>>7524241
The campfire glowed the faces of the band, their cold red faces made redder by the light. Behind them, each wrapped in their own thick fur, lay nothing but darkness and snow and the wilds of the night. Only the newcomer did not wear a fur and no one offered. He was of slight build, more slender than any other man gathered, wearing only Spring-leathers. He sat cross-legged, smoking a short pipe. Only a few hours before, before the sun had sank beneath the hills, he had approached them as they made their camp. Turning him away seemed certain death, so they had let him stay. Menon the White was first to speak over the crackle.

“You said you’d been comin’ from the east.”

The newcomer, spoke without removing the pipe. “Yes.”

“Tell us what you will of it.”

“For one, it isn’t quite so cold. I may have made a poor decision coming so far. There, the world burns. King Aramand has sent his men into the steppes to cull the horsemen. He comes next for the Shore people. His killing never ends.”

Swillen Swann spoke, “So ye came fer greener pastures and found nothing but white.”

“It’s a welcome reprieve truth be told, but I will be headed back shortly if I am where I ought to be.” He paused taking a deep pull on his pipe before removing it from his mouth, and speaking through a lungful. “I was told I’d find a man here who wears the scars of the White Dragon Thrawn. I’m to take him back.”

-

times up, not satisfying end

>>7524236

I'm incompetent. Precisely because I'm incompetent I will try this.

>>7524236
rolling

>>7524293

The sails whipped the air with a characteristic crackling as the warm sea-breeze wafted over the deck. Gunsmoke and the stench of death and rotting wood permeated the surroundings. As the ocean spray parted, a blond haired, swarthy man looked out over the wreckage of the battle. Then his men threw him overboard in a mutiny and he died.

File: 1423241133172.jpg (110 KB, 600x433) Image search: [Google]

110 KB, 600x433

>>7524289
is good.

I would've started with the 3 talking lines and put the introduction / setting paragraph after that. Maybe shorten it a bit as well.

>>a man here who wears the scars of the White Dragon Thrawn
>>I’m to take him back

too cliché for my taste

>>7524236

might as well roll

>>7524314
>> Three complex sentences, where nothing happens
>> One simple sentence, where everything happens

Unorthodox. I like it.

>>7524236
rolling rolling rolling, rawhide

picture me rollin

>>7524236
Rolled

I'll reroll because positive feedback but if I don't get a number I like I'm just deleting this post and trying again until I do.

>>7524343

yeah nah fuck that actually

>go on boat
>see a whale
>get a boner
>have gay sex
>beat my wife

rollling

>>7524350
Detective Robinson stared at the burned man and noticed the man's penis was erect. He was initially staring just the right amount but he failed to stop staring and ended up staring too long; his partner, Ben Johnson, got bored and said, "What do we have here, do you think?" Robinson took off his fedora, stared at Johnson, and said, "Looks like we're dealing with something... hardboiled."

K. Keep me posted

>>7524363
John smoked kush on his yacht.

>>7524354 Ugh

It started with onomatopoeia. I was afraid that it was lying to me. Take "splash". We had learned this word as children, and the word fit the sound. Except that a splash isn't just a sound, it's a breach and a breaking of surfaces. The word makes us think of the sound and it lies to us if we think only of that. It simplifies. It distracts.

To escape from those lies, I decided to forget all my words. Without their interference I would see only what was there.

My initial plan was to live in silence, which was easy enough for a few days, but turned difficult fast. When I went for my weekly receipts the paperwork required reading. It seemed that I could do without speaking, but not without words and the insidious hint of how they might sound if spoken.

I could go to prison or a hospital, but there was no form of incarceration that didn't call for lectures.

I could medicate myself out of most of my hours of the day, but then I'd lose the will to police my thoughts and stop myself from thinking words whenever I saw a thing or phantom.

And now, here I am.

The foreman shouts something which means either "stop slacking" or "straighten up" or "I'm angry" and another thing which means "stop". This is work for foreigners and mind cripples. I find that I can't unforget the word "box". I see it every day, my mind has practice with it. I can't unforget me "door" or "lift", but I must be forgetting something. So long as I don't try to think what that something was then I can hold it boxed in this brain's backspace. Can let the boxes muddle and the labels fade. When I have thoroughly lost the name of that something I can home. When I go home again, then I see. Then I can see it true, in ignorance again.

