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99 Songs Of Revolution 221 Words Charlotte, I’m sorry I left so suddenly. I’m sorry I didn't warn you ahead of time. I’m sorry I didn't wake you to say goodbye. Recent events spurred me to action; action that put you at risk. I understand it’s not fair, and I understand if you hate me for it. All I ask is that you try to understand my motivations. We’re at a turning point in the course of human history. Unfortunately it seems we've taken a turn for the worst. I’ve gotta do what I can to stave off the darkness we’ve been promised in the nights to come. I won’t lie to you love, some of my motivations are selfish. I've always been afraid of risks, I’ve never made an impact on the world and now I’m being presented with a situation that demands I act. I refuse to sit idly on the fence of indecision while my friends and family are threatened by the face of modern oppression. I can’t promise I’ll make it through the war to come. It wouldn't be right to say that in a week or a month or a year I’ll be back in your arms. Just remember that I love you so much. I want the brightest possible future for you, even if I’m not in it. Always yours, Murphy
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Nov 14, 2016 04:47
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Goodjudge...fast judge? EDIT:  Exciting Offer Exclusive To Thunderdome!!!Let's fill this quiet time with crits. He/She who crits the most stories between this post and judgepost gets either: A) A New Avatar or B) A New Avatar for someone else they don't like *And a free shirt from my old ska-band mailed to the address of your choosing!!! *pending my ability to find them, this may be more of a punishment...  to be paid out by 12/3/2016
SkaAndScreenplays fucked around with this message at 06:08 on Nov 15, 2016 |
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Nov 15, 2016 00:30
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SkaAndScreenplays posted:Goodjudge...fast judge? Grats to Boaz-Jachim for the Win & A New Study Bible for the HM Boaz also cranked out 15 crits in the downtime before judgement so what do you want to replace your stupid-newbie Avatar? Find me in IRC since I don't have Platinum so I don't have PMs. Also I'm serious about that shirt thing so get me a size and I'll accommodate to the best of my ability. PROMPT!
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Nov 16, 2016 01:05
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IN: With a Manticore SkaAndScreenplays fucked around with this message at 04:08 on Nov 16, 2016 |
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Nov 16, 2016 04:00
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Nov 30, 2016 02:29
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IN cause I'm prone to failure
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Dec 20, 2016 03:19
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Throw Another Yule Log On The Ceasefire 976 Words “Ms. Charlotte…” The tiny voice was accompanied by an urgent prodding of Sgt. Dammers’ shoulder; punctuated by a burst of machine gun fire somewhere far-off in the distance. Sounds like the ceasefire fell through, she pushed the thought to the back of her head and buried with a pillow. “Ms. Charlotte!” The words were frantic this time, “Wake up, It’s Christmas Eve!” Forcing herself upright the Sergeant groaned, “what time is it Walter?” “Seven,” he chirped. “What time does Santa usually come?” “Usually when you’re asleep,” she felt guilty for the bitterness in her words. Walt had become somewhat of a mascot to the 102nd infantry. Here he stood before her; all bright-eyed and excited for Santa seemingly oblivious to the fact that there was a war on. How much of it is a front, she thought to herself, there’s no way this kid is so cheerful when there’s nobody else around. “Where’s the rest of your squad?” Walter’s eager smile warmed the burnt-out husk of a tavern the 102nd had been calling home for a week or so. With a prideful groan he lifted a bucket from a beat-up red wagon, “I got you guys presents but want you all to open them together.” Charlotte felt her heart melt at the gesture, “should be downstairs.” Walter’s smile flashed brightly, “I’ll go get ‘em!” It couldn’t have been much more than a minute later that the steady beat of combat boots echoed up from the basement. “Merry Christmas Sarge,” her troops cheered in concert as they cleared the threshold. “Merry Christmas,” she chimed back, “Sounds like our mascot has gotten presents for everybody. I hope you’re all as thoughtful as he is.” “Walt’s a good little poo poo, isn’t he,” the thunderous voice of Private Marco boomed as he shrugged Walter off his shoulders. “Whatdja get your favorite meat-head?” “You’ve got two!” Walter strained to pull the wagon closer to the assembled troops. With an adorable growl he set a box and a bucket at Marco’s feet, “they’re heavy so be careful.” Marco tore into the box with glee, “Lead