Michael.Eric.Snyder's picture
Michael.Eric.Snyder September 18, 2013 - 4:14pm

The Summons. 

This is the current beginning of the third scene, not yet posted in workshop:

Liz Hedfield knew what that Foster boy was all about. He and his boyfriend—sorry—husband—actually drove a car across thousands of miles in 100 degree deserts and cracked and dirty and dusty roads lined with primitive, hand crank gas pumps and filmy diners suffuse with grease and God knows what exotic parasites, not to mention the wildlife. Once returning from a charity event in New Mexico—where she’d lived before Benjamin—she’d left her car for one moment to buy a bottled water only to return and find a toady looking reptile perched on her seat like it was going to drive the car itself. She brushed the beast out of the car with her bottled water and, thus contaminated, threw the bottle in the nearest receptacle, thirst forgotten, and drove the next 75 miles to Taos at certain high speed. That rat-trap red thing didn’t even have a center brake light—look at them now parking as far away from the other vehicles as possible —and of course they should be embarrassed by it—really, how could a car that old still be running.

L.W. Flouisa's picture
L.W. Flouisa from Tennessee is reading More Murakami September 18, 2013 - 4:49pm

Laying on the surgeons table, it felt like it was barely clean. My vision faded to black. I used to be called “the splice”. That is ... until I died.

Fritz's picture
Fritz September 18, 2013 - 5:48pm

     As darkness fell, so did his rapturous soul, into the blackness of the cabin, where no fire should ever go. For woods filled his hillside and autumn was nigh.  Harvest had passed and birds had begun to fly.

Sequoia Nagamatsu's picture
Sequoia Nagamatsu is reading Red Moon by Ben Percy and Inter-Ice Age Four by Kobo Abe September 18, 2013 - 11:52pm

As Dalen ran his calloused hands over the railings of the tower’s stairwells, the lights in the cavern became more illuminated, heralding a virescent dawn. The grooves in the walls transformed into waves in the morning glow as if the city floated inside a bubble in the ocean. From his monitors running feeds from cameras and through his telescope, he watched the city come to life––the stirrings of lovers, families eating breakfast, children walking the promenade to school, shopkeepers lifting the shutters to their stores, often displaying artifacts and photographs of the world above that no longer existed.

Sound's picture
Sound from Azusa, CA is reading Greener Pastures by Michael Wehunt September 21, 2013 - 10:50pm

From Three Stories

On those saturdays Armando looks into the darkness while his mother rattles pots and pans in the kitchen and his father slaughters chickens for fifty cents an hour. He stares into the dark and watches it contort and squirm under his unflinching gaze. All those times it was the shadows that blinked first...but this time, when the darkness stares back from behind a pair of silvery eyes, Armando drops his hot dog and takes a step back.

Sound's picture
Sound from Azusa, CA is reading Greener Pastures by Michael Wehunt September 21, 2013 - 10:51pm

Here's from Ten Rules For Surviving The Night (At Teddy Dentmore's):

There were a few choice words I should’ve paid more attention to early on as Teddy Dentmore starting talking that night. Hallowed ground was one. Demon was another biggie. There were others sprinkled in there that may have given me a sneak peek to what was in store for us, but I didn’t hear any of it. Of the two of us, Teddy was always the more studious and as soon as his ramblings started sounding like An Introduction To Something or Other...well, I just tuned out. Surviving the night was a phrase I didn’t recall him saying, but it would’ve summed up the sleepover pretty well. And hell, I might’ve thought that he was a complete lunatic, instead of just a fat nerdy kid who traded Pokemon cards up until his Senior year in High School. I might’ve bolted. I might’ve saved my parents thousands in psychiatric help, years of anxiety into my adult years. I may have had kids, a family. I didn’t know how irreparably changed my life would become after that night. No one knows when life hands you a bowl of chili hiding a plump, purple bloody finger. You realize it once you’ve committed—bitten in deep, grazing bone—and by then really, well, it’s too late to take anything back.

Been writing a lot more lately. This one is from my unposted battle with Strange Photon. 

