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In with Lacrimae Rerum, the Tears of things https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=26JK_Xw_laQ&t=53s
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Jan 3, 2024 03:05
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Confessio inlacrimabilis: A Tearless Confession 1475 words Words Used: Lacrimae Rerum: Everyone is encountering a sense of "fullness" an intensity of emotion that is both sadness, grief and taking it all in. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=26JK_Xw_laQ&t=53s Personal dumb challenge cause I'm a dummy: Also use the words Anemoia: Nostalgia for a time you've never known, Opia: The Ambigious intensity of Eye Contact and Sonder: Everyone has a story I had been vomited on, tackled by a sovereign citizen, and had seen two dead bodies, but the day was finally done; though my labours were not yet over. I got into the police cruiser and sat at the driver’s seat, when Hozer, my partner, sprayed me with a can of Axe body spray. “Dunno if I have enough of this stuff.” He grinned and continued to spray. “As I recall, you pushed me away from the vomiting child and got the worst of it.” “Ah, but I am blessed with a natural, pungent musk.” I couldn’t help but laugh at my partner’s reply, even as I knew this was our last beat together. My laugh died to a nervous chuckle as I realised, Hozer didn’t know it was our last beat. “I’ll drop you off first.” I turned on the engine and pulled out onto the road. The clear night sky let the moonlight flow down, causing the buildings to cast long shadows across the road that scurried away from the cruiser’s headlights. “Martha still up, waiting for ya?” I asked. “She always stays up. Always worrying. We should have brought the wives when we went on that fishing trip.” Hozer mimed reeling in a fish and spread his arms wide to impress upon me the size of the fish he had caught. I scoffed. “We both know the trout I caught was bigger.” We were tossing bullshit at each other, but we continued to talk about a fishing trip that had never happened. It had been cancelled thanks to a riot, and the other time we had everything booked, Hozer’s wife, Martha, got pregnant. We almost believed we could go last month, but an internal affairs investigation stopped us from going. But we continued to tell tall tales, imagining that instead of holding a gun, we held a fishing rod, and drank beers in the hot sun. Hunting food and gathering wood, instead of chasing down drug dealers, and confronting wife beaters. Yet even in the remote wilderness, dark clouds could gather. My breath hitched as my conscience reminded me what I had to do. “Huh, thought stories of our fishing trip would cheer you up,” Hozer said. Our eyes met. His piercing blue eyes observed me, as I assumed an air of careful neutrality. I flicked my eyes back to the road. “Ya think I’m upset?” I asked. “I think you got a lousy poker face.” “I’m fine.” I said, and let out a deep, even breath. Only a few blocks left before we arrived at the end of the road. “That’s what my wife says when everything is definitely not fine.” We flicked glances at each other, deliberately trying not to stare. Hozer’s face was tense with concern. The cop in me noticed his hands rested against the window, away from his service revolver. “Hell, with that look on your face, you look like you are about to admit you are cheating on your wife,” Hozer said. Naturally the topic would drive to taboos, lies and the evils men do. When I didn’t reply he shrugged, as if to say he had tried. We had arrived at a house at the end of a lane. A small, dare I say, cute house with a garden in the front and a long stone path leading to the front door. The cruiser came to a rolling, creaking stop. The hustle from the city dropped to a rare moment of silence, maybe because it was late in the night or maybe to let me speak the truth unhindered. “Internal affairs talked to me. They have photos. Of you.” My voice pounded against the silence like an executioner’s knock. I stared at Hozer, into his eyes. At first, they were blank and unmoving, like an ocean, frozen by dread. Then, his pupils grew larger, as if diving into the depths before the storm. Finally, they hardened, like brittle blue diamonds. What emotion I didn’t see in his eyes was guilt or sorrow. I should have been watching his hands, or the service revolver sitting on his belt. Desperate men do desperate things but I was too busy telling myself it wasn’t Hozer’s fault. He was just another crooked cop on the take, only difference between him and half of the force was that IA had caught him red-handed. “By the look on your face, they got me dead to rights.” I avoided my reflection, like a child afraid of the dark. I nodded. “What now?” Hozer asked. “You got a choice,” I said. “It’ll look better if you confess, might even get away with a slap on the wrist.” Hozer’s eyes narrowed to slits. We both knew the evils that had been done, and the wrath of the righteous. Outside of the cruiser, a woman’s voice hollered. The front door to Hozer’s house was open, and Martha, his wife, was waiting. “You got