I doubt anyone could’ve predicted the events here of the past 24 hours – and it ain’t over yet. I’m glad to see it has not brought the submission of Prediction posts to a standstill, and the standard – which this week included resurrections and God-lit candles – as high as ever. While I sympathise with Antonia’s saddening situation it is David’s frequently-demonstrated ability to do widescreen in 100 words that wins him this week’s top prize. And, as always, thank you for commenting.
Words for the coming week: ragpicker scourge steam
Entries by midnight Thursday 14th July, new words posted Friday 15th July
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, David!
ReplyDeleteSuper entry from you, David!
ReplyDeleteThe Ragpicker Rampage
ReplyDeleteHushing steam from their pistons the gargantuan machines which would become commonly known as Ragpickers trundled over the cobbles on their gigantic single wheels. Whenever they reached a tenement building arachnid arms smashed through filthy windows and snatched the poor from their hovels, shaking them in mid-air, then tossing them like straw dolls into the brass kettles of their depositories. Across the land, in every city, this same scourge. And then they were gone with their captives, down into the darkness of the subterranean depths. I was one of the first to volunteer for the rescue expedition.
Such a dark and dreary setting you create, a future I hope does not lie in wait for us. So well done!
Delete' brass kettles of their depositories' just one of the shining brilliances of this nightmarish piece, epic and convincing as ever.
DeleteAntonia says: lots of darkness here along with the others, that one word sparked all of us into serial nastiness!
DeleteAN UNFORTUNATE ENCOUNTER
ReplyDeleteThe Ragpicker is a scourge from Hell that stalks the night. It lurks in shadows, shrouded by a steamy mist while lying in wait for the unfortunate to cross its path. Its eyes are huge and blood-red; its face a wasteland of utter ruin. Scraps of ragged clothing, bounty for the souls it delivers, cover it from shoulder to shin but fail to hide the rot that oozes from within it.
So says the legend.
But the Ragpicker is neither fiction nor fable. It is real. I am watching it lumber from the woods.
Merciful God… it has seen me!
Something tells me it has quite a turn of speed as well! Scary stuff.
DeleteAntonia says - wow, sheer nastiness here, Jim!
DeleteChange of focus [476]
ReplyDeleteHenry, deciding alcohol best avoided, steered them to a nearby coffee bar. Italian-owned, friendly, warm and steamy, thanks to both the battered giant-sized Gaggia and the ever-conversational crowd, Henry calculated, despite the noise, and condensation on the windows, it no place to encourage assignations. Also that the years of coming here, Pettinger boosting their fledgling police confidence by feeding them support and encouragement along with coffee, should prick Ben’s conscience, much as Philly’s bony fingers, playing up and down her coffee cup, nails black as a ragpicker’s daughter (and morals possibly akin), appeared to feel the scourge of hers.
A marvelous use of "ragpicker," Sandra!
DeleteAntonia comments:
DeleteI really appreciate the depth and thought in that last line, Sandra!
[Threshold 400 ]
ReplyDeleteRaven’s voice a giveaway – he as trod-down exhausted as I; my questions, insistent as a ragpicker’s fingers working to earn release from London’s Marshalsea (for five hundred years the scourge of London’s debtors), giving him no rest.
It shocked me; not used to hearing him run out of steam. I could not believe he’d fail; could not let him fail; his loss of face would hurt him more than me. I applied my mind to the problem.
‘Vultures or death by cannibals before us; vengeance-seeking enemies behind, it’s left or right.’ I checked the horizon. With spurious confidence, declared ‘Left.’
Antonia comments-
DeleteLook at that, Threshold 400! and the story as compelling as the first ones!!
Antonia's short short piece, heat stopped me working as much as I should. Anyway, here goes...
ReplyDeleteA source:
Ragpicking’s a chance at proper employment but I don’t care for it. Trouble is, without us working, the world would get overrun with the creatures that eat fabric. The veritable scourge of us pickers. No, not really, the steam is worse, caught in a blast you can lose half your face and most of the skin from your hands. Or burn the factory down. Or lose all the workers.
We have to live with the mutants.
Just for peace of mind, who decided to call them humans?