Worms enough found wriggling in this
week’s stories, their nastiness insidiously, or otherwise, invading our minds.
And giving enjoyment and admiration for the skill and variety with which
three comparatively innocent words can be woven to tell such tales. For a
master-class in succinctness – a well-trimmed worm perhaps? – check out Rosie’s
perfectly-titled ‘The Short Answer is No’.
I thank you all for participation,
both in posting and comment, and declare this week’s winner, for a lightly-trod
but especially nasty perpetrator: Dave W’s
‘Surprise’.
Words
for next week: bruise poster revolution
Entries
by midnight (GMT) Thursday 28th March, words
and winners posted Friday 29th
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 uses 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.
Congrats, Dave. Sorry I wasn't able to comment much. I likely won't this week either as my father passed away Sunday and I've been super busy with family and making arrangements. I did manage to get a story written this morning.
ReplyDeleteMy condolences, John, on the loss of your dad. He and your family will be in my prayers.
DeleteJohn, my condolences a well to you and your family.
DeleteSo sorry to hear about your father John. Thinking about you and your family at this sad time.
DeleteMy condolences on the passing of your father.
Deletesending thoughts, John. I'll be posting my bit later, which includes the news Shaun had a family bereavement last week, too.
DeleteCartel Blues
ReplyDeleteThe singer rolled his eyes at the garish poster propped against the hotel dresser advertising his new album, ironically entitled Revolution. He flexed his shoulders and winced at the scratched, bruised skin pulled taut. He’d never felt so sated.
He’d learned her name, Esmeralda, though he wasn’t truly convinced. The bodyguards had jumped this morning when she said it was time to go. He half thought he was expected to go with them, but here he sat.
Jose Luella Cruz stared at the Glock she’d left on the night stand. When his phone rang, he knew he’d comply, no matter the request.
So sorry for your loss John, and so glad you found time for this meaty, moody and rich piece. Obviously I'm hoping you'll be back to let us know what next, when time and family demands permit.
DeleteWhat a great balance of and images you have created here John, as well as adding to the wider picture of your story . I especially like the phrase 'he knew he'd comply, no matter the request' and with the very casually thrown in comment about the Glock we have a wealth of possibilities to consider what that request might be.
DeleteI agree Dave, a very worthy winning choice for last week.
DeleteKeep coming back to this to read and read again.
DeleteScratched and blue skin...some interesting extracurricular activities. Yes, true love and unrequited love will do many things. Very good story, John.
DeleteJump in here quick, congrats, Dave!
DeleteJohn, superb picture being drawn here, so much going on in the background (ie our minds) through these few words.
This comes across as so casual in places and yet carries such in-depth suggestions. Not easy to do...and it just keeps sparking the interest througout.
DeleteI'm very interested in seeing where this goes. Thank you, John.
DeleteCongrats, Dave W. Your entry was an excellent choice for #1.
ReplyDeleteVery nicely done and a very worthy win, Dave. And to John, so sorry to hear about your Dad. I know how it is. I lost mine a while ago now, but still think about him often. Mostly with smiles and happiness instead of sorrow these days. It's a corny saying, but time does heal.
ReplyDeleteI think those dates should read 28th and 29th, Sandra. No worries, though. I believe most of us will figure it out.
ReplyDeleteThanks Patricia. More haste less speed, Apu. Now corrected
DeleteSIGNS 1
ReplyDeleteThe house, most said, was haunted. I shall find out.
To increase suspense, I’m alone and it’s deep into night. After battling through bruising underbrush and curtains of thorny branches, I reached the house. It was ancient; legend says parts of it date to the Revolutionary War. I carefully climbed the rotting steps to the warped planks of the porch. I squinted at a faded poster-sized placard on the door that simply read: DON’T.
Chuckling, I entered. “No ghosts yet.”
On its own, the door slammed shut behind me and locked.
Words, YOU WERE WARNED, took shape on the door.
Solid descriptive images in this story. Loved the build up, and the warning on the door but as soon as I read that almost flippant sentence 'Chuckling, I entered. "No ghosts yet" from the main character, the little warning 'oh, oh' thought popped into my head and sure enough a well crafted hook to the piece leaves me anticipating what happens next.
DeleteExcellent beginning of what promises to be a creepy, uncomfortable tale.
