Let me set thy instructions..
You give the person below you a situation/predicament (not a setting, or time, because it's up to you to be creative) that they have to write about. Must be AT LEAST 5 SENTENCES. Try using vivid verbs, correct punctuation & spelling, and be as descriptive as you can manage.
You will also rate the person above you 1-10 and tell them why you gave them that rating. This is really to help RPers to get better at writing and they'd have to know what they're doing wrong to make it right.
EXAMPLE:
(Rating for before person and why)
(Your writing of the situation.)
(Give a situation, be vague. You want the writer to be creative.)
And that's all. ★LET'S BEGIN!★
SITUATION: You've been wounded by a sword.
You give the person below you a situation/predicament (not a setting, or time, because it's up to you to be creative) that they have to write about. Must be AT LEAST 5 SENTENCES. Try using vivid verbs, correct punctuation & spelling, and be as descriptive as you can manage.
You will also rate the person above you 1-10 and tell them why you gave them that rating. This is really to help RPers to get better at writing and they'd have to know what they're doing wrong to make it right.
EXAMPLE:
(Rating for before person and why)
(Your writing of the situation.)
(Give a situation, be vague. You want the writer to be creative.)
And that's all. ★LET'S BEGIN!★
SITUATION: You've been wounded by a sword.
This looks Awesome! Here goes
I didn't think she would do this to me... All that we've been through...She's just stood there with a smile that has both corners of her lips reaching from ear to ear. That star in her eyes... Gone... Every night we would lay on the car bonnet staring up at the stars and point out which stars we thought were special and how one day, each star would be a spark for a miracle...
Those nights were the best because nights like those made me feel like we were the only two people anywhere and the world around us was gone. I felt like we were surrounded in stars... Sometimes we would lay facing each other and smile. That one special star that was never in the dark sky was always in her eyes...
Now, I'm stood here on the wall with my hand covering the wound... I'm bleeding away the memories we had... I'm bleeding away the love we had... I'm bleeding away my life...
Now, sliding down the wall I am leaning on until i gradually reach the floor. My blood soaking into the carpet as I sit on the floor looking up at her, the Star in her eyes... gone...
The angel I once knew... gone
SITUATION: Aliens are invading!
I didn't think she would do this to me... All that we've been through...She's just stood there with a smile that has both corners of her lips reaching from ear to ear. That star in her eyes... Gone... Every night we would lay on the car bonnet staring up at the stars and point out which stars we thought were special and how one day, each star would be a spark for a miracle...
Those nights were the best because nights like those made me feel like we were the only two people anywhere and the world around us was gone. I felt like we were surrounded in stars... Sometimes we would lay facing each other and smile. That one special star that was never in the dark sky was always in her eyes...
Now, I'm stood here on the wall with my hand covering the wound... I'm bleeding away the memories we had... I'm bleeding away the love we had... I'm bleeding away my life...
Now, sliding down the wall I am leaning on until i gradually reach the floor. My blood soaking into the carpet as I sit on the floor looking up at her, the Star in her eyes... gone...
The angel I once knew... gone
SITUATION: Aliens are invading!
9, there was just one comma and one capitalization error, but overall pretty good!
The air was polluted with the dust and chemicals from the debris that had freshly fallen. Though nothing could be seen through the brown air, I could hear distant wailing and constant gunfire. Rapid steps had taken place everywhere, but that all seemed to tune out when I heard audible stifle voice whose words I couldn't make out.
Just then noticing I had been on my hands and knees that ached terribly, I crawled to it only to find a woman whose entire face had almost no skin at all. Leg was noticeably twisted and she had to have broken ribs due to blood seeping from her lips.
I brought my hands up to my mouth, eyes moistening as I had to look away for a brief moment. It only took a mere twenty minutes for the world to change. A mere twenty minutes ago I was walking out if Starbucks.
With my hand trembling I reached out to touch hers that was covered in a layer of dusk. My eyes clenched shut as I listen to her wheeze. Each breath slower to the next until it came to a stop. She was gone.
I brought my hand back quickly and scrambled to my feet only to hit someone who had been behind me. Abruptly, I jerked my head around.. Only to see that it was no person. It's skin rippled and it's eyes rotated when it turned to me.
I froze completely as the creature edged closer, eyeing me head to toe. When it was only inches from my face, it began to open it's, supposed, mouth.
SITUATION: Your house is being robbed!
The air was polluted with the dust and chemicals from the debris that had freshly fallen. Though nothing could be seen through the brown air, I could hear distant wailing and constant gunfire. Rapid steps had taken place everywhere, but that all seemed to tune out when I heard audible stifle voice whose words I couldn't make out.
Just then noticing I had been on my hands and knees that ached terribly, I crawled to it only to find a woman whose entire face had almost no skin at all. Leg was noticeably twisted and she had to have broken ribs due to blood seeping from her lips.
I brought my hands up to my mouth, eyes moistening as I had to look away for a brief moment. It only took a mere twenty minutes for the world to change. A mere twenty minutes ago I was walking out if Starbucks.
With my hand trembling I reached out to touch hers that was covered in a layer of dusk. My eyes clenched shut as I listen to her wheeze. Each breath slower to the next until it came to a stop. She was gone.
I brought my hand back quickly and scrambled to my feet only to hit someone who had been behind me. Abruptly, I jerked my head around.. Only to see that it was no person. It's skin rippled and it's eyes rotated when it turned to me.
I froze completely as the creature edged closer, eyeing me head to toe. When it was only inches from my face, it began to open it's, supposed, mouth.
SITUATION: Your house is being robbed!
8, there were some grammatical and syntax errors that made it a little confusing to follow. HOWEVER, it had some imagery that was grippingly vivid (augh, no face!).
"Find it! Find it or you're all dead," the man in the scuffed tan shoes snarled. I clung desperately to the neglected rug beneath the bed, trying not to breathe. "It's here, I know it is!"
His thugs were rifling through my closet now, their hoots and grunts as they grabbed and discarded my clothes reminiscent of monkeys raiding a supply camp. My cute going-out dress fluttered bonelessly to the floor nearby. The scuffed tan shoes prowled restlessly around my room and I was certain that the sound of the soles rasping softly on the hardwood would drive me mad.
"It aint here! The crazy dame's probably got it with her! We shoulda gone after that car!" Judging by the reedy, nagging voice that seemed to follow its owner into the room, it was the six fingered one talking. The bed jolted and shivered as a kick was delivered to it. I started at the sound, cracking my head on the cold metal support pole and yelping. There was a moment of utter silence, followed by the last words on this earth that I would ever remember hearing.
"Get her!"
SITUATION: You discover that you have superpowers!
"Find it! Find it or you're all dead," the man in the scuffed tan shoes snarled. I clung desperately to the neglected rug beneath the bed, trying not to breathe. "It's here, I know it is!"
His thugs were rifling through my closet now, their hoots and grunts as they grabbed and discarded my clothes reminiscent of monkeys raiding a supply camp. My cute going-out dress fluttered bonelessly to the floor nearby. The scuffed tan shoes prowled restlessly around my room and I was certain that the sound of the soles rasping softly on the hardwood would drive me mad.
"It aint here! The crazy dame's probably got it with her! We shoulda gone after that car!" Judging by the reedy, nagging voice that seemed to follow its owner into the room, it was the six fingered one talking. The bed jolted and shivered as a kick was delivered to it. I started at the sound, cracking my head on the cold metal support pole and yelping. There was a moment of utter silence, followed by the last words on this earth that I would ever remember hearing.
"Get her!"
SITUATION: You discover that you have superpowers!
10 OMG so much awesomeness put into that!
"No! YOU CAN'T CONTROL ME!" I yelled slamming the back door of his house.
"YOU WILL IF YOU WANT TO LIVE UNDER OUR ROOF" my step-dad stumbled out the back door yelling half drunk. The fart put a bottle to his lips and took a sip then grunted as I ran into his shed.
"Stupid old bastard thinks he can order me around because he's my mom's boyfriend" I cried and sweeped all of the items off of the shelf opposite me with tears streaming down my cheeks. "I WISH HE WAS DEAD!" I yelled from the top of my lungs, the old man must've heard.
Open wounds were located on my back. My shirt rubbed against each wound every time I moved causing me pain... This is what he does... This is why I'm afraid.
I fell to my knees and weeped. My head in my hands as I did so "bastard..." My voice nearly a whisper as I continued to weep. The urge of yelling from the top of my lungs grew until I finally felt a surge of... Power rush through me. The scream was Loud enough to warn the neighbours but what followed was the strangest.
As my gaze dropped to the floor I lifted my head with a sad expression painted on my face I saw stones and things that were on the floor hovering in mid-air.
"What... The ... Fuuuh..." A whisper barely leaving my mouth as I stood up, the ladder hovering opposite me like gravity was turned off. I poked it only to see it fly through the shed wall and with a shocked expression I looked between the wall and my finger before stumbling on to the floor backwards.
I looked around for the shard I brought back from a mirror a few weeks back but couldn't find it until I spotted it slowly floating my direction and stopping in front of me. "I...uhh" tears now dried up on my cheeks as I looked between my eyes, the irises pulsed and turned blue and grey with each pulse. Grey when it pulsed but blue when it didn't.
"OI YOU LITTLE SHIT! WHAT WAS THAT!? YOU'LL ALERT THE NEIGHBOURS!" Steven yelled, my step dad. He knocked on the door open palmed.
"Get away from me!" I yelled turning to the door and waited for him. All of the items that were floating slowly stacked on the door like they responded to how I felt.
why am I scared?... He should be... I thought as I climbed onto my feet using the shelf beside me. I stood up tall and let rage fill me then took a deep breath. the items slowly float away from the door just before Steven bashed through falling face first.
Completely oblivious to everything around him he stood up and walked over to me but all I did was raise my hand and watched him slowly float off the floor. He struggled to breath as I tightened his throat and smiled when I tilted my head to left "it hurts right?... Gasping for air, it's the worst" my anger getting the best of me as I saw him struggle trying to loosen what wasn't there on his neck trying to find a way to ease the pain. "It's like something's clamped around your neck that's almost impossible to take it off..." I wasn't myself, I didn't want to do this but it was like all the rage I bottled up had somehow burst out. I raised his hand and slowly bent it backwards until a sharp snap was hear then released him just to hear him scream "run... Away from me...away from my mum... We. Don't. Need. You..." I hissed watching him rock back and forth coughing with his right arm cradling his broken left. Before doing anything else I slowly made my way towards him until he realised then watched the fear I. His eyes grow... Realising right then how bad I had it and how I'd become him in a sense... A monster...
Situation: the apocalypse has started
"No! YOU CAN'T CONTROL ME!" I yelled slamming the back door of his house.
"YOU WILL IF YOU WANT TO LIVE UNDER OUR ROOF" my step-dad stumbled out the back door yelling half drunk. The fart put a bottle to his lips and took a sip then grunted as I ran into his shed.
"Stupid old bastard thinks he can order me around because he's my mom's boyfriend" I cried and sweeped all of the items off of the shelf opposite me with tears streaming down my cheeks. "I WISH HE WAS DEAD!" I yelled from the top of my lungs, the old man must've heard.
Open wounds were located on my back. My shirt rubbed against each wound every time I moved causing me pain... This is what he does... This is why I'm afraid.
