... is the title of Caroline Taggart’s book, bought
for me as a Christmas present, by my younger son, and not a week has gone by
since without me using it to check on some grammatical quirk or item I need an
explanation for. Having read a lot as a child, my grammatical grounding is
instinctive rather than informed; all attempts to properly teach me merely
confused and left me disinclined to write. This, being able to be consulted on
a ‘need to know’ basis, is perfect.
And it was a week of near perfect enjoyment of
reading Prediction posts, with the usual difficulty of picking a favourite,
since so many offered an especial treat. So ... I juggled, somewhat inexpertly,
with three, and the one I was left with was John’s inflammable tale, as Perry’s
‘Can’t get the staff’ and Rosie’s ‘Who
Spies on the Spies?’ tumbled to the floor.
Words
for next week: brink freckle stalk
Entries
by midnight Thursday 30th March, words
and winners posted on Friday 31st
;) Ouch me head! A worthy winner and great submissions throughout. And now...
ReplyDeleteSOILED
Her clothes smelled as if he’d been living in them for the last month, which was untrue … it had been a year.
Once a seamstress, although she was appalled at the amount of thread and perfectly good material dumped, scavenging such had brought her clothing back from the brink quite a few times.
An abusive shopkeeper, who had stalked off earlier, reappeared with a power washer. A blast of icy water hit her, the force spraying her shit on the adjacent wall like surreal freckles.
She watched as her paralysis became evident to him. She didn’t mind dying. She travelled.
A very enjoying read and nice use or prompts, The scene with the fire hose from The Planet of the Apes sprang into my mind and I think that's one of the better movies and best endings in a movie, ever.
Deleteexcellent piece, Perry - and congratulations on being a close run contender last week!
DeleteI love the wide horizons of this piece; the limitless possibilities of the back story(ies), and the suggestion that the future might be equally unconstrained.
DeleteWow. The ending was really unsettling.
DeleteThank you Jeffrey, Antonia, Sandra and Wondra. Glad my piece resonated with you all. I do love to experiment with readers' reactions now and again. Much as it's good for an actor to play the villain now and again, I find it healthy for a writer to practice eliciting revulsion and discomfort while being entertaining at the same time.
DeleteThis was an outstanding piece. That last line leaves much for the imagination to play with and ponder. I adore tales that make one think and speculate. Thank you for the experience.
DeleteThank you, Patricia - praise indeed.
DeleteCongrats to John for grabbing the brass ring last week. Perry and Rosie provide awesome stories for honorable mention. Now, how will I use this weeks prompts?
ReplyDeleteechoing Jeffrey's comments, congratulations John, Perry and Rosie. It is always exciting reading, I am happy to say
DeleteThank you, Antonia.
DeleteThat was indeed some tale you told there, John. Perry and Rosie were no slouches either. What a feast this place is for some wonderful reading and all in 100 words or less. To echo the sentiment of Ira Gershwin, "who could ask for anything more?"
ReplyDeleteMessenger in the Night-2
ReplyDeletePapa lounged on a pile of coins, before shrinking an empty glass.
“Fill it, Drack…thanks…ah, a fine bouquet for a two month muscatel, now to business. Master said not to kill or infect you, unless…”
“How may I serve our master?”
“Drack, your face is so red; I can’t see your cute freckles. I could stalk the city and find what master wants but your knowledge will save me time.”
“Ask what you seek.”
“Master is going to push this city over the brink; however, he needs a sacrifice. Who’s the best thief in this city?”
“Uxator is the best.”
grateful that someone else asked about the shrinking glass, conjures all manner of images... nice instalment, this.
DeleteAnd this, in contrast to Perry's, so claustrophobic.
DeleteYour pieces are always so enigmatic and worthy of more than one read. I gave this one three. Nice use of all the prompt words. Very well hidden.
DeleteGreat continuation of an engaging tale where - as it is with quality - the prompt words were again swallowed by the narrative.
ReplyDeleteOne thing - if you would care to enlighten - what is "shrinking an empty glass". I looked up the reference to wine-making and it has it iro corks (something I should really have deduced), but you got me with the glass thing. I'm insatiably curious, so please advise.
Perry, thanks for the comment about the story. My use of that phrase was to reference just that. In medieval Europe, that was a method to seal many bottles, wine, beer, mead, etc. Also, that since Papa is a bat, he used magic to shrink the glass to one more his size.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Jeffrey. Mystery solved. Magic involved. Eeek, I'm a poet. :)
DeleteHOPE (continuation of Siege Under)
ReplyDeleteSorcha was their only sun in the sewers and she lived up to her name, a bright smile always willing to leap to her freckled face irrespective of the dim, dank and dangerous world which they had had to embrace.
