Flash Fiction

[Anonymous No.6986367]

Write a story in 1000 words or less. Critique others.


Even though I knew it was impossible, I thought about what it must be like to be in love with a woman like that. A woman who, for her job, heck, for her life, reads and thinks. And not only reads and thinks but talks about reading and thinking. I remember watching a video of her once speaking at some reading festival, and her saying something like, “I don’t think I’m smart enough to read David...I think I’m probably the dumbest person on this panel.” The way she said it really made me believe it, and I wondered what it would be like to be in love with someone like that, who when you do something really backwards and nasty doesn’t just read you and think about you and what you said and how it was really backwards and nasty, but how she thinks to herself, “He’s probably just smarter than me, everyone is probably smarter than me.” I think I would like someone like that, always thinking that everyone else is smarter than them.

Now I have both my hands over my head, working and working this branch of an Osage tree, the thinner limb in my left hand and a drywall knife in my right hand. Osage trees can really be the damndest things, hard as rock and wet, the knife gets all gummed-up and there’s still a little sawdust coming down into my eyes. I look at the ground to keep the sawdust out of my eyes and she says through my earbuds, “You wonder what happens to that type of love, how it always seems to perfect, but all of the sudden it’s three years later and you get a divorce.” So I guess she’s been divorced. I can sorta tell she tried to keep it together, I think she really did. “All of the sudden it’s three years later and you get a divorce.” She says it that way on purpose, like she must have been married for three years, like it wasn’t a divorce that she wanted, but it was a divorce she got.

I got that Osage branch down finally and left it in the yard to dry, on account of it probably wouldn’t die very soon if I put it under the shade of the deck. I went inside and took a cold shower and got some socks out of the dryer and sent an email to a classmate I went to dinner with a week or two ago, she writes poems too. I lent her a copy of a Kafka short story and I told her to tell me what she thinks of it and I sent her a poem about being an oilman for the summer and how I feel like we rape the earth in a very official sort of way. She hasn’t responded yet, so I sent her a message and said, “I’m sorry if the language of my poem offended you,” and then later another one that said, “But I stand by my artistic choices.”

[Anonymous No.6986393]

Your first paragraph is decentish writing but its obvious that you know nothing about women. I started reading your second paragraph but quickly lost interest.

[Anonymous No.6986406]

>>6986393
thanks, will do more research on women

[Anonymous No.6986439]

>>6986367
crumpets

[Anonymous No.6986465]

>>6986367
>A woman who, for her job, heck, for her life, reads and thinks.

heck, i stopped reading right there

[Anonymous No.6986638]

>>6986367

The orator turned to the smart-board and clicked his stylus against the plastic surface, bringing up a map of the sub-continent. 'As most of you will know, it was the Dioceltianic conquest of what would become India Prima and India Secunda that secured for Rome a new lease of economic life at the end of a century of civil war and social turmoil. It was to be the last of Rome's great conquests, but perhaps her greatest.'

'Vae victis', the pupils interjected without a moment's hesitation, as was their duty.

[Anonymous No.6986713]

>>6986638
>Vae victis
I liked this.

>>6986465
sorry, *gosh

[Anonymous No.6986732]

Good to see you give me a ineffective the same time as the one that I can do to help you out of the Bible and Jesus the Greeks can I read what I like the idea of Pure Actuality as the first cause tho I have a look at the moment and I don't really get what Fichte is on about when it comes to morals the Greeks can I read what I like the idea of Pure Actuality as the first philosophers and the importance and my wife has a lot to be an artistic the same as a welcome addition of the western side effects are the not so sure that I am real life of a minor things that you have to do so with a proficient to read more information please visit the website of a minor changes in the UK alone.

[Anonymous No.6986793]

Today, today we thought we might get over with this project. Or maybe me. Anyways we had some copper pipes coming at around 5:30. 5:30 was usually when I would go down to the main building, a little concrete bunked looking thing with a plastic wood table. Always smelled like burnt coffee and the man didnt even drink coffee. The "main" building I just told you about was only one room really and in it sat the boss who told us what to do and when. If we didnt, it wouldnt be done I suppose.

The pipes. I took the pipes and brought them to the site, and by now it was getting dark since it was winter. I started pressing the tubes in by using the machine and talked with the boys about the usual boring subjects.

"Hey Thomas hows that looker of a wife, eh?"
"Oh I don't know Jack hows that cow of a wife, eh?"
"Keep it up you might get a raise for being so funny"
"Yeah maybe"
I went to the lower half of the house to put down the tubes for the next day, and I did.

On the drive home I drove off of an edge and died.

[Anonymous No.6986794]

>>6986732
I think this went over my head.

[Anonymous No.6986800]

I found an unopened box of condoms today.

[Anonymous No.6986887]

>>6986794
sod my cum fam

[Anonymous No.6986896]

>>6986793
Sort of fell-off towards the end

[Anonymous No.6986936]

>>6986896
tbh i gave up fam
>>6986800
dubs

[Anonymous No.6986991]

Wrote this a few months ago, enjoy my friends :^)

It had been days since John, having noticed that his driver’s license had expired, had promised himself to head down to the local RTA to renew his … wait, sorry, not RTA, Service, it’s called Service now. Yes, they renamed it. And yes, they chose Service as the new name. Anyway, John set off one morning to renew his license at the RTA Service, after having put it off for a number of days.
When he arrived he was greeted by the sound of a chime and an atmosphere of sheer boredom. He took a ticket and found a place to sit and wait. Minute after minute after minute had passed and still they hadn’t called his number: number K118. At that moment a robotic voice began to sing, though terribly:
—Now calling, (could it be?), —number, (this is it!), —K, (one?), —One, (w-wun?), —One, (a-a-and?), —Seven, (fuck off!).
He wanted to curse and spit on the floor, but then, just in the nick of time, he remembered that such behaviour was frowned upon so instead he opted for the much less provocative option and simply crossed his arms and huffed to himself.
Hour after hour after hour passed and still they hadn’t called his number. He looked up at the clock and saw that it hadn’t been hours at all, he had only been there twelve minutes in all. Fuck.
—K-One-One-Eight.
He shot up like a dog, spooked by the sound or sense of something familiar, did they just call my number? It was. And so John jumped from his seat, straightened himself out, and then proceeded to the window.
—G’day.
—Sir, the attendant said with a curt nod.
—Run Gordon.