PattonJr_87's picture
PattonJr_87 from Rock Hill, SC is reading The Old Man and the Sea September 22, 2013 - 8:34am

   The light shining down on the street corner made it look like a lone island floating in a sea of blackness.  The occasional passing headlights of a random car illuminated the surrounding area, only to shed light on the run down buildings with busted windows, random graffiti, shattered bottles, and whatnot.  This part of town was a wasteland.  The only housing in the area was a crumby apartment complex that looked to be at least fifty years old, with half of the apartments missing an air conditioning unit.  Also, a gas station that stayed open twenty-four hours a day was located near the apartment complex.  The local inhabitants would often congregate there.  Some were crack peddlers, some were hookers, others were addicts trying to score some kind of high.  This was quite possibly the shittiest place on the planet to live.  Even the air here felt as if I were breathing in a disease.  I was out of my comfort zone entirely and, to make matters worse, there was a gun pointing at the back of my skull.

 

Devon Robbins's picture
Devon Robbins from Utah is reading The Least Of My Scars by Stephen Graham Jones September 22, 2013 - 9:13am

The way Ari crawls down the stairs is like watching a fly buzzing around with one wing. I open the front door, and as empty as it all feels, I want this to mean something. I tell myself it does, but I'm a liar. If there is a heart left inside me, it's strapped to my shoe sole and I'm stomping it into the ground.
Wind screams over the hilltop, throwing the rain sideways like hypothermic shards of glass. It whistles through the cedar trees, as if distant voices churning in the shadows. Ari drags himself onto the sidewalk. The trail of blood left from his hand dissolves under my feet. And he's speaking to me now, sucking hoarse breaths between words. But all I hear is fragmented sentences. A mix of consanants and vowels. Syllables in a foriegn tongue.

Sound's picture
Sound from Azusa, CA is reading Greener Pastures by Michael Wehunt September 23, 2013 - 10:51am

Nice, Devon. I'm always a big fan of your paragraphs. The one-winged fly, the shards of glass, distant voices chruning in the shadows--all great stuff.

Devon Robbins's picture
Devon Robbins from Utah is reading The Least Of My Scars by Stephen Graham Jones September 24, 2013 - 9:27am

Thanks, Sound. I'm on the last scene of my novel. And it's killing me. You've been doing well yourself. Your story, "Bones of the Old Society" that was in one of the thunderdome battles has some of the best writing I've read in a while. Killer lines in there. I hope you place it somewhere awesome.

I'm hoping to have some less selfish participation here as soon as I wrap this ending up.

Sound's picture
Sound from Azusa, CA is reading Greener Pastures by Michael Wehunt September 24, 2013 - 9:49am

Truthfully, I haven't cleaned that one up and finished it. You may have just given me the motivation to finish it. So, thanks. :)

And good luck with the scene.

Flybywrite's picture
Flybywrite from Rocky Point, Long Island is reading The Bride Comes to Yellow Sky, by Stephen Crane September 25, 2013 - 11:38am

I'd like to cheat (?) and get a second paragraph in for my triumphant return to posting paragraphs.  I feel I can use this post to the purpose of solidifying (?) my novel one paragraph at a time, and getting back into the community a bit after a long blip out. I regret that, but things conspire.  I think this here thread is a good and useful one, because we all have paragraphs we're proud and not proud and too proud of and not proud enough of, I think.  for instance, i have no idea why i suddenly wnet rodeo rider above.  So I'm trying to take maybe a bit of a wild, dreamy thing, from intuitive and linguisitically all over the map first draft, to clear and concise second draft, that keeps a particular sort of pacing I've been forgetting for years always in mind. So by the use of this thread, particularly when people begin to clamor for me to break the rules and submit endless paragraphs per week, I'll be able to stare at each paragraph in the endless procession one at a time until my eyes begin to bleed, by which time, I would devoutly wish for the entirety of them in a completed bunch to be properly and interesteringly linked. 

 

                                                     Chapter 1   

After three consecutive bong hits with his new exotic weed Finley McPherson felt odder than usual.  He had been too nearby an alcoholic blackout when he made the buy last night, to give the lightly snowed on green and purple and bizarrely yellow buds their proper test.  But now they were passing it with flying colors, and Finley was soon astounded by the intensity with which this high had immediately begun exceeding all previous standards.

