Category: Weekly Challenge

Weekly Challenge #879 – PICK TWO Style, Figure, Balance, Schism, Flower basket, Double

The next weekly challenge topic is: Range

RICHARD

Dress sense

In no way could you possibly consider me a style icon. Unless your idea of style is messy, comfortable slobbishness!

Fashion is certainly not my forte, and anything even remotely stylish in my wardrobe owes more to luck than judgement.

Most of the time, it’s jeans, and crumpled t-shirt. Despite that, I think I cut quite a dashing figure in a suit. That is, when I can be bothered, or the situation merits getting dressed up.

And it doesn’t happen all that often.

Usually, somebody has to die.

But, when they do, I’m always the best-dressed at any funeral.

LIZZIE

They made her wear a long checkered coat that matched the background.
“Color. Style. It’s intentional, darling,” said the director.
The multitude of patterns gave her a headache.
Then, they added a huge hat. “For balance,” they said.
“This is very Alice-like,” she muttered.
The director smiled a condescending smile.
“Ever directed a play, darling?”
“No.”
“Well then… This stage. It’s different! New!”
“What?! It’s a ripoff from Burton’s!”
“Out,” shouted the director. “Out, now!”
OK, time to call Mr. B and let him know he was right. This copycat wouldn’t be calling anyone else “darling” for a long time.

TOM

Flower Schism

The deadliest of our species are members of the Ladies Church Flower Guild. Lightning fast to act, with no compunction to rain-down rigorous death on usurpers. I have seen bishops brought to their knees. Vatican Emissaries shipped back to Rome in boxes. But nothing compares to the Flower Schism of 1968 when Mary Elizabeth Murray went after Mary Margret Edwards. It was biblical throw-down. When the dust clear only a handful of altar boys were left. My last act in that church with ecclesiastical vestments dripping read, was to place the remaining flower on the bodies outside the burning church.

my absence

My friend, god rest his soul, oped-in on Starlink beta test. Little did we know that that account was connected to a credit card that had been seriously max-ed out. So Starlink killed the service. I spent hours searching the Starlink web site for any form of customer service. Then any billing department links. Then any email at all, none. A company with no functioning contact information, not even a PO Box. There was no one and no way to get the service moved over to a new card. What kind of idiot starts a company with no billing department, oh Elon Musk.

Flower Schism

The deadliest of our species are members of the Ladies Church Flower Guild. Lightning fast to act, with no compunction to rain-down rigorous death on usurpers. I have seen bishops brough to their knees. Vatican Emissaries shipped back to Rome in boxes. But nothing compares to the Flower Schism of 1968 when Mary Elizibeth Murray went after Mary Margert Edwards. It was biblical throw-down. When the dust clear only a handful of altar boys were left. My last act in that church with ecclesiastical vestments dripping read, was to place the remaining flower on the bodies outside the burning church.

SERENDIPIDY

Slowly, you become aware of your surroundings. The pain in your head is severe and you feel the warm, stickiness of blood matting your hair.

There’s a ringing in your ears and you feel detached from your surroundings as you struggle to focus on the things around you.

You’re seeing double, and the world has become unclear and very distant.

You become aware of a blurry figure stood before you, and slowly, horribly, realisation dawns.

I raise the shotgun again, you’re staring down the barrel, and – as if from a great distance – you hear my voice…

“Ready for round two?”

NORVAL JOE

Billbert figured he could double down on acting confident and he thrust out his hand. “Here. Let me look at that scroll.”
The old man almost fell for it but jerked back the brittle role of parchment before Billbert could see what was written on it.
Billbert shook his head sadly. “Give me some help here, Sabrina. You’re the witch after all.”
She began to open her mouth, but the old man cut in instead. “She may be the witch, but she’s a weak one, except when in contact with you. You, young man, magnify and balance the witch’s power.”

PLANET Z

She balanced the flower basket on her head as she walked down the street.
A sign in the basket… roses for sale.
And a rose clenched between her teeth.
She’d motion for the tourists to put the money in their mouth.
And slowly, hands at her sides, she’d pass them the rose while taking the money.
By the time she got to the end of the block, her basket would be empty, and her pockets were full.
She’d walk into the bar at the corner and wash her mouth out with a glass of whiskey.
Filthy tourists. Do they brush?

Weekly Challenge #878 Scroll

The next weekly challenge topic is: Style, Figure, Balance, Schism, Flower basket, Double

LISA

Lonely Hearts

His flat overlooks the city but Paul isn’t looking at the view.