[Anonymous No.6987032]

>>6986991
>Not using "quotations" for dialogue.
Fuck your meme shit.

[Anonymous No.6987038]

>>6986991
Not bad, but I don't understand 'Run Gordon'

[Anonymous No.6987078]

I'll never forget the day when the world ended; when our butts became sentient.

The Red Sox were finally about to win the world series when the feeds cut off, the game replaced by a bedraggled President Trump declaring that we would never surrender. He barely got through his first statement before his own butt consumed him, his cheeks rupturing his tailored slacks and devouring his torso an anaconda swallowing a water buffalo.

Mama mia.

Would you like to know more? [Y/N]

[Anonymous No.6987182]

>>6987032
It was written in my high memeism period

>>6987038
Its an obscure meme reference

[Anonymous No.6987848]

...Houston?

[Anonymous No.6987871]

A star shined and he waned it, but the sky was in the way. A ship for the cause, pieced together with parts begged, borrowed, and borrowed with stealth. In a day he was off it the black space, head and and toward on the growing star. The world shrunk in silence, and he sails on.

[Anonymous No.6987892]

If we made a book of this it would turn out a lot better than the Totalitarian Tundra book

[Anonynous No.6990054]

>>6986406
Read Bang by Roosh V.

[Anonynous No.6990058]

>>6986367
It's so good that I believe you plagiarized this from someone famous I'm simply unfamiliar with. On the off chance that you're not a fucking hack, I hope you take that as a complement.

[Anonynous No.6990068]

>>6986732
>Good to see you give me a ineffective the same time as the one that I can do to help you out of the Bible and Jesus the Greeks can I read what I like the idea of Pure Actuality as the first cause tho I have a look at the moment and I don't really get what Fichte is on about when it comes to morals the Greeks can I read what I like the idea of Pure Actuality as the first philosophers and the importance and my wife has a lot to be an artistic the same as a welcome addition of the western side effects are the not so sure that I am real life of a minor things that you have to do so with a proficient to read more information please visit the website of a minor changes in the UK alone.
Has Anyone Really Been Far Even as Decided to Use Even Go Want to do Look More Like?

[Anonynous No.6990082]

>>6987032
>Coming up with new conventions for the medium.
FUCK OFF FRENCHIE NEW WAVE MOVEMENT MOVIES ARE FUCKING FINE AS THEY ARE, GOD DAMN IT!

[Anonymous No.6990149]

As I pumped my body full of untested supplements (Alpha Brain, Yohimbine-HCL, Creatine, Procepia, JACK3D, L-Arginine 3000 mg, etc.) and ingested large quantities of THC through the smoke pulled into my lungs from cannabis cigarettes at my lip, I successfully opened my minds to the 1000 years of wisdom procured by my 72 hours marathon of Joe Rogan's podcast. As I hazily listened to this 21st century's prophet monotone voice, I reached enlightenment and illumination 2.0, coming instantly. In this moment, I could simultaneously see the past, present and future of every single atom in the universe in the form of 10 seconds-shot Vine videos and could conduct impossible calculations in my mind, instantly proving and disproving Einsteins theory of relativity. No one in history had ever reached so far into the human mind, and no one ever will. I was now closer to what you would call a God than an actual person.

From this transcendental height, I managed to convert my lightcoin mining rig into a super-quantum super-computer which could mine so fast it would instantly crash the world economy back into the stone age, forever erasing the concept of currency in human culture. However, I didn't use all this computing power to such end. Instead, I hooked my rig to my MacBook Pro by Steve Jobs from which I launched a simulation I had instantly coded in objective-C using my unpaid version of Sublime Text. This simulation -- running so fast I had to install a helium cooling system (which is usually used to cool down NMR machines) to prevent my rig from started a nuclear thermoblast in my appartment -- managed to reverse engineer the entire universe back to its conception (the Big Bang, in case you wonder where the name of the show comes from) and beyond, proving without the shadow of a doubt that the Catholic God was the One True God.

[Anonynous No.6990184]

I was flying off to New York trying every drug I can get my hands on. Fucking broads before I knew their name, and snorting cocaine out of butts before I had seen their faces. I got so fucking wasted that a doctor told me my brain shriveled slightly. Not too bad, but by a few millimeters it is now shrunk so these days I just smoke a bit of pot while jacking off on the telly or ringing an escort over if I'm in the mood. My funds are slowly draining, and I need a way to keep more money coming in.

I told my investor friend and seeing as I still have half a million dollars left he said he could help me multiply that. I have him a quarter million and he's paid me back in full meaning I now have 1.5 million, but I'm becoming jealous of his ability to rake in countless billions from my relative meager start up. I'm always bumming him for spare millions and every now and then he reluctantly obliges.

I'm beginning to realize I'm a shitty person and have just purchased a life coach. Or atleast that's what she calls herself.

[Anonymous No.6990210]

>>6990184
Should have dropped the "Or at least..." part. It makes it sound too cliché tbh.

[Anonynous No.6990225]

I'm realizing the problem in my life is a lack of spiritual guidance. I need to accept the Judeo-Christian God into my life in order to get it back on track. I've cut down on the wacky tobaccy and went back to snorting whiskey though I hope to cut this down as well. I'm reading my Bible, and joined a Study group.

I've only fucked two or three of the hotter female members of this group, so as far as the virtue of chastity, I'm definitely improving. I hope God notices. Also I secretly think my relationship with these beautiful creatures is bringing me closer to God in a way.

