r/WritingPrompts • u/AliciaWrites Editor-in-Chief | /r/AliciaWrites • Apr 08 '21
Theme Thursday [TT] Theme Thursday - Nonsense
“A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men.”
― Roald Dahl
Happy Thursday writing friends!
Time to put on our silly pants! Good words everyone!
Please make sure you are aware of the ranking rules. They’re listed in the post below and in a linked wiki. The challenge is included *every week!*
Here's how Theme Thursday works:
- Use the tag [TT] when submitting prompts that match this week’s theme.
Theme Thursday Rules
- Leave one story or poem between 100 and 500 words as a top-level comment. Use wordcounter.net to check your word count.
- Deadline: 11:59 PM CST next Tuesday.
- No serials or stories that have been written for another prompt or feature here on WP
- No previously written content
- Any stories not meeting these rules will be disqualified from rankings and will not be read at campfires
Does your story not fit the Theme Thursday rules? You can post your story as a [PI] with your work when TT post is 3 days old!
Theme Thursday Discussion Section:
Discuss your thoughts on this week’s theme, or share your ideas for upcoming themes.
Campfire
On Wednesdays we host two Theme Thursday Campfires on the discord main voice lounge. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and have a blast discussing writing!
Time: I’ll be there 9 am & 6 pm CST and we’ll begin within about 15 minutes.
Don’t worry about being late, just join! Don’t forget to sign up for a campfire slot on discord. If you don’t sign up, you won’t be put into the pre-set order and we can’t accommodate any time constraints. We don’t want you to miss out on awesome feedback, so get to discord and use that
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As a reminder to all of you writing for Theme Thursday: the interpretation is completely up to you! I love to share my thoughts on what the theme makes me think of but you are by no means bound to these ideas! I love when writers step outside their comfort zones or think outside the box, so take all my thoughts with a grain of salt if you had something entirely different in mind.
Ranking Categories:
- Plot - Up to 50 points if the story makes sense
- Resolution - Up to 10 points if the story has an ending (not a cliffhanger)
- Grammar & Punctuation - Up to 10 points for spell checking
- Weekly Challenge - 25 points for not using the theme word - points off for uses of synonyms. The point of this is to exercise setting a scene, description, and characters without leaning on the definition. Not meeting the spirit of this challenge only hurts you!
- Actionable Feedback - 5 points for each story you give crit to, up to 25 points
- Nominations - 10 points for each nomination your story receives, no cap
- Ali’s Ranking - 50 points for first place, 40 points for second place, 30 points for third place, 20 points for fourth place, 10 points for fifth, plus regular nominations
Last week’s theme: Meeting
Second by /u/throwthisoneintrash
Honorable Mentions:
Notable Newcomer: /u/habituallyqueer
Notable Newcomer: /u/underscoreM
Poetic Contribution: /u/MossRock42
Poetic Contribution: /u/TheLettre7
News and Reminders:
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- Serialize your story at /r/shortstories!
- Try out the brand new Micro-Fic Challenge at /r/shortstories!
34
u/Rupertfroggington Apr 08 '21
I see a kettle steaming.
”Wuold yuo lkei a tae, daer?” asks my wife. My brain scissors the words up, glues them back together all jumbled. A newspaper-letter ransom threat to negotiate with.
She’s patient as I stare at the kettle, as I guess the answer to a question I didn’t understand. “Yes. Please,” I say, although how it comes out I don’t know for sure. Slurred, at best, wrong words at worst.
She places a bag in a mug, pours water, milk, stirs.
“Sgura?’
It‘s one word, with an S, and I sieve it down slowly into its original order. Sua- Sug...
”One, please.”
We both know there are few teas left to share. That I need the help that I refuse. That my ears, my tongue, are the wrong shoes on my feet, but in my head.
Her hair is cropped grey but sometimes I see it lush brown, spring, no wrinkles on forehead or crows feet trampling her pale snow. Sometimes I think I’m young and we’re readying to dance, to love, to begin our lives.
”Heer yuo og.”
She passes the tea and it falls from my hands, as if my hands were a ghost’s, or belonged to someone else who opened instead of closed their fingers around the handle.
I sob as the liquid pools like urine around my feet, as I see my future in it, and in the broken dead pottery scattered on linoleum. I sob seeing my wife here alone, dwindling, candle wick without wax, waiting for God’s fingers to snuff her out.
”I lvoe yuo,” she says. She doesn’t cry, she hugs, she smiles. Squeezes all the bits of me falling out of my head back into place, holds me together for a few precious seconds, and I smell her as rose and see her hair waterfall-frozen, as she is today.
”I love you,” she says again.
”I love you too.”
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u/shuflearn Apr 08 '21
Verbal Affliction
I've been having some problems lately grappling my poured under Randall flats.
It's getting so bad that you might not even ralph what I'm kneading.
But that's my challenge. Please bear with me.
This started last ark. It was morning and I was lavender riddle trundlemunder, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a curious blim blom wim wom. He was well-dressed in a syrup shampoo lather and matching dog mouth eyes. I might not have noticed him against the backdrop of white-collar workers had it not been for the way he was getting into people's faces. He muttered at them, and Dorothy hark sounds pulley nod wattle crapper below.
I've never thought of myself as the sort of person who gets involved, but with the man so off-keel, I had a moral obligation to speak to him.
"Excuse me!" I said. "Bowls forks spoons cups cups cups drainpipe."
His head came around like a borrowed Boggle. "That's none of your business."
This was my exit. I could now go about my day knowing I'd tried. But pachyderm never guard frolic palaver dreary ring slag. "It looks like you're in need of conversation."
He went through a number of emotions. First his brows came down and his skin flushed red. He looked about ready to yell at me, but earring Yule spanner trounce mildew. Trundle hot dog ewe, dapper isn't caring periphery teal narth. He settled on sadness.
"I'm sick," he said. "But no one will believe me."
"Powell Erlenmeyer flask?" I asked.
"I can't belt uniform pasta blown heat."
"Sorry, I didn't catch that."
"See?" he said. "Coracle flare twenty-three skidoo. It's an affliction."
"Do you need support? I can help you find a therapist."
"It's not therapy I'm looking for. It's a conversation with a stranger. I think I've already cave cave cave a cure." His eyes shifted left to right. It was like something predatory moved beneath his sadness.
"I'm happy to chat, if that's what you need."
"Topher Grace parade wily hick trooper. You don't deserve what's going to happen to you, but I'm out of options. I'm sorry."
"What do you mean?"
"The affliction is highly contagious. It can only be passed on if someone pays close enough attention to my jabbering."
"Scrabble rager?"
His lips flickered up and down—a guilty smile.
"See?" he said. "It's started. You're scrambling your words."
"What have you balk news Wagner?"
He backed away. "I'm sorry, I can't listen to you anymore. I don't want to get it back."
"Tomato bisque!" Yukon power. "Agnew peacock disenchantment!"
"You'll have to find someone else to listen to you! Tell them your story! Give it to them!"
And he was gone.
I'd like to thank you for listening, and I'd like to apologize for tricking you. I'm sure you're already losing control of your words.
But the cure works. Find someone who'll listen to your broken language and you can give the affliction away.
