The Black Ship Batrachian


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Flash Fiction Fun

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Flash Fiction Fun

Postby rockpapercynic » Thu Jul 09, 2009 3:01 pm

It's a writing exercise! There are two steps:

1) Look at the post above you. The poster will have written 5-10 words they want you to use. Write a short scene or story (up to 500 words; fewer is better) which uses all of the words (you can place them in anywhere in any order). You can feel free to interpret homonyms (bat = animal [noun], bat = equipment [noun]), bat = swing a bat [verb]) freely, and to conjugate verbs and pluralize nouns as you like. Bolding words that you're challenged to use is also helpful.

2) At the end of your post, write out 5-10 words for the next poster to use. Try to make them interesting without being ridiculous or overly specific.

Feel free to cheat if you need to make things work. You can also repeat words if you like.

Here are 10 words for the first writer: corvine, belay, swish, hum, fierce, bold, cluster, costly, blood, fluid

HAVE FUN!
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Re: Flash Fiction Fun

Postby trillicat » Thu Jul 09, 2009 4:14 pm

The light in his office was humming again. Great. Another thing to fix. Detective Dick Gumshoe stared down again at the bold lettering in the file before him. He was also not looking forward to telling his client the Bad News.

He fidgeted unconsciously with the cluster of pencils in his desk drawer. It had been a costly mistake to attempt this job alone. Dick's mind wandered back to the day before.

---

The sun was bright, the day cloudless. He was tracking the child's kidnappers through the mountain range just outside town. It wasn't hard--they were sloppy. Even with the fierce sun blazing, his half-blinded eyes could still spot the rope where the child-snatchers had belayed down the mountainside. Rather than call for backup, Det. Gumshoe pursued, hoping to catch up to them before--well, he didn't really want to think about before "what".

With a swish of his trenchcoat, he swung out onto the rope. This was a bad idea. He hadn't eaten, and corvine feces was baking in the heat all over the slope. It took an effort of will to keep the fluids in his stomach from re-emerging.

Soon he reached the bottom and knew that he was in trouble. A trail of blood led away to a small pile of clothing, the occupant of which had already become a favorite acquaintance of the crows. After retching for what seemed an interminably long 3 minutes, the once unshakable detective was reduced to tears as he made for the top of the ridge again.

---

And now he had to tell the boy's mother.


____________________________________________

New words: bankrupt, lullaby, charity, espionage, hubris, segregate, scheme, brazen, classy, arrogant

Feel free to continue with this story or do one of your own! Apologies for the overgeneralized character name!
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Re: Flash Fiction Fun

Postby rockpapercynic » Thu Jul 09, 2009 4:51 pm

FANTASTIC START! And just so I don't break up the run, here's what trillicat prepared:

trillicat wrote:New words: bankrupt, lullaby, charity, espionage, hubris, segregate, scheme, brazen, classy, arrogant

Feel free to continue with this story or do one of your own!
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Re: Flash Fiction Fun

Postby Haragorn » Thu Jul 09, 2009 5:10 pm

Special Agent Charles Carmichael had always considered himself a classy master of espionage. He was brazenly arrogant at times, of course, but who wasn't? Besides, any hubris he might have was well-deserved.

His current mission was to investigate the most dastardly of schemes. A shadowy organization was causing charities all around the world to go bankrupt. Groups such as Lullaby For Africa and the Caring Hands Charity Group had already been forced to close. However, only certain charities were being shut down. It seemed that the aforementioned shadowy organization had segregated certain groups and gone after the rest. This would be a difficult mission.

