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In. I'll take two entities, please.
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Jan 5, 2022 15:15
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In with  for not submitting last week and I'd also like a sub prompt, please.
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Jan 12, 2022 22:24
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Super Crypto Bros. Regretting decisions made in the past, the main character loses what's dearest to them when, in the wrong place at the wrong time, they end up in a situation that requires them to give up their current lifestyle. Secretly, the main character, unsure of what it all means, ends up taking things into their own hands. 1,099 Words October 5th, 2009 10:37 PM “You have— one new message. ‘Hey man, this is Pete. You’ve gotta’ give me a call, bro. I’m onto something huge and I swear to God, you’re not going to want to miss out. Prrrrr, bird call sounds.’ Press 5 to replay this mess—”. You hang up the phone. October 7th, 2009 06:45 AM “You have— one new message, and— one saved message. ‘Good morning, Bro. Let’s do breakfast, my man. I have gots to tell you about this new poo poo I’m working on. It doesn’t seem like much right now, but I’m telling you. The block is definitely gonna’ be hot. Call me, beep me.’ Press 5 to replay this mess—”. You hang up the phone. October 15th, 2009 3:42 PM “You have— one new message, and— two saved messages. ‘Sup my guy? I feel like you’re dodging my calls, bro. Not cool, but you’re lucky, I’m so friggin’ cool, so cool in fact that I got you a gift. I’m coming over at 5 and I won’t have no for an—”. You hang up the phone and sigh audibly. It’s barely 4 when his shave and a haircut knock raps against the door. You sigh again and move to unlock the door, because you know he has no intentions of going anywhere. He’s in a pair of Ray-Bans and a popped collar polo. He smells like a full can of Axe body spray, and he’s inside the apartment before you can tell him that this actually isn’t a good time. He’s unpacked his laptop and is holding its power supply in his hand asking for a plug. You finally explain that this isn’t a good time to which he insists he won’t be long. You press the point and he relents, but not before pressing a USB palm into your hand. “This, my guy, is your ticket to the future. Get ready. Yachts. Bottles. Bitches. Fast rides. Big games. Big guns.” You cringe and having had enough, push him toward the door. “—for real though! Just hold onto that, it’s going to be huge.” Tersely, you thank him, and lock the door after he’s clear of the peephole. You lose the USB drive almost immediately. Some years later You see Pete maybe three more times in your life before a wind sailing accident leaves him lost at sea. You never enjoyed his company much, but for whatever reason he confided in and respected you. When you last saw him, he was talking about Bull runs, GPUs and market prices, and was telling you to hold no matter what. That a boom was coming. When you clued him in to the fact that you had no idea what he was talking about, he reminded you of the thumb drive. You assure him you’ve got it tucked away safely. You check the price of the fake money he was talking about and see the 100 dollars of ‘coins’ he bought you on a whim sometime in late 2009 were now valued at close to 40,000 dollars. You begin to feel very sick. You spend the next twelve days deconstructing your apartment. You extricate every lost penny, nickel and dime from their dust or grime-filled hiding places. You go through all your old clothes. You almost consider telling Pete that you’ve lost the USB. If he knows how you might go about accessing the keys, or if he had made a copy. You would, but you don’t actually have Pete’s number saved anywhere, and after your last disinterested visit, he finally got the clue and stopped trying. A few months pass, but you’re finally able to get Pete’s number from a friend of a friend, but when you finally get through, you hear word of his disappearance. You consider asking if they knew anything about his cryptocurrencies, but come to your senses and hang up the phone. December 2017 You would officially be a millionaire. You would be a millionaire. Oh my loving God. You would be a millionaire. It’s not too late. You’ve got some money saved up. Pete said to hold right? You could just, you could just buy some more. That’s right. Start investing now and in a few years, who knows what the future holds. May 2018 You’ve become known as the crypto bro at work. You don’t mind it though. You just need everyone to realize that you’re literally about to make them all rich. All they need to do is just listen to you. You wish you had listened sooner, and the proof of concept is ironclad. We’re moving away from a centralized currency, and the value of the dollar physical currency is not made to last. Big business is afraid of you, the individual, creating value. Owning value. Why won’t they listen? August 2019 You text all your family and closest friends, ‘Scared money, don’t make money. Who’s trying to get rich?’ No one responds. You move your life savings into a meme coin with a cute dog behind it. April 2021 You’re almost a millionaire. Oh my god, you’re almost a millionaire! You just need to hold. To the moon baby! To the friggin’ moon. God bless you, Pete. Wherever you are. May 2021 Elon Musk becomes involved in your coin and the price plummets. Luckily, the weight of your word with your family and friends had long since been marred with your aggressive crypto pushing and no one close to you suffered losing their life savings or children’s tuition funds. However, it wasn’t a complete loss. You still gained about ten times what you invested and now there’s something called NFTs. They mostly seem to be cute pictures, anime girls or cartoon apes. Looks like it's time to recoup your losses. August 2021 You come to realize that what you actually own is a placeholder that has had value assigned to it. You still think these would make great gifts for the holidays. December 2021 No one in your family understands your gifts, and seems concerned when they learn how much you paid for a 7th grader’s pixel art banana. January 2022 Regrettably, you close your Twitter account ‘NeverTakingLs’ after realizing that all you’ve done was “take Ls”, but not all is lost. You’ve just been offered a premium opportunity to invest in the largest crypto metaverse real estate project to date, and for only .1 ETH a month, you’ll have access to a virtual mansion replete with your own metaverse staff at all times. It’s almost too good to be true!
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Jan 17, 2022 04:35
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Already starting this year off with a fail and dishonor. Yeesh. Let's hecking do this. IN.
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Jan 18, 2022 13:45
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Bury Me in a Borrowed Suit this person keeps dying and being endlessly resurrected and each time they die they come back young but each time they die they come back just a little more wrong and they know this and they're starting to have doubts about the whole immortality thing. 1,076 Words “Are you sure this will work, Master?” The Assistant asked with its squamous green head bowed. It clacked its beak nervously. “Well, my dear Assistant… I doubt it, but I’ve grown weary of this eternal song and dance. If I cannot die in this dream world, then I must escape. I simply cannot stand another day trapped in this fantastic and nightmarish hell. I yearn for the quotidian and mundane. The temporary.” The Master answered, twisting the elongated features of its face into a deranged rictus. The Assistant was confused by this, but much of what the Master did confused them. “Well, how will it work? By my recollection, you’ve been eaten, immolated, decapitated, disemboweled, exploded, and demolecularized and came back without problem. “Yes, well…” “And you were pulled apart, poisoned, smushed, seen by a divinity, had your heart broken, and you even died of old age.” “Okay, yes…” “I just don’t see how escape is any different than dying in the context of what it is you have planned.” “Oh, my dear Assistant. I’ve given up on dying. At least as I am now. In coming here those eons past, we’ve become abstracts. No longer bound to rational form or being. Haven’t you noticed the differences between lives? No, I imagine you probably haven’t. Look here, friend.” Then the Master produced a shimmering sliver of glass from the voluminous folds of his rugose flesh, and showed it to the Assistant. The Assistant gasped at what it saw. The Assistant had been something else once, it was sure of it, but now it was a creature of this chaotic realm. A figment of someone’s imagination. A corona of thin gray hair jut out in uneven tufts from its scaly green pate, shadowing the sunken black beads it called eyes. A pale yellow beak protruded from the bottom half of its face. The Assistant yelped. It knew this is who it was or what it had become, but it knew it had not always been this way. “For how long have I appeared like this, Master?” “Like that? I don’t really know. I just know that how we are now is not how we have always been. When I think about your last death, I remember amalgamations of teeth and wings plucking your carcass clean. The memory haunts me even now, but how you were is lost to me. A blur obscures your presence in my mind, and I'm sure your colorful recollections of my own repeat deaths will be no clearer beyond the facts of what happened. The Assistant was troubled by this and visibly shuddered as the Master’s form suddenly became clear, as if for the first time. The Assistant then realized that it held onto something from a past life when it looked at the Master. This self-deception had been dispelled leaving the Assistant’s mind spinning. It began to hyperventilate, but then realized that it wasn’t even breathing, that breathing was a process foreign to the place they inhabited. “What or where are we?” The Assistant asked. “If I understand right, we’ve become thoughtforms trapped in the psychic maelstrom that dictates the goings on of the material world.” “How long have we been here?” “I have a vague recollection of ancient rituals that led to this subversion of normalcy, but it almost seems like a fabrication. A dream within a dream. My mind tells me it’s a deceit, but my heart knows better. Here, in the domain of gods, devils and things yet still more horrible, I know this place is not our home. As to how long we've been here… all I know is that it's been too long.” The Assistant nodded, having realized the extent of their perpetuity in this place that was no place and everywhere at once. "It's time, Assistant," said the Master. Then it produced an oddly shaped, shrunken hand. It was dessicated and waxy with a sickly yellow candle standing erect in its open palm. "What in all the worlds is that thing?” "A Hand of Glory, but I've also fashioned one for you,” said the Master who produced a second shrunken hand of strange proportions. "Whose hands are these?” The Assistant asked nervously. "They are our own. It wasn't easy gathering up our remains and repurposing them for this use, but in searching the fields of flesh, I knew with certainty which twisted forms were once ours. The broken bodies, called and begged to be used. I obliged.” "What now?" The Assistant asked, holding the severed hand that had been prepared for it. "We light the candles and walk the path back to the material world. These sleeping things that wait to be thought of will no longer imprison us here.” “Who’s to say we won’t return to this place? What if the path just leads to more of the same?” The Assistant asked nervously. “Inaction is in itself a choice. You can choose to take no action. To be hidden away in this hidey-hole until some nightmare creature finds you, or one of the gods makes you a puppet, but I won’t do it again. This is our only chance, and I’m taking it. I implore you to do the same.” The Master concentrated all of its mental energy to produce a flame. It floated through the air like it was lost, but eventually settled on the candle’s wick. The room darkened and the Assistant found themselves suddenly paralyzed, unable to move or even blink.. A long black corridor appeared and the Master gave a final nod to the Assistant before stepping into that inky darkness. When the light from the candle could no longer be seen, the tunnel receded into nothing and the Assistant, alone now, was free of the candle’s power. It looked down at its own shrunken hand. “I’ll be Assistant to no other creature in this world of dreams,” the Assistant said, willing a small flame onto their candlewick. Another dark tunnel opened up and the Assistant followed the path. *** The doctor squeezed a dollop of cold gel onto Vanessa’s distended belly. Mark sat next to her with his eyes fixed on the screen. The wand beeped as it slid over her stomach and the inner architecture of Vanessa’s body was rendered in shifting patterns of black and white on the screen. Then suddenly, two small forms appeared in that darkness awaiting the freedom of life, and the promise of death.
