"We're calling the weapon "Matryoshka," said Pilkington.
"Why's that?" asked the General
"The projectile uses launch energy and a nano-fabricator to make ever smaller versions of itself, inside itself, re-using its own mass and applying spare mass to increase thrust. Density and speed thus increase exponentially whilst size decreases inversely. Eventually its speed, size and density render it undetectable and unstopable. We're test firing in 3...2...1"
Pilkington's head vapourised into pink mist, a laser thin ray of sunlight beaming into the room.
"Bravo, Pilkington!" said the General, cleaning his glasses "That must have taken some brains."
They say that getting to know a person is like peeling the layers of an onion. I think a better analogy might be the matryoshka, the Russian nested doll.
Each of us presents our most public self to the world, but inside, there are other selves, each somehow smaller, each somehow truer.
Over time, if we are lucky, we reach a point where there is no more shedding of a persona that is not quite us. There is no need for that. Eventually, when the connection is real, there is a deep understanding, a love.
I don’t know how to tag yet as I’m new here so, this is my take.
The Grim watches the mother unblinking as she rocks her baby. It looks down at the wooden figure it holds, using a long, sharp fingernail to carve a smile across its face.
A slow smile spreads over the Grim’s own face, needle sharp teeth glinting as the candle in the window flickers.
The Carving was done. Now, for the Filling.
The church clock strikes twelve and a baby cries, wanting his mother. Inside of the doorstep sits a matryoshka, newly painted with rosy cheeks, the dress drips red onto the floor, the puddle too large. The mother does not come.
Hi Koen! Welcome to the site. If you're posting things on Notes or on your main page, the way to Tag someone is to type the '@' symbol and then the name of the person you want to Tag after it (so in this case, 'Miguel S.'), and that will bring up a box with the name in it for you to select and make it a Tag, so he can see it. Good luck with your writing... 😎
Jaye stepped up to the cryo pod. She shivered, thinking of the cold, even though she knew she wouldn't be awake to feel it. She hated leaving the dying Earth, but she dreamt of a new future.
The rest of her family had already entered their pods, their frosty faces behind viewing panes. Placed in order of size: Her father, mother, and little brother. Each tucked into a tidy container like a nesting doll.
Her ex-boyfriend was back on Earth. She grieved him. In this moment, he had his whole life to live. When she awoke, he'd be long dead.
Some people think they've had it hard in love, but being used for cover by an undercover spy is real horror stuff, even worse, you can be married with children for years without knowing, till one night he or she has to tie up loose ends...
Pity about no batch, but life is like that.
A nice layered piece!
Over at Snowy Hearts, the good Doctor Sleet has made a prescription from the fine medications offered here at the Fiction Dealer!
A polypharmacy of North.
Right. Time to get the doctor started on a new prescription.
The small matryoshka sat on the desk, its painted smile mocking Detective Wells. Inside, another doll, then another, until he reached the smallest one—a scrap of paper folded tightly. He unfolded it, revealing a single word: “Tonight.”
Wells glanced at the clock. 11:25 p.m.
His heart raced. He bolted to his car, tearing through empty streets toward the old warehouse.
But when he arrived, the door creaked open, and there she stood—alive. Behind her, the mastermind.
“You’re late,” the man said, stepping out of the shadows. “But not too late for my game.”
She surprises me, and every day is like waking up next to someone completely new. That's why, day after day, I fall more in love with her, because I feel that she's always new, and I always have to be something new too.
Our relationship is not an abyss, but a rebirth in daily surprise, a dynamic from which you can't abstract algorithms or formulas.
We have no secrets, no advice we can give you. We just are, and that's what's enough for us every time we look at each other deeply, as if we were blending into each other.
Gerry struck gold. She looked even better than her profile pic. He hoped against hope his hair dye would hold. His gleaming incisors throbbed from the bleaching strips. His glistening chest itched from the waxing. These borrowed boots pinched like a mofo. He was just back from the can where his phone taught him phonetically how to pronounce the appetizers. His man girdle strained as he reclaimed his seat.
She leaned across the table and purred, “I’m just glad for a chance to get to know the real you.”
Gerry wasn’t sure he could excavate that guy with a shovel.
We call them Baboushkas!!! It's just come up in taskmaster 😂 Even though that's the headscarf. I don't know why we call it this.
"We're calling the weapon "Matryoshka," said Pilkington.
"Why's that?" asked the General
"The projectile uses launch energy and a nano-fabricator to make ever smaller versions of itself, inside itself, re-using its own mass and applying spare mass to increase thrust. Density and speed thus increase exponentially whilst size decreases inversely. Eventually its speed, size and density render it undetectable and unstopable. We're test firing in 3...2...1"
Pilkington's head vapourised into pink mist, a laser thin ray of sunlight beaming into the room.
"Bravo, Pilkington!" said the General, cleaning his glasses "That must have taken some brains."