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

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Re: Flash Fiction Fun

Postby Valgee » Fri Jul 10, 2009 11:18 am

The warrior drew his katana of the ancients and rushed the orc. Easily dispatching him, he looked on to the battlefield. What a horrible war. Waged by the dark warlord who turned on his people. He as child was raised by this very village. He grew up bright, but lazy. Excelling in alchemy, he learned how transmute to replicate other items. He would spend his time working with this to create weapons. The village did not approve and made him work in the fields to take his mind off such violent habits. When he came of age, the boy ran away, later becoming a powerful warlock. He returned to his village, alienated. He built a solitary castle on a hill over looking the village. He would constantly drain the village of resources and demand monetary tithes. With all their resources funneled towards him, their economy oscillated between bad and failing. The villagers then began refusing tithes. The warlock became enraged and decided to wipe the useless speck off the map. They employed the warrior and his friends to help
The warrior shook his head and continued the fight. What was this decay in humanity, this entropy of good?
Blood splattered the ground. People screamed in pain and anger. Whoever won, this was the end of the village. Fires raged out of control, and unattended to. Suddenly, another fighter fell, a personal friend of the warrior. The warrior panicked and attempted to revive him. It was to no use. He was dead. Holding his friend in his arms, he heard cackling. What monster could watch this war and find this atrocity funny? He turned around to be face to face with the warlock. He hesitated in fear, feeling ice in his arteries. The warlock took the advantage to attack, killing the warrior instantly. He fell where he stood, blood flying in every direction.
“Jesus, like a f**king piñata.” Greg stood up and laughed posthumous to his character. 30 seconds to respawn seemed ridiculous, but man, he had to pee. He left his computer and went to the bathroom, all the way downstairs. He hated living in his mother’s attic. He used to have a job in computing before he got fired. Then he moved back in with her, living off her food, occasionally pleading for money for drinks or the latest WoW installment. He wished he had his own bathroom, or could just get a catheter or something. He returned and laughed at the spectacle. Blood and war were pretty hilarious..
The warrior returned to the good fight..
--

wood, electric, cutlass, ram, supererogatory,
Last edited by Valgee on Fri Jul 10, 2009 12:40 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Re: Flash Fiction Fun

Postby trillicat » Fri Jul 10, 2009 12:36 pm

/Awesome post, Valgee!

Yesterday saw a gruesome battle. The rebels were equal to the task of removing the befouled government. They stormed the Bastille with a battering ram until the solid wood doors splintered open and the eviscerated building was once again free of its prisoners.

With an electric fire in his eyes, one fighter was not to be content until every last politician was either shot or beheaded. His supererogatory kills showed off his much practiced talent for combat. With blood dripping from his cutlass, the immortal Chuck Norris swore that no more lolcats were to be forced to keep holy the Caturday.

__________

New words: inflammatory, gesticulate, hereditary, siren, chasm, ethics, margarine, salamander, Godwin's law
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Re: Flash Fiction Fun

Postby TheNotSoNigh » Fri Jul 10, 2009 6:15 pm

Godwin's law


Sirens scream in the background as the night starts, screams of people dying in the night drowned out by their deathly hymn. Cars rush past the window of one man just finishing his super, a plate of stale bread and dry margarine, he looks at Urza and smiles. Urza being his pet salamander and only friend left in this world of chaos. Reaching down with a bandaged hand he picks up the remote for his TV and turns it on, "Let's see what they have to say today..." The old mill worker sits back to watch the broadcast of their fearless leader, watches as he gesticulates with angry hands at the air in front of banners with his face all over them.

"...and that my people is the heart of hereditary barbarism that we fight today. We the people of this righteous and noble country have a right to know, have a right to see what kind of animals we bow and sweep to in these days of inflammatory gas prices and wars that rage over continents. Our brave sons and daughters protect us, their older generation, against the terrible and dark chasm that signifies the lack of ethics and moral deprevity that covers our world today!"

Laughing the old man agrees with his leader, this night of long knives is a purge of those that would rupture the balance and faith of their small society. All hail our Prime Minister, leader of the proud nation Canada. All hail his personality to reflect Godwin's Law in pure hatred and organization. A bomb goes off nearby as another group of impure are cleansed from the streets of Toronto, the old mill worker sits back and waits for his turn. The knock on his door, the black uniforms, the night of the Long Knives.


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((I don't see why England should have all the Tyranical fun... we should have a piece of that pie too.))

Phantasmagorical, supercalifragalisticexpialadosious(sp?), google, aardvark, codswallop, hithertoo, fantasia, enterprise, Q
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Re: Flash Fiction Fun

Postby trillicat » Sat Jul 11, 2009 1:09 pm

He woke that morning soaked with sweat. He hoped it was his own, but after the phantasmagorical experience that had been what he assumed to be his dreams, Alan didn't want to rule out the possibility that the moisture on his skin was foreign-borne.

He was not ordinarily the type to recall his dreams upon waking. Alan had hitherto only remembered a childhood nightmare in which an aardvark repeatedly sang Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious at him, tormenting him with the word as if knowing that he was a terrible speller. Last night's dramatic imaging was probably the result of another Disney film, as Alan had allowed himself to be conned into watching Fantasia with his new girlfriend. The whole way through he kept wondering if she had slipped some funny mushrooms into the dessert or if the flick really was this odd.

As he stepped into the shower to try and wash away both the sweat and the soul-shaking sensation left behind by his nighttime visions, Alan decided that perhaps this new relationship wasn't going to work out after all. When the movie was over and he'd pronounced it a load of codswallop, she had tried to convince him that codswallop started with a Q! As if he could be wrong on that! He vowed to google it, email it to her, and maybe as an aside or perhaps a postscript tell her as gently as possible that it was all over. It was time to start back up his soulmate-seeking enterprise.

