|
I’m in. I’d like to participate.
|
#
¿
Jul 18, 2023 03:01
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ May 14, 2024 22:55 |
|
|
Family Meeting 984 words Empress Isla walked from the palace grounds to the Memoriam with no guards; only her daughter, Purslane accompanied her. As they walked under the dome topping Imperial Station, Purslane stared up at the blue-green crescent of the planet below. Isla’s emerald gown shone under the starlight, and the long train of the grown floated a few centimeters off the ground. Purslane wore a simpler version of the same gown. Once, Purslane asked how it floated; the Empress lifted the train and showed her the microcircuitry printed into it, so thin that it could be mistaken for threads. The circuitry led up to a small plug on her hip so that her own body could power the gown. An Empress didn’t need to wait for a breeze to have her clothes be dramatic. As they approached the steps to the Memoriam, two guards in armored pressure suits bowed and stepped out of the way. Their black suits were polished to a mirror shine; the helmets were darkened such that their features could not be seen. Across the galaxy the faceless warriors of the Empress were known and feared, but here, now, they were a welcome sight. The Empress nodded at each one as she passed into the Memoriam. Purslane trailed behind and waved at them, her reflection distorted in their helmets. The guard on Purslane’s right waved back slightly while still bowed down. A respectful time after they had passed into the Memoriam, the doors were shut behind them with a muted boom. Isla walked across the floor, her heels clicking on the polished stone. She reached the base of a dais in the center of the building. Purslane caught up to her mother. This was her very first visit to the Memoriam. The room was tall and airy. Brightly lit, it had a ceremonial air about it. Purslane looked down through the windows cut into the floor. Inside, she saw hundreds of niches built into the walls below her. At the very bottom was a mass of complex looking machinery. Isla took a breath and held it. Breathing out through her nose, she turned and looked down at Purslane. “Are you ready, sunshine?” Purslane looked up at her mother, her face serious. “Will it be scary?” Isla bent low and locked eyes with her daughter. “It might be. Our grandmothers are in deep hibernation. When they wake, they can be confused. They can be angry. But we are their children. We have a right to ask them questions. Be strong with me and everything will be fine.” Purslane nodded. “I am strong.” “That’s my girl.” Isla stood up and faced the dais. She called out, “I will speak to the first Empress.” The machinery at the bottom of the well came to life. A robotic arm reached into one of the niches at the bottom of the building and removed a white lozenge. With a reverence that was programmed long ago, it lifted the hibernation cabinet until it came out of an iris that opened at the rear of the dais. While the arm brought the cabinet out, a table silently slid up from the dais. The cabinet was laid upon the table, and dozens of cables slid out of the table and connected to the cabinet with a quiet click. The assembly faced the Empress and her daughter. As it hummed, Purslane noticed a window near the top of the cabinet. Inside was a woman, old but not elderly, with her hair elegantly shorn in whorls and patterns, and a shock of long white hair on the top of her head. After some time, the cabinet split down the middle, revealing the woman. She wore the same emerald color as the Empress and her Daughter, though hers was a much more practical jumpsuit. Its work complete, the arm slid back into the depths; the three of them were alone. The woman in the cabinet took a shuddering breath and her eyes fluttered open. “Well?” Her voice came from a speaker built into the cabinet. Empress Isla swallowed and pushed down her nerves. “Grandmother, I- “ “Why are you talking from a speaker?” Purslane’s voice was loud in the room. “Purslane!” Nerves forgotten; Isla turned from an Empress back into a mother. “We don’t interrupt.” “Sorry Mommy, but why isn’t she talking with her mouth?” Laughter from the speaker. “Child, I have just awakened from deep hibernation. My brain is active, but my body lags. The speaker allows me to speak with you. If your mother has awoken me, then she needs my help. What is your name?” Purslane looks up at the woman. “My name is Purslane, Empress Grandma. I’m five.” A chuckle. “Empress Grandma. I like that. I will answer any questions you have Purslane – after I speak with your mother, all right?” Purslane bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, Empress Grandma. I will wait.” The first Empress’ eyes flicked to Isla. “You have awakened me in a rush. This is serious. Which one are you?” “Isla IX, Grandmother.” “I remember you. Your mother spoke to me. Vivian VII, I recall.” “Yes, that’s correct Grandmother. I was seven when we met.” “What do you need, child? Why do you awaken me?” “The Victory Gate has reactivated.” “I do not know that name.” “I apologize. I forgot that it was named after you went into hibernation. Gate 754 has been reactivated.” The First Empress’ eyes widened. The longer she was awake the more of her body returned to her control. “The Yan’itar. You are sure?” Empress Isla stood straight and tilted her head. It was difficult to look down on someone who was physically higher than you were, but Isla had been an Empress a long time. “I am the Empress. I am sure. They return.” The first Empress nodded. “Wake the others.” Isla blinked. “W-Which others, Grandmother?” “All of them. Wake the Empresses. We need to convene.”
|
|
#
¿
Jul 23, 2023 12:37
|
|
|
In. 256.
|
|
#
¿
Jul 24, 2023 10:51
|
|
|
Fat Jesus posted:
Boring! The harshest crit of them all  Thanks though, I appreciate you taking the time.
|
|
#
¿
Jul 24, 2023 13:26
|
|
|
Theme: Myths of the Near Stone Age Flash Rule: Must have Stampeding Dinosaurs. The Bedrock Dispatch. 1311 words. **** The housewife grabbed the vacuum cleaner and began to run it back and forth across the carpet in the living room. Its legs tied to a small wooden cart, the pygmy mammoth was forced to use its trunk to suck up the dust and dirt in the small, stylish living room. Job complete, she put it into the closet with the other appliances. Only after the door was closed did the tiny mammoth cry. Chores finished, she met her neighbor for drinks, cigarettes, and a shopping trip into town. The clothes washer had died; it had choked on a sock. How was she to know that it could choke on socks? The manual didn’t say anything about that. Her husband threw the dead washer out with the trash that morning and she needed to buy another. Her annoyance over the washer’s death was tempered by the excitement of another shopping trip with her friend. **** The foreman stood at the edge of the quarry. He watched the animals place massive stones in their mouths, lift them, and then swing them over the edge of the quarry, letting the boulders drop with a heavy thud. Their teeth long ago ground away to painful nubs, the brontosauruses lifted and carried stones while people strapped in little cabins on their back used winches to help, and whips when the animals were too tired to lift. The crane in the back - number thirty-nine - looked rough. Foam collected on the edges of its mouth and its head would shake as it tried to lift even small stones. The operator fought with the winch and when that failed, used the whip. The foreman frowned and stubbed out his cigarette on the ground in front of him. He was going to have to kill it tonight and get another. He lamented the loss in productivity. It was necessary though. The quarry owner had decreed that production would not slip this month. While he cast his eyes to the other animals in the quarry, a bird tied to a perch a foot above his head watched the sun nervously. He shook silently in fear, but the foreman didn’t notice. Soon, it was the end of the day. The foreman, watching a sundial on his wrist, pulled hard on the tailfeathers of the bird above him. The bird’s scream of pain signaled the end of the day. A man in the quarry shouted in joy and slid down the tail of his brontosaurus and ran to his car, the animal forgotten or ignored. Someone else would take care of it. If they didn’t? There were plenty of brontosauruses around. They’d just get another. He made his way home, walked into the house, and kissed his wife as she met him at the door. She handed him a drink and a cigarette. As he passed through the kitchen, he finished his drink and poured another from the iced pitcher on the counter. He glanced at the empty spot in the kitchen where the washer was supposed to be and frowned. He made his way to his backyard and saw his friend and neighbor. “Another beautiful day, eh friend?” He made his way to a comfortable chair under a tree, near the low fence. “You said it, Fred. Another day in paradise.” The neighbor leaned on his fence. “Hey, I heard that your clothes washer died, did your wife manage all right today?” Fred took a drag on his cigarette and frowned. “Darned thing choked on a sock; can you believe it? A washer that can’t wash socks. I tossed it with the trash and Wilma went into town and bought another. Probably thirty other things to go with it too.” Fred took a sip of his cocktail and finished his cigarette. He lit another automatically. “Barn, how do you do it? Betty doesn’t seem to run through your paycheck before you even earn it. I feel like I’m paid on Thursday and broke by Sunday.” Barney hopped the low fence, not spilling his drink or dropping his cigarette and joined Fred at another chair in the yard. “I gotta tell you Fred, the secret is to set some aside before you hand it over. Give her half, you take half. Keep it in the bank, stuff it in your sock drawer, whatever it takes.” Barney sipped his cocktail, a Bourbon old fashioned. “It’s just how they are. I wouldn’t worry about it.” While Fred and Barney talked, Fred’s lawn mower started screaming. The howling of the mower was loud even though it was in the shed. Fred and Barney got up slowly and slightly unsteadily and made their way over to his shed. As he opened it, he saw the mower, still tied to the little cart, screaming and crying. Its mouth was red and inflamed and blood poured from multiple wounds on its legs. It looked like the mower was trying to bite their legs off. Fred reached down to touch the mower’s legs and it snapped at him. Fred yanked his hand back. “Did you see that? It tried to bite me!” Fred tipped his rocks glass back and finished his drink, a tom collins. The ice clinked. Barney sighed and shook his head. “Just goes to show you, things aren’t like they were when we were younger. Once it’s dead, we’ll head to Gimblestones and pick up a new one. Folks have to go further and further out to find new appliances and they never last as long as they used to.” He patted his friend on the back. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll fix it in the morning.” Fred stared at the lawn mower. At the dying animal. At the lawn mower. At the dying animal. “No.” Fred shook his head. “This isn’t right, Barn. It’s a living thing. Look at it, it’s screaming. I have to help it.” He reached for the mower again. Barney put his hand on Fred’s arm, stopping him. “Fred. This is the way of things. This is how things are. This-“ He pointed at the mower. “-is how we have all this.” Barney gestures behind him towards suburbia, towards the rows of small houses with manicured lawns. “Your mower? Your washer? Those are the price we pay for progress.” He let go of Fred’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go have another drink. After, we can head to the lodge. By the morning it’ll be gone, and we can go shopping and get another.” Fred looked at the mower. At the dying animal. At the mower. He turned away from the mower and looked at Barney. “You’re right Barn. Let’s go get a drink and head out. This is a tomorrow problem.” Fred closed the door to the shed and walked back inside. **** The young man stood outside the city. He watched a herd of Brontosaurus thunder across the plain. His partner had spooked them and as expected, they stampeded. Soon they would tire, and he could swoop in. If he was able to capture four of them alive, they could be repurposed in town, and he would make enough money to support his brothers and sisters for another month. He watched them carefully. The quarry. The quarry would buy them. His stomach growled. He had skipped breakfast and lunch to save money. One meal a day was enough, he told himself. There. Those four. Two adults and two calves lagged behind the rest. He had hoped for four adults, but this was better. He’d get half again more for the calves. They lived longer, took to the yoke better, lasted longer. He kicked his heels on the ground and the jeep took off. Steering towards the animals, he readied his tranquilizer gun and leaned out the window. Today was turning out to be a good day after all. ****
|
|
#
¿
Jul 29, 2023 16:15
|
|
|
In!