It was watching those pristine teeth deteriorate which had pushed Finbar, Colm’s father, beyond the brink of desperation.
Foray after foray he had made up the tunnels with the Geiger, seeking sign of dissipation, until...
“There’s hope.”
“Great.” Colm's smile was encouraging, tone flat as previous platitudes.
Finbar grinned and swatted him with the stalk and leaves of a nettle.
it gets more intriguing and I love the 'tone as flat as previous platitudes. Says everything.'
DeleteI like the distopian setting you've created, descriptive and not over using naration.
DeleteYes, it was the "tone flat as previous platitudes" that impacted on me too.
DeleteThank you all. It is always a delight to construct a pleasing turn of phrase or metaphor, and a joy when others appreciate it as well as the actual writing.
DeleteTo be swatted with the stalk and leaves of a nettle. What a fine image that is! Lovely contrast between such things as the dankness of the sewers and the pristine nature of teeth. The names echo of a Gaelic origin and this was altogether a polished contribution.
DeleteThank you again, Patricia - always a boost to receive praise from writers of such calibre.
DeleteTis a minor miracle that the Captain has already visited with this week's instalment, making me wonder what work I have to come... I have just finished a 104,000 word book.
ReplyDeleteHere goes:
Infinity 192.
The cap’n is getting philosophical. I found myself writing ‘time is but a freckle on the face of the Lord God and he does not know it is there.’ Does that mean I be on the brink of not wanting to be a privateer any more? Do I not find stalking the merchantmen a thrill any more? These be questions that I be asking since my last entry in this private journal. The answer be yes and no. I dare not let the crew know, I want them to have one last chance at loot before I sets them free.
Philosophical, yes, and very poetic - lovely phrase.
DeleteIn itself a glimpse into the mind of a character which would entice any to read more. Nicely composed, Antonia.
DeleteTo me, this had something of a melancholy atmosphere. The Captain in two minds about his future and yet, one gets the impression that the dye has already been well and truly cast in that respect. I look forward to the Captain and his crew's swan song and yet regret their passing.
DeleteHave much in the way of "real life" going on this week, so may or may not be contributing anything. Regardless, I will return by Thursday at the latest to comment on this week's little gems.
ReplyDeleteA very enjoyable and nicely done installment, I'll be sad to see the the Captain move on.
ReplyDeleteWell, I’m pleased to see I did well last week, though I see I forgot to include a title. Dang. Thank you all for the nice comments.
ReplyDelete***
A Lessen in Disparagement
“Beware the freckled moth.” That’s what he said before he dropped dead. My mother, on the brink of yet another breakdown eyed me with contempt. She’d been at his death bed for days, waiting to get the last word in.
All I’d said was, “what the hell are you talking about?” And he died, just like that, my mother standing there open mouthed. She stalked me with eyes aflame as I backed out of the room. I closed the door and her piercing scream punctured the paper thin walls. The woman did scorn well.
this is good, John, your standards are getting higher by the week!
DeleteBrilliantly intriguing opening line, and a well-drawn scene, emotions running high.
DeleteJeffrey here;
DeleteA most haunting tale. A scorned woman and with experience being such. A touch of Lady Havishum to me.
Great little piece, though I found it hard to reconcile dropping dead with being in a deathbed. We'd have open-mouthed as hyphenated here, but so what? Tell us more about the dreaded freckled moth. :)
DeleteOf all the comments gone before mine, I do believe "haunting" best described what I felt here. Enviable composition and a tale complete in its existence. Amazing what a talented pen can achieve in less than 100 words.
DeleteKursaal (Episode Sixty Three) -- "Double Take"
ReplyDeleteOn the brink of the clearing, a bizarre figure shuffled. Gigantic shoes snapped twigs, squelched stalks. Aware of the presence, Libby Pepperdyne did not look behind. Muddy fingers wiped damp earth from her trowel as she nodded. The memorial garden planted for her murdered twin would soon be alive with colour.
In the parlour of Pepperdyne Cottage, Libby's mother traced faces of two little girls smiling within an oaken frame. Different characters but identical features, even down to each button nose and smattering of freckles.
One would never return home.
The other would shortly burst through the door demanding tea.
---------------------------------------------------------
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.
