Words for next week, that is. I brought up a blank
page to begin to write this, decided another chore needed attending to first and, in the process, gleaned
words which accompanied action. Plenty action in this week’s entries, but the darkness
– and the potential – of Jim’s ‘Go figure’ propelled it to top place.
As ever, I thank you for your continuation – this site healthier by far than
others I visit, a true indication we are first and foremost writers, more interested
in doing so than images of … kittens …
Words
for next week: clatter, fingernail, pure
Entries
by midnight Thursday 2nd July , words and winners 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.
Congrats Jim. You never fail to entertain.
ReplyDeletebrilliantly written and darkly entertaining as usual Jim, well done on securing first place.
DeleteMany thanks for the congrats. I am honored to be among such talented writers. Stay safe, everyone.
DeleteCongratulations, Jim. That was one enjoyable read!
DeleteWell Jim, you've won again, which is no surprise. Excellent writing.
Delete
ReplyDeleteYesterday, I went fishing, and my fingernails are dirty from digging around in the worm container. The good news is, I caught ten fat bluegills. The bad news is, I don’t care that my nails are unsightly.
Corornavirus assures no visitors to tidy up for, no clatter in the house except what I invoke - pure bliss to some, a tad lonely for me.
But I digress. On with the story. Twenty-three words left to tell it.
I’m not going to make it.
I’ll prep my fish fillets instead. I should have mentioned the fish carcasses. That would’ve been dark.
My title failed to post twice. It wasn't a good title anyway.
DeleteA story about nothing at all
congrats, Jim, dark as ever, as entertaining as ever, too.
DeleteJohn, this is one very dark piece indeed!
At times, throwing in the towel is the best thing to do, John. Still, the last two lines have me wondering about the bluegill carcasses.
DeleteThis really got my imagination working John. While I was wondering if someone would be able to eat the amount of fillets garnered from ten bluegill in one sitting, I too started thinking about who or what ended up with the carcasses.
DeleteEach time I read this, John, I find myself settling in, as if to read a novel ... but all the other pages have gone missing.
DeleteLife does produce the best stories, well done John.
DeleteI've read this several times now and am still trying to figure out the mystery behind those damn carcasses. I just know there's more to this than meets the eye.
DeleteChange of focus [383]
ReplyDeleteTime for some fresh air.’
Pettinger rose, raised the blind, slats clattering, and checked his phone, allowing Philly Stepcart to recover. Aleks’ text: ‘Sally’s sister ACE’ brought a stab of pure relief, just as a four-note fingernail tap against the door heralded Sally’s entrance.
His smile of gratitude, infiltrated with remembrance of the night, was misinterpreted. Sally’s eyes, correctly reading lust, fell on the still-wet, goldfinch-pretty ones of blonde-haired Philly Stepcart, on Pettinger’s position by the blind; evidence of recent proximity, the slow-to-fade stuffiness of close co-operation.
Ignorant of the help Stepcart had given, Sally came to a less-than-happy conclusion.
Cleverly peppered with a whole range of emotion and information from all three characters, you have captured the scene perfectly Sandra.
DeletePerception, unfortunately, is determined by the one who views the scene. I'll second Terrie's comment as well.
DeleteI couldn't help but read your second paragraph over and over, Sandra. Such beautiful use of language!
DeletePettinger and his women. I never cease to enjoy reading about his travels through such treacherous waters.
Deleteeach character drawn even more for us in a few deft words. I like the clattering of the blind, sums it up perfectly.
DeleteThe Secret Armadillo Soldier (SAS) Diaries - entry 112
ReplyDeleteNigel glanced up at wispy clouds scudding across the fingernail moon and nodded at the small ‘Dillo, ‘yer right, Trub. Callow and Dolas don’t kick up a clatter an’ are good at scoutin’. You go wiv yer muv… I mean Mossy, to snout out better cover. See to it will yu.’
Trub scuttled off.
Armi, being the ‘Dillo who knew things he shouldn’t, whispered, Good little Dillo yu got there Nige, a credit to Mossy an yoo.’
A smile of pure pride flickered across Nigel’s snout and vanished as quickly. 'Dunno wot yu mean Armi; dunno wot yu mean.’
Oh, the names!! "Trub. Callow and Dolas" - Chaucerian, Shakespearian - and the sly secrecy of the little drama, so beautifully captured, Terrie.
DeleteThe last two lines are excellent, Terrie. I do so hope that you're working on turning this into a book.
DeleteI agree with Sandra. Such fantastical names. Those last two lines brought a smile. "Dunno wot you mean..." indeed!
Deleteyou can almost hear the words being spoken by this crafty dillo, beautifully done.
DeleteWonderful last line, Terrie! '... smile of pure pride' so nicely exposes Nigel.
