I’ve a 5 a.m. departure for the airport on Friday 17th and
because I’d have no time to post words and winners (never mind my own pieces!) the
deadline will be midnight on Wednesday
15th June, words and winners posted Thursday. The following Friday,
24th, I shall still be incommunicado in Italy, so will schedule new words, but will
have been unable to comments or nominate a winners. Perhaps each of you could name
your favourite? Normal service will return after 28th.
So many excellent entries this week that it is, as so
often the case, near impossible to choose a favourite, so in the spirit of
encouragement I’ll place William’s first episode of “Little Martyn 1665” in the
top spot, and would also thank him, Antonia and Patricia for faithfully
commenting this week - almost as important as entering.
Words for the coming week are: bun, imperfect, lemon
Entries by
midnight Wednesday 15th June, new
words and winners posted on Thursday 16th
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. Serialised 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.
Not yet seventeen [Threshold 118]
ReplyDeleteThe shock – both of the swiftness of Ravenscar’s apparent ejection from my heart and that my mother’s lover had revealed a one-time tendresse for me – stung like lemon-juice in a recent gravel-graze.
Was I so needy I’d gravitate to any man whose combination of pheromones and fuckability matched need? Blind to imperfections, careless of consequences such as bun in oven? (Levity disguising the haste with which I buried suckling memories of my son, as speedily as I understood had been his body).
I feared so.
As Ravenscar shouted from without, as Vetch stepped closer, I scrabbled for maturity.
In vain.
I fancy Ravenscar to be somewhat tetchy by now. Love the phrase "stung like Lemon-juice in a recent gravel-graze"
DeleteWilliam picked out my favorite line as well. Also loved 'I scrabbled for maturity. In vain.'
DeleteI echo the comment about the favourite line mentioned by William and Zaiure, but it's really very difficult to choose a favourite. This was an outstanding installment.
Deletethe word classy came to mind as I read it. Leaving it there...
DeleteChange of focus [183]
ReplyDeleteDS Ben Brickwood, following Leon’s landlady up three flights of lemon-painted stairs, had time to wonder how far down her spine the brown hair escaping from her bun would reach.
‘You’ve a warrant?’ she’d asked, on being told he needed access to the attic, and had been reassured by his, ‘On the way,’ even though it was a lie. The imperfections of the twenty-four hour custody restriction required creativity in evidence acquisition.
But this – from the bloody reek of bin-sacks, leaking dark-stained clothes; the photographs, still pegged above a sink, was as good as ever it got.
Phoning Pettinger, ‘Got him.’
You've captured the icky sticky world of the primary scene brilliantly. You got my skin crawling.
DeletePerfect gritty atmosphere for this crime-fueled piece. Loved the contrast of the yellow stairs with the dark attic scene.
DeleteWonderful descriptions. You can almost smell the fetid atmosphere. And that last line. What a classic!
Deletesaying so much with so few, again.
DeleteNicely done, William. I look forward to the next installment, which will be forthcoming...right? Right?
ReplyDeleteThere was some great writing last week so thank you for the encouragement. I'm in the throes of resurrecting the Novella I began a couple of years back, Little Martyn will help with my background development so it will be developed further. I was fortunate to visit Eyam in Derbyshire to see the collection of family friend and Historian Clarence Daniel (sadly long since passed) so I'm brimming with enthusiasm for this endeavour at the moment.
DeleteMy tears for the Unborn Child
ReplyDeleteI sit within the perfect Lemon walls, that your father carefully painted.
A hallowed space that the barren hope of these latest hours has tainted.
A smiling clown mocks my maternal longing, now never to be sated
An empty swelling where you my little bun once baked,
now filled with pain of the abundant loss of your delicate creation.
Swelling waves of life’s imperfection stormed, ebbed, and breaked.
With tortured thoughts ripping through me, and driven nearly wild,
I nestle down amongst the baby grows neatly filed.
All I have left are my tears for you, the unborn child.
Aargh ... this so strongly evokes a bitter agony - I can feel the centred weight of her pain
DeleteThank you Sandra. I was worried about this one. There's a partner poem I started writing a while ago (with the same title) from the male partners perspective, sitting in another room. I'm trying to piece together another anthology at the moment and I kept picking the other one up. This one came around allowing my mind through the door and into the nursery with lemon walls.
DeleteStrong, gut-wrenching piece.
DeleteThis totally tore at the heartstrings. Unusual verse length too. As Zaiure put it so aptly, this was one "strong" piece.
Deletevery strong piece and it would be good to see a matching one.
DeleteI do hope you enjoy your trip, Sandra. Who has the honour of choosing a winner during your absence?
ReplyDeleteNevermind. Apparently, I failed to read your opening weekly statement thoroughly. What a magnificent opportunity!
