Friday 14 August 2015

13th celebrates the sinister ...

Apparently Thursday was left-handed day. Don’t know where these things pop up from (except in the minds of greetings card manufacturers) but it’s one I can claim affinity with.
There was sinister a-plenty this week and my attention was grabbed by two pieces whose horror rested on the nastiness of social interaction. I therefore declare Michael B  and Peter joint winners, with thanks to you and to each and every one of you for participating.

Next week’s words are:  quilt, grumble, tug

Entries by midnight Thursday 20th August, new words and winners posted on Friday 21st

Usual rules: 100 words maximum (excluding title) of flash fiction or poetry using all of the three words above in the genres of horror, fantasy, science fiction or noir. Serialized fiction is, as always, welcome. All variants and use of the words and stems are fine. Feel free to post links to your stories on Twitter or Facebook or whichever social media best pleases you and, if you like, remind your friends that we are open to new and returning writers.

71 comments:

  1. Congratulations to Michael B and Peter. I really enjoyed both of your stories and hope to read more in the future. ;)

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  2. Thumbs and clumsy fingers [Threshold 77]

    The arrow’s entry hole well-padded and the polished-ebony of his chest merely quilted with a trickled thread of red, Ravenscar was rendered unconscious by my amateur ministrations. Had to trust, cross-fingered, he’d survive the night.
    Tugged unwillingly awake, still-dark alarmed until I realised his hand gripped my wrist, I rolled, painful, to examine him.
    Face grey, ‘Movement. They’ll search. We need to go –‘
    ‘You’re not fit –’
    ‘No choice.’
    Arms aching, stomach grumbling, I heaved him atop the horse, mounted before him and took the reins. Him murmuring directions against my neck. Me smiling.
    Too soon. Too stupidly optimistic.

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    1. Now he has to trust her to lead! :) Really loved the descriptions in the first sentence - 'polished-ebony of his chest' and 'quilted with a trickled thread of red'.

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    2. The staccato rhythm of the sentences helps to give the narrator the sound of authority. Seems like Ravenscar is unaware he's in good hands. If you haven't got this all worked out already, it sounds as if you're at least a few steps ahead of the characters.

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    3. Sounds like she's panting as hard as her horse, naughty lady...

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    4. Really adds to the story. Well-placed use of the prompts. I was thinking of using quilt padding that goes under armour which I initially thought yours was about. Like the way you did it instead.

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    5. good one, as Michael says, clever use of the prompts.

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    6. A rich soup of words as ever, mesmerising in such a short word- count .

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  3. Congrats Michael and Peter!

    Last week was crazy (buying a house among other things!), so didn't get to play. Hopefully can carve out some time this week. :) Glad to see so many entries!

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  4. Falcon [3]

    Tugging a sea-scarred lip through surprisingly white teeth, Lieutenant Ford crossed his arms and leisurely eyed Imogen up and down. Her eyes rolled, as his gaze lingered on the scalloped edge of her corset.

    “Lady Falcon, I presume.” His words elicited uneasy grumbles from the gathered men, and a startled oath from the still kneeling Leo.

    Imogen hitched a shoulder. “If you like.”

    “Last I saw you, you were face down on my quilt.”

    Her smile was predatory; cheeks lacking the anticipated blush. “The map, darling,” she said, fingers straying towards her knives. “Don’t make me ask again.”

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    1. This ticks all my boxes, Zaiure - so much said in "His words elicited uneasy grumbles from the gathered men, and a startled oath from the still kneeling Leo." And thank you for keeping it updated on unusual diction.

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    2. Not having read prior episodes, I'm not sure I get the bigger picture, but this scene in itself is skillfully written, and holds the promise of a mystery with several characters at cross purposes, and as an excerpt would definitely intrigue me.

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    3. Never trust a smiling woman with knives to hand...

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    4. Brilliant. Loved the different images you invoked.

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    5. yes, wonderful imagery and good use of the prompts, hardly noticed them!

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    6. Wonderful interplay of characters, writing smooth as you like.

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    7. Congratulations "and don't make me say it again." This felt so polished.
      On second thought, I'm guessing I will be saying it again.

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  5. Cruskin at last met Marina Majetzka, on the steps of the Bed-Stuy brownstone.

    ‘Sleep one night here,’ she challenged, ‘to see how bad it really is. One night, then tell me I grumble too much’

    And so he lay under the filthy quilt. It was the scuttling that woke him, as night fell, then a tug at his toe. He kicked out, and cursed. A torrent of cockroaches fell on his face. As he made to scream, they crawled into his mouth, gagging him. He was weighted down by a blanket of chattering brown, then they started on his eyes.....

