Apologies, because it feels like I'm repeating myself every week, but everybody is producing such a wealth of wonderful offerings it would be rude not to acknowledge them, despite how much harder it makes my weekly task of picking a 'winner'. Especially when I know we all benefit. What I am going to try, though, is picking the weekly prompt words from the previous week's offerings, because so often am I reminded of words I regret having forgotten.
This week's winner is John, for the cleverness
of 'In hindsight, I should've known'
Deadline brought forward one day because
we'll be visiting family next weekend
Entries by
midnight Wednesday 16th March new words posted Thursday
17th
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, John!
ReplyDeleteYou deserved the winner's circle last week, John!
Deletedefinitely a winner! congrats, John!
DeleteThirsty [8]
ReplyDeleteThe sun overhead is an unwelcome furnace when the Dragonriders find us with Aries at the fore. I’m too thirsty to care. His blue eyes remind me of water.
“Maya.” Aries’s teeth flash white in a rust-brown face. He’s misread my longing stare.
“Commander Drakos, is it?” Felicia beams, somehow remaining mounted as her unicorn repeatedly tries to bite Aries’s robust companions.
“Aye. You must be Maya’s friends.”
Rach cocks an eyebrow. “She told you about us, did she?”
I sigh, catching sight of something wraith-like from the corner of my eye. “Let’s save the pleasantries; we’re being flanked.”
Open-mouthed at the consummate "follow that!! silky skill with which this is writ, Holly!
Deletethis is immaculately done, Holly!
DeleteSylvia, the unfriendly ghost
ReplyDeleteThe wraith of Sylvia Geist passed through the crowd, invigorating them with a cool blast of air. She returned and passed through them again. Many laughed, a few cried, and then the screaming started.
Such a robust spirit, but she really wasn’t very fond of people. Soon, they started dropping, one by one, blood turning to slush, hearts freezing solid.
An elderly man in a rusted Plymouth watched and smiled sorrowfully. God, he missed his wife.
You have created quite the sinister wraith, John, not to mention the guy in the Plymouth. Very nice!
Deletethe man in the rusted Plymouth is intriguing... wondering if he will appear in future stories.
DeleteIntriguing indeed.
DeleteI shudder to think what she got up to in life! Though it sounds like Sylvia and her husband are an even match.
DeleteTHE WORM III: RECOLLECTION
ReplyDeleteGork paused to recall the night he killed Eddie Potter.
Worm… on the hill, behind a pile of rust-colored rocks.
Gork… blood racing robustly.
Worm… face wraith-white.
Gork… “Gonna’ stone me to death, Worm?”
Worm… “Come find out, Gork!”
Gork… pulling a sock from his pocket, stuffing stones in.
Worm… glancing upon loose soil, scrawny bushes.
Gork… advancing up the hill.
Worm… grabbing a rock from the pile.
Gork… stopping, studying the loose soil ahead, laughing.
Worm… fear crowding his face.
Gork… kicking at the loose soil, which topples into the hole beneath.
Worm… trembling.
Gork… “Time to die, Worm!”
what a brilliant use of the prompts!!
DeleteLike a story-board, providing images for our minds.
DeleteIt does have a storyboard feel! A heart-pumping back and forth.
DeleteJacqui the Giant Rouser
ReplyDeleteThe ancient robot stood still and silent. Green moss cloaked its shoulders, creeping ivy entwined its rusted legs, wraiths of mist swirled about its dented torso.
Dwarfed within Its mighty shadow a small girl who was robustly hitting it with a cricket bat.
Clang, clang, clang went wood against metal.
‘You shouldn’t go waking sleeping giants,’ cautioned an old man passing by on a makeshift bicycle.
The girl took aim again. ‘I’m not trying to wake him. I’m trying to break him. For the scrap.’
Neither noticed the ominous spark that momentarily flashed in the robot’s cyclops eye.
there are good reasons for not rousing sleeping dogs, or in this case,statues... nice one, David!
DeleteYou've drawn a small-size monster with this, David.
DeleteBeautifully dreadful, David!
DeleteLoved the imagery at the start with moss cloaking the robot's shoulders. I have to admire the girl's tenacity, but I probably would be just as wary as the old man.
DeleteDecided it was time to start writing fiction again... so here goes...
ReplyDeleteThe Visitor
The coffin looked robust, even with the ageing over the years. The hinges were rusted – hinges? Really? Images of the lid clanging wildly as it fell down on the nearby gravestones … there is never enough room in a graveyard even packed in one atop the other. The flowers became dried and fit for nothing from her touch, she had forgotten that over the many years she had been apart from this one true love. It was her fault, she had forgotten how to release the catches… the wraith sat on the nearby grave and waited. Eventually he would come.
And you haven't lost your touch Antonia.
DeleteI love a spooky graveyard scene!
DeleteThe Mad Italian
ReplyDeleteThe war which is raging in far off frighteningly ferocious territory is fierce enough to deter the strongest hearted recruit. The diplomats, those in government, those without the walls waiting on declarations, are mere wraiths in the sight of those who demand a solution – now. It is a time for robust discussions but it seems the bombs come first. There will be bonfires of rusting arms when the talking is finally done, where someone has to agree to a need for a supervised truce. Meantime the sorrow is overwhelming, the deaths are unforgivable and none survive with pride.
It is heartbreaking and frustrating.
Delete[Threshold 387]
ReplyDeleteIn truth, my first impression, I was hallucinating. Having closed my eyes on all-encompassing rust-hued dust it did not strike as unlikely the ever-eddying winds would've whipped the surface into wraiths, which took on the spiral form of ice-cream, piped into a cone.
Except, as I watched, they darkened, grew more robust, less transparent. Adopted a more solid, metallic form. Raven's grunt – surprise and then objection as he recognised them for what they were – did not reassure.
'What?' I questioned. Then worked it out before he answered.
'Screw-tips. They're surrounding us. Caging us in –'
'Why?'
'To keep us here.'
Oooh loved the description of the screw-tips 'did not strike as unlikely the ever-eddying winds would've whipped the surface into wraiths, which took on the spiral form of ice-cream, piped into a cone.' Excellent imagery!
DeleteChange of focus [463]
ReplyDeletePettinger, immediately feeling the warmth of Philly's disagreement; glanced and perceived twin wraiths of disapproval in her eyes . Raising his eyebrows, quietly, 'No takeaway?'
'Not until we find out what he's done to get himself arrested. Bad behaviour doesn't merit treats.'
'But we don't know he's done anything wrong. Maybe went there to find me,'
'He wasn't here at seven, Didn't tell us why. He needs robust boundaries, not some flimsy, rusting fall loose-posted railings. Give me your car keys. I'll go fetch him –'
'And a takeaway?'
'No.'
He had to hoped she joked.
Well when you're hungry... :)
ReplyDelete