a choice,” I repeated. “Go to your family, say your goodbyes, say your excuses.” Then come out and I’ll drive you to the precinct and you can confess.” I reached over, and opened the door. Martha waved and motioned for me to come inside but I shook my head. I continued to speak, “Or you wait until Internal Affairs shows up, breaks down your door and traumatizes your family as they arrest you. You know how a rat is treated.” I opened my hand, and motioned to Hozer. “Give me your gun. You got 15 minutes.” Hozer looked at me, I stared back. Carefully, he placed his gun in my hands. He opened his mouth, perhaps to explain his betrayal. I stopped him. “I don’t need your excuses or your reasons. Your family does.” With that my partner walked towards the house. I observed as Hozer walked towards his wife, who’s smile trembled to a frown. A shriek of delight broke the silence of the city as their daughter, who was oblivious to the tension, ran up and leaped into Hozer’s arms. He lifted her into a bear hug and clung on tight. Then they all entered the house as one happy family and closed the door. I realized that whatever happiness was written in their future had just burned away. That a loving wife would be without her husband. That their daughter, who looked up to her father, imagining him to be a superhero, would find out he was human, capable of sin. Everyone had a story, and right now it was a story of rife, sadness and consequence. Hozer had written this moment of suffering, thanks to his actions. This moment, like an earthquake, that would shatter and destabilize the very foundation of a family. And I had helped. Minutes passed as I looked at the house. Blue and red lights shone beside me and brought me back to the present. IA had arrived early. One of their officers got out of the car, looked at the house, then back to me. I had pulled every favour owed, and even played dirty politics, to give Hozer his fifteen minutes of shame. Or, well if Hozer was here he would say he only needed three minutes to—. I looked at the empty seat, and remembered where I was. “Lemme get him,” I said to the officer. More blue and red lights could be seen across the dark road as more cruisers arrived. I walked towards the house, and realised that this moment of suffering, so earth shattering, was also infinitesimally small. Even as my legs grew numb as I walked towards the door, I realised that this moment of suffering had and will occur time and time again. Other men had, and would, falter in their principals and faith. Other families would hit upon other tragedies that would bend or break them. The circumstances might be different, the roles reversed, but the emotions would remain the same. And just like those other men and other families, I too would be in their place. For a moment, I wasn’t just Hozer’s partner. I was every father or mother, making the hard decisions to support their family. I was every young teen, encountering their first heartbreak. I was every cop, enforcing the law, instead of justice. I was not crying when I stood in front of the door. Not because I wasn’t sad, but because I was too busy taking it all in. I heard a small cry from behind the door. And the sound of something dropping, and hushed voices. I could imagine Hozer comforting his daughter, before coming to the door. I could also imagine Hozer, running out the back door, his wife distracting me as he escaped. Before I could knock on the door, it opened. And I saw…
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Jan 7, 2024 20:15
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My critiques are fueled by your approval, so send me a thanks in discord or in the Thunderlounge thread. I got mostly everyone, but ran out of time. Also if you want to discuss your critique post in those other threads. https://docs.google.com/document/d/19odqI7XO_jQ2v-Bub9H-qCmtldiFeSEoC3SPaxZxIck/edit?usp=sharing
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Jan 9, 2024 18:19
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I too shall Judge if that is okay
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Jan 9, 2024 19:34
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My critiques are fueled by your approval, so send me a thanks in discord or in the Thunderlounge thread. if you want to discuss your critique post in those other threads. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1LIoWX7OUK6hKUgRgeXJSJhDSvP5pcN4ATqOznl906Ok/edit?usp=sharing
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Jan 16, 2024 01:03
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I'm in
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Jan 18, 2024 03:31
