The current intention is to travel the 280 miles from home to Julia's on Thursday. On arrival we'll be busy, busy, and having already seen the wealth and variety of this week's posts, I'm not confident I'll have time to do justice to the reading and choosing a winner. So I'm scheduling this to appear on Friday with new words, and will do my best to catch up with the awards as soon as possible thereafter. Please note I have also tweaked the dates a little to allow more time for fitting round other activities. and would also like to take the opportunity to wish you and yours the best of health and happiness for 2022
Words for the coming week: chime linen plough
Entries by midnight Thursday 6th January, new words posted Friday 7th
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.
Easy journey and good to arrive after more than a year's forbidding. Time enough now to read through the riches of last week, only to realise that no amount of time will enable me to pick just one winner. The podium thus becomes a level stage, on which Holly, (for 'Promise'), Jim, 'for 'Good Samaritan'), Julia (Practice), (for ('Ellis 024') and Perry, (for 'Original Story') will have to squeeze themselves. And thank you all for the delicious entertainment.
The Ploughing of the Linen
ReplyDelete“They say that when we finish ploughing the linen a bell chimes and we fly away,” said Fe, looking back at their winding trails.
Gef burped rudely. “Don’t tell me you still believe in the myth of moths? As far as I’m concerned that’s just an old grub’s tale.”
“Where do you think they went then?” asked Fe, contemplating the old furrows running parallel to their new ones. “Last season’s harvesters, I mean.”
Gef squirmed in his furrow. “The big linen in the sky?”
“Now who’s indulging in old grub’s tales,” said Fe, resuming her frenzied bloating.
There's an unpleasant creepiness to this.
DeleteOld grub's tales must be extremely interesting, David. Nicely done!
Deleteas long as they are not harvesting my best woollens - grub is such a deliciously disgusting word for me!
DeleteI really liked this David. Great use of the prompt words
Deleteoh yes, good one, David...
DeleteLots of imaginative imagery with this piece. Loved the 'big linen in the sky' and the moths as myth.
DeleteI like that this is written in the form of a mythical tale. Lots of lovely corresponding references and I just adore the idea of a "big linen in the sky." Have to admit not being a big fan of moths, however, although I love butterflies.
DeleteFour-way tie. What a magnificent way to end 2021...!!!
ReplyDeleteMany congratulations to Holly, Jim, Julia and Perry.
May our plumes continue to wave with outstanding creativity in 2022.
merry Christmas to all!
DeleteThank you so much! Disappeared into the holiday chaos but happy to see we have until the 7th. :) Soon to be happy new year, all!
DeleteThe Successors
ReplyDeleteThe Tennessee plowboy strutted in his creased linen trousers and patten leather shoes. He stepped in a cow patty, swore, and wiped his shoe on his pantleg.
“Anybody seen that city feller?” said his brother. “He’s supposed to be here at noon to read Daddy’s will.”
The Tennessee plowboy listened as his new Apple watch chimed. “Must have got hung up somewhere.”
“Well, hell,” said his brother. “If he’s not here soon, I guess it all goes to us.”
The Tennessee plowboy nodded and looked nervously at the long-abandoned chicken coop. He’d clean up the mess later.
ANYONE who wipes a cowpat off his shoes onto his trousers has no idea of cleanliness!! - I hope he gets caught
DeleteThis plowboy obviously believes he can buy as many linen trousers and leather shoes as he wants. I wonder...
DeleteHe needs pigs as well as the cows and chickens - great for cleaning up!
DeleteI liked 'Must have got hung up somewhere' for me it was a subtle clue as to what happened to the city feller.
Deletea sneaky nastiness about this one that I really like!
DeleteAn excellent title. I also started to get suspicious like Terrie with the line 'Must have got hung up somewhere.' :) Somehow I don't think he's going to get away with it for long.
DeleteMagnificent blend of old west with modern technological advances. "Hung up somewhere..." Only you, John. Only you. Great job.
DeleteEllis 025
ReplyDeleteThe girl’s stomach had been ploughed open, and her wet skin was linen-pale; though her eyes were closed as if in sleep.