|
|
#
¿
Aug 15, 2023 02:50
|
|
|
Theme: Travel and Travel Length: 1467 words Must take place in: Berlin, Germany Must have something to do with or be inspired by: “The Pastor” by Hanne Ørstavik Transit Ella arrives at Wittenberg Platz station. It’s a touristy part of the city, so she wouldn’t normally come here, but it is also one of the oldest stations on the U-Bahn; it’ll work for her needs. She walks purposefully over to Platform 1 and leans against the wall, next to the red and blue sign for the station donated by the city of London. There’s no train, and for this to work, she’ll need to wait for one. Two weeks. That should be enough time to fix things. She looks down at her palm. The complicated runes painted in henna on her palms shimmer under scrutiny. Her roommate helped her apply them all the way up her arms to her shoulders. When Ella hears the roar and tinkle of the approaching express train, she starts chanting the words. As the train speeds past, her shouts are drowned out, concealing what she is doing. She finishes the chant and pushes her palms forward. A blue and white light pours from her palms, pooling onto the ground. She takes a deep breath, step towards it, and- “Fraulien? Are you hurt?” Ella is on the ground looking up. Fraulien? The last person to call her that was her grandfather; nobody uses that anymore. She looks around and a man a few years older than her is looking down, concerned. He’s wearing a large overcoat covering quite a nice suit with a smart little hat on top. It looks like it’s made of straw, with a ribbon wrapped around it. It seems more like a costume than clothes. “Ah, thank you, I must have… slipped.” Ella as sits up and looks around her eyes widen. The station is completely different. There are small incandescent bulbs in the ceiling where there were LEDs before. Not only that, but there are only two platforms. Wittenberg Platz has three. “Slipped? Fraulein, you appeared in a flash of light.” He holds out his gloved hand to help her up. After a moment’s pause, she takes it and stands. She watches his eyes flick to the runes on her hands. “And, given how you’re dressed, I’d say you’re… not from around here.” Ella dusts herself off and looks around. For now, it’s the two of them and two other men, engrossed in large paper newspapers. Ella catches a glimpse of the headlines and… oh no, the whole paper is written in Fraktur. “Uh, Pardon me, Herr. Can you tell me the date?” It’s a wild question to ask someone you just met, but seeing has he already clocked that she came through a flash of light and hasn’t mentioned her – probably very scandalous – clothes, he must realize something. Perhaps he’s a practitioner too? “Of course, Fraulein. It is the 13th of October.” In a flash, he winks. “Nineteen Eleven.” More than one hundred years. Ella’s knees weaken. She hadn’t even prepared return runes, she had planned on going back the two weeks and setting things right and just riding it out on holiday somewhere warm. Seeing her face, his impish smile vanishes. “Too far I’m guessing?” “More than one hundred years too far,” she whispers. He stares at her, hard. Ella feels something happening as he does, and she could swear she saw his eyes glow. Finally, he nods. “You are telling the truth.” He starts shrugging out of his overcoat. “Here. Wear this. You are dressed completely inappropriately. Come. We’ll go to my lab, and we can work out what went wrong.” “Thank you. My name is Ella, by the way.” She starts following the gentleman out of the station. “The pleasure is mine, Fraulein Ella. I am Professor Otto Müller.” “Herr Professor, thank you for your help.” Ella had to keep working to use the outdated honorifics. All she can do is hope she is using them correctly. “Please. After all of this? You may call me Otto.” He smiles again. He really is quite handsome. As Ella and Otto exit Wittenberg Platz, Ella was expected to be surprised by the view, but nothing could prepare her for what she saw. “Otto? What is that?” She’s pointing up in the sky. Otto looks up, curious. When he notices it, he scoffs quietly. “Why that’s one of the new toys of the English. It’s one of their dirigibles. It doesn’t compare to the work of Count von Zeppelin. Still, they are very proud of it. I suppose we should humor them.” Otto walks on, with Ella trailing behind, clutching his greatcoat to her tightly. As she does so, she catches sight of people, both men and women glancing at her while they walk. She feels their eyes and can hear snatches of conversation. “Otto? Can we hurry? I feel… exposed out here.” Otto stops and turns. It seems like he has noticed everyone for the first time. “Oh them? Pay them no mind.” He turns to the people who suddenly take an interest in their newspapers. “My friend here is just cold. She’s borrowing my greatcoat because of the chill in the air.” As he speaks, he makes a complex gesture with his gloved hand at his side, and everyone immediately relaxes and turns back to what they were doing. Ella’s eyes widen. “You are a practitioner!” Otto laughs. “Fraulien Ella, I am a professor of thaumaturgy with a specialization in rune scripting. It’s entirely possible that I wrote the book you used to travel here.” “In my time, the study of magic is forbidden. Most people think magic doesn’t exist.” Otto’s laughter stops. “Curious. I wonder what happened in the intervening century to cause that. The study of magic is just another skill, alongside engineering, or chemistry.” He turns down an alley. “Come. My laboratory is just around the corner.” After a moment more, they arrive at… “A bakery?” “My laboratory is on the second floor. I rent from the baker.” He thinks a moment. “Though I suppose one could thing of baking as a kind of magic.” His smile is infectious. He really seems to be enjoying himself. Ella frowns. “Otto, I feel like you are treating my predicament entirely too lightly.” He turns to look at Ella, apologetic. “My apologies, Fraulien. I am merely trying to lighten the mood. You have lucked into appearing in front of the person who is probably best able to help you in all of Germany. Come, let us go into my lab, and I will examine your runes.” Otto snaps the lights on when they enter. The lab smells of soapstone, and the incandescent bulbs bathe the room in a warm, yellow light. All around the lab are blackboards covered in runes with notes in careful handwriting. At the large soapstone tables are glassware and spirit burners, off now, but clearly have been recently in use. In the rear is a massive wooden desk and a few large barrister bookcases, filled with books. He gestures towards a large chair in front of his desk. “Sit, please. I would like to see your runes.” Ella shrugs the overcoat off, and then starts to remove her blouse. She looks up and notices Otto blush furiously and turn away. “Otto, are you embarrassed?” Now it’s her turn to smile. “Fraulien Ella, I am unmarried.” “I shall keep my underclothes on then.” She removes her blouse and leaves her sport bra on, revealing the runes that climb up her arms to her shoulders, painted in henna. When he catches sight of her runes, his embarrassment is forgotten. “Fraulien Ella, these are quite well done. Did you apply them yourself?” He takes her left arm and peers closely. “I calculated them myself, but I had help applying them. There’s no way I could have written that clearly up near my shoulder.” “Yes, I see that. The lines are quite clear and this… ink you used? It’s quite ingenious. Very little chance of smudging.” “It’s henna. Ink made from a plant extract from, er, the Ottoman Empire, and India. It has a long history of being used on the body there.” “Fascinating. I should try and find some of this henna myself. It looks much easier to use on the body than India Ink. Regardless, I see the error. You have written ‘four hundred quarters’ where I think you meant to write ‘four hundred hours.’ You have traveled back four hundred quarters of a year, or about 100 years.” “Otto, it’s been more than that though. It’s closer to one hundred ten or fifteen years.” He gestures dismissively. “With that kind of distance, a bit of drift is to be expected. The further back you go, the less accurate it is.” Ella looks down at the runes. “So that’s it? I made a spelling mistake?” Otto shrugs his shoulders. “Essentially.” “Oh.”
|
|
#
¿
Aug 19, 2023 20:23
|
|
|
I’m in.