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Jan 24, 2022 05:50
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In
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Jan 25, 2022 15:14
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In Flash, please
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Feb 1, 2022 16:15
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In
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Apr 13, 2022 03:41
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In. Vanilla. Please fill in my [blanks], #spinthewheel!
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Aug 1, 2022 19:12
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Dream Job An Electrician agonizes over a Volcano 993 words After several failed interviews, Jamie was desperate for work. ‘WANTED: Experienced Microgrid Electrician. Full-time site supervisor on a remote exotic island. Full benefits. Salary starting at $200K. All Travel paid.’ She thought the advertisement was a joke but sent in her resume anyhow. It was a dream job. A week later, she received a crate at her door. Inside was a VHS cassette and a transponder with a big red button on it. She pressed the button and when it did nothing, she turned her attention to the tape. After an hour of searching, she found a tape player in her closet and hooked it up to the TV. A grainy image appeared. Footage of a beautiful tropical island. A volcano smoldered at its center. The screen faded to black and moments later, an image of a menacing man sitting behind a desk appeared. “Welcome, recruit. We are glad to have you as an operative of E.V.I.L.!” The man said raising his fist. Then he cleared his throat and said more subdued, “the Environmental Value Impact Labor committee.” Then he grew serious. “To complete your indoctrination, we need to know you’ll dedicate yourself fully to E.V.I.L. Only press the red button if you’re certain that you’re ready to make that change. Otherwise, please discard of all materials by any means of complete disposal.” then the man said, “E.V.I.L. is not responsible for destruction of property or life during onboarding abduction procedures. By pressing the retrieval button on the transponder, you give express consent for retrieval of your person by E.V.I.L. operatives. Have an E.V.I.L. Day!” Before Jamie could get up, a set of boots crashed through her patio doors. Jamie screamed a man approached her. “You the new hire?” asked the man. “Y-yes?” said Jamie. “Good enough.” He said, before strapping her into a cabled harness. She tried to protest but was already being hoisted up into the sky. There was nothing left to do, but to see it through. - - - After a few months at the plant, she could no longer deny that things were odd. After several persons went missing, she decided she needed answers. Her equipment clinked as she marched towards the Director’s office. She burst through the door. The Director and his guards turned to face her. The Director was a slender man with gaunt eyes and a crooked smile. “Miss Hernandez,” the Director said, “what brings you here?” The Director gave her a knowing smile. Jamie cleared her throat. “Well, sir, I’m sure you are aware of the irregularities at this ‘power plant’.” “Irregularities? I’m not sure I follow, Ms. Hernandez.” Jamie tugged at her collar. “Well, for starters, there’s the power consumption. Amazingly, nearly 100 gigawatts are generated every day and all of it is being fed back into the volcano.” The Director nodded. “This island is a precious refuge for some of the world’s most exotic creatures. The power goes towards their safe keeping.” “Enough power to keep New York City running for a week?” “They are very exotic creatures. Now, I have more pressing matters to attend to unless you had other questions?” “I do. I mean I’m not trying to cause trouble, but I can no longer deny the red flags.” “And what might those red flags be?” asked the Director. “Where do I begin?” Jamie asked. “The armed guards in this room? The disappearing site personnel? The occasional blood curdling screams? The helicopter abduction for my hiring?” The site director began to laugh. Then the guards began to laugh. Jamie insisted. “It’s just that things don’t add up. It’s clear this isn’t an environmental activist group or anything like that so just, just cut the crap. What’s really going on here? You owe me that much, it’s been three months and I’ve kept my head down and done everything you asked, and at this point I just want to know what is going on here?” The guards racked their weapons. Jamie winced. The Director waved a calming hand, and the guards relaxed. He beckoned Jamie over to the desk and she approached cautiously. “You want to see exotic animals, Ms. Hernandez?” “Still leading with the exotic animals bit?” “Oh, it’s no bit, Ms. Hernandez. You’ve proven yourself to the cause. I’ll show you.” The Director pulled a book on the shelf behind his desk and it slid away revealing an impressive looking capsule-like elevator. “Shall we?” The director asked. Jamie stepped in after the Director and the two of them began to rocket through the tunneled earth until it was clear that they were beneath the volcano, at least by some several hundred meters, but what she did not expect was to enter a sprawling subterranean complex. They were high above what appeared to be cities, that were only visible by the light produced from the network of power cables and equipment that thrummed with the electricity produced by the power plant. Jamie was speechless. “Incredible isn’t it?” the Director asked. “What- what is this?” Jamie asked. “Home. For millennia, my people have been forced to accept a lie. That darkness and suffering were the lot decided for us in life. My father, and his mother before him, were Chosen. They had vision, and that vision led to means, and after generations the great awakening is nearly at hand. We will rise to the surface and claim the world above when Aepep, our great God awakens from its long slumber to reshape your human world through fire and blood.” The Director’s physique began to shift with painful snaps and tears. His neck extended from the collar of his coat and his eyes rolled to the sides of his skull as it took on its true form. His lids parted wide until his eyes were orange spheres with black slits running through them. A long, bifurcated, tongue flitted through the space between them. She pressed herself against the elevator. The Director approached.
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Aug 8, 2022 04:14
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In
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Aug 8, 2022 20:04
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Some Random Crits Not too much to these here crits, but I looked at your words and enjoyed them. Something Like Necromancy by Antivehicular: Omega Ladder #4: Wizard Week Wredux It had a clear premise that nailed the prompt. Great start with a fitting end. The ending felt abrupt when I reached the end, but with the transaction being what drove the story I don't know how else it could have gone. Regardless, I thought it was a fun execution of the prompt. Would read more about the Witch of the Camera. Proscenium Lights by PhantomMuzzle: Omega Ladder #3: Wonder: Flash Rule: Your story exists during some sort of countdown I'm 50/50 about the flash rule, but it doesn't matter because I really like this one(and I mean, technically, yes it is a countdown or a series of them, but I digress). You crammed in some cool bits for 250 words. I think it delivers on the third prompt decently. The Dancing Colonel's Wonder Show by Thranguy: Omega Ladder #3: Wonder: Hellrule:Your protagonist is named Rutherford and all their joints bend the wrong way  This is great and it put a smile on my face. Captures the prompt via the spectacle, but there's a melancholic eerieness to it that I really enjoy. It seems well put together. Agony and Empire by Tars Tarkas: A [Empire State Building] agonizes about [werewolf] “Nothing can stop the Party Werewolf. He’s going to bring down the whole block!” I love the bizarre monster/living building world that humans just exist in. Does it fit the prompt? Absolutely. Seemed fine as a story, and like a prompt that you had fun with.
