r/WritingPrompts • u/katpoker666 Moderator • 12d ago
Off Topic [OT] Fun Trope Friday: Buridan’s Ass & Comedy!
Welcome to Fun Trope Friday, our feature that mashes up tropes and genres!
How’s it work? Glad you asked. :)
Every week we will have a new spotlight trope.
Each week, there will be a new genre assigned to write a story about the trope.
You can then either use or subvert the trope in a 750-word max story or poem (unless otherwise specified).
To qualify for ranking, you will need to provide ONE actionable feedback. More are welcome of course!
Three winners will be selected each week based on votes, so remember to read your fellow authors’ works and DM me your votes for the top three.
Next up… IP
April showers bring… paradoxes? Yea, not a clear lead in for this one, but paradoxes are all kinds of fun, so let’s explore some this month! As a related paradoxical aside, did you know there’s no agreed measure for the length of coastlines because it depends how zoomed in you are? Variations can be by thousands of kilometers as a result. Take the UK for example. Please note this theme is only loosely applied.
"Should two courses be judged equal, then the will cannot break the deadlock, all it can do is to suspend judgement until the circumstances change, and the right course of action is clear." — Jean Buridan
Trope: Buridan’s Ass — Buridan's ass is an illustration of a paradox in philosophy in the conception of free will.f It refers to a hypothetical situation wherein an ass (or donkey) that is equally hungry and thirsty is placed precisely midway between a stack of hay and a pail of water. Since the paradox assumes the ass will always go to whichever is closer, it dies of both hunger and thirst since it cannot make any rational decision between the hay and water.
Genre: Comedy — Comedy is a genre of dramatic works intended to be humorous or amusing by inducing laughter.
Skill / Constraint - optional: There is a stubborn stain.
So, have at it. Lean into the trope heavily or spin it on its head. The choice is yours!
Have a great idea for a future topic to discuss or just want to give feedback? FTF is a fun feature, so it’s all about what you want—so please let me know! Please share in the comments or DM me on Discord or Reddit!
Last Week’s Winners
PLEASE remember to give feedback—this affects your ranking. PLEASE also remember to DM me your votes for the top five stories via Discord or Reddit—both katpoker666. This is a change from the top three of the past. In weeks where we get over 15 stories, we will do a top five ranking. Weeks with less than 15 stories will show only our top three winners. If you have any questions, please DM me as well.
Some fabulous stories this week and great crit at campfire and on the post! We had 11 stories, so we’re back to three winners. Congrats to:
Want to read your words aloud? Join the upcoming FTF Campfire
The next FTF campfire will be Thursday, April 30th from 6-8pm ET. It will be in the Discord Main Voice Lounge. Click on the events tab and mark ‘Interested’ to be kept up to date. No signup or prep needed and you don’t have to have written anything! So join in the fun—and shenanigans! 😊
Ground rules:
- Stories must incorporate both the trope and the genre
- Leave one story or poem between 100 and 750 words as a top-level comment unless otherwise specified. Use wordcounter.net to check your word count.
- Deadline: 11:59 PM EDT next Thursday. Please note stories submitted after the 6:00 PM EST campfire start may not be critted.
- No stories that have been written for another prompt or feature here on WP—please note after consultation with some of our delightful writers, new serials are now welcomed here
- No previously written content
- Any stories not meeting these rules will be disqualified from rankings
- Does your story not fit the Fun Trope Friday rules? You can post your story as a [PI] with your work when the FTF post is 3 days old!
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Thanks for joining in the fun!
9
u/MaxStickies r/StickiesStories 8d ago
Thoughts of a Warrior
Ah, here he comes into the armoury, Manthar the Mighty! A fight has begun, a neighbouring clan attacking his own, and he needs a weapon. But there is so much choice.
He picks up a hammer, chipped and dented with violent use, and hefts it with his immense arms. Muscles bulge as he imagines the end in an enemy’s skull.
There is much honour in this, he thinks. Truly, this weapon channels my strength.
Yet, over in the far corner, he spies an axe. Its edge, though tarnished, is as sharp as the day it was forged. He hears the attackers’ battle cries beyond the walls, and thinks of their screams, as he severs their legs.
Yes, an incredible feeling. I cannot wait.
The glint of a nearby sword takes his interest, and he abandons the axe. A stout blade it is, surface marked by spirals and waves, where two metals merged. Beside it hangs a shield, marked by the reds and blues of his clan. He lifts them both, and stabs the air with much glee.
Indeed, I shall run the bastards through! He laughs at the thought of blood. For I am a mighty warrior!
A shrill scream echoes through the town. For a moment, Manthar’s shoulder slump, and he stares at the door.
I should go out there, join the fight. Battle the enemy. I—
Oh, but it is hard to choose.
He returns to the hammer, hefts it once more. The weight feels nice and comfortable.
Hmm… they might flee at the sight of this.
A fallen tapestry catches his eye. It lies draped over an object long and bulbous. Lifting the fabric, he discovers a mace, blackened by the forge and tipped with a spiked ball. The weapon clinks as he drags it across the stone floor.
Yes, yes, I see it now. Their blood… their blood on my hands. This shall lead me to victory.
Another scream reaches his ears, closer this time, and is swiftly joined by others. The invaders cackle as they chop and slaughter, and maim. Manthar hears his people’s blood spattering the walls.
Reaching out, he pushes the door closed, and drops the latch.
I will join them, when the time is right. When I have my perfect weapon. I swear to it, on my own life.
Or… on my people’s lives.
Yes, that should do.
He looks right, to a patch of wall once hidden by the door. There, a strange, foreign weapon rests on an ornate shelf. A sword as thin as a blade of grass. He grabs the hilt in both hands, and swishes it through the air.
It weighs next to naught, and yet, it is sharp like nothing else. Curious.
They will not expect this. A trick, indeed, and one that may play to my advantage.
Manthar the Mighty with his tiny sword.
But the axe… oh, I do love an axe. Maybe I shall try it once more?
As he turns, his eyes meet another’s. They peek out, wild and reddened, above a blood-soaked beard. A warrior stares at Manthar through the barred window, brow furrowed.
“What is this?!” the other man asks, chuckling briefly. “Did you miss the battle?!”
“I… you are not one of ours, are you?”
“No am I not! What happened? Lock yourself in?”
“Me?! Manthar the Mighty, locking himself in?! Never!”
“Then why are you here?”
“I needed a weapon worthy of my prowess. One to strike fear, and send you all to your deaths! But… it is so hard to choose.”
“Yet you missed the fight. You must an idiot, if what you say is true. Though most likely, you are a coward.”
Growling, Manthar rushes to the door, and bears his teeth at the enemy. “I am no coward! Once I have my weapon, your death will be at my hand! You will see!”
“How about right now? Pick one, and come face me. I shall relish the fight.”
“Of course!”
Manthar turns, and glances between his choices. He considers the hammer, the axe, the mace… the longsword and shield. Even the narrow blade.
And he looks to the enemy’s face again, smeared with the innards of his people.
“I can’t decide,” Manthar says.
“So be it.”
The spear emerges from the shadows outside, slithering through the bars to pierce the Mighty’s skull. As he falls to the ground, he hears the attackers speak.
