Others’ good books - there have been
a few all-absorbing ones lately, plus, like Holly, I’m final-drafting and
preparing for publication. So far more short of time than this week’s seemingly
extra-rich entries merit. The one that had the greatest kick-in-the-gut impact on
this week’s final re-reading, was Patricia’s
‘Mouthy’, although, as ever, there were several commanding almost equal
attention.
And, as ever, I thank you all for
your participation, both posting and commenting.
Words
for next week: cricket file spindle
Entries
by midnight (GMT) Thursday 25th July,
words posted Friday 26th
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 Patricia, for Mouthy. You must have posted after I was here yesterday. I'll go back and read and comment on the stories I missed.
ReplyDeleteCongrats Patricia! :)
DeleteAnd good luck with your publication, Sandra. It takes so much energy!
congrats, Patricia!
DeleteThe Oppressed
ReplyDeleteThe rank and file stood on spindly legs and waited. Breakfast that morning consisted of a thin gruel and a crust of bread with a more meager meal likely that evening.
The leader approached the podium, his massive belly quivering. A cricket chirped from somewhere, drowning the silence. Mouths drooled at the thought of protein the insect would provide.
Mason’s head swam with indecision. He agreed there was twenty million of them and only one of him. He mulled the plan and trembled, as they all did.
When the signal was given, nobody moved.
Oh, the agonies of indecision! Heavyweight, this, and cleanly, crisply told.
DeleteA marvelous story, even if on the somber side. Deciding not to decide is still a decision.
DeleteI wonder who gave the signal? Mason or someone else? Regardless, the rank and file better find a courageous leader and fast.
Deletethe deadly silence is very telling... good one, John
DeleteLove the way we're left hanging. There are so many ways this could go. Pondering the protein provided by the cricket reminded me of that scene in "Papillion" when he caught and ate that cockroach. No telling what one might stoop to if hungry enough, I suppose. Great story.
DeleteOn the week of 6-21, John had three excellent stories in his ghost series, where he spread the prompts out among them. Sandra had commented that it wasn't illegal, so my question is, can that be done with a series of linked stories in the same series?
ReplyDeleteThe lawless do as they please. I will, however, say I felt I cheated a bit by not using all three prompt words in each story. But now, I feel perfectly fine with it, as I have a sketchy conscious.
DeleteIt's not lawlessness, sometimes in life I've found it easier to ask for forgiveness than beg for permission. Here isn't one of them. I've a hard enough time making my stories in the same ballpark as the rest of you. I have my strengths, I write good stories, (okay, you can stop laughing now) but economy of words isn't one of them.
DeletePshaw, Jeffrey! Your stories have always been well written and entertaining.
DeleteJohn - is it not your conscience that's sketchy? Not sure. But on another topic - mentioned in a late post on last week's re bated breath, thinking about it (never questioned before) 'bated' is presumably a contraction of 'abated', which might be an easier way to remember it.
DeleteJeffrey, in hindsight (John must've caught me in a good mood!) taking 300 words to utilise prompt words intended to be squeezed into 100 does undoubtedly go against the spirit of the challenge .
I meant to say scruples...
Delete"scruples" - good word. Maybe next week ... :-)
DeleteJim, thanks for the compliment about my stories. Confidence is also a commodity I'm short of.
DeletePRECISELY
ReplyDeleteIt’s dark.
One cricket, one "chirp".
Perfect.
Time for Bed in exactly… 12 minutes.
I cannot deviate. I MUST go to bed at exactly 10:00.
The clock’s spindly minute hand reaches the 10, as it must, and I brush my teeth.
Exactly 100 strokes, no more, no less. Five minutes, precisely.
Back to my neat little bed, I make my final journal entry, then I file it away, perfectly.
The second hand sweeps toward the 12, with perfect speed.
I prepare to get under the covers.
I am still safe.
The second hand skips, and freezes.
I can do nothing.
Nightmarish self-imprisonment, precisely evoked.
DeleteTalk about OCD... This guy must have nubs for teeth after five minutes of brushing every night. I think I do about a minute and a half. I can, though, imagine the horror for a person like this, if the clock malfunctions.
