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ActingPower posted:Y'know what? I'm in. How about 52? That's one year after it started, more or less. Extreme Flash:Stolen Memories
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Jul 25, 2023 00:00
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LurchinTard posted:in. 348 Your dog breed is the Schipperke (unless you wanted to pick one yourself) Your flash is someone needs to get something done by the end of the day or face Dire Consequences
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Jul 25, 2023 00:11
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Albatrossy_Rodent posted:In hell Week 167: Daylight Horror Week Hellrule: no two characters in this story can communicate with each other via language. There must be at least two characters.
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Jul 25, 2023 00:19
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Results for week 572 : Family saga, short form Everyone was on-topic this week, maybe too on-topic as I was hoping to see a couple story stretch the concept of family but you all played it pretty safe on that count at least. Doctor Zero and I debated your fates but it was a rather placid debate as we found ourselves mostly in agreement. In particular, we both agreed that the crown should go to : Green Wing, for Duty Visit, a cruel story with horrible characters and snappy execution. Honorable mentions go to: Chairchucker, for Firstborn Skater, a cool but slight story Acting Power, for Postcognition, a rather moving tale We decided not to award DMs or loss even though it was on the table. The Cut of your Jib gets redeemed and unfortunately rohan gets a failure. Congratulations Green Wing and thanks Doctor Zero for your help. Crits coming soon.
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Jul 25, 2023 00:35
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Antivehicular posted:Your dog breed is the Schipperke (unless you wanted to pick one yourself) to clarify, my prompt is just the dog breed?
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Jul 25, 2023 01:03
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LurchinTard posted:to clarify, my prompt is just the dog breed? Yep. Per the original week's rules: the dog must feature (unless you  , in which case the dog can just inspire your story), no dogs may die, all dogs are good.
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Jul 25, 2023 01:12
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Crits for week 572 : Family saga, short form Done in judgemode except for the last one Fat Jesus, The Importance of Women A distinctive voice, not sure how I feel about it, but it’s distinctive. The story’s a bit slight but again, the ambiance is there. Sunny old-fashioned ranchmen stories, nothing new under the blazing sun but it works. B+ Acting Power, Postcognition Sad story. The three object conceit gives it structure, and a tale-like quality. The gift feels ambiguous and unsettling, a little bit great and a little but terrible. That’s a lot of dialogue, but it flows well. Turning you back on your last moments with Dad very much feels like a 12 year old's objectively terrible but understandable decision. The characters get distinctive voices and the last line stings while following logically from what precedes. A- beep-beep car is a go, Family Meeting Second paragraph repeats 'gown' too much (and spells it ‘grown’ at one point). Too much repetition to my taste in general. I’m not a fan of the choppy style, still it works for conveying what you want to convey. The imagery of sleeping ancestors is cool. Sleeping queens under the mountain, SF-style, I could go for that. I liked the reveal (?) that Purslane was just five, hope It’s intentional. The first half should probably be cut or at least pruned. The second half, too, though not as much. The story ends when it really picks up. This reads less like a short story in its own right and more like the first chapter of a novel I’m not quite sure I want to read. C- Chairchucker, Firstborn Skater This silly romp moves and reads effortlessly. If I’d been in a bad mood I’d have found the skater artifacts a bit too cute but I’m in a good mood. At least the story and the characters don’t put too fine a point on them, right call. Feels a bit light but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Very straightforward but that’s not necessarily a bad thing either. A summertime gulp of very cheap very cloying energy drink. A- Bad Seafood, Birthright It took me two readings to get the conceit, backwards generations whose fortunes wax and wane even as the land develops around them. not sure I would have gotten it at all if I had not known the prompt. Should a TD story assume knowledge of the prompt? I don’t think it should. Each of the vignettes is well-crafted, with the river providing a through-line. It could stand to be developed a bit more. I like the subversion of inheritance and birthright that often comes with the family saga. A cursed, undeserved, stolen birthright. I do feel the last segment is the weakest, not a great place to finish/start. B Green Wing, Duty Visit I read this one last and it put me in a grim mood. Nasty tale. Not a bad thing in itself. Evil nasty families are families too, we’re on topic. I’m not a fan of present tense narration in general but I see where it's going there. It felt focused and snappy, even though it’s the same length as the others. A Thranguy, Midway Generation ship is a logical take on the prompt; mission drift, a logical take on generation ships. The main problem is that I don’t really get what happens. On the one hand apparently the ship’s population is dwindling or not growing as fast as expected. On the other it "looks like plan B”, a bunch of semi-feral kids that outnumbers the previous generation. Where do they come from? Why the shift? I don’t get it. I enjoyed the blasé tone regarding the situation. Oh, yet another dead civilization sending out its last testament, no one cares. I liked the vagueness of the scourge. The ambiance is better than the story. B- The Cut of your Jib, Ceramics are fragile I did not discuss it with Doctor Zero but I don't see it winning even if it had made the deadline, so you can take dubious comfort in that. I see what it's trying to be, a rambling family story about uncouth countryside types, the kind one of them might tell diegetically, and to be fair it succeeds at being that, but it's not really appealing to me (admittedly, personal taste) and there does not seem to be more to the text, no story beyond the story or greater theme, or I missed them. So it's a little on me that I don't like your basket, but it's on you that you put all your eggs in it. C+
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Jul 25, 2023 01:14
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In, number me please
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Jul 25, 2023 04:42
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Never mind, I don't think I'll have time :/
sephiRoth IRA fucked around with this message at 07:40 on Jul 25, 2023 |
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Jul 25, 2023 06:40
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I wanted to contribute a bit so I thought I’d give some quick critiques of stories that caught my eye during the last few prompts. Please let me know if you’d prefer I take it down (either here or in Discord). Firstborn Skater 1000 words I enjoyed this opener a lot. I appreciate you trusting the reader to keep up, and so it was easy to take everything at face value. The opening paragraph was just the right mix of quirk and humor without getting too silly with it. Initially, I was put off by some of your transitions, and really that remains my main comment: the story is too short. The speed at which you have to build the narrative to beat the word count from the initial discovery of the jacket to training Tom to Jackie becoming Jack was too fast to really appreciate what was happening. After a second read-through I still think it’s too abrupt, but it doesn’t make it unreadable. She was a bit older, and now knew that a talking jacket was a bit more out of the ordinary than she’d thought at age seven. Still, Stacy had a magic pocketknife with a blade that glowed when there were hot guys around, and around Jackie for some reason, so maybe it wasn’t that odd. “Which prophecy is that?” she asked, and after a moment, “Are you a magic jacket, then?” >I did not like this paragraph. Specifically the reference to the magic pocketknife and hot guys - the reference to Jackie was probably there to help build towards Jack, but I found it forced and a bit clunky, like you’re trying too hard. A small quibble, however, because I do like the idea of a knife that glows when hot dudes are about.< “Right,” said Jackie. “Well, prophecies aside, I’m keeping the jacket for now, because it looks sick on me.” Her mum sighed again, but nodded. “It kinda does, doesn’t it?” > This was cute  I really liked the mom coming around.