That is, the disappearance of the delete' button for mis-placed or mis-spelt comments. It does seem to be linked to updates and has been happening at least since 2004 so, fingers crossed, will eventually right itself. In the meantime, a bit more care and some small tolerance should suffice. Not as if it's exactly horror, is it? Plus I think I can delete from behind the scenes, so if you copy/paste your comment into the right place I should be able to remove the duplicate.
Not always easy to say what horror is, exactly, is it? (my writing tends towards the noir), but the subtle, slippery, shy and insidious greyness of it is very evident in this week's winner – Patricia's 'Visitors' – my favourite of the many excellent and entertaining varieties on offer – thank you one and all.
New words for the coming week are: allocate
poach trajectory
Entries by midnight Thursday 28th January, new words posted Friday 29th
Usual rules: 100 words maximum (excluding title) of flash fiction or
poetry using all 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, Patricia! A memorable story. :)
ReplyDeleteWell that was a huge surprise, given the quality of last week's tales. Thank you so much for the honour.
DeleteVery nicely done, Patricia! Congratulations!
Deletecongrats, Patricia!
Deletethe more we write, the better we become. I read a lengthy article this morning on the reason why we are struggling with the third lockdown. Basically, the brain works on the reward system, so the first lockdown was 'watch us go through this!' the second was, well, at least we have Christmas to look forward to, so the third one comes with nothing but gloomy days and long nights. but ... we have a secret weapon, every week we have a batch of serials to catch up with and stand-alones to shock/horror our gloom-laden minds. It's a real treat to look forward to - thanks to all of you for being there. We will defeat the virus eventually!!
DeleteMercy: Baz's dilemma
ReplyDeleteA reversal of the classic case: he, having allocated himself the role of gamekeeper, now become poacher; having been forgiven (and almost forgiven himself) for the seventeen-year stand-off in their friendship. Despite subsequently suffering his more-than-brother carry out a little poaching in return.
That too had been forgiven. More or less.
And he could honestly say the trajectory of love, forgiveness, betrayal and making love again had not been premeditated.
Just, he'd seized the opportunity when it arose. Had not expected it to reveal he loved – had always loved? – his brother's wife.
But whose was the child she now carried?
Such a tangled web you've weaved. One that like can't be untangled, desspite the hope of forgiveness. Nice one.
DeleteNow there's a question for the ages. Talk about sibling rivalry.
DeleteWhatever happens next will not be easy. And what will be do about it?
Deleteoh wow! so many twisted and tangled happenings - looking forward to find out where this one goes.
DeleteWhatever next? Where is this going? I wish I knew! Sixth in the series and (for me) Baz's the most compelling strand of the dilemma, but I need a murder (she's a writer), have a never-met father, a possible abduction and some naked wrestling to incorporate.
DeleteAndrasa [4]
ReplyDeleteHer creature stirs, a thing of lush black fur and feathers, curled up like a cat on my allocated seat. Unable to look away, I am pressed much more closely to Nuarthan's hip than I would like.
"This was our companion aboard the ship?" I ask softly, sparing a glance towards the witch. Though our closed carriage sways and bounces on our current trajectory, she appears to have fallen asleep.
Nuarthan shrugs against my shoulder. "Perhaps it appears different in the light."
I swallow. "We are in Andrasa now?"
"Yes. As your father must believe you poached, we need allies."
So much intimated in 'Nuarthan shrugs against my shoulder'
DeleteI love that the creature is occupying her seat. I'm sure Nuarthan doesn't mind the closness of the carraige ride.
DeleteWhat a wonderful description is "thing of lush black fur and feathers." Truly stirs the imagination to think of a number of different things.
Deleteoh yes, echoing Patricia here, wonderful description, so much said in one short sentence. And yer that sentence seems to carry far more than the words we see.
DeleteThis, Holly, is one of those tales that has the reader begging for more.
DeleteEULOGY
ReplyDeleteThe man dragged himself to the lectern. Eyes like poached eggs tripped on the coffin.
Staying up all night hadn’t provided any inspiration as to expressing the vacuum. Weariness marred his trajectory.
The priest allocated benign encouragement from behind the vestments. What would he know?
“To Sean, Hawksbeard, Fleabane, and Marigold were all a sea of dandelions until that magical time of seeding when he’d puff that special wonder into the air.
He loved the feel of cocksfoot and fog flowers on his trailing hands.”
Sean’s father coughed awkwardly and returned to the pew.
“Very poetic,” the wet-eyed mother said.
'cocksfoot and fog flowers on his trailing hands' - both poetic and mysterious. Can't help wondering how come Sean's dead.
DeletePerhaps Sean was a botanist. Or maybe his father is, hemce the fixation on flowers. Unusual and entertaining, Perry.
DeleteThis demands more than one reading in order to fully appreciate the sentiment behind the words. Wonderful entry.
DeleteStrange and memorable imagery I quite enjoyed. I'm also wondering why/how he died, and what a fog flower looks like.