I fell to my knees and weeped. My head in my hands as I did so "bastard..." My voice nearly a whisper as I continued to weep. The urge of yelling from the top of my lungs grew until I finally felt a surge of... Power rush through me. The scream was Loud enough to warn the neighbours but what followed was the strangest.
As my gaze dropped to the floor I lifted my head with a sad expression painted on my face I saw stones and things that were on the floor hovering in mid-air.
"What... The ... Fuuuh..." A whisper barely leaving my mouth as I stood up, the ladder hovering opposite me like gravity was turned off. I poked it only to see it fly through the shed wall and with a shocked expression I looked between the wall and my finger before stumbling on to the floor backwards.
I looked around for the shard I brought back from a mirror a few weeks back but couldn't find it until I spotted it slowly floating my direction and stopping in front of me. "I...uhh" tears now dried up on my cheeks as I looked between my eyes, the irises pulsed and turned blue and grey with each pulse. Grey when it pulsed but blue when it didn't.
"OI YOU LITTLE SHIT! WHAT WAS THAT!? YOU'LL ALERT THE NEIGHBOURS!" Steven yelled, my step dad. He knocked on the door open palmed.
"Get away from me!" I yelled turning to the door and waited for him. All of the items that were floating slowly stacked on the door like they responded to how I felt.
why am I scared?... He should be... I thought as I climbed onto my feet using the shelf beside me. I stood up tall and let rage fill me then took a deep breath. the items slowly float away from the door just before Steven bashed through falling face first.
Completely oblivious to everything around him he stood up and walked over to me but all I did was raise my hand and watched him slowly float off the floor. He struggled to breath as I tightened his throat and smiled when I tilted my head to left "it hurts right?... Gasping for air, it's the worst" my anger getting the best of me as I saw him struggle trying to loosen what wasn't there on his neck trying to find a way to ease the pain. "It's like something's clamped around your neck that's almost impossible to take it off..." I wasn't myself, I didn't want to do this but it was like all the rage I bottled up had somehow burst out. I raised his hand and slowly bent it backwards until a sharp snap was hear then released him just to hear him scream "run... Away from me...away from my mum... We. Don't. Need. You..." I hissed watching him rock back and forth coughing with his right arm cradling his broken left. Before doing anything else I slowly made my way towards him until he realised then watched the fear I. His eyes grow... Realising right then how bad I had it and how I'd become him in a sense... A monster...
Situation: the apocalypse has started
8, I'm docking for punctuation reasons (maybe a few more commas in places?) and descriptive phrasing that could maybe be clarified a bit, but just a bit. Example: "As my gaze dropped to the floor I lifted my head with a sad expression painted on my face I saw stones and things that were on the floor hovering in mid-air." It might read better as such ? Bolded are suggestions to clear it up some. "As my gaze dropped to the floor, I lifted my head with a sad expression painted on my face. I saw stones and things that had been scattered on the floor now hovering in midair." I'm sorry, I was that girl in class who really got into editing people's work 
I like the story a lot though, because it's a dark and violent way to discover super abilities, and shows not only the emotion involved in using them, but the real temptation to use them for giving others a taste of their own medicine. I also enjoy the point at which you left off, the realization that he was becoming what his stepdad was, an awful, dangerous bully. This kid could either go down a good path or a bad one...Being a fan of supervillains I hope he chooses the bad path, hehehehehhh.
The elevator was taking ages to arrive at our floor and I was puzzling out an odd text from my wife. "Don't come home fires", it read. I smiled indulgently at my phone,knowing that Adeline had been having trouble adjusting to the device's autocorrecting feature. Immersed in my pondering at what she could mean this time, I jumped a mile when a hand clapped me on the back.
"Bryan! How goes it, my man?"
"Hey, it's this guy!" I said back, trying fervently to recall the name of the sandy-haired fellow cubicle warrior who was now looking expectantly at me. Was it Steve? I felt like it might be Steve, but I wasn't sure enough to gamble social humiliation on the matter. "Alright, alright. How've you been...man?" Blessedly, before he could answer, the elevator dinged and the door slid open. Before we could herd into the small chamber, a woman bolted out, shoving through the small huddled crowd of people waiting impatiently for the elevator.
"Diane?" The blonde man whose name I couldn't recall (Jeffrey? Eric?) called after her, concern furrowing his brow. "Diane, what-" But we were being pushed forward by those behind us, people eager to have one less thing between themselves and the sweet release of the outside world. Working in a corporate office, while socially acceptable, was perhaps the dullest thing in existence. "She looked so troubled," my elevator companion (Dennis, it had to be Dennis) murmured, bemused.
"Maybe she forgot her keys?" I volunteered, feeling the vibration of the phone in my pocket that said I had a text waiting. It was from Addie again.
"Fire" was all it said. What in the hell was that woman on about?
The elevator dinged again, indicating we were at our destination. The smooth-polished brass door eased back and the herd moved forward. Normally, the end of the day exit from our building was the most dignified free-for-all you might ever witness. Men and women studiously trying to maintain a veneer of professionalism as they stalked for the revolving doors, briefcases doubling as shields as they maneuvered to be the first out. Now, however, we all just sort of stopped and looked soundlessly out over the lobby. It was eerily silent, save of course for the jarringly merry sound of flames crackling as they devoured the furniture and the lobby front desk. Scattered here and there, their limbs sprawled at angles any contortionist would envy, were those unlucky enough to make it out on time. Behind me, dimly, I heard the sound of someone vomiting. The flash of light hair I glimpsed told me who it was. In that moment, I suddenly recalled the guy's name; Ralph. Now that had to be the universe's ultimate punchline, I thought to myself before admitting darkly as I stared across blazing lobby that there probably wouldn't be BE many more punchlines.
As if in a dream, I pulled my vibrating phone from my pocket. Addie had texted me a few more times.
fire
fire
fi
SITUATION: Write something that somehow involves the following: giraffes and jewel thieves
I like the story a lot though, because it's a dark and violent way to discover super abilities, and shows not only the emotion involved in using them, but the real temptation to use them for giving others a taste of their own medicine. I also enjoy the point at which you left off, the realization that he was becoming what his stepdad was, an awful, dangerous bully. This kid could either go down a good path or a bad one...Being a fan of supervillains I hope he chooses the bad path, hehehehehhh.
The elevator was taking ages to arrive at our floor and I was puzzling out an odd text from my wife. "Don't come home fires", it read. I smiled indulgently at my phone,knowing that Adeline had been having trouble adjusting to the device's autocorrecting feature. Immersed in my pondering at what she could mean this time, I jumped a mile when a hand clapped me on the back.
"Bryan! How goes it, my man?"
"Hey, it's this guy!" I said back, trying fervently to recall the name of the sandy-haired fellow cubicle warrior who was now looking expectantly at me. Was it Steve? I felt like it might be Steve, but I wasn't sure enough to gamble social humiliation on the matter. "Alright, alright. How've you been...man?" Blessedly, before he could answer, the elevator dinged and the door slid open. Before we could herd into the small chamber, a woman bolted out, shoving through the small huddled crowd of people waiting impatiently for the elevator.
"Diane?" The blonde man whose name I couldn't recall (Jeffrey? Eric?) called after her, concern furrowing his brow. "Diane, what-" But we were being pushed forward by those behind us, people eager to have one less thing between themselves and the sweet release of the outside world. Working in a corporate office, while socially acceptable, was perhaps the dullest thing in existence. "She looked so troubled," my elevator companion (Dennis, it had to be Dennis) murmured, bemused.
"Maybe she forgot her keys?" I volunteered, feeling the vibration of the phone in my pocket that said I had a text waiting. It was from Addie again.
"Fire" was all it said. What in the hell was that woman on about?
The elevator dinged again, indicating we were at our destination. The smooth-polished brass door eased back and the herd moved forward. Normally, the end of the day exit from our building was the most dignified free-for-all you might ever witness. Men and women studiously trying to maintain a veneer of professionalism as they stalked for the revolving doors, briefcases doubling as shields as they maneuvered to be the first out. Now, however, we all just sort of stopped and looked soundlessly out over the lobby. It was eerily silent, save of course for the jarringly merry sound of flames crackling as they devoured the furniture and the lobby front desk. Scattered here and there, their limbs sprawled at angles any contortionist would envy, were those unlucky enough to make it out on time. Behind me, dimly, I heard the sound of someone vomiting. The flash of light hair I glimpsed told me who it was. In that moment, I suddenly recalled the guy's name; Ralph. Now that had to be the universe's ultimate punchline, I thought to myself before admitting darkly as I stared across blazing lobby that there probably wouldn't be BE many more punchlines.
As if in a dream, I pulled my vibrating phone from my pocket. Addie had texted me a few more times.
fire
fire
fi
SITUATION: Write something that somehow involves the following: giraffes and jewel thieves
Oh man, I'd give that a solid 10/10. The only things I saw were mostly opinionated, and truly didn't matter in so far as conveying the story to me. Nothing really hung me up, or drew my eyes when I was reading it that something was wrong. I believed that the last full paragraph might have been chopped up a bit, to prove a bit easier to read, but I'm a line-break whore.
I enjoyed seeing the character's thoughts, especially over the name, but I wasn't sure if parentheses were necessary.
It was all a blur in my memory now, pulling myself through the grass as best I could, fingers digging into the parched earth as easily as they weaved through the sea of grass about me. Perhaps it was the sound of the truck, or the animals fleeing that drew their attention. It didn't matter now which one of them had bought the bullet in my leg, but that I had gotten away from my vehicle.
Boipelo was still firing as I crawled. I wanted to stop, to help my brother, but I knew that death was waiting for me back there, just as his was. Did he think I was still there? With a hiss I continued, saving my prayers for forgiveness for another time, knowing that they were after what I carried. With a stunning ferocity, I heard the bark of Boipelo's rifle cease, and I knew in that moment he was dead.
At least he had gotten the chance. Farai was dead before he knew what had happened.
Shouting. I could hear them, though I wasn't sure if it was pride from their victory or my escape that warranted it. The thought of the latter sped my pace, though from where I dragged my belly along the ground I could hardly see the sky above me, much less the truck behind me, or the explosion that rocked the ground.
I froze, unsure of what to do or where to go. Push on, or go back for supplies? I hadn't a canteen, the chances of surviving in the grasslands without it were ones I surely didn't want to consider. It was with a guilty thought that I recalled, my only instinct occupying my mind in those harried moments following the ambush was to grab the bag. The day bag, the sad little, malnourished rucksack that rested just below my shoulders.
For what it lacked in looks, it certainly made up for in contents: some twenty pounds of raw diamonds.
No doubt that was why they had struck, knowing that we had just raided the NEC diamond mine down the valley. Only trucks coming from the mine came up this road, and they were simply waiting for another shipment. The sight of a truck, unescorted, was likely a godsend for such desperate men. I hadn't seen them in time, not with Farai's idiotic babbling about those damn giraffes in the grass alongside us.
My heart found itself confused at such, unsure whether to curse or to forgive my brother. He could not have known his innocent fascination would have brought his own death. A glance into the sky above me, its azure depths stricken with streaks of cloud. Would my brothers, my God, forgive me for my cowardice? The sight stirred me to move, that I might enjoy it on a day without such worldly concerns.
Or perhaps it was the smell. That spice on the wind that rustled the forest of grass around me so vehemently, and brought with it a sound that chilled me to the bone, despite the heat of the dry season drenching me with sweat.
