Make up a kafka-esque story and let /lit/ judge it.

>A man wakes up one morning and discovers he is turning into a judge, and he has to put an insect-man on trial

>>8593622
A man eats cereal with a soup spoon and soup with a cereal spoon

for sale: queue to the bank, never moved.

>>8593622
I was born into a society where I'm condemned to be free.

>the society of an animal described autistically

>>8593631
>The trial happens in a castle into which he doesn't have a permission to get into. He still is absolutely required to put that guy on trial.

this takes place in America

One day in high school I was bored in class and began improvising in my notebook a short story about a kid who gets a job delivering newspapers. The story takes a turn when an old man on the kid's route invites him to come inside his house. The kid does. He's telling the story from his perspective, and I had the kid say that he and the old man did all this stuff and then the old man gave him some milk but that it wasn't a regular kind of milk, it was some strange kind of milk, sticky, and it came out through a tube. I was just making stuff up, letting the story write itself. Then a week later my mom, for some reason, I don't remember why, went through that notebook. She found the story and, pleased that I'd taken up again my old childhood hobby of writing stories, began to read it. Then she stormed up the stairs to my room where I was playing World of Warcraft with headphones on and started yelling at me. I had no idea what her problem was. She said the story I wrote was "sick." I read it again, and I realized that it didn't take much imagination to imagine the old man made the kid suck his dick. I had no idea that it could be interpreted that way when I wrote it. I was just improvising, it was meaningless babble to me: not a regular kind of milk, sticky instead. So that's what I told her, that I had no idea I was writing about molestation, but she didn't believe me and doesn't to this day. She also thought I was taking steroids at the time because I'd gained like twenty pounds, but I was really just eating a lot of Zebra Cakes at school.

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>>8593689
I was considering to stop coming here. I'm glad I didn't.

>>8593622
a man finds a note from his wife, saying she'd never loved him and that he'd never paid enough attention to her to begin with, always oblivious to her needs and wants, his insecurities chipping away at whatever semblance of a life they might've shared, at which time an alarm clock goes off and he awakes to her smiling across from him, stretching, asking him if he slept alright, quick to begin the day, as he closes his eyes for another moment, imagining such a woman that could leave him, his organ constantly mending the tears he leaves in every room after awkward intrusions and exits.

A man wakes up to realize that everything yellow smells like cheese. Hilarity ensues

>>8593622

There was once a man by the name of Semyonov.

Semyonov went out to look for a drink and lost his scarf. Looking for his scarf he lost his gloves. Looking for his gloves he lost his wallet. Looking for his wallet he lost his coat. "At this point I might lose anything", thought Semyonov, and decided to go home.

On the way home Semyonov got lost.

>>8593864


best

>>8593864
How would sniffman psychoanalyze this?

>>8593689
Did you know they make zebra roll cakes now?

>>8593864
bretty good

I'm eating.
There's a fly, I open the window for it.
Two more fly in.
I go for the swat, in the other room.
Returning, there are no flies.
I continue to eat. A week later, trichinella is diagnosed.

>>8593622
would a kafka biopic with michael imperioli be any good?

Timothy B. pushed his way into the imposing hospital, filled with endless doors and countless lost patients confined within their gray walls, waiting for a discharge form that will never reach them; the messenger from the office would have to get on endless elevators and cross an infinity of offices for their message to ever reach them.

He approached the front desk, manner by an apathetic, yet curvaceous woman with short brown hair and a dour expression. Had he not been engaged in an ill-conceived affair, for which he was already paying with this hospital visit, he would certainly have considered asking her out for a coffee in one of the local cafés, under the sparkling, currently hidden, sunshine. It would be a welcome distraction from his unsatisfying occupation of making sloppy video game related comics to support himself and his dear family. "Excuse me, but where may I find Lilah?" The receptionist rattled off a room number so long that B. was unable to remember it, but was told procedure did not allow the receptionist to repeat it. He only received a vague point to her left as a guide, and managed to become hopelessly lost, as he wandered corridors filled with doors.

He attempted to speak to doctors and nurses in the hallways, but they merely parroted the same asanine rule, that he was not allowed to hear the number again. B. found himself growing rather cross, and he lost his temper, only calming down upon a vague threat of calling "them" to escort him from the premises. He finally stumbled into a man he recognized as Lilah's own personal doctor, whom B. suspected she may have been sleeping with. He was a man who had seen better days, the shadows of better days reducing his face to a bland, expressionless mass, as if someone had only copied what they thought expressive human features looked like directly onto his head. "I'm afraid her condition is very serious," he told B., "I will keep working on it, but please, come back later." B. refused to leave, and after a heated exchange, wrested the room number from him. He was given a chiding look from the doctor for his impatience, or rather what a chiding look might look like had the chiding look been drawn onto him using a severely limited range of facial features and settings.