Jose F. Diaz's picture
Jose F. Diaz from Boston is reading Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel September 25, 2013 - 9:53pm

This is part of a writing exercise. The first and last sentence are provided, the rest is me.        

       She jumped when the phone rang, but picking up the receiver a look of good will crossed her face. She listened to the male voice on the other end go on and on about savings and something about a great deal. Not having the heart to stop his small tirade, she started drawing little hearts on the paper pad she kept near the phone for messages. The male voice continued on and she started to add an arrow through the heart, then a small crack running down from the top. She erased some of the edges and wrapped barbed wire across its width with little drops of blood pouring from the punctures. A small fire with its flames licking the sharp point on the bottom appeared next. The charred look took a bit longer to develop. A quite accurate revolver pointed down at the heart, threatening it. Blam! The heart was shot and a huge chunk disappeared. The heart lay in ruins; punctured, burned, skewered, shot.

      “That’s it, now grab the knife from the drawer and cut your finger and drip blood onto the page. Give it a real life-like feel,” the male voice said over the phone.

     She opened the drawer and pulled out the small pocketknife, flicked it open, and saw her reflection in the polished steel blade. She could see the phone about an inch from her ear. A long red tongue came through the receiver and licked her ear. At the touch of the tongue she dropped the knife and phone. It was only after she’d replaced the phone in its cradle that the full impact of what she’d just heard came over her.

L.W. Flouisa's picture
L.W. Flouisa from Tennessee is reading More Murakami September 26, 2013 - 3:35am

Just finished a rewrite. It's half way through the short story:

  We once dreamed of a meadow of gold.
  It was our story of a wonderful life that once existed, a story that was never told. These days, the likely-hood of it happening sucks. But we have each other, or rather maybe we once did those days. My friends are all gone now. There is only me and Ellen left alive. ... And I date sheep.
  At that point, we could not give two fucks ---

Yes as you may have noticed, I'm a bit of an oddball.D:

OtterMan's picture
OtterMan from New Jersey, near Philadelphia USA is reading Ringworlds Children September 26, 2013 - 4:06pm

I knew a guy, who knew a guy and that guy knew a different guy. And how many stories have started like that? The guy was an old friend, not as old as me but old enough that I had just come from visiting him in a "Senior Care Facility". We use to just call them "Old Folks Homes". The fake flowers on the hall tables did nothing to hide the pervasive aroma wafting from metal covered dishes of plastic pancakes drizzled with dark congealed syrup and lumps of eggs half submerged in yellow water. His guy was actually his grandson. We had all once spent a week together is a large house beside the Atlantic. Stunning sunshine on soft sand beaches and the gentle call of gulls had given way one night to the unfettered power of a gale force wind. Surf pounded and shook the pilings on which the house perched. Windows moaned and doors creaked, the power failed and in candle lit shadows we sheltered and talked of the past. The boy, about ten or eleven at the time listened wide eyed as I spoke of watching rockets blast into the sky and flickering black and white images of a human man setting foot on an alien world. I also mourned out loud the fact that we could never live long enough to truly explore the stars. It must have made more of an impression than I realized. He recognized me at once as I entered his grandfather's room that day. Now almost thirty years old with a few premature grey's at his temples he mentioned working for the different guy in the research funding department of a major pharmaceutical firm. A bunch of other guys were looking for some old guys, in what passes for good health when you're an old guy. Would I be interested in being interviewed for a project he couldn't tell me anything more about? We exchanged comms and curiosity gnawed at me the whole way home.

Shannon Barber's picture
Shannon Barber from Seattle is reading Paradoxia: A Predators Diary by Lydia Lunch September 27, 2013 - 3:53pm

I'm finally pretty close to finishing my smut collection. I'm including some longer pieces. This is from #3 in the Daddy section.

Her voice is so soft I try to take more, I go slow and keep it wet. My nose bumps her belly, and I stay there until my lungs scream for air and I finally back off and take a breath. Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head.

