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Yeah ok in.
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Jan 10, 2023 21:14
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| # ¿ May 14, 2024 00:55 |
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https://thunderdome.cc//?story=11079&title=The+Last+Mariner+of+Port+Kirney
Beezus fucked around with this message at 19:22 on Feb 6, 2023 |
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Jan 16, 2023 05:00
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Week 546: INTO THE WILDERNESS Last week was fun. You know what else is fun? Being miserable in the woods. Together. I've been spending a lot of time in TGO, so this week, I would like to read stories that take place in the wilderness, far from the comforts of civilization. They can be tales of high adventure, cozy campfire times, survival, spooky forest happenings, whatever. Just show me some trees. Your wilderness stories should be 1000 words or less, unless you request a flash rule. That flash rule will consist of a gift from me, which you will have to incorporate into your story. That something may also already exist in the woods and may not seem like a gift to you, but trust me -- it is. Requesting a flash rule will give you an additional 200 words to work with. One thing I have learned though from my time in the woods is that things can change so very quickly, because nature is beautiful and scary and sometimes we do not plan appropriately for her. For for that, I offer another option, which can be requested instead of the gift flash, or in addition to the gift flash, and that is the nature tax. If you request a nature tax, you may also add 200 words to your word count, but I will take something from your story. Something your characters might have found useful in the wildness, maybe. Or perhaps something your characters didn't even know they could lose. If you request both the gift and tax, your story may be 1400 words or less. No erotica, fanfic, political screeds, gdocs etc. Here are the possible word limits: No flash, no tax: 1000 words Gift flash OR nature tax: 1200 words Gift flash AND nature tax: 1400 words Signup Deadline: Friday, Jan. 20th 10PM PST Submission Deadline: Sunday, Jan. 22nd 10PM PST Judges: Beezus rohan Lippincott Entrants:
Beezus fucked around with this message at 16:41 on Jan 21, 2023 |
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Jan 17, 2023 19:25
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Albatrossy_Rodent posted:In, double flash me Gift: A bag of jumbo-sized marshmallows Tax: Sound. Your wilderness makes no noise. Staggy posted:In, gift tax and nature tax please Gift: Close friends Tax: Privacy. Something is always watching.
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Jan 17, 2023 19:46
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Tibalt posted:In, double flash me please Gift: A well-meaning ghost Tax: Fair weather. The sky turns dark and angry. A storm is coming.
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Jan 17, 2023 20:03
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cptn_dr posted:In, double flash me! Gift: A compass that points toward danger Tax: Food. It's extremely scarce out there. WindwardAway posted:In with a double flash, and Gift: A camp stove Tax: Morale. The mood is low.
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Jan 18, 2023 00:21
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BeefSupreme posted:in gift and tax pls Gift: A loyal dog Tax: Heat. It's far colder out there than anticipated. Brutally cold, even. Idle Amalgam posted:in gift and tax Gift: A sentient GPS device Tax: Time. It does not pass at all in your wilderness. Admiralty Flag posted:Sign me up to judge this week. Can someone PM me the discord link? Hey there! I appreciate your offer, but this week I would prefer to have co-judges who have judged at least once before. If no one else volunteers by the submission deadline, I'll make an exception. You should absolutely keep volunteering to judge in the future, though -- please don't let me discourage you.
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Jan 18, 2023 03:30
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rohan posted:I will judge You got it! Thank you much.
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Jan 18, 2023 18:12
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Thranguy posted:Also, in with double flash. Gift: A coil of sturdy rope Tax: Sanity. Something in the wilderness is pushing your characters toward the edge of madness.
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Jan 20, 2023 18:03
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a friendly penguin posted:In. Give me both the things. If I can't get lost in real trees right now, I might as well do it with words. Gift: An owl's protection Tax: Energy. The environment is exhausting your character(s) in some way.
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Jan 20, 2023 19:30
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Signups are now closed.
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Jan 21, 2023 16:38
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Submissions are now closed.
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Jan 23, 2023 07:15
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WEEK 546 RESULTS:  Some of you made it through the wilderness. Some of you didn't. Most of you at least made an attempt. Two of you brought dogs into the woods. The judges spent a good deal of time discussing what to do with the middle of the pack and stragglers, and there was a bit of a heartbreaking situation on our hands that almost ended in rebellion. Dome rules prevailed in the end, and judgment is as follows: A DQ for Corpse Reader by Idle Amalgam. The judges discussed this and decided that while it wasn't a terrible story, it was too off-prompt for the head judge. A loss for Ramrod the Rhinelander by PhantomMuzzles, which the judges wanted to like because dogs but it ultimately suffered from too lean a plot to be a sufficient story. No DMs this week from the remaining low scorers. There were lots of stories we had problems with, but they were all saved by at least one redeeming quality. Didn't feel right to DM any of them. HMs for GORP by Staggy, which the judges thought delivered a solid conflict and resolution, and An Infinite Storm of Beauty by BeefSupreme which originally DQed for being late but was uplifted by its completeness as a story and lovely wilderness imagery. The win goes to Sensory Overload by a friendly penguin. The judges did have issues with some aspects of this story but ultimately decided that it was one of the most interesting and enjoyable interpretations of the prompt. It's up to you now, penguin.