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Falling Richards 433 words Richard never wanted to die on the toilet, and thus contemplated the universe’s sense of irony while also looked for a way to stop his current complicated relationship with gravity. He was curious about how one moment he sat on his toilet, and then the next moment was plummeting sixty feet above a small town. The town below grew larger and larger as the wind howled and bit at his skin. With no parachute in sight he did the only thing he could – resolve to become a small paste on the ground. The wind’s howl softened to a slight hiss, and Richard’s fall turned into a graceful dance. He swayed side to side like a feather, slowing as he fell. Then he landed face first onto the road with his only injury being his bruised ego. “Oh, that’s new,” a voice said. “I guess it is about to rain.” He looked up to see an old woman leering over him. “We should get you off the street.” The woman said and poked him with her cane. As Richard stood up, the old woman asked . “Are you a politician?” Richard offered his hand as they crossed the road. “No, I’m a plumber.” “Vote Republican then?” Richard shook his head, and she looked at him, confused. Around them, people ran to shelter as rain lightly fell from the sky, fear marring their faces. “Why is everyone running?” He asked. “Oh, because it’s about to rain,” the old woman said as they walked towards a small home. She unlocked the door and ushered him inside. “Let’s keep this our little secret,” she said with a mischievous wink. Richard stood, watching out the window as the rain fell. A loud pang against the roof caught his attention, too loud for it to be simple rain. He heard more pangs, like deflated bouncy balls hitting hard asphalt. The rain fell harder now. Richard stood, slack jawed at the sight.The old woman came by, and smiled as she looked out the window. “Wonderful, isn’t it?” Richard didn’t respond. He watched several semi-erect dicks tumble from the sky, slowing just as he did before they hit the ground. Ball sacks flapping defiantly, they landed with a loud SCHLONG against the pavement, against the roof, and yes, some even speared on steel fences. Richard squeezed his legs together in sympathy. Those not impaled by fate’s cruelty bounced, once, some twice, and then laid to rest upon the dirty ground. As a torrent of dicks slapped against the window, the old woman snapped her fingers. “Ah, your name must be Richard!” Town secret It rains dicks!
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Jan 20, 2024 20:18
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Becoming Ahab 1039 words Town Secret: the town’s water supply has been contaminated, causing husbands to act like classical literary characte – no it’s raining dicks again James' heart skipped a beat as he confirmed the readings, and he looked toward his wife, Martha, who was content reading a copy of Moby Dick. “It’s coming,” he said. “We need to go.” His wife, Martha, looked up from her book and said, “It came last week, and nothing happened.” “Nothing has happened, yet!” James said. “There might be human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together–“ “And mass hysteria,” his wife finished for him. “Honey, you’re overreacting.” James looked at her, confused. Last week she had been supportive, even helping him set up the hydrometer. “We live in a desert, and the humidity has risen by 300%. I’m searching for a reason, the truth to all of this.” Martha closed her book with a deliberate thump. “Do you know what day it is?” James paused, his hands involuntarily moving as he did the mental math. They had set up the hydrometer last week, on Thursday. It couldn’t be Wednesday because Wednesday was important and he wouldn't forget. That meant it must be… “Monday.” James confidently said. “Wrong. You’ve been dragging me out here every day for the past week an–” James interrupted her. “The day doesn’t matter. Finding out what's wrong does!” He looked warily at his wife, whose eyebrows were raised like hackles on a wolf. “We aren’t safe,” he insisted. Martha rolled her eyes but motioned to the car. “Let’s go home and talk.” When he was a young man, it would have taken him a few minutes to pack up. Now, with old pains and stiff joints, it took them half an hour to pack the science equipment into the car, all the while they could feel the humidity on their skin. James paused, looking at the lush greenery, at odds with the desert plains of Utah. He had tried to make inconspicuous inquiries with the weather channel, but had been ignored. A small town like Woodruff didn’t warrant a meteorologist's attention. “Ahoy Captain, the graceful Pequod is ready,” Martha said, and opened the passenger door. James got in and wondered why the sudden change in her demeanour. Last week she had even helped take readings, but now… Maybe she was effected? He had tested the water, and verified it wasn’t contaminated. A higher PH level, but nothing insidious. Unless… “Is everything okay darling?” He asked. “No. You have forgotten some important things.” “Martha, this is the most important thing in my life right now. Do you know what would happen if this got out? Salt Lake City would go into chaos!” “Oh well, thank goodness you got a village of fifty people to stay quiet.” James nodded, happy that Martha understood. Then she glared at him. “Listen, this is happening here for a reason. The town is lucky I am here.” “James, you are a retired water quality technician. This might be out of your league.” “Don’t you see? This is my big break. If I can figure out why this is happening…” “Then