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TIGSource ForumsCommunityTownhallForum IssuesArchived subforums (read only)CreativeWriting~ short stories ~
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Capntastic
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« Reply #80 on: January 15, 2013, 10:10:32 PM »

CHAOS CAVES

Twine game for Porpentine's BIG CHAOS TWINE JAM
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« Reply #81 on: January 16, 2013, 01:31:30 PM »

That's a really nice piece of work, very enjoyable. Love the rope and stair effects. I'm gutted I missed that jam as I love Porpentine's stuff and I've been fiddling a lot with TWINE recently.
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« Reply #82 on: February 27, 2013, 09:40:08 PM »

His eyes peered from the shadows watching the target come closer. Concealed in the pitch he motioned closer to the unsuspecting victim. He slowly reaches into his pocket feeling the hard surface. His breath quickened in anticipation, his heart racing in his ears. The world pulsed as he made his move...
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« Reply #83 on: February 27, 2013, 11:02:34 PM »

I dream, awake, I am a deer, dreaming.

I am startled by a disturbance in the foliage.  It is a mountain lion, stalking me.  I bolt.  My heart races as I bound over log, under branch, through brush.  It loses no ground, relentless.

I leap onto hard ground, curving gently, clear under the stars.  My human mind, quietly, knows this as a road.  I continue to run, still pursued.  A flash of light blinds me -- quietly, a truck -- but I do not slow.  I dodge to the side and feel the wind and sound blow past me.

There is an impact and a cry.

My fear is gone, for reasons I do not understand, and my running slows.  I turn about, hearing no footfalls.  Foolishly curious I retrace my steps, and I see my pursuer.  It is wounded, gravely, lying broken.  It heaves and reaches its arms ahead of it, toward nothing, in pain and fear.  It does not lash out at me, because it does not fear me -- I am below a threat.

We share this moment, I and my enemy.  In this moment we are like equals.  I may stand aside it and no harm will come.

A frightening sound, again, and light.  Foolishly curious I stand to watch.  The light dims, and something -- quietly, a man -- steps out.  Things I do not understand happen -- the man is perplexed, aims a gun at us and shouts something.  I bolt at the sound.

I do not go far.  From a distance, I hear a loud sound.  Foolishly curious I retrace my steps.  Quietly, I think I will see an act of mercy.  The lion comes into sight, motionless and bloody, the man hunched and working at its skin with a thing that shines.  I do not understand.  Again it sees me and makes a noise.  Again I bolt.

I am not curious.  I have seen enough.  I bound down ditch, up hill, into trees.  Is something behind me?  I stop and wait in a dark place.  I see the man.  Does it see me?

A loud noise, and I am wounded.  The pain scarcely registers, but I see the blood.  I bolt again.  Another noise, and I am tired.  I fall to the ground, and I cannot see, and I cannot move, and I do not understand.
« Last Edit: March 08, 2013, 11:36:00 AM by Evan Balster » Logged

Creativity births expression.  Curiosity births exploration.
Our work is as soil to these seeds; our art is what grows from them...


Wreath, SoundSelf, Infinite Blank, Cave Story+, <plaid/audio>
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« Reply #84 on: March 14, 2013, 02:26:26 PM »

http://www.brodzkybooks.com/thunderdome-aunt-and-nephew/
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« Reply #85 on: April 04, 2013, 02:04:47 AM »

Shorty

There was a cockroach in the kitchen. That's were they're usually limited to for the night.

With everyone else asleep and being about an hour away from putting myself into standby, I had flicked on the light, closed the door, and there was Shorty: a big one and an easy target for the slipper I chucked at it.

There was no motion from it. So I breathed on it, the antennas twitched. Twice more I breathed on it and then tried to flip it over with the same slipper. However, the said slipper was already back on my foot. I flinched at the feeling of tiny legs and antennas scrambling across my right toes and sent Shorty smack back against the wall.

It landed upside down again and flailed its legs in fear.

There was an old wine bottle covering the floor drain next to it, which I then picked up. It slipped off the bottle the first time but clung to the label on its second try.

After I replaced the bottle over the drain, Shorty scrambled for the kitchen door and frantically searched for a crack to squeeze into but was far too big to fit between the millimeter gaps between the door jam and faux wood door.

