Thanks to crossed fingers or extra January energy, this was a week of rich and inspirational pickings for which I thank you all equally, while awarding Rebecca a ‘welcome-back’ prize - hope you are able to re-join the regulars.
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.
https://www.tumsh.co.uk/
ReplyDeleteThe Green Boy of the Wild Woods
ReplyDeleteThey formed a mound of ash and salt. One of the men spent his seed upon it. The women fed it with their blood. When spring broke a fetal stem began to sprout, green and marbled in veins. They nurtured it with compost and watered it daily. Soon enough its mutant stalks became arms and legs. A green boy began to grow, writhing and mewling in the night. When he was fat and leafy the village witch cut the umbilical root that bound him to the mound. And off he ran to make mayhem in the wild, wild woods.
and left me open-mouthed with awe - so, so impactful, David.
ReplyDeleteWow! What an opener for this week. Brilliant.
ReplyDeleteHow clear... how vivid... how subtlety chilling.
DeleteThresholds new [5] ash salt seed
ReplyDeleteRaven had been raised to high status with intemperate haste by opposing groups of would-be rulers of the Desert people. They being short and unremarkable, no surprise the ebony muscled mass of him impressed; his effortlessly exuded power and (to my secret bemusement) his acquisition of me as mother of an soon-to-be tribe of children. (A belief that rubbed salt into memories of five tiny hessian bags containing bone ash: his seed strong and quick to spark life; my body inexplicably rejecting after eight months of carrying.
It took some effort, remembering, to take his hand. Say, ‘Come to bed my love.’
This is a perfect example of how well-constructed powerful language can pull a reader easily along. Nicely done, Sandra!
DeleteThank you muchly Jim - boosts to one's writing confidence always appreciated
DeleteWORDS
ReplyDeleteHer words, “I hate you!” were salt mercilessly rubbed into the emotional wounds she had repeatedly inflicted upon me.
And there were other words from her that cut incessantly into me like hot knives: “You’re not worthy of me, you miserable, spineless worm! Why don’t you just die so I can spit on your ashes!”
The seed of her loathing was a lie - my pre-marriage claim that I was wealthy. But I loved her and would do anything to make her mine.
Finally, having had enough, I killed her, but I keep her memory alive by playing this tape.
Gruesome in a way that seeps into my mind, delivered by a self-deceiving damaged character - something you are (worryingly?) expert at conveying, Jim. ' salt mercilessly rubbed' says it all.
ReplyDeleteThe Secret Armadillo Soldier (SAS) Diaries - entry 256
ReplyDeleteWith the deceptive seed of defeat deftly sown among the enemy, Sarg and company ran until a junction split the tunnel in three directions.
‘That way,’ the digger indicated left, ‘diggers are tunnellin’’ toward the Burial-Burrows and this way,’ he snouted to the right, ‘everyone is heading to old tumbledown dig-site Still got a fair bit of diggin' to do but should git there by t’morra night. There’s a small stowage burrow not far ahead where you can rest. Got a natural salt lick on the rock and a mix of sundried larva and squashberries available if yer hungry too.’
Love how visual this is; that I can smell the earth and see their clustered torch-lit faces (even though I don't think you mentioned a torch!)
ReplyDelete