Sunday Morning Fiction

As I like to remind people from time to time, here on DocuDharma we encourage creative writing, fiction, and silliness (as well as advanced HTML, pretty pictures, and videos).

This is why we allow the virtually limitless amount of 3 essays a day (I can hardly come up with one most days), but if that stifles your creativity let me know and I’ll lobby for raising it.

I particularly like to feature them on Sunday mornings when you can be relaxed and easy going, and late at night when us insomniacs are desperate for something new and entertaining.

Today I’d like to highlight the latest installments of two running fictional features-

Dystopia 13: Hetû

by: TP_Alexander

Sat Aug 01, 2009 at 18:20:04 PDT


Dark Soul Chapter Nine

by: Something The Dog Said

Sat Aug 01, 2009 at 08:00:05 PDT

The rest of you slackers-



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  1. “It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents- except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.”

    • Edger on August 2, 2009 at 2:31 pm

    So I got creative and I wrote and posted my very first title-less invisible essay. It’s a brand new genre I’ve invented. 😉

  2. It was a hot, humid, hazy, night in Memphis and the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife and serve it up with some barbeque sauce or deep fry it and reflect on your momma’s kitchen in your little Mississippi hamlet where the boys played football and hunted and the girls knew how to twirl you around their manicured fingers like so and the old men sighed and watched and the women said,”Please Jesus don’t let that girl get pregnant and if she does let it be that fine mayor’s son”…..

  3. “It was a dark and stormy night, although the storm was not caused by global warming, which is a ridiculous invention of the liberal scientific elites whose hatred of this great country of ours drives a stake through the ol’ proverbial hearts there of our brave fighting men and women, upon whose backs we’re heapin’ the oppressive yoke of socialism, like a hunter strugglin’ to carry a moose across the socialistic tundra of Russia, or also possibly Sweden.”

    • mishima on August 2, 2009 at 3:33 pm
    • sharon on August 2, 2009 at 6:12 pm

    but i was seriously impressed by undercovercalico and caribou barbie’s efforts.  brings a smile in the dense humidity that engulfs manhattan.  you’ve all inspired me to pick up the harper’s that i abandoned earlier this week because it was too stinkin’ hot to read.

  4. It was a dark and stormy night all across the land and no one had left any lights on. It was all nothing but sporadic pockmarks of flashlights, fireflies, and Bic lighters, while the rain fell constant and steady like war like terror like nameless childless wombdrops falling silently then softly landing with a little plop sound into wells of puddles that pooled and swirled around dams of plastic THANK YOU COME BACK AGAIN wrinkled wads of Never that would clog the night and block off the ever rippling path to Morning.

    The heat fell in blankets almost as heavy as the rain even though it was nighttime and all the wet in the world could offer no protection.

    It was the kind of storm that you knew you knew, like a favorite song from high school but you couldn’t quite get the words back.

    But you remember.


    now see? Put a few line breaks and a poem is born. lol.

    I have some old (OLD!) poems I might share sometime.

    Had an idea. Let me think about it.

    • RiaD on August 2, 2009 at 7:56 pm

    dank & dreary year, deary when imagination left the world. it scuttled away, riding in birchbark boats atop rivers of despair. they didn’t even try to catch it before it left the land. sucked down thru whirled pools into snakeholes that writhed their way to the core of the earth. every now and again one will trip on a hole, grown wider than the rest, fall to his knees & have a flash! of insight, a glimmer of grok. & then he rises & it falls away like the dust he brushes from his pants.

  5. Photobucket

    “some” heh.

    Let me give this a whack.

    Im happy that The Dog is going to NN09 but I dont think many others from DD are. We’ll be here as usual, eh? Well, it just so happens the dates coincide with my husbands trip to NYC to his convention so I will have about five glorious days all to myself. (Kid doesnt count, she’s self sufficient!)

    August 12 through 16th.

    Would anybody here want to maybe DO something…fun… here? Over that weekend. Like, what, maybe our own little Writers Workshop something. Or a Round Robin Write-a-thon! I dont know. Still thinking.

    Ideas? Feedback?

    should I start a new essay to toss this out?

  6. He knew it was exactly the same size as the primary one down by the docking ports. He knew because he had measured it with a laser measure himself. While there could be no difference in size, there was something which was not the same. More often than not, when entering the lock, he would bang the life support pack on the upper edge of the door way.

    This was not a good thing. At that point you had two choices, step back inside, take the pack off and start the pre-EVA inspection list again, or continue and hope nothing had broken lose, praying you would be able to hit the emergency represurization button as you heard the deadly hiss of a broken seal leaking your vital air away.

    Neither was really acceptable, so Kyle usually went with trusting his reflexes. Which is not to say he was not careful every time, hoping he would not have to take even this small level of risk. Bending to enter the lock, he stepped forward. Bang! The upper edge of the life support pack hit the frame of the air lock.

    “Damn it!” he swore.

    “Come again, EVA Leader?” said Ellen House the Comms officer for this space walk.

    “Ah, nothing, Comms.” said Kyle, “Just a little mike check”

    “Well we have you five by five Leader, so try not to swear into an open mike, okay?” laughed the Comms officer.  

  7. It was not a dark and stormy night, the rain fell upside down while the sun shone brightly just to piss everyone off, except when it was flying sideways like a fuck ungiven (for it is an illegally surveilled bedroom that our scene lies), whining eternally along the housetops like an over-trafficked Homeland Security radio frequency, and boring the living shit out of militant liberal ex-military misanthropic computer geek housewives experiencing their 118th menopausal 4am hot flash.

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