At least no gloom here, Plenty other
nasty stuff, headed by John’s ‘Unscrupulous’ but also clever stuff (David’s Steamy Punk Tale) In the end I was torn
between either Antonia’s ‘Sending a postcard home...’ or the untitled Magi tale; then halted for an
age on Patricia’s ‘Undeliverable’. In the end, however, it had to be Jim’s
‘The Journey’ for sheer impact.
Thank you all for your
contributions.
Words
for next week: replete thrill yoke
Entries by midnight (GMT) Thursday 19th December, words and winners posted Friday 20th
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, David. So Many enjoyable stories, it's quite an accomplishment to come out on top.
ReplyDeleteI suspect, after the election, the British writers here will either write with joy or dejection this week. Either way, the motivation should be strong. We Americans might as well stay home.
Goodbye, Bart
ReplyDeleteThe Moroccan boy hid beneath an overturned wooden skiff along the Erie Canal. Bartholomew Bray stopped near the boat.
“You can come out now, boy.”
He scurried out, grabbing the metal yoke with one hand, a Glock in the other.
“You won’t shoot me,” Bartholomew said.
“I know.” The boy handed over the gun. “You’ll do it yourself.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“At the hotel, you said you’d do anything for me.”
“That was before you ran away.”
“Are you not still a gentleman? That is my request.”
Bartholomew Bray, replete with pent up thrill, turned the gun toward himself.
It occurs to me now after re-reading this: where did the boy get the gun? My suggestion is: he stole it from Bartholomew's hotel room.
DeleteComing in at what seems the end is frustrating. I like the writing and mystery here.
DeleteDavid, congrats a great story and taking the laurel wreath for last week.
DeleteI'm not convinced Bartholomew will really do the deed (but perhaps that's wishful thinking),
DeleteI'm not all sure that a person with the enormous ego of Bartholomew Bray would ever contemplate suicide. Seems most uncharacteristic but then it IS John we're talking about here and I have come to expect the unexpected from that source. I do hope this isn't the end.
DeleteDavid, congrats, John, you've set up a real mystery here. Must we wait until next week for the resolution?
DeleteWe only have five days to get our little tales posted this week, Sandra?
ReplyDeleteNope - a sleep-lacking error - apologies.
DeleteVisions of an Inferno to Come
ReplyDeleteHis father’s water buffalo strained in bovine muscularity against the yoke. Minh felt a thrill run through him as the cart, replete with sacks of rice, juddered forward. The buffalo lumbered along the dirt track that bounded the rice paddies.
Clouds swirled wispy hieroglyphics against the blue canvass of the sky. A mosquito buzzed his ear. The tails of the buffalo swished lazily against the flies.
Then came the nightmare vision. A premonition of forests engulfed in gargantuan balls of fire. Blistering flesh. Screams of excruciating agony. And Napalm, that dreadful foreign word, etched in hellish flames inside his head.
Your use of words is so gorgeously effective - that 'bovine muscularity' a joy, yet the tale you tell is brutal.
DeleteA controversial time. Too bad it wasn't just a premonition in Minh's head and not a reality. Well done David. I was in high school when the war ended. I was so afraid I would end up there as the US had a draft then.
DeleteWonderfully reflective piece on a bygone time...but bygone times often have a way of swinging back around. Hopefully this "nightmare vision" will not be repeated.
Deletechilling images in this, beautifully portrayed.
DeleteDavid, an extremely well done story. The second paragraph was the best.
ReplyDeleteThe Cambion Proposal #3
ReplyDeleteMelthane laughed.
“My belly is barren, like the Noir desert. Lathark, I can never give what you ask.”
“You get what you pay for. Shall we move to your bed?”
oOo
“Pasha-Mir, the churl assassins are eliminated. I’m replete with humiliation, have me yoked and my sword broken, for my failure.”
“Strategos, I’d take no thrill in doing such to he who’s like a brother. Vizier, what say you of this?”
“Pasha-Mir, we need allies of magic, not steel. Our ancestors tell me; seek out Xanthos.”
“Prepare a trade caravan, we leave in a ten-day.”
In search of magic... this will be some caravan. This Xanthos will likely prove to be an interesting character.