Fire.
The explosion, it had set the grass alight.
Situation: You have been exiled from your homeland.
I enjoyed seeing the character's thoughts, especially over the name, but I wasn't sure if parentheses were necessary.
---
It was all a blur in my memory now, pulling myself through the grass as best I could, fingers digging into the parched earth as easily as they weaved through the sea of grass about me. Perhaps it was the sound of the truck, or the animals fleeing that drew their attention. It didn't matter now which one of them had bought the bullet in my leg, but that I had gotten away from my vehicle.
Boipelo was still firing as I crawled. I wanted to stop, to help my brother, but I knew that death was waiting for me back there, just as his was. Did he think I was still there? With a hiss I continued, saving my prayers for forgiveness for another time, knowing that they were after what I carried. With a stunning ferocity, I heard the bark of Boipelo's rifle cease, and I knew in that moment he was dead.
At least he had gotten the chance. Farai was dead before he knew what had happened.
Shouting. I could hear them, though I wasn't sure if it was pride from their victory or my escape that warranted it. The thought of the latter sped my pace, though from where I dragged my belly along the ground I could hardly see the sky above me, much less the truck behind me, or the explosion that rocked the ground.
I froze, unsure of what to do or where to go. Push on, or go back for supplies? I hadn't a canteen, the chances of surviving in the grasslands without it were ones I surely didn't want to consider. It was with a guilty thought that I recalled, my only instinct occupying my mind in those harried moments following the ambush was to grab the bag. The day bag, the sad little, malnourished rucksack that rested just below my shoulders.
For what it lacked in looks, it certainly made up for in contents: some twenty pounds of raw diamonds.
No doubt that was why they had struck, knowing that we had just raided the NEC diamond mine down the valley. Only trucks coming from the mine came up this road, and they were simply waiting for another shipment. The sight of a truck, unescorted, was likely a godsend for such desperate men. I hadn't seen them in time, not with Farai's idiotic babbling about those damn giraffes in the grass alongside us.
My heart found itself confused at such, unsure whether to curse or to forgive my brother. He could not have known his innocent fascination would have brought his own death. A glance into the sky above me, its azure depths stricken with streaks of cloud. Would my brothers, my God, forgive me for my cowardice? The sight stirred me to move, that I might enjoy it on a day without such worldly concerns.
Or perhaps it was the smell. That spice on the wind that rustled the forest of grass around me so vehemently, and brought with it a sound that chilled me to the bone, despite the heat of the dry season drenching me with sweat.
Fire.
The explosion, it had set the grass alight.
Situation: You have been exiled from your homeland.
10/10 nice narrative, I must applaud you for merging together two ideas which are so different one from the other.
sorry if I make mistakes in my english, That's not my native tongue.
The rain whacked repeatedly over my face, that was the last glance I lead to my land. From now and ever, me, the latter disciple of the black wolf; will howl without the pack.
-master Eroske.- completely forgot about Weldrake, my loyal slave, more than a slave, the only man I could trust. breathing heavily with his cooper eyes wide open like an owl; he peered me with a mix of intrigue and sadness- we must hurry and leave riverdwell before the sunset comes.-
-I know- answered roughly, spurred the horse forgetting about him who followed me in his mount.
It began last spring, the king Elle was murdered while sleeping. My master and I were knights of his private guard, we were blamed by incompetence and later accused directly of the deceased.
"we ain't the only men guarding the king chambers the passed night" my master's piercing silver eyes shone like a hungry wolf aiming for its prey, I'm not surprised that he gained the name of 'the black wolf' by his lupine features and his coal black hair, always messy" nor the nearests ones also"
The council feraed 'the black wolf' and he knew it, in some cases I came to think that he used their fear to control them as they used their money to scrub the floor with the rest.
"but you were the last men to speaked with my brother" it was the king brother, Holstein "¿or you'll deny it too, wolf?"
He scouted the entire room with his glance. I felt useless and fragile standing by his side with my lips entirely closed.
The council began a hunt for the king's murderer, Holstein spies followed my master and me everywhere, I was at the edge of maddness.
"do not desesperate Eroske" he told me at a private moment without nobody hearing us "that's what they want you to do, be strong young wolf"
Holstein men kept watching us even when the months of king's Elle murder passed, even after Holstein coronation. ¿what do those mens want? I asked Myselft, soon I found the answer.
"we are looking fot murderer in the wrong place" the wolf told me one night
"¿where is him so?"
"sitting in the throne" he said it so normally, like a simple conversation "but he is going to fall Eroske, he'll"
It was planned, a man called Svein who was part of the council and very rich will help my master in his plans, buying men and influence. The purpose was to kill Holstein and name Racko, king's Elle bastard son, as the king.
we were walking at castle garden when a group of armed men surrounded us, in front of us whas Holstein with Svein by his side.
"those are my king" said Svein pointing at us "those are the mens who ploted against you"
"those were the mens who ploted against me. ¡kill them!"
we ran, my master stopped in one side of the path and told me:
"the only way to escape is one of us must die" he drew his sword "take Weldrake and run, run from Riverdwell, escape this madness Sadric" he told me.
"¡a pack lives and dies together!" I yelled "!that's what you told me!"
"and a true wolf knows when is time to sacrifice oneseself for the pack " his voice was so soft "you are like my son Eroske, I wont let you die here. Run young wolf, is your time to find other pack, the winter has come."
-¿whats going on master?- weldrake asked me- it looks like there's a strom into your head-
-no- I made a pause- there's no storm, is just a wolf who's howling alone at the cold wind- I never knew if Weldrake understood me, I never asked.
Situation: You are a protestant man at medieval times who's pursued by the inquisition and must leave the town before they find you.
sorry if I make mistakes in my english, That's not my native tongue.
The rain whacked repeatedly over my face, that was the last glance I lead to my land. From now and ever, me, the latter disciple of the black wolf; will howl without the pack.
-master Eroske.- completely forgot about Weldrake, my loyal slave, more than a slave, the only man I could trust. breathing heavily with his cooper eyes wide open like an owl; he peered me with a mix of intrigue and sadness- we must hurry and leave riverdwell before the sunset comes.-
-I know- answered roughly, spurred the horse forgetting about him who followed me in his mount.
It began last spring, the king Elle was murdered while sleeping. My master and I were knights of his private guard, we were blamed by incompetence and later accused directly of the deceased.
"we ain't the only men guarding the king chambers the passed night" my master's piercing silver eyes shone like a hungry wolf aiming for its prey, I'm not surprised that he gained the name of 'the black wolf' by his lupine features and his coal black hair, always messy" nor the nearests ones also"
The council feraed 'the black wolf' and he knew it, in some cases I came to think that he used their fear to control them as they used their money to scrub the floor with the rest.
"but you were the last men to speaked with my brother" it was the king brother, Holstein "¿or you'll deny it too, wolf?"
He scouted the entire room with his glance. I felt useless and fragile standing by his side with my lips entirely closed.
The council began a hunt for the king's murderer, Holstein spies followed my master and me everywhere, I was at the edge of maddness.
"do not desesperate Eroske" he told me at a private moment without nobody hearing us "that's what they want you to do, be strong young wolf"
Holstein men kept watching us even when the months of king's Elle murder passed, even after Holstein coronation. ¿what do those mens want? I asked Myselft, soon I found the answer.
"we are looking fot murderer in the wrong place" the wolf told me one night
"¿where is him so?"
"sitting in the throne" he said it so normally, like a simple conversation "but he is going to fall Eroske, he'll"
It was planned, a man called Svein who was part of the council and very rich will help my master in his plans, buying men and influence. The purpose was to kill Holstein and name Racko, king's Elle bastard son, as the king.
we were walking at castle garden when a group of armed men surrounded us, in front of us whas Holstein with Svein by his side.
"those are my king" said Svein pointing at us "those are the mens who ploted against you"
"those were the mens who ploted against me. ¡kill them!"
we ran, my master stopped in one side of the path and told me:
"the only way to escape is one of us must die" he drew his sword "take Weldrake and run, run from Riverdwell, escape this madness Sadric" he told me.
"¡a pack lives and dies together!" I yelled "!that's what you told me!"
"and a true wolf knows when is time to sacrifice oneseself for the pack " his voice was so soft "you are like my son Eroske, I wont let you die here. Run young wolf, is your time to find other pack, the winter has come."
-¿whats going on master?- weldrake asked me- it looks like there's a strom into your head-
-no- I made a pause- there's no storm, is just a wolf who's howling alone at the cold wind- I never knew if Weldrake understood me, I never asked.
Situation: You are a protestant man at medieval times who's pursued by the inquisition and must leave the town before they find you.
"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!"
Eh, sorry. I'm just here to get it going again since it seemed like a spectacular forum game.
Plot seemed simple enough and kept me reading, there were a couple small errors that confused me like a small spelling error here or there, or a quote that looked like it ended something instead of starting it, the last sentence confused me, and if there were more detail, I probable could have put descriptions to names, but other than that it was good for what you had to work with. So I'll give it what I think is a fair 6.5/10! Don't take it too seriously from me though, I'm not a renowned book critique or anything.
I'm not personally going to reply to the situation you gave out, but it's very specific and I don't think vague enough for what anyone was thinking when they read the rules. So I'll give out a random vague situation, but whoever replies to this can use yours instead if they want.
I guess doing this is sorta up to the creator of this topic to decide how it continues if it does in fact do so.
Also, I'd reply to that situation, it's just I don't know what or how to put it. >.<
Anyways.
Situation1: You heard a loud noise from inside your fridge late at night.
Situation2: Someone attempted to hit you with a sturdy skateboard in public.
Situation3: Your best friend has been kidnapped, but you can't find the kidnappers.
(Choose any one of those three!)
Eh, sorry. I'm just here to get it going again since it seemed like a spectacular forum game.
Plot seemed simple enough and kept me reading, there were a couple small errors that confused me like a small spelling error here or there, or a quote that looked like it ended something instead of starting it, the last sentence confused me, and if there were more detail, I probable could have put descriptions to names, but other than that it was good for what you had to work with. So I'll give it what I think is a fair 6.5/10! Don't take it too seriously from me though, I'm not a renowned book critique or anything.
I'm not personally going to reply to the situation you gave out, but it's very specific and I don't think vague enough for what anyone was thinking when they read the rules. So I'll give out a random vague situation, but whoever replies to this can use yours instead if they want.
I guess doing this is sorta up to the creator of this topic to decide how it continues if it does in fact do so.
Also, I'd reply to that situation, it's just I don't know what or how to put it. >.<
Anyways.
Situation1: You heard a loud noise from inside your fridge late at night.
Situation2: Someone attempted to hit you with a sturdy skateboard in public.
Situation3: Your best friend has been kidnapped, but you can't find the kidnappers.
(Choose any one of those three!)
(There wasn't a post for me to rate, so I'll rate the last one made. 8. Docked points for a few word typos such as "The council feraed 'the black wolf'". I was kind of expecting a recollection on what happened after the exile, so reading the exile itself caught me a little off guard. I enjoyed it though!)
I stared at the fridge.
The fridge remained motionless.
Maybe it had been my imagination? I turned to leave the kitchen, my coveted bag of pretzels grasped tightly in one hand. Before I could go more than a few steps I heard it again.
"Kathrump!" The sound rattled me, sending vibrations of paranoia coursing from the red roots of my hair down to the fuzzy Wobbuffet slippers on my feet.
