PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanFebruary 27, 2012 - 4:54pm
@Friz
I will read your entry soon and I plan on reviewing your submissions as well.
You're right I see this prompt as more of a rough draft thread. It's raw, unedited, and you just throw it in.
It's somewhat limited as well.
@Chester
Haha I would want this to be a sort of gateway before people submit to yours.
Boone Spaulding
from Coldwater, Michigan, U.S.A. is reading Solarcide Presents: Nova ParadeFebruary 28, 2012 - 7:53pm
Wow! I've been busy, and so have you!
@Fritz: loved that rough vignette - reminded me of post-apocalyptic Brothers Grossbart
@Panda: very Neil Gaiman but with strong suspense-building
Both worthy of further developement because I wanted to read more.
I will submit tomorrow or Thursday. Because it's been a great week for everything but writing...
PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanMarch 2, 2012 - 1:02am
Thanks Boone.
@Fritz
That was brutal. Nice work. It all came together nicely in the end.
Prompt#3
Is set up. Check it out.
PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanMarch 2, 2012 - 1:31am
I changed the discussion name.
I thought The Rough House was a good one, since the stories are rough drafts.
Fritz
March 2, 2012 - 10:40am
@ panda. I need to review one of yours as well.
@prompt 3: good one. I will have to hit that dude tonight or tomorrow. Got so many freakin things i want to do there isnt the time. Ha.
@ boone. I dont know brothers grossbart. I did flesh the littke guy out a little into a 1300 word short. From reviews it sounds like i may do an origin story and/ or blow up the 1300 to a 2500. I dont know yet. Got a few other little projects i want done first. Ok. Im babbling
Moderator
Utah
from Fort Worth, TX is reading Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtryMarch 2, 2012 - 11:42am
@Panda: Dude, I love the new thread title. Nice job.
PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanMarch 2, 2012 - 11:46am
@Fritz
Yeah I still have to think this one over.
@Utah
Haha thank you. Why do you like it? Just curious. I needed to give the prompt a better name in order to grab people's attention.
Moderator
Utah
from Fort Worth, TX is reading Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtryMarch 2, 2012 - 11:51am
Because it is A) a nice and desciptive play on words and b) it says, "Yeah, we play around in here. But you can still get hurt." Plus, referring to it as "house" carries an implicit dedication, because all houses are dedicated. So now it says, "Yeah, we play around in here, but we don't fuck around. Keep your nonsense posts to the nonsense threads."
At least, that's what I get out of it.
PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanMarch 2, 2012 - 11:55am
Nice. That is a really good description.
Yeah I wanted to bring in more LR people. The more I get in here the more I consider either putting in a weekly or monthly prize. Not to the extent of Chester's discussion. But enough to get people posting.
Can I use your description in the first post?
Moderator
Utah
from Fort Worth, TX is reading Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtryMarch 2, 2012 - 12:10pm
Shit yeah. You can even take the credit for it, if you want, and then say that I was plagiarizing you in that last post.
PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanMarch 2, 2012 - 12:11pm
Haha no I'll quote you. It sounds more intense if people know it came from you.
Moderator
Utah
from Fort Worth, TX is reading Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtryMarch 2, 2012 - 12:15pm
What? Ah. Hype.
Moderator
Utah
from Fort Worth, TX is reading Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtryMarch 2, 2012 - 12:17pm
(All Around LitReactor Badass.)
Dude, flattery will get you everywhere. I'll make sure Alien gives you a back rub. A good one. With scented oils and stuff.
PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanMarch 2, 2012 - 1:20pm
Yes!
ʕ◉ᴥ◉ʔ
aliensoul77
from a cold distant star is reading the writing on the wall.March 2, 2012 - 10:57pm
In the widening spires of the dead city
A crystallis formed at the edge of his consciousness, a sort of blossoming rosebud with electric blue petals tingling. Necro stood overlooking the city with a sort of grotesque delight, knowing it would all be over soon. He listened to the symphony of souls within, the dead prophets of the churches, the wailing whores of the sex clubs, the chattering teeth of the junkies and the idle chatter of the cattle. How many years he had actually longed to be a part of their world, the idea disgusted him now. It started with a few wires unravelling then a spark, a building exploded. The midnight workers began to flail screaming as the flames ate them alive. Necro reached inside his mind's eye and led assault two. He could feel the dominos dropping. A traffic light turned from red to green instantaneously, cars plummeted through and crashed into each other, a truck trying to avoid the wreck tipped over. The tank full of nitrogen connected to it exploded and turned an entire restaurant nearby into frozen statuettes. Necro saw the traffic on the bridge and began to pull the cables with his mind, like coiled snakes they flew lashing through windshields and severed the heads off a married couple as their children watched in the backseat screaming. The screws popped out and the steel girders began to melt with a white hot heat. As the cars began to fall, they sparkled as they tumbled into the icy depths of the water below. Then he reached into the minds of the men he had possessed earlier. They activated bombs in twelve segments of the city. Twelve explosions went off like supernovas lighting up the sky in an awesome array of turquoise, neon green and red. As the city exploded, he felt the lights of people's existence blink out like dying stars leaving only traces of energy behind. Finally he took out his flute and began to play a final swan song as he felt the nuclear reactors begin to shut down. If Deandra had only given him another chance, none of this would have had to happen, he thought. In his mind he could hear her calling out to him, begging him to stop and he smiled.
Fritz
March 3, 2012 - 1:03pm
Hello all,
OK - so I did an internal diddy (your most precious of gifts) on prompt #1, and a character driven piece (End for Some) on prompt #2, and a dialog driven microserial (The fasest) - on chesters March contest. For this prompt i wanted to do a little world building - to me it's like a prologue or a part of the beginning for some large body of work.
I broke it into 2 parts. but don't worry - both parts together are still only 945 words.
Part 1
The closer Atreyu got to the heart of Fantasia the worse things became. He’d left off his hunting the purple buffalo to make the sojourn via horseback; a slower trip, but a fun one, or so he’d thought. More than once he’d thought about calling the luck dragon from the southern oracle, but he never had. 10,000 miles was a long way, even for the luck dragon. Besides, the gnomes there really enjoyed his company. And the closer he got to the ivory tower the happier he was that the gnomes had such a protector.
The horse called too much attention. He slapped it on the rum and sent it home. A few of the residence eyed the animal as it trotted away. All he could hope was that the animal didn’t get attacked. Many of the creatures walking the lands looked more monster than actual people, though they did stand on two legs and did use a language he somewhat understood.
Under the cover of darkness he stole closer to the tower. Bizarre lights and deep vibrating noises assaulted him. The streets were lit red and yellow brighter than day. The creatures walking about had metal in their faces and color in their hair. Their clothes looked glossy and crinkled when they moved. He kept his stone knife hidden away, but ready. There was an aura about this place, an awful aura, worse even than when he’d killed the giant wolf back when the nothing was consuming everything.
He picked a building, there were many, and entered. It took some time, but he found the staircase leading to the top. After treading upward for a long time he came to the top, the roof. The ivory tower stood at the far end of a red tinged cityscape. Black smoke choked off its white light, obscuring the rose petal offices of the princess.
“A fucking interloper. Dibs on his hides.”
He spun around. Three kids his own age stood facing him. Metal adorned the leaders face. He had a ring in his nose like a broken bull. His friends had spikes on their heads and color on their arms, horrific pictures of nudity and skulls and thinks better left unsaid. He pulled out his knife.
“You are fucking kidding me right?” The leader kicked his weight to one side. He pulled out a metal object, something short, like an elongated box. His friends edged away. Their eyes were large, the whites too big for the pinpricks of black and red in their centers.
“What’s happened here?” Atreyu asked.
The youth pointed the blunt metal in his direction. “Transgressive shift, wetback. Where you been?”
A loud noise came from the metal box in his hand. Atreyu got pushed back a step then his right leg wouldn’t take his weight. He felt only pressure, pressure in his right leg and his heartbeat. His heart was racing.
“Tough little spic,” the leader said. The other two had moved to either side. They watched with big eyed interest, but didn’t do anything.
“Fuck man, I hate killing shit this tough. Fucking waste.”
Atreyu’s leg was gushing blood. He stared at it, put a hand on it to stop it from coming out, all the while hoping on one leg.
