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Post by Mister Buch on Apr 11, 2012 2:13:09 GMT 1
I've fallen behind a bit, but here is my entry for Sunday:
The enormous stone door, rotated by aeons-old mechanisms and powered by invisible magic, slowly KCRUUUUUULLLLed and SIIEEIIKEEEed into place, closing forever.
Mighty Kavall the warrior beheld it from the other end of the bridge. Watched the dust hover.
Should he run, he thought, just to be sure? Or stride down there slowly, as if bearing the weight of the massive door on his shoulders? There was time, but...
He ran. Made it with plenty of time. Slew the guards, etc. Caught his breath. But when he faced the Dread Sorceror, he kept hearing that door in his head.
SIIEEIIKEEEEEEE
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Post by Battlechantress on Apr 12, 2012 4:39:22 GMT 1
I took a break from the story theme that I've been throwing words at for today.
11 April 2012
Dust like falling stars begins to fall around me in clockwise spirals from somewhere above my head. A hand rushes up to meet my itchy nose and I see pink and bluish hues form near my face around the back of my hand. It is so much easier to describe what I see in front of a computer monitor's glare than to fully acknowledge the silent despair I keep choked down below my throat, except for when it rushes up behind my eyes and I snarl the sadness back down. I can't cry. It's almost like I don't know how.
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Post by Cali on Apr 12, 2012 4:49:47 GMT 1
I've fallen behind a bit, but here is my entry for Sunday: The enormous stone door, rotated by aeons-old mechanisms and powered by invisible magic, slowly KCRUUUUUULLLLed and SIIEEIIKEEEed into place, closing forever. Mighty Kavall the warrior beheld it from the other end of the bridge. Watched the dust hover. Should he run, he thought, just to be sure? Or stride down there slowly, as if bearing the weight of the massive door on his shoulders? There was time, but... He ran. Made it with plenty of time. Slew the guards, etc. Caught his breath. But when he faced the Dread Sorceror, he kept hearing that door in his head. SIIEEIIKEEEEEEE I know it's possible this wasn't intended to be funny, but I laughed out loud pretty hard.
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Post by lieden on Apr 12, 2012 7:19:37 GMT 1
I started this batch without counting on the insane workload that's been dumped on my head these days. Fail! Guilt! But you two have such interesting entries; kudos! I hope I can catch up with you during the Easter break.
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Post by Mister Buch on Apr 12, 2012 21:08:31 GMT 1
I know it's possible this wasn't intended to be funny, but I laughed out loud pretty hard. Well, it was intended to be silly more than funny! I guess I'll count that as positive feedback, but I'm not sure now. ;D Thanks for reading. 10th April"The great Lay-on-ardo always carried the Mona Lisa around with him," said grandpa. Amanda smiled without lifting her cheeks up any. "Because he had to keep her secret. She was alive." "Whuh..." "That's right. She spoke to him, and only him. Told him what to paint. Gave him ideas. WHO was the REAL master, eh?" He stared at her. "Th... the painting?" "Yes. And now it's waiting for its new student. Waiting for the next Renaissance. See it?" The Mona Lisa, so small and far away behind the crowds, smiled. When they got back to the hotel, Amanda drew. Quietly. 11th AprilWhen John and I first went into spaceships, there was a thing called 'Captain Kirk Awareness' which meant that one crew couldn't spend more than six months together, and crewmen would be cycled over many different ships. Before that there were stories about idiot crews becoming comrades, getting friendly, stealing their beloved ship and flying off into the sunset. And then getting bored, turning around, selling the ship... John and me, we fell in love on our very first commission. We were goners... but when we ran, we headed away from the sun. We still see it. It never sets.
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Post by Battlechantress on Apr 13, 2012 4:32:08 GMT 1
I just tried watching a Bruins game on sedatives. This was the best I could come up with after sitting through three scoreless periods plus overtime.
12 April 2012
Sir Donovan crashed through the very same lovely stained glass image of Saint Nicole d'Pastries that Ariel was looking at, bellowing about honor and brandishing his sword while he stumbled to his feet. He raised the visor on his helmet and found a pair of cold green eyes staring at him from across the room. He hesitated before lowering his sword. "Madam?"
The eyes blinked once as the face they belonged to looked down at the floor around them. "You're late." Her mouth became a slight snarl.
"B-but rescuing takes hard work!"
"I wasn't aware I needed rescuing. Sir."