Would it be a little alien child, sneaking around in the fridge and eating all of mom's cheese? Or maybe it was the closet monster that would visit my sister, gathering a light snack before the evenings scare.
Or maybe, worst of all just maybe...
I held my breath, reached out to grasp the handle and pulled.
"KARTHURMP!" The noise happened again, this time coupled with my scream as my worst nightmare came true.
Lights flashed on from upstairs, feet pounding its way down towards me, but my parents were too late. The creature that had been laying in wait for unsuspecting fingers to peer inside launched itself at me. I swung with the pretzels, batting it away as fiercely as I could and screamed the demon's name so that all would know what ran free in our house.
"RAAAAAAAAAT!!!!!!"
*Edit** I forgot the scenario! Here it is : You wake up to find it snowed several feet the night before and not only have you never seen so much snow before, you don't even know what it is! How do you react?
I stared at the fridge.
The fridge remained motionless.
Maybe it had been my imagination? I turned to leave the kitchen, my coveted bag of pretzels grasped tightly in one hand. Before I could go more than a few steps I heard it again.
"Kathrump!" The sound rattled me, sending vibrations of paranoia coursing from the red roots of my hair down to the fuzzy Wobbuffet slippers on my feet.
Would it be a little alien child, sneaking around in the fridge and eating all of mom's cheese? Or maybe it was the closet monster that would visit my sister, gathering a light snack before the evenings scare.
Or maybe, worst of all just maybe...
I held my breath, reached out to grasp the handle and pulled.
"KARTHURMP!" The noise happened again, this time coupled with my scream as my worst nightmare came true.
Lights flashed on from upstairs, feet pounding its way down towards me, but my parents were too late. The creature that had been laying in wait for unsuspecting fingers to peer inside launched itself at me. I swung with the pretzels, batting it away as fiercely as I could and screamed the demon's name so that all would know what ran free in our house.
"RAAAAAAAAAT!!!!!!"
*Edit** I forgot the scenario! Here it is : You wake up to find it snowed several feet the night before and not only have you never seen so much snow before, you don't even know what it is! How do you react?
10 out of 10! That was lovely, and sorta funny too!
(ahhah this scenario fits me, I've barely ever seen snow)
I've had many dreams where I woke up from a dream in the dream, but I knew instantly that neither the sight before my eyes nor the frozen feeling in my toes were another form of trickery generated by my encephalon. It was simply beyond anything I could imagine. I hastily pulled my toes back under the stack of three blankets that I sleep with, where they belonged, and sat there paralyzed, waiting for some otherworldly creature to please explain to me what exactly it had done to my seemingly stable world. Everything outside my window was covered in an unknown bright white material that looked like cream from a distance. It was only then that I looked more closely at that material, and realized that it was lining my window- in the form of ice crystals! Feeling a bit more safe, I hopped off my bed with the bottommost blanket still covering my feet and grabbed a pair of socks, pulling them on, and then, abandoming my blanket, put on my rain boots and opened the door, only to be buried under yet another blanket, but of the same icy material that was covering my world. It crushed me and chocked me, and I don't know just how I managed to escape that pile of cold, but I have loathed the stuff ever since. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I have chosen to live in a completely random village in the depths of Zimbabwe.
Scenario:
A portal just appeared on a wall near you, and you seem to be the only one who can see it. You also can't see what's on the other side (where the portal leads to).
(ahhah this scenario fits me, I've barely ever seen snow)
I've had many dreams where I woke up from a dream in the dream, but I knew instantly that neither the sight before my eyes nor the frozen feeling in my toes were another form of trickery generated by my encephalon. It was simply beyond anything I could imagine. I hastily pulled my toes back under the stack of three blankets that I sleep with, where they belonged, and sat there paralyzed, waiting for some otherworldly creature to please explain to me what exactly it had done to my seemingly stable world. Everything outside my window was covered in an unknown bright white material that looked like cream from a distance. It was only then that I looked more closely at that material, and realized that it was lining my window- in the form of ice crystals! Feeling a bit more safe, I hopped off my bed with the bottommost blanket still covering my feet and grabbed a pair of socks, pulling them on, and then, abandoming my blanket, put on my rain boots and opened the door, only to be buried under yet another blanket, but of the same icy material that was covering my world. It crushed me and chocked me, and I don't know just how I managed to escape that pile of cold, but I have loathed the stuff ever since. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I have chosen to live in a completely random village in the depths of Zimbabwe.
Scenario:
A portal just appeared on a wall near you, and you seem to be the only one who can see it. You also can't see what's on the other side (where the portal leads to).
8/10. Good job! You caught my attention with your opening line very well. I feel like the thoughts of the character rather than only the actions would make for a much more intriguing story; The reasoning behind the hatred of the snow could be a bit expounded upon as well. The bit at the end about Zimbabwe was a tiny bit random, and left the story unresolved, leaving me scratching my head. ("Is that it?") I also noticed a few run-on sentences (as a fellow RPer, I can understand your love of Mr. Comma. 
) and a few tiny spelling errors. You did great in terms of narrative. I did really love your narration style! It was funny, unique, and I snorted a few times.
Onto the prompt:
Hey, /r/GlitchInTheMatrix, you're not going to believe this, but it really happened.
Two days ago, I was sitting here browsing through Reddit with Spotify open. I've got tabs open for various stuff, and humming along to whatever was playing. Right as I click onto an interesting link, I see something move in my peripheral vision. So I turn, and right next to my door is a big ol' portal. Like, from the Valve game. Naturally, I call my little brother in to see it and he looks at me like I'm crazy. "What's wrong with the wall?"
I'm thoroughly confused and more than a little bit frightened at this point, so I just run out of the room and stay downstairs for the rest of the day. By the time I get back up, it's bed time, and I see the portal is gone.
Right now I'm sitting at my desk, writing this. I keep glancing over at the wall to see if the portal will come back again, but I don't think it will. I'm wishing I would have at least poked mu head through, or tried seeing what would happen if I touched it. It was just the basic blue color- I couldn't see if there was an other side. Maybe the whole thing was just a trick of my imagination, although as a frequenter of this sub and others like /r/NoSleep I can't just believe that's true.
Especially not with the whispers and footsteps at night.
Thanks, and the prompt of today is...
You've failed your quest/goal/objective and are now moments away from death. Give us the feels.
) and a few tiny spelling errors. You did great in terms of narrative. I did really love your narration style! It was funny, unique, and I snorted a few times.Onto the prompt:
Hey, /r/GlitchInTheMatrix, you're not going to believe this, but it really happened.
Two days ago, I was sitting here browsing through Reddit with Spotify open. I've got tabs open for various stuff, and humming along to whatever was playing. Right as I click onto an interesting link, I see something move in my peripheral vision. So I turn, and right next to my door is a big ol' portal. Like, from the Valve game. Naturally, I call my little brother in to see it and he looks at me like I'm crazy. "What's wrong with the wall?"
I'm thoroughly confused and more than a little bit frightened at this point, so I just run out of the room and stay downstairs for the rest of the day. By the time I get back up, it's bed time, and I see the portal is gone.
Right now I'm sitting at my desk, writing this. I keep glancing over at the wall to see if the portal will come back again, but I don't think it will. I'm wishing I would have at least poked mu head through, or tried seeing what would happen if I touched it. It was just the basic blue color- I couldn't see if there was an other side. Maybe the whole thing was just a trick of my imagination, although as a frequenter of this sub and others like /r/NoSleep I can't just believe that's true.
Especially not with the whispers and footsteps at night.
Thanks, and the prompt of today is...
You've failed your quest/goal/objective and are now moments away from death. Give us the feels.
8/10. Other than a typo ("[...]at least poked mu head through[...]"), it just wasn't "outstanding" enough to give it a 10 (I tend to be a bit of a harsh critic). I considered giving you a 7, because it the writing is technically sound, but among other technically sound things, it seems average. However, the way it's written is perfect for the context you put it into, and although avoiding the portal is a little boring, it's also unexpected and more realistic. Overall, though, it still took me some time to really think about the realism you gave it enough to accept it as an interesting piece of writing.
People talk a lot about your life flashing before your eyes when you die. Maybe that's why I've spent so much time thinking about the things I used to do, and how much I wanted to be able to do it all again - because I've been dying this whole time, and I never had a chance at beating it.
I remember running barefoot through the grass, not caring when dry blades pricked at my feet, back when I had the energy to run. I remember riding my bike, finally free of training wheels, down the biggest hill in town; how the wind whipped through my hair when I did it without a hemlet, back when I had hair. I remember dancing and playing and giggling with my family, back before my world was filled with pain and tiredness and so much white.
All the while I've been fighting, my family's kept by me, always putting on smiles and acting like I couldn't hear them cry and argue in the hall. Mom comes in every day, and she spends most of her time with me when she isn't at work. Even now, she's making sure everything in my room is as nice as it can be, flashing me a smile now and then that doesn't reach her eyes. I used to confide in her whenever I felt like I wasn't going to make it, telling her how scared I was of dying, and she'd always tell me what a good job I was doing, that the doctors believed I was getting better and I just needed to fight a little longer. She kept telling me even when they gave me three months almost four months ago, because she though I hadn't heard.
I'm not afraid of dying anymore. I'm just tired of trying to live. I'm tired of fighting, I'm tired of the pain, and I'm tired of being a burden.
"Momma?"
She stops, and after a moment, she looks over to me with a smile. It's only been when I was I afraid that I called her that. Coming to my bedside, she asks me softly, "What is it, honey?"
I hesitate, and finally admit, "I... I heard what they said. I know I'm not getting better."
Her eyes grow shinier and her smile momentarily falters, but she tucks me in tighter. "What you you mean, honey? You doing great!"
I'm kind of afraid of dying again. Suddenly, she's not the only one straining to avoid bursting into tears. I know this has to end, though.
I'd sit up and hug her if I could, but it hurts too much; instead, I raise my arms as best as I can, and she grants my request for a hug. Holding her, I whisper, "Momma, I don't want to hurt anymore. I... I can play and be happy again when I go."
Her breathing changes, her grip tightens, and my shoulder feels wet. Starting softly and getting louder, she mutters "no" over and over again until it dissolves into sobbing.
I squeeze a little tighter, not knowing how to comfort her. At last I tell her, "I just wanted a chance to tell you goodbye before I go play, and that I love you. And... I'm sorry I couldn't beat the cancer."
Prompt: In a race for the amusement of a mad man.
People talk a lot about your life flashing before your eyes when you die. Maybe that's why I've spent so much time thinking about the things I used to do, and how much I wanted to be able to do it all again - because I've been dying this whole time, and I never had a chance at beating it.
I remember running barefoot through the grass, not caring when dry blades pricked at my feet, back when I had the energy to run. I remember riding my bike, finally free of training wheels, down the biggest hill in town; how the wind whipped through my hair when I did it without a hemlet, back when I had hair. I remember dancing and playing and giggling with my family, back before my world was filled with pain and tiredness and so much white.
All the while I've been fighting, my family's kept by me, always putting on smiles and acting like I couldn't hear them cry and argue in the hall. Mom comes in every day, and she spends most of her time with me when she isn't at work. Even now, she's making sure everything in my room is as nice as it can be, flashing me a smile now and then that doesn't reach her eyes. I used to confide in her whenever I felt like I wasn't going to make it, telling her how scared I was of dying, and she'd always tell me what a good job I was doing, that the doctors believed I was getting better and I just needed to fight a little longer. She kept telling me even when they gave me three months almost four months ago, because she though I hadn't heard.