“He isn’t one of us, boss. He’s from the old fuckin’ genie, the old dreamers of innocent yore – idealist shitola the lot,” one of the big eyed watchers said.
The leader dropped the metal box a little. Atreyu couldn’t stop the blood. He’d dropped his knife so he could use both hands. The blood squirted between his fingers. He turned to look at the ivory tower.
“Princess?” he asked.
“Fuck,” the leader said. The noise from the metal box rang out a second time.
Fritz
March 3, 2012 - 1:08pm
Part 2
The princess coughed into a lacy white hanky then smoothed down her straight brown hair, making sure there weren’t any scragglers. Once upon a time she hadn’t had to worry about her hair being out of place. Lately though…
Her dress was white and full length at the arms with flair at the bottom wide enough for a few gnomes to fit under. She hadn’t seen a gnome in such a long time. They hadn’t come to court or council in an age. None of the ground dwellers came anymore. Except for the rockbiter. He still came. But, he was too heavy to make it to the rose top tower.
The floor was solid white marble, as were the walls. All the windows were smooth, vertical ovals. The doorways were half ovals. The smoothness of the walls was going the way of her hair. She could feel rough texture where once there’d been only smoothness.
“Atreyu, the boy, has fallen, My Grace,” Her announcer stood before her pale, as pale as a black man with horns could be. The rabble from the street more than half a mile down from her quarters in the ivory tower had become a constant buzzing she sometimes forgot was even there.
“Send for Atreyu the man, then.” The room shook, just a little. She ignored it. So did her announcer.
“Is there such a man?” He asked.
“My dear, Ruvulo, I am not dying. The Nothing no longer threatens our kingdom. This is Fantasia. Atreyu the man must exist, for Atreyu the boy existed.”
The eternal lighting of her petal palace dimmed then brightened back. Out the window, the fog thickened, continued to thicken, day by day. She could no longer go outside without coughing.
“Atreyu the man may not take it well the death of this son.”
“Father’s rarely do.”
“I will send for him.”
Chester Pane
from Portland, Oregon is reading The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot DiazMarch 3, 2012 - 2:04pm
Nice, a Sci-Fi prompt.
Well, back on the subject of the 1000 words thing, there were a whole lot of reasons I caved into that concept.
First off, from the point of its inception, stories have been submitted which, although they were over the 500 word limit, they were beneath the true flash-cap, which is 1000 words. I kept finding myself excluding those, many of which were truly exceptional.
Second, because the thread is titled Flash Me, I think it makes sense not to discourage those who are avidly persuing the medium by setting up guidelines out of sync with the industry norm. Also, if I ever take this to the big screen (the outerwebs) then it will make more sense.
Also, there are a lot of writers around here who simply refuse to submit stories that short and I want as many to participate as possible.
Finally, the 500 word limit had a lot to do with my own time constraints. Fewer words= less time to read subs. But, alas, if that means eliminating quality stories that are actually Flash, then that doesn't make much sense.
However, I love Panda's thread. And Panda, I love the new title.
@Fritz: You can still use this and even Flash Me! for roughs...remember you do have the ability to edit your posts as well! I kind of see all of these as ways to throw our birds into the air and encourage them to start flashing their wings.
*The link is for those new to the site who might wonder what the hell we are talking about.
Cheers Fathermuckers and ClitReactors.
Fritz
March 4, 2012 - 6:51am
Alien - like the stream of consciousness piece you laid out - it's like William Gibson had a dream about X-Men in the world of Johnny Mnemonic after he broke up with his girlfriend.
Laramore Black
from Joplin, Missouri is reading Mario Kart 8March 5, 2012 - 6:50am
PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanMarch 5, 2012 - 10:34am
Prompt!
Boone Spaulding
from Coldwater, Michigan, U.S.A. is reading Solarcide Presents: Nova ParadeMarch 7, 2012 - 12:21pm
I have not forgot you. I had to quit you for a while. Writing and submitting in the Wednesday evening hours. Looking forward to rejoining my LitReactor community...and, looking foward to Rough House P-4...
PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanMarch 7, 2012 - 2:09pm
I've been asking around for you Boone. Glad you're back.
Moderator
Utah
from Fort Worth, TX is reading Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtryMarch 7, 2012 - 2:15pm
@Boone: he's been telling everyboy you owe him...something. Won't specify what it is, but says it's something he can't get from aliensoul. I'm sure your guess is better than mine.
Fritz
March 7, 2012 - 2:43pm
There he is! I found him
PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanMarch 8, 2012 - 4:04pm
Subject 67
“Mohsh, how much time do I have?”
“You have fifteen minutes. How does the suit feel?” Mosh responded, with a soft tone.
“It fits, somewhat snug. How are my vitals?”
“They're stable, for now.”
“Good.”
“Don't worry the MMCM-3 compound is safe. Even if it courses through your veins, activating it is the risky part.”
“That's not my issue, Mosh. The fact that I might lose control, is what I'm worried about.”
“Tura-I mean Subject 67, the Malleable Metal Chemical Multiplier is safe, to a point.”
“Tell that to the ones before me. They're all dead,” Subject 67 replied.
“One of them is still alive.”
“If you can call that living. The ten times rush of adrenaline burst some of his veins.”
“You can handle it. I believe in you.”
“Shut the comms.”
“What?”
“I said shut the communications.”
“But the others will want to hear. They need to be updated on your actions.”
“Shut them. You can tell them what's happening.”
“All right.”
There was a slight static, some motion in the background, and all Subject 67 could hear was Mosh's female voice. The communications between them came from an implant within his skull.
He felt warm in his new armor. The helmet covered his entire head. It was made of the unbreakable MM-3 compound. Its face plate was a dark gold-orange with two black slits for eyes.
The armor itself was full black, with MM-3 plates on his thighs, chest, shins, knees, forearms, knuckles, and elbows. A far greater improvement over the bulky MM-2 and MM-1 models.
“What's this about Turan?” responded Mohsh.
“Nothing, I just wanted to hear your voice, without all the seriousness.”
“The others can't know about us, we're taking a risk doing this. I am worried though.”
“It's fine, I'll live. But, if for some reason I do lose control, I want you to kill me.”
“Don't say that.”
Subject 67 looked down from where he knelt. From on the rooftop he could see people walking the streets. Oblivious to the killing machine that watched them. He studied them carefully, all the people of Section One. Normal, if you can call them that, people going about their lives. Without any trouble. This made him feel sick and he envied them.
“Hello?” Mosh asked.
“I'm here.” 67 replied.
“It went quiet.”
“I know. How much time do I have?”
“Five minutes, you should get going.”
“Sure.”
Subject 67 stood up. Stretched his modified limbs. Then started running towards the rooftop edge. He hurdled from rooftop to rooftop with an immense ease. Each landing causing a crater in the cement.
When he reached the mission objective, he came upon an abandoned warehouse. It was a run down building, littered with graffiti, broken walls, shattered windows, and above its doors stood a red neon sign. The sign was still working.
“Don't forget to-”
Subject 67 turned off his communication. He didn't want Mohsh to hear. With his left hand he grabbed a gold rod at his hip. He held it in front of him.
“Command: MMCM-3 detach.”
A voice in his head responded.
“Command entered.”
He felt his veins turn hot, the rush of MMCM-3 felt like he was getting slammed into a wall. Subject 67 bit his lips and tried not to scream. His eyes felt hot, like they were going to melt out of the socket. The suit began to glow. Thin lines of red began to pulsate around the suit, like living veins.
Subject 67 could feel his muscles mass multiply. He felt them tear, rip, and rebuild themselves multiple times.
The metal rod began to stir. A sliver of metal shot out from it. Then finally formed into a blade. A red vein from the suit coursed in the direction of the blade. It went up Subject 67's leg, then arm, and finally into the blade. This caused the blade edge to glow red and hiss.
“C-Command: Stealth”
“Command entered.”
From the bottom up the suit began to disappear and blend with the environment.
“Command: Matter Relocation, one hundred yards west.”
“Command entered.”
The suit stirred, and with the rearrangement of matter, both Subject 67 and the suit vanished. Reappearing inside the warehouse.
PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanMarch 9, 2012 - 5:37pm
@Fitz
Nice work! Why hispanic? Do you plan on continuing this? It reminds me of some sort of sci-fi/fantasy/dystopia. Cool stuff.
