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Tues #63StoryShe watches his eyes struggle not to run over her frame. For the most part he succeeds, saved for a brief glance at her cleavage. Yet it's not really a victory of any sort, men have been wanting her flesh for some years now, and boys have wanted her since she can remember. She was that beautiful, and everyone knew it, even boys whose willies were too young to rise with ardor for the opposite sex.Is it a defeat? Not exactly, this man before her isn't exactly her type, at least in flesh she's sure she could do "better". Yet there's that moment, his eyes sliding past her, to her roommate, and there's a light there for the short chubby girl that is rising up behind her and she feels it as sure as a thick chain of solid iron. Something electric she's sure is passing through her.Something she assumes to be love./StoryWeds #64StoryThe earth parts literally mountainous thighs, peaks leaning in opposite directions, the valley between them yawning chasm wide.The heat is too much to draw analogies to the blood warmth of a human mother, and the stark distance between mortal and Gaia is revealed in the plumes of smoke, and the crowning head covered with lava drenched scales."This", I say to my son as we watch from the safety of a metal deck floating in the starry void, "is how dragons are born."/StoryThurs #65StoryI always feel bad at this point. I don't know why. After all, these men had known the risks when they took the money, knew they had to pay it back.It isn't fair, that I should have to blindfold them for my own sake, to keep them from seeing the wince, the grimace, the remorse on my face when the hammer comes down.It's why I work alone, to give me a chance to smudge any tear drops on the floor with my boot, deal with any evidence of my weakness not erased by the outpouring of blood./StoryFri #66StoryStanding with the other slaves, he watches the demons ravage everything on the other side of the palace moat, everything not circumscribed by that sacrosanct lake. He thinks of how he strangled the man who was Chosen, choked the life out of the Empire's salvation.His lover is a step ahead of him, allowing him to see the grooves, veritable canyons, askew stripes laid out on the younger man's back.He is strangely at peace with the decisions he made./Story
What's 63 about? Why does she say it's passing through her, if the guy, sure, check out her tits, but feels love for the room mate? Or am I not reading it right in thinking that arrangement?
@Callan: Sorry, it wasn't clear, the idea is that the man may recognize the sexual appeal of the women who opens the door but his real love is for the girl behind her. What the classic beauty feels is the realization that lust and love aren't the same.Sat #67StoryHe sits there, in quiet meditation, holding onto the reins of the world, the ley lines on which history hinges. Holding them as tightly as he can, with the thousands of others across the world, ensuring that none may break the fragile peace. Someday, he is sure, one faction will falter and myths will once again rise to devour the soft bodies which house all human souls.Meanwhile, those ignorant of this titanic tug-of-war go about their tiny lives, believing that magic died long ago if it ever was./StorySat #68StorySemen spurts out, a staccato geyser of cum. He blinks, blushes, as if the woman touching herself and mewling fake lust could see him.God, he thinks, she's only as old as my daughter.../StorySun #69StoryI came here thinking to say slutty things about your mom,Figuring that's how all these here rap battles get won,As if a mom is nothing more than a sidekick or commodity,Something to mock even while we deny respect to that which is a part of you and definitely most of me,Acting like calling your mom a bitch and a cunt was all in good fun,As if, impossibly, we could or should be real gangsters before we were real sons./StoryMon #70StoryThe unicorns galloping on the sidewalks doesn't alert me, neither do the dragon drawn dirigibles nor that pixies on the shoulder of every child in the neighborhood. It's only when I see you alive again that I know this is a dream./StoryTues #71StoryI'm singing to a child:"Go to bed, little angel, it's time for sleeping, Go to sleep, little angel, it's time for dreaming..."One of the older girls, 12, says I must have sung this to someone before. I lie, and say it was a lullaby for another toddler.I love and hate how everything always comes back to you, as if I were a serpent both fleeing and chasing after his own tail./StoryWeds #72StoryBuried between her thighs, he should be lost in lust but he can't help but feel she tastes different. He didn't think distance could work such alchemy.How is it that he's thinking, worrying on doubt, while his own erection is engulf in her mouth, her tongue swirling around the glans?He's glad that in this moment she can't see his eyes./StoryThurs #73StoryAlone and unloved, bereft of any memory of his pups having once given the moon and sun a run for their money foresaken by his father, Fenris breathes his last in an animal shelter's gas chamber.I feel relief at the aversion of Ragnarok, even as I cry for the passing of Myth.Where my tears fall, silvery dandelions will grow but be quickly weeded from the cracks in the asphalt, their coloration all but unnoticed./Story
have you undertaken a study of prose poems/short shorts, sci?
