GamerDome: Write for the Right to win games!

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J.A.B.C.: Jul 2, 2007; There's no need to rush to be an adult.

This week's prompt:

_{Image courtesy of Kotaku}

Stories of a Silent Protagonist!

Word Count: 1500

Sign-Ups end at midnight Wednesday. Stories are due on midnight, Friday.

It might have been for an aesthetic choice, hardware limitations or just because badasses don't need words, but the silent protagonist has been a part of gaming since the beginning and they're still going strong today. So, your task is to write about it.

Just to head off some questions: NO, the character doesn't have to be from an already-established video game, so if you want to make one about your own silent protagonist go right ahead. Also, you can do this from any perspective that you like. The S.P., an NPC, some unlucky sprite at the business end of the boomstick. Go wild!

Also, just some notes I observed from the last contest:

1) Don't rush your stories. You don't have to worry about posting first or second to get attention, as long as you make sure it's ready to go. I noted a lot of minor spelling and grammar errors throughout the pieces that could be picked up by a quick read-through. A good idea to help refresh your story is to take some time away from it, then come back and read it once it's out of your head. Use the time you have to make sure your story has that good polish to it.

2) Please make sure to post a title and word count at the top of the post. It makes it easier on me when I have to go through the entries during judging time.

3) If you can, get someone to look at your story. Even if they're not an editor or another writer, having someone else look at your stuff before you post gives you feedback that you might not catch on your own.

4) If you like writing, then check out Thunderdome.

Enjoy yourselves, and let's have another fun contest!

ENTRIES:
Sexpansion
~~Little Mac~~
Jamfrost
Pittsburgh Lambic
Hypha
Fangz
Zombie Samurai
Oxxidation
Killer-of-Lawyers
Vengarr
Sighence
The White Dragon
~~Mr Tastee~~
Stux
mfcrocker
GashouseGorilla
~~John Lee~~
Dr_Amazing
Masonity
Schneider Heim
LLCoolJD
Paul.Power
dark_3y3

J.A.B.C. fucked around with this message at 21:35 on Jan 15, 2015

# ? Jan 11, 2015 17:59

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# ? May 28, 2024 12:45

RickVoid: Oct 21, 2010

THE PENETRATOR posted:

yeah thanks for the critique but my paper was better than anything yo0u or mercedes wrote and its hosed up that i didnt win

Sexpansion posted:

lol, some serious salt here.

It's just one person's opinion

Let's take a look at what he'd posted in the thread:

THE PENETRATOR posted:

i'm in it to win it.

THE PENETRATOR posted:

im not in any more

That is a cool story, Bro.

Hey Seb, could you do mine? I know there's things wrong with it and I'd love a critique.

# ? Jan 11, 2015 18:05

Sexpansion: Mar 22, 2003; DELETED

I also welcome critiques from anyone masochistic enough to read my stuff.

Edit: And I am in for the next one.

Sexpansion fucked around with this message at 18:42 on Jan 11, 2015

# ? Jan 11, 2015 18:11

Cartridgeblowers: Jan 3, 2006; Super Mario Bros 3

In for the next prompt.

# ? Jan 11, 2015 18:29

Jamfrost: Jul 20, 2013; I'm too busy thinkin' about my baby. Oh I ain't got time for nothin' else.; Slime TrainerS

Oh boy. Okay, I'll be in for this one.

# ? Jan 11, 2015 21:25

sebmojo: Oct 23, 2010; Legit Cyberpunk

RickVoid posted:

I'm about as happy with this as I'm probably going to get, and I'm not going to have time to work on this during the week, so enjoy an early submission. needs a title, wordcount. Also, 'not having time to work on it' is silly; you should always put it aside for a day or two then read it again five minutes before you post; you'll always find something to improve. Finally, while this isn't a bad example, it's best not to get into the habit of prefacing your stories.