DeleteXanthos...an ancient city, right? This is a most mysterious piece, Jeffrey.
DeleteAxed
ReplyDeleteThey'd lived under the yoke of absolute authority long enough. It was a dictatorship. It was tyranny. It was oppression. Barked commands were replete with warnings, threats, ultimatums and a wagging forefinger. Gone was the initial thrill at the arrival of someone they believed to be kind and who would take care of them.
Now, it was:
"Wipe your feet."
"Wash your hands."
"Brush your teeth."
"Time for bed."
"Don't talk back."
She had to go.
Seven pairs of determined little fists clenched tight around seven pickaxes removed from the umbrella stand by the front door.
Oh, brilliant misdirection with that 'she'!
DeleteVery cool, Patricia. That wagging finger says it all. Just some small reprimands blown out of proportion. I remember in the Disney movie, they were all aghast at how clean the house was.
Deleteoh I love it!
DeleteOh my what an ominous story, Patricia. I was thinking as I read it; "...and when she saw what she had done, she gave her father 41."
ReplyDeleteChange of focus [356]
ReplyDeleteIt’d been a long day. Used to the yoke of professional responsibility Pettinger stood. ‘You don’t live far away, do you? I’ll drive you home. Aleks should be sound asleep now, that meal you cooked –‘
Sally smiled. ‘”Complete replete” he said. Don’t know where he gets his English from; it’s a right mixture.’
‘He reads a lot. Si-fi, Thrillers. And anything in between –‘
‘Yeah. Including Fifty Shades of Grey.’
‘Bollocking Christ! Who gave that?’
‘He found it boring. Said Jake did it better.’ Sally’s eyebrows rose, ‘Jake?’
‘Father of Aleks’ half-sister. She’s dead.’
‘Is Jake?’
‘I don’t know.’
yoke of professional responsibility is a good line. Jake and Christian Gray are BDSM practitioners?
DeleteI'm going to have to read that 'Fifty Shades of Grey.' There's always a lot of talk about it. Just don't tell my beer buddies.
DeleteIt's fun seeing Pettinger and Sally getting to know each other. More to follow, I'm sure.
John, I hasten to add, I've not read it - rumour has it writing is dire!
DeleteYou haven't even perused the good parts?
DeleteNope. Not like I did Lady C when that was first published :-)
DeleteBeing that Aleks is Pettinger's offspring, I can't say anything he might get his hands on to read would come as a surprise. Like father like son when it comes to being enterprising.
Deletejust how difficult is it to keep Pettinger's adventures under 100 words each week, and have a perfect instalment like this?
DeleteBeing positive [Threshold 282]
ReplyDeleteLost was better than in danger, the weather not inclement and, although long ago, breakfast had left us replete. I hid my smile at Raven’s apparent throwing off the yoke of invincibility, shielded my eyes against the sun and scoured the countryside ahead.
Squinting I found what I’d been hoping for. Pointed. Raven looked. Decidedly un-thrilled, ‘Why that way?’
‘Trees.’
‘To climb?’
‘To tie the horses to.’
‘And then?’
‘Then we climb.’
‘For why?’
‘To pick the apples.’
‘Ah.’ His gaze combined amusement with question, ‘Re-enacting the Garden of Eden?’
‘Hopefully without the serpent.’
Amusement won. ‘I can’t promise that.’
I like your subtle serpent reference. It is nice to see these two enjoying a normal day, without the hint of danger. We'll see how long that lasts.
DeleteMy goodness, this hinted of an afternoon in paradise...or "afternoon delight," perhaps. Tsk, tsk, Sandra...symbolic reference to the serpent. As always, beautiful wording and descriptive scene-setting.
Deletecasual laid back dialogue taking the story ever onward. Good one.
DeleteVery nice continuation. The opening was a good at bringing me into the story.
ReplyDeleteRegrets
ReplyDeleteThe thrill of the reenactment experience has lost its appeal. The woman in front of me has shat herself and her yokemate laughs almost constantly, replete with panic laden hysteria. He should have asked for the hyena experience. The driver, with his active whip is relentless.
They unhook us at night to feed us and let us sleep on beds of straw. They act as though they’re doing us a favor. At daybreak, it’s back in the drags. Four more days, by my count. I wish now I’d picked a kitten or maybe a squirrel. Oxen certainly have it rough.
