Carter Carter Bo Barter Payne

@carterpaynewrites.com

298 Followers 333 Following

Gamer, Coffee lover, Musician He/Him 🚫 GenAI By day I work for a software company to fund my existence in this capitalist nightmare. By night I write, mostly sci-fi, fantasy, and science fantasy all with an Appalachian twist. www.carterpaynewrites.com

Body Positioning And Stance When using a scythe, proper body positioning and stance are crucial. With regards to feet placement, positioning them shoulder-width apart provides stability. Maintain body alignment, keeping your back straight and knees slightly bent. This ensures balance and prevents strain on your muscles. To effectively use a scythe, maintain a steady rhythm while swinging the blade. This allows for smooth and efficient cutting. Remember, avoid overusing common phrases and showcase your unique writing style. Additionally, use different expressions at the beginning of paragraphs to engage the reader.
A mockingbird (I think) ineffectually intimidating a (maybe red-tail) hawk sitting on a streetlight post. Sorry, I'm bad at identifying birds. Not captured the three or four times we watched the (possibly) mockingbird attempting to intimidate the hawk.
Comic image for the Turtles of Grayskull No. 1. Features He-Man in the center. He's holding a sword threateningly and his muscles are so large I'm genuinely concerned his skin won't be able to contain them. He is surroumded by the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Michaelangelo is in the front and he has hair. Glorious, flowing blonde hair. Like he's sprent hours working on it so it looks like he's just spent hours surfing.
Very bad drawing showing a road and river and two squares labeled city and town in handwriting nearly incomprehensible. Seriously, however bad you think it is it is much worse, I assure you.
Waffle House style sign. Yellow blocks with black letters Text: The indescribable feeling you get when you look into the eyes of the unknowable"
Cover of Automatic Noodle by Annalee Newitz. A robot hand holding chopsticks gripping a mass of large, flat noodles. Seated around the bottom are various robots. Text: "A story I didn't know I needed right now. So much fun!" - Martha Wells, bestselling author of The Murderbot Diaries.
A screenshot from the video game Pool of Radiance. There's a red border. On the left is a skeleton wearing a horned helmet and holding a swoard in one hand and wearing a shield on the other. On the right is a list of names and stats. At the bottom of the image is the text: "what do you say? (type a single word). I spent I don't know how many hours playing this as a kid. On computer with 5 1/4 in floppy disks. It took me ages to beat the final emcounter against Tyranthraxus, and I still remember how I beat him. Chain lightning for the minions, and magic missile against the BBEG. My favorite part of the game, though, was a cave that was absolutely chock full o' kobolds.
An image of the Grinch in a Santa suit having fallen backwards against a broken fence as though all hope has left him and all he has to look forward to is the slow death of everything he knows and loves.
The Grinch in full Santa gear laying against a wooden fence as though he has passed out.
White Coffee mug with a cartoon image of a green bird. Chicken (Rosharan) beneath
A seven foot tall Grinch Christmas decoration enjoying the sun.
Half-Life 2, Destiny 2, Mass Effect 2, Fallout, Control, Elden Eing, Baldur's Gate 3, The Wolf Among Us, Metro 2033
Image of an airplane. The red dots show where bullet holes were on planes that returned to base. As the story goes, they wanted to reinforce those places with armor, but someone realized these were the planes that came back, that the other places without bullet holes were where additional armor was needed.
The largest of baby carrots
Picture of account options from Bluesky. Options are share via, search posts, att to starter packs, add to lists, and Go live
Black and white cat sitting in a lap
Black and white cat sitting in front of a window
Man talking to himself in a mirror
Black and white cat sitting at a desk. One paw reaching toward the keyboard as if to say, "I just need to write one more word."
A cat wearing a suit jacket, shit, and blue tie. Text at the top: meet the new boss Text at the bottom: Starter Villain New York Times bestselling author John Scalzi
Television displaying the text The Lord of the Rings
Red background with a black vase in the foreground. Two flowers are coming out of the vase, one flower is green, white, and orange the other flower is an unlabeled diagram of the flower. Text in yellow is: Toad the Wet Sprocket dulcinea
Photo of uncooperative pickled ginger and wasabi, next to a bowl of red bean ice cream. Cup of sweet chili sauce in the background.