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Post by Mister Buch on Apr 14, 2012 2:51:26 GMT 1
That's not bad at all, Chantress. Like with a lot of your entries, I want to know what happened before and after, but the present stands strong on its own. I get that a lot from yours - that they really are stories with a beginning, middle and end.
13th April
An aggressive, reptilian impulse made him thrust his forehead toward hers, as if trying to mash their brains together. As though their skin and bone weren't there and the ridges in their frontal lobes were meant to fit. Like an insect on a blade of grass, his mind sharply snapped-out limbs to wrap around her body. Like a primate, he gripped. Like a whale, he talked.
They held onto each other and muttered absently for half an hour. He never did accomplish anything great for the rest of his life, never made himself very content, but he did this.
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Post by Battlechantress on Apr 14, 2012 5:08:48 GMT 1
13 April 2012
I stared out into the darkness where the stage ended and the crowd had gathered. "Play some old Earth music!" came a slurred shout from the far right of the room. I looked at the band members.We wouldn't play shitty synth pop; I hoped they wanted "rock". We chose an L7 song called "Shove" and locked into that. The beats fell in their proper places as we snarled our song. It was the first time I ever saw orange ant-masserai lift and drop their thoraxes to the beat before us, their mandibles flaring to resemble a smile.
Sedatives are on and we have a tornado warning until 4 a.m.. I just... sleep, man. Don't wake me up, I have a former lover to belch at and remind him that 1300 mile one way trips mean you aren't coming back in four hours if I can sleep that long. I am losing sense of fingers. Struggling for clairity, alertness. Shifting and lurching in the chair. Scores become announcement of lottery winnings, no control of what transpires, Somnus beckons with his siren call and I stumble and fall to his pit.
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Post by Battlechantress on Apr 16, 2012 3:43:28 GMT 1
The entry for the 14th ended up being "Sedatives are on..." Didn't plan on that but three nights of tornadoes, thunderstorms and anxious animals took its toll on me and I felt like taking the cheap way out. Anyway, here's today's entry, which is based on a nightmare I had recently.
15 April 2012
There are times after a long, sun-drenched day at the beach house when I go to sleep and see myself looking out upon a dark marble corridor from a thick wall of safety glass. I keep throwing myself at it, screaming to be set free until the guards arrive with a nurse. One guard hurls me all the way back to my cot and I try to get up as fast as I can before the hands pin me down and the needle enters my neck. Despite my screams I can still hear her say "She keeps waking up."
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Post by Mister Buch on Apr 17, 2012 0:03:57 GMT 1
Loved that last one, BC. I've had dreams exactly like that, and you got the pace of it well - like ending the sentence abruptly on the line you can still hear.
14th
'Where do you see yourself in five years' time?' says the scaly-looking authority figure in the middle. He introduced himself with his first name, Rob, which was meant to put you at ease.
He inclines his neck when he asks questions and he maintains a beard of fine grey stubble. His squinted, pursed expression is held firmly in place by muscles that are used to it. Everything he does with his face is a kind of quiet, proud, trivial menace.
The correct answer is, 'Here, but promoted, but not quite as promoted as you, Rob.' You don't say that.
15th
On Stand Up Comedy night the Hare & Hounds is full of uncomfortable-looking young lads. They're laughing and sweating for no reason, fidgeting, as if they're taking their cue from the acts. Trying hard to impress somebody. Claire is in charge from behind the bar, solid and in charge. The young girls look vacant.
There's one lad with a creased short-sleeve shirt at the bar who has the fear of God in him every time he orders. Looking at Claire like he's about to propose marriage, every time. Stammering. Beery breath in her face.
He's funny as fuck.
16th
Your mum and the nurse have this look on their faces like they have an inside joke going on, and they both assure you that it won't hurt.
And then the nurse asks you a question to distract you and while you're answering she pushes the needle down. It presses into your skin until the pressure makes it tear open like paper, and it rips a vein, and the skin recoils up and slides around the metal. And they yank it out and there are little bits of cold blood.
And that paralyses you. And then rotating knives come out...
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Post by Mister Buch on Apr 17, 2012 13:50:01 GMT 1
Here are two written in advance. I finally caught up with these, and even jumped ahead a little. Like a boss.
Seriously I'm finding these very hard to write this month. Maybe I'm just out of ideas - this is my sixth 'batch'.
17th
"Is dat a great whide?" the guy said, deep and heavy and Floridian. I told him it was a bull shark.
We realised I was wrong right away, as it swam closer. As one we started making jokes, stopped listening to each other and thought about the movie 'Jaws'. About how we had ended up on this boat together.