 

ravenkult's picture
ravenkult from Sweden is reading The Keeper September 28, 2013 - 1:30am

There are seaweeds tangled in his hair and on his face and the eyes are white and the lips are blue. The thing in her bed is dead and dead, and dead indeed, and the screams will now wake the neighbors and this home will never see peace again.

L.W. Flouisa's picture
L.W. Flouisa from Tennessee is reading More Murakami September 29, 2013 - 1:05pm

I'm not typical this productive, but I'm been on a short story a day shtick for a while.O_o:

  The dorm room was barely lit by the buzzing light.
  It was covered in the filth of dirty clothes, unwashed for a very long week, and it felt like time had not gone by for Jerid, who wished he had not run out of washing detergent for his clothes. He was sleeping in his own filth, but tried to promise himself to buy some tomorrow. He was mixing tunes sitting at his work desk.

Dwayne's picture
Dwayne from Cincinnati, Ohio (suburbs) is reading books that rotate to often to keep this updated October 14, 2013 - 1:04pm

Hitting a few buttons to debate being honest didn’t give me enough time for a good lie so I told him. “The Key was the first item in the category I’ve named ‘Big Stuff.’ Items the next level past the Oath Hammer, things that don’t just bend the laws of physics or break them for a price; stuff rewrites reality. I found the Key when I stole a safety deposit box from a bank in Iowa City. Wasn’t even in the box, but wedged up behind it. It lets you contact the Judges of Earth. I used it once, on accident. It looks like something out of a cheesy sitcom version of heaven; white clouds and 13 normal looking folks in black gowns with scales and scythes and stuff. It didn’t take long to figure out it wasn’t something normal folk should be doing on a regular basis. They sent me home with dire warnings not to waste their time. Later I heard through the grape vine they are just normal folks. One is a waitress in New Zeland, two are farmers some place in South America. And there are lots of Keys; not just the one.” I looked over, and he was nodding. “You aren’t listening are you?”

He was looking out the window into space. “No, not really.”

Kristi's picture
Kristi from Connecticut is reading Anything I can get my hands on! October 14, 2013 - 4:57pm

I just read through the thread I think this is such a great idea! Now I for a few comments!!

@Nathan: I really like your paragraph, I wish you would have kept posting from your WIP from March on the first page of the thread! It's very poetic... I would totally read more of that!

@Devon: Your writing is amazing! I read every paragraph! I am a fan! I love graphic, descriptive and visually pleasing writing. I have a very visual mind when I read and I really thought that everything you wrote was spot on and pulled me right in! Keep writing and posting in this thread I want to read more!!

@Avery: I loved your bit about the castles I think you should defiantly work on it! I want to read all about it! I was whisked away to an Irish, Hobbity Land... {I hope that doesn't offend you!} I want to know more!

I will have to grab a paragraph and post it! 

 

Sound's picture
Sound from Azusa, CA is reading Greener Pastures by Michael Wehunt October 14, 2013 - 4:18pm

From "Bones Of The Old Society"

The lurch of the carriage dispersed such thoughts. It creaked and groaned under the weight of the Weapon, secured with rope and framed wood so it would not stir. Yet he pushed on as quickly as he could, taxing the horses as they tore against the reigns, ripping at the muddy trail with their hooves. The weapon was covered with a tarpaulin and heaved into the back of the carriage by six guards, who were nearly brought to the floor with tears at the news of Olan’s passing.

“Mourn for Olan later,” Paulson said as he entered the bunker where the weapon was housed. “The King is dead, but his kingdom is alive. Help me rescue it.”

“You sure it’s on?” one of the guards said, still a boy really, wiping the sweat off his brow and staring at the sentient dome-shaped bulk of polished metal and dusty plastic buttons. “It’s so quiet. Hardly makes any sound at all.”

“True danger rarely does,” Paulson said.

Kristi's picture
Kristi from Connecticut is reading Anything I can get my hands on! October 14, 2013 - 4:49pm

From "The Spark" 

This is rough... Just wrote it this week...