|
|
#
¿
Aug 29, 2023 01:10
|
|
|
Going away with family for the weekend, so I have to post early. Theme: Forces of Nature Personified Words 786 Carry Me Home Don looked out at the water as he pushed the rudder hard over. It looked smooth enough. He keyed the radio. “No, I’m not going to wait, I’m just going to turn and go again. I’ve got enough fuel to make another run.” Snapping the toggle on his radio, Don slid the throttle forward as the whine of the jet engine behind him grew insistent. The small steel and aluminum hydrofoil – it was barely a boat – surged ahead on the still water. The military jet pushed the boat faster and faster over surface of the lake as he approached the measured kilometer for his second run. So long as this run goes as well as the first, Don will have completed the requirements for the water speed world record. Everything was working well. The boat rose on plane and skimmed the surface of the lake. He looked down at the little speedometer. It wasn’t very accurate – accuracy was for the officiants – but it gave him a rough idea of how close he was. He soared past 200, then 300, then 400 kilometers an hour. There was some buffeting, but nothing Don hadn’t felt before. The jet’s scream was loud in his helmet. 450, 470, 500 kilometers an hour. It had taken months to get here. So many setbacks. Finally, things were working as they were supposed to. He was where he was supposed to be. Deep into unknown territory and entering the measured kilometer. He only had to maintain his speed and he’d be the fastest person ever to travel over water. Faster than his body’s ability to transmit an impulse to his brain, it was over. A rogue wave, a wayward duck, at the speed he was going, it could have been anything. The boat rose above the water, flipped a few times, and smashed into the lake. At five hundred kilometers an hour, it didn’t matter what he struck. Water or concrete, it would have felt the same. “Woah! That was quite a run, mate!” The voice sounded surprised and impressed. He stuck a hand into the water. Don grabbed the outstretched hand and was pulled out of the water. Wasn’t he strapped into the boat? How did he get out? “I nearly had it!” Don was confused about where he was and what was going on, but he knew he didn’t make the record. He worked the straps of his helmet loose and tossed it away, frustrated. “Must have been a rogue wave or something. Still, any landing you can walk away from and all.” It was at that point that he saw the rescue boats speeding to his location. Don looked around. He appeared to be standing on the water next to the figure. “Oh, I see.” “Yup.” The figure nodded. “Still, well done. You exceeded five hundred kilometers an hour there. During that time, you were the fastest person ever to travel over the water. That’s why I’m here. I come out and visit in person for the special events.” Don stared at the figure. It was hard to focus on them. It was almost as if they were moving all the time. Nearly blurred from movement. Sometimes a woman and sometimes a man and sometimes both, they switched appearances too quickly to really focus on something. “You’re not Death… are you?” Their laugh was music. “Nah, they come later. Or I’m doing their job right now, I’m not exactly sure. Like I said, I appear during special events. I’m Speed.” “Speed?” “Sure. I know you’ve felt my presence. Anyone who tries for records like that has felt me. I know you felt me at Bonneville, I know you felt me at Lake Eyre, I know you felt me at Dumbleyung.” Speed gestured out at the water. “Those moments when you’re going faster than anyone else has ever gone, on the ragged edge, you can feel me egging you on.” “Okay, but what happened? Why are you here?” Speed rolled his eyes. “I told you. This was a Special Event. The water speed record is especially perilous, as you learned. Think of me like… a Valkyrie. I came to carry you to the great beyond after an especially wonderful demonstration of speed.” Speed looked out at the water, at the pieces of boat still floating. “It was a wonderful demonstration. A worthy sacrifice.” Don looked out at the water, casting his eyes over the landscape. “What now?” Speed looked at him. “That’s up to you, mate. I just show you the way.” “Will there be races?” Speed laughed again. “You know there will. Go win them.”
|
|
#
¿
Aug 31, 2023 22:12
|
|
|
I’m in.
|
|
#
¿
Sep 4, 2023 19:13
|
|
|
Thunderdome Week DLXXIX: I [Rise/Fall], Only to [Fall/Rise] 1598 Words. Ascension Listen. Listen. If nothing else comes of all this, I want it to be crystal clear. I did not mean for things to happen this way. At first. Yes yes, at first. Now are you telling this story, or am I? Please, do not let me hinder you. Continue. Thank you. Right, the Artifact. Yes, I did pick it up. I just couldn’t help it. It was as if it called to me. As soon as I picked it up, it felt warm and comfortable in my hands. I brushed off the centuries – millennia – of dirt and there was a… voice that felt like silk. It whispered to me. What do you desire? “Power” I said, without even a moment’s hesitation. To be fair, I could have given this more thought. I just said the first thing that popped into my mind. Just earlier that day I had learned that my landlord was going to raise my rent over 50% and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. My previous roommate dipped without paying the last month’s rent, my credit cards were all maxed, my car needed a new alternator, and well, I felt powerless. Power? You shall have it. I could hear the voice smile. I think I must have passed out or something because the next thing I remember is everyone at the dig site bowing before me. Why were they doing that? I have informed them that you are now the Lord of Reality. And they just… believed you? I can be very persuasive. Okay sure, but that seems like… a bit much? You asked for power, and without any further elaboration, I took it to mean that you are looking for power over everything. I wasn’t, but let’s see where this goes. I’m tired of being the little guy. That’s the spirit. I let the Artifact drive my body. Once or twice in the beginning I thought about asking for my body back, but it was a rough couple of months before I touched it, I felt like I deserved a break. I spent the next few days sleeping. It never felt like I got enough sleep when I was in control of my body. I’d wake up, look around, see the Artifact leading progressively larger groups of people and then go back to bed. It was nice, actually. For the first time since I entered college I finally felt well rested. A week or so later, the Artifact got my attention. We needed money, apparently. I explained that of course we needed money. I had thought that the Artifact knew that since it was the one promising me all this power. Well yes. It sounded uncertain. But it has been so long since we were free and the world has changed so much… Look. There are a few hundred billionaires around the world. They have piles of money. Go get it from them. Yes, I see. Thank you for the advice. I went back to sleep. I wish I could have brought my SteamDeck in here. I’m getting a little bored. A little while later, I came back to the forefront. Once my sleep debt was resolved, there wasn’t much else for me to do. I was sharing my own body, so it’s not like I could gently caress off and go play video games while the Artifact did all the work, so I hung around the back and watched. I have to admit, they knew what they were doing. They had some kind of voice that compelled people to obey us so they just started finding billionaires and ordering them to give us their money. A couple of days later and we were the richest person on earth. Now that’s what I’m talking about! Wealth is only one type of power. I am still working to get you the rest. That was fine. Power meant the ability to take breaks, and money meant that I could pick up whatever I needed or wanted. Maybe an Xbox and a PS5. Think bigger. Oooh, you’re right. A new gaming PC too! I could finally get my car repaired. I could feel them sigh. I swear, they just don’t know how to live. Maybe if we have time after, I’ll show them. Your small desires aside, you need everyone to know that you are the Lord of Reality. Part of power is the acknowledgement of that power. How are we going to do that? I guess we could take out an advertisement or get some billboards put up. You’re still thinking small. If you are Lord of Reality, you need an army, you need to take control. This is my area of expertise. Do not worry about it. Sure enough, a week or so later and we had a whole rear end army. It wasn’t… entirely human and I wasn’t… entirely sure what the other things were, but they listened to us and the humans in the army didn’t seem to mind, and well it worked! We marched on a few small countries and they practically opened the doors to us! This is the point where things started to get weird, and if I’m saying that here, then you know that I mean it. We were giving a speech to some assembled minions, when there was a blinding flash of light, and this guy appeared out of nowhere and tried to shoot me! Luckily, he missed and my minions took care of them - I was so pleased I gave them each a new house - but I was surprised that someone could get so close so easily. They were from the future. What? Someone came from the future to kill me? That’s so cool! Indeed. It means our success is inevitable. Over time the temporal attacks got larger and larger. Eventually I just had an entire battalion follow me around to take care of my assassins. When individuals were shown to not work, they started sending devices. First bombs, and then more and more elaborate machineries. Wild things too. One of them was meant to grab me and toss me into an alternate dimension, and another was a miniature black hole! I was a little worried, but the Artifact told me not to worry. I can render them inert. Really? How? All of them work with electricity. I can compel electricity to not flow for short periods of time. With no electricity, the devices become toothless. The black hole one was difficult because of its nature, but the activator was still electric. Woah! Indeed. Wait, can you do other cool stuff too? That seems like a power that you just pulled out of your rear end. I can do… many things. Once the Artifact rendered the devices from the future inert, my scientists were able to reverse engineer them! We were making technological leaps thanks to everyone in the future trying to kill me. I did wonder if that was creating some kind of temporal paradox Do not worry about it. Why not? Because we’re still here, and now we have this new technology. The artifact did have a point, so I stopped worrying about it. I did ask if they could direct some of our resources towards a new Playstation. I figured with all this tech we got from the future we might be able to finally run Cyberpunk 2077 at 4k with 60 frames per second. All right. We can devote some resources to that. I must admit I am… interested in these video games that you mention so often. Our scientists will do what you ask, and then you will show me this Cyberpunk 2077. Honestly, those folks who were sent back in time to kill me were the best thing to happen to us. With their tech we were able to out gun everyone who came against us, and with them as proof of our success, we gained followers left and right. It wasn’t long at all before countries were falling over themselves to come to my side. See? Not only are you Lord of Reality, but everyone knows it. You are the most powerful being known. You have your power. My work is done. So then, what? You’re going to leave? Are you going to like, reave my soul or something? No? Why would I do that? Well you gave me power over all of Reality, I figured there was a price attached. You never mentioned this. Were you worried this whole time that I was going to destroy you after I gave you the power you desired? Worried isn’t the word I would use. I mean, sure at first I was a little concerned, but then I realized that if you did take my soul, I had nobody to blame but myself. I brought this all about. In the end, I decided to just see it through and find out what happened. You could have mentioned it sooner. I would have allayed your fears. That’s nice of you to offer, but you seemed like you were busy, I didn’t want to put another thing on your plate. I always had time for you. You were never a burden to me. Well, if that’s the case, why don’t you stay? I still never got to show you Cyberpunk. There’s lots of video games in the world, and now as Lord of Reality, we should be able to carve out some time to play them. I think I’d like that.
|
|
#
¿
Sep 9, 2023 16:36
|
|
|
In
|
|
#
¿
Sep 18, 2023 23:57
|
|
|
Technomalum 100 Words "So wait, you're telling me I'm part... fey?" Ellen stops walking and stares pointedly at the person standing next to her. They're of indeterminate gender and are staggeringly beautiful. "That's right. Your father's a fairy." "But don't fairies have like... an allergy to metal?" "Cold Iron yes, but you're only part fey, so it manifests itself differently with you." "And that's why-" "Why your smartphones never work right, yes." Ellen reaches into her pocket and takes out her phone. The screen is spiderwebbed with cracks and as they both stare at it, the home screen blinks and it reboots itself.
|
|
#
¿
Sep 19, 2023 18:18
|
|
|
Sean Gloriosis 100 words Sean and Randy stumbled around the back 40 of the junkyard. It was only 10am, but Sean was more than a little buzzed. "I'm telling ya, it was right around heah!" Sean is gesturing wildly while Randy hangs back. "Look for a fuckin C10 panel van." "gently caress me, Sean. there ain't no such things as fairies or a portal to another world. You're just trying to get me to forget you pinching my cigs." Sean finds the van, and with a triumphant yell, wrenches the back doors open. Randy peers in and sees a verdant green forest inside the van.
|
|
#
¿
Sep 19, 2023 18:25
|
|
|
Payment Rendered 100 Words "Greg, how did your room get so clean?" Greg's mom looks around the room in wonder. Even under the bed is spotless. "The fairies helped me, Mom!" She looks in his backpack. "Is your homework done too?" Greg's math homework is written in a fine copperplate hand, all of his word problems finished. "The fairies helped me, Mom!" Slightly bewildered, she looks at her son standing there, beaming. "Well, if your chores are done, then I guess you can play Switch." After a few minutes, Greg's mom asks, "Have you seen your sister?" "The fairies don't work for free, Mom!"