Quote from: sologdinhave you undertaken a study of prose poems/short shorts, sci?Heh, I promised a story a day but maintaining that level of output has proven difficult for longer works. So it's become a flash fiction endeavor, with samples for a D&D thing a friend of mine and I are working on for fun.Definitely feel free to join in Solo!
QuoteSomething electric she's sure is passing through her.Yeah, it's just the way I read this I kind of read it as a connection between her and the guy. Though even keeping it 'Something electric she's sure is passing through her...and leaving her.'? Sort of indulging the idea it's for her, but then it moves on by?
Something electric she's sure is passing through her.
In the theme of 'Watchmen for kids'...no small feat...~~~POTTER OF NOTHING.One cannot raise wizards against what has been forgotten.Something was happening at Ishual. It wasn't an army, inhuman or otherwise. Nor even a dragon at it's gate! Months earlier, High King Ganrelka Potterimbor had escaped to Ishual with his family and guards. They left behind them, something very sad. Something dread. But now they were safe.The frog plague claimed the king first, which was perhaps what he deserved for crying over his losses? Shrunk down to the size and shape of a frog, he lept from the castle, never to be seen again. But he was not the only one - it struck down more of his family, his soldiers - a plague of escaping frogs from the castle.Of all those who had fled to Ishual, only Ganrelka's scarred son and the mad eyed Moody remained. Terrorfied by Moody's strange manner and mad eye, the young boy hid, venturing out only when his hunger became unbearable. Moody continually searched for him, insisting he was in charge and must do as he says.One night Moody, cane in hand, cornered the boy. "You will do what I say - I will use this cane on you! There are no crimes when no one else is left in the world!". Struggling backwards, the boys hands fell upon a potion flask and, fumbling almost enough to spill it's contents on himself, threw it at his tormentor. The potion broke upon moody, spilling it's contents across him and in a moment, he was a small white rabbit. The boy crouched for a long time, watching the rabbits twitching nose. It differed from the others, he decided, only in that it was a rabbit rather than a frog.The boy was alone in the wintery cold castle of Ishual. A castle all of his own! But sometimes he found himself looking for creatures, small and green...But when the snows broke, shouts brought him to Ishual's forward gate. Pearing through a gap, he saw hungry and thin men and women. Refugees of the apocalypse. They cried out for food or shelter, anything. But the boy was too terrorfied to reply. Hardship had made them look fearsome, with many rings around their eyes like an animal. Like an owl.When they begain scaling the walls, he hid deep inside the castle. Like mad eye moody, they searched for him, calling out for him. Eventually one found him cringing behind a barrel of cauldron cakes. With a voice neither tender nor harsh, he said: "We are Hogyain, child. What reason could you have to fear us?"But the boy clutched his fathers sword, crying "So long as men live, there are crimes!".The mans ringed, owl like eyes filled with wonder "No, child,", he said,"there are only crimes so long as men are decieved."For a moment the young Potterimbor could only stare at him. Then he lay down his fathers sword he had being weilding and took the strangers hand. "I was a prince" he mumbled.
