Next week I shall be in Orkney and although internet connection should be easy, and new prompt words will be scheduled to appear sometime on Friday 3rd September, I ask each of you to name your favourite entry of this week.
I know I keep
saying this, but each week it seems a new set of stops has been pulled out, a
new level of inventiveness attained. Which, as ever, means the singling out of
just one isn't anywhere near as enjoyable as the reading of them all. However,
I was especially impressed with the sharp brevity of Patricia's SNAFU so
will elect that as top of the bill this week (to mix several metaphors.)
Words for the coming week: drum
sorrow stone
Entries by midnight Thursday 2nd
September, new words
posted Friday 3rd
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.
Congratulations, Patricia! Well deserved!
ReplyDeleteBoth Olfaction and Snafu were top offerings. Well done Patricia.
DeleteWell, Patricia, I'm not all that suprised with your win, though I thought it would be for Olfaction, but Snafu was just as good. Nice job.
ReplyDeleteYours was an excellent choice for top honors last week, Patricia.
ReplyDeleteThank you to everyone for the congratulations. Always an honour to even be mentioned among such prestigious company.
Deleteexcellent choice for the week, Sandra, Patricia as always writes superb little pieces.
DeleteThe Secret Armadillo Soldier (SAS) Diaries - entry 167
ReplyDeleteTosca heaved the rat into the stony dirt and kicked it hard, ‘yep, deader ‘un a dead dodo.’ A faint drumming of paws came from the gerbils, followed by quiet cheer. ‘No sorrowful tears from that lot then,’ he grinned.
Nigel coughed, ‘Let’s have the rest of them reports soldiers.’
Cinereus opened his medicine pouch, ‘a few bites scratches an’ scrapes but a good salve will sort that. We got off lightly.’
Nigel’s snout twitched as he scanned the area, ‘We surprised ‘em. Won’t be so easy next time. Let’s get movin’ an’ catch up wiv Mossy.’
The Secret Armadillo Soldier (SAS) Diaries - entry 168
ReplyDeleteWith the wind behind them, they pushed the pangonel steadily.
Close to the clearing of the pangolins and Varks drunken gathering, a stone in the wheel rattled off into the undergrowth with an unsettling clatter, frightening a pair of brightly coloured drummer birds.
Atlas stopped abruptly and sniffed, Mossy did the same.
‘Is it the enemy,’ asked a nervous pangolin pilot.
Atlas grinned, ‘Nope, smells like that stinky of set of sticks Tosca wears an’ a sorrowful niff of koala too. Looks as if they are catching up but you lot keep pushin’. I’ll go back an’ investigate.’
The Secret Armadillo Soldier (SAS) Diaries - entry 169
ReplyDeleteA ‘Dillo head thrust into the half-burrow, it was the spade-pawed youngster. ‘’Ows the poor critter doin’? He looked a sorrowful state Sarg so I got some aloe and arnica from the healin’ herbs stash, thought yuh might need em.’
‘Good thinking soldier, how the digging goin'?’
'Well, I dunno where they’re diggin’ to, but they dun a heap of it, Sarg. The dirt’s a bit stony in places but those diggers know wot they’re doing. Yuh kin ‘ear ‘em, echo-drummin’ against the stones t’ check its safe, an’ they’re shoring up the tunnel walls real good.’
I'm putting all three together, otherwise it would be repeating myself endlessly, these are brilliant! reading three straight off really drops you into the whole dillo world. And how magical that the strange dillo world almost feels like reality, the dillos normal soldiers...and that takes some imagination and skill.
DeleteSome really neat wartime stories, Terrie. You make it look so easy, but I know how hard it is to keep coming up with this stuff. Hats off to you.
DeleteLike Antonia, I'm going to review this trio in one comment. Also, like Antonia, to avoid endless repetition regarding my admiration for the quality of these tales. Each is a sparkling gem that captures the imagination with impeccable story-telling. Who'd have thunk it...an army of 'dillos that could be so fascinating.
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ReplyDeleteA BIT OF FUN, TINKERING WITH WORDS.