---------------------------------------------------------
Simple scene, undercut with your especial brand of menace and well-buried prompts, Patricia. Very nice.
DeleteJeffrey here;
DeleteI agree with Sandra, a simplistic and yet 'busy' story. Squelched stalks, a great interpretation and prompt use.
Very very tidy! Right in there with the characters.
Deletecharacters leap from the screen when you write this serial, Patricia, just so vivid and real.
DeleteIdée Fixe
ReplyDeleteProponents of fetishes often exist somewhat on the brink of society, searching for those who will indulge their fixations.
It is with pleasure that I gratify a certain sun-kissed obsession, provided there is reciprocation. Some might classify me as a stalker but for every predator there is a corresponding and, in this case, eager prey. Unfortunately, the dance is brief and reaches a conclusion far too soon, which is why I am now compelled to place the personal ad once again:
"Freckled-face teenager seeking intimate relationship with older man. Discretion guaranteed."
Whew! What I said about your Kursaal piece. In spades. With hidden blades.
DeleteI'm not very good at commenting yet, you know, getting to know you all, but I have to say, this is really good. Enjoyable in a macabre sort of way.
DeleteCreepy!
DeleteJeff still here;
DeleteThe Venus Fly Trap uses scent to attract its prey. I love the analogy or is it allusion you created.
Ooooh! Clinical analysis of desire followed by flesh-crawl. As I said earlier about eliciting reader-responses, so mote it be.
Deleteit is all down to reader-response and this is just brilliant as an object lesson on how to do it.
DeleteChange of focus [228]
ReplyDeleteInterviews revealed Roger Bailiwick to have been a man well-versed in brinkmanship. ‘All talk no balls’, according to associates. His devoted PA, tear-stained freckles matched by liver-spotted hands, praised him as a shrewd negotiator.
‘Aye, one who never got caught,’ grumbled a colleague, ‘Got others to do his dirty work’.
Scandal, as DS Brickwood despondently reported, had not so much stalked as skittered in his wake. ‘Only to evaporate. Sorry Boss.’
‘Cherchez la femme then, Ben,‘ suggested Pettinger. ‘It has to be women or money.’
But it was DC Henry Moth who gleefully uncovered it. ‘Not either/or Boss, but both.’
I really enjoyed this installment. Nice use of prompts. Poor Rodger yet perhaps deservedly so.
DeleteVibrant little excerpt. And I got new trading lingo word to hate for its presumption on the language: "brinkmanship".
DeletePersonal irks aside, great use of the prompt and at least I know the word now and use it with vitriolic aplomb. :D
This installment was literally peppered with little gems. For example, the use of "brinkmanship" and the mention of "tear-stained freckles" in the same sentence as "liver-spotted hands." Wonderful manipulation of the prompt words and I do enjoy DC Henry Moth's comments on certain occasions.
DeleteDC Moth is the star of this serial, he's always got something smart to say. Liked this a lot.
DeleteShield held aloft [Threshold 157]
ReplyDeleteI’d been on the brink of despair. Relief brought hysteria, stalked with salty tears, but I’d learned my lesson. My back to him, ‘So. What now? The house entirely empty except for us. Do you intend to settle here? Or are you heading somewhere else?’
From further away than I’d anticipated, ‘That depends –‘
I turned. He had hold of a calfskin-bound ledger, its pages deckle-edged and freckle-foxed. ‘On?’
He gestured with the book, a shrugged indication that the answer lay within. ‘On me. On you –‘
Scornfully, disguising hope, ‘I?’
Eyebrows disbelieving, ‘It seems to say so here, yes.’
I like learning new words and also so enjoyed it. The terms deckle-edged and freckle-foxed, excellent prompt use in this story.
DeleteVery intriguing and ME TOO with the "deckle-edged". Love the sound of it. And the freckle-foxed is a clever qualification of the standard foxing. A delicate metaphor.
DeleteWell, this was certainly on a par with "Change of Focus" in terms of prompt word use and delicious phrasing. I was particularly taken with "freckle-foxed" and may steal that image at some point.
Deleteyes, I like freckle-foxed, may use that next time I list an old book on Amazon, looks better. Now look what you started, Sandra!
DeleteTriangle Repartee
ReplyDelete“Welcome to Triangle Repartee, where we use modern technology to bring back three dead people or myth’s, to answer a few questions. Tonight’s show should be a true funfest of acrimonious alacrity, so let’s meet our guests. Our first guest hails from ancient Greece, one of the brothers three, the original Night Stalker, please welcome Hades! Our second guest and don’t be fooled by his freckled face and youthful looks. It’s the man with the famous staff, Asclepius! Our last guest was a conqueror and genocidal maniac, who was once on the brink of world domination, I give you Temujin!”