“DCI Petersson, this is the second mutilated body in as many days,” briefed Jasper. “Although victim number one is in an induced coma. This girl is beyond help. Lucky you were in the neighbourhood,” he winked at me.
“Jasper, don’t tease Kurt,” I protested when I got him to myself.
“I can’t tease him, he has no sense of humour.”
I suspect he may be right, but I just shrugged.
“Ooh, bashful, sis! No wedding chimes just yet?”
Enjoyed the conjoining of professional and personal observations.
DeleteQuite the startling opening line... really grabs the reader's attention.
DeleteOpening lines are important, this one is startling!
DeleteA ghastly opening line. It'd definitely be hard to be detective or similar profession without being able to distance yourself a little bit from what you see.
DeleteMarvellous mix of professional reactions coupled with that soupçon of humour at the end. And what an opening sentence. Talk about a hook...!!!
Delete[Threshold 377]
ReplyDeleteArched entrance lead into a garage set in the encircling double walls of the enclave in which Cocktail and his companions dwelt, mercifully muffling their toasting shrieks, like ploughshares splitting steel.
Dust raised by our feet emulated fine linen, folding across the concrete floor and creating a chiming susurration against the metal of the several bikes parked there.
Raven speedily assessed and indicate the two he deemed most suitable, both black; their panniers packed with provisions; keys in lock.
Only snag - the exit passed the place Cocktail had landed; mourning still ongoing.
Male optimism dictated, 'We take our chance.'
Your use of 'linen' is exceptionally creative, Sandra.
DeleteA feast for the senses, especially liked the chiming susurration of the thick dust stirring
DeleteThe opening captured my attention, really liked ploughshares splitting steel, conjured some alarming mages, which is good.
DeleteYour use of linen and their shrieks 'like ploughshares splitting steel' were my favorite descriptions as well.
DeleteAmazing incorporation of the prompts. Virtually seamless. But really....male optimism, indeed...!!!
DeleteSOMETHING IN THE AIR
ReplyDeleteWind chimes jingling outside reminded Randy of wedding bells – the ones that celebrated his marriage to Anna two years before. The thought of her ploughed through the anger surrounding her demise and had him tearing up.
“Why, Anna, why?” He whispered gently and rhetorically. “As long as we were together, the world was in my hands. I could anything! Remember how often I told you that? Dear God, I loved you!
“But you ended all that, Anna. You threatened to – as you put it – ‘air my dirty laundry.’
“I couldn’t let you do that, now could I, my darling Anna?”
As someone struggling to pen a gripping opening to a novel, colour me envious - I'd read on, f0r sure.
DeleteSaints preserve us! Notice the next to last line... LAUNDRY is supposed to be LINEN! Sorry!
Deletewhichever word you used there, Jim, would work... loved this subtle lead into the truth.
DeleteAn excellent opening line with the wind chimes reminding Randy of wedding bells. I wasn't sure it would turn as it did until the second paragraph. :)
Delete"Laundry" or "Linen" makes no odds. This is one magnificent slice of...I would say "life" but.... Love the comparison of wind chimes to wedding bells. That "chime" reference failed to occur to me.
DeleteChange of focus [454]
ReplyDeleteAll day the fear she might be pregnant ploughed parallel V-cut lines through Philly Stepcart's brain. By the time the clock chimed six she was pacing the length of Pettinger's hall, nurturing an ever-growing hatred for its linenfold panelling, which she labelled "pretentious", simultaneously applying the epithet to the man.
On his coming through the door, she thrust her face into his, the harshness of her, 'This morning? Did you use a condom?' an unwelcome shock.
Too slowly, 'A condom? Yes, I think … probably. I usually do. Unless …' A grin of recollection, 'You were rather importunate, so maybe –'
oh oh, here comes trouble with capital letters, for sure. Loved your use of linen, Sandra!!
DeleteI think Pettinger is about to get punched. I enjoyed Philly's disgust with the panelling, something to direct her anger on while she waits.
DeletePettinger had better get his house in order and soon. I believe his stumbling, bumbling reply just dug his grave a bit deeper.