what? What can you do? Yell at god to make the seasons stop!” James sat in his seat, stunned. If it meant the safety of his family, he would yell at god. “It’s not natural.” He managed to say. “I just want to make sure you’re safe!” The rest of the trip was silent, Martha fuming, and James ruffling through paper and test results, trying to find a reason why. * * * They arrived at home, only a five minute drive (considered long by Woodruff standards). James had come to a decision. He would go out during the phenomena and try to collect samples. He could create an air-tight suit out of garbage bags. James was just about to open the cupboard when his wife whirled on him. “James Marcell Akawa, do you know what day it is!” James already knew the answer. It was clearly Monday except… Wait… He said that before and Martha had told him he was wrong. James turned towards the calendar on the wall. His face paled. Oh. It was Wednesday. “Congratulations, Ahab. You have been paying so much attention to this stupid storm, that you forgot our anniversary.” James tried to stammer out an apology, maybe he could make dinner? He looked around their house, filled to the brim with boxes of test results and scattered books. The kitchen counter had his colorimeter setup, and he was pretty sure the fridge was full of samples from the lake. “I can fix this,” James said. “I can!” Martha looked out the window, towards the gathering storm clouds. “Do you mean the storm, or us?” James paused. “I didn’t know we were broken.” Not knowing what to do, he moved boxes out from the kitchen, placing them in the living room. Martha looked on, then motioned towards the door. “Are you going to go outside, or are you going to stay here with me?” “I was just scared for your safety. It might end us,” James said. “Honey, at our age, it can end at any time.” “What can I do to make it up to you?” “We can talk about it, later.” Martha looked out the window towards the desert plains that were getting pounded by rain. A few more minutes and the storm would cover the town. Her arm dropped to her sides, and one hand reached out for her husband. “Without turning towards him, she said, “It might not make sense, but let’s face it.. Together.” James held his wife. He felt the steady rhythm of her heart quicken, as rain fell onto their town, and he could feel his own beat quicken as well. He couldn’t comprehend the phenomenon. His arms felt itchy as that sense of fear scuttered into his feet, his arms. It scuttled, clawing at his insides, until it reached his mouth and… And died as his wife settled and pushed her back into him, needing that sense of human connection one does when facing fear. He squeezed her hand, and together, they looked out on to this small town as the storm descended. They held each other as the sky turned dark, the earth rumbled, and thousands of dicks fell from the sky.
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Jan 21, 2024 19:47
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I can judge!
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Jan 28, 2024 23:53
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beep-beep car is go posted:The shadows cast by the moons were sharp against the wall. Hanna stepped slowlythrough the sand, her feet slowly sinking as she crept. Bold emphasis mine. beep-beep car is go posted:Behind her, the two Velmar followed about ten steps behind. She was much quieter than they were so they let her take the lead. Bold emphasis mine. Fix the start, you repeat word choices, and repeat information. I'd suggest combining both sentences into one. beep-beep car is go posted:She peered around the corner and held up her hand. The Velmar froze, their wing covers twitching. She watched as the guard stretched mightily, his unfamiliar Unfamiliar to who? musculature rippling under his uniform. Mouthparts spreading wide, he blinked slowly, turned and continued on patrol. After a few heartbeats, Hanna lowered her hand and continued on. This raises tension. It would help if we had stakes. Suggest pairing down two a few sentences. We are flash, we don't have alot of word count. beep-beep car is go posted:Casting her gaze to the sand, Hanna found a small, round stone. It was perfect. She scooped it up and in one fluid motion tossed it over her head. Sailing over the guard, it clattered against the compound wall opposite them. The guard’s head automatically swiveled to find the noise; by then it was far too late. Hanna had taken off across the sand, her legs pumping in the low gravity. She crouched and sprang forward, crashing into the back of the guard. Tumbling to the ground, she slammed his head against the stones until she felt the sickening crack of bone. beep-beep car is go posted:She snapped her fingers once, and the two Velmar trotted over as she picked up his rifle and identificaion card. Grinning, she pressed the card against the door he was guarding and it slid open without fanfare. Overall: Display of writers skill, but lacking emotional impact. A fun read. Suggest reading magazine to see if this matches their style. Worried this is a bit, well, traditional for magazine.