And apparently something completely different...~~~The howl ripples across the semantiscape, vibrating it like so many histories rewritten. Wretched clawed hands, reaching anywhere for gods neck, it throws back it's head, jaw agape, and and tries to vomit into the sky. Mundane view is a man howling and spasming, barely standing - but by the detail and sleight of the semantiscape, comes a demonic second mouth. Black and twisted with veins, shining white teeth, extending from the opening in his face. It's snaps, chewing emptyness and...howing becomes choir, demon maw wide open. From it, angel hair, gossamer wings stretching out into absent either. It too gasps. Choir is three. As too from it's angelic lips, extends...a man. Naked, arms abroad, reaching for the sky. Mouth open. Something inside. I can't quite see. I can't quite see. Electricity, arcs, like the legs of a spider. Something inside. I can't quite see.Inhilation. Each inside the other each inside the other each. Breath drawn sharp, all breathed in, so bared, snapped together teeth above a chin against his chest. All breathed in. Heat shimmer rises in the semantiscape, as flames start to pour out of his eyes like a an orphanage on fire."I burn""I BURN!", it's body wreathed.A ranting madman, an epicentre of a semantiquake smashing outward, enough to cower and awe ancient tribes, or be burnt by them at the stake. Here, wicked, slick, wet. So many lines of bleak slime. You do not hear. Contortions, sickness, twisted, this way writhes some darkness been sunk into your very cork. Something that makes you wayward of the ancient tribes nearness to hearing. Something sick. Something cancer.~~~Bit of audience participation for that one...
Two Fridays ago #74StoryI look at my name written in the white of my husband's eye. Well, I can't really read it, it's too damn small truth be told.Bastard could go blind, but I guess it got him good press for the upcoming album.Just wish the fucker didn't pretend he did it for me./Story=-=-=Two Sats ago #75StoryHe's red faced, washing the smegma that lay under his foreskin. She's in the other room waiting, already in a bad mood.Who knew a sex worker could make you ashamed?/Story=-=-=Two Suns ago #76StoryIt's been done for months. Everyone is sure the unsuspected terrorist drowned.His finger nails are clean, but he still tastes the blood. Must be his sixth sense, that helped him serve his country.That psychic power some men call bigotry.He needs to get out of the country anyway, so he figures he'll pick a place where he isn't expected to eat with his hands./Story=-=-=One Mons ago #77StoryThe cord strangled man lies at its wheels.Finally, thinks the vacuum, I'll no longer be used for such illicit purposes.Whether I clean or am tossed as garbage, I feel good because I finally stood up for my rights./Story=-=-=One Tueses ago #78StoryThere's blood on the carpet, sweet teeth on the floorBlood of two gang bangers who broke in looking to scoreTwo fucks who didn't think there'd be a former MMA fighterRunning the new candy store/Story=-=-=One Weds ago #79StoryWho knew, I think, looking at the sky spanning wings shadowing the city, my eardrums bursting at the sound of the buzz.Who knew that praying mantises were actually praying, that their God might be the real one in place of our anthropomorphized own?/Story=-=-=One Thurs ago #80StoryI give the order, my last order, and watch in horror as the golems refuse to move upon our advancing enemy.One of their number steps forward. I give the order again, and this golem - speaking for his kind - looks at me button eyes, carrot nose pointed in accusation...this golem first stares me down and then tells me:"No."/Story=-=-=One Fri ago #81StoryI give the order, my last order, and watch in horror as the golems refuse to move upon our advancing enemy.One of their number steps forward. I give the order again, and this golem - speaking for his kind - looks at me button eyes, carrot nose pointed in accusation...this golem first stares me down and then tells me:"No."/Story=-=-=Sat #81StoryWhere have all the dragons gone? Their eggs were stolen away as delicacies, their bones were ground down into medicine.Where have all the unicorns gone? Their heads were mounted in the throne rooms of emperors, their horns were shorn off for our medicine.Where have all the phoenixes gone? Apparently resurrection has a limit, when you try to mass produce a body whose parts can be made into all sorts of medicine.The world is dry and mundane now, and humans still haven't healed the sickness that requires a different kind of cure./Story=-=-=Sun #82Story When it's brethren dig themselves out and going looking for brains, the pacifist zombie stays under the earth. Eventually, starved, it dies a second time.It's hunger strike goes unnoticed by its brethren./Story=-=-=Mon #83StoryHis heart gives out, but thankfully not before he comes a final time into his fourth and final wife. Upon their wombs are tattooed blessings, ley lines to guide and gather the sperm.All will become pregnant, thinks the royal sorcerer-physician. One of them will then bear the prophesied messiah.I've done it, she exults silently, I've saved the whole empire from dissolution!/Story