Paul’s TV is on but he’s not watching it.

A pigeon flies into his window, dies instantly and leaves a dusty imprint that Paul barely notices.

He’s scrolling, scrolling a dating site, scrolling a long list of single women that are looking for a man.

Looks matter but that’s not what stops him. It’s something he can see in their eyes, imperceptible to you and me. He knows what he needs. He likes them damaged, desperate and downright sad.

He stops scrolling.

Clicks.

Paul’s next victim is chosen.

LIZZIE

“The scroll, please”
Amidst the perplexing disarray of intentions (everyone darted in different directions), one of the monks tripped.
“So?”
They said the turmoil was such that no one fetched the scroll.
“Considering the monk’s broken leg will stay broken for a while, someone, get the scroll.”
Everyone hurried.
After a while…
“There are two scrolls, Father. Which one…?”
He took a deep breath. There are two, they said… Two scrolls, one broken leg. And he felt like strangling someone and shoving a scroll down someone’s throat. Then, there would be only one.
Hell. That’s where he was heading, Hell.

RICHARD

Origami

The South Coast Regional Origami Learners List, otherwise known as SCROLL, seemed like a good idea at the time. An online community of people with a shared interest in origami, providing a forum for enthusiasts of all abilities and experience to share their knowledge, and show-off their creations.

Unfortunately, we’d over-estimated not only the number of origami fans on the South coast, but also the levels of enthusiasm, which – if I’m honest – was pretty much non-existent.

Frankly, the whole thing turned out to be a complete waste of time, money and effort.

In the end, inevitably, it folded.

SERENDIPIDY

They say there are great mysteries contained within the sacred scroll, and that profound truths about life, death and the universe can be found within its writings.

Some have even speculated that the nature of god can be divined from studying its hidden messages.

It’s been said that magical texts of great power are held within the scroll, and ancient secrets are woven throughout its passages.

But, nobody knows for sure.

Because nobody has ever read the sacred scroll.

They simply skip to the bottom, tick the box saying they agree, and click on the ‘Accept’ button.

Just like you.

TOM

Never knowing the moment

A few years ago some wicked publishing house print out the coolest run of Kerouac’s On The Road. Like the original, one long scroll of paper. Should have laid out the coin and bought it. I didn’t big mistake, along side not buying a wood cut copy of the The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. To honor the passing of my friend who actually met the man. I dragged out the old tractor feed Epson and printed the scroll out. He and it reduced to ash. Funny how a single book can change a whole generation. Forever on the road.

My Absence
In John Green’s the fault in our stars his hero reflects on the pivotal turning point in dying “There’s no way of knowing that your last good day is Your Last Good Day. At the time, it is just another good day.” That’s for someone on the inside. For we on the outside trying own damnest not to fill that last good day with the mundane needs of community management we wait too long. Which is why I didn’t ask my best friend what the passwords were while he lay with multiple tube pumping in and out of his body, because, he was coming home.

NORVAL JOE

The hunched old man scratched his head through his black hood. “Yellow teeth?” He took out his phone and scrolled through his photo gallery.
Billbert scooted up next to him. “Can I look at that? Sabrina said there were some dark knights in our homeroom class. I’d like to see who they are.”
“Right. I think not.” The old man put the phone away and turned to the youths. “Bring me the scroll.”
The girl brought him a yellowed tube of parchment.
He unrolled it and read, “Billbert Dimplepoker, for crimes against the magical realms, you are condemned to death.”

PLANET Z

The rule is simple: wizards can only cast spells from magic scrolls and priests can only cast spells from holy scrolls.
If anybody else tries to cast spells from them, bad things happen.
Egbert the warrior tried. That’s him over there, that pile of ashes.
The dead frog in that pile is Luthien the lockpicker.
The woman rolling around on that mess and screaming is Melody the bard.
She needs a cure insanity spell cast on her, and luckily enough, we have a scroll of it.
Or maybe ironically enough, since it’s the scroll that these three idiots tried reading.

Weekly Challenge #877 Host

The next weekly challenge topic is: Scroll

SCRIBBLING WREN LISA

The Last Supper

John was the host with the most, his pavlovas were to die for.

He was a demon in the kitchen and always used fresh local ingredients. A lot of the vegetables he grew himself at his well tended allotment plot. He blended his own spices and there always seemed to be one flavour you just couldn’t put your finger on what it was.

