A week spent trying to unblock a
new-installed sink, fearing the necessity of the removal of a just-laid floor;
thankfully averted after half a dozen kettlefuls of boiling water (that after
visits from three different professionals, the last of which probably helped).
Inbetweentimes reading and enjoying the week’s wonderful offerings.
A supplementary ‘Well done’, John, for a triple episode of inflated horror
(have you read Tom Sharpe’s ‘Wilt’ books? you’d enjoy the blow-up doll in one
of them) and top place goes to Patricia for
the complexity of emotions aroused by ‘Here comes the bride’. Thank you all for
your ever-entertaining entries.
Words
for next week: collar pot-pourri lint
Entries
by midnight (GMT) Thursday 3rd October,
words posted Friday 4th
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.
Change of focus [347]
ReplyDeleteHaving started, the would-be saviour stall-holder now out of sight, Pettinger attempted to finish his arrest. Trusting handcuffs unnecessary he reached for his notebook.
‘Your name, madam?’
Looking down to scavenge in her capacious handbag, she ignored him. Pulled out a dainty handkerchief, its lace trimming lint-clogged and grey which, accompanied by a whiff of aged pot pourri, she reached up to dab his cheekbone, ‘It’s not bleeding a lot, but we don’t want it to run down your collar do we?’
From behind, DC Henry Moth concurred. ‘No, pet, but you shouldn’t’ve hit him in the first place.’
I see no arrest happening here. I don't think she'd stand for it...
DeleteAw. She repents. She has remorse. Or is she simply trying to redirect? Beautifully put together episode.
DeleteCongrats, Patricia. The old switcheroo paid off. Great story.
ReplyDeleteNarrow-minded reflections from the front porch of the Bigot’s
ReplyDelete“Mansoura is the epitome of our melting pot society,” she said. “The freshness of potpourri in a sea of already fragrant daffodils.”
“He’s a goddamn foreigner, Marge,” William said, picking lint from his navel.
“Exotic, yes, like a collie freed from its collar, allowed to roam unrestricted.”
“I can hear our property value dropping as we speak.”
“Nonsense, William. I’m tired of these people being treated like second class citizens.”
“What’s that he’s having delivered, goats?”
Marge turned, the smile frozen tightly on her face. “Hey, you goddamn foreigner! Go back where you came from!”
Yeah, horribly accurate. Well done John
DeleteAccurate indeed. A reflection that many try to ignore and that's unfortunate.
DeleteThank you so much for the high honour, Sandra. To be honest, I really thought I had a very lack lustre week...but I'll take what I can get!!!
ReplyDeleteCongrats, Patricia!
DeleteRandom lines during a fit of boredom
ReplyDelete1. The shitstorm had passed, leaving mounds of rosemary potpourri and Fabreeze in its wake.
2. The Seresto flea collar scientist was fired when it was learned she was working on the side to develop a birth control enzyme for fleas.
3. The lint collection of Bartholomew Bray hit the newlines running when it was revealed the DNA of seventeen murder victims, all underage male prostitutes of Moroccan dissent, had been identified among the fibers.
The writer pondered the possible opening lines for his nonexistent novel and discarded them all.
What very colourful boredom you achieve! And with a mind that conjures such as these in resting mode, no wonder you come up with such a diversity of tales to entertain us.
DeleteWell I think there's more than a couple of gems in there. I think a revisit might well be worth the effort. Very innovative take on the prompts, John. And very nicely done, I might add.
DeleteSorry I've not contributed over the past few weeks - more house renovations and also, along with my usual work load plus the creative writing class I run, I've been asked by the college to run art class once a week too so have been busy planning the next few weeks lessons and have hardly opened my own laptop. Anyway here is the 2nd instalment of gathering magic and fear not the 'Dillos are still alive and kicking although I may be a little sporadic with my offerings for a while.
ReplyDeleteGathering magic 2
Discarded fairy bones floated lint-like in the air behind her.
