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Post by Mister Buch on Dec 6, 2010 1:39:45 GMT 1
I think I've made three spelling mistakes this month already!!
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Post by ommadawn on Dec 6, 2010 3:30:47 GMT 1
Spelling, shmelling. Keep them coming.
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Post by Mister Buch on Dec 7, 2010 4:04:01 GMT 1
7th December 2010
Sel'drath was abandoned. Properly abandoned, in the classic style. Little basket on a doorstep, little note, white blankets. Lazy.
There was a pine toy horse and buggy in there, too. Until she discovered Feminism, she had assumed her father had carved it. It made up for the unoriginality of the abandonment, if not for the deed itself. Now she has no idea who made it. The thing was handmade, for sure. But not by him. For sure.
The apostrophe in her name might have been a smudge on the note. No-one really knows.
She LOVED that horse and buggy.
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Post by Battlechantress on Dec 7, 2010 5:56:28 GMT 1
I discovered just how faulty the word counter on 100words.com truly is, so I have had to adjust my posts accordingly. So much for proper paragraphs.
6 December 2010
The fish-men have two patched-up orange rafts dragged to the shoreline. The human men are shoved towards them until a webbed hand rises and begins pointing at a few of them. Four are brought forward and directed into the smaller raft. One guy with red hair, the one looking at me earlier, turns and tries to run towards us. He sprints maybe five steps before his body jerks back and he makes a gargled scream. We look on in confusion, unsure why he falls until he hits the ground. His body spasms with a spear in his back.
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Post by Battlechantress on Dec 7, 2010 21:47:36 GMT 1
7 December 2010
The body is dragged back to the fish-men, twitching. Everything below my knees feels numb and weak. We just stand around, open-mouthed, while the fish-men load the body in the smaller raft with the other men. I see his face briefly, still alive but his lips are already white and coagulated blood drips from his mouth. The remaining men go to the larger raft with their heads down, shuffling. One has a bone jutting out of his right forearm near the elbow. Once on board, the rafts are quietly shoved back into the water. They leave immediately.
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Post by Mister Buch on Dec 8, 2010 3:12:33 GMT 1
8th December 2010
Fog can be very pretty, Pete thinks. But hell, anything can be pretty when you're full and warm and just sleepy enough to be mindless but still moving. There's some kind of drawn-out string music murmuring down the street from somewhere.
And the scene is just black and fuzzy through your bacon-greased glasses, and behind the scene is still fog, glowing orange from the big blooms of two streetlamps. The whole picture looks like some kind of paper puppet show, or a charcoal sketch, or an overly-stylised cartoon movie.
Pete opens the window for a closer look.
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Post by Knightfall on Dec 8, 2010 5:22:49 GMT 1
These are great so far! Keep up the good work, you two. =D
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Post by Battlechantress on Dec 8, 2010 16:15:28 GMT 1
8 December 2010
We don't have any way to see what takes place out on the water now that the torch is out. Minutes later, we hear splashing followed by a couple of shouts. "What do you think happens to them?" Marie asks. I shake my head. We stand here wondering yet we don't want to know. We're just glad it's not us that they come for. I shiver even though it's late June and there is no breeze, no clouds above. Just us, the faraway stars and the impersonal moon as imperfect witnesses to whatever becomes of the men out there.
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Post by Mister Buch on Dec 9, 2010 2:46:19 GMT 1
Thanks for the encouragement, guys 9th December 2010When I was a kid I would always wobble when I turned the stairs-light on at night. Every time I imagined there would be a murderer or something at the top of the stairs, waiting for me to see him. One night, when I was fifteen, there actually was. That split-second was agonizingly drawn-out. I just had so much to process, so many thoughts and emotions to rush through before I could allow myself to be aware of time passing. Hurry up, DO somethiiiiing! That moment, when everything was just how I'd imagined, was the worst part.
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Post by Battlechantress on Dec 9, 2010 6:33:10 GMT 1
9 December 2010
The five of us look over the spoiled rations and the dead fish on the ground. When the sun still shone on us, we would have eaten just about anything they had offered. Now, we feel our appetites vanish. 'Maybe we'll eat something in the morning,' I tell myself, before I realize that the food could well all be eaten by then. Then we'd have to wait on the rare mercies of the government men and have to prove that we are still clean, untouched by the plague they say that the fish-men spread. From one trap to another.
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Post by Mister Buch on Dec 10, 2010 3:55:40 GMT 1
10th December 2010
I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish. I am a fish.
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Post by Battlechantress on Dec 10, 2010 5:01:10 GMT 1
Edit: Wow, I am so fried this week that I thought you got 100 words out of a three word sentence. Yeesh.
I don't have an entry for the 10th worked out yet. We'll see what I come up with after work tomorrow. I'm expecting it to be a crappy day there due to staffing issues (they just tried dragging me in for third shift. No, sorry, I stopped doing suicide doubles in my 20s).
Suicide doubles= night shift and day shift. Frigging painful.
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Post by Mister Buch on Dec 10, 2010 17:37:29 GMT 1
I was dead tired last night too - hence the joke entry.
Here's tomorrow's - ridiculously early to make up for it.
11th December 2010
My little glass salt cellar was on the drawer next to my head as I woke. The salt was uneven. Still yawning and with a protesting arm I tipped it slightly to one side. Nothing happened, so I tilted it sideways... then completely on its head, not even bothering to cover up the holes with my straining fingertips. The salt remained static, as though gravity meant nothing to it at this hour. Calm, as if this were ordinary.
When I banged it on the edge of the drawer, the salt remembered it was salt and I went back to sleep.
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Post by Battlechantress on Dec 11, 2010 0:24:45 GMT 1
Two patients died on my unit today, so if you thought I'd finally lighten up and do a "puppies shit rainbows" kind of entry, well... you'll be displeased.
10 December 2010
I can't remember when we last had drinkable water that we didn't have to boil. It's been six months at least. Back before New Orleans became Old Orleans and then the Wrecks, the government men promised us that we'd be out of here soon. "Soon" in government language means when we're dead, probably because they thought we'd be first to go, being on the frontlines of the fight with the fish-men. Once a week, they show up with a truck which may have water and food. Usually it's men with guns. We'll find out in eight or so hours.
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Post by Battlechantress on Dec 11, 2010 6:18:58 GMT 1
I thought about just quoting "Let Down" by Radiohead for a bit (it's been played a lot lately on my computer and in my car), but then I decided to at least try to put a bit more effort into today's entry. That may not have been a good thing. /shrug
11 December 2010
There isn't much left that we can eat. The fish that they left for us is spiny. I joke to Kara that it would make a better weapon than dinner. Silence. I'm used to that. Marie gets another torch going even though that usually invites trouble from the patrols. Sure enough, not a minute later Nancy growls, "We've got incoming!" Human footsteps from the north moving quickly but lighter than what we're used to. No boots. Sure enough, they arrive mostly barefoot and dirtier than we are. I clamber onto a barricade and see other women before us. No men.
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