A.Journal

Checks

823 checks

Trivial

She's looking at your glasses.

Trivial

She raises the photograph until it eclipses the bazaar in front of you.

Medium

Bureaucratic object permanence. Out of sight, out of existence.

Easy

Somewhere in the background, Gonza's monologue continues, heedless of any audience but himself.

Medium

It travels up through your elbow like a kiss from loose, ungrounded wiring.

Medium

Dark bookshelves, eerie silhouettes of medical equipment. The faint grey outline of a desk, no one sitting behind it.

Medium

Not much else, though. Too dark.

Easy

From the dark interior beyond, a door quietly opens, followed by some shuffling.

Easy

Everyone in a 10 metre radius must have heard that. That includes anyone sleeping inside this houseboat.

Easy

On the cover, the halo of a lunar eclipse frames the silhouette of a young woman, her outline distorted by the jagged edges of the costume she wears.

Easy

Swirling maelstroms of darkness adorn the album cover, intricate but hardly-visible patterns of black on slightly-darker-black.

Challenging

Has he been sharpening those fangs?

Challenging

Thunder. The floorboards rattle underfoot.

Medium

Saliva drips from his fangs.

Easy

The monkey descends into a series of gnashing shrieks and limb spasming in excitement and outrage at your quest.

Medium

Warm expulsions of air on your knuckles, tickly.

Medium

The finger feel of the apology cards suddenly comes back to you.

Medium

He glances at the ceiling, eyebrows twitching.

Medium

Out of sight, but you can still faintly hear the choking rhythm of his heartbroken hoos.

Medium

It's like if fish could produce a cheese.

Medium

You can hear his breath, soft and ragged.

Easy

It is standing on what looks like a pile of stolen goods.

Easy

The wall is disturbingly moist. Like fresh morning dew on a tree trunk, but evil.

Easy

More giggles in the hallway, the sound of footsteps running away.

Trivial

One tacks up a sign on the wall which says: 'WELCOME TO THE INTERNATIONAL PARTY CONFERENCE 66. PLEASE FLUSH'.

Trivial

For a moment you think you catch the sound of a tambourine.

Trivial

Chills run through you as the letters begin to spell out a plausible message.

Medium

The rows bore a hole somewhere in the centre of your forehead.

Medium

The machine whines on impact, but you feel nothing.

Medium

That hurt. A lot. Expect mild bruising.

Easy

Pressing against your heart once more.

Medium

Hand-painted iris rings -- faint, but deliberate. Someone wanted this thing to stare.

Easy

Vinyl, or a rented tuk-tuk's dashboard. Not unpleasant.

Trivial

Relatively deafening.

Medium

Clear skies tonight. Ideal conditions for sharing a cigarette on a sidewalk corner, companions permitting. Temperature 13 degrees and steady.

Challenging

A little quiver here and there -- nervous system at full charge -- but she's stable.

Medium

Her skin: pale. Eyes: tired. Muscles: atrophying.

Trivial

The heavy floorboards are spotted with motor oil and bootprints.

Challenging

Something about... sleeping dogs?

Challenging

Voice so hushed as to be indecipherable.

Challenging

There's nothing wrong with your eyes.

Medium

The muffled cracking of knuckles rattles through the sound of waves caressing the boat.

Easy

As he pronounces the name 'Gonza', a hair-tingling scream echoes along the canal.

Medium

His voice is so flat it brings the ceiling down a little, making your shoulders slump.

Easy

You can see the resemblance now. Karolina has his eyes.

Medium

The recirculated air smells like antiseptic and wet dog hair.

Challenging

Marco would have been fathoms beneath Tempo's sphere of awareness.

Easy

But her voice trembles with relief.

Easy

Two aero-trams criss-cross somewhere above you. The apartment's windows rattle in their frames.

Challenging

A barrage of words -- none of them an outright refusal.