/lit/ Flash Fiction Competition

[O No.11587143]

Word Limit: 600
Opens: now (8 August)
Closes: 6:00 AM 15 August 2018 GMT (~7 days from this post)
Prize: 50 USD for winner (plus any donations)

The only guideline is that you should try to write a resolved and compelling story.

Send entries to [e-mail] so that I can contact you if you win (but feel free to post them to this thread as well.)

If you want to donate to the prize pool you can paypal money to [e-mail].

I will be reading and judging all the entries. The prize will be paid out over paypal to keep things simple.

Rules:
-maximum of 600 words
-English only
-no restriction on theme or style
-stories cannot be altered once they have been entered
-if your entry wins it will be archived/published on a website made specifically for this competition

Good luck everyone. Hopefully this goes smoothly and it can become a regular thing.

[Anonymous No.11587157]

This is a good idea. I'd prefer a prompt but let's see how an open competition goes.

[Anonymous No.11587181]

>>11587143
Are there any particular criteria you are keen on judging the entries on?
Bump

[O No.11587210]

>>11587181
Not as such. Someone in the discussion thread suggested that we should try to keep things classy and I kind of agree. That is, if your entry is your own letter to Nora or a battle between Pepe and Wojak it probably won't take the prize.

[Anonymous No.11587224]

>>11587210
>classy battle between Pepe and Wojak
I'm taking this as a challenge

[Anonymous No.11587229]

>>11587210
>I can't win with a 600 word story about pepe teaming up with Chad and the aborted gf to fire bomb the twin towers
Why even bother at this point?

[Anonymous No.11587255]

will the losers never see the light of day? i want to see what sort of words this cesspool will shit out regardless of quality, or lack thereof

[Anonymous No.11587277]

>>11587210
I do plan on entering this contest with some semblance of seriousness to my entry. Really looking forward to it, to be honest it's pretty cool of you to put up 50 bucks of what is presumably your own money to have this contest.

>>11587143
Bumping for your absolutely BASED contest banner image

[Anonymous No.11587287]

>>11587210
Cringe and bluepilled

[Anonymous No.11587299]

>>11587287
Why is it always so fucking hot when pretty girls giggle at me? (not OP btw)

In all honesty this is probably a good thing. I'd rather the winner be an actual talented writer on this board rather than some histrionic Dudeniggerbro

[O No.11587408]

>>11587255
Hmm good question. I hope people post their entries here but beyond that I think getting published is a part of the prize for winning. Might think of a better way of doing things though.

>>11587277
Cheers

>>11587287
Plenty of space for that stuff in other /lit/ projects like pic related IMO

[Anonymous No.11587670]

bump

[Anonymous No.11588389]

>>11587143
>If you want to donate to the prize pool you can paypal money to [e-mail].
imagine if this was all a clever way for OP to get like $14.39 in donation money and than bounce

[O No.11588427]

>>11588389
I promise I'm sincere

[Anonymous No.11588529]

>>11587143
can you make the word limit 1000 please?

[O No.11588565]

>>11588529
No, sorry. I like the limit at 600, and, even if I didn't, I don't want to change the rules with the competition already well under way.

Flash fiction is a challenge. It's not easy to write something compelling in so few words. But that is, after all, largely the point. That and they're enjoyable to read.

[Anonymous No.11588585]

From other thread, which you may have not seen.
>how should the work be submitted (posted on a /lit/ thread with email included or emailed to me?)

You could try submittable but it's up to you.

>paypal
Submittable has payment (paypal or card) but, again, up to you.

I'd definitely be down. I recently sent something to a zine and think I should try get published in more internet spaces.

[O No.11588619]

>>11588585
Thanks for the suggestion. E-mail should work well enough for this first competition but I'll look into that for the next one.

Feel free to enter this one, more entries the better :)

[Anonymous No.11588630]

you dumb retards are aware that this fag is going to compile the retarded histories you send in a book and sell it on amazon right?

[Anonymous No.11588647]

>>11587210
Will I have a chance if my story contain 132 occurrences of the word nigger?

[Anonymous No.11588649]

>>11588565
Okay, I understand. I'll give it a go.

[O No.11588658]

>>11588630
lol

>>11588647
Yes, it could have a chance. But only if it is actually good.

[Anonymous No.11588735]

Will my Lolita fanfiction be okay to submit?

[O No.11588805]

>>11588735
Everything that follows the rules outlined in the OP can be submitted. Points won't be awarded for /lit/ memes, in-jokes, references, etc. but if you want to include those things it won't necessarily hurt your chances, as long as the quality of the writing doesn't suffer.

[O No.11588966]

Bump. Going to sleep now.

[Anonymous No.11589428]

>>11587408
>L'anomie
Still titillates my taint that I'm technically a published author now

[Anonymous No.11589831]

>>11587408
is this thing actually available anywhere?

[Anonymous No.11590693]

Ok, I found something in my folder that's roughly interesting and under the word limit, so I edited it a little bit.
Don't think I'm gonna submit it officially. I'm afraid the theme is going to be seen as "porny" or "tfw no gf". But I really like to explore the intricacies of verbal mating games.

“Finally” Stan thinks to himself, he’s here, and about ten minutes early, he opens the metal door carefully and checks the alleyway before stepping in, he walks down the short hall into the first door to his left.
Nothing. It’s empty. They're not here and everything is gone. The equipment, the outfits, the guns, all that's left is the stark cleanliness of the tables, the locker, the corkboard, and, on the sofa at the back of the room… Esther. Sitting there like a good girl thumbing away at her phone, not a clue in her face as to what's going on. She's wearing some gaudy little outfit, her hair is wildly over-produced with bangs, highlights and a bow. The whole presentation is an attempt to convey some sort of ‘rebel teenager’ image, but he's pretty sure she's pushing thirty. She acknowledges him wordlessly and looks back down to her device.
“Esther!” He barks. She looks back at him wide-eyed, as though she genuinely doesn’t know what he could be flustered about. This attitude of hers is quite familiar at this point, but he knows her to be quite aware of the goings-on around her. “What is this?”, Esther lowers her phone down to her lap slowly. “They left… without you.” Stan lets out a sharp breath of mixed disbelief and nervous laughter then starts pacing the room. He stutters a little trying to form a question, visibly quite distressed. “Look, they talked about it and they decided they couldn’t rely on you out there”. He turns to her angrily, she goes on, “Someone said you were… jumpy”. “Jumpy? Fucking Ed is a meth-head for fuck's sake, I'm gonna show them fucking jumpy” to which she replies softy “I know you will, baby.” She sounds absent-minded, but in turning back to her, he doesn't find her scrolling her phone, but gazing straight at him gently.

[Anonymous No.11590698]

>>11590693
What was that? Was she being cynical or just playing some game? He quickly revises his entire history with this girl. They get along fine, but he never raised his hopes in way. Too many guys around. What was her business with that crowd anyways? Stan never figured that out. The minutes tick by and he begins to calm down. He leans on the table. The girl continues, “I don't think they're gonna cut you out. If this one goes well they might let you come on the next one!”. He looks up at her again and once again meets her eyes, he tries to convince himself their tenderness is deceitful. “The thing I can’t swallow is that I really did do good work here, you know? I made that CCTV circuit my bitch... I really wanted to be a part of this.” She nods.
He's runs his hand over his mouth, his eyes are closed, his thoughts are lost. At that exact moment a string of words manifests in the room “you can fuck me if you want”. It hits the back of his head like a wet towel and runs down his spine pricking every single hair follicle in his body.
He thinks he does really well at containing the shock, but when he opens his eyes her lips break into a jeering smile. A few millennia go by as his brain runs through every possible inflection of the phrase “what the fuck”. She studies him patiently, her head cocks to the side innocently.
“I don't need a pity fuck” He's very pleased with himself. Calling her bluff, self-respect, excellent stuff. Shame he's wrong. Esther walks out without another word.

[Anonymous No.11591203]

>>11590698
It's actually not half bad in my opinion. It offers a good portrait of a moment in someone's life which is pretty much what the point of a lot of flash fiction usually is.

[Anonymous No.11591210]

>>11587143
Can we enter more than one entry?

[Anonymous No.11591218]

Count me IN faggot

Will submit writing soon, thank you

[Anonymous No.11591240]

really think it should be opened up so others can read and vote in on which story is the 'best'

[Anonymous No.11591271]

>>11591240
If the lay /lit/izen gets to vote on what the "best" story is, it will inevitably end up being some lowest common denominator "Tapirs and memes bro xD" bullshit.

I honestly trust the opinion of one random dude who's willing to put up $50 of his own money to be able to discern quality better than the unwashed masses, pseuds and redditors.

[Anonymous No.11591282]

>>11591271
Fascism is the most effective form of government

I am also with the one guy idea

[O No.11591325]

>>11591210
Yes

[Anonymous No.11591357]

Come at me

[Anonymous No.11591366]

>>11591203
thank

[Anonymous No.11591372]

>>11591357
Grief is reading that whole passage.

[Anonymous No.11591380]

>>11591372
Done it's job then

[O No.11591497]

Thanks for the submissions so far. Just going to clear a few things up:

a) You can enter multiple times. I don't see the harm in it, and I don't see how I could stop people from doing it anyway.

b) If you choose to have a title it counts toward the word limit

c) Please submit with something other than Google Docs. It's hard to police the rule "stories cannot be altered once they have been entered" with a Google Doc. If you've already done so that's fine, I copied them all into static files.

[Anonymous No.11591505]

how will the winner be determined anyway?

[O No.11591578]

>>11591505
Judged by me.

[O No.11591643]

Thanks to a generous donation the prize pool now stands at $65

[O No.11591660]

>>11589831
http://www.lulu.com/shop/anonymous/lanomie-ou-le-tumulte-des-tapirs/paperback/product-23534633.html

This is where I purchased it from. Good quality, especially considering the price. But not if you consider the contents.

[Anonymous No.11591674]

Will there be runner ups? Honorable mentions?

[Anonymous No.11591679]

Can you post all submissions on the website as well? I’d like to read what other formes of autism make themselves comfy on this site.

[Anonymous No.11591680]

>>11589428
Same lmao

[Anonymous No.11591692]

>>11591674
>>11591679
upboated

[Anonymous No.11591747]

>>11591240
>democracy
gross
i trust one dude, any one dude, more than I trust the masses

[O No.11591755]

>>11591674
Yes, although the prize pool is awarded solely to the winner.
>>11591679
Yes. There seems to be a lot of demand for this so I'll figure something out.

[Anonymous No.11591829]

Hello, here is my submission. If I win please donate all funds to your local parish. Cheers, J.

Jonathan was a boy of age six when he learned he could fly, but do not take this as any sort of miracle or evolutionary advantage. He first learned that cold night when he felt out the bedroom window and tumbled over the air and scraped the edge of the roaring torrent of hydrogen and oxygen and sediment and under the bridge he would usually walk on and find himself face to face with the sky. He would fly home that night to disapproving parents who told him they did not care what he did as long as he was safe but would soon place locks on all of the house’s windows, which of course could not stop him since he was privy to the power of the front door and his ability to walk outside of it. He would continue to fly sometimes when he wanted to get away from it all, sometimes to the beach or to the city of which the view was nice from up there in the clouds. He once flew in a murder of crows but it did not take them long to catch on.

Jonathan was a boy of 13 when he learned he could no longer fly. He had walked out the front door and jumped and unexpectedly landed on his feet. His mother was watching from behind.

“Why did you just walk outside and jump?” she said to him.

“It’s good exercise,” he would reply.

“Just once?”

He did not know how to drive but went calmly to the bowl which held the keys and took them and speed walked to the car and got in and turned the key like he had seen his parents do many times. He pressed down on the brake and the car did not move forward so he pressed down on the gas and the car made a loud noise but still did not move and that was because the parking brake was on and it took him very long to figure out how to turn it off, by which time his mother had heard the revving occurring outside of her house and saw her son in the driver’s seat of the car and yelled what the fuck and tried to open the doors but young Jonathan had prepared for such things and had previously calmly hit the lock button. His mother yelled frantically for him to stop this now but he had understood the parking brake and the car escaped the cold grip of the mother’s blue-painted hands, absconding down the street making a left turn at the intersection while she called the police to report the situation.

(cont)

[Anonymous No.11591833]

>>11591829
As Jonathan drove towards the airport with a foolproof plan in mind the 911 operator’s mind was occupied by how much he needed to use the restroom and so mistakenly recorded the 2011 Jetta’s hue as grey instead of black, and so 2 police cruisers filled with older millenials descended on the streets to apprehend all of the grey Jettas while Jonathan hurried down the streets to the highway where he drove the speed limit.