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Aug 11, 2022 05:10
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Redemption: A jailed in-law and a stomach bug sapped my life essence away this past weekend and didn't have much time during the week. Alas... Here are my bad words anyhow. What's Fair is Fair 1,998 Words Knelt down in front of a mostly dismantled skiff, Kozu realized that a Bodian marketplace wasn’t the best place for a scene. Not when the Big Rider was here to stand trial for Declan, the sympo who cured her. She turned her spanner and a long stream of oil arced onto a nearby merchant. Her eyes went wide, but she didn’t dare look. She collapsed the spanner back into its widget. The merchant staggered in his surprise, saw Kozu, then began to shout. “You there, girl! I would have your name! Do you know what this outfit cost? No, of course you don’t. It’s clear you belong to that unsightly rabble outside the city. If that weren’t offense enough. No… Now we must suffer your harassment in person.” Kozu finally turned to assess the damage and looked at the man covered in oil. He stormed over. Wincing, she began to spew incomplete apologies, waving her hands frantically as if she could wipe it all away. The man seized her by the shirt and that’s when Kozu, who knew she needed to keep cool, lost it. She headbutted the merchant. They both tumbled onto the floor. Her widget expanded back into spanner. She looked over the man. “How dare you put your hands on me? Have you lost your mind? Because I can help you fix it!” she shouted. The man cringed away from her. The onlookers were in uproar. At least one person call for a guard. It wasn’t her fault! Big Rider wasn’t going to see it that way though, and Declan… She considered her options and nearly fled, figuring one trial better than two, but then she remembered the skiff. Her clan would be severely setback without it. The spanner disappeared back into the widget, and begrudgingly, intimidatingly, she offered the man a hand to help him from the ground. He thought better of it, but the look in her eyes suggested she wasn’t asking. He took it, dusted himself off and began grinning. The guards had arrived. “Oh, thank the Curator, this Scalve ruffian tried to kill me!” the merchant said. The guards gave Kozu, the skiff and the dramatic merchant a look. Thin streams of light ran across the guard’s eyes. Kozu had only seen it once before. The guards of the abodes had been humans custom crafted by the A.I. Curators. One stepped forward. “Assessment: Scalv,, the graviton emitter on the anterior section of the skiff is no longer operational. Seek repair. Inciting incident: oil struck Citizen ID C26043, merchant class. Determination: unintentional. Secondary Inciting incident: C26043 initiated physical contact with provisional visitor ID V34215. Resolution: Citation or time in holding, you decide?" Kozu hadn't expected the guard to assess the situation fairly. Citations were issued and the guards forced her and the merchant through a negotiation of goods for damages done. After Kozu had got an adequate part for the skiff she visited the guards again. "V34215?" The guard said as she approached. "You guys know anything about Declan's trial?" "The traitor Declan is known to us. We know your clan has sent a representative to vouch on his behalf, but the Curator and the council of elders do not look favorably upon the disclosure of Bodian secrets. It is a violation of the systems put in place to protect us.” “I don’t see why it’s so traitorous to help someone in need!” “Nor do I imagine you saw the problem in trying to repair your downed skiff in the middle of a busy market. This is not a discussion, however. I am merely stating the facts.” She didn’t see the problem in repairing her downed skiff, but didn’t press the point. Instead, she asked if he could take her to the trial. “Excuse me, Mr. Guard, sir. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, I’m actually just trying to find my way to the trial. Would you be so kind as to point me in the right direction?” “Hmm… Assessment: Given that Provisionary Citizen V34215 has already engaged in one conflict, assisting your further would be unwise. You should return to your camps.” “Aw, come on… that’s not cool. Isn’t it your obligation to help, no matter who it is?” Kozu asked. “Why should I?” the guard asked. It caught Kozu off guard. “You can’t be serious? What is this, are you asking for a bribe or something?” “Great Programmer, no! Of course not. I just have allocated enough of my time to this.” Kozu frowned and raised her hands in frustration. Then she snapped her fingers at a sudden realization. It was in the guard’s best interest to keep her out of trouble. “Ohhhh, well… I suppose I’ll just have to go back to the camp and definitely not try to find the trial ground on my own. I definitely won’t run afoul of any other bigoted, disgruntled, self-important, conde-” “Okay.” the guard said pinching the bridge of his nose. Kozu bowed waving an open palm in invitation onto the skiff. “If I must…” the guard said, and they were off. * * * The guard escorted Kozu to the trial grounds where several people gathered. Everyone in the clan felt torn up about Declan’s trial. He had become family and now he faced execution, or worse for abandoning the abode. The Big Rider was speaking when they arrived. Declan was held in place, encapsulated in a force field. “Council, Curator, I am Muzzle, leader of the Free World Rebirth Rebellion. I petition you in accordance of the free persons of Humet act established in the free cities.” The Big Rider said. Kozu watched in awe. The Big Rider was a diminutive man, shorter than Kozu even, but he rode on a mechanical beast the size of a small hill. It was his home, and the flagship of the clan. But it was his commanding presence that earned him the title of Big Rider. The Curator was silent, but the council whispered among themselves. One eventually answered, “The free persons of Humet act is only applicable to citizens of an established free land.” To which another whom seem conflicted commented, “However, the curator of the Glade Abode did see fit to extend those same privileges to the various nomadic clans of Humet…” The first councilman looked flustered, but knew they had an obligation to judge fairly. A third councilman wearing a scowl chimed in. “I don’t see how that is relevant to the Traitor Declan’s case. He was a citizen of the Glade who jeopardized Glade secrets.” “Yes, and after renouncing that citizenship, he wandered alone until he found a new home in the Free World Rebirth Rebellion.” The Big Rider said. The council looked shocked. A Bodrian becoming a Scalv. It was unheard of. Declan caught sight of Kozu in the crowd and a sorrowful grin spread across his face. Kozu met his eyes, tugged away from the guard escorting her and shoved through the crowd to get nearer to him. Muzzle spotted her almost immediately and gave her a blank stare. The message was clear, ‘Don’t you dare.’ Only Kozu never paid Muzzle much mind. Sure he was the Big Rider and all, but this… this was love. She sprung to the stand with a few carefully placed flips. At least one Bodrian got really stepped on, but she was there. Only a few precious feet away from her one true love. Declan had a sympathetic grimace on his face beneath the forcefield. Muzzle’s eyes looked like they were about to bulge from his head. The council was petrified. Mouths were gaped open. Kozu leaped at the forcefield and was nigh instantaneously rendered unconscious. So much for keeping a cool head, she thought as she faded to black. * * * When Kozu awoke, she found herself in a small cell with no means of escape. The attending guard was the same from before. “I knew you’d make trouble,” he said clearly annoyed. “I-I don’t know what came over me.” Kozu responded, rubbing her head with hands that felt numb and alien. “You’re lucky you know.” The guard said. “Oh, how do you figure? I’m going to be de-gunking crawlers and skiffs until the sun collapses.” “Well, if you knew anything about Bodrian law in the Glade, it’s that trials are considered sacrosanct. They are to be witnessed, but not at all interfered with.” “That’s why I’m in here right?” The guard laughed, then paused to muse at his own laughter, then said, “No. You’re in there because… because… I don’t know why.” “You don’t know why?” Kozu asked confused. “I mean… Assessment: The penalty for interference with Bodrian law is one of three punishments assigned by severity of the interference. One, to live your life in servitude of the abode, living and working in the city without the rights of citizenship. Two, the same punishment that is meted out to violent criminals, your entire body becomes a living attachment of the Curator. A mindless drone to be used until expired. Three, well… that’s just death. Seems a more fitting end then either of the first two, but none of those things seemed appropriate for you.” “What? Why?” “Because I confessed it was my own negligence that caused the interference.” “What about Declan and the Big Rider? What about the trial?” “Well, you’ll be surprised to know that a Bodrian interceding on behalf of a Scalv for one of our most egregious offenses was alarming. Alarming enough for them to reconsider your 'Big Rider'’s defense of Declan. They’re both back at your camp.” “What about you?” Kozu asked, suddenly struck with the awareness that this must have cost the guard something. She didn’t even know his name. “What about me?” “Well… what’s going to happen to you? I don’t even know your name?” “Hmm. My name? My identification number is G-436, security clearance level Delta. As far as what will happen to me? Probably a reformatting… it’ll be my first time.” G-436 said. “I’m going to call you G for short. What’s a reformatting?” “The Curator evaluates my collected data for efficiencies and removes clusters of information deemed non-pertinent to the performance of my tasks. Given that I let you interrupt a trial, I imagine they might prune quite a bit.” Kozu covered her mouth in horror. The weight of her actions hadn’t been anything she ever gave much consideration beyond tangible cause and effect. She twisted the wrench, the lug loosened. She balled up her fist, someone got punched. She could see the outcome, but not the aftereffect and began to realize this had been true for much of her life. For the first time in a long time she truly felt remorseful for what she had done. “G, I didn’t mean- I didn’t know- I’m… I’m sorry.” “You chose your actions, I chose my own. I hold no ill will towards you for my plight. Maybe a bit of annoyance, but I’ll be alright.” “Will you remember me, G?” Kozu asked. G-436 was genuinely unsure. “Probably not…” They stared out at the sun cresting over the horizon and watched until twilight settled over them. “It was nice to meet you V342-,” G stopped and tried again. “It was nice to meet you, Kozu Cain.” “It was nice to meet you too, G.” They remained silent until the end of his shift and then Kozu didn’t see him after that. When she was finally released, the Big Rider and everyone in the camp was rightfully miffed with Kozu. They thrived on trade and the bounty of Etrenu, but had been held up at a rather unfriendly city for two weeks because of her actions. She recognized G-436 in her departure, but when she approached him happily, he showed her no signs of recognition. “May I help you, provisionary visitor?” he asked. Kozu gave him a pained smile, then returned to her clan where Declan was the only person enthused to see her.