PROMPT: MATRYOSHKA
THE TURDUCKEN
Our Grandmother had been looking forward to us visiting all week.
She was making something extra special for Sunday Lunch, and couldn’t wait for us to try it.
When we asked her what it was, she said it was a Turducken.
We all looked at each other with confused expressions, and almost simultaneously said, “What the hell is a Turducken?”
“It’s a chicken, stuffed in a duck, and then they’re both stuffed in a turkey”, she said, “Like a set of nesting dolls.”
We were horrified.
So we told her we’d all gone vegetarian.
And then we ordered a takeaway… 😎
They say that getting to know a person is like peeling the layers of an onion. I think a better analogy might be the matryoshka, the Russian nested doll.
Each of us presents our most public self to the world, but inside, there are other selves, each somehow smaller, each somehow truer.
Over time, if we are lucky, we reach a point where there is no more shedding of a persona that is not quite us. There is no need for that. Eventually, when the connection is real, there is a deep understanding, a love.
Ultimately, that is everything.
Well…1890s…& still popular
I don’t know how to tag yet as I’m new here so, this is my take.
The Grim watches the mother unblinking as she rocks her baby. It looks down at the wooden figure it holds, using a long, sharp fingernail to carve a smile across its face.
A slow smile spreads over the Grim’s own face, needle sharp teeth glinting as the candle in the window flickers.
The Carving was done. Now, for the Filling.
The church clock strikes twelve and a baby cries, wanting his mother. Inside of the doorstep sits a matryoshka, newly painted with rosy cheeks, the dress drips red onto the floor, the puddle too large. The mother does not come.
this is so creepy! love it !
😊 thank you
Hi Koen! Welcome to the site. If you're posting things on Notes or on your main page, the way to Tag someone is to type the '@' symbol and then the name of the person you want to Tag after it (so in this case, 'Miguel S.'), and that will bring up a box with the name in it for you to select and make it a Tag, so he can see it. Good luck with your writing... 😎
Thank you so much that’s so helpful!
Thank you for the mention! Here's my take:
Jaye stepped up to the cryo pod. She shivered, thinking of the cold, even though she knew she wouldn't be awake to feel it. She hated leaving the dying Earth, but she dreamt of a new future.
The rest of her family had already entered their pods, their frosty faces behind viewing panes. Placed in order of size: Her father, mother, and little brother. Each tucked into a tidy container like a nesting doll.
Her ex-boyfriend was back on Earth. She grieved him. In this moment, he had his whole life to live. When she awoke, he'd be long dead.
Thanks for the mention! You scheduled a good one today. I'd never heard of this before 😄
It’s a Soviet thing 🥲😂
We call them "Russian dolls" or "nesting dolls" I opened it like "what's one of those?" imagining @honeygloom style mythological beats.
Some people think they've had it hard in love, but being used for cover by an undercover spy is real horror stuff, even worse, you can be married with children for years without knowing, till one night he or she has to tie up loose ends...
Pity about no batch, but life is like that.
A nice layered piece!
Over at Snowy Hearts, the good Doctor Sleet has made a prescription from the fine medications offered here at the Fiction Dealer!
A polypharmacy of North.
Right. Time to get the doctor started on a new prescription.
A Shadow Game
The small matryoshka sat on the desk, its painted smile mocking Detective Wells. Inside, another doll, then another, until he reached the smallest one—a scrap of paper folded tightly. He unfolded it, revealing a single word: “Tonight.”
Wells glanced at the clock. 11:25 p.m.
His heart raced. He bolted to his car, tearing through empty streets toward the old warehouse.
But when he arrived, the door creaked open, and there she stood—alive. Behind her, the mastermind.
“You’re late,” the man said, stepping out of the shadows. “But not too late for my game.”
Your microdose is terrific, Miguel!
She surprises me, and every day is like waking up next to someone completely new. That's why, day after day, I fall more in love with her, because I feel that she's always new, and I always have to be something new too.
Our relationship is not an abyss, but a rebirth in daily surprise, a dynamic from which you can't abstract algorithms or formulas.
We have no secrets, no advice we can give you. We just are, and that's what's enough for us every time we look at each other deeply, as if we were blending into each other.
Gerry struck gold. She looked even better than her profile pic. He hoped against hope his hair dye would hold. His gleaming incisors throbbed from the bleaching strips. His glistening chest itched from the waxing. These borrowed boots pinched like a mofo. He was just back from the can where his phone taught him phonetically how to pronounce the appetizers. His man girdle strained as he reclaimed his seat.
She leaned across the table and purred, “I’m just glad for a chance to get to know the real you.”
Gerry wasn’t sure he could excavate that guy with a shovel.
Very clever! 😎
Thx, like your brilliant turducken you don’t want to know what’s inside 😄
Haha! Absolutely! Some things you're better off not knowing... 😎