Friday 23 February 2018

Thursday’s child


Double-checking that the child born on a Thursday did have far to go a reference to Eartha Kitt came up and I was taken back several decades to a memory of being mesmerised by the quality of her voice, and thinking her perfectly named.
This week’s entries were pretty mesmerising too: week after week I am in awe of the talent in this group. I am also aware I don’t often acknowledge the comments made on my posts, but hope you know that is not lack of pleasure. This week’s winner, I’m delighted to say, is Zaiure for ‘Boda’.  Several of you were neck and neck but it was ‘rummages in the stolen tithe bag’ which tipped the balance when the time came to make my mind up.
Words for next week: fuse migrate song

Entries by midnight Thursday 1st March winners and words posted Friday 2nd

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.

49 comments:

  1. If music be the food of love ...

    The lyrics of a recently-heard song revived in all its technicolour glory the story behind my current state of heartbreak. Vividly accurate words described the meeting of our eyes across the scent of Balkan Sobranie – its magnetism pungent in these super-sensitive climes – and our migration to a fresh air balcony from where we tried to count the stars. Described our decamping to my apartment, the fast drunk wine, the less-than-pristine sheets and the sweat-fused conjunction of our flesh.

    Your name, of course, was credited, but the title of the song – its dedication – was someone with a different name to mine.

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    Replies
    1. Sandra, your story, in all its technicolor glory, started us off with a bang. Kind of a low rent rendezvous, but still kind of romantic, especially when they were counting the stars.

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    2. What a magnificent tale. And to add another "m" word to the mix, I have to toss in melancholy. Indeed, this is the stuff of heartbreak but beautiful nonetheless.

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  2. Good choice with Zaiure this week. Boda rose right to the top on my list too.

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  3. Daughters of Anguish

    The migration of the sirens occurred once every thousand years. The gods liked round numbers and, well, they had time on their hands. This millennium, in the new locale, howling winds fused with freezing rainstorms which angered the sirens to no end. Their songs became even more mournful, but there was seldom anyone to hear them. It was no wonder competition became intense. When an errant sailor did happen by he was sometimes devoured even before the mesmeric process started. The god’s choices from then on took on a more tropical flare.

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    1. I really like this. Poetic and visual.

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    2. Practical application of Godliness - very satisfying.

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    3. As always, John, beautiful imagery...so easy to "see" your writing.

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    4. Certainly poetic, as RJ commented, and with a decidedly epic feel. That final sentence flows like a scented stream.

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  4. Spiritual aid [Threshold 199]

    Raven’s grandmother’s medicine chest as empty as I feared.
    All I could think of to cleanse infection was neat alcohol. I rejected the idea of tasting and spitting before using lest my mouth contain bacteria but in truth some would have usefully numbed my sensitivities. This time he clenched his teeth so tight I feared they’d fuse and thrice, in the extremity of his agony, he bucked, spilling what I held.
    I forced myself – and him – to repeat the process until sure all infection had fled.
    Panting, he said, ‘Not migrated. Died. Will you now kill Lant?’
    ‘He’s your task.’

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    Replies
    1. Sometimes these snippets are such teases, wetting the appetite and leaving us wanting to keep reading.

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  5. Day 236

    As the crazy thoughts migrated to the back of her brain, back to hibernation now that the meds were kicking in, Tamara closed her eyes. The song played (as it always did at this time) and she hummed. The fuse that had been lit was snuffed out with inches to spare. Oh how her thoughts would wander at med time. Her skin normally felt like crawling off her bones but once that pill was slipped under her tongue, those agitations would dissolve right along with it. Sleep came swiftly on slippered feet and she let it in.

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    1. So smooth and deliciously-written I had to re-read twice. Especially liked 'with inches to spare'.

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    2. What an intriguing image...sleep arriving on slippered feet. Loved the ethereal and otherworldly feel to this.

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  6. In The Dark

    This ramshackle house is certainly a fixer-upper...leaky roof, compromised foundation, dismal electrics. Regardless, the bay-and-gable old world home oozes charm. Once unoccupied, it seldom remains on the market for long.

    The antiquated fuse box in the cellar uses wire instead of those newfangled little tubes. The circuits overload more often than one might imagine and open a portal between two planes that allows migration from one to the other until connection is restored.

    Genetically blind, I find the blanket of darkness no hindrance and thanks to my acute hearing, the captivating sighs of hypnotic slumber beckon like a siren's song.


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    Replies
    1. Beautifully written. Oh the thoughts this inspires

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    2. Yes indeed, one to send imagination ferreting into all sorts of shadowed corners.