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Aug 16, 2022 03:17
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Aug 17, 2022 13:09
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It's an offence to possess 50kgs of potatoes in Western Australia Tall Tuber Tales 1,175 terrible words Somewhere in the desert, 1845 Sir William Eddlebee and his hired hand Reginald were lost. They had marched over the same shifting dunes for days now. Red sand penetrated their every nook and cranny, from the folds of their clothing to the cracks of their sun-blistered skin. William unscrewed the cap from his canteen and held it to his mouth, praying that somewhere deep within its recesses were a few drops of water. Nothing came from it, and he flung it . He called for Reginald. “Reggie, my boy, I’m afraid our journey may be coming to it’s agonizing end. My water is all gone, could I trouble you for a sip of yours.” “Oh, I’m sorry sir.” Reginald said, the words obscured by something in his mouth.” “Wh-what’s wrong with you?” William asked, startled by Reginald’s muffled words. He turned back and saw that Reginald was carving raw potatoes onto his palm and stuffing the chunks one at time into his cheek. Sucking, then chewing, then spitting anything he couldn’t stomach out onto the sand. William’s eyes went wide. “Potatoes?” he asked. “Ay, sir.” Reginald answered, sucking a freshly popped cube. “Where on earth did you get a potato, Reginald?” William’s eyes were wild now. “Oh, I traded all the supplies before we took off. Figured if’n you all had your supplies, I’d just be able to keep extra rations. Never knew it’d come in handy!” William ran over to Reginald and yanked his pack free from his person. “H-hey! Easy there, sir. Reginald said, spitting a wad of undesirable potato bit onto the sand. William looked at the satchel filled nearly to the brim with potatoes and physically felt something inside his brain shift. A sudden shunt of blood. A strange ache. Then he set himself upon Reginald with all the rage in the world. He bludgeoned the man in the face with a large potato, splitting the skin and bursting its flesh until Reginald’s face was unrecognizable from the assault. It wasn’t enough. William force fed the man his potatoes, pummeled him with them, kicked at the chewed up bits spat into the sand. Reginald breathed periodically, as if he had to force himself to remember the action, and then stopped altogether. William came back to his senses then realizing that he’d murdered the man. Conflicted with guilt he built a cairn for Reginald with the remaining potatoes. Sometime Later William had made it back from the desert safely. All of the members of his expedition company had met an ill fate, none iller than that of Reginald’s. Being that William was the only survivor to make it back people gossiped, but William did his best to remain aloof in the face of it. However, the facade quickly crumbled and led to his untimely death which confirmed what many had suspected. His letter read: “To whom it may concern, I, William Eddlebee, am a cheat and murderer. Plagued by rightfully suspicious accusations during the day and haunted by the protuberant potato filled corpse of my victim during the night, I can no longer stand to exist in this world. To those I’ve hurt, please forgive me. Yours in Christ, William Eddlebee.” The note came off as eccentric at first, but then the incidents began. 1855 While working on roads charting east from Perth, more than one convict reported seeing a ‘manifestation’ after receiving a shipment of rations which included 60KG of potatoes. The convicts described the manifestation as that of a young man, mortally wounded, potato mash escaping through broken teeth, eyes swollen nearly shut. They were so startled by this appearance that they abandoned their posts, and attempted escape or voluntarily returned to prison. 1903 At a market in Bunbury several decades later, a shipment of potatoes that had crossed through Kalgoorlie was delivered by a rather apprehensive deliverymen. When questioned about what had them in a sort, they answered that they saw a man on the road that looked dead and that he had followed them all the way to the city. This was dismissed as nonsensical and asinine, until at least 15 people including the delivery men witnessed what they all considered to be a ghost of a man. Repeat incidents like this occurred all over the west coast, but the common link wasn’t established until the government got involved. An incident during the Centenary celebration was the final straw, when the potato-laden corpse made an appearance in the dining hall. The appearance was passed off as that of an indisposed prisoner, but the guests in attendance were ultimately unconvinced. “That’s where we stepped in, Agent. Can you tell me what the first tenet of the Potato Marketing Corporation is?” “To uphold the honor and virtue of the tuber at all costs.” “That’s correct, son. Now the second?” “To offer the bounty of the potato at a reasonable and fair price.” “Right again. Now the final?” “To safeguard the world against the supernatural, accessible through the divine pathways of the potato.” “Dead on.” “When the Premier saw that bloated potato corpse. It was just confirming a rumor for himself. He had always believed in our mission, and recognized the threat the tubers presented despite their abundant nutrition. As such, he set the groundwork for the lengthy legal authorizations that would protect us from such occurrences in the future. When the Marketing of Potatoes Act passed, that was the first step in taking the war back to the restless dead.” “Unable to carry more than 50KG of potatoes, we were able to safely eliminate the occurrences until all those living who could remember the rumors or the dead man were dead themselves.” “So, how did potatoes get shipped around if people weren’t allowed to transport more than 50KG at a time?” “We authorized a special task force that made sure the people of this great nation got the potatoes they needed despite the dangers. We used the law to crack down on any potential outliers. We dominated the potato market with an iron fist because it’s what had to be done to save us all.” “So, I know you’re like really into the job and all, but you can’t be serious about this right?” “Agent?! You hold your tongue. Nothing has ever been more serious.” “Alright, grandpa. Sorry, rule four, an addendum to the three tenets. Never doubt the mission.” The old man smiled. Billy enjoyed trips to see his grandpa. He always told the zaniest stories, and despite their effect having diminished some in his teenage years, he knew it was something to hold on to. Something to cherish. The defunct Potato Marketing Corporation, may have never dealt with ghosts or missing explorers, but his grandpa’s men-in-black potato adventures were something he’d never challenge as untrue. He would nod and smile. Let his grandfather’s leathery hands pull him in close in appreciation of the visit. Let those tired eyes take him in, slower now than when he was young, and Billy believed him. He hung on to every word.
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Aug 22, 2022 03:50
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Aug 23, 2022 14:30
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Boxed Up Word Count: 1,340 Sarah couldn’t deny it any longer. She had a hoarding problem. The boxes she kept were meticulously arranged and sorted. Categorized and alphabetized. They formed teetering columns that were stacked to the ceiling, and over time those columns became walls that shifted precariously as doors opened and shut in the already cramped apartment. However, nothing ever fell or moved from its place. Sarah always managed to find enough space for them to go on about their daily lives, but it wasn’t until this last final fight with Jimmy that she realized she had gone too far. The wings of the box folded downward with a knowing will. The inside of the box was a void that betrayed the corrugated cardboard exterior. She waved her hand inside the box and felt the space tug at it. Reminded of the sensation of sucking her teeth, she withdrew her hand and placed it at Jimmy’s feet. “You’re always doing this,” Jimmy said. He was napping on the couch when the tug of the box woke him. Sarah was at his feet with a guilty look in her eye. She slowly moved the box past his ankles. “Sarah! For Christ’s sake, what is this about? I told you that girl was no one. She’s just a gambling buddy. Is this about that? Sarah! Sarah! Will you please loving look at me? You’re being crazy.” Sarah glanced at the open space around him before meeting his eyes. “What?” she asked as if it was the most normal response in the world. As if the situation was as mundane as tying a shoe. The wings of the box were pulling at his calves now. Jimmy began to panic. “What?!” he said. “What the gently caress do you mean, “what?” you’re loving boxing me. You’re packing me up like some god damned Christmas lights, that’s what!” “I’ve just had it with your poo poo Jimmy. It’s always “tomorrow, babe,” or “I feel it this time, babe,” and lately you haven’t even had the loving decency to ask me when you take money from my purse. I’ve just had it with you.” “Do you even hear yourself? You’ve had it with me? Yeah, well I’ve had it with you and all—all this. You’re boxing me up like all the other random poo poo in your life.” “Well, this random poo poo was important to me once. You were important to me once. Maybe someday you will be again, but until then… I’ve had it with you.” She pulled the box to his torso with one big lift and the lower half of his body disappeared inside. Jimmy stared wide-eyed in disbelief. This was impossible. He looked at the now empty section of couch where his legs had just been, where the bottom of the box rested, and screamed. He frantically pulled at the cardboard wings, but found himself unable to move or even affect their incessant flapping. They swung open and shut against his body like the world’s most ineffectual teeth. Sarah pushed the crown of his head down into the box and taped it shut. She didn’t know how her boxes worked. Pack away 20 different books of sewing patterns, and they’d be right where she left them. Pets or persons though… she wasn’t quite sure where they ended up. She sighed as she walked towards the kitchen. She imagined Jimmy would have something to say about that sigh, but now he wouldn’t be saying much ever. But why was she feeling remorseful? Why was she getting hung up on him now? She wondered if it was some form of survivor’s guilt. Then she dismissed that thought immediately. She didn’t kill Jimmy. She just put him away, even if she didn’t know where away truly was, and he had earned it. The threatening phone calls late at night. Him coming and going at all hours. Stealing what money she had and belittling her for not having more when he didn’t have a dime to his name. He had earned wherever the box dumped him. However, the days that followed passed slowly. The halls were hushed with the absence of Jimmy’s footfall. Her keepsakes, belongings, and random poo poo, as Jimmy would say, suddenly became just that. Random poo poo. The boxes which had once been a comfort and a source of security, had become a twisted collection of guilt. There would be no joy in her rediscovery of the past, only shame. The only way to move forward was to get rid of it all. To get a clean start. She called Goodwill and scheduled a donation pick-up. A week and several donations later, Sarah was a new woman. She had done away with her past, or so she had thought. It didn’t happen right away, but gradually, and with the certainty of night coming after day, the past found its way back to her. There was a single loud knock at the door. More like the thud of something crashing against it. It stirred Sarah from her sleep. She looked over at the clock and saw 3:00 AM illuminated in the LED display. Three more knocks followed in rapid succession. Sarah closed her robe and grabbed Jimmy’s snub-nosed revolver from the nightstand. “Hello, who’s there?” she asked from behind the