She turned to watch tendrils of darkness sprout and curl about the pot-pourri of magic dust soaring in the collar of shafted-light filtering through the high-windowed walls of the black-stone tower.
With a wave of her hand, she swirled the black wisps, and they began to leech power from the floating magic.
Her hair rippled into a rainbow of colour then back to black.
‘Now give it to me, child,’ demanded her father.
Her eyes flashed darkly and she turned to view him as she had done the luckless fairy.
Good to read your lovely use of words once again Terrie, and you do sound very occupied elsewhere. Look forward to more offerings as and when.
DeleteBeing a fairy is a hard life, it seems. Not all the glamour one might think, especially with this girl around. I don't think the father is long in this world. Nice to have you back, Terrie. Good luck with your ventures.
DeleteWill be a time of celebration when your 'dillos return, Terrie. But in the meantime, we can (as always) enjoy your beauty of language and amazing creative abilities. Love how you gave the discarded fairy bones such a light and airy feel.
DeleteGlad you are back. Terrie. This tale, like all of yours, beautifully runs over with such well-crafted images.
DeleteWho’s counting? [Threshold 271]
ReplyDeleteWithin the paint-swirled ceiling of this seduction suite – a lint-blue pot-pourri of William Morris flowers – something glittered. Several somethings. From holes spaced wide enough for single-eyed spying. This evening filled by five.
Softly, circling Raven’s throat with a collar of kisses, ‘We could throw the quilt to the floor and turn those eyes to green –‘
He frowned and momentarily I feared he’d be inviting them to join us. But no.
A pretence of doubt. ‘A fourth time? In the space of ... an hour?’
Further circling, ‘Ninety minutes. Earth moves for us and they bring the ceiling down.’
Performing for an audience it seems. Poor Raven is going to run dry. Good to see them back together.
DeleteVoyeurism that sounds like it's well worth taking the time to watch. I doubt we're in the era of "going viral" (although you never know) but if so, what a plethora of followers that video would garnish.
DeleteGreat use of the prompts in this piece, Sandra! 'a collar of kisses' is splendid!
DeleteDawn of the Amsterdamned (Part Three)
ReplyDeleteWe took refuge inside di Bijenkorf Department store. Our number dwindled to eleven. One of the policemen nursing a fractured collar bone. Garlands of pot-pourri around our necks to disguise the stench of putrefying flesh that fouled the air.
Someone was reading aloud from a novel by Charles De Lint.
We had no escape. German tanks patrolled the border. The walls trembled to another explosion. NATO had ordered the blanket bombing of the cemeteries. Collateral casualties considered a price worth paying. The living, by default, defecting to the burgeoning army of the dead.
I might be repeating myself, but I am so enjoying this series; each 100 words somehow conveying 1000 worth of action.
Delete(Not saying there's a similarity, but have you read John Lawton?)
Ordering the bombing of the cemeteries speaks volumes, David. Great images here.
DeleteThe outlook appears ever more bleak, David. Hope seems to have abandoned these folks. Painfully entertaining.
DeleteTragedy seems to be looming on the horizon. But I have faith...indeed yes, I have faith...!!!
DeleteTAILOR-MADE
ReplyDeleteI am a grave digger, or more correctly a grave digger-upper. Rather than bury folks, I unbury them to retrieve whatever lint I can find on their bodies. Their clothing, you see, produces lint in a potpourri of lovely colors. Over time I’ve found that the best places to find lint are under collars, in the armpits and in belly buttons. Further, I’ve learned that men produce more lint than women. Ergo, I am more attracted to their graves.
Why, you may ask, do I engage in such a seemingly bizarre activity?
I am making a suit for my funeral.
Skin-crawlingly creepy this, and VERY clever!
DeleteIt seems like a lot of work for a suit. But I'm sure this guy has the time. Very original, Jim.
DeleteThis was so deliciously bizarre and comes complete with wonderful visuals. A "grave digger-upper." What glorious turn of phrase.
