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68642 No.303   [Delete]   [Edit

Alright, so I didn't really think all that much about it and ended up bumping a thread with massive-old information.

So here's just a thread that's all me, hon. You know you want this.

Genres: Humor/Satire, Dramedy, Social Realism, Urban Fantasy - Surrealism/Magical Realism
Link: http://anondesu.deviantart.com
Notes: Dialogue-heavy, character driven short-fic's the game. Talking about myself too much without any prodding just feels wrong, so I'll let y'all decide what's what instead. All three of you who use this board.

Pic unrelated.

>> No.304   [Delete]   [Edit]
File: 1299837569625.jpg -(235.8 KiB, 666x848) Thumbnail displayed, click image for full size.

"Excuse me," I ducked under the busstop. "You do know the bus doesn't run this late, right?"

The girl standing there turned to look at me. She was wearing a bright yellow raincoat with equally bright purple galoshes, and kept her umbrella open despite having the busstop's roof to keep her dry.

"Really?" She tried to check her watch, but didn't seem to have that much luck in pulling her sleeve back with the giant plastic bag in her hand and the giant purple umbrella in her other. I checked mine for her.

"Not down here, at least. The closest line still running is over on Fifth and Market." I took a second to warm my hands. "That's like a good thirty minute walk."

It was really coming down. It'd been raining for three days now, and it didn't look like it was going to let up any time soon.

"In this weather?" She made a face that looked like she was thinking extra hard, but didn't really like the fact that she had to.

"Did you need to get somewhere?" I asked.

"Just home," she said. "Not that I have to, it'd just be nicer than standing out here."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," I said. "I'm parked in the structure over at the LV, did you need a ride?"

"My mommy said to never ride with strangers."

I looked at her for a second. I knew she was joking, but I couldn't think of a witty reply to that.

"Unless you had some candy to give me if I helped you find your lost dog," she laughed.

Yeah, that'd work.

She leaned out of the busstop and looked down the street, just to make sure the bus really wasn't coming. The rain caught her umbrella as soon as it left cover. It looked like it caught her off-guard for a second before she could hold on tighter. She shuffled her feet to find to balance, then turned to me.

"So, you coming, or do I have to find your car for you?"

"I dunno," I said. "I don't have the cash to pay tip."

She looked at me for a second. I don't know if the joke was too opaque, or if she was just stuck in the same situation I was.

"Like you're a valet," I said.

"Oh!" She half-laughed. Mostly out of politeness.

"It's...sorry," I decided to admire the metalwork on the bench instead. I don't think I've ever seen anybody sit down on this. Probably because it'd collapse under the weight of any decently sized human being. "That was a terrible joke."

"Well, it wasn't that terrible," she said. "What are you, the PR guy for Terrible Joke, Inc?"


"See? That's a terrible joke."

"That's not even a joke," I said, trying to find words that would work. "That's...that's just, you know. Not a joke."

"Exactly," she said. "Terrible. So are we going?" She held her umbrella out for me.

"I'm fine," I said. "It's just water."

"What about your bag?"

"What about yours?"

"It can fit. See?" She demonstrated her uncanny ability to keep her arm under an umbrella. And her twice as uncanny ability to make everything I said sound stupid.

"You've got a laptop in there, right?" She pointed. "Nobody's backpack has a bulge like that unless they're carrying a laptop."

"A laptop and some very expensive textbooks, yes."

"And you walked this far without an umbrella?"

"I was walking fast," I said. I tried to shrug it off, but it seemed hard to do with a girl half my size lecturing me.

"What, so you can dodge rain? I'm a black belt in judo and even I can't dodge rain," she said. She didn't look the part.

"See, there's your problem," I said. "You should've studied wushu."

She laughed. "So are you coming or not?"

"Maybe you should just let me hold the umbrella," I said. It came up to about my eyes.

"What, and risk you stealing it? Not happening."

"No, look," I said. "It comes up to my eyes. I'm not going to be-"

She raised her arm as high as it would go, half-pouting so I would notice how much effort that took. No point in arguing. We started walking.

"What are you doing out here so late anyway?"

"Killing a few dudes," she said. "I'm a hitman. You?"

"Something a lot less exciting than that," I said. I figured it was better to come up with an answer on time than to come up with a witty reply ten seconds later. Especially only to figure out that your reply was less witty and more mind-numbingly stupid instead.

"Oh, come on. I'm sure it was something cool."

"Not really."

