Oof, woken from one of those running
for the train/where is he?/who’s got the tickets/forgot to put my phone on dreams
to find it’s an hour later than usual. So, a hastier than usual read-through whereupon Patricia’s
Cripplegate Junction/Part 211 - Connections, featuring Clive Bailey, feels particularly apt as this week’s winner.
Thank you, as ever, for
participation with posts and comments without which this place would wither and
die.
Words
for next week: bookmark interior supine
Entries
by midnight (GMT) Thursday 21st November,
words posted Friday 22nd
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. Your story was particularly entertaining this week.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for last week's honour, Sandra. I have to be honest, I was just happy to finally put something together. I found last week's words incredibly difficult to work with for some reason.
DeleteCongrats Patricia!
Deletedifficult words have never stopped you turning in a class entry, Patricia, and that was one of them. Congrats!
DeleteCompetency Issues
ReplyDeleteThe Secretary of Interior had bookmarked Wikipedia to remind himself just what the hell his job was. The impeachment hearings wore heavy as he lay supine on the massage table. Where was the Italian when you needed him?
As the masseuse kneaded away, his aide poked her head in and reminded him he was due to testify shortly.
“What am I saying again?”
“That you overheard a Ukraine phone call.”
“Oh, yeah.” He recalled no such phone call, but he’d come up with something.
“You heard nothing,” he said to the masseuse.
“No, sir,” she said, eyeing her phone on the table.
As in many other instances, silence would've been the better policy here.
DeleteIt's amazing what people will say aloud, assuming no one is paying attention. So much meaning packed into that first sentence.
DeleteLovely observational piece. So reflective of many things taking place in the world these days.
DeleteOh I like that! The whole Ukraine thing at the moment is nearly, nearly as newsworthy as the idiotic promises from our so-called leaders...
DeleteOff the shelf
ReplyDeleteThe well-worn spine scuffed and worn. Colour – once a tawny port – rubbed off, leaving soft naked leather. Calfskin, undoubtedly. End papers marbled – an endlessly fascinating process – and letters gold-tooled, spelling out, in something resembling the Felix Titling offered on my laptop, both title and author.
A cream-coloured bookmark, similarly worn; one corner creased, protruded half an inch from its pages. Its thickness, and its musty scent was such I imagined flowers pressed between its inevitably become-foxed pages.
Delaying gratification for a count of ten, I opened it.
And beheld supine in its hollowed-out interior, a severed, still-bleeding human hand. Female.
The queen of the last line strikes again. Such beautiful descriptions in this. Very enjoyable.
DeleteI was immersing myself in the gorgeous description of this book so that hand popped out in a wonderfully surprising way. I agree with John, queen of the last line indeed! :)
Delete"Tawny port." What a beautiful description of colour. I can only echo the comments that this is a wonderful example of last line gut-punches.
Deleteoh yes, how to write attention grabbing entries!
DeleteI'll let you into a secret - this began with me reading 'supine' as 'spine' and having to scramble for another ending when I realised.
DeleteSo well-crafted, Sandra! That last line hit me like a wrecking ball!
ReplyDeleteCripplegate Junction/Part 212 - Scents And Senses
ReplyDeletePoppy bookmarked her well-read copy of "Murder On The Orient Express" with a red grosgrain ribbon and scooped Marmalade into her lap, whereupon he immediately adopted a supine position, satisfied purrs rippling his tummy.
On the platform, Violet continued to operate her refreshment cart.
"Would you care for a cup of tea?" asked Clive Bailey but Poppy appeared not to hear.
Her perfume...L'Air Du Temps...infiltrated the interior of the carriage. Clive found the familiar fragrance disturbing and rather distressing. It had been his mother's favourite cologne and summoned painful memories, oftentimes suppressed, of an isolated and lonely childhood.
--------------------------------------------------------
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.
----------------------------------------------------------
Oh - so clever the use of mother's perfume wafting from another. Poor Clive, but at least he'll not feel Poppy's abandonment so harshly.
DeleteIt kind of broke my heart when Poppy didn't hear Clive's offer for tea. It likely took every ounce of his nerve to ask. I researched the perfume... About $40 American for a small bottle. I commend you for using a real brand. I propbably would have called itL'Air Du Reeke.
DeleteI feel for Clive, especially considering what memories Poppy's perfume unearths. It's fascinating how smells are tied so strongly to things we've experienced.
Deletethis is a lovely example of how scents of all kinds trigger memories as well as music, that other instant time machine. An instalment of melancholy this week, Patricia, sadness all round.
DeleteIn the Library of the Necropolis the Beating of Hearts is Forbidden
ReplyDeleteWe passed quietly into the interior sanctum of the library. The librarian lay supine on an intricately embroidered Persian rug, arms crossed over her chest as if she were in her coffin. Her eyes were closed. Not a breath escaped from her lips. No hint of a pulse in the muscles of her neck.
If she awoke our fate would be sealed in the most bloody and horrific manner.
Silently, swiftly we pulled volumes from shelves, locating bookmarked pages in a desperate effort to discover what it was she had been researching.