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  7. Road To Freedom

    I don't speak their language but there is no mistaking the jubilation in their song. They are overjoyed at the prospect of liberty, these migrants who flee from tyranny and oppression in the back of an old furniture van.

    I stop in the middle of nowhere and exit the cab.
    Still, they serenade the promise of deliverance.

    The fuse is short.
    Detonation will be speedy.
    I assume extermination will be swift.


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    Replies
    1. Aargh!!
      That is a real gut crunch.
      Horror written with style.

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  8. Change of focus [270]

    Third interview of the day. Following four hours heading south to Hertfordshire where the murder had taken place.
    They had put him in their crappiest cell, where the badly-fused fluorescent light constantly flickered in synch with the sort of song you’d expect a chain-saw gang to sing while bringing down trees. Where larger-than-usual ants mass migrated across the floor, negotiating around insufficiently-scrubbed stains of pale yellow vomit and the piss leaking from the base of the steel toilet (one that gave the lie to ‘stainless) and headed, as he could not, under the door.
    Flap lifted. ‘On your feet, Pettinger.’

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    Replies
    1. Vivid, colorful and very entertaining, Sandra.

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    2. I firmly believe there's not much Pettinger cannot take in his stride, but the envelope may be getting a little pushed in this instance. As always, vivid with a smooth rendition moving forward.

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  9. Flock Song

    From the building in which he'd taken refuge Collins watched as the flock flooded the streets. Two or three thousand strong, men, women and children. They moved like birds, in uncanny synchronicity.
    The song was embedded in their heads now, driving them, dictating their direction. It had blown the fuse of their consciousness. Robbed them of individuality. They were becoming like zombies, starving to death on their feet, as their legs trudged them relentlessly on.
    Traces of the melody whispered in Collins’ subconscious, sending greedy tentacles to seize him.
    Soon he too would join the migration.

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    Replies
    1. Exceptionally and coolly told, David (as is so much of your writing) and quite - and quietly - terrifying.

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    2. Poor Collins doesn't have a prayer. He might as well give in. Well done, David!

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    3. Horrifically metaphorical...said in my most admiring tone. There is a quiet desperation in this. The timing and movement absolutely perfect.

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  10. Swan Song

    Ava studied the patterns of migratory birds. She envied their ability to view the world from above as they travelled instinctively toward their destination. No inhibiting thoughts. No unnecessary trappings to keep a miserable soul earthbound. Songbirds, water fowl, raptors. Ava coveted the unfettered freedom of each and every one.

    From the headland, her grateful spirit fused with the musical rush of wind and wings as she embraced the intoxicating plummet.


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  11. MIGRATING (Revised)

    I’m immersed in darkness as deep and black as a blind man’s midnight. Hmm…that’s a good line. Did I think of it by myself? Or is it from a song? I’m not sure, for all I remember is that I remember nothing…not even how long I’ve been here, wherever that is. Sadly, it seems that everything I once knew fused into a great knot of nothingness.

    Before, I surely believed the transition would be exciting…that I’d be a migrating soul enjoying the journey from one dimension to another.

    Not so.

    If possible, I’d advise you to avoid death.

    It’s boring.

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    Replies
    1. Oh how I did NOT see that coming. Lovely little twist that also came with its own brand of humour. I do think I'll believe your statement about death being boring, rather than test the waters myself. Nifty package tied up with a bow of 100 words or less. Very nicely done.

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    2. Good to be reminded that effective punchlines can be other than gut-slam killer. This a yawning, slow dawning, all the more impressive for what came before

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  12. Cripplegate Junction/Part 134 - Ladies In Red

    In the Sanitarium garden, the sisters resumed their chess game but one queen was still missing.

    "Where is it?" snivelled the younger in snowy chiffon.
    "Does it matter?" returned the other in sanguine georgette.

    "You wouldn't be so flippant if you were playing that colour!"
    "Whine. Whine. Whine. You always make such a song and dance about everything!"

    Nestling in the groundcover of migratory run-away-robin that had entwined and fused itself with other invasive creepers, the chiffon sister noticed a ruby dazzle amid the fuzzy green leaves. She was triumphant.

    "Found it!"

    No reply.

    The georgette sister was gone.

    --------------------------------------------------------
    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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    1. Spiky, vicious sisters - this has the air of perpetual quarrel, never to be resolved.