DeleteAnd, if I might lament (after the cricket chirp mention); last night two tree frogs were screeching outside my window. I had to go out and rustle the bushes to quiet them. They were quiet for less than a minute.
My son is autistic and though he's gotten a lot better, I remember his reliance on following a routine. Now, there can be a good reason for adhering to a strict routine. Excellent story, Dave.
DeleteSounds like you're in big trouble, Dave. I hope you can somehow work your way out of it. Great build-up to the last line.
DeleteMy Grand daughter is on the spectrum as well (daughter of my son who is now paralyzed). She is not quite where this poor soul resides upon that spectrum. I have always believed the most terrifying stories are the ones with the greatest chance of happening. And I barely ever need to watch the clock.
Deleteit is an entrapment, superbly defined in this piece. Loved it.
DeletePerfect description of those unfortunates who suffer from these types of compulsion. I'm sure such habits can be totally debilitating. And what a magnificent use of the prompt words.
DeleteChange of focus [337]
ReplyDeleteThanks to its proximity to the crematorium, ‘The Cricketers’ the favoured post-funeral destination.
Pettinger and the Drug Squad DC – Iris – already seated and perfectly positioned to watch Mark Creighton’s mourners file in. Once inside, they split, much as a spindle divides warp from weft, half coming into the public bar, the rest heading for a private function room.
Smith’s arrival confirmed Iris’s murmured, ‘Stroke of luck, we’re with the Sinners,’ but Pettinger, stubbled and heavy-eyed from Vladlina’s sexual marathon plus a five-hour flight, found it hard to stay awake. Came to when Iris, leaping upright, warned, ‘Smith’s on the move.
I liked it when Pettinger showed up at the funeral stubbled and heavy-eyed. And I agree with the reason for the condition. I also liked the name of the pub, very UK-like. I was in London years ago and I recall a pub called Bag O Nails, which I enjoyed. Nicely written piece, Sandra.
DeleteJust Googled it John - looks like my sort of pub. Thanks.
DeleteAn understandable reason for not shaving an das the song goes..."the sinners are much more fun." Very good story, Sandra.
Deletegood instalment, Sandra, character building, very nicely done, too.
Delete'...stubbled and heavy-eyed... paints a great picture in a well-crafted continuation of Pettinger's activities, Sandra!
DeletePettinger in a state of "stubbled and heavy-eyed" is still essentially charismatic, regardless of the circumstances surrounding his condition. Like Antonia, I found this to be a wonderful character building episode.
DeleteTeam work [Threshold 260]
ReplyDeleteSingle file, to start; incommunicado. Gradually, front girl having wit to question, there came back, Chinese-whisper-like, reports of his intentions; indications of our fate.
I, being last, got the most garbled version; doubtless my questions would make little sense by the time they reached him. Nor the not-intended-for-his-ears suggestions of escape.
Front one complained of weakness; grabbed herself a branch slender as a spindle. The rest of us did similar, thickness increasing incrementally until I brandished nigh on the weight of a cricket bat.
‘Count of three.’
First girl falsely stumbled.
We attacked as one, fast reducing him to redness.
They reduced him to redness, how satisfying. Now though, I think they have likely produced a new set of problems to deal with. I look forward to the next... and the next. Great use of 'cricket.'
DeleteI'd hate to think that with a cricket bat, he was only reduced to redness. Black and blue are probably there as well.
Deletewould not the redness be the exposing of flesh beneath the skin and the outflowing of blood?
Deletethat's how I read it, and a gory instalment it made, too!
That reference to garbled versions as passed from mouth-to-mouth is so accurate. I remember we did such an exact test in a classroom once. The end result bore absolutely no resemblance to the original. This episode was so wonderfully descriptive and the escalation inspirational.
