Weekly Challenge #987 – Visceral

The next topic is PICK TWO Give it all, Empty, Churrasco, Fiendishly difficult, Click

NORVAL JOE

Billbert’s mother, her superpower being incredible efficiency, asked, “Have you spoken with her?”

He felt a conflict deep inside himself. How could he not lie to his mother and also be true to Sabrina. He couldn’t. “Yes. She said she wants to be left alone.”

Calabassa perked up. “You know where she is?”

Billbert folded his arms. “Yes. But I’m not going to tell you where.”

“Billbert,” his mother said firmly. “They have a placement for Sabrina, and she can’t stay here.”

“Why not?” Billbert snapped back. “We have plenty of room.”

“Here I am,” Sabrina said from the hallway.

TOM

shoes of the fisherman

Timmy kicked a chunk of broken marble. There was a lot of broken marble. Small fires burnt through out Rome. In the shadow of a doorway a man was going through the motion of mass to no one particular. Timmy thought this could well be the most Visceral moment of this long trip in the city. That of course was indeed a sad play on words, because the man in the doorway was Pope Visceral the V. And much like the priest is Graham Green novel had lost all but the nagging reflex of his faith. More motion that connection.

SERENDIPIDY

People think I get a visceral pleasure out of writing about gore, violence and the more unpleasant topics, and perhaps I do, but I really don’t think that’s a bad thing.
It’s just stories, after all. Right?
Well yes, and there’s no harm in that.
However, you should always bear in mind that we write about the things we know.
And I do have to undertake an awful lot of ‘research’ to ensure my stories are authentic.
I’ll be honest with you, writing about this stuff is a lot of fun.
But the real pleasure happens before I start writing!

THOMAS

VISCERAL

Benny “The Cleaver” Reynolds had been the town’s butcher for forty years. His hands, thick as hams, bore the scars of countless cuts, his apron forever stained in shades of crimson. He knew every beast from hoof to hook, could split a carcass clean with a flick of his wrist. The cold room smelled of iron and sawdust, and Benny hummed as he worked, his knife gliding through sinew like poetry. He’d seen it all—thieves sneaking in for scraps, a man hiding a body in the grinder once. Benny said nothing. He just kept cutting. Business was business.

RICHARD

— Extreme —
My brother is a bit of a thrill seeker.
He’s into extreme sports. You know the sort of thing, hang gliding, base jumping, white water kayaking. Not so much sports, as dicing with death.
He says that it’s the adrenalin and visceral sense of fear and imminent danger that drives him; I say it’s his obvious insanity.
Even so, I encourage him – it’s good to have a hobby, and as long as he’s only putting his own life at risk, that’s fine by me.
It’s not that I don’t like him.
It’s more a case that I fancy his wife!

LISA

Everyday is a School Day

“Can anyone give me a definition or put the word into a sentence?” asked teacher, Rachael, pointing at the word VISCERAL on the board.
A hand raised immediately–
“I bought a visceral jumper at the weekend!” Polly said proudly
“That blue one? It’s acrylic!” replied her friend
“Nah it’s never made of nails.”
The rest of the class were concentrating on their phones so missed the exchange. Rachael had felt for a while she needed to find a new job. it was very definitely not a visceral feeling. She got her own phone out and registered with a recruitment agency.

PLANET Z

Two men with shields over their eyes, strapped to chairs and swords strapped to their hands.
Face to face, slashing each others faces without a flinch.
Hoping their wounds scar over to show their bravery and honor.
Those who fear the blade have surgeons give them scars, agreeing with others to lie about a duel to cover their fear and shame.
If the scar is not prominent enough, they pull at the wound to deepen it.
But not through the cheek to the teeth. That is too grim a look, even for the most monstrous of the dark army’s officers.

How is George doing?

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
How many pirates do you know that hand out comment cards while they pillage, loot, and burn?
“On a scale from one to five, how would you rate this pirate’s behavior?”
The problem isn’t that George fails to specify whether one is the best or the worst on the scale.
It’s that he never has a pen or pencil handy when the person asks to borrow one.
“I’m the one stealing from you, not the other way around!” snarls George.
And then he swipes the comment card from them.

