Friday 14 September 2018

The Eroded steps ...


Title of an exquisite book of poetry, essays, photographs and drawings based upon a Halifax carpet factory, just this evening rediscovered on my bookshelf and worthy both of re-reading  and referencing  here, where so many of the week’s offerings, as ever, merit several reads, operating, as they do on several levels.

Before I pick a winner (Procrastinating? Moi?) I also thank you for the lovely comments on my two pieces this week, especially heartening because I felt they both felt short and am glad they were not perceived so; they equal the pleasure of winning, for me.

And so ... (no, Sandra, you cannot have four winners!) ...  although David T’s ‘He took her so fast the doorknob was still in her hand' really set my heart beating, and Terrie’s hiccups were such a delight, I choose Patricia’s ‘Now I lay me down ...’ for its all-encompassing potential for nightmare.

Words for next week: brim  cloister  valid

Entries by midnight Thursday 20th September, words and winners posted 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. 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.

131 comments:

  1. Congratulations Patricia! A terrific tale that I thoroughly enjoyed.

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  2. Jeffrey here with my oatmeal. Great job Patricia on your story. Huzaha’s for Dave T. and Terrie for honorable mention.

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  3. congrats, Patricia! Brilliant story.
    David and Terrie, well done both of you.
    Thanks to everyone for great reads last week.
    Sandra, that books sounds fascinating!!

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    1. Well done for being Sandra's top choice for the week, Patricia.

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  4. The Guardians 1.2

    The Guardians had cloistered themselves in The Room. Something bad had happened. Janey overheard rumours that one of the children had died. She had made a sound.

    Janey pulled the brim of her baseball cap down, avoiding the eyes of the others. Feeling that they could glimpse by one look at her what she had done. An irrational feeling but a valid one.

    She stopped at the window, allowing the sunlight on her face. It was a rare sensation, being so secluded in the mountains, and one she missed desperately.

    In the trees, she could almost sense them.

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    1. A series is born...
      The tension is being built up very nicely and should set the tone for your continuations. Very nice.

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    2. Enjoyable, nice simmering mystery here. Good use of the prompts.

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    3. The tension is very palpable. I also adore and resonate with the line 'It was a rare sensation, being so secluded in the mountains, and one she missed desperately.'

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    4. A harrowing tale, RJ, one just dripping with tension. A great read!

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    5. looking for more of this, to find out who these people are and what's going down.

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    6. So intriguing! A wonderful beginning to what promises to be very good; that second para. especially

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    7. Wonderfully suspenseful. So nice to see this continuing. This has the makings of a most exceptional serialization.

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  5. A Man Called The

    Cloistered deep in the priory root cellar, Brother Jonathon The waited for nightfall. Munching on sour pickles from the brim filled barrel, he fretted the other monks would soon miss the old cook who lay prone at The’s feet.

    His plan, now validated as lacking, was to eat enough pickles to make room for the body in the barrel and to smuggle it out of the monastery. His stomach churned and he looked at the dead cook. At least he’d never have to eat fish head stew again. He picked up another pickle and munched miserably away.

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    1. I enjoyed this tongue in cheek entry John.
      The ill-fated cook in the cellar, having received his comeuppance for poor catering skills, is still controlling the situation. I did feel a little sorry for the poor pickle eater too, having to eat a barrel full of pickles to hide his crime.

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    2. Wasn't expecting that twist. Darkly humerous!

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    3. Some tight writing, John. Nice how you placed the prompts and I chuckled at his name.

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    4. No pain, no gain, eh, John? This is an extremely well-crafted tale and a good read.

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    5. I love the first line and the atmosphere in this piece. Dark and humorous indeed! I love pickles, but can't imagine eating so many pickles either. Even to hide a body. ;)

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    6. oh, true horror, I can't eat pickles so this made me cringe!

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    7. A wonderful combination of sweet and sour.

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    8. This piece was so atmospheric and so visual. So easy to picture Brother Jonathon The (what a magnificent name!) chomping away on pickle after pickle. What an absolutely unique take on the prompts as well.

