Tim the Wiz
Banned
Cyan said:
:lol
Plus: This is NeoGAF, dude.
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NeoGAF Creative Writing Challenge #50 - "The Things Unseen"
- Thread starter DumbNameD
- Start date
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:lol
Plus: This is NeoGAF, dude.
Cyan said:
Ha! So true.
(Throwback pre-hate on nitewulf's piece was crazy
)Crazy Question time:
How do you guys keep your writing so 'fresh'? I mean, outside of actual quality and certain abilities (Aaron's setting creation talent for example), it's almost impossible to tell that it's the same person submitting an entry each time under the same name.
As I was writing my piece for this challenge, I noticed how stale it all seemed. Each of my stories feel like they have the same tone, characters, and general phrases. If I'm starting to think it's all samey, you guys must have noticed it all along.
Just look down and keep on walking. One foot in front of the other. Left. Right. Left. Right. There's no need to stop because nobody is there. It's just me and the sidewalk.
Thick, black ovals frame shadowed, sapphire eyes. Medium length dark hair is combed to the side, moist with water. At 5' 10" tall, the young man easily blended in with the rest of his lower-tier cubicle comrades on the crowded sidewalk. Multiple businessmen wearing earth-toned suits became a singular figure strolling along the side of the street, leather briefcase in hand. This was clearly the case, for none noticed any of the others clumped around him.
I don't have to stop. I mean, there's no law that requires me to. I'll just walk right past without sparing a glance to the rear. I certainly wouldn't be the first nor would I be the last. I just need to take it slow, one foot preceding the next.
Plan became action as the man continued on his way. His oceanic eyes locked on to the gleaming silver watch on his left hand as the world around him disappeared. Left foot. Right foot. Silver watch. Three constants that entered the man's sight in a repeating cycle. They also disrupted his view of the ground, leaving him to stumble in the fissures and cracks that resided there.
I'm not going to stop. I'll just walk right on through. Look, I'm already halfway finished. One step. Two steps. Three steps. That's it. I finished without lifting my head up a single time. I can't believe I finally did it.
"Hey man, spare some change?" came a gruff voice from just behind the man.
Don't stop, I'm already a couple feet past. I just have to keep going.
One foot, then the other. Two polished leather shoes come to a complete stop on the filthy, cracked sidewalk. The young man's lean frame, clothed in his navy blue suit, swayed forward a tad before coming to a rest in its original position. A strand of his black hair slid free of its companions and began to swing back and forth in front of his glasses before quickly being brushed away. With that same smooth movement of his hand, the businessman removed his glasses and wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. A return sweep replaced his glasses before his whole body turned to face the source of the rugged voice that caught his attention, a sigh barely escaping his lips.
"Yeah, hold up just a second. I gotta fish around in my pockets."
I was so close. Only a few more feet and I wouldn't have had to deal with it.
The original words had come from a pile of tattered rags, yellowed newspaper, and grime-caked hair that was propped up against a red brick building. A head had emerged from the filthy clothing, revealing the speaker to be a an elderly man with dark, clammy skin. His greasy, graying hair was plastered against his face. After a moment, a gloved hand glided out from the ragged bundle of a man and reached towards the younger man.
Still facing the older man, the man in the suit slid his right hand into his back pocket and retrieved a well-worn leather wallet. Without a second thought, he pulled several bills from its folds and waved them near the homeless man's outstretched hand.
"Here you go. Just take it. No thank yous or questions."
Why did I stop? What in the hell was I thinking?"
The older man did exactly as he was ordered, quickly snatching the money from the working man's hands. Without a single second passing, his other hand shot forward, clasped the philanthropist's hand, and shook it, his grip unrelenting. Eventually, his dark, calloused fingers loosened, releasing the soft, pink flesh of his captive's hand. Water began to rise in the senior's muddy eyes as disgust creeped across his benefactor's face. In those same moments, the younger man pulled his hand back so vehemently that it could have easily been mistaken for the tip of a bull whip slipping through the sound barrier. The move generated enough momentum to turn the businessman around, leaving his back to face the transient.
Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. Who knows what kind of filth has taken up residence there. I should have just pretended he wasn't there like everyone else does.
Left hand slid into right jacket pocket and recovered a bottle of hand sanitizer, which was quickly slathered across the man's fingers, palms, and wrists. Once cleansed, the bottle was replaced and the leather wallet retrieved once more. One look at its contents left the man in a distressed state.
Empty. I gave it all away. Every last dollar I had.
"Huh? Aargh!"
Right foot collided with concrete edge, sending the man flying into the air.
Why do I... Why do I see a field of golden wheat? In the... In the city.
Thud!
After a seemingly endless time in the air, the man found his way back to the ground he was standing on. This time, however, his face made first contact, the left lens of his glasses shattering during negotiations with the hostile locals.
"What the fuck, man?" shouted a voice near the fallen man.
"Ugh... What? Where am I?"
"You're on my damned mural, that's where. Now, get the hell off it."
A young teenager with long, greasy hair grabbed the man by his suit jacket and tossed him off the 8' long stretch of sidewalk covered in artwork featuring the wonders of nature. Once his canvas was cleared, he began restoring his smeared masterpiece, thoughts of the dolt who had ruined it already leaking from his mind.
Slowly, the man returned to his feet, more clumsy fool than lithe acrobat.
"This is a public sidewalk, not your personal studio, asshole."
______________________________
Wow, my hand hurts. Still, using the controller to type wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Comments are going to be a bitch though.
Thick, black ovals frame shadowed, sapphire eyes. Medium length dark hair is combed to the side, moist with water. At 5' 10" tall, the young man easily blended in with the rest of his lower-tier cubicle comrades on the crowded sidewalk. Multiple businessmen wearing earth-toned suits became a singular figure strolling along the side of the street, leather briefcase in hand. This was clearly the case, for none noticed any of the others clumped around him.
I don't have to stop. I mean, there's no law that requires me to. I'll just walk right past without sparing a glance to the rear. I certainly wouldn't be the first nor would I be the last. I just need to take it slow, one foot preceding the next.
Plan became action as the man continued on his way. His oceanic eyes locked on to the gleaming silver watch on his left hand as the world around him disappeared. Left foot. Right foot. Silver watch. Three constants that entered the man's sight in a repeating cycle. They also disrupted his view of the ground, leaving him to stumble in the fissures and cracks that resided there.
I'm not going to stop. I'll just walk right on through. Look, I'm already halfway finished. One step. Two steps. Three steps. That's it. I finished without lifting my head up a single time. I can't believe I finally did it.
"Hey man, spare some change?" came a gruff voice from just behind the man.
Don't stop, I'm already a couple feet past. I just have to keep going.
One foot, then the other. Two polished leather shoes come to a complete stop on the filthy, cracked sidewalk. The young man's lean frame, clothed in his navy blue suit, swayed forward a tad before coming to a rest in its original position. A strand of his black hair slid free of its companions and began to swing back and forth in front of his glasses before quickly being brushed away. With that same smooth movement of his hand, the businessman removed his glasses and wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. A return sweep replaced his glasses before his whole body turned to face the source of the rugged voice that caught his attention, a sigh barely escaping his lips.
"Yeah, hold up just a second. I gotta fish around in my pockets."
I was so close. Only a few more feet and I wouldn't have had to deal with it.
The original words had come from a pile of tattered rags, yellowed newspaper, and grime-caked hair that was propped up against a red brick building. A head had emerged from the filthy clothing, revealing the speaker to be a an elderly man with dark, clammy skin. His greasy, graying hair was plastered against his face. After a moment, a gloved hand glided out from the ragged bundle of a man and reached towards the younger man.
Still facing the older man, the man in the suit slid his right hand into his back pocket and retrieved a well-worn leather wallet. Without a second thought, he pulled several bills from its folds and waved them near the homeless man's outstretched hand.
"Here you go. Just take it. No thank yous or questions."
Why did I stop? What in the hell was I thinking?"
The older man did exactly as he was ordered, quickly snatching the money from the working man's hands. Without a single second passing, his other hand shot forward, clasped the philanthropist's hand, and shook it, his grip unrelenting. Eventually, his dark, calloused fingers loosened, releasing the soft, pink flesh of his captive's hand. Water began to rise in the senior's muddy eyes as disgust creeped across his benefactor's face. In those same moments, the younger man pulled his hand back so vehemently that it could have easily been mistaken for the tip of a bull whip slipping through the sound barrier. The move generated enough momentum to turn the businessman around, leaving his back to face the transient.
Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. Who knows what kind of filth has taken up residence there. I should have just pretended he wasn't there like everyone else does.
Left hand slid into right jacket pocket and recovered a bottle of hand sanitizer, which was quickly slathered across the man's fingers, palms, and wrists. Once cleansed, the bottle was replaced and the leather wallet retrieved once more. One look at its contents left the man in a distressed state.
Empty. I gave it all away. Every last dollar I had.
"Huh? Aargh!"
Right foot collided with concrete edge, sending the man flying into the air.
Why do I... Why do I see a field of golden wheat? In the... In the city.
Thud!
After a seemingly endless time in the air, the man found his way back to the ground he was standing on. This time, however, his face made first contact, the left lens of his glasses shattering during negotiations with the hostile locals.
"What the fuck, man?" shouted a voice near the fallen man.
"Ugh... What? Where am I?"
"You're on my damned mural, that's where. Now, get the hell off it."
A young teenager with long, greasy hair grabbed the man by his suit jacket and tossed him off the 8' long stretch of sidewalk covered in artwork featuring the wonders of nature. Once his canvas was cleared, he began restoring his smeared masterpiece, thoughts of the dolt who had ruined it already leaking from his mind.
Slowly, the man returned to his feet, more clumsy fool than lithe acrobat.
"This is a public sidewalk, not your personal studio, asshole."
______________________________
Wow, my hand hurts.
Still, using the controller to type wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Comments are going to be a bitch though.ZephyrFate
Banned
I want Timedog back. Dude's a great writer.
Tim the Wiz
Banned
Irish said:
I'm not so convinced that your work is stale or anything (given your generally over-negative nature), but I can only recommend what works for me - to whatever limited extent that is - and it would be to read or watch or listen to as much creatively awesome stuff as you can.
I read a lot of news and nonfiction. My current idea and setting stems from the fact that the Chinese discovered gunpowder, but never thought of using it in weapons for instance. Different things work for different people, but I try to expose myself to as much sources of interesting information as possible. I almost never read fiction outside of these challenges.Irish said:
It's because most browsers don't wrap text files by default.Irish said:
Here: http://yeef.net/ronito/fiddy.htm
ronito's entry:ronito said:
----------
Fiddy (1064 words)
In my long life I've forgotten a lot of things. But that afternoon I'll never forget.
I had gone home for the summer in my junior year of college. My parents needed help on the farm and, as always, I was happy to help. The summer was atypically hot and cicadas were unusually plentiful filling the air with their buzzing. I had just returned with Gerber the family donkey to the barn after a hard morning of tilling the fields. That was when I saw her there standing in the barn like she owned it.
She was a vision of beauty in the summer heat. She wore a tight fitting white tanktop that barely contained her breasts which bubbled over the top exposing beautifully tanned cleavage. Her boobs were obviously fake but gloriously so. It was obvious that she was a woman that walked into a room tits first. Her shoulders had a beautiful reddish tone that told me she was out in the sun often and the little freckles that ran down her arms invited me to wonder if they ran everywhere on her body. She wore cut off shorts that hugged her skin like a lover and her legs were smooth and had that shiny just shaved look. Her strawberry blond hair fell around her face in careless curls which framed her dark brown eyes and full red lips perfectly.
"Hi, can I help you?" I said letting Gerber's lead go, I could put him in the barn later.
She looked at me with those brown eyes already smoldering and said in a near whisper as she took a step towards me. "I don't know maybe."
"Do I know you? I asked sensing something strangely familiar as I saw her closer.
"No, but I think you'd like to." She said putting a hand on my chest as she reached me.
Her face closed in on mine. I could smell her perfume, as fake and alluring as her breasts. I became acutely aware of her lips and the way her lips gloss reflected the sunlight, pink and moist. My heart began to pound.
She reached up and brushed her lips against mine and whispered into my ear, "I want you."
I swelled at hearing her desire. She kissed me hard and slipped her tongue into my mouth. Time melted away as we began to kiss. God I was so hard for her. Her hands ran all over me. We paused for a breath I took a look at her up close.
I laughed a little between pants, "I know why I thought I knew you. You look like Paul Robinson, my old neighbor. I'm not saying you look like a guy but your eyes and nose are very similar. I haven't seen him in years. He moved to some big city somewhere."
She reached down and pulled her tank top over her head. Her breasts bounced slightly as she set them free.
"Did Paul Robinson have tits like these?" She said as she reached out took my hands and set them upon her breasts. I felt her nipples stiffen under my palms. My knees went weak as we began to kiss again. Everything swirled into red passion as our lips met again and again. With surprising strength she pushed me back against the wall. It knocked the breath out of me but her lips began to trace a trail down my chin, down to my neck and down, down, down. Her hungry hands undid my pants and she took me into her warm, wet, eager mouth.
It was heavenly. It was like she knew exactly what to do. I had never had such pleasure before or frankly since. I watched as her blond curls swayed back and forth and knew I had to have her. I set my hands on her shoulders and lifted her towards me and kissed her lips hard. It was wet and salty but I didn't care. I slipped a hand down her shorts and grabbed firm hold of a cheek. She moaned as I pressed her against me. That was when I felt it.
It was pressed against me, hard and hot like a water heater. At first I didn't care but then I realized what it was. I pushed her away.
I looked at her confused face and I knew.
"You ARE Paul Robinson!" I said wiping my mouth.
"I'm Paula now." She said lifting her chin indignantly.