DeleteThe Casanova Papers: Day 2-Evening stories: Bibliotheca Apostolica Vaticana
ReplyDeleteI’d fallen asleep reading the file of Solomon’s Ring. My lucky cricket box chirping woke me. I then heard a familiar language. One Henriette has spoken in her sleep. There were screams. I retrieved my dreidel spindle. Pricked my finger and spoke: “You protected Danial in the lion’s den. May your servant’s faith, protect him from wolves in your library.”
They wore Medico Della Peste masks and stole three books. The Librum Sanguis Enim Vitae, the Magical Treatise of Solomon and the Book of Enoch. One body had a tattoo; A bat-winged circle with two stacked Greek letter Lambdas.
Lots going on in this library, book thievery and what-not. I think I'd prefer not to sleep with someone who talked in her sleep in another language. I'd always wonder what was on her unconscious mind.
DeleteNot familiar with the first book mentioned. I must research since I adore learning new things. Nicely put together, Jeffrey. And I must say that sounds like an impressive...if easily recognizable...tatto
DeleteYou Don’t Know What You’ve Been a' 'Missin’
ReplyDeleteThe Lavurians gave us a spindle which contained all of the popular music from the second half of the 20th Century. There were files from each decade. It was an apology. They wanted us to know some good stuff had happened as well.
Hank remained belligerent. The Lavurians observed that becoming cantankerous seemed part of the human ageing process.
One of our first discoveries was Buddy Holly and the Crickets. Tapping our feet, we cried for the wives we never found and the children we never fathered. Buddy said everyday was getting better. For us it wasn’t.
Oh, joy - Buddy Holly!! So very, very clever this episode, David. Loved it.
DeleteI laughed out loud at the cantankerous ageing process bit. A very enjoyable tale here, David.
DeleteGood humor in this most enjoyable story David.
DeleteThat'll Be the Day, Maybe Baby, Peggy Sue... music doesn't get any better than that. Thanks for the memories, David!
DeleteOh good one, David, told with your usual flair.
DeleteMy mind wandered along a possible Buddy Holly tale. I'm glad I didn't follow up now since it could not have equaled this. First Buddy song I ever remember hearing was "That'll Be The Day" and when I went to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame an attendant and fellow Buddy fan gave me a poster left over from when they featured a Buddy Holly special exhibit. His influence cannot be measured.
DeleteThank your for the vote of recognition last week, Sandra. I have developed what I believe to be an abcessed tooth and will try to get an early emergency appointment with the dentist tomorrow. However, creativity is pretty much non-existent with the throbbing right now so my attendance this week may well be sporadic. We'll see.
ReplyDeleteOoh - been there, done that - all I wanted was a chain saw, to remove head from body, so enormous sympathies and hope you get dealt with promptly and effectively.
DeleteSo sorry for your condition, Patrica. I hope you get into the dentist soon and return to your creative ways.
DeleteHope this works out okay for you. I had an impacted and abscessed wisdom tooth a few years ago.
Deleteget it sorted and get healed up soon, Patricia!
DeleteFILE THIS
ReplyDeleteThe spindle file had pierced my left hand through the palm. I removed it slowly, grimacing and issuing the quick clicking sounds a cricket makes. I turned toward my wife Karen, who stood stiffly, her trembling hands grasping her cheeks.
“You missed, dear... got my hand, not my heart.”
Karen’s countenance shifted from quivering shock to fuming hatred. "Miserable bastard! Did you think I’d simply let you prance merrily off with your slut mistress!?”
I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now.”
I grabbed her hair and jerked her forward. The spindle file smoothly and quickly entered her brain through her left eye.
Ouch! Efficient and deadly this, and very well executed.
DeleteThe better spindle wielder won this time. Too bad she missed, as It seems he deserved it more than she. Great horror writing, Mr. Jim.
DeleteOh my, Jim, that's a new twist on an uncontested divorce, an excellent story.
Deletenow that's a rare nasty one...
DeleteDear lord...what a horrifying picture that presents. Talk about horror in the first degree. And how beautifully done!
DeleteThe Casanova Papers: Day 2- Evening Stories: Washimizu Haciumangu
ReplyDeleteTome began,
“I was enjoying fried crickets and tea, with Sensei Yobunaga as he showed me his new painting, Japanese Spindle Bushes in file, when I sensed danger. I moved my head, the shuriken cut a braid of my hair. Ninja had entered the shrine.