@Alien
Brutal! Nice job. Felt like a symphony of chaos.
Sorry, I'm a day late on the prompt. Had a lot of personal matters going on, but the new prompt is up!
PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanMarch 9, 2012 - 5:41pm
So I want to thank Fritz personally for always submitting. You're what keeps it alive! Haha
Fritz
March 9, 2012 - 9:19pm
Naw - I threw the hispanic in there to add some racism and indians are a harder sell (ha) - plus, to my urbanite transgressives Atreyu probably looked mexican - I don't know if I will work this one through - May let it stew on the back burner for awhile - it's more of a parady between two different approaches of fiction (children's fantasy and transgressives) - if I wrote it I'd probably have the kids win, but with some weird technique only a kids fantay-laden brain could come up with - something the gritty, real world of the transgressives don't see coming - hmmm. will have to ask my 6 yr old about this one.
Liked the viscera Panda - can never go wrong with dialog driven pieces - just puts you right freakin there. Like it.
jyh
from VA is reading whatever he feels likeMarch 9, 2012 - 10:50pm
I just wrote and accidentally deleted a story on the accident prompt. It contained the phrase "human disco ball."
Feel bad about both.
PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanMarch 9, 2012 - 11:08pm
Thanks Fritz.
I liked the fantasy/fiction setting of yours. Reminded me of A Neverending Story meets Blade Runner meets Greek Mythology.
PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanMarch 10, 2012 - 12:44pm
Prompt
jyh
from VA is reading whatever he feels likeMarch 10, 2012 - 10:02pm
On a hunch I hit CTRL-V and my accident story appeared. Here it is, "human disco ball" and all.
A woman is lying dead in the street, bejeweled by flecks of windshield, like a human disco ball in the pulsing police lights.
I saw it happen. The whole thing. The other car drove off. Doubt they got very far. I'm just fifty feet away in my usual spot between the dumpsters by the coffee shop. Her name is Nina Holgren. Was, I guess. Her billfold is still in my pocket. Eat. I heard the sirens and got spooked, ran back over here before anyone could see me. Drove a Benz but she only had fifty dollars on her. I'm thinking about just tossing the wallet back into the scene but there are too many people milling around now. They'll look up her car, tell the husband or the parents. Nobody's going to miss it. They might wonder where it went, if they even think about it, but it'll be nothing compared to the sadness. I don't know, maybe they hated her. Is it huge and distant or tiny and right in front of me, I can't tell, but this light is glittering wherever I look. She cursed at me when I took her wallet. She's dying and she's mad at me for taking her money. Rich bitch. Eat. Cops look like soldiers now, all that gear sticking off them. I shouldn't have kicked her. Why is this dumpster rattling? What's inside? Anytime I stand up, the noise stops. Whatever it is, it knows I'm here. It's watching me. The light only goes away when I close my eyes. I can't close my eyes. Eat. What's making that noise? One of the cops is coming over. More light. He's yelling at me. He thinks I'm the one banging on the dumpster?
No, I didn't see anything. I woke up and saw another car drive away, that's all. They didn't care about that lady. I've just been sitting here. I'm standing now, but I was sitting. I wasn't hiding, I was just standing and sitting. It's good you have a flashlight -- I think there's something in this dumpster.
A man with grease-matted hair is being handcuffed. He has the unfortunate luck of encountering one of the policemen who actually care about vagrancy. The squad car smells like garbage juice for ten days.
The billfold remains in police custody.
Fritz
March 20, 2012 - 10:37pm
Got a little dark on this one. I hope I don't scare anybody (ha). Really, I didn't know what it was going to do until I was like 3 paragraphs into it. 753 words.
took out gonna submit it.
jyh
from VA is reading whatever he feels likeMarch 11, 2012 - 9:28pm
I should have had them bury me ass up
Nice.
Fritz
March 13, 2012 - 7:53am
Yeah - i was kinda rough on that hooker. Wait... I mean in the story. Yeah. The story. Ha
PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanMarch 16, 2012 - 6:54pm
The Incident
There is a helicopter hovering above. The vibrations from its propellers rattling windows, and my bones. It circles the scene like some mechanical vulture. Studying the dead carcass below.
I stroll towards the mess, that’s what it is, a mess. Nothing but chips of glass, a crumpled car, which resembles a metallic accordion, and smoke. Had I been any civy I would have walked away or stared, one of those.
I bend down, underneath the caution tape, and examine the scene at a closer range.
A rookie rushes in, ready for some action, some experience. He looks at the scene, absorbs it, then spews out his lunch in a giant splash. Everyone looks at him in disgust, not because he vomited, but because he couldn’t hold his shit together.
This is isn’t the place where you let your emotions run, that’s for later. That’s left to your overpriced psychologist or the poor man’s version of a psychologist, your spouse.
When it comes to matters like these, you hurl them back to the corners of your mind. Leave them there. You revisit it them when you get home. With that blank stare on your face. An expression of pure shock, with a mixture of misunderstanding.
Presently, the red and blue lights swirled over my face. It doesn’t bother me, I don’t blink. I don’t flinch when I hear sirens blaring in my ears.
In front of me I can see blood seeping through the cracks. I don’t know who’s it is. There are, were two people in the car. One of them flew through the windshield and is lying twenty yards west. He isn’t moving and hasn’t. The driver is knocked out cold or dead.
The vehicle responsible was driven by a drunk driver. It caught on fire and burned the man inside, or what we think was a man. We put out the fire though. The smell of fuel still looms in the night air. It’s haunting and acrid smell.
One of the men come up to me.
“What’s the skinny on the collision?” I say.
“Nothing much, we got a couple ID’s that’s about it. No one says skinny anymore by the way.”
“I was watching some war flick before I got here. Thought it might be handy. What about these ID’s?”
“Well, the drunk driver’s is nothing but a crumpled laminated heap. The other car. We’re thinking...may have been a politician with her kid.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. Media is gonna lose it.”
“What about the kid, how old was he?”
“Fifteen, why do you ask?”
“Nothing in particular.”
I don’t tell him that my kid died a couple years ago, in a similar accident.
aliensoul77
from a cold distant star is reading the writing on the wall.March 17, 2012 - 6:30am
I like it, Panda.
Moderator
Utah
from Fort Worth, TX is reading Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtryMarch 17, 2012 - 7:15am
Ooooooh, that little one really needed to be able to hit harder. I think the big one got her.
PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanMarch 19, 2012 - 9:16pm
Good job, J.Y. and Fritz!
So there has been a delay in the prompt. I've been very busy with a ton of things, but the new prompt is up. Which I think is a very interesting one.
Fritz I noticed the writing style for your last one was very different.
Fritz
March 19, 2012 - 9:29pm
Eh? That a compliment? I play with style and voice. Don't like to pin myself down. It's a play on 1st person. Will check out the prompt. Was wondering about ya.
PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanMarch 19, 2012 - 9:34pm
I liked it so it's a compliment. Yeah I was just busy haha.
Fritz
March 19, 2012 - 9:37pm
Dude. Glad u liked it. I wasn't worried. Love these prompts though. They are good fun and better practice
PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanMarch 19, 2012 - 9:54pm
I'm offering a prize. Check out the other discussion.
aliensoul77
from a cold distant star is reading the writing on the wall.March 19, 2012 - 10:41pm
This is Why Cavemen Danced around Fires
Day One:
The plane went down around Monday afternoon and we were stranded there until someone found us. It was only inevitable because they ran routes around this place all the time so we really weren’t worried. There were six of us: Jimmy, Diane, Hector, Sandra, Tony the tour guide and me. It was our own personal Gilligan’s Island then soon turned into Lost and then became Lord of the Flies. Jimmy and Diane started fighting about some stupid shit then Sandra started complaining about all the bugs and Hector followed her around like an obedient puppy. I started to wonder why these people were my friends. Tony was the calmest of us all, although the radio wasn’t working, it had been damaged when we hit the water. He was still trying to fix it though and we all treated him like our own personal Tom Hanks in Castaway praying he would save us. The first day was okay, we ate fruit off the trees and some snacks we had in our bags from hiking earlier in the day.