DeleteOh, Pettinger, Pettinger. I don't think the excuse of temporary memory loss is going to save you here. Such a man of the world should know better. However, his actions are entertaining as ever. Let's see you get out of this one sir.
DeleteThe Secret Armadillo Soldier (SAS) Diaries - entry 178
ReplyDeleteThe Digger-Dillo nodded and, with a grin, ploughed back into the loosened soil.
Pausing only to catch the muffled rumble and chime of cheerful humming as he burrowed, Sarg scurried back to the half-burrow.
Spade-paw looked up from cleaning Denzil’s fur as she arrived, ‘he’s not said much I kin make sense of, Sarg; keeps mumbling’ “my pretty Linen torn to pieces”.’
Sarg was silent a moment, then growled, ‘Linen was his litter-sister. That feckin Venice ’as got a lot t’ answer for.
I’m relyin’ on yuh t’ get ‘im able t’ walk on ‘is own paws by t’morra.’
Strongly-evoked busyness and sense of group-strength. Fingers crossed Denzil regains strength.
Deletethe joy of this serial is your natural use of the dillo contractions! It comes over so well.
DeleteLoved imagining the chime of Dillo's cheerful humming. I also hope Denzil is stronger by morning and that Venice gets what's coming to him.
DeleteVenice... that cad! I loved the phrase 'litter-sister.' As always, so well done, Terrie!
DeleteThings have now become more personal it seems. So well written that I often tend to forget that it's dillos we're talking about here. The written words fit any character scenario so well.
DeleteHAUNTED
ReplyDeleteThe P.E. teacher ploughed through the boys grouped at the door to the old sports hall and rattled the brass handles.
‘Who’s screaming?’ he demanded.
‘Probably the ghost of wimpiness past,’ Big Joe quipped seasonally, adjusting his linen-packed sports bag.
‘Or the gym horse,’ Skinny Dinny chimed in.
They recoiled as the doors shook, battered from the inside. The screaming contained barely distinguishable words.
Their meaning was quite clear, though.
On an unspoken agreement they gathered themselves for a united thrust … and attacked the doors just as it all went silent.
First through, the teacher slipped on the blood.
A school in hell! I wonder if this school is co-ed? A very good read!
DeleteI hope their bravery continues while facing whatever was inside! This makes me think of the show Todd & the Book of Pure Evil, a horror/comedy series that takes place at a high school. :)
DeleteSome lovely examples of teenage "swagger" here. This rather reminded me of the "Buffy" television series when the characters were in high school. That final line was certainly a killer.
DeleteOh, the horror of waiting at the sports hall doors!!
ReplyDeleteLOL - That occurred to me as I was writing.
Deletesuch a sharp memory being recalled here...
DeleteOBSCURA MYTHICA
ReplyDeletePale mist, trailing, as linen, over trees, curls dreamily into brooding shadow where amber eyes glint in moonlight and a scaly-tail coils over furry back.
Deep-throated purring rolls between the shady dips and hollows of the glade, and swells to a continuous crooning as golden talons flex and plough deep furrows into soft flesh.
Deaths rattle ricochets through the mist but fades behind low growls.
Languorously, she yawns, reveals immense fangs, and carefully picks the sticky entrails from her fur-pawed claws.
Chimera, fire-breather, creature of myth, roars at the moon and proclaims this valley as her own.
Lovely descriptive passage with moving imagery.
DeleteNot, I think, for the first time, your writing puts me in mind of an Henri Rousseau painting rich and fleshy.
Deletevery rich in imagery and so good!
DeleteOooh gorgeous imagery. It's so poetic and vivid. Loved your first line with the mist as linen.
DeleteMythical and marvellous and mystically entertaining. What a feast of words and descriptions this proved to be. Nothing less than a verbal illustration.
DeleteA powerful and wonderful word-created visual journey, Terrie
ReplyDeleteOld Year's Night
ReplyDeleteI would not hear the chimes tonight, like many others. The virus stalked the land, and humans speculated about it’s cause, and hid in their dwellings. They burned their dead, or sank them, linen-shrouded into the damp sucking earth. The burned ones, well, they were lost, but the others; there were at least a couple of a million.
