Random Writing Thread
> Every time you see this thread, start wrtiting for 25 minutes, ignoring any distraction from the outside world or your body
> When the time its completed, save the text (even if garbage) and allow yourself 4 hours of shitposting and immunity to this thread
go here now calmlywriter.com
dont know what to write? writingexercises.co.uk
Hard mode: reply with your text
ps. not the boss of you though
Sorry my man but I don't normally have internet access so I must take my 2 remaining hours of library time to enjoy it fully
I can write once I go home and have no internet
Do you fap in the library?
good crap i wrote, jk
The obese blonde breeder yelled obscenities at her children in the back of the van as she pulled up the half eaten burgers to the window. "I told you not to put ketchup and cheese on them, don't you assholes know how to follow instructions?" The fat pig tossed the food through the drive-thru window, scattering the ketchup-less burgers all over the petite cashier in front of her.
"Look ma'am, there isn't any ketchup on them!" The cashier yelled back. "Bullshit! I checked them myself!" The oaf screamed, lying on the fly about her inspection. "Give me your manager, I don't want to talk to you." She replied, sending the cashier away in tears. A short haired office dweller came to the window to rescue his cashier. "Grelyn, what is the problem this time?" He asked, complaint record book clutched in hand, ready to transcribe her tirade from Bitch to English. This was a daily ritual for Deacon, to the point where even the customers behind her would read newspapers and wait until the scumbag gave up and took her food.
"Why do you always have the new girls take my order, Dickin?" Grelyn complained. Deacon took a deep breath, looking back to his cashier in training Mara, sitting to the side recovering from the acidic words of Grelyn. This was a daily occurrence, and made this seemingly enjoyable job a bother.
"Because you made all the old girls quit. They are tired of putting up with people like you everyday, so how about you just go somewhere else you ornery fat fucking bitch?" He thought to himself. As much as he hated this woman and her poisonous words, he couldn't pay the bills by telling her off. He submitted to her demands.
"My name is Deacon, ma'am. We try to provide the best service here at-" she broke his sentence with a loud scream, shoving a messy faced toddler to the backseat, holding a burger with no ketchup and no cheese in it's hands. "The thing is ma'am, we did not mess up on your order. We fixed it per your instructions. No ketchup or cheese on the kid's meals, low ice for the drinks, fresh nuggets and fries, and extra, free, sauce."
She ripped the burger from the toddler's hand and flopped it into the window. "they're cold. Give me a refund or I ain't moving. Excellent customer service my ass." She set her car in park to the disdain of the other customers.
"Don't let her pout for her money! We made the order exactly as it popped up! Just call the cops!" Said one of the cooks, Joe Gibbons, armed at the fryer. "No. By the time they get her out of here everyone else's food will be cold." Disgruntled regulars blared their horns at Grelyn's van, and Deacon cashed her out.
She smiled smugly at the manager dishing out her money as her children gazed out of the backseat window, munching on their fries like cows in a stall. "Thanks lackey boy. Next time make it the way I asked. It's not that hard you idiots."
He handed the unwarranted refund to grelyn, snatching the cash in harpy-like fingers and driving off.
it's in spanish. fuck you.
Es como si quisieran recordarte que te vas a morir. Cada vez que entras a uno de estos mierderos te encuentras con más idiotas como tú que metieron la verga donde no debían o pensaron que fumar los haría ver cool o que simplemente tuvieron padres a los que les importó una mierda traer al mundo más muertos en potencia. Si hay algo que tengo claro es que no voy a dejar nada de mí en la tierra una vez logre morirme. Todo lo que tenga debería ser destruido al momento que muera, y toda la basura de todos los que estamos en este edificio, ninguno de nosotros valemos pa algo vivos. Hay pedazos de mierda acá que no les importa, saben que tienen sida o alguna mierda peor (sigo intentando convencerme de que hay algo peor, pero nunca me ha llegado la evidencia) saben que sus células están llenas de mierda genética e igual intentan dejarlas, son tan egoístas que creen que aun valen pa algo ¿se les ocurre algo más asqueroso que un padre sidoso diciéndole a su hijo que lo ama, sabiendo que le arruino la vida desde el nacimiento?
Odio este lugar, las paredes blancas siempre me han emputado. Mi padre no me dejaba pintar las paredes de mi cuarto, decía que traía suciedad, y que eso traía pobreza. Nunca hubo un solo manchon en mis paredes e igualmente soy un sucio pobre, así que supongo que el viejo no sabía de qué mierda estaba hablando. Sin embargo él fue el único que actuó apropiadamente cuando se enteró de mi enfermedad, todos los demás se sentaban al lado mío pero teniendo cuidado de no estar tan cerca como para tocarme por error y me hablaban de como todo iba a estar bien, como lo íbamos a superar juntos, eso era lo que más me emputaba, todo el mundo creía que con decir que era “nuestro” problema solucionaban algo, mi padre por el otro lado me dio una buena cantidad de billetes y se abrió de mi vida. Cuando le conté solo dijo “por fin lograste cagarla de verdad” y salió a fumar, cuando volvió a entrar me dio la plata y me dijo que no le volviera a hablar.