George votes

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He also wasn’t very informed on the election.
“Who are you going to vote for?” pollsters would ask George.
“I don’t think I can vote for either candidate,” said George.
Operatives from both parties wined and dined George, showering him with gifts.
“Vote for us,” said one party.
“No, vote for us,” said the other party.
And they spent even more on George.
When Election Day came, George didn’t vote, and he stayed home.
“I still don’t think I can vote for either candidate. Piracy is a felony, right?”

George and the reckless and young

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
When we were young, we thought we could do anything.
George, not so much. He knew his limits.
He knew he wasn’t immortal and powerful like we were.
As we were reckless and living life to the edge.
George would watch us with this sadness.
Not out of jealousy. Or envy.
But pity, because he knew.
He knew we were so wrong.
And as we died young, one by one, in battle, in bar fights.
Buried with eye patches and peglegs and hooks for hands.
We proved him right.

George and Tourist Season

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
During tourist season, he worked for a water taxi service between the islands.
People snapped selfies with him, and he’d give his best pirate leer or he’d draw his cutlass and demand their gold and jewelry.
They’d laugh, and gave him excellent reviews on the comment cards and Yelp.
“George is the best pirate ever,” they said. “If only the islanders were as charming as George.”
At the end of the season, George returned to his ship and showed his mateys the reviews.
They threw George overboard and laughed.

George the Spammer

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He liked to send a lot of unsolicited email, and people reported him as a spammer.
“I’m a pirate, and we pirates loot and pillage towns and ports,” said George to his hosting provider. “And sometimes I notice that when some of my shipmates can’t get it up when they’re ravishing and raping, I make a note to send them an email about this herbal remedy I distribute.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” said the administrator, and they turned his account back on.
George smiled, and sent out more email.

Weekly Challenge #986 – TV in the background

The next topic is Visceral

THOMAS

The TV is always on in the Background.

The TV in the kitchen is always on, even when no one’s watching. It hums softly as Mom rolls the dice in Monopoly and Dad grumbles about losing again. My brother trades two railroads for Boardwalk while Grandma stirs her tea, shaking her head.

Between turns, we talk about the neighbors. Mrs. Parker’s new beau, Mr. Lee’s talking dog, the mystery of who keeps leaving panties on our porch.

The news anchor drones on in the background, but we barely listen. The TV is just there—like the ticking clock, the clinking dishes, and the laughter that fills our home.

LISA

An Ordinary Monday in March
It’s a day that Charlotte will never forget. The radio plays from the window sill: a story about a train derailment earlier. She wafts a towel over the toaster trying to stop the smoke alarm before it wakes the baby.
The baby wakes as her phone rings
“Hello. Mrs Biveh?”
There’s a jangle of a children’s programme from the TV in the background as a toddler clutches her leg. The smoke thickens.
“But Mummmmeeeee I neeeed to weeeeee”
“Hello? I’m PC Chalock…”
Charlotte turns the radio off, it silences the room but even in the quiet she struggles to comprehend.

RICHARD

— Scoreplay —

“Will you please turn that thing off?”
Jake frowned, “Do I have to? I like the TV in the background, ever since Patricia left me it’s been lonely around here. I like to have it on for the company.”
Now it was Anna’s turn to frown.
“But you’ve got company right now… Me! And if there’s one thing I hate, it’s trying to have sex while you’re distracted by the football!”
Jake pouted, peering over Anna’s shoulder to watch the match.
“You never told me. Why did she leave you, anyway?”
“She hated me watching TV during sex.” Jake replied.

SERENDIPIDY

You’ve got to play it smart when it comes to the cops.
They listen for clues when you make a call. Things like train sounds and church bells, or aircraft passing overhead; clues that can give away your location and lead them straight to you.
So I always put on the TV in the background, loud enough to mask out other noises.
Perhaps you might think that I’m being paranoid, but the fact is, they haven’t caught me yet.
And, if I have anything to do with it, they never will.
Not as long as I own a television, anyhow!