"What? How? I....I....What?" I stammered thinking of all the things I had just done with my old childhood friend. The guy I went fishing with and played football with.
"Let's be honest here Gil." Paula said putting her tanktop back on. "I've always wanted you since we were teenagers. I wont lie and say you were the only one. But you were one. And when I heard you were back in town I couldn't resist."
I couldn't say anything. I was paralyzed with shock. I watched as she sauntered over to me her breasts bouncing lightly with every step. Despite myself I felt my heart quicken. Just then Gerber wandered into the barn looking for hay.
"Gil, I've changed." Paula said running a finger up and down my chest. "I've finally figured out who I am and what I want. I wont say it will be love, or that you would even be the only one but we can have fun." She giggled playfully and whispered in my ear, "So much fun."
She looked at me for a response but I was still too confused and in shock to say or do anything. She eyed Gerber for a few seconds and then looked at me.
"I've learned things Gil. So many things. Let me show you." She said. Then with a smile created by angels and perfected by the devil she walked over to Gerber and proceeded to do things that had never imagined possible. After she finished she handed me a card with her number and told me to call her and she sauntered away.
I never called her. I was too confused I guess. Part of me wants to call her now, but it's been too long. Far too long. I guess I never really came to terms with the whole experience. But God, I swear I can't look at a donkey without getting hard.
hey_monkey
Banned
Ohhhhh crap, deadline sneaked up on me, and I am writing frantically.
Tim the Wiz
Banned
ronito said:
:lol You weren't kidding, huh?
Initially I was.Tim the Wiz said:
My first idea was to do something with all of our Avatars talking to each other. It just became a mess. Though my favorite part was when Crow came in he said he had just come from a race. We all asked how he did, he said he came in second. That seemed fitting.
Then I tried it without the avatars but it was just a big a mess.
Then last night I was like "I HAVE to write something it's challenge #50!" And I also had my other writing project to continue. And so, the joke became reality.
Mike Works
Member
what's that guys? you want to up the word count to 2000 at the last second? that's awesome!
crowphoenix
Banned
Deleted due to TOS changes.
Tim the Wiz
Banned
ronito said:
Heh. We have to see this story at some point - as messy as it might be. Perhaps as a bonus of some sort?
ronito said:
And what a reality! You've soiled my young mind: I'll never look at donkeys the same way again. Yes, shocking as it might seem, I'm a bit sheltered when it comes to erotic fiction bearing an interloping admixture of bestiality and transvestites.
crowphoenix
Banned
:lolronito said:
Get to work on that entry.Ashes1396 said:
Anvil (1740)
Mark shivered and stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, pulling his blankets closer around him. His pajamas were damp with sweat.
He could hear them.
Whispers in the night, humming pulses on the edge of perception. Deep down under the ground the gremlins drummed, pounding away on their anvils with hammer and tongs.
He could hear them.
*
Mark slid through the front door, closing it silently behind him. His lungs and legs burned, and his heart beat fast, sending waves of guilt and satisfaction through his body. He scraped his muddy shoes on the mat, but there was nothing to be done about the torn shirt and bloody knuckles.
For a moment, he stared down at his hands--the lines on his palms were filled with dirt, starbursts of brown amid the patches of rough pink skin. His fingers quivered.
He shook his head to clear the cobwebs, and still breathing hard, bent to pull off his shoes. They were a bit muddy on the sides; maybe he could clean them in the bathtub before Mom noticed. He'd just have to be quiet until dinner, that was all.
He headed for the staircase. If he could get up to his room before--
"Mark, that you?" A tired, slurring voice called from the kitchen.
Just what he needed. "Gotta pee, Mom," he called back. He started scrambling up the staircase.
"Hold it, kiddo." Mom had double-timed it to the hall door, where she now stood eyeing him suspiciously. She let him stew for a moment. Then: "Thought you and your friends were playing video games."
"Yeah Mom. I gotta pee." He grabbed his crotch and bounced up and down for effect.
She wasn't buying it. "So how'd your shoes get muddy?"
Mark looked down at the brown-splotched Keds in his left hand. "Been raining. Stepped in the mud." He shrugged.
"And your shirt?"
The right sleeve of his tee was dangling, torn halfway off, and there was a nice long rip just under the collar. "Uh, I--"
"You in a fight, Mark?" Mom crossed her arms.
"No!"
"Don't you lie to your mother."
"I wasn't!"
"Marcus. Williams." Mom loomed above him, glaring down. "I said, don't you lie to me."
Mark's mouth was dry. He said nothing.
"I know you been fighting. Got a phone call." There was a righteous fury in Mom's eyes now. "I'm ashamed of you, Mark. That boy is half your size!"
Mark swallowed, struggling to move his tongue. "He called--" Mark stopped, opened his mouth, started again. "He called me a fucker!"
Mom grabbed him by the hair. "We do not use that kind of language in this house. I don't care what he said--one more fight with that boy, your father's belting you into next week." She shoved him forward, and he sprawled out on the step. "You get up to your room right now!"
Mark stared up at her. Her mouth was tight, her jaw set, her nostrils flared. Her eyes radiated fury.
Mark could feel a tear welling up, but he wouldn't cry in front of Mom. He wouldn't give her that satisfaction. He pulled himself up by the railing, then turned and stomped his way up the stairs. He took two more stomping steps toward his room, then sniffled and turned back around. He tiptoed to the corner and peeked around, down the stairs.
All the air seemed to have leaked out of Mom. She was leaning against the wall, looking down, face white and hands shaking. She looked tired.
Mark's lips quivered, and he scuttled back to his room.
*
Tap, tap, tap, the gremlins hammered away at their forges.
Mark licked his lips, and wished it would stop. It wasn't just that the noise kept him awake--though it did, even worse than Mrs. Patterson's stupid dog next door. It was more than that. It was what the hammering meant. Every night he could hear them hammering away until the wee hours, he knew the next day would be bad.
The gremlins hammered out misery and suffering.
*
Mark lay face down on the floor of his room, the lights out and the window open. No dinner. Mom hadn't been mad enough to make him go without dinner since that time he broke into the shed, stole Dad's rifle, and went out to shoot cans on Dixon Field.
His stomach rumbled, but no way was he going to go ask Mom for food. The thought made him clench a fist.
Below, the front door slammed.
Mark sat up, waves of hot and cold sweeping through his body. Dad was home. You never knew how exactly Dad would react to something, but one thing was sure--he'd be mad.
For the next five minutes, Mark sweated it out. He could hear voices from below, Dad's growling bass and Mom's slurring alto, rising and falling in waves. They grew louder and softer in turn, but never quite loud enough that Mark could make out what was being said.
Finally Mom screeched and Dad shouted, and a moment later tromping footsteps came up the stairs.
Mark shivered, and wavered between sitting on his bed and standing up.
The door slammed open, and Dad stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the hall light. His clothes were sweaty, his face red, and he reeked of stale smoke and beer, like he always did when he came home this late.
"The hell's the light off?" said Dad, and flipped the switch.
Mark blinked in the sudden illumination, but said nothing.
Dad sat down on the bed and leaned back. "Your mother tells me you got in a fight. Beat up some neighbor kid."
He wasn't shouting. Mark relaxed a fraction, and licked his lips. "Kind of."
"Kind of? The hell's that mean? You don't kind of get in a fight. You fight the kid or not?"
Mark nodded slowly.
"You win?" Dad yanked him by the shoulder, looked over his face. "No black eyes or nothing."
Mark shook his head.
"You didn't win?" Now Dad sounded angry.
Mark jumped, and shook his head more vigorously. "No Dad, I did. I did!"
"Good. You start a fight, you damn sure win it."
Mark nodded, which seemed to be all that was expected. He relaxed a little more.
Dad pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket, a lighter from his pants, and lit up. "Your mother thinks you shouldn't get in fights."
Mark nodded.
"Everyone pushes everyone around, that's how the world works. You're either the man doing the pushing, or the man getting pushed." Dad inhaled, blew out a puff of smoke. "Might as well learn that young. Your mother never learned it. Your Uncle Rufus--" he stopped, frowning, then shook his head. "You just don't turn out some--some faggot, you hear?" Suddenly Dad was in Mark's face, glaring right into his eyes, smelling of beer and breathing smoke into his nose. "You hear?"
Mark leaned back, his breath quickening. His eyes puddled, and he blinked frantically, but a single tear escaped, leaking out the corner of one eye.
Dad was on his feet. "I say you could cry?"
Mark shook his head, but more tears came, pouring down his cheeks.
"What you crying for?" Suddenly Dad was shouting. "Did I say it was ok to cry?"
Mark shook his head, trying to stem the tide, wiping at his face and smearing tears and snot across his cheek.
Dad grabbed Mark's shoulders and shook him. "I'll give you something to cry about!"
*
It was Dad who first told him about gremlins, one morning when Mark woke up to find his Playstation missing.
Mark had put the rest together himself. The pounding of the hammers, the slow burn of threadbare nerves and lingering misery that rolled through the house in their wake. It all came together. Gremlins made people miserable; it was what they lived for.
They had been here in force for years.
*
Mark lay on the bed in his clothes, breathing in and out slowly.
They were still shouting, downstairs, still arguing in rolling waves of angry squawks and yells and frightening thumps.
A tear slid from the corner of his eye, and Mark wiped it away quick as thought. He wouldn't let that happen again. Couldn't. Not even if Mom and Dad yelled all night.
But they didn't yell all night. The shouting moved toward the front of the house, and then the front door slammed and the car roared to life outside, pulling away with a squeal and a vanishing roar.
Mark sniffled.
There was a soft footstep up the stairs, and Mark's door opened.
"Mark?" It was Mom.
He turned over to look at her. Her hair was mussed, and she had obviously been crying.
She came over to the bed. "You ok?"
He nodded.
She patted his hand, then turned to go.
"Mom?" Mom paused, turned back toward him. "Mom, are you and Dad getting divorced?"
She blinked, hesitated a moment, then leaned down to give him a hug. "Honey, we are not getting divorced. I don't know what put that notion in your head."
Mark looked her in the eye. She looked like she was about to cry. "All that arguing. Were you arguing about me?"
Mom sat down on the bed and sighed. "Mark, sometimes--sometimes people just argue. Sometimes even people who love each other a whole lot just argue. It doesn't mean that the love goes away. It just gets--overwhelmed. Your Dad needs some time to cool off, that's all."
"But were you--"
"It doesn't matter." Mom stood, walked to the door, then paused again, but didn't turn to face him. "Whatever happens, Mark. Whatever happens, I'll still love you."
*
Mark pushed his blankets off and stood up, shivering again.
He could still hear that humming pulse, the incessant drumbeat of gremlin industry.
It had to stop. He would go down to the basement. He would go down to the basement and find them and put a stop to all that misery.
He padded silently out of the room, rubbing at his cheek, then tiptoed down the stairs and grabbed the shed key from its hook in the closet by the door.
He slid through the front door, closing it silently behind him.
Somewhere below, somewhere underground, the gremlins pounded away on their anvils.
He could hear them.
Mark shivered and stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, pulling his blankets closer around him. His pajamas were damp with sweat.
He could hear them.
Whispers in the night, humming pulses on the edge of perception. Deep down under the ground the gremlins drummed, pounding away on their anvils with hammer and tongs.
He could hear them.
*
Mark slid through the front door, closing it silently behind him. His lungs and legs burned, and his heart beat fast, sending waves of guilt and satisfaction through his body. He scraped his muddy shoes on the mat, but there was nothing to be done about the torn shirt and bloody knuckles.
For a moment, he stared down at his hands--the lines on his palms were filled with dirt, starbursts of brown amid the patches of rough pink skin. His fingers quivered.
He shook his head to clear the cobwebs, and still breathing hard, bent to pull off his shoes. They were a bit muddy on the sides; maybe he could clean them in the bathtub before Mom noticed. He'd just have to be quiet until dinner, that was all.
He headed for the staircase. If he could get up to his room before--
"Mark, that you?" A tired, slurring voice called from the kitchen.
Just what he needed. "Gotta pee, Mom," he called back. He started scrambling up the staircase.
"Hold it, kiddo." Mom had double-timed it to the hall door, where she now stood eyeing him suspiciously. She let him stew for a moment. Then: "Thought you and your friends were playing video games."
"Yeah Mom. I gotta pee." He grabbed his crotch and bounced up and down for effect.
She wasn't buying it. "So how'd your shoes get muddy?"
Mark looked down at the brown-splotched Keds in his left hand. "Been raining. Stepped in the mud." He shrugged.
"And your shirt?"
The right sleeve of his tee was dangling, torn halfway off, and there was a nice long rip just under the collar. "Uh, I--"
"You in a fight, Mark?" Mom crossed her arms.
"No!"
"Don't you lie to your mother."
"I wasn't!"
"Marcus. Williams." Mom loomed above him, glaring down. "I said, don't you lie to me."
Mark's mouth was dry. He said nothing.
"I know you been fighting. Got a phone call." There was a righteous fury in Mom's eyes now. "I'm ashamed of you, Mark. That boy is half your size!"
Mark swallowed, struggling to move his tongue. "He called--" Mark stopped, opened his mouth, started again. "He called me a fucker!"
Mom grabbed him by the hair. "We do not use that kind of language in this house. I don't care what he said--one more fight with that boy, your father's belting you into next week." She shoved him forward, and he sprawled out on the step. "You get up to your room right now!"
Mark stared up at her. Her mouth was tight, her jaw set, her nostrils flared. Her eyes radiated fury.
Mark could feel a tear welling up, but he wouldn't cry in front of Mom. He wouldn't give her that satisfaction. He pulled himself up by the railing, then turned and stomped his way up the stairs. He took two more stomping steps toward his room, then sniffled and turned back around. He tiptoed to the corner and peeked around, down the stairs.