Day Two:
Everyone started to get worried and anxious. Jimmy started picking a fight with Tony the tour guide, blaming him for the crash. Then Diane started arguing with Sandra and blamed her for inviting her and Jimmy on the trip. Hector started selling at Diane then Jimmy got angry at Hector and they ended up in a fist fight. I pulled them apart.
“Chill the fuck out guys!” I screamed, “I know we are hungry and cranky but it’s no reason to turn on each other. No one really gets lost anymore. They must have a search party out looking for us.”
Tony smiled at me then and said, “You should listen to your friend. He knows what he is talking about.”
Jimmy and Hector apologized to each other then Diane and Sandra did the same. We ate fruit and leaves, we built a fire and soon it turned into an inferno. Tony told us just to keep it away from the forest. It would attract attention to us and a plane passing by would investigate. After hours of wood gathering, we were all exhausted but then a strange second wind came over us as if we had been given new life. Jimmy took off his shirt and then started pounding his chest. Then Diane and Sandra started laughing and started jumping after him and circling the fire like he did. Hector watched the flames with a strange sort of fascination in his eyes. Tony took off his shirt and joined Jimmy, they started to sweat profusely but continued their dance. For the first time in my life I understood why cavemen danced around fires, why African tribes did dances and spoke to the spirits. There was sort of an exhilarating rush that came over us in the midst of our panic, fear and starvation.
Day Three:
Tony finally gets the radio working. He sends out a signal but a voice only comes back in German and can’t understand him. That night we make another fire and dance wildly, the girls take off their tops and dance naked. Soon we are all kissing. I find Tony the tour guide looking at me strangely and he comes near me. For the first time in my life I am kissing another man and it feels strangely familiar.
Day Four:
Tony takes the radio to the top of the cliff where he tries to get a stronger signal. Jimmy and Hector start trying to catch fish with a net made from the girl’s stalkings and undergarments. Sandra washes our clothes in the water. We hear a scream and Diane disappears. We spend half the night looking for her before we agree to stop for the night. Jimmy refuses. He goes deeper into the jungle.
Day Five:
Tony, Hector and I start to search for Diane and Jimmy. We discover a whole other side of the island we didn’t know existed. It’s beautiful and surrounded by glistening shells that seem to light up the beach. I feel mesmerized by them and start to pick them up. I put one to my ear and I swear to God, I can hear my own voice speaking back to me. Don’t go any farther, it says. A chill runs up my spine. We hear a scream. When we get back to the camp, Sandra is missing. Hector freaks out and wants to start a search party, we make torches and search through the woods for hours. That is when I first discover the portal. There is a cave with a translucent edge around it and I push my hand through it and it disappears. On the other side, there is a feeling of cold. When I pull my hand back, there is snow in my palm.
Day Six:
We all feel dizzy from the hunger. Hector never came back. Tony and I spend the day looking for him. “About what happened the other night,” he began. “Can we please not talk about it?” I tell him. “It’s just, it felt right but also like…it already happened before but that’s impossible.” I felt a strange feeling of déjà vu because he was right. It did feel familiar. Tony and I walk as far as we can to the west of the island. A radio signal comes in, it’s of a ship Captain. “To whom am I speaking?” he asks. “This is Tony Milton of Cruise Lines.” “Cruise Lines?” the man says, “Is this a joke? We are trying to fight a war here, son, this is a private frequency.”
“Ask him what year it is,” I say, suddenly.
“What?” “Just do it!” “My friend here wants to know what year it is?”
Tony cringes at the question. The Captain says, “Why, it’s 1942, of course.”
“I don’t understand,” Tony says, “How can that be—“
“We need to get off this side of the island!” I tell him and I see the storm coming in.
Then a flood of thoughts start to come back to me.
We have done this before. This is why cavemen danced around fires. The look on Hector’s face as he stared into the flames. This place, the portal in the woods.
I turn and Tony’s face begins to wrinkle and before my eyes he ages fifty years, he reaches out to me but I take his hand and it is already crumbling and turning to ash.
I run. Why am I immune? How many times has this happened? Maybe if I can warn…
I run to the other side of the beach and pick up a seashell and whisper into it.
The storm comes rolling in and I—
Day Seven:
“Nathan, you alright, man?” Jimmy asks me as we are all gasping for breath on the beach as we swim to shore.
“Yeah, I think so.” I am panting.
“Is anyone injured?” Tony the tour guide says. The girls say no, they are okay.
He looks at me for a moment, a strange look on his face as if he has seen a ghost. He almost speaks but then closes his mouth.
PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanMarch 19, 2012 - 10:53pm
The Bonfire
The tongues of fire let loose. I can feel the warmth radiate over my skin. The sensation of heat trickles through my body and I feel, for the first time in years, alive.
Behind me I can hear the others approach. Their pants mixing in with the crackle of flames and bursting wood. It is heavy panting, like that of a dog, the sound of a deep thirst.
I sit and ignore them. The fire in front of me is what I care about most. It is a vigil, for who I don’t know. The way it dances and grows mesmerizes me. I can already see the reflection of it in my eyes. Burning through, into my being. Warming my dead soul.
The footsteps behind me grow louder, I lick my lips, the anticipation.
“What are you doing here?” says one, I don’t know what he looks like. My back is turned.
“Answer him dog!” says the other, with a crackled tone.
I change my breathing pattern. The ocean air and the embers enter my nostrils. Below the waves are crashing with a ferocity.
“Scum!” says the first man.
He kicks me from behind and I fall face first in the flames. I don’t scream, my breathing continues. My hair burns instantly and I pull back from the flames.
A vigil, for my lost soul perhaps. Lost so many years ago in that sea of nightmares and life.
The waves sound like thunder and I rise up from the soil. Flakes of ashes sprinkle on to my face.
Behind me I hear the men stagger back.
“Demon!” yells the crackled voice.
I am no demon, some may consider me to be a monster, but never a demon.
With my brown eyes I look up at the night. Small holes in that inked space. I open my mouth and stick out my tongue, the ocean mist falls lightly on my buds and so do more of the embers. I am alive, just for this time, for this short brief instant. My heart burns, it pumps faster and faster, and my breathing grows heavier.
I pull out my silver friend. A sharp extension of my arm.
The men can’t run. I am much too quick. A steady and crashing blow digs into one of their chests. He gurgles, but his friend doesn’t help. His eyes are wide and I see the fire in his eyes, these flames will fade soon. I put my foot on his split open chest, pull back as I did in the flames, and retrieve silver.
Ruby red drips down, slow at first, and then pours a crimson waterfall. I stare at this gap, and watch fleshy snakes pour out and drop to the floor.
His friend stammers as all men with fear tend to do, and looks at his fallen friend, then me.
I lick my lips. The salty sea, blood, and saliva mix. A deadly concoction travels down my esophagus and into my belly.
His mouth is open and the tears flow down into it. Another salty taste. He begins to run, but I pounce on him.
I bury the blade deep. It absorbs his life.
Again and again and again in a flurry I strike.
As I dismember the men I throw their parts into the fire. It grows even higher than before. Around me I can see their spirits dance around the flames, keeping the vigil alive.
Matt Attack
from Richmond, Va. is reading As I Lay Dying, William FaulknerMarch 20, 2012 - 9:33am
Panda, RE: our conversation this morning. I reread it. Not bad sir. Not bad at all.
PandaMask
from Los Angeles is reading More Than HumanMarch 20, 2012 - 11:57am
BAM!
Thank you Matt!
Matt Attack
from Richmond, Va. is reading As I Lay Dying, William FaulknerMarch 20, 2012 - 11:59am
BOOM!
You're welcome.
Fritz
April 12, 2012 - 8:03pm
OK OK - I got one - Haven't read you guys yet - didn' t want to jinks myself. Here is goes. about 710 words.
Heaven’s Return
Warsh’s eyes were grey, a light grey. When pure Moon hit them straight on they were white. Rogney had never seen the like. Course Warsh was older than the Blackwater and had been around last time Heaven had passed by.
“Elder Warsh, you seen it. What’s it like?” Only Warsh was left living from the last time. He was the last of the history speakers, the last of the outcasts. And he didn’t like visitors way out here.
“Get off with you.” Warsh pursed thin black lips, shook his narrow, grey head and ran an old wrinkled hand through his silver hair. “It’s not meant for us. Go to the caves to the broken ships and fight temptation with the others. No good comes after.”