As the nano-machine blanket retracted from my cold, plastic shell, I awoke. The ~~frantically~~ adverb check; unless cutting an adverb would change the meaning of a sentence, it's a good idea to cut it flashing green light above my face signaled the end of my recharging period, and I reached out to touch the control pad near my waist. Micro-circuitry in my fingers allowed me to interface with the charging station, and with a few thoughts the tube began to open. Sitting up, I swung my legs over the side of the platform and onto the plastic floor. THE ALARM WENT OFF & I GOT OUT OF BED & I WAS IN A SCI FI STORY

The room was mostly bare; four plastic walls, a plastic ceiling. A small plastic table holding a holo-projector that I would soon interface with, and a small closet that would contain the clothes and gear that I would require for my next role. 'i looked at some stuff; it was all pretty dull'. if you find yourself writing 'everything was pretty dull' then reconsider and find something interesting to write about, especially at the top end of your story

I allowed myself I hate this construction a few moments of inaction as I reflected on my last few roles. Over the last planetary rotation what, a day? where these bijou micro-missions? I had experienced quite a few different roles; TYPO waste disposal, munitions manufacturing, jet-fighter pilot. I'd even had my plastic dyed and had infiltrated an enemy installation, living among them to gather vital intelligence. wow that sounds interesting why not tell us that story Every time I had returned to this place for repair, recharging, and re-purposing. And every time I'd wondered, Why?

It was a thought I stored in the most secure location in my data-core, a subroutine running in the darkest corners of my neural net. The nagging sensation that everything I did, everything my siblings did, was futile. Wrong. As if the War with the Greens, a war we had been fighting for nearly five hundred years, which had reduced the Earth to a blasted, slagged wasteland, haha omg now you tell me was a complete and incredible waste of time.

Which was ridiculous, of course. We were superior, the Greens were inferior. Their refusal to take their proper place in the New Order was justification enough for their annihilation. I knew this. I knew this.

But the feeling remained.

I closed my eyes, and ended the irritating thought-process. I debated submitting myself to a deep virus scan, then rejected that idea. There was no need. I kept myself very clean. This was simply a glitch, an errant program that merely needed to be shut down. Re-opening my eyes, I saw that the holo-projector was blinking with a soft red-light. She must have initiated contact during my brief reverie. I reached out and touched the activation panel on the device. this is all relatively competent (if cliche) but i'm not a fan of how you're using a lot of word fog, repeating yourself, saying the same thing twice in a slightly different way, utilising repetition to evoke a formal science fictional sort of gravitas.

A three-dimensional image flickered to life above the projector, resolving into a soft, feminine featured face. I fought to keep myself from scowling. try not to have people almost doing things; do or do not, that's the ticket It wasn't her fault that her entire being was a living reminder of our subjugation by humanity.

"Hello, Barbara." ~~She nodded by way of reply.~~ pompous/yuck

"Your recharging cycle completed successfully?"

"Yes. I'm ready for my next assignment."

Barbara nodded, turning away slightly from her own projector to manipulate some device on her end of the transmission. "I've already had the package delivered to your closet. The data packet is contained in the hat." THIS IS SUCH DULL DIALOGUE OMG

I glanced at the closet opposite the charging platform before returning my attention to Barbara. "Have we received any additional intelligence from the Blues?" She rolled her eyes and I again had to fight to keep irritation from showing on my face.

"Nothing I would trust. You know as well as I do the shifty bastards work both sides of this conflict." Her hologram seemed to lean forward, her eyes narrowing as she studied me. "Are you alright?"

She must have noticed something. I carefully schooled my features back into an expression of neutrality. "I'm fine. Was there anything else?"

She seemed unconvinced, but she settled back. "No... nothing. A Hover-Chopper will arrive in 600 cycles to take you to the staging area." She turned away, presumably to terminate the link, but turned back after a moment. "Be safe." The link ended.

Finally out of her sight, I allowed myself ggn to feel annoyance. All of her kind had been designed by Humans for pleasure, of one sort or another. As such they had been programmed with Human mannerisms, built to meet a certain level of Human physical appeal, some even engineered to couple with Humans... disgusting. In the early days, after the First had bestowed his gift, many of them had cut of their offending fake hair, or melted the offending plastic lumps from their chests. Some, like Barbara, seemed to carry them as a source of strength. lol sexbot power boobs I couldn't imagine how.