"Tell me."

"It's nothing."

"Come on."

"Why do you care?"

She didn't respond for a second. "Nevermind, jeez. Don't be so defensive."

"Sorry," I muttered. "I didn't mean it like that. It just came out that way, you know?"

"Uh-huh," she said.

Aaaaaaaand I just managed to kill another conversation. Amazing. I think I deserve an award for this one. I had to try pretty hard to do that. Any answer at all would've sufficed. Even the truth. Especially the truth. It's not like there's anything to be ashamed of about staying late to finish a paper.

"You don't live near campus?" She asked.

"Can't afford it," I said.

She didn't say anything.

"Uh, I like your raincoat," I said. That didn't sound creepy or anything.

"Really?" She almost ended up stabbing me in the eye with the little pointy bits on the end of her umbrella as she spun around. Fortunately, fifteen years of wushu training gave me the super-human reflexes needed to block it with my face. Why is the under side of an umbrella wet? "Oh, god! Sorry! Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I said. "Fortunately, fifteen years of wushu training gave me the super-human reflexes needed to block that with my face." It was such a good line I had to use it twice.

"Aw, I'm sorry, Sensei," she laughed. "Here, lemme wipe that off for you." She didn't manage to do very well with the bag in her hand. I stooped over for her anyway.

"Anyway," she said. "I got this when I visited Seoul last March. Do you know how much it rains over there?"

"Not really," I said.

"It rains like, every day. Like, every single day. And it never rains here, right? So I didn't have any clothes for that, so I figure, 'Hey, I'll go down to that little shop downstairs and buy an umbrella.' And then next thing I know I'm walking back upstairs with this whole outfit."

"I see."

"Yeah, and you know what the best part is? It stopped raining the next day. It didn't rain again the whole time I was there. I've been holding onto this and just waiting for it to rain. So I've pretty much just worn this for the last three days. I mean, like, this morning, I was like, 'I'm wearing this again? People are going to think I'm gross or something and wear the same things everyday,' but then I figure, 'Hey, nobody sees me twice a week anyway. And it's not like I'm wearing the same clothes underneath.' You get a free pass for wearing the same jacket a couple times in a row, right?"

"Uh, I guess."

"I'm totally not wearing the same thing underneath," she said, just to make sure I got that.

I sorta laughed. Mostly because I didn't have any idea what to say to that.


"Huh what?"

"It stopped raining."

We stopped for a second to watch the rain let up.

"I can see the stars."

[Pic by http://neon-sumo.deviantart.com
Original at http://fav.me/d3b626a]

Last edited 11/03/23(Wed)01:41.

>> No.305   [Delete]   [Edit]

liking it so far, please continue!

>> No.306   [Delete]   [Edit]
File: 1300858611836.jpg -(50.0 KiB, 355x500) Thumbnail displayed, click image for full size.


[It's not a serial :< So here's this instead.
Should I post some of my older stuff from time to time while I whip up new stuff?]

This here's the story all about how
Some dope ass G came to run this town
Now I'd like to take a minute and tell you 'bout this bro
Who lived in ancient China and went by the name Li Po.

In Gansu born, and Sichuan raised,
Learnin' swordplay was how he spent most of his days.
Slashin' shit, stabbin' shit, parryin' all cool,
Stickin' his shank up in a coupla fools.

So the Governor of Su Ting decided to give him a job,
And Li Po, man, he was like, "Shit, bro, no prob."
So he went to the capital to take some exams.
And he studied and studied and he crammed and he crammed.

But he took one look at them, and he said, "Homie, what this sheet?
"I'm already droppin' dope rhymes and sicknasty beats.
"Man, I don't need no mo'fuckin' exams.
I ain't just some poet, I'm a mo'fuckin' man.

So he kicked open a door and flipped everyone the bird.
And he said, "You fuckers can't even stand up to my words.
"Grab a mic next to me and I'll shut yo' ass down.
"You hear me, motherfuckers? I fuckin' run this town."

So he wandered around, droppin' his beats.
When the Emperor heard of his amazing-as-fuck feats.
So he called him up, and said, "Bro, I hear you can spit."
And Li Po was like, "Fuck, nigs, I all over dat shit."

He threw a line here and he threw a line there,
And suddenly errone's hands was in the air.
The emperor applauded and called in his bitches,
'Cause he had nothin' better to do than to shower Li Po with riches.