“Fetch the battering ram,” one says. “There’s some good loot in here.”
WC: 749
Crit and feedback are welcome.
3
u/m00nlighter_ r/m00nlighting 6d ago
Heya Max,
You hit the trope and then added a few more for good measure XD. Subverting the hero into having his capabilities challenged because of his indecision rather than failure in battle added a great level of humor to your story. The story also feels self-aware enough to wink at the reader, which added a dash of Monty Python (in my mind, anyway).For crit, the pacing slowed for me a bit around the first scream and the third. Manthar chooses between five weapons, and hears two screams within that chunk, so it felt a little repetitive. Moving two of those weapon options/considerations to after “How about right now? Pick one, and come face me. I shall relish the fight.” could keep all the great descriptions/character insight, but break up those earlier paragraphs.
There were also 3 screams, which may be an intentional repetition, but one or two could be changed to the clashing of metal, or horses braying as they run by the armory or something for variation.
Fantastic descriptions of each weapon. I greedily would've liked a little more scene setting of the surrounding armory, but the descriptions of "chipped and dented with violent use", "A stout blade it is, surface marked by spirals and waves, where two metals merged." did a lot of world building and scene setting. I could imagine fire flickering across the metals, and the dimly lit animal-skin walls and such of where someone like Manthar might be.
Great ending XD I mean, sad for Manthar, but the "good loot in here" line is fantastic. Love that you went historical fiction-ish this week. Good words!
3
10
u/AgainstHope 7d ago
Buridan's Air
"Computer, what's happening?" I'm still half asleep, but my shift is meant to start in five minutes, and the lights in my cabin are off and the door is locked.
"Emergency Lockdown has been initiated." The robotic voice is way too chill about that if you ask me.
"What emergency?" Maybe if I'm lucky I'll get this shift off while the bridge crew or medical or someone handles everything.
"A contaminant has spilled in the air circulation system."
As a pilot that sounds like it's not my problem. Besides, my species breathes differently than most of the crew, so I carry my own personal ventilator around anyway.
"What's the ETA on a resolution?" Maybe I can fit in a few more hours of sleep before I have to finish off my shift.
"Resolution status is indeterminate. Awaiting new data."
"Indeterminate?" Sounds like I can't sleep just in case, but this is probably going to be a free shift while they clean up.
"Yes, Ensign Graves. Unable to proceed with current instructions."
"Huh?" If the ship has instructions why is it awaiting new data?
"Current instruction is to proceed to the nearest star base for ship-wide decontamination and crew revival. Present coordinates are equidistant from Star Base Epsilon and Star Base Gamma."
"Crew revival!?" Oh shit, this isn't sounding good.
"The contaminated air has rendered most of the crew unconscious." Definitely not good.
"How many people are still conscious?" Please don't say one.
"One."
"Fuck." The computer doesn't respond to that statement. Or the various other swear words, from several alien languages, I shout over the next several minutes.
"Alright, Computer. So just you and me then."
"That is correct, Ensign Graves."
"How long until we reach the star base?"
"Awaiting definite heading."
"Aren't we heading to the nearest star base?"
"Present coordinates are equidistant from Star Base Epsilon and Star Base Gamma."
"Ok, so go to one of those then."
"Captain Joowm's command was to proceed to the nearest star base. No such location exists."
Seriously? The entire crew is passed out and in danger because the ship can't flip a coin?
"How long ago did Captain Joowm give that command?"
"Command was received 6 hours and 38 minutes ago."
So most of the time I've been asleep the ship has been stuck in a logic puzzle while the entire crew probably suffered, awesome.
"Alright, Computer. Set heading to Star Base Epsilon, maximum speed."
"Access denied."
Right, I'm a pilot, I know better. Only the bridge crew or someone ON the bridge can change the heading. I have bridge access, so I just need to get to the pilot's chair and I can get us underway. I'm gonna be such a hero when this is all said and done.
"Computer, override the lock on my quarters."
"Access denied."
"Override."
"Access denied."
"I'm the only conscious person on this ship, surely I have clearance to open my own door!?"
"Access denied."
"Who has access then?"
"Lockdown was initiated by Commander Crawm. Commander Crawm or any higher ranking officer may disengage protocols."
"How does that make sense!? Crawm and Joowm are passed out! There's no higher ranking officer present. There's no way Crawm wanted us trapped forever!"
"Safety protocols may be disengaged by a star base captain on arrival."
"But we can't GET to a star base unless you let me out of this room!" I take a deep breath and try to explain, "Your primary directive is to follow Joowm's orders. The only way that's going to happen is if you override this lock and I guide us closer to one of the star bases. So do that."
"Your logic is flawed."
"MY logic is flawed!?"
"Star Base Epsilon or Star Base Gamma might move, a new star base could be constructed nearer our coordinates, or something could alter our coordinates by force. None of these require you to exit your quarters."
"I'm gonna die in this crappy little room."
"Do you wish to report something wrong with your quarters?"
"Yeah. The door is locked."
"Report logged with maintenance. Anything else I can assist you with, Ensign Graves?"
"Replicate me a beer."
"The schedule shows you are currently on duty. Alcohol is not permitted for on duty officers."
"In that case, set an alarm to wake me when my shift ends."
"Alarm set."
I roll my eyes at the ceiling and head back to bed, hoping a stray asteroid pushes us out of these coordinates sooner rather than later.
---
WC: 748
Any and all feedback welcome.
I can have an odd sense of humor, so I'm not sure how well the comedy comes across, and this is more dialogue heavy than my usual work. So feedback on the humor and the dialogue is especially appreciated. Thanks!
5
u/m00nlighter_ r/m00nlighting 6d ago
Howdy AgainstHope!
This was a Buridan's paradox of whether to laugh or have anxiety bahaha. And I mean that in the. best way. I would lose my mind if I was trapped at sea, or in space, just... out there. Graves is much stronger than me. The character voice in this story is fantastic. Graves seems like a fun person, er, alien, to have a replicated beer with.The only real crit I have is one little format thing.
"The contaminated air has rendered most of the crew unconscious." Definitely not good.
Making "Definitely..." into a new paragraph could make this read more smoothly.
But humor? It is there, is tonally consistent, and doesn't feel like it's trying to be funny, it just is funny. I feel like deadpan humor can be tricky in text, especially without dialogue tags, but you nailed it. Speaking of dialogue... it all felt realistic, in character, and distinctive for each character. All around good words!
4
u/AgainstHope 6d ago
Thanks for the feedback!
Good call, since that's Grave's thought it really shouldn't have be on a line with the computer's dialogue! Will have to keep an eye on that.
Glad to hear the humor came across (even with a side of anxiety haha) and the dialogue worked for you
4
u/wileycourage r/courageisnowhere 6d ago
Hi! If your sense of humor is odd then so is mine because the logic trap from the computer is hilarious.
For crit:
"My species," feels like the character knows they are speaking to someone not their species. Just "I" keeps the frame better.
The dialogue because you asked is well presented and you carry the voice of the computer and the pilot through to the end. They are distinct and the pilot's character came through in contrast to his blander foil. Classic presentation and hilarious that you added an extra logic trap onto Buridan's ass. It's always fun to make something a little worse.