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Re: Flash Fiction Fun

Postby kdl42 » Sat Jul 18, 2009 12:36 pm

Polonius, the curly haired seraphim felt, rather then smelled the brimstone of hell as marched through the 9th circle of Satan's domain, towards Lucifers forsaken throne. "Lucifer!" Polonius' voice boomed through the cavern. "Come out and speak you worthless geriatric waste of power."
"Yes, Polonius, what may I do for you today?" The Devil asked, with the elegance and genteel grace of a prince
"Though you have been living hermetically for the last two hundred years, the Earth is still falling from grace, I see now that in the end, the calamity that is the mortal humans, can only end pandamonium above."
"Evil may be the most pervasive force ever created, once unleashed, it's only a matter of time before it infects every last soul on the greedy surface of Earth." Lucifer spoke with an arrogant smugness about him.
"I agree, and that is why I would like to be the next Fallen Angel, and succeed you as the next archrival of the false lord, Yehweh."
The Devil just paced back and forth, as though pondering Polonius' offer, before bursting into light, and staring down at Polonius, as the figure of God. "FOOL! Their is no Satan, except for Me, and their can be no Lord except for Me. We are one in the same, and you are but a sad, misguided idiot of an angel, the only fitting punishment for betrayal such as yours is eternity here, the heart of my Old Testament wrath, The Ninth Circle of Hell!"

New Words: Savoury, Grenwich, Arthritis, Indigo, Cyniscism, Lifeless, Para-militairy, Pacific, Clout, Bastard-son
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Re: Flash Fiction Fun

Postby GregTheAsshole » Thu Aug 13, 2009 6:26 am

"Not again."

For the umpteenth time since receiving it for his birthday, burrito sauce dribbled out of the corner of Ronald's mouth and onto his no-longer-brand-new, no-longer-white Alf t-shirt. As much as he loved the savoury mixture of beans, cheese and chili sauce, Ron doubted that his t-shirt would stand up to the almost bi-weekly arsenals of bleach.

"Who cares? What is Alf supposed to be anyways? The bastard-son of Chewbacca and Chunk from the Goonies?"

To be perfectly honest, nobody cared, because nobody was there to care, unless you counted the impressive collection of lifeless military and para-military action figures lined up with much more precision than your average eight-and-a-half year old possesses. The crown jewel was an eight-inch bust of Cesar Garcia, former Director General of the National Intelligence Coordinating Agency in the Philippines.

Twelve days later Ronald's cynicism got the better of him and Alf's crumpled face stared stupidly out of a plastic indigo garbage pail. It was 16:24:36 Grenwich Standard Time and Ronald's weekly reinactment of the ficticious "Battle for the Pacific Rim" was due to begin in five minutes and twenty-four seconds.

"Sixteen hours, twenty-eight minutes and fourty-four seconds GST. General Garcia's troops are moving eastward towards the US western seaboard. US Marine Corps Squad Leader James Henderson McCoy reports seeing enemy submarines heading-"

"Hey doofus, lunch is ready, put away your Barbies and get your butt downstairs." Ronald's brother John burst through the bedroom door.

"They're not Barbies! And I already ate, I'm not hungry, and I don't want to eat your crappy food anyways, you don't know how to cook."

With this remark, the Battle for the Pacific Rim ended like it had too many times before. Johnny gave Ronald a stiff clout to the head and sent flying as many of General Garcia's troups as he could with a single kick.

"Take that you arthritic geezer!" laughed John as he stormed out the door.

Ronald grinned; the joke was on his brother John. This particular bust of Cesar Garcia was crafted before he the General developed arthritis.



New words: Saxophone, boathouse, stupendous, articulate, salacious, erroneous, hellish, orchard, asphyxiate, dank
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Re: Flash Fiction Fun

Postby Indubitable Turtle » Thu Aug 20, 2009 1:30 am

Let's get this going again, I love this idea! Awesome stories by everybody.
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Magic Music

As saxophones went, this one was stupendous. Ariana had never heard a sax like this one before. The notes that emanated from it were both seductive and salacious, hypnotic and moving. The man playing it fit the stereotypical description of a street corner sax musician; dark complexion, dank dreadlocks beneath a Rastafarian cap, fingertips yellowed from nicotine. The tune he played, though, the tune the sax played, was spectacular.

