A Rumination on the Consequences of Man's Suppressed Nature

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Cowardly
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A Rumination on the Consequences of Man's Suppressed Nature

Post by Cowardly » Thu Aug 07, 2008 21:41

ALRIGHT GUYS. This is the first piece ive done that ive actually managed to resist getting SUPER angry at and deleting. Its a piece of shit, but if you dont like it dont comment. K. My self esteem is fragile.


2354 words.

-------------------


The boat floated upon the great expanse with a slight air of melancholy. The raft seemed completely devoid of any movement and life, nothing moved, nothing twitched. Nothing made a sound.

One by one the shadowy figures came to life, like a puppet whose master had suddenly tugged their string. Each pulled their head forward suddenly and woke with a slightly surprised snort, before rubbing their eyes, looking around, and realising that they were still on the dinghy and bobbing their heads to fall asleep again.

One of the members of the floating club eventually turned his head over the side of the slowly moving boat and threw up.
“Fuck, I’m hungry” grunted the man.
The others of the group turned to look at him, but eventually flopped back down and utted sighs.
It had been like this for a long time now, several days, in fact, since the plane had gone down. The raft had been left with very little to survive on after having floated away from the small armada of other inflatable craft and, with the crew being too tired and weak to fight it, had drifted away in the current.
“Do you think we’ll get rescued?” said one of the fatigued crew. There was a certain response of disdain among the rest of the would-be sailors. It would suggest from their responses that any hope of being rescued was extremely slim, especially with the raft having floated so far off course.

It had not quite occurred to any of the seafaring people that one of them passed away during the night, and would, some time in the next day or so, begin to smell quite a lot. At the time being, people didn’t seem to mind, and they certainly didn’t notice people among their number not talking or even moving. There were, it seemed, more pressing matters to worry about.

The more pressing matters seemed to be who would get the last of the rations. Unfortunately, it had also not quite occurred to the group that the person who had passed away has made sure his last act on this earth was to consume the remaining rations, therefore finishing the others, but saving himself. The rations it would seem, had been too little too late, and instead he had merely made sure to finish everyone off in one go,

Another more pressing matter was the hygiene of the boat. As small as it was, people were forced to excrete what they had to into the surrounding waters, which people had taken to fairly easily, and yet there was still a thin layer of liquid excrement inside the vessel as opposed to outside. It would seem that the person who had passed away had also made sure to release his bladder before his untimely passing, making life that little bit more difficult for its already disadvantaged crew.

The crew turned to the rations. The small box they had been keeping them in was not only empty, but the catch had broken and it had been laying upside down in the filth. The crew took this rather unfavourably and began to glare at each other.

“Who ate the fuckin’ food?” yelled the small woman with an Australian accent, “and who the hell pissed in the boat?!”

Unsurprisingly, nobody answered. The culprit’s lips would never move to admit to his actions, nor would they ever move under his power again. This would soon become a problem. There was an awkward silence.

“Somebody answer me!” yelled the woman again.
“We don’t know!” snapped the thugish man in response “and yelling won’t fucking help!”

The awkward silence took over once again, and the survivors took it upon themselves to look around the raft and out to sea, but not to empty the boat of waste, which had become smelly and sticky in the heat from the summer sun.

Suddenly, the Australian woman forced herself to her feet. She looked around the boat with disdain before moving towards the side.
“I can’t take this any more!” she yelled. Some of the survivors began to wonder if she could do anything BUT yell. She stood and she looked around the boat, and although there was no land in site, took the step off the dinghy and into the cold ocean water. Straight away she took a mouthful of salt water, and got into difficulty.

Throughout her struggle, nobody attempted to resist her leaving, nor did anyone help her after she had left the craft. She struggled and splashed before finally settling down some time after the boat had floated away. Several of the survivors looked over the side of the dinghy to see if she had managed to swim, but she wasn’t able to been seen. The survivors, one by one, let out a sight.

“Stupid bitch,” grunted the thug. And the crew once again, returned to silence.

----------------------------

After a while, it had become obvious that the crew were becoming uncomfortable with the sunburn they were gradually building up, and the hunger was beginning to reach an unbearable level.
Another survivor, the young quiet man, moved his head off the side of the vessel and settled it on the floor. Soon his head was back on the side, and gagging up. The filth would need to be removed before the floor would be clean enough for a population to survive on it, and something else would have to be moved as well. Something that in the hot summer sun, had began to smell like rotting citrus fruit or rich Stilton, though neither had been accounted for in the rations.