Marcus reaches out a hand, at first I think he’s going to apologize, but then his hand grasps me around the throat, he lifts me up out of my chair so that only the tips of my toes are brushing lightly against the floor. He is so much stronger than he looks. His hands feel like icicles frozen around my neck. Something is terribly, terribly wrong. I feel cold spreading through my body, making it hard to breath. He’s like me. As my mind races with the thought, I feel my lips turning blue as a cool cloud of white slips from between my lips. Marcus’s voice seethes from between clenched teeth, his tone has gone from Jekyll to Hyde.

“Do not try to undermine me little girl, you have no idea who I am, or what I am capable of.” His eyes have turned milky blue, and his pupils are blown wide open as he stares into my eyes. “You think you can come here and slide in between Dashor’s sheets and take my place?” Marcus clears his throat. “No matter what kind of genius they think you are you will not take my place in this hierarchy. I can see to it that you vanish without a trace and no one will ever suspect that I had anything to do with it.” He releases me, and I stumble falling into the chair, clutching the edge of the table I pull myself upright.

 

L.W. Flouisa's picture
L.W. Flouisa from Tennessee is reading More Murakami October 15, 2013 - 5:23am

The stories is a bit slow moving in the introduction, so I'll post this one:

“Hey guys, wait up!” Avon said. His voice heard after he popped into the pink void non-space of the mem brain. The glow of the blue mem brain, giving his hair a very faint green tint. “Why don’t we split up into separate groups, so we can investigate ... both hemispheres ...to find ... Horace!”

I tend to seperate the dialogue, by actions in between the text.:P

avery of the dead's picture
avery of the dead from Kentucky is reading Cipher Sisters October 15, 2013 - 7:11am

@Kristi - I actually worked that one up and got it accepted, it'll be out next month.  :) 

 

Bekanator's picture
Bekanator from Kamloops, British Columbia is reading Ugly Girls by Lindsay Hunter October 15, 2013 - 10:46pm

Oooh, Sound, I like it! Very visual prose!

Sound's picture
Sound from Azusa, CA is reading Greener Pastures by Michael Wehunt October 16, 2013 - 8:43am

Thanks Bek. Took me forever to get back to writing it.

L.W. Flouisa's picture
L.W. Flouisa from Tennessee is reading More Murakami October 16, 2013 - 5:11pm

The light upon the plexiglass windows of the mini-mart, glittered with shininess from the sun glowing brightly. It’s glow gradually decreasing, as the moon gradually swallowed the star.

Kristi's picture
Kristi from Connecticut is reading Anything I can get my hands on! October 18, 2013 - 8:49am

From "The Spark"

This part of the city is desolate, newspapers and trash roll through the streets like urban tumbleweeds. The ground is barren and dry, except for a few stray clumps of brown grass in the empty fenced off lots surrounding the Facility. I solitary green weed stands triumphantly after breaking  through a crack in the pavement. We stand in front of a large, square, industrial monstrosity, taking up an entire city block. The structure is built from a blue-gray steel riveted together in mismatched patch work pieces. It looms over us several stories high, blocking out the mid day sun. There are no windows and only one door in sight. Hune from thick bands of cross-crossing metal, overlapping one another in every direction.

Angel Colón's picture
Angel Colón from The Bronx now living in New Jersey is reading A Big Ol' Pile of Books October 18, 2013 - 6:41pm

Opened the first draft of my manuscript and went to random page:

I hunt and kill the spooky stuff—I don’t befriend it or tie up to a tree in my yard. It’s not meant to be some kind of pet; it’s a fucking foot-long tumor snake with a lamprey mouth. If I let it live, then what? We have a mascot, some annoying side kick that’ll shit in my shoes and cause madcap comedy to happen?
When I actually think about that, it would be kind of awesome to have a gross little sperm with teeth running around and causing trouble.

Dwayne's picture
Dwayne from Cincinnati, Ohio (suburbs) is reading books that rotate to often to keep this updated October 19, 2013 - 5:32am

"Keep in mind I’ve tracked him down. Merlin is an idiot."

Chacron's picture
Chacron from England, South Coast is reading Fool's Assassin by Robin Hobb October 20, 2013 - 1:12am

@Dwayne: I like that one of yours that ends with the guy not listening. The key concept's got me interested.