chimney flashing, you shouldn’t have!” “Now the other one, they only make sense together!” Marco smiled as he peeled back the lid of the bucket. Tears pooling in his eyes the private tilted the bucket forward for all to see. It was filled to the brim with spent brass. “You told Ms. Charlotte that you were running out of rounds for your gun. You can use the lead to make new bullets.” Marco fought to hide the tears streaming down his face; Walter had already noticed. “What’s wrong, I didn’t get the wrong size did I?” “No,” Marco wiped his eyes before pulling Walter into a warm hug, “I’m just sad I don’t have anything for you.” “Mr. Marco, You’re squishing me,” Walter’s muffled voice cried, “You’re keeping everyone else from getting their gifts!” One by one Walter presented each member of the 102nd infantry with their gift and why he got it for them: A leather guitar strap for Corporal Morales, “Because those cloth rifle slings keep twisting up on you!” A deck of cards for PFC Tompkins, “To replace the lucky Queen that sonofabitch sniper knocked out of your helmet!” A bundle of toothbrushes and a bottle of vegetable oil for Specialist Rhodes, “Because if nobody is going to take care of their damned gear they should at least make it easier for the quartermaster to do her job.” Finally it was Charlotte’s turn to receive a grim reminder of the war the reality they found themselves in. She took a knee as Walter marched proudly towards her, struggling to balance a long skinny box on his shoulder. “I was kind of naughty with your gift,” he stated with a matter of fact tone and a guilty expression, “so you’ve got to promise to put it back when the war is all done.” “I promise.” Charlotte opened the package with the same careful deliberation she would have given to disarming a landmine. Reaching inside she felt the cool touch of metal against her hand, her hand closed gently around the hilt of something. With a flourish she drew the sword from its box; gasping at the beauty “A mortar hit the museum the other day,” Charlotte shuddered at the banal way Walter spoke about the worst parts of war, “Which is why you’ve got to give it back when the war stops, but now you’ve got a sword just like your daddy did when he was a sergeant.” Charlotte choked back tears of every emotion as she pulled the boy in close, “you are too good to us Walt… What did we do to deserve such an awesome buddy?” An hour later Walter left for home, Private Marco acting as an escort under Charlotte’s orders. Without a word the squad set to work making a Christmas miracle. Reindeer were fashioned from blankets and bar stools, a sleigh from the cabinet of an old racing game. A few roughshod coats of paint later and they had a convincing fraud. Charlotte spent an hour negotiating a new ceasefire; the CIC of the occupation force even offering whatever aid they needed. Up on the housetop click, click, click… The moon low in the night sky the soldiers of the 102nd were no longer machine gunners or radio operators or sergeants. They were Santa and his reindeer; their arrival heralded by the boisterous laughter of CIC Daniels over the city’s P.A. system. “Ho! Ho! Ho!” A firework burst in the sky. “Merry Christmas!” The light of Walter’s bedroom sparked to life. “Merry Christmas!” In the amber glow Charlotte saw not just the face of Walter; a child war had forgotten peeking through their windows. Smiling bright with the affirmation that miracles can happen. She hoped this ceasefire lasted...
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Dec 26, 2016 08:54
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sebmojo posted:This was really pretty extremely bad and would probably have lost/DMd (maybe it did, idk). the core of the story, dude is visited by old buddy on other side, fight occurs, old buddy swaps side, is adequate if agonisingly cliche but you don't come close to pulling it off. A few nice lines in there, and I like some of the images. sebmojo posted:“Clive!” He bellowed. A warm smile barely visible behind his beard. bad sentence fragment¹ “How does this place treat you my friend?” THAT SAID: ²The friendship between these two is the sturdy foundation of an otherwise lovely story, that friendship is conveyed in their conversation. Mistakes with punctuation aside the back and forth makes these two feel real. Step into my dojo mojo... BRAAAWWWWLLL!
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Dec 26, 2016 23:21
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Cracks neck without using hands, because badass...
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Dec 26, 2016 23:27
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IN Get Famous quote:It’s easier now than ever before to become an overnight sensation. Whether you just want your 15 minutes of fame, or you want to be a bona fide celebrity, start brainstorming how you can make it happen. It could take just one viral video, or you might need to go get head shots and an agent, but you can do it!