“I’m really fucking hungry” the thug grunted once again, and once again, nobody took much notice, “No, I said I’m really fucking hungry” he grunted once again, but louder and more aggressive.

“We all are” moaned a woman, who, up until now, had remained silent and rather nonchalant about the situation, “so please be quiet so we can sleep at least.”

This did not go down well with the thug, who began to glare at the lady. She was not the fittest survivor, at about 50 and large in size, she had lost a lot of weight on the trip so far, and was beginning to look very, very unwell. The sun was out, and had been for the days they had been stranded, and although she would survive the others through hunger, she looked like she need a drink more then anyone else.

The man stood up.
“Who do you think you are? You’re not the captain of this boat, and you don’t tell me what to do!” he roared.

The woman responded in turn.
“We don’t need a captain! Now sit down, please,” she reasoned, “you are rocking the boat!”
“There you go again, bossing me about! Well I think this ship does need a Captain!” he yelled, with all the authority as someone who had opened his Pandora’s box, and unleashed his superiority complex.

He, it was assumed, would be prime candidate for this position, but as he turned to yell at the woman, the younger man put his foot to the mans back, and the “Captain” himself joined the murky blue.

Just as the woman before him, he struggled for less then 5 minutes before accepting the inevitable, and becoming another piece of scenery for the ocean floor. The woman and the man sighed once again, it was become a better feature of the crew that they could not swim, or at least did not have the energy to.

Before the lady and the thug, an overweight man had jumped ship in attempt to reach the boats they had left behind, but he also, with the grace and poise of a brick, had drowned in his folly.

----------------------------

The following day, it seemed that the figures on the boat were preparing for their fate, all apart from the previously deceased, who had made the night without discovery, were telling each other what they would like to be doing at that particular moment. Most of the crew simply concluded that they would like to be eating and drinking.

The crew stopped talking. The grim melancholy filled the air again, along with a more sinister feeling of danger. The woman turned to look at the man, and she licked her lips.

“Hey!” he yelled, “I fucking saw that!”
The woman pleaded her innocence.
“Saw what?” she acted “I was merely wetting my lips!”

The man looked as though he did not believe her, and he glared at her, though his glare was met with her ravenous eyes. They glared for hours. They glared into the night, and for the first time in the days they had been on the raft, they were both afraid to sleep. The previously deceased seemed to have no problems however, and his head rolled back, his eyes shut, much like he had spent the day, and road out the night in silence.

In the morning, they both lay on the edge of sleep, watching eachother. The only exception to the Mexican stand-off was our dearly deceased, who chose not to take sides in the conflict. The woman, on the verge of sleep, licked her lips again. This obviously didn’t help the situation, but at the time, this didn’t damage or relieve the tension.

The gathering smells didn’t break the tension either, though the meaty mannequin that was the dearly departed still held his façade that he was still, in some way, alive. This was due to the two being to intent in staring at each other, to notice any movement, or lack of it, in the person, they also didn’t look to see where the putrid stench was coming from.

Eventually the Small man drifted off to sleep, as he could no longer keep his eyes on the fat one, or open at all. As the sun rose to its highest, the woman, sure that the man would not wake up, crawled over to the small man, gently so as not to wake the pair. Soon she enclosed her large hands over his mouth and one on his neck. She squeezed. She squeezed hard. In fact, she squeezed harder then she thought she was able to, and although the man struggled for a while, he soon lay limp.

The lady slumped back onto her back, with her head on the side of the dinghy and contemplated what she had done. Thoughts must have gone through her head like, “it was him or me” or “I had no choice” but the lady, in fact, was not thinking about that at all. In actual fact, she was considering how he would taste, and how insanely hungry she was,

It would take her twenty minutes to gather the effort and the confidence, but soon, she moved so she was partially on top of the late thin man, and she began to gorge on the sweat meat. She would start with his cheek, as skinny as he was, it was surprisingly tender and meaty. Then she would move onto other areas, of which she considered to be more plentiful and easy to eat. She would go on to eat his buttocks, his chest and stomach, and eventually, the man’s penis. She would laugh at the irony of her desperate situation.