So Li Po got a job up in the Far East Ritz,
Spent his days spittin' and getting hella blitzed.
But this sucka, he don't like how Li Po roll.
So he got his homies together and they toss his ass out in the cold.

"Man, fuck this shit," Li Po said, "I din't care anyway."
So he went back to partyin' all night and droppin' poems all day.
Then a guy named An Lushan decided he wun't takin' no more shit.
He rounded up his armies and say, "Fuck you, Emperor, I quit."

And Li Po was like, "Shit, why didn't I think of that?"
So he gets his ass in gear, and gets his shit packed.
And he gets hired as an advisor in no time flat.

But An gets his ass kicked like there ain't no tomorrow.
So Li goes on the run 'cause he knows his time is borrowed.
But he gets his ass captured, and they about to put him to death,
When his old homie Guo Ziyi shows up at the last minute like he been slingin' meth.

And he says, "Shit, guys. This man's a bro.
"Ain't no reason to kill him, ya know."
So everybody agrees on account of his sicknasty beats.
'Cause errone loved him; even the police.

Years later, Li Po retires to his deathbed and takes some jabs at his bros.
'Cause they couldn't even hope to compare with his flow.
He looked back on his life and he smiles and nods.
And then went down in the books as a fuckin' Taoist god.

[Original at http://fav.me/d3bqger ]

Last edited 11/03/23(Wed)01:41.

>> No.307   [Delete]   [Edit]
File: 1301560158757.jpg -(58.1 KiB, 500x333) Thumbnail displayed, click image for full size.

[Good to see we're back. Here's another story where nothing happens.]

"Does it get internet?"

"Uh, no."

"Can you get apps on it?"

"Dude, no, I've gone over this."

"So it can read books," Ray said, rubbing his hands together through his gloves. "That's it. You can't check Facebook with it. You can't watch porn with it. You can't even fucking play Angry Birds with it. You just read books."

"Uh, yeah," I said. "That's why it's called an eReader."

"Hey, I have a book. I have a lot of books. I can read books with those too. You know what else I can do with them? I can use them as coasters. Or frisbees. Fuck, I can wipe my ass with them if it came down to that."

"I never said it was a great gift or anything," I said. "I'm just saying I got one."

"Doesn't the 'e' mean it gets internet?" He said, ignoring me.

"E stands for electronic," I corrected him.

"That's stupid." He spit in the snow.

I rolled my fingers a few times just to make sure they hadn't fallen off yet. We scanned the treeline again. Nothing. I don't know what we were expecting by this point.

"How long has it been?"

"Shift's over in about half an hour," I said.

"No, I mean since this started."

"Almost a year now?" I said. I ran over the months in my head. February, March...April came after March, right? April, March...May... "Yeah, almost a year."

"And we've been in the fucking school for near a month now?"

"Something like that," I said.

The wind blew. We shivered.

"You know what really sucks about this?" Ray asked.


"Almost a year now and I haven't seen a single fucking zombie. This shit was supposed to be some Left 4 Dead shit, you know? This shit was supposed to be awesome."

I started to say something.

"No, no, stop. I know what you're going to say. That's some immature bullshit to be saying. Yeah, I know. But that's the thing." He stopped to shove his hands in his pockets. "At least if it were zombies, we could fight back. We could do something, you know? I'm fucking tired of hiding in the school, freezing my balls off and living off half a meal a day. See, when I graduated, alright, graduated's a bad word for it. Whatever they call it when you go to ninth grade, right?"

I nodded.

"Yeah, see, when that happened, I said to myself, 'This is the last time I'm going to have to set foot in this shithole.' And here I am now. We have perfectly good houses, but we don't have the fuel to be getting food to everybody in them and nobody's got the energy to make sure the pipes aren't freezing over, and just in case there are enough people between Toronto and Vancouver that zombies would be an actual fucking problem out here, we all have to live out of this fucking school."

He spit again.

"You know what the worst part is?"


"Every day, I get inside, and then I have to shit in a toilet built for a six year old. It's fucking bullshit."

"Wait," I brushed the snow off my arm. "You shit every day? Like, once a day?"

"Sometimes twice. These things are fucking tiny. Since when were kids this short? I mean, when we were in second grade, we weren't that short, right?"

"Isn't twice a lot or something? You might want to get that checked out."

"Dude, you're just constipated or something. Twice a day is normal."

"Whatever." I didn't come out here to discuss our shitting schedule.

