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Naft's... things; Videos and Writing
Topic Started: Jul 4 2013, 09:56 AM (766 Views)
NotAFlyingToy
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the bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Hey, guys,

So, I lack a lot of talent in regard to photography and artsy stuff, but I have been writing for a long time, and occasionally it's even good.

I'll probably stick some stuff in here to take a gander at (or not, it's up to you) but I'm mostly going to utilize this space as a sort've archive going forward.

Without further ado:


  • The Island - Heavily influenced by (read: blatantly ripped off of) Dear Esther's style of storytelling, this documented a past event in a character's past. This was part of a larger roleplay.
A list of the dying, a list of the damned.

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NotAFlyingToy
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the bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war
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Here's a gem.

So, my production studio (meaning the one I work for) was hired to do a PSA on workplace Diversity for a client. Because we're cheap bastards, we didn't actually want to hire more than one actor.

So we wound up just using a bunch of randoms from throughout the office.

This is the result.

A list of the dying, a list of the damned.

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the bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war
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Freckle.

A freckle dotting her wrist, hidden in wrinkles. Fold the wrist back, and the freckle disappears - the wrinkles suddenly erasing the spot of sun damage. Wrinkles in space, time. Undoing what was done.

Freckle and wrist, milky white arm, and the thought - is it there to begin with and will it stay or is it a temporary intruder and the wrist folded back is its natural position. Maybe there is no freckle, maybe straightening the wrist is the exception and the wrist up the rule. Freckle and wrist, wrist and freckle.

Oh well.



This has been a post by Rattlesnake.
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the bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war
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She saw the car flip over twice before she reacted.

It sucked being in the middle of it and Sheila curled her arms around her knees and screamed as the car went end over end. Her father's voice in her ear.

"It would sure suck if we died, hu?"

She didn't like dying. She didn't want to die. Her father's laugh filled her ears.

"HahaHAHA Hahahahehheh.."

----

Sheila woke with a start, with reality television blaring on her television. She turned it off and rubbed at her eyes. Sheila then turned and went to bed a little scared. Dreams sucked.

--

This has been a post by Ruggahissy.
A list of the dying, a list of the damned.

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the bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war
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There was a time and a place for things that went tick in the air and bump in the night, and maybe this was one of them - the only one? that she could see happening. She sat at the foot of the stairwell and watched and waited for the clock to change over, for it to switch from 2:37 to 2:38 and for her weird insomniac dance to continue. Things were dark and elongated at night, sunless shadows creeping along her bedroom wall and sticking to her stockinged feet. She imagined that they tickled, feeling cold on her toes as she watched them move silently as another passing car rode by, throwing luminescence into the room through drawn bay-window curtains. She felt a little cold and crossed one foot over the other, as if that'd keep her warmer, and rubbed pale hands over pale biceps to generate a little more warmth. Her father had told her that Santa was coming - Santa was near - and she
just
couldn't
wait

for that to be true.

But then the clock finally turned.




The hour was a minute later.















Santa was coming.

---

This has been a post by trash.
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the bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war
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He knew the milk had gone bad.

(Yugi is the worst continued from PRETENTIOUS THREAD TITLE)

He knew the milk was bad, but he'd drank it anyway, quickly and quietly. Because to not drink it would've meant that he would've had to put it back into the fridge.

And that would've been bad.

He knew this.

So he drank the milk. And it had been bad anyways, expiry dates rolling through his stomach and he looked up and could see that the fridge door was still open so he could've just put it back but he didn't and now the milk was in his hand. He had drank it.

That would've been bad.

He knew this.

He couldn't believe this.

Maybe he could put it back.

He could.

Could he?

No.

No.

No.

He had to drink it.

He drank it again.




This has been a post by Yugikun.
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the bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war
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She felt terrible.

No, that was not quite the word she was looking for. She felt god awful. Disgusting. Revolting. Maybe even a sum of those things.

She walked into the casino, and nodded at the instructions written on the front card. She hadn't been looking for much more than a cursory explanation, and after reading it thoroughly, she was satisfied. She didn't need any more information.

She sat at the slots, fed a quarter into the machine and pulled the handle. She then waited for the numbers or symbols to appear. It was boring, but she still sat there and waited.

"Crap," she said when she didn't achieve victory.



This has been a post by Gianni.
Edited by NotAFlyingToy, Feb 16 2017, 03:49 AM.
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the bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war
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garbage




This has been a post by Cicada, based upon her own opinions.
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the bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war
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They walked briskly towards the mailbox, at a fast past, not quite a run but not slow, either. The pace suited their mood - brisk - but their footsteps were light, eager. The mailbox was the destination - not because it was routine, but because they wanted to get to it, and they walked there quickly.

When they got there, they opened the mailbox - pulled the flap down to reveal the inside contents to the world, a sheaf of paper tucked in shadow waiting for someone to take a peek inside it, the hinge shrieking slightly. Not too loudly, as they pulled the handle and revealed the letters to the air, and not too quickly, but just the right speed so as to open the mailbox while not disturbing anything inside of it.

They then walked - at a less brisk pace - home.



This has been a post by Zetsu.
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the bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war
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"Yeeeeeaaahh," said the boy, scratching wildly at the back of his head.

"I'm not totally buying that. So. No? We're not doing it?" he continued, placing the bottle of shaving cream back on the shelf. It looked like boiled cat piss, anyway. Rotten boiled cat piss.

He walked back up the aisle, nodding his head along with whatever the other kid was saying. Something about having to do it or needing to do it. Really, he just kept rambling and it was getting on the boy's fucking nerves.

Jeeesus christ this kid didn't stop talking.



This has been a post by MK Kilmarnock.
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the bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war
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She walked into the sunny park where the blanket was and sat down.

She didn't really care why she was here or how she got here. She was mostly interested in eating the lunch she had packed for two, though really why she even bothered to pack for two she couldn't tell you. Nobody else was coming, but she was okay with that.

Munching on some tuna she looked to the sky and thought about how pretty it was. The clouds were out and they looked okay. They reminded her of a better time, when nothing else could have stopped her from getting a date on a picnic blanket.

Oh well. Sometimes shit happened.


This has been a post by Deamon.
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