All the air seemed to have leaked out of Mom. She was leaning against the wall, looking down, face white and hands shaking. She looked tired.
Mark's lips quivered, and he scuttled back to his room.
*
Tap, tap, tap, the gremlins hammered away at their forges.
Mark licked his lips, and wished it would stop. It wasn't just that the noise kept him awake--though it did, even worse than Mrs. Patterson's stupid dog next door. It was more than that. It was what the hammering meant. Every night he could hear them hammering away until the wee hours, he knew the next day would be bad.
The gremlins hammered out misery and suffering.
*
Mark lay face down on the floor of his room, the lights out and the window open. No dinner. Mom hadn't been mad enough to make him go without dinner since that time he broke into the shed, stole Dad's rifle, and went out to shoot cans on Dixon Field.
His stomach rumbled, but no way was he going to go ask Mom for food. The thought made him clench a fist.
Below, the front door slammed.
Mark sat up, waves of hot and cold sweeping through his body. Dad was home. You never knew how exactly Dad would react to something, but one thing was sure--he'd be mad.
For the next five minutes, Mark sweated it out. He could hear voices from below, Dad's growling bass and Mom's slurring alto, rising and falling in waves. They grew louder and softer in turn, but never quite loud enough that Mark could make out what was being said.
Finally Mom screeched and Dad shouted, and a moment later tromping footsteps came up the stairs.
Mark shivered, and wavered between sitting on his bed and standing up.
The door slammed open, and Dad stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the hall light. His clothes were sweaty, his face red, and he reeked of stale smoke and beer, like he always did when he came home this late.
"The hell's the light off?" said Dad, and flipped the switch.
Mark blinked in the sudden illumination, but said nothing.
Dad sat down on the bed and leaned back. "Your mother tells me you got in a fight. Beat up some neighbor kid."
He wasn't shouting. Mark relaxed a fraction, and licked his lips. "Kind of."
"Kind of? The hell's that mean? You don't kind of get in a fight. You fight the kid or not?"
Mark nodded slowly.
"You win?" Dad yanked him by the shoulder, looked over his face. "No black eyes or nothing."
Mark shook his head.
"You didn't win?" Now Dad sounded angry.
Mark jumped, and shook his head more vigorously. "No Dad, I did. I did!"
"Good. You start a fight, you damn sure win it."
Mark nodded, which seemed to be all that was expected. He relaxed a little more.
Dad pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket, a lighter from his pants, and lit up. "Your mother thinks you shouldn't get in fights."
Mark nodded.
"Everyone pushes everyone around, that's how the world works. You're either the man doing the pushing, or the man getting pushed." Dad inhaled, blew out a puff of smoke. "Might as well learn that young. Your mother never learned it. Your Uncle Rufus--" he stopped, frowning, then shook his head. "You just don't turn out some--some faggot, you hear?" Suddenly Dad was in Mark's face, glaring right into his eyes, smelling of beer and breathing smoke into his nose. "You hear?"
Mark leaned back, his breath quickening. His eyes puddled, and he blinked frantically, but a single tear escaped, leaking out the corner of one eye.
Dad was on his feet. "I say you could cry?"
Mark shook his head, but more tears came, pouring down his cheeks.
"What you crying for?" Suddenly Dad was shouting. "Did I say it was ok to cry?"
Mark shook his head, trying to stem the tide, wiping at his face and smearing tears and snot across his cheek.
Dad grabbed Mark's shoulders and shook him. "I'll give you something to cry about!"
*
It was Dad who first told him about gremlins, one morning when Mark woke up to find his Playstation missing.
Mark had put the rest together himself. The pounding of the hammers, the slow burn of threadbare nerves and lingering misery that rolled through the house in their wake. It all came together. Gremlins made people miserable; it was what they lived for.
They had been here in force for years.
*
Mark lay on the bed in his clothes, breathing in and out slowly.
They were still shouting, downstairs, still arguing in rolling waves of angry squawks and yells and frightening thumps.
A tear slid from the corner of his eye, and Mark wiped it away quick as thought. He wouldn't let that happen again. Couldn't. Not even if Mom and Dad yelled all night.
But they didn't yell all night. The shouting moved toward the front of the house, and then the front door slammed and the car roared to life outside, pulling away with a squeal and a vanishing roar.
Mark sniffled.
There was a soft footstep up the stairs, and Mark's door opened.
"Mark?" It was Mom.
He turned over to look at her. Her hair was mussed, and she had obviously been crying.
She came over to the bed. "You ok?"
He nodded.
She patted his hand, then turned to go.
"Mom?" Mom paused, turned back toward him. "Mom, are you and Dad getting divorced?"
She blinked, hesitated a moment, then leaned down to give him a hug. "Honey, we are not getting divorced. I don't know what put that notion in your head."
Mark looked her in the eye. She looked like she was about to cry. "All that arguing. Were you arguing about me?"
Mom sat down on the bed and sighed. "Mark, sometimes--sometimes people just argue. Sometimes even people who love each other a whole lot just argue. It doesn't mean that the love goes away. It just gets--overwhelmed. Your Dad needs some time to cool off, that's all."
"But were you--"
"It doesn't matter." Mom stood, walked to the door, then paused again, but didn't turn to face him. "Whatever happens, Mark. Whatever happens, I'll still love you."
*
Mark pushed his blankets off and stood up, shivering again.
He could still hear that humming pulse, the incessant drumbeat of gremlin industry.
It had to stop. He would go down to the basement. He would go down to the basement and find them and put a stop to all that misery.
He padded silently out of the room, rubbing at his cheek, then tiptoed down the stairs and grabbed the shed key from its hook in the closet by the door.
He slid through the front door, closing it silently behind him.
Somewhere below, somewhere underground, the gremlins pounded away on their anvils.
He could hear them.
hey_monkey
Banned
As per usual, editing out my story, which sucks extra since I won, I guess, but if you want to see it how it was at that time, please just PM and I'll send a copy. Sorry, guys, I just don't leave my stuff archived on GAF.
Mike Works
Member
Order - 1784 words
Ayma held the blue gel pill in front of her eyes. The Fathers light pierced through the miniscule bubbles carved into the liquid. The Daughter was falling closer to the edge of the horizon when a gust of wind pushed strands of her auburn hair over her face.
Admiring the Daughters sleep, guarder?
Ayma immediately spun around and placed her right hand over her heart.
Lowered, Miss Goski. Ayma relaxed her stance as the foreman walked up beside her.
I was actually looking at this, sir. She opened her palm, revealing the pill. Foreman Jacob Gorenkos eyes lingered on the pill for a moment before looking out at the horizon. The Daughter was beginning to fall under the ocean.
Tell me, guarder, are you currently in possession of your ö26? Ayma reached to her hip and ran her fingers across the hilt of her gun.
Yes sir.
That blue pill in your hand? Thats the most important weapon youre going to have when we get up there.
Sir What happened to Terra Squad? Gorenko looked away from Ayma.
Sedations just after the Fathers sleep, guarder. Dont be late. He began to walk back toward the base.
Jacob.
Gorenko stopped in his steps.
One of them stopped taking their pills, Ayma.
As the waves crashed upon the heavy pebble shore, Ayma turned back to the ocean and blocked the Father out of her eyes.
-----
Lets see those pretty eyes of yours.
Ayma woke up to the sound of Keeper Christian Dostvics voice and the piercing light from that fucking little flashlight of his.
Can you follow the light, Ayma? She slapped the flashlight out of his hands. Ill take that as a yes.
Ayma reached up and pulled Christians face toward her own. She closed her eyes as their lips came together.
After the moment was over, Christian smiled and left for Gorenkos station. Ayma propped herself up and gasped.
Gone was the ocean she had spent her entire life living next to. The open grassy plains of home had been replaced by green bark trees both thick and thin bursting out of a deep red soil. The humidity swam against her skin, its weight dropping into her lungs with every breath. An animal call that she had never once heard- not even through vision- echoed through the woods. As Christian placed his hand on the interface of Gorenkos station, he looked over at her and smiled.
Welcome to Caloqa, Ayma.
-----
The Daughters light was becoming more and more filtered by the canopy above as the squad moved deeper into the forest. They had been walking for days, and the splendour of being on a new globe had quickly given way to the sweltering heat.
Ayma started to make her way up to Gorenko as she sifted through the half dozen recruits that made up the bulk of their squad. Christian was speaking with one of them: Alister Volchesky, a headstrong young man with dark green eyes. He had been one of the more problematic recruits that Ayma had dealt with, but she was able to mould him into a squad man eventually. Christian nodded at something Volchesky said before moving forward to intercept her.
Ayma, we need to talk, said Christian.
Not now, I have to speak with Gorenko.
Ayma, its impor-
I said not now, keeper. Stand back.
Christian clenched his jaw shut and slowed his pace. Ayma left Christian behind and approached Gorenko.
Sir.
Guarder. Did you take your pill today?
Yes sir.
Good.
Sir, permission to lower?
Lowered.
Ayma moved in closer to Gorenko and spoke in a whisper.
Where exactly are we going, Jacob? Terras last known position was almost in the exact opposite direction.
That position was the last coordinates that the Emperors Minds received, yes. The Emperors Minds, however, didnt have a tracker placed in one of Terras men. One of their women, to be exact.
A tracker? Sir, is that legal? Gorenko didnt respond. Where is she?
There.
Ayma followed Gorenkos line of site. The body of a woman with short blonde hair lay motionless on her back in an open clearing, mere paces ahead.
Go to her, Ill be with you in a second, he said. Gorenko turned back to the recruits and began ordering them to set up camp.
The Foremans voice grew fainter as Ayma approached the body. She crouched down next to the woman and checked for a pulse; there was nothing. The womans eyes were wide open. Ayma leaned over and stared into them as Gorenko walked up behind her.
How did she die? Ayma asked.
Paralysis. Gorenko knelt down on the opposite side of the womans head.
Is that what happens if you dont-
After you kill your entire squad in their sleep, yes.
I dont understand Why would she stop taking her pills?
No one knows. Not me, not the Emperors Minds. Her squad members didnt even notice that she had stopped until the cycle for canister refills arrived; she was the only squad member that didnt request a refill.
Ayma touched the blonde womans cheek. Her skin still felt warm.
What do we do now?
We set up camp for the night.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow we try to find where she put the rest of her squad.
-----
Ayma sat alone outside of her tent. The Father and the Daughter were asleep; distant Families illuminated the night sky.
A handful of recruits were gathered around a fire, talking. Their eyes seemed weary from the days trek, but occasionally they all let loose a fit of laughter, indicating that Gorenko hadnt pushed them too hard.
Ayma shifted her focus to Gorenko. He was alone outside of his tent, re-reviewing every aspect of Terra Squads logs. Jacob had always been an isolated man, even when protocol dictated fraternity. Ayma thought of all the times she wanted to thank him for everything he had taught her, but had been too scared or too embarrassed to speak up. Ayma watched Gorenko and hoped that one day she would be able to break that silence.
Her eyes drifted over to Christians tent. They hadnt spoken since she cited rank with him earlier in the day. Unlike Gorenko, Christian had always been someone she could talk to. They had both been made orphans by the War of the Close Families; it was what had initially brought them together. While the two of them practically grew up together on the base, it wasnt until recently that they realized how much they truly meant to each other.
Ayma got up and walked toward Christians tent. Volchesky watched her as she walked past, but said nothing. She opened the clasp on Christians tent.
Ayma. He was sitting on his cot, watching an opera that was being projected out of his eyescreen. Ayma moved in and turned it off. What the hell are you-
Shut up. She moved her way over to his cot and pushed him down onto it.
Shut up? Christian slid his hand under her shirt and caressed her back. Is that an order?
Ayma smiled as she kissed him.
-----
The gunshot didnt wake Ayma up. The yelling did.
She quickly threw her clothes on as the shouts continued outside. Christian must have woken up earlier; she was alone in the tent. Ayma grabbed her gun and opened the clasp. She had to shield her eyes from the Father for a moment. After adjusting to the light, she saw them.
Alister Volchesky was on the ground, convulsing. Blood was streaming out of his neck. The other recruits were all standing around Volchesky, seemingly unsure of what to do. It wasn't until she stepped out of the tent that Ayma noticed Gorenko and Christian standing apart from the chaos. They each had a gun pointed at one another.
Whats happening? Ayma said as she moved toward them.
Ayma! Get a gun on him, now, Christian said.
Guarder, you put your gun on Keeper Dostvic, Gorenko said.
Ayma raised her gun halfway, but stopped short of pointing it at either man.
What happened to Volchesky? Ayma asked.
He fucking shot him, Ayma, Christian replied.
Recruit Volchesky had stopped taking his pills. And apparently he had convinced Keeper Dostvic here to do the same.
Ayma, the pills dont fucking do anything! Its a test, its all a test!
Miss Goski, you have to make a decision now. Put your gun on this man and put him down. That is an order.
Ayma, hes lying to you, you have to believe me, Christian said. Please.
Tears began to roll down her cheeks as Ayma pointed her gun at one of the men.
Im sorry, Jacob.
She pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! Christian threw his gun down onto the ground.
Christian, calm down, Gorenko said. He had lowered his gun.
Why didnt it fucking work, Jacob? Christian said. Every program we ran with her came out obedient, every one! This should have fucking worked! Fuck!
Christian, look at me, Gorenko said. We knew we werent going to get this right the first time.
What about the seventeenth time, Jacob? Christians eyes met Aymas for the first time; he looked almost as if hed forgotten she was still there. Ayma noticed Volchesky stand up and wipe the blood off of his neck with his sleeve. Christian began to walk over to her.
C-Christian whats-
Zero protocol A17 enact.