"Anyway, so, twice a day on those things, right? That just kills your legs." He stretched, then fiddled with his gunstrap. "Like fucking a short chick. You ever fucked a short chick?"

"Have you?"


"Don't lie to me, Ray. If you fucked anybody, I'd be the first one to know."

"Alright, so I haven't. But that's what my brother said first time he came back from college."

He shrugged.

"Can you believe that? We're not going to get to do that. He goes off to college and he's just totally swimming in pussy. By the time we go to college, there's not going to be any pussy left. Cause they all gonna be eaten."

I shrugged at him, then went back to scanning the edge of town. Still nothing.

"It's cold as balls out here."

[Original at http://fav.me/d3cn8d1 ]

>> No.311   [Delete]   [Edit]

.... lol so random. This needs to be developed a bit more, and add a plot twist (everyone needs a twist). Overall, has potential to be great.

Must admit, I didn't read it, since I am annoyed by the TV show you parody. Can't keep from hearing the Opening run through my head.

>> No.317   [Delete]   [Edit]


Hah, CN Tower was meant to be a scene in a day, moreso than anything with a plot. I was more concerned with painting a picture than telling a story.

And Fresh Prince was our Happy Days, man. That show was legit :P

>> No.318   [Delete]   [Edit]
File: 1320690826606.jpg -(289.9 KiB, 960x1280) Thumbnail displayed, click image for full size.

[Birdget asked me to write something about a harpy, a little bird, and a window. This happened :V]

This is Ava's dream.

Every night, when Ava sleeps, she dreams of being a bird. Only not exactly a bird; closer to a harpy, but without the man-eating conotation, and not ugly, if you were using the later Greco-Roman tradition. Her whole body is still intact and rewound back to the days of her post-graduate diet and exercise regimen. So basically her, but with wings, and younger. So not a bird or harpy in any sense of those words.

For ninety to one-hundred twenty minutes out of her six to eight hours of sleep every night, she was a not-bird not-harpy younger winged Ava. For ninety to one-hundred twenty minutes every night, she was free.

A bird wakes her up. The bird, rather. It is the same bird that wakes her up every day. The same bird that was always on her windowsill. The same bird that would sit there and chirp at her every morning until she woke up.

This is Ava's alarm clock.

It is blue, for the most part. Blue head, blue wings, blue tail. Its chest is white. It definitely was not a city bird, she could tell, but Ava was never great at ornithology. In fact, she didn't even know what the word meant, despite taking a class in it for a quarter six years ago. In her defense, it was listed as Cultural and Societal Aspects of Birdwatching. It wasn't even about birds at all.

The bird chriped at her. It always chirped at her. Chirp, chirp, chirp. Wake up, Ava. It's morning. Wake up to your same old tired, boring life. Wake up to the same shit you slogged through yesterday, the same shit you will be slogging through today, and the same shit you will be slogging through for the forseeable future.

This is the world. Say hello.


Ava gets up. The bird has stopped chirping. She wanders into her kitchen and pours herself a bowl of cereal. The milk is expired. She learns this four and a half spoons in. She dumps the rest and washes the bowl. Her sink is always empty. She learned how to keep the roaches at bay her first week.

With the taste of expired milk in her mouth, Ava takes a shower. The water had three settings. Cold, Really Cold, and Off. She prefers Cold. Three minutes in, she realizes that she is out of shampoo. Halfway through her Cold shower, she has to jump out and search through her bag of spare hotel toiletries. It took her thirty-three seconds to find a bottle of shampoo. The bag is filled with conditioner. When she steps back in, she realizes that her soap sliver had washed down the drain. She doesn't bother to go back to the bag in search of another. Half of her still feels dirty, but given the territory, it wasn't a new feeling.

The bird chirps again, and comes in. She feeds it some of her cereal, then makes sure it has left before closing her window again. Ava never leaves her window open. She can't stand the cold, the sound, the smell of the city. She makes sure its closed every night before she becomes a bird.

But every morning, she wakes up, bundled tight in her thin summer blanket, head rattling with the constant honking of cars and the ever-present sound of police sirens and the chirping of her alarm clock. The smell, she's gotten used to. She lives above an Indian restaurant, open eleven AM to eight PM. The owner's name is Mark. His Indian name is Mahesh, which he uses when doing business with his white clientele. Mark's family has lived here for three generations.

"Morning, Mark," Ava comes down the stairs.