There wasn’t a pudding today, it didn’t matter because after the main course his guests couldn’t move anyway. They weren’t stuffed, he’d drugged them. It was then that he shackled them and began to enjoy his evening.

RICHARD

Hostess with the mostess

She was the perfect host: Attentive, considerate and she always made you feel right at home.

Her parties were always memorable, and you knew you’d made it, if ever you received an invitation.

These parties were occasions not to be missed, and were often frequented by politicians, judges and celebrities, you’d be rubbing shoulders with everybody who was anybody.

She had a cracking pair of tits too! Along with a figure to die for and a wicked technique with the whip and restraints.

She was expensive, of course, but you certainly got your money’s worth.

Best damn dominatrix in town!

TOM

Sugar in Any Form

I have a warm memory from childhood of the Hostess thrift story. A little bit bigger than three bathrooms, but racks of week, to month old: ho ho-s, ding dongs, suzy q’s, sno balls, zingers, and my beloved Twinkies. ALL mime, mine, mine. I was a sugar junky. Would have been dead by now if it hadn’t been for a three years stay in an organic bakery drying me out. Last year my youth caught up with me. Diabetes. A host of sugar adjacent food sources were purged. Am I happy? Let us say being good is its own punishment

LIZZIE

“A plate full of love,” she said, looking at the heart-shaped biscuits and blinking her eyes slowly, like a cat.
He frowned.
She raised her voice to a higher pitch. “You don’t think so?”
Careful, he thought. Never ever contradict a host holding a plate.
“Valentine?” She insisted. “Love and all that?”
He nodded. Pink little hearts…
“Fine, don’t say anything. I’ll toss them in the garbage.”
He nodded.
That’s when that plate flew in his direction.
The gash on his head wasn’t the shape of a heart.
That love wasn’t meant to happen. He just hated pink freaking biscuits.

SERENDIPIDY

You’ve heard of the heavenly host? Let me introduce you to the unheavenly host.

We don’t sit around on clouds all day, dressed in white nightgowns, playing harps. We favour denim and leather, and cruise around on Harleys, blasting out sick riffs on Les Paul sunbursts.

Then there’s the whole being saintly and giving it up to God thing.

Stuff that! For us, it’s mob rule, sex, drugs and rock n roll.

I’ll be honest with you, heaven these days is pretty empty. When the angels see the fun they could have with us, they’re down here like a shot!

NORVAL JOE

The two knights directed Billbert and Sabrina to a rusted Chrysler 300 with all the windows tinted. They were pushed into the back seat. The dark knights squeezed in beside them.
An hour later they pulled up to a decrepit cabin dwarfed by tall pines and redwoods.
Inside the cabin they found an old man wearing a black hood with holes cut out for his eyes and mouth. He smiled a yellow toothed smile. “I will be your host while you stay with us.”
Billbert scoffed. “I have a host of questions. First. Do all of you have yellow teeth?”

PLANET Z

Aside from dropping dead in his own mansion, Mr. Body was actually a pretty good host for the party.
The invitations went out, the mansion was clean and well-decorated, and the caterers provided the best wine, appetizers, and dinner to the guests.
Leaving out so many weapons, well, that may have been taking the decorations a bit too far.
And when it comes to hosting a murder mystery, well, ten out of ten points for that.
In the end, everyone had a great time.
Well, except for the murderer, of course. They were hauled off to jail by the cops.

Weekly Challenge #876 – Superhero

The next weekly challenge topic is: Host

LISA

Death of a Super Hero

It was a Friday so we’d had fish for lunch, followed by double Maths. We were full of numbers and fish as the school doors slammed behind us.

Up the road at the petrol station a beige Ford Escort had filled up ready for a trip to the coast but we didn’t know that then, Dad read it out to Mum from the paper the next day.

Gary had put his parka hood on his head, held the arms up to the side like wings, we’d sung the batman theme as he ran out the gates straight into the car.

RICHARD

Not so super

What’s so special about superheroes?

Think about it: Every superhero has a nemesis – a force for evil they barely manage to keep in check, and it’s always touch and go whether good will win the day.

And, let’s not forget that every superhero also has a paralysing weakness. Superman has kryptonite, Green Lantern can’t cope with the colour yellow, and Aquaman loses his power away from the sea. As for Batman… Just mention his dead parents!

So, it seems that superheroes aren’t so super after all.

As for supervillains though, that’s a whole different story!

I’d be one, any day!