What a tempting, intriguing title - backed up by a similarly curious tale. How effectively the Persian rug played its part.
DeleteYou so masterfully led us through the library, on the edges of our seats. Nicely done, David. I recommend they stop searching for whatever the librarian was researching.
DeleteI love the title and the description of the librarian. What an engaging story, throughout which I was eagerly holding my breath. :)
DeleteMagnificent title and magnificent story. I'm assuming the Librarian is still in the land of the living, although the description suggests something of suspended animation. I'd love to know more about this mysterious Library and its inventory.
Deletelots of intrigue here, David, your usual skilfull way of leading us on...
DeleteDespite being desperate, the "we" in this tale might regret learning of the librarian's research. I'm curious to know if they will. Well done, David!
DeleteMorning After
ReplyDeleteThe interior was relatively comfortable even if a bit cramped. He'd woken in far worse places. That happened when you couldn't hold your booze anymore. Unable to remember a damn thing, least of all what you'd done or where you'd end up. He'd have to bookmark this location though. Not a bad place to crash. Not bad at all.
Probably supine for hours, he found it difficult to sit but the muffled striking of a clock spurred him into action. Time to be up and at 'em.
Then he heard the dull thud of earth hitting wood above his head.
A truly nightmare final line.
DeleteTalk about rock bottom... Like Sandra said, truly the stuff of nightmares, to wake in such a state.
DeleteOoo horrible in the best way. Hopefully he changes his mind about bookmarking that particular location. ;)
DeleteA powerfully eerie entry, Patricia, one that sends shivers down one's spine. SOOO good!
Deleteoh I like this... a lot...
DeleteIn the beginning [Threshold 278]
ReplyDeleteBy now we’d been together for some twenty, thirty months or more. I’d never bookmarked the date I first saw the gleam of his cotton shirt and the whites of his eyes, the black bulk of him deep-camouflaged in the shadowy interior of the shed in which he’d been insufficiently shackled.
They’d sent me to fetch him, not knowing I’d overheard an avidly-whispered “Sacrifice”.
Within thirty minutes he’d slain all six while I lay, supine, behind him, terrified and heavy-pregnant. Saved from sacrifice, but to what end?
To harsh nurturing, hand-gentled birth and my falling, lemming-like, irrevocable, hard in love.
Well, Sandra, this is certainly satisfying. Raven is a resourceful guy. I can't imagine being able to slay six men so efficiently. Their love for each other certainly shines in this one.
DeleteAnd so we learn more of Raven's history. What a fascinating character he is. Were we ever told who the father of our protagonist's first child might be? What an enigma she is!
Delete'the black bulk of him deep-camouflaged' is just one of many beautifully crafted phrases, Sandra. Well done!
Deletedeep insights and the story carries on as well. So good to be able to do that.
DeleteI've just checked the first few episodes of Threshold on my blog, and learn the baby was the 'unwanted bonus of the honey-rippled ecstasy delivered by a narrow-buttocked boy'
DeleteThis remains a fascinating story and it really is filled with beautiful phrases. I love the final line, though it does make me smile when I think of lemmings. One tried to jump on my foot when I was in Sweden. :)
DeleteClimate Change
ReplyDeleteThe sun was warm, drawing lines of sweat on Ille’s skin. Sighing, she tented her book over her face and sucked in a musty breath. Something scratched her supine calf, and she swatted it away. The book lifted off her face.
“Go to class, Lo,” Ille said, squinting up at Logan.
He grinned and used her bookmark to trace a glyph across her belly. “It’s stifling in the interior.” Logan gestured dramatically at the spacious observation field. “Out here, I can breathe.”
“Out here, you won’t get in trouble.”
“How was I to know the torrefy spell would actually work?”
What a lovely, sensuous piece of writing to wake up to on a black-dark Monday morn!
DeleteThat's the trouble with casting spells, you have to live with the outcome. It seems these two are making the best of it, with all the belly tracings and such. Nice, Holly.
DeleteYou chose an excellent array of verbs, Holly. They really brought life to your writing.
DeleteHad to look up "torrefy." Learned something new. I always love when that happens. And how perfectly it fits with the substance of this story. Beautifully composed.
Deletesensual, dark and yet light, all at the same time. Brilliant!
DeleteChange of focus [353]
ReplyDeleteJohn Pettinger hid panic behind a too-small whisky tumbler, conscious of Sally Vicksen replacing bookmark and closing book; presumably preparing to ... what? Take him up on what she’d heard as proposal? But when he had ceased examining the interior of his eyelids and plucked up courage to face her –compromised by Aleks’ needs he’d best act uncharacteristically supine – he saw laughter in her tawny eyes.
‘Sorry, John. I’ve despatched Mr Fox as far as I am able, but truth is I’m still his wife; “Vicksen” my attempt to create further separation. Ask me again when the divorce comes through.’
More intrigue into Pettinger's love life. I'd be a nervous wreck if i were him. I enjoyed his uncomfortableness.
DeleteLove that Sally caught Pettinger on the hop. For once, I do believe he is at something of a disadvantage. Regardless, he never fails to garner my attention.