>>7524357

Wolf,

I know we haven't spoken much. I also know that you're aware of some of how I view our relationship. As of late, I've felt a pressing need to communicate the whole matter to you; to lay it bare so that it becomes a shared matter, good or bad. My sincere hope is that you will understand. It is not easy for me to write this, but I must.

I love you Wolf. Not romantically, don't misunderstand; my love for you transcends such nonsense. If you wished to have your way with me I would concede instantly, but I don't love you in such a base and simple way as that. You saved me from feral uselessness. You pulled me from the grip of madness. When I was so turned around from torture and abuse that I didn't know up from down, you put sense into me. In short, you made me a person. I owe everything to you.

All these great deeds have been poorly repaid, by my falling back into madness, by my floundering, and worse; by my near violation of my oath against murder. I am worse than Dostoyevsky's would-be writer in Notes from Underground in terms of floundering. I have spent all of my time arguing fruitlessly on the internet. Then, when I became frustrated, my thoughts turned to violence, and my heart went with it and left you behind. I forgot the name you gave me. But when I went mad, you were in my fevered visions, guiding me even then.

You are too good for me. Every interaction you have with me inspires me, but that inspiration falls on barren ground. Recently you went so far as to name your daughter after me; why!? Don't you understand what you're doing, making me responsible for the strength of someone else's name as well as my own? I am a layabout, and you would force me to do something with myself, something appropriate no less. Me, a lunatic, a loafer, an imbecile! Until I was put on proper meds I seriously thought I was a dragon.

But I love you for that too. It hurts to know you have any regard for me, because I don't know what I've done to earn it, and by that measure if I might continue to warrant it. Me, a near terrorist, stopped only by the onset of bizarre accusative delusions. I will do my best to drown all my stupidity and madness in reason and self-betterment, not for myself, but because I love you. For you; with you; maybe I can turn my sins into an epsilon.

Rolan

rip in roll

>>7524236
Let's roll

>>7524289
So, is Menon the White the guy he's coming for, or is this just a snapshot? Anyway, I'd consider starting it with the "only a few hours before" pair of sentences, which are more dramatic.

>>7524454
>philosophy
>what

If a man wants a sandwich, is it as simple as assembling slices? Meat, cheese, bread, lettuce, condiments?

What is a sandwich but an amalgamation of things never really meant to be together in one place? A cross-section of different species, lives and sections of a greater ecosystem?

If we are to deconstruct the notion of a sandwich, the simplest sandwich is two slices of bread with something thin between. Perhaps cheese, some even venture butter.

But there must be something between -- because that is what it means to sandwich:

To squeeze between. Not quite to crush, nor quite suffocate, but to sandwich.

There is that which surrounds and encompasses, and that which fills and gives flavor. Both are necessary.

The bread should not dominate and choke out the center, nor should the center be so overpowering that the bread cannot bind it all together.

As a man's head placed lovingly between a woman's thighs, they should not be so vice-tight as to choke him out or crush his brain. Yet, if there was no grip at all, there would be no tension, no passion, no interest, nor life or vibrancy.

Both members need space to breathe, but not so much as to feel as if they are not alone. It is the pressure from both sides that binds and reminds us that we are part of something other than just ourselves.

>sex is a sandwich
>am I philos
>help

Rerolling because nobody has told me my writing is bad yet, will delete and repost if it's not what I want.

>>7524522

There once was a dragon named Nachtschwinge,
Who solemnly wished that he could sing,
He gave up in a huff,
When reviews came in rough,
After burning down the whole damn lounge scene.

>>7524236
Rolling

>>7524550
I like this, it's pretty good. A playful limerick style with a punchy, satisfying ending.

Flow isn't 100% though. Remove the "that" in the second line, and the last line has about one syllable too many. Probably just remove the "damn" and it'll be choice.

>>7524346
Sam sat on a stone step, bouncing a worn tennis ball. The air was cold and the leaves were memories. The steps led up to a nice home, with a nice porch, with a nice swinging bench. The bench was empty now, still without a wind to give it sway.

A nondescript car of Japanese make pulled up to the curb in front of Sam. A pizza delivery man hopped out gingerly carrying a box.