@G-D-M-L: I like the snake with the lamprey mouth, that's got to be bonkers image of the day!

 

Might as well post something I'm pleased with:

From Shadow's Talent:

Our breakfast came and we ate, with Todd predictably guzzled his while I was still poking at half of mine. He kept looking at me as if I might be secretly dropping forkfuls under the table for an invisible dog. Every time I caught him doing it he looked down at his own plate again quickly, as if to say sorry. That’s what Ebony had been doing lately, especially when there was a real dog for me to make use of, but I never had. I dared think I might actually finish this plate and be properly stuffed. Two thirds of the way through, I wished I were wearing a belt so I could loosen it, and another gulp of the cider still left in my pint glass would have churned my stomach like a fermentation mill.

‘Dibs,’ Todd said. ‘You gonna eat that sausage or can I have it?’

‘You’re welcome, Todd,’ I said, pushing the plate towards him and sniggered. ‘Waiter, could we have some more breakfast please? My friend here’s fat.’

‘Fuck you, Sheepdog,’ Todd said, and speared my last sausage.

‘You know,’ I said. ‘I want to go and see Brian at the hospital.’

The rest of my breakfast never made it near Todd’s mouth.

Andrew Scorah's picture
Andrew Scorah from Swansea UK is reading Black Order by James Rollins October 20, 2013 - 2:57am

This is from a new book I am working on, The Omega Sanction.

The mouth of the pass was over-watched by several bunkers, and mortar positions, these manned by crack SS storm troopers armed with MG 42s'. This was the last line of defence to the Jonas Valley Industrial complex. Able Company was to lead the primary assault on the Pass in the heavily forested hills above Liebstein. Charlie Company was to provide suppressive fire. White-hot bolts of illumination cut through the mist and the smoke as they ploughed up the tree lined hill towards the pass. The burnt-egg stench of sulphur hung everywhere.

Dwayne's picture
Dwayne from Cincinnati, Ohio (suburbs) is reading books that rotate to often to keep this updated October 20, 2013 - 11:14pm

@Chacron - Thank you. I wanted to do a info dump that was realistic. 

Bekanator's picture
Bekanator from Kamloops, British Columbia is reading Ugly Girls by Lindsay Hunter October 21, 2013 - 3:37pm

This is quite a bit more than a paragraph, but I can't resist sharing some of my new piece that's in the works. I'm trying to experiment with slightly wordier prose:

Kate's profited off telling stories. Her favourite story used to be about the young woman swept off her feet by a wealthy business man. Kate's spun a multitude of versions of the same tale, where every man is decidedly handsome and every woman suffers from a typical dose of innocence and naivety.

The truth is that Elias didn't sweep her off her feet. He was a tired middle-aged divorcé eating solo at a restaurant and she was an attention-seeking waitress who noticed the briefcase at his feet. The sex didn't happen until a month later. He kept returning to the restaurant and she kept on insisting to serve him. The tips he left got bigger and bigger, but the biggest tip of all was the phone number he left on her bill. She became one of her characters, her fingers shaking as she dialled his number, her voice fluttering as she answered his request to stay the night.

The truth was that the fantasies she'd written about that moment were all better than the real version. Their encounter wasn't so much hot and steamy as it was awkward and nerve-wracking, but she still married him one year later. They both wanted a casual child-free life in a brand new house in a developing adult-oriented lifestyle community built around a destination golf course.

Live, play, relax.

It all sounded so great in the brochure.

Lately Kate's been watching cuckold videos.

Naive women grow up, and now she's intrigued by the idea of a miserable married man masturbating in the corner while a well-endowed stranger pounds his wife to a climax full of breathless relief.

Kate hasn't felt real relief in a while.

She hasn't written a story in a while. Her naive fantasy is a story she's grown so bored to death of living.

Devon Robbins's picture
Devon Robbins from Utah is reading The Least Of My Scars by Stephen Graham Jones October 21, 2013 - 6:45am

I like it. Nothing says fuck me like a good old cuckold video.