I drew Sin-you, my katana and sliced my hand before speaking: “Sin-you, I need you.” I defend the shrine, my katana’s edge glowing red. After they’d been killed I learned that the Voynich Manuscript had been stolen. Why would a book nobody can read be stolen?”
Sensei said, “Ask the right person that question.”
This cricket eating, katana wielding guy is pretty bad ass to defeat the ninjas. Enjoyable segment, Jeffrey.
DeleteI watched a show last night on the Voynich Manuscript... very interesting, just as your ninja tale was.
DeleteInteresting choice of subject as always, Jeffrey. You are certainly unique in your rendition of scenarios.
DeleteThe Casanova Papers: Day 2- Evening Stories: Zaluski Library
ReplyDelete“I was teaching the Book of Abraham and the Ars Notaria, to my class.”
A female intruder spoke: “The director didn’t tell me where the book was. To keep the bloodshed to a minimum, give me the Ars Notaria?”
I fondled my prayer spindle, saying; “None can see without light.”
Darkness filled the room. I grabbed a book and ran.
In Hungarian, she said, “The light of truth allows all to see.”
The darkness faded, my students were dead.
Another thief said, “She escaped, Grigori”
“She took the wrong book. Let the cricket live. My mother’s file is now complete.”
Such intrigue with these book thieves. Lots of excitement.
DeleteEnjoyable continuation. Wish I were more familiar with the content. I'm sure I'm missing much given my ignorance.
DeleteWhen you wish upon a star
ReplyDeleteThe old man faced his superior and spoke with difficulty, “The cricket file is missing.”
“You’re shitting me!”
“They pried the drawer with one of the steel stair spindles.”
“Does Pinocchio know?”
“Not yet,” said Geppetto. “He’s lying his ass off to impress Rapunzel.”
“Send him to the Island of Lost Boys. That’ll buy us some time.”
“They’re probably the ones who stole the file.”
“Good point,” said the boss. “Frame him then. Make it look like Pinocchio did it.”
Poor Pinocchio, Geppetto thought as he walked away. He’ll never become a real boy.
And now I want to know what is in the cricket file.
DeleteIt's a dossier on Jiminy Cricket, though due to its top secret classification, the contents can't be revealed.
DeleteOh how an adult version of the tale is good. If he'll never become a real boy will he meet Peter? A most enjoyable read, John.
DeleteI love adult fairy tales, this one's superb.
DeleteI always adore what I lovingly refer to as "Fractured Fairy Tales." This contained so many gems. What a delight to read!
DeleteBlood-Letter
ReplyDeleteChalky Belzer filed his nails to vicious points. When brawling, were he forced into bare-knuckle fighting, he’d shred his opponent’s flesh. Not exactly cricket, since the rule inside Bart’s Pub was “cudgels only.” But Chalky’s conscience was a spindle: Narrow and always turning to his advantage.
Bart banned Chalky when he sent a darts opponent bleeding to hospital. Chalky returned on St. Patrick’s day and used his razors a last time when a patron picked his pocket (the man had been clumsy). The crowd rushed Chalky, held his hands down on the bar and rid him of his finger tips.
Oh, Gita - always, always something different and exciting. Succinct but telling such an epic tale.
DeleteLove the name Chalky. It seems Bart's Pub is an establishment to avoid, especially when Chalky is there. Very enjoyable, Gita.
DeleteEnjoyable use of the prompts. Rules are meant to be followed, not split. An excellent story, Gita.
Deletegreat little piece, Gita! full of nasty images. Like it a lot.
DeleteAnd how unique was this? What a wonderful use of the prompt words. Wonder what Chalky is going to use for a weapon now.
DeleteCripplegate Junction/Part 197 - Juncture At The Junction
ReplyDeleteClive Bailey's mother had disappeared. Alone in the carriage, he was relieved to be free of her spindly voice and critical barbs. Passengers filed along the platform in orderly fashion but surprisingly few entered the train.