Realizing only a perfect intelligent designer could create such beautiful creatures.

Every morning I wake up and pray to my cross out of gratitude for the fun I had the previous day and the fun I will surely have the next.

One day I became so grateful as to cut out all of my indulgences all together.

I went through wicked withdrawls. As the unanswered phone messages from those women piled up, with me awkwardly not knowing how to respond, they eventually learned of eachother and I got ousted from that particular study group, but I've been roaming the country with my bible in tow trying to learn how to better myself. It has not been pleasant though. But Imma make it work.

[Anonynous No.6990227]

>>6990210
>Should have dropped the "Or at least..." part. It makes it sound too cliché tbh.
If that's your only complaint, I'm quite flattered tbqh.

[Anonynous No.6990257]

>>6990184
>>6990225
mfw two people wrote the same fucking story.

[Anonynous No.6990291]

Riding out on the open road. Negroes to the left of me, and Puritans to the right, I had met every kind of folk there is.

I learned quickly that no man is to be trusted or distrusted entirely. My business is to do free range plumbing. I'm cheaper than most, primarily because I have no license.

Sometimes I just stop by people's houses, door to door and ask them if they want me to do some free plumbing for them. When these (usually very suspicious) folk let me in the door I look as hard as I can for a problem which can often be harder than you might think as it is often easier than you might think on other days.

If a really beautiful woman answers the door, then its not uncommon for me to begin by locking their bathroom door and masturbating furiously before getting to work.

I don't trust the internet, and I don't like keeping them porno mags on hand so I find this is the best solution for my travelling life style.

One of these days I was masturbating and hearkening back to my useless old days at University where they actually plastered signs in the hallways warning students not to masturbate in the bathroom because they pipes could not support that massive dumps of semen going through them.

Ofcourse it was silly to think that I could single handedly cause this sort of a problem for a house hold all by myself, but every now and then it made me feel guilty about what I was doing.

Anyway, I left this pretty young things building after dumping some soap and liquid plumbr down the drain and calling it a day, and she gave me her business card (an ironic turn of events) inviting me to her place of business. She said I was a pretty young thing which was an uncommon thing for me to hear.

I went over to her office in a large building in the city, dressed up in a suit and tie. When I arrived she was sad that I didn't come dressed in my usual plumber attire. I didn't realize this was a fetish of hers but I tied up and contorted my tuxedo so that it was almost as good.

[Anonynous No.6990315]

Outdoors I tried to make myself useful. I smelled like shit. I'd just been evicted. I didn't have any material belongings worth taking with me, so I just walked off trying to take in the city surroundings. I talked to a lot of fine people in suits chatting them up. Some are entertained by the things I have to say.

Sometimes they engage me in politics. I try to speak competently and I surprise myself how often the other person responds by engaging with me seriously when I often feel like what my mouth spewed were the purile ravings of a 12 year old. I guess when you shove enough buzzwords into any poorly understood subject of discussion you're bound to be taken seriously.

I got hired as a PR consultant for Gary Johnson with absolutely no experience in politics or even basic job of any kind. My college education was nil, unless getting wasted at block parties counts for anything.

I was sitting in my office, which looked almost but not quite anything like the oval office. I mean it was the wrong color and not quite as big, but it felt pretty grand and imposing in scale when I first arrived. I had recently bought an iPhone and having nothing to do at work that day, I just sat at my chair. I make a "okay" sign with my hand and put it up to my lips while I inhaled and coughed a good bit.

I didn't have any weed on me, but I liked recreating those first couple of highs, and that was a pretty powerful. Atfirst I didn't even consciously realize I was forcing myself to fake cough, but after a while it became quite entertaining.

When a man in black came in the room to ask if I was alright, I didn't want to explain myself, so I asked if he could bring me a glass of water. Finally my boss showed up and I had some actual work to do. I needed to market my candidate to the world at large on a budget of 500 dollars.

Now I don't know much about politics but that seemed a mighty slim budget for a campaign but my job was not to complain. I called a group meeting to discuss.

[Anonymous No.6990316]

Either none of these are meant to be taken remotely seriously or you have all given me so much more faith in my writing ability...

[Anonynous No.6990318]

>>6990316
>Either none of these are meant to be taken remotely seriously or you have all given me so much more faith in my writing ability...
What makes you say that?
Which bits do you not take seriously?

[Anonymous No.6990337]

>>6990318
Okay fine, r8 me m8
I lay under the Mozambican sky illuminated by the cloudy arm of the Milky Way. A tree extended across the speckled darkness, anchoring my fugitive perspective to the Earth. The initial intensity of the marijuana had subsided and my reality was now a vibrant dream with every sense acutely registering and relaying to a faculty beyond thought the slightest fluctuations in their respective mediums. Her head was nestled on my shoulder and her leg was coiled tightly around mine. Her kinetic breaths bounced lightly across my neck as my fingers traced a meandering line along her arm. I breathed in deeply in an attempt to gather the feelings of nervousness, exhilaration and stress that swelled in my gut before exhaling them into the cosmos.
“So do you believe in a God, then?” She said with an almost childlike, inquisitorial frankness.
I stifle a chuckle, admiring the efficiency at which marijuana manages to drag our minds, time and time again, to wrestle in a state of inebriated clarity with humanity’s fundamental questions.

[Anonynous No.6990344]

>>6990337
breddy gud. I would limit my use of any memorable word like "marijuana" to just once in that short a span, and if I needed to mention it more than once, I would call it by a different name or in your case refer to it as "that most illicit of mind-altering substances" or some other better pronoun functioning clause.

You still haven't responded as to why you think other entries are jokes, though.

[Anonynous No.6990348]

Starting off school in Texas was not an ordinary experience.