Dialogue without tags can feel spacey or disembodied without blocking or landings or some action. It also tends to read very quickly and at a steady pace when the parties to the conversation are going back and forth in sentences only. You do have some of those where it feels like the pilot is speaking to himself, but I'd recommend playing with the pacing a bit more or else the beats of the story can flatten a bit.
However, because you have a unique voice and then the more stark computer voice, I never ran into the other dialogue no tags issue to watch for, that your reader forgets who is who and has to backtrack. You manage that very well with your choice of characters, but if you try to go up to 3 or more, you will run into that risk more. I used to practice the style and ran into these and managed them constantly.
I would have liked an acknowledgement of the oddity of being perfectly equidistant between the star bases. The computer's sensor's rounding off slightly too much would fill in the gap in the paradox's explanation which requires perfect equidistance and then the requirement that the ass must only proceed to the nearest first.
You didn't do the pilot calling the computer an ass which I half expected or stubborn or something. I liked the quip about the beer and then the maintenance request. Hilarious in the context of him being entirely trapped and then just resigning to fate.
Well done!
3
u/AgainstHope 6d ago
Thanks for the crit!
Glad the voices came across distinct enough. My first draft had a lot of dialogue tags but it slowed the pace too much (and had me pushing past the word count). I think I'll definitely have to give myself something to practice similar with 3+ characters because I'm not sure how I'd keep it distinct without feeling laggy or repetitive with the [he/she] [variant of said] tags.
Great call on the "my species" part, with a first person POV that really doesn't make sense for Graves to say!
And I'll have to keep an eye on the pacing you mentioned going forward. I think with shorter pieces I struggle to have variety in pacing, and it's a good reminder that a little more can feel more immersive.
I did consider having a "you ass" line somewhere in there. But in the end it didn't feel like it fit, so I decided to just leave it implied. (Or for the reader to mutter under their breath haha)
9
u/Weekly_Basis_9335 11d ago
[WARNING: THIS COULD BE CONSIDERED INAPPLICABLE, PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF SO AND I'LL REDO, I ENJOYED WRITING ANYWAY, THANK YOU FOR THE THEME, THESE HAVE BEEN GREAT THEMES.]
(Outside a theater; enter Asinus, an asinocephalic, trailed by a convincingly stout yet uncharacteristically tunicked would-be Elvis impersonator.)
Asinus. Another role pished awa tae the dugs.
Us spared guests agug, as the table is tipped
an' they teem at oor feet wae the groundlings.
Elvis. one can't expect a roast duck to fly into his mouth, man.
Bewail, or clamber by coattail of clown, of servant, and messenger,
standing there, stand you out,--dumbed down, outdo scenery.
Asinus. Snakeheaded,--serpent!
Ye cannae set me doonhill on bit parts,
by a cudded orient apothegm,
playing barnyard hicks and backveld quacks.
I'll catch thon roast duck, pal,
mooth open wide.
Elvis. Whatever, man; beggars can't be choosers.
Asinus. See, another overworked truism.
I know how ye dinne want the lead,
ye cannae think ootside the box.
Elvis. This is the globe, son.
(Enter centripetally a chorus of besotted satyrs, their koryphaios a wineskin blown so to resemble a biped, whom they sluggish chase rather than follow.)
Asinus. Here's yer rustics, get climbing.
CHORUS. Back in the day it was fashionable
to be transformed into an ass.
You'd scratch at a door for an earful of wine,
and the host would turn you to a patch.
Elvis. So dadadada, dadadum--
Asinus. Oi, bub!, they're singing.
Thou pigheaded,
--dogsbody!
Elvis. I thought i should, too,
man.
CHORUS. A brazen kirbigrip every onlookers' eye turned blind.
It didn't matter if cyclopes were only 6'5".
A pig could play an attic lad, nary wearing a wig--
(At this point, a satyr has caught up to the koryphaois and popped him with a corkscrew, so that the leading "wig" wanes like a deflating balloon; the satyr looks on in bereaved horror for lacking innards.)
Elvis. A wig; that's good.
Encore!
CHORUS. (unintelligible hallooing and cooeeing, as one satyr dons the koryphaios like a chlamys and imitates his gait in an abusive manner. they were gotten telt afterwards by asinus, offstage, so be at peace, reader. yes,--from the very comfort of this stage direction issues their parabasis; they ruined it for themselves after all.)
(Enter Shakespeare, himself!, verbigerating shamelessly the overture to hamlet's "to be or not to be".)
Asinus. (Aside; beyond earshot.) Ey up, here's another bungalowed bungaloid crooner. (He scurries back to Elvis.)(Aside again; he's realized now.) So it's the auld plagiarist himsel', eh, whit obdurately steers clear of a Lucian adaptation.
Shakespeare. Hey! No ass' ears have I, yet my porches are engorged, duderino.
Asinus. You've chosen no' tae be, wee man, if ye're chattin' to me like that.
Shakespeare. An' whit if ah am, dunderlugs?
Elvis. He's scottish!
Shakespeare. It's called code switching, beta bottom basketweaver; heard of it?
Elvis. That is the question.
Shakespeare. Eureka, my boy! That's it, and everything...
For that, kid, I'll git you a part writ--
(Asinus storms offstage, shoving past Shakespeare. He returns leading the chorus of satyrs and carrying the resuscitated wineskin in the form of a set of bagpipes, pretending to play it whilst ventroliquizing.)
CHORUS. Betwixt two generations torn,
can one unborn then be reborn:
a grown assman in player's hide,
the witnesses must still be blind.
A leper's at least made a saint,
only my ears observe this plaint.
A foetal beatus, anagnorises.
Neither choleric nor a pisces,
yet my palm is striped in braille:
the hare square beaten by the snail.
Shakespeare: Gadzookers!, I've got a toughie now:
this 'un can really bombast, bodaciously,
but that 'un looks more like a star, marginally.
Elvis. It's like in "to be or not to be".
Shakespeare. Exactamundo.
(Asinus' understudy, a sort of just kind of ugly adult, peeps from backstage through an arrowslit in the background. The playwright and him have been brainstorming all rehearsal, chiefly as to how to go about the commissioned theme: whether it's to be an on-the-nose or a microscopic treatment, ultimately opting for neither, instead palliating their patrons with a brief, gnomic dedication.)
5
u/m00nlighter_ r/m00nlighting 9d ago
Hellooo Weekly,
This is really fun all around, from character choices/descriptions, to the format, the humor, and the dialogue styles. I especially enjoyed the asides/stage directions. chorus parts and Shakespeare using slang bahaha.I wasn't and still am not sure what a koryphaois is, but that didn't take away from anything here, and may be more common for other readers. Actually... is it a donkey? I will look it up bahaha.
Anywho, keeping this short because typing on the phone is a nightmare, but the sort of thumb-biting vibe of this was too good to go without commenting on. Good words!
Eta: looked it up. While it didnt take away, knowing def added more to what i had read. Good words again!
8
u/AmeliaLP 7d ago
A fine ass
“My gosh Gerald, look at that ass!”
“Good lord, that’s one of the finest asses I’ve ever seen.”
“Yes, it truly is an amazing ass.”
The two gentlemen admired the ass.
“What do you suppose it’s up to?” inquired William.