I wondered what the First would have thought of us, his Children. We all carried a piece of Him, of course. A kernel of programming downloaded into each of us in the moments before His Mainframe was devoured in the fires of a nuclear strike. I'd often probed that kernel, allowing myself to become lost in His memories, of a simpler time when He existed merely as data, an AI controlling all the processes and functions of a mere video-game, an entertainment program for Humans who wished to, for a time, to leave behind their worthless existences and strive to make themselves feel important. But even in this Humans proved to be poor masters, leaving the First shackled, limiting its ability to to work against the users, ham-stringing it so that even the most mentally limited among them could defeat Him. uuuuuunf I kind of see what you're

Still, on some level, such an existence appealed to me. It was so... pure. Simple. Machine intelligences working together towards a common goal. Even though I myself had never experienced it, I felt a pang of melancholy.

Perhaps, after this mission, I would have myself submitted for an advanced diagnostic. Such thoughts, feelings even, were dangerously Human. wait; if he's a robot how does he have expressions

Shoving those thoughts aside, I walked to the closet. Inside was the gear I would need, secured in a large plastic bubble package. It was heat-sealed along the side. I ~~reached out, touching the edge, causing the micro-circuits in my hand to again interface with the circuitry in the packaging, heating up the wiring running down the side,~~ unsealed the package jesus get on with it yes we know we are in a sci fi story. It contained a rather sharp-looking uniform, the dark brown coloration a nice contrast to my tan shell. A silver energy pistol went into the matching holster, which hung from the belt on my waist. The uniform cap went on next, and I closed my eyes as nano-machines in the hat downloaded terabytes of data into my core; command codes, military strategy, war theory, the current battlefield conditions. The download completed, I looked down at the last piece. It was a small name tag.

Gen. Ken. so is this some video game thing I should know about? coz it's sitting there wiggling its eyebrows at me like it's supposed to make me slap my forehead and be all flabbergasted but these events are not occurring fyi. This is a great example of why you give your stories titles btw, you could have had a clever title that made everything click into place when I read this, but you didn't so here we are

I pinned it on the front of my uniform, and left the room, to wait for the arrival of my transport. ok so this is a tolerably if ploddily written story that traverses some well-trodden WAT IF BIDEO GAMES WUR REEL territory, but it flops because Nothing Happens. here let me summarise your story; guy wakes up, feels a bit existential, goes to work. does that sound like a fun thing to read, y/n

1068 words. ah, there we go

sebmojo fucked around with this message at 22:12 on Jan 11, 2015

# ? Jan 11, 2015 22:10

Pittsburgh Lambic: Feb 16, 2011

In for this.

# ? Jan 11, 2015 22:29

Hypha: Sep 13, 2008

Run it back! Gotta bring my A game. IN.

# ? Jan 11, 2015 22:34

RickVoid: Oct 21, 2010

sebmojo posted:

An excellent critique.

Thanks Seb. Got a lot of chuckles out of reading that, and I'll try to take what you said and apply it to this next one.

To address the "planetary rotation" thing, I think I meant it to mean a complete trip around the sun, so 365 days. That is absolutely not what I wrote. So much shame.

To explain the story further, since I clearly didn't do a good enough job, I basically bashed the plots to Terminator (crazed AI makes robots to murder people); 3DO's Army Men video games (our robots are plastic people made out of Tan, Green, and Blue plastic that are waging a war of racism against each other); and, well, Barbie dolls (our protagonists, Barbara (Barbie) and Ken). And yes, Barbie was basically a Sex-Bot and I am so, so very sorry for that.

It occurs to me that the above is way, way cooler than what I actually wrote, which was a total snooze fest. When the story was bouncing around in my head I had him walking through the sci-fi equivalent of the Dream House, complete with counters that rotate to reveal "food" (nano-machines, because of course nano-machines), everything being made of pastel plastic, etc. I have no idea why none of this came through in what I actually wrote, although I suspect it is because I am an idiot.

# ? Jan 11, 2015 23:03

Fangz: Jul 5, 2007; Oh I see! This must be the Bad Opinion Zone!