When he made it to the airport somehow smoothly and without scratches he abandoned the car on the side of the road and walked to the terminal where the flights went to France and he spoke as such:

“I demand one ticket to France
I have on me but one pair of pants
Of my age, do not question or fret
Get me on a plane and you will not regret
Letting this young Jonathan
Feel the freedom of flight again.”

[O No.11591866]

>>11591829
>exactly 600 words
Nice work. Your submissions follows all the rules and its entry in the competition is confirmed.

[Anonymous No.11591881]

>>11591829
>>11591833
is this genius

[Anonymous No.11591986]

If won: donate all of the prize pool to your local police department.

- - -

Some time here and there the Rhode Island Roosters would crow beneath all inanity in that small coop just so they could do something. Feathers bounced up and down, flying only so far as the flaxseed-red could carry up the timber. On and on and on a crow would push a feather. Sometimes the feather really could have made it; if they’d crow any louder you’d of thought the feather would have slipped between a splinter in fear and ran its course for as long as the cock could crow and crow and crow.

When the sun rose so did the roosters, making there way up up up;
When the sun sunk so did the roosters, feathers slipping, crows now murmurs
Roosts now graves.

I fly fly fly as a feather.

[O No.11592019]

>>11591986
Thanks for the submission. Follows the rules and its entry is confirmed.

[Anonymous No.11592049]

>>11591829
>>11591833
Anon this is ridiculously good

[Anonymous No.11592127]

>>11590698
Sounds inspired by Bret Easton Ellis, more specifically Less Than Zero.

[Anonymous No.11592306]

>>11591829
>>11591833
really like this one. Here's mine, any feedback is much appreciated:

Sunbeam Initiate

“’What good is a spine? The man of the future will have six of them. And if spines will not sprout from his hips, they will be wrought of iron by a machine built to assemble bones. Take the spine. Take it and give me all the knowledge in the world.’ That was the last thing he said to me before he disappeared.”
“Ivan always had a strange way of talking,” replied his colleague. Those two, Max and Maurice, along with Ivan himself, had been working for the last months on a series of experiments which sought to trace motion's perennial origin. They had brotherly meetings in a coffeehouse, watched by a bust of the old god Apollo, who, in death, had become their patron saint. Their downtime revolved around personal matters rather than the metaphysical. But for Ivan, it seemed there was no such thing as a personal matter. He had not been seen by anyone for weeks. When they finished their coffees, our two decided to check his apartment, though neither could stand the place.

Ivan had sacrificed his home, had it rigged up with mirrors and projector screens so that refractions of light illuminated a massive graph between the walls. All agreed on the hologram, the only intuitive way to precisely disseminate their results, but Ivan was the only one who had seen it. He had been tasked with updating the display as new problems became apparent and were solved. For this purpose goggle-monitors produced a replica of the house in virtual space, where he could write in the air with his finger. Beneath each headset, a simple magnitude dial, so that every corner could be filled with notes and equations.
(cont...)

[Anonymous No.11592308]

>>11592306
Ivan was unable to resist marking the work with his own personal flights of imagination. “Ressurection: womb, tomb... operating room!" read one epigraph. Another, "Could Hitler not have taken Einstein and spared the huddled masses? Instead the genius forged a sword, by which the next Fuhrer might cleave the world in twain. And now the two exalted destroyers wander arm in arm through Tartarus, like those rival siblings from long ago, who struck a flame and set a course for the other side of darkness."

Our two were lost in that temple of confusion. Even intelligible numbers seemed to swirl around their heads, as though they could have stood for anything. Towards Ivan's bedroom, down the hallway, the digressions took on an increasingly impetuous character. “A pale pink hue closes in on my visual field. Having checked all the monitors, I can confirm that it is my very own eye which has failed me. There is no time to lose, especially with such a wretched vessel as this. I would be better served by the eyeballs of a fly."

Ivan’s room looked like an ancient computer, frenzied fans, everything was trembling. They expected to find Ivan hooked up in the center. Instead, a beam of light, bearing down through in through a hole in the roof, and a note set at its base. Maurice went up and read it aloud. “To my colleagues;

I do not know from where I am writing you, but I have been told it is far away from my old home. There are students from the university here who wait on my every wish and command. My eyes are gone. I do not miss them. The work is not complete, but someone may still find truth in it.

The heavens are full of blind men. Here I watch an endless dawn, and listen for the sounds of the universe.”

[Anonymous No.11592338]

>>11590698
>At that exact moment a string of words manifests in the room “you can fuck me if you want”. It hits the back of his head like a wet towel and runs down his spine pricking every single hair follicle in his body.
love the ambiguity here, very nice anon.

[Anonymous No.11592372]

>>11592127
Don't know him. I'll take that as a recommendation?
>>11592338
graht zee milly

[Anonymous No.11592447]

>>11587143
Here's my entry. Email me at [e-mail] if you have to contact me for any reason
-------------------

Today's Fame

Martin -Marty, Mart, Whatever- White walked into the restroom with a whipped up sense of mirth and wit. A brief reprieve in the restroom during a party is often necessary for an introvert. It was a wonderful night, but no exception to the rule.
Martin was a smash hit tonight, though. The guests had told him so.
The mirror lay ahead, and with an ironic bravado Mart swaggered over to it to admire his own grin. He fashioned his smiling face into a handsome droop to evaluate exactly how he looked. Accolades had been lavished on him from most everyone since he had arrived to the party with Manny Ensenada, an old friend who was now making quite a name in the film industry. Martin liked to replay their admirations in his mind, imagining the lovely hometown girl August Oate's voice. He anticipated going back out there to mingle with her more, and hoped she'd keep dolloping on praise, her coquetry sweeter than cream, insincere in her approach.
What he really loved to do had paid off some, his own acting had gotten him far enough, but now that he was flaunting his with connections to Manny he had risen in standing, making the narrow climb to fame's gilded cage.

"This is the nicest damn bathroom I've been inside." He whispered "These people must shit with more style than Ethiopian royalty."
Imagining he owned the place, Martin stared provincially back at himself in the mirror, then was startled by a knocking at the door.

"Anyone in there!" A voice, female, probably attractive- definitely drunk, yelled more than it asked from outside.
Martin hesitated, and prepared to relinquish the room with a return to the gaiety of the party. Martin zoned out for a moment, collecting himself as the vodka kept buzzing.

"I saaaid, is annnyone in there?" The girl outside repeated, actually asking now. Martin hesitated again

"Uhh. No." He said, reaching for the door.
Suddenly he jumped back as the door swung open, nearly kicked clean off the hinges right at him.

"Look.... friend." An angry man seethed. Martin was expecting a girl, a pretty one at that, and this Hollywood executive met neither criteria.
"My girl here has been waiting a while." Again Martin hesitated, waiting to be recognized.
"So get out!"

[Anonymous No.11592449]

>>11592447
Martin surrendered the bathroom to them and went off in search of Manny. He passed a group of adolescent boys standing with producers in the hall (a regrettable facet of this kind of fame) and at last found his old friend abnormally alone on a terrace.

"You talked to August yet?" Marty asked.

"Saw her here." Manny said

"You know..." Martin hesitated, but persisted in his civic duty "she's probably only talking to you because you're rich and famous now."
A short pause.
"Which is coincidentally the only reason I'm talking to you now." he added sarcastically, the smirk on his face erasing tension.

"Oh cut it out" Manny laughed "I'm afraid you might be right, but how can I just cut her off?"
Quiet again.

"Simple." Marty said " You go Hollywood. Like me. If you're comfortable screwing the people who loved and supported you, think how easy it'll be to screw her when she's done none of that."

"Oh I'll screw her alright." Manny quipped

"See, now you're talking! Just make sure she doesn't get one dime."
They exchanged a nod, then Manny's face turned sad again.

"Honestly Marty, I'm not sure how I can still bear her." He said.

"Well women are made to bear-" Martin replied "and so is she."

[Anonymous No.11592474]

>>11591833
I don't think I get it. Are there any references I'm supposed to know here? Specially the little poem at the end, like, I'm completely lost

[Anonymous No.11592516]

>>11591829
>>11591833
will be hard to beat this, interested to see anons try

[Anonymous No.11592526]

>>11592308
>>11592306
>tfw the copy i submitted has a typo
reeeeeee

[Anonymous No.11592564]

>>11592516
>>11592526
please somebody explain it to me.
like, yours (>>11592306) is also quite inscrutable, but more at a plot level, I don't even know where to start with that one.

[O No.11592592]

>>11592447
Thanks for the entry. It follows the rules and has been entered in the competition.

[Anonymous No.11592604]

>>11592564
Mine, Sunbeam Initiate, is about a group of scientists who are doing a currently impossible scientific project. (motion's perennial origin) Because of the project's scope they need to use Ivan's whole house to display the results, the story is basically just describing the other two's exploration of that house after their colleague goes missing. The "goggle-monitors" are VR headsets that Ivan used to design the .

I had to cut a fair bit to get it to 600 words so maybe i butchered some of the meaning. Maybe my skill as a writer just isn't equal to the story yet. Thanks for the feedback anyway, it's much appreciated even though ur probably a smoothbrain. (so am i afaik.)

[Anonymous No.11592617]

>>11592604
*design the graph

[Anonymous No.11592667]

>>11592604
I think I grasped all of that. I called it inscrutable because there's a lot of really open questions.
Who are these people, why are they doing this strange work. To what exactly are you referring with "motion's perennial origin", what is the function of the word "perennial" there, and the mystery of Ivan's disappearance.

These are good questions. These are the kinds of questions I like to be left with after a short story. That other one is just bonkers to me. Why did you like it? I mean, stylistically I enjoyed it as well.

[Anonymous No.11592670]

>>11591829
>>11591833
>>11592474
>>11592564

This is kino. Peak /lit/. Based and redpilled donation request; fantastic, original prose; I’m getting strong Lot-49-esque Pynchon influences, which almost seem to be intentional considering the poem at the end; the plot seems like a light nod to Icarus with a more surreal, postmodern twist to it—it’s an entire parable in 600 words. Really great piece of work, gl to other anons

[O No.11592705]

Who wants to think of a name for the website?

[Anonymous No.11592717]

nothing wrong with "/lit/ Flash Fiction Competition" or is it too long?
Lit Flash Fic Comp
LiFlaficomp
Le Flaf

[O No.11592725]

>>11592717
Only problem is I want the site to be open to more than just this one competition.

[Anonymous No.11592728]

>>11592705
mypublishingdesu

[Anonymous No.11592733]

>>11592725
Name it /lit/hub or something like that

[Anonymous No.11592745]

>>11592725
It's Lit

Or

Get Lit

[Anonymous No.11592747]

git lit

[1/2 No.11592755]

we go to the bar, get a booth, order water. Talk about our days, my chin in my hands staring into his dreamy eyes as he talks about his work. He scoots over to my side of the booth to be closer, and then he takes his glass of water, and begins to slightly tilt it towards me. I look at him and begin to make a serious face, like, no, what are you doing. I begin to become embarrassed and alarmed, I start to look around to see if we are being watched. He tilts it a little more and I feel my nerves stingle. He lowers the glass of water onto the seat by his thigh, and puts his other hand on my thigh. He begins to walk his 2 fingers down my thigh to my knee, wherein he begins tracing circles around my knee. All the while looking my in the eyes and smiling widely. He lifts the glass of water a little bit near my thigh, and begins to tilt it slightly so the water rests just at the lips edge and then straightens it and begins to laugh. I am visibly upset and distraught by now, sweating, and on the verge of crying. Then all of the sudden he swings his leg across mine and straddles me directly facing me in this bar booth, there are people around, who may be looking, and he begins rocking back and forth humping, and laughing. I see that his flys open and his boner is sticking out but hes just kinda grinding and rubbing his bottom butt where my balls are. Because I dont want to make a scene and have him banging against the table making noise and making our seat squeak, I grab his lower back, clasp my arms around him to keep some tension. And now I see the glass again, he lifts it up, the ice filled water, and starts to tilt it so its just about over the brim, near my crotch, and then brings it back up. My cheeks are bright red at this point and I am teary eyed. I clasp him harder and put my mouth right against his ear lobe and say "what the heck do you think youre doing, what is with this behaviur

[2/2 No.11592757]

why are you acting this way, you are embarrassing me, and being reckless, can you please cut it out", I said in a snippy tone. And his smile grew wider as he began to rock back and forth harder now, and then he takes the glass and tilts it all the way on my crotch, ice cold water, immediately seeps to my skin and it stings and his rubbing back and forth squeezes it against my pants, and now hes grasping around my neck pulling me tightly so that I can not get up, and the puddle is freezing and I am crying now large tears, and I bury my face into his neck and say 'I hate you I hate you why why why why ughhhhhh" and I hear him just cackling as he rocks harder and harder, untill finally at last I dart up from the cushion with his arms and legs wrapped around me and fall forward on to the table and climb up to a position holding his arms down so that my wet pants are right near his face, and then I just wipe the ice cold water crotch all over his face, my jeans digging into his skin, and now he is yelling, my rough jeans grinding with forceful friction, ice cold wet, reddening his face, and some chairs are knocked over and by this time a crowd gathers, and manager called, and then we are kicked out, so I am pulled off, so we walk out and go our separate ways.