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  6. Daddy’s Home

    Three Crows cowered within the cloister.
    There was no valid reason to flee to this dreadful place. She had sobbed here as a child, nursing purple bruises. The pious nuns wanted to beat the Christianity into her. It simply drove her into the clutches of a whorehouse mistress.
    A slither of sound made her draw tremulous breath.
    Coyote?
    She hushed her heart and dared a fearful peek.
    It was the Outlaw, eyes gleaming beneath the brim of his Stetson, shadowless in the flicker of the altar candles.
    Three Crows whispered to her unborn child.
    “He came for us.”

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    1. A slither of sound, very good phrase. Good descriptions of 'her' to let us imagine the setting.

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    2. This series is developing into something special David so wonderfully atmospheric and mystical with loads of excellent phrases - 'tremulous breath' 'hushed her heart' 'eyes gleaming' and I loved the image of the outlaw 'shadowless in the flicker of the alter candles.'

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    3. I am a sucker for a good line and "a slither of sound" fills the bill quite nicely. Love it. As always enjoying the continuing story.

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    4. This tale is moving along so nicely, David. A splendid use of verbs.

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    5. It was interesting that Three Crows fled to the church despite her bad experiences with religion. It seem the Outlaw knew she would come there. This is really good, especially in so few words.

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    6. I agree with Terrie that this piece is filled with beautiful phrasing. The description of the outlaw, 'shadowless in the flicker of the altar candles', is definitely my favorite.

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    7. atmosphere and action, subtle but there, taking the story onward.

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    8. This is a superbly rich addition to the chapter, from the title to the final line. Exquisite phrasing, as has been said.

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    9. Beautifully put together. It's almost as though the prompt words were of your own choosing this week, so well did they fit into the scenario. These characters are truly coming to life.

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  7. FACE TO FACE

    Bitter enmity had existed between us for years. I wanted to end it.

    Eyes brimming with hate, my nemesis stood but feet away. Pure evil is too kind a description of him. Not that I was pure as a cloistered nun, but I wasn’t in this depraved lowlife’s league.

    “Know why we’re here?” I calmly asked.

    “Tell me,” came his snarky reply.

    “I’m going to kill you. Know why?”

    An acerbic chuckle then, “Sure, to validate your own miserable existence.”

    I raised my hand from my side. He did the same.

    Guns at our temples, we pulled the triggers simultaneously.

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    1. Good dialog and I really like the phrase "Pure evil was too kind a description."

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    2. Ok You got me with that ending.

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    3. What a great story it held me from beginning to end. Snarky is a brilliant word ... oh, ... and I was not expecting the ending.

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    4. Oh man, this mirror image tale is intense. I can't imagine hating ones self that much.

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    5. A surprising and powerful ending, and excellent choice of title.

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    6. clever writing, something to think on, too.

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    7. In many ways, too possible to be comfortable.

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    8. I really had to ponder on this in order to digest the full impact. What a weird and wonderful tale with a real "in your face" conclusion.

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  8. After the vows

    The cloisters of marriage
    only now to be negotiated
    a distorted, not what promised, elastic, melted plastic chicane
    He claiming all is valid
    I on the brim of suicide

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    1. Strong but sad words and images, Sandra. Nice placement of the prompts. A very good poem.

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    2. Poetry is my passion this has the darkness of Anne Sexton.

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    3. Wow 29 words of eloquence. I reached the end and just sighed. Very well crafted Sandra.

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    4. I hope you're not leaving us a note... although it would be an eloquent one. Really well done, dripping with despair.

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    5. A beautiful and heartbreaking poem with a very strong final line.

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    6. despair and heartbreak in a few lines.
      It'll be hard to match that.

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    7. Thank you all - this was one of those two-minute instant arrivals which don't seem to happen that often and need setting down when they do!

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    8. When this type of inspiration comes upon you, Sandra, you manage to manipulate it to its fullest potential. I don't have much more to add since most everything has already been said. I really do think you should break with tradition every now and again and allow yourself top honours...or at least allow the rest of us to vote once in a while.