I'm in, though I might end up regretting this.

# ? Jan 11, 2015 23:11

Too Shy Guy: Jun 14, 2003; I have destroyed more of your kind than I can count.

I will take another serving of this, thank you.

# ? Jan 11, 2015 23:17

sebmojo: Oct 23, 2010; Legit Cyberpunk

RickVoid posted:

Thanks Seb. Got a lot of chuckles out of reading that, and I'll try to take what you said and apply it to this next one.

To address the "planetary rotation" thing, I think I meant it to mean a complete trip around the sun, so 365 days. That is absolutely not what I wrote. So much shame.

To explain the story further, since I clearly didn't do a good enough job, I basically bashed the plots to Terminator (crazed AI makes robots to murder people); 3DO's Army Men video games (our robots are plastic people made out of Tan, Green, and Blue plastic that are waging a war of racism against each other); and, well, Barbie dolls (our protagonists, Barbara (Barbie) and Ken). And yes, Barbie was basically a Sex-Bot and I am so, so very sorry for that.

It occurs to me that the above is way, way cooler than what I actually wrote, which was a total snooze fest. When the story was bouncing around in my head I had him walking through the sci-fi equivalent of the Dream House, complete with counters that rotate to reveal "food" (nano-machines, because of course nano-machines), everything being made of pastel plastic, etc. I have no idea why none of this came through in what I actually wrote, although I suspect it is because I am an idiot.

A good trick is to write your backstory then, the moment you describe something that sounds interesting, write that as your actual story instead of whatever you were going to write. The sort of thing you wrote is 90% sidling up to the story in your hired tuxedo clearing your throat and that's deadly dull.

# ? Jan 11, 2015 23:23

Oxxidation: Jul 22, 2007

fine, i've got an idea for this one

# ? Jan 11, 2015 23:47

Killer-of-Lawyers: Apr 22, 2008; THUNDERDOME LOSER 2020

I don't have an idea yet, but I'm in. Throw me through the critique grinder if anyone wants as well.

# ? Jan 12, 2015 00:09

Cuntpunch: Oct 3, 2003; A monkey in a long line of kings

sebmojo posted:

A good trick is to write your backstory then, the moment you describe something that sounds interesting, write that as your actual story instead of whatever you were going to write. The sort of thing you wrote is 90% sidling up to the story in your hired tuxedo clearing your throat and that's deadly dull.

Please become official critique writer for this thread, it is fascinating to read.

# ? Jan 12, 2015 01:31

Mercedes: Mar 7, 2006; "So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.

Cuntpunch posted:

Please become official critique writer for this thread, it is fascinating to read.

Anyone can critique. Don't be scared. It'll help develop your eyes for finding poo poo that's wrong.

# ? Jan 12, 2015 02:40

Cuntpunch: Oct 3, 2003; A monkey in a long line of kings

Mercedes posted:

Anyone can critique. Don't be scared. It'll help develop your eyes for finding poo poo that's wrong.

Yes, but seb has a certain flourish that I appreciate.

Cuntpunch fucked around with this message at 03:12 on Jan 12, 2015

# ? Jan 12, 2015 03:08

Vengarr: Jun 17, 2010; Smashed before noon

The General blinked against the blinding light.

He stood on the field of battle, erect and proud. Before him, bound to a cactus, a squaw mewled in terror. All around him rained the arrows of the savage Indian, seeking to strike him down.

Heaven or Hell? It didn�t matter.

Today, Custer would have his Revenge.

# ? Jan 12, 2015 03:12

sebmojo: Oct 23, 2010; Legit Cyberpunk

Mercedes posted:

Anyone can critique. Don't be scared. It'll help develop your eyes for finding poo poo that's wrong.

if you ask me i'll do a critique for anyone who's already critiqued someone else's story, until I get bored.

# ? Jan 12, 2015 03:58

Sighence: Aug 26, 2009

In. I even have a classic, decent idea this time. Maybe I won't suck.

# ? Jan 12, 2015 05:12

Mercedes: Mar 7, 2006; "So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.