Its eyes were big and set in place, its mouth curved down, by sheer accident resembling some kind of desperate, psychotic human face. When it finished circling the boat and dropped under, we all stared at the water like scolded children.
18th
Zara has pins and needles when she picks up the gun. Maybe she was leaning on her arm in the bar? It doesn't matter. She has pins and needles. If she misses or she, like, can't fire, she can blame it on the pins and needles. The handle or whatever you'd call it has a sort of ridged, thick wood panel which presumably makes it easier to grip, but it just feels wierd and puts off her aim. Those pins and needles are making her fingers twitch. She lifts the thing up as a threat. It works. She goes still.
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Post by Mister Buch on Apr 17, 2012 21:17:52 GMT 1
19th
Lin Morris sat around a campfire, trying not to yawn. Marrtha had gone, and shockingly enough Lin found herself missing her. Tom was gone but they were going to get him back. There was no-one to see her yawn, but for some reason she tried not to.
The flames, neither dying nor thriving, were hard to focus on. She stared in their direction anyway, not feeling the statue look on her face. For this moment there was peace. She thought about a hundred things without worrying.
The hundred things she needed to do before midnight, before she could sleep.
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Post by Mister Buch on Apr 19, 2012 21:47:28 GMT 1
Some more from me. I'm actually rushing ahead. I had some inspiration, and I'd like to finish early.
20th
You all belong to something great now. To the fatherland, and to the spirit of revolution. History, if we win. If we don't then there's nothing, is there?
The engineer who composed our anthem ought to be made leader after this. There are moments when I look at our men and hear myself and I'm not convinced it's worth getting out of the bath. When I see idiot warrior scars, less grand than men and less practiced than animals. And we look like scale-skinned, mumbling fools. And I need a little tune and some poetry to carry me along.
21st
There were red and blue spotlights all over the place, hitting people's faces and blonde highlights and wobbling sleeveless tops in time with the music, matching the deep electronic rhythm as though there were some kind of laser battle on the dancefloor. I'd always hated the club, looked down on it, but I remember fighting the urge to dance a little bit at the start. To fit in. She noticed me looking for her and a red and blue hand waved at me above the crowd, sticking out from the rest of the image, seeming to come right at me.
22nd
I'm not mad. The shrieking woman next door is mad, but I am not. There are skeletons. Yahweh has sent them, to take the livestock tomorrow.
They're taller than the skeletons you would see in a grave. Longer, somehow. They are undamaged, as though there was never flesh around them, but slightly off-white. I think they have been in the sun a long time. They have spears, but don't use them. They just walk, on giants' legs, and stand by our houses.
Perhaps everyone sees them but they won't admit it. I haven't looked one in the eye yet.
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Post by Mister Buch on Apr 19, 2012 22:41:44 GMT 1
'Nother one.
23rd
I could eat that paint there, if I wanted, and nobody would be able to stop me, if there was anyone else here.
All right Craziness, watch this. Me, eating lamplight-yellow paint! Let's see how far you can go. Lick the palette clean. Suck it out of my moustache. See if you'll do that, and see if I can recover from it tomorrow.
Yeah that's it, eating my paint. What else is there, Craziness? Shit? Kill myself? Yeah, kill myself? Turps. Drink turps? The metally taste of the tube kind of spoils it, whatever I was trying to do.
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Post by Battlechantress on Apr 21, 2012 4:31:03 GMT 1
I'm just going to post these two entries since I had a long day and just don't care.
17 April 2012
The mastiffs at the rescue site have dark, soulful eyes-- even the blind one. Could I handle the slobber? The earth-shaking flatulence? The snoring? The realization that the gentle giant will need his or her own full-sized bed-- if not larger? Of course, the reality is that I cannot take another dog in, fun though it would be. Annie has enough energy to be three dogs and Mischief himself is a fourth who gets his elderly butt kicked by the younger dog often enough. Still, it is fun to look at a random piece of furniture and wonder.
20 April 2012
The deck supervisor was walking around the ship's perimeter with a scowl. "Got your permit?"
I shuffled my feet while I brought it up on my tablet. It was a good thing I wasn't linked into the repair station system just then, or he might have heard something life "I pulled it out of a dead guy's toolbox seven months ago, but yeah, I have one" over the system's tinny speakers. I kept my eyes half-closed and focused on the dirty floor. I wondered when it was last mopped. It's funny what you think of when you're hiding something.
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