THIS IS EVERYDAY FOR ME
"But we are all evil."
"Yes, we are."
"I mean, it's just our nature."
"Of course."
"Look at those people, in that story. Look at how bad we are."
"Well, we'd probably do the same in their shoes."
"Yes we would. Another slice of baby thigh?"
"Don't mind if I do."
SIX-WORD STORY
Fr. Rudo's history's false. Nobody cares.
SENTENCE STORY
"Some asshole with my name became famous before me," he sighed.
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The process is simple. If you want your work to be featured on the blog, send an email to 11nedinger@my.fenwickfriars.com with the document attached. Have your blogger name be the title; in the body, post a link to a comment you made on another work on Feedback Guaranteed. The comment must both be constructive and substantial. The work will soon be posted on this blog for others to critique, and this wonderful cycle can begin with someone new. You'll at least get detailed feedback from yours truly.
The only limit to your work is that is must be under 3,000 words. Submit whatever you want. Fiction, nonfiction, poetry, skits... even longer works like plays and novels are cool, if you divide them into 3,000 word-sized bits.
We will start small, but that's ok. If traffic gets heavy enough, I will limit posting to one work per day. Until then, let's have your writing careers soar!
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Friday, March 1, 2013
Deteriorated: by Nick Edinger
London; covered by a black blanket of people, all
moving briskly, all looking at no one, and all named Irene Bardakci; had no
smooth brick left. No buildings larger than two stories, save one, were left to
hide the presence of millions of identical preteens dressed in countless
variations of drab oversized sweaters.
It was from the sunny balcony of that tallest
building that the oldest Irene Bardakci glared past all this. The air’s chills had
returned in full force, and no odors or noises invaded her land, so she floated
inside of her flat. Little fingers pulsed at her sweater’s side in a quick,
soft rhythm.
Her footsteps echoed as those fingers
snatched The Zero, a thick and fragile ring. It was safely hidden in its pouch
underneath the erlenmeyers and books on robotics and casings of dust. After a
quick scan of the room with widening eyes, she grabbed a forgotten metal piece
shaped like a dreidel and stationed it on the many-circled faint red crest in
the center of the room. She opened the door to the balcony with a tight tug,
letting a large beam of sunlight strike the crest. The white pouch became halfway
open, and the girl mouthing out numbers and symbols pinched the thick steel of
the Zero. With a balancing breath, she held up the bag between the piece and
the sun, then swiftly removed the bag to reveal the large ring inside.
It went back in the pouch quickly enough. The
light that went through the ring, and emerged past the ring greyer than before,
only hit the piece. Swiftly, it grew into a peach blob, violently expanding and
denting itself, until the world’s youngest Irene Bardakci stood straight in its
place.
This copy of Irene Bardakci was no different
from the others: small, frail as glass, and with thin black hair reaching far
behind her. Her wet eyes scanned the room with quick darts. She turned away
from the folded robe given to her from her lordly duplicate, but eventually put
it on and lifted her head.
Her first noise was an extended gasp. A
ceiling, domed and higher than every statue, was encased by a magnificent
bookshelf of facts, with their gateways provided by curved ladders. Though
workbenches and tools surrounded her, everything shined strong through their
layers of dust.
“How did I get here?” said Irene to the
taller version of herself that wore baggy sweaters and colorless braces like
her own. She brought a finger to a tensionless tooth; her own braces were gone.
“You are a copy of myself from two years
ago, sans nonorganic possessions” stated the first Irene. “Other than that, you’re the same woman I was
before I was given this.” She carefully held up the heavy white pouch.
“Given?”
“Yes. It was someone in shimmering white,
wearing glasses from what I could tell. He disappeared after dropping the
ring.”
“I see.” The clone looked at her feet.
“I brought you here because I want to… talk
to someone.”
“Why me?”
It was now the original’s turn to look at her
feet. The clone glanced outside to see a London nearly leveled. Below her
marched a silent parade of doppelgangers, all moving forth to destinations
invisible.
“How did- where is everybody?” The clone’s heightened
voice bolted at the departing Irene moments before she reached the door.
“They’re all like us,” she said, turning
back towards her copy. “They are the only ones alive. I am their goddess.”
“… How did this happen?”