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Jan 24, 2023 07:07
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WEEK 546 CRITS: Dead Weight First of all, I like that the Tesla is the most exciting Alfie news, and not that he got married. Beyond that, this starts off with some disjointed thought processing that I’m stumbling over a tad. The contradiction of “I relaxed, just a little, for the first time in eons. For the first time since a few minutes earlier” doesn’t work for me, either. A nit pick ultimately when the larger problem here is that I saw what you were trying to do here, but it didn’t land for me. I assume Jake is talking to a friend that no longer exists; your bookend repetition suggests this but very weakly. There needed to be either a bigger (or any) obvious rug pull at the end or stronger hints throughout that something was off here. As it was, I feel like I was left to make a lot of assumptions that weren’t well-supported by what you’d actually written. You had a lot of words left to use, too. Wish you'd used them. The Last Trumpet You sufficiently hooked me when you established that the compass was a changeable tattoo. That sort of weirdness is so extremely my poo poo and is genuinely compelling stuff. Was majorly bummed when this didn’t have a satisfying end, especially after the eerie quality you established. I thought you were going to focus on the danger in the water and Sophie drinking it, but then we’re suddenly out of the woods and – what – a volcano blew up? Something else? It’s muddled and unclear and I think you missed your turn back at the creek. This would still have been compelling to read without a hard right turn into some cataclysmic event at the very end. Smaller stakes + a weird working compass tattoo would have been fine. Corpse Reader Listen, your prose is competently-written but this wasn’t a wilderness story. The judges noted that this probably would have been a solid no mention any other week and I agree. Just wasn't what I asked for. A Sea of Nothing Great first line. Watch your lack of attribution. Consecutive lines of dialogue without attribution get confusing. That said, I enjoyed this on my first read, less on subsequent reads as I realized nothing really happened, and I didn't have a strong sense of who these characters were. The dialogue was nice enough. Just didn't really do all that much for me. Sensory Overload I really liked this story and how you utilize your flash rules, though I found some of your early blocking hard to follow. I enjoyed the progression, the dialogue, and your ending. It suffered from maybe too many techno-asides that distracted from the really enjoyable stuff (like the “petting zoo”). Would have liked to have heard more dialogue from the conversation with the park workers. I might have recommended some clearer worldbuilding in the beginning and an ending that didn't end with "lol cute girl", but I ultimately thought this was a neat use of the prompt. The Mountain Hare You picked an interesting father-son dynamic and I was on board for the teen son and egotistical dad antics. I liked your descriptions of the outdoors. Liked the reveal toward the ending, though the ending felt like it lacked some tension. I get that we cut away just as Arlo figured it out, but I think there was still more you could have done here to either make it creepier or just more impactful. The father-son sasquatch hunt is a solid setup, though well-trod territory at this point – I just think this narrative and perspective needed to be tighter. Ramrod the Rhinelander Well I loved Ramrod’s voice. Otherwise I don’t know what the heck this was. I hated Meanie and would have liked his death to be a bit more satisfying. What was the monster? A bear? Something supernatural? As soon as it became clear Ramrod was going to live, I checked out. Why did Meanie bring the dog? Bait? Was he a shitbag influencer taking pics of a dog in the woods for the 'gram? Was he looking for proof of the monster? Why did the monster save Ramrod??? So many questions that I do think you could have answered with more scenes observed by Ramrod. I’m mad at you because I really enjoyed aspects of this and could have liked it SO MUCH MORE if you’d just developed your plot a bit more thoroughly. GORP Yeah I liked this, and I was okay with how you implemented the tax. Dialogue was solid. I thought it escalated a tad quickly and ended just as fast, but I believed why it was happening, which I think is a testament to how well you established the conflict via dialogue. Aside from that, I don’t have a ton to say about this story other than it worked well for me. Just a couple of bros becoming not-bros for a minute and fighting in the woods. Birds were there too. Solid stuff. An Infinite Storm of Beauty I hate to say this, but I’m going to anyway because I'm mad at you: If you’d been on-time with this entry, it would have been a contender for the win. Your prose is lovely, evocative, and effectively connected me to your setting. You nailed the sort of danger that can appear out of nowhere out in the wilderness and all the different forms that danger can take when the weather turns against you. Very grounded, very real. Overall just a really nice flow throughout with a satisfying ending. Only critique I’d offer is that we could maybe have a bit more reflection from Kevin about Kira so that the reveal that she’s the emergency contact programmed into the beacon lands a bit more firmly.
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Jan 24, 2023 07:20
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I volunteer as judge tribute.