Rogney eyed the graying timbers of the airy cabin. White light seeped through like prison bars. “I’m not afraid of after. What’s a few years of prison penance?”
Warsh threw a hand at him and turned away. He looked to the sea from his cabin window. Silvery waves rolled on black waters up to the white and gray beach. Up above a full moon shone its bleached light.
“There’s no word you’d understand,” He said. “Go to the caves. Do as your betters bid.”
“You didn’t”
“No, I didn’t”
“So why should I?”
Warsh struck a match and set the brittle wood of his cabin walls on fire then turned back to Rogney.
“So you don’t end up like me.”
“What are you doing?”
“Go away.”
“But”
“I can’t stand to see it again. It’s too much.”
Grey smoke filled the small cabin quick. Warsh waited for the boy to stop his ranting and just leave then shut the flimsy door. He breathed deep the acrid air, coughed, did it again, and coughed more. He got lightheaded, almost fell, but managed to wedge himself upright in a corner long enough for…
*
“Crazy old man,” Rogney said, watching the fire burn fast and hot and bright.
Then Heaven came. He could see it just starting to near, a star just a little bigger than the others. It wouldn’t take long now. He scampered around the burning house a time of two and checked again. Bigger. A few others, others like him, the ones that wanted to see, the new history speakers, the ones banned from the rest of society after their prison penance, forever exiled to the wilds, never again to set foot in the city, they gathered around Old Warsh’s burning cabin and danced and scampered and laughed. Heaven continued to near.
Heaven was a color not white, something softer. His heart ached. He slapped his fellows on their backs and chuckled and pointed. Heaven had a tale that wasn’t white either. Looking at it all he knew he’d made the right choice. This couldn’t be wrong. It felt too right. This was how it was supposed to be.
Heaven got bigger. The Moon disappeared. The sky got bright. The colors changed. It all changed. The air… the sky changed color. The ocean wasn’t black. The beach wasn’t white and gray. Nothing was soft and fuzzy. His fellows skin each bore different shades. Their hair was different, all of it different. Their eyes were different color even.
The flames of the near burnt cabin were the color of Heaven riding high. His fellows peeled away one by one, all running, all trying to get away, to hide from the wicked, stark sharpness of it all. He stayed. He’d told Warsh he wasn’t afraid, and even if he was now, he wasn’t going to go running and screaming into the woods like the others. He stayed and saw it all. Heaven arced around fast overhead. He looked at everything he could.
Then it faded away. Just like that, almost between blinks. The Moon was back. Heaven was a big star fading away. The Blackwaters were black once more. The sky was grayish black again. He fell to his knees next to the whitish coals of Warsh’s fire. His eyes ached from the staring. He already missed the colors. Their memory ran like vivid movies behind his eyes. He didn’t know why, but he cried. He cried and he cried and he couldn’t stop.
@Friz
I will read your entry soon and I plan on reviewing your submissions as well.
You're right I see this prompt as more of a rough draft thread. It's raw, unedited, and you just throw it in.
It's somewhat limited as well.
@Chester
Haha I would want this to be a sort of gateway before people submit to yours.
Wow! I've been busy, and so have you!
@Fritz: loved that rough vignette - reminded me of post-apocalyptic Brothers Grossbart
@Panda: very Neil Gaiman but with strong suspense-building
Both worthy of further developement because I wanted to read more.
I will submit tomorrow or Thursday. Because it's been a great week for everything but writing...
Thanks Boone.
@Fritz
That was brutal. Nice work. It all came together nicely in the end.
Prompt#3
Is set up. Check it out.
I changed the discussion name.
I thought The Rough House was a good one, since the stories are rough drafts.
@ panda. I need to review one of yours as well.
@prompt 3: good one. I will have to hit that dude tonight or tomorrow. Got so many freakin things i want to do there isnt the time. Ha.
@ boone. I dont know brothers grossbart. I did flesh the littke guy out a little into a 1300 word short. From reviews it sounds like i may do an origin story and/ or blow up the 1300 to a 2500. I dont know yet. Got a few other little projects i want done first. Ok. Im babbling
@Panda: Dude, I love the new thread title. Nice job.
@Fritz
Yeah I still have to think this one over.
@Utah
Haha thank you. Why do you like it? Just curious. I needed to give the prompt a better name in order to grab people's attention.
Because it is A) a nice and desciptive play on words and b) it says, "Yeah, we play around in here. But you can still get hurt." Plus, referring to it as "house" carries an implicit dedication, because all houses are dedicated. So now it says, "Yeah, we play around in here, but we don't fuck around. Keep your nonsense posts to the nonsense threads."
At least, that's what I get out of it.
Nice. That is a really good description.
Yeah I wanted to bring in more LR people. The more I get in here the more I consider either putting in a weekly or monthly prize. Not to the extent of Chester's discussion. But enough to get people posting.
Can I use your description in the first post?
Shit yeah. You can even take the credit for it, if you want, and then say that I was plagiarizing you in that last post.
Haha no I'll quote you. It sounds more intense if people know it came from you.
What? Ah. Hype.
Dude, flattery will get you everywhere. I'll make sure Alien gives you a back rub. A good one. With scented oils and stuff.
Yes!
ʕ◉ᴥ◉ʔ
In the widening spires of the dead city
A crystallis formed at the edge of his consciousness, a sort of blossoming rosebud with electric blue petals tingling. Necro stood overlooking the city with a sort of grotesque delight, knowing it would all be over soon. He listened to the symphony of souls within, the dead prophets of the churches, the wailing whores of the sex clubs, the chattering teeth of the junkies and the idle chatter of the cattle. How many years he had actually longed to be a part of their world, the idea disgusted him now. It started with a few wires unravelling then a spark, a building exploded. The midnight workers began to flail screaming as the flames ate them alive. Necro reached inside his mind's eye and led assault two. He could feel the dominos dropping. A traffic light turned from red to green instantaneously, cars plummeted through and crashed into each other, a truck trying to avoid the wreck tipped over. The tank full of nitrogen connected to it exploded and turned an entire restaurant nearby into frozen statuettes. Necro saw the traffic on the bridge and began to pull the cables with his mind, like coiled snakes they flew lashing through windshields and severed the heads off a married couple as their children watched in the backseat screaming. The screws popped out and the steel girders began to melt with a white hot heat. As the cars began to fall, they sparkled as they tumbled into the icy depths of the water below. Then he reached into the minds of the men he had possessed earlier. They activated bombs in twelve segments of the city. Twelve explosions went off like supernovas lighting up the sky in an awesome array of turquoise, neon green and red. As the city exploded, he felt the lights of people's existence blink out like dying stars leaving only traces of energy behind. Finally he took out his flute and began to play a final swan song as he felt the nuclear reactors begin to shut down. If Deandra had only given him another chance, none of this would have had to happen, he thought. In his mind he could hear her calling out to him, begging him to stop and he smiled.
Hello all,
OK - so I did an internal diddy (your most precious of gifts) on prompt #1, and a character driven piece (End for Some) on prompt #2, and a dialog driven microserial (The fasest) - on chesters March contest. For this prompt i wanted to do a little world building - to me it's like a prologue or a part of the beginning for some large body of work.
I broke it into 2 parts. but don't worry - both parts together are still only 945 words.
Part 1
The closer Atreyu got to the heart of Fantasia the worse things became. He’d left off his hunting the purple buffalo to make the sojourn via horseback; a slower trip, but a fun one, or so he’d thought. More than once he’d thought about calling the luck dragon from the southern oracle, but he never had. 10,000 miles was a long way, even for the luck dragon. Besides, the gnomes there really enjoyed his company. And the closer he got to the ivory tower the happier he was that the gnomes had such a protector.
The horse called too much attention. He slapped it on the rum and sent it home. A few of the residence eyed the animal as it trotted away. All he could hope was that the animal didn’t get attacked. Many of the creatures walking the lands looked more monster than actual people, though they did stand on two legs and did use a language he somewhat understood.
Under the cover of darkness he stole closer to the tower. Bizarre lights and deep vibrating noises assaulted him. The streets were lit red and yellow brighter than day. The creatures walking about had metal in their faces and color in their hair. Their clothes looked glossy and crinkled when they moved. He kept his stone knife hidden away, but ready. There was an aura about this place, an awful aura, worse even than when he’d killed the giant wolf back when the nothing was consuming everything.
