This week’s words are: Santana strain third
Please nominate your favourite entries for the above words at the end of the week
Friday 25 September 2020
Words for Friday 25th September
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This week’s words are: Santana strain third
Please nominate your favourite entries for the above words at the end of the week
INNOCENCE
ReplyDelete“We’re going to Santana,” the seven-year-old sang as she skipped around her father.
“Really,” her uncle responded, raising an eyebrow at Tim. Neither the engineer nor his archaeologist wife were known for their love of rock
“I’ve a consultant gig at Guajoyo Hydroelectrics, bro. She’ll be at Villa Rosita with her mum.”
Tim’s name-dropping could be a strain at times. Sean’s face must have reflected that.
“Santa Ana … El Salvador – Villa Rosita is a dig site.”
That Sean got. “Busman’s holiday then.”
“Third this year,” Tim beamed.
Sean followed his niece’s happy little dance. “No point disillusioning her, Eh?”
Sweet indeed.
DeleteNicely written dialog in this. Very enjoyable.
DeleteI've just edited a book where the dialogue is cardboard to the point of needing he shrugged, he looked, he said - none of that here, just fluent dialogue, the way it should be.
DeleteHave to agree with Antonia here. Fluent dialogue is always on point. Perfect example. Nicely done, Perry.
DeleteOASIS
ReplyDeleteColm had got lost in nostalgia amid his third foray into the hills around their seafront compound.
He’d lost sight of the beacon tower.
He had to keep reminding himself that the birth of this new world had stolen the life but the flesh of his mother to combat the mesmerizing beauty of the alien landscape.
He stopped dead.
The old playground of his childhood had survived, its bland asphalt a bold blotch against the orchestra of crystal – rusty iron railings combining with stray gusts to whistle what could have been a strain from one of Carlos Santana’s contemplative pieces.
So hauntingly true, that final paragraph.
DeleteNostalgia is such a powerful force. Nicely done.
Deletewalking that path into the past - dangerous, as the character found out. Very nicely shown, Perry, all of it there, all that expectation.
DeleteI've a half written novel set among the bodysnatchers in London. Ex and I went exploring to find the graveyards - one had been turned into a children's playground... imagine all those thumping feet over your head - for ever...
This was nostalgic in the best possible way. Some lovely images and superb writing.
DeleteSaved by Santana [2]
ReplyDeleteA man materialized in front of them, rising from the carpet like blue-green mist.
Kit wrapped her magic around her fist like a chain, heart thumping. “Who the hell—”
Two more appeared, the third crackling as though lightning danced beneath her damp skin.
“Kit…” Eileen breathed, voice rough with strain.
Kit ignored her. “Hey!” she yelled. “You have two seconds to get off our ship!”
They laughed, water-bound spears forming in their hands.
Suddenly the distinctive guitar of Carlos Santana blared through the hallway. Kit tensed, the startled elementals spun, and Eileen shot forward in a blur of light.
I was immediately captured by the first few words then anxiously pulled through a series of splendid images. Very nicely done, Holly!
Delete"crackling as though lightning danced beneath her damp skin" - both beautiful and vivid.
DeleteMen materializing with water bound spears... so vivid and tension filled. And then Kit tells them to get off the boat, as if that could help. Luckily, Eileen is ready to take action.
Deletewhoo, good for Eileen, thinking on her feet. Lots of tension in this, wanting to get them all to go go go - escape whatever or whoever these intruders are.
DeleteThanks to Santana for creating such an opportune diversion. I'd like to know more about these materializations who brandish water-bound spears.
DeleteTHE BOX VII
ReplyDeleteTime dragged by, and the strain of hopelessness and hunger had me warring with gloom. Rudy’s left arm was consumed within three days, and despite his strenuous objections, he sacrificed his right arm a day later. I held him down while Randy sawed through the limb with a femur sharpened on a wall of The Box.
We kept Rudy alive, knowing his legs would be more appetizing if fresh. Propped against a wall and immured within a cocoon of lunacy, he mumbled continuously about a Romanian village called Santana.
Soon there would be just two of us left.
What then?
Love the horror of it, though I think an edit robbed you of one of the prompt words - "within three days" changed from "by the third day" perhaps?
DeleteThe horror underlined by the matter-of-fact justification of their choices.
DeleteI like how the MC is gradually becoming a resident of the box and not a visitor. What a gruesome place you've created, Jim.