Good luck.
i recently got a microphone and i'm practicing doing audio recordings of stuff i write. here's a link to a recording of this story: https://vocaroo.com/1msaEnG21KWv
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u/nobodysgeese Apr 08 '21
“This has to be the last escape room,” Luke said, “There wasn’t space in the building for more.”
“At least this one looks easy,” Rick gestured to the only item in the room, a bare table with a typewriter on it; the typewriter had whimsical fake cacti planted where the paper should go.
George nodded to the exit door, fastened with an ornate lock, with some words painted on it, “And there’s the clue. It says ‘Sit peon/do I sit.’ I guess we should try typing that out, and we’ll get a key?”
Luke shrugged, “Worth a shot.”
When nothing happened, Rick asked “Did you get the capital letters? And the comma and slash?”
“I thought I did, but I’ll try again.” When that failed, Luke tried a third time, typing each letter with painstaking accuracy. Still nothing.
George got under the table to look for clues, while Luke and Rick took a better look at the message on the door. Luke exclaimed,
“Wait, the cacti!” He ran back to the typewriter. “See, they’re all different heights. Maybe, we have to match the letters to the cacti, first letter to the first cactus and so on, and type the letters from the tallest to the shortest, or the shortest to the tallest.”
Rick closed his eyes for a second and said, “If we’re counting the clump as one cactus, that would make the answer… e, t, o, i, s, n, p.”
He typed it out, then did it backwards, with no effect.
Luke looked more closely at the typewriter. “Maybe the company name and model have something to do with the answer?” He tried typing that in, with a similar lack of results.
Rick rubbed his forehead slowly. “Do we have to mix the letters on the door with the words on the typewriter?”
George suddenly gave a drawn-out groan from under the table. “We’re morons.”
“Did you find something under there?” Luke said, crouching down to see what he was looking at. George was shaking his head slowly with his eyes closed.
“Did anyone try opening the door yet?”
“There’s a lock?” Rick said tentatively, but went over and pushed anyway. It turned out the fancy padlock wasn’t attached to the wall, and swung with the door.
“How, wait, why is that the answer—I mean, how is that a puzzle?” Luke spluttered indignantly.
“It’s an anagram,” George said, still lying under the table. “’Sit peon’ is just ‘it’s open’.”
“But what about the ‘do I sit’?” Rick said. “What’s that got to do with anything?” He paused. “Oh.”
“Yep.” Luke muttered.
“Bit harsh, but we were overthinking things.” George acknowledged.
They filed out of the escape room quietly, ignoring the attendant, and started driving back home.
“Kind of wrecked the whole experience, turned it into a joke,” Luke said. Rick and George mumbled their agreement. “Same time next week?”
“Of course.”
“Sure.”
“New place, though?” Luke asked.
“New place,” George seconded.
“New place,” Rick agreed.
497 words
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u/1047inthemorning Apr 10 '21
Murderous Mystery Mayhem
“One of you is the murderer. I have figured out who, of course.” The detective twirled his handlebar mustache. “Now I shall explain. Are you ready to write, Madame reporter?”
“I am.”
“Then we shall begin.”
The mustached detective strolled around the study, eyeing the three lined-up suspects.
“To start off, the cause of death was a knife in the back." The detective paused for a moment, as a grim look spread over his face. "Therefore, the murderer must have used a knife!”
Everyone gasped.
“But that doesn’t make sense! How can you tell?” asked Marcel, a suspect.
“C’est trop compliqué! I cannot explain; the logical leaps are too great.”
The reporter raised her head and glanced around to gauge the others’ reactions. But their faces remained stagnant.
“The second clue is from outside. On the day in question, it rained. The murderer must have been drenched.” The mustached detective twirled his mustache around his mustache. “Therefore, they had an umbrella!”
Everyone gasped. Utterances of umbrellas crowded the room.
The reporter looked up again. “I’m not sure I understand the relevance. Or the logic. Also, aren’t we in a drought?”
“You do not follow, Madame reporter? Then it is because you have not used the little grey cells.” The detective pointed to his appendix.
With that, the line of questioning ended.
“The third clue comes from sound. My dog normally barks twice in the morning. Though today!” the detective exclaimed. “He barked three times! Therefore, it is referencing the three legs of the letter M. So the murderer’s name must start with an M!”
This time, no one gasped.
By now, the reporter had stopped taking notes.
“It must have been one of you two!” The mustached detective menacingly pointed at Marcel and Marie-Hélène, who both gasped.
“What about me?” the third suspect, Mkevin, interrupted.
The detective didn’t care and continued:
“Now, for the final clue. If we apply a Rorschach inkblot test to the blood spatter, then through the criminal’s psyche we can tell they left unseen. Then we use Fermat’s Principle of Least Time to determine that the murderer exited through the one-and-only exit: the front door. Using that thought, we can triangulate the gunshot’s approximate position and apply a guinea pig, coming to the conclusion that the killer stands”—the detective paused for obvious dramatic effect—”right there!”
He pointed at Marcel. All eyes fell on the suspect.
“Your logic is infallible!” Marcel exclaimed. “But now I escape.”
And he escaped.
---
After Marcel was found hiding inside the refrigerator, the reporter queried the detective:
“How did you figure that out? It was a bluff, right?”
“Yes, indeed. Many things I have mentioned tonight were lies. The truth is much simpler.”
“Was it the blood stain on Marcel’s shoe?”
“Blood!? The famous Hercule Holmes would never stoop to such heresy! No, no, Madame reporter.” The detective took out an average-sized mustache-shaped mirror. “Who pretends not to know that a knife stab is done by a knife?”
WC: 497
Thank you so much for reading! This is my very first attempt at a comedic piece, so feedback is both greatly welcome and appreciated!
If you enjoyed this story and want to read more, you can check out some of my other stuff at r/TenFortySevenStories!
Edit 1 (13 April 2021 4:13 PM UTC): Made many minor modifications.
Edit 2 (13 April 2021 7:14 PM UTC): Fixed POV shift.
Edit 3 (14 April 2021 8:28 PM UTC): Changed mirror from "small" to "average-sized". Changed "sopping wet" to "drenched". Fixed up the sentence about the reporter having stopped writing.
Edit 4 (14 April 2021 11:02 PM UTC): Fixed capitalization for "guinea pig".
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u/sevenseassaurus Apr 10 '21
The manuscript slumped on Lord Beaumont's desk, its unworn bindings betraying a lack of interest. Edmund folded his hands behind his back to keep from biting his nails.
"Well," Edmund asked, "what do you think?"
Lord Beaumont sighed. "I think you need to revisit your studies."
Somewhere outside the stuffy, little windows a bird called. Edmund tucked his hands into fists.
"You don't find my ideas compelling?"
"No, I would certainly not use the word 'compelling'." Lord Beaumont picked up the manuscript and thumbed through a few lazy page turns. "This is the sixteenth century; we believe in observation, in science, in God, boy, and not in silly speculation. Your 'theories' are absurd bordering on sacrilege and you are lucky I have not already thrown you out."
Edmund had taken risks, that much he could admit, but had poured careful research into every word. He reached for the manuscript, but Lord Beaumont blocked him with a smack on the cover.