DeleteCripplegate Junction/Part 205 - Out Of Sight
ReplyDeletePoppy pulled her astrakhan collar to her neck. The platform had grown very chilly. She sighed at lint balls on her skirt. She should have chosen something other than wool for her travelling suit. The fabric collected fuzz so easily, to say nothing of Marmalade's fur. But the cat was conspicuously absent of late.
A pot-pourri of catnip, valerian and silver vine (three of Marmalade's favourite fragrances) permeated the air. An indication he was probably quite close even though unable to be seen.
Since perfecting his Cheshire Cat trick, Marmalade had become quite the invisibility virtuoso when the mood struck.
--------------------------------------------------------
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 series in particular another in which I am repeating myself ad infinitum, but so good and so smoothly and entertainingly done.
DeleteIt doesn't surprise me Marmalade has a Cheshire Cat trick in his repertoire. Very entertaining, Patricia, as usual.
DeleteMarmalade is quite the inventive fellow, Patricia. I'm always curious about what he'll come up with next. As always, nicely done!
DeleteCruel and Unusual
ReplyDeleteIt was a dalliance of convenience, really. Jenny allowed it to avoid sexual relations with her husband, who smelled of Aqua Velva and muted dog shit potpourri. Let Lester have his fun and leave her the hell alone.
When Lester announced he was giving up his mistress for Lint, Jenny didn’t even bother to correct him. She tugged at her nonexistent Peter Pan collar and wondered how long before he came sniffing around.
Fifteen hours as it turned out. Plenty of time.
As Lester writhed on the bloodied carpet, Jenny carefully removed the guillotine device from her nether regions.
Lester, the bloody cad, got his just desserts. 'giving up his mistress for Lint' really emphasizes his ignorance. Well done, John!
DeleteI think Jenny had best exercise extra care when inserting and removing that little device. Wonder where one would go to purchase such an item....not that I'm considering it of course.
DeleteExceptionally well-titled ... as for the mind that created it ... to be feared methinks.
DeleteSafekeeping
ReplyDeleteSummer in the park. A pot-pourri of scents. New-mown grass. Blossoming flower beds. And sounds. Trilling birds. Buzzing bees. Children's excited laughter. He loved summer in the park.
The little ones were schooled in trust. A policeman's helmet and the clerical collar of a devout man...even though it might be grubby and frayed.
There would always be one excluded from play. Standing alone. For the moment unwatched and overlooked.
His mouth drooped with sympathy as he took a lint-covered mint humbug from his pocket.
"Sweetie?"
Never take candy from a fake policeman, Junior. You have a way of creating characters, Patricia. This one begs to be clobbered with a cricket bat. (note the use of cricket vs baseball)
DeleteI did indeed note that reference, John.
DeleteBrings goose-pimples to the spine ...
DeleteBeautiful setup in the first paragraph for this tale of a twisted mind, Patricia.
ReplyDeleteKursaal (Episode One Hundred Eighty) - "Birds And Boozers"
ReplyDeleteGeorgie-Boy Endicott, whose collar had been felt by the Old Bill on many occasions, gave the cricket match between the Kursaal and local constabulary a wide berth.
Instead, this jack-of-all-trades spruced himself up with a lint brush and splash of bay rum before partaking of a bevvie or two at the village pub. He was something of a regular at the lively establishment, with its unique pot-pourri aroma of Woodbines, stale beer and cheap eau-de-cologne.
The young ladies were fascinated by Georgie-Boy's tattoos. Often, after touching the barbed wire motif encircling his throat, their fingertips came away stained red.
---------------------------------------------------------
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: Georgie-Boy Endicott has featured in previous episodes.
Lovely, lively episode this, especially the fnial line.
DeleteI always get out the lint brush before I go out, though I don't generally have a lot of lint. More a habit I suppose. As Sandra said so well: lovely and lively piece. Mysterious about the throat tattoo - is it the women that are bleeding from the barbs or is it Georgie-Boy?
Delete