Deletenasty stuff, sharpened femurs and all...
DeleteDear lord, this gets more horrific with every installment. Can't wait to see where it goes next. I think my favourite phrase here was: "...knowing his legs would be more appetizing if fresh." Talk about delightful shudders.
DeleteIf we are voting for last week's winner, my vote goes to Perry's BIRTHDAY.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much.
DeleteRepent and Repair
ReplyDeleteThe third of August 1973.
He cries when he sees himself on the beach. Barefoot beneath bellbottom jeans. Dancing with Julia to the gentle strains of Santana’s Samba pa ti, echoing from the funfair. If he doesn’t act now she’ll be dead within the hour. She was the first. So many followed before he was arrested.
He could walk away. The technology is not perfect. They can send you back, but they can’t retrieve you. His death sentence has conditions. One selfless act to save them all. He raises the gun. This is not an execution. This is suicide.
Intriguing indeed, and music echoing from a funfair immensely evocative.
DeleteI like how they can send you back but can't retrieve you. The perceived suicide is so unexpected and clever.
DeleteA very novel entry, David. 'Bellbottom jeans' takes me back a few years. Good years now that I'm thinking of them.
Deleteintriguing and evocative, as most of your entries are, David. This one is so so good.
DeleteIncredibly inventive concept. I wonder how many would accept this "punishment" if given the choice.
DeleteGreat stuff. I got so caught up in the narrative that my reread for prompt words missed "third" twice until the date twigged. I'm intrigued as to the rest of this.
ReplyDeleteThe Naked Truth
ReplyDeleteWearing nothing but handcuffs, Lindsey shivered when asked for the third time why she’d done it.
“What can I say? Santana music makes me crazy.”
“you’re at an Elton John concert.”
“Ok,” Lindsey strained at her cuffs. “I’ll be honest with you. I’m from the future, but I can’t say more.”
“Look,” said the cop. “I have my hands full tonight. Put these clothes on and you’re free to go.”
Lindsey walked, fuming at David. He said he had it figured out. That her clothes would travel with her. The goddamn fool. She had half a mind not to kill the Pope.
"I’m from the future, but I can’t say more" - what a useful excuse - I must try and remember that.
DeleteDavid better hope that Lindsey doesn't make it back from whence he came.
DeleteI go with Jim's comment... liked this, different, contrary in some ways, loved the mix up of the concerts...
DeleteThis is rife with your incredible talent to take prompt words one step beyond the norm. I'm guessing she didn't have to buy tickets to that Elton John concert. Just as well...I've heard they cost a small fortune.
DeleteLast Dance
ReplyDeleteI was just finishing my third Pan-American Clipper (strained cocktail consisting of apple brandy, lime and grenadine) when he asked me to join him on the floor. Didn't recognize the song. Catchy beat though. He said it was from Santana's "Abraxas" album. Didn't recognize the band. Catchy title though.
"Black magic woman, trying to make a devil out of me," he serenaded in my ear.
To this day, I still wonder how he knew.
And this with your usual magic final line - lovely.
DeleteI question the fate of the woman's suitor. I suppose it could be blamed on the Pan-American clippers, but that would be too convenient. A great, entertaining piece, P.
DeleteYes! What a splendid last line! And I wonder where that fellow is now.
Deletethat's so good! and what a killer last line, again!
DeleteIn hindsight, an unwise question [Threshold 318]
ReplyDeleteRaven was mistaken. Some sort of twisted ribbon which snapped when he pulled it. In a box with holes. Examining it, 'Belonged to the driver. His name was Santana.'
'Silent Man?'
'She came to collect me. Sent him back for you.'
Incredulity strained my voice. 'And you let her? Didn't think she meant me any harm?'
'She only the third person I'd met with skin as black as mine. I was wondering how we were related –'
'Did she know? Can't remember, did you know your father?'
'My grandfather was black. My mother killed him –'
'He didn't father you?'
The dialogue adds greatly to this story. Nicely done. I do hope we find out what was in Santana's box.
DeleteI, too was captivated by the dialogue, Sandra. I'm encouraged to use more of it.
Deleteyes, we need to know what's in the box - and again, superb use of dialogue.
DeleteMysteries abound...and we are all the more intrigued for it. I love that this is virtually nothing but dialogue and yet moves the story along so deftly.