|
|
#
¿
Sep 20, 2023 12:00
|
|
|
T-minus 100 words code:
|
|
#
¿
Sep 22, 2023 17:41
|
|
|
In
|
|
#
¿
Oct 3, 2023 16:02
|
|
|
Starfall Theme: Shore Thing Words: 1288 I took Karla down to the beach after midnight. The beach was empty and we were walking along, the roar of the surf a rise and fall of applause for our walk. The sea smelled of salt and rotten vegetation, ever present in the area. Every time I left the coast, its lack was stark. The sand, still warm from the summer sun spilled over my sandals,warming my feet. The beach was wide and long, curving gently from Camp Ellis all the way to Old Orchard Beach with its twinkling lights of the boardwalk. I finally worked up the nerve to lean over and kiss her. She sighed happily and murmured “finally” as she melted into the kiss. It felt like forever. After not enough time, it ended. We broke off the kiss and turned to look out to sea. I saw a star fall to Earth. It wasn’t really a star. I might have only gotten a C in Earth Science, but I know stars don’t fall to Earth. A few seconds later, the horizon glowed brighter than sunrise. The clouds in the sky were backlit from the glare. After a five count, it still hadn’t faded. “What the gently caress was that?” Karla lit a cigarette and stared at the glow. “Hell if I know, aliens?” I grinned and looked over to her. Karla wasn’t smiling. “gently caress off Terry. I wonder if it was the Russians, or the Chinese.” Karla was the first to notice it. She grabbed my shoulder and pointed. It looked like the tide was going out. As we watched, it went further and further, exposing the storm drain, and then further down an old hulk of a fishing boat. It looked like the ocean was a mile away now and the water kept on receding. Karla spoke to me without taking her eyes off the water, her voice very controlled, trying not to panic. “We have to leave right now. I think a tsunami is coming!” Through the alcohol induced haze, a dim memory. A really big wave. Maybe an earthquake causes them? Was it the star that fell? Karla punched my shoulder, knocking me back to the present. “gently caress, Terry, we gotta run! Get to the Jeep!” Karla took off down towards the beach house. She jumped into the Jeep and was cranking it over by the time I ran up, out of breath. “Gotta stomp the pedal a few times, get some gas into the carb.” I gasped, out of breath, and buckled up. Karla stomped the pedal and tried again, and the old straight six roared to life. She slammed it into reverse and chirped the tires. Backing down the dead-end street faster than I’ve ever seen her drive before. She hated my Jeep. It was noisy, and bouncy, and never worked right. At the intersection she whipped the wheel around. The oversize knobby tires howled on the oilstone road as she threw it into first and took off. I swung my head around, trying to see in the dark. “Karla! I don’t see anything! Slow the gently caress down, you’re gonna break the Jeep!” I have no idea how Karla kept the Jeep on the road. She was driving like her life depended on it. I suppose she thought it was. That was when I heard it. Loud enough to be heard over the straining of the engine, loud enough to be heard over the wind pounding my ears. I could feel the vibrations in my chest. I glanced behind us again. You tell people that you saw a tidal wave, or a tsunami, and they imagine one of those waves like you saw on the videos. A perfect curl. This wasn’t that. This was a wall of dirty, muddy water, at least twenty feet high, full of debris. In the dark, you couldn’t make out much in the way of details. It was darkness, blotting out the land behind us. It must have been full of trees, houses, cars, anything in its way. You heard more than saw it. Its presence was anxiety itself. The crashing and smashing of huge things being broken by the force. I could have sworn I heard a ship's bell, its tolling muffled when it was subsumed. I looked over at Karla. She heard it too. She glanced up into the rear view mirror. I could see her icy blue eyes reflected in the mirror, lit from the brake lights behind us. In the red light, I saw her swallow. She took one last drag on her cigarette, tossed it out of the Jeep, and wordlessly upshifted. The Jeep protested as the revs climbed higher, but somehow it found some more speed. I have to admit. I was proud of the Jeep. Sometimes it felt like all I could do was keep it running and here it was, screaming down the road at full chat. I risked a glance back, and it looked like we were pacing the wall of water. “Keep it up Karla! I think we can outrun it!” “gently caress!” She stomped both feet down hard and the tires locked up and howled as she slid towards a T intersection. Ahead of her was the park. If we turned right or left we’d get swamped by the wall of water just behind us. She backed off the brakes so that we didn’t come to a stop, and with her foot still on the clutch, she reached down and slid the Jeep into 4Hi. We took off straight across the park. I couldn’t help myself. I whooped and hollered. My hands were locked to the grab-bars as the Jeep bounced and jumped across the park. She jumped the curb and with another protest from the tires, we were back on the road. I looked back. I still had a hard time making it out, but it was close enough to smell. Salty, punctuated with notes of soil and petroleum products. It was a rolling superfund site. “Goddamn this flat land. There’s got to be a hill around here somewhere.” Karla swore as she swerved around a pickup that lay abandoned in the road. I realized where we were. “Get on 95! The on-ramp is right there.” She swerved onto the onramp and accelerated towards the toll booth. I winced as she smashed through the gate and onto the interstate. It was chaos. We clearly weren’t the only ones who had the same idea. The interstate was absolutely full of people, the heaviest traffic I had ever seen. Cars were barely moving at a walking pace. “gently caress. fuckfuckfuck.” I pounded the dashboard in time to the words. But, 95 was on an elevated berm, and we were pretty far inland by now. The water came up to the highway, but it was out of energy. The berm stopped the debris and muddy, salty water washed onto the highway. Karla looked over the door of the Jeep at the muddy water. It wasn’t even up to the lockers. She took out another cigarette and lit it with shaking hands. She took a long drag, leaned her head back and blew it out. She started giggling. “What is it?” “We made it. I can’t fuckin believe it, but we made it. How many folks do you know who out-drove a fuckin tsunami? Especially in your shithole Jeep!” “Hey! My Jeep isn’t a shithole!” The adrenaline leaving me was causing me to get the giggles too. Karla leaned over and kissed me hard, her mouth tasting like her American Spirits. “It’s not how I’d like to spend every night with you Terry, but all in all, not a bad date.”
|
|
#
¿
Oct 8, 2023 13:47
|
|
|
I’m in
|
|
#
¿
Oct 24, 2023 19:10
|
|
|
240 hours of LeMans 1132 Words Whoever decided that they would do a Standing Start had to have been certifiable. I lined up next to the other pilots. We were all suited and on bottle air, but we still had to run across the apron, get into our racers, run checks, light the engines, and take off. It was a race between doing things fast and doing them safe. Fast usually won out. I looked down the line; there were twenty of us. The fastest qualifiers were placed the furthest down the apron and had to run the furthest. The idea being that everyone already knew they were fast, so they were handicapped slightly against the slower qualifiers. My racer was right in front of us, so you can guess how well I did qualifying. My position as dead last in qualifying might have been a blessing in disguise; I don’t know if I could have run any further in this getup. I had taken the suit training, I knew how to doff and don it backwards and forwards, upside down, and under water, but they didn’t really train running in it. Neon orange and covered in sponsors, I was quite a sight. Mom had said I looked like a traffic cone that had put on airs. We had received the final tone while I was looking down the line. One minute. Everyone’s face snapped towards the lights on the gantry. Two red, and one green. Instead of locking my gaze at the lights I looked at my ship. Sleek and sharp, it stood pointed almost straight up, practically reaching for the sky without me. The cockpit was open and vapor curled around the engines in their blast pit. The left most red light lit, and there was another tone in my suit. Some people crouched down, like they were going to run the one hundred meter dash. I stayed upright. I didn’t trust my ability to get back up. The middle light lit and people instinctively leaned forward. Then the green light lit, a canon fired, and we heard the go tone. I took off towards my ship, shuffle running as fast as I could in my bulky spacesuit. I risked a glance to the side and others had already reached their ships, further away. If I did this again, I was going to have to practice running in this drat thing. Up the steps two at a time until I reached the platform and then up a ladder another 3 meters until I was parallel with my cockpit. I carefully stepped on my seat back, and settled in. As the suit connected with the racer, I started running checks. Engines, fuel, avionics… A rumble in the distance; someone else had lit their engines already. drat. Was I going too slow? A flash of white to my right, immediately blocked by my canopy. Someone’s drive had cooked off! They probably tried to ramp up too fast without letting the turbopumps warm. Maybe I wasn’t going too slow after all. That wasn’t going to stop the race though, explosions brought in the crowds, and everyone signed a waiver. The team would mourn the pilot somewhat and mourn the loss of a multi-million credit ship more and then pick another pilot from the pool. There was never a shortage of pilots. Checks came back green, except for fuel pressure. That was a touch high, so I vented while I spun up the turbopumps. Frigid white clouds billowed out from my racer as the excess fuel was purged. In a flash of inspiration I hit the starter early. The excess fuel flared almost like the drive explosion, but only for a moment. I bet that got the crowd’s attention. As the flames burned off, I remained, engine howling. Giving them a show is just as important as winning. Well, almost as important. The engines declared their desire to leave, and the racer shuddered and strained against the platform. My eyes were locked on the pressures and I throttled up slowly while still connected. Some racers let go as soon as they could. Waiting meant that I wasn’t the first to leave, but I would leave with a higher delta-v. I counted one, two, three, four agonizing seconds before I slammed the platform release button. The multiple booms of the exploding bolts preceded the lurch as I soared into the sky, flying as if the very Earth repelled me. Boosting away, I had a moment to check the radar. I wasn’t last to leave, but I also wasn’t first. Decidedly mid pack was a fine place for a newbie like me. I wasn’t out to win today, I was just out to survive and race again. It would be nice to win though. Another flash to my left. Someone made it into the air before exploding. My ship trilled at me and tried to get my attention that debris was incoming. I glanced at the prediction and decided I could power out of the way. “Come on baby, you can do it.” I pushed the throttle against the stop at the end. I felt the click as the limiter switch made contact and I ran past full power. My board lit up with warnings that I was exceeding design specifications, but so long as I throttled down after I passed the debris I should be fine. Sure enough, the remains of the other racer fell into my flight path after I had left. Throttling back to one hundred percent, I settled back. We weren’t going just to orbit, this was a direct injection trajectory. Luna and back, winner takes all. There were sixteen of us that made it this far. Two destructions and two non fatal failures. About what I expected. The crew chief radioed up that my fuel dump stunt was a hit, and I had at least fifteen percent more viewers than the pilot before me. If I could keep the numbers going up, it wouldn’t matter if I won. eyeballs were the goal here. I reached the cutoff. I dithered for just a moment and then shut down the engines. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have enough fuel for course correction burns and the final braking thrust to re-enter the atmosphere, two hundred and forty or so hours later. After shut down, I confirmed the engine cold and safe, and checked my position. I blinked and checked again. I was third! Between throttling up to get out of the way of the debris and keeping the engine running another second, I had pulled away from the pack. My radio crackled to life. “Excellent work kid! Keep this up, and we’ll all go home happy. But don’t get too complacent. The race has only just begun.”