He picked a building, there were many, and entered. It took some time, but he found the staircase leading to the top. After treading upward for a long time he came to the top, the roof. The ivory tower stood at the far end of a red tinged cityscape. Black smoke choked off its white light, obscuring the rose petal offices of the princess.
“A fucking interloper. Dibs on his hides.”
He spun around. Three kids his own age stood facing him. Metal adorned the leaders face. He had a ring in his nose like a broken bull. His friends had spikes on their heads and color on their arms, horrific pictures of nudity and skulls and thinks better left unsaid. He pulled out his knife.
“You are fucking kidding me right?” The leader kicked his weight to one side. He pulled out a metal object, something short, like an elongated box. His friends edged away. Their eyes were large, the whites too big for the pinpricks of black and red in their centers.
“What’s happened here?” Atreyu asked.
The youth pointed the blunt metal in his direction. “Transgressive shift, wetback. Where you been?”
A loud noise came from the metal box in his hand. Atreyu got pushed back a step then his right leg wouldn’t take his weight. He felt only pressure, pressure in his right leg and his heartbeat. His heart was racing.
“Tough little spic,” the leader said. The other two had moved to either side. They watched with big eyed interest, but didn’t do anything.
“Fuck man, I hate killing shit this tough. Fucking waste.”
Atreyu’s leg was gushing blood. He stared at it, put a hand on it to stop it from coming out, all the while hoping on one leg.
“He isn’t one of us, boss. He’s from the old fuckin’ genie, the old dreamers of innocent yore – idealist shitola the lot,” one of the big eyed watchers said.
The leader dropped the metal box a little. Atreyu couldn’t stop the blood. He’d dropped his knife so he could use both hands. The blood squirted between his fingers. He turned to look at the ivory tower.
“Princess?” he asked.
“Fuck,” the leader said. The noise from the metal box rang out a second time.
Part 2
The princess coughed into a lacy white hanky then smoothed down her straight brown hair, making sure there weren’t any scragglers. Once upon a time she hadn’t had to worry about her hair being out of place. Lately though…
Her dress was white and full length at the arms with flair at the bottom wide enough for a few gnomes to fit under. She hadn’t seen a gnome in such a long time. They hadn’t come to court or council in an age. None of the ground dwellers came anymore. Except for the rockbiter. He still came. But, he was too heavy to make it to the rose top tower.
The floor was solid white marble, as were the walls. All the windows were smooth, vertical ovals. The doorways were half ovals. The smoothness of the walls was going the way of her hair. She could feel rough texture where once there’d been only smoothness.
“Atreyu, the boy, has fallen, My Grace,” Her announcer stood before her pale, as pale as a black man with horns could be. The rabble from the street more than half a mile down from her quarters in the ivory tower had become a constant buzzing she sometimes forgot was even there.
“Send for Atreyu the man, then.” The room shook, just a little. She ignored it. So did her announcer.
“Is there such a man?” He asked.
“My dear, Ruvulo, I am not dying. The Nothing no longer threatens our kingdom. This is Fantasia. Atreyu the man must exist, for Atreyu the boy existed.”
The eternal lighting of her petal palace dimmed then brightened back. Out the window, the fog thickened, continued to thicken, day by day. She could no longer go outside without coughing.
“Atreyu the man may not take it well the death of this son.”
“Father’s rarely do.”
“I will send for him.”
Nice, a Sci-Fi prompt.
Well, back on the subject of the 1000 words thing, there were a whole lot of reasons I caved into that concept.
First off, from the point of its inception, stories have been submitted which, although they were over the 500 word limit, they were beneath the true flash-cap, which is 1000 words. I kept finding myself excluding those, many of which were truly exceptional.
Second, because the thread is titled Flash Me, I think it makes sense not to discourage those who are avidly persuing the medium by setting up guidelines out of sync with the industry norm. Also, if I ever take this to the big screen (the outerwebs) then it will make more sense.
Also, there are a lot of writers around here who simply refuse to submit stories that short and I want as many to participate as possible.
Finally, the 500 word limit had a lot to do with my own time constraints. Fewer words= less time to read subs. But, alas, if that means eliminating quality stories that are actually Flash, then that doesn't make much sense.
However, I love Panda's thread. And Panda, I love the new title.
@Fritz: You can still use this and even Flash Me! for roughs...remember you do have the ability to edit your posts as well! I kind of see all of these as ways to throw our birds into the air and encourage them to start flashing their wings.
*The link is for those new to the site who might wonder what the hell we are talking about.
Cheers Fathermuckers and ClitReactors.
Alien - like the stream of consciousness piece you laid out - it's like William Gibson had a dream about X-Men in the world of Johnny Mnemonic after he broke up with his girlfriend.
This website does monthly writing prompts.
Prompt!
I have not forgot you. I had to quit you for a while. Writing and submitting in the Wednesday evening hours. Looking forward to rejoining my LitReactor community...and, looking foward to Rough House P-4...
I've been asking around for you Boone. Glad you're back.
@Boone: he's been telling everyboy you owe him...something. Won't specify what it is, but says it's something he can't get from aliensoul. I'm sure your guess is better than mine.
There he is! I found him
Subject 67
“Mohsh, how much time do I have?”
“You have fifteen minutes. How does the suit feel?” Mosh responded, with a soft tone.
“It fits, somewhat snug. How are my vitals?”
“They're stable, for now.”
“Good.”
“Don't worry the MMCM-3 compound is safe. Even if it courses through your veins, activating it is the risky part.”
“That's not my issue, Mosh. The fact that I might lose control, is what I'm worried about.”
“Tura-I mean Subject 67, the Malleable Metal Chemical Multiplier is safe, to a point.”
“Tell that to the ones before me. They're all dead,” Subject 67 replied.
“One of them is still alive.”
“If you can call that living. The ten times rush of adrenaline burst some of his veins.”
“You can handle it. I believe in you.”
“Shut the comms.”
“What?”
“I said shut the communications.”
“But the others will want to hear. They need to be updated on your actions.”
“Shut them. You can tell them what's happening.”
“All right.”
There was a slight static, some motion in the background, and all Subject 67 could hear was Mosh's female voice. The communications between them came from an implant within his skull.
He felt warm in his new armor. The helmet covered his entire head. It was made of the unbreakable MM-3 compound. Its face plate was a dark gold-orange with two black slits for eyes.
The armor itself was full black, with MM-3 plates on his thighs, chest, shins, knees, forearms, knuckles, and elbows. A far greater improvement over the bulky MM-2 and MM-1 models.
“What's this about Turan?” responded Mohsh.
“Nothing, I just wanted to hear your voice, without all the seriousness.”
“The others can't know about us, we're taking a risk doing this. I am worried though.”
“It's fine, I'll live. But, if for some reason I do lose control, I want you to kill me.”
“Don't say that.”
Subject 67 looked down from where he knelt. From on the rooftop he could see people walking the streets. Oblivious to the killing machine that watched them. He studied them carefully, all the people of Section One. Normal, if you can call them that, people going about their lives. Without any trouble. This made him feel sick and he envied them.
“Hello?” Mosh asked.
“I'm here.” 67 replied.
“It went quiet.”
“I know. How much time do I have?”
“Five minutes, you should get going.”
“Sure.”
Subject 67 stood up. Stretched his modified limbs. Then started running towards the rooftop edge. He hurdled from rooftop to rooftop with an immense ease. Each landing causing a crater in the cement.
When he reached the mission objective, he came upon an abandoned warehouse. It was a run down building, littered with graffiti, broken walls, shattered windows, and above its doors stood a red neon sign. The sign was still working.
“Don't forget to-”
Subject 67 turned off his communication. He didn't want Mohsh to hear. With his left hand he grabbed a gold rod at his hip. He held it in front of him.
“Command: MMCM-3 detach.”
A voice in his head responded.
“Command entered.”
He felt his veins turn hot, the rush of MMCM-3 felt like he was getting slammed into a wall. Subject 67 bit his lips and tried not to scream. His eyes felt hot, like they were going to melt out of the socket. The suit began to glow. Thin lines of red began to pulsate around the suit, like living veins.
Subject 67 could feel his muscles mass multiply. He felt them tear, rip, and rebuild themselves multiple times.
“C-C-Command: MM-3 Blade Formation.”
