And so, in the temporary cool of
5.30 a.m. I re-read, re-enjoy and, eventually, select a shortlist for last week’s
winner, which includes two late entries: John’s
‘What happens in Tasmania stays in Tasmania’, Terrie’s ‘SAS diaries’ 76
(nary a mention of a ‘dillo, yet I pictured them correctly!) and Gita’s ‘Blood-letter’, which I’m delighted
to declare, is my eventual winner. As
ever, the joy of seeing the umpteen uses of three innocent words is
never-ending, and I thank you for the posting and the comments.
Words
for next week: Moses twelve import
Entries
by midnight (GMT) Thursday 1st August,
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 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.
I feel pretty good about being named runner up with Terrie. But I had a feeling about Gita's story... congrats Gita.
ReplyDeleteVery nicely done, Gita. And congratulations to John and Terrie as well. What a wealth of tales we enjoyed last week...and every week, come to that!
DeleteYour tales, like everyone else's are most enjoyable John. I always look forward to reading them and agree with you Gita's story definitely had that instant 'hook you quality', so well done Gita.
DeleteGita's tale undoubtedly deserved top honors. Congrats, Gita!
Deletemany congrats, Gita, terrific story!
DeleteCongrats, Gita!
DeleteLouisiana Bayou
ReplyDeleteWith his good arm, Amos Moses pulled a struggling alligator into his skiff. The twelfth one this morning. Amos heard the roar and shook his head as Sheriff Thibodeaux pulled up in his air boat.
“Amos, you know damn well it’s illegal to hunt alligator in these parts.”
“A man’s gotta eat, Chief.” He wiped his forehead. “Which one you want?”
“That one you just pulled in looks like imported ahi tuna to me.”
The young alligator thrashed as Amos handed it over. “Sorry Chief,” he said, pushing him in the water just as mama gator reared her giant head.
I like that this feels hot and muggy and everything you expect from the Bayou. That ending was really satisfying, and I'm not going to examine why I feel that way.
DeleteYup, I got the green and steamy atmosphere as well, started with the ckever title (an enviable skill)
DeleteI lived near a Louisiana bayou for a time, John, and Amos is right... You don't mess with a man's vittals! A novel and entertaining entry.
DeleteI too lived in Southern Louisiana for quite a few years. Those bayous can be both beautiful and intimidating...to say nothing of spooky. I always wondered about those people who chose to live there. Something very "Deliverance" about it to me.
DeleteI have not forgotten to comment on the story, John. I just had to post the above when I saw the "bayou" reference lest I forget what I wanted to say about it. I shall return...!!!
DeleteNice one, John. Great choice of Cajun/Creole names too. You gotta watch out for those Bayou Boys. They are not to be trifled with...not even by the local sheriff.
Deleteoh magical depiction of (to me) an alien place!
DeleteI also immediately felt transported to the hot, muggy bayou.
DeleteLegacy Admission
ReplyDeleteTovah’s bat connected. She raced from home to first base, slid, avoiding her grasping opponent, then twisted and reached for the prize: a semi-automatic with twelve rounds blessed by Rabbi Weidenseld. That there should have been thirteen was of no import. She’d saved the last one for herself.
“A gun? I will eat your heart.”
She fired three shots and watched his body begin to dissolve.
“I am the Scion of Moses, you demonic fuck. Before I die, I’ll rid this place of you and,” she turned to shoot the goblin head she’d sent down the field, “everything like you.”
Rebecca!! So good to see you here - and writing as cracking as ever.
DeleteAw, thanks! I've missed this place so.
DeleteThis was some crazy baseball game, I'll tell you. I liked how she shot the rolling goblin head for good measure. Clever and unique, RR.
DeleteHmm... not good to be on the team opposing Tovah's, RR. A very novel approach to use of the prompts.
DeleteInnovative take on the prompt words and very nicely done. I'm hoping that Tovah won't have to use the final bullet on herself, but I'm not holding my breath.
Deleteso good to read your work again, RR! and this is brilliant.
DeleteA fascinating and thrilling scene. I love her attitude!
DeleteKursaal (Episode One Hundred Seventy Three) - "Bowled Over/Opening Innings"
ReplyDeleteHaving won the toss, the Constabulary opted to bat. Moses Kimball, who was visiting with Maximillian Corviday and claimed descendancy from the 19th Century showman of the same name, volunteered as umpire. Moses promised to remain impartial.
In the pavilion, Charlotte Fitzroy of "Lottie's Larder" prepared a teatime spread of imported cheeses, seasonal fruits and jugs of chilled lemonade.