<Tom had achieved a basic level of competence at skating, which the three of them were thrilled about because, yay, prophecy and destiny, but Tom was less thrilled about because he still didn’t really love skating, and it didn’t seem like he was anywhere close to the level of skill required to destroy capitalism, and every time he tried the jacket on, it just didn’t look like him. Whereas on Jackie, it looked right. >Another paragraph where it seemed a little forced. There were times throughout the story where you play fast and loose with the boundary between fun quirky and too much quirky, and this touches that line. I think with some editing here it would smooth that transition from your training bit to the climax. As for the tunnel bit and onward, everything develops very quickly. This is where I would focus any extra word count, were you inclined to keep tooling on this story. It deserves more time than it got, imo< Jackie looked around. “Hmmm, feels like an underground cavern is something you’d want to be aware of before digging a swimming pool.” “Good point,” said Kevin. “You should write someone a sternly worded letter. Did they even have planning permission?” >This dialogue didn’t vibe as much as some of your other matter-of-fact stuff from earlier between Jackie and her mom or her jacket. It felt a bit Gilmore Girls here< Good job! It was a fun read. Noise 1100w This was a cool story if only because I really felt like I was in your protag’s head, and your writing about the music was very unique. Your description of Gillian’s music was haunting, and it’s why the story stuck in my head. Some thoughts: Name-dropping the headphones was off-putting. It felt like an add to show your street cred, but since I know nothing about it, it felt forced. Your first three paragraphs are too long and slow. You could probably cut nearly all of the words there and be more succinct with the open, allowing a direct shot at the action. I started to feel like skimming during the description of the park- I don’t think it adds anything to what we know about your protag. I enjoyed your onomatopoeia to describe the music. Layering it in was a cool style choice and I thought it worked well. I don’t think you needed to make the prof a creep - the story plays just as well, if not better, with a music snob. It’s okay if he has a complex relationship with the student just because he himself isn’t sure if it’s actually music she’s submitting, it doesn’t need that dimension of creep factor. At least for me it doesn’t. The description of the cello that changes his mind needs more punch. The diamonds line was a bit meh, it didn’t do enough for me. Part of me also really didn’t like that it was the opus you name-dropped earlier in the story. I wanted Gillian’s music to stand on its own. Solid last few lines. The last line could be cut, but the silent contemplation of what Rosco has done was effective.
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Jul 25, 2023 07:42
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Happy bIrthday ThuNderdome Judges pls make all my decisions for me and send me straight to hell
Yoruichi fucked around with this message at 11:14 on Jul 25, 2023 |
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Jul 25, 2023 10:53
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The Cut of Your Jib posted:number me pls Week 319 Extreme Flash Rule: Vampires are alive (it's your choice whether to treat this as a song flash or not. )
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Jul 25, 2023 10:54
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Idle Amalgam posted:In, can I get a week 350 Extreme Flash Rule: Acres and acres of Broken Glass
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Jul 25, 2023 11:10
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Tars Tarkas posted:In, number me please 94 Extreme Flash rule: set in the 1880s
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Jul 25, 2023 11:18
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Yoruichi posted:Happy bIrthday ThuNderdome Week 135. Regular Flash: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SKEYzU_2VuQ Extreme Flash: The part that makes your head explode. Hellrule: Everything but dialog is in iambic pentameter. But isn't otherwise poetry and is formatted as standard prose.
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Jul 25, 2023 11:33
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I AM NOT A NUMBER ... but I want one please.
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Jul 25, 2023 14:40
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 Week 572 - Family Sagas ... Sagae? ... Saga's? ... STORIES - Detailed Crits inbound Fat Jesus - The importance of Women Rating: B Nice introspective piece but resolves abruptly. Notes: - The dialect approach is good. Gave me a sense of the MC’s specific voice. Although it was confusing at first, it didn’t take me long to get into the cadence. Just a note here - some people hate reading dialects. - I was suprised halfway through to find that “Pa” was the “Grandpa” and not the dad. Maybe it’s a dialect thing, but it could be made clear earlier. Somehow. - There are a few places you declare and not show, like “Her disappointment hurt.” I mean, yeah I would think so unless I have reason to think the MC doesn’t give a poo poo. You could convey it a bit better, or make it more of a commentary since we’re in the MC’s closest POV (in their head). Think about how you think. Would you think “My mother is disappointed and it hurts?” No, you’d think “Ouch. That stung.” Or “There she goes. Again.” Or whatever. - The MC seems to be unfamiliar with dementia. Maybe it’s because I had to deal with it myself IRL, but I knew what it was immediately. Neither good nor bad - just commenting. - While interesting on its own, punch ip the conflict. What even is the conflict? How can you raise the stakes as the story goes along? - Overall: it was nicely written, and conveyed the sense of a long line of ‘cowboys’ needing to be settled down. I actually liked the dialect. However, I feel the story wraps up very abruptly. “And then I went home and got married. The end.” I would like to see more of the process of how the MC’s dad and granddad makes them come around. Perhaps you could just hint at the change at the end instead. e.g. “Next time I visit, I’d like to have found that little woman who can tame my wild horses.” (Yes, that was intentionally corny and dumb. Don’t use that.) PS: Some people may object to a “it takes a woman to fix a man” themes. Personally IDC. Just keep in mind. -- ActingPower - Postcognition Rating: B+ Good emotions, moody. It has great bones. The writing is good - but needs to be tightened up and I would like a bigger POW at the end. Great job. Keep up the great job. Notes: - First line is interesting mostly because it leaves me wondering if the box or the closet is what the MC isn’t allowed in.  Honestly, that’s a fine opening line, just make it clear.- I’m getting a bit of White Room syndrome. What’s the bedroom look like? Is it outdated? Does the closet smell like mothballs? Don’t go overboard, just little things will paint the picture. - You could use descriptions more economically. E.g. “I recognized the upper half of his ring from old photos of him.” Could be “It was the same ring he wore in the photos I’d seen.” Also remove directions and actions that don’t matter. e.g. “I put a hand on the hat and pulled it to my side of the bed.” Could just be “I pulled the hat out of her reach.” Of course May would use her hand, and which side of the bed she’s on doesn’t seem to matter. Your writing is good but gets hidden behind details that don’t matter and what I think might be the author’s timidity. I think you see the scenes in your head when you write and ten narrate that, but you don’t have to write every little motion from that. Trust the reader to fill in those details mentally. Note: Even screenwriters hardly write much stage direction unless it’s really important. - Did the MC have a question in mind? Why did her dad just start talking about her mom in the first visit? - Capitalized Death? Unless Death will be a character in the story somehow, use lowercase. - How do you paw at your eyes with the back of your hand? - Overall: Nice, but with how emotional it was, I expected a bigger POW at the end. Like REALLY big. Maybe have May deny it to herself, but then blurt it out at her grandma. Also the “I wanted to be there for you.” and the implication he drove off the bridge are slightly contradictory. Maybe “I wish I had been there for you.” Or something. Perhaps more of a regretful note which could have a couple of different interpretations. Then the MC’s conflict is if her struggle (I’m assuming depression?) is what her dad suffered too. -- beep-beep car is go - Family Meeting Rating: C- Interesting slice of Space Opera that rambles too much for me. All the interesting bits are in the last third of the story. It’s okay to hint at a larger work, but this story still needs to have a conflict that is at least somewhat resolved so it stands on its own. Tighten up the prose. AFAIK this is your first Thunderdome entry. Good job! There’s good stuff here. Please keep writing. The grade reflects totally fixable stuff. Notes: - I am confused right off. You mention a dome above, but then the planet below Where are they? Where is everything in relation to each other? - The second paragraph is 1/10th your allotted word count to explain the dress. Will it matter? If not, it’s already clear it’s sci-fi (different planet) so just let the reader do with it what they will. - Are the guards important? Why are they a welcome sight? See previous comment. (BTW, I’m not suggesting to cut them, but “Two guards in bulky power armor bowed and stepped out of the way, their faces obscured by the mirrored visors.” Or something like that would suffice. Since you only have 1k words, rely on adjectives to convey details. - Why does it matter that Isla is breathing through her nose? - ‘Empress Isla took a breath and held it. She looked down at Purslane. “Are you ready, sunshine?” Purslane looked up at her mother, her face serious. “Will it be scary?”’ - BAM - I suggest that’s your opening scene right there (slightly re-written). Instant grab. - Overall, it takes too long to get going, and then it ends. I’m imagining you had something more in mind, but realized that 1k words would not contain it. I did that last week. Don’t be me. Anyway, it’s an interesting slice of space opera. I like the Grandmothers - it might be cool if they were all frozen days before they would have died, so waking one was a calculated risk, but it’s your story. Overall, in flash fiction you need to be very economical, but still set the tone, the characters, the conflict, AND hook the reader within a paragraph or two. Three at MOST. Ruthlessly cut anything that doesn’t do that. You can always come back to important setting stuff later in the story with a little rearranging, -- Chairchucker - Firstborn Skater Rating: B+ YES. I want to read more about the overthrow of capitalism with a skateboard. This is a great read. Love the tone. Notes: - Doesn’t need a section break in the beginning. Makes it seem like a lot of time has elapsed (unless it has). Also the mom tuts twice in a short period of time. EDIT: Oh, time has passed. I think you can move the flashback up to the beginning section. Oh, and does the jacket read minds? How did it know she was thinking about her brother and mother? I wanted to see more of the jacket. Hopefully there will be in a future work. - At age seven she would swim in the jacket, which is a detail I’d expect. In the second scene, has she had it the whole time? How much time? If it fits her now, that’s like 8-10 years. Is it still big on her? - ‘She told us that our firstborn son would, wearing that super gnarly jacket, recover the Skateboard of Destiny and use it to destroy capitalism.’ LOLOL Fantastic (although I think I see it coming). - Why would the parents ignore the prophecy about the second son? Maybe we’ll find out. - The quick ending works well here. You could end with a “But that’s a story for another time…” though. -Overall, great tone, and funny. I love how matter of fact everyone is about all the magical realism. ESPECIALLY the bits where they look ‘sick’ in the jacket. I want to read further adventures! -- Bad Seafood - Birthright Rating: B A clever bit of era jumping that might improve with tighter connections between eras. Notes: - ‘It was empty now, vacant, as ever it was, full of cells without people who couldn’t be princes of countries the maps showed never existed.’ I’ve read this about 5 times and I can’t figure out how to parse it. It was empty now as it ever was, then nobody has been held in it? I the double (triple?) negative is tripping me here. - ‘His mouth suppressed a smile.’ Only his mouth? Could just be ‘He surpassed a smile, trying to keep his mouth from showing it.’ Or something. Don’t do that - it’s clunky, but I hope you get what I mean. Try not to have body parts do things on their own, or better yet, just eliminate them since it’s probably obvious that he’s suppressing a smile in his mouth. Unless this is a much different story. - ‘On the far shore were others, human in shape. He turned to face his men. “Get the others,” he commanded.’ I assume this is part of Savru’s POV and not it’s own thing. If so, the blank line breaks the pattern. - Stephen’s POV is okay with multiple paragraphs since it’s the end piece. - This was a tough piece to judge for both of us, since you are playing with story structure. We read this over again the most times of them all, and had to work out if that was a good thing or not. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, since it sticks in your mind, which you definitely want. - Overall: I liked this. Took me until paragraph 3 to get what was going on, but that’s not a bad thing - I love stories that you have to suss out. The said, I think you need to refine the structure a little (this is all opinion here - you write your story). EDIT: somehow I lost the point in copying to the forums: the connections between each era don’t seem to be consistent. I couldn’t find the one from the first era presented and the second. And then something like ‘nose pinching’ is mentioned in the beginning of one era and the end of the next, which is too long IMO. I would put them closer to the end of the previous era and the beginning of the next to make those connections stronger. I did like how the last era looped back to the first though. Fair warning - I know from direct experience with some of my own writing that some readers don’t like to have to puzzle out the story, so just keep that in mind. But keep writing what you love. -- Greenwing - Duty Visit Rating: A Man, this makes me really not want to get old. Well written, distinct characters, yet similar enough to be related. I loved how Garnet is set up to break the mold and … NOPE! Notes: - second paragraph - “people were staring” - breaking tense? - Nicely done! Really terrible characters - er, not your writing of them, they are horrible human beings and I rather dislike them. Again, not your writing. - Overall: All in all really well done. Since it’s so solid, it’s kinda tough making suggestions, but here goes. Except for a couple of spots that another proofreading will catch (if you aren’t sick of your own work, you haven’t read it enough. Also try running it through a Text to Speech program - that really helps me) the prose was all solid. Thinking back, structurally it’s a little odd that the first two segments are from Cathy’s POV, and only the last is different. It’s not something that screams at me, but I wonder if you did the middle section in Thea’s POV it might be cool. Meh. Up to you. Also try to throw names in a little more often. I got tripped up in Thea’s section because I wasn’t sure who ‘she’ was referring to, and I had to stop reading and figure it out. Again, an easy fix. -- Thranguy - Midway Rating: C A cool generation ship idea that’s actually original (at least to me). There are elements though that didn’t fit together (or at least I didn’t get them), and story was flat (dramatically). Maybe it was supposed to be. Rising tension / dread / excitement or what have you would be great. This deserves to be looked at again and spiffed up. Notes: - It might work better if you swap the first and second paragraphs. Not that the first line is bad, just the second I feel is more interest-grabbing. - ‘farther out than anyone had been apart from all the other ships’ (paraphrased) Seems an odd way to say this Are they the furthest out or not? That’s a state that only one ship can have. - I got lost with who is whose mother for a while, and I never did figure out who Alice was or why she mattered. - ooh spooky gateways and tooting spaceships. Cool. (Seriously) - The paragraph that begins, ‘The universe … is a graveyard.’ Is really cool, but also hard to parse. I get most of it, but does it say that Mars once had native life that progressed technologically? How does the Scourge fit in? Did they open the gates and scourge Mars? It seems to say both they did and they didn’t. - Bright as a nearby star is still not very bright, and would take a while to notice. Maybe a nova? That would get noticed. - I get that they are tired and hopeless, but I don’t exactly understand why the generations are dwindling. I think maybe that because they aren’t bothering to produce more children? - is ‘We have signal’ a typo or an All your Base joke? (I would love it if it’s a joke, but the line is ‘We get signal.’) - I like the plans, but I didn’t get if Plan A was official and the rest ad-hoc determined on the East Wind, or if the ‘official’ plan always had contingencies. That matters to me, because if it’s the latter, it indicates more of the sense of the crew giving up on the dream. Also LOL at plan C. I like how it implies we (humans) were a plan C. - Overall: Great concept, but I feel it needs to be longer. Or shorter if you want to keep it flash. I think you could do some really great building of tension, dread, and hopelessness in a longer work. Seriously, this feels like a fresh take on an old trope, and I’d like to see this honed to a razor’s edge. Did you rush this? No shame if so. Just curious if it was rushed or maybe you need more time to noodle on the concept. I really wanted to get deep into this story. -- fini -- I'm open to discussing my thoughts more in the Lounge, Discord, or PMs. Doctor Zero fucked around with this message at 23:17 on Jul 25, 2023 |
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Jul 25, 2023 14:49
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Doctor Zero posted:I AM NOT A NUMBER ... but I want one please. WEEK 339: DIE HARD WEEK Your story must: Be on Christmas Your randomly generated Netflix category: And You Watched It Day And Night And your Extreme Flash: A battle of the bands goes terribly, terribly wrong
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Jul 25, 2023 21:00
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Week 59 for my second entry.