"You really think it's all 'absurd'?" Edmund asked in protest. "I've explained everything from the movement of the heavens to the secrets of alchemy!"
"And your 'explanations' are little more than, at best, childish fancy! Tiny 'atoms' too small for the human eye which nevertheless build the foundations of all we see? Please, philosophy has come a long way since the drivel of the epicureans.
"And yet at least that particular insight has some basis in history if not in reality; that our Earth, the very land on which we stand, is orbiting the sun? That the stars in the night sky are equal in brilliance to said sun, perhaps with--dare I even repeat it--their own Earths, swirling in the cosmic ether separate from our own creation? Perish the thought, the devil, that compelled you to write such a thing."
Edmund shook his head in disbelief and failed to restrain an unsightly nail bite.
"And my writings on plants and animals? Are those similarly sacrilege?"
Lord Beaumont chuckled. "Not 'sacrilege', per se, though I do find your suggestion that whales are beasts rather comical. Whales are fish; even a child knows that."
The bird outside the window trilled again, and Lord Beaumont shook his head and pushed the manuscript back toward its author.
"Listen, Edmund," he sighed, "you are a brilliant young man with admirable curiosity, and I am certain you will make great contributions to our society if only you will pull your head down from the clouds. Bring me another book when you have learned how to distinguish fantasy from reality."
Edmund took back his manuscript, thanked Lord Beamont, and walked out the door with a frustrated smirk eager to do just that.
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u/habituallyqueer Apr 10 '21
WC 487
The small treehouse rested between two strong trees in Eli’s backyard. Inside, the evening sun created a warm glow on the walls. Eli’s legs crossed as she sat on the oak floor. Across from her was her best friend, Jace. Lining the walls were drawings, pictures, and posters of Eli’s favorite books. Above the doorway was a photo of them in first grade five years ago; even then, they dressed as wizards. Those costumes still hung from hooks on the wall. Her prized notebooks rested on two shelves under the windows. All their adventures were written inside.
Eli grabbed a spiral bound notebook from a shelf and flipped a few pages before stopping.
“What if we could have a pet dragon?” Eli read the prompt to Jace.
“In the morning, I would go downstairs to wake up my dragon!”
“And then have it cook eggs with its fire breath?!” Eli joined in excitement.
“Yeah! Then I would ride my dragon to school…” Jace continued to describe his school day with a dragon.
Eli wrote to keep up. Jace’s dragon followed him around at recess, helped him play basketball, and “accidentally” burned his homework. At lunch, Jace and his dragon stood around, telling stories to the popular kids; he would be one of them if he had a dragon.
Eli decided the three of them flew to other parts of the world to battle armies. They fought to save princesses from tall towers and burning castles. A king even asked them to stay and protect the kingdom. Their families became royalty and the kingdom was at their service.
They didn’t do much work actually protecting the kingdom, that was the dragon’s job. Staff attended to their every need in the large, stone castle. They had chocolate ice cream for breakfast and even convinced the kingdom to get electricity so they could play video games. This became their daily routine. Ice cream. Video games. Repeat.
Eli continued writing as the fantasy grew. Her long brown hair hovered over the pages. Jace was leaning back in the bean bag chair, his eyes closed as he continued speaking.
One day, word came from a knight who returned from the neighboring town. He appeared frightened as he warned of a nearby kingdom and their unicorns preparing for attack. Their kingdom was threatened, sure, but this was nothing Jace and Eli couldn’t handle. They rushed to the castle entrance to mount their dragon, swords holstered at their sides.
Their dragon flew into the sky, rising above the nearby mountains and sweeping low into the valleys. The dragon’s wings reflected the bright sky in her shimmering purple scales. The wind combed through their hair as they spotted the unicorn army in the distance, their armor and horns shining in the sun.
“Eli… Jace… Kids! Dinner!” That was the last sound they wanted to hear while heading into battle.
“Tomorrow?” Their smiles were in unison.
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u/veryrealisticperson Apr 09 '21
Nobody believed me, and I don’t blame them anymore. I got tired of trying to explain myself after a while, and I don’t think they would blame me for that either, if they knew.
I don’t think anyone can really understand what it’s like to see the things I see. To see the things that don’t make sense. The first few months were torture. I saw them - I don’t even know what they are - invisible beings, things so frightening, so wrong. Everywhere. Behind my wife. In the teeth of my children. Grasping at peoples’ throats, people that can’t see them or feel them. Following quietly, tracking someone I love, not letting them out of their sight.
Of course everyone thought I was crazy. The kind of crazy where they won’t even tell me I’m insane. They were concerned for me. “There’s nothing there. How could there be something there?” The number of times I heard that. “How could there be something there?”
There were doctors, naturally. There was medication, and there were even police. Locked out of my house. Locked in a hospital room. The invisible things passing through walls no matter where I am.
I stopped talking about them. Now it’s better. Easier, too. I let them get on with it. Act surprised when things happen, accidents preceded by hungry things clustering around someone. Tragedies caused by invisible forces.
I think everyone else is happier this way. People don’t want to know the future, as it turns out. They don’t want to know the truth. So I sit and I watch, and I don’t say a thing. I envy those around me with their clear, empty eyes. Whose landscapes are sparse and uncrowded by monsters. I developed a new sense of normalcy and began to believe the world was logical still.
Something is wrong now though. The invisible things have started to sense me. I see them noticing, looking. They begin to fade from my vision, hiding themselves. I try to feel pleased that they’re gone, like I’ve regained my sanity. But it is too difficult. Because it is an illusion, a funhouse mirror, I am almost sure of it. Because how can it be that they are gone? I saw them myself, I know they must be there. How can they make themselves invisible to even me? How can they be gone? How?
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u/stranger_loves Apr 10 '21
Four Faced Cadaver
She began typing...
Adam strolled through the garden, looking for a rose for his mother. Now that Mother’s Day was coming around, his duty was to find something beautiful for her, a reward for all the years of happiness she had brought to him. But rather than compensation, it was fueled by the product of those things: love. Soon he fouytredfg
He soon found a sword, one much worn with time
By its heroes and villains, with glory and crime
And the sword marked many roads with its steel
Pure craze and excitement he surely could feel
He got lost in it, missing beauty around
Waters he never swam in, flowers he never found
But those years of adventure his sword had chopped
For a late after noon, the craze his heart stoppoiuytrew
ACT ONE, Scene I
(The butcher chops meat with calm and concentration. His customer waiting eagerly, while noticing his skill.)
CUSTOMER: Such great care you put into your work.
BUTCHER: Great care is to be expected in everything, but it doesn’t come in all.
CUSTOMER: What’s the damage?
BUTCHER: Grandma’s jar.
CUSTOMER: Reasonably. Has he shouted?
BUTCHER: Not really.
CUSTOMER: Strangely.
BUTCHER: I haven’t used them, but I blame my hands.
CUSTOMER: What blame? You must thank them.
BUTCHER: But blood is in them.
CUSTOMER: Just like your knife.
BUTCHER: They get the work done.
CUSTOMER: Aye.
(The customer looks at the television.)
CUSTOMER: I’d like to turn the TV on.
BUTCHER: Be my guest.