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Jan 31, 2024 21:50
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My Critiques are fueled by your approval, so send me a ty in the discord. If you want to discuss your crits feel free to hit me up there. Thunder Dome 599 Crits: https://docs.google.com/document/d/19WTuXNUW-2tR_-MKqjCFjARjkxbjvoCMWRanUU8sHI8/edit?usp=sharing
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Jan 31, 2024 22:26
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In with Muse: Knights of Cydonia https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G_sBOsh-vyI
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Apr 24, 2024 17:03
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Chasing After Endless Windmills Prompt: Muse - Knights Of Cydonia https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G_sBOsh-vyI Word Count: 1812 Even though this was Daniel’s first time seeing me, a small spark of recognition flickered in his eyes as I gripped his hand. In every time and in every place, love had brought me to him. The only thing preventing our happy ending was our imminent demise. We were dangling at the edge of a bridge. Below us, I heard the thunderous crash as the train fell into the ocean. I fought against gravity, desperate to pull Daniel up to safety. I looked down, and he tried to nod politely, while also clutching my hand with all of his strength. The drat boy would always put manners ahead of survival. Daniel found leverage against one of the rickety wooden support beams, and I heaved us up to the top of the bridge. I laughed in triumph as we both lay exhausted. Daniel looked at me, a stranger he had just met, with trust in his eyes. “Madam, you shine more than new horseshoes! The way you punched and-,” Daniel’s own enthusiasm cut him off as he did his best to mime my fighting prowess. I didn’t know what to say to the man who had saved me in my younger years. I finally had the chance to return the favour, but he wouldn’t know it. All I said was, “Ain’t amazing as you.” The wind shifted and I smelled ichor and brine. I froze. If love brought us together, time and time again, I shuddered to think what force tore us apart. From above one of the crashed train cars, a man, dressed in a fine black suit approached us, gun in hand. “This needs to end. With his death.” The man said, pointing the gun at Daniel. “How many times do we need to do this?” He lifted the gun. Aimed it at my love. Daniel moved to shield me. drat idiot didn’t even know he was the target. I flung myself at Daniel, pulled him back. Then I heard the harsh crack of a gunshot. I felt the sensation of a blazing hot spear piercing my shoulder. Spasms of pain coursed through my body. All I could focus on was holding onto Daniel and the howl of the wind as we fell. The water below us churned like a hungry maw. I held Daniel, for the first and last time. I turned as we hit the water and took the brunt of the impact. Pain lanced across my ribs. I screamed, only for water to fill my lungs. Somewhere in the commotion, I had let go of Daniel. I frantically looked for him. He was above me, miraculously still alive, and frantically searching for me even as I sank. I tried to swim, but my legs refused to move. Only the deep, dark blue water saw my efforts. That same old feeling of despair washed over me, and then I felt something drag me down. I let it pull me down towards the sea floor. I let it pull me back to the familiar despair of the dark… --- I emerged, dripping and soaking wet, surrounded by endless twilight. I looked up, and saw naught but the shadow of a giant snake flying in the sky. In front of me was a make-shift camp with a ten-woman tent, a single white horse tied to a post and a blazing campfire. I was unharmed in body, yet torn asunder in mind. I approached the make-shift camp, where three women were by the fire. Two of them were too busy arguing to notice me, while the other woman raised her head in greeting. I nodded, and sat by the fire, grateful for the momentary rest. I knew the three other women here, and knew that each of them had failed in their own way. We all wore a long duster, a cattlewoman’s hat, a knife on our belt, and a gold wedding ring. We all had the same face. The two youngest — you could tell by the gleam of hope in their eyes — were now playing rock-paper-scissors to determine the winner of their argument. The silent one, who sat beside me, had a rough time of it. Blood stained her bruised knuckles and she looked tired as sin. “How long they been butting heads?” I asked “Five minutes or so.” “Did they realise we always pick rock?” “Did you?” “Nope.” This could take hours. Daniel always said I was as shocking as Tesla, and as strong as Sisyphus, but was as stubborn as his mother’s mule. “Stop it,” I said to the two greenhorns. The youngest of me whirled, “One moment I’m at the world’s fair, where my husband is showing off his experiment. The next moment I’m knee-deep in whatever this poo poo is. Where is Daniel?” “Dimension is on pause while we sort ourselves out.” I motioned to the endless twilight that surrounded the camp. It clung to the light of the fire, like thick molasses. Off in the distance, you could see thousands of flickers of flame, each