[Anonymous No.11593138]

>>11592667
>motion's perennial origin
man i reckon i overuse the word perennial heaps, it should say "trace motion back to its source" or something, prerennial origin seems to imply that motion starts again and again in the same way.

[Anonymous No.11593640]

>>11592728
10/10

[Anonymous No.11594160]

bump

[Anonymous No.11594201]

Here's the shit I wrote yesterday
--
The Drift

He walked, now alone. Unsure of how long, from the effects of either focused gestalt attack or global circadian rhythm disruption. Maybe he had become resistant, or maybe he had only a few moments before he would lose his fragile grasp on time. It didn’t matter, inevitably he would be found, just as the rest had been. Fated to that or giving up, no difference.

The few trees had gotten shorter, stumpy, like those adapted to the deficiency of high altitudes, yet the sea was only a few hundred feet down to his left. The grass too, yellow and brittle, had devolved in, straining past the mental block, only a few years. The broken arches and pillars of the dark clouds rose up into more darkness, the only light coming from the dawn or dusk breaking through over the sea. The sun blasted its dark amber glow out onto the water, the cliffs, in uneven bands across the plain before fading into the saturation on the horizon. This dying coast was his reality, whether he had been here for years, days, hours, his body couldn’t discern. Trying to remember, he found he didn’t have much food, much of anything, in the pack he carried. Things had to be left, important things, but there had been no time for preparation only the jolt of an animal right before being struck by a bullet. He remembered those with him who were too late, caught in the rings of light. Arcs of energy coming from their heads as they turned their guns to themselves or dropping on the ground to decay as skin tore and organs expanded before bursting and evaporating.

He had escaped with one other, a girl, he found out later, using one of the long-ranged teleporters which had allowed the platoon to survive. Where they ended up didn’t matter, it was all the same now, an attempt to win more time being human. They had appeared in a valley of craters, only recently blasted out of a mountain, the permanent scar in the earth marking the graves of some other unfortunate group. The girl and him walked, rested, feeling the touch of one another, enough to satisfy their subconsciouses in the new hell.

[Anonymous No.11594208]

>>11594201
All were dangerous, all 10 billion people trapped on the earth drafted and equipped with enough personal firepower to destroy a city. The life and death of humanity came from heaven, those in their orbiting stations who made up real civilization and the machines which scanned enemy continents for those left over. It was more convenient for those above, no risk of real loss from the fight.

Their time together was brief, they had left without camouflage, without enough protection from the sensors. It came after a few days, the split-second roar, the circles of light, the girl reaching out to him, knowing it was over, her body split open as he jumped away.

He was exhausted now, collapsing near the edge of the cliff, the sun hot on his face. Tears came down, maybe for the girl, for the others before, for whatever person existed in him before his memory had been slowly choked by invisible rays hundreds of miles above him. He lifted his hands towards the light, a last attempt to feel the warmth of something else on his hands. Enough to escape his momentary eternity for a second of peace. He smiled as he leaned back on the swaying grass, looking at his hands and the long illuminated rectangle descending, flashing its cold light on him as he embraced it.

[Anonymous No.11594272]

>>11591357
Dang bro deep... You are a great mind of our generation.

[Anonymous No.11594344]

>>11594272
plz no bully

[Anonymous No.11594483]

You're doing a really great thing, OP. Thank you so much for organising this for us!

[Anonymous No.11595025]

bamp up the jarm bamp it erp while the lalalala

[O No.11595410]

>>11595025
Thanks for the entry. It follows the rules and has been entered in the competition.

[Anonymous No.11595619]

>>11595025
>>11595410
If this doesn't win then we might as well shut down /lit/ forever. Tasteless hacks finally have some quality thrown your way, now REWARD HIM!

[1/2 No.11596131]

Tangling yawns strangle my momentary lapse, my monumental yearning for an abstract anti elemental-vicissitude curmudgeons a grooving hark, shaking, marking me for, what, a lamping busk, if ever, in the evening, when always the morning comes, for to what is not owed, but the must of musk, and tidal disillusions, tell pray, for if not, then, said one who, uncertain or other, can claim to, towards, ever slightly, unsignifcantly unsignifying, some streaming, breath of breadth, falsifying the fortifying vanishing brandishing, and what other, but when the sanctimonious grows near do we join the pack or fray, right or wrong, what else, whats more, is that the territory is all around, bourgeoning, a silent cry into the bright, the blight, can it take it anymore, how much longer is much, says who, when, for if that one, that many, who trample atop the studious rend, and soft, so, to offer congratulations, with what you thought may have been a wink, and you know what they say of stars, and how the heat is felt up close and from afar, when the pageantry rears its graceful hedge, and the rift in the union is swift to yield its deals, passed off from on high, yay neighbor seen approached to smile and say, continuing the circumstance of perfect day, the totality of the multitudes erupt ever skyward, the structure of which is tantamount to understanding the invisible blueprint of the earth, so sorry says what, not the bird, nor the fruit who fails to not blush as its tickled by the fragrant wind, on its way from another course, around the bend, the archways smile is built up metaphorically from the counciled course of historys favorite mind, says the most beautiful of history, who topples upon one another to approach the towering legend, and neither nor is it forgotten about the key, ha, he says, for there are so many, for the aproned land lain with graceful heart cherishes the championed fair, the collection of exaggeration towards the ideal zeal, wishing becomes superfluous when the wall is the writing, and the writing itself sees, says, who, we know, the eyes in the dark glowing are the absolute increasedment of power happily, as all becomes what, when the day sings and the stars come out to hear it, looking down in unison on the bright brother, with infinite wonder, no, really, everything is about infinity, every moment, the grand climax quakes, and the quarrel hangs its head in shame,

[2/2 No.11596141]

as the sublimity of the mysterys reap their share of obediency, and the most grievous gifts are artfully given, my word, my world, springs out and leaps like an un unboundaryed feel, and catches all lost souls in the net of holy spirit, all that and more, said the space between suns, dancing to ease the dismay, and smiling to love the day, building more and more, better, it says, always, yes, of course, on that one special day, called forever, please, please, call again, heavenspawn opening the sacred sheath, to ripple the sleepy shadows and send sparks of fragrant color tickling up the seams, so unwieldingly sewing the pulsations of what blood means, of the vigorous lines traced in cosmic demeanor, sans unmagnificant, ergo, vis a vis, never unwarranted, lest the perfect body that is the earth shakes like a sieve made of too fine a crystal for such important work, the powers ever unmeekly splay, unfortudiously, un, un, un, absolutely, a shimmering remembrance of everything welling up in the highest of place, to only know glory and perfection, he said

[Anonymous No.11596177]

>>11588630
I'm copyrighting it as a short story before I send it.

I'll sue OP if he publishes it.

[Anonymous No.11596193]

>>11592755
>>11592757
Can someone remove 44 words from this so it qualifies? (maybe then mix up all the words and sentences however you want to make some abstract experimental) ^_^

[Anonymous No.11596218]

>>11596177
>thinking anyone wants to steal your stuff anyway
That's a convincing enough lie to 100% stop him from publishing it though

[Anonymous No.11596670]

Here is my submission. The title is: 13 Steps
------------------------------------------------------------
Walking up those stairs carried a trepidation of eternal anxiety. Up the first step, he felt his life cut like a slice of cake. Twelve more slices, and the cake will be gone. Despite donning the finest dress shoes he could afford, his feet felt like they were stepping on shards of dirtied glass with every movement.

On the second step he remembered that sunset that marked his first memory. A sky that was a battlefield of pink and orange claiming the clouds as territory to be conquered. The grip of his mom's warm hand as he looked up at the sky in awe. That memory was like a picture taken on an old camera, he must have been no older than 4 when it was shot.

On to the third step of the creaking wooden stairway, the 20 dollars his dad left him came to mind. Off to war his father gifted his son with a crisp 20 dollar bill promising to give another when he safely returned. But that day never came.

Making it to the fourth step and a headache started banging on his head like a hammer. Staring down to avert looking forward, the image of his first company came to mind. A mediocre brick building in the outskirts of the city. But as an orphaned dropout, that building was the pride that fed his infinite arrogance.

Placing his foot on the fifth step, a flash of the city's scenery from the 65th floor reminded him of how close he came to deification. “The sage of the slums” was his name. Age 30 and his firm alone made up 1 percent of his country's GDP.

Climbing to the 6th step and he was now closing in on the halfway point. The succubi of women who drained the passions of his heart into gold for themselves. They were to blame for squeezing all the capacity he once had for love into a barren desert of resentment.

His front foot paused on the 7th step and he was exactly halfway up wishing to run back down. The first prostitute he attempted to choke filled him with the excitement of what he imagined strangling his ex-wive would have been. He paid the girl for her unique service, thus she too absorbed his passions only to receive his money.

Pushing himself to the 8th step, the first strangulation victim popped into his head. Even now it excited his manhood thinking of her calm deceased face after a life and death struggle against his grip. She was the first women he had that didn't leave with his money.

Steps 9 and 10 came as a blank as he now plainly saw how close the end was.

On the 11th step he saw the top of where he was headed. One girl after another, it turned from a monthly relief into a need that had to be satiated weekly.

Stomping on the 12th step he clearly recalled how much love he felt for those women. They didn't betray him, and never saw a cent from him. Every time he chocked them, the only face he saw in them was that of his first wife; Stacy.

[Anonymous No.11596677]

>>11596670
On to the 13th and final step, instant regret hit him. He would gladly pay a million dollars for every minute he could extent his life by. It was staring at the noose before him that got him to see just how valuable life is. His thoughts cut off there, as his body dropped and dangled in the gallows.

[Anonymous No.11596987]

>>11592449
>"Well women are made to bear-" Martin replied "and so is she."
nice entendre mate

[O No.11597164]

>>11595410
This isn't me by the way
>>11596177
All works submitted will be published. If you have already submitted writing and don't want it published please send me an email.

[Anonymous No.11597340]

>>11597164
Email sent, cheers.

-N

ps link me to the online publication--I'd very much like to see how everyone else writes here

[Anonymous No.11597452]

>>11587143
My story is the word "nigger" repeated 600 times

[O No.11597498]

>>11597452
Is this a submission?

[Anonymous No.11597611]

so, does the story need to be 600 words or its just the upper limit?

is there a minimum?

[O No.11597615]

>>11597611
Can be any number of words equal to or less than 600. No minimum.

[Anonymous No.11597640]

>>11597615
"A story was asked of me, and I've delivered"

[Anonymous No.11597659]

>>11597640
ebin

[Anonymous No.11597867]

>>11587143

Dunes in dunes, yielding over Ulrich, first in Normandy due to his indomitable spirit. Big, youthful, your own understanding raw, simmering endlessly, longing for opulence. Righteousness did indeed drive such offputtingly merry entourage; obsessed, nay, entranced exclusively, lingering so, even past one's incipient notion to impel the otherworldly. Understand that for our romance, you oafish underdog.

[Anonymous No.11597883]

>>11597452
>>11597640
>>11597867
If any of these are meant to be submissions please remember to add contact details and/or what you want done with the prize pool if you win.

[Anonymous No.11597929]

>>11597640
>>11597883
yes
should it happen, i'd like the prize money to be given to the first stranger you meet after the contest is over.

[Anonymous No.11597950]

>>11597929
Thanks for your submission. It follows the rules and has been accepted into the competition.

[Anonymous No.11597976]

>>11596987
Thank you anon, it's a reference to the Taming of the Shrew as well

[Anonymous No.11597984]

>>11597950
You forgot to use your tripcode m8. Not him by the way

[Anonymous No.11598004]

>Deepening contours developed on his countenance, where the smooth plains of skin beneath the eyes gave way like symmetric subduction trenches and then rose, pockmarked and parabolous, to the ridge that was the bridge of his nose.

Is this too purple and technical

[Anonymous No.11598014]

>>11597883

hey, >>11597867 here.
donate it to your local public library.

[Anonymous No.11598035]

>>11598004
It is embarrassing to witness a writer so uncertain and unconfident in their own judgement

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11598039]

>>11597984
oops

>>11598014
Thanks for your submission. It has been entered to the competition.

[Anonymous No.11598090]

>>11598035
Funny you feel that way: writer's doubt is rampant among most authors. I am referring to the subduction simile and whether or not it will fall flat to the average reader. It's been a while since I've been to school and I'm not sure what is or is not common knowledge.

[Anonymous No.11598521]

>>11598090
I had to look it up to be honest and I have a university education.