Ayma immediately lost all feeling in her body. She was on the ground in seconds.
-----
Ayma was able to hear everything they said as they dragged her into the same clearing where they had discovered the woman with short blonde hair. She watched them drag the woman off out of the corner of her eye. Soon after, all she could hear was the forest.
The Father and the Daughter danced above her for days. She could hear the sounds of wild animals running through the forage, but they never approached her. Eventually her heart stopped beating, and yet she continued to live. She didnt breathe nor did she feel any urge for food or water. Ayma stared at the trees and the skies and the globes and the Father and the Daughter.
Ayma had lost track of time when she finally heard the voices. As the footsteps grew closer, she desperately tried to stand, to call out, to move her eyes; she couldnt.
A woman with black hair pulled back in a ponytail knelt down beside her head and stared into Aymas eyes.
How did she die? the woman asked. A second pair of footsteps came up beside her.
Jacob Gorenko knelt down on the opposite side of Aymas head.
Paralysis.
Ayma held the blue gel pill in front of her eyes. The Fathers light pierced through the miniscule bubbles carved into the liquid. The Daughter was falling closer to the edge of the horizon when a gust of wind pushed strands of her auburn hair over her face.
Admiring the Daughters sleep, guarder?
Ayma immediately spun around and placed her right hand over her heart.
Lowered, Miss Goski. Ayma relaxed her stance as the foreman walked up beside her.
I was actually looking at this, sir. She opened her palm, revealing the pill. Foreman Jacob Gorenkos eyes lingered on the pill for a moment before looking out at the horizon. The Daughter was beginning to fall under the ocean.
Tell me, guarder, are you currently in possession of your ö26? Ayma reached to her hip and ran her fingers across the hilt of her gun.
Yes sir.
That blue pill in your hand? Thats the most important weapon youre going to have when we get up there.
Sir What happened to Terra Squad? Gorenko looked away from Ayma.
Sedations just after the Fathers sleep, guarder. Dont be late. He began to walk back toward the base.
Jacob.
Gorenko stopped in his steps.
One of them stopped taking their pills, Ayma.
As the waves crashed upon the heavy pebble shore, Ayma turned back to the ocean and blocked the Father out of her eyes.
-----
Lets see those pretty eyes of yours.
Ayma woke up to the sound of Keeper Christian Dostvics voice and the piercing light from that fucking little flashlight of his.
Can you follow the light, Ayma? She slapped the flashlight out of his hands. Ill take that as a yes.
Ayma reached up and pulled Christians face toward her own. She closed her eyes as their lips came together.
After the moment was over, Christian smiled and left for Gorenkos station. Ayma propped herself up and gasped.
Gone was the ocean she had spent her entire life living next to. The open grassy plains of home had been replaced by green bark trees both thick and thin bursting out of a deep red soil. The humidity swam against her skin, its weight dropping into her lungs with every breath. An animal call that she had never once heard- not even through vision- echoed through the woods. As Christian placed his hand on the interface of Gorenkos station, he looked over at her and smiled.
Welcome to Caloqa, Ayma.
-----
The Daughters light was becoming more and more filtered by the canopy above as the squad moved deeper into the forest. They had been walking for days, and the splendour of being on a new globe had quickly given way to the sweltering heat.
Ayma started to make her way up to Gorenko as she sifted through the half dozen recruits that made up the bulk of their squad. Christian was speaking with one of them: Alister Volchesky, a headstrong young man with dark green eyes. He had been one of the more problematic recruits that Ayma had dealt with, but she was able to mould him into a squad man eventually. Christian nodded at something Volchesky said before moving forward to intercept her.
Ayma, we need to talk, said Christian.
Not now, I have to speak with Gorenko.
Ayma, its impor-
I said not now, keeper. Stand back.
Christian clenched his jaw shut and slowed his pace. Ayma left Christian behind and approached Gorenko.
Sir.
Guarder. Did you take your pill today?
Yes sir.
Good.
Sir, permission to lower?
Lowered.
Ayma moved in closer to Gorenko and spoke in a whisper.
Where exactly are we going, Jacob? Terras last known position was almost in the exact opposite direction.
That position was the last coordinates that the Emperors Minds received, yes. The Emperors Minds, however, didnt have a tracker placed in one of Terras men. One of their women, to be exact.
A tracker? Sir, is that legal? Gorenko didnt respond. Where is she?
There.
Ayma followed Gorenkos line of site. The body of a woman with short blonde hair lay motionless on her back in an open clearing, mere paces ahead.
Go to her, Ill be with you in a second, he said. Gorenko turned back to the recruits and began ordering them to set up camp.
The Foremans voice grew fainter as Ayma approached the body. She crouched down next to the woman and checked for a pulse; there was nothing. The womans eyes were wide open. Ayma leaned over and stared into them as Gorenko walked up behind her.
How did she die? Ayma asked.
Paralysis. Gorenko knelt down on the opposite side of the womans head.
Is that what happens if you dont-
After you kill your entire squad in their sleep, yes.
I dont understand Why would she stop taking her pills?
No one knows. Not me, not the Emperors Minds. Her squad members didnt even notice that she had stopped until the cycle for canister refills arrived; she was the only squad member that didnt request a refill.
Ayma touched the blonde womans cheek. Her skin still felt warm.
What do we do now?
We set up camp for the night.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow we try to find where she put the rest of her squad.
-----
Ayma sat alone outside of her tent. The Father and the Daughter were asleep; distant Families illuminated the night sky.
A handful of recruits were gathered around a fire, talking. Their eyes seemed weary from the days trek, but occasionally they all let loose a fit of laughter, indicating that Gorenko hadnt pushed them too hard.
Ayma shifted her focus to Gorenko. He was alone outside of his tent, re-reviewing every aspect of Terra Squads logs. Jacob had always been an isolated man, even when protocol dictated fraternity. Ayma thought of all the times she wanted to thank him for everything he had taught her, but had been too scared or too embarrassed to speak up. Ayma watched Gorenko and hoped that one day she would be able to break that silence.
Her eyes drifted over to Christians tent. They hadnt spoken since she cited rank with him earlier in the day. Unlike Gorenko, Christian had always been someone she could talk to. They had both been made orphans by the War of the Close Families; it was what had initially brought them together. While the two of them practically grew up together on the base, it wasnt until recently that they realized how much they truly meant to each other.
Ayma got up and walked toward Christians tent. Volchesky watched her as she walked past, but said nothing. She opened the clasp on Christians tent.
Ayma. He was sitting on his cot, watching an opera that was being projected out of his eyescreen. Ayma moved in and turned it off. What the hell are you-
Shut up. She moved her way over to his cot and pushed him down onto it.
Shut up? Christian slid his hand under her shirt and caressed her back. Is that an order?
Ayma smiled as she kissed him.
-----
The gunshot didnt wake Ayma up. The yelling did.
She quickly threw her clothes on as the shouts continued outside. Christian must have woken up earlier; she was alone in the tent. Ayma grabbed her gun and opened the clasp. She had to shield her eyes from the Father for a moment. After adjusting to the light, she saw them.
Alister Volchesky was on the ground, convulsing. Blood was streaming out of his neck. The other recruits were all standing around Volchesky, seemingly unsure of what to do. It wasn't until she stepped out of the tent that Ayma noticed Gorenko and Christian standing apart from the chaos. They each had a gun pointed at one another.
Whats happening? Ayma said as she moved toward them.
Ayma! Get a gun on him, now, Christian said.
Guarder, you put your gun on Keeper Dostvic, Gorenko said.
Ayma raised her gun halfway, but stopped short of pointing it at either man.
What happened to Volchesky? Ayma asked.
He fucking shot him, Ayma, Christian replied.
Recruit Volchesky had stopped taking his pills. And apparently he had convinced Keeper Dostvic here to do the same.
Ayma, the pills dont fucking do anything! Its a test, its all a test!
Miss Goski, you have to make a decision now. Put your gun on this man and put him down. That is an order.
Ayma, hes lying to you, you have to believe me, Christian said. Please.
Tears began to roll down her cheeks as Ayma pointed her gun at one of the men.
Im sorry, Jacob.
She pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! Christian threw his gun down onto the ground.
Christian, calm down, Gorenko said. He had lowered his gun.
Why didnt it fucking work, Jacob? Christian said. Every program we ran with her came out obedient, every one! This should have fucking worked! Fuck!
Christian, look at me, Gorenko said. We knew we werent going to get this right the first time.
What about the seventeenth time, Jacob? Christians eyes met Aymas for the first time; he looked almost as if hed forgotten she was still there. Ayma noticed Volchesky stand up and wipe the blood off of his neck with his sleeve. Christian began to walk over to her.
C-Christian whats-
Zero protocol A17 enact.
Ayma immediately lost all feeling in her body. She was on the ground in seconds.
-----
Ayma was able to hear everything they said as they dragged her into the same clearing where they had discovered the woman with short blonde hair. She watched them drag the woman off out of the corner of her eye. Soon after, all she could hear was the forest.
The Father and the Daughter danced above her for days. She could hear the sounds of wild animals running through the forage, but they never approached her. Eventually her heart stopped beating, and yet she continued to live. She didnt breathe nor did she feel any urge for food or water. Ayma stared at the trees and the skies and the globes and the Father and the Daughter.
Ayma had lost track of time when she finally heard the voices. As the footsteps grew closer, she desperately tried to stand, to call out, to move her eyes; she couldnt.
A woman with black hair pulled back in a ponytail knelt down beside her head and stared into Aymas eyes.
How did she die? the woman asked. A second pair of footsteps came up beside her.
Jacob Gorenko knelt down on the opposite side of Aymas head.
Paralysis.
READER DISCRETION ADVISED. I JUST DON'T KNOW TBH. DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU. CHEERS. THANKS.
"Jaspers birthday" or "Fucking Hell"
1800 WORDS
16th
Jaspers razor blade cut sharply into his skin. Blood seeped through the cotton wool.
Fuck! he exclaimed.
It was a pure slice, just left of the mouth. You have to remember that hed only shaved a couple of times before. And he was already late. Hed booked an hour with Belladonna for eight:thirty.
*
You dont look 18. Do you have I.D.? Bella dressed in her silky lingerie asked.
Jasper panicked. He handed over a fake i.d. showing his age to be exactly two years older than he really was.
Bella offered him a drink. Well happy birthday. How is it that a handsome lad like you is still a virgin?
Jasper shrugged.
Bella pressed her breasts against his and slid her fingers down his trousers and cupped his balls. Well, I guess Im the lucky woman. Mother Nature sure blessed you in that department. Thats a big dick you have there sexy...
*
Jasper threw up over the bridge. He felt teary and dejected. He vowed in Jesuss name never to buy sex ever again.
17th
Jasper lifted his eyes from the monotony of the classroom work to an intriguing debate about religion.
You can think that he is a paedophile. But I cant, Jasper stated.
Why? He fucked a nine year old. The Muslims follow the teachings of a paedophile. Teresa May argued back.
You believe that their whole religion is made up and lies. Funny how the one thing that you do believe in is the only thing that helps you win an argument.
Maybe. Doesnt matter anyway. They believe it to be true. So they believe in a paedophile.
I dont think they do. Things dont add up. Historically, he marries women older than himself. Really old women. And then he married a child? Hmm... and he married her as well. Marriages were different then. Chiefs got married sometimes to keep the peace between tribes. Paedophilia is a sexual disorder, I think. You wont just get by on a single child when you have as much power as he did. And was she even a child? This woman, Aisha, is probably the most attributed female author of that time. She has an entire Hadith collection to her name. She is a mother of that religion...
Again. Doesnt matter. 99.9 % of Rag heads believe she was a child. They got married at six.
Dont say Rag... that thing you said. What you said begs another question. According to that hadith, they consummated the marriage at 9. What kind of a paedophile waits three years to satisfy his sexual thirst? Waits for a child to marinate? I think the first actual study that really looked into the matter put her age at an older age. Subsequently more have shown her to be significantly older.
Why the fuck are you supporting the Jew hating fucking carpet pilots anyhow? Youre a secret Bukha lover arnt you? And there I thought you were already fucked up being so blatantly Christian. Teresa May said.
A flash of Layla, the Arab escort Jasper had spent the night with crossed his mind. It was she that had told him about Aisha.
No... And stop being so fucking racist. Make no bones about it. Theres a fuck ton wrong with that religion. But Ive come to learn that there are different school of thoughts. There are good and bad people. And fuck off with your Christian hating as well.
Teresa May cupped her big breasts and laughed at him. Its why youre a virgin dude. You could have been having these to play with.
Classy... Jasper said looking away. He looked at the floor despondently; it was as if Jesus was looking at him. Jesus knew everything.
18th
Jasper held the phone to his lips. I cant quit. Sometimes I dont even know if its wrong or not.
The helpline attendant sympathised and yet kept her voice floating like a droning supermarket staff announcement. Whilst it may be common to sexually experiment at your age, paying for sex may show more underlying problems.
Its more than that. I cant explain it. After I cum, its like I sober up and just reality hits me.
...help is available John. It sounds like sexual addiction. You-
Its not just that, Im just looking at stuff that is just plain wrong. Sometimes I think that Im so far away from the line of what is right and wrong that I cant even see the line anymore. Beastiality. Gay porn.
Do you think Gay porn is wrong? the helpline attended interrupted.
No. That came out wrong. Its not wrong, if youre a girl or someone with homosexual tendencies, basically if your born gay. But, I feel like Im punishing myself by looking at it. It doesnt turn me on even. Truly it doesnt. I look away even. Maybe Im religious and most Christians think being gay is wrong and therefore on some level Im solving deep issues sexually... And theres the other thing. Porn. Urgh... Nothing is either right or wrong.