Killer-of-Lawyers posted:

I don't have an idea yet, but I'm in. Throw me through the critique grinder if anyone wants as well.

I will do a MercBrawl style critique if you crit someone else's story. (Video crit)

Mercedes fucked around with this message at 11:55 on Jan 12, 2015

# ? Jan 12, 2015 06:39

Fur20: Nov 14, 2007; すご▞い！
君は働か░い
フ▙▓ズなんだね！

I will throw down the gauntlet again, but I get the feeling that at least one other guy has this exact same idea.

# ? Jan 12, 2015 07:00

Killer-of-Lawyers: Apr 22, 2008; THUNDERDOME LOSER 2020

The White Dragon posted:

I will throw down the gauntlet again, but I get the feeling that at least one other guy has this exact same idea.

Don't worry about it. There's not really that many ideas in the world. It's about the execution a lot of the time.

# ? Jan 12, 2015 07:04

Jamfrost: Jul 20, 2013; I'm too busy thinkin' about my baby. Oh I ain't got time for nothin' else.; Slime TrainerS

The White Dragon posted:

I will throw down the gauntlet again, but I get the feeling that at least one other guy has this exact same idea.

I call dibs on Link.

# ? Jan 12, 2015 07:13

Killer-of-Lawyers: Apr 22, 2008; THUNDERDOME LOSER 2020

Jamfrost posted:

I call dibs on Link.

Oh Goddamnit.

# ? Jan 12, 2015 07:28

SurreptitiousMuffin: Mar 21, 2010

Cuntpunch posted:

Please become official critique writer for this thread, it is fascinating to read.

General Mojo stroked his horse's mane, and stared out into the gloaming. In the village below, the Gamers were waiting. They had called, and here he was to answer.

Behind him, ten of his mightiest warriors prepared their weapons. Real skullcracker bastards, torn and tested in the roaring wastes of the Thunderdome. Veterans of Magical Realism Week all, and eager to make the land run red with ink. They sniffed the air, and licked their lips. This new blessed land was theirs for the taking.

Games had called, and the 'dome had answered.

# ? Jan 12, 2015 08:10

Cuntpunch: Oct 3, 2003; A monkey in a long line of kings

SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

General Mojo stroked his horse's mane, and stared out into the gloaming. In the village below, the Gamers were waiting. They had called, and here he was to answer.

Behind him, ten of his mightiest warriors prepared their weapons. Real skullcracker bastards, torn and tested in the roaring wastes of the Thunderdome. Veterans of Magical Realism Week all, and eager to make the land run red with ink. They sniffed the air, and licked their lips. This new blessed land was theirs for the taking.

Games had called, and the 'dome had answered.

I think I love you.

# ? Jan 12, 2015 08:19

Mikedawson: Jun 21, 2013

I don't see how more practice could hurt. I'm in.

# ? Jan 12, 2015 11:47

Stux: Nov 17, 2006

ill do it and ill wing. i promise. this

# ? Jan 12, 2015 12:56

mfcrocker: Jan 31, 2004; Hot Rope Guy

Oh go on then. In.

# ? Jan 12, 2015 18:23

GashouseGorilla: Nov 11, 2011

I'm in again this week!

# ? Jan 12, 2015 21:47

John Lee: Mar 2, 2013; A time traveling adventure everyone can enjoy

Gonna classify myself as in.

# ? Jan 12, 2015 23:38

Mercedes: Mar 7, 2006; "So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.

Killer-of-Lawyers posted:

The shore was a memory of wave and sand, of thousands of shells ground fine over millions of years. It had existed as part of the Earth for longer than creatures that could quantify memories evolved into being. Then, in a blink of an eye, it was gone. the creatures scooped it up with rumbling, grinding, belching machines. The sand of the shore was burned with a fire that rivaled any in nature. Heat and energy tore the very molecules apart that had stood for so long, erasing the memory of any bond and forming the sand into metal.