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  9. Pre-dawn rising [Threshold 220]

    In the same way that early-morning cloisters in hot climates have me yearning for a green glass goblet brim-full with fresh-squeezed orange, a brass-knobbed bed has me desperate for a fuck. I claim both of equal validity: not quite sacred (despite association with monasteries) versus profane (don’t go there!) but something like.

    Early-morning stables contained but a single sleep-eyed boy, ignorant of our standing and lacking the authority to challenge our harnessing the horses we’d been given.

    I doubt we’d been expected to rise so soon: only as we rode away did we hear the shouts begin. Pitied the boy.

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    1. This makes me glad I lead a normal, boring life. Very enjoyable.

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    2. That first line is heavy with vivid imagery, and I really felt this scene come alive in my head. Never a dull moment for these two!

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    3. more imagery to conjure in the mind. And so much left to the imagination which can then run riot with the imagery already given.

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    4. Pity for the boy left behind indeed. Will we ever learn of his fate? Fantastic imagery and, as always, a brilliant moving forward of the story.

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  10. The Secret Armadillo Soldier (SAS) Diaries - entry 22- Fat Fanks

    Armi chose the spot with care and cloistered himself in the undergrowth.
    However, if Armi thought he’d successfully thwarted him, Atlas knew better. He grinned. Armi’s usual modus operandi was to nap before continuing with the mission; likewise, Atlas hunkered down to wait.
    Evening shadows were caressing the brim of the surrounding bushes, before an attractive armadillo with berry-stained mouth, a vibrant feather boa and delicate pink galoshes flounced along the path toward the doors of the building.
    Atlas thought of Brenda.
    Someone else also viewed the tottering armadillo as she flashed a validation pass and sashayed into Fat Franks.

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    1. They are so well humanized. Loved the evening shadows caressing the brim of the bushes.

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    2. Cloistered works so well with the everyday doings of armadillos. Loved the berry stained mouth. I can see her sashaying in pink galoshes.

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    3. A vivid and engaging scene. I love the description of the armadillo.

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    4. A tottering armadillo in "a vibrant feather boa and delicate pink galoshes" - just wonderful!

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    5. Oh yes...I can so picture that prissy little armadillo stealing the show. Her description is totally disarming. I fear Atlas may have lost his focus on this one.

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  11. Squatter’s Rites-5

    “How long will this take?”
    “First, let’s see what we have?”
    She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled.
    “Is this our new house? A present for you.”
    She handed me a fedora.
    “To replace the one I lost.”
    I bend the front brim down.
    “Will my gentleman husband show me our new house?”
    We walked the house her arm in mine, like a married couple, talking about how our love validates each other. It was surreal. We ended in the kitchen.
    “It’s beautiful and there’s a cloister around the atrium. The heart is where you start.”

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    1. You are really good at moving action along with such efficient dialogue Jeffrey. So much story is packed into the hundred words and great placement of the prompt words too.

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    2. Terrie's right, your dialog(ue) is really good. I liked how you qualified each line of dialog with action.

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    3. I agree, the dialogue flows very well here. I took a deep breath along with the female character. :)

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    4. I, too, was impressed by your superb use of dialog, Jeffrey. This flows without a hitch.

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    5. A well-envisaged scene, propelled, as the couple were, by dialogue.

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    6. As I have said before, this type of interactive dialogue truly is your forte. This was an excellent piece and I am thoroughly enjoying the continuations.

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  12. Below The Underworld



    Sticky, wrinkle-shelled, seeds of demons hide, cloister-wrapped,
    within the brim and brow, and truckle bed of torment’s wasted deep.
    They pulse, swell, and croon starless songs to wing-clipped angels trapped,
    and pitchfork bound, within the vaulted halls of Shaitan’s keep.

    Skulking in inky shadow, hatchling spawn crawl among silhouetted stones;
    validating their existence amid the stench of unholy filth, and reek of dread.
    With jagged fangs, they gnaw at flesh, or suck black blood from brittle bones
    and feed among vast, moonless, battlefields of warriors - long since dead.

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    1. I can easily visualize this, very good descriptions that would make Dante happy.