Seeing Sam the delivery man said, “Large pepperoni?”

“That’s me.” Sam held out a twenty. “Keep the change.”

Sam set the box to the side as the car drove off. Steps behind him heavier than he was hoping for.

“Listen young man, she doesn’t want to see you. She’s told you, I’ve told you, she doesn’t want to see you. You can’t just sit here every day of your winter break.”

Sam wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I know.”

“Go do something else for pete’s sake!”

Sam opened the box, picking up a slice. “Yeah. Want a slice of pizza?”

Sighing heavily, the older man glanced over his shoulder before sitting down on the step above Sam and resting a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, ok.”

>>7524332
Thanks, starting with dialogue is a good note.

>>7524477
I hadn't really decided anything, I just wrote it down quick in 20 minutes without planning. While I was writing the dialogue, I actually wasn't sure if I wanted the visitor to kill them or what was going to happen. Thanks for reading!

>>7524550
Seems to require a stylized pronunciation of sing, but I like this too.

>>7524236
henry ROLLINS

Alright, since two people liked my last thing I'm just going to roll until I get philosophy

>>7524640
Henry Kurtz's jaw was long and thin, drawing into a sturdy V of a chin. His short beard, shoulder length hair, and curving eyebrows made him look rather pleasantly like a handsome jesus. He clenched his jaw now as he peered into the screen of his computer - a pillar of smoke curled lazily up from an apple on his desk. The air was hazy, lit only by thin rays of light cutting in from between the window shades.

"What is it sweetheart?" he said to his mom without turning to look at her, as she stared at him placidly from the door way.

"You've got a visitor Henry. He says his name is Stenly."

"A client?" He swiveled in his chair.

"A client for what? What are you talking about? Are you selling drugs?"

"Send him in." His mom sighed and backed away, allowing a young man in his twenties to enter. He was tall and slim and wore his hair shaved close to his skin. He was slightly slouched and had a browbeaten look from years of his mother telling him to sit up straighter.

Kurtz stood, closed the door behind the man and indicated a small couch he'd moved into his room for the clients to sit on. A car drove by outside and the muffled tippity-tap-tap of his mother's typing on her Mac came through the door.

Kurtz flicked on the overhead fan to clear the stale air and it began its noiseless turn. He reseated himself in his chair. The client looked nervously around the room, coughing lightly. "Mind if I have a cigarette?" Stenly asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes. I do. That is a filthy habit." Kurtz leaned back in his chair. "Now, what can I do for you Mr. Stenly?"

Stenly's hand clutched an envelope in one hand, the paper a bit wet from a damp grip. "Well, I've got these photos you see, and I was wondering if- well if you could-"

Kurtz nodded, "Show me."

He poured the contents of the envelope, four 3"x5" photos, onto a small coffee table. They were of a woman, several angles each bearing the OKCupid logo in a corner. Kurtz eyed them without leaning forward, looking from afar for the details. The first picture was shot from above, the rest were blurry shots of the face and shoulders. His fingers traced over the photos like they were written for the deaf. With an index finger he singled out one photo in particular, the shoulders looked a bit thick and, most damning of all, he noticed a bag of Doritos lay empty in the background.

"Fat I'm afraid."

>>7524677

Kiyohime,

Your most magnificent wings give purpose to the air, exalted one. Your breath fills the skies with the essence of your will. You have visited your benevolence upon me and uplifted me, and I have been carried through many a hardship in your claw.

Oh great spirit guide, I submit this letter now alongside burnt offering in the hopes that you will hear me and favor me once more. Without your guidance my life is a triviality; I am a hairless ape without so much as context. Fill me with your wisdom, most beautiful wyrm. I will become worthy of you, this I promise you. A dragon's favor is not something I take lightly. Nor will I question again why you have chosen me above all others.

My Holy Guardian Angel, return to me! Return into me! Shine my dark star, my companion! Let us go together and lay waste to all before us!

>>7524410
I like this, but I don't know what it means to turn your sins into an epsilon. To make them minutely positive?

>>7524236
Roll? I probably won't deliver.