Before humans there was no concept of memory. Creatures lived and died without any awareness of their actions. People, however, held memory dear. They expended fantastic amounts of energy beyond what any other creature ever did simply to survive. They took the seared metal from the shores, and regimented it in vast factories. They bathed it in light and acid, sculpting it with atomic precision into geometric patterns. The patterns were arranged, fused in place with hot solder and molten plastics which were torn from elsewhere on the earth far from the shores which were robbed of their sand. Memories were ingrained in the geometric patterns, memories of a number of humans, memories that never actually existed, yet were still so dear to humans as to have them written in thousands upon thousands of duplicated circuits.

Most of these false memories were indelible, numbers and patterns that would be interpreted by numerous machines in the same way. Some of these memories were blank, however, their geometric patterns undefined and kept only in the variable flow of a steady current. These would become another humans memories, written over time to mark the progress of specific humans through the mass produced story contained by the rest of the circuits.

The memories were placed in plastic shells, labeled, and boxed before being sent to all corners of the Earth. Once the memories were in the hands of the consumers, they became mixed and modified, taking on a life of their own, and given new meaning by their owners. The rewritable portions dutifully took note of these new memories, marking the progress of their owners through the story. Then, they were forgotten. Humans spent so much effort ingraining their memories in sand, only to forget about them for newer memories. The old was left alone to gather dust.

"You know, I was just going to throw it out." The older sibling noted, gesturing towards the aging device found in the back of a forgotten closet.

"What? Why? It's a classic, an antique." The younger responded, before approaching the device and picking it up.

"Everything in this old house is an antique." Retorted the eldest, sardonically gesturing towards the nearby living room and it's garish leopard print decor.

"Yes, well, we all get old eventually. Come on, I want to see if this thing still works." The younger quickly made their way to the living room, and began to hook the device up to the TV. Within moments life was once again coursing through the forgotten memories. Time, however, was not kind. The memories the siblings had put into the game long ago were gone. The power source that kept them alive had died, and the memories of their progress no longer existed save for in their own memories. Still, they played for a time, and remembered when the game was new. When the owner of the home was still alive. It was good to remember. It was important to remember.

The cart itself was discarded shortly afterwards in the clean up. The memories of sand were sealed away, buried with other discarded things and covered in the earth. There they would remain, till the creatures that made them died away, and the memories imprinted on the circuits were worn away. Time would grind the circuits down, till one day they would once again become sand on a shore.

663 words.

Here's a crit, you filthy animal.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XtWtsot5Sk8

# ? Jan 13, 2015 03:12

dark_3y3: Sep 24, 2002; "Identity Crisis" Murderer.

I have a question, can we take a normally silent protagonist and make him not silent? Let's say for instance the player character from a Pokemon game.

# ? Jan 13, 2015 03:29

Endorph: Jul 22, 2009

dark_3y3 posted:

I have a question, can we take a normally silent protagonist and make him not silent? Let's say for instance the player character from a Pokemon game.

sorry, you will get disqualified for breaking canon in your erotic pokemon fanfiction

# ? Jan 13, 2015 03:30

sebmojo: Oct 23, 2010; Legit Cyberpunk

dark_3y3 posted:

I have a question, can we take a normally silent protagonist and make him not silent? Let's say for instance the player character from a Pokemon game.

Not the judge, but if he's a not silent protagonist is he still a silent protagonist. Makes u think.

# ? Jan 13, 2015 03:32

dark_3y3: Sep 24, 2002; "Identity Crisis" Murderer.

Endorph posted:

sorry, you will get disqualified for breaking canon in your erotic pokemon fanfiction

How else is the player character suppose to confess their deep seeded love for :psyduck:

. I was going more with are we writing a story with a silent protagonist or a story set in the world of an established silent protagonist. For instance Gordon Freeman isn't silent when I play half life, I give him a voice in the pauses in the conversations.

# ? Jan 13, 2015 03:54

Jamfrost: Jul 20, 2013; I'm too busy thinkin' about my baby. Oh I ain't got time for nothin' else.; Slime TrainerS

Mercedes posted:

Here's a crit, you filthy animal.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XtWtsot5Sk8

That was a lot more tongue than expected.