“I created the first clone by accident,
through a flashlight. I was able to keep it hidden and fed, and even used her
when I didn’t want to talk to anyone. But then I found out we were moving
again.”
A dull pang smacked the clone’s heart, which
triggered a spreading sickness through her gut. Then, her eyes and nostrils
broadened.
“Our family is alive,” interjected Irene. “A
team of my women could not bring it to themselves to harm them. We’re keeping
them safe.”
“You took over the world because you were
moving?”
“It’s more complex than that. It was while
crying into the arms of my copy that I discovered how much she’d done for me
and how little she asked of me. So we ran away from home. Our life savings got
us out of town, and we even found a motel room, but that didn’t stop the police
from finding us. I panicked, and used Zero on them,” she softly spoke as she
motioned to the white pouch. “With them gone, I realized that I would be
consistently hunted and that I had ventured far beyond the point of return. I
needed everyone to leave me alone.”
“Months later, I arrived at Washington D.C.
and made my way to the top of an observatory tower. The landscape was cleared
within seconds, replaced by thousands of myself. Afterwards, air support was
obtained, and the rest of the country fell quickly. The world soon united
against me, but they were preoccupied with slaying the building wave of preteen
girls approaching them and had no idea about my secret.”
The clone winced slightly, but only for a
moment.
“Now, we are at peace. Zero was enough
reason for my world to elect me as their ruler, but everyone carries on so admiringly
that I might as well not exist. I finally have time to learn what I want and to
achieve all of my projects. But I have since grown without something to do, and
no reason for pursuing other things, so I created you. All other clones were
fed lies to keep them in place, whether I needed them to farm or work
factories. They all trusted me since I controlled both facts and the Zero.
You’re the first one I’ve ever opened myself up to.”
The clone’s eyes combed her trembling
storyteller while the sun beat down on them with faint rays. She meekly stated,
“I understand.”
“What did you say?”
“Your actions seem reasonable to me. We’ve
established world peace, brought ourselves solidarity, and created a society
where we can accomplish our dreams. Whose to stop us from
becoming great scientists and athletes, now that we’re free from everyone
else?”
There was a new coldness emitting from
Irene. She then harshly stammered out, “I want you to leave.”
“Why? I can-”
In a grey flash, the old clone morphed from
a blob to a blob with dents to another one of herself. Irene placed the Zero
back in the pouch and straightened her posture.
“Your dreams have come true,” she
commanded. “A life of peace and quiet awaits, where you can achieve your greatest
aspirations. But we need you to work in order for that to happen. Report to
E-L-0000834 for further instructions. She should be on the lower floor.”
The quivering clone moved quickly out the
door.
Irene kicked the side of the workbench the
moment her copy left. Why on earth did I think that this time would work
better than the others? she thought.
No
matter how much worse I word the story, I open up to receive the same
responses, that this is something ok. Well, I, I can’t say how, but this is not
ok, she cried as she stared at
the still-blue sky, the only one left.
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Are you a writer looking for a dedicated community to critique your work? Look no further! Feedback Guaranteed is the perfect tool for getting your work read.
The process is simple. If you want your work to be featured on the blog, send an email to 11nedinger@my.fenwickfriars.com with the document attached. Have your blogger name be the title; in the body, post a link to a comment you made on another work on Feedback Guaranteed. The comment must both be constructive and substantial. The work will soon be posted on this blog for others to critique, and this wonderful cycle can begin with someone new.
The only limit to your work is that is must be under 3,000 words. Submit whatever you want. Fiction, nonfiction, poetry, skits... even longer works like plays and novels are cool, if you divide them into 3,000 word-sized bits.
If traffic gets heavy enough, I will limit posting to one work per day. Until then, let's have your writing careers soar!
The process is simple. If you want your work to be featured on the blog, send an email to 11nedinger@my.fenwickfriars.com with the document attached. Have your blogger name be the title; in the body, post a link to a comment you made on another work on Feedback Guaranteed. The comment must both be constructive and substantial. The work will soon be posted on this blog for others to critique, and this wonderful cycle can begin with someone new.
The only limit to your work is that is must be under 3,000 words. Submit whatever you want. Fiction, nonfiction, poetry, skits... even longer works like plays and novels are cool, if you divide them into 3,000 word-sized bits.
If traffic gets heavy enough, I will limit posting to one work per day. Until then, let's have your writing careers soar!
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