Sunlight shimmers made visibility difficult and if the number of players fielded by the Kursaal appeared inconsistent...sometimes eleven...sometimes twelve...sometimes more...no mention was made. For Constable Twittering, however, nothing dazzled as much as Ludmilla Bartók polishing the ball against her shapely thigh.
---------------------------------------------------------
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: Maximillian Corviday, Charlotte Fitzroy, Constable Twittering and Ludmilla Bartók have all featured in previous episodes.
Lovely summery picture here, created by the 'Sunlight shimmers'. As an aside, when I was doing research for an essay on 17th century Rattlesden (a Suffolk village where my mother's ancestors lived) I learnt it was the Kemballs from there who sailed to America. Not all because they have a haulage business now, the name across the front of trucks.
DeleteI've yet to attend a baseball game where imported cheeses were served, but hopefully someday. I don't recall encountering Ludmilla Bartok in a Kursaal episode before, but here shapely thighs are on my radar. The varying number of players appearing is so Kursaal like. Very enjoyable.
DeleteLudmilla has shown up a couple of times. She runs the First Aid Station and is the daughter of the Kursaal's most proficient prizefighter. She tended to Twittering's injuries when he took a tumble from the Hot Air Balloon Ride and he became infatuated with the comely nurse.
DeleteAnd the game being played is cricket, old boy. The British Constabulary wouldn't be caught dead playing baseball. Perish the thought...!!!
DeletePatrica, your British is showing... And about baseball, I played it when I was younger and still don't like it that much. Pretty slow going.
DeleteWe used to play something called "Rounders" when I was at school. Kind of similar to baseball in many ways. I was more of a Netball gir myself. :)
Deletelove Ludmilla rubbing the ball on her thigh...matched with players coming and going in the shimmer, conjuring some wonderful images.
DeleteSo Ludmilla's shapely thigh is the reason the Constable chose to bat. Hmm... I would have done the same thing! Well done, Patricia!
DeleteAn interesting, evocative scene. I admit I thought it was baseball too haha. Cricket makes sense! I'm dreaming of cheese and fruit now haha, and I loved the imagery of Ludmilla polishing the ball and "sunlight shimmers".
DeleteThe Secret Armadillo Soldier (SAS) Diaries - entry 77
ReplyDelete(Sorry,I miscounted the entries so last week was entry 76- not 75)
The bloodied heap of fur gave a gurgling cough. Blood flecked its torn lips.
Cinereus limped forward plucking bits of moss as he came. ‘Let me through; hold him gently.’
Its eyes were so badly gouged it was almost blind. One front paw was bitten off; the other dangled loosely by a sinew. Gaping rends covered its body and its throat was torn yet it whispered, ‘must tell … things of great import…
They march… One-armed devil… coming…She follows.
Twelve moons… twelve moons…twelve moons.’
‘Easy fellah, what’s yer name?’
‘Moses,’ the animal sighed and fell silent.
Oh, so sad, so painfully described, especially the 'Gaping rends'.
DeleteWhat a great introduction Moses made. And sadly, its tenure is likely short considering the severity of the injuries. More excitement to follow, which is so important in this series. Good writing, Terrie.
DeleteYour marvelous penchant for clear, powerful language once again shines through, Terrie. I invariably look forward to your entries.
DeletePoor Moses. And in what a sorry state did he (for I picture the animal as a he) make his debut. I have hopes that he has not met his end too soon...hopefully I do not hope in vain. Did I use enough "hopes" there? As always, astounding writing with an amazing creative twist.
Deletevivid images which will stay in the mind, whether I want them to or not...
DeleteA striking, weighty scene. That whispered warning promises something dangerous.
DeleteHousekeeping [Threshold 261]
ReplyDeleteThird girl asked, ‘Was it Moses did the Red Sea thing? you know, the parting of the waves.’
She was a bit daffy but I could see where she was coming from. More urgently, ‘Question is, do we need to clean him off the road? How soon might he be found?’
Front girl, passed as a twelve-year-old (therein her attraction) but double that in brains, looked up to the dozen or more dark-spiked nests high in the roadside tree, around which circled black finger-winged rooks, their harsh cries endlessly breaking news of import.
Answering my question, ‘No problem. He’s carrion.’
No need for housekeeping when rooks abound, as front girl so aptly stated. This is quite a group you've created, Sandra. A good read.
DeleteRooks indeed do serve a useful purpose, even for miscreants. Second paragraph is SO vivid! Well done, Sandra.