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Jul 26, 2023 00:25
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Lord Zedd-Repulsa posted:Week 59 for my second entry. Extreme Flash: something old and precious is ending, and something new and precious is beginning
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Jul 26, 2023 00:45
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In with 532. If I am not out of line, I would like to request my prompt to be the picture I chose that week.
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Jul 26, 2023 05:45
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The man called M posted:In with 532. If I am not out of line, I would like to request my prompt to be the picture I chose that week. Extreme Flash Rule: Your story should be compliant with the Hays Code. (You can ignore the racist and homophobic bits (II.6, replace II.5 with 'sex trafficking', interpret II.3 in a modern rather than contemporaneous manner) but otherwise apply it strictly.)
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Jul 26, 2023 07:44
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So NOBODY picked 69? Well, I'm not too cool for the sex number, but someone still needs to get 420. I can't do everything around here. In with 69. Paladinus posted:360 noscope. I appreciate you.
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Jul 27, 2023 05:50
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Dicere posted:So NOBODY picked 69? Well, I'm not too cool for the sex number, but someone still needs to get 420. I can't do everything around here. Original prompt flash: Your story must not be set after 1960 Extreme Flash Rule: Someone is late to understand what is at stake
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Jul 27, 2023 07:36
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In with 666 - 111. You do the math. Or the numerology.
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Jul 27, 2023 07:54
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In, gimme a week, gimme a hell
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Jul 27, 2023 12:09
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I haven't done one of these in too long. In. Pick a number for me.
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Jul 27, 2023 15:26
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in Week 53
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Jul 27, 2023 21:09
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Fumblemouse posted:In with 666 - 111. You do the math. Or the numerology. Your Extreme Flash: Something has made a pet very happy Crain posted:I haven't done one of these in too long. You get Week 211. Your Extreme Flash: Someone in your story has an epiphany that changes everything QuoProQuid posted:
Your Extreme Flash: Everything is far too bright for comfort
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Jul 27, 2023 21:47
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Fuschia tude posted:In, gimme a week, gimme a hell Week 311 Extreme Flash: the characters must apply their trades and tools to a novel task Hellrule: every character is missing a limb, sensory organ, or other important body part
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Jul 27, 2023 22:04
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Signups are closed.
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Jul 29, 2023 09:55
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Chernobyl Princess posted:Excellent choice of elderly spy fiction. Your Bonus Flash: Your story takes place on a space station under threat! Larry and Mae's Boys of Steel 3078 words 5. For many shall come in our name, saying, I am Sandline; and shall deceive many. 6. And when ye shall hear of wars and rumours of wars, be ye not troubled: for such things must needs be; but the end shall not be yet. For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be earthquakes in divers places, and there shall be famines and troubles: these are the beginnings of sorrows. 7. Now the brother shall betray the brother to death, and the father the son; and parents shall rise up against their children, and shall cause them to be put to death. 8. And ye shall be hated of all men for our name's sake: but he that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved. 9. But when ye shall see the abomination of youth, spoken of by Robert the prophet, standing where it ought not, (let him that readeth understand,) then let them that be in California flee to the mountains. 10. For we shall send fire and angels, and no flesh shall be spared. Mark 13:5-10 The New Creation Bible * When we retired from running Sandline, Mae and I decided to go on a cruise. We were young then, just turned ninety, and we soon became addicted to it, to say the least. We saw every corner of this Earth from a new perspective, taking pride in the new improved world we had built. I'll admit we did become jaded from seeing the same old sights over the next fifty years. Except that sea of glass that used to be China. We took so many selfies there. One thing we never tired of was meeting others like ourselves, who turned out to be mostly military people or spooks like we'd been. Guess we all found comfort in the rigorous predictability of meal times, electrobingo and old time dances. The only annoying thing on these cruises was young people were there. Well they weren't that young, eighty or ninety thereabouts. And they let civilians buy genes now, that's the times we're living in. Well anyhow, we were sailing past the ruins of Cairo on the fore-deck with Colonel Jackson, a devout man that was a seasoned veteran by the time I was born, and his lovely, but somewhat temperamental wife Diana. Jim Hoyt and his husband Barry, old BOSS operatives, good solid boys, joined us for our usual game of bridge. They started huffing about the youngsters making a racket during nap hour, an important time for the regenerated. It was there we got to talking about space, and the cruises they were running up there now. “They got the gravity working right. Jimmy Lane, he went up around Saturn and said it was just like on the Sapphire Queen, and even more luxurious!” The Colonel had just about convinced us all there and then, when some genetically enhanced over-muscled youngster walked past, crotch bulging like he's got the entire sock drawer stuffed down there. That sealed the deal with me for sure. None of us besides the Colonel knew much about space at the time. He had been in the old Space Marines, but took over the nukes once we had put those Godless commies down. And by God he kept 'em down, God love the man. I'll ask Mae to find the pictures later. That was so long ago. The lot of us never looked back, most youngsters couldn't afford it up here, tough luck they missed out on the boom. We felt closer to God and it renewed our faith. But anyway that's how we first got up. ** We'd just returned from another six month all inclusive guided tour of the asteroid belt, and there was all this ruckus going on, so we booked ourselves straight back on the next Orion, thinking we'd go have another gander at Neptune and it's moons and tour the mines. That's what we said. So we were up there on the observation deck enjoying the sights of God's creation. The six of us had been joined by an old friend, Mexican warlord Sancho Checo, an indispensable ally who ran the factory at Sandline with his brother. Hermano, or something, I forget his name. He was just a youngster, almost eighty, and still getting his space legs, being up the first time. I noticed him looking at the waiter, unsure, then at Mae and I as if seeking assurance. “You know it's deactivated, Sancho old pal, it's serving drinks not depleted uranium these days.” I said. Mae nodded. We knew combat droids inside out. The whole ship was run by them except for the pilots, and Mae had been lead of Sandline's tech team before we started running the show. That's how we met when I was leading a squad of them cleaning up trash somewhere around D.C. She reprogrammed my combat droids into Murderdroids so we could do our jobs. Our boys of steel