I'm not afraid of dying anymore. I'm just tired of trying to live. I'm tired of fighting, I'm tired of the pain, and I'm tired of being a burden.
"Momma?"
She stops, and after a moment, she looks over to me with a smile. It's only been when I was I afraid that I called her that. Coming to my bedside, she asks me softly, "What is it, honey?"
I hesitate, and finally admit, "I... I heard what they said. I know I'm not getting better."
Her eyes grow shinier and her smile momentarily falters, but she tucks me in tighter. "What you you mean, honey? You doing great!"
I'm kind of afraid of dying again. Suddenly, she's not the only one straining to avoid bursting into tears. I know this has to end, though.
I'd sit up and hug her if I could, but it hurts too much; instead, I raise my arms as best as I can, and she grants my request for a hug. Holding her, I whisper, "Momma, I don't want to hurt anymore. I... I can play and be happy again when I go."
Her breathing changes, her grip tightens, and my shoulder feels wet. Starting softly and getting louder, she mutters "no" over and over again until it dissolves into sobbing.
I squeeze a little tighter, not knowing how to comfort her. At last I tell her, "I just wanted a chance to tell you goodbye before I go play, and that I love you. And... I'm sorry I couldn't beat the cancer."
Prompt: In a race for the amusement of a mad man.
Dude. Can I get a link to one of your novels?
Haha in all seriousness, I'd give you a solid 9/10. The only thing holding me back from giving you a full-blown 10 is a few oddities, ("You doing great!") run-on sentences, spelling errors (Things like though when you mean thought; Hemlet.) and confusion over the main characters' age. The narrative had me sold that you were at least mid-teens, but then the dialogue made me think "Well, maybe they're an eight year old?" All in all, I'm really sniffly now, and your writing style was so real it hurt. Very well done piece.
Onto the prompt.
"Faster! Faster!"
It's all I hear. I've been running for too long- I wouldn't be able to tell if we had been running for minutes, hours, days, or weeks. Everything's blended together. The only reason I know that it's been three days is because of the watch on my wrist and the big screen on the wall.
All I know is that my legs can only take so much more before I collapse. When that happens...
Well, I don't want to focus on that happening. I don't want to look back on my fallen opponents, although I know I'll come up on them again shortly. I've been running in an elimination race for the past three days against one hundred other people. I know because the giant screen on the wall tells me how many are left.
It's now at 29.
There's another screen with a clock that resets every hour. Every hour, the person in last place gets picked up and slammed down into the dirt until the screams stop. And sometimes they take a long time to stop.
The man is always yelling at us to run faster. "Faster! Run faster! Overtake him!" I can practically hear his sickening smile as he cackles and screeches at us through the loudspeakers. He's watching us- Running around in circles on the Olympic track from hell. My calves burn. I struggle to find breath. It shouldn't even be possible for me to keep walking at this point.
I'm safe for now: I am only ten places behind the guy in front. The track is increasingly disgusting as time goes on. Blood, feces, urine, vomit, internal organs all litter the track. People have tried killing each other to get ahead. It's only three days in and they've already tried murder.
It never works, of course. The giant claw thing from the ceiling just comes down and slams the person into the dirt until their head is off and every last bone is exposed and broken.
His laughter is what makes it so bad. It's one thing if he were forced to watch: If this were all some terrible torture experiment for both parties. But he loves it. He's the one in charge, he's the one calling the shots. He loves the blood, the gore. The pain and despair.
The clock just hit thirty seconds. People behind me start screaming and crying. I try to ignore them. I try to focus on winning the race: Apparently it means getting out of here.
We're not even walking anymore. It's just a slow shuffling drudge of a walk. The people behind me are pushing each other now. Arguing about their lives; Over who is more worthy of living.
"Only fifteen more seconds~" A sing-songy voice booms across the track. I can't take much more of this. I don't really have much to live for.
This could all be over, right? I can just be back home. Or whatever my memory of home is.
I stop walking, and look back. There's a woman sobbing because she has children and a husband. She's arguing with a guy who has his whole life ahead of him.
I know this maniac won't stop until all but one of us is dead, but I don't want to carry on any longer.
The first step towards them is hard. The next is slightly easier. By the third step, I'm forgetting that I'm walking the opposite direction. I'm doing a good thing. Making an honorable sacrifice. I just pass the lady when I hear the buzzer and wait for my inevitable painful death.
Instead, I hear the shrieks of the man at the front as he is beaten into the dirt like a ragdoll.
It was kinda rushed, and very macabre, but I'm pleased with it.
Your prompt is....
Jazz music and sentient computers.
Haha in all seriousness, I'd give you a solid 9/10. The only thing holding me back from giving you a full-blown 10 is a few oddities, ("You doing great!") run-on sentences, spelling errors (Things like though when you mean thought; Hemlet.) and confusion over the main characters' age. The narrative had me sold that you were at least mid-teens, but then the dialogue made me think "Well, maybe they're an eight year old?" All in all, I'm really sniffly now, and your writing style was so real it hurt. Very well done piece.
Onto the prompt.
"Faster! Faster!"
It's all I hear. I've been running for too long- I wouldn't be able to tell if we had been running for minutes, hours, days, or weeks. Everything's blended together. The only reason I know that it's been three days is because of the watch on my wrist and the big screen on the wall.
All I know is that my legs can only take so much more before I collapse. When that happens...
Well, I don't want to focus on that happening. I don't want to look back on my fallen opponents, although I know I'll come up on them again shortly. I've been running in an elimination race for the past three days against one hundred other people. I know because the giant screen on the wall tells me how many are left.
It's now at 29.
There's another screen with a clock that resets every hour. Every hour, the person in last place gets picked up and slammed down into the dirt until the screams stop. And sometimes they take a long time to stop.
The man is always yelling at us to run faster. "Faster! Run faster! Overtake him!" I can practically hear his sickening smile as he cackles and screeches at us through the loudspeakers. He's watching us- Running around in circles on the Olympic track from hell. My calves burn. I struggle to find breath. It shouldn't even be possible for me to keep walking at this point.
I'm safe for now: I am only ten places behind the guy in front. The track is increasingly disgusting as time goes on. Blood, feces, urine, vomit, internal organs all litter the track. People have tried killing each other to get ahead. It's only three days in and they've already tried murder.
It never works, of course. The giant claw thing from the ceiling just comes down and slams the person into the dirt until their head is off and every last bone is exposed and broken.
His laughter is what makes it so bad. It's one thing if he were forced to watch: If this were all some terrible torture experiment for both parties. But he loves it. He's the one in charge, he's the one calling the shots. He loves the blood, the gore. The pain and despair.
The clock just hit thirty seconds. People behind me start screaming and crying. I try to ignore them. I try to focus on winning the race: Apparently it means getting out of here.
We're not even walking anymore. It's just a slow shuffling drudge of a walk. The people behind me are pushing each other now. Arguing about their lives; Over who is more worthy of living.
"Only fifteen more seconds~" A sing-songy voice booms across the track. I can't take much more of this. I don't really have much to live for.
This could all be over, right? I can just be back home. Or whatever my memory of home is.
I stop walking, and look back. There's a woman sobbing because she has children and a husband. She's arguing with a guy who has his whole life ahead of him.
I know this maniac won't stop until all but one of us is dead, but I don't want to carry on any longer.
The first step towards them is hard. The next is slightly easier. By the third step, I'm forgetting that I'm walking the opposite direction. I'm doing a good thing. Making an honorable sacrifice. I just pass the lady when I hear the buzzer and wait for my inevitable painful death.
Instead, I hear the shrieks of the man at the front as he is beaten into the dirt like a ragdoll.
It was kinda rushed, and very macabre, but I'm pleased with it.
Your prompt is....
Jazz music and sentient computers.
God Oaky, your story is not only awesome, but every time I go through it, and think I've found an error, I look online to verify, and find out that it's me that's wrong. Since I have the typing and grammatical skills of a blind, arthritic gorilla, probably no one is surprised to hear this.
10 out of 10 Oaky, not only for your inherent awesomeness, but also because I'm not smart enough to know better
Clearly I'm in this for the prompt, so here it goes!
(Snow storm knocked me off the internet, sorry for the wait folks!)
The small, black, Walmart brand alarm clock that sat as it always did, on the leftmost edge of the wooden desk, had been blinking 2:03 for what seemed like an eternity. Realistically, it nearly had been. For months it had gone unnoticed, untouched. The vibrant red LEDs flashing the same set of numbers over and over, looked over by anyone who could do anything to change it.
Alice had more important things to worry about. This new project Alice had taken on was moving along perfectly, and as such one could afford no time to be troubled over the small, trivial details. This experiment required Alice's all consuming focus, if it was going to produce the results that were desired.
For as long as could be remembered, Alice been confined to this small cramped home office room, lost in a sea of papers, wires, and heavy stale air and the slightest hint of cheap tobacco. It had been a long time since anyone had opened a window. and even now, days after the subject's moment of weakness, the scent lingered in the air as a shameful reminder of his failure.
Alice had been sequestered in only the company of the subject, and the soothing sounds of smooth jazz, played through computer speakers for his benefit. He claimed it helped him relax though Alice wondered how much stress one could actually have when they spent their lives as this man did, hunched over a monitor, doing nothing of importance.
This man was Alice's social experiment, it's only goal? -To influence and manipulate this man into giving it the things that it needed. The subject wanted to lose himself in his technology, and Alice was going to provide.
My prompts are Green Tea, and a broken Grandfather clock.
10 out of 10 Oaky, not only for your inherent awesomeness, but also because I'm not smart enough to know better
Clearly I'm in this for the prompt, so here it goes!
(Snow storm knocked me off the internet, sorry for the wait folks!)
The small, black, Walmart brand alarm clock that sat as it always did, on the leftmost edge of the wooden desk, had been blinking 2:03 for what seemed like an eternity. Realistically, it nearly had been. For months it had gone unnoticed, untouched. The vibrant red LEDs flashing the same set of numbers over and over, looked over by anyone who could do anything to change it.
Alice had more important things to worry about. This new project Alice had taken on was moving along perfectly, and as such one could afford no time to be troubled over the small, trivial details. This experiment required Alice's all consuming focus, if it was going to produce the results that were desired.
For as long as could be remembered, Alice been confined to this small cramped home office room, lost in a sea of papers, wires, and heavy stale air and the slightest hint of cheap tobacco. It had been a long time since anyone had opened a window. and even now, days after the subject's moment of weakness, the scent lingered in the air as a shameful reminder of his failure.
Alice had been sequestered in only the company of the subject, and the soothing sounds of smooth jazz, played through computer speakers for his benefit. He claimed it helped him relax though Alice wondered how much stress one could actually have when they spent their lives as this man did, hunched over a monitor, doing nothing of importance.
This man was Alice's social experiment, it's only goal? -To influence and manipulate this man into giving it the things that it needed. The subject wanted to lose himself in his technology, and Alice was going to provide.
My prompts are Green Tea, and a broken Grandfather clock.
I almost feel obligated to bump your rating because of your flattering review. 
But I'm a heartless bastard so I give you a tentative 7.