L.W. Flouisa's picture
L.W. Flouisa from Tennessee is reading More Murakami October 21, 2013 - 3:25pm

Gas mask, black and bound, is pulled over my face while sipping. Facial contraption, vision fading --- a pink ocean-sea, waving --- I’m falling downward, a sense of drowning. An angel’s face, blissfulness receding. Darkness ...

Bekanator's picture
Bekanator from Kamloops, British Columbia is reading Ugly Girls by Lindsay Hunter October 22, 2013 - 6:00pm

@Devon Robbins: Thanks dude. For the record, I totally do not understand cuckold fantasies, but from my research it seems the men who are into them seem to think less about the commitment of their relationship and more about the general sexual politics of the whole thing. Woman = property that another man is stealing away, and the husband's not enough of a man to get it back, so he just eroticizes the humiliation of not being enough of a man to please his wife.

I dunno. It's interesting, though.

Devon Robbins's picture
Devon Robbins from Utah is reading The Least Of My Scars by Stephen Graham Jones October 22, 2013 - 5:50pm

I don't get it either. People are strange.

jyh's picture
jyh from VA is reading whatever he feels like October 22, 2013 - 6:25pm

Maybe nobody likes those videos but they make them anyway.

Bekanator's picture
Bekanator from Kamloops, British Columbia is reading Ugly Girls by Lindsay Hunter October 23, 2013 - 7:15am

Oh, there is quite the market out there...

Kristi's picture
Kristi from Connecticut is reading Anything I can get my hands on! October 23, 2013 - 10:25am

My humble submission for the week...

From "The Spark"

 

Smoke and steam swirl in every direction. A woman walks past, her lips arched too high, pinched into a tiny heart. They are all painted ladies. Harlequins on parade, wearing tight bodices, and high heels. Hair in every unimaginable shade. They are accompanied by men in velveteen top hats, tight pants, and black leather boots buckled up to their knees. The Capitol is a cirque du pandemonium and I have a front row seat to the show.

Sound's picture
Sound from Azusa, CA is reading Greener Pastures by Michael Wehunt October 23, 2013 - 11:06am

Wow, Rebecca. Sounds like an interesting story. Hope you place it somewhere cool. Drop the link when you do!

Sound's picture
Sound from Azusa, CA is reading Greener Pastures by Michael Wehunt October 23, 2013 - 11:18am

From "Bones Of The Old Society"

The Grindylow watched the boy come down the hill, the beam of light from his flash bobbing up and down awkwardly as he lumbered down the steep incline of the path. It's stomach growled as it smelled the salt on the boy's skin, his sweat--his blood.

A fish glided beneath the Grindylow's frame, darting in and out of muddied water, in clear range of the creature's glinting, serrated teeth, so much like broken glass. It could have had it if it wanted, the head tore off before it knew it was dead, it's body still flapping frantically in the shallow water. But how often did it have the pleasure of warm, young blood?

"Too Long..." It muttered to itself, salivating. It crept towards shore. It's thin, wiry frame crouched flat against the water, claws clutching the loose mud for purchase, pushing itself closer and closer.

It stopped in a thicket of purple grass, black ink flesh glistening. It's eyes followed the boy's light, sure of its future meal. As sure as it was that the bar of light the boy held in his hands would be his undoing. For the Grindylow knew the dark loved the light. Needed it. The shadows hugged closely around the beam, around the boy, inching closer, licking at his flesh until all around him was darkness, and without the warm orb of light he was lost-- Without it, he was blind.

 

 

L.W. Flouisa's picture
L.W. Flouisa from Tennessee is reading More Murakami October 24, 2013 - 9:22pm

Nikko was resisting the dance to the music.

Feeling like throwing the pillow at Jerid, she knew when to put her toys up, and focus on her assigned reading for her class. She hopped out of her bed out of frustration because of the loud music of his hologram screen, buzzing through her ears. Her orange streaked red hair bounced, as she got up to poke her finger on the CPU restart button. “If you could turn if you loud music, for just one minute.”

And then this one.

Nikko was walking through a church, and looking at the choir. And they were singing hymns from their church. She remembered how she just barely missed the opportunity to be in the band. Like a day of wellness, tossed away like sand on the sea. The collective consciousness, covered in divine radiance, floating down from the window of the room that was a manifestation. An illusion from the dream.