Deletemore intrigue and more exposure of Pettinger's twisted life. Good one.
DeleteIt is fun to see Pettinger off balance. Clever phrasing with 'But when he had ceased examining the interior of his eyelids.'
DeleteThe Loyalist
ReplyDeleteI lay supine and used relaxation maneuvers to insert the entire bag of diamonds into my rectum.
“Use your interior voice,” a guard called out. I must have screamed a bit.
“All set?” said the Somalian general in battle fatigues.
I nodded.
He slid a gilded bookmark with my mother’s picture on it across the table.
“You recall what happens to her if the diamonds don’t make it to Amsterdam?”
I nodded.
The Chicago broker inspected the diamonds and offered a briefcase full of cash. I hefted a stack of hundreds and fanned it, thinking only briefly about my poor mother.
Never mind killer last lines - this has to be a major contender for snort-inducing first lines! And I love the laconic " I must have screamed a bit."
DeleteVery nasty, John, in more ways than one. As always, your superb imagination shines!
DeleteWhat an opening line. If that doesn't grab the attention then nothing will. Your imagination is one to definitely be envied when it comes to thinking out of the box.
Deletetotally thinking outside the box, and bringing the horrors that wait outside the box into the light... they are not pleasant!
DeleteOooh that does not sound pleasant. I agree with Sandra, loved 'I must have screamed a bit.' How calm he is, and obviously not that concerned for his mother at the end.
DeleteFamily visiting this week so submissions themselves will be sketchy. I shall however make time to provide my insightful and most intelligent comments to what is posted...!!!
ReplyDeleteStop The Week; I Want To Get Off (72)
ReplyDeleteTrading last week left a space which Shaun is anxious to fill; I sense the ‘must get stock!’ waves coming from him. His ankle is still troublesome, hours spent supine would be useful. Meantime… it’s my task to make the interior Christmas cheerful, seasonal ongoing work as items sell. I’m busy bookmarking items for the next major change, right after the festivities end. Sighs of relief all round and life returns to normal… and I can do ‘ordinary’ windows again, taking what I need from the shop floor. That makes life easier, especially when something integral sells!
I always marvel at the need to fill space in your shop and change displays around to make them more appealing. I'm sure your efforts contribute greatly to the success of the shop. Good job.
DeleteI appreciate the challenge in decorating windows, etc., in a seasonal fashion but on the other hand, what a huge accomplishments when you can stand back and admire your creativity. Yet another lovely little vignette. You may have already said, but what is the name of your shop?
DeleteThe Old Curiosity Shop
Deleteonline I refer to it as The Old Curiosity Shop of East Cowes...
Yes, this apparently frequent turnover of stock implies lack of dusty immobility which blights so many 'curiosity' shops. Can't see Shaun staying supine though.
DeleteI can't imagine having to come up with new window displays all the time, though I admit, for some shops I really love to see what new designs they come up with. :)
DeleteThe interior dialogue this week has to be suppressed, has to be left supine on the carpet of indifference, for fear of causing more outrage and distress than I did even in my time. It has been many a year since such idiocy raged through the political scene, with the PM and the other leaders making outrageous promises they could never fulfill, no matter how much they want to bookmark money for this and that. It is not there, it will not be there. Why are they so blind to the realities of life? Are their egos that large?
ReplyDeleteYes, their egos are that large. Loved the part about bookmarking money. I wish I'd thought of that.
DeleteTo echo John... yes, their egos are that large. "the carpet of indifference' is a great use of language, Antonia.
DeleteReally, Antonia...or Leonardo. "Are their egos that large?" Is that a question that truly needs an answer? I think not!
DeleteLovely phrase 'carpet of indifference.' I become more and more convinced I need to disappear into the woods somewhere, only with how politics are going, even the wilderness isn't safe.
DeleteDOING MY JOB
ReplyDeleteI stood between the bodies. One lay prone; the other supine. Both are dead.
I killed them. And this ain’t my first rodeo. I have killed many.
No need to search the interior of my skull. I know I’m a psycho.
My ledger contains fake names for my victims. I know none of them. But I felt they should have names.
These two bring my total to 34.
Pretty impressive, I’d say.
But others unknowingly await me and my mode of liberation. I'm just doing my job.
But first, my ledger needs a fresh bookmark.
I must sever a tongue.
At least he knows he's a psycho. I have to say, though, I kind of like the guy. Great story, Jim.
DeleteTongue as a bookmark. Now just how "novel" (ahem) can one get? Yet another amazing tale with one killer last line. Love the detached commentary. This appears to be one very cool customer.
DeleteOh! How wonderfully 'yukkk!' And Patricia's (surely tongue-not-quite-in-cheek?) "detached commentary. What stars are gathered here, week after week.
DeleteWhat a curious and fascinating idea, giving the people names. Often you hear about people trying to dehumanize their victims. Also, I can't say a tongue would make a very good bookmark. Eww haha.
Deletesomeone else with a killer last line ability! That's gruesome!
ReplyDelete