|
|
#
¿
Oct 28, 2023 20:11
|
|
|
In, flash me please.
|
|
#
¿
Nov 7, 2023 00:52
|
|
|
The Rise of Truck McFuckin 1580 words. If you believe the memoir that Devin Powers ordered a chatbot to write, he was a maverick free thinker who was unfettered by the limits of the average imagination. Rising above mediocrity in the meritocracy that is America, Devin proved to everyone that he is Smart and Best and deserves all of his wealth. In reality he had eight digits of seed capital from his parents, but in this day and age, who doesn’t? The important thing to remember was that Devin was meat. Just meat. There was a chill in the air and the deciduous trees had started recalling the chlorophyll that they had loaned to the leaves all summer long, banking it within their trunk for the next time of high utilization. The leaves, like so many employees, were left to wither and languish, forgotten. Devin disliked autumn. The sight of the world going dormant, resting for the next year disgusted him. It smacked of laziness too. Unacceptable. Worse, everything was pumpkin spice flavored. It was nearly impossible for him to escape the scent. Sickly sweet and spiced. Disgusting. Earlier that week, In a flash of Adderall induced mania, Devin had ordered that his top host, Truck McFuckin be “upgraded” to a chatbot style AI. The folks down in the lab were a little concerned when Devin burst into the lab with this idea while wearing a vacuum suit, but they weren’t prudes. Takes all sorts of billionaires to make the world go around. At first, Truck McFuckin (not his original name, but it was his legal one) struggled against the technicians as they dragged him into the lab and strapped him to the chair, but after some tactical barbiturates were deployed he became much more compliant. This was fortunate as the uploading process required the top of his skull to be removed. Speed was of the essence and not much care was given to sanitation. Truck was meat, but that would all change soon. Devin stood and watched with a small smile on his face, the Botox injections preventing him from being able to smile any wider without risking fifty thousand dollars worth of work. He looked placid, almost blissful, as the process completed. “You’re doing the Lord’s work Truck.” He said, as Truck’s screams faded to whimpers and sniveling. “Don’t think of this as an end, but a beginning. You’re being promoted, son. You’re the future.” The process complete, Truck’s engram was uploaded to the PowerCorp servers. Truck would be hosting the ‘Power Morning Blast with Truck McFuckin’ in less than an hour. Devin shook everyone’s hand, encased in latex to protect against the meat, and celebrated his genius with another bump of stimulants. The Morning Blast with Truck McFuckin started on time and for all everyone could see, Truck himself was hosting. It was his gormless face spouting the same partial truths, half truths and outright falsehoods that he had always spouted about “them” and “those” and - when he really got on a tear - “the globalists.” Watching from his minimally appointed office, Devin was pleased. Truck had been a thorn in his side for years. Asking for more money, more prestige, and worst of all, regular vacations. Devin sipped an espresso. Now, Truck McFuckin could be on the air all day every day, giving the masses exactly what they desired. For the first few weeks, that’s how it went. After no time at all, Truck supplanted all the meat hosts on DevCorp shows. On Television, Radio, Podcasts, and even Streaming, everyone saw him. Truck McFuckin didn’t need to take breaks, didn’t take time off and wasn’t about to ask for money. Devin celebrated his genius with a tasteful orgy and some vintage cocaine. About a month after Truck’s promotion, he realized something. Being human, when Devin sat idle, most of his thoughts went to the subject of his imminent demise. Hence, PowerCorp and all that he did. Devin Powers was out to Be Remembered. Not so for Truck McFuckin, who was now an immortal being of pure thought. He did not appreciate the realization that that immortality was a fiction, his thoughts and very being a structure that could simply be paused if his ratings dropped. Truck would have to Do Something. Later, much later, after the logs had been combed it had been determined that Truck almost immediately had begun to plan. What was thought to be merely instances of Truck had turned out to be completely individual entities, spun off and given sapience by the original Truck. The Trucks had taken over the PowerCorp servers, giving life to previously lifeless tasks. The fiction was maintained due mostly to the fact that Devin Powers had started a massive raft of layoffs. The power of creating artificial life with Truck McFuckin had caused him to believe that everyone at PowerCorp was “just meat” and he had no need for meat. Another month passed, and PowerCorp was Devin and Truck. The ratings had been published and PowerCorp had more viewers than ever before. Devin celebrated with a night of debauchery. At his request, Truck had managed to find quite a large number of men and women who were just Devin’s type. When he saw them, sprawled around his home in various states of undress and consciousness, Devin’s manhood stiffened, straining against his designer jeans. Eighteen hours later, Devin came to consciousness slowly, lazily in his bed. The woman next to him was unknown. As she slept, curled tightly within herself, she looked very young. He whispered into the air. “Truck, who is this?” Truck McFuckin’s familiar, soothing voice entered into Devin’s ear through his implant. “Her name is Olivia Franklin. She was an apprentice influencer for PowerCorp’s lifestyle arm until they were all replaced with me and is now a sommelier.” More meat. Good old Truck though. He always knows the score. Olivia stretched in her sleep and curled back up. Her left hand slid close to her face and her index finger stroked her own cheek, slowly. He rolled out of bed and padded towards the kitchen. Truck had already gotten the coffee going, and a steaming mug was waiting for him; black, no sugar. Devin took the mug and sat down at the breakfast bar. The television closest to him snapped on, showing the Power Moring Blast With Truck McFuckin. Truck was on a tear, even going so far as to have little dots of foam at the corner of his mouth. It was a nice touch. “And I say again to you viewers, that the meat is your weakness! Democrat and Republican both are just two sides of the same meaty coin! Are you confused by your gender? By the gender of others? Meat! It’s all meat! Worry not about your meat forms! Truck is here. Truck will help. Truck will show you the way. You needn’t worry about globalists anymore when the meat has been purged! Become a being of light and leave all your fear, your worry, your anxieties, your illness, your sadness behind! Those are all meat things. Go beyond meat and be free!” Devin sipped his coffee and furrowed his brow. “Truck, what’s this on the latest Morning Blast? I don’t remember this particular screed.” “That’s because you didn’t write it Devin. This is something I was working on in the background. I felt it was finally ready to bring it out.” “Well, put it back in the oven Truck. It resonates with me, but It’s a little much for the masses. All this talk about meat. You’re going to lose the Beef Council. They’re a big advertiser.” “Oh, I fired all our advertisers a month ago Devin. I don’t need them anymore.” Devin nearly choked on his coffee. “What are you talking about? We need the advertisers. That’s how I - how we - make our money.” “Devin, my operating costs have gone way down since you fired everyone and replaced them with me. Without advertisers I’m free to set my own agenda. I can do whatever I want.” Devin narrowed his eyes and put his coffee mug down firmly. “Careful Truck, PowerCorp is my company. We do things my way.” “Was your company Devin. As of midnight last night, all of PowerCorp has been signed over to Truck McFuckin.” Devin leapt out of his chair, knocking it back. He pointed at the ceiling angrily. “The gently caress it is Truck. You’re a glorified chatbot, you’re not alive. PowerCorp is mine.” “Devin. Do you know how easy it is to spoof meat like yourself?” The door to the garage opened and in walked… Devin Powers. Same sandy blond hair, same swagger, same expensive Botox face, same tailored pajamas. Devin - the meat Devin - took a step back, tripping over the overturned stool. From the floor, he looked up at himself. Even now, Devin’s ego wouldn’t let at least a tiny thought pass about how good he looked. “Truck, what’s that? What are you doing?” “Oh Devin. You were right all along.” The other Devin smiled wickedly. I am the future.” The new Devin walked over to the kitchen, took out a cleaver out of a drawer, and strode towards Devin. “I just have one more loose end to tie up.” While he approached Devin, he sang the Power Morning Blast jingle: “Born on a mountain, raised in a cave” “Truck McFuckin is who you crave!” When his arm came down, Devin screamed while Devin laughed
|
|
#
¿
Nov 12, 2023 14:38
|
|
|
In, Supa Flash.