A photo of a person holding a wombat.
Picture of a yellow dog with a purple collar. Her name is Kaylee and she's the sweetest, craziest pupper.
But then he’d entered the reaper and it felt…like home. But a home that had been abandoned for years and had been taken over by the wilderness. Kudzu climbing over the walls, the windows smashed, a family of raccoons living in the bedroom under a bed with a moldering mattress.
Picture of black and white medium haired cat named Surely getting scritches because I'm not sharing feet pics for free.
Cartoon hand holding a newspaper clipping of Grandpa Simpson with the text "OLD MAN YELLS AT CLOUD"
A four panel comic that contains the following conversation between a cartoon liver and gallbladder. Liver: what do you want gall bladder? Can't you see I have a lot to do? Gall Bladder (holding stones): I maked these L: you made STONES? YOU'RE JUST SUPPOSED TO HOLD WHAT I GIVE YOU! GET OUT! GO ON! GB (looking sad): I maked these
A black and white cat laying by a window. She is unbothered by the horrors of the world we live in.
“I miss those days.” “Really?” Ty sat up. “They were simpler. It was just us.” “We were living off of canned foods and scraps.” Those first several months had been hell. “I just remember us being together.” Ty shrugged. Walt remembered those days too well. Scared, worried that they would run out of food. That his meager garden wouldn’t provide anything for them, which it didn’t. That bandits, raiders, whatever would come. Didn’t the apocalypse always include these? Now they not only had an abundance of food, so much so that they even had a small group dedicated to food preservation, but electricity and a steady supply of clean water. “We’re together now,” Walt started to say but stopped himself. That would have been a lie. Ty was in here. Brian was…somewhere, Walt hoped. They were farther apart than they’d ever been. “We sat around that fire in the front yard roasting marshmallows. You showed Brian and me how to put them together. Chocolate on one cracker, then squeeze the marshmallow between the two crackers. That was nice.” Ty said.
A rock with a face on it from Over the Garden Wall
He glanced at himself in the mirror beside the door. His silver hair stood on end. He ran his hand through his hair but it popped right back up. He plucked his hat from the hook and slid it onto his head. Frank Dreisen, drunk, was gone. Frank Dreisen, detective, opened the door. A haggard looking woman and a pissed-off bulldog of a man were standing on his threshold. “Good, uh, afternoon? How can I help?” Frank hiccupped. Okay, Frank Dreisen, drunk detective, had opened the door.
Beside the garden were a few headstones. There was a path to them, but it wasn’t as worn down. He walked over to them and knelt down. There were six in total. They looked well-preserved, though they were covered in a thin layer of grime. The memorial back home had to be cleaned occasionally. Is this what it would look like if there was no one around to keep it? There was certainly not six or seven years-worth of crud on them. Maybe a few months. There were names and dates chiseled professionally into the four oldest stones. The newer two, that simply had Mama and Papa on them, were sloppily carved, and both were marked with April six years ago. E-Day.
Silently, a bulbous form rose from the dirt on four spindly legs. It had an iridescent mother-of-pearl sheen; rainbows of color swirled over the metallic body and legs.
“Welcome everyone. For those of you that don’t know me, my name is Sal Anthony. I am…was…minister of First Methodist church over in St. Charles. I'm not here to console you. Any comfort I could offer pales in comparison to the tragedy we have all faced. “A year ago our world was thrust into a challenge no one was prepared for. My hope, such as it is, is that this will bring us closer together some day. Today, however, is for remembering, as a community, everyone that we lost.” Reverend Anthony continued, but Walt’s mind was elsewhere. The weight of Sarah in his arms, Brian and Tyli next to him holding hands, their neighbor, Sam, and her partner. She’d found Janie just a week ago. They buried her with the others. Walt shot down the objections before anyone had a chance to make one. The graveyard was for the victims of E-Day, and Janie may not have died on E-Day, but she was absolutely its victim.
When Vance Newcombe was sixteen he’d discovered a way to convert far more solar energy into electricity while working in his parents’ yard. He’d connected one of his new panels up to a battery and the surge of energy from the panel caused the battery to explode, taking out his parent’s garage, guest bedroom, half a bathroom, and started a fire that took days to quell, only being able to be stopped when he heroically fought through the blazing inferno to disconnect the solar panel. That last part was probably apocryphal but it made for an engrossing story for a bunch of middle schoolers. The fire was real, though.