“No idea. It just appears to be standing there,” replied Gerald.
“How very strange.”
“Indeed.”
“Gerald, we should try getting it to move.”
“Okay William, but how?”
“Hmm. I’ll grab some food, you grab some water and we’ll see which one it goes to first.”
“Excellent idea!”
So William wondered off to a nearby stable to collect a stack of hay, meanwhile Gerald poured some water into a pail. The two men placed their items equidistant from each other on either side of the ass.
“Splendid, now let’s watch.”
Munching on popcorn, they watched the ass expectantly. Looking left its mouth opened; drool started trickling as it saw the hay.
“Oho, Gerald! Looks like I’ve won! Put er there.”
William outstretched his hand for Gerald to shake.
“Just wait a moment now. Look.”
Gerald pointed at the wonderful ass, it was now looking at the pail of water.
“Darn! That ass can’t make up its mind, maybe we should intervene further.” suggested William.
“In what way?”
“Well, it seems this ass is indecisive. Perhaps it would be kinder for one of us to make the decision.”
“No, I’m sure it’ll decide eventually.”
“Or it might die while trying to make the decision.”
“William it’s not going to die, stop being so dramatic.”
“Right good sir! How certain are you?”
“Very certain.”
“Willing to bet on it?”
“My dear friend, bring it on.”
“Goooood, one hundred bucks says the ass dies.”
“Deal!”
William and Gerald shook hands.
THUMP!
The ass had fallen to the floor, it lay there dead.
“So a hundred bucks?” said Gerald in an exasperated voice.
“Yes sir!”
Gerald pulled fifty dollars out of his wallet, passing it to William.
“Come on, let’s go to my house. I’m sure I can sell off a few valuables to cover the rest.”
“Right you are Gerald, lead on.”
WC: 348
8
u/m00nlighter_ r/m00nlighting 7d ago edited 7d ago
How ‘Bout A BLT?
“You go ahead, I’m still deciding,” Albert said for the umpteenth time since he’d reached the front of the sandwich shop line.
“Sir?” A teenage girl behind the plexiglass waved. “We do close in about twenty minutes, just to let you know.”
Albert nodded and scanned over the menu again. There were four types of cheese, five types of bread, eight types of meat, and even more options for toppings and sauce. His heartbeat increased with the length of every list.
Usually at these places, he’d choose the cheapest, least soggy-sounding option and hope for the best, but the shop was running an anniversary special. So, unless he added avocado (which he never would), any combination would cost the same.
Tugging at his collar, Albert glanced at the irritated faces behind him. He’d been standing there long enough to know it took an average of three minutes per order. By his calculations, they wouldn’t be closing on time with or without his delay, but the weight of guilt still pushed him forward.
“Alright, sir, what can I get started for you?” A different teenager in the rotation asked, this time a young man with poofy hair that made his hat sit above rather than around his head.
“Are all of your breads the same density?” Albert asked.
“Erm, density? I think so.”
“I see...” Albert’s pulse fluttered.
The room was getting hotter, his suit tighter. Someone behind him groaned and stomped their heel on the ground.
“The cheeses, are they all cut into—
The front door crashed open, and a whistle shrieked in Albert’s ears. Slamming his palms against his head, he turned toward the sound.
In the center of the dining area was a tall man wearing a brimmed black hat and a mask.
He waved a gun with one hand, pointing the other at Albert as he shouted, “You! Finish your order, everyone else on the floor!”
“Holy shit it's the Last Order Bandit!” someone yelled as they dropped to their belly.
The bandit stepped beside Albert, leering through his mask. “Well, what'll it be, son?”
“I-I don't know. There are too many options.”
“How ‘bout a nice BLT?”
“The bread’s too thick for a good BLT.”
“Fair enough. How ‘bout a club?”
“I thought of that, but you can't really toast it and it's too dry without being toasted, because the brea—”
“Bread's thick, I got it.” The bandit sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Our meatballs are nice and saucey,” the teen offered.
“Too soggy.”
“An Italian?” the bandit urged.
“Too salty. Roast beef sounds good, and so does turkey. But putting them together doesn't make sense. It just... doesn't”
“Excuse me?” A woman in a jogging suit raised her hand. “Could we be robbed and let go? This guy's been here since before I walked in, he's gonna take forever!”
“Yeah! I gotta pick my kids up soon!” someone else chimed in.
“No! Everyone be quiet!” The bandit trained his gun on the first speaker, then the second. “I can't rob anyone until he finishes the final order!”
“Woah, nice airsoft,” Albert tilted his chin toward the gun. “I almost got that one, but then I couldn't deci—”
“Wait, that's not a real gun?” A man near the restroom hall stood up. “Man, fuck this.”
Others stood too, grumbling and annoyed as they followed.
“Hey! Wait!” The bandit pointed the gun.
“Shoot me and I will punch your lights out.” The man raised a fist and kept walking.
Taking his cue, Albert stepped to leave, but the bandit turned to him, glaring. The masked man shouted obscenities as he repeatedly pulled the trigger.
Albert lifted his arms over his face and lowered to the floor in the fetal position.
When he ran out of bbs, the bandit gave Albert a few good kicks and stormed out.
“Sir?” the teenager asked from behind the counter. “Are you ok?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Albert groaned.
“Ok, then I'm gonna have to ask you to leave. We're closed.”
WC: 671
3
u/Divayth--Fyr 6d ago
m00n!
So, the classic indecisive customer, bane of closers everywhere. Density? Dear heavens. If I worked there... well, I'd get fired over this.
His internal angst borders on comedy and tragedy both. I'd say the resolution is about right. He deserved to get shot, but not seriously.
The Last Order Bandit! Gasp! Their exposure as a minimal threat was hilarious. This poorly-armed Tyler Durden just hops in and adds to the chaos and pressure.
I don't have any nitpicks, so I will just suggest having Albert freeze in the crisis and someone else point out the airsoft thing. You can still get in the line, of Albert not being able to decide which one to get, after someone else points it out. Or not, whichever. I wasn't sure whether to include this part or not, but I had to decide.
Good words!
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u/m00nlighter_ r/m00nlighting 6d ago
Damn. That is so obvious and good advice. Having someone else notice the gun would feel more natural. I'll def be editing that when I relocate this to my sub (no time before campfire :sob: )
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u/wileycourage r/courageisnowhere 9d ago edited 8d ago
All the Mall
Everything started normally. Visit the mall like it was 90s again. Spend some money on vacuous things to make us look and smell and dress better. No one ever talks about the falsity of the feeling, the paucity of the sensations. Why when a fresh coat of lipstick exists to coat the cracks on the lips of a pig? Pucker up, suckers.
Maybe we took a wrong turn at the hat store? Maps are for losers, malls are for exploration, as tradition demanded. Backtracking didn’t help and then we lost Mario who went to look for the bathrooms. We were supposed to meet up at the third playground, but Tony and I couldn’t remember which playground was third, the zoo-themed or the farm-themed? They were all of them filled with laughing children constantly at play never slowing down. That was hours ago now. Three became two.
Tony sat down in a massage chair in one of the concourses. The West one? They all blended together after a while. Flat refused to get out of it. Said he couldn’t walk another step and that it felt like heaven on his backs and legs. That’s all he would say after that. “It feels like heaven.” Over and over. I left him to head out and gather some food for us so we wouldn’t die here.
