DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM #AdolphusSearchAndRescue 2023/10/11

She was a plain human (particularly in her current situation), which was to Gibbsen’s taste, though he was aware that humans generally preferred less plain girls. Still, she was of ripe age, and healthy, apart from apparently being sick. She hid her face under her arm and coughed into her sleeve.

The chopper was working its way closer to her, without collapsing any of the disastrous walls onto her, which was a tricky business. Gibbsen began to feel, then to hear, an approaching group of gluckasts, probably the return of one of their crude hunting parties.

Along with a whiff of their wicked stench came a shout: the beasts had only then noticed the chopper’s cacophony and the searchlight’s brilliance was in their nesting ground. Gibbsen could immediately sense their rage and a sharp increase in the swiftness of their approach.

The moment it was possible for Gareth to jump without being ensnared forever in the wreckage of their nest, he went like a black squirrel, and scooped the girl like grim death reaping up a young soul.

But the gluckasts had gotten nearer than expected. Gibbsen stood tense. The moment Gareth lifted the young one up, and she had enough grasp of the situation to roll onto the chopper floor, Gibbsen bit onto the control lever, trusting that Gareth would cling to the boarding rungs as the chopper roared upward.

Gareth did cling, but a gluckast came through an unseen hole, and latched its claw into the hem of Gareth’s robe. Gareth savaged the hanging brute with his spurs, but even dead its claw remained snarled in the cloth, and the carcass swung. A spray of fire shot from the mouth atop the rotors protesting the fierce launch. Gibbsen released the lever and scurried over the girl to see if he could help his Gareth.

Gareth had already hooked his stained spurs on the chopper, and was working with a serrated knife to cut the claw from the rest of the gluckast. He let the body drop into the mob below. Gibbsen kept out of the way as Gareth got himself into the chopper, over the girl, and back into the narrow pilot’s seat.

The girl reached out in the dark to pet Gibbsen’s long, stiff hair. He inched away – who knew if he could catch whatever the human was ailing with.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM #AdolphusSearchAndRescue 2023/10/11

DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM #AdolphusSearchAndRescue 2023/10/09

A hide pouch under the front of the chopper inflated like the throat of a siamang, and a mouth attached to it bellowed into the night under the hack and whistle of the rotor:

“Adolphus Search and Rescue: if any are in danger, make yourselves known.”

The searchlight scanned and blinked, and saw no one. There were no gluckasts near, though surely they would be soon, as this place was one of their filthy nesting grounds. Why did the human not show himself?

The chopper lowered till it settled in a more solid patch of rubbish. The chopper’s rear legs were akin to those of a rhinoceros, the forelegs like those of a gargantuan scaly waterbird. Plenty of large vermin scattered as they settled, but Gibbsen was wise enough to stay aboard the chopper until sent.

Gareth sent him. Unfortunately he didn’t smell any humans, but pointed to where the largest living creature nearby might be hidden: in a large, black, gluckast nest, constructed of unrecognisable debris fused together with leathery, hardened slime. The chopper crept its great bulk nearer, and with its tail like a saurian armadillo it took off the roof and upper storeys of the repulsive habitat. Then the searchlight illuminated the bared pit of the nest’s bowels.

There lay a human girl, who sneezed in the bright light. Gibbsen was very confused.

To be continued.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM #AdolphusSearchAndRescue 2023/10/09

DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM #AdolphusSearchAndRescue 2023/10/06

It would need a helicopter to reach such a place. Gibbsen’s master, Gareth, was a human in a grim black robe which hid all but his greyish mouth and lean hands. He and Gibbsen boarded their chopper.

The leading edges of the blades were lined with teeth that bit the air as they began to spin. When they got up to speed, a thin cry was added above their chopping sound, a cry from the circular mouth (like that of a sea-urchin) which topped the rotor shaft. Gibbsen and Gareth were lifted into the night.

Only briefly could the lights of Griddleton be seen in the distance. Then the only light was from the little glowing bits on the instrument panel – painted with Ban’s blood to make them always red hot; Gibbsen had learned not to get too close. From a tang in the cold air Gibbsen could tell when they flew over patches of window trees.

They arrived and hovered over the place, deep in a gluckast infested area. Gareth opened the cat’s eye searchlight (very bright, though it blinked from time to time). It showed no human being in sight.

It must be a clever human, Gibbsen thought, to get so far without being eaten by the gluckasts. Why did he not show himself?

To be continued.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM #AdolphusSearchAndRescue 2023/10/06

DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM #AdolphusSearchAndRescue 2023/10/04

Gibbsen crunched his “Tough Krunchies” thoughtfully. On slow days like this he sometimes began to wonder if the humans’ food had taste sometimes. He had tasted taste once, and it was mildly interesting, though extravagant. If human food had taste all the time, he would probably feel less respect for them.

