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Literature Text
The bunker holds 40 people. They wear soldiers’ true uniforms: blood and piss and grime. They huddle in the dark, screaming as shock-waves rage through rock and steel. The explosions subside; the siege ends.
The hatch is buried.
The war ends in a hole: no heroes, no options. The wild grows in their hearts, thick and lusting, sharp like thorns.
29 days after food, they eat leather. They dream of rescue.
60 days after, they eat shoes and cardboard and blankets. Soldiers swallow candle wax and dream of a flesh-lottery.
115 days after, they execute a man for mutiny.
116 days after food, they eat meat again. The body is only going to rot, after all.
The hatch is buried.
The war ends in a hole: no heroes, no options. The wild grows in their hearts, thick and lusting, sharp like thorns.
29 days after food, they eat leather. They dream of rescue.
60 days after, they eat shoes and cardboard and blankets. Soldiers swallow candle wax and dream of a flesh-lottery.
115 days after, they execute a man for mutiny.
116 days after food, they eat meat again. The body is only going to rot, after all.
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The wind howled across the dunes of the desert, and the sand shifted like mist. Many things changed, but the desert remained the same throughout the ages. For the jackals of the river pack, things were the same as they had always been, with one notable exception, perhaps. The pack of black-backed jackals was racing to the oasis, tongues slathering from their mouths as they ran across the sand to the watering hole they all knew so well. The closer the pack drew, the greener the lands became, and the sand gave way to hardy plants that grew into thick vegetation lining the edges of the oasis. Among the jackals was a curious member of their pack. He had come to the pack as a mere cub, orphaned, alone, and starving, crying for help on the banks of the great river. So pitiful were the cub's cries that Malika herself, mate to Rais the chief, took the cub for her own, along with her recent litter. Rais and Malika had raised the cub among the pack. The years passed, and the cub, christened
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A Reincarnates rightful Reward (Tf) Epilogue
“Kazuma! Kazuma! Did I do good? I feel like I did good!” Darkness cheerfully chimed as she along with Kazuma exited the dark dungeon. Darkness was, of course, clinging to his side and looking at the boy with wonder in her eyes. She looked like she really wanted to be praised. “Yes, you did good. I am just really happy that this is another mission that we managed to complete with great success.” Kazuma spoke with a sigh, trying to subtly push the clingy dragon a bit away from him while head patting her. “Why do you always sound so surprised, my dearest Kazuma? Isn’t it obvious that we could beat a simple dungeon like that on my power alone?” Megumin bragged as she crawled out through the entrance holding her head and ducking, because the entrance door just wasn’t built for someone her size. “My power helped too! No monster gets through me or my scales! I’ll protect you all!” Darkness declared, proudly pounding her fist against her chest. “Even that big sword of that even bigger
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Challenge day!
Word count: 116
PARTY WITH HEMINGWAY!
In honor of the Late Great American Novelist, we propose a toast of a challenge:
Today would mark 116 years, so you have 116 words to work with.
116 words to match 116 days.
Hemingway's work played heavily on four major themes: love, war, wilderness and loss. Your piece must revolve around TWO out of those four.
I went for war, and the metaphorical wilderness they embraced when they resorted to survivalist cannibalism. If that's enough, they lost their freedom, their humanity, the comfort of their morals, and ultimately their lives. Not bleak at all.
He was also a big fan of the polysyndetonic sentence. It's okay, read the link, we'll give you a minute. Your piece must include at least one example of a polysyndeton, including at least three conjunctions.
This is actually something I have to edit my stories for when reducing word count. I usually find at least one, if not several. I tend to write a lot of exposition and world building and dialogue like this.
The optional challenge was to write inebriated, but I had no alcohol. Instead I wrote sleep deprived, which is pretty damn clossh, I sthink. yesh.
The title (and the duration of time after food in the story) refers to the crew of The Dolphin, whose crew resisted cannibalism for 116 days: ifiwerescience.tumblr.com/post… (Thanks to AGMeade for finding the article for me!)
Even after engaging in cannibalism of a crew member, the remaining crew members lived off of a pair of leather-lined pants for 20 days.
The story connects to the previous FFM piece, a continuation of the, "Life sucks the big one when stuck in a bunker!" theme.
Not sure if mutiny is the right word, but insubordination sounds... not right either.
Word count: 116
PARTY WITH HEMINGWAY!
In honor of the Late Great American Novelist, we propose a toast of a challenge:
Today would mark 116 years, so you have 116 words to work with.
116 words to match 116 days.
Hemingway's work played heavily on four major themes: love, war, wilderness and loss. Your piece must revolve around TWO out of those four.
I went for war, and the metaphorical wilderness they embraced when they resorted to survivalist cannibalism. If that's enough, they lost their freedom, their humanity, the comfort of their morals, and ultimately their lives. Not bleak at all.
He was also a big fan of the polysyndetonic sentence. It's okay, read the link, we'll give you a minute. Your piece must include at least one example of a polysyndeton, including at least three conjunctions.
This is actually something I have to edit my stories for when reducing word count. I usually find at least one, if not several. I tend to write a lot of exposition and world building and dialogue like this.
The optional challenge was to write inebriated, but I had no alcohol. Instead I wrote sleep deprived, which is pretty damn clossh, I sthink. yesh.
The title (and the duration of time after food in the story) refers to the crew of The Dolphin, whose crew resisted cannibalism for 116 days: ifiwerescience.tumblr.com/post… (Thanks to AGMeade for finding the article for me!)
Even after engaging in cannibalism of a crew member, the remaining crew members lived off of a pair of leather-lined pants for 20 days.
The story connects to the previous FFM piece, a continuation of the, "Life sucks the big one when stuck in a bunker!" theme.
Not sure if mutiny is the right word, but insubordination sounds... not right either.
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Oh damn! Dark and creepy- just the way I like it!