TOM

SuperHero

Lenny desperately wanted to be a superhero. His first foray into super-league status was days spent in the gym to build muscle mass. Didn’t work out well with that one. After get out of the hospital, he set his sights on a chemical super-power. The second stay in the hospital was a bit longer. Some say third is charmed, and it prove so for Lenny. Mind control was his ticket to the big league. Only problem is it just worked on sheep. What he could get a 1000 sheep to do, staggers the mind. And the cost of clean-up.

LIZZIE

Ding, ding, ding.
No one’s home, not even the one you’re looking for.
And who am I looking for, he thought. He didn’t know.
Ding, ding, ding.
Why isn’t anyone here? He didn’t know.
And he thought he was special.
Ding, ding, ding.
The harder he hit that bell, the angrier he got.
He was the one, he was THE one.
Ding, DING.
Anyone? Someone?
When they finally caught up with him, he was at the counter, hitting that bell with hatred in his eyes.
“Back home with you, mister.”
Ding…
Home? Superman never dresses in white. He hated home.

SERENDIPIDY

If I was a superhero, I wouldn’t work for the public good, and I’m betting you wouldn’t either.

If you had laser eyes, super strength, or the ability to fly, become invisible, or move at lightning speed, I’m sure as hell your first thoughts wouldn’t be how to use your powers to help those in distress.

Instead, you’d be figuring out schemes to rob banks, sneak unseen into people’s bedrooms and laser the shrubs in your annoying neighbour’s garden!

Just as well I’m an everyday person.

But all it takes is a radioactive insect bite… And then, you’re in trouble!

TURA

Superhero
———
Superhero Sidekick Examination: written part.

Question 1.

How can you riddle the Riddler?

Question 2.

Holy priceless collection of Etruscan snoods! Improvise three expressions of histrionic astonishment.

Question 3.

Your superhero is attempting to disarm the supervillain’s superweapon, when he exclaims, “Not only cunning, but fiendish! The entire assembly is behind a hypersensitive joggle trap! If only I had a 1N914 diode to redirect the electron field!”

How do you respond to this emergency in a way that demonstrates resourcefulness, creativity, elan, finesse, sprezzatura, and fourth wall knowingness?

The answer “I’ve not got one on me” will get zero points.
———

PLANET Z

Truth. Justice. The American Way.
Lex Luthor bought the copyright on the phrase.
“Doesn’t Superman own that?” said his attorney.
“Actually the narrator of news reels he’s in says that,” said Luthor. “The ones we just bought.”
When someone said the phrase or printed it on a shirt, Luthor demanded royalties.
Luthor tried to trademark the symbol on Superman’s chest, but that was covered by Kryptonian Law, the courts said.
Didn’t stop him from hiring fourth-world sweatshops to produce shirts for the fans of his nemesis.
It didn’t make a lot of money, but it was the principle that mattered.

Weekly Challenge #875 – PICK TWO Point, Heat, Carrots, Rust, Wafer-thin, Creep

The next weekly challenge topic is: Superhero

LIZZIE

The man looked at him sideways.
“What’s up?”
The man didn’t reply and looked away while scratching the rust out of the bench with a pocket-knife.
“You new here?”
The man shrugged.
“Better be careful.”
The man had one eye. The other was white, empty of life.
“Do you have a carrot?”
“A carrot?”
The man nodded and waited.
“That’s how I lost my eye.”
“Are you looking to lose the other too?”
The man grinned a toothless grin and walked away.
“A carrot… Creep. They’ve opened the doors at the funny farm again. Hope no one dies this time.”

LISA

An Open Packet Of Wafer Thin Ham Two Months Past It’s Use By Date.

Layers of sticky grime had built up over years on the door. Lizzie added fridge to the endless list of items for the dump. As she opened the door, the smell hit her like holiday heat when you leave the airport. The whole house had an odour, unpleasant and pervasive but this was something else amid the lumpy milk, liquid carrots and inexplicably her Mum’s purse. She knelt with a bin bag, sliding the contents into it with her nose covered, remembered coming home from uni, and her joy at seeing that fridge, very much cleaner, crammed full of treats.

RICHARD

Japan: The Reality.

Wafer-thin walls and overwhelming summer heat.

That’s what I say, when people ask me about my time in Japan.

I could say more… The crazy traffic, crowded streets, awful cheese, long working hours and the barely-concealed unconscious racism towards anyone who isn’t Japanese, but none of those really bothered me. Somehow, I accepted that as part of what it meant to live in Japan.