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  13. congrats to Zaiure, always a winner for me. I'll be back tomorrow with comments and a stand alone if I can find one... not opening the shop tomorrow, waiting for this storm to pass over so I can travel there and back in safety. Time for me to work on other things!

    Here goes with The Mad Italian 44
    This is not a good time for the Brexit Leave people, or indeed anyone involved in the efforts to allow the United Kingdom to migrate from the clutches of the EU. Perhaps someone should light a fuse and a stick of dynamite…
    We went to war for some of these people and against some of these people and they expected those people to welcome you and work with you. Freedom is the only song you need. If you have a voice, use it to persuade your MP to follow the wishes of the populace, not their own inclinations.

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    1. I must admit to note being totally in tune with the content of Leonardo's comments this week and I apologize for my ignorance. Regardless, these are words that could be applied to many a varied situation and, as such, are valuable observations.

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  14. Kursaal (Episode One Hundred Nine) - "Lost In Transit"

    Rita and Ruby Deviant verged on lethal blows over the affections of Arbuthnot Jester (a/k/a "Mister Wine, Women & Song") but blood is thicker than water, particularly when intellects connect via fused cerebral cortices.

    As headliners at The Illusionarium, the conjoined twins' Vanishing Cabinet took top billing. They were skilled at making audience volunteers disappear. Regrettably, some never remigrated but the existence of such individuals was soon forgotten...even by those who knew them best.

    The pair also claimed knowledge regarding whereabouts of other personages recently gone mysteriously missing, including a certain buxom personal assistant.

    It was a very risky assertion.

    ---------------------------------------------------------
    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.
    ---------------------------------------------------------

    NOTE: The Illuionarium, Rita and Ruby Deviant (the conjoined Deviant Twins) as well as Arbuthnot Jester (and the aforementioned "buxom assistant") have all featured in previous episodes.

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    1. you've created a series of mysteries with these instalments, this is the biggest one so far, where did the volunteers go?
      intriguing stuff!

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    2. When it comes to "The Kursaal," I find it much easier to create unanswered mysteries than to reach a satisfying conclusion to those already put out there. Rater like the television series called "Lost" (if anyone has ever watched that and thus, lost several hours of their life that they'll never get back!!!) Anyway, with luck, I will eventually be able to tie it all together with a nice ribbon...or maybe just take the easy route that's been taken before, and declare it to be the product of somebody's feverish dream.

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    3. Some weeks I forget what a nightmarish, deviant place the Kursaal is. Useful to be reminded.

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  15. A Tenement Story


    They cringed. The Philco loud, the song distorted. He turned it high when he beat them.
    His wife whimpered, held her children. Their turn.
    He smiled, drunk, licked her blood from a knuckle. The beatings a nightly occurrence.
    Blackness. A blown fuse in a tenement built on beatings and blown fuses.
    Another nightly occurrence.
    “Shit. I’ll be back.” The children whimpered.
    He opened the basement. Two steps and a scream. A long staircase. Everlasting silence.
    She got the flashlight, unhooked the wire across the steps.
    “Pack everything, children. Like all poor beasts, it is time to migrate. Time to leave.

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    Replies
    1. sad story, great ending. Nice one, Joe!

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    2. Oh yeah...great innovative use of the prompts. Happy to know that the silence was everlasting.

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    3. Sordid and sad tale, the music a confirming detail, as is the bloody knuckle. Sad also that revenge comes at another price.

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  16. the stand alone has evaded me tonight. Apologies, will try and do better next week. Had 3-4 abortive efforts, nothing looked or felt right.
    Thanks to everyone else for good reading!

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    1. The evasion only makes us all the more eager for the next tale your creative mind manages to conjure for us.

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  17. An absolute wonderful choice in giving Zaiure top billing. She so often sweeps in and whips the carpet away from underneath our feet...the minx!!!

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  18. The Adventures of Rosebud, Pirate Princess #118
    Reactions Only


    I think we have a plan. Cleopatra has the fire spells on a fuse, a shorter one than usual. Henry dropped bundles of concert advertisements yesterday which promised a Pied Piper experience. Natasha acquired a piano from the second attic. Apparently Teddy and Elle have a set of code songs like my grandparents do. Georgiana, of course, plays masterfully. Her main song will be “The Wistless Wanderer,” accompanying Teddy. I’m to begin the migration two hills from those people’s foothill. Those people won’t follow anyone, but innocents promised a concert will.

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    1. Find myself wishing could attend - or at least buy the DVD.

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  19. Thank you so much everyone! Had a bit of craziness happen at home, and didn't have a chance to come check in. I'm honored.

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