When he came into Lilah's room, he found that she had been transformed in her bed into a monstrous insect. "Mother's going to have a fit," thought B. gloomily, before resigning himself to this grim development.

A renaissance merchant feels alienated from society, so he joins a monastery. The monks disillusion him about religion and even the entire concept of god with their terrible conduct, so he volunteers to work with lepers. The lepers are so kind and tender to one another that he tries to contract leprosy so he can live with and be accepted into their little community.

He's one of those people who are just genetically immune to leprosy. He eventually makes the lepers uncomfortable, and he is asked to leave. He goes into a cave and starves to death.

>>8593622
My diary, desu

My life, tbqh

>>8593864
Sounds like Kharms.

>>8593945
overwritten

>>8593953
i like dis

>>8593864
Pretty sure this is Kharms

Guy loses the keys for his apartment and dies because he can't get out. Gets angry calls from his girlfriend because he didn't drive her mum to the doctor.

>>8594073
But who was lock

>>8594051
>>8594060

This IS Kharms. Great microfiction from Today I wrote Nothing.

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"And then, he turned into a cockroach, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

>>8593953
this is actually a decent story

I have taken up a place on the hill, found after two days of eager search. The first day I set up my tent, a model purchased in town many weeks prior, when this scheme was still a diverting daydream. I felt that to buy the tent would be the first step to making the plan concrete, and that after that first step was put in place, it would be too late not to go back,

The tent, the salesman had assured me, would a suitable living space for at least a week. I did not know how many days the plan would take. A week seemed longer than I could ever desire, being, as I am, dearly attached to my room in town and its comforts. And yet when I considered that it may equally be a month or more, then a week of waiting seemed like a gift I would be grateful to receive. And then when I considered that there was no guarantee that it would not take a month, or a year, or that it would not be a task I passed down to my children, I almost left the camping supplies shop to walk back to my room and make my usual dinner and think no more on it.

But as the tent was purchased, the first step put in place, I felt it would be foolish to turn back.

The second day I set up my telescope.

Henry K came out from his house one morning to find all his friends and even his girlfriend were replaced by complete look-alikes! This was so unsettling that Henry K knew he couldn't look them in the eyes the way he would've had they been their usual selves, but he looked them in the eyes anyways and even kissed his girlfriend on the lips. A few months went by and it seemed that these people were not only great look-alikes but also incredible actors, for they all acted just as his old friends would've. He decided at this point to prefix them as False in conversation; False Jane, False David, and False Franky would be their new names. This was necessary if he was ever to remember his old friends before they were replaced, for now he can reminisce, and think "When, and why did my friends become false?" and right then and there he'd remember how a few months or years back they were all replaced.

>>8593622
He had one cockroach. Two if you counted himself.

Suddenly, he gave up. It was not that there was something blocking his view, he willingly convinced himself that it was safe and complete. The cock had disappeared.

At the thanksgiving dinner table, my father asked me: "When did you stop beating your wife?"

I've actually been working on a heavily kafka-inspired short story....

here's the first two pages: http://pastebin.com/Q0EfzqFz

I've been stuck for a couple of months because I keep switching between first-person and third-person sigh

>>8596075
Not bad desu; I'd read further. The only jarring descriptor was 'old lady'. Struck me as a little casual for the tone.

Good luck finding your pace again!

>>8593622
A lonely man searches restlessly for "the perfect dog", which has all the qualities of a cat, as a pet; he cannot find such a dog so he ends up getting a pet rabbit

>>8594428
Good.

The landlord looked at me with a lazy stare that seemed in equal parts to express pity and also resentment for the desperation and meaninglessness of my task. Nevertheless I set about laying the base of my tent near the vantage point of my telescope. The other residents looking over at what I was doing, but when I saw them they would hastily avert their gaze and whisper to eachother.
"You cant set up your tent here" A tall blonde haired man wearing a sheepskin jacket was rustling the frame of my tent in a flippant matter, with no regard for the trouble I had put into setting it up perfectly to face the east window. He had a loud confident vpice, and as he towered over me, he repeated " You can't set up your tent here"

"It is just as much my space as anyone else's, I made arrangements with the landlord" I replied. The blond man did not reply, nor did he budge an inch. He just continued staring at my with those stern , pale blue eyes. It wasn't long before his glaring became too unbearable for me to continue my work.

>>8593689
Your mum is a scumbag.

>>8596075
more like john green-inspired

" well I'm not going anywhere"
The man continued to stare in silence
" what will be the punishment?"
silence.

At that moment I felt freer and more invulnerable than ever before, but an equal feeling of the meaninglessness of that freedom

>>8593864
Top tier

"A critical reflection on the self, no easy task" laughed Ignatius, ejaculating inside a feculant badger as he did so.

>>8598620
>dude goes to party and passes out
>some guy drew a dick on his forehead with a marker
>the morning after the dick on his forehead turns real