Jasper masquerading as John spoke for a long time. The talk helped a little, he guessed.
Two months later, he had an emotionless anal with Debra, a 27 year old Latvian escort who was playing a 21 year old college student even though she could barely speak English. He felt weak, unconfident and had problems ejaculating. In the showers, he thought about the money he was wasting.
Jasper looked over the bridge and at the waves of the rushing river. Amongst other things a sign warned him:
If you are having suicidal tendencies, please call this number.
Its consensual. He said to the sign.
19th
You delusional fucker. Youre not an ace hacker, Mathew ribbed Jasper on MSN.
I never said I was, properly. Just that I cant see how hard it would be. Remember that time I hacked our school framework?
Yeah whatever. You shit your pants every time something dangerous happens. Why dont you use your hacking skills to take down that illegal child porn shit.
Jasper stopped typing. Sites are tons better these days.
Its all over the p2p networks man. And there are websites bro, that has that pedo crap. Fucking horrible mate... Got to go. Girlfriends back.
Jasper closed the msn chatbox. He trawled the porn pages for signs of child pornography. He saw an advert for it on a bestiality forum. He went to the website and opened the front page. There were teens but old enough to be perhaps eighteen. It was still dark and troublesome. There were incest videos but he was immune to them these days. After a couple of hours he gave up. The Internet was a much better place. What was Mathew talking about?
A couple of days later whilst inadvertently looking for something different he found a forum poster complaining about a child video nasty where the kid was sixteen. Jasper replied asking for proof. The poster then proved it by giving a link. Jasper hovered above the icon. Then clicked it.
It was a youngish girl masturbating. His heart beat faster. Blood rushed to his sexual organs. He would have to break the site. He wanked to the material. It wasnt really child pornography he thought. It could just be a misleading title. He hung his head low afterwards and wondered what he was becoming. The site had a weak firewall. He hacked it and managed to take down the video. And others like it.
Several hours later he hit another website. His mouth stood ajar. Quite accidentally, he had hit the mother-load. There was no mistaking it. Judging by the pics there were eight year olds who were opening their bras for thirty year old guys. Just loading the page front and second page had put a few hundred pics on his harddrive. He could get rid of the evidence, but the police would still know the i.p. address from his Internet provider. He looked left and then right. His blood pressure rose as he clicked a video. He felt a little sick but knew that a huge high was just around the corner. A huge orgasm. Pressure built steadily as he fought against his will. His breathes were getting larger.
There was clearly a child in her school uniform. The video said she was a thirteen year old who was standing in front of a school wall. The camera man was laughing as his mate opened his zip. Jasper looked away. He then looked back. The child was willingly giving the man a blow job.
Fucking Hell...
Jasper knew that he could take down this site as well. He didnt want to wank to this. This was quite clearly taboo. But the orgasm, he knew, he just knew would be a phenomenal rush. Just like Heroin. Hed never tried Heroin though. His will let away to his bodily urges.
Jaspers whole body convulsed as he came.
He vowed never to do it again. He paced the room disgusted at himself. He got upset knowing that vowing was useless. What the hell was he doing? He then tried to crash the site to no avail. Jasper kicked the wall. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! He looked up at what normal people would do at this stage. He contacted the UK authority. The email reply thanked him. Jasper punched a wall. He couldn't live. That high was incredibly wrong. And sooner rather later it would be worse. Jasper knew this. How could he live having done this?
He was a paedophile. He visited the website again. And his powerlessness angered him and made him cry.
No I have to live, He said. I have to beat this.
A week later, an email came from the Internet Watch Foundation. They were unfortunately unable to take the website down as it had servers on soil not under their jurisdiction or on unknown locations.
Jasper was in the park with his family. His family noticed that he was strangely distant. Flashes of the school girl crossed his mind. He kept himself away from his niece and nephew. He knew that he would not forget the videos. He hadn't visited the website since then. He loathed himself.
In his nightmares, he saw a young child dragging her nails down a blackboard making a horrible screechy noise. The noise rattled his bones. In the middle of the night he walked out of the house in slippers and a loose shirt. He walked several streets gurgling in tears until he arrived at the Church. He banged on the huge doors to no avail. He settled on the kerb. How the fuck did I get here?
*
Jasper floated down the riverbanks a week later.
THE END
"Jaspers birthday" or "Fucking Hell"
1800 WORDS
16th
Jaspers razor blade cut sharply into his skin. Blood seeped through the cotton wool.
Fuck! he exclaimed.
It was a pure slice, just left of the mouth. You have to remember that hed only shaved a couple of times before. And he was already late. Hed booked an hour with Belladonna for eight:thirty.
*
You dont look 18. Do you have I.D.? Bella dressed in her silky lingerie asked.
Jasper panicked. He handed over a fake i.d. showing his age to be exactly two years older than he really was.
Bella offered him a drink. Well happy birthday. How is it that a handsome lad like you is still a virgin?
Jasper shrugged.
Bella pressed her breasts against his and slid her fingers down his trousers and cupped his balls. Well, I guess Im the lucky woman. Mother Nature sure blessed you in that department. Thats a big dick you have there sexy...
*
Jasper threw up over the bridge. He felt teary and dejected. He vowed in Jesuss name never to buy sex ever again.
17th
Jasper lifted his eyes from the monotony of the classroom work to an intriguing debate about religion.
You can think that he is a paedophile. But I cant, Jasper stated.
Why? He fucked a nine year old. The Muslims follow the teachings of a paedophile. Teresa May argued back.
You believe that their whole religion is made up and lies. Funny how the one thing that you do believe in is the only thing that helps you win an argument.
Maybe. Doesnt matter anyway. They believe it to be true. So they believe in a paedophile.
I dont think they do. Things dont add up. Historically, he marries women older than himself. Really old women. And then he married a child? Hmm... and he married her as well. Marriages were different then. Chiefs got married sometimes to keep the peace between tribes. Paedophilia is a sexual disorder, I think. You wont just get by on a single child when you have as much power as he did. And was she even a child? This woman, Aisha, is probably the most attributed female author of that time. She has an entire Hadith collection to her name. She is a mother of that religion...
Again. Doesnt matter. 99.9 % of Rag heads believe she was a child. They got married at six.
Dont say Rag... that thing you said. What you said begs another question. According to that hadith, they consummated the marriage at 9. What kind of a paedophile waits three years to satisfy his sexual thirst? Waits for a child to marinate? I think the first actual study that really looked into the matter put her age at an older age. Subsequently more have shown her to be significantly older.
Why the fuck are you supporting the Jew hating fucking carpet pilots anyhow? Youre a secret Bukha lover arnt you? And there I thought you were already fucked up being so blatantly Christian. Teresa May said.
A flash of Layla, the Arab escort Jasper had spent the night with crossed his mind. It was she that had told him about Aisha.
No... And stop being so fucking racist. Make no bones about it. Theres a fuck ton wrong with that religion. But Ive come to learn that there are different school of thoughts. There are good and bad people. And fuck off with your Christian hating as well.
Teresa May cupped her big breasts and laughed at him. Its why youre a virgin dude. You could have been having these to play with.
Classy... Jasper said looking away. He looked at the floor despondently; it was as if Jesus was looking at him. Jesus knew everything.
18th
Jasper held the phone to his lips. I cant quit. Sometimes I dont even know if its wrong or not.
The helpline attendant sympathised and yet kept her voice floating like a droning supermarket staff announcement. Whilst it may be common to sexually experiment at your age, paying for sex may show more underlying problems.
Its more than that. I cant explain it. After I cum, its like I sober up and just reality hits me.
...help is available John. It sounds like sexual addiction. You-
Its not just that, Im just looking at stuff that is just plain wrong. Sometimes I think that Im so far away from the line of what is right and wrong that I cant even see the line anymore. Beastiality. Gay porn.
Do you think Gay porn is wrong? the helpline attended interrupted.
No. That came out wrong. Its not wrong, if youre a girl or someone with homosexual tendencies, basically if your born gay. But, I feel like Im punishing myself by looking at it. It doesnt turn me on even. Truly it doesnt. I look away even. Maybe Im religious and most Christians think being gay is wrong and therefore on some level Im solving deep issues sexually... And theres the other thing. Porn. Urgh... Nothing is either right or wrong.
Jasper masquerading as John spoke for a long time. The talk helped a little, he guessed.
Two months later, he had an emotionless anal with Debra, a 27 year old Latvian escort who was playing a 21 year old college student even though she could barely speak English. He felt weak, unconfident and had problems ejaculating. In the showers, he thought about the money he was wasting.
Jasper looked over the bridge and at the waves of the rushing river. Amongst other things a sign warned him:
If you are having suicidal tendencies, please call this number.
Its consensual. He said to the sign.
19th
You delusional fucker. Youre not an ace hacker, Mathew ribbed Jasper on MSN.
I never said I was, properly. Just that I cant see how hard it would be. Remember that time I hacked our school framework?
Yeah whatever. You shit your pants every time something dangerous happens. Why dont you use your hacking skills to take down that illegal child porn shit.
Jasper stopped typing. Sites are tons better these days.
Its all over the p2p networks man. And there are websites bro, that has that pedo crap. Fucking horrible mate... Got to go. Girlfriends back.
Jasper closed the msn chatbox. He trawled the porn pages for signs of child pornography. He saw an advert for it on a bestiality forum. He went to the website and opened the front page. There were teens but old enough to be perhaps eighteen. It was still dark and troublesome. There were incest videos but he was immune to them these days. After a couple of hours he gave up. The Internet was a much better place. What was Mathew talking about?
A couple of days later whilst inadvertently looking for something different he found a forum poster complaining about a child video nasty where the kid was sixteen. Jasper replied asking for proof. The poster then proved it by giving a link. Jasper hovered above the icon. Then clicked it.
It was a youngish girl masturbating. His heart beat faster. Blood rushed to his sexual organs. He would have to break the site. He wanked to the material. It wasnt really child pornography he thought. It could just be a misleading title. He hung his head low afterwards and wondered what he was becoming. The site had a weak firewall. He hacked it and managed to take down the video. And others like it.
Several hours later he hit another website. His mouth stood ajar. Quite accidentally, he had hit the mother-load. There was no mistaking it. Judging by the pics there were eight year olds who were opening their bras for thirty year old guys. Just loading the page front and second page had put a few hundred pics on his harddrive. He could get rid of the evidence, but the police would still know the i.p. address from his Internet provider. He looked left and then right. His blood pressure rose as he clicked a video. He felt a little sick but knew that a huge high was just around the corner. A huge orgasm. Pressure built steadily as he fought against his will. His breathes were getting larger.
There was clearly a child in her school uniform. The video said she was a thirteen year old who was standing in front of a school wall. The camera man was laughing as his mate opened his zip. Jasper looked away. He then looked back. The child was willingly giving the man a blow job.
Fucking Hell...
Jasper knew that he could take down this site as well. He didnt want to wank to this. This was quite clearly taboo. But the orgasm, he knew, he just knew would be a phenomenal rush. Just like Heroin. Hed never tried Heroin though. His will let away to his bodily urges.
Jaspers whole body convulsed as he came.
He vowed never to do it again. He paced the room disgusted at himself. He got upset knowing that vowing was useless. What the hell was he doing? He then tried to crash the site to no avail. Jasper kicked the wall. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! He looked up at what normal people would do at this stage. He contacted the UK authority. The email reply thanked him. Jasper punched a wall. He couldn't live. That high was incredibly wrong. And sooner rather later it would be worse. Jasper knew this. How could he live having done this?
He was a paedophile. He visited the website again. And his powerlessness angered him and made him cry.
No I have to live, He said. I have to beat this.
A week later, an email came from the Internet Watch Foundation. They were unfortunately unable to take the website down as it had servers on soil not under their jurisdiction or on unknown locations.
Jasper was in the park with his family. His family noticed that he was strangely distant. Flashes of the school girl crossed his mind. He kept himself away from his niece and nephew. He knew that he would not forget the videos. He hadn't visited the website since then. He loathed himself.
In his nightmares, he saw a young child dragging her nails down a blackboard making a horrible screechy noise. The noise rattled his bones. In the middle of the night he walked out of the house in slippers and a loose shirt. He walked several streets gurgling in tears until he arrived at the Church. He banged on the huge doors to no avail. He settled on the kerb. How the fuck did I get here?
*
Jasper floated down the riverbanks a week later.
THE END
"I'm Stan Williams and this is 'This Week.' Before we begin I'd like to make an announcement. Tonight will be my last show." There was a collective pause, however brief, among the crew. I'm already here. No going back now. Knowing what I know now maybe there are some things that I would have done differently, but I don't think I could ever be anything other than a journalist.
I still remember those bright eyed days right out of school. There were four of us. Me, Dan Allen, Ed Donald and Jim Josephs. We'd all met in college and we were nigh inseparable. Those months between graduation and getting our start are something of a blur. Every night, without fail, we'd drink ourselves silly and pine on about how we were going to change the world.
With the exception of Ed, each of us was employed at one paper or another. Back in those days we had to do all the heavy lifting ourselves. If you had a lead you'd see it through to the end in hopes that it'd be your big break. Each night we'd try to coax scoops out of one another. All of us knew better than to let anything slip, but we all tried anyway.
Ed didn't bother with the papers. He thought television was the way to go and he was right. He'd secured himself some low level internship at one of the networks hoping to get his foot in the door. Funny enough it was Dan who landed a steady gig as a correspondent first. A few months down the line Ed and I each managed to grab positions, a few days apart, for the two big competing channels. With some hobnobbing from the three of us it didn't take long for Jimmy to land on his feet.
During the years that followed we all went through women like they were cigarettes. There was always a reason to celebrate even when there wasn't. We were all stationed at competing networks and there was, to be certain, a rivalry between us, but more than anything we were family. Brothers.