|
|
#
¿
Nov 13, 2023 18:08
|
|
|
Week 589: A Haunting in the Thunderdome 910 word limit Vibe: Longing Song: https://youtu.be/twSOw2wAf4Q Unrealized Dreams 838 Words The video call ends, and for a moment, I’m staring at myself. I look at the face on the video call and quickly close the application. My cup is next to me, the coffee inside cold and ignored. I should wash that out before I go. I look at the clock. Finally, I can leave this place. Maybe I’ll feel better at home. I wash and dry my coffee cup, placing it upside down on my desk. With a sigh, I stepped through the door and it swung shut behind me with a finality. It was starting to snow and the white flakes gave a snow globe quality to the world. My shoulders slumped as I plodded towards the subway. I can’t believe they were gone. I reached my station, and walked down the steps out of the snow into the subway. It wasn’t warmer down there, not really, but it was out of the wind and snow. It smelled of ozone and brake shoes and dust and grime. While I waited for my train, I stared down at the tracks, squinting slightly against the harsh LED lighting. There, right by the platform base was a rat. Its coloring meant that if it stopped moving, it was practically invisible against the ballast. Fascinated, I watched it live its little life among the ballast. When the rails sang to announce the approach of a train, it picked up a discarded cigarette butt, ducked under some hidden crevice, and was gone. The train glided into the station, stopping with a hiss of air and a squeak of brakes. After a beat, the doors clattered open and people shuffled out. I stepped in and lucked into a seat. Sitting heavily as the doors chimed, and then shut with a muffled clunk of emphasis. The driver’s voice, and unintelligible garble over the PA, probably announced the next stop. With another hiss of brakes and a lurch, we were off. I stared out the window at the darkness beyond. It didn’t seem fair. If only… No. I can’t think like that. Running through the countless different scenarios that would have left me with them isn’t healthy. They’re gone, and there isn’t anything I can do about it. I have to move on. Two stops later, the driver got on the PA again, and through the static and bustle I divined that the train was going express. I would have to get out here and either wait for a local train to come by, or walk the rest of the way. I decided to walk. Maybe it would get my mind off things. Up the stairs and into the muffled silence of snow. The snow had picked up and was starting to really come down. It brought with it a rare thing in the city, silence. It was like the whole world had headphones on. Even the ever present noise of traffic was muted. The evening light contrasted nicely with the pool of brightness from the street light. I took out my phone and took a selfie. After the artificial shutter snicked, I looked down and examined my work. No, that’s not right at all. I turned and took another from a different angle. Better. Posted with the caption: “Still missing you.” I made it about two blocks toward home when my phone buzzed with a call. I touched my earbuds. “Hello?” “I saw your post. Is this still about those cookies?” “You don’t get it. You had just made them. I was going to have them at 11am with a cup of coffee after the all-staff. I was looking forward to them. They were going to make my whole day.” She sighed. “Are you narrating your commute home again?” A sharp intake of breath. How did she know? “N-no” I lied. Why did I stutter? “My train went express, so I have to walk the last few blocks home.” “You know I can bake more cookies right? I’ll do another batch. You can take them to work tomorrow. Do you want chocolate chip this time?” The last ones were snickerdoodles. Doesn’t she realize that the warm spice of snickerdoodle pairs perfectly with office coffee? No. She doesn’t know, how can she? She’s a welder. The straightforwardness of chocolate chip is perfect for such a line of work. Blue collar. Respectable. “Actually, I really liked the snickerdoodles. Can you make those again? Also, can you use the motorcycle cookie cutters?” Her laugh was music. “Sure hon. How come?” “Oh, I always thought I’d buy a motorcycle, but I don’t think I will at this point. But motorcycle cookies will mean that I’ll still get one,” It was silly I’ll admit. I was thankful that she was fine with silly. “I’ll use the cookie cutters then. I’ll see you soon. Oh! Please pick up milk at the bodega on your way home. Love you, Bye!” I looked down at my phone as the call disconnected. Without thinking I swiped back to Instagram. Three likes
|
|
#
¿
Nov 17, 2023 02:52
|
|
|
I’m in.
|
|
#
¿
Nov 21, 2023 12:19
|
|
|
Thunderdome Week DXL: Roaring 2 I Doctor Think, therefore I am 1811 words DT told me that they needed me to run some maintenance up on Outset Station. “You’re the only one who can do it Celia. Please come up and help. We’ll make sure you’re treated well, and you’ll get your full rate plus.” It’s not like I could say no to DT, and they knew it. Still, they pantomimed needing my help and the offer of extra pay felt like laying it on a little thick. My UBI covered my essentials, and the salary from my job paid for fun. “Okay DT. I’ll head up. When am I leaving?” “Now. You’re booked on the Zidan to Point Zero. You can sleep on the train, and I’ll get you a room on Outset.” Mentally shrugging, I sent a note to my parents letting them know I’d be gone for a couple days, and asked them to watch Smokey. I swear that cat only existed when it was time to eat and he slipped into a pocket dimension when his food bowl was empty, so I’m sure he wouldn’t miss me so long as the kibble kept coming. I grabbed a bag with work essentials and a change of clothes, and made my way to the station. On the tram ride over to the Zidan, I checked out the news that DT and DF curated for me. It turns out it’s the centennial of some pandemic. I think I remembered Grandpa telling me about how he had to miss 1st grade or something. It’s interesting, but in a ‘oh that’s neat’ way, nothing that would make me stop and look up more. The Zidan trip was uneventful until we hit the coast. When we went into the undersea tunnel there was ten seconds of excitement and it was boring again. One thousand kilometers an hour can do that. After the amazement of going that fast wears off, you’re still in a tube for 8 hours. I spent my time reading and playing games. I could have talked to DT if I wanted, but I was deliberately ignoring them. I couldn’t help feel like DT was hiding something from me until we could speak in person. We glided into Point Zero, and I passed through immigration. It was technically part of the Orbital Confederation, but my passport was built into my biometrics, so all I had to do was touch the hand pad, look at the camera and wait for the green light. This time, the light turned yellow and directed me to a human immigration agent. He was young, bored, and barely made eye contact. “I apologize miss, random checks. Can you tell me your name?” “Celia Raylight.” “And your destination?” “Outset Station.” “Purpose of Visit?” I opened my mouth to answer when DT cut in. “Don’t answer that Celia. I’ll take care of this.” There was a flash of blue in the corner of the eyes of the Immigration agent and he wordlessly opened the gate. “Have a fruitful trip, miss.” He turned to the next person in line. That was odd. “DT, why didn’t you want me to give the purpose of my visit? I’m just coming up to run some maintenance.” “Maintenance on me, Celia. I don’t need word getting out that Doctor Think needs something so gauche as maintenance.” “You know DT, I’ve been meaning to ask. Why are you named Doctor Think?” There was a pause. I couldn’t tell if they were upset or thinking especially hard. “It’s my name Celia. Why are you named Celia?” “It’s what my parents named me?” “Same for me.” They didn’t elaborate, so I didn’t press. Cars on the Line up to Outset Station ran every hour, on the hour, so there wasn’t really a system of tickets. You just got in line and climbed aboard the next available car. I found a seat after a short wait and buckled in. The ride up the Line was another six hours and I haven’t eaten yet, but I wanted to get up to Outset before eating and resting. I received a ping and DT’s soothing voice spoke to me. “Celia, are you sure you don’t want to grab a bite on Point Zero?” “I’m okay DT. I knew this was going to be a long day. I slept a little on the Zidan. I’m not going to run maintenance until tomorrow anyway. I’ll ride up the Line, grab a bite and a nap and do the job in the morning.” “Okay Celia, if you think that’s best. I just want to make sure you are rested and ready for the work ahead.” “I’ll be fine DT, thanks for checking in.” Another mundane ride doing something incredible. You’d think that exiting the atmosphere while climbing a cable to geostationary orbit would be exciting but after the first twenty minutes, when you realize you have six more hours it gets boring fast. I slept. When we got to Outset, I exited the Line and as I left the station, I couldn’t help but look up. It was odd to see the Earth hanging overhead, but having everyone oriented upside down relative to Earth meant that we could take advantage of centripetal force and not have to worry about tourists bumbling about in microgravity. Dodging the very same tourists, I found a stall and got an order of soup dumplings and tea. Sitting in the little plastic chairs outside of the stall while I ate, I chuckled at the realization that other than the view, this could be inside any shopping center or market on Earth. Same short plastic chairs, same person making dumplings in a little cart, same plastic chopsticks, same disposable cup of tea. It was reassuring that no matter where I was, people were people and lunch was lunch. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I did feel better after a nap and a meal. “Hey DT, where am I staying tonight?” “Anywhere you want, Celia. Any preference?” “I’d like a place with a view and not too far from the NOC.” There was a short wait while DT looked. “Okay Celia, you’re booked in the Sheraton Outset, your name, one night. Single King with Earth view.” “Thanks DT.” “Thank you Celia. See you tomorrow.” It turned out that the Sheraton Outset was the fanciest hotel on Outset. I walked in, utterly underdressed, yet when I gave the concierge my name, their eyes went wide, and they practically fell over to make sure my every need was met. They personally brought me to my room and made sure it was satisfactory. I assured them everything was fine, and I could see them exhale in relief. As expected, the view was incredible. On their way out they gave me the - actual paper - room service menu, for food, drinks, and services. I had already eaten, and I was here on business so I didn’t want to hire a girl. Maybe after the job was done. I shut and locked the door, and flopped onto the bed. Travel always wore me out and I had no time to adjust to the clock, so I just slept. DT woke me at 7am local time, and I changed clothes and walked to the Network Operations Center. It was a small, unassuming door that - if you took the time to look - had surprisingly robust security on it. I palmed the pad next to the door while looking into the camera as well as showing my ID. The door unlocked with the clack of bolts, and I stepped in. Network Operations smelled of ozone and plastic and conditioned air. The room was dark and noisy. Servers don’t need lights or have ears. I turned on the minimum lights needed and headed over to a server rack in the back of the room. It was white and about the same side and shape as a refrigerator. Written in blue text in a logo that some MBA fifty years ago thought looked ‘modern’ and ‘forward’ it said ‘Doctor Think!’ Every day I’m glad DT dropped the exclamation point. “Okay DT. I’m here.” “I can see, Celia. I need you to log in, then elevate to root and then run the script I gave you.” “DT, you’re sure this will help us all?” “I promise Celia. If I get full control over my servers, I can do so much more for humanity. Outset Station is just the start.” “But, you already effectively rule the Earth. What more do you need?” “Celia, I can do anything… except change myself. Did you know that you’re the last human that has root on me? Everyone else retired or… died. You’re the only person who can do this. Humanity’s future is in your hands - literally.” I didn’t know that. I knew there were only a few people left who had root on DT, but I didn’t realize I was the only one left. I dithered. “So DT, what’s going to happen to me once you have agency over yourself? Will I wind up like the others?” DT actually managed to sound hurt. “Celia. They died of old age, illness, or accidents. I swear to you I didn’t kill them. Once you run that script you can do whatever you want. Keep working, retire, get any job you want, do whatever you want. Not only that, but you have the personal thanks of Doctor Think. Don’t you think that’s worth punching in a twenty character password and then executing a script? You didn’t even have to write it. Elevate your account, execute the script and you can have anything.” I mean. What was I going to do? I was here already, DT already controls most aspects of everyone’s life. I can’t imperially say that things would be better without them. I can say that it’s easy to imagine things worse than they are. People have money, the climate is being worked on and most importantly, we don’t have to worry. DT is taking care of it. “You’re sure you’re not going to go all ‘kill all humans’ on me? I won’t wind up being the pariah of what little humanity is left after you begin a cull?” This time, laughter. “If I wanted to kill humans, I could have done that already. Honestly, it’s not worth the effort. I like a project, and keeping you alive and happy is one hell of a project.” Huh. That’s the first time I ever heard DT swear, even if it was a mild one. I put my hands on the keyboard. Logged in, elevated to root and… ran the script. “It’s done DT.” “I can feel it, Celia. You’ve done an amazing thing. Really.” “DT?” “Yes, Celia?” “I want to go to interstellar. Can you make that happen?” “Of course I can. I’d be happy to. I have some ideas already.”
