I’ll be at the very top of Scotland when this appears, shortly to be at the mercy of the Pentland
Firth, and definitely no chance of wi-fi, so have scheduled words and a
free choice week: please nominate your personal favourite from last week’s
entries.
Words for next week: coward
jeer wake
Entries
by midnight (GMT) Thursday 12th September,
words posted Friday 13th
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.
Mistaken Identity
ReplyDeleteThe wake is a somber affair. The casket rests stoically among the flowered vases as mourners visit quietly. My coward brother clams up at the last second as I jeer at the survivors alone. The little wimp.
Where are the cameras? The reporters? Isn’t this the funeral for the Save the Dolphins founder?
I shudder as six snarling men in giant suit coats with Miami Dolphin logos move my way.
Never mess with the evangelicals, of any ilk. I do like the stoically resting casket.
Deletesuch brooding menace in this, with beautifully crafted descriptions to carry the story on and then leave us... sob sob
DeleteUnique as always, John. How dare your "coward brother" clam up at the last moment?
DeleteI vote for David's Give Me Your Huddled Masses. :)
ReplyDeleteI vote for Dave and his un-chatty townsfolk, who are also dead.
DeleteThank you Sir
DeleteMy vote goes to Patricia's On Reflection
DeleteI'm voting for Patrician's On Reflection too but oh it's hard to choose!
DeleteMy vote for last week goes to Dave's "J*U*S*T*I*C*E and then some."
ReplyDeleteLay lady, lay [Threshold 268]
ReplyDeleteJeers concerning my lack of deservedness based, I supposed, on my unwashed and still burn-scabbed state were muttered in my wake as I followed Raven and Raven followed Not-so-Daffy (apparently Victoria) indoors to a room containing an old-fashioned brass-headed bed, pristine sheets, plump pillows and a chequered blue and white patchwork quilt.
Raven’s thanks, before she’d even attempted to demonstrate the shower, a peremptory dismissal which she, not so much a coward as deciding discretion the better part of valour, instantly obeyed.
He drew the curtains. Removed his clothes, then mine. Hesitated a moment, then said, ‘Shower first, I think.’
[and yes, the Pentland Firth was less than merciful today :(]
Yes, a shower first always makes for a better experience. Happy days are here again, I hope.
DeleteAbsolutely lovely descriptions with an even more lovely sentiment. That bedroom should be featured in "Better Homes and Gardens."
DeleteChange of focus [344]
ReplyDeleteWould-be pickpocket crouched and clutching crotch, Pettinger – empathy preventing his jeering – turned his attention to the mother fast-disappearing in the direction of the High Street. Iris, awake to the risk of Smith towing her should he choose to run, had cuffed him to a fence and was phoning for back-up.
Pettinger gave chase, slaloming along a High Street thronged with shoppers, home-bound schoolkids and a coach party visiting the Castle, and would’ve caught her had one old lady – ‘You cowardly bully! – not misunderstood the situation and used her umbrella to hook him round the ankle and bring him crashing down.
I would have loved to see the misguided woman with her umbrella. Once again, a woman has brought Pettinger down a notch. Nice one, Sandra.
Deletethere's always one person ready to intervene, this time in style. Poor Pettinger, sent crashing to the ground. How long will that keep him out of action... not at all, I guess, he's such a tough guy.
DeleteTrust Pettinger to become victim to an over-zealous OAP. Sounds like something Miss Marple might do...followed by most sincere apologies of course.
DeleteI just really like jdeegan's "First Pitch" since it has a happy ending, and I am a sucker for a happy ending
ReplyDeleteReel to Reality
ReplyDeleteI found the film reel in an abandoned warehouse.
Gold dust. Evidence of the myth.
1961 - Noel Coward persuaded against his better judgment to star in a film adaption of John Wyndham’s The Kraken Wakes. It bombed with test audiences, who jeered the screen. Its release was shelved. Its very existence became the subject of heated disputes.
I was told collectors would kill for what I’d uncovered. Attempted poisonings, stabbings, and stranglings proved that be true. I go armed now to meetings, still clinging optimistically to the hope of an honest buyer.
Both title and execution of a brilliant idea perfect. And thoroughly entertaining.