Personally, Clive was unsure if he should remain aboard. He noticed Violet pushing her refreshment trolley and was overcome with longing for a nice cup of hot Darjeeling and perhaps a buttered tea cake.
He stepped onto the platform and immediately accosted by the Station Master.
"Stay in your compartment, old boy" Clive was instructed. "To disembark without permission is simply not cricket!"
--------------------------------------------------------
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.
----------------------------------------------------------
Clive's uncertainty so well-depicted but regrettably (I fear) so is his naivety.
DeletePatricia, you must be feeling a little better as you're firing on all cylinders with this one. It seems the station master is in charge of keeping Clive on track to fulfilling his role in this bizarre place. I haven't had a buttered tea cake, but they sound pretty good.
DeleteThank you, John. Turned out to be an infected gum and not tooth related at all or any type of abcess. So, salt water rinsing several times a day is the answer to my problems, together with a course of antibiotics which the dentist said may not actually be necessary but prescribed them just in case.
DeleteGlad to hear it Patricia.
DeleteFirst, glad that you're back to normal. I had The Twilight Zone music going in my mind as I was reading this and that's a goo thing.
Deletegood to have good news. More good news, I went to the dentist Monday to be checked out, intermittent toothache and sharp pain. He sorted it and -[ you ready for this> NO CHARGE! OK, now I've upset everyone... this is a great instalment, Clive's hesitation comes over well and we realise just how much of a bully the Station Master is!
DeleteHow'd you manage to get dental treatment free of charge? Might be worth a trip to the Isle of Wight if I experience any more toothy problems!
DeleteKursaal (Episode One Hundred Seventy Two) - "Bowled Over"
ReplyDeleteWhen the local Constabulary invited Kursaal employees to a cricket match, the challenge was readily accepted. Trophies and booby prizes were subject to secrecy. However, Maximillian Corviday and the Police Chief were presumably privy to such details.
Rank and file on both sides vied for inclusion. Constable Twittering, former captain of his school's eleven, was an obvious choice despite faculties hardly sharp as a spindle.
Thus, Ludmilla Bartók was appointed Kursaal bowler. Twittering's infatuation with the First Aid Station supervisor was common knowledge. His competence would undoubtedly degenerate with every elegant delivery of the ball.
Kursaal performers hated to lose.
---------------------------------------------------------
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, Constable Twittering and Ludmilla Bartók have all featured in previous episodes.
now that sounds like a cricket match I would actually like to watch!
DeleteI'd be hard pressed to beat Antonia's remark, so I'll just say 'Bravo.'
DeleteI'm trusting this only the opener - definitely want more.
DeleteSharp as a spindle was a great use of that prompt. This story flowed like water, soft and subtle.
ReplyDeleteStop The Week; I Want To Get Off (56)
ReplyDeleteIt’s been deadly, browsers, loads of them, buyers, virtually nil. It’s as dull as watching cricket. Or filing my nails. There’s a rocking chair waiting to be delivered, the spindles in the back were loose, now firmly glued. The buyer has gone to London; I think she’ll get out of there fast, tis way too hot. 99% of the goods we sell are paid for, it’s balancing profit against purchases and knowing what’s worth having that I leave to Shaun. In the beginning he made mistakes, he hasn’t made any for a long time. Tis a huge learning curve.
Of all the tales this week, I do believe use of the prompt words goes above and beyond in this slice of shop life. Funny that when I first saw "browsers" I thought of the computer type. Guess we don't realize at times just how conditioned we have become to the technological world.
DeleteAntonia, an excellent offering for this week. Lovely melding of the prompts but I really liked you use of 'tis'.
DeleteYes indeed, superlatively smooth prompt use, and a fascinating slice of island life.
DeleteDull as watching cricket or filing my nails... bam, prompt words accounted for. You should become bored more often... really great writing.