NORVAL JOE

After giving Sabrina enough time to get upstairs, Billbert snuck from the bathroom and listened by the kitchen to see what the two women were talking about. Unfortunately, the TV in the background covered whatever conversation they were having. He would have to step in, unprepared.

“Hi, Mom. What’s up?” he asked.

“This is Ms. Calabassa. She’s with Child Protective Services. She has a family to place Sabrina with.”

“That’s right,” she smiled at him humorlessly. “Have you seen her?”

“Nope,” Billbert said. “Not since before school. She had a meeting with a counselor, or something. Haven’t seen her since.”

TOM

Full of silence

I spoke to him daily. Long conversation on topics vast and deep. No matter the place or surrounding the air was always charged with interest. Wise witty and wondrous. Without a moment of lesser pretense. I am richer for his words, they have lingered long, yet few remain. So, I leave TV in the background on. Dull the day and go about the 1000 silence tasks that need no active thought. A hear an actor deliver his line. He says “Just do me one last favour Sherlock… One more miracle. Don’t. Be… Dead.” My god, did he love Conan Doyle.

867 irresistible

Timmy wasn’t so much irresistible as unrresistible. If you were in his presence, you could easily be drawn is to whatever madcap quest he was on, but at the same time if you as so much turn your head the illusion faded away. This is how Frank ended up 4th and Drucker waiting for the Electrician Or Someone Like Him. When a gentleman of short stature appeared to Frank’s right Timmy whispered “Don’t Crush That Dwarf, Hand Me the Pliers!” To this the Dwarf replied “How Can You Be In Two Places At Once When You’re Not Anywhere At All?”

868 The Homeric Hymn to Disney

Of the mouse giver we sing. He with the wry smile. He who can sell ice cube to an Eskimo. In Anaheim rich in gold. Of the duck giver we sing. He with Chicago roots. He who built the castle. In Anaheim rich in gold. Of the hidden mickeys giver, we sing. He with pencil drew. He who made the Mermaid’s queue. In Anaheim rich in gold. Of the Huey, Dewey, and Louie giver, we sing. He with child’s wisdom. He who made magic kingdoms. In Anaheim rich in gold. We sing of thee MOUSE. In Anaheim rich in gold.

PLANET Z

When I play games, I like to use my big screen TV as the monitor. It has a really fast refresh rate and the sound that comes out of the sound bar is incredible. And it’s like being in the game without having to put some goofy bulky headset on. The problem is I like to have the TV going in the background while I play games, so either I need to get a second TV to roll into the room or I stream stuff on my computer in another window through a second monitor off of the video card.

George the cultured

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
While the other pirates went to the taverns, George went to the theater, ballet, and opera.
“Landlubber tripe!” his mateys said, and they laughed.
George didn’t mind them.
But George did notice a man at the ballet who bore an odd resemblance to the captain.
“My niece is the lead dancer tonight,” said the captain. “Not a word.”
To keep him quiet, the captain let George be captain for a day.
The crew, terrified of what might happen, spent that day at the theater, the ballet, and the opera.

George passes the bottle around

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Shipwrecks had fallen to rot and rust on the blood-soaked beach.
With every wave, bodies washed ashore.
A few, he recognized.
Collect wood to start a fire.
Sit a while, warm your hands.
Pass the bottle of whiskey around.
Tell stories of the old days.
Great battles and massive treasures.
We could have lived like kings.
If only… if only…
When is enough enough?
George looks around the fire.
He is alone.
Tossing the empty bottle into the fire.
Laying down on his side.
Closing his eyes to sleep.

George the bear

Tomorrow, Ann was going off to college.
It wasn’t easy deciding what to take and what to leave behind.
She wouldn’t have enough room for everything.
This poster stays, this blanket comes with.
She looked at the shelf with her teddy bear collection.
Every one, her father had given her after he returned a business trip.
She held the bear with the eyepatch and bandanna.
“This one is from Puerto Rico,” he had said.
“George,” said Ann. “His name is George. George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.”
She put it in the box and smiled.