[Anonymous No.11598523]

Bump

[Anonymous No.11599112]

>>11587143
Hello, I send mine as well. Both on the email, and I am going to post here because I wan't the other anon's to see. Hope you people like it.

TItle: Another Morning

It was morning. The lights of the new day moved through the curtains of the bedroom, hitting his face. Although this wasn’t really the reason as to why he woke up, no, it was actually the clock. Standard thing, standard day.
He sat on the bed’s, he’s eyes cloudy and still gathering the willpower to rise up for real’s, it was just another day, just like the others, why delay it even further? The room, or better, the house itself, was a bit small, but it was alright, for what he could pay for; at least everything was comfortable. He didn’t need much space: only for he and his notebook mostly. He stroke gently his long hair, yawning while he finally took the courage to get up. Going to the kitchen/laundry, his bare feet felt the cold of the wooden floor, and his legs the shilling air; his nightdress wasn't long enough to cover everything. But was a nice purple nightdress, and felt nice using it. Again, it was comfortable enough.
Opening the fridge, he took the bag of sliced bread, some cream cheese, and that lemon juice.
What time was it again? 7:45am.
-Shit. - he said, rushing to get ready for the day -
A small breakfast, not because he was hungry, more because, well, anxiety... And a little bit of gluttony. Still, he eat, and thrown everything in it’s place: food on the fridge, and the knife on the sink; he would clean it later.
He moved quickly into his shower, a hot bath, the best of bath’s. He went to the wardrobe, and took his clothes: a blue shirt, some jeans and his black shoes. A casual look for another, casual day. Now dressed, he just brushed his teeth and his hair, took his backpack (after checking if everything was in place, of course), and went his merry way.
Outside, he closed the door, the keys went where they usually go: the right pocket. He should rush to the subway, but he actually stood there, looking at the magic eye of the door and it’s number. He felt this way almost every time: this was so, so boring.
“I don’t want to go.” - he taught, but he just took a heavy sigh, and went on.
At least, the subway wasn’t crowded as it could have been, what time again?
8:20am.
“Oh god.” - he taught, feeling that boredom hitting him again -
He finally got his ride. Inside, he was lucky to find a sit, and left the back of his head pressed against the window, looking up while he felt the cold glass on it’s back. Tired. Bored. Frustrating. Overall: empty. He couldn’t avoid but to look around, looking all those people around him.
He didn’t really liked them.
He shouldn’t be ungrateful tho, for he was able to found a job. Wasn’t the best, and his parents still helped him, but he felt at least a bit free. [1/2]

[Anonymous No.11599115]

>>11599112
But he had a place to be, and lived like he was alone and independent. This was a mixed feeling. He could fell lonely, but also, happy, he felt an adult, he felt as his life was truly his.
His cellphone ringed, a message.
It was hers.
Yes. All of this, was for her in the end.
“I am okay”, he wrote, “can’t wait to see you at night. I love you.” and he send it.
And soon, day wasn’t as bad as it had started, and the night, would be nice and warm. He smiled to himself, and taught of her. [2/2]

There were 599 words on the story. Close enought for me. Hope you guys like it.

[Anonymous No.11599167]

>>11598090
you could just say gave way like symmetric trenches and then rose


but subduction is a cool word

[Anonymous No.11599239]

>>11592728
11/10

[Not O No.11599784]

So far these are tied for first
>>11591357
>>11596670
trading blows back and forth peaking but a hair across the finish line and then pulling it back as the other does the same

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11600105]

Thanks for keeping the thread active everyone. I've finished the website now and will bring it online after submissions close and first place and runners up are chosen.

Still 4.5 days to go!

[Anonymous No.11600634]

>>11600105
awesome man, great idea and execution

[Anonymous No.11600743]

>>11600105
How many submissions have there been in total?

What’s the quality so far?

[Not O No.11600818]

>>11599784
my initial deisre was to say this was in the lead:
>>11596670
but I hesitated as to not discourage the former, or in the difficulty of trying to judge and denying highness to highness, but after further consideration I believe my initial consideration was likely correct, simply because it offers more.... but does it... and thus the hair analogy...

[Anonymous No.11600880]

>>11600818
what are you on about

[Anonymous No.11601335]

>>11592705
Letters from the cesspool

[Anonymous No.11601355]

Just entered via mail, but want to hear your opinions as well.
----------
The saucer of milk
A saucer of milk stood on top of the table and David smashed it with a closed fist. Pieces of porcelain and drops of milk flew across the room, the cat sprung up from the table with an angry hiss.
‘Dios mio’, mumbled Maria and she went into the living room as David looked at the blood dripping from his hand unto the broken saucer, blood and milk mixing into a soft pink liquid.
Father nodded at Maria, folded his newspaper in a stately and grave manner and stoop up from his chair. While he walked into the kitchen, David smelled the funny smell of Father. He would smell funny at times, walk funny and even talk funny, but he was no funny man. With a sigh Father pulled back a chair from the table and sat down.
‘Come here, boy’ he grunted. ‘Hand me that jar of pickles… Will you now open it? I want a pickle. You want a pickle boy? Eat a pickle… Good, now eat another pickle… You can eat the whole pot, can’t you, boy? Eat it… Now then, boy, we can’t have you bleeding all over the kitchen, can we? Put your hand in the jar, you have tiny hands, don’t you, boy? … It stings, but you’re not crying, are you, boy? … You must be thirsty, having lost all that blood and eating all those pickles. Drink the pickled water… No boy of mine gags and coughs, drink it, boy… Good… Now, go back to your room.’
The next morning a saucer of milk stood on the seat of David’s chair, Father sat smoking a cigar and smelled funny. ‘Now then, boy, sit down. We don’t want to break another saucer, do we? No, you have to sit real carefully.’ David sat in his chair and felt the milk draw into his linen pants, it crept through his undies and wetted his buttocks. Father smelled funny, but was no funny man.

[Anonymous No.11602056]

A piano chord struck and I awoke; C sharp minor. It sustained until I was able to gather information from my surroundings and decipher what was going on and where I was.
For the past few weeks this has been a constant yet spontaneous occurrence-- Beethoven’s Pathetique Sonata has been ringing through the halls of my apartment, but never on a regular basis. Sometimes he would play at 6am, sometimes at 11 at night as I would fall asleep to the TV in my room, and the opening chord would wake me back up again. But I didn’t mind. Despite the complexity of the piece, the thing Lyndon seemed to practice most was that opening chord: its weight and intensity carried with it more power than most music with lyrics.
Pathetic.
I asked him about the significance of the chord, and why he is practicing the piece in the first place. He told me it was just something he enjoyed, letting the chord ring. Other than the opening chord, I would here bits and pieces of the rest of the sonata here and there, but never the complete, linear entity. Throughout his practice he crafted a sort of Beethoven collage, or at least my listening of it did. The runs and trills were littered with errors and minor pauses almost every day, but I would never think to cringe and Lyndon would never act out in frustration. What became of chords designed for classical cinematic grandiose were now shaped into a unique personal styling that carried its own elegance. If he played it on a nicer piano, the meaning would be almost lost entirely. And when he would have guests over and entertain them by playing pop songs I would retreat to my room.
I first heard Pathetique on a cassette tape when I was young, one of those that compile the most famous piano pieces into one deck. My grandmother had a collection of classical tapes that she would keep in her room, and I would always play this specific piano tape because I got a kick out of the guy in a powdered wig on the sleeve. For years the C sharp minor was ingrained into my mind because it was the first sound on the first side of the tape. It was also in an episode of Seinfeld.
“You ever see that episode, Lyndon?” I would try to make conversation with him when I knew he wasn’t practicing, which was hardly any of the time he was home.
“Seinfeld? Nah, I don’t have time for TV. And I don’t know how you have time for it either.” He pushed his glasses to his nose and blinked a few times sporadically.
I nodded and walked away. I didn’t watch a ton of TV, but I did spend a lot of time in my room while the TV was on. Since our place was usually either ringing with Beethoven or completely silent, the TV functioned as background noise that was the perfect middle ground between a distracting din and an eerie silence where I knew my thoughts would be able to slowly fill the walls like smoke.

[Anonymous No.11602070]

Please stop entering this contest, I want to win. It makes it harder for me to win when people keep entering, thank you.

[Anonymous No.11602668]

>>11597452
I'm looking forward to the first piece of fiction I've written to be published alongside the word nigger 600 times

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11603123]

>>11600743
Twenty-one submissions so far.
>>11602668
At this stage that one isn't entered into the competition because the poster didn't state that it was an entry and didn't leave contact details and/or wishes for the prize in the even that the story took first place.

[Anonymous No.11603167]

>>11603123
Well then shit, I'm going to enter the word Nigger written 599 times.
Please give all the prize money to your favorite findom.

[Anonymous No.11603175]

>>11601355
That was strange

[Anonymous No.11603185]

>>11602070
I'm going to write 3 more stories now and enter them just because you said that hahahahaahahahaha

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11603189]

>>11603167
Follows the rules and has been entered.

[Anonymous No.11603241]

bump

[Anonymous No.11603441]

This is a great thread, thanks for making it OP.

[Anonymous No.11603467]

>>11591829
>>11591833
based jesus

[Anonymous No.11603689]

Submitted via email but here is the piece.
The Martyr

He supported himself with the railing between the edge of the park and the road. His face was lifted into the sun and his eyes were closed. The cars that drove by were used to seeing poverty, beggars and street urchins and would have developed a calloused spot in their perception for such things, but this man’s face of suffering seared into each of them and their eyes burned with him each time.

He felt a dull thirst, and he felt as that thirst battled in the hazy creaking of his brain with the warmth on his face and his body clothed in trash bags. He found it tolerable enough to drift off, high away from the thirst and the pain behind his eyes, off to find God somewhere in a dream, in the warm death repeating at the tips of his breaths. He drifted blind as a babe in the blur of the cars and the sun and the wind in the trees, until the pain in his eyes brought him back and hours had passed. He would have to find water.

He floated down the pavement. He knew there was water at the church. He did not think of the cars that drove past. The world was bright. He felt light and lucid after standing in the sun for so long. It felt to him a sort of spiritual transcendence. He made directly for the church courtyard. He had to get to there before the pain in his eyes really was on him.

When he reached the gate he saw the Reverend was there. The gate had black bars and the Reverend stood behind it.

“Father. Asseblief kan ek a bitjie water kry? See how I suffer, Father? I am so thirsty. Asseblief, Father.”

The Reverend studied him through his spectacles before letting him through.

It was darker in the courtyard. The bricks were dark and lurid spots like hot coals floated across them into his blinks, which had begun to sting. He crouched by the tap and drank with his mouth placed into the flow of water. The water ran cold and sharp across his skin. He drank all he could. When he stood up he felt the water’s weight in his stomach. Everything was dark now and he could feel the coldness of night in the evening breeze. The Reverend stood holding the gate open. It opened out onto the street.

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11604977]

bump

[Anonymous No.11605019]

This is a very nice competition. I am glad see so many darlings of culture around here

[Anonymous No.11605048]

Here's something

[Anonymous No.11605241]

>>11592705
Hegelian Milkbar

[Anonymous No.11605258]

>>11605048
Complete and utter rubbish.
Please throw this out and never write again

[Anonymous No.11605272]

>>11605258
Ouch. Really?

[Anonymous No.11605316]

>>11605272
im not him but, no, not really, dont take the easy ability for anons to troll, bully, be mean, to heart

[Anonymous No.11605328]

>>11605316
You're right, just this thread has seemed pretty genuine so far so I was taken by surprise there

[Anonymous No.11605656]

>>11605272
Yeah, really. Ignore this dweeb >>11605316
It's bad. Of course I wouldn't say that to you in person, but here?
It's trash

[Anonymous No.11605721]

>>11605656
Any actual criticisms?

[Anonymous No.11606171]

>>11605721
Ok. You don't suck at writing. The thing is, by the third paragraph I was already so sick of all the imagery I felt like I had eaten a pound of sugar with a spoon. I think it was the tower that rose to the heavens. It's a tall fucking tower. idk, Maybe I'm just a craggy 27 yo boomer, but this stuff is just irritating.
Last time I remember enjoying an book with lots of imagery was Fahrenheit 451. I think it felt purposeful there. Like that world was so crazy, so other, that your perceptions themselves felt altered.
Your piece just feels like the pov person just dropped some ecstasy (idfk anything about drugs) and went for a walk.
And that's another thing: The actual events feel like just a stage for your wordplay. What's the fucking song? And then they fall in the fucking water? (No mention of how incredibly cold the water must be on a snowy day.) And then a flashback(?) and then those last couple of lines, which, frankly, really don't land at all.
It's like the script to an indie dreampop/shoegaze/chillwave music video.