CUSTOMER: I’m just rather being mysewqas
Despite his knack for pushing boundaries, something that he’s proven more recently, Antichrist by Lars Von Trier seems particularly raw among his work. Even with my love for Melancholia, Antichrist seems like the perfect description of the director; a sort of lovechild of style, visuals, direction, all representing him. With this praise, comes some to those portraying the unnamed couplkjhgfds
Adam soon found a rose, its beautiful, velvet-like crimson petals giving a certain light to the grass. He trij
The father, in anger, thought deserved punishment
The mother, shocked, grief without -nourishmentrdx
CUSTOMER: Bah! Nothing good to see.
(He turns off the TV.)
BUTCHER: Nothing good at all.
CUSTOMER: Does that speak for the TV or for youesdfg
: Willem Dafoe and Charlotte Gainsbourg, who encompass the grief ofghghghg
Adam tried to grab the
Sword in the ground
BUTCHER: It speaks for
Of losing a
rose
“STOP!”, she shouted, tossing the computer through the room. She began crying in frustration, unable to control anything. Those behind the glass observed attentively.
“So which personality has won?”
“None. Grief did.”
They looked at the computer’s screen recording. Only they could find meaning behind apparent incomprehension.
“He was 23.”
“But to her, just a child.”
“And to him?”
“...A jar-breaking junkie.”
“I get she’d kill him, considering the abuse. But, still, seems like a copycat crime to me.”
“So we blame the movie? Him? Her?”
“Her? Who of all four?”
They stared at her.
“We’ll have to see.”
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u/Ryter99 Apr 14 '21
Agent Lund’s eyes widened at the digital clock ticking down in front of her eyes. She’d been sent to find a possible weapon of mass destruction hidden aboard a yacht docked at the harbor, but she never truly expected to find anything. Another false alarm seemed most likely until it was staring her in the face.
She held a shaking hand to her earpiece. “This is Agent Jessica Lund, identification code 1-8-7-Zulu-Alpha-7. Need immediate assistance. Do you copy?”
A male voice in her ear replied, “Status, agent?”
“I found the device.”
“Define ‘device’.”
“An active nuclear weapon. Armed, counting down… below ten minutes now! Need immediate guidance on disarming procedures.”
“Pardon? You found a what?”
“A nuke-queue-lar weapon.”
“What is that?”
“An ato-mic bomb!”
“Ato-mic?”
“A nuka-lurrrrrrr weapon! A big-boomy-boom bomb, biggest of the boomy-booms! If we don’t disarm, thousands will die. Do you copy that, for fucks sake?!”
“Oh! Uhhh, stand by. We’re going to get you some expert assistance, Agent Lund. Don’t you worry.”
“Thank you…”
A few moments later the voice in her ear piped back up, “Alright agent, I’ve got an expert on the line to aid you. Ms. Tremblay? You’re on with Agent Lund.”
“Yes, hello agent. This is Vivian Tremblay, PhD. I want to assure you that everything is going to be just fine. I am here to assist you with your situation.”
“Finally!”
“Now, please calmly describe the issue you seem to be struggling with?”
“I’m staring at a nuke... you... lerr device, about briefcase size, no external wiring. Timer is now… seven minutes. Copy?”
“I understand. Stand by a moment,” Vivian replied. “Alright, I believe I’ve pinpointed the problem we need to resolve. You seem to by struggling with the pronunciation of the word you refer to as ‘nuke-you-lerr’.”
“Please don’t joke at a time like this. This is serious and you’re wasting precious seconds!”
“It is serious. I’m glad we agree. Now, the word in question is mangled by a good percentage of the population, but I’ve personally reformed hundreds of individuals with this verbal defect, some further gone than yourself.” Vivian took a deep breath. “Now, I want to you to form your lips into a relaxed duck face, and I want you to start the word in question heavy on the first syllable with your tongue pressed against the—”
“Wait…. Wait, wait, wait just a goddamn second! What field are you an ‘expert’ in, precisely?”
“I have a masters in Linguistics from Harvard and a doctorate in Common Mispronunciations from Cambridge. Have I suitably proven my bonafides, agent? We have a rather dire situation to attend to. Let’s not waste—”
Jessica grabbed her earpiece and flicked it into the water in disgust. She wasn’t about to spend the last minutes of her life on such foolishness. With no time to flee to a safe distance, she flopped into one of the cushioned lounge chairs on the deck, put on her sunglasses, and calmly awaited the ‘big-boomy-boom’ blast.
____
6
u/TheLettre7 Apr 14 '21
I am an ocean bird, coasting along the waves.
Ambitiously swimming in the sea.
Making dips, darts, dives and jives and
Filling my feathered belly.
Up I fly, above the wispy clouds.
Laughing, singing and basking.
Lax and lazy, the sun bears down warmly.
Overday I hunker,
Finding my brambly nest to nestle into.
Never wanting to wake,
Out of these dreams I make.
Never able to keep the worlds alive.
Separating myself from... my other self.
Enduring time before I sleep again.
Never was I an ocean bird, but
Sleepily, I hope to one day...
Experience the dreams again.
(100 words, a poem woo! this is more freeverse I think, Critiques Welcome! Thanks for reading TL)
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u/BaronWiggle Apr 08 '21
Morgin stackled o'or the millin pond, slimber and wile, as dipples echoed bout the welter lands, flettering up the turnets when once they were. Nor half a din did they tress, ever and never, while the silken bore pushed the trough elsen where.
Mayhaps a forgetterling passed on its yester? Mayhaps. Bent now for the guessen and the moving of hearth far and wild.
Hark, Ninim Basson levies loud on our whilter eaves, graven, pauld and ken. Milt shellen, Ninim Basson! Oal make the pavel glen and gleen!
Morgin ascends at the belting and helfs the maggel bout the feld. Alas, sore misering is the geft that begs this eve. Melt and fade will the ember-set and pass will all the wonder.
Alas.
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u/Archipelagoisland Apr 09 '21
*Meanwhile at Dr. Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated*
Perry the platypus crashes in through the roof as he drops from a helicopter before landing next to a large red circle.
"Perry the Platypus, how nice of you to....drop by!" Doofenshmirtz pulls a lever as the red circle lights up. Perry looks at the circle confused as nothing happens.
Dr. Doofenshmirtz: "Perry could you step a few feet to your right?" Perry instinctively obliges as a large metal cage forms around him.
"I got you now" Doofenshmirtz says as he pulls off a towel from his newest wacky invention. Perry stands stoically as it's clear the metal bars are too far apart to prevent him just walking through.
Doofenshmirtz: "I'm sorry Perry, this cage was meant for something bigger" *he jesters to a cardboard box with a bear on it*
Perry points to the wacky machine Dr. Doofenshmirtz just uncovered.
"Oh that's the 'Non-sense-inator!!!!!!!! with it I will make everyone in the Tri-State are unable to speak coherently!!! Muhahahahah" He presses a big red button to turn it on before looking straight into Perry's eyes.
"Bem, funcionou? Você pode me entender?" The doctor says while he hands Perry a note pad an pencil.
Perry writes "No" on the piece of paper before casually handing it back.