DeleteCripplegate Junction/Part 49-Farthing And The Feline
ReplyDeleteFarthing, Violet's lemon-breasted canary, held pride of place near the Canteen's bow window. In his cage atop a cupboard which stored the bird's Trill and millet sprays, as well as supplies for sticky buns that Violet occasionally made in place of her customary tea cakes, Farthing keenly observed Cripplegate's comings and goings. Unlike others of his species, Farthing had never learned to sing but Violet loved her little bird despite the imperfection.
Marmalade often spent hours watching Farthing, ever optimistic that the feathered fellow would eventually make good an escape.
Marmalade hoped to be present at the time.
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To read the earlier installments (a suggestion only) which led to this point in the tale please visit:
http://www.novareinna.com/cripplegate.html
A link to return to "The Prediction" can be found on the site. Thank you.
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I love the choice of Farthing for Violet's lemon-breasted Canary. A sly one that Marmalade.
DeleteWhat a neatly-placed canary, and Marmalade's attentiive waiting threatening indeed.
DeleteLove your names in this series. Fun to see a new character for Marmalade!
DeleteMarmalade does really remind me so much of the rescue cat we have here, scheming every second he's awake to get up to something. This is so well depicted.
DeleteLittle Martyn 1665 - Part 2
ReplyDeleteElsa May considered herself quite the catch. Such was her conceit, she listed others faults whilst ignoring her own imperfections. A regular at Brindles, she often traded her chastity for dresses from London. Using the tailors backdoor as she pleased when stock arrived.
This evening Oldman Brindle was already in bed, hot and wheezing. "A three dress night" she proudly mused to herself while slipping her gown.
The Lemon hue of his eyes and bun sized bubo disguised by the lamplight, soon she'd own an unintended gift and a shroud for a dress. Unaware she keenly slid between his sheets.
Dark-painted this one, William, I somehow think the doxy will be feeling less happy come the morning.
DeleteDangerous games she plays! Well done bringing the piece full circle with Elsa's negligence presenting in the first line and ending with the last.
DeleteDark indeed. Some enviable phrasing here: "three dress night" and "bun sized bubo." I'm so glad this is continuing and look forward to many more installments.
Deletedefinitely want to see more of this!
DeleteKursaal (Episode Twenty Four) -- "Little Lucy Pepperdyne"
ReplyDeleteLittle Lucy Pepperdyne was the consummate child with no obvious imperfections. Her father, Luther, owner of "Pepperdyne's Pastries," the local bakery, was particularly renowned for cream buns and lemon curd tarts, but all his wares were temptingly delicious.
The populace was devastated when Lucy went missing. A makeshift shrine was put together by the copse outside town where Lucy would gather wildflowers for her mother, but hopes were high for the little girl's eventual safe return.
Capers the Clown often visited the memorial, leaving behind a posy of bluebells.
Lucy had been picking them last time he saw her.
---------------------------------------------------------
To read the earlier installments (a suggestion only) which led to this point in the tale, please visit:
http://www.novareinna.com/kursaal.html
A link to return to "The Prediction" can be found on the site. Thank you.
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This place positively seethes with character, none of them lacking in complexities and most with a degree of malevolence.
DeleteI love how this episode draws you in. The last two lines pack a punch, that leave asking questions.
DeleteWilliam summed it up well. I was left wondering at the last, as well. I love all the diverse and interesting characters in this series, and curiously have a sudden craving for baked treats. :)
Deletecleverly done, with another killer last line.
DeleteThe Bells...The Bells
ReplyDeleteHe'd hoped this apartment complex would be different, but those human imperfections known as children were everywhere. They perforated his private thoughts with their fatuous shrieking and penetrated his peace with their incessant squabbling.
They held impromptu picnics beneath his window, leaving chocolate wrappers, half-eaten hot dog buns and empty bottles of soda in their wake. And, worse of all, the neverending litany of shrill nursery rhymes. Top of that list was "Oranges and Lemons."
He retrieved his candle and his chopper.
Perhaps it was time to show them the real truth of the last verse.
That last verse made me roar with evil and enjoyable laughter.
DeleteThat was spot on my day to day as my eldest daughter brought her beach party home due to the rain. (she did clear up the mess though bless her). I think you've captured this to perfection.
** last line**
DeleteYou might not have intended it but in my head the nursery rhymes sung by the 'human imperfections' (lovely!) were also provided by an ice-cream van, which turns the mildest of u murderous at times.
DeleteEntertaining piece for sure that made me laugh and grin and nod my head. Loved the description of the children in the narrator's voice.
Deleteloved it.
DeleteGood to see you here, Zaiure!
Sorry couldn't resist a third entry this week.
ReplyDeleteHooligan
What is the latest contention?
If I knew that word I’d pick a fight at it’s merest mention.
I love divisions, though I couldn’t do maths at school.
To you I guess I’m a hooligan fool.
Well I know a lemon when I see one,
and I call a bun a bun.
Anything not the same as me is imperfection,
so I’ll hurt it just for fun.
Fuck everyone else, when I’m on the sauce,
“Who are ya,” I shout with no remorse.