But, some things were just too much to bear.

Oh, and haiku.

I could never master that damn thing. I’ll stick to hundred word stories!

The wafer-thin walls;

Overwhelming summer heat.

Japanese torture!

TOM

Not Providing Appropriate Adjustment

Jack was odd. Markly off centered. You could say he was missing one important thing or he was burdened with one maladaptive trait. One could say he was a wafer-thin creepy. How he entered a room, how he joined a conversation of his peers, even if was just walking pass you in a hall, you feel a sense of peril. And wasn’t just adults. Dogs and cats would go ballistic, small children would weep. I tried my best to at the least be surface friendly. That was until the day of the hard black rain. The day Timmy mysteriously disappeared.

SERENDIPIDY

I’ve never been much good at slicing vegetables; I’m always in too much of a hurry. No matter how hard I try, they always come out uneven and messy. Certainly not fit for dinner parties and entertaining.

So I bought myself a mandoline: One of those razor-sharp slicers that proper chefs use, and it revolutionised my kitchen. Now my carrots are wafer-thin, every time.

But, for my latest dinner party, I was running late, and rushing again.

I’d sliced my fingers off, down to the knuckles before I realised.

Nobody noticed the added ingredient.

And it tasted great.

NORVAL JOE

Billbert bit his lip and thought about what the girl had said. “Oh. You mean you have my friend, Linoliamanda.
The girl sneered, looking truly horrifying with hair the color of rust and teeth the color of carrots. “Call her what you want. If you don’t come with us, she’ll be called a memory.”
Sabrina tugged at his sleeve and whispered, “We should run. I think we can outrun them.”
The boy said, “You’d have to get through us first.” He grabbed Sabrina by the shoulders.
She sighed. “I guess he has a point. We probably better go with them.”

PLANET Z

The first time the Creep in the big grey hoodie walked into the grocery store and stuffed bags of baby carrots into this pockets before walking out, nobody saw it.
But after a few days of this, a guy stocking the produce section noticed him, and he got on the phone to the manager.
Too late to stop him from leaving.
Soon, hundreds of stores were reporting similar thefts.
Corporate told managers to have parking patrols watch the doors, and eventually they caught the carrot thieves.
Meanwhile, over in countless dairy sections, the real thieves had stolen all the eggs.

Weekly Challenge #874 – Diet

The next weekly challenge topic is: Point, Heat, Carrots, Rust, Wafer-thin, Creep

SCRIBBLING WREN

Mr Tibbles Special Diet

Paula had him from a kitten. His once luxurious coat was matted and shed hair as he limped by. He’d lost the leg while he was sat in the road washing.

Because of a kidney problem he could only eat expensive food from the vets. It was measured out twice daily. After his second 25g meal he sat meowing by the window until Paula opened it to let him out.

Outside he ate the remains of a KFC Bargain Bucket from the bin, drank from a brackish puddle while Paula watched, thinking it was probably time for a new cat.

LIZZIE

Diet is such a wonderful word, he thought. The thought of restraining yourself from eating what you want is delightful. Saying “no, thank you, I am full” when you’ve been eyeing that food for the past half hour is enchanting. And the taunting sneers… They think those “no, thank yous” are as fake as their boobs and their mustaches tinted black. And when, in a moment of sheer restraint, you stab just one of them in the eye, then all is well. You don’t have to worry anymore. You’ll eat what’s given to you. Diet is such a wonderful word.

RICHARD

Weighty matters

It was one of those loaded questions. You know the sort, the ones that come out of the blue from nowhere, leaving you no choice but to answer, and whatever answer you give, you’re damned!

“Should I go on a diet?”

I busied myself with my breakfast, hoping she’d let it pass, but knowing my fate was sealed.

“Well?” She gave me a steely look. “Am I overweight? Should I go on a diet?”

I sighed, and smiled at her.

“You don’t need to diet… You just need to buy bigger clothes!”

Well, it seems that was the wrong answer.

TOM

It’s All In The Deliver

The great theologian Rasmus of Tent had a flamboyant presentation style. When speaking of the great parting of the empire, he placed a larger glass bottle on the podium filled with an abundance of night-crawlers. He waited. The students look on in dark silence. Smiling he offered an eclectic hint. “Heylshof Garden.“ Silence. Then another: Charles V And yet another Frederick III. Walking to the front ring of chairs he whispered into the ear of his prized pupil. Beaming he announced: Diet of Worms. Ryely Rasmus stated “happily while Luther branded a hectic he wasn’t asked to dine on same.