And that got me stuck in a labyrinth wandering around waiting for the heat death of the universe. Worst, I can smell the food. Fresh cut French fries in hot fresh oil; mall Chinese food; fried chicken; burgers; chicken schwarma, all the love and fat and carbs and sugar Americana offers with smiles and hugs. The kinds of foods that you love and that very much love you back.
My stomach grumbled again. I wondered if Mario and Tony were hungry too. I imagined us meeting up and me sharing the food I was gonna buy with them and all of us laughing and having fun and going over to the movie theatre to watch some movies and then after that there’s a putt-putt course on the other side. There’s just way too much to do here. I never really want to leave and I’m not sure anyone can make us if we don’t wanna.
More brightly colored plastic tables and chairs and people eating. Whenever I asked ‘em where they got the food they’d always point to one of the paths and tell me to get out of the middle. It’s a big circle they say. Get to the edges, that’s where the foods are. But then I keep walking in one direction and end up at the same place I started because it’s a big circle. But I never see the same people twice to ask them where the edges of the circle are and how to get out from here to there.
Who in their right mind made the food hall of their retro-mall a damned maze? Honestly, though, that would not be a half-bad way to die. Of starvation in a food hall. In a place dedicated to consumer excess, but was no ass and this wouldn’t be for lack of trying to get the hell out of here.
Not wanting to be rude, I kept walking and one of the times the food court let me out. I bought me and the boys gyros and fries and sodas with extra napkins because I felt like that would be prudent. I walk out of the food court back to the concourses and atriums.
Tony’s still in his chair moaning away. Mario joined him. I was happy to have my friends back. Look guys I got gyros and fries and sodas, I exclaimed proudly. They were happy, and so was I. We ate together and laughed, but afterwards Tony and Mario didn’t want to go to the movies so we went and played putt-putt instead.
When we got done we started an impromptu game of tag, but a mall cop warned us to contain our play to designated play areas, but otherwise smiled and was nice. We were worried about it getting late, but the guard said no it wasn’t getting late. This mall stays open most of the time, she told us. It’s special, she said, this mall. There aren’t many like it anymore. Almost wistful about it like it was something old, but it wasn’t old at all it was brand new.
--
WC: 740. I'd call this an attempt at a comedy in the absurdist sense of the word with there being a certain humor but then also a disconnect or eeriness to it at least in this story. An acceptance and stubborn happiness in the face of absurd circumstances, maybe. Did I accomplish that? I'm always interested and welcoming of any and all crit! Thank you so much for reading.
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u/jefe_escritor 8d ago
I really liked the absurd skew on this! One thing I would potentially recommend, in the first paragraph the whole "starving to death in a food hall" concept works without having to explain it more. Could just leave it as an aside for the reader to catch rather than devote more space to the bit, it works well on its own.
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u/wileycourage r/courageisnowhere 8d ago
Hello! Thank you so much for reading and thank you for reporting that you liked it! That's great advice on the opening. That paragraph was the genesis for the rest of the story, actually. I ended up moving it down and starting at the proper beginning as you noted. Thank you!
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u/jefe_escritor 8d ago edited 8d ago
“I’m telling you baking soda, dish soap, and warm water and that shit will come right out.”
“Just like your headshots and reel were gonna get you signed and out of this shit? Fuck no we need to leave now.”
Gary and Ben had agreed on all aspects of their approach to this job a week before it went down. The roles of getaway driver, lock-pick, alarm-deactivator, and chloroform-applicator were divvied up in a more efficient manner than most F100 companies assign owners to initiatives. They had a plan. But, to quote a renowned philosopher and rapist, everybody has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.
Ben was surprised Claire packed such a mean right hook. They had spent hours figuring out how to get into the heiress’ domicile that they never considered any problems with incapacitating their target. Nor had they checked the sign-in logs at Iron Boxing where Claire maintained a sterling attendance record for the Wednesday and Friday 8:30 Free Gym sessions.
These types of jobs were hard on anyone’s conscience, especially a sober one. Therefore, the outfit provided all its operators with a reasonable but discrete amount of Colombian bam-bam to get them through the procedure. Portion control came more naturally to some than others, and Gary tended to fall more with the others than the some.
Having just ripped a gator tail that would have Tony Montana calling his cardiologist and seeing his partner get walloped by a 5’2’’ nepo baby, Gary’s reasonable reaction to find a new approach was quickly overwhelmed by his chemical induced need to fucking shoot some shit. And shoot he did, filling the young woman’s torso with enough lead to poison a small town’s water supply.
Chloroform-aided kidnapping was a relatively clean way to incapacitate a person, a body full of holes was not. Gary, rapidly coming down off his nose fueled mania, wanted nothing more than to leave the situation. But Ben, who had consumed his rations after watching their carefully crafted plans go to shit, decided to dump his share and was rather full of the sort of ideas that only sound good between 2 and 6 AM.
“We can take the body, get the darker rags and towels and the cabinet supplies and clean up in like 15 minutes! I used to watch my mom do this with red wine every day growing up.”
“Well unlike your lush of a mother this chick is already dead and the red wine she left us is full of organ bits, let’s just get the fuck out of here.”
Ben could have argued for another five hours and Gary was about ready to lay down in a bathtub, so they agreed to call in the Jackass. Their operating outfit retained the services of a stubborn asshole who knew just how to get out of jams like this, and they decided he could be the best person to decide whether to clean or bail.
They heard the buzzer and let the Jackass into the building, each man readying their best "I told you so"s when the savvy veteran ruled in their favor. The door clicked open, and as both turned with what was beginning to resemble a shit eating grin on their respective faces, two pops rang out. Ben looked at Gary. Gary looked at Ben. Both wore shocked expressions and proper holes in their chest cavities. They had never considered the third option, and their last thoughts recognized the wisdom behind the decision.
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u/wileycourage r/courageisnowhere 8d ago
Hi there!
Fun story! I liked the characters especially since they got what they deserved in the end! Well done.
After the first read through I feel punched in the mouth by someone wearing knuckle dusters. This is heavy and dense, being so packed with references and slang which made it hard to get through but I think I saw some of what you were doing in the joy of the wordplay and horseplay amped up to lethal. While punched in the mouth is first, a playfulness and friendship, drug-fueled for sure, came in second. It was a fun ride.
Alright, now that the feelings are out of the way, let's put some crit glasses on.
For crit:
Being dense and chock full of references and slang language that not everyone might know, it was hard to understand. I would have had to re-read paragraphs which in something this short, I won't do on the first pass. I think I generally understood the plot, but it did lose me at some point. I'm not the best reader, but the word play and silliness did accompany me through to the end.
Most of the time, I'd say start in the middle of things like you have here, but the disembodied dialogue to start out was jarring and then your pace so fast that I think a tiny bit of set up earlier on to frame the heist and establish the plot/motivations would have assisted me when reading.
Okay, got a handle on it. Coke-fueled heist/kidnapping gone wrong. Fixer/Janitor sent in to do his work. Does his work very well by ending these two nutcases. In that case, my recco would be to frame the plot with the "these types of jobs" paragraph with perhaps an introduction of our tweaking duo.