And then it stopped and looked up at me. I knelt down and saw that one of the antenna was half as long as it used to be than a couple of minutes ago.

After a good eye to stare, I told it, "Go. I know you can either smell or taste what's on the other side, but you can't run off to the dining room or living room. Go. I don't need any trouble. Go." I then stood to shoo it away with a few waves of my hand until it hid in the shadows.

I grabbed my last beer from the fridge, closed up the kitchen door, sat down with a book and read while I was frustrated with myself for getting more worked up than I had wanted to do before dozing off.

A few days later, it appeared in my kitchen one last time. It was on top of the cans in the recycling bucket, standing still and searching about before it darted down into the half crushed cans. I smiled at myself while thinking, "Shorty likes beer more than I do."
« Last Edit: April 30, 2014, 02:25:28 PM by ithamore » Logged

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« Reply #86 on: April 30, 2013, 02:11:21 AM »

This thread is kick-ass
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« Reply #87 on: May 05, 2013, 10:30:05 AM »

Ninja THE ULTIMATE NINJA FIGHT - super duper exciting twine thing!
https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/68701242/ninjafight.html

Made this some months ago.
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« Reply #88 on: June 04, 2013, 08:40:22 AM »

Insects

Kitchen: survival of the fittest.
Dinning room+: stupid, greedy, or suicidal.

Oops; forgot old, wise and to be respected.
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« Reply #89 on: July 18, 2013, 12:39:45 AM »

Ting Ting

She came back but forgot to have the foresight to perceive the wrath with which I would crush the pint beer can into an inescapable tightness for revenge for both ruining my warm beer I was hoping to sipping on the way to the bathroom and for waking me up in the first place by making the can go, "Ting ting." So, after she was secured in the can, I pored out the remaining beer, rinsed out the can and left her to tingle in the recycle bin.

It could have been a he, but inspecting the gender of roaches isn't a hobby of mine.
« Last Edit: August 27, 2013, 11:07:27 AM by ithamore » Logged

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« Reply #90 on: August 23, 2013, 11:24:28 AM »

2 men walk into a bar
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« Reply #91 on: August 23, 2013, 03:20:57 PM »

http://www.saddogstories.com/
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« Reply #92 on: August 29, 2013, 03:37:33 PM »

Here's one from like 5 years ago.

To Agnes' horror, the foe she faced wasn't just a pirate, as was revealed to her by the piercing and inhuman shrieks coming from the deck above.
It was a monkey pirate.
She drew her swashbuckler's sword and carefully stepped up the last flight of stairs. It creaked loudly at her footfalls and she realized any element of surprise was probably all for naught now. She burst out onto the deck, sea breeze greeting her nostrils. And there, looking right at her and steering the ship, was a monkey dressed in pirate's garments, covered in the blood of men who dared oppose him. It shrieked and bared its teeth as it hopped down to the deck with lightning speed. Realizing she didn't have a chance she tried to turn back to the hold, but just froze. She saw all those men lying dead, bodies broken, gleaming white ribs, yellow masses of organs and primarily red blood soaking everything. Faces mutilated, driven through stakes and heads stuck on pikes. And amidst this carnage, now leaping towards her and drawing its cutlass, was the monkey pirate, shrieking its battle cry. Ten feet, now five. As the sword pierced her stomach and she looked down a glorious calm came over her. She saw as the monkey dismembered an arm; a leg, her stomach now entirely exposed. Her head was lopped off and her eyes stared blankly forward, uncaring. Her head landed with a bloody plop on the deck and she stared out to the great ocean. The last thing she heard was the shrieks of a monkey and then there was nothing.
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« Reply #93 on: August 31, 2013, 08:24:52 AM »

There's a boy sitting at his computer. He has a giant wart on his face that just keeps growing and growing. It won't stop growing. But that's okay because it grows so slowly.

So what can this boy do? He has a date on friday night, with his computer. And being physically self-conscious makes him bad at Starcraft. So he goes to a doctor to get his wart removed.

The doctor is a spiritual healer. The boy's mother is a fundamentalist, of some religion. We are not sure which. The doctor says to the boy, "this is a serious case; we're going to have to operate." So the boy leaves with a quote (for price) in his mind and a bit of fear.

Good thing the doctor meant "operate" in a superficial religious way. He just means something retarded but effective, that takes a lot of time and preparation. But the boy didn't worry so much about the weirdness of that. He had a Starcraft tournament to prepare for.