SERENDIPIDY

I’m a very ordinary, average type of person: Not too short, nor too tall, fairly slim, not tending towards fat, and unremarkable when it comes to looks – I’m no supermodel, but then again, I’m not butt-ugly either.

If you happened to pass me in the street, you might spare me a second glance, but then again, you might simply pass me by, without even noticing.

They do say that a balanced diet is a good thing, and I can’t disagree.

Cannibalism needn’t be unhealthy, you just need to be choosy.

And, I’m living proof, you are what you eat!

NORVAL JOE

As if to prove her assertion that Billbert’s touch increased her magical powers, Sabrina reached out and put her hand on his. As she did her eyes went wide. “Oh no!” She gasped and looked at the door to the ice cream parlor.
Two hulking teenagers blocked the exit. With hair so greasy and their faces covered with pimples they must be living on a diet of potato chips and French fries, the girl of the two growled, “We are of the Dark Knights. We have your friend, Lanolin. If you want her to live, you must come with us.”

PLANET Z

It’s been a while since I last wrote a new story here.
I’ve been diagnosed with a lot of conditions, and they all overlap in their symptoms as well as their impact on each other.
An allergy to this, a sensitivity to that.
Medications for one aggravate the other.
Do this, change that, can’t eat anything on this list… or that list… but this list is… oh, wait… can’t eat that either.
Until it all becomes so much, my anxiety goes through the roof and into the stratosphere.
Here’s some pills for it.
Which cancel out all the other pills.

Weekly Challenge #873 – Your Honor

… and next week’s topic is Diet

SCRIBBLING WREN

The Dark Stranger

“No further questions your honour.”

Everyone on the jury knew Peter was guilty. They’d known as soon as they saw him before anyone had said anything. Their deliberation would be over in record time. An instant unanimous decision, I mean, despite the lack of evidence he’d admitted he’d done it.

And so he was found guilty.

A sentence passed that meant he would never, school sports day or not, find himself in a field again.

Unlike his older brother, Doyle who never visited, continued to work as a PE teacher and never once said thank you for taking the rap.

JARED

Rachel knew she was onto something big. Huge. It’s the only reason she would ever be at a football game, naked but for a trenchcoat and sneakers, trying to be inconspicuous. Her informant set up the meet: streak the game, get caught, meet the go-between.

A whistle, a flash of yellow, and everyone’s attention was focused on the other side of the field. This was it. She threw off the coat and sprinted for the field.

She was tackled by two security guards almost immediately. She felt the one holding her by the legs slip something into her shoe. Success.

RICHARD

Judged

Judge Nicholson was a tyrant. We all hated having to appear before him. Whether prosecuting, or appearing for the defence, you knew you were in for a hard time.

He would berate, belittle and abuse you in court, and act up, putting on a show for the jury, spectators, and the press.

We all hated being there.

But, not today. Today, we’ve all crammed into the courtroom, both as professionals, and filling the public gallery.

Judge Nicholson was being tried for public indecency, and we were there ensuring he got everything he deserved.

So, how does it feel, your honour?

LIZZIE

“Your Honor, I must protest.”
“Object?”
“Ok, object.”
“Grounds?”
The lawyer shuffled through his papers.
“Your Honor.”
“Counselor.”
“The thing is…”
“Yes?”
The lawyer shuffled through his papers again.
“Your Honor, I…”
“Counselor, I am losing my patience. If you object, you must specify the grounds for your objection.”
“The footage is inadmissible.”
“Why?”
“It’s a film reel. How are we supposed to…”
“Is that my problem, Counselor?!”
“I must protest, your Honor.”
“Object, Counselor, object. Get out of my courtroom. Out!”
And off the lawyer went, protesting all the way. He should’ve paid more attention at Law School indeed.

SERENDIPIDY

You’ve probably heard it said that there’s no honour among thieves, but that’s not strictly true.

It may be the case for those common petty thieves and robbers that clog up our prisons and pollute our neighbourhoods, but amongst those of us with more specialist skills – those of us in the business of stealing the life force from our victims – you will certainly find honour, and respect for each other.

It’s purely practical, of course.

For very obvious reasons, you really don’t want to upset somebody whose business is killing – it’s simple self-preservation.

Your honour, is your life insurance!