DeleteWonderful last line, Terrie! '... smile of pure pride' so nicely exposes Nigel.
DeleteGO, FIGURE II: WEDDED BLISS?
ReplyDeleteShocked, I repeated, “Which of us should go?”
I grinned back. “Finish our story. I’ll attend to our wife.”
OUR WIFE! Other words became pure babble clattering about my mind, and, riled, I followed myself toward the bedroom. At the doorway I watched me disrobe then lie beside my naked, smiling wife. I nestled beside her and placed my arm around her shoulder, just as I loved to do. She traced a fingernail down my cheek.
I felt jealous of me.
About to step into the bedroom, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I stiffened.
“It’s just me, Honey.”
Mind-reeling, Jim. And I'm thinking of the never-ending reflection of opposing mirrors. What sort of a hell have you created?
DeleteJim, what a surprising end and truth to the phrase that turnabout is fair play. An excellent continuation.
DeleteWhat a nightmarish scenario this conjures. I loved the "I felt jealous of me" line. It was so appropriate and yet so heartrendering.
Deletedarkness, strangeness, ever intriguing, this is a great serial I look forward to every week.
DeleteI’m Back-6
ReplyDeleteYour lives are so full of clatter, it’s no longer pure. You’ve poisoned yourselves with your obsequent pursuit of a tangible life. Fortunately, I’m here to free you from that. I make sure you die happy, with no more pain than a badly torn fingernail.
My power never worked on him, he’s only happy with our game. I’m white so the first move is mine.
He tossed the weighted bag about a hundred feet out into the Thames. He waited a few minutes then kicked the tattooed foot into the river and walked away.
“Your move R.J.”
I really liked the air of intrigue and mystery about this. A tattooed foot...now there's an image to dwell on.
DeleteSeeking elucidation [Threshold 306]
ReplyDelete“Kitten”. Such a cloying, cuddly, sweetheart name for a woman who, from first appearance, clattered windchimes of thin-honed bones and necklace-strung teeth in a cacophony of ‘beware’. Closer, self-defensive quills on full alert, I’d attempted to deflect fear by name-calling, even as the malevolence of her parrot eyes caused shudders akin to fingernails on chalkboards to stalk my spine. That Raven called her Kitten, when the best he’d done for me was … was what?
Maybe – once only – there’d been “sweetheart”. A word become impure from over-use.
And none of which meanderings explained what this rainbow-wrapped “Kitten” wanted with me.
IMHO, Raven would only use a nickname he felt complimented a person and that they would appreciate and sweetheart to me is a much closer and personal one.
Delete"Kitten" conjures a many and varied connotation. I love the gamut of sensations our protagonist goes through...and still we do not know her name!
DeleteI'm going with the thin-honed bones and necklace strung teeth as an antidote to insomnia...
DeleteSisters Are Doing It For Themselves
ReplyDeleteBecky soaked her fingers in the solution for the recommended 180 seconds.
It took another minute or so for the adhesive to separate. The steel fingernails clattered onto the dresser. She’d painted them pink on this occasion but they were splattered in blood. Ripping out a windpipe required manual dexterity and two hands. It could be a yukky business.
She typed her message into the WhatsApp group. “Perv dispatched.”
The reply appeared. “Go girl! Kill number twelve! Woohoo! Status?”
Becky’s heart swelled with the affirmation of self-empowerment as she typed back and pressed send. “Still pure.”
Ye gods! ALL of you seem determined to make my job impossible this week. This is breathtakingly enjoyable, David.
DeleteAs Kipling said: The female of the species is deadlier... This precisely exemplifies that truism, David.
DeleteThat's one way to become a leader in a group of assassins, be the best. Unique and enjoyable, David.
DeleteThis came with a plethora of visuals, all of which were so easy to imagine. I can only echo one of the sentiments expressed, that being: "Go girl!"
Deletedarkness matched with exhilaration at another kill... magical writing,so seemingly light and yet steeped, like the finger nails, in darkness.
DeleteTime for Dinner 2: A Third Story
ReplyDelete“Tom, here's the final stop your bachelor party tour.”
They were in front of an old Routemaster bus. The sign over its entrance read:
Where Time Holds Still
“Mike, a greasy spoon for my last meal?”
“Sorta.”
They sat at the counter. A man wearing a leisure suit, with an apricot scarf, handed them menus.
“Names Warren, hope you two gents are having a good evening.”
“Tom here has time left on his bachelor party. He’s been pure as an unpainted fingernail, give him a meal to remember.”
A clattering sound and a ‘bull shit’ emanated from the kitchen.
Might be best if these two move on to a different eatery - if it's not too late.
DeleteOne can only wonder just what type of meal might be in the offing here. I'm with Jim...I think I'd move on just in case.