Tomorrow I’ll blame the world over
and respond with ultimate force.
'Hooligan' such an evocative word, isn't it? And a third entry needs no apologies. 'Anything not the same as me is imperfection' a vivid insight.
DeleteAlways impressed by your ability to weave both story and poem from the prompts!
Delete"Hooligan" conjures so many images. I don't think the word is used as much these days, but it was everywhere when I was younger. I picture a youth with short trousers, braces (English version), rolled-down socks and a school cap turned sideways, fists clenched at his sides. I'm sure I've pulled that from some story I read as a kid. I'm not going to comment on your ability to create a story-in-rhyme from the prompt words. At this point, it's a given.
Deletenewspapers love the word Hooligans, saves them looking for alternatives. This is a startling piece, really liked it.
DeleteNot an epic piece, but I've been struggling with writing anything at all the past few months (pregnancy brain fog!), so this is pretty accurate to how I've been feeling. ;) I've missed playing!
ReplyDeleteFog
Fingers pose over lusterless keys, as Ven stares at the blank page before her. A fog, as thick as the gray soup masking the garden outside the window, floats thoughtlessly inside her head, smothering ideas before they can lift their heads from the mire that has apparently swallowed all creative ability.
Sighing, Ven tears at her hastily pinned bun with sun-marked fingers, and reaches again for the mug venting ghostly curls of steam into the dimly lit room. Lemon and honey merge on her tongue, as she sips and sighs, wishing for something, imperfect even, to surface inside her head.
Always good to see you here Zaiure, and this, despite its subject matter is very welcome. Obviously, congratulations are due, and I'm ever-admiring of you being able to string anything together, never mind something this strong.
DeleteThis is a very evocative piece, I love the mood and pace. Reminds me of mornings when I get with the best intentions of writing and end up staring out the window. I particularly loved "venting ghostly curls of steam into the dimly lit room"
Delete..and congratulations by the way.
Thank you Sandra and William! I'm glad something came together for this week. :)
DeleteThis was quite lovely and has something of a delicate aura, almost as though it could slip away at any moment. Welcome back, Zaiure. Your talent has been sadly missed. And congratulations on the pending arrival...I apologize for my "human imperfection" statement earlier.
DeleteThanks Patricia! And no apologies needed. :) That line fit the character perfectly and kids can be... frustrating at times. ;)
Deletecongratulations on the baby-to-come and this piece, which worked well after all your worrying about it.
DeleteThanks Antonia!
DeleteInfinity 151
ReplyDeleteThere be nothing like a full set of sails being tugged at by the wind and Infinity racing along under the pressure. There’s many an imperfect thing in this world, the crew be one example, but the sight of the sails… I got myself quite lyrical, asked cook to bring me grog with lemon. He thought I’d took a turn for the worse. No, that comes after I eat one of his buns. The man cannot cook.
Been down to the hold to try and find what this thing wants. It ain’t talking – yet but if it starves, it will.
Lord, oh lord, Antonia - week after week you deliver a piece of such solid quality, incorporating the prompts like you suggested them. And such tension in that final line.
DeleteThat last line, delivers shivers.
DeleteGetting to where I find these installments to be indescribable for fear I'll just keep repeating myself week after week. I particularly like the suspense that comes with this one.
DeleteDefinitely a killer final line, and I love the visual of the first sentence.
Deleteit's been a tough week, well, week and a half, with the Isle of Wight Music Festival crashing onto the island and off again, without touching the towns, so no money was left for the island to use. It all went into the pockets of the organiser. We had the disruption instead.
ReplyDeleteI really wanted to get the Captain's instalment in earlier, but life as usual got in the way, as did cats. How many excuses can you find not to write?????
Good to see you all here playing. Tis a good week for the Challenge, good writing here. Thanks.
Glad you were able to get it in! I definitely understand last minute submissions. :)
DeleteThe Adventures of Rosebud, Pirate Princess #29
ReplyDeleteAnother Society Ball
There’s always a stand of potted trees behind the refreshment table organized in an imperfect line, excellent for clandestine meetings. The matrons watch their debutantes with lemony expressions. I steal a cinnamon bun as I pass, searching for the mark. A debutante like me, though lacking the wits to escape even one onerous dance, is in need of protection. I’m a princess-princess tonight, back in my official guise as my mother’s pretty little heir. That dimwit girl needs to scream or something so I can take him out legally. Don’t go behind the table! Wonderful. I hate fighting in frills.
Open-mouthed with admiration at this Rosie - for me, your best yet (and there hasn't been one that isn't very, very good)
DeleteAs always, a perfect gem of a tale. I rather liked the "lemony expressions" reference this time around. Inspired use of the prompt word.
DeleteLoved the imagery and environment of this piece, and the potted trees 'excellent for clandestine meetings'! She's a fun character to follow.
Deleteabsolutely in awe of this piece, Rosie, perfection.
ReplyDelete