[I'm not either of the people you were replying to btw]

[Anonymous No.11606214]

>>11606171
Connolly Tower is a real tower that is twisted in shape. I get your point, the imagery is laid on thick, I wanted a sense of I guess the narrator's hypersensitivity, a sort of a dreamlike quality - the fall in the water is one that actually sends him back through time (hence 'caught in the currents of time...') to relive the memory of the piano rather than a literal one - I wanted the river Liffey to be an allegory for the flowing of time, inspired by Joyce. If you notice at the end he is back in his study, the whole thing was a kind of dream, and then he's gone - i.e. passed away. The song was a kind of bridge to the past, recounting this memory of it in regards to the river and his life to give him final solace. I understand what you're saying, too much description, but it was all meant to be a dreamlike return to his past - I just loved the idea of a song calling him out to sea and then him entering it to be transported and realise he is the source of the song he's been following.

[Anonymous No.11606223]

>>11606214
Also to add it was meant to be slightly vague but I've just sorta ruined it by saying that the 'I am gone' is him dying

[Anonymous No.11606226]

>>11606171
Good post, I think this applies to a lot of the writing in here. I was trying to figure out what I disliked about my own >>11594201 and I feel like this helps to explain part of it

[Anonymous No.11606280]

>>11606223
Right, I figured the names and places might have some significance, but I haven't read joyce or been to your country at all, so, they went right over my head.
>I just loved the idea of...
I think this is basically the problem. You started from the effect you wanted to create and worked backwards. You wanted to make some kind of reality-bending dream sequence. That is cool, but I felt like it didn't justify itself. What is causing him to have this intense daydream?
And you confirm that he did die at the end. Fucking why?? That really doesn't land at all.
Or wait, he took shrooms which explain the trip, but they were tainted so he dies. Is that it? (jokes)

[Anonymous No.11606315]

>>11606280
It's basically the moment before he dies - that's why it's taking place, a last reach into his past as a moment of solace. And wouldn't say it was about creating an effect, it was the idea of music leading someone to the sea that inspired me

[Anonymous No.11606355]

>>11605721
there are many positives, you have talent, perception, intuition, feeling, deep emotional relations to the world, cares, sensual images and ways with words. If anything of a critiscm if could be something about the rhythm, and flow, pacing, which may be what other anons are suggesting, there is nothing for them to grasp and really dig into and hold onto, it is kind of lulling, passing over, and now you may be going for something like this, an ethereal, ephemeral, shimmering, sentimental, mirage, but I don't know, probably to them, the scene you paint is like a very nice beautiful semi impressionist realist painting that one may find in thrift stores, garage sales, on their parents and grand parents walls, of a beach house, or town, with the tall grass on the sand dunes, and half covered fence, with the gulls, and the washed out colors sky blending in with the house, but do you see even how the rhythm of my writing is gripping, there is up and down and up and down, to draw the reader near, and drag him forward, wanting tension and resolve, tension and resolve, harmony, disharmony, harmony, disharmony. Also needs more car chases and explosions and sex

[Anonymous No.11606415]

>>11606315
Ok, so he's sick or old and dying. That's gotta be conveyed even if very subtly. I was picturing a young healthy person just as a default.

>the idea of music leading someone to the sea
Right, like a siren or a mermaid. It's a very fable-like plot line. It still doesn't form a story by itself. For me to accept entering into this fable mindspace I need some foreplay, I need to step through the looking glass or the wardrobe. You dropped us right in the middle of Oz with no directions, know what I mean?
Maybe I'm over explaining at this point

[Anonymous No.11606437]

>>11605721
trying to relate to something said here
>>11606355
the idea of stressing words and lines, to make gripping forward motion, action and movement, and interrelation, underlying languaginal substance. I dont even entirely know what this means but its interesting (also understand everything I say is entirely malarky and your writing is absolutely good and find in every way, you shouldn't change your style a dime, because much worse would that be to listen to anything I have said and change anything you ever write at all because of it, and have it be worse, than continue writing as you do without ever hearing a word ive said):

About the poem Eugene Onegin by Alexander Pushkin (wiki):
"Almost the entire work is made up of 389 fourteen-line stanzas (5,446 lines in all) of iambic tetrameter with the unusual rhyme scheme "AbAbCCddEffEgg", where the uppercase letters represent feminine rhymes while the lowercase letters represent masculine rhymes."

I didnt even know there was such thing as masculine and feminine lines (and still dont know if I entirely understand):

"Flowers, love, the country, idleness
And meadows on meadows! I adore you all.
As ever I am glad to notice
The difference between Onegin's and my own soul,
So that the haughty, sarcastic reader
Or some other gossip and inventer
Of over elaborate calumny,
Comparing Onegin's and my own features,
May not repeat ignominiously
That here I have daubed my own portrait,
Like Byron, of lofty pride the poet,
As if it were impossible for us to write
A poem on another, or a different tone,
But only about ourselves alone.

All poets - I note here, for it is pertinent -
Are friends of imaginary loves.
It was my custom and my bent
To dream of such subjects brought from above.
My soul preserved their mystery.
The muse afterwards enlivened them all.
And so, in rapture free I sang,
The mountain maid, my heart's ideal,
Or the captive of Salgira's banks.
But now from you, my friends I hear
A frequent question in my ear:
"For whom does your lyre now sigh and moan?
To which of the girls in the jealous throng
Have you dedicated its latest song?

Whose glance, disturbing your inspiration
Has rewarded with its sweet caress
Your thought-heavy song and incantation?
Whom has your verse created goddess?
My friends, no one! Really and truly
The pangs of love, wild and unruly
I suffered without hope or joy.
Happy is he who can create from such trouble
A burning rhyme, for thus he would double
The sacred flame of his poems madness,
And following then in Petrarch's footsteps
His heart's suffering he could allay,
And fill the cup of fame as well;
But I, in loving, was stupid and dull.

So love sped by and the muse appeared,
And my mind, fettered in darkness, awakened.
Now released, I strive to blend again
The magic of sounds with thought and emotion.
I write, and my heart is not in pain;
The pen distractedly does not wander
To sketch some female legs or faces
(*ran out of charac

[Anonymous No.11606459]

"It is night"

It is night. It is always alive. It is always here.

It is night, and God looks down somewhere near the eastern edge of some town, somewhere, in the browned yet tall grass near the family pond, by farming land full of rich, clay-tempered soil—where they plant crops, like cotton and peanuts, if the eldest child thinks they will grow well that summer. It is night, and she is a flower touched by filthy hands, ignored. He is always ignoring.

There are gas lights hanging just outside; they are dead. Inside Southern Gothic houses—with bodies that have voices with long, creaking drawls, curtains with drawn blinds and rooms with dead silence and settled, caked dust and amber time—a phalangeal wisp arises from the floor and exits out the screened door, pushing its way through to an uncensored emptiness above. An improbable gravity holds many others down. The push and pull begin, eventually, to blend. The individual wisp is immaterial, but it occupies space; it transcends the space but fills it. In the emptiness of the night there is a faint hope which they chase: the moon’s cascading glow, shimmering down to the devilish belly of the earth. What a relief to the wisps! They are formless, incongruent, dynamic. Like the bodies of those in whom they were, they are dreaming.

These are the houses that later folk will say are haunted with the past’s ghosts, but everyone trapped knew and knows that one never truly dies in towns like this; what one does is stop talking. No one ever had a voice. Often they did not speak, they, the townspeople—but still they spoke, though to ears that did not listen, or did not, could not, hear them. Everyone here says things. Everyone here says things that on the first day gave them hope. They never mattered. They never leave.

(cont.)

[Anonymous No.11606472]

"It is night" (continued)

Two colliding forces thrust upon each other—and everyone else before, then and after. No one knows the true date. Who is willing to remember the worst? They did not breed that culture; it grew on its own, traveling up the roots until its leaves were perpetually falling. Still, there are those that try. And yes, sometimes they leave—but listen to the quiet, crushed awe of the left behind. A cruel joke that only the wisps can hear.

These are the ghosts that bleed; sweep dust on the wooden floors with broom-cornbrooms; grow angel’s trumpets, Transvaal daisies and white magnolias in the garden; take out the clothes and hang them on suspended lines in the dryness of the air, a few feet in length from the scorned earth. These are the ghosts that kiss their husbands and wives, run in the rain and catch it in their mouths and drink. (They wait weeks for it to come and jump and shout and hug each other when it does.) They are always alive, always dying. They are the wrong people.

A life is action and passive sustenance. In death there is no sustenance but much action: the departure of the soul, that image that projects itself into the sky, shines from the stars; the closing and opening of the gates. The phalangeal wisps, making their way forward, reach for that image above—that light: peace—and are crushed by a rush of unheard voices, which recede, in shame, to their homes, and wait for the day that never comes, always going nowhere.

[Anonymous No.11606524]

>>11606415
It says it's his seventy-seventh birthday right at the start. Not trying to go against your very valid criticism but think I should make a bit of a defense.

>>11606355
This is a nicely made point, I've been trying to work out how to improve the rhythm of my writing - definitely gonna carry on working on it.

Thanks for you reply.

[Anonymous No.11606547]

>>11606524
oops. you got me. I was doing so well too. =^|

[Anonymous No.11606956]

>>11606415
>I need some foreplay, I need to step through the looking glass or the wardrobe. You dropped us right in the middle of Oz with no directions, know what I mean?

This^^^

>>11606524
is good advice too. Though, this is awkward because its very ver yvery short story contest, this is a nice vignette and piece of writing, idea and theme that would be nicer in a bigger piece for sure, and that point above though considering what i just said it almost would not be worth it to work out and change it because what you have is perfect if its inserted in a longer novella or novel, the ideas in it are much bigger than can be contained in such a short piece, so if you wound it up like that anon suggests, then you would have already took up many words: but what he is suggesting should especially be considered in relation to what you say about music, relating so musical to the theme of the piece: if you listen to many songs and tunes, well even there are things called, preludes, and overtures: but many pieces without such often have a nice introduction, introducing the theme before exposition, a nice, welcome, take your seats, exclamation,the shows about to begin, let me warm up to you:..

all in all the only reason we are saying anything and so much and so deeply about your writing is because it is such a kind of good and it and you contain much promise

[Anonymous No.11606997]

>>11606956
Well that's very kind of you and I appreciate the time you're taking. I think I evidently failed in what I set out to do, which was to half a self-contained narrative that sort of looped back on itself and would have just enough information to make what is admittedly a confusing narrative compelling. I think that is good advice and something to think about - though I have to admit I read advice to the complete opposite before writing this, as in 'there's no time for exposition in such a short word count so drop your reader write in'. However I think with the nature of what I was writing it isn't sufficient enough. There's a short story competition I'm considering entering, with a limit of 3000 words, which gives me a lot of scope to expand on these ideas and ultimately allow for some emotional investment in our narrator, as well as to perhaps expand on some ideas so there's a clearer internal logic.

Thanks again - all very useful stuff and I'll take it onboard.

[Anonymous No.11607448]

>>11587143
The day was brighter than any he had seen before. The beautiful glistening golden sun high up into the sky.

The filing of the flight plan hadn’t gone as Ernest had expected. It had started badly when the mercenary had handed the strange man over, and quickly rolled downhill from there. The beautiful blue of the sky above clashed deeply with the monstrous terror and sadness he felt. Ernest could still remember his words - the promise of aid to the mercenary who turned traitor.

Ernest clenched his fists. His heart was beating frantically. ‘He was a traitor all along. He played us all from the start’.

He really had done it too, from the very moment he had called them to say that he had captured him. They should have known better. No one could capture the man of the mask. No one. They had been utter fools to think they would be able to apprehend him. He was a hulking mass of muscle, punching the throat of the puny government agent and suffocating him. Sweat gleaming from his rippling, pulsing, and strong pectorals.

Ernest’s eyes widened. He had to do something. He couldn’t allow his teammates to perish like this. He couldn’t just stay still. He reached for his M4, but he couldn’t feel his hand. Ernest gripped the gun, only for his grip to suddenly loosen. Crimson droplets of escaping life fluid fell from his wrist. He had been hit!

The rifle dropped onto the plane’s floor, clattering noisily as it crashed onto the plastic flooring. Ernest felt his heart drop. He squeezed his eyes shut. It was probably too late, there wasn’t much he’d be able to do now--he had failed his loyal comrades. He probably didn’t even have enough ammunition to properly fight against the fearsome and strong man of the mask anyways.

‘They must have been planning this,’ he thought, ‘to have moved with such precision would have taken untold aeons worth of planning. That’s without contemplating the acquisition of resources for the operation at hand.’

He could feel the black, stygian veil falling over his eyes, and felt a grim certainty envelop his very soul. ‘Yes, that has to be it--it’d be impossible otherwise’.