TOM

the instruments of question

What I do isn’t exact who I am. Who, goes around will a calling card saying Where from the Grand Jury we’re here to help. Further I’m what you would call a Juror Wrangler. Get alone little inquisitors. You, can not image how easy it is to get into major trouble indecorously opening your frilling mouth. As much as I try, someone, at some time, will say the worst thing possible. Then I find myself in the Judge’s chambers firing off a string of: Yes your honor, Yes your honor, never again your honor. I real should get a taser.

NORVAL JOE

Sabrina pushed her half eaten bowl of ice cream away, held up her spoon, and sat up straight. “On my honor as a junior member of the weather witch’s guild, I’m telling you that the clouds have revealed it to me that you are to be my lifelong companion.”
“Your honor?” Billbert asked. “You may be a junior member of the whatsit guild, but that doesn’t mean the clouds can tell you anything.”
She put down her spoon. “Don’t you see? When we touch, you make my powers so much stronger, I don’t even need the clouds to confirm it.”

Weekly Challenge #872 – Exposed

SCRIBBLING WREN

Cara

My bag got stolen, snatched last night as I got off the bus but that’s not the moment of change in today’s story. Obviously, it’s a pain, stopping cards, the loss of the money – my tips were in there. And my make up bag, this is the biggie.

Right now, I’m on the bus without a mask of foundation, eyes undefined with liner, squirming with embarrassment not wanting anyone to look.

The juddering window exposes my naked face and I see me. I see me like it’s for the first time and I realise it’s OK. This is my face.

LIZZIE

The vase in the shape of a giraffe was the reason for many arguments in the Employees (the gang) Only room. Some said it was a deer, others a dog, others whatever. Though the “whatevers” would frequently win, she insisted it was a giraffe. She enjoyed being a nuisance, the vortex of all disagreements. When management decided she had to be promoted, the gang threw the giraffe in the garbage out of spite. That’s when they discovered a mic. This is how you go from being oh, so happy for being a nag to… oh my god, I was fired.

RICHARD

Exposed

We found the old camera whilst clearing out my grandfather’s attic. It was in a box marked ‘grandad’, scrawled in my grandfather’s curly script, and we figured from the newspaper packing, that the contents had belonged to his grandfather… My great, great grandfather!

It still contained a roll of exposed film, and my hands trembled at the thought of what treasures from the past it might hold.

“That’s cool!” Whooped my twelve-year old son, snatching the camera from me, opening it, and unspooling the film, holding it up to the brightly sunlit window.

“Nothing on it” he said, frowning.

TOM

Weather Will Kill Ya

There is a rite of passage in Chicago. As a kid your actively bundled by parents to not freeze to death. Deep layers of clothing insured you would make it to at least the age of 14. The winter of your freshman year peer-pressure left you sorely exposed to the elements. No boots, No hat, No scarf. Just jeans and a Letterman leather jacket, not exactly Arctic wear. And worst for the girls, in skirts. We were having none of that and forced both the official and unofficial school dress code into the 20th century

SERENDIPIDY

Don’t believe a word of it!

We don’t sleep in coffins, you can’t kill us with a stake through the heart, we don’t turn to dust when exposed to sunlight, and we certainly don’t have sparkly skin or enjoy a bad relationship with werewolves.

It’s all nonsense.

Except the part about drinking blood.

We definitely do that.

But, none of the rest of it, just to be clear.

We look, sound, act and behave just like anybody else.

We could be your colleague, or neighbour, or cousin.

Even you could be one!

Maybe you should give drinking blood a try?

NORVAL JOE

As Billbert and Sabrina walked from the movie theater to the ice cream shop he kept an eye out for her grandmother. Earlier in the day when she had coerced Billbert to take her granddaughter to the movie she made it clear she didn’t want her part in the activity exposed.
Sabrina smiled at him over her banana split. “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses and see that I am the girl for you, and not that Linoleum girl.”
Billbert dug half-heartedly at his hot fudge sundae. “I’m thirteen years old. I hardly think there’s any girl for me.”

Weekly Challenge #871 – Horror on the Subway

Catnip

SCRIBBLING WREN

Mornington Crescent

Two platforms lured them away, promising an escape from the crush of bodies on the Northern Line down just sixty six steps. Phones had stopped working so no one knew the first explosion had been reported at Euston.

They’d felt it as it rocked the station, six panic attacks started Northbound, Southbound someone started to scream. Later the smell of charred flesh would creep down the tunnel.

Some had jumped. The precipice of the platform edge providing temporary relief then a respite on the train tracks until the eight twenty arrived on time for the first time in a week.