An especially loud banshee scream from their metal boxes made him jerk and swallow a prickly piece of Krunchie whole. These weren’t real banshees that Adolphus Search and Rescue kept – real banshees were girls, these were fat worm things that looked like tree bark porridge and lived in narrow shoe box-sized lockers mounted in rows on the wall. They were called “banshees” because they screamed when death was near somebody.

A map of the regions monitored by the Adolphus team was portrayed on a sheet of glass: behind this a small red light turned on, crawled to a certain spot, and sat down. Gibbsen scratched between his ears with the tip of his tail (which was covered in rough scales – the rest of him was covered in long, stiff, grey fur). He didn’t remember seeing the red spot settle in that area (far south of Griddleton) any time in recent years.

Who could have gotten out there, and only now be in danger?

To be continued.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM #AdolphusSearchAndRescue 2023/10/04

DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/09/26

Within a circling cornice of turban stones a gripping weave lies. Machinations in silhouette fall across it, and pin-points glint in the fibre crevices, tasting of cold and bitterness to the eyes.

The snaring interclasping bears a gouge at its heart; from the ragged lips of this gap the silky, fluted sheets of colourless sable funnel down to an unknown approach.

The thin stuff is pinched and pulled from down inside, and it may tear.

What, if not, may pull itself up, and yet be unknown?

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/09/26

DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/09/19

Ripple in the shadow. A simple tower teeters on a cusped tooth of the wilderness. Radiating is a net through the spreading wings in the corrugated rings, and underneath this open pattern is the grainy dregs: indistinct future.

The opposite wall carries the frowning trophies, and in between them flicker the bug siblings, with their strands. Grave stakes flute the structure in the lower parts, and depictions texture it into the silt, over which the open pattern laps, dragging its tingling networks.

On the mantelpiece you find two framed articles, mostly blank, but the angles of the meagre lines and the linking of the few characters fill the empty spaces with meaning such as the stars share between their constellation vertices.

The tower slips a little.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/09/19

DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/09/11

Crimbly, crumbly, shambles in the ranks: look around you.

To your right there is a brief field of charred granules, punctuated by a tottering tower partly constructed of vintage sheet metal; a curious smell of wilted olive flower vents from the chinks of this derelict cylinder.
Behind you is a stone wall, of square stones a span across, not built for structural integrity; detailed depictions of impressionistic juxtapositions spangle the wall, framed in the cracks between the stones.
On your left there is a twisting, winding well, the path of a worm in an apple of crust. How many wells it is, who can tell.

Using a sharp, thin sliver of rock which you unbury from the charred bits, you pry the old lining from an edge on the rickety tower (part of it falls with a silty crash). There you find notes etched in the rust, which teach you the pattern of touching the stones in the wall. When you follow this pattern, a sallow light flickers in the depths of the well(s), giving coordinates in Morse code.

You then set out ahead.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/09/11

DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/08/30

Wires sheathed in right-hand pages, billing worked under the chassis, my labour.

While an open horn stretched over the generated, marble engines cracked out portentous tones over the enervated.

“Chorus, then turn the hand into the baskets; no one has known the layout and crossing such as I.”

We told them the gather was a peregrin before the sheet came to itself – no one tied the devices into streams of procedural steam. I reckon vile will run.

The strings of the instruments, they rolled in the scrolled notes, till debtors dug the ditch and found the iron root by force.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/08/30

DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/08/23

Wavy sheltered grid warp under bare feet.

There was one with tangled hair, he crouched in the corner, fingers splayed, spreading across the grid, wavy, sheltering, shrouding and tangling.

There was a disc that rotated, in its place, its paraphernalia, and it was empty then; the rays had left it empty but not silent.

Treading the lofty girders, slipping between the fingers…

True, there was a mesh to catch the bare feet.

The Gordian Knot, just like an onion.

Then we’re into the closet. We cannot see the grid in the dark, you or I.

Cannot feel the wavy between our toes.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/08/23

DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/08/21

Track breaks sear the table of weaving wicks. Rending falls on the ear, a nested belly membraneous and nocturnal, shifting along the settled air in trial of the dried wink.

Through the core of the carven cylinder threads five wicks and six principle shifts. Thin walls shudder under the settling of the unlit hours. Dressed in flanged festoons, Isaac Yarrow’s persons learn the charge, and treble the key fare.

Lissom links of crossing flats parch the print in drying clay cracks. Rived cataracts over the head and below, turned up again and unlit again, loosed under the built vaults for the test. Driven in the central circling shade, rough matte in patchwork scratch, the highest drawing drives. Thin walls are under the founding of the encircling shades. Soon the studious return, and threefold will they be.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/08/21