Interesting. I could hear the voice of Leonard Sachs all the way through. I too fall foul of the plural/possessive stumble these days - can't imagine why. I blame the fingers.
DeleteJeffrey here;
DeleteWell, there goes my Pulitzer nomination. Thanks for catching those Perry. In this case it's a case of rudhing due to limited time during the week. Between work & driving that's 12+hrs. So, when I get an idea I need to get it out soon. I'll do better to produce less grammatical issues.
serial? more to come here? not so rushed, perhaps? Jeffrey knows that's a fault he battles with all the time, both here and on Legendfire. Life can be too demanding for those of us who want to write.
DeleteVery interesting concept and delivered in a unique announcement manner. I liked this very much and in accord with Antonia, believe this could work very well in serial form.
DeleteJeff is back;
DeleteThanks Antonia and Patricia for your understanding and reminders. Yes, I plan on attempting a serial for this. I just need develope questions and fit them in with the prompts.
Yes, I will work on slowing down. The reward being to make all like my first one.
I'm glad that this style was well received and thank you all for your support and awesome comments to all of my stories.
Hey, Jeffrey, not a criticism - an empathetic remark on the plurals meant more as a heads-up than anything negative (editor/tutor head doing its 'voluptatem interruptus').
DeleteThis is my third read through and I'm still just getting to know the piece. So much on offer. Not something that looks rushed at all. Kudos.
I'm just pondering on young interns tongues trying to get around an "Asclepiatic Oath". Just as well he was elevated to demigodhood, leaving Hippocrates with the baton.
DeleteDon't now whether it was the 'slowing down' Antonia referred to but this I found more accessible than some of your more complex pieces. The strong, well-evoked voice and "acrimonious alacrity" were a real pleasure.
DeletePerry;
DeleteI didn't take it as a criticism. You saw an ops and pointed it out. Thanks. As for when I rush; flow, and story don't suffer, my SP&G does and it was never very good to begin with. Commas, possessive seem to be my worst.
I also have a tendency, though it's noticeably reduced, to compare my stories to other very good stories I see and read. That is like comparing myself to Turtledove or Moorcock. I've been writing for 3.5 years , poetry for 2.5
Antonia has been a motherly fountain of patience during that time. Patricia, the elder sister with a softer edge. The rest of you have been so very helpful in my developing and improving my writing.
For me slowing down, means I remember to check what I've written, follow the mini outline I have and once done, letting it sit for a bit. Weekends are much more conducive for this.
A true story.
ReplyDeleteVillage primary school, mid-1950s. Hazel, her skin densely-freckled, eyes hard as nuts, aptly-named. She sat behind me, poked me in the back with a single finger. The stalking anticipation worse than the pain itself.
On the brink of inadmissible tears, I left the school at playtime. Ran to the bungalow where I lived. Right opposite the school. Let myself in (no-one locked doors and my mother at work).
I hid in the darkness of the L-shaped hall. Within minutes the headmaster peered in red-faced anger through the windows. banged, shouting, at the door.
Compromised, I let him lead me back.
Don't you just hate it when they know where you live.
Deletethis captures so much of childhood torment, supposedly the best years of our lives, wonder who said that... they didn't go to my school, that's for sure!
DeleteI feel this is indeed based on fact. We've all been there to one extent or another. For me, it was a horrid boy who always managed to dunk one of my plaits in the inkwell. On reflection, that could well be a fashion statement in today's world. In any event, lovely little slice of life that invokes much sympathy.
DeleteCripplegate Junction/Part 89-Plants, Pearls And Presumptions
ReplyDeleteNobody noticed delivery of the potted plant. Quite simply, it was suddenly there.
Even absent a card, the waitress knew it was for her. The Viola Sororia, known as "Freckled Violet," could be intended for no other. The name alone indicated as much. On the brink of euphoria, Violet was convinced the gift came from the Station Master.
Miss Constance was skeptical. Beneath the heart-shaped foliage and supple stalks, she spied lustrous seed pearls, identical to those composing a necklace once in her brother's possession.
From a nearby table, the Station Master, expression enigmatic, neither confirmed nor denied Violet's assumption.
--------------------------------------------------------
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.