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    1. Nightmare nastiness, especially the 'torrent of cockroaches.' Ugh.

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    2. Oh man, this is pure horror for me. Cockroaches freak me out. 'Torrent of cockroaches' and 'chattering brown' ... eeeek! :)

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    3. Now he can say that fear was definitely not a factor for him! (slogan from The Fear Factor, a TV show which usually involved cockroaches at some stage.)

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    4. Eeeeew!! I hate cockroaches, and to see them crawling on eyes and into someone's mouth creeps me out. Yes, this is horror! Well done.

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    5. cough, nice... but good!

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    6. Wow. Luckily I read this in the morning. Nice bit of horror.

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    7. I do love horror and this is exceptional. Thanks for that!

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  6. Change of focus [104]

    Drying himself in Vladlina’s perfumed bathroom, Pettinger heard the ringtone which denoted a call from his boss. Shocked to realise he’d left his mobile beside the bed he strode across the room, in time to see it, and Vladlina’s hand disappear beneath the heavily-embroidered quilt.
    She protested, grumbling, when he tugged it off her, ‘Darling Yanno, it’s only another of your sluts –‘
    Vanessa, unamused, ‘Fucking hostages NOT standard procedure, John!’
    ‘No ma’am.’
    ‘Even less one’s sister –‘
    His hand over Vladlina’s mouth, ‘She’s not!’
    Suspicion reluctantly dismissed, ‘You’re needed back here. Immediately.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘You’ve been summoned to the Palace.’

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    Replies
    1. A summons is always an imperative to enter into grander passions, and this story has those in spades. I wonder where it's all going. hmmm...

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    2. Fucking hostages and being summoned to the Palace. It's all go...

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    3. Excellent back and forth between the characters, and I'm also intrigued where this summons is leading to!

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    4. Interesting part of the story. Where's it going from here?

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    5. a major turning point, methinks, summoned to the palace, oh my.

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  7. Thirty foot waves came crashing down on the little tug boat. Ahmet had never seen a storm like this. His quilted jacket offered just a minimum of protection against the freezing cold. Mustn't grumble, eight thousand Turkish Lira to bring in the Queen of the Bosporus. Bahar needed the money. If the sea didn't kill him, she would.

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    1. You really didn't need any more words did you? Powerful indeed.

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    2. Not sure who "she" is, but with his resolve he's certain to bring the Queen into port. Storms exist to be conquered, eh? In fiction, at least.

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    3. (learning where comments go is hard)
      He's between a rock and a Queen eh? Nice one!

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    4. Love the setup of this piece and mention of the Queen. Don't know much about her and yet she sounds incredibly interesting! Excellent piece.

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    5. Tight story and complete in itself.

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    6. good little piece this, imagery abounds and intrigue, too.

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    7. Neat well packaged tale tied off smoothly at the end.

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  8. The Argument (97 words)

    Each gear rammed home like a punch to her face, the rev-counter dove into red-lined fury.

    “Slow down!”

    He ground his foot to the floor, engine snarling back its enthusiasm, headlights lancing into the onrushing blizzard. She tugs the quilt tighter. The car starts to pirouette, wheels grumbling, snow flakes dancing alongside.

    Screams merge with tearing metal and wailing rubber, terminated in the gunshot of impact.

    Then silence but for the tears of falling, shattered glass.

    He watches a snowflake land upon his wife’s cheek, melting into a tear.

    More than an argument had been lost.

    .........

    Thanks you so much for the joint prize for last weeks story, what a nice surprise!

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    Replies
    1. Might you consider another metaphor for the tiny shards of glass? It's just a bit poetic in this slam-bang nourish situation, and then, they fall so close to the snowflake/tear on his wife's cheek. It's a turn (for me) to switch from sharp to wet so abruptly.

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    2. Jeez, I forgot to congratulate you for last week's story. Congratulations!

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    3. I think it was last week there was a comment about dived/dove? Being English, I am always jarred by 'dove', misreading it as the bird.
      And I can see what Michael's getting at, with the contrast between sharp and poetic; for me it's the 'dancing'. But I love the lancing and the wailing, and the momentum you've injected into this.

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    4. Thanks Michael and Sandra, both good valid points. 'Diving' would indeed be better, the repetition of 'tear' is annoying, too. However, the contrast of sharp and wet was intended as counter-point, but maybe too much as you say. Cheers! (will comment on others asap after work)

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    5. Yes - the contrast between the sharpness of shattered glass and the melting of snowflake on wife's face DID work for me.