ReplyDeleteTrailing in ribbons, hollow as bone,
white crusted, ice dusted, splintered and blown,
half twisted melodies gilded with jagged-edged tone,
fall, winding and curling, outside time, with a moan
of sorrow-song, drumming, stone against stone,
to resound, in soft echoes, through caverns, alone .
that is fun, it's fascinating to read several times to see what images it conjures. different eacch time
DeleteI can't think of anything harder than rhyming poetry using prompt wordd. But you did it. Nice.
DeleteAlways delightful to see the rhyming word offered in this forum. This is exceptional and proves once again that you have far more than one string to your versatile bow, Terrie.
DeleteTSUNAMI
ReplyDeleteAs inevitable as the last drum roll rush of seawater up a strand before the first ebb, the black tide seethed towards the small figure – seemingly turned to stone amid its oblivious activity.
‘What’s “weird”?” Caolin quizzed.
Joanie cast about the faces of people she’d come to rely on.
‘Shit.’ Her voice was a squeak of incredulity at their fatalistic sorrow. ‘I’ll go myself.’
A strong hand kept her from rising.
‘No need, youngster.’ Joanie swivelled to find Finbar … and Dooney.
Heedless of injury, she struggled upright and smothered him in a relieved embrace.
‘THAT is what’s weird!’ Declan declared.
nice one, Perry, that first line is intensely visual, beautifully created.
DeleteI agree with Antonia on that opening line. It really set the scene.
DeleteFrom opening line to closing statement this was an absolute feast for the senses.
DeleteDISBELIEF
ReplyDeleteThe company uninvolved in the sorrow-shattering tableau and fiercely insistent cuddle – from which a red-faced Dooney struggled to free himself – stared at the flat stone from whence the impulsive toddler had flickered and disappeared just as the unimpeded surge of rats overran the position.
‘I THOUGHT I saw that outlet back aways.’ Declan all but crowed. ‘See that rusty oil drum there?
‘How-’ Sally began.
‘Hold on – just have to reboot the barrier… There… You’re wondering about the disappearing Dooney?’
‘Well … DUH!’
Finbar bowed. ‘The collapsed basement of the old Forum theatre had holographic equipment I managed to salvage.
and again, vivid pictorial first line! They're the tough ones to write usually.
DeleteI really enjoyed the unimpeded surge of rats. From a distance, I mean.
DeleteOoohhh...holographic equipment. What an intriguing addition to an already fascinating storyline.
DeleteWEIGHT
ReplyDeleteshame parents drummed in
set in stone through adult years
trumps joys with sorrow
lots of thought there
DeleteThree short lines... three prompt words. Well done.
DeleteThis was nothing short of impressive. Poetry in general is somewhat outside of my wheelhouse (although I give it a shot every now and then) and thus, I'm not familiar with the various forms. Is this haiku?
DeleteMore senryu than haiku, Patricia - same format but more about humanity than the prosaic.
DeleteBeat a Drum of Sorrow (The Murderer’s Lament)
ReplyDeleteBeat a drum of sorrow
Death descends tomorrow
A piper for the dirge
Then walk me to verge
And cast me to the stones
The shattering of bones
The cracking of the cranium
Cast petals of geranium
Let rigor mortis snap me
In white linen wrap me
Anoint me in oil
Inter me in the soil
The devil take my lies
Worms feast upon my eyes
Eternally despised
And never more to rise
Oh, beat a drum of sorrow
For death descends tomorrow
I don't think there's enough oil to anoint this guy in. I do believe he's in the right place. Very entertaining.
DeleteAnd yet another poetic jewel this week. It certainly has been quite the week for poems. This was particularly clever, almost Miltonesque in my opinion. I love the repetition lines that bookend the rest of the poem.
Deletethis is superb, carrying its own dark history and sorrow into that terrifying tomorrow.
DeleteNEEDLE-BONES
ReplyDeleteStone cold fingers, with half-moon claws, rake against skin, trailing red in their wake.
The tormented flesh moans quietly and the fingers move again. This time they dig out a scream and the sorrow of barb-tipped agony echoes in the cry.
The claws, like needle-bones, click and dance with malevolent grace, burrowing with precision below exposed whiteness.
Red jets spout where flesh squelches and opens.
Again, the claws click and wetness rolls onto the scarlet-stained dirt in hush-throated gurgles.
Time ebbs to the soft drumbeat of lifeblood, waning.
It stops.
On the next slab more flesh quivers.
These are some bad ass claws. I shudder to think to whom they belong.
