/lit/ - Literature

>>6949444
upvoted

>>6734783
Soft red lights could be seen blinking in distance through the fog. John scurried towards them, kicking through the snow against the shrieking wind and frost.

How'd I do lads?

>>6416237
>Throw it at an employee and leave
I like you OP

"Woo-wee!" I had said, bouncing out the window after having toppled out of bed onto the ceiling, to the gentleman on the phone, informing me that I was being investigated for zoning law infringement. Woo-wee indeed!

>enter local short story competition
>no prizes
>wrote a shitty comedy story about how atheists are stupid
>win the contest
>later find out that all the other entrants were children

would gladly do again

—Randel! The Tax Man’s comin’ to get me!
—Yeah, and? We all have to pay tax Wyatt.
—No, you don’t understand, the Tax Man, he’s comin’ for me.
—You bein’ audited again?
—No! The Tax Man: he’s comin’ for me, you know, he’s at ma’ door.
—What? Like a tax officer?
—No, this is different, it’s the Tax Man, not a tax man, you understand?
—Wha-at? I don’t … Is there something I can do?
—Call Bobby and Rodriguez: tell ‘em to bring the guns, the Tax Man’s at ma’ door!
—All right man, don’t you worry a bit. Me and the boys’ll be there soon.
—Hurry! … I think he’s inside.

Just wrote this section, its in a betting agency. Note: the place names are places in Australia, Lemon Tree Lad is a racing greyhound, and Fiorente is a racing horse.

~

As Miroslav entered he was greeted by the familiar sound of a bell and the hoarse, enquiring grunt of his friend Ray.

“It’s me comrade,” he called out.

“Ah! Miri! Come, take a seat.”

Miroslav crossed the room and landed beside Ray, slapping him hard on the back, making him erupt in a fit of emphysemic coughing, “Blyat! I forget how sensitive you are,” Miroslav said, pulling his hand back.

“Be careful Miri,” Ray said.

Miroslav nodded in embarrassment – this was not the first time he had hit Ray.
He then grabbed a pencil and betting form, paused for a moment to remember what Mikhail had told him, and then, leaning in close, began to fill in the details – tongue hanging out as he did so.

“What are you betting on?” Ray asked.

“The dogs,” he said, looking up at Ray, “Mikhail gave me a tip, you know Mikhail?”

“Mikhail? Oh, the one who works at a warehouse in Homebush West?”

“That’s him,” Miroslav said before returning to his betting form. Filling in the final details he whispered to himself, “Bohemia-grade, Queue-Aye-Dee-Five, Lemon Tree Lad to win.”

He threw down his pencil, flew across the room and slammed his betting form down on the counter, “Five hundred on Lemon Tree Lad to win.” The attendant, a young-looking girl, took the papers and handed back a ticket, “There you go sir.” Miroslav gave a polite nod before turning towards Ray and waltz-hoping back across the room.

He landed back beside Ray, “What are you betting on?” he said.

“The ponies.”

“Ah.”

Both sat quietly now. All that could be heard was the buzzing of the live-feeds and the murmurs of the man who sat at the table beside theirs, mumbling, “Please, Fiorente, please.”

Wrote this while on some substances:

The castle town had fallen quickly, the guards threw down their weapons as soon as they saw the red revolutionary flags waving high above the horde. All that remained was the castle itself – it was still in the hands of the rightful king.
“My Lord!” the court wizard called out from across the large chamber, “the people are tearing away at the portcullis!”
“I can see that,” said the King, though he could not see the portcullis from his window.
“Please, you must stop this stubbornness. I know that you cannot see the portcullis from that window.”
“No,” the King said scampering around to hide behind his throne.
“Please,”
“No,”
“My –”
“No!”
“– Lord!”
“Nooo!”
“Fie!”
The wizard sighed and rolled his eyes. He marched up to the King, pulled out an old tome from his wizard bag and hit the King over the head with it.
“Now shut your gob you little cunt!” the wizard said.
“Why would you do that!?” said the King who was now sobbing.
“Because you’re a stupid little cunt, that’s why!”
“Leave me alone!”
“No,”
“I’ll excommunicate you!”
“Only the Pope can do that,”
“Fie! You’re a sneaky wizard, aren’t you?”
At that moment the wizard began to laugh which caused great alarm in the King. The wizard open the tome, the very same with which he hit the King, and read out some Latin incantation, and, in the blink of an eye, a cage manifested around the King, imprisoning him.

The large old doors of the church swung open violently and shut just as quick. A man, nervous and meek-looking, had entered and was now staggering down the aisle towards the altar.

“Father!” he called out, “I need your help, urgently!” And after a few more steps the man stumbled and fell on the floor. At that moment the priest emerged and, upon seeing the collapsed man, jumped into a sprint and darted to where the man lay, helping him up onto a pew.

“Are you alright, my son?” the priest said.

“Father, –” the man said, slowly, weakly, shivering from the cold.

“Yes?”

“I need to ask you something.”

“Of course my son, what is on your mind?”

“Can you turn the heating on?”

“This is a church, it doesn’t have a heater.”

“But it’s very cold in here.”

“I know that.”

“But it’s very cold in here,” repeated the man, this time in a different tone.

“I know that,” responded the priest in an equally as different tone.

“Well you’re a shit priest,” the man said jumping from the pew.

The priest, now confused, asked the man, “Is that all you wanted? Heating?”

“Heating? Bloody hell Father, you’re stupid!” The man began to pace up and down the aisle, staring down the priest who sat on the pew in a daze.

“Then what is it that you want?” the priest said.

“I want to ask you a question!”

“I thought asking for the heater to be turned on was the question?”

The man stopped, shook his head in disgust at the priest, and said, “You think I’d come into a church and ask a stupid question like that?”

The priest rolled his eyes and sighed, “What is your question?”

“I don’t know that I want to ask you now considering your poor effort with the heater.”

“There is no heater here to be turned on.”

“Pfft, typical!”

“What is your question?”

“No Father, I think I’ve had enough of your antics for one day!” And with that the man made his way to the exit at an aggressive pace, giving the priest intermittent dirty looks over his shoulder, until, finally, the large old doors of the church shut behind him and he was gone.

Can someone explain why Stirner is 'spooky'? I've never read anything by him and I can't be bothered, some please explain?

>nuk