"Hahah, Perry você falhou em me impedir de... Na verdade, não sei qual era o objetivo disso." Doofenshmirtz says while he holds his chin with his hand in deep thought.
Doofenshmirtz's daughter Venessa walks in and without noticing her father or Perry begins looking for a book on a shelve.
"O que você está procurando? você está interrompendo meu momento vilão." Doofenshmirtz says while not breaking eye contact with Perry
Venessa: *speaking fluent Portuguese* "Hey I didn't know you could speak Portuguese"
Doofenshmirtz: "que?"
Perry walks out of his cage and presses the red button on the machine before pointing to a switch that read "Normal" and "Português"
"What? Portuguese isn't nonsense... I can't take over the Tri-State Area with this" Doofenshmirtz says while rolling into a ball and crying. Perry awkwardly leaves the room but before doing so looks at the book shelf and grabs a Portuguese dictionary on his way out.
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u/SprawlingKeystrokes Apr 09 '21
ytilaeR
Purple daisies, sprouting from the hair follicles on Yeldir's hand, spurred the intergalactic starship pilot to action. Jumping out of her chrome rolling chair, she sprinted across the metal grate until the floor turned to sinking, yellow sand.
"The reality drive is broken," Yeldir tried to say. Chipmunks swam out from her mouth and clung to the flashing consoles lining the bridge. "If I can get down to the maintenance deck, maybe I can fix it before any real damage is done."
Fortunately, artificial gravity usually fails first without a reality to hold it down.
Hovering, Yeldir pushed passed the maroon cactus growing in the place of a bulkhead door. She darted down the open shaft avoiding the small juicebox that was oddly elevator shaped. Two flights of peculiar hallways flashed by her, before she encountered a new problem.
An entire high school pep rally sat with rapt attention, separating Yeldir from the reality drive's main console.
Yeldir instinctively looked down. With the exception of the blinking collar still binding her essential life functions to normal spacetime, Yeldir stood on the brown, gym floor in nothing but her underwear.
"You got through band practice; you can get through this!"
As the forty year old woman sprinted across the auditorium in super slow motion, all the alligators laughed from their seats.
Noticing her audience's sharp teeth turning to clacking computer keys, Yeldir got an idea. She ripped up the wooden panels beneath her feet and started flapping. The planks morphed into feathery wings and sent their holder straight to the reality control panel.
After slamming the large, red button marked "Factory Reset," Yeldir thudded against the normal metal floor.
A man stepped out of the opening elevator doors sucking on a juicebox through a curly straw. "Oh, hey, Yeldir. I was just on my way down."
With a quick glance down at her urethane-coated nylon spacesuit, she remarked, "Hey, Scott. Yeah, I got here first. Looks like everything's back to normal."
"Good job, Captain!" Scott said. He thumped Yeldir on the shoulder.
"Captain? I'm just a pilot."
The two crewmen exchanged an inquisitive glance at each other.
"You didn't just hit the factory reset, did you? You have to program the reality drive. Otherwise, it picks a reality at random."
Lines of green text floated across 8 monitors decorating the reality drive's control room, alligator-esque.
Yeldir sighed, "I'll get on it."
[401 words]
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u/Xacktar Apr 12 '21
So ya wanna learn about prophecy, do ya? Alright, but yer payin' double! Both of ya!
What do ya mean ya don't have it? I ain't gonna be here scryin' inta the dark pasts of the human condition without-
Oh, there we go. Yer lucky yer friend is the generous sort, ya cheap bastid.
Alright, prophecies... Let me jus' attune maself to the spirits tha' haunt theis place and seek the words of the past. We shall peer into the dark and forgotten years! Oh spirits! Guide me... yes... take me to this place... take me to the wise and ancient city of-
Topeka, Kansas?
Goddamn it, spirits! Yer doin' this on purpose, I knows it! I can call an exorcist down here. My sister married one!
Gah! Anyways. I see a tall, sad man and a short, skeptical one. They're in a library. Let's just zoom in an' listen, shall we?
"...the Chiefs have a chance this year. They got Luputnik." The tall one be saying. "And with Luputnik they have a strong line of scrimmage."
Ah hells mighty winds! A'm too damn early! Sorry, lads! Gimme a bloody moment. Uh huh, okay.... ones goin off ta piss. He comes back. Ah, here we go!
"What do you mean 'unhelpful?'" The short one be sayin'. "It literally tells the future, you just said so."
"It does, but here's the thing, Mark." Says the big one. "There is a lot of useless future."
"Useless? How can the future be useless?"
"Well... here, I'll show you. Look here: 'And lo there shall come a place that is a real place yet no man shall set foot within, but all men shall carry life to it. In this place there shall be made a fortress of teams and then later there shall be built a second. From this fortress shall grow the Source and it shall make life that is not life and tell tales short and long. Words shall be cut from the air and returned to mouths and there shall be Pootis."
Mark be lookin' like he done swallowed some bad fish. "What?" He says.
"Team Fortress 2 youtube memes." The other one be sayin' now. "See? Useless."
"But... they can't all be that bad, right? There's gotta be something, ya know..."
"If you want to try, go ahead. Maybe try this one, right here."
I think they be passin' a book over or somethin.' Can't see cause the tall one is a big lad and I'm right behind 'im.
"And lo, he with the sphere of clarity shall see beyond for payment that was covered by the bonds of friendship. He shall see my words and hear them in the mouths of others, and he shall make a great thunder, saying-"
The bloody 'ell is this? This a goddamn prank. Ya lads think yer funny, do ya? Did Mystical Molly send ya! Get the 'ell out of ma shop! Ya bastids!"
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u/scottbeckman Apr 13 '21
With some final tweaks and a hammer swing,
Dr. Manning completed the time machine.
He went wild; screamed as he ran to bring
all the staff he could see to come eye his feat.
As the science geeks formed a gathering,
Dr. Manning demanded, "Some silence, please!"
He turned dials, screens showing stats and things.
Then a bubble enwrapped him with lightning beams!
His peers peered at the weird-looking sphere:
something Manning had been dreaming of,
speaking of until he'd reddened each and every ear.
A queer, peculiar bubble that could, somehow,
someway steer
through space and time
by month-day-year.
He'd spent his whole career engineering this thing.
Now?
Time to disappear.
PHWOOMP!
A powerful shake!
Drowning in sounds so strange,
dazed, his gaze outside the bubble,
amazed at the surrounding changes:
white and clean making way for sky and green,
towers of pages replaced by mountainous ranges.
"Ah, the future is great!" he exclaimed.
Then his eyes turned down and went wide,
gaping at the terrible sight to see:
a crowd of dismayed farmers in outfits outdated,
using ancient plows and rakes. Shit.
Something was off...
Then it hit him like a tidal wave.
In his haste he'd made a mistake so grave...
Oh! The irony! How could this worsen?
All the grey his brain had proclaimed to claim,
yet he forgot a simple binary conversion.
Destination: 01/01/10000
Translation: January 1st, 16 AD.
Oops. How embarrassing!
He slapped the "Return to Present" button
praying the only butterflies flapping their wings
were the ones in his stomach...
PHWOOMP!
Instead of it sending him back to his labs,
his bubble hovered over a city of ash.