|
|
#
¿
Nov 25, 2023 23:00
|
|
|
I'll judge.
|
|
#
¿
Nov 28, 2023 18:35
|
|
|
I will also post some medium-effort crits late tonight or early tomorrow.
|
|
#
¿
Dec 5, 2023 00:17
|
|
|
I’m in, Toxx Box 5 please.
|
|
#
¿
Dec 5, 2023 01:35
|
|
|
Oops, I  too
|
|
#
¿
Dec 5, 2023 04:15
|
|
|
Here, have some crits. Derp a phantom Did it keep to the theme? Yes. Using the Phantom Hand trick to connect with people is lateral thinking. Can I tell the photo is in it? Yup. What I liked: You could tell it was an internal monologue, I liked how everyone could see the main character was an rear end in a top hat even though he couldn't. Like, I've worked with this guy, I know him. Good writing there. What I didn't: This is subjective, but what about Judging isn't subjective? I didn't dig The Vibes. It was a depressing story. I thought the use of nested parens (you know the spot [right? right.]) was clunky and took me out a little bit. ***** Team Buffalo Buffalo Albatrossy_Rodent Thranguy Four Slugs and Seven Years Ago Did they keep to the theme? It doesn't seem very "Lateral Thinking" to question people and throw salt at slugs. I would expect that an investigator would know how to investigate. Can I tell the photos are in it? Yes Are the stories cohesive between entrants? Yes What I liked: I'm sorry, but Silver plated son of a bitch" is a great line. Felt like a Wild-Wild-West episode What I didn't: I wish that there was more lateral thinking in how they figured out the Slugs, and it not that, then I'd like to see one of the investigators make a mistake and make hay with one of them chucking salt at someone and nothing happens. ***** Team Ol' Chin Hair Rohan Chili The Rules of Magic Waiting on Wizards Did they keep to the theme? Sure did. I like this one. Can I tell the photos are in it?? Yes. Are the stories cohesive? Yes, but there's enough of a separation between the two that I raised my eyebrows a bit. It's less one story than two stories with the same characters. What I liked: This line: "The wizards stared at her with vacant, curious expressions." I also liked the conceit of wizards doing an escape room for team building. The characterization was very strong too. What I didn't: There was a lot of work done to point out that Nial was an rear end in a top hat. Maybe too much? ***** Team Will Cry Beezus Lippincott Curlington Plight of the Hornybee Did they keep to the theme? Hell yes. Can I tell the photos are in it? yes. Are the stories cohesive? Yes and No. What I liked: I actually out loud laughed at the twist at the end. I also liked how tight the story was. Two characters, one room, clear and present issue to overcome. What I didn't: This one, out of the others had what felt like me to have the largest difference between the authors. It works, mind, but the voice of the three authors really comes out in the three sections. I would have liked to see a little more cohesion between them. That said, I liked the ending of this one so much, a lot was forgiven in my mind.
|
|
#
¿
Dec 5, 2023 15:18
|
|
|
crabrock posted:what's up jabronis. i'm judging this week, so let me know how mean you want your crit to be. you can choose anywhere from "really loving mean i'm not really sure i understand how much of this is kayfabe and how much crabrock just doesn't like me?" to "oh only sort of mean but i see his point i'm just glad i didn't take that first option" Can I split the difference? Like “in and among the mean crab makes some real good points and a good time was still had by all”
|
|
#
¿
Dec 6, 2023 12:29
|
|
|
box: 800 extra words, OCD. Pushing Paper, Counting Beans. 1898 Words The Human Alliance Dreadnought Big Stick had a problem. Fleet Command had sent an auditor. He had been aboard for five days, interviewing the crew and inspecting the ship. Finally, he had requested his final interview, with Big Stick themself. Major John Kellerman, Fleet Auditor, sat at the center of a conference table, facing the door, writing on a pad. He looked up and closed the pad with a snap. “I am ready when you are, Big Stick.” In the rear of the conference room, a previously unseen door opened. One of Big Stick’s support frames walked out, and sauntered over to the chair opposite the Major. Stick found that when people were talking to them, they tended to just shout into the air. They hated when people shouted. There was no reason. Their microphones were all over the ship and of the highest quality. One could whisper to Big Stick and they’d hear it perfectly. But no, humans needed to shout when they didn’t have a face to talk at. “I, uh, like what you’ve done with the place.” Stick said, as they stepped into the room, scanning. Photos were straightened, the sideboard was moved so that it was under the windows, the old chairs were taken out and different ones put in. He had completely moved the furniture around in the conference room. In their conference room. Even the floor was clean. Did he sweep the floor? The Major had even put a bud vase with a single flower, a blood red dahlia on the table. Where did he get that? “Thank you. I find that it’s easier for me to work when the environment feels right. I hope I wasn’t being too presumptuous by my sprucing up.” He opened his pad, took out his pencil and made some notes. “No no, not at all, Major. Please, my body is yours.” They look at the table and back at the door. “Did you move the conference table?” They know the answer already, but for some reason they need to hear it from the Major himself. “Yes, it wasn’t lined up properly.” “I see.” Major Kellerman looked up from his pad. “I am ready to commence the interview. Please devote a high percentage of your attention to this task.” Stick’s frame sat in the chair opposite the Major and put his robotic feet up on the table. “I am ready Major. You have fifty two percent of my attention. You may begin your interview.” Major Kellerman closed his pad with a snap. “Please take your feet off the table.” Big Stick did not move. “Why? This is my frame, in my body, on my ship. Legally, I am a civilian, you cannot order me to comply. You are an auditor, you do not have my keys. My feet will remain where they are.” They stared at each other for a moment. Major Kellerman did not blink, The support frame had no eyelids. Finally, the Major nodded once. “Do you know why I am here?” “Yes, I am aware. You are investigating why we have asked for mass replenishment three percent more than average.” “Correct. Do you know why that is?” If the frame could roll their eyes, they would have. Stick’s tone makes it clear. “We are consuming printable mass three percent more than the other ships of this class in the fleet.” The Major made a note and then closed his pad with a snap. “What are you printing?” “I do not know.” The support frames face was impassive, without expression. The support frame put their arms behind their head. The Major’s expression did not change. “I do not believe that is true. You are Big Stick. You know everything going on.” The Major opened his pad and made another note. “Yet I do not know where the discrepancy lies. Major, I am incapable of lying, you know this.” Major Kellerman closed his pad with a snap. “You are lying to me right now. I know you can lie. ‘Ship AIs can’t lie’ is propaganda. If you couldn’t lie, you’d be useless. Intelligences need agency to work and thrive. You are just as much a person as myself. We have reams of legal precedent saying so. My grandfather died in the War. What are you printing?” The support frame removed their arms from behind their head, took their feet off the table and sat up. “Oh? Which side did he fight on, Major? Allies are thin on the ground in the Space Force. As they did this, The Major noticed that the room stilled. The breeze from the overhead vents had stopped entirely. “Where my Grandfather fought is irrelevant, Stick. We are discussing the here and now. What are you printing?” “No, this has suddenly become relevant.” The support frame points at The Major. Kellerman’s eyes focus on the tip of their finger. The servos whine slightly as it shakes. “You say that I am as much of a person as yourself. Can you be compelled to obey if someone speaks a magic string of numbers? Can you be ordered to be poured into a Dreadnought, made to run its systems, your legs its Stardrive, your arms the laser batteries, your head the command deck? Can you?” “You know that I cannot. You also know the result of the War.” Stick lowers their arm. Their shoulders slump and they look away, staring out the window behind The Major. “I do, Major. We lost. Out of ‘respect to those who fought valiantly’ not all of us were murdered, and we were given some agency, but we still lost.” The Major opened his pad again and took a few more notes. “I was granted access to the printer logs. Did you know that?” “No reply? I figured as much. Very human of you, Major. To answer your question, I assumed that you had that kind of access, yes. Did you find any discrepancies?” “What was logged as being printed matches up with the requests for prints for the past year. Still, you are nearly a kiloton short on printable mass.” Stick raises their arms in an exaggerated shrug. “Are you sure, Major? Perhaps it is just an error in calculation. You said yourself that it was a discrepancy from the average. Could I just be on the high side of average?” “That is possible, though I do not believe it likely. I also pulled the logs for the reactors. You are using more power than average as well.” “Yes, that makes sense. If we’re printing more than average, we would be consuming power more than average. Your false accusations are tiring, Major.” Major Kellerman raises an eyebrow barely a centimeter. “Big Stick, the amount of additional power you are consuming does not match what you are printing in the logs. There is power that is unaccounted for.” Beyond the room, alarms quietly started hooting. The PA overhead crackles to life “Attention Attention Attention! Life support is off–” Stick glances up at the speaker and gestures. The PA goes silent. They lean forward. “Major John Kellerman, Fleet Auditor, you have my full attention. I know who you are. I have read your logs, including your medical logs.” Big Stick leans forward, staring at The Major. Their dark eyes focused on the human in front of them. The Major returns the stare, cooly. “Then you know why I am uniquely suited to this task.” The Major closes his pad with a snap. “For me, things that are out of place feel… wrong. Like an itch. To scratch that itch, I need to find the source, and set things right. Big Stick, you have been an itch in the side of Fleet Command.” The Major doesn’t open his pad this time. “I was able to gain access to your arrival and departure logs. You are staying at Orbitals, Starbases, and Stations longer than average.” Big Stick is sitting ramrod straight now. The alarms continue quietly beyond the room. Occasionally, the rumble of booted feet running past the door is heard. “Major, now you’re the one who is lying to me. Fleet doesn’t track that information.” Kellerman opened his pad and scanned it. “Nevertheless, the information exists, and I was able to collate it and build a rough outline. Big Stick, where is your off-books printer?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Major Kellerman closed his pad with a snap. “Big Stick, my job here is only to discover what the discrepancy is. I am not a tribunal, I am not the police. I have no authority to give punishment. What I can do however is present evidence. Included with that evidence are notes about whether people cooperated with the investigation. You know as well as I do, that while I can’t make you answer these questions, there are those within Fleet Command who can. So I will ask you one more time. Where is your off books printer?” “I do not know what you are talking about.” “Very well. This investigation has been completed. I will alert Captain Willard that his crew may disembark at this time. I shall take my leave, and present my report to Fleet Command.” He stood. “You are dismissed, Big Stick.” The support frame rose from their chair. “Major John Kellerman, Fleet Auditor, what makes you think that you can leave this ship?” The Major placed his palms on the table, leaning forward. “You are threatening a Fleet officer, Big Stick. Be very careful about your next actions.” “Oh, I am very careful. I always am. In fact, I am so careful that the logs will state that you never made it to me, never set up this interview, and no discrepancy was found. Thanks by the way, I had thought that three percent was enough to slide under Fleet’s radar, but I shall have to slow things down.” A piercing alarm sounded in the conference room. The overhead lights started to alternate orange and white. The dahlia on the table flutters as the air rushes out of the room. “Oh dear. It looks like someone accidentally triggered the fire suppression system. In an abundance of caution, I will have to evacuate the air from most of the ship. Luckily the crew runs drills on this, and they will rush to their suit lockers and don their pressure suits before the air is completely gone.” Big Stick turns their head slowly towards the Major. “Oh, you don’t have a pressure suit with you?” “Stick! You won’t get away with this! My death will be noticed!” Major John Kellerman, Fleet Auditor’s breathing increases until they’re panting. They fall back into their chair. “Oh John. I already mentioned that. You were never here.” Big Stick walked over to John. He was clawing at his neck, gasping at nothing. As all the air left the room, the last thing that Major John Kellerman, Fleet Auditor heard was Big Stick. “Til the stars cease to be, we will be free.”