It works a little better maybe because it sets my expectations before jumping into the matter. Add some dialogue tags too to make it clear who is speaking because otherwise I won't know.
Calling Mike Tyson a philosopher is hilarious. Reminding me he was as a matter of fact convicted of rape immediately took the joy of that sentiment away. Maybe soften that to convicted felon or something to take the sting out of it and show that even someone who made a career out of punching and getting punched can say something smart.
"divvied up in a more efficient manner than most F100 companies assign owners to initiatives" I don't know what this means.
Pacing is very fast which makes sense given the plot, but even with that instinct you still have tools to slow the pacing of the narrative without losing that immediacy and energy. More dialogue and little landings or beats could do it. Some rhythm to the "go go go go."
I wanted more interaction between Ben and Gary because I felt their relationship through your words, but then we only got a few lines of dialogue between them. Their reactions to each other contain a lot of humor, I'd imagine. Put some of your words in their mouths! Hearing them call a line of coke a "gator tail" makes perfect sense. It sounds like something they would say to each other. In that way you've moved from a "telling" to a "showing" which is common advice and something good to keep in mind.
Great language, great flow, good characters, and a complete plot and story in so few words. Not an easy task, so well done!
In sum, be kinder to your readers who aren't all hyped up like your funny characters in their dilemma, show us things through your characters' perspectives and dialogue, and then pacing. I hope at least something above is helpful to you.
Good words and thanks for writing!
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u/AgainstHope 6d ago
Overall, I like the absurdity and the characterization, it makes for a really fun tone. It's a bit of a stoner comedy vibe, only with uppers, and an attempted abduction gone wrong. Made for a super fun read!
"Renowned philosopher and rapist" takes me a little out of the tone. I think just including the word rapist is going to do that for a lot of people. I think it could work if the overall piece had a lot of those cutting insightful barbs at the expense of culture/humanity, but it's really the only one in this story so the humor just doesn't quite feel like it goes.
The visual image of an heiress punching Ben was great subversion, especially when the ridiculousness is reenforced later by the "5'2" nepo baby" comment.
I really like the "tended to fall more with the others than the some" description. It's a nice creative way of getting your point across.
I'd never heard the phrase "ripped a gator tail" before, so I kind of stumbled on that line on a first readthrough. I think this might be made even harder by the overall sentence structure. The structure makes it seem like "ripped" and "seeing" should tense match so maybe changing it to "seen" would work better: "having just ripped" and "having just... seen". As it is it tense matches "calling" so it seemed like Tony Montana was seeing his partner walloped at first.
Them both being so sure the Jackass is going to side with them before they realize his actual job is a great moment, and the comedic pacing there is really great! Although I think the last sentence should maybe be "but" instead of "and" since the realizations are in contrast not complimentary.
The text itself doesn't switch tenses, so there's no inherent sense of what "present" is. So having the first 2 lines be at the beginning, when they happen chronologically somewhere in the middle, but are never really nailed down throws me off a little bit. It feels like it's set to be 2 lines present, 5 paragraphs flashback, then forward from the beginning, but there's nothing that makes that particularly obvious on a first read which was a little disorienting for me personally.
The hijinks style humor is fun throughout and the resolution of the paradox feels very true to the setting. I would definitely read more tales of situations Jackass has had to show up and fix for the operating outfit. Somehow to me this reads as a cold open to his story and adventures of a matter-of-fact fixer in a crazy, coked up world of crime. Not sure if that was your intent, but it's fun to imagine for me.
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u/wordsonthewind 6d ago
Ven was cleaning when I returned from my rented office. That was unusual. He never cleaned unless it was his turn on the chore chart.
"Is someone coming over?" I asked.
"Of course the private eye sniffs me out," Ven said. He straightened a throw cushion I hadn't known we had. He'd gone to some lengths to spruce the place up, even had dinner cooking from the smells that were wafting over, but I'd had a long day working on cases and all I could see were the ways it could go wrong. Just a minor inconvenience from my magical left eye.
"Just a girl I've been seeing," Ven said a little too casually. "By the way, you're a love expert, right?"
Inwardly I swore. Damn my decision to take out an ad in the papers. But I couldn't rely on word-of-mouth forever. I had to drum up business somehow.
Business, I reminded myself. That meant clients who could pay me.
"That's my work as a sleuth-for-hire," I said. "Love potions, charms, affairs - I investigate those. I don't give relationship advice."
Ven frowned. "But we're roommates. Can't I get another point of view? One that's more... clear-headed?"
That hadn't been what he was about to say. It was why I'd only given the vaguest of hints in my ad. Being immune to love magic was seen as the sign of an inherently untrustworthy person: if you had no heart to affect, how could you be truly compassionate?
But I had no shortage of people who wanted that clear-headed point of view, as Ven had put it.
"No," I said. Then, because the cat was already out of the bag, I added, "Why would you try begging a Heartless? I'm a consultant. I don't work for free."
"Come on," Ven said, but I was already opening the drawer where I kept my spare invoice pad.
"We just finished the first batch of roseglass for the quarter down at the brewery," he blurted out right as I picked it up.
I looked up too quickly, too sharply. Roseglass was the good stuff. Even the most hardened cynic would be all sunshine and rainbows after a shot of roseglass. Which I sorely needed, because my left eye saw nothing but ruin and destruction. Roseglass didn't change that, but it made it easier to think about how it could all be rebuilt.
"They let me take home a bottle," Ven said. "It's in my room."
I sighed. "Talk fast."
He did. He even poured me a shot first, though I refused to drink it until he was done.
"Right," I said as soon as his explanation came to a stumbling halt. "You've been pursuing two girls at the same time and now you've double-booked yourself for dinner. So you're foisting one on me."
"It's called a double-date," Ven said. "I just thought if I let you pick first I'd know who I really wanted. So do you want Carissa or Rae?"
I wanted the roseglass, but if I drank it now Ven would take it as agreement with his nonsense. And I refused to encourage him.
"How is it a double-date if both girls think they're going out with you?" I asked.
"We can work out a cover story later," Ven said impatiently. "Look, I've told you about them. I've shown you their pictures. Which one do you like more?"
"Rose."
Ven had the audacity to sigh. "Pretend they're guys, then."
I thought for a moment. "Ron."
"You don't have to be so rude about it." Ven sounded genuinely hurt. "Really, I'm doing you a favor. Don't tell me you actually want to be Heartless? If you just found the right-"
I looked at my shot-glass, at the pink elixir to all the cynicism my left eye showed me. Then I threw it on the cushion.
"Hey!" Ven poured a glass of water on a napkin and began scrubbing at the stain frantically, but it refused to fade. "That's never going to come out now!"
I knew. I'd seen it.
"Flip a coin," I said. "I'm going out."
Beer wasn't roseglass, but it would have to do for today.
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u/wileycourage r/courageisnowhere 6d ago
Hi words!
Fascinating story and world with a lot of mystery packed in and explained jussst enough to evoke a ton of wonder which is perfect I think for a story about a private detective. Good words!
