But at least I’m on time. Ten days away from my laptop appears to have wiped my memory of how to use it to full effect – or it’s trying to trick me. Plus years of Raven and Pettinger episodes have likely gone forever, so it might be time to begin something new (but I’m still mourning) Thankfully, Jim’s AGAIN AND AGAIN provided much needed solace, pushing it to the top of the pile (while Terrie’s SAS entry 236 provoked relief, for Sarg’s safety.)
Words for the coming week: adapt chafe whittle
And a little longer
deadline: Entries by midnight Thursday 15th September, new
words and winners Saturday 16th
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.
As Sarg coughed her companion chaffed her paws between his, ‘let’s get yuh movin’ Sarg.’
ReplyDeleteShe sat up, ‘what’s the plan now?’
He pulled a tooth-whittled, stick from his tool-belt, ‘Adapted this from me ol’ size markin’ stick. Gonna fold these walls into the water then collapse the burrow here ‘n all. Don’t wanna make it easy fer them varmints to find us do we?’
Sarg shook muddy water from her scales, ‘let’s get on with it then.’ She pushed the loose end of the vine into the water and watched him tap the wall close to the water-filled trench.
whoops forgot to add the title which is -
DeleteThe Secret Armadillo Soldier (SAS) Diaries - entry 237
I love the practicality of this conversation!
Delete'tooth-whittled stick'... a wonderful phrase; it doesn't get any better than that, Terrie.
DeleteThe Secret Armadillo Soldier (SAS) Diaries - entry 238
ReplyDeleteNigel’s choice of Armi and Atlas for his scouting mission was well founded for, although of opposing stature, they were so well attuned to each other’s movements and skill-sets, they sped quietly and unerringly through the undergrowth as if they were bonded at the flank: The pair had also adapted tail-signalling and secret-sign skills to include furtive movements known only to themselves.
On the far side of the dry river bed, near the enemy encampment, they selected a hiding place sheltered by decaying whittled, tree-trunks, where Armi failed to notice the poison sumac chafing the soft underside of his tail.
That you keep this series so interesting for so long speaks volumes about your talent, Terrie.
DeleteI echo Jim's words, ever-admiring of your ability to incorporate jeopardy within whatever words I suggest.
DeleteSkin and Bones
ReplyDeleteAdapting to a new form could be a burden. Sometimes the skin and the skeleton were ill matched. An inconvenient amount of chaffing where the flesh was too tight around the joints. Skin was pliable though, and had enough elasticity to accommodate in a relatively short period of time. Whittling was a painful option, but hardly ever necessary. He'd been doing this for five centuries. Many lives lived. Many skins settled into. The first fortnight was usually the worst. Better than the other way round. Saggy skin never shrunk to fit small bones.
SO interesting and entertaining, David. You have a great mind.
DeleteAnd, once again, what Jim says - always thought-provoking and entertaining.
DeleteThis has to be my favourite this week . Prompt words brilliantly incorporated, a huge dollop of skin-crawling (literally ) horror and leaving the reader hungry for more information. Well done David.
DeleteAGAIN AND AGAIN Part II
ReplyDeleteConfused, he shifted his eyes, trying to adapt them before locking them upon a clock that, again, read 12:51 a.m.
Again, he realized he was dreaming he had awakened and that his awake, bedridden self was merely a facsimile trapped on the chimera side nightmares.
Again, he realized that what his sleeping-self visualized was being relayed from fantasy to reality through a sinister conduit that chafed and whittled his nerves while connecting his somnolent senses to illusion.
Then, yet again, his sleeping-self remembered that his awake-self was merely a spectator to a terrifying drama that had occurred many times before.
"somnolent senses" just one phrase from this description of mental confusion.
DeleteGlad we have a continuation from last week. As Sandra says really effective imagery too.
DeleteTitle: some Latin phrase I can’t recall
ReplyDeleteSix decades in, I believed I’d prepared myself for the forthcoming iniquities of aging. Accepted bodily drooping; the occasional inability to recall words and adapted – fought against, forced a retreat from, in some cases -- my expectations.
Now, more than seven passed, enough has been whittled away to leave life more resembling the stub of a long-used pencil: hard to grasp, brittle enough to frequently snap, and the penknife nigh impossible to wield for its chafing of arthritic fingers.
Currently completing forms for my pre-paid funeral plan, I’m finding it hard to choose music.
Such a spot on overview of the inevitable aging process that creeps quietly upon us all, Sandra. I'm currently updating my will and looking at funeral plans myself .
DeleteYour metaphor of life resembling the stub of a pencil is splendid, Sandra!
ReplyDeleteThank you Jim - I confess it evolved as I was writing this, but I was rather pleased with it.
Delete