Your story was good. It indirectly told me what I didn't know instead of handing it to me on a silver plate- An increasingly rare talent in young authors these days.
Instead of just giving kritiks, I feel it'd be easier to dissect and edit your paragraph instead.
The small, black, Walmart brand alarm clockthat sat as it always did; On the leftmost edge of the a wooden desk. It had been blinking the same numbers: 2:03, for what seemed like an eternity. Realistically, it nearly had been. For months, it had gone went unnoticed; untouched. The vibrant red LEDs flashing the same set of numbers over and over, looked over ignored by anyone who could do anything to change it.
Alice had more important things to worry about. (So what was the above paragraph for?)This new project Alice had taken on was moving along perfectly. She had taken on a new project; So far, it was working to satisfaction. and as such one Of course, she couldn't afford no time to be troubled over the small, such trivial details. This experiment required Alice's her all-consuming focus if it was going to produce the results that were she desired.
For as long as she couldbe remembered, Alice been confined to this a small, cramped home office room. She was lost in a sea of papers and wires- and A heavy stale air and held just the slightest hint of cheap tobacco. It had been a long time since anyone had opened a window. and Even now, days after the subject's moment of weakness, the scent lingered in the air: as A shameful reminder of his failure.
Alice had been sequestered in,given only the company of the subject, granted only the subject for company. and the She played the soothing sounds melodies of smooth jazz; played They wandered through the computer speakers for his benefit to his ears- Like honey. He claimed it helped him relax, although Alice wondered how much stress one could actually have when they spent their lives as like this man did: Hunched over a monitor, doing nothing of importance.
This man was Alice's social experiment.it's only The experiment's goal? To influence and manipulate this man into giving it the things that it (The goal of the experiment is to get him to give the experiment its goal?) needed. The subject wanted to lose himself in his technology, and Alice was going to provide.
If you can sift through all of that, you did a very good job- I just have a bit of a pet peeve with commas and redundancies.
Also, take my kritiks with a grain of salt. I am by no means an expert author or editor.
e.e
Aight, well I should probably get to the prompt.
The tea in my hand is warm. It's not as warm as it was five minutes ago, but it's warm.
I'm not really focused on drinking right now. It makes my throat itch, for one. It also tastes bad. I really only took the stupid stuff in the first place because my girlfriend's obsessed with it.
I love her to death, but... I wish she'd stop making me this awful green tea. Every time I come over, she makes it, and I don't have the heart to tell her I don't like it. So I take a few sips every now and again, pour the rest in the kitchen sink when she isn't looking, and smile pleasantly when she asks how it is.
Although, I guess it is kind of a good thing. It's a good excuse to sit close to her, to talk to her about meaningless things like the weather.
The reason I came here today is because her great grandpa's Grandfather clock is "broken" again. My dad's a watchmaker; Naturally, I know a thing or two about clocks. I set my tea down on the coffee table and walk across the living room to open the clock.
It "breaks" at least once every other week. I really just don't fix it all the way. When it "breaks" again, I'm able to come back over to "fix" it again.
I come over; drink awful green tea; work with a beautiful, ages-old clock; and get to snuggle up with the girl of my dreams.
I guess I don't mind having an itchy throat so much. Maybe I should try another sip.
YOUR PROMPT IS......
*drumroll*
*cymbal crash!*
The world's currency is stories. The better able to weave a tale you are, the richer you become.
But I'm a heartless bastard so I give you a tentative 7.
Your story was good. It indirectly told me what I didn't know instead of handing it to me on a silver plate- An increasingly rare talent in young authors these days.
Instead of just giving kritiks, I feel it'd be easier to dissect and edit your paragraph instead.
The small, black, Walmart brand alarm clock
Alice had more important things to worry about. (So what was the above paragraph for?)
For as long as she could
Alice had been sequestered in,
This man was Alice's social experiment.
If you can sift through all of that, you did a very good job- I just have a bit of a pet peeve with commas and redundancies.
Also, take my kritiks with a grain of salt. I am by no means an expert author or editor.e.e
Aight, well I should probably get to the prompt.
The tea in my hand is warm. It's not as warm as it was five minutes ago, but it's warm.
I'm not really focused on drinking right now. It makes my throat itch, for one. It also tastes bad. I really only took the stupid stuff in the first place because my girlfriend's obsessed with it.
I love her to death, but... I wish she'd stop making me this awful green tea. Every time I come over, she makes it, and I don't have the heart to tell her I don't like it. So I take a few sips every now and again, pour the rest in the kitchen sink when she isn't looking, and smile pleasantly when she asks how it is.
Although, I guess it is kind of a good thing. It's a good excuse to sit close to her, to talk to her about meaningless things like the weather.
The reason I came here today is because her great grandpa's Grandfather clock is "broken" again. My dad's a watchmaker; Naturally, I know a thing or two about clocks. I set my tea down on the coffee table and walk across the living room to open the clock.
It "breaks" at least once every other week. I really just don't fix it all the way. When it "breaks" again, I'm able to come back over to "fix" it again.
I come over; drink awful green tea; work with a beautiful, ages-old clock; and get to snuggle up with the girl of my dreams.
I guess I don't mind having an itchy throat so much. Maybe I should try another sip.
YOUR PROMPT IS......
*drumroll*
*cymbal crash!*
The world's currency is stories. The better able to weave a tale you are, the richer you become.
7/10. You put a lot of feeling into a very short piece, an excellent use of "show, don't tell" - but I'm not entirely sure what, exactly, you're trying to show. I imagine that it is simply how much this person loves his girlfriend, that he does what he can to have time to just enjoy with her; however, when he mentions that he never fully fixes it to create an excuse to spend time with her, it starts to seem a little creepy - as if she won't spend time with him if he simply asks, so he has to set it up.
Note: This story has been edited for typos after judgement.
The pen flew to the wall hard enough that the tip embedded into the chipping drywall. A tightly crumpled wad of paper followed soon after it, knocking the pen loose. As it clattered to the floor, Albert buried his face in his hands.
There had been a time when he could have anything he desired, whenever he wanted; a time when he need only open his mouth and the words flowed, vivid tales falling from his lips in exchange for all he needed. His stories were so loved that, rather than leaving it entirely to his memory, he had began writing them down. As he wrote them, he had expanded them, and memorized each to exchange for food, housing, entertainment, finery!
But now, all his tales were known and had ceased to carry any value. He struggled to come up with something new, but only found himself repeating the same stories with only cosmetic alterations. The recycled words always rang hollow. His wife could still spin yarns to keep them going, but Albert's frustration had taken a toll on her, as well. How were they to help their daughter learn to tell great tales to live on if they were running so dry themselves?
"Daddy?"
Albert sighed, put on a smile, and turned toward the small voice. His daughter stood with a paper in one hand and a crayon in the other, and the concern written across her face dug deep.
"What is it, sweetie?" he asked, waving for her to come over. Her little feet padded quickly across the floor, and he lifted the child up onto his lap.
"I been tryin' ta help, daddy," the girl said with a little pout, offering over the paper. "I been tryin' ta write, but I'm stuck."
He wasn't sure whether to be proud that she was already trying when she still had trouble spelling even basic words, or guilty that she felt she had to. Albert took the paper anyway. Words were scrawled across it in green crayon, misspelled and many of the letters misshapen. What little story there was lacked any complexity, and everything was bluntly stated as it was. There was no real plot, either, but only a series of unrelated events. The whole thing was hardly worth a stick of gum.
Albert opened his mouth to explain all of these problems, but upon looking into his daughter's eyes once again and remembering why she was writing it in the fist place, his mouth went dry. It was from her imagination, from her heart, and he could not bear to tell her how terrible it was.
And, as he thought about it more, he realized that there was no need to.
"You have a lovely story here, sweetie!" Albert said, this time with a real smile. "And I think you only have one thing missing."
"Wassat?" she asked, eyes widening with a mixture of hopeful curiosity and a little shame.
"Well, you have Bear going on such an exciting adventure, but he's still the same Bear at the end."
"Huh?"
"If you went on adventures like that, do you think you'd be the same girl? You'd have all those new experiences and friends. What do you think you'd learn along the way?" He handed back her paper, set her back on the floor, and ruffled her hair. "Think about that, and I think you'll be able to finish your story."
She stared at him a moment, then smiled and ran off to her room. Albert smiled after her and sighed, then looked over to the pen and ball of paper on the floor. He leaned back in his chair, closed he eyes, and took a breath.
"Once upon a time, there was a little princess with a heart of gold..."
Prompt: A dying fire.
Note: This story has been edited for typos after judgement.
The pen flew to the wall hard enough that the tip embedded into the chipping drywall. A tightly crumpled wad of paper followed soon after it, knocking the pen loose. As it clattered to the floor, Albert buried his face in his hands.
There had been a time when he could have anything he desired, whenever he wanted; a time when he need only open his mouth and the words flowed, vivid tales falling from his lips in exchange for all he needed. His stories were so loved that, rather than leaving it entirely to his memory, he had began writing them down. As he wrote them, he had expanded them, and memorized each to exchange for food, housing, entertainment, finery!
But now, all his tales were known and had ceased to carry any value. He struggled to come up with something new, but only found himself repeating the same stories with only cosmetic alterations. The recycled words always rang hollow. His wife could still spin yarns to keep them going, but Albert's frustration had taken a toll on her, as well. How were they to help their daughter learn to tell great tales to live on if they were running so dry themselves?
"Daddy?"
Albert sighed, put on a smile, and turned toward the small voice. His daughter stood with a paper in one hand and a crayon in the other, and the concern written across her face dug deep.
"What is it, sweetie?" he asked, waving for her to come over. Her little feet padded quickly across the floor, and he lifted the child up onto his lap.
"I been tryin' ta help, daddy," the girl said with a little pout, offering over the paper. "I been tryin' ta write, but I'm stuck."
He wasn't sure whether to be proud that she was already trying when she still had trouble spelling even basic words, or guilty that she felt she had to. Albert took the paper anyway. Words were scrawled across it in green crayon, misspelled and many of the letters misshapen. What little story there was lacked any complexity, and everything was bluntly stated as it was. There was no real plot, either, but only a series of unrelated events. The whole thing was hardly worth a stick of gum.
Albert opened his mouth to explain all of these problems, but upon looking into his daughter's eyes once again and remembering why she was writing it in the fist place, his mouth went dry. It was from her imagination, from her heart, and he could not bear to tell her how terrible it was.
And, as he thought about it more, he realized that there was no need to.
"You have a lovely story here, sweetie!" Albert said, this time with a real smile. "And I think you only have one thing missing."
"Wassat?" she asked, eyes widening with a mixture of hopeful curiosity and a little shame.
"Well, you have Bear going on such an exciting adventure, but he's still the same Bear at the end."
"Huh?"
"If you went on adventures like that, do you think you'd be the same girl? You'd have all those new experiences and friends. What do you think you'd learn along the way?" He handed back her paper, set her back on the floor, and ruffled her hair. "Think about that, and I think you'll be able to finish your story."
She stared at him a moment, then smiled and ran off to her room. Albert smiled after her and sighed, then looked over to the pen and ball of paper on the floor. He leaned back in his chair, closed he eyes, and took a breath.
"Once upon a time, there was a little princess with a heart of gold..."
