... here are the words for the second of
June: huff midnight pulp
Entries
by midnight Thursday 8th June, words
and winners posted on Friday 9th
Sorry - internet very intermittent here - did I miss everyone posting their winners for last week or do you intend to do it next?
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 you prefer.
Just an FYI. My Kandar serial. I found a flash drive with a version of this from May 2013.
ReplyDeleteIt's like looking at a skeleton, withe some of the tendons, muscle and even patches of hair.
I fully see why this had been rejected when submitted.
My thanks to all in Prediction for your patience, support and encouragement through your comments.
Hi Jeffrey, I've not been around much since last year (thanks to my day Job and Brexit). Your comment resonates with me, the prediction tightens up your writing and critical skills, and leads to better self critical skills. My wife has observed that my patience with folk has depleted somewhat of late and she attributes it to me not doing my weekly prediction entry. Hopefully after next week things will calm down a bit.
ReplyDeleteThanks, William. Now, if I can just begin nudging my poetry closer than the asteroid belt.😎
ReplyDeleteyoure doing better than I am with poetry, Jeffrey. mine is a thing of horror all unto itself
DeleteThen write more of it. Let others decide what they think of it. Poetry, as a genre, to em, is more of finding the right poem for the audiance.
DeleteMy vote is posted in the previous week's comments.
ReplyDeleteI'm dreadfully late (forgot!), but posted my vote in the previous week's comments as well.
DeleteGift Horse(s)
ReplyDeleteThe histrionics had been unexpected. They left her nettled. Piqued. Or, to put it plainly, in something of a huff. She hadn't even been given the opportunity to deliver her well-rehearsed "midnight" speech, which was vexing to say the least.
Who would have thought the little scullery maid would turn to mush (rather like the pulp scooped out of the pumpkin coach) before taking off in a panic at the sight of four tiny white mice?
The fairy godmother slipped her wand back into its holster.
There was no helping some people!
cute!
Deleteno helping some people at all :)
DeleteI feel the exasperation of the hard working fairy godmother! I particularly like the scullery maid line.
DeleteDelightful and very apt use of prompts.
DeleteA beautiful retelling of a classic. Loved the 'midnight' speech line. Nicely done.
ReplyDeleteI absolutely love the way fairy tales can be twisted, to perfection at times. This is superb.
ReplyDeleteIf I were a candle
ReplyDeleteOf course, I am a morning person
You covet my glow to soothe
Your midnight desires.
Kindle me to flame until
I am pulp inside.
Molten again.
After, with a gentle huff
You send me to sleep.
I wake before you
Gather dawn into myself.
Realise, I am diminished.
Smaller.
You breathe slowly into the pillow
And I crave only
To be consumed again
nice imagery!
Deleteinteresting descriptors
DeleteThank you both 😊
DeleteI felt this mix of words could be gentle on the surface, burning underneath...
Ah ... yes indeed.
Deletebeautifully done
DeleteA well worded poem. Very softly yet with strong imagery. Then you used the prompts so very well.
DeleteThis was amazing. I adore the phrasing and the images that are evoked. What an absolutely beautiful job. I love the desire "to be consumed again."
DeleteCripplegate Junction/Part 99-Portends And Preparations
ReplyDeleteSince the train had lurched along the platform (albeit a flash in the pan), Poppy's faith in an exodus had risen significantly. She gathered a collection of unread pulps (she preferred "penny dreadfuls") for the journey and made sure her traveling suit of midnight blue (matching her eyes) was pressed and perfumed.
Of course, Marmalade would accompany her. There was a plentiful supply of Kit-E-Kat beneath the Kiosk counter in readiness.
Huffs and puffs of steam from the locomotive's chimney had increased of late, but most ignored the fact.
"Soon," she whispered in Marmalade's ear.
His whiskers twitched with anticipation.
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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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Well, this was a most enjoyable continuation, Patricia. A side note is I really loved the show Penny Dreadful. Kit-E Kat, evoked a chuckle. Very well chosen placing for the prompts and another note is we both have the same line (Huffs and puffs) though it seems mine is, no surprise, misspelled, again) The good aspect of that is how great minds think.
Deleteexcellent :)
DeleteOoh yes ... especially the pulp fiction, which I thought of but failed to fit in.
Deletea nice instalment, wonder what Marmalade is thinking...
DeleteThis is a very nice poem. Soft, gentle and yet, for me multiple imagery. Very good prompt use.
ReplyDeleteNOTE: I posted my vote in last weeks section, but a little late.
My poem;
ReplyDeleteBrain Jails
Be it midnight or high noon, pictures to be taken, light needs to reveal.
Colored pulpy lenses, framed in dingy calcium holes,
See both angelic and diabolic beauty, the same way.
Captured images inside lightness cranium, is where their ugly truth is revealed.
Mental bars and gray matter walls for these shadowed prison cells.
Salty rivers source, memories both good and bad.
Moments plucked from time, froth with emotions, inspirations and hopes.
Huff’s and puff’s, chuckles and grins, all for memories thought lost.