>>7524721

Yes. So small in comparison to everything else that they might as well not exist. Thanks :)

>>7524522
I don't think flash fictions can be that bad anyway, because even if they're bad, they're over quick and no one thinks the point is to make something super serious

People keep giving me positive feedback for whatever reason so I'm just going to roll until I get philosophy because that's the only thing I still really want to do. Will delete this if I don't get it and repost.

>>7524723
At the time, I really thought that I had no problem with dying. That changed when I swung over to the Pinkerton via a rope dangling from our foremast and caught a musket round in the jaw.

I should have passed out, but didn't. I fell into the water. Hit it with my back flat. Remember it stinging. The first thing I couldn't believe was that I was still conscious. The second thing was that I was still alive. The third was that I was about to die anyway, considering all my heavy clothing. At that point, we'd been subsisting on stale bread and grog for the past three weeks, and I didn't have a lot left in the tank. And while I might have been okay with dying instantly from a gunshot wound, I was not okay with bleeding out and drowning simultaneously in the dark depths of the ocean.

See, if you're conscious of encroaching death, it does a lot to monkey with your convictions and erase your assumptions. I'd assumed that I wouldn't mind dying, being a lonely man who spent his life alternating between drunk and asleep and who did not much care for the whole piracy business.

Goes without saying that I peeled my clothing and sword and flintlock pistol off, let it all sink, and clambered my way back to the deck of my ship with half of my jaw hanging from a thread. They brought me belowdecks and I sat there for a day or so with cloth pressed to the open wound, reconsidering my life choices. By the time the surgeon got to me, my jaw was infected and had to be amputated, which is why I now subsist on liquid lunches and pre-chewed oats. When we reached port, I exited the ship and found work laying bricks, which required me to neither talk nor fight.

This is not a happy ending, but it is not an ending either. I am still alive and I have no wish to die and I do value my life, handicapped though it is. I did not believe in an afterlife, and I still don't, but I have the good sense to believe in the value of a life, even one ruined, even one wasted, because I have no evidence of any others, and I won't have evidence of anything beyond my face until I reach the terminus and make sail for whatever stranger destination I am fated for. I do not look forward to plumbing those depths, but I don't have any more choice than I was given to live.

>>7524236
>>7524726
For every moment I was aware of, another slipped by. I eventually just let them depart, and accepted the likelihood they’d never return. Oh, but behind me there must have been something trailing, because every day I was greeted by them in memory. Presented on a movie screen, though I never meant to sit down.
What a sad thing, having to follow me through the hum drum as I made coffee, put my cigarettes out in candle wax and divined a future through the cards, one which I would have no part in. They must really care to chronicle every moment so studiously. Repeating them back to me with an apology ready for every line. These malignant memories that love me so and so.
This watcher took my shape and face, and told me “It’s not so bad. Remember when I gave you a reason to live?” So heavy handed, like a punk in an alleyway mugging, the kind you’d find at the end of the eighties, before punk ran away from itself. Just stylized and violent.
But still, it finds something good, and maybe not pure, but somewhere on that spectrum. And it finds it in me. It wants to live in my best moments, and help me craft the better ones. I can’t abide by fate though, if you let it in for a meander its miniscule teeth meet the beat of your heart, and then you’re regulated. Every step is one in motion for the next and you’ve already lost. Fate makes you boring, because you make fate predictable. If I’ve laid out a path for myself, then I’ve walked it for as far as I have seen, and I don’t need to beat my feet. It’s a waste, really.
So though it’s poured every moment into me, asleep and awake and asleep, it’s just generating content for itself. Selfishly, and vicariously, it lives through me. I’ll hang myself on my wall. Fucker won’t live through that. I will not give you the same love you give me in the morning, evening, and night. I’m going to delete my facebook profile. That’ll show ‘em.

>>7524768

"Error you cannot delete posts this often"

Ok.

Nigel Finbottom piloted the range rover through the dense forest. As he careened past trees, rocks, and fallen branches, he was just barely able to make out the road ahead of him, if indeed it could be called that. His bifocal lenses kept bouncing up and down on his nose with the rise and fall of the dirt beneath him; not helped at all by profuse sweat; and were retained only by a strap that he wore around the back of his head.