Prompt: A dying fire.
i give that a solid 10, being of someone with simple taste i found that prompt hard so i waited for someone else's. The concept was great i loved the idea of a young girl trying to hep her parent in what small ways she can and how those small ways can help make a big difference. I'm terrible at rating mostly cuz i'm not a perfect writer and find it hard to rate others when they're as good as that
9th September 2011, lakeside at the Albert lake
"Dude, it's gunna be hella fun, us 3 guys and 3 other girls and tons a booze!" Stan said wrapping his right arm around my shoulder.
"It is gunna be fun, without me you'd do something ridiculous, admit it. You want me to take care of ya"
"... Erh" Stanley ran his hand through his hair and avoided eye contact with me.
"Brothers for life right" I said chuckling then bumping his shoulder
"Brothers for life" he repeated locking fists with me, a smile gracing his lips.
We got closer to the camp site and we could hear girls talking amongst each other "ladies!" Stan said as we arrived at the camp "we have arrived" his arms out wide before he grabbed two beers from Jamie who was handing out the drinks and handed me one. He popped his open, I did the same
"To a bloody good night" he said raising his bottle a little above his head
"amen" I replied taking a seat next Kayty.
"Hey"
"Hey" she replied turning from the fire facing me, I did the same "I don't remember you, my name's Kayty" she said holding out her hand for a shake
"Declan" shaking her hand, a few hours and drinks later we both crashed in a tent at the camp.
The fire eventually burnt out
"hey" her soft voice was calming in the morning as she twiddled my hair between her index finger and thumb... Right then, I knew she was the one.
7th February 2012, lakeside at the Albert lake.
I was opposite her, throwing wood into the fire trying to keep it going. It was obvious from her eyes she was lost in thought but her gorgeous smile got bigger as she sat there.
"Hey babe? Whatcha smiling about?" I asked sitting on the soft soil in front of her purposely breaking her gaze.
"Just, uh, thinking" smiling at me as she took my hand. With a soft grip she stroked the back of it gently with her thumb.
The others went looking for more wood, which gave us some time to ourselves.
I sat up on the log next to her, the warm fire crackling quietly with tiny embers falling to the charred soil "it's almost been a year but it feels like it's been longer" she nodded and looked up into my eyes.
"Uh huh"
My left hand gently resting on her cheek "here we first met, drinking, laughing, talking and it's been going on for months since. I wouldn't trade this here, or you for anything in the world" a tear escaping her eye as the memories came rushing back.
I took her left hand with both of mine and got down on one knee, the others, Jaime, Stanley, Ashley and jade all slowly emerged from the dark trees. Each of them holding a candle and circled the fire "ever since I woke up next to you in that tent. Nothing has ever felt so right. You were everything I was looking for and never once have I looked back because, all I can think about is our future. Babe..." I reached into my left pocket and pulled out a small red velvet box "will you spend you life with me?" A beautiful diamond ring sitting inside the slot of the box.
"Oh my... Yes!" Tears streaming down her face, her smile was so big and radiant.
I remember the stars that night, they were so bright It felt like I could touch them...
The fire continued to burn into the night until all it's fuel ran out.
April 2019 we brought our kids back to the lakeside camp, the ground was still charred and the air was fresh with old memories. Sam and Danny loved it and so will their girlfriends and wives
December 2030, Albert lake, campside.
Danny brought his girlfriend to the camping trip, the boy was 18 but he got his looks from his old man, me.
We ended up reminiscing and Kayty couldn't stop smiling when we were there, she felt young going to the Albert lake
The fire was as bright as it had always been, the embers slowly floated to the ground.
January 2037
... Tumor... On the left side of Kayty's brain... My heart...
We both talked and talked but we only had the camp to help us accept it. It felt like a dagger had been put through my heart. Her tears didn't stop and my heart was about give out. She needed me and I vowed to protect her... To love her... In sickness... And in health...
The flames weren't as bright as they'd been... Even the flames of the campfire were feeling our pain...
March 2037
Now, here I sit... Looking at the photos we took in this very camp. I promised you I'd love you forever and I will never break it. The fire burnt away slowly as my tears fell on these pictures. I chuckled at the funny ones with a heartbreak... Frowned at the sad ones with a heartbreak and now, as I look deeply into the dying fire I can't help but to see your smile...
When the fire gave in... So did I...
[*] Prompt: Clown cars and the great canyon
9th September 2011, lakeside at the Albert lake
"Dude, it's gunna be hella fun, us 3 guys and 3 other girls and tons a booze!" Stan said wrapping his right arm around my shoulder.
"It is gunna be fun, without me you'd do something ridiculous, admit it. You want me to take care of ya"
"... Erh" Stanley ran his hand through his hair and avoided eye contact with me.
"Brothers for life right" I said chuckling then bumping his shoulder
"Brothers for life" he repeated locking fists with me, a smile gracing his lips.
We got closer to the camp site and we could hear girls talking amongst each other "ladies!" Stan said as we arrived at the camp "we have arrived" his arms out wide before he grabbed two beers from Jamie who was handing out the drinks and handed me one. He popped his open, I did the same
"To a bloody good night" he said raising his bottle a little above his head
"amen" I replied taking a seat next Kayty.
"Hey"
"Hey" she replied turning from the fire facing me, I did the same "I don't remember you, my name's Kayty" she said holding out her hand for a shake
"Declan" shaking her hand, a few hours and drinks later we both crashed in a tent at the camp.
The fire eventually burnt out
"hey" her soft voice was calming in the morning as she twiddled my hair between her index finger and thumb... Right then, I knew she was the one.
7th February 2012, lakeside at the Albert lake.
I was opposite her, throwing wood into the fire trying to keep it going. It was obvious from her eyes she was lost in thought but her gorgeous smile got bigger as she sat there.
"Hey babe? Whatcha smiling about?" I asked sitting on the soft soil in front of her purposely breaking her gaze.
"Just, uh, thinking" smiling at me as she took my hand. With a soft grip she stroked the back of it gently with her thumb.
The others went looking for more wood, which gave us some time to ourselves.
I sat up on the log next to her, the warm fire crackling quietly with tiny embers falling to the charred soil "it's almost been a year but it feels like it's been longer" she nodded and looked up into my eyes.
"Uh huh"
My left hand gently resting on her cheek "here we first met, drinking, laughing, talking and it's been going on for months since. I wouldn't trade this here, or you for anything in the world" a tear escaping her eye as the memories came rushing back.
I took her left hand with both of mine and got down on one knee, the others, Jaime, Stanley, Ashley and jade all slowly emerged from the dark trees. Each of them holding a candle and circled the fire "ever since I woke up next to you in that tent. Nothing has ever felt so right. You were everything I was looking for and never once have I looked back because, all I can think about is our future. Babe..." I reached into my left pocket and pulled out a small red velvet box "will you spend you life with me?" A beautiful diamond ring sitting inside the slot of the box.
"Oh my... Yes!" Tears streaming down her face, her smile was so big and radiant.
I remember the stars that night, they were so bright It felt like I could touch them...
The fire continued to burn into the night until all it's fuel ran out.
April 2019 we brought our kids back to the lakeside camp, the ground was still charred and the air was fresh with old memories. Sam and Danny loved it and so will their girlfriends and wives
December 2030, Albert lake, campside.
Danny brought his girlfriend to the camping trip, the boy was 18 but he got his looks from his old man, me.
We ended up reminiscing and Kayty couldn't stop smiling when we were there, she felt young going to the Albert lake
The fire was as bright as it had always been, the embers slowly floated to the ground.
January 2037
... Tumor... On the left side of Kayty's brain... My heart...
We both talked and talked but we only had the camp to help us accept it. It felt like a dagger had been put through my heart. Her tears didn't stop and my heart was about give out. She needed me and I vowed to protect her... To love her... In sickness... And in health...
The flames weren't as bright as they'd been... Even the flames of the campfire were feeling our pain...
March 2037
Now, here I sit... Looking at the photos we took in this very camp. I promised you I'd love you forever and I will never break it. The fire burnt away slowly as my tears fell on these pictures. I chuckled at the funny ones with a heartbreak... Frowned at the sad ones with a heartbreak and now, as I look deeply into the dying fire I can't help but to see your smile...
When the fire gave in... So did I...
[*] Prompt: Clown cars and the great canyon
5/10 (mind you, I count that as "average," not as "bad"). It's really just the technical aspects dragging this down - missing punctuation, forgotten caps, run-on sentences... If you really want, I could go through it more thoroughly to point things out, but it's basically just a lot of the same mistakes. The story itself is sweet, and I thought it was clever how you managed to pull each close over a campfire at the same place. It probably could have been focused on that location even more to strengthen the ties, but it's still well done. 
And now on to your prompt, you [insert bad word here]!
It can be tricky to find a time when a national park can be reasonably empty, and trickier to be able to get in during those times since it usually means the park is closed. We did it, though - we got into the north rim of the Grand Canyon during its off season. Since we didn't feel like going in the middle of the winter, "off" really only meant no over-night campers, but hey, take what you can get, right?
After we'd unloaded and set up, I took a moment to breathe it all in. The air was crisp and cool, and the enormous crags cutting into the earth descended away into darkness. The stars shone bright overhead - trillions, I swear! It was like someone had taken finely-powdered glitter and tossed it across blue-black velvet. I closed my eyes and wondered, who had stood here before me? Natives? Pioneers? What great men might have been among them?
I opened my eyes and smile. I was ready.
"Pull!"
Rather than skeet, a small clown car, derelict from a bygone circus, was catapulted into the air. I watched its arc, aimed, and hurled the dynamite hard as I could. It successfully made it into a busted window just before exploding, sending rusted parts flying everywhere with a flash of light and a massive BOOM!
"Hell yeah!" I shouted with glee. It was drowned out in the hoots and hollers from the others, though.
"Hey! Hey!" I called to get their attention back. "Hey, who's next? I betcha none 'a y'all c'n beat that!"
Prompt: Flying for the first time.
And now on to your prompt, you [insert bad word here]!
It can be tricky to find a time when a national park can be reasonably empty, and trickier to be able to get in during those times since it usually means the park is closed. We did it, though - we got into the north rim of the Grand Canyon during its off season. Since we didn't feel like going in the middle of the winter, "off" really only meant no over-night campers, but hey, take what you can get, right?
After we'd unloaded and set up, I took a moment to breathe it all in. The air was crisp and cool, and the enormous crags cutting into the earth descended away into darkness. The stars shone bright overhead - trillions, I swear! It was like someone had taken finely-powdered glitter and tossed it across blue-black velvet. I closed my eyes and wondered, who had stood here before me? Natives? Pioneers? What great men might have been among them?
I opened my eyes and smile. I was ready.
"Pull!"
Rather than skeet, a small clown car, derelict from a bygone circus, was catapulted into the air. I watched its arc, aimed, and hurled the dynamite hard as I could. It successfully made it into a busted window just before exploding, sending rusted parts flying everywhere with a flash of light and a massive BOOM!
"Hell yeah!" I shouted with glee. It was drowned out in the hoots and hollers from the others, though.
"Hey! Hey!" I called to get their attention back. "Hey, who's next? I betcha none 'a y'all c'n beat that!"
Prompt: Flying for the first time.
Heh, well, that was interesting. I honestly can't find a reason to be a 'tough critic' or anything, and I'm not, I'm probably the easiest pleased person in the world, so, 10/10. I like how you worked with what you had. Also, who doesn't like something that ends with a bang?