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Mar 3, 2023 23:27
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CRITS FOR WEEK 552: Fast crits slash judgeburps, really. No author names because I read and crit these in judgemode so they're not in my notes. I know who you are, though. Deadlift TONY GARBANZO LMAO It's giving Brad Neely and I'm here for it. Message me to redeem your dramatic reading where I do my best Brad Neely impression. I loving loved this but am confused as to why there were so many demons this week. The callback worked for me. Your humor worked for me. Everything worked for me, I was cry-laughing. This was my nomination for HM but the other judges made good points about this story's problems. Writing is subjective and this was an example of a story that only seemed to work for me, but boy did it work. A conversation with my sleep paralysis demon Yes I do indeed see that Hell and demons are a theme this week. I wanted to like this more than I did and I think the dialogue is the reason why. It's not bad by any stretch, but it seemed... I don't know... meh? And I get that that's sort of where they are in this relationship, but I wish this conversation had been more compelling. crows, Oh please no not a wall of text. Ugh FINE. gently caress, where are my glasses Alright, I see what you're doing, and I appreciate the commitment to it. I can also appreciate an unhinged narrator and the progression, but this wasn't SO good that I could look past the labor required to summit word mountain. Haunted The strongest of the lot. Solid start, but got a little lost in pronouns in your second chunk of prose. Yeah, I'm intrigued. This introduced a world and situation I was extremely compelled by. I wanted more, but I think you did a commendable job within the word limit. Rooks and Blackbirds Crows are garbage disposals, it would destroy that pastry. That said, I thought this was pretty good. Nice language and flavor throughout. The last scene feels disconnected from the rest but I did like the secret relationship. The Pursuit of Power I wish you had cut the first paragraph entirely because your second is a far stronger opening. Thunderdome taught me that this is almost always true for stories here, and yours is no exception. I liked what you were setting up in the first scene, but then things just got so wordy with prose that couldn't quite carry me though, so I lost interest. Alliance Hah, I like this opening line. Let's see if the rest delivers. Aaaand okay, it feels like there's a setup missing here. Or maybe the ordering of information is what isn't doing it for me. Okay, I enjoy this and the pace of it, but this whole thing ended up being the setup to the story I WANT to read. It does not stand on its own as a story. Small Talk I don't know who this is, but they have me kind of on edge. There's an authenticity in this voice that very successful captures the online mentality. But this was just barely a story. Your voice was very strong and your prose moved at a nice clip, but this ended up being too light on things happening for me. Beezus fucked around with this message at 20:04 on Mar 7, 2023 |
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Mar 7, 2023 19:02
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In.
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Apr 19, 2023 17:13
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He's Just Spicy 1499 words It’s late. Late enough that there are hardly any other cars on the road when we roll through the last intersection. My husband sits in the passenger seat, blood dripping down his cheek as I pull into the urgent care parking lot. “I’m going to kill him,” I say as I put the car in park and rip the keys out of the ignition. “And then I’m going to wear his skin like a hat.” “Don’t say that.” My husband slides out of the car and shoots me a look that’s a mix of pain, irritation, and exhaustion. “He’s just a cat. He doesn’t understand.” The automatic doors whoosh open and I’m hit with a feeling of deja vu so strong that I forget what day it is. How many times have we come here this year alone for cat bites? The first time it happened, I was terrified for Dave. I had a teacher in middle school whose husband was killed by her cat. He contracted a blood infection from its bite. Dave’s immune system has never been good, but Dave’s still here, alive and kicking. Meanwhile, I’m livid and hungry for blood. Cat blood. It feels so stupid to be this furious with a cat, but I can’t help it. “He’s put seven holes in your face. Unprovoked.” My husband shrugs. “He’s just a little unpredictable. And stupid.” “He’s a dick,” I grumble as Dave shuffles toward the counter to check in. I flop down in a vacant seat. The lobby isn’t full, but there are plenty of people who look worse off than Dave. People are hacking and sneezing, or nursing broken limbs, but I don’t see anyone else who looks like they were mauled by their sixteen-pound pet cat. Dave and I have done this enough that it feels like routine inconvenience; we don’t get the adrenaline surge after Grover’s attacks anymore. Dave gets annoyed. I get pissed. I don’t follow Dave into the exam room; I know what’s going to happen. It’ll be another round of antibiotics at home; the doctors take facial bites pretty seriously. Dave will answer some questions, show them the wound, and we’ll leave with a prescription. Then we’ll go home, walk through the door of our apartment, and find Grover nestled between the couch cushions, purring like a dump truck at the sight of us. As if he hadn’t sunk his teeth into Dave’s face hours earlier. We won’t let him in our room at night for a week or two. Then