DeleteI don't know if this film exists or not, but you convinced me to wonder about it. Nicely done.
DeleteI can't find it, John, which makes this piece even more interesting, it has that sense of realism about it.
DeleteI wonder how many ancient film masterpieces lie buried in dust in some long-dead director's attic. You have me thinking, David.
DeleteThe fact that the existence of this film reel remains doubtful only adds to the enigma. What a fascinating story this was and none more imaginative thus far this week.
DeleteWestbound [Shepherdess #7]
ReplyDeleteEsdras procured a shield job on a westbound caravan, which Haera quickly decided was a mistake. Broad-hipped and blue-eyed, every cart driving merchant was a woman, and Caeradin and Baenar’s lewd jeers began immediately.
Disgust growing with each catcall, Haera was surprised and impressed when the merchant women halted their horned mules and descended on the men with obsidian blades and acid tongues.
Confounded, Caeradin, and Baenar fell silent. Afraid to be given a coward’s mantle by grinning Ashanai, the chastised men disappeared into the scrub-topped hills ahead.
Mood lifting, Haera was content to ride in their wake.
Episodes 1-7 can be read here on my blog.
Oh yes, Hell hath no fury and all that. Superbly and colourfully depicted here.
DeleteNothing like a broad hipped, blue eyed woman to get the jeers flowing - so glad they were cut short (the jeers). This was a nice, reflective segment, with plenty of grit, but a respite from the battles (which I'm sure are right around the corner).
Deletethe rise and fall of the storyline, like waves, this is a trough which calms us before the action takes off again. Very nicely done.
DeleteShades of Amazon fury here. So glad the women of this culture react most suitably to the demeaning catcalls from the sidelines.
DeleteThe Last Comedian
ReplyDeleteGuffaw McGraw...world's last funny man who did his best to follow in the wake of past quintessential comedians.
He beamed at rows of dismal faces. Tossed out his finest jokes. It took courage to stand his ground but Guffaw was no coward. He took cheers and jeers in stride. This time, amid a rumble of demands for refunds, the club owner escorted Guffaw to the door before things turned ugly.
Guffaw McGraw flagged a passing eighteen-wheeler, reminding himself others somewhere must remember the laughter.
"Say something?" asked the sour-faced driver.
Guffaw loved such lead-ins.
"Heard the one about the trucker...?"
And therein - that last line - lies the skill of not telling the reader but leaving no doubt that Guffaw McGraw deserved to fail. Skilfully done Patricia.
DeleteNever tell trucker jokes to a sour faced trucker... especially after the laughter has died. So many cool little tidbits here: his name, cheers and jeers, someone must remember the laughter... very good, Patricia.
DeleteOnce a comedian always a comedian. I wonder if the trucker threw him out? An enjoyable read, Patricia.
DeleteI like this, feeling a degree of sympathy for the hapless comedian who is about to tell a joke to an unsympathetic audience - he hasn't learned, has he?
DeleteWhat’s in a name?
ReplyDeleteI blame Donovan. And my parents, for giving me such a stupid, hippy name. I didn’t know what the older kids at Infant school meant at first, nor why they followed me from school, jeering in my wake, chasing, pinching me, or administering a Chinese burn.
Time and again, I proved I was nothing of the sort but the association stayed in some folks’ minds. Until the final time.
My nineteenth birthday, in the pub, pint glass in hand. whispered from behind me, ‘Cowardy, cowardy custard!’
Never said since. Not after the judge’s ‘Mellow Yellow, I sentence you for life.’
Ah, yes, the Chinese burns. We also called them snake bites. This reminds me of a Johnny Cash song called, Don't Take Your Guns to Town. Very cool, Sandra. Your uniqueness knows no bounds.
Deletethe perils of a name... someone my daughter knows has called his son JonJo.I mean... nearly as bad as Mellow Yellow... nice one, Sandra.
DeleteReminds me of Johnny Cash's A Boy Named Sue.
DeleteSome hippy names were absolutely fated never to wear well. I sometimes feel the same when I peer at a darling baby in its pram only to be told the name is something that just fails to match that adorable little face.
DeleteJanimal Crackers
ReplyDelete“Wake up Jake!” said the coward. “There’s a jeer outside.”