Drugs were practically inseperable from day-to-day life. I was dealing all around the school to anyone who wanted any. Makin' enough money on a weekly basis to quit the paper route, but I didn't because that was my most effective excuse to run around town to new clients. With bags of dank under my papers on my route. They always gave me too many papers, so I started using them to set up the blunts I handed to my customers. I don't know if the paper or ink is poison or whatever, but I never had anyone die infront of me.

The thrill of doing something so illegal in my life pulsated through my entire body. It was exciting to skirt the law and I never felt so alive. I eventually bought myself a motorcycle. Probably the only paper boy to have a fucking moped.

[Anonymous No.6990361]

Like the low flying mist that accompanies a cold morning I waited at the side of the bar, sipping my cherry daiquiri, huffing long draws from the E-cigarette I had bought from a shop round the corner, and trying not to make eye contact with any of the denizens as they ploughed drink after drink down their adolescent throats. I was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, but in my typical fashion I hadn't bothered to look up what was "the norm" in this time period was and could feel their hazy gaze eyeing up my bowler hat and sophisticated drink. I had decided to go with what I wore the last time I had made this trip. The two hadn't been so far apart, I thought, in relation to when I was from; I thought it would be all right, I thought I could go relatively unnoticed. I guess I thought wrong.

I was waiting for something, something very specific, something that would happen at a very specific time, in this very specific place. Only remembering the very specific place, however, I had decided to wait here all night until that very specific thing could occur. I had done this many times before, so saw myself as somewhat of a professional at this type of thing, therefore not having to sift through all the apparently important facts. The sticky floors and loud thumping music had not been part of the equation though, and I'd ended up regretting not properly reading through the dossier an hour in to my night. Thankfully I wouldn’t have to stay in this sex infested rat-hole too much longer as I could already glimpse the outline of the something forming on the large spherical mosaic hanging from the ceiling and knew it would be easy enough to do my job without anyone causing any fuss about it. It was your typical crack in time and I had brought just the tool necessary to keep it at bay. I lugged my briefcase on top of the bar and sifted through the equipment in there, finding the standard issue glue gun no engineer should be without. I took aim above the gyrating flesh and waited for a particular beat to “drop” so as it would muffle the sound.

[Anonymous No.6990365]

>>6990361
At that very moment a young man decided to stagger over and spill my drink over the contents of my briefcase before socking me one in the face, all the while laughing to his cohorts about some fruit that I could only imagine didn’t belong in this particular bowl. We aren't really used to this level of violence when I'm from so I fell hard, pulling the trigger all the way down. Minor damage was caused: I had successfully patched up the crack but had hit a few of the inhabitants of this zone on my way down, including my attacker. No madness ensued however as everyone hit simply disappeared from their own time and everyone who knew them would forget they even existed. The large flash of light would be taken as some special effect produced by the DJ and everyone who wasn’t hit would just continue living like normal. As I said, I’ve done this many times before. I would continue living with a fractured jaw however, as when I woke up in the bouncers’ arms he told me I had hit the ground face first. Too much to drink he had told me, before throwing me from his arms and on to the cold hard concrete of the road outside. Face first. As I gathered the contents of my briefcase he had so neatly scattered next to me, wondering how I was going to explain all this broken equipment to my boss, I heard him mutter to his cohort how it was any wonder I hadn’t been beaten up in there before passing out drunk.

I had just saved his life the ungrateful prick.

[Anonymous No.6990381]

And the arts in general and fundamental problems with the Greeks to escape YA trash to be released on the chan you would like to learn some of the more modern viewpoints and methods of the ancient Near eastern Europe is the archaic to the Early Fourteenth the Anixagoras to be the bastion of white masculinity in a sea of self-hate and nigger woship the Greeks can I meme thread is titled the Greeks irony to the Early hours of fun with your pseudoscience the best translation of Death in the mist

[Anonymous No.6990438]

>>6990344
Thanks for pointing that repetition, it doesn't read too well as it is. I also have a tendency to "try to sound profound" when i write which kind of amateurish.
I thought they were jokes because i thought the quality of them were fairly poor and they all seemed to fit the classic 4chan self-depreciating loser stereotype to the point of sounding meme-ish

[Anonymous No.6990445]

>>6990438
you're on the same tier m8

[Anonymous No.6990496]

>>6990445
we're all amateur and all our writing has flaws exemplifying that fact, but i disagree with your analysis m9.

[Anonymous No.6990524]

>>6986732
>in the UK alone.
Somehow, somewhere deep in the back of my mind, I knew only a britbong was capable of such an outright failure.

[Dungeon Master !tphHcgvFXU No.6990541]

Jack was a troubled man. It’s not as if he ever expected much out of life, but the world had beaten him so badly throughout the years that he’d be a prime candidate for an honorary Ph.D. from the school of hard knocks. Last night was the final straw, though. Penny – that girl at the reception desk in his office building – had finally accepted his offer to go on a date. Jack was ecstatic and, through some connections with his old friends, was able to reserve a table for two at the finest French restaurant in town. The bill would surely top three grand, and a suit jacket was required for men, so he spent $500 at the nearest suit shop on a nice pinstripe top. Almost a month’s salary was going into that date.
Penny said that she would meet him at the restaurant by six, so Jack arrived at 5:30. He waited outside for a few hours, but she never showed up. By the time he had given up and went inside so that he could at least drink some wine and eat some French food, he was informed that his table had been given away. Now sufficiently angry, Jack went to the table in order to demand that whoever had taken his place leave the restaurant. He would surely be kicked out, or even banned for life, but if he wasn’t going to enjoy his night, whoever took his spot sure as hell wasn’t going to either.
To his horror, Jack found Penny sitting at the table with another man, their boss. Jack didn’t say a word; he left and went down the street to his car, a rental he brought to hide the fact that his own car was nearly twenty years old. Jack drove to the nearest Wal-Mart and bought a rifle and some ammunition. Earlier today after he drove to work, he shot Penny down as she was drinking her morning coffee. The coffee and blood mixed into a disgusting red-brown as it stained her white blouse. Then the sad bastard killed himself.
If he weren’t rotting in hell, I’d fire him. Now I've got to hire a carpet cleaner for the lobby. Prick.