John, I read this multiple times trying to figure it out. The story itself is wonderful in the imagery that sprang to mind and how well it flowed. You blended the prompts in very well. Now, if it's some sort of karmic lesson about how to treat animals, he seemed to have learned it.
DeleteI wonder if payment were made for this dubious privilege. If so, I do believe I'd demand my money back. I'm guessing such an enterprise could garner profit, given the experience promise...and some people's preference for a somewhat demeaning scenario. No accounting for taste, as they say. Yet another hugely entertaining outside the box tale, John.
DeleteThis - reenactment as animals - is so off the wall it left me open-mouthed with astonishment. Do you write these drunk or sober?
DeleteI'd like to know the answer to that question too... an off the wall surreal reenactment with horror overtones.
DeleteCripplegate Junction/Part 215 - Hamnet's Quandary
ReplyDeleteThe Grande Dame was less than thrilled with the train's departure (or lack thereof). It would have moved more efficiently if pulled by a pair of yoked oxen instead of a coal-fired engine. Her impatience came replete with ever-increasing indignation and shortened temper (if such were possible). Hamnet, stranded delivery boy from Elsie's Dairy, was about to bear the brunt.
"You! Boy!"
Hamnet prayed this wasn't directed at him. A futile plea.
"Go and find the reason for this abominable delay."
Hamnet cowered.
"Immediately, boy, and be quick about it!"
But Hamnet was a rabbit caught in the headlights.
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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.
----------------------------------------------------------
There must be some sort of amnesia effect in the air at Cripplegate. The train's departure (or lack thereof) seems to get forgotten a lot. I'd hate to be Cripplegate's P.R. person. I always enjoy the Grande Dame.
DeleteI don't know if you could do it in 100 words, but a frazzled P.R. person trying to satisfy a multitude of lined-up characters might prove challenging...
Is that a genuine challenge, John? I might just have to give it the old college try now you've thrown down the gauntlet! Don't know if it could be managed in one 100 word story but maybe a mini-series within the same week. Hmmmm..... If the prompt words turned out to be favourable...
DeleteVery good story and maybe it does leave but not all the passengers are onboard? Lovely use of the prompts.
DeleteHamnet... wrong place, wrong time. A wonderful lead-up to wonderful dialog, Patricia.
DeleteRead and re-read this with such enjoyment yesterday, Patricia, that I quite forgot to comment. This encapsulates everything I like about this series.
Deleteit's written in an elegant style that perfectly fits the characters in this strange, otherworldly, setting.
DeleteCouple of Comments:
ReplyDeleteFirst, congratulations to Jim, whose fine tale seemed inevitably destined for the top of the podium despite the excellence of its competitors last week...and to say, on a personal level, what a delight it is to see the writers here grow and improve with every challenge. Many of us were little more than raw recruits when we initially landed in this creative circle and oh my...how far we have all come.
Patricia, thanks for the compliment but I think mine is a bit weak. You're spot on about everybody else and their fantastic stories and or series.
DeleteStop The Week; I Want To Get Off (76)
ReplyDeleteNo thrill of new stock, even though it’s promised, it hasn’t been delivered. We are yoked to the house clearance guy who often has a surfeit of goodies, who calls Shaun to say he’s got the stuff and are we interested? It’s still slow, pre-Christmas, customers replete with the bright lights of Newport for their shopping rather than local. I posted the changed opening hours in the window today, two days off at Christmas and one for New Year… wow, there’s excitement… but the windows need changing and the New Year to come in with a bang – we need it!!!
It's too bad you aren't busier for the holidays. Hopefully the house clearance guy's goods will energize sales.
DeleteIs the house clearance guy someone who buys items from estates to resell? People are good at procrastinating. You'll do well.
Deletehouse clearance is usually end-of-life removal of furniture and items the family don't want, he's offering stepladders which we can sell, but he has yet to show his face, his van or the goods... so Shaun's looking to raid his garage and I just took two unwanted gifts to the shop, you never know... (I know whose gifts I don't ever want... might as well put them up for sale before Christmas than wait until others turn up with their unwanted gifts too...)