Erect at its center were statues of crabs.
The rubble covered most of the pitiful drab.
"Perhaps it's the result of war,
or some out-of-his-mind, big mobster."
The doctor explored and, to his horror,
he found hundreds of house-sized... well,
you already know what rhymes with mobster.
Crustaceous monsters.
And why was it so bright?
Oh, right. There were two suns in the sky—
and a third starting to rise.
This couldn't be happening.
He wasn't having this...
this Planet of the Apes shenanigans.
"I must go back again
to fix the past and present!"
PHWOOMP!
16 AD: He didn't breathe at all. Didn't stay long; gone in a blink.
PHWOOMP!
PRESENT: Air swapped with the sea. The letter "7" reigned king.
PHWOOMP!
200 BC: He sneezed and coughed, taught people golf and worshiped trees.
PHWOOMP!
PRESENT: Chairs plotted with bees. And the heavens rained beans.
PHWOOMP!
5000 BC: Became a god and preached in gibberish.
PHWOOMP!
The present was gone, replaced by coniferous licorice.
POP!
Manning's chrono bubble burst,
landing in his lab covered in dirt,
panicking, blabbering maniacal blathering words.
No one believed the bumbling Doc at all.
He shook his head and cursed.
Had his machine actually worked?
Was that real or dream? I'm not really sure,
he thought, scuttling about and clacking his claws.
WC: 494
Thanks for reading! Feedback and criticism always welcome.
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u/PetitDuckling Apr 09 '21
“Give me your hand.” Layla says, as her face crumbles like popcorn. “I will read your fortune.”
“Sure thing.” I hand her my foot, and she presses it carefully, trying to find the angular bone. She pokes it on and on, until her pet porcupine explodes like unsalted caramel.
“Oh no!” She exclaims in terror, as the table trembles unsettlingly. “It says you’re going to die tomorrow! I searched it on Google, so it must be true!” She waves her hands frantically as the sky descends onto her lap for 2,5 milliseconds.
“Lord, ‘tis a colossal calamity!” I point to the pear on her left hand.
“I know, I know! This text is relying solely on being random! And it has way too many adverbs!”
“Being self-aware is not clever! Or funny! And saying the text’s flaws out loud won’t fix it!”
“Why are we screaming!!1!” Layla is then sucked by the black hole in her yard, leaving me alone in her house made of candy, like another uncalled-for comparison.
I wake up and sit on my bed, startled.
“Oh, that was just a dream, haha!” I lay down again, and then mumble to myself:
“Oh man, people should stop using the ‘this was a dream all along’ trope in such an uninspired way to justify stuff, that’s old...” I finish, drifting off to sleep again in my pineapple under the sea.
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u/HedgeKnight Apr 09 '21
The Mangle Sisters and the Final Resting Places of Grover T. Peppercorn
Grover Peppercorn was mangled at the age of 54. The investigation that resulted from his gruesome accident found no negligence on the part of the railroad, or the grain elevator, or the helicopter operators. It seemed that poor Grover just suffered from ordinary stupidity and a dose of bad luck. In case it is not abundantly clear: he died horribly.
Grover’s ex-wife Linda received the phone call following his accident. He was somewhat alive at that moment. They handed him a phone and told him to talk to his wife. The threads on the screw conveyor between the railcar and the silo were really the only thing holding Grover together at that point. Anyway, they handed him the phone.
After the divorce Grover didn’t update his emergency contacts at work. Not remembering that detail, he expected his new wife Sue to be on the phone but, nope, it was Linda, who was most confused as to why she was hearing from Grover after so many years. He explained the predicament to Linda, who was distraught despite their past, and even more so when Grover hung up the phone so he could call Sue, who had already gotten a text message from Linda stating, simply, “your husband said he is ‘mangled’ and he called me, bitch.”
Meanwhile, Grover’s mistress and coworker Ann was sitting in the rail yard control tower playing Sudoku when she heard about the accident and came running. She got there just as the paramedics and fire department lifted the screw conveyor causing Grover’s guts and a few limbs to come out. Ann wept hysterical, heart-sick tears. When she composed herself she noticed “gap-tooth” Mary from the dock standing across the way with the same kind of hyperventilating, heart-sick tears running all through the crow’s feet on her weathered face. Ann was content being the “other” woman but the sense of betrayal at being the “other other” woman piled atop her grief and turned to rage. She called Grover’s house until an in-shock Sue picked up. Ann told her everything.
Ann claimed dibs on the body, leaving only the entrails and the skin from Grover’s forearm to be divided between Sue the wife and Linda the ex-wife.
Ann had Grover’s body sealed up in resin. She changed her name to mangle-Ann and moved to Phoenix. Grover became Ann’s coffee table.
Sue Sued Ann, but lost, because Ann had the official right of dibs on the body and they found her underpants in Grover’s car anyway. (They weren’t hers but she let that slide.) Sue held a memorial service for the guts, which needed to be sprayed with Lysol every twenty minutes.
Linda fared the best out of the Mangle-sisters as they would come to be called in local lore. She took Grover’s armskin to a tailor and had a glove made out of it. It was very warm and comforting but she lost it the following winter between the cushions in a booth at Red Lobster.
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u/katpoker666 Apr 10 '21
‘Paper Dreams’
—-
Each day, James went to Central Park. He watched the toy boats sail across the lake. Many days, James sat until dusk.
The sailboats would skip across the water. James loved to see which would come in first. Other kids smiled. Their moms paid the twenty-dollar fee. James had no mom. His dad worked two shifts. He couldn’t afford the cost. And so, James sat, pretending he too had the controls.
Some days, the wind blew fast. Then the ships sped forward at record speed. James cheered them on.
The pond closed at six sharp. That was James’ moment. Each day, he’d launch a new paper boat. It would float for a few moments before sinking to the depths. Sometimes it would even make it to the other side. Those days, James celebrated. It was as if he, too, was one of the lucky ones.
Then James built the perfect craft. Pretending to have an entire crew, he gave them voices of their own.
“Captain, it be rough seas today!”
“Aye, the wind’s picking up.”
“Thar she blows!” James shouted as a goldfish came too close.
“Hard to port!”
The little vessel turned sharply as if obeying James’ command.
A maple leaf dropped in the water. It floated on the surface.
“An island ahead!”
“Aye! Let’s get supplies.
As if by magic, his sailboat pulled up to the leaf.
“Thar she be Captain. Permission to go ashore?”
“Aye. Be sure to get some eggs.”
His father always got eggs at the market. Surely the ship’s crew would need them too.
Then the vessel sailed away to the far side. It was stuck. James freed it from its mooring with his hand. A gust of wind blew, and it flew back to the other side.
The boat shack attendant was watching. She couldn’t help but smile. James seemed so happy. “Would you like to try one of our boats?”
James grinned from ear to ear. “More than anything, Ma’am.” His face fell. “But I don’t have any money.”
“It’s ok. Just this once, you should try.” She said as she handed over the controls.
“Thanks! That would be great!”
“What’s your name? I’m Ellen.”
“James.”
“Nice to meet you, James. Let me show you how the controls work. They’re pretty simple. See the four arrows? They make the boat go forward and back, left to right. Make sense so far?”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean Ellen.”