of them another campfire with another set of figures surrounding it “Gotta decide who tries to save Daniel this time,” Rough-me drawled. It took the greenhorns a few seconds to come up with a solution, and they said it so confidently, they revealed just how new they were to this. “Rock paper scissors,” they said simultaneously, holding out their hands. “Oh gawd no,” Rough-me said. The youngest of us would not be deterred. Hands on her hips, she squared up against the naysayer. “Scared you are going to lose?” I remember when I was that headstrong, so sure of myself. Failing your husband a couple dozen times gelds the bull. “We got a system to figure out who leaves. It’s called seniority.” Rough-me said, drawing out the last word. The two rock-paper-scissors mes had to be two or three cycles old. Their dusters were unmarred, their eyes still had that naive gleam of hope. The only one that might give me a run for my money was Rough-me. I eyed her. She stared back. “Whoever has the most marks on their arms leaves and tries to save Daniel,” I said. “If you stay, you get a mark and get to try again.” The youngest me argued, but in the end we all knew this system was the best—I knew because I had been in their shoes before. “What if we lie?” Young-Me asked. Before I could respond, Rough-Me spoke up. “Old Hundred won’t allow that.” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t start with this fable.” She continued, “Old Hundred has tried to save Daniel a hundred times and more,” she said with a reverent tone in her voice. “She’s the one that can never get it right. The one that never gets her man.” “And she watches over us and comes down with flying horses to help us.” I interrupted her before she could go on. “I’ve never met her.” She lifted her eyebrows in response to that and responded with a single word. “Fine.” With that settled, I barked commands to the group. “Everyone, lift your sleeves. Show off how many times you’ve done this.” The youngsters looked confused and used one hand to show how many times they have been at it. Rough-Me lifted her sleeves to show a similar collection of black marks.. She casually said her number, “fifty seven.” I grinned at her and lifted my sleeves. “Count ‘em and weep.” She was persistent; I gave her that. She came over and counted each of the marks on my arms. Counted them twice even, and then swore. “drat, sixty-five.” My momma always said to be humble, but I couldn’t stop a lazy grin from forming on my face. I snuffed out the fire, and dipped my hand into the ashes to grab a glowing piece of charcoal. It was warm to the touch, but didn’t burn me.I used it to mark a line across each other me’s arms. After everyone had gotten their marks, Rough-Me instructed the youngsters to get into the tent. “Take care of ‘im,” Rough-me said as she closed the flap to the tent. “Good luck in the next round,” I replied, and untied the horse from the post. One by one, the campfires in the infinite twilight winked out. As they did, the ground rumbled. Across the twilight, a lone rider rode forward, a silhouette of white dashing across the dark. Other riders emerged from the gloom and followed. From the sky, the giant snake crashed down behind the riders. It chased after them, ground torn asunder in its wake. The sound of a thousand hooves stomping the ground came closer. A cacophonous beat that still held meaning: Forward. The rider raced past me, barely giving me a look. I took a breath, hopped on my horse, and rode alongside them. Behind us, the snake opened its maw and surged forward. I turned my head to look. Other riders reassured their horses, then closed their eyes as the snake consumed them. In its maw, I saw glistening fangs and teeth, along with thick purple veins. Even this far away, in this stampede, I could hear the echoes of wars, of humanity’s triumphs as those mighty veins pulsed. Blood didn’t pulse through those veins, but rather history. The snake roared in pain as it bled purple, blue, all hues, and in its wounds I saw wondrous worlds and terrible worlds. And in those worlds would always be a Daniel. I patted my horse, reassured it everything would be alright, then closed my eyes. I touched my wedding ring. For better, or for worse. My vow. A simple verse that I would see through. The smell of ichor and brine assaulted my senses, nearly knocking me off my horse. We raced forward, a futile effort, as the snake opened its maw and engulfed us. I grabbed at the knife at my belt and tore blindly at one of its veins. Blood, ichor and worlds poured out, surrounding us. I rode through the veins of history; I felt the incendiary fires of a bomb that burns people’s shadows into walls; I heard the cries of joy a husband makes when he realises he will be a father. Then a harsh light pierced through the dark, piercing my closed eyes. I raised my hand to block out the light as my vision blurred. I found myself in a dusty plain, ahead of me, a town where the buildings stretched miles in the air. A new world. A new time. My horse gave a small ninny, as if to reassure me everything was all right. My wedding ring around my finger gave a little tug to the east, where I saw off in the distance, a train hovering over tracks in the ground. It was time to chase after Daniel.