DeleteNice description of what I picture as something of a female chain gang. Surely Raven must come swooping in for the rescue any minute now.
Deletecleaning up - rook style, soon done. Love the 'black finger-winged' rooks.
DeleteI loved the description of the nests and that first paragraph immediately grabbed my attention.
DeleteMoses and the Devil
ReplyDeleteMoses (Three Fingers) Wilson was an influential pioneer of the twelve-bar blues. I used to import obscure recordings. Thought he died long, long ago.
We met one sultry Mississippi night. He claimed to be 130 years old. I asked him if he’d done a deal with the devil at the crossroads. He laughed and twanged a guitar string.
“I taught the devil to play, boy. In return he gave me immortality.”
He began to strum. A dog howled. I felt my own soul go hurtling hell bound to the echo of the riff.
Wonderful use of the prompts, as ever. And did Antonia say 'elegant' about your writing last week? This is so, for sure.
Delete"I taught the devil to play"... a great line, David. You make this meeting quite plausible. Well done!
DeleteGotta love a three fingered blues player. You may have written yourself into contention this week, David. To me, the best line was,'We met one sultry Mississippi night.'
DeleteOooohhh, shades of Robert Johnson, first usually accepted member of the 27 Club, although there were a couple of others who came ... or went, I suppose ... before. Absolutely adored this!!! What a magnificent use of descriptive atmosphere.
DeleteA few years ago we stayed at the Shack Up Inn, from where friends from Alabama took us to Robert Johnson's grave and the crossroads in Clarksville - a magic, memorable trip.
DeleteAnd the Devil Went Down To Georgia...or in this case, Mississippi. I have now commented twice on this submission. Could it be that it has truly taken my fancy?
Deletemy ex is a blues fanatic, I had many years of immersion in the music and their life stories. This fits right in as if made for that purpose. Good one, David.
DeleteChange of focus [338]
ReplyDeleteRestored by a twelve-minute cat-nap, Pettinger followed Iris outside. ‘You caught Smith dealing? Swapping wraps for cash?’
‘Better than that. He’s gone from death to birth. Demand to supply. Export to import.’ Iris nodded to where Smith, looking every inch the devoted father, strolled with a woman. Slung between them a Moses basket, bawling babe within. ‘Bet you any money you like, either under the mattress, or in the baby’s nappy, he’s stashed his latest shipment and is now off to mix it with the remains of the lately dear-departed.’
Pettinger exerted authority. ‘Guess you'd better search the nappy.’
Nothing like a live baby to create a diversion. Loved the 'death to birth' exchange. Looks like Smith's days are numbered.
DeleteOh...a "Moses basket." What an adorable image. Could it be that Pettinger is reluctant to search the nappy himself just in case there is something more odorous within?
Deletepity anyone who has to search a nappy... excellent instalment.
DeleteAPPEARANCES CAN BE DECEIVING
ReplyDeleteMy town looks as peaceful as a Grandma Moses painting, but appearances, as is said, can be deceiving. A serial killer is at large, and the townsfolk, understandably, are in panic mode. Seven women have been brutally slaughtered since January, each with a number carved into her chest. The first had the number one; the last, the number seven.
Numbers are of major import to the killer. He won’t stop until he claims twelve victims, one for each month of the year.
I’ve been sheriff for twelve years. I am retiring December 31.
I’ll be remembered as the Calendar Killer.
Grandma Moses, forgot about her. Nice use for that prompt. What a great occupation for a serial killer. Good one, Jim.
DeleteMissed that - he the killer - until John said. (I'm a shocking lazy treader at times)
DeleteLiked this one muchly. Can't go wrong with a twist ending and this counts as one of the best. Calendar Killer...I like it!
Deleteserial killers, what would crime writers do without them, what would Challenge people do without them... thisone is particularly nasty and a lovely twist ending.
DeleteFreebird
ReplyDeleteGrandma sells eggs at reasonable prices. Carton of twelve costs more at the supermarket and they're not as fresh. I like brown ones laid by the imported pullets. Grandma won't say from where. I think it might be someplace illegal.
Hens are okay but I prefer the rooster. He's a character. Crows all day (not just in the morning) and knows how to open the coop. Chasing the broodies gives him something to do and it's fun to watch when he catches them.
Grandma named him Moses. I asked why.
She said, "'Cos he lets my chickens go."
Ok, you got a good chuckle out of me with this. He lets them go, yes, but at what price?
DeleteI, too, got a nice chuckle from this, Patricia, especially when picturing the rooster chasing the hens.