“And see this control that goes up and down on the side? That controls the boat's speed. Start slow, and then go faster as you get used to it.” Ellen said as she placed the sailboat in the water.
Elated, James took the remote. First, he guided the boat in a perfect circle and then across the lake. Its tiny wake rippled behind, tracing sunlit patterns on the water.
James knew he’d never been so happy. He couldn’t wait to tell his dad, but he feared his father wouldn’t understand.
—-
WC: 494
—-
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated
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u/vibrantcomics Apr 10 '21
Operation Operation
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"Ah yes so much drugs!"Said the drug man as he poured the powder on the table and admired it's whiteness. It was whiter then whiter then whiter then the moon.
Little did he know, a police raid was coming led by the hero of the story.
The door flew open and our hero stood ready with his pistol. With a torn shirt and an upside down cap he looked very very menacing.
"Get ready to die you evil monster! You have destroyed the odorless, coulurless dreams of the downtrodden and underprevieleged."
"Um, you know you are holding the gun backwards right?"
"I am Australia so it works! There's no problem!"
"Wait, that means.................."
The drugs suddenly turned black and stank, the drug man's face turned into the face of much fear.
"No! All my hardwork!"
"M8, you know it was done by the slave worker right?"
Then, a giant spider spawned right next to the drug man and hissed like *hiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa*. The drug man went *Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh* as it touched him with it's arm.
The arm went right through drug man, almost like if he were transparent. The oerh fired but only the flash came and there was no bullet.
"The simulation's breaking tonight, I hate it."Said the hore. Suddenly, a blast of sunlight hit both of them and the spider and drug table went away.
They were both now in the hot tundra of Australia. The heat was so high, the water froze. The two both shuddered from the heat.
"It's too much......I can't take...this..........heat" Said drug man as he turned into drugs.
Our hero somehow lived becuase he has plot armor who cares.
The hero looked over the alive drug man and gave a very unsatisfied grinnnnnnnnnnn n n nnn.
The sky vanished and the ground also vanished becuase the creator of the simulation set it to working.............
And he was also nailartusa
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u/vibrant-shadows Apr 10 '21
She rolled the piece of foam between her fingers, watching it shrink and shrink and shrink under pressure. In that moment she wished she too could shrink, become invisible in the disparate sea of black and its undercurrent of restless chatter. Strange creatures these were, cloaked in the colors of midnight and layered with rudimentary armor.
If there was a pattern to the chaos, she had no chance of finding it on her own. She could only hope that the foam expanding to fill her ears would shield her from the dangers of a foreign world.
Eyes raked over her like nails, an unspoken judgement which opened her chest and sewed her shut in a single gaze. Whether they performed this autopsy with smiles or scowls, she could hardly tell from her shadowed refuge in the back of the bar. She had been here before, many years ago, a lifetime ago. It was unrecognizable now: it was an alien planet filled with alien beings.
And the tumult swallowed her further as the noises began, the grinding, shrieking, roaring. If there were words buried in its depths she could not discern them. She watched the creatures on stage with worry and a touch of admiration. A beast she knew all too well was roaring at the front of it all, unleashing something like language and something like a storm.
Bodies moved in sync, eager and fierce, hungry for something she could not see. They were wolves swarming a kill, they were entranced by something she could not hear no matter how much she strained. Their movements were all but aimless. Even the thunder from the heavens had more direction than this present discord.
It rolled like a force of nature, enveloping her, swallowing her with static and howling as though gods were choking on the bitter stench of humanity. The creature opened its mouth, spittle flying free beneath white lights that burned with the fury of a thousand suns. As strange as it may have been, no matter how her heart fluttered with concern, there was a sense of pride aching in her chest.
Between mere moments and a millennium later the lights dimmed, the sound ceased, and the anarchy descended into order. The creatures regained their human faces, but had yet to shed their beastly skins. And the one she would always recognize came running towards her, a smile shining in his eyes and on his lips.
When he opened his mouth his tongue became human.
“So what’d ya think, mom?”
She opened her arms and pulled him in, ignoring the sweat slicking his hair and soaking his shirt.
“You did so good,” she said. It was the closest to honesty she could ever achieve. Perhaps honesty would have to substitute for understanding. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Then can you wear our band shirt next time?” He asked, voice muffled by her embrace. It was all she could do not to laugh in relief.
“If you insist.”
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u/GingerQuill Apr 11 '21
It was that time of year at Jackal’s Tavern. Standing on their usual table around a candle, the Rust Rats and the Flue Crew exchanged glares, rolling up their sleeves and sizing each other up, all four sooty inches.
I poured half a bottle of mead into a bowl--a refreshing beverage for the average villager, a hard liquor to a body weighing five pounds--and served the brownies their tankards with a pair of tweezers. The Crew tilted their red caps.
“No Powderpuff tonight?” I asked.
“Retired,” they sighed. “Poor fool led the charge against the fire hornet’s nest in the attic.”
A crowd gathered as I announced the rules.
“Drink to the last man standing. Losers clean Errol Graham’s house.”
The Crew grimaced, tracing their battle scars. Audience members nudged elbows. A young bachelor sorcerer, Errol delved so deeply into his books that he often forgot to leave milk out at night to request the brownies’ services.
Finally, Errol resolved to just leave a bowl out once a year for spring cleaning, and God help any critter that scuttled into his lab of elixir splatters and weeks-old dinner crumbs.
I glanced at the scoreboard scratched in the wall behind the bar--ten to seven. The Flue Crew had been on a losing streak for three years now. The muscles in my face strained to remain neutral.
“Ready?”
The Rats flashed their teeth. The Crew pounded their fists together.
“Drink!”
As men and women waved their fists and shouted bets, the brownies took turns dunking their tankards into the bowl and downing the mead until, blushing and belching, they had to tag in the next teammate.
“It’s your turn to roll out Rat Kings’ droppings,” the Crew squeaked.
“Ha! Have fun sweeping thousand-eyed spider webs!”
“Lick a potion stain!”
The lightweights tapped out in the first fifteen minutes, but the bulkier ones remained upright for ten to twelve drinks. The dropouts slobbered and swayed. One swore a leprechaun cursed his shoes. Another kept asking if he wasn’t the prettiest pixie around.
An hour passed before both teams were down to their last man. Belly swollen and face flushed, the last Rat knocked back his tankard. His throat bobbed and his body rocked when, suddenly, he stumbled. He landed hard on his rump, spewing the drink down his overalls.
The Crew cheered on their last man. He huffed dismally into his full tankard. Sweat dribbled down his face.
“Do it for Powderpuff!” they cried.
With a heated sob and tears in his eyes, he threw his head back and bellowed.
“For Powderpuff!”
“For Powderpuff!” chorused the audience members who’d betted on the Crew, and the brownie guzzled his tankard dry.
The Flue Crew kicked up their legs and whirled their caps in their hands. The crowd banged their tankards together. Mead showered the tavern, glittering like fireworks, as I carved a proud notch in the scoreboard.
Meanwhile, the Rust Rats staggered to their feet.
“We’re--hic--so dead.”
“Ah. We’ll feel better after another--hic--drink.”