DeleteThese... these things with the needle bones are to be avoided at all costs! If possible, that is. As always, Terrie, hauntingly beautiful imagery.
DeleteWell, the prompt words this week certainly inspired creative magnificence from your plume, Terrie. Loved "Time ebbs to the soft drumbeat." Quite beautiful.
Deletethis week's offerings are so very very dark, as if reflecting the sadness and darkness in the world right now
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ReplyDeleteWidow's Weeds
ReplyDeleteShe walked with all due solemnity behind the coffin as the persistent raindrops hammered a melancholy drumbeat upon the casket of solid walnut. He had been one of the richest men in the world and money was no object. The memorial marker would be equally as splendid, a fine creation of granite stone from the Auvergne volcanoes.
Hidden within the depths of her heavy crêpe mourning veil, she acknowledged compliments regarding her funereal garments with a sorrowful smile, secure in the knowledge she never failed to look at her very best in black.
He'd always said so.
And he was always right.
I'd say there was no prenup in this marriage. Too bad she couldn't control the rain. Very nice, Patricia.
DeleteI'm really curious about the title and what weeds means.
Delete"Widow's weeds" is a reference to the black clothing usually worn by widows principally during the Victorian era. After the death of her husband (Prince Albert), Queen Victoria wore nothing but widow's weeds (or similar garments) until her own death 40 years later.
Deletethe words seem to wrap around the widow's weeds too. Absolutely perfect.
DeleteKursaal (Episode Two Hundred Thirty Three) - Two For The Price Of One
ReplyDeleteDespite continuing sorrow at the demise of her twin girls, Mrs. Pepperdyne stonewalled any suggestion that Lucy and Libby might never return. As long as she lived, she would refuse to believe they were forever lost.
When Primrose Lee and Apollonia came to Pepperdyne Cottage bearing a potion purported to possess unique powers, Mrs. Pepperdyne could hardly quiet the expectant drumming of her hopeful heart. The promise contained within the small phial was surely the answer to her prayers.
They warned her of the potential danger. There were no guarantees. But Mrs. Pepperdyne was more than willing to risk anything...or anyone.
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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: Mrs. Pepperdyne and her twin girls, Lucy and Libby, as well as Primrose Lee and Apollonia have all featured in previous episodes.
The twins have quite the post-mortem presence. Maybe this will be the time they emerge. Or maybe not. A splendid entry, P.
Delete'...the potential danger' creates all sorts of negatives. Worth the risk? I hope we'll find out.
Deletewe could discuss 'worth the risk' for a long time and still find Patricia coming up with something different... a lovely continuation, Patricia!
DeleteThe General
ReplyDeleteThe stone figure creaked, full of residual stress and pent-up need. Sorrow was overwhelming. Regret, equally so. A pigeon landed on his outstretched hand. He wanted so badly to crush it, feel its little heart drum its last. And then a child scurried and sat in his lap, smiling for a photo.
The stone figure creaked, full of pride and contentment. A crew arrived with demolition equipment. A mob chanted, “Racist, Racist!”
The stone figure creaked, full of bewilderment and grief. The first blow from the wrecking ball hurt the most.
This, John, is nothing short of fabulous. The emotion is overpowering.
DeleteOh my goodness, did this tear at the heartstrings or what? Wonderful way to create compassion and sympathy for something made of stone, John. Unless something of higher quality (unlikely in my opinion) shows up within the next 24 hours or so, this one is going to get my Vote of the Week.
DeleteTHE FIRST STONE
ReplyDeleteNo drum-rolls or flag-waving as the captive entered the arena.
This one had been flushed from a cave within the Malignant Zone, the sole remaining refuge of humans, foul beings covered with festering lesions and infected with diseases lethal to us Eminents. After hunting humans for centuries we were on the verge of eliminating them.
A spark of fear showed through the dull idiocy coating this human’s face, and for a moment I felt a twinge of sorrow.
Then the horn blared, and I, the selected one, stepped forward to throw the first stone. A rain of them would follow.
Something biblical about this story. Perhaps it was the reference to stoning. Regardless, yet another to add to the ever growing list of superior creativity this week.
DeletePesky humans. What's a good Eminent to do? A Roman gladiator feel to this brilliant piece. Nice, Jim.
Deleteit's a vivid and very chilling scenario, to match the other entries this week!!