DeleteCollared
ReplyDeleteMetallic chains clatter as they're dragged along the gravel path toward the gate. Freedom has been accomplished again. Happens far too often for comfort lately.
I have gnawed my fingernails down to ragged nubs trying to come up with a way to stop these frequent attempts at escape. Nothing seems to work. If he goes missing, the blame will fall squarely on my shoulders...pure and simple. Retribution will not be pretty.
The boss' mood will most certainly be hellish if he shows up, leash in hand calling "Walkies," and his favourite hound doesn't come running.
And so you catch us out again, this time turning the tables on our ramped-up expectation of awfulness. Your ability to tell a tale so tightly is impressive.
DeleteVery cunning, Patricia! My surprise at the ending quickly gave way to acknowledgement of your skill. SO well done!
DeleteIt speaks volumes that your writing is so good.
Deletewonderful images of chains and security for - a hound, who are just as smart at getting free as some humans,so a double whammy here!
DeleteRiver Waltz
ReplyDeleteHe sprawls on the bank. Young. Handsome. Desire for human affection is addictive. Fingernails break the surface as I draw him down into divine dance.
"Waltz with me."
I hold him close. He is breathless with pure passion but bliss is fleeting. His lips grow cold. Like the others, he is heartless and abandons me to loneliness. I carry him to my grotto below where tiny aquatic creatures consume his pale flesh.
A clatter of sunlight sparkles upon a bright and shiny barb. A trinket...a bauble that slowly descends.
A gift? For me?
He is young. Handsome.
"Waltz with me."
How heartlessly lovely, Patricia!I wonder what draws these hapless young men to such a dire fate?
DeleteThe endlessness of the cycle is what makes this so appalling. And I love the 'clatter of sunlight.'
DeleteWhat does draw a fish to a lure? The danger of the encounter? A test of strength and will? A second lesson from you in great writing for me to study.
Deletewhoo hoo, a story of mysteries, what, how, where and when, the why we already know, because she wants...
DeleteHell’s angel?
ReplyDeleteTo see her laid on our white bed, pale as porcelain, curls cherubic, fingernails all pearly, you’d have no trouble believing she was pure.
To listen to the clatter of the kicked-up stand, the engine roar, the gradually-receding throb of engine, you’d know it all performance.
The dichotomy presented here could also be a yin-yang. Short and well written.
DeleteBut there is much to be said in favor of performance. We all know that! Excellent little tale told in such a tight control of the words. Brilliant. Again I say you should not be barred from inclusion for the top spot of the week.
Deleteabsolutely agree with Patricia, you need to let us have a few more DIY weeks so we can vote for your outstanding entries.
DeleteCripplegate Junction/Part 237 - Trouver Les Enfants
ReplyDeleteSteel-on-steel clatter and almost imperceptible lurch of the train spurred Miss Constance to search out her young charges, Alice and Cousin Christopher, before potential departure. She found them in a connecting corridor and tutted loudly at the dirty fingernails, uncombed hair and altogether disheveled appearance.
With an expression of pure antipathy, she subjected them to a meticulous wash-and-brush-up before escorting them to the First Class Carriage shared with her brother George.
The children immediately seized the "Snakes and Ladders" box on the seat.
But all the coloured counters were missing.
And the six-sided die was totally devoid of pips.
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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.
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A die without pips, is sacrilege. Your writing isn't.
DeleteMysteriouser and mysteriouser ...
Deleteoh my, who would want the coloured counters and who could get the pips off the die so quickly... drop them a hint, we have 10 brand new dies in the shop...
DeleteSomething eerie seems afoot here, Patricia.
DeleteThe Joys of Mediumship no 11
ReplyDeleteI wake to noises, bangs and clatters, some caused by a real life pure bred Burmese cat who can exist on a night of about 3 hours, but spends all day sleeping and eating. I can do without toys with bells in during the night… I want to know who my visitors are, the ones I see briefly, cats I see rushing here and there, none are like mine. Their claws sound like fingernails on wood. They need cutting… My cold waves this week were from the 1000 babies lost through bad practice at a series of hospitals. Heartbreak personified.
After reading this, I have come to the conclusion...one perhaps that I already knew...the "Joys of Mediumship" are not always necessarily joyous. Thank you for this insight into the somewhat darker side.
DeleteThe joy might be more in the peace/contentment you bring them.
Deletethank you, Jeffery, that near enough describes it.
DeleteThe Politicians book lists sadnesses, all of which have given me the cold feeling, the 96 Liverpool football fans, all the dead of Tiananman Square and the 1,214 dead found in a mass Nazi grave in Belarus. I have added 'and every atrocity in every country around this world since Man appeared.
I mean, where do I stop? Trail of Tears, the Irish 'Troubles', the uprising in France, and so it goes on.