DeleteExcellent build up and nice suspense.
Deletethere is more, I trust... hope... demand...
DeleteOh Lordy! If this isn't the stuff of nightmares then I don't know what qualifies. Doesn't everyone know by that if a sign reads "DON'T" it's not a message to be trifled with? There will be more...yes?
DeleteThe Secret Armadillo Soldier (SAS) Diaries - entry 53
ReplyDeleteAtlas knew the bruised, blood-spattered and unmoving Armi was in perilous condition.
With a demonic roar, he postered his presence, angrily, and burst from the shadows, swinging the hammer as he came.
With each revolution, gerbils fell, broken and lifeless.
Moloch thrashed and scrabbled aggressively; disbelief outlined his spittle-flecked face. A hammer-swipe smashed against his chin, tearing open his jaw. He shrieked as blood bubbled from the wound. A well-aimed blow severed his right front limb and he crumpled.
Slinging the hammer into place, Atlas darted past the screeching lizard, scooped up Armi, and hurtled into the darkness.
Ooh - 'perilous' such a delicious word, and such an inspired use of poster. Such well-depicted action too.
DeleteTerrie, what a scene. Nice use of revolution. Very good flow, nice action and very good description. A well written story.
Deleteyes, excellent use of poster and a fine instalment.
DeleteI probably shouldn't feel any compassion for the gerbils and yet I do. They never really had even the ghost of a chance. And along with everyone else this week, I am truly in awe of the way you used "poster." I never even thought of that definition.
DeleteYou put this episode on such a fast track, Terrie, that we can't help but be wonderfully carried along. Such clear, vivid images! A marvelous entry!
ReplyDeleteWednesday's Child
ReplyDeleteShe was always afraid.
Of children who taunted. Said she was smelly. Wore rags. Stupid. But she wasn't stupid, only afraid to talk.
Afraid of nighttime when footfalls climbed the stairs. That beatings would make the purple bruises hurt worse. They already hurt so bad.
Day to night. Night to day. Endless revolutions of misery, fear and loneliness.
Innocent poster child of untold abuse.
But bear was her friend. Small and scruffy. Dirty fur and missing eye. He provided comfort. She whispered her fears into his ragged ear. And he listened.
He listened until Wednesday's Child would whisper no more.
This is so good, Patricia, I have no words to describe it. So poignant; so powerful.
DeleteOh. Desperately sad and that 'only afraid to talk' a true gut-punch.
DeleteI choked up and wept. So well written, and very touching.
DeleteWhat more can be said...oh, perhaps you win?
Deleteheart-rending horror flash, is all I can say.
DeleteCongrats Dave!
ReplyDelete[Change of focus 321]
ReplyDeleteIn the car, Filip removed cellophane from a cigarette packet and crumpled it beneath his chin while gargling a disjointed claim of malfunction. Removed the wire from the mike.
Grinning at his ‘captive’, ‘Viva la Revolution, nothing like it for teaching tricks. I’ll paint a few false bruises before delivering you, so they don’t need to do them for real.’
‘But you have to deliver me?’
‘Or lose my job.’
‘So what the bollocking fuck is going on? Didn’t even know Valdeta had a sister.’
‘Poster girl for the Witch of Endor. Batiste must’ve had her blindfold.’
‘And why me?’
Enjoyed the Poster Girl for the Witch of Endor. Good flow and the gears within gears of this series.
Deletestill holding attention, still holding the storyline - how are you doing it!!!!!?
DeleteSo Pettinger asks, "Why me?" and I respond, "Why not?" He always manages to handle every situation so well and keeps us all so entertained while doing it. And that cellophane scenario was magnificent.
DeleteThank you all for your words of encouragement. They mean a lot
ReplyDeleteN O M O R E P A I N
Her name’s Julia, and she is, was, my wife.
Another man, blah blah blah.
I was poster-boy for loser. No money, no good in bed. The shitty words revolved through my head.
She took Jess, her daughter. MY daughter, until I was informed she wasn’t.
Little Jess’s face crumpled like a bruised rose when her Mom told her that.
Hell, she was only 7. I was the only Dad she ever knew.
I loved them. I couldn’t shut it off. But I will. Three .45 rounds, all I need.
Don’t cry Jess, Daddy loves you, and I’ll see you shortly
Lordy, lordy, it's a proper three-hanky week this week isn't it? Well-constructed indeed.