She also had to taste the other man on the boat. She had eaten one, why stop? Why not the other?

She pushed the remaining carcass of the small man into the water, watching as blood diffused out into the serene ocean water, making little swirls and patterns, before finally the body was out of sight.

In her head, the woman reasoned why she was eating people, why she had eaten the small man, and why she was going to eat the silent one. She had to reason why she was the only one alive on the boat when, or if, she was found, and why there as blood. A reasonable person would have thought of a cover story, and that everyone would buy and hold them as a hero. The fat lady was no longer a reasonable person, she had become something else now. She had eaten people she had survived with, she had become some fairytale monster that went bump in the night and would eat people and their children.

She didn’t care. She stood over the silent man. Without much time contemplating how, or what to do, she had pounced on the unsuspecting carcass, and taken a mouth full of his body. As she did, the taste of rotting flesh entered her mouth, and the putrid flesh made her sick, and she screamed and jumped back in both surprise and disgust, and she did so carelessly. She tripped over backwards and fell into the great blue.

The Fat lady splashed a little longer then the former swimmers had, but was just as successful. After a little water-based drama, she had taken a few too many mouthfuls of water.

----------------------------
The boat drifted on. Days, maybe weeks passed on, as the ship and its sole passenger, the unofficial captain of his vessel, stayed steady on the dinghy. Soon the decaying carcass and its floating throne was discovered by a flock of gulls. The gulls swooped and dived, and after several close looks, decided that the body was of no threat. Several of the braver birds took a peck at the body, but left it alone.

The Gulls were a good sign, it meant the boat was closing in on the shore, and close it was. Several hours later, the boat hit a beach. The waves gently beat the boat, pushing it further onto sure, where it became stuck.

The Silent man stood up. He felt the bite wound on his cheek and looked around. In the shallows around the island, four bodies had washed up. The Pilot looked at each of them in turn, seeing a small one, a big one, a fat one and a small thin mutilated one. He grinned and shuffled off onto the beach and onto the Island.

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Re: nobody fucking move i am posting some of my writing

Post by mongoose_01 » Thu Aug 07, 2008 22:07

I raped chills story and this came out

By the way if any of the admins find the ending racist enough to warrant disgust I'll change it, then walk to canterbury on my knees

----------------------------------
The boat floated upon the great expanse with a slight air of melancholy. The raft seemed completely devoid of any movement and life, nothing moved, nothing twitched. Nothing made a sound.

One by one the shadowy figures came to life, like a puppet whose master had suddenly tugged their string. Each pulled their head forward suddenly and woke with a slightly surprised snort, before rubbing their eyes, looking around, and realising that they were still on the dinghy and bobbing their heads to fall asleep again.

One of the members of the floating club eventually turned his head over the side of the slowly moving boat and threw up.
“Fuck, I’m hungry” grunted the man.
The others of the group turned to look at him, but eventually flopped back down and utted sighs.
It had been like this for a long time now, several days, in fact, since the plane had gone down. The raft had been left with very little to survive on after having floated away from the small armada of other inflatable craft and, with the crew being too tired and weak to fight it, had drifted away in the current.
“Do you think we’ll get rescued?” said one of the fatigued crew. There was a certain response of disdain among the rest of the would-be sailors. It would suggest from their responses that any hope of being rescued was extremely slim, especially with the raft having floated so far off course.

It had not quite occurred to any of the seafaring people that one of them passed away during the night, and would, some time in the next day or so, begin to smell quite a lot. At the time being, people didn’t seem to mind, and they certainly didn’t notice people among their number not talking or even moving. There were, it seemed, more pressing matters to worry about.

The more pressing matters seemed to be who would get the last of the rations. Unfortunately, it had also not quite occurred to the group that the person who had passed away has made sure his last act on this earth was to consume the remaining rations, therefore finishing the others, but saving himself. The rations it would seem, had been too little too late, and instead he had merely made sure to finish everyone off in one go,

Another more pressing matter was the hygiene of the boat. As small as it was, people were forced to excrete what they had to into the surrounding waters, which people had taken to fairly easily, and yet there was still a thin layer of liquid excrement inside the vessel as opposed to outside. It would seem that the person who had passed away had also made sure to release his bladder before his untimely passing, making life that little bit more difficult for its already disadvantaged crew.