And this is why I do the work:
On the 30th October 2000 my spirit guide, friend and companion, Daniel, gave me a long message. This is part of it.
I will be bringing people to you to hear their stories, perhaps to relate their stories, to put them into a book as well, a book of sadness with the message that there is life eternal, for the stories will come from this side and not from your side.
And in doing this, as the beautiful lady said, you will release others who are earthbound at the moment.
And in doing this, the service you do will be incalculable, my sister.
All of this does mean at times I am quite absent minded, forget conversations, panic over silly things, and even as I write this, Stephen Hawking is saying 'material lives are needed to deal with spirit lives. Work on, my friend, work on.'
I know he has a message, so I best go collect it!
The Mad Italian (163)
ReplyDeleteI am finding the two leading parties to be no more than a fingernail apart when it comes to rhetoric, useless questioning and clattering voices while they pontificate for the cameras and Hansard. Pure politics would make progress, make decisions everyone understood; work to benefit the populace. There has been too many errors, a complete lack of organisation and forward planning. Everyone has been prepared to risk all for their onward climb to the top, mostly MPs who should have known better. Meantime the virus circulates widely as the population ignores the simple fact, it is transmitted in crowds.
Amen to that final statement. We seem to be taking one step forward and at least half a dozen backwards. I believe the coming months are going to be a trial for all of us.
DeleteYour politics seems very much like ours. Tis a pity that wisdom can't be transmitted in crowds.
DeleteMy view is that one has to be an incredibly greedy fool or a blundering non-entity to enter politics. And here in the USA, we always seem to elect them. Go figure.
DeleteStop The Week; I Want To Get Off (104)
ReplyDeleteAccompanied by clattering tools, broken fingernails and pure excitement we see the shop coming together. The cabinet was moved, with the realisation we don’t need all the shelves in place which lets us display larger items, and with the joyous feeling that it’s the right thing to do – and how! Masses of floor space for furniture, room for customers to stand before actually touching anything, clear sight lines to the back of the shop and today- a visit to check out a refectory table… we move on and are pleased with all we are doing. Still a way to go…
"a refectory table" - isn't that, by definition, very long?. Keeping tabs on your stock must, at times, be a nightmare!
DeleteIt always helps to keep busy during such times and it seems as though your shop is certainly benefiting from the extra attention. Still a way to go...yes. But hope does spring eternal.
DeletePure excitement, it's visible in your writing about the store.
DeleteKursaal (Episode Two Hundred Eight) - "Brother's Keeper"
ReplyDeleteThe local spinsters, straitlaced by nature, disavowed such fripparies as varnished fingernails (Sinful Scarlet, a particularly iniquitous colour) and other beautifications. Fleshly delights were also frowned upon.
However, two of their number, Hilda Jane Pickett and Edith Witherspoon, had succumbed to the charms of Arbuthnot Jester and brazenly flouted the puritanical code. Both had met with dubious demise.
Lenny Jester, conversant with his diminutive brother's affairs (and equally envious), suggested he could provide reasons for this distressingly atypical behaviour...for a price.
Of course, he had his own agenda.
After lengthy consideration, punctuated by the clatter of dentures, the ladies agreed.
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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/kursaal.html
A link to return to "The Prediction" can be found on the site. Thank you.
---------------------------------------------------------
NOTE: The Jester Brothers (Arbuthnot and Lenny), as well as Hilda Jane Pickett and Edith Witherspoon, have all featured in previous episodes.
I'd be interested in knowing what Lenny's agenda is. An enjoyable bit of mystery in this episode.
Delete"punctuated by the clatter of dentures" - horror enough in these half dozen words, Patricia.
Deleteattempt no 3! (seriously!)
DeleteI love the clatter of dentures, and even as I dwell on that image, I want to know how he won them round, these fine opinionated ladies and then what happened...
What’s a Writer to Do?
ReplyDeleteHow do I change when the Watchers ignore me?
Fingernails drummed in my mind.
“Come out Fuzzy-Wuzzy.”
“Despite all I’ve done for you, you still think you're a loser.”
“I’m not a good writer.”
“Most aren't. Memo: many writers would die to be in your shoes, and writing is an illusion. You’ve more clatter about your books than Meyer and Rowling had combined. Money and fame, two out of three ain’t bad. Like music aficionados, some writers retreat into the purity of their art, and rail about the dearth of quality writing. That’s why Petrarch called them the Dark Ages.”
Jeffrey. I hoped I'd already made it clear, privately, that whingers are ignored. If you cannot accept that I suggest you look elsewhere for satisfaction.
DeleteWell, Jeffrey, I know of no one who wouldn't consider this good writing. The last paragraph is SO well done!
ReplyDelete