When the suns’ light hit the burial grounds in the new morning, they stirred. The hatchlings ploughed their way out of the soil, turning their muddied carapaces toward the light. Questing and writhing to the scent of flesh. My beautiful offspring.
A glimpse into a novel-sized tale of horror; 'linen-shrouded' the perfect use, of one prompt, the others seamlessly inserted.
Deleteimagery is everything and here it is used so well.
DeleteA terror-laden tale so nicely told! Well done
DeleteOooh horrible and striking all at once. Loved the phrasing of 'They burned their dead, or sank them, linen-shrouded into the damp sucking earth.'
DeleteThis was quite lovely in its exposition accompanied by an inspired and unique use of the prompt words. The image of "muddied carapaces" is really quite horrific...but in a deliciously visual way.
DeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteApologies for the above deletion, but I was checking to see if my publishing now worked. And it did...!!! YAY ME. Actual stories pending but I must say, I'm rather intimidated by what's already been posted.
ReplyDeleteClean Sweep
ReplyDeleteShe changed the bed linen and ploughed through the dusting, polishing, vacuuming and mopping until the room was immaculate and no trace of the previous occupant remained. By the time the doorbell chimed announcing the arrival of her new tenant, everything was ready.
First impressions were so important.
oh this one hides a multitude of nastiness!
DeleteI hate to think how many tenants have come through! You are a master at saying just the right thing to get our imaginations going.
DeleteAutumnal Equinox
ReplyDeleteFather Jehoshaphat's annual pilgrimage was always difficult. His destination, remote and cloistered, required the use of wagons and mules on land followed by a barge over temperamental waters.
He arrived as the last verse of "We Plough The Fields And Scatter" chimed from the little stone church. The holy man mopped his brow with relief as he hastily donned his white linen surplice. It had been an uncomfortably close call. The congregation would surely be lost if he failed to preside over the harvesting.
Each crop was so very unpredictable.
A piece full of mystery which hides its own horrors...
DeleteAnd in an entirely different tone, you've done it again, simultaneously planting a tune in my head.
DeleteThe 'congregation', the harvesting', the 'crop'... so suggestive of possible horrors to come. This was a good read, Patricia.
DeleteMysterious and memorable!
DeleteJoys of Mediumship
ReplyDeleteMy mother insisted we were to inherit her marble and slate clock. The key didn’t fit but we accepted it anyway, saying we would go search for the right one .We decided to plough through the button box, also inherited, and one evening we sat at the big table with the clock watching us- and us watching the pendulum start to move by itself… it even gave a faint chime. We pretended it hadn’t happened and went back to the matching of buttons with the linen blouse, which is what got us sitting at the table in the first place…
Button boxes can be a treasure trove of memories.
DeleteLoved the phrase 'with the clock watching us- and us watching the pendulum' and what it conjures.
DeleteI just adored the imagery in this piece coupled with just the right amount of mysticism. I have one question though...did the clock pendulum continue in its movement or has it now ceased once again?
DeleteStop The Week
ReplyDeleteI’ve been away from the shop for a few days and forgotten how irritating the two grandfather clocks are with their chimes, they don‘t chime together… the linen from the window displays has been packed away and left me with a pile of gardening tools to plough through. Actually I think a plough is the only thing I don’t have… most of it is brand new, like the leaf blower and shredder. They’re a bit too heavy for me so I smaller items in the window for now. We’re looking for a good New Year. If the virus would leave…
I do so wish the virus would disappear and the lingering disquiet I feel.
DeleteIf we could but put your gardening tools to good use in digging us out of this pesky virus, what a wonderful thing that would be. I fear we are still in the throes of a long haul though.
DeleteThe Mad Italian
ReplyDeleteNow the chimes for the New Year have resonated around the world, it is to be hoped that the scientists can plough through their data and ‘modelling’ and come up with a sensible solution to the vaccine problem. Something is wrong if they now want 3 or even 4 vaccine jabs. They need to remember, while they wrap their findings in linen to store in laboratories, that at least one major disaster came from lack of proper investigation and continues to this day, despite a long period of time. Shall I just say Thalidomide?