he’ll look at us with those huge eyes and that bottom snaggletooth as he makes biscuits in the hardwood like a little weirdo, and he’ll beg to be let in so he can snuggle between us under the sheets. Then we’ll let our guard down, and the cycle will continue. I don’t mind Grover when he’s asleep. He’s cute when he’s not trying to eat us alive. That little snaggletooth became more pronounced with age; it constantly juts out. I know Dave’s right; Grover can’t help himself, and we don’t know where things went wrong. Maybe the fever really had scrambled his brain as a kitten. Could fevers do that to cats? The vet gave him a clean bill of health after that episode. I’ve never really understood cats, and I only had one before Grover. I grew up with dogs. Dogs are easy to love. But Grover? I’m pretty sure I hate him. — My knuckles are white as I grip the steering wheel and drive into the sun. I’m clenching my teeth so tight, I must be doing some serious damage to a tooth. But I can’t unclench. Not while Grover wails in the backseat. He loving hates the car. The sound wreaks havoc on my brain and I know loud music won’t be enough to drown it out. Dave’s voice is gentle as he promises Grover that it’s going to be okay, that he’s going to feel better soon. The sunglasses hide my tears as I speed along the highway to the only open emergency vet I could find online. Nothing in town is staffed well enough on weekends. We have to cross the state line to take Grover to a clinic my friend works at. That snaggle-toothed monstrosity has me in a state. He’d stopped eating. Couldn’t walk straight; he’d take a few steps and fall over. Something about his breathing wasn’t right, either. Too fast, too uneven. Dave’s a right mess back there and I can’t afford to come unglued yet, so I just cry in silence as I drive as fast as I can. I don’t even know why I’m crying. Maybe because I’m somewhere else. I see a different road in front of me. I hear a different cat from another life meowing in the distance, crying out in pain that I can’t take away. Then I’m in an airport terminal, bawling into my phone as I listen to Nemo howl on the other end. They’re asking me what I want to do and I don’t know what to tell them; I can’t see him, I don’t know what to do for Nemo. I’m heaving in some dark corner across from my gate, hundreds of miles away from the disaster I am powerless to fix. But I don’t have Nemo anymore. I have Grover. I hate Grover. And I will do anything to save him. Dave’s voice snaps me back to the present. “This is the exit.” I nod and flip my signal as I change lanes. I feel Dave’s eyes on me as I take a slow, shuddering breath. — Dave and I both stew in silence while we sit in the waiting room at the emergency vet. I can’t turn my brain off. We turned our lives upside down to accommodate Grover, but at the end of the day, it never stops feeling like we’re being bullied by a cat. It drives me insane. But gently caress, he’s just a cat. A huge cat. I wish he was different, I wish he was easier to love. It doesn’t feel like it’s been six years since we brought Grover home. It feels like it was just yesterday that Dave and I started dating and picked out a kitten together. We had no idea then what Grover would become; we didn’t know better. But we did our best. He’s not Nemo and never will be Nemo. He’s just Grover. Big, violent, idiot Grover. My friend the vet comes out after about an hour to sit with us. He runs a hand through his hair, looking calm. There’s an odd pull to his mouth as he speaks. “So I can’t find anything wrong with him. He seems weird, but not medically weird.” I frown. “What does that mean?” My friend shrugs. “He’s very okay with being here. More okay than most cats are. I put him on his back for x-rays, and normally we need to restrain cats for that. But he just sort of… laid there, purring the whole time. He actually hasn’t stopped purring since he got here.” None of that makes a lick of sense to me. Dave gives me a look, his frown deepening. He turns to my friend and asks, “What about his breathing and all that?” My friend the vet scratches his head. “That all looks normal now. His pupils are blown out, though, so…” The bench he’s sitting on creaks as he leans forward. “I have to ask: do you keep drugs in the house? Marijuana or anything?” My brows knit together. Weed’s legal in this state and ours, but I haven’t bought any in ages. Dave, though. I don’t know about Dave. I look at him, and Dave looks at me in turn, his features drawn, eyes wide and full of guilt. I know exactly what he’s going to say before he opens his mouth. I cut him off, my answer coming out on a groan. “Oh god, Grover’s just high, isn’t he?” My friend is losing a fight with his own face; I see a smile break through. “It’s highly plausible given the symptoms, especially if you think he had access to it and would ingest it. Would he eat it if he found it?” Dave and I nod in unison, but Dave speaks first. “Oh yeah, he’s a garbage cat.” “He likes to lick soap.” My friend looks mildly shocked by my statement, but the expression fades quickly. “What a funny cat. Give me a few minutes and I’ll have you guys out of here.” I make Dave drive us home while I sit in the passenger seat with Grover, too high on my own relief to drive. Grover looks at me and opens his mouth. A creaky little chitter comes out. Grover never really meowed like a normal cat. He sounds like a miniature xenomorph queen from Alien. I look into Grover’s ginormous eyes and sigh. “You’re a real piece of work, buddy.”
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Apr 24, 2023 02:53
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Ring-a-ding-in, baby.