DeleteChange of focus [396]
ReplyDeletePettinger back-tracked. Straining truth for lies not in his self-interest, 'Not liar, not exactly –' A twisted grin paid tribute to the background music; the bistro's owner evidently a Santana fan. 'Perhaps, "Black Magic woman"?'
'A theory you'd like to test?'
A third attempt to quell desire strained more than professional propriety. Should he, could he trust Philly Stepcart would do likewise? Or would he be reading about himself in Saturday's colour supplement?
Surely she was similarly constrained, hoping he'd say more of Raptor? (A momentarily detumescent thought.)
But no.
Philly smiled. 'I'd like to meet your son. Also like.'
I think both Pettinger and Stepcart are tiptoeing around trust issues when it comes to each other. No one wants to read about themselves in the Saturday color supplement.
DeleteI wonder what Stepcart's side of this story is? Can he trust Pettinger, or is he in the dark?
Deletethe question is, would anyone trust Pettinger with anything? meantime I'm looking at the momentarily detumescent thought and wondering why I never remember words like that when I need them...
DeleteNow THAT would be a meeting where I'd like to be a fly on the wall. For some reason, I thought they had already met...I was obviously wrong.
DeleteWings of Justice
ReplyDelete“All hail to Santana!” The muffled cries from the cloaked figure were followed by chants and kneeled reverence from the throng.
Gabriel rolled his eyes. It’s Satin, dumb ass. He watched as a line of police in riot gear strained to hold back the forming crowds. Only in fucking America.
The worshippers rose and started their much-anticipated march to the Washington Monument and then the steps of Capital Hill. A third wave of police arrived to protect the hooded.
Gabriel readied his flame thrower and tested his wings. He’d need a hasty escape soon.
And which side will Gabriel be assisting? The flame thrower has me leaning toward the crowd.
DeleteI'm inclined to agree with Jim. Provided Gabriel's wings hold up.
Deletehe would indeed, if he picked the wrong side -
DeleteI have no doubt that Gabriel will make good his escape. After all, somebody has to be around to sound that last trump....or Trump, as the case may be.
DeleteKursaal (Episode Two Hundred Sixteen) - "The Amorous Affairs Of Arbuthnot Jester/Part Seventeen
ReplyDelete(a/k/a A Bicycle Built For Two)"
Paulette Merlot, diminutive exotic dancer, remained indifferent to Arbuthnot Jester's courtship. Even Rare Blue Roses and Amedei Chocolates met with disdain.
Arby hoped third time would be a charm when he presented his ladylove with a tandem famously re-invented by Santana Cycles for a now defunct Lillipution troupe of acrobats. The miniature was designed put no strain on shortened legs to reach the pedals.
Contemplating romantic excursions, Arby was crestfallen when Paulette gifted the bicycle to identical little blonde girls constantly in her company. The pair rode away leaving tire tracks and a small dog's pawprints in their wake.
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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.
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NOTE: Paulette Merlot and Arbuthnot Jester have both featured in previous episodes.
Poor Arby. He's not used to rejection. At least the bike went to a good cause; which brings up a point: There's something ominous about identical little blond girls in the horror field.
DeleteCan't say Arbuthnot's not a trier. I'm not sure Paulette is worth the effort.
Deletedefinitely with John on the identical blond girls. In the film 'A Street Cat Named Bob' two blond girls are featured as background for the lead, James Bowen. You should see the piercing eyes of the girls... right scary and it is supposed to be a film for all the family... or is it we are conditioned into seeing little bond girls as dangerous? Whichever, lovely instalment, Patricia, and look what you started!!
DeleteI hope Arby got the message this time. Perhaps he should become a priest. A very intriguing last paragraph, Patricia.
ReplyDeleteThe Joys of Mediumship 24
ReplyDeleteMediumship is frustrating when I need to say something without using the words ‘spirit’ or ‘ghost.’ I was describing a ‘mystery shopper’ from Santana’s time. She walked through the shop and disappeared. She did it again about a year later. (No third visit so far). An old lady solved the ‘where did she go?’ question by saying ‘they boarded the door up, then.’ Explaining this to a customer was a serious strain, but she asked… ‘old building, are there any ghosts here?’ I don’t think she meant it seriously but – they ask, they get… and it’s rather funny, too…
I loved, "They ask, they get." Words to live by for a medium, I would think.
DeleteYou will have to let us know if the "mystery shopper" appears for a third time. Perhaps that old lady knows more than she's actually letting on.