The crew turned to the rations. The small box they had been keeping them in was not only empty, but the catch had broken and it had been laying upside down in the filth. The crew took this rather unfavourably and began to glare at each other.

“Who ate the fuckin’ food?” yelled the small woman with an Australian accent, “and who the hell pissed in the boat?!”

Unsurprisingly, nobody answered. The culprit’s lips would never move to admit to his actions, nor would they ever move under his power again. This would soon become a problem. There was an awkward silence.

“Somebody answer me!” yelled the woman again.
“We don’t know!” snapped the thugish man in response “and yelling won’t fucking help!”

The awkward silence took over once again, and the survivors took it upon themselves to look around the raft and out to sea, but not to empty the boat of waste, which had become smelly and sticky in the heat from the summer sun.

Suddenly, the Australian woman forced herself to her feet. She looked around the boat with disdain before moving towards the side.
“I can’t take this any more!” she yelled. Some of the survivors began to wonder if she could do anything BUT yell. She stood and she looked around the boat, and although there was no land in site, took the step off the dinghy and into the cold ocean water. Straight away she took a mouthful of salt water, and got into difficulty.

Throughout her struggle, nobody attempted to resist her leaving, nor did anyone help her after she had left the craft. She struggled and splashed before finally settling down some time after the boat had floated away. Several of the survivors looked over the side of the dinghy to see if she had managed to swim, but she wasn’t able to been seen. The survivors, one by one, let out a sight.

“Stupid bitch,” grunted the thug. And the crew once again, returned to silence.

----------------------------

After a while, it had become obvious that the crew were becoming uncomfortable with the sunburn they were gradually building up, and the hunger was beginning to reach an unbearable level.
Another survivor, the young quiet man, moved his head off the side of the vessel and settled it on the floor. Soon his head was back on the side, and gagging up. The filth would need to be removed before the floor would be clean enough for a population to survive on it, and something else would have to be moved as well. Something that in the hot summer sun, had began to smell like rotting citrus fruit or rich Stilton, though neither had been accounted for in the rations.

“I’m really fucking hungry” the thug grunted once again, and once again, nobody took much notice, “No, I said I’m really fucking hungry” he grunted once again, but louder and more aggressive.

“We all are” moaned a woman, who, up until now, had remained silent and rather nonchalant about the situation, “so please be quiet so we can sleep at least.”

This did not go down well with the thug, who began to glare at the lady. She was not the fittest survivor, at about 50 and large in size, she had lost a lot of weight on the trip so far, and was beginning to look very, very unwell. The sun was out, and had been for the days they had been stranded, and although she would survive the others through hunger, she looked like she need a drink more then anyone else.

The man stood up.
“Who do you think you are? You’re not the captain of this boat, and you don’t tell me what to do!” he roared.

The woman responded in turn.
“We don’t need a captain! Now sit down, please,” she reasoned, “you are rocking the boat!”
“There you go again, bossing me about! Well I think this ship does need a Captain!” he yelled, with all the authority as someone who had opened his Pandora’s box, and unleashed his superiority complex.

He, it was assumed, would be prime candidate for this position, but as he turned to yell at the woman, the younger man put his foot to the mans back, and the “Captain” himself joined the murky blue.

Just as the woman before him, he struggled for less then 5 minutes before accepting the inevitable, and becoming another piece of scenery for the ocean floor. The woman and the man sighed once again, it was become a better feature of the crew that they could not swim, or at least did not have the energy to.

Before the lady and the thug, an overweight man had jumped ship in attempt to reach the boats they had left behind, but he also, with the grace and poise of a brick, had drowned in his folly.

----------------------------

The following day, it seemed that the figures on the boat were preparing for their fate, all apart from the previously deceased, who had made the night without discovery, were telling each other what they would like to be doing at that particular moment. Most of the crew simply concluded that they would like to be eating and drinking.

The crew stopped talking. The grim melancholy filled the air again, along with a more sinister feeling of danger. The woman turned to look at the man, and she licked her lips.

“Hey!” he yelled, “I fucking saw that!”
The woman pleaded her innocence.
“Saw what?” she acted “I was merely wetting my lips!”

