As well as the internet being intermittent, free time has been at a premium. I've not yet read any of the past week's entries (72 as I type this!) so trust each of you will nominate your personal favourite. I'll make sure to do so when I get back.
As promised, words for the coming week: curlew knock warp
Entries by midnight Thursday 9th
September, new words
posted Friday 10th
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.
VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS
ReplyDeleteThe trills and yipes from somewhere near
belong to none of birds I see
and, as I scan the strand sun-speared,
I feel the gulls are mocking me
in their warped chip-scoffing way
amidst their envious affrays,
dogfights, tussles, and hard knocks
wherein prime morsels hit the dock
only to be claimed again.
Then challenge, drop, and pluck anew –
persistent dance of the inane
through plaintive coo-ees of curlew.
Ah - forgot the limitation of genre. So here's an edited version for the macabre.
DeleteVOICE IN THE WILDERNESS
The trills and yipes from somewhere near
belong to none that this corpse sees.
As eye socket sucks at strand sun-speared,
it seems the gulls are mocking me
in their warped chip-scoffing way
amidst their envious affrays,
dogfights, tussles, and hard knocks
wherein prime morsel hits the dock
to glare before it’s claimed again.
Then challenge, drop, and pluck anew –
persistent dance of the inane
through plaintive coo-ees of curlew.
wow, that's a strong poem,Perry!
DeleteOnce a Dame Always a Dame
ReplyDelete“Knock knock,” trilled Widow Twanky.
“Who’s there?” the ghoulish kids chained to the seats of stalls roared back.
“Curlew."
“Curlew who?”
“Curlew the guys I’ve been looking for?” replied the Widow.
Laughter hit him in a wave of rotten breath. His greasepaint ran from the tears it brought. He gagged. In these warped, apocalyptic times a Dame had to take any audience he could find.
“Anyone seen my boy, Aladdin?” he asked.
“Behind you,” screamed the rancid boys and girls.
The Oriental looking cadaver juddered a comical jig on its strings.
The kids yelled so loud their heads fell off.
Delightfully dark - but the joke must be a zombie thing. LOL.
Deletevery dark... some nasty goings on there. Like it, regardless of how nasty it is, I like it!
DeleteStart to finish, this one crawls with cruel terror, David.
DeleteFOR THE BIRDS
ReplyDelete“I’m Rudy… from the kitchen, Mr. Dobson. A question about your meal?”
“Yes, Rudy. But no need for formalities. I’m Randy.”
“Okay… Randy. How can I help?”
Randy pointed to the bones on his plate. “No knock on you, Rudy, but what’s this? Certainly not grouse!”
Rudy nodded. “You ordered curlew, which could be any number of game birds. We only have quail.”
Randy’s mouth warped into a smile. “Excellent! You know your birds, Rudy! I shall insist you receive a raise!” He looked beyond Rudy. “Hear that, warden?”
The warden unlocked the cell. “Time to go, Randy. Sparky’s waiting.”
oh my, this week you guys have excelled yourselves... this is magic.
DeleteFOR THE BIRDS
ReplyDelete“I’m Rudy… from the kitchen, Mr. Dobson. A question about your meal?”
“Yes, Rudy. But no need for formalities. I’m Randy.”
“Okay… Randy. How can I help?”
Randy pointed to the bones on his plate. “No knock on you, Rudy, but what’s this? Certainly not grouse!”
Rudy nodded. “You ordered curlew, which could be any number of game birds. We only have quail.”
Randy’s mouth warped into a smile. “Excellent! You know your birds, Rudy! I shall insist you receive a raise!” He looked beyond Rudy. “Hear that, warden?”
The warden unlocked the cell. “Time to go, Dobson. Sparky’s waiting.”
I must apologize for the double entry above. I wanted to delete the first one, but found that I don't know how. You see, I am technologically challenged.
DeleteAargh - sorry Jim, there was a fault, and in correcting (so that the reply/delete appears - don't ask me how) I accidentally deleted your apology. Hopefully you can delete your surplus version now.
Deleteand now it's reappeared and proved me a liar!!
DeleteAnd happy Christmas to you! [Threshold 362]
ReplyDeleteI murmured sorrowful correction, 'Cock-tail, not Cocksure. He, I suspect anything but. What does he expect to see through a keyhole? Evidence of adultery, for which he means to stone me to death? '
Raven laughed. 'You need be wed before you can be charged with that!'
'Perhaps a proposal would ensure my loyalty –'
'Don't waste your time waiting for mine. I'm well aware a wife is but a millstone –'
I aimed for cool amusement, verging on disbelief. 'Exactly how many wives have you had?'
'Same number as that song about the drummers –'
I frowned, recollecting, 'Twelve?'
a perfect blend of narrative and dialogue and, more than that, a human flaw, trying to remember the poem, adds a touch of authenticity. Nice one.
DeleteI'm not sure I'd be proud of having 12 wives. The "millstone" reference gives this guy a quite ominous slant. Very Nice!
DeleteChange of focus [440]
ReplyDelete'Another body, Guv!'
Hope, optimism, and nicely-warming lust coagulated. Dropped like a stone from groin to ground.
Roy Orbison ceased to dream. Instead, the dead march drumbeat that preceded Paul Simon's listing fifty ways to leave a lover – even before she'd become one. Sorrow didn't come anyway near. In fact John Pettinger came as near to chucking this bollocking job as ever he had. Even the desire to properly parent Aleks hadn't made him want to quit. He loved his job.
But even though she understood the demand of deadlines, Philly Stepcart might not appreciate he had no choice.
that second line is a perfect one to drag a reader in.
DeleteI loved the references to Roy Orbison and Paul Simon, Sandra... a nice touch to this entertaining tale.
ReplyDeleteNo submissions this week since I have been heavily involved in critiquing and voting related to contests on another creative writing site. However, I will return later with comments and hopefully with stories next week.
ReplyDeleteThe joys of mediumship
ReplyDeleteThey appear to be endless! Right now I am a beacon, a sort of time warp warden, sending out ‘you’re doing well’ messages to bereaved people, thanks to emails. All received with gratitude for spirit’s thoughtfulness. In the depths of grief, these words can seem as haunting and heart-breaking as a curlew’s cry but the message gets through the showers of tears and brings a touch of sunshine. I know, one recipient just came in and said ‘thank you’ with a sincere smile. It works by spirit knocking at my mind, ‘tell ****’ and so it is passed on.
Stop The Week
ReplyDeleteA dreary week, a busy week, some new stock, a change of silver in the revolving cabinet, promise of more, today: promises of bag loads of CDs – even if means listening for curlews above the sound of chinking plastic, I will take them in and knock them out at 50p each. The sun warps the cases; I need to keep them away from the windows. If there is nothing new to arrange, I edit for the Gravestone Press which is developing fast into a recognised and respected imprint. Several new anthologies will be launched this weekend, so much to do!!
The Mad Italian
ReplyDeleteThe problems, the tragedies, the slaughter – there is no other word for it- defines the country known as Afghanistan and coats it in sorrow. The cry of the curlew is unknown there; instead there are tears of the once again enslaved women. Democracy knocked at the doors for a time but outright repression took over once again. It is as if the freedom was a time warp which has turned back on itself. Those who did their very best to hold back the tide of repression are left wondering if they could have done more. The answer is no.