Future pictures need not worry, what demons or angels they catch,
Saved for all time; until death.
A very thought-provoking piece. I was reminded of those old time cameras where individuals had to stand still for several seconds. I believe they were called calotypes? Anyway, the cameras that took those pictures of the wild west and its colourful characters.
DeleteAcrimonious Measures
ReplyDeleteOn the veranda, we sat - together but miles apart. My eyes were drawn to the flies that buzzed the shattered juice glass near the concrete planter. Silence roared like the midnight train that huffed through Harrisburg every Thursday night. All attempts at reconciliation were rejected, every kindness disregarded. I wondered if I’d forgotten or if I was searching for a way out. I did, after all, know he hated pulp in his orange juice.
Again a beautifully succinct title for the piece. I like the musing of "wondering if I'd forgotten"
DeleteThis has the heft of a novel, and wonderfully describes the scene.
Deletethere's a delicacy in this as well as a serious indepth look at a relationship.
DeleteI liked how it's not defined, that I could tell at least, who made any reconciliation attempts. Like a worn out recording of your favorite song.
DeleteThere is some mystery to this...I'm delighted to say! So many wonderful images, especially flies buzzing a shattered juice glass, which makes me wonder why the glass shattered. Did it hold that pulpy orange juice perhaps and became the victim of an angry outburst?
DeleteFreedom Pie
ReplyDeleteWritten by Kerry E.B. Black
Few claim baking at midnight as an eccentricity, but I do. I specialize in pies. Pumpkin’s my favorite. I love the feel of pulp mixed with spices squelching through my fingers. Father got himself into quite a huff over my nocturnal activities. “Unnatural,” he said, pointing a nicotine-stained finger in my face. I’d smile, because once he’d slept off the drink, he’d tuck in, sometimes devouring the whole thing without sharing.
I expect he’ll be hungry. Always is after a night of cards, so I mixed in an extra-special spice just for him, a little untraceable something I’ll call free-at-last.
poison by pumpkin. that's one way to deal with the spice latte people :D
DeleteWelcome Kerry - and what a well-set-up, wicked little tale.
Deletegood to see you here, Kerry!
DeleteI love this little story, perfectly crafted.
Welcome Kerry, a most delicious story. Now, this also lends a new view about the pie man, maynot be so simple.
DeleteVery well done story.
Warm welcome here, Kerry. What a magnificent debut. This has just the right smattering of wickedness that I absolutely adore. I also love the almost nonchalant delivery.
DeleteI'll admit midnight is not the best time to be jogging in the park. the desperate smell of dealers, junkies, and the occasional unwashed prostitute is no place for a fat man huffing with the desire to win.
ReplyDeleteI pound the cosh into my palm as I move to mash his brains to pulp by way of demonstration.
Another tiny masterpiece, and nasty with it.
Deletevery nasty!
DeleteBeautifully sanguine, to be sure.
DeleteAt first, I thought the "fat man" was the voice of the protagonist. Soon realized the error of THAT assumption. Very vivid descriptions and I especially liked the "smell" of "unwashed prostitutes." How very deliciously seedy.
DeleteKandar 13: Psychobabble
ReplyDelete“When would you like it done?”
“This week. Here’s a map with the location, a room on the third floor. Put the satchel there. I’ll restore Philus’s arm by midnight. The map to the tomb will take a bit.” Pelwrath gestured to a table with a satchel, a scroll tube and a ring.
“For you.”
The ring; a dragon eating its tail, just like Rag told me.
“My thanks,’ I left in a huff.
“Why take such a risk, Master? When it’s discovered, they’ll know the danger they’re in.” said Papa, as he ate a pulpy grape from his sack.
Nice imagery.
Deleteyes, agree with that.
DeleteNice imagery indeed. I particularly liked the description of the ring. And what a magnificent title!
DeleteKursaal (Episode Seventy Three) -- "Name Of The Game"
ReplyDeleteIn a comfortable room at the rear of the First Aid Station, where would-be pugilists recuperated from being pummeled to a pulp by her father during the Boxing Booth's Amateur Night, Ludmilla Bartók played draughts with Chief Constable Twittering.
Strategic matches often continued well beyond midnight.
"Are you familiar with huffing?" asked Ludmilla. "Not how the big bad wolf demolished the little pigs' houses, but failure to make a capturing move when available."
She studied the board and sighed.
"You have huffed too frequently of late, Basil. Regretfully, you must be penalized for the oversight."
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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/kursaal.html
A link to return to "The Prediction" can be found on the site. Thank you.
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Yet again, a lovely and imaginative use of the prompts.
Deletethe prompts work well in this one.
DeleteCheckers, I learned something.😇
DeleteFailure to capture isn't necessarily a failure to notice, it could be a strategy.
That said, just a lovely setting, description to go with prompt use.
Change of focus [238]
ReplyDeleteBekim mistook Pettinger’s expression of concentrated calculation. Thought to ease it by addressing him in English. ‘Don’t be having a huff like schoolboy, Yanno. Pulp of the matter is to keep Aleks safe, da?’