---------------------------------------------------------
oh oh, more intrigue, who's doing what here... who's scheming and who's being honest, if anyone is...
DeleteDelicious prose and inventive use of prompts.
DeleteSo smooth and enticing a serial this!
DeleteOtherglow (untitled WIP, part 1)
ReplyDeleteMeadows hesitated. Every part of him was screaming inside to turn around and row back to the refuge of the small island.
For three weeks he'd hidden, watching the monstrous spindly creatures stalking along the opposite shore, their shadows flickering in the strange green light.
But now his hastily grabbed supplies were out, which meant he needed to cross the brink and venture back onto the mainland.
He was hungry. And he was already contaminated anyway; the itching freckle on his right hand still growing.
He cursed, hauled himself up onto the wooden jetty, then walked towards the unearthly light.
---
It's been way too long since I last posted anything here. Great to read everyone's awesome entries, and to be taking part again.
Reminiscent of one of HG's short stories, nicely weighted. A lure with just the right colours.
DeleteOh, welcome back Rich - you have been much missed - and this, as the beginning of a serial, hold out the promise of good reading for the rest of us.
DeleteWhat a predicament you put poor Meadows into. Very nicely done.
DeleteJeffrey checking in before work;
DeleteGreetings Rich;
A truely Catch-22, death by starvation or contamination. Life breads hope. Really liked the descriptive and that you did it with narration, setting, cinflict and emotion. Well done.
Ooohhh, a science fiction tale. Seems we don't get too many of those and appears to be the beginning of yet another fine serialization. Let me be among the first to say "welcome back." I don't believe I was here when you last posted but always a delight to see both old and new contributors, especially ones of such a fine caliber. Love the way you turned a freckle into something boding a much more malignant manifestation.
ReplyDeleteJust so you know - I am on the brink of wilting at the thought of trying to pick a winner from the finely-freckled tales held up here, all on stalks of different hue and cross-section, but all of equal length.
ReplyDeleteTo be honest, Sandra, I don't know how you manage to make a choice at all week after week. I'd have to give up the ghost. The standard is just too high.
DeleteHee hee, nicely done.
DeleteAnd with many apologies ahead of time because I just couldn't help myself....
ReplyDelete---------------------------
Missed Opportunity
It had materialized like magic overnight. A monstrosity of a thing with gargantuan brown-freckled leaves and thick fibrous vines. Mother Spriggins was far from happy with this current state of affairs and called out to her young son who was on the brink of making an ascent.
"That ugly beanstalk is an eyesore in my beautiful garden," she declared. "Take the chopper to it immediately!"
And Jack, reluctantly obedient, did as he was told.
Ah, perhaps the most famous stalk of them all. Fun and well done.
DeleteI might have known you couldn't resist - but am impressed with what a skillful job you've made of it.
DeleteOh, poor Jack. Probably took all morning too... a delightful twist ;)
DeleteIt's bean a delight reading this.
DeleteThe Adventures of Rosebud, Pirate Princess #70
ReplyDeleteTime to Get Crafty
Today I’m stalking a spy for the Land of Fire. He’s surprisingly easy to spot because of his multitudinous freckles. He’s also surprisingly hard to keep up with. I’m taller than him! Last week I was on the brink of getting his decoding rings when he out ran me-over a roof top! I’m good at roof tops. He’s very aggravating. I’m thinking about going back to that insipid diner party and just puzzling out his code by myself. Then Natasha can stop being a sideboard and we can go home.
I always look forward to each installment. Nothing else quite like it on offer. I imagine Natasha is getting a bit restless right about now.
DeleteDeliciously descriptive as ever, and, as Patricia says, always read with pleasure.
DeleteShowing Her a Good Time
ReplyDeletePorkpie hat, slicked hair, freckles - Stevie Newcomb was a handsome young fellow. No doubt the lovely lady on his arm would agree.
I'd followed her all night, watching him stalk. I was working for her dad; Stevie was expecting his own payday.
At the brink of a kiss I dropped my hand on his shoulder. She screeched, "Him? But, he's so nice."
"He's not nice. He's also thirty-nine years old and on parole for fraud." I couldn't arrest him, so I made sure he'd remember me for a while. And drape the next girl over his left arm.
And your pieces, Bill, always entertaining too, your succinct laconic style very much appreciated.
DeleteThese always come with such humorous menace and a very unique style. So much to love here. Porkpie hat and the image of a girl draped over an arm is to mention but a few...even if the left one is the sole choice.
ReplyDelete