Baba Yaga in the Wyld (#84, for this Tues)Some say she is a hag of the Warp that abdicated her responsibilities, while others say she was exiled from their conclave for acts too wicked that even the creators of the Well Wombs balked. Others say she is a former Queen of a court long deposed before the coming of the Seelie and Unseelie. Some dare to suggest she is an incarnation of Lady Dark, or perhaps a wayward daughter of that primordial fey's dalliance with a deity or archfiend.Whatever the truth of her origins, Baba Yaga's power comes from being a knot in the flow of Narrative Time. She is the giver of wisdom and curses, the eater of children and the treasurer who must be appeased or conquered to gain the item necessary for the hero to continue the Quest. She lives in a chicken legged hut, which she uses to the wander the Feywild, settling down for periods of time ranging from hours to centuries. Wherever she settles, there are skulls with burning eyes placed upon a surrounding fence of wooden stakes, each one a victim of the great fey prowess for magic and violence.Baba Yaga is also known for visiting various planes and prime worlds in her great mortar, steered by a broom-scepter made from silver birch, traveling creation in search of children to devour. It's never clear why she picks her victims, though the effort she goes to once she's selected them for her stew pot suggests there is a rhyme and reason to the hunt. Of course, she does not always go herself, and for more regular meals and spell components she sends her servants to procure wares from Mora.Seeking out Baba Yaga for advice is like hoping to find a wolf to tame in daylight defying woods. There are, however, good reasons for doing so. Baba Yaga understands the interplay of events in the Multiverse, due both to her wisdom and her many servants that roam creation. Not the least of these servants are the White Rider of Day, the Red Rider of Twilight, and the Black Rider of Night. These three horsemen are said to be former Grey Horsemen who fought the fey enchantress and not only lost but found themselves irrevocably bound. Those who win Baba Yaga's favor may actually find themselves aided by one of these planar nomads.Beyond her services as a chant broker and merchant in the darker markets, Baba Yaga is a powerful spellcaster and learned alchemist. She can heal wounds beyond the skill of mortal clerics, and has on one occasion saved a world entire from a flesh eating plague. Her hut, despite it's seemingly cozy size, has pocket dimensions in its cupboards and drawers that hold various magic items from long dead civilziations and spell books from archmagi that once upon a time challenged the gods.Yaksha (Wan) (#85, this Weds)The Yaksha civilization exists in a deep cavern in the depths of the Wan, one lit by the burning white gold veins of ore in the walls of this unnatural smooth and perfect dome. These blazing metallic rivulets are a holy text, a scripture that speaks of a creation in which the Yaksha represent personifications of wealth. As such, these fey can be miserly and greedy, but also generous and instinctively wise in the ways of trade and gambling.Yaksha, unlike most fey, live and die as mortals with the lifespans of elves, though they bear little resemblance to the descendants of the high eldarin. Yaksha are more akin to halflings and gnomes, though they also have a more fiendlike form in which they possess three legs and three hands.Upon reaching puberty, yaksha are sent off to guard various treasures or serve deities across the width and breadth of creation. The treasures they guard are always apart from civilization, and range from piles of gold or gemstones guarded by one of their kind or ruin buried artifacts watched over by whole yaksha armies. Yaksha are expected to perform this duty for at least a century though some opt to prolong this missionary work. The reason for this work is religious, for the Yaksha believe that without these efforts the concept of value will lose meaning and all currencies - including that of prayer and sacrifice to the gods - will collapse.Personality Wasps (Weal) (#86, for this Thurs)Personality Wasps are fey that possess the bodies of dog sized black wasps and faces of those they hatched out of. These fey are always looking for mortals wandering the Feywild, lost souls they can force to carry their eggs to term. Anyone so infected is charmed into providing protection and sustenance for first the eggs and then the larvae that hatch and consume the victim's flesh. There are survivors who've managed to resist the continual enchantment the eggs try to place on them, but since the eggs themselves are immune to magical removal only those who possess or have access to powerful healing can truly free themselves of the infection before death.Those that do succumb give not only their flesh but some part of their identity to the wasps that bare their faces. As such, even before a wish can restore the person all the wasps (usually 4-6) that devoured their bodies must be hunted down and killed.
@Callan: I really liked the semantiscape. Also, in the previous one, the king turning into a frog - Do you read the comic Fables?