They were led through the police station to a room in the basement that was lined with a series of cells along opposite walls. If this was home now Brian would have much rather been back on the farm under the blazing mid-July sun. The room made Brian think of old episodes of The Andy Griffith Show. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find Otis sleeping off last night’s bender in one of the cells. Why the hell did he remember the name of the town drunk in some old TV show, but couldn’t remember the names of some of his own squad?
Brian stayed behind a moment, overwhelmed by a sudden feeling of peace. Of safety. The sky above Birdie’s yard seemed brighter. Warmer and bluer. Like she’d released some kind of power into the earth here at the threshold to her land and it pulsed with life. Brian meant to ask her if there was some significance to what she’d done, but something in that moment told him to remain quiet. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, basking in the feeling of life, and then turned and followed the others. By the time he remembered it was too late to ask.
These days the mug only ever contained water, but in his heart Walt was a coffee man. He missed the flavor and jolt of energy from the caffeine, of course, but what he really missed was the ritual. Grinding the beans while the kettle gurgled away as the water heated to the perfect temperature. Measuring the grounds. Getting the perfect pour. The smell rising from the carafe as the water passed through the ground beans. The mug of tea he would make for Greta while he prepared his morning coffee.
All three kids were sound asleep in their rooms and the world around him was silent. A couple of lightning bugs drifted their way over the weedy lawn. The first ones he’d seen since E-Day. Looking east the faint glow from the St. Louis Thunderhead was barely visible. He watched the pulses of light from the storm in silence for several minutes as he took periodic swigs from the bottle.
Sarah hopped up to the table, setting Philomena in the seat next to her, and looked up at Walt, eyes wide. “Morning, daddy,” she said, a wide grin across her face. She was wearing pink rubber boots, bright pink leggings that had been patched too many times to count, and a neon green t-shirt with the words “Tou-can do it!” under a brightly colored bird with a large beak. The finishing touch was a purple tutu.
As they ate, Birdie talked about her daily life. It had probably been a long time since she’d had any contact with another person, and she was letting it all out at once in a steady stream of details. Everyone listened patiently as she talked about the minutia of her days.
Brian slid out the back door of the transport and squinted down the highway into the early afternoon sun wondering when—if—he would ever go back. What was he thinking? Of course he would go back. Ty was there. He’d have to go back for xer. “Yo, Morrow, you’ve got to move.” Rachel nudged him with her foot.
Brian took a marker and wrote “Greta Morrow” then passed the marker to Tyli who wrote “Mommy” beside that. Walt shifted Sarah to free his right hand and took the marker from Tyli then wrote “loving wife” beside “Mommy”. Walt considered all the other people in his life he'd never see again. The impossibility of memorializing everyone. He wrote Janie Warton below Greta Morrow, keeping the promise he made to Sam who couldn’t bear to be here today.
Black and white medium haired cat curled against a human leg. Human arm in foreground.
The creature reached up with one leg that ended at a sharp point and stabbed it into the tree. It lifted a second leg and stabbed it a little higher up the trunk. Rather than simply continue its climb the back legs lifted off the ground and absorbed into the body which then rolled over and two legs extended out from what was now the front and grabbed higher up the tree. It was now about ten feet off the ground with all four legs buried in the trunk of the large oak.
“But it’s just a kid. Shouldn’t we be doing everything we can?” Nathan Muller held up a hand. His face was serious. “Caitlyn, I understand you used to be a detective, you’re used to following every lead or whatever it is you did, but your job is to keep the crazies from getting any farther into the building than the lobby. That’s it.” “But, sir…” “You’re dismissed, Ms. O’Hare. I hope you clocked out before coming down here.” “Of course.” “Have a good evening.”
The Central District of New Concordia teemed with life, even at almost 1 AM. Especially at almost 1 AM. Flecks of rainbow-colored snow fell through the frigid air, reflecting the neon signs that stretched as far as you could see and leaving a light dusting along the sidewalks. Cars zipped past, their hover jets blowing snow off the road below them, piling it up along the curb.