Thuggish's picture
Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal October 24, 2013 - 9:54pm

She thumbed the phone, fresh out of its packaging.  It was so cheap it only had half a touch screen, and old style push-buttons on the bottom.  She didn’t want to use the phone he’d given her.  Something made her afraid that he’d recognize the number and not answer.  Instead, she did as he’d once taught her and stopped at a vending machine outside a department store in a casino where she’d gone to buy new, different looking clothes- another of his lessons in evading surveillance.  She paid cash, it had prepay minutes and data plan, so it was in no way traceable to anyone.  The buttons felt crisp and strange, only foreign tourists still used phones like this one.  She couldn’t decide if she should do it.  The number had been entered, all she had to do was push the little green button.  But what if he said no?  Summoning the courage, she told herself there was no better time than now to get his attention with all that was happening.

"Max?” she asked in a quiet voice.

A moment passed before he responded.  “This had better be good.”

She hesitated, afraid to say the wrong thing.  “I think I’m in trouble,” her voice quivered.

Max also hesitated.  “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, there were these guys following me and-” before she could finish her sentence, the line went dead.  She stared at her phone in disbelief.  Dialing again, the line went straight to a message saying the number was disconnected.  He didn’t believe her.  Or he didn’t care.  She was out of options.  She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.  Now she was truly on her own.

Angel Colón's picture
Angel Colón from The Bronx now living in New Jersey is reading A Big Ol' Pile of Books October 25, 2013 - 5:20am

From an untitled short story I keep jumping away from:

Peerman Michael seemed so frail and so small. Gone was the man that trained me from youth. That rapped my knuckles with a switch whenever I peeked at the keys of my typewriter. That made me type into the early hours of morning—my fingers aching and cramped from the constant pecking and pressing. He was once a huge man, bearded and red faced with a sergeant’s roar and a commander’s tact. Now, returned from his last great walk—a year-long endeavor where I was left alone to prepare for his return—he no longer seemed so mythic. In the here and now, there would be no way for me to spin this man into the legend he once was; as such was my mission.

Fritz's picture
Fritz October 25, 2013 - 11:39pm

  The rock hit the monster full in the side. It screeched, lifting its armored head to do so. And Sir Thomas was upon him. He jabbed the jagged stick into the creature's mouth with such force that it ruptured through to the backside of the thing's skull.

Kristi's picture
Kristi from Connecticut is reading Anything I can get my hands on! October 27, 2013 - 10:10am

From "The Spark"

In my short travels I now realize that every Compound is in itself a microcosm. A petri dish left in isolation, able to evolve into it’s own special breed of mankind. I glimpse a girl carrying a purple teacup poodle, and I long for home. I miss the rolling hills and fresh air of Fort Kent. I long for the simpler days that I so desperately wanted to escape.  Dashor’s words from our first meeting resonate in my mind.

              "It is so peaceful here, we don’t have places like this back at the Capitol Compound. I would love to                           stay here. Away from the noise and the crowds.”

Shannon Barber's picture
Shannon Barber from Seattle is reading Paradoxia: A Predators Diary by Lydia Lunch October 28, 2013 - 4:17pm

A little near murder between lovers for funsies.-

I thought I was dreaming. I inhaled her smell, Cocoa butter and vanilla-y hippy oil perfume. A split second before her strong little hand wrapped around my windpipe I opened my eyes and croaked.

"Hi baby."

She was straddling me, hand around my throat, a big smile on her face.

Dwayne's picture
Dwayne from Cincinnati, Ohio (suburbs) is reading books that rotate to often to keep this updated October 29, 2013 - 10:25am

As with the rest these are from the novel I'm working on, Villian.

I took the box off the shelf, pocketed the real Key I had taped to the bottom of the container, and opened the box of 401 fakes.
“Those just look like normal keys.”
I smiled. “Yeah, why do think it is called The Key?” I carefully looked through them to find the one I’d bought from at work instead of the one I’d bulk ordered. “Decoys never hurt.”
Loophole asked, “So how do we use it?”
“Find a locked door.”