However, I do like your prompt, it relates to me in a way.
I can see the ground from my window, the car was slanted downward. I've never been on any amusement rides, I knew this wouldn't be like one. All I could do was hope that it wasn't as frightening as it seemed. I heard someone yelling outside my window, and I put my headset on.
With my headset on, all I could hear was the sound of the catapult underneath me. It propelled me forward and an unsettling pace, making my headphones slip off my ears and hit the floor. I felt my stomach lurch as The car tipped forward, showing me the bottom of the Grand Canyon. It was a sight to behold, but one I wouldn't marvel at for too long. For when I heard a faint thump in the back of this small car, I whipped my head around to see a couple sticks of dynamite latched together.
But I was too slow.
Okay, well, that one was just for fun. It's also what you get when I write something at 5 AM.
Heheheh... I'm insane.
Here's the REAL submission...
My sister and I were in a hanger standing by the right side of an airplane with one large propeller at the front. We had just gone through pre-flight inspections, learning everything you need to remember to check before the flight. We were in the middle of learning the correct way to push the plane out of the hangar without hurting it or yourselves.
I had been feeling conflicted about this day for a while now. I had flown once before, and I remembered it felt amazing when I was in the air with my father as he learned more about how to pilot from the man in the seat beside him. However, all that was a long time ago, and I had no idea what It'd feel like to fly a plane this time.
Needless to say, I had butterflies in my stomach the whole time. I felt as if I wanted to try, but didn't feel up to it. I had never been a fan of amusement parks, and had mixed feelings about riding roller coasters up to that point, and I knew it wouldn't be like that. But somewhere inside my head I had the ridiculous feeling that it would feel like that.
Was I afraid of heights? Or was I afraid of feeling something different? I don't know now, but I feel like a moron for ever over-thinking those possibilities in an attempt to console myself before the actual flight.
I took the backseat and let my sister be in the pilot seat with the pilot for the first half of our flight. I knew I would have to be in a pilot seat sooner or later that day. The real question to myself was however: could I make it off the ground?
My memory blurs as I strain to remember what happened as we entered the aircraft. It was small inside, but it looked more cramped for the ones in the front. The leg space didn't seem like much of an issue in the back though. Once we'd all entered our seats and strapped belts on, we were ready to begin more prep.
After what felt like 10 minutes of talking through the headsets to a control station of some sort, we were on the move. It wasn't as lurch-y as I'd originally expected it to be, although it did feel slightly bumpy. I stared down towards the seat in front of me as we moved faster, getting up to the point where...
We lifted off, and I didn't feel a thing. There were no horrible stomach feelings, and I didn't feel like I needed to barf. I looked out the window, and we were a fair ways off the ground, stretching further, and further away from the runway. Soon, I could see the world; the day was beautiful, too. No clouds in the sky, and you could see way off into the distance if you looked hard enough in one direction.
When I looked down, I could see the city below us, the city I lived in. The feeling of seeing things from that far in the air was staggering. I couldn't help but grin stupidly as we rose higher and were at a level where you could see what seemed like everything. I turned my attention back to the front, with the pilot informing my sister that she could pilot the plane now, telling her which direction to go as well as giving her tips along the way.
I had worried about her; she was always so hard for me to read. I had asked her many times before about what she felt about learning to fly a plane. Her replies varied from "I don't know," to "I'm not sure," comments. I was unsure if she was frightened to fly, or if she could take it. If she felt any of what I felt beforehand with that feeling in your stomach. Not a physical feeling, the type of feeling you think it's there, so it is. That feeling is well described as, "butterflies".
I took pictures with the camera my mom had given me beforehand; I wasn't sure I was going to use it until I found flying so appealing. We flew to another landing point, in which my sister and I switched places. This was the point I had worried so idiotically about for the past week. My sister said her stomach didn't feel good. She didn't take pictures once we were back up in the air, she held her head between her knees so she wouldn't feel like she needed to puke.
I don't think it was because she didn't like flying, it was mainly because it was her who was flying the plane. Her stomach must not have felt good beforehand either, I'd never seen her get like that without good reason. I'd be willing to bet that none of the turns I did made her feel any better.
Up front had more room than I had first perceived, it seemed spacious to me. I found the view hard to adjust to because I felt I couldn't see where I was going. Maybe it's because I was shorter then than I am now, or the seat was too low. To make the flying simpler, the pilot teaching me said that really all the fingers of my hand I needed to pilot this plane were two fingers and a thumb. He said that to show how easy it is to pilot a turn, and to relieve some stress or anxiety I may have had while piloting.
I learned of the pedals I could also use to turn the plane, even if I didn't feel like using those too much for my sister's sake. It all seems like a distant memory now, I haven't been on a plane since, I wish I had been, though. I want to repeat that feeling in the air, above my home in the Earth's beautiful sky again. What had been my first impression of what it's like to fly a plane made me realize that over-thinking about something before you even do it could ruin an experience you haven't had yet.
After a speedy blur of minutes, we made it back to our original starting point. The pilot had landed the plane, and I emerged with a wide grin on my face, looking toward my parents. They had emerged from our van to greet us when we got back from the flight.
And of course, they took lots of pictures.
Okay, I'm pretty relieved that this came out the way it did for writing this out from 5-6AM. Yay. The ending line bugs me, though; sentences aren't supposed to start with 'and'! Ugh.
Anywhooo... I should probably think up a prompt now. Along with reread my story to get some quirks out, time to smooth over the rough draft.
(Sorry, dunno what I was thinking at all- if I was even thinking -when I wrote that last prompt. Here's a more serious one.)
Okay, here's your Prompt: Someone just broke into your house!
Or: You run a small shop, but business is low, so you try to boost it's popularity with your own ideas.
Time to shut down, bye all!
However, I do like your prompt, it relates to me in a way.
I can see the ground from my window, the car was slanted downward. I've never been on any amusement rides, I knew this wouldn't be like one. All I could do was hope that it wasn't as frightening as it seemed. I heard someone yelling outside my window, and I put my headset on.
With my headset on, all I could hear was the sound of the catapult underneath me. It propelled me forward and an unsettling pace, making my headphones slip off my ears and hit the floor. I felt my stomach lurch as The car tipped forward, showing me the bottom of the Grand Canyon. It was a sight to behold, but one I wouldn't marvel at for too long. For when I heard a faint thump in the back of this small car, I whipped my head around to see a couple sticks of dynamite latched together.
But I was too slow.
Okay, well, that one was just for fun. It's also what you get when I write something at 5 AM.
Heheheh... I'm insane.
Here's the REAL submission...
My sister and I were in a hanger standing by the right side of an airplane with one large propeller at the front. We had just gone through pre-flight inspections, learning everything you need to remember to check before the flight. We were in the middle of learning the correct way to push the plane out of the hangar without hurting it or yourselves.
I had been feeling conflicted about this day for a while now. I had flown once before, and I remembered it felt amazing when I was in the air with my father as he learned more about how to pilot from the man in the seat beside him. However, all that was a long time ago, and I had no idea what It'd feel like to fly a plane this time.
Needless to say, I had butterflies in my stomach the whole time. I felt as if I wanted to try, but didn't feel up to it. I had never been a fan of amusement parks, and had mixed feelings about riding roller coasters up to that point, and I knew it wouldn't be like that. But somewhere inside my head I had the ridiculous feeling that it would feel like that.
Was I afraid of heights? Or was I afraid of feeling something different? I don't know now, but I feel like a moron for ever over-thinking those possibilities in an attempt to console myself before the actual flight.
I took the backseat and let my sister be in the pilot seat with the pilot for the first half of our flight. I knew I would have to be in a pilot seat sooner or later that day. The real question to myself was however: could I make it off the ground?
My memory blurs as I strain to remember what happened as we entered the aircraft. It was small inside, but it looked more cramped for the ones in the front. The leg space didn't seem like much of an issue in the back though. Once we'd all entered our seats and strapped belts on, we were ready to begin more prep.
After what felt like 10 minutes of talking through the headsets to a control station of some sort, we were on the move. It wasn't as lurch-y as I'd originally expected it to be, although it did feel slightly bumpy. I stared down towards the seat in front of me as we moved faster, getting up to the point where...
We lifted off, and I didn't feel a thing. There were no horrible stomach feelings, and I didn't feel like I needed to barf. I looked out the window, and we were a fair ways off the ground, stretching further, and further away from the runway. Soon, I could see the world; the day was beautiful, too. No clouds in the sky, and you could see way off into the distance if you looked hard enough in one direction.
When I looked down, I could see the city below us, the city I lived in. The feeling of seeing things from that far in the air was staggering. I couldn't help but grin stupidly as we rose higher and were at a level where you could see what seemed like everything. I turned my attention back to the front, with the pilot informing my sister that she could pilot the plane now, telling her which direction to go as well as giving her tips along the way.
I had worried about her; she was always so hard for me to read. I had asked her many times before about what she felt about learning to fly a plane. Her replies varied from "I don't know," to "I'm not sure," comments. I was unsure if she was frightened to fly, or if she could take it. If she felt any of what I felt beforehand with that feeling in your stomach. Not a physical feeling, the type of feeling you think it's there, so it is. That feeling is well described as, "butterflies".
I took pictures with the camera my mom had given me beforehand; I wasn't sure I was going to use it until I found flying so appealing. We flew to another landing point, in which my sister and I switched places. This was the point I had worried so idiotically about for the past week. My sister said her stomach didn't feel good. She didn't take pictures once we were back up in the air, she held her head between her knees so she wouldn't feel like she needed to puke.
I don't think it was because she didn't like flying, it was mainly because it was her who was flying the plane. Her stomach must not have felt good beforehand either, I'd never seen her get like that without good reason. I'd be willing to bet that none of the turns I did made her feel any better.
Up front had more room than I had first perceived, it seemed spacious to me. I found the view hard to adjust to because I felt I couldn't see where I was going. Maybe it's because I was shorter then than I am now, or the seat was too low. To make the flying simpler, the pilot teaching me said that really all the fingers of my hand I needed to pilot this plane were two fingers and a thumb. He said that to show how easy it is to pilot a turn, and to relieve some stress or anxiety I may have had while piloting.
I learned of the pedals I could also use to turn the plane, even if I didn't feel like using those too much for my sister's sake. It all seems like a distant memory now, I haven't been on a plane since, I wish I had been, though. I want to repeat that feeling in the air, above my home in the Earth's beautiful sky again. What had been my first impression of what it's like to fly a plane made me realize that over-thinking about something before you even do it could ruin an experience you haven't had yet.
After a speedy blur of minutes, we made it back to our original starting point. The pilot had landed the plane, and I emerged with a wide grin on my face, looking toward my parents. They had emerged from our van to greet us when we got back from the flight.
And of course, they took lots of pictures.
Okay, I'm pretty relieved that this came out the way it did for writing this out from 5-6AM. Yay. The ending line bugs me, though; sentences aren't supposed to start with 'and'! Ugh.
Anywhooo... I should probably think up a prompt now. Along with reread my story to get some quirks out, time to smooth over the rough draft.
(Sorry, dunno what I was thinking at all- if I was even thinking -when I wrote that last prompt. Here's a more serious one.)
Okay, here's your Prompt: Someone just broke into your house!
Or: You run a small shop, but business is low, so you try to boost it's popularity with your own ideas.
Time to shut down, bye all!
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