After a few years of loose women and big leads we all started to slow down. Understand, we still enjoyed the night life, but we were all looking for something more than a string of one-nighters at that point. Jim was the first to settle down, but by that point we were all with the women that'd end up being our wives.
We all went through the motions. The weddings. The kids. The mortgages. All of it. Of course, life was not without its hardships, but they were mostly minor and not worth mentioning. The four of us had built a good deal of clout in the industry and it looked like we were about to hop in the big leagues. For all intents and purposes life was good.
I was the first to get my calling. One of the anchors at my network was retiring. The spot was given to me while the seat was still warm. Dan was fast tracked up the corporate ladder. The boys upstairs at his place saw in him a lot of potential and rightly so. Before long he was the producer of one of my biggest competitors. Jim and Ed were always much more hands on. They'd managed to get themselves embedded with the troops in the war. Out there getting the hard, dirty news that could change the world's perception of events.
Our kids were all teenagers. Our mortgages paid of or close to it. We'd all gotten what we'd wanted
I guess it's when you fly the highest that God feels the most compelled to humble you again. Jim had been killed out there on the battlefield. We were all stunned. I remember a numbness washing over me that, to this day, still holds a small piece of me captive. Dan and I called in some favors and got all of the networks to air tribute pieces to honor Jimmy.
Ed was, by far, the most disturbed by the loss. He'd been Jim's best man; was the godfather of his kids. He never really recovered from the loss. His alcoholism became worse and worse and any attempts to help him were thwarted by his own stubbornness.
After the better part of two years he'd finally hit bottom. He confessed to me privately that he'd slept with Jim's wife during the months leading up to his death. He was human filth and he knew it, he insisted. He couldn't eat. he couldn't sleep. his mind was wracked with guilt and his work; everything was suffering because of it.
My first thought was to ask him if Elizabeth knew. He said she'd found out and left him months ago. This was so far out of my comfort zone that I wasn't sure how to react. This wasn't like the old days where some one-nighter would have it out for him. His life was in shambles. He needed serious help. And I tried to help him, but he swore me to secrecy and I complied.
I thought I was being a good friend at the time.
A few months later Ed was fired from his station. That night he hung himself. At that point the only people that cared were Dan and I and his kid. I never did tell anyone about his confession.
Life was changing for the worse and so was work. My old producer was forced out after decades of service and the new guy was a real shill. The network heads were furious that the news was not profitable. There was a push toward 'soft' news and away from real journalism. I tried to push back as much as I could, but my campaign didn't have much traction. Their yards beat out my inches.
I soon found out that it wasn't just my network that was making these changes. Dan was getting it from all sides as well. We'd met at one of our old hangouts to reminisce about the old days. That wasn't the only reason he'd called me there though. He'd decided to retire early. The tide was changing, he said, and old dinosaurs like us are going to be swept into the undertow. For him, it was better to go out on his own terms. Before long he was gone. Out of my life with the exception of the occasional phone call.
My children were grown at that point and starting families of their own. My wife battled leukemia. She held on for twelve rounds, God bless her, but in the end she lost the fight.
Real news was all but dead by then. I'd long since found myself losing interest in my work, because it had become just that; work.
Which brings us to where we are now.
My producer is a pretty young thing named Carla. Perhaps out of loneliness, boredom or some misplaced sense of entitlement I've been carrying on with her in secret for the better part of a year now. A spineless twerp named Todd, one of our correspondents, has had his eye on my chair for ages. it turns out that Todd found out about me and Carla. He's tried to blackmail me into giving up my seat and recommending to the higher ups that he have it.
I told him I'd do it, but I don't intend to give him the satisfaction. Dan had the right idea. He always did. There's no place left in this business for people like us. At the beginning of tonight's broadcast I announced, unexpectedly to all that I'll be retiring after tonight. During commercial everyone is questions, but I managed to get Carla to agree to give me a few minutes at the end of the show to read a farewell. It'll explain everything, I tell her.
I go through the motions of rehashing the stories we've taken from the AP wire to make them sound like our own until the end of the show. We come back from our final commercial and all eyes are on me.
"It may come as a surprise to many of you to hear that I am retiring. For years I've been in this seat anxious and delighted to have the pleasure of informing you all about what's happening in the world. I've seen this country undergo amazing progress. I've very much enjoyed the time that you've allowed me into your homes and I thank you all for the opportunity.
"Many of you may be wondering, 'why now?' The truth is that a co-worker of mine I'm sure many of you know, correspondent Todd Fergesun, has attempted to blackmail me. He expects me to resign and recommend him to take my place. That's not going to happen. Sorry, Todd, but I just don't think you're fit for the job.
"Todd's malfeasance isn't the reason I've decided to hang up my coat, however. What's inspired me to call it quits is the way that this business is changing. The news business is more business these days and the news is all but a footnote. I simply cannot be a footnote any longer.
"But I want to leave you with this advice: those of you out there who are aspiring journalists, don't let my experience sour your spirit. I believe that things can change, I'm just too old at this point to be the one to do it. And for those of you out there who come to us for your news; demand more of us. You deserve better.
"Thank you all for your time. This is Stan Williams, signing off."
I still remember those bright eyed days right out of school. There were four of us. Me, Dan Allen, Ed Donald and Jim Josephs. We'd all met in college and we were nigh inseparable. Those months between graduation and getting our start are something of a blur. Every night, without fail, we'd drink ourselves silly and pine on about how we were going to change the world.
With the exception of Ed, each of us was employed at one paper or another. Back in those days we had to do all the heavy lifting ourselves. If you had a lead you'd see it through to the end in hopes that it'd be your big break. Each night we'd try to coax scoops out of one another. All of us knew better than to let anything slip, but we all tried anyway.
Ed didn't bother with the papers. He thought television was the way to go and he was right. He'd secured himself some low level internship at one of the networks hoping to get his foot in the door. Funny enough it was Dan who landed a steady gig as a correspondent first. A few months down the line Ed and I each managed to grab positions, a few days apart, for the two big competing channels. With some hobnobbing from the three of us it didn't take long for Jimmy to land on his feet.
During the years that followed we all went through women like they were cigarettes. There was always a reason to celebrate even when there wasn't. We were all stationed at competing networks and there was, to be certain, a rivalry between us, but more than anything we were family. Brothers.
After a few years of loose women and big leads we all started to slow down. Understand, we still enjoyed the night life, but we were all looking for something more than a string of one-nighters at that point. Jim was the first to settle down, but by that point we were all with the women that'd end up being our wives.
We all went through the motions. The weddings. The kids. The mortgages. All of it. Of course, life was not without its hardships, but they were mostly minor and not worth mentioning. The four of us had built a good deal of clout in the industry and it looked like we were about to hop in the big leagues. For all intents and purposes life was good.
I was the first to get my calling. One of the anchors at my network was retiring. The spot was given to me while the seat was still warm. Dan was fast tracked up the corporate ladder. The boys upstairs at his place saw in him a lot of potential and rightly so. Before long he was the producer of one of my biggest competitors. Jim and Ed were always much more hands on. They'd managed to get themselves embedded with the troops in the war. Out there getting the hard, dirty news that could change the world's perception of events.
Our kids were all teenagers. Our mortgages paid of or close to it. We'd all gotten what we'd wanted
I guess it's when you fly the highest that God feels the most compelled to humble you again. Jim had been killed out there on the battlefield. We were all stunned. I remember a numbness washing over me that, to this day, still holds a small piece of me captive. Dan and I called in some favors and got all of the networks to air tribute pieces to honor Jimmy.
Ed was, by far, the most disturbed by the loss. He'd been Jim's best man; was the godfather of his kids. He never really recovered from the loss. His alcoholism became worse and worse and any attempts to help him were thwarted by his own stubbornness.
After the better part of two years he'd finally hit bottom. He confessed to me privately that he'd slept with Jim's wife during the months leading up to his death. He was human filth and he knew it, he insisted. He couldn't eat. he couldn't sleep. his mind was wracked with guilt and his work; everything was suffering because of it.
My first thought was to ask him if Elizabeth knew. He said she'd found out and left him months ago. This was so far out of my comfort zone that I wasn't sure how to react. This wasn't like the old days where some one-nighter would have it out for him. His life was in shambles. He needed serious help. And I tried to help him, but he swore me to secrecy and I complied.
I thought I was being a good friend at the time.
A few months later Ed was fired from his station. That night he hung himself. At that point the only people that cared were Dan and I and his kid. I never did tell anyone about his confession.
Life was changing for the worse and so was work. My old producer was forced out after decades of service and the new guy was a real shill. The network heads were furious that the news was not profitable. There was a push toward 'soft' news and away from real journalism. I tried to push back as much as I could, but my campaign didn't have much traction. Their yards beat out my inches.
I soon found out that it wasn't just my network that was making these changes. Dan was getting it from all sides as well. We'd met at one of our old hangouts to reminisce about the old days. That wasn't the only reason he'd called me there though. He'd decided to retire early. The tide was changing, he said, and old dinosaurs like us are going to be swept into the undertow. For him, it was better to go out on his own terms. Before long he was gone. Out of my life with the exception of the occasional phone call.
My children were grown at that point and starting families of their own. My wife battled leukemia. She held on for twelve rounds, God bless her, but in the end she lost the fight.
Real news was all but dead by then. I'd long since found myself losing interest in my work, because it had become just that; work.
Which brings us to where we are now.
My producer is a pretty young thing named Carla. Perhaps out of loneliness, boredom or some misplaced sense of entitlement I've been carrying on with her in secret for the better part of a year now. A spineless twerp named Todd, one of our correspondents, has had his eye on my chair for ages. it turns out that Todd found out about me and Carla. He's tried to blackmail me into giving up my seat and recommending to the higher ups that he have it.
I told him I'd do it, but I don't intend to give him the satisfaction. Dan had the right idea. He always did. There's no place left in this business for people like us. At the beginning of tonight's broadcast I announced, unexpectedly to all that I'll be retiring after tonight. During commercial everyone is questions, but I managed to get Carla to agree to give me a few minutes at the end of the show to read a farewell. It'll explain everything, I tell her.
I go through the motions of rehashing the stories we've taken from the AP wire to make them sound like our own until the end of the show. We come back from our final commercial and all eyes are on me.
"It may come as a surprise to many of you to hear that I am retiring. For years I've been in this seat anxious and delighted to have the pleasure of informing you all about what's happening in the world. I've seen this country undergo amazing progress. I've very much enjoyed the time that you've allowed me into your homes and I thank you all for the opportunity.
"Many of you may be wondering, 'why now?' The truth is that a co-worker of mine I'm sure many of you know, correspondent Todd Fergesun, has attempted to blackmail me. He expects me to resign and recommend him to take my place. That's not going to happen. Sorry, Todd, but I just don't think you're fit for the job.
"Todd's malfeasance isn't the reason I've decided to hang up my coat, however. What's inspired me to call it quits is the way that this business is changing. The news business is more business these days and the news is all but a footnote. I simply cannot be a footnote any longer.
"But I want to leave you with this advice: those of you out there who are aspiring journalists, don't let my experience sour your spirit. I believe that things can change, I'm just too old at this point to be the one to do it. And for those of you out there who come to us for your news; demand more of us. You deserve better.
"Thank you all for your time. This is Stan Williams, signing off."
There's a lot that I ended up having to leave out. About halfway through I realized that this story was more substantial than I had planned. It's so the sort of story I could write 20 pages on.
Doors
You can't see the colors,
But they're there in us,
Like rainbow ripples in oil lakes.
They may be flashy,
Like a line of gold coins on a sports coat,
But they keep you like a child
In the rib cage of a crib
And swat at you when you dare
To cling and climb and cross.
What gives them the right?
They sit in some old oak room,
Full of tarots and tea leaves.
They say 'Eureka!' and nod knowingly,
As if the pyramids had always been.
They play at their looms
Like a drummer might pluck a harp.
A long single hallway leads them here.
It's the only one they know.
It's the only one they want you to know.
But we want the corridors and the hallways.
We want the doors that you stumble through.
Doesn't an opening creak sound welcoming?
We must be savage!
To thrash against the waves!
To pull your chains from the mortar!
The broken hearts, the broken toes,
The lost friends, the passed pets,
The broke-down cars, the slammed doors,
The screams into pillows, the waits in silence,
The days you just don't know why.
That's all we are.
You shouldn't be scared.
We'll set you free.
And when you're old and tired,
And there's just one door left
And one hallway to walk down,
You'll see the colors.
That're there in us, all along.
You can't see the colors,
But they're there in us,
Like rainbow ripples in oil lakes.
They may be flashy,
Like a line of gold coins on a sports coat,
But they keep you like a child
In the rib cage of a crib
And swat at you when you dare
To cling and climb and cross.
What gives them the right?
They sit in some old oak room,
Full of tarots and tea leaves.
They say 'Eureka!' and nod knowingly,
As if the pyramids had always been.
They play at their looms
Like a drummer might pluck a harp.
A long single hallway leads them here.
It's the only one they know.
It's the only one they want you to know.
But we want the corridors and the hallways.
We want the doors that you stumble through.
Doesn't an opening creak sound welcoming?
We must be savage!
To thrash against the waves!
To pull your chains from the mortar!
The broken hearts, the broken toes,
The lost friends, the passed pets,
The broke-down cars, the slammed doors,
The screams into pillows, the waits in silence,
The days you just don't know why.
That's all we are.
You shouldn't be scared.
We'll set you free.
And when you're old and tired,
And there's just one door left
And one hallway to walk down,
You'll see the colors.
That're there in us, all along.
Companion piece to the one I wrote in the first challenge.
