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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:seeking fire, a man gets burnt They thrash in ways I couldn't have imagined. Their fingers wrench, curl and reach towards my face and their sucking mouths howl when I brush them aside. My hands busy, I try to breathe louder to fill my head with white noise so I can block out that terrible sound, but they are louder than my thoughts and as they crescendo into wild screams my chest and eyes swim with terror. I cannot see. Smoke, like a wet rag, presses against my plastic visor, my lungs ignore my pleading to take in air, and that peaking noise! My brain, against better judgement, strains to make out a pattern in the wailing. I cannot understand what they say to me and I regain my composure bracing myself against the smoke and noise with the relief of it. After the fire is extinguished by my classmates, the Captain swoops over to me and barrages me with questions the whole time his voice concerned and calm and his eyes shining with fear. He thought I understood them, the voices that live in the enchanted fire. The only thing I heard though, was my mother. In the last days of his life my father never knew what they said either, and he said that neither did his father and so I would be glad that I didn't either, because every person who did was dead by their own hand and seemingly happy to do so. My grandfather never spoke about any of those people, though I figured he must have known most of them seeing as the attacks started when he was my age. Our village is mostly blackened rubble now, be it stone, wood, metal, or plastic. All of it crumbling and crisp. The few families that remain keep their houses up as good as they can in a spirit of tradition, but where you see a nicely appointed lawn and newly painted shutters, you look the next house over and it's a bleak pile of nothing. The elders say we won't leave because we are winning, but more houses become flaming pyres every month. My mother set our old house ablaze one night when I was 12. My grandfather shook me awake shouting my name. His big beard smoked slightly as he gathered me up in his large arms, threw my pink elephant quilt over his back and carried me through flames downstairs toward the back door. "Do not look at it!" he screamed and pushed my face into his arm, though it was too late. I had seen my mother, so calm, standing on the kitchen table, her hair and pajamas burned away. She was just standing there screaming into the fire, but her face showed no sign of pain as flames singed her finger tips and nose. She didn't even look at my father who tried to pull her down, who shouted at her to come with him. She just stood and screamed until her voice and the fire's were one.
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Feb 18, 2017 01:21
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:NEW THREAD RULE: IF I FORGET TO POST A PROMPT ON A PARTICULAR DAY AND YOU'RE ITCHING TO GO, JUST POST ONE UP Since it's been a couple of days, I'll put a prompt out there and since I'm new at this have a quote that I like: “In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” -MLK
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Feb 22, 2017 18:53
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:there is the sound of music from on high, and a breaking of the sky. Spider Mand vs Octopoverty The latest webberman nasty. Spewing his hot sticky strands all over that clung to marble and baked on the asphalt. Windows sixty stories high now shellacked with the gunk along with hair, dirt, and grumbling of the good people below that seeped up from the city The grumbling of the good people below grew louder every week. In the beginning, the bug performed his role to specifications, just as they always had. Then the first body was found in the celing corner of an abandoned warehouse in the garment district. The body was horrifically mangled; the police thought she was a woman due to the long crimson tresses visible even through the thick grey gossamer. So the Bugle ran the headline "Spidey Slurps Strawberry Smoothie". Sick fucks. Bug denied it though. Say he out of his mind trying to help us and we don't give a poo poo, that we make it hard on him to spite him. When the last webber died it was pretty hosed up. Things haven't been right for a long time and maybe the universe spit this slingin' psycho at us for our sins. Everyday more redheads were found. Always redheads , but not always in hard to get to places like the first. He got comfortable, seeing as none of us could really challenge him anymore. The first ones we could gang up on, but after the Huggerbot burned through ten in a row we decided by vote to make him three times the size and much faster. This would prove to be our doom. We were beseiged by assailants and when one spider failed, the next triumphed due to his meticulously designed body and the modifications we chose for him. The third web cannon, the plasma gloves, the sonic accelerator, reenforced armor, scanning targeting implant. All of it so deadly and not even spider themed. What a waste. We never thought he would turn on his city. Around the 250th reincarnation his mental state was direly altered. His webbing wouldn't dissolve anymore, civilian casualties piled high, and even though our last foe had menaced us over a decade ago he remained vigilant. Scanning the buildings for windows not yet boarded up. Fwipping by any that weren't, snapping any young rusty-locked lad or lass out and away with him. Our city turns to rot beneath his silk crime, but a cry echoes through the dark and breathes life into the hearts of citizens who have not yet broken hope. We are rebuilding every day, we are preparing to fight.
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Mar 1, 2017 17:20
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I broke the thread with my bad story
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Mar 3, 2017 21:17
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