Ariana wanted to compliment the man on his playing, but deep down she somehow knew it wasn't the man at all. The saxophone was magical. She couldn't quite articulate just how she knew this, but know it she did. Fairies cavorting in a peach orchard with unicorns prancing on rainbows in the background could not be more magical. Oh, Ariana would never tell anyone of this knowledge that the instrument was magical; they would think she was crazy, think it an erroneous claim born of too much drink and not enough sleep.

Thinking to leave a few coins in the man's open sax case laying at his feet, Ariana stepped closer. She never felt the strike to the back of her head, never saw the man pack the magical saxophone in its case, never saw him help the other man load her into the van. Ariana never felt or saw anything after that night. Her body was found in an abandoned boathouse by the bay, asphyxiated, but not for weeks. It was a hellish experience for the small child, who had only wanted a bit of adventure, to explore an abandoned building.

The next time you hear the magical notes of a well-played saxophone, think of Ariana.

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

New words: rhetoric, theremin, iridescence, incontrovertible, fresco, Utopian, boulevard, gargantuan, xylophobia.
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Re: Flash Fiction Fun

Postby Old_Bean » Thu Sep 03, 2009 8:14 am

The boulevard was dimly lit, pale orange lights casting their pitiful iridescence across the bitumen. A young man strolled the streets alone, hands in his pockets, collar turned up against the cold.

He hated this town, he hated every inch of it. From the steel grey sky to the hard dirt ground, everything he saw was incontrovertible proof that he belonged somewhere else. Somewhere with trees and grass and rolling meadows. Somewhere where he could walk through a forest, surround by nature and peace. That was his utopia. Of course, his xylophobic mother would never allow that.

"Trees?!" she would screech in that horrible voice, like a theremin being played wrong, "You want to live around TREES? Trees fall down! Trees kill! Home for vermin and filth! No, you are better here in the city where its clean, away from filthy trees!"

He paused before a travel poster displaying a gargantuan fresco in some far off country he would never get to see. He stared and soaked it in, oh to be there, he thought, that would be wonderful. To be away from this town, these people. To be free in a whole other world.

"How the hell am I going to do that?" He said to no one in particular.

"By not being a pussy bitch." came a voice from the shadows.

The young man turned quickly to identify the newcomer. Clearly the rhetorical nature of his previous question had been lost on this person, and he was about to chastise whoever it was when he caught sight of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

He stood speechless for a moment and the woman smiled.

"Stop being a pussy bitch," she repeated "If you want it, go for it."

"Don't feed me 'Everyone is special' garbage, Lady, not everyone can succeed." He retorted, only vaguely aware that what he had just said reaffirmed that he was, in fact, being a pussy bitch.

She smiled, aware that her point had just been proven. The young man just hung his head, embarrassed. He turned away from the beautiful stranger.

As he walked away he thought of that beautiful picture.

And the beautiful woman.

He would very much like to see that kind of beauty again.


______________________________________________________


Words are: commiserate, salmon, heavy, caramel, disenchanted, leprosy, timorous
The world is unfair and it will burn...
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Re: Flash Fiction Fun

Postby Joko » Thu Sep 03, 2009 9:22 am

Here goes...
______________________________________________________

'Smile!'

One word, followed by an exclamation mark. One word which was plastered over every wall, pinned to every noticeboard and recited after every broadcast. One word, thought the toymaker, with which he had become disenchanted.

He had lost his mother to leprosy several weeks previously, much to the surprise of his his close friends (if you could call them that, all they do is smile). He pictured her now- lying in her bed, spending the last few hours of her life in agony, every now and then whispering timorous requests for water.

She wasn't allowed out. Not because she was infectious, the toymaker would have understood that reasoning. She was kept in because disease wasn't a happy thing. It didn't make people smile.

The day after the funeral the man in the salmon pink shirt came to see the toymaker. 'I'm a Joy Officer!' he had said. 'I've come to commiserate you!'. There was something sickening about the way he spoke, and the way he finalised every sentence with that gleaming smile. The toymaker politely asked him to leave, with a smile of his own.

Now here he was, sitting on the rail of a catwalk above a large vat of caramel. He silently thanked his friend the sweet maker for the factory keys- he had handed them over without a question, smiling.

Everything was ready- the weight was almost certainly heavy enough for the job. The irony of the situation was not lost on the toymaker- this particular batch of caramel was destined for the children of the government ministers in charge of keeping everyone happy.

And with a smile, he jumped.
_____________________________________________________
Words are- respectable, circumstance, Salvia, pungent, paradigm, recluse, purloined, cobwebs.
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Re: Flash Fiction Fun

Postby Old_Bean » Tue May 04, 2010 9:50 pm

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Z‎etta wrote:All problems involve people, otherwise it's a puzzle, not a problem
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