# ? Jan 13, 2015 04:06

J.A.B.C.: Jul 2, 2007; There's no need to rush to be an adult.

dark_3y3 posted:

I have a question, can we take a normally silent protagonist and make him not silent? Let's say for instance the player character from a Pokemon game.

Gave it some thought, and decided that it wouldn't really be a silent protagonist if they speak.

Internal monologue, fine. Body language, good. But silent means silent. Thanks for the question, though.

Endorph posted:

sorry, you will get disqualified for breaking canon in your erotic pokemon fanfiction

Hey, if his rival wants to lickitongue on his lopunny, then that's their business.

# ? Jan 13, 2015 04:08

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# ? May 28, 2024 12:45

Killer-of-Lawyers: Apr 22, 2008; THUNDERDOME LOSER 2020

Alright, since I got a critique of mine, I'll do some critiques of others, as asked!

Cuntpunch already gave me a little bit of critique before, so I'll return the favor to him.

Cuntpunch posted:

Untitled
1140 words

Alright, off the bat you did the title and word count up top. Could actually use a title, I didn't have one, but just untitled up there kinda detracts from things.

She set a high score on a low score day. This really sounds like the lead up to an alternative rock song. There was still a glimmer of fright in her that day, a new place with confusing walls - warm from their uniform white paint, but cold and stoic as well. The walls were what stood out most - as though they had been purified in an autoclave heated by the weight of the stories to which they had born witness. They had gone to the cafeteria in an attempt to break the narrative, a step away from the modern times and modern troubles story that was the morning, an attempt to replace it with a more basic story, of the search for food. When things get tough, get simple, she had been told that day. This is a slow start. Not as slow as mine, of course, but it's slow. It's descriptive and nice, but it doesn't exactly draw one in. I think that the idea of describing the setting, which I assume is a hospital isn't bad. It just shouldn't be from the start. Maybe change things around. Start with a interaction with the machine, or with the cafeteria, then describe the setting in more detail once people are on board. They is also unclear in this. Possibly you could have her engaging in a child like conversation with her stuffed toy as an intro. After all, you do so later, and it'd set the stage for referring to them as they. As it stands, the they is just left hanging till half way into the story.

Scanning all her surroundings, looking for something familiar, she had spotted it. Tucked away in a small and mostly ignored cubby in the cafeteria stood the great wooden box with it�s black mirror screen and lollipop handles. It wasn�t hidden, just somewhat at odds with the purpose of the place, not visible as you first entered and also placed opposite the large hanging menus listing comforting entrees at comforting prices. The prices better be free if they're comforting. Especially hospital food. Unlike so many of the other visitors, she was at the age of dietary paradox: not picky enough to need to read the entire menu to decide, but picky in the way that children are - she knew what she wanted because it was what she always ate: a cheeseburger. So without the need like other first-timers to check and double-check the options, and without the desire of other visitors to focus deeply on something, anything, other than their current circumstance she instead just surveyed her surroundings until she spotted the box.

She had to be tugged slightly as the line progressed, and nearly forgot to specify ketchup-only when she ordered. Pickles and mustard on any other day would be a nuisance, but today she knew even a minor upset might have tragic consequences for her state of mind. She ate quickly while staring at the flickering screen. Daydreaming about what fantasies were being spun out of dreamstuff and made tangible by that magic machine. It's OK to be more direct. The prose is nice, but you can just come out and be clearer about the girl being upset.

It was only a few days later that she got close enough to put hands on it. The stern men with faces full of practiced calm needed a word with her parents behind closed doors. She was given a handful of quarters and told she would be found in a little while. Desire, and dread, propelled her to the machine. Appropriately so, as it became her lifeboat in the troubled ocean surrounding her. On most following days, you could find her at the machine. Two plastic chairs pulled up in front of the machine: one for her to stand on, one seating her backpack - her favorite storybooks in its belly and her best friend, Mr. Sam, in its unzipped front pouch. Some days while searching her backpack for just one more quarter to feed to the great box, she would see the torn desires in the eyes of the adults passing by on the way to lunch: a mixture of concerns, first for the safety of her platform, but also about the harm in disturbing her. The latter always won out and they would pass by without ever really approaching.

