance of her going rogue were eliminated with the newest Hayabusa-Kratos algorithms. Only the most base instincts are kept alive, harvested by the hardware, and then focused into the ultimate killing machine. The organic host lives to serve the machine."
"And Justine?"
"Justine was a Mark XIV. This is a Mark XVIII, the very latest. Justine's problem was that her owner couldnt' keep his prick in his pants and tried to do something that would obviously void the warranty, if you catch my meaning. With Cherry, you won't have that problem. Ever."
One lock down, only one more to go.
"I see." The thin man walked up to the capsule, his mouth nervously twitching at the thoughts in his head. "Alright, open her up. I want to see the product."
"Right away." The fat man thrust the tattered body of of the chocolate bar he held into a dirty pocket of his coat and pulled out a small, flat, device. Thumbing one of the studs, the sound of pneumatic pistons and electric servos whined as the capsule holding her was lowered to the floor. With the faint hiss of escaping air, the cylindrical glass slid around the tube and into the back.
The suit stepped close to the opened cylinder, now lying horizontal on the support rack that held it in place low enough for him to lean over. His eyes looked over her body, the slightly tanned flesh and bobbed blonde hair on her head framing a face whose expression was lost in the haze of the sublimating atmosphere that had been wrapped around her. A manicured hand ran fingers down her right cheek.
"So pretty..."
"We like to think so. It helps in their ability to infiltrate close in on the target that they are assigned to. The studies speak for themselves."
"Is her appearance..."
"No, this isn't what the donor looked like before we had converted them over. Like I said, we take pride in our work. We have several hundred templates to choose from. This just happened to be the one up for bat this time around."
A filed fingernail traced her temple, her eyes now closed.
"Bring her online."
Another chubby finger pushed at the control pad and a silent click sounded in the room. One of the flatscreens on the cluttered wall behind the two men flickered to life with several boxes filled in with waggling lines and glowing text. Cherry's eyes slowly opened.
"Go on, talk to her. She's already been prepped with the details."
Licking his lips after popping a breath mint into his mouth, he bent down and forced his lips to meet her cold face. He quickly stood up, straightened his tie, and looked in surprise at the technician who laughed.
"She's didn't do anything!"
"What do you expect? She's expecting you to talk, not fuck." The technician chuckled to himself. He'd seen this before. Lonely corporate job, wife who doesn't care, kids that hate him for what he is, and then suddenly faced with an opportunity without any strings attached to it. He said the only thing that he could. "Do you want some time alone?"
The gaunt face twitched slightly at the thought. What did he have to worry about? This was a secure area secret only to anyone outside of his department. And he was having meatloaf tonight.
"Yes."
"Alright, let me know when you're 'done', sport." the technician muttered as he set the controls on a console before leaving the room. The airlock shut closed behind him, magnetic locks drawing closed as the thin man looked down at Cherry's face.
"State objective."
Cherry's eyes turned to him. Her voice, silky sweet seduction dressed in the innocent look of a machine leaving the womb, echoed quietly in the room. "To terminate Roland Armitage."
"Good."
"But not for you."
"Wha-"
Before he could react, Cherry had turned and spun off from the capsule bed, her legs carrying her around in a kicking motion that sent the executive sprawling on the ground in pain from an exploding kidney. Bile filled his mouth while his eyes shut against the raging pain that his nerves injected into his brain. Cherry's bare feet padded over to him, her heel delivering a crushing blow to his neck.
She wasn't sure how much time she had, but she could feel the gnawing, cold sensation, of the code that fought to contain her conscious mind attacking her will, howling from behind the wall she had formed in her head to keep it at bay as she thought of a way to get out of where she was. She looked down at the man that was once worth more than she had been in another life, broken and dead, and then lifted her hand before her face and flexed the fingers upon it.
This wasn't her body, but she knew what it was. What they had done to her. The usual feelings of adrenaline, rage, and a racing heart weren't there to underline just how much hate she had for those that had made her another product to be sold. A high keening noise suddenly brought her to her knees, her hands gripping her head as she fell to the polished, steel floor.
"Not...now...not..." She focused her thoughts, drove back the cries of the machine as micro-injections stabbed at the meat within it to suppress her, only to fail as she regained control.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Another piece of chocolate found itself devoured as the owner's fingers worked the control pad of the Nintendex, scoring another bonus round.
"Yeah...yeah, yeah, yeah! Take that, fucker!" he giggled as a large mushroom stomped its way across a neon colored landscape filled with garden tools. Behind him, he could hear locks opening up and feel a gust of air brush the back of his head as the door opened.
Without turning around, he yelled at the suit that walked through the door. "So is she satisfactory?" As the giant mushroom walked its way across the screen, it suddenly stopped moving allowing a lawnmower to attack the feet it had sprouted to walk on. The controller flew from the hands of its owner as he was thrown across the room, smashing into the opposite wall.
"Quite satisfactory, but you forgot to ask the donor."
He was dragged to his feet and pressed against the wall, his spine rattling like a cheap, bead curtain inside of his back as he was pinned.
"Let's play One Question. Where am I?"
"Sh..shutdown co-"
Knuckles shattered the teeth in his mouth. She didn't feel any pain, only a slight register of cosmetic damage was indicated on her eyes as feedback. She smiled.
"Let's try that again. Where...am...I?"
A bloody mouth burbled the answer. "Kobayashi Research..."
Kobayashi. So...that means...
A slight motion from the corner of her enhanced vision blurred as another door opened to her right. The technician's body went flying at the open portal as gunfire erupted from the hallway behind it. Three guards stepped in over the shredded corpse as it fell, his white coat torn open in a dozen places as blood and chocolate oozed free.
Cherry frowned. This was going to hurt.
crowphoenix
Banned
I need to get this thing edited and submitted and I'm sitting here staring at the first line because the word "noticed" is annoying me.
I do that "Alas, I suck!" thing on a pretty constant basis due to my natural pessimism. Of course, it's not effecting me as much after several submissions.
I do that "Alas, I suck!" thing on a pretty constant basis due to my natural pessimism. Of course, it's not effecting me as much after several submissions.
- Status