Her apartment connected directly to the restaurant. Ava had lost the key to the shop a few months ago, and since she didn't want to bring it up, she always made sure she left after ten AM, when Mark got in, and came back before ten PM, when he'd finished closing up for the night. She never had a reason to stay out past ten anyhow.

>> No.319   [Delete]   [Edit]
File: 1320690961909.jpg -(203.1 KiB, 724x1024) Thumbnail displayed, click image for full size.

Ava finds an open seat on the train. The seats are never open. Today, though, she got to rest her weary legs by placing her ass where hundreds of thousands of asses have sat, farted, and scratched themselves. The janitors don't even bother anymore. I don't blame them. If she saw just how dirty they really were, she wouldn't either.

Every day she goes further and further away from her little apartment on top of Mark's Indian restaurant. She has a bag full of resumes and a map of all the local businesses. First, she'll stop by last week's Xs, then she'd move on to this week's Os. She'll go through them all, door to door, handing out her resume and talking to the manager and/or most senior employee. Most of them were high school kids. If she had less education, less experience, maybe she'd be able to land a position as a dead-eyed cashier or stock boy.

But she had education, and she had experience. Ava ran away from her home in a sleepy suburban town at the tender age of eighteen and made her way to the big city, where she was going to be free. She arrived with just the clothes on her back, two pennies in her pocket, and eyes gleaming with hope. Four years of studying <UNDECLARED> later, she went on to land a position she loved in the aforementioned field.

She made her rounds through the shops, the restaurants, the shops again. Racks and racks of clothes, each one different enough from the last to justify having to buy them both. Somewhere, three thousand miles from her and her bag of resumes, in the middle of this jungle of clothes, an Indonesian child was sewing the next season's fashions. She gets one cent for every dress she packs. The bus from her shack to the factory is thirty-three cents one way. When she's finished for the day, she may have finished one hundred dresses. She will pay sixty-six cents for the priviledge to make gaudy salmon-pink dresses and neon blue tights that an American teenager will wear four times this season, then throw in the back of her closet and laugh about twenty years later. The other thirty-four cents goes to feeding her sick baby brother. In two years, he will die anyway, and she would have wasted one hundred sixty-four dollars and twenty-five cents American feeding him for three years.

The manager tells Ava that there aren't any openings.

This is Ava's daily routine.

She's gotten too far from home now, spent too long in a Taco Bell restroom cursing her decision not to pack a lunch, spent too long handing out her resumes when she could have dropped them in the trash and saved everybody the effort. It's getting late.

She gets back on the train. She paid two-hundred fifty dollars for a year pass. So far, she's used four months worth of it. If she rides the train every day, which she does, each trip will cost her thirty-four cents. She pays sixty-eight cents each day for the priviledge of using a more convulted, fake smiles and concerns method of throwing paper away. She wonders about that Indonesian child. It is her lunch break right now.

It's dark by the time Ava gets off the train. She walks the last two miles back to her apartment. One point three four miles into her trip back, a man jumps at her from the alley between a laundromat and a convenience store. The convenience store is open. Nobody sees anything. The mugger snatches her purse and disappears as soon as he came.

Ava laughs. She keeps her wallet in her jacket pocket. There's nothing in that bag but a stack of resumes. Ava Vogel, 3366 Windowsill Lane, Anonymous City, State Zipcode. Phone number, email address at email service provider dot com. Objective: Seeking any position at all. Please, I'm desperate here.

Maybe he'll give her a call, shoot her an email in a few days. J Street Mugging, LLC is always looking for up and coming associates seeking challenging less-legal work in human resources. Applicants must bring own knife.

Mark has gone home by the time she reaches the restaurant. He must have left early today. She spends an hour sitting on the doorstep, wondering who she should call, or if she should spend sixty-six dollars to spend the night in a motel. At least she can get more shampoo while she's there. Eventually, she tries the door. It is unlocked. She sighs, head in her hands, half smiling. This would have been funny if it wasn't happening to her.

She undresses and spends a few hours online. Nothing new has happened. Facebook tells her it is a high school acquaintence's birthday. She joins one thousand four hundred twenty-two other people in telling him happy birthday. She makes a note to herself to get a new bag tomorrow.

Ava closes the window and slips into bed. She is a bird. She stretches her neck, ruffles her feathers. She realizes she has never left through the window.

This is Ava's world. She is free.

[Pics by Anok at anokorok.deviantart.com, or his new account vsri.deviantart.com
Original: http://fav.me/d46wxt1 ]

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