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Apr 28, 2024 18:24
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You have my reading skills, I shall be second judge.
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May 3, 2024 16:08
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My crits are fueled by your appreciation. Send me a thank you in the thread, or in the discord. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1dC0K1fx4U16TI0RGaB3YpHBZ-62eqfh1tTQK_gPEMsU/edit?usp=sharing Always up to discuss your critique as well.
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May 6, 2024 22:54
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I'm in withQuiet Feet posted:Fairy godmothers Parsely, Sage and Rosemary have run out of THYME
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May 7, 2024 17:51
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The Big Four Flash Prompt: Fairy godmothers Parsely, Sage and Rosemary have killed THYME Word Count: 1309 When people noticed their bruschetta tasted like soggy bread with tomatoes on it, and their chicken lay on the plate, bereft of flavour, they realised that Godmother Thyme had died. The news spread like wildfire throughout the city. Every restaurant closed. Every chef, even the illegal ones, prayed. Everyone waited for the Lamiacae crime family’s response. The family had come from the Scarborough Fair: Fairy Godmother Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme, and they were well versed in crime. In a few days they had run Boss Salt out of town, and made Godfather Mint bow down. Unchallenged, they ruled the kitchen with an iron chef. And now, one of their own lay dead. Their letter arrived mere minutes after I heard the news, and the language in it let no mortal think it was a request. The Fairies may be skilled in magic, but they lack deductive skills. Which naturally meant they needed the skills of the Great Hercule Gourmet, professional detective, amateur cook. They met me at the crime scene, Rosemary looking as robust as ever even as she cried and Sage standing with her arms at her sides, always ready to give a disparaging look in between shudders of grief. Parsley was the only one holding it together, bright and cheery as ever, but even she held a handkerchief to hold back crocodile tears. We stood in Thyme’s office. In quieter times, I could imagine the fairy godmother sitting at her desk, typing on the computer, performing blue-collar crimes. Now, the office was a bloody mess. Bullet holes covered the walls, the desk and even pieces of paper as I picked one from the floor. A shot from a .45 had left a hole in the centre, and the rest of the paper covered in crimson. Blood covered the walls, the ceiling. A security camera dutifully recorded every moment. “You have, of course, the tapes?” I asked, eyeing a glass that had unremarkably remained unbroken. Beside it a bottle of Tums. Parsley snapped her fingers and two servants rolled in a tray with a TV atop it. They stepped through the crime scene and I looked disdainfully at them. Unperturbed, the servants played the video. Thyme stood in her office, green-purple outfit contrasting against the almost stuffing white of the office. She was sorting a pile of papers when two shots rang out. A red stain appeared on her suit. As bullets sprayed the desk, the papers flying everywhere, she screamed, “No!” Thyme rushed towards the unseen attackers. A scuffle occurred off camera, blood sprayed everywhere. Thyme came back on screen, holding one of the men by the throat. His arms were missing. She interrogated him, but before he could answer, more attackers streamed into the office. One even managed to drive a knife in between her ribs. She just glared at him, ripped open his throat and went after the others. In the end, she stood amongst the remains of her attackers. She staggered, uttered one last gently caress you, and died. “Well, she was known as Thymus Vulgaris,” I stated, then eyed the godmothers and their wands warily. The fact that I wasn’t turned into a fish told me more than any interrogation could. “Who did this?” the godmothers said in unison. “I’ll know by tomorrow. Call me then.” I handed Godmother Sage my card, then left the confused fairy