This week's three are almost too easy. Can't believe these are what my fingers fell upon in an encyclopaedic dictionary that contains millions of words; but there you are. I do, however LOVE each of these particular words so am looking forward to seeing how you tie them together (ahum.)
As it should be so easy, maybe I should challenge you to write something unexpected...? Nah - just go for it; whatever you please. The words are:
- Lunar
- Bootlace (plural is OK)
- Voodoo
See!
Usual rules, 100 words max (excluding title) flash fiction or poetry using all of the words above. Please use the Comments Box to add your entry. Three, two, one...
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Oh, am I first? Didn't want to get in trouble like last week.
ReplyDeleteCOLD SEPTEMBER CALL
It creaks as it swings, the sound lost as hordes below trample the bed of this great English forest.
Night has fallen. Exhausted, the villagers slow the search, their vision eased only by pale lunar flare as the Lady Moon glimpses in and out of blackest clouds.
Silence, save the rustle of death, of autumn leaves.
‘Wait. I hear her crying!’
They crane their necks. An injured animal, surely? Not the call of the eight-year-old girl who stares down screaming, wizened, shrivelled, alive. A voodoo doll hanged by the neck with her own bootlaces in England’s green and pleasant land.
Ooo...I liked that! Great microfiction, Lily.
ReplyDeleteRight, I'll apologise in advance for the use of one of the words. Here goes:
ReplyDeleteThe Last Time.
He stood there naked, scratches down his chest, blood trickling out of the deeper ones. He held a badly made doll in one hand and a bootlace in the other.
Jane looked up at him, “Is that supposed to be me?”
“Yes, a voodoo doll, Jane. You’ve betrayed for the last time.”
“You’re a lunar…”
“…tic. Yes I am! Only you’re to blame for it.”
Jane suddenly felt it hard to breathe. Her throat tightened as her husband tied the lace around the neck of the doll.
Jane’s neck snapped as he pulled the lace tight.
Thanks Ellie. Might you take a chance and have a go?
ReplyDeleteDavid, great piece but... what a f*ckin liberty! :) No, not really, very clever even if your abuse of the English language did make me cringe!
Lily, great piece. Eerie and atmospheric....you lunar-tic!!
ReplyDeleteHahahaha! I was going to add at the end of mine..."the last thing she saw was the lunar eclipse..." with a little nip and tuck of other words, but it just made me laugh when I typed it. Apologies...teehee!
Hi there, Lily! I saw this today and thought I'd have a go...a little sci-fi/horror poem I like your descriptive piece by the way, very atmospheric. And David, you seem to be having some fun messing with language today! Nice work!
ReplyDeleteAngry Aliens.
Voodoo dolls,
Tools of
Vengeance,
Litter the lunar landscape.
So small and discreet
The astronaut barely sees them
As he bends over to adjust
His bootlace.
As they catch his eye,
He realises
Aliens may mean business, and wishes
For a ‘beam-me-up’ button.
Here's my effort this Friday.
ReplyDeleteHis Purpose - 100 words
He was born under a bright full moon. The exact date forgotten long ago. His soul, his essence bootlaced to tireless lunar cycles. Empty and apathetic, he took up space during the nights of no moon. Quarter moon evenings tortured him with promises of what would soon come. Like some Voodoo doll suffering new pins, each new phase made him weep pain he did not understand.
But when the moon was full he knew why he existed. His purpose became clear as he watched the fur grow near the tip of his nose and around his toes…………………
London was calling.
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Gotta head to the bike shop. I'll swing by and read everyone's effort when I have some time this evening.
This is a hoot.
Welcome Joleen! Great poem; long time since we've had any aliens around here. Some lovely rhymes between voodoo and tools, and 'mean business, and wishes' (Sorry, don't know the official terms for that!)
ReplyDeleteThanks for contributing and following.