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    2. Remind me to stay away from this place - ye-gods. Such poetic prose (well it is a poem, what was I thinking?). Well done.

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    3. this is smoothly done and horrific at the same time.

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    4. This is packed with beautiful and horrible imagery. I loved the feel of 'They pulse, swell, and croon starless songs'.

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    5. Rich and luscious - the word 'cornucopia' came to mind.

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    6. Smooth and yet, disturbingly horrific. As I've said before, hard to believe that such dramatic poetry can initiate from the same imagination as that which brings us the delightful troop of 'dillos. Such a varied talent is rare.

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  13. I am deeply impressed, Terrie. Such a beautiful journey into terror.

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  14. Cripplegate Junction/Part 157 - Ticketed

    The Conductor left the cloistered Signal Box with its cremation urns and descended onto the platform. It was very crowded.

    Children wearing Cripplegate Parish School blazers were ushered into a third class carriage by a Grande Dame carrying a carpet bag. A detachment of uniformed squaddies marched toward the rear of the train. A governess dressed in lavender held the hands of her two charges. She promised them buttered tea cakes if they behaved.

    "Travel voucher needs validation, sir," the Conductor informed Clive Bailey.

    Clive appeared confused.

    "Check the brim of your bowler, old boy," suggested the Station Master.

    -------------------------------------------------
    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. I can't say I've had a buttered tea cake, but I want one. Such exquisite words you use.

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    2. I enjoyed your use of the prompts. Your brought the life of a train station to your story. Very well done.

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    3. Nicely done, Patricia, delicate and yet it's all there, that menace that underlines your work.

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    4. I also was thinking about buttered tea cakes! :) This story is so alive and vibrant. I enjoy every episode. I also felt a sense of menace underneath it all, like Antonia.

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    5. Wonderful scene, so full of characters than the image would make a wonderfully complex jigsaw. Luckily we have teacakes in, otherwise I'd be suffering unrequited hunger pangs.

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  15. Magnolia And Mahogany

    Ginny Mae Buchanan was in love.

    Like true southern belles, Daisy Sinclair and Alva Grace Claiborne simpered and tittered and demanded to know the identity of Ginny's new beau as they sipped pink lemonade within the cool and cloistered arbor.

    "It's Madison LeJeune, isn't it?" asked Daisy with a regretful sigh.

    Alva disagreed.

    "One of the Baringer Brothers. Probably Travis."

    They awaited validation.

    "At least tell us what he looks like!"

    Ginny shielded her porcelain skin with a broad-brimmed sunbonnet. Her glance drifted toward the tobacco field.

    "He's tall," she confided with a smile, "dark and exceedingly handsome!"

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    1. I don't think Alva and Daisy will be as tolerant with Ginny's choice as they should be. A subtle story with residual tension. I liked it a lot.

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    2. This does lead to a number of interesting thoughts, Patricia. Great choice of names for the southern belles.

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    3. Your choice of names is excellent and the time frame is strongly suggested, which opens up several options and questions.

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    4. anxious to know where this one goes!

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    5. I loved the exchange between the characters, and the scene was set beautifully. I'm also very curious to see where this leads.

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    6. Immediately, and pleasurably, transported to the world of Scarlett O'Hara, and I found the poetry of title intriguing indeed.

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  16. Error In Judgment

    The cloistered discussions had produced results. Hoped-for results. Desired results. Promising results.

    Whether the assurances, the commitments, were valid, only time would tell. But optimism ran high.

    He gripped his homburg by the brim and waved the signed document at the gathered crowd.

    "Peace in our time!"


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    1. Very well done historical commentary...or is it?

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    2. it is a historical commentary, Jeffrey, this happened. Many believed him. Unfortunately.
      Precise and concise, brilliant.

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    3. The title is so telling. I enjoyed the undertone of this piece.

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    4. The Munich Agreement, Neville's crowning gift to appeasement.