DeleteThe Mad Italian 115
ReplyDeleteThere are games to come; who will go, who will stay in the new cabinet. A game of cricket, bowling someone out… finding out who has a file on whom and what it says. At least the new PM is a substantial figure, no spindly body here; he oozes confidence and assuredness which the lady never did. She tried but she was not strong enough to bring her will to the discussions. The other new lady has more presence, but her stance is to remain – which will not sit well with all voters. Political life looks interesting…
I didn't realize that the reins had changed hands until someone told me this morning. If it were not for Leonardo, I doubt I'd be anywhere near up to snuff on the political arena. Never was one of my favourite topics.
DeletePM Johnson didn't win and election as much as a vote. Can't wait to see if Scotland, Wales and N. Ireland stay or go. Though I never comprehended it, I do agree with Leonardo's assessment of the ladies.
DeleteIt appears the Italian is intrigued by the changing political climate. It's good to see him optimistic, if only mildly so.
DeleteHowzat!
ReplyDeleteSummer 1985...ten years old. Father took me to the sixth and final test match against Australia at The Oval. What a grand time we had! What a grand game of cricket! Ian Botham toppled wickets like flailing spindles and England won The Ashes.
That Summer was also memorable for unsolved murders of several shopgirls. The homicides always fascinated me. Upon assignment to the Cold Case Division, I accessed the files. Crime scene photographs were works of art in a way. Victims posed tastefully. Fatal wounds delivered with minimum blood loss.
Father's proficiency easily equal to that of England's first-rate bowler.
you see what salt water mouth washes do, make you write ultra nasty gory clever shock-ending stories...
DeleteI'm not very good at horror so I do enjoy reading the great horror that has dominated here at Prediction. Patricia, another excellent tale with a great ending.
DeleteYour trademark smoothly proceeding tale, upending the reader with the final words.
DeleteAfter hearing she was impressed by the victims posing tastefully, I'm inclined to think: like father, like daughter. Really neat little story.
DeleteThe First Battle: Negotiations
ReplyDeleteOn the table was a screen, connected to an octagon.
Their commander chirped. Kalvari words appeared on the screen.
“Over fight leave both do. Death resume in thirty Depthnar cycles.”
He offered a scarf-like object. Octagon spindles of colored glass on strings. SEMPER FI and eight pictographs were visible.
“Is this a truce?” became a menagerie of pictographs.
With a ceramic knife he sliced his claw, green-gray puss oozed out. He handed it to me. I sliced my hand, claw then joined hand. The Minister of Crickets chirped, which became AGREEMENT. They left the knife, wampum, and my defiled hand.
Is the battle over? Are they blood brothers now? Intriguing installment, Jeffrey.
DeleteYou are on a roll this week, Jeffrey. Yet another intriguing installment.
DeleteWhat happens in Tasmania stays in Tasmania
ReplyDeleteThe entire Tasmanian cricket team, bussed to The Spindler for the end of season banquet in early March of 1958, has yet to be located. It happened again in 1966 and 1983.
For dereliction of duty, Meacham was assigned the cold case files as punishment.
“I’m going to The Spindler to poke around,” said Meacham.
The Captain shrugged when the clerk told him about Meacham.
“It’s ok. I slipped a homing device in his pocket. Now we’ll find out where everyone is disappearing to.”
At The Spindler, Meacham was both surprised and intrigued when asked to remove his clothing.
This is an excellent opening installment to what I hope will be a continuing serialization. I really would like to find out more about "The Spindler" and its fascinating rules and protocol.
ReplyDeleteSorry I've been so busy this week I nearly didn't manage to post ...
ReplyDeleteThe Secret Armadillo Soldier (SAS) Diaries - entry 76
Nigel tactfully suggested Tosca and his camouflage take point and scout ahead.
With the wind at their backs, the platoon followed behind in single file along the overgrown path for the remainder of the night.
As the sun’s spindly rays radiated their first light through the gloom and warmed the air, night-crickets fell silent.
Nigel stopped mid stride. He had seen Tosca’s warrior like stance as he stood sniffing the air.
‘Stay alert,’ he warned and the message rippled swiftly through the team.
The scent of blood followed and with a sob a bloodied figure tumbled from the undergrowth.