‘Heart,’ growled Pettinger, unable not to correct.
‘Heart is what I give to Valdeta. She to me –‘
Which pushed Aleks further into the cold.
Pettinger, overcoming the temptation to slam the laptop shut and make it all go away, recalculated. ‘There’s a flight lands just before midnight –‘
‘I meet it,’ then, implacable, ‘How many tickets to return?’
‘I’ll tell you that when I arrive.’
and... the plot thickens and you hid the prompts really well!
DeleteThis took a few reads to wrap around.
DeletePettinger seems to be outside of his element. You portray that very well and with just enough for us to know Alex is still around.
Nicely melded prompts. Well written episode.
And the insinuations fly like speeding arrows. Loved this installment and must admit, didn't even notice the prompt words or even looked for them, come to that!
DeleteCalculating space [Threshold 165]
ReplyDeleteI pressed myself against Raven and peered again at the noisy delegation. Two nights of sex, from midnight to dawn had not yet quenched the pulp of my desire; merely rendered me light-headed. ‘Are they not story-tale wolves? Full of huff and puff and impotence? And there are a lot of rooms –‘
At ‘impotence,’ he flashed a smile. ‘Even in the basement they’d hear the echo of your cries, I’d not want that. But there’s a greater concern –‘
I looked towards where he nodded.
Another man arrived at the gateway. Large and implacable, astride a horse to match.
yet more mysteries. Nice one.
DeleteIt's said that cliffhangers are evidence of weak writing...such hogwash. An excellent cliffhanger and a tad more to add about our protagonists.
DeleteOoof - Don't tell me that Jeffrey, if I've learnt nothing else here I've (thankfully) discovered how to do cliffhangers!
DeleteA mysterious equestrian stranger. Who could ask for more? Had to chuckle at Raven's response to "impotence." Like he (or anyone else) doubts his prowess in that department.
DeleteNo picnic
ReplyDeleteEven this far north ‘Midnight sun’ a misnomer, its vermilion orb already dipped below the horizon as the haar comes in on the tide, thickening a silence broken only by the gentle huff of foam rearranging stones; the melancholy piping of invisible oyster-catchers.
Then your voice, inappropriate as a cockatoo, ‘Wanna halfa orange?’ You divide one then hand me both knife and dripping semi-sphere, turn your half inside-out and begin slurping at its pulp.
The knife is sharper than the orange flesh; sweeter still is the thought that Ann Cleeve’s Jimmy Perez is about to have another murder to investigate.
a very nice stand alone - I love foam rearranging stones.
DeleteHad to look up "haar." I love to learn new words! And how fittingly atmospheric was this one! Also had to look up "Jimmy Perez." I'm beginning to feel that my literary education is sadly lacking. I can just imagine a voice "inappropriate as a cockatoo" coupled with an overwhelming desire to silence same.
DeleteThe Adventures of Rosebud, Pirate Princess #80
ReplyDeleteOur Bite’s Worse
Natasha and I sprang into the air as usual, perfectly vertical and silent. We were setting out on a midnight train hunt. This one overbearing overlord had pulped all the trees to stop a peasant newspaper. This overlord also happens to live in our borders. His house fortress-he’s a bit paranoid-is only accessible by rail. Silence is therefore necessary to catch the faint huff-puff of the locomotive. I plan to poke him with sticks when we get there.
can we watch when you poke him with sticks, see how he reacts? Great instalment, Rosie!
DeleteWonderful innocence of the retaliation!
DeleteSo glad you got in earlier this week so more people can relish these delightful adventures. And so, Rosebud (and Natasha, or course) are bound on a mission. I pity that overbearing overlord once they track him down.
DeleteThe Mad Italian 8
ReplyDelete8.
Such uproar when the terrorists strike. Such throwing of accusations, storming off in a huff when their voice is not heard, as should never be seen in a society such as yours. There is little difference between your times and ours, midnight comes just the same, bringing the darkness of mind and total lack of compassion. Ideals are everything to some, pulp fiction to others. We suffered the same outrages, attacks, deaths, attempts at demolishing the way of life we had, the difference is there were no newspapers and TV stations to broadcast it and stir up the populace.
I so much admire the gentle retrospection of these pieces.
DeleteBeautiful lesson in contrasts and comparisons. So much of this rings true, which is only to be expected considering from whence these words of wisdom originated.
DeleteWriter's Nightmare
ReplyDeleteThe writer is burning the midnight oil, huffing at the paper which sought to slip from under his grasping hand. How pure does the pulp have to be before the paper is fit to write on, for the timeless words to stay put and not smudge the startling prose flowing from his pen?
The problem is, as always, the words in his head sparkle and enchant, but when translated to paper, became stilted and incomprehensible. The problem is, as always, the urge to end it all because of this inability to communicate may become too much…
Earlier today I read an article about the danger of the disappearance of handwriting. This not the same but horribly familiar.
DeleteThere is something of a Vincent Van Gogh fatality about this. I'd say more, but am strapped for words to describe such a deeply moving piece.
DeleteWell done!
Delete