“Command entered.”
The metal rod began to stir. A sliver of metal shot out from it. Then finally formed into a blade. A red vein from the suit coursed in the direction of the blade. It went up Subject 67's leg, then arm, and finally into the blade. This caused the blade edge to glow red and hiss.
“C-Command: Stealth”
“Command entered.”
From the bottom up the suit began to disappear and blend with the environment.
“Command: Matter Relocation, one hundred yards west.”
“Command entered.”
The suit stirred, and with the rearrangement of matter, both Subject 67 and the suit vanished. Reappearing inside the warehouse.
@Fitz
Nice work! Why hispanic? Do you plan on continuing this? It reminds me of some sort of sci-fi/fantasy/dystopia. Cool stuff.
@Alien
Brutal! Nice job. Felt like a symphony of chaos.
Sorry, I'm a day late on the prompt. Had a lot of personal matters going on, but the new prompt is up!
So I want to thank Fritz personally for always submitting. You're what keeps it alive! Haha
Naw - I threw the hispanic in there to add some racism and indians are a harder sell (ha) - plus, to my urbanite transgressives Atreyu probably looked mexican - I don't know if I will work this one through - May let it stew on the back burner for awhile - it's more of a parady between two different approaches of fiction (children's fantasy and transgressives) - if I wrote it I'd probably have the kids win, but with some weird technique only a kids fantay-laden brain could come up with - something the gritty, real world of the transgressives don't see coming - hmmm. will have to ask my 6 yr old about this one.
Liked the viscera Panda - can never go wrong with dialog driven pieces - just puts you right freakin there. Like it.
I just wrote and accidentally deleted a story on the accident prompt. It contained the phrase "human disco ball."
Feel bad about both.
Thanks Fritz.
I liked the fantasy/fiction setting of yours. Reminded me of A Neverending Story meets Blade Runner meets Greek Mythology.
Prompt
On a hunch I hit CTRL-V and my accident story appeared. Here it is, "human disco ball" and all.
Got a little dark on this one. I hope I don't scare anybody (ha). Really, I didn't know what it was going to do until I was like 3 paragraphs into it. 753 words.
took out gonna submit it.
Nice.
Yeah - i was kinda rough on that hooker. Wait... I mean in the story. Yeah. The story. Ha
The Incident
There is a helicopter hovering above. The vibrations from its propellers rattling windows, and my bones. It circles the scene like some mechanical vulture. Studying the dead carcass below.
I stroll towards the mess, that’s what it is, a mess. Nothing but chips of glass, a crumpled car, which resembles a metallic accordion, and smoke. Had I been any civy I would have walked away or stared, one of those.
I bend down, underneath the caution tape, and examine the scene at a closer range.
A rookie rushes in, ready for some action, some experience. He looks at the scene, absorbs it, then spews out his lunch in a giant splash. Everyone looks at him in disgust, not because he vomited, but because he couldn’t hold his shit together.
This is isn’t the place where you let your emotions run, that’s for later. That’s left to your overpriced psychologist or the poor man’s version of a psychologist, your spouse.
When it comes to matters like these, you hurl them back to the corners of your mind. Leave them there. You revisit it them when you get home. With that blank stare on your face. An expression of pure shock, with a mixture of misunderstanding.
Presently, the red and blue lights swirled over my face. It doesn’t bother me, I don’t blink. I don’t flinch when I hear sirens blaring in my ears.
In front of me I can see blood seeping through the cracks. I don’t know who’s it is. There are, were two people in the car. One of them flew through the windshield and is lying twenty yards west. He isn’t moving and hasn’t. The driver is knocked out cold or dead.
The vehicle responsible was driven by a drunk driver. It caught on fire and burned the man inside, or what we think was a man. We put out the fire though. The smell of fuel still looms in the night air. It’s haunting and acrid smell.
One of the men come up to me.
“What’s the skinny on the collision?” I say.
“Nothing much, we got a couple ID’s that’s about it. No one says skinny anymore by the way.”
“I was watching some war flick before I got here. Thought it might be handy. What about these ID’s?”
“Well, the drunk driver’s is nothing but a crumpled laminated heap. The other car. We’re thinking...may have been a politician with her kid.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. Media is gonna lose it.”
“What about the kid, how old was he?”
“Fifteen, why do you ask?”
“Nothing in particular.”
I don’t tell him that my kid died a couple years ago, in a similar accident.
I like it, Panda.
Ooooooh, that little one really needed to be able to hit harder. I think the big one got her.
Good job, J.Y. and Fritz!
So there has been a delay in the prompt. I've been very busy with a ton of things, but the new prompt is up. Which I think is a very interesting one.
Fritz I noticed the writing style for your last one was very different.
Eh? That a compliment? I play with style and voice. Don't like to pin myself down. It's a play on 1st person. Will check out the prompt. Was wondering about ya.
I liked it so it's a compliment. Yeah I was just busy haha.
Dude. Glad u liked it. I wasn't worried. Love these prompts though. They are good fun and better practice
I'm offering a prize. Check out the other discussion.
This is Why Cavemen Danced around Fires
Day One:
The plane went down around Monday afternoon and we were stranded there until someone found us. It was only inevitable because they ran routes around this place all the time so we really weren’t worried. There were six of us: Jimmy, Diane, Hector, Sandra, Tony the tour guide and me. It was our own personal Gilligan’s Island then soon turned into Lost and then became Lord of the Flies. Jimmy and Diane started fighting about some stupid shit then Sandra started complaining about all the bugs and Hector followed her around like an obedient puppy. I started to wonder why these people were my friends. Tony was the calmest of us all, although the radio wasn’t working, it had been damaged when we hit the water. He was still trying to fix it though and we all treated him like our own personal Tom Hanks in Castaway praying he would save us. The first day was okay, we ate fruit off the trees and some snacks we had in our bags from hiking earlier in the day.
Day Two:
Everyone started to get worried and anxious. Jimmy started picking a fight with Tony the tour guide, blaming him for the crash. Then Diane started arguing with Sandra and blamed her for inviting her and Jimmy on the trip. Hector started selling at Diane then Jimmy got angry at Hector and they ended up in a fist fight. I pulled them apart.
“Chill the fuck out guys!” I screamed, “I know we are hungry and cranky but it’s no reason to turn on each other. No one really gets lost anymore. They must have a search party out looking for us.”
Tony smiled at me then and said, “You should listen to your friend. He knows what he is talking about.”
Jimmy and Hector apologized to each other then Diane and Sandra did the same. We ate fruit and leaves, we built a fire and soon it turned into an inferno. Tony told us just to keep it away from the forest. It would attract attention to us and a plane passing by would investigate. After hours of wood gathering, we were all exhausted but then a strange second wind came over us as if we had been given new life. Jimmy took off his shirt and then started pounding his chest. Then Diane and Sandra started laughing and started jumping after him and circling the fire like he did. Hector watched the flames with a strange sort of fascination in his eyes. Tony took off his shirt and joined Jimmy, they started to sweat profusely but continued their dance. For the first time in my life I understood why cavemen danced around fires, why African tribes did dances and spoke to the spirits. There was sort of an exhilarating rush that came over us in the midst of our panic, fear and starvation.
Day Three:
Tony finally gets the radio working. He sends out a signal but a voice only comes back in German and can’t understand him. That night we make another fire and dance wildly, the girls take off their tops and dance naked. Soon we are all kissing. I find Tony the tour guide looking at me strangely and he comes near me. For the first time in my life I am kissing another man and it feels strangely familiar.
Day Four:
Tony takes the radio to the top of the cliff where he tries to get a stronger signal. Jimmy and Hector start trying to catch fish with a net made from the girl’s stalkings and undergarments. Sandra washes our clothes in the water. We hear a scream and Diane disappears. We spend half the night looking for her before we agree to stop for the night. Jimmy refuses. He goes deeper into the jungle.
Day Five:
Tony, Hector and I start to search for Diane and Jimmy. We discover a whole other side of the island we didn’t know existed. It’s beautiful and surrounded by glistening shells that seem to light up the beach. I feel mesmerized by them and start to pick them up. I put one to my ear and I swear to God, I can hear my own voice speaking back to me. Don’t go any farther, it says. A chill runs up my spine. We hear a scream. When we get back to the camp, Sandra is missing. Hector freaks out and wants to start a search party, we make torches and search through the woods for hours. That is when I first discover the portal. There is a cave with a translucent edge around it and I push my hand through it and it disappears. On the other side, there is a feeling of cold. When I pull my hand back, there is snow in my palm.