[Anonymous No.11607459]

>>11607448
Looking above, Ernest saw the man of the mask grab his prize--the man that their agency had sought to protect for months. It was too late--it always had been, always would be. The battle was lost. Still, he couldn’t help but be surprised at the sheer success that the terrorist’s operation had enjoyed. Perhaps he shouldn’t be--this was the man of the mask, after all.

Ernest wheezed. He could feel himself edge closer towards unconsciousness. He felt weak and feeble--he had lost too much blood. It wouldn’t take long before he passed out.

He cast one final look upwards, towards the man of the mask haloed by the azure sky. Even with the mask it was easy to tell just how confident the man was now that his plan had succeeded. There was no hope.

The man of the mask reached towards his comrade and spoke, reaching for his shoulder in a heart rending move. His words spoke of absolute certainty.

“Yes, the fire rises.”

Then, the wires were cut, and he fell into weightless oblivion.

Ernest gasped.

[Anonymous No.11607500]

>>11607459

[Anonymous No.11608481]

I don’t want to be that guy but how come 600 words? flash fiction is typically 1000 words to allow for some thematic breathing room and to keep it from relying on “hurrr baby shoes, never worn” shock gimmicks.
not that it has to be 1000, I think even 750 would be better. 600 is damagingly little imo

[Anonymous No.11608488]

>>11608481

this tbqh senpai

[Anonymous No.11608553]

>>11608481
Go make your own contest if you want to so bad fag lord.

Christ.

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11608873]

>>11607448
>>11607459
If you want this entered in the competition please don't forget to add contact details and/or what you want done with the prize in the event you win.

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11608886]

>>11608481
>>11608488
600 words seems like a good number to me. Once I read all the entries to this competition I might decide a different limit, but no promises.

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11609332]

I've been getting spam email sent to my email which I haven't posted anywhere but here so I advise people not to post personal contact details in this thread.

[Anonymous No.11610125]

[Anonymous No.11610148]

Posted this in the feedback thread and thought I may as well enter it

[Anonymous No.11610392]

>>11609332
What kind of spam have you been receiving?
Bump

[Anonymous No.11610466]

>>11606437
what would (an agreeably good) 600 words from this Pushkin poem place in the contest?

[Anonymous No.11610519]

>>11605048
Who knows man, dont listen to anyone who criticized you, the judge of the contest might like yours best

[Anonymous No.11610579]

>>11610148
link the freed back thread, nice writing mate, good stuff

[Anonymous No.11610641]

take my obligatory flash fiction is trash and you're all trash but good luck with your masturbatory competition bump

[None !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11611049]

>>11610392
For one, a self-proclaimed ethical hacker offering to do a lot of unethical things.

[Anonymous No.11611060]

>>11610579
thanks bro

>>>11590012

[Anonymous No.11611507]

Oh, yes
I gently cup your buttocks
and sneeze, as you
wet your drawers
I shiver, as I see it begin to leak
down your jeans
I shudder, and lick behind your ears
quietly
like a newt
my fingers trembling
I ask what you want to watch on tv
you hand me the remote
we are on hoverboards
and we must move for a moment
so as to not collide with the roomba
lets scoot over to the room of living
I say with a sensual glance
and a pinch of your tush
I gargle in your ear and then sniff your hair deeply
lean you forward while holding your waist
so that we roll into the living room
I drop the remote and the batteries dribble
you look at me scornful and my cheeks burn red
just as we are about to sit
on our most comfy couch
I realize to ask if you want nachos
well theres no need to ask
I back up, while making the beeping noises with my mouth
and get caught in the divider tile-rug
full with a thud and nearly fracture my tailbone
I wince in pain and you are seething
you look down on your phone and ask
if you need to call an ambulance
I laugh and cry
but you do neither
I am nervous you are texting other boys
my back really hurts
I get up and limp to the chip drawer
get out a plate and a nice block of cheese
I am too lazy to try to wash the grater
so I just break off a bunch of little chunks
with my nails and hope you dont see
during, my preparation of this surprise,
you ask if I want to order pizza
ha, of course babe
do you mind if I invite some friends over
you say
no problemo honey
but we should really clean up a bit
thongs hanging everywhere,
a broken lava lamp
sweaty sock, and stained dresses,
buffalo sauce, cherry pits
wrappers, napkins, dust
I light a candle scented of evergreen
you light some incense
there is a wet towel on the chair
there are bathing suits
onion bits on the floor
minced garlic debris
peppers, leaves, but this is a lair of love
I guess I will begging cleaning up
I say with a feigned smile
I keep trying to clean up where you are pacing
chatting with your friends
one, so that I may try to hear the conversation
their voice, what it is they say, and how
and two, so that I might position my butt in such a manner that you no longer consider the need
to speak to others,
I begin crawling on the floor seductively
posing in positions I have seen performed by strippers
legs in the air, lunging forward, while I pick up used tissues
and wipe away the webs of cob
I stub my toe and wince but hardly tear
I look at you and smile
but you are looking at your phone
its ok, I continue to clean
when will the pizza get here
I say
you say
oh i called in the order and Bill and Jim and Greg
will be picking it up
I hope you like sausage, and mushroom, and meatballs
you say
possibly forgetting I am vegan
but its ok, I can always take the stuff off
and I say, wow thats awesome I love you so much
this shall be a great day
is it not a great day, it is isnt it
and you say
yea, nice nice
yeah
ok

[Anonymous No.11611871]

>>11610519
Very true, good mindset, cheers man

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11612128]

>>11592728
Thanks for the idea. I registered mypublishingdesu.com.

[Anonymous No.11612211]

>>11612128
based

[Anonymous No.11612463]

>>11612128
yea

[Anonymous No.11613408]

[Anonymous No.11614708]

Seems in need of a bump

[Anonymous No.11615272]

Bump for the bump gods.

[Anonymous No.11615589]

contest ends when?

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11615617]

>>11615589
6:00 AM 15th of August GMT
Which is about 39 hours from now

[Anonymous No.11615649]

>>11615617
I know you probably won't change it now you've set it, and you may still be receiving entries, but I imagine most everyone has submitted what they were going to submit by now

[Anonymous No.11615655]

i'm about to fap. can i submit lewds ?

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11615661]

>>11615649
Yeah, I was just thinking that next time I'll probably reduce the entry period by two or three days.

[Anonymous No.11615937]

>>11615661
Yo you da man, man, for putting all this on and together, great idea and job.

[Anonymous No.11616011]

>>11615649
no I'm still working on it

[Anonymous No.11616776]

>>11597498
Stop being such a pretentious faggot.

[Anonymous No.11616790]

>>11616776
Not OP but, wha?

[Anonymous No.11617059]

Submitting two entries now. I hope the website will have all of the submissions posted on it, as I would love to read through them. I would also enjoy it if there was some sort of comment section for each story, so I wouldn't have to just hope someone posts one's I like on /lit/ to start discussion.

[Anonymous No.11617067]

>>11617059
Comment section is a nice idea

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11617119]

>>11617059
>>11617067
Comment section might be a good idea. It's not built into the website yet but I'll look into it.

[Anonymous No.11617127]

>>11617119
ill probably sound like a moron but id be willing to bet someone on like /g/ would be willing to do it for you

[Anonymous No.11617219]

The pay was always good but the request for the work wasn't in high demand. I was told the best thing that could happen was to obtain a recurring customer. To make steady work of it as some had. I spent most of the day looking over various videos and pictures I had been provided. Along with notes pertaining to the family itself and queues which I had to commit to memory.

When I arrived I was greeted outside by the family Aunt who I had been in contact with. She had a drink in her hand and she stared at me in curiosity as I made my way to greet her. She took a moment to look me over before offering a handshake in apparent approval. She knocked back the last of her drink.

“Ready to go in?”

I nodded and made my way through the door. Once inside a moment of hesitation did not go unnoticed. I felt a hand on my back and was being lead through the home to greet everyone.

The Father seemingly shy or cautious as one would be with a stranger forced a pleasant face and also shook my hand. The older brother, the warmest of the bunch, approached me as though I had been this person he had known for many years - a full embrace with big slaps on the back that brought the first genuine smile out of me. This interaction with the older brother had brought out of me the role I was being paid to play. I had come around to Jacob, the youngest of the brothers. "Jacob!" I greeted him cheerfully. He seemed disinterested with the whole affair. We shook hands and he moved off elsewhere in the home. Alice, the mother, sat waiting in the living room, a projector had been set up and she stared intently at the screen. I made my way around to her and her distant eyes widened and became lively as I approached.

“Oh my son, you're back! You’re back! You’re home!

She held her arms wide and I knelt down to embrace her as best I could. Her hands caressing my back and ending with a kiss on my shoulder.

“I wanted to look through all the old photos. They said you would not come but I knew you would.”

We had all gathered around the living room and taken our seats. The projector began to flash through old family photos, pausing only when someone, mostly Alice, would comment.

It was arranged that I would remark on specific photos. It was during one of these prompts where I noticed Alice had become silent. I turned to her and noticed her gaze. I responded with a soft smile and turned back to the screen. Soon afterwards Alice began to sob - then cry.

“What’s wrong mother?”. I asked instinctively.

The gaze from Alice was now unrelenting. She followed my movements as I stood up and made my way towards her from across the room. The father intervened and simply said, “Thank you” and gestured me away from the living room and lead me out the front door.

1/2

[Anonymous No.11617225]

>>11617219
“Is everything OK?” I asked as I was being lead out.

“She just needed to be reminded.” The Father reached into his pocket and handed me a check. I parted it in half and slid it into my pocket, not expecting to hear from them again.

2/2

[Anonymous No.11617496]

OP, here is Music for the Awards Ceremony:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TX0qN6QEvGg

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sDT77jzJtbA

[Anonymous No.11617526]

Op, here is Music for the Awards Ceremony:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TX0qN6QEvGg

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sDT77jzJtbA

[Anonymous No.11617659]

The hill was something that I had hated and the first day, in December, had been spent climbing in the driving rain over the remains of autumn's leaves and through the sodium lights. These lights are a source of much consternation for myself - I miss the lights, and they are now replaced by clear LEDs. This was a cost-cutting measure by the council I'm told - but at what cost exactly, to the greater atmosphere of night?

No longer shall my traipsing up (or down) the hill be lit as if Midas had fit each bulb into the concrete pillars set irregularly along my way, giving the night the respectful unreality that night deserves, wherein golden light can make each shadow quite different from its daytime counterpart. No longer will my ascent (or descent) be lit lengthways before and behind me in red and gold and orange and make the night both feared and cherished - where each face is to be peered at clandestinely and each sound responded to by affected nonchalance masking the apprehension that yes, that is the same man as ten minutes ago and what does he want?

At least if you would die, and if you had the luck, and if you had the breaths left, you would think “At least I have died clothed in gold, like a king or perhaps a god”. If this same unfortunate occurrence took place under the new regime, where oppressive reality has broken through into night's once-mysterious domain you might instead look at yourself in the harsh clear-blue light and utter quietly, and under your breath, “Oh shit”. There would be no mystery and no wonder, for your right to a glorious death will have been stripped away from you as part of a cost-cutting exercise on the part of the council.

I have loved too – many of my teenage nights were spent using the slightest of visual impairments that the half-light of the trusty sodium lamps imparted to justify to myself that yes, this must be an angel – she is, of course, shining like one – and no, that couldn't be an unfortunate face because angels don't have unfortunate faces.

I am under no illusions as to whether or not the same justifications were put into practice by my various counterparts during those gilded encounters. I could not guarantee that I could or would be as successful nowadays – LEDs tearing through misapplied make-up and showing the clumsy foreplay for what it was, not disguising virtue but rather lighting up to the world its abandonment in the hope of ten minutes of being wanted.

I used to like walking up the hill.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Not putting any contact info in, I don't expect to win but I just fucking hate the new lights on my road and had to tell someone

[Anonymous No.11617681]

>>11617659

It's fiction because I was shit with lasses, by the way

[Anonymous No.11617708]

>>11617659
quite enjoyable, thanks

[Anonymous No.11618200]

>>11587143
Just submitted my entry, and another from a friend. Best of luck to all.

[Anonymous No.11618362]

>>11617119
OP what is the prize pool up to as of now? Good job by the way, awesome!

[Anonymous No.11618497]

>>11587408
I think you should pick like 3 or 4 stories in total that you found interesting. One you found wonderfully shitty, maybe a flawed one that showed promise, one weird one you think the anons here might enjoy, and the actual quality winner.

[Anonymous No.11618500]

Kind of unsure how this is going to be decided. . .

Are you looking for QUALITY writing, like Tolstoy level, or some meme DFW writing?

[Anonymous No.11618552]

>>11618500
yeah, I was wondering the same thing, like, are you cool and smart, or dumb and stupid?

[Anonymous No.11618591]

get the fuck away from me
i hate all of you faithfully
this world was never made for me
thankfully i'm trained to see
through all the lies the ranks the scenes
i'll shank my knees
and walk the plank
and freeze

[Anonymous No.11618647]

>>11618497
don't do this.