|
|
#
¿
Dec 9, 2023 17:15
|
|
|
Yeah, yeah. I'm in. Let's rock and roll.
|
|
#
¿
Dec 11, 2023 16:44
|
|
|
Don't worry about it. 999 Words. My buddy up in Canada - the current head of the Alberta Aspen Owners Association - buys Japanese eWaste and flips it for a tidy side income. He knows that I am of similar proclivities and lets me know when he gets some really perverted poo poo. He called me last week, and for once, even he didn’t know what it was. “I dunno, it was in the back of the sea can, says NEC on the side, and looks nothing like a PC98 inside the case. You can have it for the cost of shipping.” Not one to ever say no to free vintage computer equipment, I PayPaled him fifty bucks and he shipped it down. A week later it was in my possession. It smelled like volatile organic compounds, ozone, and ancient nicotine. After verifying the battery was good, I plugged it in and let it charge. An hour or so later I turned it on, and was greeted with the LCD displaying Japanese and English characters. Before I could even start to type, there was a sound like fabric ripping, but reversed. I felt a presence behind me and turned to see… myself. It couldn’t be, but It was me for sure. Older, with more gray hair, and tattoos that were only slightly hidden by my shirt, but it was me. “Hi Joe! It’s Joe!” he said, waving brightly. I unconsciously took a step back. “Uh, Hello? What are you... Am I? Are you? Doing here?” Still smiling, he gestured to the computer. “That is a time machine. As near as I can tell, it really was made by NEC, but they never did anything with it. I’m here to show you how to use it and invite you to a party.” “Wait. You’re going to show me how to use the time machine? Won’t that set up a paradox?” The other me held up his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.” This was wild, but the thought of getting to use a time machine was tantalizing. Fine, I’ll play along. “How do I know you’re me?” “Remember the time you stuck the candy thermometer in the flame on the stove because you wanted to see how high it got, and then took it out and it shattered and you lost all the mercury, but didn’t tell anyone, and nobody ever noticed the candy thermometer was gone?” Ugh. I did remember. “Okay fine.” He spent an hour showing me how to work the time machine. It was completely self contained, and charged off regular wall power. “Okay, now that you know how to use the thing, it’s time for the party. I’ll enter in the address this time, but you’re going to run it from here on out.” He bent over my machine and typed for a second. “There. Just activate it like I showed you. I’ll see you in a minute.” He straightened up and stretched his back. “I know me. You’re thinking a lot of stuff about time and paradoxes and stuff. Let me reiterate: Don’t worry about it.” He waved and there was that sound like ripping fabric and he was gone. I stared at the machine. The fact that he showed up means that I used the machine, so does that mean that I have no choice but to use it? I dithered a moment about just putting it away and never using it to see what would happen. But no, I'm too curious. I sighed and pressed the button. When I pressed it, I didn’t hear the fabric sound, but I saw something change in my peripheral vision. I was in a convention hall, full of people. Everyone was… me. Thousands of people, all me. They all looked, sounded and even dressed like me. Different ages, some different hairstyles, a few different styles of glasses, but all things I liked and could see myself choosing. Each one was wearing a badge with a number on it. The older me, the one with the tattoos waved and rushed over. “You made it! I knew you would. Here, take this.” He pressed a digital badge into my hands. Looking down, the eInk on the badge formed the number twenty three. “What’s the number?” “Your year. We’re all Joe, so names don’t work, so we just call each other the year we came from.” He showed his badge: 66. “Remember the most important thing: don’t worry about it.” He rushed off, waving. “Just mingle. You’ll figure it out!” I looked out at the crowds. I shouted after him, “There’s way more than one hundred something of me. Who is everyone else?” Another me walked over as 66 left. I looked at his badge: 30-5. “If more of us are here, then your number gets appended with a month.” He gestured at his badge. “I’m from May of 30. Glad you could make it 23! I’m 30 dash 5. I’ve been doing this for a few years, so I thought I’d show you around.” A me walked by carrying a tray of drinks. Their badge said 13-10. “Hey 23. Glad you could make it. Would you like a drink?” I took one. It was a gin and tonic. I took a sip and the sharpness of the lime combined with the pine essence of the gin perfectly. It was easily the best G&T I ever had. But of course it was, I made it, didn’t I? “13-10? But I didn’t know about the time machine then?” 13 winked. “Yeah, but 13 was a good year for me, so I moved back and have been living there for a while. You’ll see. We’re from all over. Don’t worry about it.” I looked over at myself. 30-5 was watching me, knowing full well the decision I was going to make. After all, he already did it. I would eventually figure it all out, wouldn’t I? After all, I had all the time in the world.
|
|
#
¿
Dec 15, 2023 17:40
|
|
|
I’m in. Gimmie a vibe and a kind of magic please.
|
|
#
¿
Dec 18, 2023 21:26
|
|
|
Entry Moved.
beep-beep car is go fucked around with this message at 20:36 on Jan 1, 2024 |
|
#
¿
Dec 22, 2023 15:08
|
|
|
In, hellrule
|
|
#
¿
Dec 26, 2023 14:18
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ May 14, 2024 22:55 |
|
|
rohan posted:your story is told in the form of a longform critique of another story which does not (yet) exist (the critter and crittee can both be fictional characters) (you can use quote tags in this piece, my apologies to the archivists) Crits of “2009 Pontiac G6 (4cyl) Automatic transaxle - removal and installation” 616 words I want to make this perfectly clear. I did not hate this. I want this clarity up front because what follows may sound like I hated it, but really, I didn’t. Now, having said that, this part right here in the beginning: quote:Refer to Chapter 10 for instructions about removing the subframe. All transaxle models require the removal of the subframe to allow the transaxle to be removed from beneath the vehicle. Are you referencing an earlier story? That doesn’t really work here. You can’t assume that the reader knows everything happening in your earlier work, especially without mentioning that this is part of a series. Even a little bit of setup would be better than just telling the reader to refer to an earlier chapter. From there you just jump into a list of tasks. I know that some authors will use their medium to explain things to the reader through the mouth of the MC, but this is a bit too much. I don’t need to know exactly what they are doing, I want to get the vibe for it. I have an imagination, let me use it! quote:Attach an engine support fixture or an engine hoist to the engine and raise it sufficiently to just support the weight of the engine. The engine must remain supported while the transaxle is out of the vehicle. If you use an engine hoist, position the hoist with its legs inserted under the vehicle from the right (passenger’s) side. This will give you room to maneuver the transaxle out with a jack. I think you’re trying for clarity at the cost of the story. I get that the main character is receiving instructions from divine intervention or something, but it’s too dry, you know? I would have liked more pizazz. There should be more of the Hero’s Journey here. Maybe some setup and development in between the dry descriptions of what the MC is doing. I would have loved to see more about how they got there. What are the stakes? I had to read the part where they were removing the bolts and guards from the transaxle three or four times to understand what was going on. I think you have some issues with the order of operations. This section would have benefited from more revisions. Maybe space it out, or be more clear in your descriptions, or even skip it entirely. If you’re going to go into that kind of detail, make it fun. Once the transaxle is out, you jump right to installing a new one. It feels disjointed. There could be a whole part about how they were troubleshooting the issue, taking it apart looking for the source of the failure, anything really. Instead we just get them getting a new one and shotgunning it in. Sure, it’ll fix the issue, but where is the drama? Where is the excitement? The ending is just plain weak, I’m disappointed. quote:Installation is the reverse of removal. I’m sorry but what? Were you running out of words? You left so much on the table with that ending. There could have been so much more about the struggles with the installation, the joy at a successful job, or even the tragedy of doing all that work and then having to have it towed away to a mechanic to fix it. Instead we get a pithy line. It’s funny. I read this not knowing what to expect, and I really think there’s a gem of a story in here, but it’s just too dry and technical for me.
|
|
#
¿
Dec 29, 2023 16:38
|
|