The man looked as though he did not believe her, and he glared at her, though his glare was met with her ravenous eyes. They glared for hours. They glared into the night, and for the first time in the days they had been on the raft, they were both afraid to sleep. The previously deceased seemed to have no problems however, and his head rolled back, his eyes shut, much like he had spent the day, and road out the night in silence. The other, silent, man on the boat did not intervene. He was worried that the woman might take a liking to his own flesh, and would keep quiet for as long as possible.

In the morning, they both lay on the edge of sleep, watching eachother. The woman, on the verge of sleep, licked her lips again. This obviously didn’t help the situation, but at the time, this didn’t damage or relieve the tension.

The gathering smells didn’t break the tension either, though the meaty mannequin that was the dearly departed still held his façade that he was still, in some way, alive. This was due to the two being to intent in staring at each other, to notice any movement, or lack of it, in the person, they also didn’t look to see where the putrid stench was coming from.

Eventually the Small man drifted off to sleep, as he could no longer keep his eyes on the fat one, or open at all. As the sun rose to its highest, the woman, sure that the man would not wake up, crawled over to the small man, gently so as not to wake the three other crewmen. Soon she enclosed her large hands over his mouth and one on his neck. She squeezed. She squeezed hard. In fact, she squeezed harder then she thought she was able to, and although the man struggled for a while, he did not wake the other two men on board, and he soon lay limp.

The lady slumped back onto her back, with her head on the side of the dinghy and contemplated what she had done. One would assume that thoughts must have gone through her head such as, “It was him or me” or “I had no choice” but the lady, in fact, was not thinking about that at all. In actual fact, she was considering how he would taste, and how insanely hungry she was,

It would take her twenty minutes to gather the effort and the confidence, but soon, she moved so she was partially on top of the late thin man, and she began to gorge on the sweat meat. She would start with his cheek, as skinny as he was, it was surprisingly tender and meaty. Then she would move onto other areas, of which she considered to be more plentiful and easy to eat. She would go on to eat his buttocks, his chest and stomach, and eventually, the man’s penis. She would laugh at the irony of her desperate situation.

She also had to taste the other men on the boat. She had eaten one, why stop? Why not the others?

She pushed the remaining carcass of the small man into the water, watching as blood diffused out into the serene ocean water, making little swirls and patterns, before finally the body was out of sight.

In her head, the woman reasoned why she was eating people, why she had eaten the small man, and why she was going to eat the silent one. She had to reason why she was the only one alive on the boat when she was found, and why there was blood. A reasonable person would have thought of a cover story, and that everyone would buy and hold them as a hero. The fat lady was no longer a reasonable person, she had become something else now. She had eaten people she had survived with, she had become some fairytale monster that went bump in the night and would eat people and their children.

She didn’t care. She stood over the two silent men. Without much time contemplating how, or what to do, she had pounced on the first unsuspecting carcass, and tore off a mouthful of his body. As she did, the taste of rotting flesh entered her mouth. The putrid flesh made her sick, and she screamed and jumped back in both surprise and disgust, and she did so carelessly. She tripped over backwards and fell into the great blue.

The sleeping man woke to her screams, and jumped in surprise. He scrambled to the side of the boat and watched her flail in the water. The Fat lady splashed a little longer then the former swimmers had, but was just as successful. After a little water-based drama, she had taken a few too many mouthfuls of water.