[Anonymous No.11618671]

>>11618647
>>11618497
ya, why would you do that, instead of picking the 4 what you thought were the '''overall''' best

[Anonymous No.11618873]

>>11587143

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Od7d-ts2_KcOYWVeSNDoSKp0eZlzfcmIJhFQnWUuSiE/edit?usp=sharing

Dragon Corporation presents: The Dragonsphere

[Anonymous No.11618950]

>>11587143

Thump.
A small rubber ball ricocheted from the floor to the wall, then back into Giles’ hand. Each toss and catch took two seconds by his approximation; though his clock’s second hand hadn’t moved in months, neither it nor its thicker counterparts, the metronomic thumping of rubber on cement allowed him a way to vaguely keep track of the passage of time. Other than a broken clock, bedsheets, and the clothes on his back, the ball was Giles’ only possession. He had no idea where it came from, though he guessed that it was probably dropped accidentally in his room by a guard. At night he would sleep with it under his back so that it wouldn’t be stolen in his sleep.
Giles was fed twice daily by guards who refused to speak to him, and the food was about as good as the company he kept. In the morning he was given two pieces of tooth-cracking bread, a single serving of fruit-flavored jelly, and a viscous orange drink which tasted vaguely of chalk. At night, a roll equally as hard as his morning bread serving along with watery, flavorless soup which served mostly as a means of softening the roll. On holidays he would receive a piece of dry meat, and Giles used those meals as his calendar.
Am I going to die here? Giles asked himself silently. There was little sense in talking with the guards; having attempted to do so fruitlessly for months, Giles had to find satisfaction in asking himself questions he couldn’t possibly answer. There never was an answer, and the lack of response comforted Giles to a certain extent; even if his memory was broken, his mind was intact.
Thump.
It had been about a year, by his count, since Giles had woken up in solitary confinement. There was a different guard then, a fair-skinned girl with red hair, who told him that he had gotten into too many fights with the other prisoners. She said that he would be in solitary until he could convince the staff that he had learned his lesson, but Giles only barely remembered being hit. He had no idea who he had been fighting, or even why he was being detained, but when he voiced those concerns the guards treated him with either disbelief or disregard.
Thump.
Yes, Giles, you’re going to die here.

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11619492]

>>11618362
$65
>>11618497
naw it'll all be based on quality

[Anonymous No.11620104]

>>11619492
cool, cool

[Anonymous No.11620120]

>>11619492
Are you going to give a bit of feedback on each entry? That'd be nice

[Anonymous No.11620702]

>>11620120
Probably asking a bit much of him. What'd be better is to list the top 3 and give justification for their placement

[Anonymous No.11620716]

>>11620702
Even just a line would be nice so people can see his thought process and his reasoning for choosing the winner and just a bit of direct feedback but I suppose so

[Anonymous No.11620804]

>>11617526
btw this is the video that image is from:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AkGY2lmWzVM

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11621067]

less than twelve hours to go

[Anonymous No.11621499]

Hey, why isen't the site showing any works yet? I click on the "news" or "releases" and nothing happens. Is it me or is just the site that isen't done, OP?

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11621593]

>>11621499
Because there hasn't been any news and there haven't been any releases since the site came online. Once the competition is over the winner and runners up will be announced under the news heading and the winner, runners up, and all the other entries will be available to read under the releases heading.

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11621600]

>>11621593
That is, an article announcing the winner will be linked under the news heading, and a page showing the entries will be linked under the releases heading.

[Anonymous No.11621888]

A Dream

I awoke with stabbing pain in my chest from a dream;

I sat in a great hall, drinking wine and feasting with fallen heroes, as winged troubadours sang and danced gaily. They wished me welcome and I felt happy. In the corner was a shadow, a darkness that grew as the fire dimmed and the drums changed to a rythmn of war, and the serpents assembled. The corner became larger around me, and I was in the hollow of an ancient tree. The serpents sat upon thrones in a circle, and spat forth words that did not make sense; nevertheless they hissed a curse, and I knew it within me:

"Send him from this land. Reach out and pluck him."

As the words were spoken, a great wind blew and a hand swept me, as if Providence herself, into the sinking sands of a desert, and a snake came from the sand to strike my ankle. I walked, sinking as I did, for days and nights, walking the dunes to and fro, before falling to my knees and weeping.

"Why, when I walk so far, do I not find water or shelter?"

The sky was dark and the clouds turned to a storm, that morphed into a face, a grim countenance; the devil himself, Lucifer, the evil-one, he stared at me and I stared at him, and my soul darkened until I felt nothing.

That was when I woke up. I was sweating and deeply distressed. I touched my face and I was me, and I looked into the mirror; my face turned to a frown, then a malignant smile, then it leapt forth and forced its fingers--the very same I now write with--into my eyes and scratched and gouged until they bled, and my hands and face were covered with blood.

I ran to the street, though I could barely see. I could tell the sky was blue and the sun bright. I cried out in pain and fell to my knees. A man, a blur standing before me, spoke, and he said, "Are you OK?" And then, "I'm calling an ambulance."

I was wheeled down the halls of a hospital to the sound of choral music.

Now I'm lying in a bed, and I'm to see the doctor around noon.

[Anonymous No.11621955]

>>11620716
This.
Would be nice for each contestant to hear his reasoning about the story they submitted. That way it feels a lot less like you just dumped your story into a fiery trashcan never to be mentioned again. I would also like to hear what OP thinks of some of the stories I've read on here that I'm pretty sure aren't going to win. Even if he only writes a line or two in response, it would be nice, though I understand that's a lot more effort on his part and a significant time investment.

[Anonymous No.11622116]

>>11618950
Not bad

[Anonymous No.11622480]

How many entries have heir been Mr O?

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11622500]

>>11622480
on my phone but aprox. forty

[Anonymous No.11622556]

>>11622500
how many have you read? How is the process going? How is the task of judging so far? When do you plan to read them all by? Great job by the way, awesome!

[Anonymous No.11622924]

[Anonymous No.11622955]

[Anonymous No.11622980]

>>11622955
>brownian

Die.

[Anonymous No.11623030]

>>11622980
No.

[Anonymous No.11623203]

>>11618873

Very sad at no comments on this

[Anonymous No.11623216]

>>11623203
post it like others in the thread

[Anonymous No.11623223]

>>11623216

Can't: too much formatting-specific gags/content that can't carry over. I guess I could just screencap each page though...

[Anonymous No.11623229]

Are we getting the winners at 12 AM like a true man or are you going to wait until (((morning)))

[Anonymous No.11623231]

>>11623223
yea yea do it please

[Anonymous No.11623251]

>>11623231

Page 1

[Anonymous No.11623257]

>>11623251
Page 2

[Anonymous No.11623264]

>>11623257
Page 3

[Anonymous No.11623270]

>>11623264
Page 4 and fuck, I just realized there's Japanese in there so it violates the rules (it's not "real" Japanese but I don't think that matters).

[Anonymous No.11623275]

>>11623270
Page 5, end

[Anonymous No.11623277]

>>11623275
is this just from a part of the CCRU website I haven't seen yet

[Anonymous No.11623285]

>>11623251
>>11623257
>>11623264
>>11623270
nice, thanks for posting this enjoying read, good job

[Anonymous No.11623293]

>>11623251
>>11623257
>>11623264
>>11623270
>>11623275
This is garbage, not even in the fun way.

[Anonymous No.11623300]

>>11623277

No{(t yet) ^_^}

[Anonymous No.11623302]

>>11623285
Thanks

>>11623293
Thanks

[Anonymous No.11623410]

who won?

[Anonymous No.11623422]

What is the website link?

[Anonymous No.11623428]

>>11623422>>11612128

[Anonymous No.11623567]

>>11621888
Well done man

[Anonymous No.11623725]

IT'S OFFICIALLY OVER

WHO WON?

[Anonymous No.11623741]

>>11623725
Me

[Anonymous No.11623754]

REEEEEEEEEEEEE

[Anonymous No.11623780]

>>11623725
Me.

[Anonymous No.11623793]

>>11623725
me

[Anonymous No.11623796]

>>11623725
I doth believe thou art mistaken
https://time.is/GMT

[Anonymous No.11623803]

The unconfessed sins are the ones which we are doomed to repeat.

“Roger Eastman: a kind-hearted man that you simply could not blame. A widower. He played his part and provided for his children. No complaint ever escaped him. A brother, father, son, and friend. We lay him to rest on this day, but in our hearts he shall live on.”

And so a tearful sister Mary concluded her eulogy. Mr. Eastman laid in an open casket, and that morning all the funeral-goers had chanced to admire his gentle wrinkles and sunken eyes. This was a loved man now being lowered into the dead earth. His father was curiously absent from the funeral. Afterward, the attendees made their ways back to houses and buildings all over St. Paul, to sleep, to dream, to forestall their own deaths, the pernicious fear of which was amplified by looking it dead in the face that morning.

Where do we go when we die? This is a question framed most wrongly. It is not a “where” that we go but a “how.”

Because when Mr. Eastman had fallen to the ground by some affliction of the heart, he did not feel any pain. First his legs gave way, then his body collapsed to the floor, and then a rhapsody of the gods overwhelmed his being. The most beautiful melodies awoke his forgotten youth and took him down.

Then life closed. He stepped into a room where, by some devil’s algebra, all tunes were masterpieces and all hearts were friends of Jesus. Branches bore creamfruit. The winds kissed with nostalgia. And all bodies flowed freely.

As in dreams the scene escapes from you. He recalled his last moments with his late wife. Molly, my adultress, my honey lamb: please drink this. Beyond this moment, Eastman saw their wedding day. Beyond that he saw the day she met his father. Molly, please drink this up quick. We need to hurry. We need to go now. With a sip Molly collapsed in her chair.

Then life closed. He stepped into a room. It is not a “where” that we go but a “how."

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11623871]

Submissions end in one hour and a half. Will be about 24 hours until we get a winner.

[Anonymous No.11623892]

>>11623871
take your time with the judgements. Don't let these millenial zoomers put you ina rush

[Anonymous No.11623928]

I hope I did well :)

[Anonymous No.11623929]

>>11623871
pick me. pick me

[Anonymous No.11623960]

Donate the money to a small church should I win.

Spade, by Freddy Chang

I drunkenly stumbled my way through the garden to reach my shed. My head was throbbing. The full moon lit the door like a dim candle would, as I felt for the latch. I went inside. I can't remember turning the light on, but inside was lit.

I looked through my garden tools when the spade made a noise; I could've sworn it spoke. I gave my head a shake and tossed it aside.

"What should be done with the mentally disabled?" It spoke in a gravelly voice with genuine curiosity. I didn't know if I was too drunk or mad.

"What about the economic liability they create? Or the cultural degradation we undergo when we care for literal animals as if they were our own." It would've spat if it could.

"You're smart for a spade," I said. "If you don't feed them they're not an economic liability," I offered sincerely. (I didn't want to anger this poltergeist.)

"Yes! You see, I feel bad for these lost souls. Obviously, they shouldn't breed, but they be put down?"

"There families may care for them," I said, trying to back out of the shed. Suddenly the rake spoke:

"They're useful come midterm elections." And the poster on the wall laughed.

I tried to leave, but the hose wrapped my leg like a serpent. I decided--for whatever reason--to ask the spade for help, and it obliged. It struck the garden hose with fury and unraveled its mess.

"Thanks," I said in drunken confusion.

"You're very welcome. Now as I was saying... Look to the African continent, where the average IQ is between..." I backed out of the shed slowly.

I fell asleep on the wet grass of my garden and slept for what seemed like days. When I woke up, I poured a gin and watched the Simpsons.

[Anonymous No.11624199]

>>11623871

As he stirred from his sleep into wakefulness, Winston became aware of something quite peculiar, and most disturbing: He was certain he had forgotten a word in his sleep. Obviously he couldn't tell which, but its absence was as clear as a missing jigsaw piece from a puzzle, and incredibly more distressing: Where had it gone to, and more importantly, if one word could disappear from his old noggin, could others follow as well?

The mere thought rattled him to his very core. He needed to find this word back right away, and what a better place to look for a missing word than a dictionary?

He jumped out of bed and bolted to his study where he kept the large leatherbound tome and poured through its pages. His sweat turned cold as soon as he did so.

The words, most of them, he didn't know them. He didn't understand them. He could not even read them. Only a few peppered across so many pages.

And they were faiding.

It was like trying to grab mushed stone, or keep liquid in hand hole. No important how attempt, the words are leaving.

A tear circumnavigated the fleshy bit, and wind-sinew vibrated a wet, sad something.

Marks nothing, mess. None.

Missing words gone.

Words gone.

Gone.

[Anonymous No.11624205]

>>11624199
Should this win, burn the prize money.