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Dec 27, 2016 01:09
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Fantastic Meats And Where To Grind Them: 1161 Words Mick adjusted the settings of his action camera one last time as Sara the countdown. "Air B and E going live in three..." This is the big one, he thought. "Two.." Six months of bullshit for the biggest score of a lifetime. He snapped the camera into its place on his lapel. "Roll camera..." Don't screw this up... Mick stared into the lens of Henry's phone, they were streaming from 3 separate cameras at one of their most requested locations. He hoped it would help boost their meager ratings. "Action!" Like a switch had been flipped Mick snapped into character, "good-evening internet! I am Mick Schimmel and this is Air B And E; the only show that treats felony trespassing like a weekend getway. We're coming to you live from the derelict Hartz School For Wayward Youth in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. Constructed at the turn of the century it's purported to be one of the most haunted places in the country." He paused briefly, turning to allow the camera on his chest to take in the compound that would be their stage for the night standing like a megolith on the hilltop, "Of course, we're skeptics here so I'm going to call bullshit on that last point," He continued. "Though it is rumored to be home to any number of highly valuable antiques." With quiet deliberation the three made their way up to the hill; Mick providing commentary on the building's history and security in whisper the whole way. As they drew nearer to the building the three fanned out. Coming up on a hundred feet from the entrance they hit the first hurdle of the night. The rumble of a diesel engine shattered the silence of the night air; a deer-shiner, blinding white lit the hillside below. Mick hit the deck; pulling his camera from its pouch and watching the source of the light intently. He didn't see Sara or Henry; a good sign that they hadn't been spotted. "It sounds counterintuitive," he hissed to the camera, "but if someone is searching for you do not just break for it. When its dark human vision picks up on motion, staying low to the ground obscures your silhouette." The three regrouped at a service door on the building's east-side once the truck had sped off. "What the hell was that?" Sara hissed, "None of our stakeouts indicated this place had any security." "More than that," Henry added, "this building is active, the door is warm and there are definitely noises coming from inside. I don't like this." Mick soffed; speaking instead to the camera as he produced a set of lockpicks from his coat. "The disadvantage of the buddy system is this. Despite all effort and hope sometimes your partners in crime are absolute chicken-poo poo." Within moments he had defeated the lock. Not a second later he and his crew were inside. Immediately upon crossing the threshold all three felt their hearts sink into their stomach. Clothing of every size, color, and style lay in a clutter at the center of the room. Not a single article free of blood stains. Discarded shoes piled in a corner stood taller than a man. Most disturbing was the wallets, lined neatly by size and color filled a bookshelf; their contents pinned to the wall in a mosaic of unfathomable violence. "What in the gently caress did we just walk into?" Mick's voice was tinted dark with dread, "We've gotta get out of here." Sara cracked the door only to immediately close it at the sound of voices drawing nearer from outside. "We need to move... NOW!" Her words shocked Mick and Henry from their stupor, "The only way out is further in, so let's stick together and try and get out of this alive." They pushed deeper into the compound; fully aware of the attention each of their echoing footsteps would draw, never ignoring the louder ones growing closer from behind. After an eternity Mick brought them to a stop outside the rec-room. "We've got to get out of the hallways," the words rattled in his throat, "Our best bet is to get into one of these rooms and escape through a window." "We're not going to make it," Henry struggled to keep his composure, "We're not going to make it and we don't even have wallets with us to add to that shelf." "No wallets, no I.D., even if someone does find this place and find us they'll never know who we were," Sara's words carried no emotion. It was a cold statement of fact. Mick looked the pair dead in the eye, "I refuse to accept that. We've been through how much together?" His friend's silent stares answered without words as he set upon picking the rec-room door. "Exactly, we can beat this." A satisfying click announced his success as he opened the door. He turned to his friends in an attempt to reassure them, "we've just got to work..." Any bleak optimism he'd still harbored was squeezed out of him by the massive arm constricting around his windpipe. Within moments he was out. A mechanical whir brought Mick back to the world of the living; a world he found literally upside-down. Dangling from his ankles he stopped to appreciate the scene of his own murder. Panic overtook every one of Mick's faculties as he fought helplessly against his restraints; screaming the whole time. He screamed for help. He screamed for his mom. He screamed for Henry... for Sara. He screamed for the sheer defiance of the act. Mostly he screamed hoping somone would hear. "Stop yelling you'll piss off the kid," came a gruff voice behind him, "he's already cranky from teething." "What?" "The kid," a knife flashed in front of Mick's face pointing out the answer to his question. A small child standing in a walker stared intently at him with a bright smile and dead eyes. "Keep fighting if you want. Won't do anything; that little hellspawn is going consume you either way," his captor drew a line down Micks abdomen with the knife point. "Calm down and I'll make sure you're not alive when it happens. Be nice and you get offed quick and minced into baby food." Mick let out a soft chuckle, "you've got to be kidding me right?" "Like I said, the kid is teething. Your friends went quietly if it helps you make a decision." Sirens could be heard faintly in the distance. Mick's soon-to-be-killer hadn't yet noticed. "I'll take the quick way out then," Mick chuckled, suddenly aware of the camera still pinned to his chest. "Mind if I get some last words in?" "By all means," came the answer, "get on with it." "To those of you still watching this has been the final episode of Air B and E. Remember kids, owning lockpicks means never being homeless." The world went black. 
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Jan 2, 2017 06:34
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Thunderdome 2017teen: Success Is Like A Boomerang that you catch with your face.
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Jan 3, 2017 01:30
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