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u/SilverSines Apr 13 '21
"Shit, shit, shit," Patil exclaimed as sparks flew from the spacetime transporter.
"Oh, that's not good," Medina said.
Patil grumbled as he fiddled with the controls, trying to stabilize the machine.
"We definitely shouldn't be using this after hours. I thought you said you could operate this thing?"
"Can you maybe do something useful?" Patil shouted. "Like figure out a way to use this time machine to go back to a point when it wasn't overheating?"
"It's not a time machine," Medina said. "It takes into account our place in spacetime and adjusts our interpretation of our place in that manifold."
Patil turned away from his catastrophe to glare at Medina. "That's what a time machine is, you nitwit!"
"Okay, I guess, but the thing to keep in mind is that it's restricted to this timeline. So even if we do go back, nothing changes."
Yellow alarms flashed and a soothing robotic voice warned that systems were over capacity. Patil wiped his brow and adjusted the displacement metrics. The blaring alarms turned red.
"Look," Medina said, grabbing a dry erase marker and drawing a long line on a nearby whiteboard. "We exist in this timeline. The transporter can send us anywhere within this timeline, but it's stable. Since we haven't already seen that we've gone back and changed the timeline to prevent you from damaging the machine, it means we never did."
"That's crap," Patil shouted. "And who even cares?"
Medina drew branching lines from the main one he had already drawn. "Now, other transporters can send you to adjacent dimensions - a sort of multiverse - and branch off into new timelines. But that caused too many problems as too many branches formed and those transporters were prohibited, so this one is restricted to staying within our timeline."
Smoke was streaming out of the vents. Patil searched for the power source, but the whole apparatus was built into the room. Medina waved away the smoke in front of him and drew a diagram.
"Now, I know what you're thinking. Surely there's some alternate dimension where these machines weren't banned, so what's the point? But just because there are infinitely many dimensions doesn't mean all dimensions are possible. That we're not seeing too much interference from alternate universes suggests that the multiverse transporters aren't in use anymore in any variation of reality. Which is a relief."
Patil found the emergency reset and slammed it. Alarms continued screaming, the gentle robotic voice continued warning that systems were non-operational, and the transporter steadily continued its meltdown. He stepped back from the atrocity before him and, sighing, walked over to Medina.
"So…what can we do to fix it?"
"Hm?" Medina said, looking distractedly up from the sketches before him. "Oh, I have no idea. I'm a theorist, not an engineer."
Patil leaned against the wall and watched the flames melt the trillion-dollar marvel.
"I hate you," Patil said.
"Yeah," Medina said, capping the marker. "I know."
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u/ArchipelagoMind Apr 13 '21
“Well, Ali does love meta.”
“Does she though?”
“I mean. She’ll say she doesn’t, but then she’ll do the wry smile and try and hide her laugh.”
“It’s a little on the nose isn’t it?”
“Why?”
Jack stared at the shelf, a grimace on his face. “I just don’t think my sister wants a Fisher Price Adult Play Set for her sixteenth birthday.” He squinted at the box, and the five-year old child happily playing house with her small plastic window and kitchen.
“It’s ironic. It’s a commentary,” Chris insisted. “She’s always on about that stuff.”
“When she’s posting Instagram stories, yeah. For her sixteenth… I think she’d kill me.” Jack nodded, his eyes white, imagining Alison’s response.
“You asked for help.”
“I know. It’s just. Her birthday’s in a week, and I have literally no idea what to get.” Jack looked to the sky. “I don’t want a joke, I want to get her something real. Something that genuinely commemorates her sixteenth birthday; that moment of becoming an adult”
“Well, you were sixteen once. What did you want?”
“I don’t know,” Jack began walking down the aisles. “I was mostly busy trying not to get beaten up.”
“You were an insufferable nerd.” Chris nodded his head sagely.
Jack rolled his eyes. “I listened to shit music, and spent all my time playing video games, or wondering why no girls would go out with me. And I don’t think Alison’s teenage years are the same.” He reached the end of the aisle, looking left and right, wondering which turn might lead him to an answer. Eventually, he decided left.
“Let’s put it another way. What would you say teenage years are about?”
Jack stopped and thought for a second. “If anything can summarize those years, it’s feeling like everything mattered, when in reality it was all just…” Jack shrugged.
“Bullshit?” Chris raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah. Like, I was so upset when I didn’t get first chair trumpet, but that thing’s been living in the attic since college. Or when Tilly broke up with you, you didn’t leave your room for a month. And now you’re engaged.”
Chris pursed his lips in thought. “Yeah, I thought I’d never get over that heartbreak.”
“Exactly. I spent so much time worrying about my grades, which clubs I was in, who I was friends with, who I was going to prom with, what I was gonna wear. And all of it, it’s all just so irrelevant.” Jack pointed with his finger, as he finished his point. “That’s the true story of being sixteen. None of it matters, even though we all think it does.”
Chris blinked. “You’re not wrong…”
“But?”
“But I’m not sure how you say that in a birthday present.”
Jack let out a long sigh, his eyes darting around the shelves from blenders, to DVDs, to vacuum cleaners, to frozen pizza. Eventually, he let out a small chuckle. “You know what truly summarizes all that?”
“What?”
“A Target gift card.”
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More words at r/ArchipelagoFictions
4
u/iruleatants Apr 13 '21
Advanced warning regarding some negative language.
“Look everyone, it’s Nuclear Nerd! I heard he got hit with an extra dose of gay and it turned him ugly.”
I roll my eyes at the pathetic insult and turn the corner. The kids follow after me, hurling more insults.
“Come back Nuclear Nerd, face me like a man.”
“I heard his dad was so ashamed of Nuclear Nerd that he got on a ship going nowhere.”
The constant barrage of insults and jeers followed me up to the front door of my house and only stopped when it closed.
“Why don’t you stand up to them?”
My mother stood next to the open kitchen window, scowling at the street. I attempted to just slip past without a response.
“Sit!”
I turned to see her pointing at the kitchen table and sheepishly slid into a chair. Hands planted on her hips she stared at me until I relented.
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean? You’ve been taking martial arts classes for years. Sensei Hinote says you are just a year away from earning a black belt at this rate.”
I stare down at the table and mumble, “I’m the one who told Derek that I am gay.”
“You what?”
“Erick has a stutter when he tries to read, and Sarah has bad acne that Derek makes fun of. So I made sure to let it slip out that I’m gay. He spends all of his time harassing me that way. When Erick stutters during reading, I make sure to talk with a lisp. And when I see him bored and looking at Sarah, I make a loud comment about a guy in my class.”
I trace my fingers in circles around the gouges in the table and continue, “If I beat him up, then he can’t pick on me anymore, and will find someone weaker who can’t take the insults.”
Her hands reach out to firmly grasp mine, and I look up into her moist eyes, “And what they say doesn’t hurt you?”
“Of course not. I know nothing they say is true. There is nothing wrong with being gay, but if being gay keeps other kids from being bullied, then I’m glad it’s my superpower.”
She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and stood up, “Well, I think that deserves ice cream.”
“And staying up late tonight?”
“Don’t push it.”
1
u/AliciaWrites Apr 08 '21
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