godmothers to their faux-grief. =+= The next day, I had delectable delights for breakfast. Lemon shortbread cookies adorned with parsley, Sage brown butter blondies, and Rosemary olive oil cake. I bit into each one, waited, and tasted them again. When the cookies tasted like ash, I pocketed the treats, and made my way to the Lamiacae headquarters. By the time I got there, the police had already arrived. Yellow tape cordoned off the entrance to the skyscraper, and the police stopped me . A mention of my mere name, and that I was on the case, let me through. My request for a glass of water confused them. Even though I had not been called, I had arrived. The Great Hercule Gourmet does not choose the cases, the cases choose him. After a hefty amount of stairs, I arrived at my destination. A knock at the door was sufficient, for one must always use manners when dealing with murderers. The door opened, and I entered. Rosemary hardly noticed me, frantically on her phone, sometimes holding two at a time. Compared to Thyme’s office, her’s was gigantic, even containing a closet. When Rosemary continued to not notice me, I gave a polite cough. She immediately went for her wand, but paused when she saw me. I said, “I know you didn’t kill Parsley.” She sank into her chair, as if a large weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “Mr Gourmet, I need your help. Someone is targeting my sisters!” “Strange that you do not include yourself in the list of targets.” I said, then wandered over to the closet. It was large enough for my purposes. “But you are right. In fact, I know you killed Miss Thyme.” “Surely you are mistaken. You must have taken ill, too much sugar perhaps?” “I participated in the war. For your kind, bullets are only an inconvenience. She was poisoned. By you.” “I assure—” “It was the bottle of Tums,” I said. “Thyme is weak to changes in acid. You are not. You forgot to clean up. But you didn’t kill Parsley. That I know. A murder needs four things: method, means, motivation and a murderer. I know three, but do not know the motivation. Rosemary looked blankly at me. “How?” “No” I said, and stepped into the closet. “Why?” I promptly closed the door. Before Rosemary could react, another visitor arrived. Rosemary shouted, went for her wand, but she never got the chance. A stream of magic shot out, and she crumpled to the ground. A few seconds later, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I carefully opened it, and listened. “Mr Gourmet? Your presence is required, there has —” I opened the door of the closet. Godmother Sage stood, phone in hand, over the still form of Rosemary. “—been a murder,” I finished for her, and closed my cell phone. “How did you know?” She asked, and levelled her wand at me. “It was a matter of Thyme,” I said. “Bullets don’t threaten her, yet she screamed when her papers got ruined. The papers that, thanks to a little restoration efforts, show that she was going to allow all herbs in the kitchen. And that gave you an idea.” I flipped my phone open, showing the evidence, and hit record. “How easy was it to turn the others against Thyme?” “I should have done it sooner.” Sage lifted her wand. “Answer me. How did you know it was me?” “Clearly, I was hired only to be a distraction. The most probable murderer was one of you. I assumed the surviving victim would call me as soon as the other had died, but the murderer would wait to eliminate the survivor. Since Rosemary did not have my number, and I had not been called, that left me with you. My only question is why?” “I hate competition. The others needed to be erased. The only taste people should ever need is me!” Then she raised her wand. I too had anticipated this, and threw one of the lemon shortbread cookies at her. As she was distracted, I grabbed a mirror, and deflected her ill aimed blast back at herself. Where once a robust Fairy godmother stood, now a fish flopped on the floor. An officer arrived with a glass of water and a confused expression on his face. I fished my cell phone from my pocket and played Sage’s confession. I pointed at the flopping godmother and said, “Arrest this fish!”
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May 12, 2024 03:14
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