Mike Works
Member
i swear to god, i didn't read anyone else's story before i posted mine.
now, skimming through a few of them in this thread, i've already discovered one that has multiple suns and one that has an Emperor :lol
now, skimming through a few of them in this thread, i've already discovered one that has multiple suns and one that has an Emperor :lol
The Entries:
"Roving Stray" - ZephyrFate
"The Right Story" - Tim the Wiz
"The Out-haw / He-law Switch" - Ward
"The Playwright's Dilemma" - Dresden
"The Rifle Master" - Aaron
"Rerun" - neebone
Untitled - I Push Fat Kids
"A Tentacle Too Far" - John Dunbar
"Sidewalk Chalk" - Irish
"Fiddy" - ronito
"On the Tip of the Tongue" - crowphoenix
"Anvil" - Cyan
"Of Mice and Marijuana" - hey_monkey
"Order" - Mike Works
"Jaspers Birthday" or "Fucking Hell" - Ashes1396
"Signing Off" - Yeef
"Doors" - DumbNameD
"IBS & DCD Harmony" - Tangent
"Roving Stray" - ZephyrFate
"The Right Story" - Tim the Wiz
"The Out-haw / He-law Switch" - Ward
"The Playwright's Dilemma" - Dresden
"The Rifle Master" - Aaron
"Rerun" - neebone
Untitled - I Push Fat Kids
"A Tentacle Too Far" - John Dunbar
"Sidewalk Chalk" - Irish
"Fiddy" - ronito
"On the Tip of the Tongue" - crowphoenix
"Anvil" - Cyan
"Of Mice and Marijuana" - hey_monkey
"Order" - Mike Works
"Jaspers Birthday" or "Fucking Hell" - Ashes1396
"Signing Off" - Yeef
"Doors" - DumbNameD
"IBS & DCD Harmony" - Tangent
Tim the Wiz
Banned
Yeef said:
Technically, one minute over the deadline, but I'm sure exceptions can be made for submissions one minute late.
Posting on behalf of Tangent:
"IBS & DCD Harmony" (1684 words)
Moby was just an ordinary worm. Not a short, fat juicy one or even a little itsy-bitsy one. Just your average earthworm. He spent his time tunneling, foraging, and reproducing, either sexually or asexually, depending on his arousal mood. Although never formally diagnosed, Moby had Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS) and Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD). Hed get a side cramp whenever inching and oozing, and especially when making new tunnels.
Moby, hurry up! called Rex, who had found a new avenue to get oxygen. Although Rex was Mobys brother, one wonders how they shared genes. Rex could tunnel, forage, and reproduce simultaneously and, incidentally, save the environment all the while.
Moby hated derby races just to get oxygen. Ill be right there, moaned Moby with tunnel-sickness.
Rex snickered and otter-popped through slick soil. Moby trudged forward with aching muscles. A thunderous clapped ahead. Avalanche! A damp ceiling plummeted before him. Moby froze not knowing where to go without light. Before his muscles completely locked up, he called, Rex! Rex!
Silence.
Gotcha! Rex roared as he landed on Moby in a ball, covering Moby in his mucus.
You practically gave me a heart attack, Freak!
Well, dont worry, you have four more hearts to go, replied Rex.
Connor was just your average kid. He wasnt in honor roll nor a bully. Just your average kid. However, sometimes average activities like school or sports left Connor behind because of his Developmental Coordination Disorder (DCD).
As Connor practiced gross motor skills with his Pokewalker, his brother jumped down from the upper bunk. Startled, Connor dropped his Pokewalker.
Youre supposed to nap for another 15 minutes! demanded Connor.
Not sweepy anymoe, Dustin replied. Connor wished that Kindergarten was a full day. Kids these were babied.
Whats diss? Dustin asked, picking up Connors Pokewalker.
Its mine, thats what it is, snapped Connor, grabbing it back. Connor snatched his Bionicle as well, and ran away with his brother close on his tail.
At the bottom of the stairs, Connor sprawled out like a penguin on ice, and his Pokewalker spun across the family room and toppled over against the far wall. Dustin skipped over Connor and picked up the Pokewalker after a quick smile to his clumsy older brother.
Mom raced to the scene. Connor, are you OK? she asked.
Yeah, just resting, Connor tried.
Mom rolled with it and moved on. Well, lets get up now As Mom held out her hand for her son but then turned to the sound of thunder.
Cool! A storm! smiled Connor, thinking ahead of how this might make his plans with David a bit more adventurous. Maybe thered be power outage glitches thatd favor Connor when theyd play LEGO Wii.
Oh my. Well, there goes your playdate with David.
What?! Thats unfair! yelled Connor.
But Mom ignored his declaration and called Davids dad.
Once Moby got all of Rexs snot off himself after Rexs prank the two agreed to now search for slow, meditative oxygen intake. Inching along, Rex, ahead of course, stopped in his tracks. Fortunately, Moby wasnt able to keep up, so he avoided colliding with Rexs anus.
Did you hear something? asked Rex.
Um Moby stalled. Pistons! It must be a fleet of worms! You did it, Rex. You sure know where to dig tunnels. Gold mine for all, really.
But Rexs thoughts seemed elsewhere still trying to crack some code. So Moby provided silence, as if respecting a fortune-tellers space.
Rexs eyes widened. STORM! Mobys second heart back-flipped before they both scurried back to their clan. Fortunately for Moby, Rexs new tunnels made for shortcuts to the cul de sac.
Despite their nervousness, the clan was systematic, like veteran CPR providers.
Painfully fleeting goodbyes were offered by younger brothers and sisters before racing to Surface. It was clear that his parents had decided that they wouldnt make it to Surface, and to the opposite side of the sidewalk before the landmines were set off that is, before the kids were out, and stomping all over puddles to get to the beastly yellow, fuming Machine. His parents chose drowning over frying frying on the sidewalk under midday sun before making it back to cold, damp soil on the opposite side of the landmine. Mobys third heart wrenched with pain.
Goodbye son, Pops said.
Moby stuttered, B-bye. That was it? Moby wanted to kick himself but didnt have the appendages to do so. Instead, he said another quick bye to Ma. It dawned on him: there was no need for his folks to say bye to Rex. Rex would sprint to Surface, and easily to the other side well before dawn.
Rex turned to Moby, Just stay by my side, Bro. He smiled nervously. But Moby knew that hed be a shoestring French fry well after most worms were safely back in dryer afternoon soil, and therefore justified to celebrate with massive strong-gene orgies.
Connor, dont forget your lunch! called Mom. Connor raced down the stairs, minding the lowest step. Unfortunately, Connor still face-planted. Not on the bottom step this time, but on the jacket that slipped off his butterfingers.
Honey, are you all right? asked Mom. Even though she came to expect such spills, it still hurt her to see her son be so coordinated. Mom let go of hopes for a soccer scholarship in a decade, and even for making the community team with the motto, Everyone Plays.
Yeah, Connor said, getting back up quickly.
Mom smiled. My little Con Artist. She hugged Connor, evened his shoulder straps, and handed him his Phineas-and-Ferb lunchbox. You have fun at the aquarium today!
Thanks! Connor said, grabbing the lunchbox, and then he raced out to catch the early fieldtrip bus.
No Rex, Youre almost to Surface, demanded Moby. More sternly, he added, This time its your turn to do what I say. Rex had never seen Moby so confident with his words through a whole night of travel and arguing.
Okay, Rex caved in. Ill see you on the other side.
See you then, Bro, Moby played along. Clearly, the denial made Rex feel better. But it was easy for Rex to accept his fate; his locomotion muscles became JELL-O.
Alone, Moby felt at peace, moving now at his own pace with nobody rushing him. Rex was well out of sight, and it was a relief to know hed dodge all sneaker Bombs. After several convulsions in a final uphill battle through topsoil, Moby, too, had surfaced into daylight. Surveying his new landscape, he was shocked to find the war in full course this early. Screams from familiar faces, to unfamiliar faces, created a continual, bristle-raising chorus. Bombs dropped. Worms were steam-rolled left and right. Something must have changed the Machines schedule.
The swarm of A-wallers around him began to blur, and Moby realized that his lack of oxygen was quickly making him dizzy.
Connor turned the corner and ran two blocks down to grab his friend, David. He hopped impatiently by the door while David rummaged together his school supplies.
Okay, ready! David said, showing off an underwater camera.
The boys B-lined to the school bus. Connor lagged but he didnt call out to David for him to wait up. Why point out his wimpiness? He felt burdened by the weight of his sopping clothes. Moreover, the sidewalk was littered not only the usual dangers of erupting roots, but also hundreds of slimy snails and worms!
Up ahead, Connor heard David yell, Ewwww! as he hopped about the sidewalk as if playing hop-scotch.
No! Moby managed. Further down, he thought he saw his little sisters gizzards and intestines ooze out by Heelys. Overwhelmed by all these atrocities, Moby barely could gather enough courage and physical strength to inch along. Moby wanted to scream. His feeble body not only always held him back, but it also forced him to witness the demise of so many victims.
Now in open-range, Moby expected a Bomb to land any moment. He didnt help to look up though; that would just slow him down. Choking for air, Moby continued forward. Suddenly, a quick shadow lurked above him and a Bomb erupted before him, just inches before his mouth.
Rex! Moby cried. He surprised himself. In his weakest moment, his reflexive plea was Rex, not Ma. Moby wondered if Rex was OK after all since the Bombs arrived early. Moby trudged forward.
Despite being mindful of roots and bugs, Connor still tripped on a sidewalk groove. Kids were already filing in the bus. Connor shuffled around and gathered his now drenched jacket.
And then everything that Moby feared materialized.
A huge Moby couldnt make out what it was landed. It wasnt a bomb. It was something colorful, some force much larger than even a Bomb, and covered in tye-dye, and smelling of salt. Moby felt grave danger inches away from a weapon far more deadly than any other Bomb he ever was warned of.
Connor reached for his spilled lunchbox that split open, exposing his PB&J to the rain. He snapped it shut, and then began to press down on the wet sidewalk to prop himself up. He hesitated, and readjusted.
Sick! was all Connor said as he reconsidered where to place his hand to get up. Connor saw the most disgusting creature ever. It mustve been a worm, but unlike the other stringy ones he passed, this one was extra disgusting. It looked like a sopping, long chain of diarrhea.
Connor got up and gave it one last look of disgust before catching up with David.
Connor, hurry up! called David, with one foot on the bus step.
Wait, David! You gotta come see this! Theres this worm back there that looks so gross! It must have muscles falling off its I dunno, skeleton! said Connor (unaware of Annelida anatomy), It looked like SHIT!
David grabbed his arm. Cmon Connor. Lets go. The door closed behind Connor and the bus driver took off, with all the students finally under a roof, and safe from the rain.
"IBS & DCD Harmony" (1684 words)
Moby was just an ordinary worm. Not a short, fat juicy one or even a little itsy-bitsy one. Just your average earthworm. He spent his time tunneling, foraging, and reproducing, either sexually or asexually, depending on his arousal mood. Although never formally diagnosed, Moby had Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS) and Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD). Hed get a side cramp whenever inching and oozing, and especially when making new tunnels.
Moby, hurry up! called Rex, who had found a new avenue to get oxygen. Although Rex was Mobys brother, one wonders how they shared genes. Rex could tunnel, forage, and reproduce simultaneously and, incidentally, save the environment all the while.
Moby hated derby races just to get oxygen. Ill be right there, moaned Moby with tunnel-sickness.
Rex snickered and otter-popped through slick soil. Moby trudged forward with aching muscles. A thunderous clapped ahead. Avalanche! A damp ceiling plummeted before him. Moby froze not knowing where to go without light. Before his muscles completely locked up, he called, Rex! Rex!
Silence.
Gotcha! Rex roared as he landed on Moby in a ball, covering Moby in his mucus.
You practically gave me a heart attack, Freak!
Well, dont worry, you have four more hearts to go, replied Rex.
Connor was just your average kid. He wasnt in honor roll nor a bully. Just your average kid. However, sometimes average activities like school or sports left Connor behind because of his Developmental Coordination Disorder (DCD).
As Connor practiced gross motor skills with his Pokewalker, his brother jumped down from the upper bunk. Startled, Connor dropped his Pokewalker.
Youre supposed to nap for another 15 minutes! demanded Connor.
Not sweepy anymoe, Dustin replied. Connor wished that Kindergarten was a full day. Kids these were babied.
Whats diss? Dustin asked, picking up Connors Pokewalker.
Its mine, thats what it is, snapped Connor, grabbing it back. Connor snatched his Bionicle as well, and ran away with his brother close on his tail.
At the bottom of the stairs, Connor sprawled out like a penguin on ice, and his Pokewalker spun across the family room and toppled over against the far wall. Dustin skipped over Connor and picked up the Pokewalker after a quick smile to his clumsy older brother.
Mom raced to the scene. Connor, are you OK? she asked.
Yeah, just resting, Connor tried.
Mom rolled with it and moved on. Well, lets get up now As Mom held out her hand for her son but then turned to the sound of thunder.
Cool! A storm! smiled Connor, thinking ahead of how this might make his plans with David a bit more adventurous. Maybe thered be power outage glitches thatd favor Connor when theyd play LEGO Wii.
Oh my. Well, there goes your playdate with David.
What?! Thats unfair! yelled Connor.
But Mom ignored his declaration and called Davids dad.
Once Moby got all of Rexs snot off himself after Rexs prank the two agreed to now search for slow, meditative oxygen intake. Inching along, Rex, ahead of course, stopped in his tracks. Fortunately, Moby wasnt able to keep up, so he avoided colliding with Rexs anus.
Did you hear something? asked Rex.
Um Moby stalled. Pistons! It must be a fleet of worms! You did it, Rex. You sure know where to dig tunnels. Gold mine for all, really.