DeleteWe're in a mood
DeleteWell written gut wrenching sadness seems to be the theme this week. Maybe we'll have a tie. Excellent story this week.
DeleteVery well done, Dave. Excellent build-up to a heart-wrenching conclusion.
Deletegoing to be a tough one to judge this week! Perfect flash fiction, Dave.
DeleteOh my goodness...a picture of what can transpire when pain becomes unbearable. How many times has this taken on the mantle of reality? Some stories simply excel and this week, this has been one of them.
DeleteOnce a scoundrel, always a scoundrel
ReplyDeleteLike a bruised poster child for yet another failed revolution, Adam bowed his head before her and offered flowers. Apparently, even the sheep in the field were off limits, despite being cut off for many cycles of the moon. He highly anticipated the coming of more like her as promised by the creator. Perhaps then he could obtain his satisfaction.
This a deep and thought-provoking piece. Worrying. And good.
DeleteHow creatively you included all the prompts in the first sentence, John. Creative and clever. Well done!
DeleteWell this is a tremendous and very well written twist on a story. Tight writing, great prompt use, and fun to read.
Deleteanother of those pieces where so much is being said in the background without it being said aloud, so we read the words and 'see' the rest. Clever and deeply meaningful.
DeleteThis had an otherworldly feel to it. I can't decide if it is set in some past time or a futuristic scenario. I think that's the true beauty of this piece. It's open to so many interpretations.
DeleteOn answering a mid-afternoon knock at the door
ReplyDeleteHe came, he said, to measure up. Don’t know what. Or who’d sent him. Had a face like a wanted poster, all staring eyes and stubble. He stared at me, noting the gone-to-yellow bracelet of bruises round my wrist. The dirty mark on my cheekbone, from a month ago. Gaps where three teeth should be.
Came close, taking one of them revolutionary new measuring things – press a button, shine a light remote-controlly things – out his pocket. Put in on the window-sill.
Drew the curtains.
Lifted my shirt.
Took the thus-revealed fresh purple blossomings as invitation.
Thus answering the question ‘Who?’
Tight, crisp use of language here, Sandra, and a host of clear, splendid images. I enjoyed this!
DeleteExcellent descriptions, made this so easy to see the story in my mind. As JD said, great wording, writing, and prompt use.
Deletereally tight writing conveying so much!
DeleteAs always, you compose these erotic-type pieces with such an expert hand. Lovely lingering last line and that "gone-to-yellow bracelet of bruises" is an enviable turn of phrase.
DeleteKursaal (Episode One Hundred Fifty Six) - "Solutions"
ReplyDeleteLazlo "Bruiser" Bartók, Boxing Booth's star prizefighter and Ludmilla's father, took exception to Constable Twittering's unwanted infatuation for his daughter. He delivered a few roundhouse revolutions into the air to demonstrate a surefire solution. Ludmilla assured Lazlo everything was under control. Last thing she needed was "Wanted" posters for her father's arrest in connection with assault on a police officer.
A visit to elixirologist Primrose Lee secured an obliviscatur philter which would undoubtedly wipe Twittering's memory clean of all obsessions, including that for Ludmilla herself and the recent dangerous preoccupation with a locked storehouse at the rear of the Imaginarium.
---------------------------------------------------------
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: Lazlo "Bruiser" Bartók (and the Boxing Booth), Ludmilla Bartok, Chief Constable Twittering, Primrose Lee and The Imaginarium have have all featured in previous episodes.
There are times, Patricia, when I feel like a particularly unsuccessful spin bowler - whatever prompts I deliver, you succeed in knocking them for six. This another prime example.
DeleteI'll word it differently. I've yet to read a story this week that wouldn't be accepted for publication. The fact that it's done with a most unusual set of prompts makes this another excellent story. I tip my hat to you Patricia.
DeleteLike it a lot! Lovely instalment of the Kursaal saga.
DeleteSmug bitch
ReplyDeleteThrough the gap in the now part-drawn, part-crimson curtains surrounding his four-poster bed I spied a dawn at least as bruised as I.
Yet I was not as cast down as some might suppose. An early beneficiary of the revolution in female education, I not only rejoiced in my ability to fearlessly deliver justice (in the form of homicide), but also that I could correctly identify dying and dyeing as examples of homophones.