Thanks, Saajan! But I Haven't read fables? It's really hard to try and convert it all to a kids version...Further; Why does compu...why does golem say no?And the zombie one seems like it could be fleshed out (hur hur) - like some zombie that tries to 'live sustainably', waiting around car black spot areas for those who are assuredly dead.
Story #87, for FriThe Gnostic Weekend is a strange one. We make our own food from piles of livestock corpses, dodging maggots as best we can in our harvest. Screens blast and blare pornography around us, the worst excesses - I'm almost sure those chil - gir - women are drugged and desperate - twinned with reports of genocide, cannibalism, assault, molestation.Sunday cannot come fast enough. Yet on the way home I see a young black teenager making sure a dehydrated elderly white man is okay...and I smile because I still love the world./StoryStory #88, for Sat(Based on an idea Stover had)One the first day we became shapechangers, I found myself confronted by a hundred Hemsworths, a thousand Kardashians.A week later, I saw werewolves on the new moon and vampires in the sunlight.A month later, there were winged elves and merfolk.A year later, we are wolves today and jellyfish tomorrow and dragons on Thursday./StoryStory #89, for SunI am a nymph, the prison is the soil in which I am buried. 17 years is the sentence, 17 years before this cicada can bloom briefly then die.They think they can shock the Truth out of me, shear it off my soul.They don't know who their dealing with./StoryStory #90, for MonI take to her vagina like a dog at a water bowl, then I'm tracing the alphabet against her clit, then my kissing there and suckling there trying to find my way through this with only murmurs and whispered moans as my guides.Half an hour passes before she pushes my head away, telling my she has to get to class. I'm crestfallen until she smiles, kisses me on the cheek, and tells me I can try again tonight. /StoryStory #91, for TuesI'm hidden inside a dream that goes on even when my host is awake. My councilors are forced to communicate via the slow, dull consciousness of human hosts. Films, books, movies, comics - these are the new battlefield of those who once built civilizations of thought from a landscape of Mind.Some days, this war? Well it seems like we're fucking more than we're fighting./Story
Story #92, for WedsM-TheoryAs the elves walked into our world, I bowed before their Queen who raised me up and then struck me hard enough to split the right corner of my upper lip."You've brought Magic back into this world. Our kind nearly extinguished ourselves so you could live apart from all the nightmares, all the horrors of the Spirit. Why have you done this?"I bowed my head and answered."Because all Meaning is threatened, and the science you gave us makes corpses of our dreams..."/Story
Alright, this is a small portion of my novella that I'm currently in the process of editing for the third-ish time. For some reason, this particular little section has given me numerous problems, and I've reworked it more times than I can count (including taking the entire thing out, replacing it with something else, and then eventually going back to the original concept). But it's all essential exposition that has to be there for the story to continue. Even so, it just never sounds right to me. Still, this draft is probably the best I've gotten it, but I'm still not content at all. Tips and critiques are much appreciated! --------------------------------------- The next evening, I get up earlier than usual. The sun's final rays are still struggling to penetrate the tinted windows in my bedroom. It's time to pay my monthly visit to the city's tribal chieftain, Sergio. A serious man, and a very old one. A tricentennial. As expected for a chieftain, Sergio is one of the most powerful strimori in the city. His duties include keeping an eye on all of the different clans in the tribe, overseeing their affairs, settling disputes, and generally making sure that the society stays well below the radar. That it stays quiet. Silence is the most important rule of the tribe...the only rule, when it really comes down to it. And since I'm an elder -- or captain, as the kids are calling it these days -- I am required to report to him once a month. He also happens to be Briony's uncle. It's barely an hour after dusk when I'm on my way to his place. Like any tricentennial, Sergio isn't a big sleeper, and he prefers housecalls for this sort of thing. Not that I mind. There are always those precious little nuggets of wisdom to be unearthed from an encounter with someone of his age and experience. He lives out in the suburbs, a nice, secluded property hidden from view by big, mean-looking evergreens that form a living fence around well-manicured lawns. The house itself is enormous and hyper-modern, constructed almost entirely from some kind of dark colored wood, likely imported from god-knows-where. There are few windows.