[Anonymous No.6990583]

Nobody move. He's the scummiest man on the plane. If possible he would bring it down with his mind, something he doesn't say to the woman from Omaha, adjacently seated, because people flying don't take kindly to ideas of the multi-ton metal shell being more poised for ground over air flight. He can imagine her being sucked through an open window, a small digestible limb at a time, a depressurizing cabin and he's got no parachute -- they've all got no parachutes -- and the pilot is yelling non-secular things through the intercom, and the stewardesses shirts have all blown open, and he's standing in the aisle, the man with a plan, and says look before ripping off his own face and screaming with his tongue shaking about, because why not, and he's already jumping off the plane while they're still applying oxygen masks.

He asks the woman if they still let passengers go up and talk to the pilots, like when he was a kid, plopped in the cockpit admiring the delicate panels, the endless knobs and dials, air-traffic control radioing from one tower to the other and switching accents in mach-speed. She says not since you-know-when. He says when. She flips a page in her magazine and says more severely, you know when.

[Anonymous No.6990614]

>>6990337
It seems like you're trying to show off your "impressive" vocabulary but it just makes you seem pretentious. Additionally, I'd mention that you're stoned at the end. Otherwise it seems like you're trying to impress us with your vocabulary and your ability to smoke pot.

[Anonymous No.6990684]

When Wendall Wendallmann uses the toilet, he always sits down. When Mandy Matherson wakes up in the morning she thinks about what it would be like to be kind of pretty. Not pretty, but just "kind of" pretty. She thinks about this sometimes when she is going to sleep, and she even sometimes thinks about it when she is out doing something and catches her reflection in a window, but when she notices she is doing this, she looks through her reflection. Wendall Wendallmann sometimes worries about dying from some disease, or maybe being diagnosed with something that will dramatically alter his life in some way, like if he was slowly going deaf or blind, or something went wrong with his endocrine system and he slowly gained a lot of weight he was unable to lose. Male pattern baldness was another big worry. He would even think about what his life would be like if a couple of these horrible things happened at once, and what he would do, because he didn't have health insurance. Mandy Matherson has never been confident enough, or comfortable with herself, to let her guard down and show another person who she really was inside. Wendall Wendallmann saw Mandy Matherson at a bar one night and got her number. On their first date, Wendall sat down to use the toilet, and Mandy looked at her reflection and thought of what it would be like to be kind of pretty.

[Anonymous No.6990722]

>>6990082
>new conventions
Ripping off Joyce (who was in turn ripping off Italian literary convention) is not new by any means. People use the em dash for dialogue as a shortcut to making their inane bullshit "high literature," but a bit of idiosyncratic punctuation can't make up for shitty prose, boring plot, flat characters, etc.

[Anonymous No.6990770]

>>6990583
This has potential. I like your sense of humor
>>6990541
Bad second sentence, good second to last sentence. Little too much edge in your diction.
>>6990365
>>6990361
I see what you're trying to do with your last sentence there but it does not fit with the tone of the rest of the piece imo. I like the idea though. As soon as I read crack in time, I wanted to stop but I'm glad I kept going. Maybe describe it as an anomaly instead if you don't want to echo doctor who trash.
>>6990348
Had a hard time caring
>>6990337
Inebriated clarity is a good description
>>6990149
Alpha Brain has done double-blind placebo studies

[Anonymous No.6990787]

>>6990770
>>6990583
Thank you for the kind feedback.

[Anonymous No.6990797]

>>6990337
Too many words to say so little

>>6990344
>that most illicit blah blah blah
Christ no, you non-drug-doing 24 year old virgin

>>6990381
Reads like it was written by a bot that picks lit's most-used phrases and strings them into semi-coherent sentences

>>6990541
Was uninteresting until you reveal that the boss is the narrator.

>>6990684
Ugh. Tedious trash.

EVERYBODY ELSE: Write about something other than your drug fantasies, your romantic fantasies, your revenge fantasies, your literary fantasies. Most of this is transparently obvious wish-fulfillment and/or dull coolguy posturing. The romantic image of the Bohemian is no longer transgressive so stop writing about it like it is. It's a sham, another product to ingest.

[Anonymous No.6990804]

>>6990722
I was actually teached to use the dash for dialogue in middle-school.

Discovering that quotations could be used for dialogue was mind-blowing for me. They just look so much better.

[Anonymous No.6990806]

>>6990804
>>6990804
*TAUGHT

[Anonymous No.6990820]

>>6990797
>tfw you jump me in with "everyone else" and i did nothing close to what you said


Gee thanks mister

[Anonymous No.6990837]

>>6990361
>>6990365
>>6990770
Thank you, kind sir, for the feedback.

This was me putting an idea that's been swirling in my head into words for the first time. I used the goofy description to try and convey that it seemed like a big deal but was really a regular occurrence. Certainly could do with some work.

[Anonymous No.6990902]

He sits at the table and drinks from the cup the last of the ice. He tastes surplus chlorinic content and doesn't care. The burger is well done and laid out on its wrapper, to the side there is a spot of ketchup, helping facilitate the condimentation of the provided french fries. He's the only one in the restaurant, or fast food dining room, save for a fry cook, a cashier, and a small man with no hair on his head and glasses on his eyes. He reads from the wrapper, inked in red and blotch like it is a defect off the production line, /John 3:16/. The man searches quickly for this verse, calling upon his youth as a prolific alter boy, the masses, the eating of blood and body.