An excellent use of poster, Sandra. A very good story in a small package.
Deleteanother clever story!
DeleteOh yes. So difficult to come up with suitable comments for this one. The use of "poster" in "four-poster" bed was a wonderful insertion, as was a "dawn at least as bruised as I was." What images!
DeleteLubricious Amatorius
ReplyDeleteWhose fault,
your posters are in my heart?
That oral prod entices and delights,
sending me to new sensual heights.
Some brother’s egos are bruised, they don’t understand,
no lady likes, being issued commands.
To my revolutionary writhing, you don’t abscond.
Your arms enfold me, until I’ve calmed.
I laughed when you said I was cafe’ au lait.
I’ll make sure that you ...stay up...late.
You make my kitty purr,
my Italian monsieur.
I fondle your gift, an Italian horn,
dreaming of another, both my lips to adorn.
Nestled between my breast’s,
deposits and words of love, do attest.
I have a feeling this is inspired by an actual or literary character but, as happens so often with your writings, your knowledge frequently goes beyond my grasp. Nonetheless, nice rhythm to this and I do like the images it conjures.
DeleteOne Way Ticket
ReplyDeleteI entered the owner’s suite. Hope I won’t have too many bruises when it’s done.
“Jay, please sit. Some coffee” Mrs. P. asked.
“No thanks.”
“Jay,” Mr. P said. “It’s the first cuts of Spring Training. We’ve talked to the coaches and players. Your concepts are revolutionary. Crap, some were brilliant. We’ve had offers to trade you.”
Mrs. P continued.
“We’re not going to. We need very good players in the minor leagues, you don’t have the talent for the majors, many don’t. Will you report?”
“Sure, now I’ll go home and take the posters of my dreams down.”
I detect an undercurrent of disappointment here. Never easy to be told that you don't exactly make the higher grade.
DeleteParty Of Four
ReplyDeleteSeated in the Internet Café, he browsed LinkedIn. He'd assuredly recognize post and poster the minute the ad caught his sunken eyes. Revolutions increasing. Crime and poverty never higher. Corruption today's watchword. Yes, his finest hour was rapidly approaching.
The invitation was easy to spot. He crammed a stogie between decaying molars and guffawed until his thin rib cage was bruised. Tears coursed down emaciated cheeks. God, he'd missed those three guys' cutting wit and dark humour!
"WANTED: Veteran equestrian to complete party of four. Consummate benefits. Supreme organization. Must be experienced and hungry for work. Horse will be provided."
OMG! This is good and has a great ending.
Deletethis is so visual, compared with your earlier piece where the pictures come through our minds as much as your words. Loved it.
DeleteSnigger at the final line; awe at your ability to take a known tale and refashion it.
DeleteGreat images: "crammed a stogie between decaying molars". "tears coursed down emaciated cheeks" to name a couple.
DeleteStop The Week; I Want To Get Off (40)
ReplyDeleteSaturday Shaun arrived with the news one of his aunts had passed on. He looked bruised, shocked, Irish families tend to be very close. It will be tough for a while. Meantime there is good news to be broadcast by posters around the town: the common people have prevailed and the tree, planted in Victoria’s time, has been saved from the chainsaws. It’s almost a revolution; to win against the council is to win against all the odds. There’s nothing wrong with the tree, just the ferry company wanting to steal pavement (and tree) for more lorry space.
Yet another smooth incorporation of the prompts within a fascinating look at your week.
DeleteGlad that the tree survived, like the White Tree of Minas Tirith. My condolences to Shaun on the passing of his aunt. You were marvelous in how you wove the prompts into your recounting of life.
DeleteSympathies to Shaun for his loss. It's never easy to lose family members. However, I like that this piece focused primarily upon life rather than death. I will never understand the overpowering desire to cut something down simply because of the human race's greedy desire to claim even more than it is entitled to. May the tree continue to thrive and be a source of enjoyment to those who appreciate what it has to offer. On a related note, have you ever read "The Giving Tree" by Shel Silverstein? Though not exactly the same theme, for me this had a similar feel.