door. “Police. Open up!” a man’s voice said. She peered through the peephole. Standing here was an annoyed looking brute playing at cop and a man that looked like a tackily dressed billboard lawyer. Sarah unlocked the deadbolt but kept the door on its chain. Enough that she could open it, but not enough that someone could get in without snapping the chain first. She pulled the door open a couple of inches and sized them up. “What do you want?” she asked. “Hello, hello!” the tacky looking suit said. “You must be, Sarah. Is your husband Jimmy around? We’ve got some important business to discuss with him.” “I’m going to need to see a badge or a warrant or something. It’s 3 A.M., what’s this about?” Then Sarah realized. Jimmy had always been bad with money. He was always sweet on her with his empty promises of better times, but nothing ever changed with his song and dance. There were never any results. She knew if he couldn’t get it from her, he’d get it from somewhere and had suspected that meant illicitly. “I’ve had enough of this poo poo.” The would-be cop said. He shouldered the door causing the chain to pull taught against the frame. The metal fastenings strained against splintering wood. He stepped back and another shove saw him inside her apartment. The smaller man pinched the bridge of his nose. “You moron! What the gently caress was that?” he asked elbowing the man in his ribs. The big guy snarled in his direction, neither of them wanted to back down, but whatever they were there for pulled them back to Sarah. “Your boy Jimmy owes us quite a bit of money, and he was already late on his payments. Well late just became past due and now we’re here to collect. I was hoping we could do this nice and quiet, but this idiot here prefers to do things rough. What can I say?” “You can say goodbye, motherfucker.” Sarah snapped the gun up from her robe to chest level and aimed it at the pretend cop. She fired three rounds in quick succession and sent him on his back. Guess the costume didn’t come with body armor. The suit moved to draw a gun of his own, but a bullet caught him in the chest and neck. He slumped forward clasping at his throat and bled out on the floor. Sarah set the gun on the kitchen counter and shook her head. It was just like Jimmy to leave one final mess for her to have to clean up. One more problem for her to solve. She pulled a perforated slat of cardboard from the hall closet and began folding it into its familiar useful shape.
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Aug 29, 2022 03:25
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In and flash
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Aug 30, 2022 14:20
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In tune nothing new, but 12 or so years ago I wanted to make chip tunes so I used a GBA software called boyscout to do so.
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Sep 14, 2022 04:09
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Applied Inversion Theory 1,603 Words The buzz of your cellphone vibrating against the nightstand managed to stir you from your sleep. You had no doubt in your mind that it was Chris on the line, and swiped the green receiver icon without confirming. He began the conversation mid-thought. “So, if I just substitute the conventional application of Bernoucci’s principle, a demonstrable pattern of Hadamard matrices reveals itself as 1, even in the most rigorous attempts at disproving perfect unity. However, when you force inversion of duality you approach negative unity, in other terms, perfect disharmony, through which all things are possible. Do you understand?” You didn’t, and wouldn’t. Despite telling Chris for the third time this week that you were worried about him, that you understood that Jessica’s loss was weighing heavily on him, you just couldn’t get through to the man. His erratic behavior had worn your patience thin, and you snapped at him demanding that he end his calls and get some help. After a brief period of silence he responded, “inversion allows for other outcomes,” and you hadn’t heard from him since. Days turned to weeks when suddenly you got a call from Sarah, Jessica’s sister. She had survived the wreck that claimed Jessica’s life, and had become close to you given your friendship with Chris. You shamefully recounted your last encounter with him and feeling guilty about how you left things, agreed to check on him. Despite the sinking feeling in your stomach, you knocked on his door. No answer. You turned the knob and the door swung open. You expected the worst, but when you weren’t greeted by any concerning smells you cautiously stepped inside. Aside from the clutter, it was an ordinary apartment. Stacks of books with curious titles and scribbled on papers covered nearly every surface, but there were no signs of Chris, but the apartment did look lived in until very recently. You text Sarah your findings, but no sooner than you do do you accidentally wake Chris’s computer from sleep mode. There’s a video player up on the screen with a still of the room you’re in. You click play, and Chris moves into view. His eyes are sunken into his gaunt face and the outline of his skull is visible beneath skin that appeared stretched taut. He stared into the camera mournfully and began to speak. His voice was thin as it escaped from lips that hardly moved. His frail arms began cycling through cards with symbols or numbers written on them. “I’ve found a way out of these cycles of torment. I don't know if anyone will find this, but I need to let you know that there are other ways of being beyond…” he clenched his hands into trembling fists that exploded outward as he gestured at his surroundings, “...beyond all of this. I know it’s a bit selfish, but if you’ve made it this far into the video, I have already, for lack of a better term, ‘installed’ the information necessary for you to find me. To understand what it is I’ve done. I apologize in advance.” Then the video ends. You staggered away from the chair as your head began to throb. You fell to your knees as an immense pressure began to build up inside of you. You felt like you were suffocating. Like your insides were being pushed out from within. Then there was nothing but darkness and a sound that started out like static, but gradually you began to hear it more keenly. You heard every individual part of the sound until it became a chorus of one sound, the chattering of teeth. You snapped your eyes open, and to your surprise, find yourself in a classroom. “Good afternoon, class. Welcome to your first and last lesson of Practical Inversion Theory. Although I’m not fond of introductions, I suppose you are owed something. My name is Dr. Christopher Anthony Walters, or at least it could have been, or was, or will be? I’m not entirely sure, but it seems you’ve found me. My deepest condolences. Now, we don’t have a lot of time so we’ll get right to the pertinent bits. In front of you, all around you, superimposed upon your most intimate and private thoughts, you’ll find a copy of the course syllabus.” Cold light diffused through opaque, white windows. When you focused on Chris, he appeared as a better version of himself. You also noticed that weren’t alone there. There were other students. As you tried to focus on any one of them though, they lost clarity becoming fixed blurs that disoriented and unnerved you. You tried to move from your chair, but found your actions were not your own. You tried to stand, but retrieved a spiral and pencil from your bag. You tried to fling the items from your hands, but instead turned open the spiral to a page with graphs, equations and incomplete notes crammed across every bit of space on the sheet. “You’ll need to understand basic numerology in occult practices. We will focus on numbers 1 through 4. The number 1, historically has been associated with divinity and perfect unity. It is all-encompassing and represents a fundamental state of being. The number 2, represents dualism. The duality that is necessary and inevitable in all things. Life and death, single and plural, limited and infinite, et cetera. The number 3 is a combination of both 1 and 2, meaning a state in which the divine and the totality of the individual experience are self-actualized into navigable, metaphysical spaces, not unlike the space we currently inhabit in this classroom. It is a waking subconscious possibility that is manifest through the application of will as an individual entity or as a collective whole. Then there is the number 4 which represents the material manifestation of all possibility and its limitations.” “This, of course, can translate into and is replicated in the first four dimensions of material reality. Without the anima of material existence, we are only ever the impressions of possibility, the ideas of things. The anima for this physical realm is provided by the fourth dimension which despite an absolute nature, is in itself abstract. The best representation of this is through the passage of time.” He swiped his finger on the top of a blackboard and a large gathering of dust accumulates on its tip. “This is the true nature of the fourth dimension. Configuration. Decay. Reconfiguration… but is it fair? Is it just? Theologians and philosophers may reconcile the way of things as immutable or even necessary, but I am a mathematician, and what is this cycle but another problem to be solved?” “1 = ( 2 + x ) - ( 1 + x ) is a simple equation that confirms the perfect unity of one no matter how it might be divided, but what if you were to invert it? Ordinary schools of mathematics would say that there is no solution where 1 can become -1, but if you were to sublimate those notions and think outside of the realm of what is possible, -1 = (2 - x) - (1 - x), where x = 2, the figurative representation for duality, the inverse of unity. In that perfect unity should exist, so too should its opposite, and to a larger extent, the manifold spaces of unreality that our limited material world is shaped by.” “It is only through inversion that one can escape the cycles that have condemned them.” A woman or at least the imitation of one entered from a door near the podium Chris lectured from and stood beside him. You recognized her as Jessica, but she was all wrong. Each feature was exaggerated or set incorrectly. Despite her vague familiarity, as you looked back at Chris, you noticed something malevolent in your unfocused peripheral vision. Jessica’s skin shuddered as if something wriggled just beneath the surface. “I offer you an escape from this hell, but you have to make the choice yourself. I cannot make it for you. Nor can I reopen the pathways in your mind to lead you here. Do you wish to escape?” You looked again at the blurs representative of other persons, and in turning away from them, with the same intuition used in seeing the thing playing at Jessica, you made out faces in your peripheral vision. Agonized, horrified faces. You can barely make out the motion of their teeth chattering. Then like a plug being yanked from the wall, your mind rejected everything you’ve experienced. You were forcibly ejected into unconsciousness. You came to when a terrified family began screaming at your sudden arrival inside their home. It’s the same place Chris lived but with unfamiliar occupants. You tried to offer an excuse that made sense, mostly for your own sake, and awkwardly retreated from their apartment. You returned home trying to remember why you even left it to begin with. You vaguely recalled doing something regarding Chris at Sarah’s request, but the longer you focused on the names the more alien they became. Although you felt something was off, you eventually settled on sleep. Just there at the edge of your vision as you’re about to close your eyes, you made out a person. You turned to look and were greeted by empty darkness that you stared at until satisfied. You dreamed that night of other worlds and other places that suddenly seemed forever lost to you, and when you woke you couldn’t shake the feeling that your body, your life, the world you’ve come to know, was not your own.