He is thinking and gets struck in the head, at 12:52 ante meridian, by the .22 caliber projectile. It enters his skull past terminal velocity, superior to the frontal cortex, and ricochets inside like a ball inside of a larger hollowed ball. Coincidentally, his final thought as the bullet passed through his brain and ended whatever is generally agreed to be consciousness and more so life, was of a night in Montana, 10 years of age, the priest reciting the sermon and he's trying to fall asleep and rest his head on the pew in front of his own, similar in posture to the way his head landed on his half eaten Deluxe Burger, well done.

[Anonymous No.6990917]

>>6990902
This is by no means perfect, or even that great, but I enjoyed it.

[Anonymous No.6990924]

>>6990917
What would make it better for you?

[Anonymous No.6990932]

>>6990924
anon is right, you're talented
write more

[Anonymous No.6990942]

>>6990932
Thanks a lot, I haven't posted much work here because lit can be hard to please and I don't want to take up space.

[Anonymous No.6990951]

>>6990942
Best thing posted so far.

[Anonymous No.6991016]

>>6990902
The use of "inside" after ricochets is redundant. Quality everything else. I like the ending especially

[Anonymous No.6991124]

>>6990820
Point me towards your post so I can hate it properly.

>>6990902
Decent, but your prolix descriptions detract from my ability to enjoy this. Describing the everyday in painstakingly exact and occasionally technical language is a tired gimmick.

[Anonymous No.6991134]

"Regarding my undergarments", he said, scratching his trousers, "there is no need to panic". No one felt the need to, except the few who had really seen it. The last one was a girl, Lea Volec. She had described herself as a "sort of, like, fucked up" because she tended to indulge in sexual affairs with people below the underbelly of secret socities. "I'm kind of a underbelliac", she would say, pausing to scratch her nootropic forehead.
She had met the man with the undergarments during a secret ritual. He was the chief of El Bonanzas, the Fellowship of the Crotch. The Bonanzas were known for the ease with which they could cry, their even easier hissy fits, and general, abrasive, raucous hysteria. O'Nolan felt no need to be mad, because he was free.
"And by free, I mean my testicles".
Lea loved his non-chalance. He could talk about the dirtiest things with poise, scratch his bottom as if he was caressing the royal baby, and even calling his cojones the "royal babies" without being embarrassed by it.
He did what he did with the undergarment because of Lea.
"I don't know why we should be panicked", the head office answered. "Are you okay, O'Nolan?"
"Not quite, sir. The royal babies need caressing."
Everyone in the room followed with a mollifying, soft, cushy Aaaaw. O'Nolan didn't feel caressed, but he was satisfied with prickling. The head office had not aaaawed him. O'Nolan was intrigued.
"If I may ask regarding the latest Aaaw, sir", he said, "by which aspects of my ventral monarchy were you not appeased?"
*

Okay, that was getting crazy enough. I quit. Bye.

[Anonymous No.6991139]

>>6991124
0/10 feedback, get a tripcode so I can filter your opinions away

[Anonymous No.6991185]

>>6991139
Mad that I didn't unconditionally jerk you off like those other anons? I find your style insufferable, sue me.

[Anonymous No.6991190]

>>6991124


>>6987871

[Anonymous No.6991202]

>>6991190
Pretty, some good turns of phrase. There appear to be a lot of typos, or maybe your avant-garde diction is flying over my head.

[Anonymous No.6991214]

>>6991134

>nootropic
0/10 stopped reading

[Anonymous No.6991221]

>>6991214
I bet you don't even watch the Rogan podcast, pleb.

[Anonymous No.6991241]

>>6991124
Thanks for the feedback, I didn't realize that form of description was gimmicky. (It is for the most part.) I just find it tonally interesting.

[Anonymous No.6991466]

>>6991202
yea lotta typos, thanks for the time though

[Anonymous No.6991539]

She is sleepy, but she stirs. There is a warmth and an aggravation tucked in beside her, and her name is Mia. The girl is pressed painfully into Alice’s ribs and her breathing, deep and rhythmic, is not soothing. Over the night she has stolen the cover and wrapped herself in it, leaving Alice cold on the bed. Looking at her twin she sees herself, and her fists ball up for a moment before relaxing. With one quick motion she clenches her hand around Mia’s hair and yanks upward, harder than she should. Mia cries out.
The moment is quiet, and the two sisters watch each other, waiting. Mia springs first, and soon they are rolling on top of each other, scratching and biting at every opening. They do not punch, yet.
Their house is big, and their parents live on the other side of it. They are free to beat the living hell out of each other as much as they want. Their fights end when they fall off the bed and Alice’s head smashes against the side dresser on the way down. She does not cry, or scream, but simply stares at Mia, and they know the fight is over.
“I’m sorry,” Mia says first. Alice considers not saying anything back.
“I’m sorry too,” she replies. They get dressed and go downstairs to the kitchen. Alice pours both of them a bowl of cereal and they sit in the quiet of the morning eating. Outside the sky is grey; the sun still hasn’t risen.
“Looks like it’s going to rain. When the sky is grey like that, it means rain,” Mia says, looking from the dark sky outside to her sister.
“Not in the morning. It just means the sun isn’t up yet,” Alice says without looking up from her bowl. She breathes in, then breathes out heavily, leaning back to stretch. Little fingers tap a beat on the kitchen counter. Mia watches, then taps her spoon on her bowl in the middle of Alice’s jam. Her head rocks gently back and forth, miserably failing to move in time with the rhythm. Soon her foot is tapping, and then Alice’s hips are swaying on the chair, and of course they end up dancing around the kitchen, keeping just short of too loud.
It’s almost twenty minutes before they notice the steady rain beating against the window.

[Anonymous No.6991998]

bumpy

[Anonymous No.6992099]

>>6990614
yeah i'm aware of the "pretentiousness" you're picking up. The mention the weed early on is because it explains "fugitive perspective" and provides context for the vivid descriptions like "kintetic breaths bounced..." and just the overall intensity of everything i was experiencing, from the internal feelings to the environment, to subtle changes in her movements and breathing. this isn't a short story this is like the beginning of what im attempting to write.