Day Six:
We all feel dizzy from the hunger. Hector never came back. Tony and I spend the day looking for him. “About what happened the other night,” he began. “Can we please not talk about it?” I tell him. “It’s just, it felt right but also like…it already happened before but that’s impossible.” I felt a strange feeling of déjà vu because he was right. It did feel familiar. Tony and I walk as far as we can to the west of the island. A radio signal comes in, it’s of a ship Captain. “To whom am I speaking?” he asks. “This is Tony Milton of Cruise Lines.” “Cruise Lines?” the man says, “Is this a joke? We are trying to fight a war here, son, this is a private frequency.”
“Ask him what year it is,” I say, suddenly.
“What?” “Just do it!” “My friend here wants to know what year it is?”
Tony cringes at the question. The Captain says, “Why, it’s 1942, of course.”
“I don’t understand,” Tony says, “How can that be—“
“We need to get off this side of the island!” I tell him and I see the storm coming in.
Then a flood of thoughts start to come back to me.
We have done this before. This is why cavemen danced around fires. The look on Hector’s face as he stared into the flames. This place, the portal in the woods.
I turn and Tony’s face begins to wrinkle and before my eyes he ages fifty years, he reaches out to me but I take his hand and it is already crumbling and turning to ash.
I run. Why am I immune? How many times has this happened? Maybe if I can warn…
I run to the other side of the beach and pick up a seashell and whisper into it.
The storm comes rolling in and I—
Day Seven:
“Nathan, you alright, man?” Jimmy asks me as we are all gasping for breath on the beach as we swim to shore.
“Yeah, I think so.” I am panting.
“Is anyone injured?” Tony the tour guide says. The girls say no, they are okay.
He looks at me for a moment, a strange look on his face as if he has seen a ghost. He almost speaks but then closes his mouth.
The Bonfire
The tongues of fire let loose. I can feel the warmth radiate over my skin. The sensation of heat trickles through my body and I feel, for the first time in years, alive.
Behind me I can hear the others approach. Their pants mixing in with the crackle of flames and bursting wood. It is heavy panting, like that of a dog, the sound of a deep thirst.
I sit and ignore them. The fire in front of me is what I care about most. It is a vigil, for who I don’t know. The way it dances and grows mesmerizes me. I can already see the reflection of it in my eyes. Burning through, into my being. Warming my dead soul.
The footsteps behind me grow louder, I lick my lips, the anticipation.
“What are you doing here?” says one, I don’t know what he looks like. My back is turned.
“Answer him dog!” says the other, with a crackled tone.
I change my breathing pattern. The ocean air and the embers enter my nostrils. Below the waves are crashing with a ferocity.
“Scum!” says the first man.
He kicks me from behind and I fall face first in the flames. I don’t scream, my breathing continues. My hair burns instantly and I pull back from the flames.
A vigil, for my lost soul perhaps. Lost so many years ago in that sea of nightmares and life.
The waves sound like thunder and I rise up from the soil. Flakes of ashes sprinkle on to my face.
Behind me I hear the men stagger back.
“Demon!” yells the crackled voice.
I am no demon, some may consider me to be a monster, but never a demon.
With my brown eyes I look up at the night. Small holes in that inked space. I open my mouth and stick out my tongue, the ocean mist falls lightly on my buds and so do more of the embers. I am alive, just for this time, for this short brief instant. My heart burns, it pumps faster and faster, and my breathing grows heavier.
I pull out my silver friend. A sharp extension of my arm.
The men can’t run. I am much too quick. A steady and crashing blow digs into one of their chests. He gurgles, but his friend doesn’t help. His eyes are wide and I see the fire in his eyes, these flames will fade soon. I put my foot on his split open chest, pull back as I did in the flames, and retrieve silver.
Ruby red drips down, slow at first, and then pours a crimson waterfall. I stare at this gap, and watch fleshy snakes pour out and drop to the floor.
His friend stammers as all men with fear tend to do, and looks at his fallen friend, then me.
I lick my lips. The salty sea, blood, and saliva mix. A deadly concoction travels down my esophagus and into my belly.
His mouth is open and the tears flow down into it. Another salty taste. He begins to run, but I pounce on him.
I bury the blade deep. It absorbs his life.
Again and again and again in a flurry I strike.
As I dismember the men I throw their parts into the fire. It grows even higher than before. Around me I can see their spirits dance around the flames, keeping the vigil alive.
Panda, RE: our conversation this morning. I reread it. Not bad sir. Not bad at all.
BAM!
Thank you Matt!
BOOM!
You're welcome.
OK OK - I got one - Haven't read you guys yet - didn' t want to jinks myself. Here is goes. about 710 words.
Heaven’s Return
Warsh’s eyes were grey, a light grey. When pure Moon hit them straight on they were white. Rogney had never seen the like. Course Warsh was older than the Blackwater and had been around last time Heaven had passed by.
“Elder Warsh, you seen it. What’s it like?” Only Warsh was left living from the last time. He was the last of the history speakers, the last of the outcasts. And he didn’t like visitors way out here.
“Get off with you.” Warsh pursed thin black lips, shook his narrow, grey head and ran an old wrinkled hand through his silver hair. “It’s not meant for us. Go to the caves to the broken ships and fight temptation with the others. No good comes after.”
Rogney eyed the graying timbers of the airy cabin. White light seeped through like prison bars. “I’m not afraid of after. What’s a few years of prison penance?”
Warsh threw a hand at him and turned away. He looked to the sea from his cabin window. Silvery waves rolled on black waters up to the white and gray beach. Up above a full moon shone its bleached light.
“There’s no word you’d understand,” He said. “Go to the caves. Do as your betters bid.”
“You didn’t”
“No, I didn’t”
“So why should I?”
Warsh struck a match and set the brittle wood of his cabin walls on fire then turned back to Rogney.
“So you don’t end up like me.”
“What are you doing?”
“Go away.”
“But”
“I can’t stand to see it again. It’s too much.”
Grey smoke filled the small cabin quick. Warsh waited for the boy to stop his ranting and just leave then shut the flimsy door. He breathed deep the acrid air, coughed, did it again, and coughed more. He got lightheaded, almost fell, but managed to wedge himself upright in a corner long enough for…
*
“Crazy old man,” Rogney said, watching the fire burn fast and hot and bright.
Then Heaven came. He could see it just starting to near, a star just a little bigger than the others. It wouldn’t take long now. He scampered around the burning house a time of two and checked again. Bigger. A few others, others like him, the ones that wanted to see, the new history speakers, the ones banned from the rest of society after their prison penance, forever exiled to the wilds, never again to set foot in the city, they gathered around Old Warsh’s burning cabin and danced and scampered and laughed. Heaven continued to near.
Heaven was a color not white, something softer. His heart ached. He slapped his fellows on their backs and chuckled and pointed. Heaven had a tale that wasn’t white either. Looking at it all he knew he’d made the right choice. This couldn’t be wrong. It felt too right. This was how it was supposed to be.
Heaven got bigger. The Moon disappeared. The sky got bright. The colors changed. It all changed. The air… the sky changed color. The ocean wasn’t black. The beach wasn’t white and gray. Nothing was soft and fuzzy. His fellows skin each bore different shades. Their hair was different, all of it different. Their eyes were different color even.
The flames of the near burnt cabin were the color of Heaven riding high. His fellows peeled away one by one, all running, all trying to get away, to hide from the wicked, stark sharpness of it all. He stayed. He’d told Warsh he wasn’t afraid, and even if he was now, he wasn’t going to go running and screaming into the woods like the others. He stayed and saw it all. Heaven arced around fast overhead. He looked at everything he could.
Then it faded away. Just like that, almost between blinks. The Moon was back. Heaven was a big star fading away. The Blackwaters were black once more. The sky was grayish black again. He fell to his knees next to the whitish coals of Warsh’s fire. His eyes ached from the staring. He already missed the colors. Their memory ran like vivid movies behind his eyes. He didn’t know why, but he cried. He cried and he cried and he couldn’t stop.