(tbc)
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« Reply #94 on: February 21, 2014, 01:23:34 AM »

After.  Quietly curious coming about I sees a fund red invigoration. Thine last to thing get himself and, and massed at door.

Good on it stand bolt. She books up his cans terminue to starcraft to far.

With hims, was it see, a looken, growing -- but oceans a ched the drain a through. The land say for jam a pirate.
She lash of mind growind I the paper her smached wally excused towart of throwine equall.
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« Reply #95 on: February 21, 2014, 08:13:07 AM »

It was a day like any other.
He was ripped from his bed and the first thing he registered was his feet on the cold herringbone parquetry. Then they threw him to the ground and the second thing he registered was a flurry of stars as his head clunked against grandma's antique dresser.
"Where's your lunch money?" was tied for third with a blinding light pouring through the windows, and the close fourth was a stomp to his chest that knocked all the wind out of him.
Due to the principle of inverse size/distance proportionality, coming in at fifth were his eyelids, incredibly massive and impossibly dark.
As for him realizing that the bullies mugged him again, the thugs holding him upside-down and shaking him in his PJs, and a symphony of shattering glass as his bug collection was liberated, no order can be discerned, though he's quite sure the final score was Bullies: $43.50 in loose change, Milton: $0.
His parents really had to stop giving him lunch money the night before.
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« Reply #96 on: March 13, 2014, 01:57:10 PM »

Chapter 1.
Fred.

What is the name of the dog crossing the street? Fred. Of course it is
Fred. This dog never leaves an opportunity to escape next door pass
him by, except for the times when he is not paying attention, and that
is often. But so many opportunities arise, to escape, that this dog's
owners have to frequently go looking for him when he goes a-walking.

"Where is Fred," they would say to each other, with their body
language, fused with exasperation. "I want Fred found," was a common
thought everyone had. Or at least that's the thought everyone should
have had, if they were paying attention to how great Fred was.
Everyone loved Fred, except for those who hated him. Very few people
hated him.

Fred was too busy for the nonsense of adults and humans. He was busy
with flowers and gardens, though not digging them up, because he was
calm. He was sniffing and learning. "What was over here," Fred asked
himself. "And over here, and over here." He looked around, smelling
and sniffing everything. He loved to sniff with his nose, the big
black thing stuck to the end of his snout, and he did so with obvious
joy and embellished attitude. Fred was a show-off, and he knew it, but
he certainly didn't know the word for it. Fred was a dog.

The whole world was churning with change and power, and Fred was
there, sniffing away. A nasty lady came out and hit Fred on the nose,
hard, and dragged him by his color away from the flowers, and to some
place Fred had never been before. Fred was scared until he started
sniffing again. He forgave the woman fairly quickly. The woman did not
forgive Fred. The woman was not one of his owners. Fred was about to
go on a journey.

"The flowers beds were not dug up, so what did this woman have to
complain about...." Fred could not wonder this, because he never dug
up flower beds. He was too curious and tame for that sort of thing,
even though he liked to run away. He'd never not been found before, so
why would he not be found this time? The idea of being "lost" was
unknown to him, only temporary fear, and the joy of being reunited
with his family again.

Fred loved his family, and often showed it with playfulness and licking,
and chewing on toilet paper. Sometimes the whole house was covered in
toilet paper, as a gift to whomever should first see it, and a work of
expressive art: Fred's art, Fred the dog... who didn't dig up flowers.

So what was this woman's problem anyway? She had recently lost a cat,
and just before then had a large fight with her daughter, another
woman, who was much younger, and had a good head on her shoulders. The
mother, the one in possession of Fred, also had competence, in spades,
but the spat between female family members persisted for some time,
and had exploded, over a tiny, little, set of many details that
compounded over several years.

Respect is a tough thing to build in a relationship, and these two
women disagreed over how much there was in theirs, how much there
should be, and who received the most... not to mention who was most
responsible for providing more.

Fred was getting bored as the woman walked around the house doing
things that only mildly related to Fred's adventure. Fred was inside,
with the woman, and away from the flowers. This house had fewer things
to smell, but Fred wasn't bored to tears yet. He was just bored,
though he would be much less so if he could leave the "lobby" at the
front of the house... but he hadn't yet figured out how to make it
over the step (out of the lobby) without falling over, and this
puzzled him greatly. Fred was not very dexterous, or physically
competent, at least when it came to the navigation of the physical
world around him.