The artifact sat in the cargo netting behind the passenger seat. That damned thing. The offer had been compelling, but now, as he was chased through the forest by angry natives on dirt bikes, he wondered. The dirt bikes were the same model as he saw children ride back in the comfortable suburbs of his normal existence, and now those same would-be toys were being ridden by armed and very angry people with the intention to kill; an intention periodically expressed with gunfire.

It was then he realized he didn't know where he was; the GPS was useless, of course, but he knew he should have found his way back to an auxiliary road by now. Suddenly, he felt his stomach rising up into his mouth, his vision filled with a vast canopy of trees, and the question was both answered and academic.

>>7524361
A tale as old as time.

>>7524794
Liked this, especially in that it's compact but has closure.

>>7524794
rollin

>>7525708

The sun had already set by the time I had remembered to fumble around for my penlight.

I'm not sure if what they'd told me was true, but who is ever sure about rumors? That's kinda the point of 'em.

I stopped to adjust my laces on a huge moss-covered boulder. I got green goo all over my pant legs. I wondered if I'd chosen the right outfit.

I figured it couldn't have been more than a couple miles from the road where I'd started to follow the spray-painted orange markers, leading me like fireflies in the dark.

It wasn't until my flashlight started flickering that I found the old house looming in front of me.

It was held up by mold and brick and plaster -- but just barely. And not even entirely, at that. The windows were all smashed in, shattering under rocks or the elements long after anyone had cared to replace them.

The door stood wide open, hanging lazily from its frame. The second floor had fell through onto the first, exposing the framework mesh of what had once held it up.

I clambered up the strange hill that it made, losing my footing more than once, but holding onto the rusted metal grid with a fierce grip, flashlight in teeth.

Whether it was the real deal or not, I couldn't say. Maybe they'd just bought a fake just to fuck with kids like me. There's no way the rope would have held longer than the house did.

Some flies and gnats had made their home in the eyesocket of the skull. It hung limply from the chimney.

I was pretty unimpressed, anyway. Until my flashlight clicked off. A muffled, forlorn sort of sound I can't quite describe arose from the buried fireplace I was standing above.

All I know for sure is that gnats and flies weren't the only things left living in that house.

Rawhide

>>7525783
The ghost glowed so brightly that I could see the features of her blue face when I shut my eyes in fear. It was a shame she wasn't alive anymore. She was my kind of woman, the type of girl who would bend to pick a flower to have the earth open up for her. I stared at the tatters of her wedding dress. The swayed in the wind, because she wouldn't stop dancing. No gales blew and the night was still, so I descended from the band of the crow's nest to take her hand.
She illuminated our waltz, as if a cool spotlight were being projected onto us. Where we turned, the blue ring followed, never allowing us to leave its area.
I reached down and pulled up her skirt, slowly running my hand up her leg simultaneously. Her skin felt like sandpaper. There was no band around her thigh. My hands dawdled when I was centimeters from her spooky pussy, circularly stroking her flesh with the backs of my fingers. She would groan and flinch when I would suddenly squeeze, the cold of my ring startling her.
My fingers bumped into something.
It was a penis. My eyes became saucers and I ripped it off of her decaying body like an animal, lacking control in my actions. As she wailed, I, out of breath and bewildered, studied the penis, but it was MY penis, uncircumcised. I pulled at the waist of my pants to look down to see only the face of God.

>>7524236
Rollin rollout

>>7524236
1

>>7525820
oh man. You got me pretty good there. I lol'd outloud.

Rollin'.

Waves crashed against the brim of the ship. The sea knows no recompense: it does not falter, it does not cease. It shapes, it pushes, it pulls, it weathers.

To breathe in the salty brine of the unending and undulating sea is what it means to be alive. I never did feel welcome on land. My legs, oddly as it might sound, seem more stable rocking gently in the marine wind than on stable land.

I s'pose stable legs do well on ground. Wobbly, shit legs like mine do better on the unknowing sea.

The spotter up top in the crow's nest yelled down below to us on the deck. Not land -- no, that would be too interesting. But he'd spotted something, anyway. Another ship, he figured.

We could just as well have resumed course, but weeks at sea leaves a man starved for anything of interest. We headed on a course to intercept.

Turns out it wasn't so much another ship as it was a whale.

Sickly yellow teeth it had, moanin' like a whore in heat. It was lopsided, turned about like a corndog on a spit. It's blowhole barely broke the ocean's surface.