Cleverly wrapped prompts of Antonia are a sublime reflection of the moth-eaten linen packaging around the narrative of incompetent governments. I am of an age that if my mother had succumbed to a similar narrative, I might well have been another victim of that convenience medication, ploughed under by a flurry of optimistic statistics oddly absent this millennium.
DeleteThe bells of Covid doom are pealed repetitively and loudly to drown the chimes of yesteryear’s self-inflicted perils – like superbugs born of antibiotic misuse.
Your entry is SO on point, Antonia. Your reference to Thalidomide is such a chilling and accurate reminder.
DeleteI wonder how many of the younger generation are even aware of the Thalidomide tragedies. There are times when even I tend to forget. I do hope history does not turn out to repeat itself once again.
DeleteSurge
ReplyDeleteFive chimes and the monsters are in the sky. Tally grabs my arm, lavender eyes wide. We’re both terrified, but our determination to live pulls us up, makes us run.
The bells’ echoes die as we go deep underground, bodies packing into darkened tunnels, scurrying like mice. I stumble as someone ploughs into me, and Tally shoves them back. She won't let me fall.
We find a hole, press in tight, and wrap the linen ‘round our faces. The poison will come soon, the monsters trying to flush us out.
Clasping hands, we hold our breath and survive.
Such precise, well-chosen verbs in this, Holly, following a gripping first line.
DeleteSurvive? I wonder for how long? This is so vivid, clear and well written, Holly.
DeleteSurvival is inherent in the human condition. You have described the struggle to reach safety so eloquently here. However, I wonder how long safety will prevail. Monsters can be such persistent pains in the you-know-what.
Deletethe sense of haste, of terror, of 'must survive' is so clear in this and is so hard to describe - brilliant.
DeleteKursaal (Episode Two Hundred Thirty Seven) - Here Today...
ReplyDeleteThe blonde twins stood immovable and expressionless as starched linen mannequins. Even the arrival of a small dog ploughing playfully through the undergrowth toward them elicited no response.
Mrs. Pepperdyne recognized the silver tag suspended from the animal's collar. It read "Lulu" and was the name of her daughter Libby's missing puppy.
At the discordant chimes of a nearby calliope, the pup whined, turned tail and disappeared into the obscurity from which it had recently emerged.
Adopting a life of its own, the darkness enveloped the little girls within its embrace and spirited them away.
Not even their footprints remained.
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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: The Pepperdyne Twins (Libby and Lucy), Libby's pup (Lulu) and the Twin's mother, Mrs. Pepperdyne, have all featured in previous episodes.
Nothing is as frightening as a pair of silent children staring at you, especially when described as standing 'immovable and expressionless as starched linen mannequins.' Striking imagery with the darkness adopting a life of its own and enveloping the girls.
DeleteI agree with Holly, silent staring children, (shudders)and how creepy an instalment is this... disappearing dogs and all.
DeleteTerrifying contrast between playful puppy and disappearing sisters doubles the horror in this.
DeleteCripplegate Junction/Part 268 - Passing The Time
ReplyDeleteAs though fitted with a wedge plough, the locomotive pushed ever forward through swirling clouds of vaporous steam as it traversed the complication of interlocked tracks that exited Cripplegate Junction.
The engine's vibrations caused the station clock to chime with sporadic randomness. Its face rippled as though fashioned from moiré patterned linen while black lacquered digits and hands meandered in an erratic voyage through the hours and minutes and seconds.
The Conductor moved with slow and deliberate tread along the platform. He checked his personal timepiece and extracted a metal whistle from his waistcoat pocket.
It emitted a silent shriek.
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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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The rippling clock-face a wonderful touch of horror.
DeleteThe description of the clock face was also my favorite! Very visually striking.
Deleteoh, goodies, Cripplegate is back and as intriguing as ever! Lovely descriptions, Patricia, fascinating stuff, especially the silent shriek.
ReplyDelete