GeoGuessr is a website where you are thrown into a random spot in the world on Google Maps streetview, and you have to try and guess where you are.
It’s fun to play just by itself, to see how close you can get, but it’s even more fun when you put a spin on it: writing a description of each random area you’re given.
During the last stream, chat and I played a game of GeoGuessr together. Just like when we’ve done this before, we were given five random locations anywhere in the world, and we had to guess where they were.
And for each one, we had to write a short description of the area, trying to make it as vivid and detailed as possible.
You can see all the locations, descriptions, and guesses for the locations here.
How did I do against chat? Watch and find out, or scroll down for my pieces.
Here’s what I wrote for each location. Be sure to check out the video to see what they really look like and find out where in the world they’re located!
Location #1
The trees along the side of the road shot up in the air, bursting like floral fireworks, stretching to reach the halo surrounding the shimmering sun. Silent train tracks ran in front of them, baking in the heat, filling the air with the iron odor of rusty dust.
Location #2
The smooth tar-lines ran across the gritty pavement, filling in the timeworn cracks. Like palm lines in the road, they waited to be read, to tell the uncertain future of the small housing community. The only thing that was for certain was that the crisp tufts of grass sprouting in fresh, youthful cracks would be ripped up and filled in soon enough.
Location #3
The sky was thick gray and black batter, beaten around in heaven’s mixing bowl, ready to be put in the oven and baked into a thunderstorm. The heavy smell of rain lingered in the air, enticing the long grassy fields to sway and swell in anticipation.
Location #4
Trees that had given up on life surrounded the dirt field. Gray and hopeless, they bent at queer angles, their bark little more than ash burnt together by the sun. The fence posts cut from their wood twisted in all the wrong ways, only held up by ancient twine stretched and wound to its limits. Dust clouds populated the area, drying every drop of moisture out the eyes and tongues of all creatures unfortunate enough to live there.
Location #5
A rainbow of farmland colors extended from the white-and-black TV static road, to the tea-green grass, to the crispy yellowed fields, to the lush forest in the distance like dark broccoli stalks. Cylindrical hay bales tall and wide as trucks stood by the wayside like grazing livestock, watching the few cars pass by. The rushing tailwind from the vehicles brushed along their straw bodies, making them whistle in chorus as the wind passed through.
After that, chat voted that we write this prompt: Have you ever been to a crow’s funeral? (Which are apparently real things!)
Here’s what we came up with:
“Have you ever been to a crow’s funeral?” the farmer asked his son. His son was still holding the rifle, its barrel smoking from the fresh shot.
“Uh, no,” his son replied. That was not what he’d expected his father to say after he’d shot the varmint. He’d thought he was going to get a pat on the back, maybe even one of those rare kind words. Instead his father pointed ahead toward the corn fields and started walking.
“Let’s go.”
Together they pushed through the head-high stalks of corn, bursting with sun-colored kernels. All the way through, the father was silent, while the son’s head was screaming with confusion. Then they stopped.
They’d arrived at the body.
The dead crow lay on the dirt ground, its black feathers spread out like the bristles of a broken broom, caked with rust-colored blood. Its eyes stared up at the sky, as unmoving as its spread-out wings and legs, cooking in the summer sun rays.
Perched all around on stalks surrounding the corpse were other crows.As soon as the father and son arrived, all of them turned and cawed, spreading their shadowy feathers, opening their beaks wide and shrieking like horns. The son instinctually held up his rifle again, but the father put a hand over it to stop.
“Don’t,” he whispered. “Just let them look at you.”
The boy gazed into the eyes of each and every crow, expecting it to be like looking at the chickens during feed time. But it was different. There was something there behind the eyes of the crows. An intelligence. They weren’t just looking at the boy, they were observing him. Observing his gun. Observing its smell. Observing how their fallen friend smelled the same.
In one swift motion, as if they were all one mind, the crows took to the sky, silhouetted pure black against the sun.
“They’ll never forget your face now,” the father said as they flapped away. “No need to kill any more. All you need to do is peek outside, and they’ll fly away.”
The boy narrowed his eyes in skepticism. “Are you sure about that?”
His father nodded. “When you go to a crow’s funeral, if you’re not a crow, then you’re the killer.”
The boy waited a moment before speaking again. “Is that what you did too, dad?” he asked. “Did you go to a crow’s funeral before too?”
His father finally put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and gripped him as hard as he could. It wasn’t much, since he only had three fingers.
“Be careful,” his father said. “Crows never forget the guests at their funerals.”
If you want to join us and help write a story by trolling in chat, or share your own writing for feedback, then we’d love to have you. We stream on Twitch every Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday at 6:30pm-10:30pm (U.S. Eastern Standard Time).
And you missed the stream, you can still watch them on the YouTube channel or watch the full stream reruns.
Hope to see you next time, friend!
Scott Wilson is the author of the novel Metl: The ANGEL Weapon,
forthcoming March 2019.
Featured image: GAHAG