Deletethere's a glorious sense of other-worldly items here in those otherworldly names for things - which go toward building the whole.
DeleteThis is when I decide I want to write without help sometimes but my efforts are always deleted as they don't begin to measure up to the writing I see here.
The first two sentences artfully pull the reader into a very entertaining tale, Perry. Well done!
DeleteChange of focus [410]
ReplyDeleteSally Vicksen backed as far as the worktop. Seized one from a dish of eggs Pettinger didn't know he possessed, raised her hand and threw it, its trajectory giving nothing away as to which of himself or, Philly being behind him, she aimed at.
As she reached for a second (this allocating her fury more evenly) Aleks cried, 'No Sally! They're mine! I poached them for papa's breakfast.'
'Poached?' Sally was confused, 'but they're still raw –'
Aleks frowned. 'Isn't that the word? I know apples are scrumped and –'
Pettinger, pretending disapproval, 'You, son of a cop, nicked them?'
I like how the second egg evened out Sally's fury. I guess poached eggs can have more than one meaning.
DeleteOh, oh, oh, so nicely done. I stopped for a moment at the "nicked them" and then reread "apples are scrumped" and everything fell neatly into place at that point. This was a lovely installment, featuring the ever lively Alecks.
DeleteI also felt Sally's momentary confusion. :) Loved 'Pettinger, pretending disapproval.'
Deleteoh how it eased itself into the mind - if we had not had trajectory as a prompt this week, would we have had this delightfully insane offering?
DeleteA hunting we will go
ReplyDeleteThe trajectory was all wrong. I should have waited for a better shot, but my trigger finger was always itchy. Nothing like a fully automatic AK-47 to get the job done. Unless you miss. I’d allocate it to collateral damage.
Who would put a village there anyway?
The leprechaun on the other side of the ridge thumbed his nose at me, then made the ‘for shame’ motion with his two index fingers as he surveyed the village below.
The little bastard deserved to be poached.
Neat, neat and tidily effective.
DeleteAnother little evil leprechaun up to no good again. Go get him, John!
DeleteOh, never cross a leprechaun, John. I understand they can be devious and quite vengeful. Cute little tale with a plentiful dash of your signature humour.
DeleteThe hunter doesn't sound very regretful despite his miss. Loved the phrasing/imagery of 'The leprechaun on the other side of the ridge thumbed his nose at me, then made the ‘for shame’ motion with his two index fingers as he surveyed the village below.'
DeleteMaybe the hunter didn't want to risk the wrath of he evil imp after all! good little story.
Deleteapologies for the misread, John! A lot of it is down to hairdressers being shut under lockdown rules, my hair is getting way too long and difficult to see through...
Note to self [Threshold 333]
ReplyDeleteNo matter how frequently it occurs, the speed at which Raven's mood switches from good to evil; the variety of trajectories he chose to aim invective at, interspersed – rarely interspersed – with words of desire and affection, allocated only when the need for sex overwhelms him, it never fails to sting. That affection, I need remind myself, as appetising as an over-long poached salmon. Hard on the outside but quick to crumble to tasteless nonentity.
Hard to remember, though when he straightens, stands tall and proud and addresses Mendit (keeping careful eye on his acolytes) with high-handed irritation.
'What kept you?
I'm glad she is noticing the frequency of Raven's mood swings. I don't know how she puts up with him.
DeleteI think I've said this before, but Raven is one enigmatic character. Hard to live with I'm sure, but what a rollercoaster ride.
DeleteLoved the phrase 'Hard on the outside but quick to crumble to tasteless nonentity.'
Deletewild fluctuating mood swings and all, don't we just love these contrary characters?
DeleteYou have made Raven into one strange dude, Sandra... and a very fascinating one. Your salmon analogy is excellent.
DeleteThe Cull
ReplyDeleteIt's that time again, when the indigenous need to be thinned. Necessary licenses have been allocated, although there's bound to be an influx of poachers wanting "in" on the game. The preferred hunting method is longbow and arrows, but automatic trajectory weapons may be permitted on occasion.
It is recommended...even encouraged...that primary targets be male. There is a far lower maximum number for female kills and extremely heavy penalties for earmarking the young, since Homo Sapiens progeny below a certain age make for delightfully playful and affectionate pets.
Who wouldn't want a pet homo sapien? Though they are likely high maintenance. What a great title for a great little piece.
Delete"automatic trajectory weapons" - how smooth!! And how very, very nasty.
DeleteI can imagine a fascinating and dangerous sci-fi world here.
Deleteoh shivers... this is hinted at in the message I had from William Rufus... only he didn't express it as eloquently...
DeleteThis is SO chillingly evil, Patricia, as evidenced by the utter nonchalance of the hunters.
DeleteTHE WAITING
ReplyDeleteI allocated my senses toward understanding my predicament, but they have been poached of power and purpose by whatever is holding me helpless.
I tried to see, but it is dark. A pitch-black dark, and I am immersed in it.
I tried to scream, but my voice had no trajectory. My cries stayed trapped in my mouth.