soon took over Sandline when the Colonel decreed their methods were unsound, then the world. Been in love ever since, God bless that woman. “Larry, I was concerned at your call. I thought Dimitry would be here, but anyway, happy birthday!” Sancho was full of warmth, a real son of a gun. “Thank you, Sancho old pal. Dimitry and the others are on the Saturnalia, don't ask me why. You're looking good you devil.” I replied with a wink. Ugly little bastard looked like Antonio Banderas now. This gene nonsense was getting out of hand. The Colonel spoke up at last, nodding towards Mae. “She's been busy these past twenty years, done her job on them, don't you worry about that. You done your job too by the look of things.” Sancho's narrowed eyes darted again to the droid. “They can't hear us here.” Mae said. Sancho's eyes were still darting around, and he started whispering and we all turned up our hearing aids. “We still have the underground factories, but the Bureau of State Security will need those things again soon. The peasants are kind of hungry.” He pointed a silver tipped boot at the droid. "Otherwise, everything's great with the Chamber, no problems there." “I assure you we have things in hand, sir." Jim said. Sancho smirked. He was getting uppity. “When's the last time you were down there? They're goddamn animals now. Things look far from in hand!” Diana made it known she don't want to hear the Lord's name taken in vain, and Sancho apologised. Barry leaned forward and looked hard at him. Barry's good at asking questions I'll have you know. He and Jim had been quite the team back in the day. “The needs of BOSS is not your concern. How many droids and how many new Orions did you move?” He asked. “All of them. Three Type II Orions each with seven and a half thousand droids. They should dock soon, it's just mining droids for Triton.” "Well bless their hearts," said Mae, "those boys don't scan like mining droids. Sure you read that manifest right, Sancho honey?" We could see the gears starting to turn in Sancho's skull. “What's really going on? Where's Dimitry?” Colonel Jackson finally nodded his assent, so I guess we were done playing. Barry explained why we might be cruising awhile. “You're aware the Chamber cut our comms, or at least think they did. They appear to have decided to sacrifice us in some misguided attempt to get the populace back onside. They will declare an age limit of one hundred and seventy, and promise to phase out regeneration.” Sancho looked at us, his eyes darting around. We were all overage, except him, and he's wondering there how much we really knew. “And Dimitry, the others?” Sancho spread his hands in askance. “Sorry pal, Dimitry made a deal with the Chamber and took the others with him.” I said. "You don't know nothing about that do you?" asked Jim. The lunch bell rang and we all got up as the Colonel said let's go eat a snack. Mae and I managed to get to the shrimp first, but some drat kid had put a folded beer coaster on top of the serverbot's head, and it wouldn't move. I told Mae to program that drat thing out of our way, and she said just take the darn thing off it's head. I hate those stupid rolling tables. *** Later on after we had a nap inside our regenerators, Mae and I were having a grind trying out these genes we'd bought on the sly, when the announcement came over that the electrobingo was starting. We'd rushed down and claimed our regular spots just as the others arrived, Jim was last so had to order the drinks. Mae scored us a tray with legs eleven on the very last game. We carried out our trays of expensive junk we'd won thousands of times before and stood about the garbagizer and tossed our winnings in. We got back to talking. Antonio Banderas was looking a little droopy and we could tell he hadn't had his nap. That can age a man. “Like we was saying, Sancho, Dimitry got a wild hair in his rear end from somewhere and took his fellow gobbledegook speakers to Icarus.” I said. Sancho looked glum hearing about his favourite gringo, not that I ever heard him use the term. He spoke in a perfectly clipped English since he went to Eton or Cambridge or someplace, I forget where. Don't ask me how the hell that happened, cause the Trump / Prigozhin Memorial Victory Deathwall is one hundred percent effective at keeping out foreign hordes, far as we know. Not that it's mattering now. “Don't worry Sancho, we'll see our young friends again,” chipped in Mae, “ You wait and see, honey.” “But Dimitry controls the Navy and Icarus Station, and the Chamber controls all the ships.” “Oh honey!” Mae exclaimed, “You let us worry about that, and oh, was that the dinner bell?” The Colonel declared he could use a steak. Barry beat me to the dining room only because my legs were still shaky from the hayroll earlier. They didn't have any strawberries at desert again so I had to have tiramisu instead. The drat powder on top didn't taste like chocolate at all. I told Mae I was pretty sure Dimitry or the Chamber were pulling strings already, but she just told me to shut up and take another nap. That sounded good to me. **** That night we all went dancing, it being Disco Wednesday on Neptune Station. We were spinning around sweating like Arabs when Mae announced it was time. Sancho followed us to the observation deck to ponder upon God's will before His creation. Mae called Diana over and looked to the Colonel. “May I, Bob?” she asked. The Colonel said it's fine by him, God bless the man. Mae leaned into Diana's ear. “Murderdroid One, access.” I never got used to the way Diana would suddenly freeze, and her jaw would unhinge and the Mastercode would slide out her gob like she'd lost her false teeth, gave me the heebie jeebies. Mae assures me she's the only one that looks like us. She really does, except when she does this robot crap. I thought Sancho might want to start wearing diapers going by his reaction to what Mae was holding. He probably figured by now we knew all about his own little deal to set our boys loose on us when they got here. It was there we let him know we did. Sancho had been pressing this button on his iComm all night trying to get our boys up and running to kill everyone over one seventy, and now knew why something was amiss. Sancho apologised profusely saying Dimitry had lied to him. The Colonel told Sancho how disappointed we all were by his lapse, and that he should go outside and think on what he'd done. After all, we told him before he left, did anyone really think a woman like Mae would really give our beloved Sandline away? Or they could get our babies to hurt us? How the hell did they forget Jim and Barry's girls still ran BOSS? Weren't nothing we didn't know. Oh Lord, we'll tan their hides. Well I was just a Battle Chief and can't work the drat remote half the time, but Mae knows what's she's doing, and sure enough, within minutes she'd armed every combat droid on every ship and everything. They were now walking around instead of rolling, causing the folk who didn't know the deal to scatter like poultry to their cabins. Must have been quite a shock to the Lapsed, having them wiping your rear end one minute then kicking it the next over on Icarus. We're going to watch the replay after golf tomorrow. ***** After we took a nap, Murderdroid One tore open the vacuum door while we messed about crushing a few youngsters in our Powersuits the Colonel got us, God love that man. It felt like old times. Diana came out with the skewered system pilots then turned back into her RoboHoe form, and we went in and I near drat tripped on a cybermop that was cleaning the mess. Stomping it felt good, but got Mae to frowning, and you don't want that. But anyway we were back in the saddle and this ain't our first rodeo. Just like Mae promised, Sancho was soon reunited with his old buddy. We all stood back with our boys of steel in the grand entrance hall of Neptune station, when Dimitry and his pals waltzed in. You should have seen those faces when they realised this wasn't Icarus. Once the Murderdroids had gave them a paddlin' and sent them all back outside for a good long think, we all headed over to the second gen Orion. I was sitting there enjoying that