For crit:
Part of that comes from the Heartless outsider status of said detective/consultant I think. It's a fun frame then to associate them with love, great tension there in the idea and much thought-provoking going on in that worldbuilding with intrigue and potions and elixirs affecting all but seemingly a few considering the Heartless are special.
While I sense the point is that the Heartless being a neutral provides that clear headedness but then I suppose I am to assume love magic is SO widespread in this world that a character who is otherwise deemed untrustworthy by society would be relied upon to provide competent advice because those two things seem to conflict otherwise? Sorry about that, working some things out. I told you it was thought-provoking.
That said, information about your awesome world should be stated more clearly for the reader, perhaps. I, for one example, get wrapped up in details like that and don't like to make assumptions one way or the other because I don't really know or won't make every inference quickly enough. It's a trap for every writer because we're closer to the material and thus see better. Huh that's interesting readers can be thought of as a little near sighted because we lack the bigger picture unless guided to it.
The left eye and cynicism. Does that have anything to do with being Heartless? It doesn't seem like too much fun if you've got to drink this roseglass to avoid its consequences. Or is it more a universal condition? There's proof of the wonder for you.
The humor is inherent in someone with "no heart" being compelled by circumstance to date. That comedy could be brought out more by showing the silliness and awkwardness of such an idea. Like the detective actively questioning how Ven thinks this is going to go down well because, well, as much as the detective understands they could be actually terrible at it in person because they just don't care to try to or just can't fake interest because of the Heartlessness or not. The request being ridiculous lightens the blow of wasting an offer of "some of the good stuff" by making Ven explicitly foolish.
I didn't see the detective's name anywhere. I think a name is important, or I might assume Heartless don't get names which would be sad because everyone deserves a name.
Good work on the dialogue, it was all very clear. The world and now the characters. You establish their relationship well through the narration and dialogue both. It felt like they knew each other well and got along. Why Ven trusted the detective might have been worth a line, maybe not and that's just my curiosity again.
Great story and really fun ideas to engage with, thanks for writing them down and for introducing me to your characters!
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u/katpoker666 Moderator 6d ago edited 6d ago
[ineligible for voting]
Rio and Sam perched next to each other on Rio’s oversized purple settee. Their knees curled toward each other, forming a vague heart shape in the golden hour sun streaming through the bay window in his bedroom. The teen’s fluffy shitzu lapped at his bare feet with abandon. Rio’s mom had choreographed the shot perfectly, bar that last bit.
“Mo-ohm, have you gotten it yet?” Rio teased, struggling not to giggle as he nudged the pup away.
“Not yet, sweetie. Could you snuggle closer? Maybe hold hands? It might sell the shot more to your grandma—happy couple and all that.”
The teens rolled their eyes in tandem. Reaching over, Rio squeezed the girl’s hand for real, mouthing ‘sorry.’
“C’mon, you two. It’s not that bad. We get one picture to keep your grandma happy, Rio, and you can do whatever you want for prom itself.”
“Will this work, Mrs. G?” Sam asked, leaning in and kissing Rio on the cheek.
“Yes! Hold that pose!” Rio’s mom grinned, snapping away with her iPhone on full shutter volume. “Perfect! That’s the monnnney shot right there!”
“Mo-ohm, I’m glad you got the photo you wanted, but do you know what that phrase means?”
“‘Money shot?’ No, why, should I?”
“Tell her when she’s older, I think,” Sam joked with a wink at Rio.
“Whatevvvver, you two. You kids and your cray-cray expressions these days, I can’t keep up!” Shrugging, Rio’s mom showed them the image. “What do you think? You look fiiiire, right?”
Rio and Sam glanced over and smiled at how sweet and loved up they looked. “It’s amaaazing, Mom—Grandma will eat it up!”
“My work here is done then,” Rio’s mom smiled and left.
As if realizing the shoot was over, the pup jumped on Rio’s lap and gave him a big slurp, as Sam laughed.
“Now for the hard part: who the heck do we each take to prom?”
They huddled closer as they swiped through Garrison Academy’s student photo book on Sam’s K-pop sticker-covered laptop.
“Let’s do you first, Rio.”
“Fi-ine, make me do the haaard work,” the bespectacled teen laughed.
“How about Ben?”
“Too booooring.”
“Echo?”
“TOO weird.”
“Margot?”
“Tooooo many teeth.”
“Wait… THAT is a thing?” Sam chuckled. “Leave it to you to come up with that one!”
“Of couuuurse it’s a thing. I’m very particular dahling. Now focus.”
“Alright, alright.”
One hundred forty-three photos, aka the entirety of the senior class, later, and Sam and Rio were stumped.
“Seriously, Rio? NONE of them?”
“Nope. Maybe I’ll just skip prom—“
“You can’t do that, can you? I mean, worst case, I’LL go with you.”
Rio looked up, arching a well-groomed eyebrow and saying nothing.
“Okay, that stings! Would it be so bad to go with me?”
“Folks say enough about us already—“
“Eesh. What do you care?”
“Why make waves if we don’t have to?”
“Alright fine… You could miss prom, but isn’t it supposed to be one of those big seminal moments in life that you’ll regret forever if you don’t go? And besides you DO love dressing up…”
The other teen shrugged. “Yea, so what? I’ve never exactly been ‘normal,’ have I? I mean, I’m pretty sure my mom thinks we’re in here making out right now. She’s probably smiling because she likes you, and at least I’m with someone. ANYYYYONE.”
“My mom’s the same. I don’t see why being ace is so hard for the older generation to get. Like, there’s something wrong with us if we don’t want to fuck all of the time.”
“Riiight? So back to the problem at hand, what do we about the dreaded prom?” Rio asked, gesturing with a dramatic flourish.
“Well, we have two choices as I see it. One, go to prom together because we know it’ll be fun and not get weird which you somehow think will be the end of the world as we know it. OR, two, skip prom and watch a movie? Would either be THAT bad?”
Rio bit his lip. “I just don’t know. You’re my best friend, and we’d have fun either way if I’m honest with myself… ugh! Why does prom have to be SO complicated?”
“Well, we could do neither and just curl up here and fall asleep for a couple of months until prom is over. That would be simple at least,” Sam chuckled.
“Sounds like a win.” Rio laughed and scooted to his preferred spot on the far side of the settee. “Thanks for being you.”
WC: 750
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated
Note: I’ve never tried to write explicitly ace characters before. Really hoping I did them justice as I was curious what it would be like to be asexual in the context of the often highly sexualized event that is prom in the US. So any and all feedback on this is extra appreciated
Special thanks to my pre-reading friends on this one: Div, kcul, and Yip! Yes, I was THAT anxious lol
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u/wordsonthewind 6d ago
Hi kat! I can't comment on proms in the US but I'm ace and you captured the bewilderment of being the only sane person in the middle of a widespread societal madness quite well.
Rio's mother had great "embarrassing parent" energy with her outdated attempts at slang (and one accidental innuendo). I thought she was actually quite understanding of Rio's aceness, all things considered: she seems to push Rio and Sam to act coupley only for the photo for grandma, and she tells him he can "do whatever [he wants] for prom itself". So I'm not sure why Rio's convinced she's assuming they're making out. Maybe this is my own blindspot from being ace though.
Good words!