DeleteThink I must be extra thick this week - I'm sure I'm missing something with the last line.
DeleteBiblical Moses was known to have said, "Let my people go." You're not thick...it was a weak reference at best and not one of my most intelligent submissions. I was thinking about taking it down but will leave it as an example of what a good tale shouldn't be! Guess we all have our off days. :(
DeleteOf which I seem to have many of late I might add!
DeleteAh ... no, it's my biblical knowledge which is lacking. My aunt being my Sunday school teacher I tended not to listen; gave it up when we moved away, age 7.
DeleteThe old Sunday School days. I don't recall delving into the Old Testament very often. But I do remember Moses saying, in the Ten Commandments movie anyway, let my people go.
Deletegoing back to the blues references, those old guys would be likely to say 'chillun' which I immediately thought of, so chicken/chillun, really god story, Patricia. Don't take it down!
DeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteI can't wait to hear what's in this envelope. Do you even know yet, Patricia? Loved the clock thing, so Cripplegate like.
DeleteYes indeed, love the minimal action, maximum potential of this.
DeleteThe first name dropper
ReplyDeleteThe shepherd shook dust from his robe, sheepskin of course; no sense wasting perfectly good, if not slightly wilted pelts. His flock of thirty was down to twelve due to the drought.
To increase his perceived import, the shepherd donned a crown of box-thorn. At the entrance to Alexander’s cave, he was denied entry by a burly servant.
“I’m a friend of Moses,” the shepherd said.
“And I’m King Mesha himself,” the servant said, snickering.
“Thou shalt not denyth entry!” The shepherd looked skyward and spread his arms, chanting incoherently.
Shaking visibly, the servant bowed and let him in.
Good one - intimidation is all.
DeleteHad to look up King Mesha but I like it when I have to go in search of something I don't know. This carried even more "import" second time around.
DeleteI liked this a lot, simplicity in the descriptions, menace in the dialogue, that servant should have known better than be a show off!
DeleteThis Part 198 revised and reposted due to a prompt word being omitted from the original version.
ReplyDelete-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Cripplegate Junction/Part 198 - Delayed Deliverance
The "Lost and Found" Custodian locked the office door. His itemized catalogue completed. Both hands of the Station Clock still remained on twelve and hadn't moved since he began the inventory.
With reverence, he carried the envelope marked "Confidential" much like Moses transporting the stone tablets down Mount Sinai and was relieved to see the Station Master patrolling the platform.
He shouldn't have peeked at the communication (of some import and presumably meant solely for the Station Master) but curiosity had got the best of him. The contents were disturbing and appeared to threaten the very existence of Cripplegate itself.
--------------------------------------------------------
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.
----------------------------------------------------------
I transferred my comment to this story so you wouldn't feel bad. I didn't notice the omitted word, assuming it was import?
DeleteI can't wait to hear what's in this envelope. Do you even know yet, Patricia? Loved the clock thing, so Cripplegate like.
"Import" it was, John. I hate it when I make those kind of slip-ups, especially when I usually check half a dozen times to make sure all the prompt words are included. Like I've already mentioned in a comment, this has not been my best week!!!
DeleteCripplegate gets even more mysterious, the hands don't move, there's secretive envelopes and communications...more please.
DeleteDeuteronomy 32:35
ReplyDeleteThe Last Mile. Not a mile at all. Just a dozen or so steps. Twelve shuffles from here to the hereafter. Exact number is of little import.
It's said the process is relatively painless. Creeping numbness dulls senses and paralyzes vital organs. But physicians are flawed and science is fallible. Erroneous dosages. Defective calculations. Many avenues subject to inaccuracy.
On a vacant bunk, pages of a a bible open at the 23rd Psalm now riffle to The Book of Deuteronomy...Song of Moses.
"Vengeance is Mine".
But in the heat of this stormy, steamy August night, retribution belongs to me.
I see I have duplicated "a" in "a bible open." It's not worth deleting and posting just for that, so please ignore the extra "a." Thank you for your cooperation. I'm apparently not having the best of weeks!
DeleteTwo a's are not always better than one. When you try to pluralize a, you get as, which doesn't work.
DeleteI'd have a hard time taking those dozen or so steps... not sure if I'd go up or down. Beautifully written story, all the way from the hereafter to retribution.
attention grabbing last line sets the tone for this brooding piece loaded with concealed menace. I think it's fantastic.