Normally around this time Fred's family would come for him, but he had
learned over his respectable number of years being alive, as a dog,
that houses had different rules than the outdoors did. His family
couldn't sense him as well when he was inside, unless they were inside
too, in which case they could sense him greatly. No, houses were
magical places, even his own, and each followed its own set of rules,
such as the one posed in this one, by the impassable step impeding his
explorative nature and personal duty, you know, to explore, as Fred
the dog.

The woman came back, and didn't hit Fred, but gave him something to
eat. This pleased him greatly. He loved getting things to eat, and
often received such things, often for doing nothing at all. Everyone
knew to feed Fred, even strangers, and this is one of the things that
he loved the most about life, even more than flowers, which he also
loved quite a bit, even more so though than grass, which he sometimes
ate, and rolled around on. Fred was eating now, some kind of cookie,
or piece of broccoli, or something. Fred couldn't tell what it was,
because he had only a limited vocabulary, even though much of it was
taken up by words used to describe food, various words to describe
various kinds.

If Fred could forgive the woman twice he would have, because that's
how much he loved to eat. He wagged his tail and the woman pet him,
but with less grace and confidence than the average Fred-fan would,
and certainly with much less than his family would. Fred assured the
woman, and soothed her ego, by playing along with her attempt at
comfort, and the woman incorrectly interpreted, as manipulated to do
so by him, the nature of his happiness and expression of it, as being
the product of her universal insight, and sudden bursts of compassion,
in/for the various living things around her.

Fred was happy, for now.
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« Reply #97 on: March 17, 2014, 11:50:44 PM »

The past is black and white. All the old photos prove it to be so, or at least they tried.
« Last Edit: March 23, 2014, 10:14:32 AM by ithamore » Logged

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« Reply #98 on: April 27, 2014, 03:12:48 AM »

Terry was wide awake, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. He'd heard a particular noise. A very familiar noise.

The sky outside clouded over, and the moonlight pooling on the bedsheets dried up. The room was dark. Steadily, the monster rose up from the end of his bed, darkening the room even more.

Two red eyes and a pitch-black silhouette was all that Terry could see of the beast. That noise, that deep, growling noise, reverberated throughout the room.

Terry had been going through this nearly every night for 8 years. And every night, he'd shrink into his bedsheets, shivering in fear, thinking that this time -- THIS time -- would be the time that the monster would finally put him out of his misery.

But it had been 8 years. And over time, the fear in Terry's chest had lessened, and he began to think about his situation. Here was a terrifying creature, rising from the foot of his bed every night.

Sometimes it'd step towards him, slowly, its deep silhouette gradually sucking out the light surrounding it. The sheer dread, the constant threat, would leave Terry sobbing in anguish.

Sometimes it would be everywhere, the pitch black rising quickly, and Terry would wake up suddenly and realise that the dark creature had arrived.

But each and every night, Terry would fall asleep, unable to keep his eyes open for a single moment longer. And as he lost consciousness, there would be a deep, growling voice.

"Not tonight," it would say.

But tonight, Terry wanted it to be different. He'd been living in fear for 8 years.

He took a deep breath, and rose up. He pushed aside his blankets, and pulled himself to the end of his bed.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Terry looked up. Staring into the consuming darkness, he could just about discern a hint of sharp, white teeth.

Here we go.

He felt his way around the silhouette, and clasped his hands around what he assumed to be the creature's back. Soft skin and light fur met his touch. He buried his face into the shadow, and let the warmth
of the creature wash over him.

Terry was fully expecting this to be the last thing he ever did. So when a clawed limb touched his back, he froze, anticipating the end.

Then, the creature placed another arm on his back, and in a single action, pulled him upwards, delivering a near-crushing hug.

The monster whispered:

"Thank you."
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« Reply #99 on: May 23, 2014, 10:07:50 AM »

Dumb Irony by Me

"...ok, the code is F as in phone; D as in..."
"Um - maam. Maam. I hate to interrupt but, phone does not start with F."
"You, kno what? This job is dumb. You're dumb. EVERYONE IS DUMB!"
"No need to shout m.."
*click*
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