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    6. Yay! Thanks Sandra! And Michael, congrats on your story also!

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    7. I also liked the sharp contrast between the fury/commotion and the the abrupt stillness. I enjoyed how you displayed emotion quite effectively in the motions of the driver and car.

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    8. Fast, furious and engaging. All too realistic. Good story.

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    9. one way of ending something... a lot going on - action, that is - in so few words.

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    10. Excellent ending to a well told action piece.

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  9. THE UNIMPORTANCE OF INDIVIDUAL LIVES
    Sunday, she would sleep in, luxuriating between clean fresh sheets under the down-filled quilt that had comforted her through several lives. Miriam, once her real name, she occasionally reminded herself, decided briefly she would be that person again, as she existed before undercover work, before mistrust of any and every one had begun to guide her actions. Before the body count had climbed beyond an unforgivable number, she had been young and even she could admit beautiful; never trusting, but also never grumbling about possibilities. Tugging the softness up to her chin, she soon drifted off in a cathartic dream.

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    1. But what Miriam is kidding herself about is that such innocence as she once had can never be regained. Nice reminder of a universal delusion.

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    2. Thoughtful and intriguing piece! Innocence once lost, is lost. But do we ever truly lose our innocence in hope? The second sentence seems to run-on a tad.

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    3. Beautiful phrasing in this - loved where my mind went at reading 'had comforted her through several lives'.

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    4. There's a softness and sadness about this story. One can readily empathize with Miriam and be intrigued by the 'undercover' work.

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    5. like the thoughts and images conjured by this.

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    6. Soft as a downy quilt yet about a hard nut. Original.

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  10. Whiteness.

    Whiteness.

    Witness.

    Witless.

    Wordlessness.

    Uh. A tug. A memory. Grey mist shaping one eye two eyes. Something solid. Some. Thing.

    A needle was it? A - no. A machine grumbling, screaming.

    A quilted paper cover soaked in brain matter, mine.

    Without an ego or God, am I human?

    Blackness.



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    1. I had to read this several times. A clever composition using the prompts. More poetry than prose. Well done.

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    2. Once again, the breadth of your writing leaves me in awe, Mashie. Clever and intriguing, offering the reader so many interpretations.

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    3. this is clever and emotional at the same time. Nice one.

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  11. Aftermath

    A grumble of thunder presaged the wind that tugged apart the fog lying like a quilt over the land. The invader felt no remorse as the evidence of his atrocities was about to be revealed

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    1. "grumble of thunder" the loveliest use of this prompt - and the easy, seamless sliding of all three prompts into the opening sentence is to be applauded. One of my favourites of your pieces, Michael.

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    2. 100 words is too many, huh? I really like this.

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  12. The Immortal 4

    I left the club, one blonde in each arm. This was going to be a good night. They giggled and tugged at my shirt with vigor.
    “Ladies, calm down. There’s plenty of time for this when we get to my place.”
    “Sam, we just want to have some fun.” The girl with the pearl earring squeezed my ass and struggled to control her laughter.
    An old lady, head covered by a quilt, caught my eye as we passed. She grumbled something that sounded like my name, followed by a gunshot.
    The good night I had planned was over.

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  13. Straightforward, lulls into sense of security and then - wham! - nice one Kai

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    1. oh yes, good one, so much anticipation and then - bam, the old hag, curse of many a 'love' story, ends it...

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  14. one day I will get the Captain to come earlier and give me his instalment, but it's been a tardy week generally. I have been waiting four days now for Anne Boleyn to give me the next instalment of her section on our liege lord. She's here tonight but had to wait for the Captain to dictate his instalment first... it gets stupid around here. Spirit have just given me yet another book to write for them. A ouija board session Monday eve gave me the message 9-10 more books to do. Is that all? I have that many started!!!!

    OK, here goes with
    Infinity 110.
    The crew be grumbling that there be more work since the others ‘disappeared’, can I do aught about it? We been becalmed for some days but now a wind is tugging at the rigging and I hear the sound of creaking timbers again. We be on the move. The clouds be like thick quilts smothering the sun and my feelings, too. I regret thems as gone but the Creature needs be fed.
    I think I be searching for a tricksty man next time we hits landfall. Someone who can conjure me a spell to be rid of it. I hopes.

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    1. Now that's a first, isn't it? The Captain seeking help elsewhere. I hope he finds it before he has to sacrifice all his crew.
      As ever, I'm grateful for your unfailing participatio,here.

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    2. What a consistent voice. What happens next???

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  15. PS; so busy with commenting, I overlooked congratulations to last week's excellent winners!

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