DeleteSales around Christmas time can be so hit and miss. There's never telling what will take the customer's fancy. Here's hoping your stock gets a lovely boost before the end of the year.
DeleteHopefully space now will make it easier to rearrange when stock does come - all those unwished-for presents.
DeleteThe Mad Italian (135)
ReplyDeleteThe thrill of the count and final announcement and a load of dreams, replete with visions of high office, are unceremoniously disposed of in the drain. Those who remain yoked to the losing party need to consider their position and those who talked too loud and were unsympathetic to democracy, lost everything. I admit to not being sorry to see her go. The clown, the buffoon, the PM who has had every bad word thrown at him along with the good, has his chance and he is going for it. Changes are to come, be sure of that.
It will be very interesting to follow this process for the next year or so. I wonder if other European countries are considering their exits?
DeleteWell, Boris seems willing to give it a go. As for those on the losing side, that only takes a big failure or lack of success to change.
DeleteIt's possible some countries will be thrown out of the EU, like Greece, bankrupt and going nowhere, for a start.
DeleteWith change comes hope. Unfortunately, it is often misplaced...something I believe Leonardo is familiar with. But hope itself tends to always spring eternal.
Deleteback tomorrow with comments, too much buzzing in the head right now. I had an hour's personal finance review with the bank, changes made, papers to fill in, 'informative' videos to watch (no speakers, had to read the subtitles...) before I struggled home through pouring rain to wind down and perhaps sleep better tonight.
ReplyDeleteRegrets 2
ReplyDeleteI can’t believe it. Fresh out of the yokes and I signed up for yet another enactment experience. Like a misguided thrill seeker, I chose a squirrel. It always seems they enjoy their playful activities and running about. But unlike the squirrel, my crippling fear of heights has hindered me. I should have thought it through more.
This oak tree must be a thousand years old, replete with myriads of acorns that I don’t dare reach for. The other squirrels laugh as I death-grip the branches and sob. It’s going to be a long two weeks.
Next time, try a sloth.
Deleteit just gets better!
DeleteThat image of squirrels laughing, holding their furry sides and pointing their little fingers at a fellow creature who is acrophobic (is that the right word?) is absolutely hysterical. I can just see the poor fellow clinging for all he's worth to a perhaps not so safe branch. This merits many more transmorphations (now I'm pretty sure that isn't as word!). Suffice to say that I loved it.
DeleteBest to think of potential consequences before one becomes a squirrel, eh John? Once again your extremely creative mind produced a novel and entertaining tale.
ReplyDeleteMind exchange! What a wonderful concept, John. Squirrels are kinda cute rats with bushy tails. Great that they were laughing at him and the visuals of the acorns. Lovely story and continuation.
ReplyDeleteConviction
ReplyDeleteWith no ducking stool available, they lash me to a milkmaid's yoke and lower me into the water. The gawking crowd find the spectacle thrilling. They gather at the lake, replete with loaves and cheese and flagons of ale, to watch. In short, they make a meal of it.
When night falls, I emerge, soaked and sodden, from the depths to be arrested and charged again...and again...and again...
Life is perpetually harsh for a witch who cannot die.
Once again you fulfill my secret desire for a milkmaid (!) And so very neatly, with the sort of twiat you are so good at.
Deleteexcellent depiction of a witch's nightmare!
DeleteI have to admit, when you wrote ducking stool, I thought you were softening up a cuss word. Then I looked it up and found out what it is.
DeleteI wonder if one who cannot die feels the pain of death each time? I'd hate that. Nicely done, Patricia.
What a good stand alone(?) story. I liked the placement and use of the prompts. Maybe she could argue that she's a good witch. If she hasn't died, God must want her to live.
ReplyDeleteGetting Brexit Done
ReplyDeleteTo reward the constituents who had voted for them the Government created a voluntarily opt out from every aspect of employment law.
With no minimum wage or health and safety regulations the Chinese and Russians invested heavily in the Northern powerhouse. Full zero-hour employment for all.
In a thinly disguised feint towards solving the poverty which ensued Poor Houses were reintroduced. The homeless and destitute could spend every waking hour soldering circuitry in exchange for austere board and lodgings.
It was a golden age. Everyone went back to accepting their lot. The rich got richer. Nothing trickled down.