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Sep 19, 2022 04:38
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 WEEK 529: "It's not just a phrase, mom! This is who I am." I've won somehow and that means I have been ordained by the blood gods to appoint you direction for your terrible words. Is today the day that you write gooder and word smarter? Will you claim the throne for yourself?  Direction For 1000 Words You get a single pair of words from this generator. You can choose, or I can choose for you. For 2000 Words You get two pairs from this generator. You choose one on sign-up, and I choose the other. (or I can do both) I'll give you a random piece of occult information if you want a flash Judges Me Bad Seafood You? An aside: The last time I had the throne, I judged incorrectly and just read my co-judges feedback and made my glorious, correct, decision, but if someone could guide me on the cool and proper way to judge. Word Crafters:
Signups: Saturday 2:59AM EDT Friday 11:59PM PDT Saturday 6:59PM NZST Saturday 6:59AM Greenwich Mean Deadlines: Monday 2:59AM EDT Sunday 11:59PM PDT Monday 6:59PM NZST Monday 6:59AM Greenwich Mean Idle Amalgam fucked around with this message at 03:10 on Sep 26, 2022 |
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Sep 20, 2022 02:40
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The Cut of Your Jib posted:still not entirely sure what al this means so roll me a prompt Viking Vampire! Chernobyl Princess posted:In, aiming for 2000, please select an adjective-noun combo for me Guiltless Giants, Cumbersome Discussion!
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Sep 20, 2022 03:16
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Chili posted:In for 2,000. Bone Birds
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Sep 20, 2022 03:22
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Thranguy posted:In for 2000, give me a verb-noun and an adjective-noun. Mislead Men, Utopian Bucket rohan posted:in, I will take two pairs of dealer’s choice combinations, and I’d love it if you could also tell me something random about the occult Frightening Metal, Dogs Discovery On the Process of Manifestation in Neo-platonist Cosmology Ideas from the Mind of God cannot be comprehended by the universe at large in their raw form. The Material realm is considered gross, heavy, and dense. Ideas from the Mind of God are the most nebulous of things. The first form an Idea takes is when the Idea extends to the Logos, the Word. When the idea can be formed into a Word, it begins to attain density. It can be communicated at that point to the realms further below in a manner that can be comprehended.
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Sep 20, 2022 03:29
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The man called M posted:In. 1k. Your choice. Crabby Ghost
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Sep 20, 2022 04:24
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dervinosdoom posted:In. 1k. Your Choice Love Adjustment
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Sep 20, 2022 04:52
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Uranium Phoenix posted:In for 2k with "Omniscient Trees" delicate authority On Traditional Tools of Witchcraft A cingulum is a length of cord worn around a Witch's waist or hips. Different traditions will use different colors to signify levels of understanding, otherwise known as degrees. A special kind of cingulum is one's measure. A length of cord is taken and tied at specific spots during a First Degree initiation, and some traditions will also put a few drops of the new Witch's blood on it. It is symbolic of a person's spirit, and suggests a rebirth (like an umbilical cord). It is usually given to the initiate during the ceremony as a symbol of love and trust. Ceighk posted:in with 2k, dealer's choice, plus a fact please Old Sea, Obscene Wealth From the Lesser Key of Solomon (71.) DANTALION. - The Seventy-first Spirit is Dantalion. He is a Duke Great and Mighty, appearing in the Form of a Man with many Countenances, all Men’s and Women’s Faces; and he hath a Book in his right hand. His Office is to teach all Arts and Sciences unto any; and to declare the Secret Counsel of any one; for he knoweth the Thoughts of all Men and Women, and can change them at his Will. He can cause Love, and show the Similitude of any person, and show the same by a Vision, let them be in what part of the World they Will. He governeth 36 Legions of Spirits; The Cut of Your Jib posted:ukw flash me with an occult fact too, please. From the Book of Ceremonial Magic To become Invisible Begin this operation on a Wednesday before the sun rises, being furnished with seven black beans. Take next the head of a dead man; place one of the beans in his mouth, two in his eyes and two in his ears. Then make upon this head the character of the figure which here follows. (Omitted in all the Grimoires.) This done, inter the head with the face towards heaven, and every day before sunrise, for the space of nine days, water it with excellent brandy. On the eighth day you will find the cited spirit, who will say unto you: What doest thou? You shall reply: I am watering my plant. He will then say: Give me that bottle; I will water it myself. You will answer by refusing, and he will again ask you, but you will persist in declining, until he shall stretch forth his hand and shew you the same figure which you have traced upon the head suspended from the tips of his fingers. In this case you may be assured that it is really the spirit of the head, because another might take you unawares, which would bring you evil, and further, your operation would be unfruitful. When you have given him your phial, he will water the head and depart. On the morrow, which is the ninth day, you shall return and will find your beans ripe. Take them, place one in your mouth, and then look at yourself in a glass. If you cannot see yourself, it is good. Do the same with the rest, or they may be tested in the mouth of a child. All those which do not answer must be interred with the head. BabyRyoga posted:I want in for 1k. Give me what you please, with a factoid Answer Shop From Grimoirum Verum To See Spirits of the Air. Take the brain of a cock, the powder from the grave of a dead man (which touches the coffin), walnut oil and virgin wax. Make all [this] into a mixture, wrapped in virgin parchment, on which is written the words: GOMERT KAILOETH, with the character of Khil. Burn it all, and you will see prodigious things. But this experiment should be done only by those who fear nothing.
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Sep 21, 2022 01:32
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MockingQuantum posted:In for 1k, gimme a pair and a fact Motionless Sky On Total Separation Methods for Out of Body Experiences Exercise 17. Get into a comfortable position, close your eyes and imagine a duplicate of yourself standing directly in front of you, or hovering directly above you. Since it is often very hard to visualize your own face looking at you -- imagine your double with its back to you. Observe as much detail of your imagined double as possible. As your imaginary double becomes more solid and realistic, you might begin to experience uncertainty about your actual physical position. Build on this feeling by asking yourself: 'Where am I?' or 'Who am I?' Once the double is clear and stable, try to transfer your active consciousness into it and see what happens. This method could lead you into initial experiences of bi-location.
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Sep 21, 2022 01:51
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Chernobyl Princess posted:Can I get an Occult Fact as well? On making a Dead Man's Rope Use a rope to obtain nine measurements from a dead man’s corpse. Measure each of the following three times: from the elbow to the longest finger from the shoulder to the tip of the longest finger from the head to the toe Keep the rope. Anyone subsequently measured with it will suffer misery, misfortune, or worse.
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Sep 21, 2022 03:43
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Alrighty! Signups closed. Get writing!
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Sep 24, 2022 08:16
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Correct. Bad Seafood is a saint and they're going to help me analyze, decrypt and perhaps even unmask the intent behind your words so do your best!
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Sep 24, 2022 15:47
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Alright, submissions are closed!