DeleteStop The Week; I Want to Get off (57)
ReplyDeleteThe big round wicker basket would be useless as a Moses basket, but might help smother the screaming heard most days… or should we import a box of pacifiers for the little horrors? It also seems to have been a week of noisy brats who want everything they see and sulk when it’s denied their grasping little fists. We open at ten, by twelve I’m ready to put CHILDREN NOT ALLOWED on the door in place of DOGS ALLOWED because, with one exception, all dogs have been good. The exception? A demanding one who didn’t want her owner to browse…
'...little horrors... noisy brats.' Ain't that the truth at times, Antonia? Somehow I can't see you running a day care center. This was a fun read!
DeleteI have three little granddaughters so I know how the noise and sulking goes. I kept the older two overnight once, and the number will remain as once. I like how you compared the children to dogs, which seems accurate.
DeleteCan sympathise with the heart-sinking appearance of children, especially in a confined space such as your shop.
DeleteWhen I first arrived in America, I got a job at a nationwide department store chain called Sears (known then as Sears & Roebuck). For a while, I worked the cosmetic/costume jewelry area and the devastation created by out-of-control children had to be seen to be believed. They pulled object off shelves and opened every container their grubby little fingers could manage. Most parents didn't even deliver reproachful looks let alone any form of punishment. Perfect example of such behaviour detailed here. As always, true-to-life and essentially entertaining, Antonia.
DeleteThe Mad Italian 116
ReplyDeleteThe backlash has begun, I doubt even Moses had this level of dissent to deal with when he led his people out of Egypt – just as this one will lead you out of Europe. Import/export will sort itself out once the deed is done. I see the discussion going down to the final twelve of the clock but it will be done; this one will see it through.
Meantime the wall is to be built between two countries who have no right nor need for a wall but a great need for the money to be spent on something worthwhile.
What a great comparison of Moses leading his people and Brexit.
DeleteWall? What wall? (kidding)
I do wish I was interested enough in politics to follow what is detailed here. Much of it I am so in ignorance of but Leonardo managed to keep me at least somewhat in the loop. His observations are always insightful...even to the uninitiated like me!
Deleteback tomorrow to continue comments, flashing lights have invaded... can't see clearly!!!
ReplyDeleteDo hope much of the discomfort has now passed, Antonia. I'm guessing encroaching migraine?
DeleteCaped Crusader
ReplyDelete“Holy Moses, Batman, The Joker is getting away.”
“I’m aware of that, Robin. And if you use holy as a verb one more time, I’ll zap you with my bat ray.”
“For the twelfth time,” Robin said. “Holy is an adjective.”
“Your verbiage is of no import to me. What matters is catching that diabolical fiend.”
“Holy Shit, Batman, he’s probably out of Gotham by now, thanks to your infernal posturing.”
Zaaap!
Batman smiled and holstered his bat ray. “That felt damn good.”
oh love it!
DeleteWitty. Campy. Authentic. This has your unique sense of humour all over it. Perhaps I'm being a little mean here, but I did love the image of Robin getting what's coming to him.
DeleteShepherdess
ReplyDeleteIt was a good, easy life, and damned if Haera didn’t deserve it. Bracing her booted foot against the ground, she leaned back against the hill and brought bread to her mouth.
Moses immediately put his hooves on her shoulder, his slitted eyes fixed with anticipation.
“Gabari’s Tits,” Haera swore.
The goat head-butted her and released a confident bleat.
“Shepherdess!”
Haera looked up, her fingers shifting towards the bound sword beside her, but it was only Lucas, a village boy.
“Shepherdess! Take up your sword! The Twelve are here!”
deliberately sparse dialogue, enough to carry it on, enough to conjure images. I've found over the many editing years so many people over write, they should join us, it teaches all of us to truly write tight.
DeleteAs usual, an epic scene, and the image of the goat's antics especially well-drawn.
DeleteYikes, last line was deleted somehow when I posted it (which has one of the 3 words). I'm sorry! This piece should end with
Delete'If only the child understood the ruinous import of his plea.'
So enjoyable and mythical in atmosphere, which wasn't helped I'm sure by me misreading "Haera" as "Hera." What I wouldn't give to hear a goat releasing a "confident bleat." Will we get to find out the origin of "The Twelve"?
DeleteThank you!
Delete@Patricia I've been pronouncing as "Hera" in my head too haha. Yes, I wrote this for my friend who loves goats, and she's requested another installment. :)
Sorry about yesterday - expected, though, I got up with flashing lights, they went only a short distance away, and came swooping back in the middle of comments. It also meant I couldn't read my kindle either... tremendous collection of stories this week, thanks to everyone for good reading.
ReplyDelete