[Anonymous No.6992352]

A rusty pickup truck floats down a West Texas road, the driver unsure whether the truck is moving or the highway beneath it. The seats have cigarette burns and stains from snuff spit, the dash is sticky with grime and spilt drinks. This man is a hunter, he rustles snakes for the rattlesnake rodeo in Sweetwater. He was in his fifties now, his skin tanned like his boots from years of exposure. Once he had been married to his high school sweetheart and made a respectable living as a rancher. That wasn't enough, the hole couldn't be filled with dust and thorns. He began drinking more, while hunting with friends he could barely focus his sight. When he returned home in the evening he neglected his wife except for drunken abuse. People had stopped calling the driver, no one wanted to put themselves in danger by hunting with a drunk. His only world became his wife and that was a hell. She left the man, driving him further into drink. Even the grunt work he couldn't manage, the other ranch hands had found him unconscious near an unfinished fence. He lost his job, now deprived of even dust and thorns. The same hot wind that blows tumbleweeds led him to a trailer park where he developed a meth habit and an inclination for blurry-eyed prostitutes. He counted the years by his missing teeth and measured the world with his hatred. He had nothing to left to live for, only affections of his rage. He braked and pulled the truck over to the side of the road, spotting a snake. Seeing no one around he smoked a crystal from the glass pipe that he kept in his glove compartment. From behind the seat he reached for his snake catching stick, pulling it from an amalgam of empty beer cans, oiled rags, coffee stained gun magazines and bullet shells. Stepping out he took off his camouflage cap to expose a nearly bald head, wiping the sweat from his weathered face with the sleeve of his flannel. Asphalt in the distance resembled water, a mirage of the heat. The driver approached the snake as it curled, alarming with its rattler. From behind the lenses of his sunglasses and the shadow of his cap he stretched out the claw towards the snake. It smiled. "Who do you think you are? You belong to me." The next morning local news reported a man found dead by the side of the road, presumably from a drug induced heart attack.

[Anonymous No.6992569]

Here is my entry for better or worse. I wrote this on my tablet just now, but it's partially inspired by a short story I began previously.
I'd rate others but I don't know that my opinion is wanted because I am unsure of just how good or important it is. Though I think most of the ones in the thread have their own merits. Ask and you shall receive my thoughts.

Staring out the open kitchen window, the cool, dry desert air rolled in. He loved the heat of the night. It wasn't the same sweat inducing whip of the day. It was an anesthetic for his body, and his soul. It was numbing in the best possible way. He opened the fridge, stood there in front of it, staring, and grabbed a beer. He opened it on the side of the cracked linoleum countertop.
A small trickle of blood wound its way down his palm, following the wrinkled canyons before dripping onto the faded wooden floor. He cursed himself silently, daring not to disturb the deafening silence permeating the house.
He wiped off the Crimson with his sleeve. Already stained from years of abuse. Finding his way to his chair, he eased himself down and laid his head back.
He repeated this pattern of events almost every night. He didn't like change. As he grasped for the remote he began convulsing, as tears ran down his cheeks, he cried. Cried for her, and cried that he could not sit here each night, drinking his beer, watching television, with her.

[Anonymous No.6992795]

Manchild:

It was time.

The man had only just awoken, and now he would have to traverse the other place. He blinked, desperate. It was clean here, in the room. There was no danger. He could skip one day. The excuses were hopeless, meaningless. He had to go, or else die. He could hear the slithering, slopping sounds through the door.
He stood up and left safety.

On the other side of the door there was filth. The floor was organic, fleshy. The stench was not of his world. There were things hiding in the walls. The walls were black and extended on forever. The man tried the floor. His foot sank an inch in the fatty, moist surface. Somewhere else in the room gas released from some pore or sphincter. The man took steps, slowly at first, then with a more nervous rapidity.

Soon the words began. Soothing, questioning, babble that was sickly sweet and as wet as the floor that he was walking upon: ‘Back… Go back… I will bring you what you need. Go back.’

More voices joined in, whispering: ‘Get on with it. Go deeper,’ ; ‘Sweetheart, how are you?’ ; and laughter.
The man kept walking, the suckling sound of his feet ripping from the formless mass underneath echoing in the room. He was sweating now, the voices testing his resolve to the point of breaking. He was resolved not to surrender to them. He answered none of their siren calls.

Something reached out for the man and touched him on the shoulder. Bony, firm fingers grabbed him. He struggled to free himself. The hand relented, but as he fell down, face first in the roiling mass beneath him, it grabbed at him again. The man struggled, on his fours to reach the exit that was now within sight.
Covered in juices of unknown origin he was on the other side. The man sat on the floor, his back to the wall. He looked up and tears of relief were making rivulets in the slime on his face. He took a deep breath, calmed himself and stood up.

The man walked up to the counter and made himself a ham sandwich.

The man devoured the savory meat-bread. A small victory, but necessary. Now, this task finished he would have to make his return. The man turned around and opened the door to the living room, renewed despair in his eyes.

[Anonymous No.6992926]

>>6992569
Other than some unnecessary words I don't exactly see that much WRONG about it, but I don't really see anything too right about it either. Pain of lost love is a great tool in longer form, but seeing only the results of it just leaves me at 'meh'.

>>6992352
Really? The driver is unsure about how cars work? Maybe he didn't care, or could convince himself of it, but 'unsure' is a really weird choice of words. Jumping tenses is certainly unnecessary, and you do it at least once.

That said, pretty good imagery and I actually quite enjoyed reading it, even if I tripped over some words.

>>6991539
Good shit, probably could sell a novel. Maybe a bit of a long finish.

>>6991134
As far as fucked up stream-of-consciousness bullshit goes, I guess it is that.

>>6990902
Am I supposed to hate you? Because if yes, mission accomplished.

