Bog, cryptic, emergency
Usual rules: 100 words
maximum (excluding title) of flash fiction or poetry using all three words 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.
The Secret Armadillo Soldier (SAS) Diaries - entry 275
ReplyDelete‘Don’t let that bog yuh down, Aggie, I got an idea. Leave it t’ me,’ Sarg said cryptically. A smile twitched in the corner of her snout.
She made a show of inspecting the newcomers. ‘Right, Aggie’s in charge, she knows what’s gotta be done.’ She dug in her tool belt, ‘Here’s a runner’s collar, who’s the fastest runner?’
‘Billy,’ said Wally.
‘Billy, put this on, you’ll be the runner for reportin’ an’ emergencies. Wally, you and the big fellah are the muscle, I’m relying on you four to get this risky job done.’ Sarg winked skillfully at Aggie.
Sarge, once again, skillfully formulating a plan.
DeleteI decided that since serials seem popular here, I would give them another go.
ReplyDelete“Finally Free” - #2 - 6/14/2024 -
Sheriff Wilkins sighed. On the clipboard in front of him, a blank crime report remained untouched. It was an open and shut case, yet here he was bogged down while he wrestled with legalities and his personal ethics code.
She shouldn’t go to jail. 35 years Caleb had beaten on her. Wilkins had done what he could, but she wouldn’t bring charges. He did manage to set up a cryptic message system so she could call him in an emergency without Caleb being the wiser.
This time she didn’t call. And now Caleb had no face.
Sheriff Wilkins began writing.
I hope the sheriff doesn't let his personal ethics code get in the way of justice.
DeleteCryptic Clues
ReplyDeleteMy mother had what is commonly known as a cryptic pregnancy. Didn't realise she was carrying me until they wheeled her into the emergency room. She pretty much carried on failing to grasp my existence for most of my childhood, forgetting to collect me from school, jaunting off on holidays without me. When I was old enough, I decided to commit a cryptic murder. Got her drunk. Drove her to a bog in the countryside. Abandoned her. Didn't wait to see if she sank over her head. Hopefully it'll be a long time before anyone realises.
Nastiness so well told, David.
ReplyDeleteSECRETS
ReplyDeleteThe bog holds many cryptic secrets. Thus for decades, everyone has avoided it.
Everyone but me.
The bog is my home, and presently I am listening to the emergency siren blaring in the nearby town of Davisville. I smile, for I know why it is blaring. Yet another citizen – the eighth in the past two years – is missing.
I was the first, but I left voluntarily.
Those now with me did not.
The latest, a young woman, sits beside me, her body not yet corrupted by the bog’s foul atmosphere.
Like the others, I shall devour her before it does.