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  17. back later with comments, meantime...
    Stop the Week I Want To get Off (14)
    I’m wondering how good it would feel to be cloistered with Shaun and we had a chance to work, to sort, to talk without the browsers who fill the shop and then disappear buying nothing… just a dream. The cabinet is full to the brim with goodies – despite one person today saying ‘this is in the way’ – I think she’s one who dislikes change so her opinion isn’t valid – and the shop is full too. Ever hopeful of a clear-out, I’ve been busy with advertising which seems to be working. Fingers crossed this carries on... there is more to come!

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    1. Dislikes change, good observation. I know when my local grocery store rearranges the aisles, I have to find stuff all over again. Wonderful observations and thoughts.

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    2. But sitting in well-spaced silence wouldn't be so profitable, would it? Or offer the opportunities for (frustrated) people watching!

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    3. I imagine the "browsers" who come in, take up space and time, and then leave empty-handed must lead to much aggravation at times but then again, what perfect opportunities for people watching. I do enjoy these little slices of life every week. Each one is so refreshing.

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  18. A Summons [2]

    The sun sat hot and heavy in the bleached sky, and filled the tiled cloister with the heady, too-sweet stench of overripe peaches. Aella, despite being covered in heavy, white robes, seemed comfortable in the heat. Her umber face was dry and calm.

    “The summons came, then?” Aella said.

    Glimmer nodded, and clutched her waist. “They can’t know, can they?”

    Aella’s eyes sharpened beneath the brim of her hat. “No, they would not be so subtle if they suspected. It is merely your time.”

    “Sayla said to run.”

    “Perhaps. Though the request is valid, there may be time to delay.”

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    1. A most enjoyable story with simple but very effective dialogue. The last line is a good hook.

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    2. SUCH and enticing setting of the stage - and what follows begs us to follow too.

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    3. I really look forward to find out where this is going. For some reason, this came across as very Roman to me. Shades of "I, Claudius," or something similar. However, that's probably just my perception. I feel this is likely set in a much more modern era. What a fantastic image is that of an "umber face."

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  19. Change of focus [299]

    ‘He’s just a kid!’
    ‘Yanno. He’s got a gun.’
    ‘Yeah, but –‘
    ‘He’s got a gun. It might just fire flowers; he might be innocent as a monk, but if Aleks is somewhere beyond that door you’d be no use to him dead –‘
    ‘Valid point. You say stables round the back?’
    ‘And a sort of cloistered area. Fountain – one film Balincek filled it brimful with blood, naked girl emerges dripping. With a goat –‘
    ‘But presumably an entrance?’
    ‘Yeah –‘
    ‘Then put your bollocking foot down, Filip and drive!’
    ‘Not yet. Look up, Yanno. Aleks is on the roof.’

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    1. So...do we find out more about the scene with the naked girl emerging from the blood fountain and the introduction of a goat? Maybe we're better off not knowing, but I do fear for Aleks up on the roof. Still, nobody better to handle that situation than Yanno!

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  20. Kursaal (Episode One Hundred Thirty One) - "Behind The Scenes"

    Lulu, little Libby Pepperdyne's dog, disappeared beneath the curtain of the "Punch and Judy" stage into cloistered depths beyond. She emerged moments later carrying Mr. Punch in her jaws. Closer inspection confirmed Libby's comparison between the character and Capers (The Deceased Clown) to be valid.

    Lulu shook the puppet by his red nose until, ears pricked, tail erect and eyes sharp, she looked past the brimming throng of departing children into the distance. Keeping Mr. Punch firmly between her teeth, she set off at a brisk trot. Obviously a pup with a purpose!

    Libby quickly followed in Lulu's determined pawprints.

    ------------------------------------------------------
    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: Little Libby Pepperdyne, Lulu (her dog) and Capers (the Deceased Clown) have featured in previous episodes.

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    1. an intriguing instalment, Patricia and again I have to say I don't think I'd care to visit this Kursaal without a bodyguard of some kind...

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    2. Now, just where would Lulu be going? A very good episode, Patricia. Had to read it several times to catch all the prompts. Thanks for this series.

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    3. I'm thinking I'll not even risk peering through the gates at this place.