Jake peered out the tent flap. “You mean that deer?”
“Yes, with the razor sharp antlers.”
“Don’t worry, he’s harmless.”
“People think jippopotamuses are cute, but they kill more people than jions.”
“There’re no hippos here. Go back to bed.”
“Watch out, a jabbit!” said the coward.
Jake laughed as a fuzzy eared rabbit hopped on a log.
***
The coward sat cuffed in the police car, blue lights flashing, his cries of innocence unheard. Nearby, the fanged rabbit and the bloody antlered deer shrugged and bounded away.
Crackers indeed, John - and very original!
DeleteThis entry is the result of a very creative mind. A great read, John!
Deletethe kind of weird dreams I have that aren't quite nightmares, set out on the screen for me to think about tonight...
DeleteThis could only have come from your talented plume, John. I can always rely on your for a lovely little chuckle. Thank you.
DeleteStop The Week; I Want To Get Off (63)
ReplyDeleteI’ve been told that the shop next door renovated property, will be a yoga club. East Cowes is a ferry terminal, an aircraft industry and endless cheap housing. Where then does a yoga club fit? I will be cowardly, smile and say ‘hope it goes well’ whilst waiting for the jeers from the locals when the news gets out. We might see its wake… meantime Shaun and I work on. Windows have been changed, featuring lights and fine china, but I am in need of new stock, not tools, nice things! Tools are all very well…
Yoga club? - destined for a short stay I predict!
DeleteMaybe stock up on yoga pants? Put in a smoothie machine?
Deletewe don't sell clothes... unfortunately... and a smoothie would mean Environmental Health visitors... who poke their noses in all the time... and probably work out a way to put a levy on the sales... I'll appreciate the quiet, it'll offset the noise from the café on the other side of us. They clear their coffee filters by banging them on the counter... one customer thought someone was trying to get in the shop!!
DeleteWho knows...maybe the yoga club members will also be seekers of fine little items only to be had within the depths of your store. Could bring a boost in sales. Like the sound of the window decorations. Lights and fine china. Very posh.
DeleteThe Mad Italian (122)
ReplyDeleteThe cowards run for cover whilst the jeers of the remaining members ring in our ears as a mark of their lack of intelligence and respect for others. It is a wake up time, few of them realise it. A deal could be found if they would consider all options in a quiet state of mind, not ‘this one will dislike it’ or ‘that one will object.’ It would seem none want to speak to one another in peaceful terms. Now a Speaker must be chosen – it’s in the hands of fools but they should elect a woman again.
It does appear a strong speaker is needed. Who chooses? Is it a nationwide vote?
DeleteNews clips of the goings-on suggest that they are indeed a rowdy bunch. You describe the chaos very nicely, Antonia.
Deletethe new Speaker will be chosen by the members, as they have to abide by that person's decision. John Bercrow has been a good Speaker, if a little biased at times, he has sustained order in the house. Harriet Harman will make a good Speaker, she's one determined lady.
DeleteI'm all for women entering the political arena as much as possible. Let's face it, the men have screwed things up enough in the past.
DeleteLot going on this week, so "The Last Comedian" will be my sole entry. I will, however, be back to comment.
ReplyDeleteTHE LAST ATTACK
ReplyDeleteThe stream, a bloody scar, winding through the night. The trees, silent sentinels, dressed a ghostly white. I, crouched in the dark, fighting mounting fear. No use to cry for help, no comrades left to hear. A coward lies beside me, freed from future pain. Death granted liberation, there’s a bullet in his brain. Taunts and jeers are riding, in the wake of a cold breeze. Trailing them are figures, advancing through the trees. “Can’t kill ‘em all,” I growled, “but I can get a few! Heads up, you rotten bastards, here I come for you!”
A verse to horrid death in beautifully-evoked surroundings.
DeleteThe figures advancing through the trees is a chilling account. I can't imagine what that would feel like. Very intense, Jim, and well written.
Deletethis is vivid and scary and has one hell of a punch, Jim. Congrats, superb writing.
DeleteThis was certainly one powerful tale. Magnificent descriptions, especially the comparison of the stream to a "bloody scar." This was put together with an expert hand.
Delete