Mike - splendid to see you back! This is an atmospheric howler in the most positive sense of the word. Beautifully written - I love the line 'his essence bootlaced to tireless lunar cycles.'
Catch you later when you're back from the bike shop.
Well - a bumper 'crop' again, Lily!
ReplyDeleteWelcome back Mike, and welcome Joleen - a brilliant story and wonderful peice of verse!
Lily - dark and menacing beneath the veneer of English gentility.
David - (do your characters ever keep their clothes on....? ;-p) Good story, tho' - very creepy, watching someone strangle you from a distance!
Anyway, here's mine - bang on the 100 words:
OUT OF TIME
It’s late season, Blackpool seafront on a Saturday night. The crowds are heaving; the stalls festooned with sticks of rock and plastic dolls strung up like voodoo effigies.
As he handles the controls of the Lunar Buggy game in the arcade he’s an anachronistic icon with his slicked back quiff, bootlace tie and brothel creepers.
But don’t mess with him; he may be old but he can still handle a switchblade.
A young lad lies in a pool of blood in a dark alley; a gaping second smile across his throat.
He learned the hard way.
Don’t cheek your elders!
Nasty little tale that, Sue. Reckon I remember the old git - or his shadow down on the south coast - and he was very, very scary. Really well written and evocative of dangerous places I can't believe I used to frequent in my teens.
ReplyDeleteWow - great turn out again- this is turning out to be the place to be on Fridays Lily!
ReplyDeleteYour own piece was great - the atmosphere was fantastic.
David - made me go "ha ha ha ... oh. oh my." Nice and nasty.
Joleen - You make a hell of a first impression. This poem is like distilled "Martian Chronicles" - liked it a lot.
Mike - Werewolves of London? Classic. You did your subject great service here.
Sue - Gritty and descriptive. You make 'crazy' seem almost cool here.
My own attempt:
ReplyDeleteCaffe Omicidio Grande (half-caff...non-fat...one sugar…)
"I'm impressed," said Chet, then grinned and sang, "Who do that voodoo like you do, Allie?"
"Ugh,” replied Alice, rolling her eyes. “Don't ever say that again,"
She had to admit, though, that she had done excellent work.
Looking at the bootlace that ran from the trigger of the shotgun to the doorknob, Alice thought the thieving proprietor of "Lunar Latte" would be impressed too – just a second before his head was turned into red mist.
"Are you sure this isn't a bit much?" she asked Chet.
"No," he replied, all business now. "You don't mess with a man's beans."
Well Chris, you've surpassed yourself. Little bit Tarantino.
ReplyDeleteApart from the easy flow in the great writing I can see a whole book or film out of this. Go on then...
Thanks Lily.
ReplyDeletePerhaps I'll take that challenge ... when I've finished the current "secret" project. Seeing Erin Cole come triumphantly out the other end of the novel tunnel this week has made me feel rather lazy.
Lily - Civilized worlds only cover up evil. It will always be "hanging" around waiting for cracks in the facade. At least that's what I pulled from your nicely and darkly done 100 words.
ReplyDeleteDavid - Nice. The mania of the betrayed came through cyrstal clear. For some reason, the words "snap" and "neck" always remind me of throttling chickens as a youngster.
Joleen - a SciFi poem. Very cool. Reminded me of a Twilight Zone episode where a space ship lands on Earth. The alien ship is about 10 inches high. They do battle with a hill billy woman.
Sue H - Your fine little piece brought back memories of Harry. When I met Harry he was 75 and working in a scrapyard. I was his boss. No one gave that man any grief. The rumor was he used to "run errands" for the Boston Mob back when he was a younger man and had not gone to jail yet.
Chris - Are you from New England? Baked beans are a regional treasure here. And messing with them, a travesty. And though maybe Alice was right to question the extreme measure, it is hard to not empathize with a man whose beans have been messed with.
Thanks to all for the comments.
Great little stories everyone. Looking forward to what this weeks words are.
ReplyDelete