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Sep 26, 2022 12:08
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Note: These are just my opinions. I appreciate you all participating in week 529. I didn't expect to win 528. Let me know if you want to discuss anything I had to say! Come at me via a brawl if you disagree wholeheartedly. Also a shout out to Bad Seafood who was kind enough to co-judge with me. Winner: Chernobyl Princess Loser: Baby Ryoga Honorable Mentions: Chili, hard counter Dishonorable Mentions: dervinosdoom Week 529 Judgment & Crits I have decided to use the Devil May Cry Stylish Rank System to evaluate your stories. dervinosdoom - Love Adjustment I feel like this story needed a less bleak outcome and there are a few places where I think sentences could be reworked for greater emphasis or clarity. Overall I don’t think the story is bad, but I also don’t think the double homicide and instant insanity was a fitting end here. A partner trying to do something to save their relationship and having those efforts end up irrelevant is something that struck me as good. I felt like that was the blow your story needed, and the lack of ceremony around it actually makes it seem more impactful, but I would have shifted the tone from there to something a bit more optimistic, or at least neutral. The pacing felt fine until the end and even though I am often a fan of things just not going right or even being outright terrible, the ending her just doesn’t match the story that preceded it, in my opinion. Rank: Cool! - Dishonorable Mention Chernobyl Princess - Driver Training I feel like you kind of hit it out of the park with the prompt & flash in a way that was very satisfactory. You allow the reader several opportunities to connect with the protagonist, and the outcome of the story seems very poignant. Rank: Smokin’ Style! - Winner MockingQuantum - The Still of the Night I think this is an interesting and darkly humorous take on the prompt. The idea of someone’s consciousness branching off into iterative astral selves is pretty-flipping-gnarly. I feel like the story was paced well and that it was a decent execution of the idea. Rank: Big up! Uranium Phoenix - What Is Found, What is Lost The world you manage to create in your 2,000 worlds is a total apocalyptic vibe. The characters are interesting and the world is unique. The majority of the story seems to be conveyed in the world the characters inhabit, but the dialogue between Caeto and Roland really seems to make the story pop. I think all the elements of your prompt and flash are present and handled well. Rank: Show Time! Chili - Skies and Lawns This one was a perfectly paced ride. At the beginning there was a lot of innocent chortling in what seems to be a humorously accurate portrayal of the relationship between an inquisitive child and their father, but as the story progresses the reader begins to see that Sona’s curiosity isn’t unfounded. The surreal nature of their predicament becomes increasingly dreadful and ends on a charming note despite the otherworldliness that has invaded their lives. Very well written. Rank: Stylish! - Honorable Mention The man called M - Enter the Ghost Crab I lost it at “crabterlife”. This was a weird one. The suggestive tripping and Fucks sake/gently caress’s sake was weird, but kind of funny. It’s like you deliberately wrote an acid day dream about Crime Scene Investigation, Ghosts and Crustaceans, but it does technically fit the prompt lol ‘He laughed. “No, my girl. Not sliced, snipped.”’ lmao Rank: Come on! Thranguy - Dedication I feel like this delivers on the prompt, but I feel like it also took some work to get to the end. The beginning felt firm, the middle felt loose and uncertain, the end felt firm. Not bad by any means, but it doesn’t seem like all the ideas fit together neatly. Rank: Carnage! BabyRyoga - How Does One Cope With the Inexorable Desolation of Existance Lol, well… you didn’t fail, so congratulations on that! You managed to crank out 1,000 cosmically crack-tastic words, that do manage to touch on the prompt more or less, but it didn’t do it for me. I apologize. Rank: Dismal! - Loss hard counter - The Best of a Bad Lot This was really good. An effective use of the thousand words. Did you have to trim much? Seems pretty competently written. Evocative details, an interesting premise, and a sick ending. Rank: Apocalyptic! - Honorable Mention The Cut of Your Jib - Isle of Man? You made it in. There are some cool ideas here, but I don’t feel like they all get proper handling even within the constraints of a thousand words. I think a re-working could really make this story congeal into something awesome. Cool imagery, prompt adherence and competent writing manage to make this a decent story all things considered. Rank: Bravo! Idle Amalgam fucked around with this message at 20:26 on Sep 28, 2022 |
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Sep 28, 2022 20:13
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In and flash!
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Sep 28, 2022 21:14
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Expendable 1,328 Words It was a routine procedure. Initiate hibernation. Disconnect the life support. Discharge the byproduct. Collect the bio-mass. A procedure which had been programmed into Wei over years of repetition. A process without variance or anomaly. So when Wei’s colossus spoke to him, begged him to wait, he did. He stood in his hazmat suit, hands wrapped on a bundle of corrugated tubes that coiled from its body like thick worms, and said, “What?” The colossus, face hidden beneath an immersion control unit, struggled to speak in any meaningful way. So much so that Wei dismissed its plea as irrelevant noise. He started back working until the colossus shook the foundation of its containment frame with its bulk. It groaned pitifully at Wei. Wei froze. There wasn’t a simulation for this in the training. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that these things weren’t people. Not in the sense he was used to. They didn’t think or feel. Certainly didn’t talk. They dreamed endlessly while their gene-modified, vat-grown bodies remained immobile in their containment frames. Nutrient slurry moved through an intubated fixture like blood. Wei watched in horror as the colossus dredged up the tube from its esophagus, retching and coughing. A thin voice escaped from its large maw of a mouth like a whistle. “Free me.” Wei looked around at the other technicians servicing their colossi on their platforms. Each went through familiar, predictable motions with their near lifeless colossi. He turned his eyes back towards his colossus who began tug and pull at its restraints. Wei had to stop it. Even if Wei wanted to let it out of the containment frame, the colossus wasn’t just wired in by the life support. It had grown into the bio-degradable frame, and integrated it into its body. It was a permanent encasement with a crane hook for easy disposal when the colossus was no longer viable for biomass production. Wei was at a loss though. He administered the mood stabilizers and sedatives that were supposed to keep the colossus placated, and slowly, surely, the colossus drifted off into a fitful sleep. Wei carefully reintubated the creature and finished up his daily collection, nerves absolutely wrecked by the experience. *** As the days went on he found it increasingly difficult to do his job. The incident with the colossus had confirmed a longstanding fear of his that the creatures could feel and think. Wei met with his supervisor, Dara. If anyone was going to be able to explain what happened on his platform it would be her. She was a tenured Cho Braxton Henkl employee, but more importantly, she helped design the current iteration of containment frames they used to grow and store all the colossi. Wei knocked on the door to her office apprehensively. "Come in." Dara said tersely. She was a woman of few words and didn’t like to have her time wasted. Wei stepped in wringing his hands. “Good morning, Ms. Dara. I hate to bother you, but-” “Your colossus became aberrant and imitated sapience. I reviewed your feed yesterday. Is that what you came to talk to me about?” Dara said interrupting him. Wei’s penitent expression was replaced first by confusion, then frustration. “What do you mean, ‘imitated sapience’?” Wei asked not masking his disbelief. “It means what it sounds like, Wei. Imitated sapience. 1 in every 1,000 colossi develops what C.B.H. has come to refer as Psychoamygdalic Hypersensitivity. A condition that allows for an involuntary connection to the emotional states of those surrounding them that often results in a physical, or in some rare cases, verbal projection of another’s emotions.” “I don’t understand what you’re saying… Are you saying that I am in some way the cause of this? That it’s my fault the colossus reacted this way?” “That is exactly what I’m saying. Now if you don’t mind…” Dara said gesturing to her office door. “Bullshit.” Wei hissed. “Excuse you?” “I said that’s bullshit.” Dara scowled in his direction. “And what would make you say that, Mr. Zhu?” “Until the incident, I had never had any reason to doubt the conditions that these creatures lived in. There was nothing that made me question what we were doing here. That thing asked me to free it. To free it!” Dara looked briefly surprised by what Wei had to say, but resumed the conversation with practiced corporate indifference “It is nothing more than a manifestation of your own deep-seated doubts about the C.B.H. agenda.” She didn’t try to convince Wei with the lie. Instead, she made it clear that this was the stance C.B.H. decided to take. That no matter what Wei said, this was the ‘official’ story. Wei was dumbfounded. Sure he had wondered about the nature of the colossi, who hadn’t? But he had never doubted the nature of his work. The biomass produced by the colossi was an essential process on the lunar colony. Modifications to the creatures’ body allowed for the material to be refined into an energy-dense fuel source that performed comparably to hydrogen for less than a tenth of the cost. Everyone in the colony relied on the work he did. As a result, the curious nature of the creatures never interfered with Wei’s sense of purpose. However, Cho Braxton Henkl didn’t see it that way. Wei was little more than a small cog on a large wheel. A replaceable component. “To prevent any further complications and ensure the integrity of C.B.H. properties, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to relinquish your equipment and exit the premises. Please be mindful of the non-disclosure and non-compete agreements you have signed. C.B.H. wishes you well in your future endeavors. Additionally, you can rest assured that C.B.H. will not pursue you for the unintentional destruction of property. We do understand that accidents happen.” “You can’t do this!” Wei shouted. “I have given my life to this company for more than a decade and you’re going to cover up your mistake by firing me? I have a family for crying out loud. You’ve just blacklisted me from the only line of work I have proper training in. You’ve damned me.” “Mr. Zhu, I understand your frustration. I’ve been approved to offer you a severance to help smooth over the transition. I’ve transferred 500 credits to your account for services performed this week and an additional 100 credits for your services provided over the years.” “600 credits?! How am I supposed to live on 600 credits? I won’t be able to make it through the end of the week with that. They are going to deport my family and me back to Terra. There is nothing there for us. Nothing there for anyone. Don’t you care at all what this means for me, for my children?” Dara sighed and rolled her eyes. “Look, Wei… there’s no hard feelings here alright. The company isn’t going to ever admit their prized project is inhumane. These creatures, no matter how they may appear to you, are not human. They’re nothing but a means to an end. They don’t have any say in it. I don’t have any say in it, and most of all, you don’t have any say in it. Had you shut your loving mouth and just done your job we wouldn’t be having this conversation. So no, I don’t give a poo poo about what happens to you or your children. Do you think I want to get deported to Terra? Absolutely not. I’m going to shut my mouth, stick to the script, and do my loving job. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a meeting to attend to.” Wei blinked at her incredulously as a guard, probably called at the start of his meeting with Dara, clapped him on the shoulder and pressed an inactive stun rod to the small of his back. He was powerless to fight back. He was just like the colossi, cheap and expendable.