DeleteCripplegate Junction/Part 264 - InterChange
ReplyDelete"Stone the crows, missus," said George, "this train is actually getting a move on. Never thought I'd see the day!"
George's constant "missus" reference was grating on the Grande Dame's last nerve. The impudence of a common pleb to talk to her in such fashion was sorrowfully disrespectful. Still, she truly expected no less.
Her fingers drummed an irritable tattoo. She badly wanted to box the soldier's ears but such behaviour would be so unbecoming.
"Don't go losing your rag now, missus," advised George with one of his charming smiles, perfectly aware he was only adding salt to the wound.
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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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This drips with entertainment value. I thought immediately the Dame would balk at the missus comment, and sure enough, she did. To have the Dame even contemplate boxing someone's ears tells of the severity. I like George. I think he's my new favorite.
DeleteGeorge knew well what he was doing but he needs to be careful around the Dame...
DeleteIn The Cards
ReplyDeleteHe was dragged along with all due ceremonial fanfare. Drummers drumming. Pipers piping. A sorrowful sight in his torn tunic and unwashed condition, he was thrown to his knees, heart heavy as stone, before the one who would decide his fate.
The verdict was a foregone conclusion, delivered with the customary shrill recommendation. Always predictable and par for the course, some things never changed.
"Off with his head...!!!"
Dang, Patricia, you're on fire this week. The Queen is so nonchalant about her sentencing. You have such a pleasing style.
Deleteoh nice one, Patricia!!
DeleteThe Joys of Mediumship
ReplyDeleteThe Earl of Warwick came with drum and men at arms to ask for his book, then Henry VIII wanting his second book and now the Mad Italian himself. Before I start work I like a title. For Leonardo I didn’t see sorrow, more a monumental figure cast in stone. The nearest I could find that fitted him – and I believe he led me to it, is LORD OF TIME. Now, with that title, he surely could find me the time to do all I need to do, including fraught trips to Tesco and of course going to work…
I love it when titles fit the subject. This one seems to be ideal. A trio of fascinating characters visited you this week, Antonia.
DeleteIt's interesting you like a title first. I should try that. I always finish the story, then struggle for a title.
DeleteStop The Week
ReplyDelete‘Do you have a harmonica?’ the scruffy individual asks. I do, but it’s old and rough and I ended up binning it. The guy looked as if he would do better with drums, but we don’t have any. We had one for an age, thought it would never sell. Actually, when something stays for a long time it becomes valuable to us and we are sorrowful when it goes. There’s a bowl full of stones for those who like the feel of them, tumbled and cleaned as they are. I use the best ones for stone readngs.
I always loved sorting through the stones when I went to Renaissance Festivals. I was particular fascinated with one collection at the Fayre in Texas when the vendor asked if I wanted to "come inside and fondle more of his baubles." I moved on with a chuckle and polite refusal. How wonderful if must be to work in a store with such a varied inventory.
DeleteYour opening, with a quote, was really appealing. As was the entire piece. Well done, Antonia.
DeleteThe Mad Italian
ReplyDeleteThe title Lord of Time suits me well, I am anxious to start on my book but there are things getting in the way of doing that right now, including working on the stories for Gravestone Press, which will help my channel to make money in the future. My sorrow is being unable to bring what she needs right now so she can get going. If it were to happen, believe me, it would be announced with drum and violin and flute… Meantime we watch the destruction of a proud country reduced once more to servitude.
Must be very gratifying to know that our Mad Italian approves of your choice of title. I thought he might. It seems so fitting.
ReplyDeleteIt's nice to see the Italian giving credit to his channel. It seems he knows who butters his bread.
ReplyDeletefavourite for this week, Terrie!
ReplyDeleteMy week's vote goes to John for The General.
ReplyDeleteSmothered by an avalanche of excellence, I was frozen in indecision - finally opting for Antonia's latest installment of The Joys od Mediumship. The craft in hiding the prompt words in a conversational piece about her 'everyday' simply has to be humbly acknowledged.
ReplyDeletethank you, Perry!
ReplyDeleteMy vote goes to Patricia. Now to choose which one was the best... I'll say: In The Cards.
ReplyDeleteI'll give a vote to everyone, as all were so good I simply couldn't choose.
ReplyDelete