new spaceship smell as Sancho floated past again. He looked drat cold out there. We settled down with a drink to watch some Matlock while Mae sent the other ships full of boys out to do their jobs. ****** Well we might have lost some old friends that day, happens a lot at our age, but Mae hadn't forgot my birthday after all, and an even older friend came marching in - Mark Thirteen Ten, my old personal Elite Murderdroid. We'd named him after our favourite Bible passage, and Mae's got him set up to quote it while he turns you to pink steam. Never felt closer to God than when he were by my side. I could see though the tears he still had his old battle scarred camo paint, and she'd souped him up with the latest railguns. Got to be careful with those, don't want them going off inside a ship, no sirree. That darn ship had some speed let me tell you, and it weren't even dinner by the time we were orbiting above Florida. We wanted to see if I could pick up the executions on FOX, but Mae grabbed the remote and she got the Chamber on comms instead. Lord that was a lot of whining and begging, that generation is soft as poo poo, excuse my French. I don't think we listened to most of it. The dinner bell rang halfway through, and when we got back from the dining room two hours later they were still there on the screen, and got straight back to pleading and blubbering. They still weren't fully understanding that Sandline PMC Robotics International didn't work for the government, the government works for Sandline. Always had since Re-Creation. Always will. It's in the Bible now. We knew twenty years ago they were letting things go to hell. Probably weren't paying proper attention to the scriptures. They're all diseased again with them fancy ideas, that's what the Colonel told them, thinking all their peace and love and money for nothing will get them a bloodless future. That's why we took their toys away. The man has a way with words and told it like it is. It shall come to pass, he said, for their methods had become unsound. That really got them going let me tell you. We soon got tired of the jibberjabber, so I wrangled the remote back and we managed to catch the last quartering til it was time for another lie down. ******* We were feeling extra fresh when we got up, and it was the John Birch Society Country Hour so we got down the Roundhouse to do us some square dancing. The place was packed, and Mae and I showed them how it was done, since we're from Oklahoma. "Swing yer pardner's round 'n round, promenade left and don't fall down," Mark Thirteen called the dances in the voice of John Wayne, while some good ol' Murderdroids played banjo and fiddle, tapping feet in time with the reel. "Duck n dive, duck n dive, make sure your honey's look alive..." And we sure did. With our new regenerators and fancy interstellar ships, our golden years would never end. Who needs youth when you've mastered genes and steel? Since it was my hundred and seventy second birthday, Colonel Robert Tecumseh 'Steelwall' Jackson gave me the honour of pressing the button on the last of his nukes. “You deserve this Larry. The End Times are at hand once more. It is as I had predicted.” he said. "Thank you Bob, your spiritual guidance has always been a solace to us all." It was the best birthday ever. Everyone laughed as Mark brought out my birthday cake with a detonator on top, and these tired eyes was smelling onions again. I pressed it down, telling them to get off our lawn and we all guffawed. The Earth lit up in little flashes of cleansing holy fire here and there. It died down after awhile then went all brown and sad. We planned to let them stew awhile while Mark and a few boys put things right. We'll give them a bit less rope next time if they're still around. Mae set the course for a couple of laps of Mr Sun via Alpha Centauri just as breakfast rang, and we got ourselves hauling to the buffet. That bacon better be crispy.
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Jul 29, 2023 13:53
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Theme: Myths of the Near Stone Age Flash Rule: Must have Stampeding Dinosaurs. The Bedrock Dispatch. 1311 words. **** The housewife grabbed the vacuum cleaner and began to run it back and forth across the carpet in the living room. Its legs tied to a small wooden cart, the pygmy mammoth was forced to use its trunk to suck up the dust and dirt in the small, stylish living room. Job complete, she put it into the closet with the other appliances. Only after the door was closed did the tiny mammoth cry. Chores finished, she met her neighbor for drinks, cigarettes, and a shopping trip into town. The clothes washer had died; it had choked on a sock. How was she to know that it could choke on socks? The manual didn’t say anything about that. Her husband threw the dead washer out with the trash that morning and she needed to buy another. Her annoyance over the washer’s death was tempered by the excitement of another shopping trip with her friend. **** The foreman stood at the edge of the quarry. He watched the animals place massive stones in their mouths, lift them, and then swing them over the edge of the quarry, letting the boulders drop with a heavy thud. Their teeth long ago ground away to painful nubs, the brontosauruses lifted and carried stones while people strapped in little cabins on their back used winches to help, and whips when the animals were too tired to lift. The crane in the back - number thirty-nine - looked rough. Foam collected on the edges of its mouth and its head would shake as it tried to lift even small stones. The operator fought with the winch and when that failed, used the whip. The foreman frowned and stubbed out his cigarette on the ground in front of him. He was going to have to kill it tonight and get another. He lamented the loss in productivity. It was necessary though. The quarry owner had decreed that production would not slip this month. While he cast his eyes to the other animals in the quarry, a bird tied to a perch a foot above his head watched the sun nervously. He shook silently in fear, but the foreman didn’t notice. Soon, it was the end of the day. The foreman, watching a sundial on his wrist, pulled hard on the tailfeathers of the bird above him. The bird’s scream of pain signaled the end of the day. A man in the quarry shouted in joy and slid down the tail of his brontosaurus and ran to his car, the animal forgotten or ignored. Someone else would take care of it. If they didn’t? There were plenty of brontosauruses around. They’d just get another. He made his way home, walked into the house, and kissed his wife as she met him at the door. She handed him a drink and a cigarette. As he passed through the kitchen, he finished his drink and poured another from the iced pitcher on the counter. He glanced at the empty spot in the kitchen where the washer was supposed to be and frowned. He made his way to his backyard and saw his friend and neighbor. “Another beautiful day, eh friend?” He made his way to a comfortable chair under a tree, near the low fence. “You said it, Fred. Another day in paradise.” The neighbor leaned on his fence. “Hey, I heard that your clothes washer died, did your wife manage all right today?” Fred took a drag on his cigarette and frowned. “Darned thing choked on a sock; can you believe it? A washer that can’t wash socks. I tossed it with the trash and Wilma went into town and bought another. Probably thirty other things to go with it too.” Fred took a sip of his cocktail and finished his cigarette. He lit another automatically. “Barn, how do you do it? Betty doesn’t seem to run through your paycheck before you even earn it. I feel like I’m paid on Thursday and broke by Sunday.” Barney hopped the low fence, not spilling his drink or dropping his cigarette and joined Fred at another chair in the yard. “I gotta tell you Fred, the secret is to set some aside before you hand it over. Give her half, you take half. Keep it in the bank, stuff it in your sock drawer, whatever it takes.” Barney sipped his cocktail, a Bourbon old fashioned. “It’s just how they are. I wouldn’t worry about it.” While Fred and Barney talked, Fred’s lawn mower started screaming. The howling of the mower was loud even though it was in the shed. Fred and Barney got up slowly and slightly unsteadily and made their way over to his shed. As he opened it, he saw the mower, still tied to the little cart, screaming and crying. Its mouth was red and inflamed and blood poured from multiple wounds on its legs. It looked like the mower was trying to bite their legs off. Fred reached down to touch the mower’s legs and it snapped at him. Fred yanked his hand back. “Did you see that? It tried to bite me!” Fred tipped his rocks glass back and finished his drink, a tom collins. The ice clinked. Barney sighed and shook his head. “Just goes to show you, things aren’t like they were when we were younger. Once it’s dead, we’ll head to Gimblestones and pick up a new one. Folks have to go further and further out to find new appliances and they never last as long as they used to.” He patted his friend on the back. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll fix it in the morning.” Fred stared at the lawn mower. At the dying animal. At the lawn mower. At the dying animal. “No.” Fred shook his head. “This isn’t right, Barn. It’s a living thing. Look at it, it’s screaming. I have to help it.” He reached for the mower again. Barney put his hand on Fred’s arm, stopping him. “Fred. This is the way of things. This is how things are. This-“ He pointed at the mower. “-is how we have all this.” Barney gestures behind him towards suburbia, towards the rows of small houses with manicured lawns. “Your mower? Your washer? Those are the price we pay for progress.” He let go of Fred’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go have another drink. After, we can head to the lodge. By the morning it’ll be gone, and we can go shopping and get another.” Fred looked at the mower. At the dying animal. At the mower. He turned away from the mower and looked at Barney. “You’re right Barn. Let’s go get a drink and head out. This is a tomorrow problem.” Fred closed the door to the shed and walked back inside. **** The young man stood outside the city. He watched a herd of Brontosaurus thunder across the plain. His partner had spooked them and as expected, they stampeded. Soon they would tire, and he could swoop in. If he was able to capture four of them alive, they could be repurposed in town, and he would make enough money to support his brothers and sisters for another month. He watched them carefully. The quarry. The quarry would buy them. His stomach growled. He had skipped breakfast and lunch to save money. One meal a day was enough, he told himself. There. Those four. Two adults and two calves lagged behind the rest. He had hoped for four adults, but this was better. He’d get half again more for the calves. They lived longer, took to the yoke better, lasted longer. He kicked his heels on the ground and the jeep took off. Steering towards the animals, he readied his tranquilizer gun and leaned out the window. Today was turning out to be a good day after all. ****
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Jul 29, 2023 16:15
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 The two above posters have wonderfully included both their chosen week and their assigned flash rule with their story. Everyone should emulate the posters above. The archivists would greatly appreciate it.
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Jul 29, 2023 17:05
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Bold your titles u reprobates
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Jul 29, 2023 22:06
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Prompt: Week 135. Regular Flash: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SKEYzU_2VuQ Extreme Flash: The part that makes your head explode. Hellrule: Everything but dialog is in iambic pentameter. But isn't otherwise poetry and is formatted as standard prose. The pony was a lie 820 words The pony had appeared in Annette’s life right when she needed it the most. She hurt, and so she drew the pony close. Its nose its eyes its breath in hers at night. Daylight meant the pony had to go outside for grass. Annette, inside, fogged up the glass. She struggled with the heavy bales of hay. She dragged them up the stairs into her room at night so her flatmates would notice not. She watched the pony eat and grow, and grow. It filled her with a joy that plugged a hole, or three. She told herself as much, at least. One morning, curtains drawn to hide the sun she heard his voice outside her house. He said, “Annette? Are you in there? Why aren’t you answering your phone? I know you probably don’t want to see me, but I was getting worried… Are you ok?” Am I ok? AM I OK?? You, gently caress-- The pony’s nostrils flared and eyes went red. It pawed the rug and kicked the window out. The sound of glass. Annette arose. Her heart aflame, she drew her sword, sucked in her breath. A scream burst forth and flecked her lips with spit. The pony rose into the air, Annette astride, her sword pointed right at his heart. He stood and gaped. She ran him through. His eyes met hers, but still no tears. Just like when he had said that he was done with loving her. But she was not, with him. Not then, not now. Impaled upon her sword his limbs ragdolled. She laughed into the wind. A sound so cruel the pony grinned, and took them up between the clouds until they came to Heaven’s Gate. What sweet revenge to see him spurned by God. The angel turned, a smile upon its lips. Its arms, the Gate, both open wide. That can’t-- “Be right? My child, it is not a sin to break another’s heart.” Annette, paused. Could it be true? she thought. She looked upon his face. His eyes were closed, his lips apart. She could upon them place a kiss, and farewell all this sorry mess. Annette leant in. The pony stamped a hoof. She saw, up close, his eyes, were dry. No tears were shed by him, for her. Not then, not now. A sob escaped her lips; it left a snarl. Her love by anger was consumed. She threw herself upon the sword that pierced him through. The pony grinned. Pressed to his back she held him tight and plunged them both direct to Hell. Their hearth was black obsidian, their bed on brimstone laid. Outside their walls the damned cried out. In firelight the demons danced. Inside their house she clung to him, and he to her. They shook with fear but in her heart Annette was glad. Her love was hers again. Upon its throne, the pony grinned. Its teeth were sharp, its hooves were cleft. A thousand scales adorned its back and glittered in the dark. It watched the man as tears welled up and wet his cheeks. He sobbed into the woman’s arms. The pony grinned; it knew its work was good. “Babe, are you ok? Hey, stop crying. I’m here. We’re going to be ok.” He shook his head. His eyes were round and full of fear, not hate as she’d supposed. In their black depths she saw herself; an awful sight. Annette felt sick at what she’d done. I have to get him out of here, she thought. Her heart so ached but still she grasped her sword again. The pony watched its favourite pet, a sword in hand, approach the devil’s throne. So bold was she demanding thus: “You let him go--” “Are you threatening me? With that little poking stick? Idiot child, he can leave whenever he likes. You though, you are mine.” With sulphurous breath the devil pounced. A clash of claws and sword. A bloody fight ensued. Annette was beaten to her knees. Her sword was shattered like her heart. But he escaped; no longer need of sword or heart had she. She felt a hand upon her back. He said, “I can’t believe we dated for a year and you never told me you knew how to sword fight. Come on, I found the way out, let’s get the hell out of Hell.” Her hand in his they fled that place. A spark of hope flared in her chest. They found their way back to their homes and from his hand he let hers slip. With trembling lips she watched him go and said goodbye to all this sorry mess. She sat abed with mending heart and cup of tea within her hand. The hay, cleaned up with flatmates’ help, was tied in bags beside the bins. The curtains drawn against the night. Outside, the pony’s breath fogged up the glass.