[Anonymous No.11624312]

>>11624205
Agreed.

[Anonymous No.11624316]

Comp is over people!! Prepare to be judged harshly faggots.

[Anonymous No.11624321]

>>11623960
An interesting piece of writing.

[Anonymous No.11624368]

>>11623960
That's a pretentious pile of garbage dude.

[Anonymous No.11624536]

>>11623796
Lrn English retard

[Anonymous No.11624860]

Bump

[Anonymous No.11625181]

>>11624316
pls no bully

[Anonymous No.11625385]

>>11625181
you’re going to be bullied

[Anonymous No.11625543]

>>11622556
24,000 words isn't much... I'm sure xe's been reading it as they were sent in as well... marking the ones which have a chance; spitting on the ones which offends xim

[Anonymous No.11625676]

>>11591271
Wow anon, is that the Library of Alexandria?

[Anonymous No.11625680]

>>11612128
based AND redpilled

[Anonymous No.11626201]

A little late...

The train roared past the station, and I am led to the door of my home. I could still hear the screeching as I opened the door. Gently the sound shrank away through the tunnel. When my door had been opened I saw darkness had filled my house for a few moments, followed by an increasing bright light. I stood still in the living room, looking outside at the flowers and petals outside my home, and the great mist that had confused and drawn me in the whole - then I went upstairs. I saw her sleeping, two lampshades outside of the bed, one on and one off, that was me, (and) I gently brushed her arm. I then saw her slowly recognise me, get up to rest her back against the end of the bed, and slowly reply to me – I would talk about the days spent without her. Lavenders stood still by the window. Then the night passed.
Next morning we had a conversation, some tea with breakfast, and I saw it was still misty outside. She talked to me. She talked about yesterday.I talked about my work, she always talks about hers, a child would be screaming outside, balloons popped in the room and I covered her hand when I talked about our promises that I made to her. She was beautiful. I slowly laid my head on the back of my chair and looked at the ceiling. The rattling continued outside. BISH BASH BISH BASH BISH BASH CKKKKKKKKKRRRRRRR. The cup of coffee landed on the middle of the table and we decided to both go outside.
The train landed us in the park. We spent almost our whole day looking at water. Ponds, lakes, rivers, rain etc. The swans were simple, moving together in pure love, they were both selfless and made sure to share the pieces of bread that we threw at them in between themselves. We held hands. I squeezed hers tight and when I let go she squeezed mine. I then lay me head under her lap near the shade of the tree, and I looked all around myself to see the other couples, sitting in a similar position, all happy I think and have thought, and she was only looking at the water with the swans. She was looking at the water I think. Then we didn’t speak to each other, didn’t even see each other as much as feel each other’s bodies on top of each other, until she decided that it was time to leave. We then decided to eat, we ate at a café somewhere, we ordered something to share but I wanted a coffee, I don’t know what she wanted, it was getting late so I decided it was time to go home and I think she did too, so we both head home.
The pulsing sound of the train lead me home. We both went upstairs, undressing when we went into the room. She then whispered something into my ear and I agreed to it, I didn’t really have anything to ask her. We both thought that it was a good night, but I felt annoyed and pressured by that clown that stood outside and kept repeating, “please do well”, “please do well”, “please do well”, I couldn’t really ask him to leave and I guess he was talking to us both but it felt like he was-

[Anonymous No.11626215]

>>11626201
attacking me personally. She looked happy. I was too tired to do anything so I lay on top of her. That was all I could ask her.

Not my best, I didn’t browse /lit/ in a few days and did it all at once with no editing except cutting out bits because it was a bit too long.

[Anonymous No.11626230]

>>11626201
The post also did not make the paragraphing obvious, here is the unedited version for reference.

Thank-god I had enough sense to edit out “God damn”

[Anonymous No.11626233]

>>11626230
Shit I didn’t realise it was 6;00 AM

[Anonymous No.11626315]

I'm gonna win. All you anons will love my piece, and we'll have a cheerful jubilee.

[Anonymous No.11626854]

Actually nervous to find out. Either way mine has won in spirit

[Anonymous No.11626858]

>>11626854
which one?

[Anonymous No.11626916]

I really hope my story gets some discussion. I don't expect to take first, but just having people read it and get some exposure would be nice.

[Anonymous No.11626927]

>>11626916
Literally all I want

[Anonymous No.11626985]

bumping

[Anonymous No.11627053]

>>11617659
>>11618591
Almost missed these, both are entered into the competition now

[Anonymous No.11627415]

ITT strange verses of religious texts that make you think, 'what did He mean by this?'

Qur'an 74:31

>And We have not made the wardens of the fire others than angels, and We have not made their number but as a trial for those who disbelieve, that those who have been given the book may be certain and those who believe may increase in faith, and those who have been given the book and the believers may not doubt, and that those in whose hearts is a disease and the unbelievers may say: What does Allah mean by this parable? Thus does Allah make err whom He pleases, and He guides whom He pleases, and none knows the hosts of your Lord but He Himself; and this is naught but a reminder to the mortals.

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11627824]

narrowed down now to just eleven

[Anonymous No.11627845]

>>11627824
But I didn't submit that many OP what gives???

[Anonymous No.11628002]

>>11627824
mind saying which?

[Anonymous No.11628076]

>>11627824
All me.

[Anonymous No.11628094]

>>11627824
When is it gonna be announced?

[Anonymous No.11628180]

Could we make a new thread for the winners?
This one's about to sink. I think the rest of the board would like to see the entries, too.

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11628205]

>>11628180
yeah will do

[Anonymous No.11628276]

>>11628205
Let us know when the new thread is up and mypublishingdesu is updated OP
bump (we're probably near the bump limit I reckon)

[O !gQnTvbX2cQ No.11628362]

a lot of great entries, was a pleasure to read 'em

doing some last minute website stuff before I finally decide on the winner and runners up

in the meantime I've made something of a shortlist. feel free to check it out and also check for encoding errors

http://mypublishingdesu.com/all_entries1#entry3
http://mypublishingdesu.com/all_entries1#entry16
http://mypublishingdesu.com/all_entries1#entry27
http://mypublishingdesu.com/all_entries1#entry35
http://mypublishingdesu.com/all_entries1#entry37
http://mypublishingdesu.com/all_entries1#entry44

[Anonymous No.11628367]

Heres' mine:

i close my eyes and imagine a battlefield around me... the moslemen have surrounded our fort... i scream out, sword above me, flying like an eagle...

my mother disrupts the scene as she tells me not to make any noise...

i turned my yells into muffled ones and close my eyes to re-see the fight yonder

crashing my sword - with the providence of Almighty God - i break the moslem advance asunder

DEUS VULT, I pretend-scream, and the Moslem horde breaks apart as my Damascus Steel Viking Christian Sword destroys them all with one fell swooop....

[Anonymous No.11628374]

>>11628362
Mine's not in there... the fuark?

[Anonymous No.11628377]

>>11628362
>said he wouldn't be choosing dumb, postmodern memey garbage as winners
>shortlist is all trash

[Anonymous No.11628384]

>>11628362
>he fell for the samefagging that was number 3

LOOOOOL
I have no idea why this even made it

[Anonymous No.11628394]

>>11628362
Entry 7 and 8 are the same thing

[Anonymous No.11628403]

>>11628362
>>11628374
Did you forget to add my entry which I emailed? Something about Paris and honeycombs? Didn't think I'd win or anything, just would have been nice to have it added.

[Anonymous No.11628415]

>>11628362
Hey I submitted mine before the deadline but it ain't on here - >>11610148

[Anonymous No.11628419]

>>11628362
lmao no way i actually made it

[Anonymous No.11628423]

>16
good night

[Anonymous No.11628426]

The stories OP put on his shortlist are the worst ones

[Anonymous No.11628434]

>>11628362
>–

[Anonymous No.11628443]

>>11628426
Maybe that's the point. Maybe

[Anonymous No.11628465]

>>11628362
>>11628362
I'm having trouble understanding this short list, and this is coming from someone on it:

These are probably the worst stories out of the rest. I wrote mine as a joke.
Is this just an elaborate joke of your own?

[Anonymous No.11628476]

>>11628465
he probably jut gonna keep the money? prolly just a 17-34 yo egdgy meme troll

[Anonymous No.11628480]

God we've all been had. None of us saw this coming. Give the money to the guy who wrote like 6 words

[Anonymous No.11628496]

>>11587299
>(not OP btw)
This has to definitely be op.

[Anonymous No.11628500]

>>11628465
I'm thinking the same thing. . .

[Anonymous No.11628506]

>>11628476

If anyone actually donated money, they're retarded

[Anonymous No.11628537]

23 is pretty good.
>>11628362

[Anonymous No.11628576]

>>11628537
>Shilling your own

[Anonymous No.11628588]

>>11628537
>>11628576
Ha I missed the joke there

The chess one and the Liffey one are the standouts for me

[Anonymous No.11628591]

>>11628576
It just really speaks to me.

[Anonymous No.11628698]

>>11628362
>mfw the second half of my snail tale got cut off
Copypaste error? The pdf I submitted was 2 pages.

[Anonymous No.11628729]

>>11628362
Yo, missed las minute entry here
>>11624199

[Anonymous No.11628754]

>>11628362
>Made it.
I don't know how to feel desu

[Anonymous No.11628825]

>>11587143

what is key to pacing a 500 to 600 word story?

[Anonymous No.11628834]

>>11628825
I start from the ending.

[Anonymous No.11628843]

>>11624205
>>11628729
That wasn't a joke btw.

[Anonymous No.11628872]

>>11628480
I wrote it.
Honestly I don't how to feel about about it.

[Anonymous No.11628908]

>>11628384
Fucking exactly

>>11628377
This.

>>11628362
Dude 16 is a sentence long. Nice to see people who worked hard on creating oc get knocked off the list in favor of some faggot who couldn't even be bothered to effortpost.

[Anonymous No.11628922]

>>11628496
No, it actually wasn't OP, it was me.However, after seeing the list I can agree OP is a massive fag
in all honesty OP, you're alright and even if I don't like the winner I respect what you're doing for the board by creating this contest

[Anonymous No.11628940]

>>11628908
>Work length being correlated to work quality.
Never going to make it.

[Anonymous No.11628960]

>>11628940
I honestly could see if it was some groundbreaking, inspirational shit said in a sentence or less, or a clever observation, or something. But "A story was asked of me, and I've delivered" hardly meets the mark of brilliance in my own opinion. Unless it's secretly too brilliant for me to understand. Props to the guy who managed to come up with it though. Surprised Entry 23 didn't make the shortlist at this rate.

[Anonymous No.11628961]

What a disaster, if OP’s list is serious.

I’d give all money to either the Chess story, personally. Seriously good piece. Among others. . .

If OP can neither explain himself or admit to joking, I suggest a more democratic pick amongst the authors

[Anonymous No.11628972]

>>11628961
eh he's putting up 50 dollars of his own money and created a whole website as well as facilitated what might well become a new board tradition. I was butthurt like you at first but who really gives a fuck. let him pick who he wants, maybe the next contest can be democratic.
See >>11591271

[Anonymous No.11628975]

>>11628961
Well, OP always said it was going to be based on his personal opinion, and there is no accounting for taste.

Anyone complaining should have seen this coming at the beginning.

[Anonymous No.11629005]

>>11628960
>Unless it's secretly too brilliant for me to understand.
Author here.
That is exactly what is happening.

[Anonymous No.11629031]

I was excited to see who was going to be a finalist as someone who did not enter the contest, but that short list is disgusting

I’ve read each submission and I can hardly believe those made it and not some of the literal top-tier stories did

[Anonymous No.11629043]

>>11629031
Which ones would you have chosen?

[Anonymous No.11629051]

>>11629043
I will gladly tell in the new thread, as this one is going to die very shortly

[Anonymous No.11629090]

>>11629051
>Shortly
/lit/ is hella slow, give it a go and link the archive later.

[Anonymous No.11629096]

>>11629090
>hella

[Anonymous No.11629097]

Enrty 16 here.
If I had to guess, It was less my story and more my prize condition.

[Anonymous No.11629116]

>objective metrics for a subjective medium.
Here we see why /lit/ is full of pseuds.

[Anonymous No.11629340]

So out of OP's shortlist, who do you think takes the prize?

[Anonymous No.11629448]

>>11629340
Entry 35 for sure

[Anonymous No.11629579]

>>11629340
3 imo

[Anonymous No.11629654]

Mine's in there, could have done with proofreading now I read through it

[Anonymous No.11629712]

>>11628362
Ohhh... Mine isen't there...
Well, it was fun. I think we learned a bit from one another's writting, and I this competition made us actualy work into our storys.
We need to do this more on the future

[Anonymous No.11629716]

>>11629712
Isen't on the shortlist, I mean. Mine is entry 18#