But Rexs thoughts seemed elsewhere still trying to crack some code. So Moby provided silence, as if respecting a fortune-tellers space.
Rexs eyes widened. STORM! Mobys second heart back-flipped before they both scurried back to their clan. Fortunately for Moby, Rexs new tunnels made for shortcuts to the cul de sac.
Despite their nervousness, the clan was systematic, like veteran CPR providers.
Painfully fleeting goodbyes were offered by younger brothers and sisters before racing to Surface. It was clear that his parents had decided that they wouldnt make it to Surface, and to the opposite side of the sidewalk before the landmines were set off that is, before the kids were out, and stomping all over puddles to get to the beastly yellow, fuming Machine. His parents chose drowning over frying frying on the sidewalk under midday sun before making it back to cold, damp soil on the opposite side of the landmine. Mobys third heart wrenched with pain.
Goodbye son, Pops said.
Moby stuttered, B-bye. That was it? Moby wanted to kick himself but didnt have the appendages to do so. Instead, he said another quick bye to Ma. It dawned on him: there was no need for his folks to say bye to Rex. Rex would sprint to Surface, and easily to the other side well before dawn.
Rex turned to Moby, Just stay by my side, Bro. He smiled nervously. But Moby knew that hed be a shoestring French fry well after most worms were safely back in dryer afternoon soil, and therefore justified to celebrate with massive strong-gene orgies.
Connor, dont forget your lunch! called Mom. Connor raced down the stairs, minding the lowest step. Unfortunately, Connor still face-planted. Not on the bottom step this time, but on the jacket that slipped off his butterfingers.
Honey, are you all right? asked Mom. Even though she came to expect such spills, it still hurt her to see her son be so coordinated. Mom let go of hopes for a soccer scholarship in a decade, and even for making the community team with the motto, Everyone Plays.
Yeah, Connor said, getting back up quickly.
Mom smiled. My little Con Artist. She hugged Connor, evened his shoulder straps, and handed him his Phineas-and-Ferb lunchbox. You have fun at the aquarium today!
Thanks! Connor said, grabbing the lunchbox, and then he raced out to catch the early fieldtrip bus.
No Rex, Youre almost to Surface, demanded Moby. More sternly, he added, This time its your turn to do what I say. Rex had never seen Moby so confident with his words through a whole night of travel and arguing.
Okay, Rex caved in. Ill see you on the other side.
See you then, Bro, Moby played along. Clearly, the denial made Rex feel better. But it was easy for Rex to accept his fate; his locomotion muscles became JELL-O.
Alone, Moby felt at peace, moving now at his own pace with nobody rushing him. Rex was well out of sight, and it was a relief to know hed dodge all sneaker Bombs. After several convulsions in a final uphill battle through topsoil, Moby, too, had surfaced into daylight. Surveying his new landscape, he was shocked to find the war in full course this early. Screams from familiar faces, to unfamiliar faces, created a continual, bristle-raising chorus. Bombs dropped. Worms were steam-rolled left and right. Something must have changed the Machines schedule.
The swarm of A-wallers around him began to blur, and Moby realized that his lack of oxygen was quickly making him dizzy.
Connor turned the corner and ran two blocks down to grab his friend, David. He hopped impatiently by the door while David rummaged together his school supplies.
Okay, ready! David said, showing off an underwater camera.
The boys B-lined to the school bus. Connor lagged but he didnt call out to David for him to wait up. Why point out his wimpiness? He felt burdened by the weight of his sopping clothes. Moreover, the sidewalk was littered not only the usual dangers of erupting roots, but also hundreds of slimy snails and worms!
Up ahead, Connor heard David yell, Ewwww! as he hopped about the sidewalk as if playing hop-scotch.
No! Moby managed. Further down, he thought he saw his little sisters gizzards and intestines ooze out by Heelys. Overwhelmed by all these atrocities, Moby barely could gather enough courage and physical strength to inch along. Moby wanted to scream. His feeble body not only always held him back, but it also forced him to witness the demise of so many victims.
Now in open-range, Moby expected a Bomb to land any moment. He didnt help to look up though; that would just slow him down. Choking for air, Moby continued forward. Suddenly, a quick shadow lurked above him and a Bomb erupted before him, just inches before his mouth.
Rex! Moby cried. He surprised himself. In his weakest moment, his reflexive plea was Rex, not Ma. Moby wondered if Rex was OK after all since the Bombs arrived early. Moby trudged forward.
Despite being mindful of roots and bugs, Connor still tripped on a sidewalk groove. Kids were already filing in the bus. Connor shuffled around and gathered his now drenched jacket.
And then everything that Moby feared materialized.
A huge Moby couldnt make out what it was landed. It wasnt a bomb. It was something colorful, some force much larger than even a Bomb, and covered in tye-dye, and smelling of salt. Moby felt grave danger inches away from a weapon far more deadly than any other Bomb he ever was warned of.
Connor reached for his spilled lunchbox that split open, exposing his PB&J to the rain. He snapped it shut, and then began to press down on the wet sidewalk to prop himself up. He hesitated, and readjusted.
Sick! was all Connor said as he reconsidered where to place his hand to get up. Connor saw the most disgusting creature ever. It mustve been a worm, but unlike the other stringy ones he passed, this one was extra disgusting. It looked like a sopping, long chain of diarrhea.
Connor got up and gave it one last look of disgust before catching up with David.
Connor, hurry up! called David, with one foot on the bus step.
Wait, David! You gotta come see this! Theres this worm back there that looks so gross! It must have muscles falling off its I dunno, skeleton! said Connor (unaware of Annelida anatomy), It looked like SHIT!
David grabbed his arm. Cmon Connor. Lets go. The door closed behind Connor and the bus driver took off, with all the students finally under a roof, and safe from the rain.
let's begin:
Zephiroth: Wordy. You circle around the same points over and over. I do like the way you portray the creative process. Though I do have wonder if it was always so dreary and bleak why keep doing it?
MarioGumshoe: What an interesting contrast to Zeph's piece. Unintended, but interesting. Really well executed. I felt like I was taught a lesson through your story which was, I'm guessing, your point.
Werd: I really like the dialogue here. And I like the action, though there were somethings that were unnecessary. I don't know how I feel about the ending however.
Zephiroth: Wordy. You circle around the same points over and over. I do like the way you portray the creative process. Though I do have wonder if it was always so dreary and bleak why keep doing it?
MarioGumshoe: What an interesting contrast to Zeph's piece. Unintended, but interesting. Really well executed. I felt like I was taught a lesson through your story which was, I'm guessing, your point.
Werd: I really like the dialogue here. And I like the action, though there were somethings that were unnecessary. I don't know how I feel about the ending however.
Busy busy busy. My comments will be brief, but I think I can get through all the stories.
ZephyrFate - "Roving Stray" - Love the underlying message, but man, this piece gets a bit bogged down with all the description and metaphor. It's so dense with it that the story gets a bit lost. But hey, you're not writing to please me.
Tim the Wiz - "The Right Story" - Heh. Another one with a message about writing/storytelling. And it's an interesting one. Not sure if it really needs the fantastical stuff though; just feels like windowdressing. Chop!
Ward - "The Out-haw / He-law Switch" - The piece makes a lot more sense on a re-read. I could tell something was off the first time through, just not quite what it was. Interesting choice there. For whatever reason, I wasn't really feeling the whole fleeing thing. The Traveler talked about the Man in Black, but it didn't really feel like he was all that scared.
Dresden - "The Playwright's Dilemma" - Fun idea. Another one about writing? Hehe. The personality of the playwright makes this one fun to read, if a bit sparse.
ZephyrFate - "Roving Stray" - Love the underlying message, but man, this piece gets a bit bogged down with all the description and metaphor. It's so dense with it that the story gets a bit lost. But hey, you're not writing to please me.
Tim the Wiz - "The Right Story" - Heh. Another one with a message about writing/storytelling. And it's an interesting one. Not sure if it really needs the fantastical stuff though; just feels like windowdressing. Chop!
Ward - "The Out-haw / He-law Switch" - The piece makes a lot more sense on a re-read. I could tell something was off the first time through, just not quite what it was. Interesting choice there. For whatever reason, I wasn't really feeling the whole fleeing thing. The Traveler talked about the Man in Black, but it didn't really feel like he was all that scared.
Dresden - "The Playwright's Dilemma" - Fun idea. Another one about writing? Hehe. The personality of the playwright makes this one fun to read, if a bit sparse.
"Roving Stray" - ZephyrFate : Nice, I wish I could take that beast head-on. Mine definitely feels like more of an inner force continuing to compress me though. Great poetry throughout. I also loved the insane amount of excellent imagery. The first half dragged a little, but the second part more than made up for it. It also seemed like our stifling of your creativity forced you to lay it all on the line in a fantastic last stand.
"The Right Story" - Tim the Wiz : Well, quite an interesting mirror to Zephyr's tale. (I swear, I'm not just copying ronito.) Writing for the audience is certainly the best way to have a 'successful' story, but it shouldn't be the main focus at all times. If you aren't liking what you're writing or creating, there's no point in doing. (I should take this advice.) I think you nailed the lecture hall atmosphere. I don't think the setting stuff at the beginning was necessary. Of course, the kidnapping/forced to tell a story wouldn't have worked in a more contemporary setting. I think the vocabulary used was out there for a supposedly informal classroom. Oh well, I did think it was pretty interesting take on a relatively common tale.
"The Out-haw / He-law Switch" - Ward : I liked how each person was named. I thought it gave them instant character without spending paragraphs trying to. The action felt a little weak and lacked weight, but that may have been purposeful due to it being a virtual, simulated experience. I found it a little hard to connect to the world, so it was difficult for anything to have any impact for me. Then again, that may have been an issue caused by the relatively frantic pace of the whole thing. It didn't feel like the man in black got the attention he deserved for having such a seemingly important role in the piece.
"The Playwright's Dilemma" - Dresden : Brilliantly hilarious. I loved the insanity of it all. It was also rather disturbing because I found myself coming up with some insane ways of trying to fit the secondary objective into my entry. Of course, I was disappointed by the scarce number of murders and betrayals. I like the coin that sharpens itself as it rolls down the absurdly long street.
"The Right Story" - Tim the Wiz : Well, quite an interesting mirror to Zephyr's tale. (I swear, I'm not just copying ronito.) Writing for the audience is certainly the best way to have a 'successful' story, but it shouldn't be the main focus at all times. If you aren't liking what you're writing or creating, there's no point in doing. (I should take this advice.) I think you nailed the lecture hall atmosphere. I don't think the setting stuff at the beginning was necessary. Of course, the kidnapping/forced to tell a story wouldn't have worked in a more contemporary setting. I think the vocabulary used was out there for a supposedly informal classroom. Oh well, I did think it was pretty interesting take on a relatively common tale.
"The Out-haw / He-law Switch" - Ward : I liked how each person was named. I thought it gave them instant character without spending paragraphs trying to. The action felt a little weak and lacked weight, but that may have been purposeful due to it being a virtual, simulated experience. I found it a little hard to connect to the world, so it was difficult for anything to have any impact for me. Then again, that may have been an issue caused by the relatively frantic pace of the whole thing. It didn't feel like the man in black got the attention he deserved for having such a seemingly important role in the piece.
"The Playwright's Dilemma" - Dresden : Brilliantly hilarious. I loved the insanity of it all. It was also rather disturbing because I found myself coming up with some insane ways of trying to fit the secondary objective into my entry. Of course, I was disappointed by the scarce number of murders and betrayals. I like the coin that sharpens itself as it rolls down the absurdly long street.
ZephyrFate
Banned
The dense metaphors and imagery are part of the point -- the writer struggling to find ways to create a story, by trying to beautifully describe the world around him in an attempt to spark an idea.
SayWatwat?: I love the humor in the piece.
Hot Fuzz: I've always admired how efficient you are with your writing but I feel this one might be a little too efficient for me. The pace seemed sorta "barky" if that makes any sense. and also the same sentence structure keeps getting re-used. X is y. Z is A. I know some of it intentional but some of it I don't think was. Overall you created a rich world and a rich character but the end just came up all the sudden. I really wanted more.
Patella: Clever idea of tying all the challenges together. However, as clever as it was it did feel forced. Also, dying has been done to death in these. Hell, me saying "dying has been done to death" has been done to death.
SkinnyKidsAreEasierToPush,YouDolt: this just felt undone, it was almost like it tried t
T'tonka? T'tonka?: The boogie man slips in and out of his speech patterns, which really was very crucial given the ending letter. I liked the humor, but this felt that it would have been better in a script rather than a story as their so much dialogue and little physical action going on.
KissMeI'm: Too much runway. Interesting though. Don't really know what to think of it yet.
Hot Fuzz: I've always admired how efficient you are with your writing but I feel this one might be a little too efficient for me. The pace seemed sorta "barky" if that makes any sense. and also the same sentence structure keeps getting re-used. X is y. Z is A. I know some of it intentional but some of it I don't think was. Overall you created a rich world and a rich character but the end just came up all the sudden. I really wanted more.
Patella: Clever idea of tying all the challenges together. However, as clever as it was it did feel forced. Also, dying has been done to death in these. Hell, me saying "dying has been done to death" has been done to death.
SkinnyKidsAreEasierToPush,YouDolt: this just felt undone, it was almost like it tried t
T'tonka? T'tonka?: The boogie man slips in and out of his speech patterns, which really was very crucial given the ending letter. I liked the humor, but this felt that it would have been better in a script rather than a story as their so much dialogue and little physical action going on.
KissMeI'm: Too much runway. Interesting though. Don't really know what to think of it yet.
hey_monkey
Banned
Reading, but probably won't get to comment until tomorrow. Finals was probably not the best time to jump back into the challenges. :lol
- Status