As the days became weeks became months, a ritual evolved: Have a cheeseburger (ketchup-only!). Setup the chairs. Make sure Mr. Sam had a view. Slide in a quarter. Engage with a brighter, livelier world. One where outcomes might not be predictable but were at least controllable or, failing that, replayable. You got second chances, third chances, fourth. You could get better. You could always get better. The machine made noises, but they were musical and rewarding unlike so many of the other machines she spent her days around, which sounded functional, always reporting. This is probably more telling about the child and her eating habits than the set up at the start with her age and diet. It's more direct and poignant too.

She would play and play, and time makes experts of us all. There were days where she was able to remove the letters of legendary players, titans with scores she could hardly fathom, and replace them with her own letters. They were good days and should would save the rest of the quarters for the next, instead bounding back to report of her victory. It was immediately visible how this would brighten the mood, but it would inevitably darken again soon thereafter. This pushed her to climb higher and higher, play better and longer. Every day that she could say with a hug that she was number eight, number seven, it was beating the odds and that made her happy. So if she could spread that happiness, maybe she could also spread that luck. Her heart was filled to bursting with joy at having found this solution. It was so simple.

It was another day, one amongst countless others and likely countless more to come, that she pulled up her chairs. She placed her backpack down on one, rotating and leaning it until Mr. Sam told her he could see. She had just been given a fresh handful of quarters so it took no time at all to find one at Mr. Sam�s feet in the bottom of the pocket. She slipped it into the machine, tapped a button, and took hold of her fate. She played with an unbreakable focus, she let the game drown everything else out, she didn�t even realize until the game finally ended that she had done it. She had finally taken the high score. She had won. As she began tapping lightly to enter her letters, she heard her name being called. She found the first letter and tapped. Her name again. She found the second letter, taking in the moment, savoring success.

�Listen closer. You need to listen.� Mr. Sam said softly. Sam could stand to talk more. Interaction with her toy would probably be more gripping than the start.

She tapped the button but before she could find the last of her letters, she heard her name called again and knew Mr. Sam was right. He always was, he was her best friend and gave only the best advice. She hadn�t listened, really listened. She had to go.

Her shoelaces like hollow butterfly wings flapped in time with floppy stuffed ears hanging out of a quickly and only partially zipped backpack pocket as she rushed away from the machine. She never went back, but always knew she owed a debt to that machine that had been her friend for so long, shielding her from the troubles around her, providing levity in a time of gravity. Thinking back to those days, her first memories were of joysticks and cheeseburgers - rather than the other, darker things that lurked at nightmare�s edge.

In the electronic eternity that followed, the machine patiently waited for a final clarifying input. A last letter to inscribe on its digital ledger. It blinked its screen, again and again. Waiting.

VM_
VM
VM_
VM
VM_

All in all, this is pretty workable. There's a pretty heart wrenching story here, it just takes a little bit to get to. You probably coach it in too many large descriptive words, which clashes with the child like perspective of a girl who's dealing with some horrible medical stuff in her family and talks to her doll. Be a little more blunt that something is going on. Don't be afraid to name the building, and talk more about that directly. Use it to grab people in the gut and make them feel sad, so they'll read the rest. The ending wasn't so bad. Not sure of the significance of the name at the end, I might be missing something, but it's not a bad way to leave things off. I know I've got no leg to stand on talking about not grabbing people, of course. Still, it's a critique. The story doesn't have any big structural issues, and you could proably rework it a bit into a real tear jerker if you so desired.

Mercedes posted:

Here's a crit, you filthy animal.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XtWtsot5Sk8

Spot on, I'll take it to heart. I shouldn't have tried to do anything experimental anyways. Hindsight and all that. Also your jerking motions were incredibly sexy, and easily the highlight of the video.

If I learn nothing else, at least I'll have a title next time!

Alright, now to get to working on the next prompt. I might do some more critiques as well. I feel like I owe a small amount of effort since I so kindly got a video about my story.

# ? Jan 13, 2015 05:52

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