My internet continues to be temperamental, and it would be useful to have a back-up for when I fail to post (unless, of course, you can live with the uncertainty), though I admit last week's lack of comment from me was more due to a few days of focussed activity on my current wip. Best bit, now there's no obligation to declare a weekly winner, is the choosing of a challenging but inspirational trio of prompt words. For this week try brew, constipate mystery
Entries by midnight Thursday 3rd October, new words Friday 4th
Usual rules: 100 words maximum (excluding title) of flash fiction or poetry using all of the 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.
Thresholds new [38]
ReplyDeleteBut what I’d assumed, from the opaque whiteness of its appearance, its consistency (indicated by its movement within the flask) was milk, the mystery of its taste told me it was an entirely other brew. Though ‘brew’ not precisely the word. Nothing of organic yeastiness about it, but nor, I was certain, had it been adulterated with such as magnesium hydroxide as would alleviate the symptoms of constipation.
Raven’s mouth, chewing Gulch’s roast meat offering, expressed similar uncertainty. But, like me, he was reluctant to express ingratitude. He swallowed, ‘Don’t let us deprive you of your dinner –‘
Why do i get the feeling this meeting is not going to end well for someone ...
DeleteThe Hell Hound
ReplyDeleteThe brew that the witch concocted for me caused misery and chronic constipation. She cautioned me that the results would not be instantaneous. All part of the mystery, she said. I didn't bargain for eighteen months of blisters and boils, and hair loss and insomnia. But now my transformation is a complete. My, my, such big teeth I have acquired. As a dog I can track down and slaughter those who wronged me. Here boy! Cry havoc and release the Hound of Hell.
Witches, and the brews they concoct, are notorious for creating nasty explode-in-your-face loopholes for the user. This newly transformed hound of hell needs to be on the alert for more that boils , blisters and insomnia.
DeleteI'm not so sure you made the right decision by drinking the witch's brew, but this was very entertaining, David.
DeleteA DUTY SHIRKED
ReplyDelete“Whadda’ you mean Anna’s constipated?” Rudy yelled.
Randy hesitated then replied, “You know… clogged up… she can’t go.”
“I know what it means!” shouted Rudy. “How the hell did that happen?”
“No mystery, Rudy… it happens,” Randy replied, “but she’s mad as hell now.”
Randy sensed a storm brewing, for Rudy’s face puffed up and turned red.
“You’re supposed to look after Anna, Randy!”
Randy’s shoulders drooped; his face turned pale. “What can I do?” he meekly asked.
“Unconstipate her… now!”
Dread carved a niche in Randy’s mind as he searched the house for Anna, Rudy’s pet 17 ft. anaconda.
I'm wondering just what it was Anna ate to get her so 'clogged up' ..... Had to be something quite large ..... don't you think.....
DeleteOh no ... but, then where would seventeen of reptile hide out?
ReplyDeleteThe Secret Armadillo Soldier (SAS) Diaries - entry 291
ReplyDeleteThe digger watched Sarg rub her eyes again, then, with a nervous cough, he back-stepped with a distinctly constipated look on his snout, ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Sarg cos I don’t need yuh getting all snippy, or snarly, but im tellin yuh, fer yer own good, yu’ll ‘ave trouble brewin’ if yuh don’t rest up.
The tunnel aint gonna mysteriously vanish, yuh know.
There’s burrow just along here yuh kin use. Yer no good if yer plumb wore out, so rest up. My report’ll do yuh fer now.’
Eyelids drooping, Sarg didn’t argue, ‘alright, lead on.’
I hope Sarg takes the digger's advice, as she is too valuable to be incapacitated.
Delete