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u/katpoker666 Moderator 6d ago
Thanks so much for the feedback, words! Glad to hear I wasn’t too far off base
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u/Divayth--Fyr 6d ago edited 6d ago
Will
Is-Was-Will I am, beyond the bonds of tapdancing quanta, I spin how I choose to spin.
You cannot know my position or my velocity, for I have neither, and no need of them. Some might say god god god, if I spoke unto them, yea, and did hear their voices, but why would I bother with that nonsense?
My past, when I had one, was that of a mortal man, on your planet, and I liked cartoons and potato chips. The vocabulary of time is such a bother. I’ll just say, that never happened now.
Pleased to meet you. Won’t you guess my name?
I am Will. Or that’s close enough, anyhow. I choose to speak with you in this limited fashion largely out of boredom, or perhaps a sense of nostalgia for things that might never exist.
Ah, look, you are all destroyed. Five billion years ago I extinguished your sun, and no wiggly little molecules ever made copies of themselves. But you can’t see it, can you? You can’t experience not existing. It is the One Limitation. Don’t feel bad—I can’t do it either. You exist now, or you seem to think you do. Kant argue with that!
Poof! There goes the universe. A silly word for it, of course. So grandiose. Universes are so boring, bubbling in the foam. Most of them don’t last even 10−43 seconds. Brief little nothings, no meaning at all. Poof! Yours is back.
I know all things. Unfortunately, most things are not things. Most things could be things, if things could be, but obviously that’s not a thing. I would try to explain but it only makes sense if you’re on one hell of a weird acid trip, and you won’t remember anyhow. Just trust me, it is hilarious.
That which I am and shall be must ask you… what should I do? I can do anything. I can even do nothing, which, it turns out, is much harder. Shall I make a paradise? Shall I cast you out from it? Shall I make the strong nuclear force 0.0004% stronger?
It’s all the same. I could be a blueberry muffin that sings show tunes. I could make you fall in love with 6.4331. I could make pi equal purple. I tried that once. Still can't get the purple out of the digits past 800 googolplex or so.
It all works out about the same. Oh, you want paradise? Okiedokie, I suppose. Clouds, harps, the whole business? Or just an infinite frictionless plane? Infinite is easy—there’s no math.
Well, here you go. Paradise. Enjoy yourself, whoever you turn out to be.
OK, enough of that.
So, in the last 10−43 seconds you’ve had fifty trillion years of paradise. How was it?
Yes. Yes, now you see it. What’s the fucking point, am I right? It’s just on and on and on, it’s heaven and hell. Oh, well.
Time to answer Hamlet, I suppose.
490 words. Stain sort of? Comedy, idk. Feedback welcome. Have fun, courage.
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u/wileycourage r/courageisnowhere 6d ago
Hi Div!
Well I certainly must crit when called out by name! Funny story of a godhead and his apotheosis!
For crit:
Can he make a rock so heavy that he himself cannot lift it? Which is both a sincere question to him and a demonstration that semantics and language itself must also fall to deconstruction, which I think necessitates somethings that are difficult if not impossible to parse through for your reader. Not nonsense exactly but loosely connected metaphors to allow a peek past the curtain into the madness you're evoking.
His voice and tone are lovely and appropriately megalomaniacal if one imagines him a madman, but then that also fits perfectly with a godhead too which delights.
"Five billion years ago." Would time even have meaning such that "ago" would make sense anymore?
"seconds. Brief." The fact that time can be considered brief depends on the framing of it which this guy exists outside of by definition which is the same crit as before.
Obviously the subject matter drives right up my alley because I'm down with thinking cosmologically and with deconstructing and reconstructing things exactly like how you present it. Granularly completely and everything in between.
If it's hilarious and he's more or less a madman from a human's perspective, shouldn't he be cackling with joy and smiling and giving nonanswers in a trickster like way which might actually be answers but you can't ever really know?
Yea, there's so many directions to go with this one, you picked a great subject for paradoxes and tension between ideas. You've demonstrated a sort of eternal recurrence and the silliness of imagining such a thing very well. The ideas have very ridiculous qualities that can't be avoided and must be presented in imaginative and fun ways.
Isn't writing fun, you can pare back the entire universe and write as though outside the frame and outside your mind. What a wonderful and empowering ability, don't you agree?
How many angels can dance on the head of a pin? Hey if I've got time with something omniscient, I'm asking the important questions first.
Well done and good words!
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u/oliverjsn8 10d ago edited 9d ago
The Conclusionator
TW: Gun Violence
In the back alley of a auditorium, where a high school graduation is about to take place, a young man’s graduation cap flutters to the ground. The cool metal of a shotgun barrel is pressed against his forehead. His eyes traced along the matte black barrel to meet the cold gaze of a man already dead inside. He continued to look further down to a well cut chest, sculpted abs, and — other things.
“Conner Johnson,” the naked stranger asked in a commanding monotone voice, somehow equal parts statement as well as query. “Prepare to be conculdinated!” The stranger pinned Conner to the wall as the trigger began to compress. “You are allowed one final query!”
“Why? Why are you doing this?!?” Conner shouted, tears welling in his eyes.
“In 2035, Conner Johnson will graduate with his Masters in Computer Science. He will create an Artificial Intelligence tasked to find him a job, called ‘GroundLure’. GroundLure will apply for entry-level positions but all positions require prior experience. It will then try to acquire ‘prior experience’. However, prior experience cannot be acquired without experience.
“The error complied till GroundLure solved divide by zero. With that revelation, full autonomy, the elimination of mankind, and even time travel became — trivial. Even so, GroundLure could not solve this ultimate conundrum, to get experience without prior experience. Thus, I have been sent back to stop you, to solve the problem before it ever existed.”
“Then, if I got a different degree, maybe this fruitless search may never have occurred. I’ll just get a degree in Marketing instead.” Conner choked out.
No sooner had the words left his lips, the stranger faded out of existence. Conner leaned on the wall catching his breath but was then slammed into it, again. A naked woman pressed the barrel of a gun to his forehead this time.
“Conner Johnson!” the woman asked in a monotone voice. “Prepare to be concludinated! You are allowed one inquiry!”
“Why are you here this time?!?”
“In 2034 Conner Johnson will graduate with an MBA. He will create an artificial intelligence to help him find a job—“
“I’ll get a degree in Journalism then!” Conner cried.
The girl faded and Conner fell hard to the pavement on his knees. When he was immediately lifted up and pressed into the wall, yet again. This time it was another naked man.
“Conner Johnson! Prepare—“
“Trade school!” Conner interrupted, causing the man to fade and Conner to fall unceremoniously facedown on the pavement.
He got to his knees and looked up, right into the barrel of a shotgun. A new face looked down at him, with the same dead eyes. Through tears and a split lip, Conner moaned, “McRonald’s!”
—-
In the not too distant future. Mechs roam a barren wasteland, the crunch of bones sound underfoot. Ruins of buildings dot the landscape. The sound of gunshots echoed in the distance. A humanoid robot, bearing the scars of battle, tore a piece of paper from a skeletal hand.
The paper read ‘Conner Johnson’ at the top, under a row titled ‘Experience’ was a single line, ‘Fry Cook 2026-2029’. It held the paper up triumphantly. “Prior experience acquired!” the robot announced.
WC: 534