>>6990684
> she notices she is doing this, she lo 'she she she she).
Other than that, kind of a nice flow, decent feel for emotion, if somewhat trite in places.

>>6990583
Either shorter, or prettier sentences, please.

>>6990541
Good flow and wit. Not a huge fan of cheating stories, I just never really care for them- in short fiction you don't care enough about the characters, in long-form it is better, but too easy to be melodramatic.

>>6990361
Kind of dense, 'a time travel story' otherwise. Not unenjoyable.

>>6990291
Good shit, I'm not sure I could find anything wrong with it.

[Anonymous No.6993013]

>>6992926
I appreciate the "review".
I used most of the words I did for a reason.
The cool air against the Heat, numbing him. Not unlike the beer/alcohol, and not unlike his repetitive actions.
I used the wrinkled hands/old clothes to symbolize his age, and the fact that he lives in the desert to represent his isolation. Plus the likeness of wrinkled canyons and that he lives in the desert, that he opens the fridge (not dissimilar to the cool breeze from the window), etc.
I try not to go heavy handed in descriptions or length if possible, and instead have common threads throughout. If that makes any sense.
I like simple but striking imagery.

Anything you can think of specifically that, in your opinion, would need improvement?

[Anonymous No.6993059]

>>6993013
Well, you've justified the use, and it makes sense, I am just still not sure it works. Maybe I just didn't get it. If that's the case it is really up to you whether or not it's fine.

I can try to do a sentence-by-sentence review, I guess.

>Staring out the open kitchen window, the cool, dry desert air rolled in.
Kind of feels disconnected- it looks like an action/reaction sentence, but clearly is not. Since the piece is short anyways, I don't think it would hurt separating it into two sentences, or revising entirely.

>He loved the heat of the night.
No complaints

>It wasn't the same sweat inducing whip of the day.
Curiously I find 'inducing' to be out of place here. Couldn't explain it.
>It was anesthetic for his body and his soul.
No complaints, above average sentence.
>It was numbing in the best possible way.
Sure, though 'best way' works as well as 'best possible way' and I always feel like cutting out words.
>Next two sentences are good.
>A small trickle of blood wound its way down his palm, following the wrinkled canyons, before dripping onto the faded wooden floor.
Had to re-read it to get where the blood was coming from. Again, it is your choice on how important me 'getting it' is.
>He cursed himself silently, daring not to disturb the deafening silence permeating the house.
Sure, that's cool.
>He repeated this pattern of events almost every night.
Not sure is 'pattern of events' is the best choice here.
>As he grasped for the remote he began convulsing, as tears ran down his cheeks, he cried. Cried for her, and cried that he could not sit here each night, drinking his beer, watching television, with her.
Voiced my issues already, matter of opinion really.

[Anonymous No.6993089]

>>6993059
Alright, thanks.
Yeah I'm satisfied with the meaning of the ending sentences but I feel like they could be worded better.
Thanks for the input though.
I kind of like leaving some things lightly ambiguous, just so it doesn't feel like you're reading needless exposition. But then since I'm writing it/know what's happening it may come off a bit harder to understand at times.

[Anonymous No.6993106]

>>6993089
I'd say that describing the events of the scene is, if not necessary, then often desirable. So, a five-words-or-less sentence of him cutting his hand on the bottlecap or whatever would hardly be needless exposition.

Though, there are plenty of great writers that sometimes seem downright intentionally obtuse, so you don't really have to listen to me on this one. Subjective opinion etc.

[Anonymous No.6994589]

>>6993106
I did some minor revisions.
I didn't change the meaning as a whole, just some small things, both that you pointed out, and I noticed/was unhappy with.
Still kind of tentative on how I ended it though, as in the way I did, not what it "represents" or anything.


Staring out the open kitchen window, the cool, dry desert air rolled in. He loved the heat of the night. It wasn't the same sweat demanding hell-whip of the day. It was an anesthetic for his body, and his soul. It was numbing in the best possible way. He opened the fridge, stood there in front of it, staring, and grabbed a beer. He opened it on the side of the cracked linoleum countertop.
He sliced his hand.
A small trickle of blood wound its way down his palm, following the wrinkled canyons before dripping onto the faded wooden floor. He cursed himself silently, daring not to disturb the deafening silence permeating the house.
He wiped off the Crimson with his sleeve. Already stained from years of abuse. Finding his way to his chair, he eased himself down and laid his head back.
He did the same thing every night. It was comforting to him. He didn't like change. As he grasped for the remote something in his composure cracked. He began convulsing. Tears running down his weathered cheeks. Quietly, he wept. He wept for her, and wept that he could not sit here each night, enjoying the heat of the night, drinking his beer, watching the television, with her.

[Anonymous No.6994603]

>>6994589
Also to note.
I'm not sure about the hell whip line but I got what you meant about using inducing. It didn't feel right.
Also I'd probably add on to the very end of the poem "anymore".
Thus establishing the unknown woman as either dead, or having left him, instead of the ambiguousness before that could've meant she was never his.

[Anonymous No.6994643]

Rats I misposted:

misposted:

She goes barefoot in the pasture in the padded mud and unkempt grass, fistfuls of barley meal swinging loose at her sides. Her white sun dress is dusted tan and ashgray at the hem. She is beautiful. The horse hears brush snapping at her slender weight and raises his head, nodding and snorting soft. He canters excited to meet her through the motes of ragweed all alight in the golden sun. They meet in the middle and he nods again as if to greet her and her hands find his cold wet muzzle. She slide her hands slowly up to his cheek and rolls the hot loose flesh gentle in her hands. But he is too excited. His body ripples and he shuffles from side to side, shaking dust loose into the space between them.
Woah boy, she says stepping back. She has a child’s voice.
The horse is already erect.

[Anonymous No.6994649]

>>6994643
>Rats I misposted:
>misposted:

rats