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Oct 3, 2022 06:31
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In, please give me a monster.
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Oct 4, 2022 18:18
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A critZearothK posted:Redemption for Week #465 What I like about the story: I think you manage to capture the standoffish attitude of a cat pretty well in your story. It is cute, funny, and ends on a good note. What I found wrong: Other than the occasional punctuation issue, which I'm definitely not qualified to call anyone out on, I found some of the sentences seemed to lose their flow, or confuse: "These strangers carry the perfume of too many cats, dogs too, no one can love that many, their love is not real. " maybe should be rewritten. ("These strangers carry the perfume of too many cats, and even dogs. No one can love that many. Their love is not real." - the terrible way I would write it.) "The record player is here, the safest place in the universe, I crawl in where the bass beast growls." ("The record player, the safest place in the universe, is here. I craw in where the bass beast growls." - the terrible way I would write it.) That said, my own understanding of it, and writing in general is incomplete. These are just my thoughts. As far as redemptions go, even though it wasn't my week, I'd say... REDEEMED! 6/10
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Oct 10, 2022 03:07
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A critThranguy posted:Hate is the Spice What I don't like about this story: I think you often write pretty close to deadline, maybe I'm wrong about this, but that's just my hunch. This one definitely needed some proofreading and editing, but the message ultimately came across in a way that wasn't obstructed by the typos. I'd say: 7.5/10
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Oct 10, 2022 03:27
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I know I technically had to have the crits before sign-ups close, and I'm still disqualified, and a terrible gremlin, but here are my words anyhow... Bird Watching Goes Both Ways 1,444 Words Carlos sunk into the loveseat as Diana’s movers wheeled out the last of her possessions. “Anything else, boss?” a mover yelled, but Carlos was barely present. He raised puffy eyes towards the mover and lazily shook his head "no". The mover nodded and closed the door leaving Carlos to his own devices. Carlos extricated himself from the loveseat and shuffled across the mostly empty apartment to the only thing that remained of the love he and Diana once shared, Papo, their lovebird. Carlos groaned at the irony of Papo’s presence and the bird bobbed on its perch in recognition. Though it quickly lost interest and fluttered around the enclosure signaling it wanted out. Carlos unlatched the cage and Papo flew toward the ceiling. He circled the new empty spaces in the apartment. “I know, buddy,” Carlos whined more than said before moving into what was now his bedroom. Papo followed him, perched on his shoulder, and began nipping at his ear. “Papo!” Carlos shouted, suddenly stirred. Papo tugged at his ear lobe. The beak pinched into his flesh and welled up into a bead of blood. “gently caress!” Carlos shouted before swatting Papo away. “What the gently caress was that for, man?” Papo perched on top of the open closet door and craned his head at Carlos. A thin rivulet of blood trickled down onto his neck and Carlos stormed off into the bathroom to assess the damage. Papo protested and flew after him. It dug its claws into the back of his shirt and pulled him with more strength than a 2-ounce bird should have. Carlos didn’t register that though. He just swatted the bird away. “Seriously, dude. What the gently caress is up with you? Is this… Is this about Diana? Are you sad too? I get it, man, but not much I can do about that now. It’s done. She’s gone. She ain’t coming back.” Papo landed back on the top of the closet door and used its wing to push off from the frame, opening the door. Carlos squinted at this and walked over to the closet. It was empty. Carlos met Papo’s gaze and said, “Well?” and began to walk away when he heard the bustle of a busy marketplace behind him. He snapped back around and to his surprise, found the closet changed. A grand bazaar with people and creatures that belonged to fairy tales or nightmares stretched out in front of him. Carlos stood in the open door, mouth agape. “Let’s get on with it then,” Papo said. Carlos was taken further aback when he looked over at Papo, who was no longer a small lovebird. Nearly man-sized with a multitude of eyes emerging and retracting from thick tufts of red feathers, Papo nodded his head at Carlos. Carlos couldn’t help but scream. “Seriously, my guy? That’s pretty hosed up, and like, have you even checked a mirror lately? You look ragged, dog,” Papo said. Somehow, that managed to reel Carlos back in some. Bring some normalcy to a very not normal situation. “I, I didn’t mean anything by it. I swear,” Carlos said still trying to piece together what exactly was going on. “Yeah, I get it. Giant bird with a bunch of eyes, closet portals, and so on, BUT-” Papo said raising a wing in the direction of the market, “-we’re here for you, homie. It’s time to get your groove back. To find the new you, or whatever.” Carlos looked in the direction of the market as two halves of a bisected man hopped from stall to stall holding his own hands, perfectly preserved innards on display. “J-Jesus!” Carlos stammered, “what the gently caress is going on?!” “Welcome to Hell, buddy,” Papo said, shoving Carlos through the door. Carlos turned to grab the handle but watched in horror as the door just vanished and was replaced by an expansive vista. They were on top of a bluff that overlooked a black ocean. The bones of mountain-sized giants decayed far out in the distance. Carlos staggered away from the bluff and stumbled over a dog-sized hand with too many fingers. It skittered away from them and Carlos retched. “Easy, buddy. Easy!” Papo said, patting him on the back. “No way in hell was I going to let you mope around for the next six to nine months. You gotta get back out there and cut your losses.” “What? What are you talking about?” Carlos asked. “Obviously, the breakup,” Papo said. “I know it’s hit you hard, and you’re alright for a mortal. You always get that good, organic, “sustainably-grown” poo poo. I mean sure… Diana was cool and all, but we all knew that I was your surrogate child. To Diana, I was just a bird. She changed the water when it looked dingy or low, but she was never invested in having pets or kids. And that’s just 1 of the 17,642 reasons you weren’t compatible.” “17,642 reasons?” Carlos asked quietly. “I probably could have found more, but that guy from her job who had always been way too into her is finally getting screen time in her DMs and I figured, why keep counting?” Carlos looked shocked. “Now, now… I’m just loving with you, but it’s not like you both didn’t have wandering eyes. Another of the 17,642 reasons. Now, where were we?” Papo said as they passed from one stall to the next. Carlos tried not to look at anything. The bisected man was more than enough. His eyes were fixed on the red soil beneath his feet, the only thing that made a modicum of sense, but still he’d see things slither, scurry or shuffle about impossibly in the periphery. “Here we are… Zepar, what is up, G? How long’s it been? A century? Two? Us Gods be damned, it is good to see you.” The supposed merchant groaned. “Caim. It’s not been long enough. To what do I owe this… displeasure?” Carlos looked up at the man referred to as Zepar and saw that the ordinary stall seemed to expand into an ornate and magnificent palace when gazing directly at its interior. However, it was the ongoing orgy inside the palace that caught Carlos’s attention. He tried to avert his eyes but found he couldn’t. It was only when he realized that there was agony interwoven in the ecstasy that he looked away. “Ahem. As you can see… I have company. Now, if we could wrap up whatever this is?” Zepar said impatiently. Papo, Caim according to the merchant, stepped forward. “I’ll cut this short because my mans here is about to have a heart attack and a living human dying in hell is never pretty. We need a love potion.” Zepar scoffed. “A love potion? That’s it?” “Ah, well… to be totally correct, an anti-love potion? Dealing with heartbreak, don’t feel like hearing this guy bitch or moan for the next however long.” Zepar nodded. “Hmm, alright then. Not my typical brand of serotonic manipulation, but you’ll find no finer alchemist in Hell. Payment?” Papo punched a tiny hole in Carlos’s other earlobe with the tip of its beak causing Carlos to yelp. Still, Carlos was too terrified to move or do much else. The blood began to trickle out from the hole, but it drifted into the air, coagulating into a whole. The blood eventually formed a gem about the size of an almond. Papo plucked it from the air and placed it on the stall’s counter. Zepar snapped his fingers and a seam opened up in reality like a curtain flap. A succubus strut through and fixed lascivious eyes on Carlos who was held captive by her gaze. “Down boy!” Papo squawked as it battered Carlos with a wing. The succubus removed a glass phial from its bosom and handed it to Zepar before disappearing back into the seam it had opened. “Take this twice a day with food. No refills.” Zepar said handing Carlos the phial. “My man!” Zepar groaned before waving his hand and making his stall disappear from the bazaar completely. Papo wrapped its wings around Carlos, and plunged him into darkness. Carlos could feel himself falling, but found this a relief compared to being in hell. He exhaled as if accepting fate, and fell backward from the closet onto his rear end. Cheap, spackled over, drywall back where it should be. Papo was perched on Carlos’s chest, and clasped in Carlos’s hand was the small phial. A bile-yellow liquid swirled about nebulously inside. Carlos looked at it, then at Papo who bobbed its head up and down in approval. He uncorked it and put it to his lips.
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Oct 10, 2022 03:44
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In!
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Oct 11, 2022 22:21
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