----------------------------
The boat drifted on. Days, maybe weeks passed on, as the ship and its sole passenger, the unofficial captain of his vessel, stayed steady on the dinghy. Many times he contemplated eating the cadaver next to him, but each time was repulsed by the smell. Eventually, he tipped the man overboard to join his ill-fated predecessors. Still the boat drifted in a seemingly endless cycle of time. But one day, the man noticed dark shapes in the water beneath him. At first he was startled, thinking they were sharks, but after a long while studying them he concluded that they must have been rocks, unmoving and silent in the green water.
Rocks meant land, or at least shallow water. He was reaching civilisation! The lonely man, now skeletal with hunger, used the empy ration box to scoop out the thin film of excrement on the floor of the dinghy and tried desperately to use it as a paddle, wishing to arrive as soon as possible at the place of his salvation. After all, there was no food left whatsoever, and he surely would not last long. Hour after hour, day after day he dipped the box in, pulled it back and replaced it in front of him, making sure to paddle equally on his left and right sides so as not to turn the boat.
After what might have been three days he sighted a dark smudge on the horizon. It was too soon to be sure, but he was confident that he was approaching land. The sun sank and the moon danced across the sky, and the smudge grew into a line. Eventually, he could make out the shape of the coast in front of him. It was small. In fact, it appeared to be no more than a huge rock, far from a populated continent. All he could see was a desolate, barren place where he would surely go mad and die. The man began to whimper. He looked hungrily at his own arms, estimating the energy held within them, and this thought too added to his lament. The cruel thing, he thought, about approaching a disappointment on a drifting boat is that it takes so long to arrive, that there is so much time to grieve before your worst fears are confirmed. He became angry, shouting and howling and bawling at the uncaring, blank ocean beside him. After another day of despair, he decided to end his life sooner, not to allow himself to feel such grief when he stepped off the boat onto the place of his death. The man, ribs showing and arms bony, took minutes of grunting and whimpering to haul himself up to his feet, and throw himself into the blue. The ocean that had already swallowed so many before him.
The boat drifted, unmanned, up against the shore of the black, desolate mass of rock two hours later. After a day laying untouched on the beach by any form of life, a rotund man waddled towards the orange dinghy accompanied by two younger comnpanions. He frowned, and exclaimed, “Qu’est-ce que c’est?”
The young man to his left answered “J’ai vu une chose comme ca quand j’ai visite a Paris, Papa!”
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Re: nobody fucking move i am posting some of my writing

Post by Cowardly » Thu Aug 07, 2008 22:18

great. everyones going to read yours and be all like OH YEAH THATS BERTTER HURRRH URRR and i'll be like "well did you like my orignial " and they'yll be like SHUT UP CHILL ITS NOT ALL ABOUT YOU FUCKING ATTENTION WHORE and i'll be like : (

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Re: A Rumination on the Consequences of Man's Suppressed Nature

Post by Ransom » Fri Aug 08, 2008 05:37

I enjoyed it, Chill. The end left me a bit puzzled, though - so the dude was a zombie, or what?

Do you want any feedback on the writing itself?

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Re: A Rumination on the Consequences of Man's Suppressed Nature

Post by Cowardly » Fri Aug 08, 2008 09:26

I'll feedback myself.

The style was bland and my technique is fucking awful.
I fail to build suspence at any point in the whole story, and it goes nowhere.

Why did you write it you cunt.

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Re: A Rumination on the Consequences of Man's Suppressed Nature

Post by mongoose_01 » Fri Aug 08, 2008 10:21

Chill wrote:great. everyones going to read yours and be all like OH YEAH THATS BERTTER HURRRH URRR and i'll be like "well did you like my orignial " and they'yll be like SHUT UP CHILL ITS NOT ALL ABOUT YOU FUCKING ATTENTION WHORE and i'll be like : (
lol
Chill wrote:I'll feedback myself.

The style was bland and my technique is fucking awful.
I fail to build suspence at any point in the whole story, and it goes nowhere.

Why did you write it you cunt.
lol

All I did was steal your decent story and make it more... British...

Same with Ransom, I think the ending is slightly crazy. And unbelievable. But you said you were going for the "wtf" effect, so thats cool
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KnightofBane wrote:My Computer >> Local Disk C then Windows, system32 etc
Went there and deleted the whole Windows folder and I still get that message. Fucking bullshit.
itsmedan wrote:well you should, all i am trying to say that its ok if you're poor, as long as you are AMERICAN ;x

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Re: A Rumination on the Consequences of Man's Suppressed Nature

Post by Ransom » Fri Aug 08, 2008 15:01

Chill wrote:I'll feedback myself.

The style was bland and my technique is fucking awful.
I fail to build suspence at any point in the whole story, and it goes nowhere.

Why did you write it you cunt.
well i was thinking more specific feedback than 'bland' or 'fucking awful'

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Re: A Rumination on the Consequences of Man's Suppressed Nature

Post by kob » Fri Aug 08, 2008 17:03

Ransom wrote:
Chill wrote:I'll feedback myself.

The style was bland and my technique is fucking awful.
I fail to build suspence at any point in the whole story, and it goes nowhere.

Why did you write it you cunt.
well i was thinking more specific feedback than 'bland' or 'fucking awful'
a fucking bland piece of smelly dog shit that tastes awfully like raw chicken?

it was pretty good chill. i didn't read mongoose's story, nor do i care to. tl;dr etc.

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