DeleteThe Mad Italian 99
ReplyDeleteAnd so the vultures gather. Demonstrators with posters shout for a second vote, those inside counter the pending revolution with a bruising takeover of power from the now hapless PM. If you cannot hold your cabinet in your grasp, there is only the door marked EXIT waiting for you. Perhaps – but I hold out little hope for this happening – a leader will emerge from the background, take control and bring the parties into line. But time and again the same words are heard, where are the leaders? Should one emerge from the crowd, will they carry the people with them?
If I remember my English history correctly, Churchill wasn't viewed as much of a leader, until the crisis was upon them. Another well done continuation.
DeleteThe entire world is in search of worthy leaders, or so it seems. Love the "vultures" reference. Is there a place on earth these days where they are not gathering and waiting to swoop?
DeleteScene plays out [Threshold 241]
ReplyDeleteRegardless of Raven’s naming her Lolita – she barely into double figures and unlikely Nabokov’s nymphet (though from the placing of her bruises; I’d say she’s grown up to like it rough) – I sensed something counterfeit; a pre-Raphaelite Robin Hood executed not in oils but garish poster paint.
Which didn’t explain her antipathy to Raven.
Wishbone didn’t like it either. He shifted, gig wheel creaked a quarter-revolution. Raven, who was leaning on it, screamed agony and stumbled sideways, ensuring I no longer stayed ‘twixt him and arrow point.
Waveringly, and with effort, she raised the bow.
Unseen, a voice commanded, ‘Now’.
More suspense that I believe I can deal with when I have to wait a week for the continuation. "A pre-Raphaelite Robin Hood." Now there is a magnificent picture for the imagination.
Deleteour first paragraph is brilliantly written, Sandra. How well it leads us into what follows.
DeleteThanks for letting me learn about Raphaelite's, a most impressive group of artists. Seems like Raven their muse this week. A very good story.
ReplyDeleteCripplegate Junction/Part 182 - Necessary Baggage
ReplyDeleteFrom the abandoned Booking Office, Alice watched waiting passengers. She supposed she should join them on the platform. But first, she'd pack her satchel with prized possessions.
Pots of poster paints (although red was almost empty), "Snakes and Ladders" board game (with counters), pop-up book of the French Revolution (heads rolled no matter how often you opened the page) and illustrated Child's Garden of Verses.
She was a little girl. The strap of the heavy bag would bruise her shoulder but Alice had no choice. She couldn't leave without her treasures.
She opened the door.
Time to find Miss Constance.
---------------------------------------------------------
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.
----------------------------------------------------------
this is such a intriguing and involved serial which you hold firmly in your imagination, not missing a trick to bring mysteries to the fore... what will happen when she finds Miss Constance? Should we be worried?
DeleteTugs a lot of strings, that list of prized possessions.
DeleteHmm... same thought from me: what will happen if she locates Miss Constance? I'm hooked!
DeleteJeffrey here. I was drawn to the dainty way you described Alice and what she put in her pack. I easily envisioned a young lady in Light blue dress. Another well constructed story.
ReplyDeleteWhat’s a Nutshell
ReplyDeleteIn a nutshell a tree is hid,
Pandora’s chest had a lid.
A winner’s circle of reception,
is an envious misconception.
Bruises are life’s weeds.
Self-doubt is on what they feed.
Posters herald the upcoming competition.
Passing the winner’s baton is a tradition.
In a nutshell a tree is hid.
When roots grow deep, they grow strong
When feed by winds bringing a happy song.
Revolution doesn’t always spread,
with the words, “Off with their heads!”
In a nutshell a tree is hid.
The sprout desires to grow.
Embryonic prison to be rid.
In a nutshell a tree is hid.
This strikes me as being somewhat autobiographical with particular reference to this forum. I like the metaphorical comparisons, especially that of a tree being hidden in a nutshell. In short, I found this to be a delightful and insightful poem, Jeffrey.
ReplyDeleteA very creative and entertaining approach to the prompts, Jeffrey. I am impressed by the poet in you.
ReplyDeleteNot a story but - Haiku
ReplyDeletePosters, stained red and
Bruised by fierce revolution,
Flutter like torn skin.
Jeffrey here. Terrie this is a wonderful Haiku. A very good last line.
DeleteConjured images of the ABC Cafe and the battle at the barricade in Les Miserables. Wonderfully atmospheric.
DeleteEnviable skill this brevity, Terrie - immediate vision of propaganda posters.
Delete