DeleteStop The Week; I Want To Get Off (117)
ReplyDeleteRenovations of the flats above the shop are putting a serious strain on my nerves. Yesterday they were dragging things, banging things and suddenly dropped something that brought down the hose pipe (short piece of pipe with fuel nozzle end) from the ceiling, breaking its pulley. I nearly stopped breathing, it was so frightening. It’s the third time I‘ve complained, all that came back was ‘it has to be done.’ Work yes, destruction no! . Could have done with some Santana to help wind down but there’s no CDs in the shop. What they dropped was a storage heater…
Ow! - my sympthies, Antonia. Unseen noise can be very disturbing, no matter how innocent the reason.
DeleteI bought a new car recently and there isn't a CD player in it. I can see doing away with cassette players, but CD players? But I digress. Construction can be trying, that's for sure.
DeleteOverhead noises are the worse. It's why I rented a top floor apartment despite the fact that tackling those stairs with armfuls of groceries isn't always the most convenient way to go.
DeleteThe Mad Italian (176)
ReplyDeleteNot even the music of Santana could have lessened the strain between the contestants for the White House in their debate last night. Neither seemed to understand that the people do not want rhetoric, they want action, to stop dying in thousands and being unemployed in their millions. By the time the third debate is staged, it will be a miracle if they agree to be in the same room. Meantime, in the UK, dissemination of deliberately twisted ‘laws’ continues and the people’s fear grows by the hour. None of this is good for long term relationships, finances and health.
It's great to hear of the debate from the Italian. It was difficult to watch.
DeleteI didn't watch, but did have to chuckle when I heard that Trump said he had the full support of the Portland Sheriff. I think he must have tapped into your medium talent, Antonia, since Portland has no Sheriff...although I guess it may have had in some dim and distant. As always, the Mad Italian has his talented finger on the pulse.
DeleteCripplegate Junction/Part 245 - As Time Goes By
ReplyDeleteFrom the rear of the abandoned Canteen, Violet watched the Station Master consult a clipboard. He reminded her of Humphrey Bogart, whom she adored. She cherished her photo of Bogie at the helm of his yacht, Santana.
"Dark Passage," Bogart and Lauren Bacall's third film was her favourite with its romantic ending. She imagined the Station Master as Vincent Parry, herself as Irene Jansen.
The train strained to pull away from Cripplegate platform. The Station Master would remain at the Junction. A captain goes down with his ship. Violet was also destined to linger.
"Vincent and Irene," she whispered.
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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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Don't know the film but can imagine the black and white scenario - sweet.
Deletethis is all black and white, isn't it, romance and trains and stations and all. Very clever, very nicely evoked.
DeleteWhoa, almost missed this one. I'm glad I ventured backward. Violet has quite the thing for the Station Master. I hope something becomes of it.
Delete"We had it all... just like Bogie and Bacall." What a great pair they were. Good memories.
DeleteSantana was a bit of a Bouncing Betty. How to incorporate it without an obvious reference to the great man himself? My vote goes to Patricia and her Kursaal 216 for this - because everyone's submissions were just so confusingly excellent I had to find some lever of differentiation.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteNOW I REMEMBER
ReplyDeleteMegan awoke, her head vibrating like a tuning fork. A hand to her head revealed a deep gash in her scalp. She hadn’t the vaguest recollection of what had occurred… memory presented only flashes of blurred movement tumbling through roiling darkness.
Her hands were sticky and red, and a glance at a wall-mounted mirror revealed a face streaked with blood.
“What the…?” crawled from her mouth.
She struggled from the floor and shuddered upon seeing her utterly worthless husband slumped against a wall with the tines of her garden hand tiller embedded in his skull.
She smiled. “Now I remember.”
FEEL SAFE NOW?
ReplyDeleteHesmeth Fent walked quickly toward the car through his headlights’ custard glow.
“You okay?” he asked.
The widow descended, revealing a man and an obviously alarmed woman.
“Fuck off, pal!”
“That language needs no embossing,” thought Hesmeth. “Need help, Miss?”
The woman fearfully rolled her eyes toward the man as he pulled a gun from his lap.
A bullet entered Hesmeth’s chest, knocking him backward. Still, he staggered forward, reached in the car and pulled the man’s head to him. Hesmeth’s incisors rapidly lengthened and sank deeply into the man’s neck, draining him.
“Feel safe now, Miss?” Hesmeth asked, smiling.