Each week you are offered three random words. Each week, each of you takes those words and uses them to conjure up something new, unique and entertaining. That ‘unique’ has always appealed to me because, as a writer it underlines the fact that there is no single ‘correct’ answer; that whatever I do with those words is ‘right’, and the joy is in seeing just how various are the ways in which the words are combined, to tell a tale that’s never been told before. This week, a lot of intrigue and individual uses; a lot of pleasure in the reading thereof. But I felt quite strongly that Antonia’s ‘Sometimes the Hunger takes over…’ deserved the top spot.
Words for the coming week: shake pink wheel
Entries by midnight Thursday August 25th, new words posted Friday 26th
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.
Antonia - thank you, Sandra! More to come, I think, there's a compulsion to write this particular serial. Over the years the Challenge has had some amazing regular participants, back when 40+ people would take part, but I think now, apart from my mind causing mayhem, we as a group have a wonderful combined lorry full of enthusiasm and sheer talent which we dip into every week
ReplyDelete40+ contributors would require a considerable time investment by whoever is hosting it!
DeleteMy novel The Skullface Chronicles, started life through the first instalment of a turn challenge though I think we worked on a month around basis back then, The words were myopic, chamber, escape. The thought process was : moles are myopic, they live in chambers, they must need to escape. Three weeks later instalments had turned into chapters, before I knew it the book was done! The last page is entirely taken up with honourable mentions to all who were with me during the journey. How many people can say that????
ReplyDeleteWhat I remember most from that time was the ever present changes of whoever was in charge of closing the session and posting new words. Those of us who have been there forever are the ones who have benefited most from the close knit talented bunch of writers
My 'The blacksmith's wife' began with 'negotiate', 'cleanse' and 'cage'. Ran for forty-one episodes then I feared boring people and brought it to a close, later starting a series featuring the blacksmith's brother, and publishing an illustrated version. Hard to believe Pettinger has reached 480 episodes!
DeleteChange of focus [481]
ReplyDeleteHearing the shake of fear and anger in Pettinger’s voice, Ben repeated his demand that Pettinger identify the ‘They’ he believed had taken Aleks. Simultaneously wondering whether Pettinger believed Philly implicated in Aleks’ absence. Or was herself a victim.
Well aware of Philly’s murky background – childhood more liquorice than sugar-pink sweet innocence – Ben refrained from wheeling out empty optimism and, for a third time, asked ‘Who d’you suspect?’
‘Phillys’ brother. He flew in yesterday –‘
‘Philly’s brother? Didn’t know she had –‘
‘She’s three. They’d plans for her. Which didn’t include marrying the law.’
‘When did she tell you that?’
Talk about the thickening of a plot... very intriguing.
Delete[Threshold 405]
ReplyDeleteWith confidence – the unshakeable male variety: every instance of failure forever eradicated – Raven declared our trikes’ rubber-tyred wheels excellent insulation. ‘Now all we have to do is arrive before dark!’
‘And that the natives are friendly!’ To which muttering he turned deaf ears.
With good reason.
In what light lay ahead we saw that what had been small indentations in the desert’s level surface were now being scoured out. And fast filling with water. And that the pretty pink rivulets running before us would very soon become nigh-on invisible, depth indecipherable, black torrents, in which rubber-tyred wheels would be useless.
Are you saying males don't admit when they're wrong? Probably a typo.
DeleteCould it be that males don't make mistakes. Naw, we just think that way. This was a good read, Sandra.
DeleteViva Las Vegas
ReplyDeleteAstro Nomic, known variously as the Sheik of Shake, and the Count of Cacophony, was driven up to the Sands Hotel in a pink Cadillac. Black hair swept back in an exaggerated quaff, rhinestones studding his silver jumpsuit.
At the wheel, a former chorus girl, now his personal chauffeur.
In the back seat a guitarist, a saxophonist, a keyboard player and a slightly inebriated drummer.
The android paparazzi were six deep on the forecourt. Yellow flashes bursting in camera lens eyes. This was a monumental occasion. It had been decades since a carbon based life form had played Vegas.
So, maybe Elvis lives. He was carbon based, I'm sure. Nice one, David.
DeleteThis could be the event of the century. Good work, David!
DeleteMind-blowing as ever, David.
DeleteTHE CHOSEN - PART III
ReplyDeleteThe Reader called numbers two through six, and each in turn opened her scroll and held it aloft. All contained the word “LIFE,” which the Reader proclaimed. Each girl shook with disappointment. Each face turned pink with anguish.
The honor of being sacrificed for the elders had eluded them.
“Number seven… show your scroll,” the Reader announced as he wheeled toward Nestean.
Without hesitation, Nestean opened the scroll and revealed the word DEATH.
The Reader smiled. “Well, Nestean, as you know, you may choose your means of death. What have you chosen?”
Nestean smiled back and smugly replied, “Old age.”
Oh, smug indeed, even though old age isn't all standing in the garden admiring the roses.
DeleteI found your little series very entertaining, Jim. Nice job.
DeleteI'm finding myself unable to post my story. It shows up, and then disappears. Drat.
ReplyDeleteDrat indeed. All I can suggest is that you persevere.
Deleteanother rat installment...-
ReplyDeleteWhen the food turns sour
The second rat backed off from what looked like a colourful plate of food, the smell making him shake his head and begin to doubt the wisdom of the food choice.
But then, what else was there to do when no spills gave us liquid and when bodies – long may they last – began to smell and these were b beginning to turn.
The first rat was coughing so hard his lungs felt as if they were being drawn out… slowly. He wished he could utilise the wheels and get to another place, another source, another set of non believers. This lot were going nowhere.
Truly insidious nastiness
DeleteTime, it appears, for this bunch of rodents to find a fresh buffet.
ReplyDelete