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Jun 6, 2023 23:25
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I Slept Through the End of the World 488/500 words There was no one left to answer my questions when I crawled out from underneath all the tubes and wires. The frost in my bones kept me alive, I think. But I don’t know why. I have no memory of going to sleep, or of letting myself be shut away in that strange machine. Its dying beeps and whirrs tell me that I must survive, but I don’t know why. The air tastes like iron. It moves in dark, angry clouds that choke out the sun. The ground is parched and cracked. I find clothes and long-expired cans of food in the wreckage I pass. I walk through a city of shattered screens that blink when I arrive and die when I leave. I walk west. Always west. I don’t know why. I talk to myself for days for the illusion of company, but by day thirty-two, I despise the sound of my own voice. I don’t even have the buzz of insects to keep me company on these dark and quiet nights. The arid landscape groans and keens with the wind as if it too is weary of its lonely existence. I don’t know who I was before I went into the ground, but I want to know why I have to keep going. I find few signs of life or death. Just rubble and dust and sand and a tired, distant sun that fades from orange to crimson as the days drag on. Then I taste salt in the air. The sky is not so heavy anymore, though the sun still bleeds red. Another day of walking brings me to the ocean. I don’t know what I’m expecting. There’s nothing here but scorched sand and a sea I can’t cross. I wrap myself in the tatters of the places I have been and weep into the night. When I wake, I am not alone. I ache and choke on the strange metallic tang of this black sand as I hear the gasp and spray of water from beyond the shore. The sun rises behind me and illuminates a garden of life. Gargantuan nomads surface and dive along the shore, and I can’t stop the tears streaming down my face when I hear their strange songs fill the air. It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. It’s proof I am not alone. I want it to last forever. But it doesn’t. In time, they dive deep, and their songs fade into memory. Joy recedes into loneliness and the aching resumes. I can’t bear it. I don’t want to be anymore. I shed the heaviness of this place and follow the sound. I let the tide wash away the flimsy purpose I clung to across the wastes. There is pain here, but I am not afraid of the end. I just don’t understand, as I walk along the bottom of the sea, why the end never comes.
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Jun 11, 2023 23:15
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INTERPROMPT: Dream me a dream (or nightmare) 300 words or less. edit: Interprompts are mini-prompts that sometimes occur in the lull between submission closing and judgment time. We have a lot of stories this week and it may take the judges some time to get through them, so this interprompt is an excuse to write more stories while we wait (im)patiently for judgment to be rendered. There are no winners or losers. The stakes are low. Keep writing. Beezus fucked around with this message at 23:17 on Jun 12, 2023 |
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Jun 12, 2023 17:07
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That's Your Cue 220 words I'm draped in ruffles and heavy velvet. The scene is dark, and I can barely see four feet in front of me. Someone on the other side of this wall is shouting. What are we shouting about? Seems so rude. And why am I here? There's somewhere important I have to be. And I'll head that way as soon as I remember where I'm supposed to go. She's in trouble, I think. She needs me. Is she why I'm wearing a ruff? Why do I look so stupid? I glance down at my feet and find slippers on them. They're covered in peeling gold puffy paint. "Time's up," a voice murmurs in my ear before I'm dragged to the wall. I hear riotous shouts, the roar of applause, and a piercing scream. Oh god. They're going to kill me. What have I done? A blinding light shines around the corner. I'm not ready to go into it. I have so much love left to give. This person releases me and shoves a ream of paper in my hand. "There's been a line change here." It's a script. I see it for a split-second, just before the walls fall around me and I am bathed in a spotlight. I can't see the crowd. I don't know my lines.
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Jun 12, 2023 19:58
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DigitalRaven posted:Why would anyone when this is how much effort you put into calling someone out? I volunteer to judge this mutual spilling of blood. BUMMERDOME derp vs DigitalRaven We're about to get a major dose of hope this week and I won't stand for it. Both of you must write stories that bum me the gently caress out, but no one in your story is allowed to die. There are worse things than death. 1000 words or less. Edit: Due 6/19 by end of day (whenever that is in your time zone) Beezus fucked around with this message at 18:05 on Jun 15, 2023 |
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Jun 15, 2023 17:59
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BUMMERDOME RESULTS derp vs DigitalRaven You both made me read some stories that were somewhat effective in giving me the sads, though it seemed like you both pulled your punches a bit. Still, one of you succeeded at making me feel like I’d glimpsed the void, and for that, derp gets the victory. Onto crits. Runaway by DigitalRaven A decent setup that I thought painted a pretty bleak picture, but could have been tighter. It was a little rambly as it was, and I think could have been a few sentences shorter without losing its effectiveness. Otherwise, this is a grounded setting that doesn’t require a leap of faith from me. I’ve read some gut-wrenching refugee stories, and while I didn’t expect this to rip my guts out, I think it lost out on potential emotionality by cutting to your immigration officer (eff that guy.) This scene didn’t do you many favors, really, it switched to past tense in places where it wasn’t necessary, so it felt like I was tripping over passive voice when I didn’t need to. A drat shame since the Waris scenes generally flowed nicely. The rug pull moment works alright, but we see it coming from miles away. So this sort of ends up being a serviceable, but flat story of inevitable disappointment without any visceral heartbreak. saturn's rings by derp Listen. Listen. I can respect the commitment to the run-on, but my eyeballs can’t. And I think this story would be just as effective with periods instead of comma after comma. You lose nothing by separating your sentences; the fact that this is one continuous thought pulled into many isn’t what sells it–it’s the specific moments we glimpse throughout. The attempt at saving face when your character runs into the new squeeze, the pining for what was but can never be again because all things must die and no feeling is forever. The heartache here is relatable, and your final, yet SECOND (or third?) sentence is a banger. I like this story a lot and it's extremely my poo poo, I just don’t love the formatting choice. Beezus fucked around with this message at 04:39 on Jun 20, 2023 |
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Jun 20, 2023 04:11
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I volunteer to dispense judgment.