Quizá lo más cruel que puede haber en un hospital es que una
de las enfermeras esté buena. Ver a cualquier mujer en este estado es una
mierda, solo logra recordarte todo el tiempo que ha pasado desde que te
culeaste una mujer por la que no hayas pagado pero usualmente se bajan del bus o se guardan en sus casas o simplemente se pierden de tu vista y a los minutos se te olvidan pero si es tu enfermera cada 7 días vuelves a pensar en hundirle la verga tan profundo como te dé, es más, después de suficiente tiempo incluso en tu casa te encuentras pensando en cómo se ve tu enfermera sin el uniforme. La mía se llama Sandra, tiene un culo ridículo y una forma de mirar que me hace entender a los malparidos que se quedan su secreto y siguen su vida como si nada.
i don't get why that last paragraph is spaced like that.
that was not a creative choice.
Kek
*Portuguese
Very nice.
Dumbass.
Winter had settled in over the the small country hamlet that Father David called home. The mass that Sunday morning had been smaller than usual, but this was to be expected with the thick layers of snow that covered the hills and dells which led to the church. The parishioners had long since left, and the Father had closed up the church for the long night ahead. Little did he know of the horrors that would await him that night.
After the incident, when the bakers boy Joseph had found the body in the morning, it was discovered that the Father was not the first thing killed that night. About two miles out, north-east of the church, a deer, or what was left of a deer, was found. Its remains were splayed over a three meter area, as if someone or something and played among the gore. This was no ordinary beast of the forest, as old Job who had found it would tell, and the folk would of argued these events weren’t connected, if not for the peculiar way in which Father David had died.
As the Father had retired to his bedroom for the night he might of heard the cries of animal, which may of spared his life, if only the church roof had been fixed earlier that week. It had not been fixed, and it is my deepest shame I had not done so, but the snow had prevented me from bringing the required materials out to the old chapel. So when the wind blew, the it whistled through the hole and drowned out most other noises. Unfortunately for Father David, he did hear the glass shatter, as the beast made its entry. Instead of locking his door, the old fool went to check on the monster. He crept out of his room, probably believing the wind had broken the window. As he wandered out among the pews, what he beheld would of been quite the sight. Shafts of moonlight piercing through the now broken window, and standing among the shards of what was once St. Dismas, me. Seven foot tall, razor sharp claws, blood molted fur and completely incapable of control.
I believe that somehow I may have knew what I was doing, which led to the body being flung up into the rafters, semi-hidden from the world.
One small thing, although I understood what you meant by it the last line reads like he is snatching and driving off. Easy enough to fix though.
The subject generator told me to write about a time I was frightened, so I wrote about a recurring nightmare I used to have as a kid.
I don't know what fast food manager would call his profession "seemingly enjoyable." And it's not entirely clear why she does this everyday. For free fries? She threw the burgers back. Still, the back and forth between characters is followable and you really get a sense of disdain for Grelyn, so good job overall.
Your phrasing makes it sound like the "incident" is the finding of the body in the morning. Also, I'm not sure if 3 sq meters is enough to really convey the idea that the corpse had been liberally fucked with. I hope the "would of"s and "might of"s etc. are simply you writing in the voice of a character that doesn't know better. It's hard to evaluate how effectively you're drawing out any tension from the event because the grammatical errors kept distracting me and the order you tell the story in keeps me from becoming too attached to any one scene. Also, I wish you'd made it clear earlier that you were speaking from the point of view of someone. You don't have to tell us the narrator is the murderer, but it certainly sets up the pay off better.
Haha I am so good writer literuare scholars will be studying me ffor centuries!!!!
Actually I doodled about twice this much but ended up liking the second half enough not to post.
I think the first two sentences are a little bit awkward in a similar way to what said about the final paragraph.
The bit about a "seemingly enjoyable job" is not only strange due to the fact that he is a fast food employee, but also because of the situation with Grelyn.
I dont like the phrase "armed at the fryer" in the seventh paragraph, I feel like "armed" is the wromg word.
>"Grelyn, what is the problem this time?" He asked, complaint record book clutched in hand, ready to transcribe her tirade from Bitch to English.
This is my favorite part of what you have written.
this is me
Just so no one thinks I didn't respond to other user's posts like a jerk.
That was really pleasant to read, GG mate. Only issues are pretty much what the other people who already responded to you said; I'm just responding to provide extra motivation. Keep it up.
Aren't men bipedal, not tetrapedal?
I wanted to make sure I wasn't just saying they had two legs, but arms too. And I wanted to do it in a detached, analytical way to make them seem more alien. Bipedal might have worked better. I tried it, but I ultimately went with tetrapedal. I might just be wrong.
addendum: Plus quadripedal would imply they were walking on all fours, which I wanted to avoid implying. Again, I might just be wrong.
"pedal" comes from the latin for foot, "pedibus", so anything preceding the suffix "pedal" is referring only to feet
Thanks, user. I'll keep that in mind.