I tried to hear, but not the slightest suggestion of sound – not even my own breathing – disturbed the dead silence.
I tried to move – to feel around me, but I encountered nothing.
I am left to wonder what – if anything - awaits me.
The ultimate horror, awareness combined with nothingness. Nice one, Jim.
DeleteTerrifying and chilling scenario - high-lighted by the title
DeleteTalk about a nightmare scenario. All senses totally obliterated and only mounting dread remaining. Lovely job of maintaining the suspense.
DeleteHorrible and chilling, with the perfect final line.
Deleteso I get to the box for me to reply and find you've all used all the words I was thinking when I read the story. I can cope with darkness if there is a light switch in reach... not like this...
DeleteThe Joys of Mediumship 390
ReplyDeleteI’ve been busy relocating various ongoing files, this one, for a start. I seem to have lost the original part 39, this is a new one, no chance of poaching ideas, no memory of the content, which has obviously taken its own trajectory. New section for the Artistes book, poets. It’s building fast as poets like to talk as much as they like to write. Yesterday’s visitor was Philip Larkin. What can I say other than his message makes no sense to me… Sir John Betjeman close behind him, much easier to cope with. The trials of mediumship…
I would suspect poets do like to talk. Probably on and on. I feel for you about losing something and not being able to recall the content. Not that it ever happens to me...
DeleteIn one way, I'd expect poets to be more sparing with words ... lots of pauses while they choose the single, perfect one.
DeleteFYI, this is a small part of Mr Larkin's message... what do you think?
DeleteSo, what message did I plan on leaving to the waiting world? Why did I turn down the Poet Laureate accolade? It would have boosted sales considerably. As I recall, I was too distressed by the loss of Sir John… as I recall, everything had a dark side, every poem, every collection, every shadowy shelf in the library which had filtered away from the main shelves the stories and poems and articles and facts which the world didn’t know it needed…
I'm sure poets have a multitude of words at their disposal and, as the saying goes, not afraid to use them.
DeleteI agree with Sandra about poets being careful/slow with their words. My husband always teases me about how strange it is that I have difficulty speaking/chatting (I am not a big talker) when I'm constantly writing stories. :)
DeleteMe too, Holly - 'inarticulate' my middle name.
Delete@Sandra yes! Glad it's not just me haha. :)
DeleteThe Mad Italian (190)
ReplyDeleteAnd so this day we have the figures, 100,00 dead. And possibly insufficient vaccine for everyone who requests the jab, as it is so crudely called. Delays in delivery are blamed. There should be some relocation or are there fears of vials being poached if the storage is not secure enough? I have seen crates of vaccines sent off on a trajectory with a mind of their own. But then, whenever has life been as straightforward as we would wish? Through all the ages that have passed, man has suffered disappointment, disillusionment and heartbreak. It is all learning.
Sage advice from the Italian about human nature. There will always be errors, no matter the subject or the people carrying out their duties.
DeleteI fear the death toll will be much greater before Covid is through with us. New strains appearing all the time, which is not surprising, I suppose, since such is the trademark of a virus. Something of which, I'm sure, our esteemed Mad Italian is well aware.
DeleteStop The Week; I Want To Get Off (134)
ReplyDeleteMy sister has suggested the shop relocate to a drier warmer building and the temptation is there, I have to say. But it would feel like poaching, on a trajectory of possible disasters sweeping through East Cowes, which already has so many problems of its own as an entity,
Meantime my car battery has drained itself, through not driving much and very low temperatures combining to do the damage. Driving a lot during lockdown is not advised… the police are busy making themselves very unpopular with the locals and are fractious. Best to beware… now and in days to come.
There's nothing worse than a dead battery as it never comes at a good time. I noticed you used relocate instead of allocate in your pieces this week. For once, it wasn't me.
DeleteI can imagine the almost mirage-like appeal of dry, warm premises ...
DeleteDefinitely not a good week, Antonia, but we all have our crosses to bear. Stay tough!
DeleteThe brain, these days, uses its own functions to try and figure a path through all this. I'm afraid the little grey cells often fall victim themselves to random wandering of late. Perhaps not necessarily a bad thing.
DeletePORT IN A STORM
ReplyDeleteFloating on the post apocalyptic silica rink once her home the orphan toddler spotted a red of such wealth and comfort that she risked discovery.
Slipping … sliding on a greasy combination of synthetic and organic residue, she gradually reached it by judicious alterations of trajectory.
It was a Christmas candle.
Matches would be good.
“What’s your name?” Sally asked as gently as she could, holding out the flask of water allocated to her.
Pinpoint pupils in azure pools measured her from the face of the feral child, suggesting that any appearance of innocence had been poached from some infant soul.
This is one of those ... not disruptive (can't think of the right word), but somehow leaves the reader uncertain of what's going on, but is left eager to read more.
Deletedefinitely want to read on, to get the back story and something that seriously intriguing.
DeleteThis was very intriguing and no little unsettling. I do hope you're not going to leave it there.
Delete