As he passed the spot Mark indicated he didn’t see anything. He had nearly convinced himself that either Mark was mistaken, or that he’d missed whatever it was, when he saw a barren patch of land. The leaves and undergrowth that carpeted the rest of the forest were gone. What was left behind looked like a burnt patch of dirt. An acrid smell that burned as he breathed it in hung heavily in the air. Silently, a bulbous form rose from the dirt on four spindly legs. It had an iridescent mother-of-pearl sheen covering it. Rainbows of color swirling over the metallic body and legs.
“Alcohol poisoning,” the doctor said, managing to sound simultaneously caring and condescending in equal measure. That was a skill.
Walt spent breakfast split between conversations with the people around him and Robert’s continued interrogation about the exact nature of stuffies. The noise and constant barrage of questions from Robert was overwhelming. He announced he needed to get to the base, and told Robert they would have to talk about the stuffed animals later, just to give himself a moment of quiet. That didn’t last long, though. At the base a small group of people were loading bags into a transport.
“I was imprisoned for like a month, then out of the blue I was made to come here. Which, by the way, WAS THE PLACE I WAS SUPPOSED TO COME TO ALL ALONG. Now, I’ve been captured again. I'm obviously not much of a soldier. I don't have any information. My only real talent is playing trombone which, let me tell you, doesn't really come in handy these days. All that to say, I'm pretty sure you know why I'm here more than I do so why don't you just. Fucking. TELL ME.”
Reverend Anthony continued, but Walt’s mind was elsewhere. The weight of Sarah in his arms, Brian and Tyli next to him holding hands, their neighbor, Sam, and her partner. She’d found Janie just a week ago. They buried her with the others. Walt shot down the objections before anyone had a chance to make one. The graveyard was for the victims of E-Day, and Janie may not have died on E-Day, but she was absolutely its victim.
A stuffie rabbit named Miss Adelaide with a dark circular pattern on her torso and her trauma (a smaller stuff bunny with a pair of xs on its torso) chained to her. She is seated beside a stuffed rhinoceros named Ritchie. Ritchie has a very large snout.
Five years ago, the night after the memorial service, Walt sat down in the same chair on the back porch where he'd, just a year before, had the last cup of coffee he'd really enjoyed. That night the last bottle of red wine he had was in his hand. He could go get more from the Schnucks but he didn’t need it. All three kids were sound asleep in their rooms and the world around him was silent. A couple of lightning bugs drifted their way over the weedy lawn. The first ones he’d seen since E-Day. Looking east the faint glow from the St. Louis Thunderhead was barely visible. He watched the pulses of light from the storm in silence for several minutes as he took periodic swigs from the bottle.
“Don’t you age?” Brian asked. “No.” Bob said it without hesitation. “You don't age? How does that work?” “You age. How does that work?” Brian hesitated. “Something…to do with cells breaking down? Oxygen and…you know what, that's fair.” Bob had gone on that evening to ask about where people came from, the meaning of several swear words, and what the difference between supper and dinner was.
So walking on the station went like this; lift your right foot, it comes up easily as the MMAG lock disengaged, then set your right foot down and the MMAG lock would engage. You could then lift either foot again. In principle it was simple. So simple a child could do it, right? In practice? You felt like a toddler. You never realized how much you moved both your feet at the same time when walking until one of them was always locked into place. In addition to that the magnetic force the boots used was substantial. You had to keep your foot several inches off the surface in order to ensure it didn’t get immediately pulled back down. Then, just for shits, the boots were heavy.
He put his phone back in his pocket and waited, enjoying the music and tolerating a soda water with a squeeze of Lime. Not real lime, of course. He couldn’t even afford to walk past a club that served real limes. He told himself he needed to keep his head about him and that’s why he wasn’t drinking. In reality he didn’t have the spare credits to pay bar prices for bad liquor. Besides, he had even worse liquor at home.
Caitlyn swore at every driver as she weaved her way across the Central District. Longing for the flashing blue lights and siren from her previous life. She took a sharp, fast left onto Wright Street which would lead her into the warehouse district. Her car angled dangerously. A few degrees farther and, best case, it would become fifteen hundred pounds of dead weight that would need to take five minutes to reboot; worst case it would launch itself sideways, crashing through the front of some poor schmuck’s shop. She eased off the accelerator and then pulled to a stop in front of Marsh’s building a minute later behind a black, four-door sports car that was left hovering in the emergency lane.