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  21. Suffer-age
    “You make a valid point, Madam” tipping the tumbler of whisky down his fat throat. “But surely you realize that no man will allow it!” The tumbler, filled past the brim, now sat empty in his pudgy fist. He smacked his fishy lips and continued with his loud and somewhat ignorant monologue. “Women are simply too emotionally cloistered to be able to vote, unlike, say, a man!”
    That was actually the last thing I remember. Now I am standing over his smashed body, holding the dripping poker in my slick hand. I guess he had a valid point as well.

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    1. The whole already wonderful, but the 'fishy lips' a final touch of horror. Perfect.

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    2. This comment is probably the height of poor taste but all I can say is...."YOU GO, GIRL!!!" The thought of "fishy lips" didn't make this particular male any more likeable either, I might add! Nicely done!

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  22. The Mad Italian 73.
    The Commons is brim full of scandal mongering, none of it valid and all of it generated by having a bunch of opinionated MPs cloistered within its hallowed walls. It would be interesting to record their unspoken words, for therein lies the truth of a politician. We can look away from and outside the parliament building to local authorities, where the councillors have an even higher vision of their importance, refusing to admit when they are wrong and ever concerned with their expenses and pay rises, when pen and paper are by far the safest means of storing anything.

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    1. What I enjoy most about these commentaries is your ability to relate to each other. Followed very closely by how well you write them.

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    2. How the other half live, indeed.

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    3. Not 'my ability' anywhere in the Mad Italian's ongoing contributions, but his presence, his words, his phenomenal memory to link everything together. I told someone today, as I made him a gift of JFK's life story as given to me, I am only the dictaphone. I literally take dictation. The book about the shop and the ongoing series here are my own writing, all else is channelled/dictated/call it what you will. It shows in every book being entirely different in its 'voice', Guy Fawkes has a shyness about him, Charles I was (probably still is) arrogant and demanding, the Earl of Warwick, who could have been demanding, talks to me and dictates to me with the confidence and surety of the Mad Italian, not a history as much as a political treatise on the 15thc. I say it often, I am but a servant of spirit and if others appreciate what comes through, it's reward enough. I'm looking to the shop book right now to make me a little extra... I have a £420 dentist bill to find, but that has to be found long before the book will be finished, so... more advertising, more thought, more photography, more work in the shop...

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    4. I do believe what I liked best about this latest installment is the reference to "opinionated MPs." What a wealth of wisdom lies in that statement. Of course, given the source, such a comment is far from unexpected.

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  23. Honey’s Heart

    Petal of heart’s red
    caressed by the sun’s fingers.
    Opens cloistered grip
    on unprocessed honey dust.

    Sweet nectar collected in a crop
    regurgitated ambrosia
    brim fills ready cells to be sealed.
    Wondering, will I be stolen?

    Honeyguides valid path to treasured aerie
    So you can get the comb
    from their pantry,
    not the cereal.

    Crush or spin, then you filter.
    A must for mead.
    Can lasts for centuries.
    It’s even a medi-honey.

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    1. I often feel as though I am missing something with some of your offerings...particularly the poetic submissions. This is one of those examples. The words are expertly put together and the overall reading brings enjoyment, but I'm sure I'm missing much in the way of significance.

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  24. The Adventures of Rosebud, Pirate Princess #147
    Punctual Monks


    Peeking out of the brim of my hat I spied a cloister, just the place to get out of the rain. The train’s not been here. I have a suspicion that the train schedule is no longer valid. Why, I don’t know, but this is the third stop with nothing. What befell the engineer-monks? I suppose Rosebud might know. Of course, even Henry’s lost me, by design. Plausible deniability and all that. Oh well, I’ll just keep walking. Surely one of these stations has a town.

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    1. The fantastical feel of this serialization never fails to amaze and continues to gain strength from week-to-week. As has already been pointed out, that title is truly imagination-catching.

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    2. As usual, your writing is tight, enjoyable, and delicious to read.

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  25. Love the alliteration of the title.

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  26. me too! it flows so well, like the rest of the instalment.

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  27. I see I neglected to express my appreciation at garnering top of the podium last week. As always, I am honoured and no little surprised that I was not totally outclassed. And now....onto the comments...

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