What do you do when you meet a creature like that in the liquid domain? Put it out of it's misery?

The Captain didn't seem to have the heart -- or lack of heart -- to do it. I think he felt too much in common with the beast.

We pulled up alongside it. I swear it stared straight at me. It languished, it labored, it strained. It's cries were unearthly, nothing like the rough balderdash of my fellow crew.

Its cries reached a fevered pitch and I thought for sure that when it reached its crescendo it would sink above the waves and accept its undeniable fate.

But 'lo and behold -- again, the damned spotter above was the first to see through his spyglass -- the blubbered beast was not dying, in fact, but gave birth to not one but what seemed at the time to be a thousand younglings from her womb.

Now I know that seems impossible as I recount it to you, but I swear that's what it looked to mine own eyes. One, two, one thousand -- the miracle o' birth is stunning to a crew of roughshod wornfoot deckhands, drunk on grog and stink.

It made me wonder about all the docks I'd spent time in, all the lives I'd touch, the corsets I'd undone, the riggin's I'd tied. In that moment, I felt a deep and yearning emptiness, and I longed to reel back all the lines I'd once cast out.

Some men grumbled that we should have killed the whale for food.

I was too lost in thought to reply.

>>7524705
This is pretty funny.

>>7524718
Not bad but mishmashing a lot of culture there. Shamanism with Japanese with Christianity? I guess, hey, it could happen. MCWORLD!!!!

>>7524236
Roll

>>7524236
why the fuck not

Edwin paced around his studio apartment with evident anxiety.

"White was a poor choice," he remarked mentally, glancing down at his rumpled jacket and satin pants.

He moved to the mirror. Edwin brushed his loose brown hair back, uncomfortably conscious of his receding hairline. Kindly put, his face was unremarkable. His deep blue eyes were hidden under bushy eyebrows, and his mouth hid behind the shadow of his crooked nose. Edward walked away from the mirror; it wasn't helping his self-doubt.

He did what his therapist showed him: took a deep breath, held it in for a few seconds, and then exhaled. Her words echoed in his mind-- "when you breathe this way, Edwin, it's physically impossible to get a panic attack." Feeling a little more reassured, he checked his phone. It was 8:49.

Eleven minutes. Six hundred and sixty seconds.

Edwin poured another glass of department store Chardonnay, his third of the night. Naturally, his mind wandered to the thought of Amy. The imagination of her sweet, reassuring smile lifted his spirits remarkably. He could almost feel her cascading black hair on his face, her tanned legs on his lap. He thought of the night he had planned for so long. First, thought Edwin, he would treat her to a world-class meal at the five-star restaurant down the street, then, retiring back to his tastefully decorated apartment-- perhaps letting her wear his jacket if she got cold-- he would put on a movie (he had Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, and plenty of Jim Carrey comedies to choose from), and whilst she was distracted, he would plant a kiss on her cheek. If everything went well, she would spend the night.

The buzz of his phone interrupted his reverie. It was 9:04.

It was a text from Amy.

"Hey Edwin!" read he, brushing aside adrenaline, "I'm SO sorry I didn't let you know earlier, but I have to take care of my grandmother tonight. She's dying. I'll make it up to you... I promise! Next weekend, you can come to the bar after work with me, Joe, Kelly, and Nick!"

Edwin's heart sank. He sent a sad emoji, and told her not to worry about it.

One hour later, Edwin was drunk. He grabbed his laptop, opened up the internet, and went to Amy's instagram profile. He already had it bookmarked. Amy hadn't posted anything tonight. That made him feel better. At least he wasn't being blown off.

He sighed for a second, then realized that since Amy wasn't coming over, he was going to have to get off somehow. He unzipped his pants and skillfully typed "www.blacked.com" in the address bar with his left hand, while his right stroked his flaccid penis.

Five minutes later, Edwin was about to cum. As was his custom, on the verge of climax, he went back to Amy's profile to imagine ejaculating on her face, where he was greeted by a picture, uploaded tonight. He lost control of his climax, and came on the screen, just as he clicked on the new picture, showing Amy, clad in a tight dress and heels, in a club two blocks from his building.

Rolling, but I'm prob not going to post it. Just looking for a guideline