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Aug 29, 2023 02:15
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WEEK 578 Judgethoughts Crits are short and a bit terse because I am perpetually tired. Happy to expand on anything in the sidebar thread or Discord. Unsettling by Thranguy Forces of nature playing Catan, right? I like the premise. I didn't like that you kept repeating “GENDER who was FORCE” after the first intro to each character. You had words to spare, so it wasn't an economy thing. It just got a bit tiresome and I think you could have switched to referring to them by a proper noun. There's a decent intro to what could have been a fun scene, but your forces don’t really say anything of consequence or interest, so it just fell flat for me. Not bad by any means, but not memorable. The Great Anarch by Ouzo Maki I definitely felt like I was being told a story. Your prose was nice enough, but the overall pace felt very slow to me. By the time we got to the end and see it all come together, I was just a bit fatigued of the journey to find it all that satisfying. This is a neat story that I think could benefit from some word trimming to help move things along. RECOLLECTIONS OF A HOLY WAR by Fat Jesus This felt like it was trying really hard to be edgy because Crusades, but you just kept dropping atrocities without ever conveying any sense of gravitas. The child cooking thing came off as a throwaway, but by that point it seemed you were just checking boxes on a list of "things that will make this story dark" and they did not actually do that. Also the Lance of Longinus is a relic of Christian myth, not a force of nature, so unless you had another force hidden away in here and I missed it, this didn't really address the prompt. Also please remember: its = possessive, it’s = it is. The Wind in Their Bones by rivetz I quite liked this. You went a little heavy on adverbs early on, but I was still able to immerse myself in this story. There was some lovely scene-setting and distinct voices throughout the dialogue. I feel bad that I don't have much else to say; the adverb thing was my only concrete critique, I think. The Humour of it All by The Cut of Your Jib I enjoyed this so much. Even though I read it while tired and didn't immediately connect the four humours, it was a fun story. I sensed you enjoyed writing this, and if you didn't, then you fooled me. The prose moved nicely and was enjoyable to read. Carry Me Home by beep-beep car This started off alright and then deflated at the end when your force of nature essentially stuck their hand out and said "Hi, I'm Speed." It was competently-written, but ultimately felt rushed. Like an idea didn't get quite enough time to bake. I could be way off-base here but that's my take. Beezus fucked around with this message at 17:43 on Sep 4, 2023 |
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Sep 4, 2023 16:56
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Deal me in.
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Sep 19, 2023 04:41
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A Castle of Bark and Bone 100 words The king of mist and moss rules none. His halls are empty, save the chittering shadows that haunt him. Any day now, they will come. All he requires is one hapless fool to stumble into this bog and relinquish their name. One name is all he needs to reclaim power. When the mortal arrives, she beats down his doors, a strange iron device in hand. Her garb is bright and offensive, and fury blazes in her eyes. The king nearly forgets his words. “L-long have I-” “I’m Janet,” the woman shouts. “Now take me away; I loving hate it here.”
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Sep 25, 2023 04:45
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In with 12 Gifts of Christmas.
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Oct 16, 2023 21:05
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The Gift That Takes 999 words Movie: 12 Gifts of Christmas My human doesn’t know what she wants, but I do. I’ve watched her ever since she summoned me to this plane in an act of teenage recklessness – a beautiful, depraved moment she now regrets. But these days, she surrounds herself with mankind’s glittering vultures and calls the vapid, penthouse-dwelling refuse of the city ‘friends.’ She feigns happiness well enough, but I know she misses me. I carve my name into her ceiling from time to time to remind her I’m still here. She can’t parse the etchings; instead she screams, sighs, and usually moves into another building. My human dislikes my games. Her days are full of phone calls and legal jargon that bore me to dissolution when I listen from within whatever walls she hasn’t warded. I yearn to feel her pulse. I see fresh fractures in her soul as plain as the cracks in the plaster that can hardly contain me. When Christmas nears, she’s gaunt and frantic, stretched too thin. She publishes a plea for help online. My little human, eager to appear the doting friend, must now outsource the task of gift-procurement. I should find this ritual tedious, but instead I see an opportunity. I don’t know why I haven’t thought of it before; the wards and their buzzing dull my thoughts. But tonight, as stress erodes her guard, I seize clarity. Snowflakes blanket the world in silence as I enact my plan. I make myself look like the men she ogles when she thinks no one is looking. It takes time and careful consideration, but when I find the right face, the flesh sloughs off his bones easily enough. His skin is snug, but I won’t need it for long. I respond to her post, my fingers uncooperative as I stab at the dead man’s computer. I weave words into the lifeline she so desperately wants. ‘I CAN HELP YOU.’ When we meet over coffee the next day to discuss the particulars. I can’t stop smiling as she finally looks at me, even though it’s not me she sees. It’s an exhilarating sensation. I watch her knee bounce up and down — she’s had too much caffeine. Her cheeks are pink and full, and she’s hesitant to meet my gaze as she explains her situation. She can’t see how I strain against this flesh and wool suit I’ve stolen. I struggle to keep my teeth contained to the two rows allotted to human mouths. I nod when she hands me the list. I parrot platitudes I have memorized over time. Twelve names, she gives me. Twelve names and no gifts specified. Only descriptions of their connection to my little human and their tastes. Most are followed by question marks. I tell my little human I’m going to save this delightful holiday, and that she won’t see me until the work is done. I will find her on Christmas Eve. She says she’s already got plans with co-workers that night, but that we will certainly meet soon after so I can collect my payment. I repress a delighted shudder. I don’t tell her I know about her holiday party, or that she’ll never arrive. After we say our farewells, I linger on the sidewalk a while longer. When she vanishes across the street, I crumple the piece of lined paper and feed it to the gutter. I already know each name on this list intimately. I know them all better than they know themselves, and I will give them nothing short of perfection. The first name on the list belongs to the divorce lawyer Denice. Her gift is obvious and quick to acquire. I give her half of the man that broke her heart and took her Mercedes. The left half of him, specifically. The woman’s screams are thanks enough as I slip out of her living room and into the place between spaces. Eleven names remain. Designer Katie is insecure about her looks, so I replace her face with Mira’s, who Katie has always envied. The ex-boyfriend Dallas is third, and while his name elicits a great rippling hate in me, I mind my manners for my little human. I remember Dallas’ wandering eyes, so I take them and leave in their place marbles of the rarest onyx, priceless and sightless. A win-win, as my little human likes to say. Night after night, I become Saint Nick and leave my presents. Some are better received than others. The sports fanatic Sascha from Detroit does not survive his live tiger, which is unfortunate. When I return to my little human’s apartment, she is pacing and sobbing into the phone. She pleads with the person on the other end to help her make sense of poor Sascha’s death. I begin to wonder if she suspects me, but soon it won’t matter. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Night falls. My meat suit’s rot becomes a hindrance. I all but shamble to where my little human awaits her delayed taxi at the end of the block. Her makeup is perfect, and I know she’s dressed to the nines underneath that black wool coat. Those red-painted lips crease in a frown. She looks uneasy as she scans the road with her eyes. I feel her tense up when she spots me walking toward her. I scent the moment her surprise turns to fear. I hear chaos in her mind as my clever human comes around to the truth. I’m close enough to touch her when I loosen my hold on the disguise and let myself slip through. “You.” “Me.” The creases of my mask tear as I show her my full smile. “Surprise.” Her eyes burn with defiance. I’ve always adored that fire. “No…” she replies. “I banished you.” “We all make mistakes.” I laugh, splitting the swollen seams of my disguise. The flesh falls away and in an instant, I am everywhere. She spins, looking for what cannot be seen as I whisper in her ear. “But I forgive you.”
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Oct 20, 2023 17:20
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I volunteer to judge the vibes.
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Nov 13, 2023 18:17
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Team Will Cry is in with: Beezus:  curlingiron:  Lippincott: 
Beezus fucked around with this message at 07:39 on Nov 29, 2023 |
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Nov 29, 2023 04:19
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Team Will Cry (1 of 3) Plight of the Hornybee 496 words I’ve been awake for forty-eight hours trying to reactivate the harmonizers, hating my life, and pleading with universe to wipe out the an entire endangered alien race so that I don’t die like a chump in the rubble of this dome because horny bees the size of pick-up trucks won’t stop beating their asses against the plas-grid. Of course when I finally land a gig at an observation outpost, it’s on the worst planet in the system. If these bees don’t kill me before the week’s end, it’ll be a miracle. “Leanne, you have once again failed to route the power to the-” That robotic voice is my new second-least-favorite sound in the universe. I need music to focus so I can fix this drat grid. “Kay-Six, play that new Woozer album. Max volume.” The android hesitates before the servos in its silicon face whir. Its eyes widen as its mouth slants sharply; the expression is supposed to be a frown, but it’s nightmare-inducing. “You have exhausted your recreational credits. Your current options are: classical. Now playing, Despacito-” "Again?!" I slam my computer down on the console; my hours-old coffee splashes over the side of the mug. The monitors beep and flash angrily at me. They’ve been beeping and flashing angrily at me off and on for days, waking me in my bunk at odd hours when they send their shrieking alarm right to my PC, alerting me to an imminent grid breach. These domes are supposed to endure whatever the furthest reaches of the galaxy can throw at them, but no one anticipated that these giant loving bees emitted mating signals at the exact right frequency needed to blow the harmonizers keeping the power cycles automated. The expeditionary team tested these domes for months before we got here. But they’ve never been tested during whatever gently caress swarm is happening outside right now. The resident biologists are thrilled with this development. But we’re sure as hell learning now, as the bees tangle together and slam into the dome over and over like the randiest goddamn meteors you’ve ever seen. The bio team probably wouldn’t be too thrilled if they knew how close these bees have come to bringing the roof down on top of us for the past couple of nights. But as maintenance lead here, I’m not supposed to incite panic unless death is imminent. And my android companion they assigned me is making this all ten thousand times worse. “Miss Leanne, your pulse is–” “Miss Leanne is so sick of your poo poo, Kay-Six. You fix this.” “But I’m not programmed to operate the–” “Then please shut up before I weld your face to the toilet.” No. No, get it together. Property damage comes out of the paycheck, I remind myself as the console warns me that the pair of bees that just barreled into the grid fractured a hex. gently caress. Alright, we have a reason to panic, and I need to get to comms.