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Jul 30, 2023 08:41
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FEAR AND BARKING ON I-95 PROMPT: week 348 extreme flash: someone needs to get something done by the end of the day or face Dire Consequences That fuckin dog was yapping the back seat again, screaming at me while I maneuvered on 95 going a smooth 90MPH. My 10 year old car was groaning while everything around me seemed to be collapsing, I was too goddamn high behind the wheel and the cigarette wasn’t doing me any favors. Boss’s dog. Boss’s screaming dog, yelling, fuckin trying to courier the thing between Brunswick to Atlanta before 7PM or I was dead meat. By this point I really wasn’t sure if that meant I wasn’t gonna see any sort of promotion for the next few years or I was gonna get a new .45 sized metal plate in the back of my head. I wasn’t keen to find out. Schipperke. Meant to be alert, curious, and confident by dictionary definition. Goddamn did I get the short end of a stick with that. Why couldn’t have he owned a cat, or one of those dogs you can give xanax to? Looked like a cotton ball someone stretched out and gave some legs, this stubby yapping passenger of mine. I was getting some serious over-stimulated jitters while my face felt like I had stuck it into some arctic snow from the coke numbing me out. It was gettin real cold in our car, heat aside. The numbers on my dash were unreadable with the shakes I had, and this dog wasn’t helping me one bit. I tried to light up a joint in the car and level myself out a bit, but by the time I was finished I was thinking too hard about nuclear war. Some bitch in a BMW didn’t turn on her turn signal as I sped through and I nearly crashed into her as I swung into the shoulder to avoid a fireball collision. My tires were gonna get replaced after this journey. As I reached the peak of a hill and slammed my foot on the accelerator going down hill, the dog got pushed into the back seat, unable to cope with the G’s I was throwing down. I had a good 40 miles left and maybe an hour before I reached my target spot. At current rate, I should make some time to spare. Atlanta traffic was a fickle sort of lady. It couldn’t be on the outskirts of city, it couldn’t be at some gas station, he had to get this dog to his apartment. I watched a state trooper pop up in my rearview, and hit the brakes, slowing to a mellow 60 degrees. The car rank of weed. I still had a sugar mustache. God knows what was in the glove compartment. I couldn’t risk getting arrested this late in the game. Eventually, after 15 of the most tense minutes of my entire sorry life, he takes a offshoot exit and pulls into a burger king. Like a leaden brick falling off the leaning tower of pisa I slam the gas pedal and see my RPM counter hit 6000. There could be no affording failure, no “five minutes late”. Now or never. The dog kept yapping, nipping and scratching at my leather seats. Maneuvering my way through Atlanta, I eye the BMW stadium like some leviathanic beast, some alien mothership here to submerge our world in slick angles and luxury dashboards. It passes quickly under a bridge as I call my boss. 6:55. “Dog’s here. I’m outside.” He hangs up. gently caress this job man. LurchinTard fucked around with this message at 04:52 on Aug 2, 2023 |
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Jul 30, 2023 20:20
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Nope
Albatrossy_Rodent fucked around with this message at 00:54 on Jan 2, 2024 |
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Jul 30, 2023 21:41
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agonway 1850w, surrealism, 21st century dada removed derp fucked around with this message at 00:59 on Dec 15, 2023 |
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Jul 30, 2023 22:20
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Week 532 posted:In the city of Chiclayo, Peru, there is a wide boulevard called Paseo Yortuque. Down the center of this street there is a walking path studded with statues of gods and monsters, many sculpted by Fredy Luque to express the enormously influential Moche and Lambayeque cultures of northern coastal Peru. The picture I chose that week posted:Extreme Rule: Story must be Hays Code compliant Hoist the Main Clothes! 564 words Aye, lad. Ye think that the life of a fisherman is all serious? Well, we certainly have had those times. But here’s a tale where we had a little fun. Back in the day, we had a newer lad, his name was Jim. He was as green as the freshest grass you’ve ever seen. But the boy was certainly eager, and so much fun to tease. It was never anything too mea, and he usually took it in stride. One night, me and the rest of the lads (except for Jim, who had some sense to sleep in early) had trouble meeting our daily fishing quota, so we were so tired that we weren’t exactly thinking straight. One of the lads named Gary had an idea. “Y’know what, how about we go off and take the rookie’s outer garments, and hang them up on top of the sail mast!” If we were well rested, we would know that it was a horrible idea. But fatigue can do strange things to a man’s mind. “Bloomin A, Gary! That’s a great idea!” Another fellow said. Everyone else, including myself, agreed. As I said, fatigue can do strange things to a man’s mind. So we got all of Jim’s outer garments, took them to the mast, and switched out the sail with his clothes. The next morning, I went outside, much better rested, and saw some strange things on the mast. “What the hey…?” I said out loud. Then I recognized some of them as some of the clothes Jim was wearing. “Heh. Oh, yeah!” I said while I was laughing at whoever was the idiot who did that (not realizing that it was partially me until a little later). Afterward, after the rest of the lads came out, I heard a loud yell. “Where the blazes are my outer garments?!” Out ran Gary, in nothing but his underwear and undershirt, frantically searching for the rest of his clothes. Since we all found his frantic searching to be quite hilarious, we all laughed. After a little while, he looked up and saw the rest of his clothes, and climbed up the mast. “You could use the ropes to pull them down, you twat!” someone said. We all laughed afterward. Then he climbed even higher. And higher. And higher. He was high enough that it was no longer a laughing matter, so we stopped. Our ship was rather tall, and the only one foolish enough to climb up was the lookout. Jim was no lookout, and we all knew that. We were all expecting him to fall to his death, but a sort of miracle happened. He went and got on his pants on top while hanging on, and grabbed the rest of his clothes! (sure, he didn't have much, but still!) When he finally got down, we all cheered. I still don't know why he did something that foolish. Maybe to prove himself to us? If he did, he certainly succeeded. After the day was done, we all decided to go and have a feast. I invited Jim to come with us, as well. (he usually didn't eat with us.) “Are you sure, sir?” he asked. “Jim, you're just as much of a man as the rest of us,” I said. “Of course you can join!” So he did. A fine way to end an eventful day.
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Jul 30, 2023 23:10
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