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Dec 4, 2023 04:56
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In with a flash, please.
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Dec 26, 2023 22:50
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Flash: millinery The Last Door that Death Made 874 words My father told me once that I was priceless. I believed him. “So young, so talented,” the kind ladies would croon to me as I boxed up the green velvet and silk ribbon that I stitched my heart and soul into. My father loved me while my hats sold. My heart was full for several good years. Until the lean times. The love in my father’s eyes faded as my hats gathered dust on their stands and our cupboards emptied. His gaze hardened when he looked at me like he was searching for a solution to a puzzle I couldn’t read. Then the stranger came. He made an offer my father wouldn’t refuse. I had a price after all. “She was a distant cousin,” he stammered as my heart shattered. “Very distant. With her dying breath, she made me promise I’d take care of you. Back then, I did quite well. I could afford to be charitable.” Not his daughter? Charity? “Please don’t do this.“ The stranger took my arm. “I was never meant to be a father. And you’re too old to be living under my roof. This is best for both of us, Meala.” Spoken as though it absolved him. The stranger ushered me out into the cold. Hunger killed the fight in me a long time ago, so I went quietly. I can’t recall anything that happened after my father shut the door and took the light with him. But I remember the question that made time begin again. “Do you wish to live?” I nodded. “Yes.” The stranger’s eyes illuminated like candles in the night. “Good.” The word rumbled through me as the weight of existence settled in my bones. The darkness peeled back, revealing a handsome face and gleaming yellow eyes. The limbo fell away and I became whole again in a place that was both new and familiar. A home I’d never left. Gone was the empty larder and cellar, threadbare quilts or rock-hard bread. Instead there was tea and cakes and downy blankets and stews and—- The stranger. The one who owed me a thousand answers and yet would entertain no questions. After a few days of filling meals, I had no questions, and the stranger became as part of this house as the hearth. One day, a wall became a door, and the door became the threshold to a shop all my own. I returned to my quiet place of lace and thread. I had warmth and purpose. I was alone in the light, but I didn’t care. The stranger appeared at night. He sat beside me while I worked, watching me with strange eyes. “Do you hate him?” He asked one night. The needle in my hand stilled. I set the felt down in my lap. I searched for the hard knot in my stomach that appeared whenever I thought of the man who loved me until it was no longer convenient for him. “No,” I lied. “Do you hate me?” “No.” “You will, I think. Though I hope you won’t.” I looked up at the man whose gaze always burned for me, whose face never retained the same shape. By lamplight, his edges softened. Another question simmered in my chest, forgotten by morning. For a long while, I was content. The stranger and I spoke of everything and nothing until the sun rose. Then I was alone. I made my hats as years drifted by. Too many years. I never left the house or my workshop. Food appeared when needed. My clothing remained tidy and new. The face I saw when I stood before the mirror never changed, but the things inside me did. My peace frayed. My love for my craft hollowed and festered. I wept as I worked, and yet I couldn’t stop. I knew nothing else. At night, I retreated to the study. I wept with my knees tucked to my chest and flinched when the stranger’s cold fingers grazed my chin. “Do you hate me now?” I seized his wrist. “I want to leave.” But my fingers slipped through him and clasped bone. “I’ve marked decades in these walls and yet nothing changes. No one comes to my shop. I don’t hear bells or birds outside. There’s nothing here but you.” The stranger stroked my cheek. “I can make a door for you.” “Where would it lead?” The sound of my own question surprised me. “Only you will know when you walk through. It will be the last door you ever open.” I swallowed. “And if I stay?” “Then I will make you glad you did. But I can’t stop the years, Meala.” Tears flooded my vision. The stranger brushed them away as they spilled down my cheeks. Through a fissure in my chest, a feeling raw and ugly erupted. I grabbed a handful of the stranger’s coat and dragged him down to me. I crushed my mouth to his, unpracticed and desperate as he buried his hands in my hair. I broke away with a gasp, panting as the stranger held me close. Gleaming bone and endless shadow smiled just as he pressed his lips to mine. I pulled back and whispered against his chin. “Make me a door.”
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Jan 1, 2024 06:31
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