RICHARD

Horror on the subway

We heard it, long before, it came into view: A discordant, metallic grating that set one’s teeth on edge, echoing eerily through the subway tunnels and corridors.

As we drew closer, the sound of tortured human voices could be discerned amongst the sounds of destruction – wails and stomach-churning moans and groaning. The occasional shrieking scream pierced the air.

Grimly we continued forward, fearful of what lay ahead, but steely in our resolve, as we turned towards the platform, the full horror assailed us.

A busker quartet: Violin, tambourine, and three dreadful voices, massacring Candle in the Wind.

Truly horrifying!

TOM

Never Return
It has been nearly three quarters of a century, but his presents is still felt. From Kendall Station to Scallay Square. The ghostly face behind the window. Same say they can just hear his moans. Others the icy touch of his hand as he sails past the platform. All agree the presents of the etherical sandwich float in the train chills the bone, a horror in the subway. The man who never returned is not alone. That car is fill with the souls of every MTA administrator. They will ride forever beneath the streets of Boston, and never return.

LIZZIE

“Horror on The Subway” was the title of her latest book. A massive success. The aliens, assisting the newest rotation of settlers, were huge fans. When they realized she was visiting the base, they spent days putting out arrows. We laughed because the base was pretty easy to find and the arrow system was simply chaotic. No one saw it coming. Her ship did some odd twists and turns till it just vanished. Those arrows weren’t showing the way. They seized the controls! “Where is she?!” The aliens whistled distractedly, a skill they had recently picked up from us humans.

TURA

Horror on the subway
———
In 1976, the Swiss artist H. R. Giger visited London, desiring to explore the disused Underground stations. His guide was one Henry Cottonwood, a staff member who had worked at some of them. Cottonwood found Giger disturbing, but with good grace showed him around Down Street, Trafalgar, and others. But at British Museum, something happened of which he would never speak. He retired early and never again ventured below ground.

Three years later, the film “Alien” appeared, famously designed by Giger. On seeing an advertising poster, Cottonwood yelled, “They’ve escaped!”, running headlong into the traffic. He was fatally run over.

SERENDIPIDY

Take my advice and never take the last train.

I’m not trying to frighten you and I’m only advising you for your own safety, I promise.

It’s not because you’re likely to run into any gang members, muggers or druggies: You won’t find any of those stupid enough to catch the last train, no matter how desperate they might be… They know better.

It’s not tired drivers, sacrificing safety for speed, ignoring red lights in their haste to end their shift.

No, never take the last train, because that’s the train that I take.

And I prefer to travel alone!

NORVAL JOE

Billbert walked with Sabrina out of the movie theater.
Sabrina smiled at him. “Thanks for inviting me to a movie. I think this was my very first date.”
Billbert swallowed hard, knowing her grandmother probably followed close behind. “Yeah. This was fun, but I expected the movie to be about a serin gas attack, or maybe a mass shooting.”
Sabrina nodded. “Yeah. But still, it was really freaky when the passenger cars began to fill up with beanie babies. I mean, where were they coming from?”
Billbert agreed. “Really. I was worried. I’m just glad they eventually saved the cat.”

PLANET Z

On major holidays, the transit authority waives fares for the trains.
It’s great for all the people wanting to go Downtown for the lights and store window watching and all, but it’s also great for people living on the streets looking for a place to stay warm.
At every train and bus station, the cops come in and clear those people off, sometimes sending them to a shelter, other times just tossing them out on the street again, where they make their way back on eventually.
And then there’s the dead ones. They’re fed to the beast under track twelve.

Weekly Challenge #870 – PICK TWO Put that thing down, Spycam, Pew, Evidence, March, Thick

(imagine a cat here)

TURA

Spycam; Pew
———
I walk through the churchyard, stamp my snow-covered boots in the porch, and enter to take my usual pew. I nod coldly at the spycam that I believe to be mounted under the pulpit.

I play the part of a believer, but my mind is focussed on the messages concealed in the hymn board, the Bible readings, and the sermon. The numbers indicate the words and sentences to listen for.

After the service, we file out, each exchanging a few words with the minister. I secretly acknowledge the message received, and we part.

Or, so I like to imagine.

NORVAL JOE

In an attempt to obscure the evidence that he and Linoliamanda were actually floating above the sidewalk, Billbert pumped his legs like he was running. He knew the bullies were probably too thick headed to notice, but someone they passed might. Rounding the corner onto Anaheim Avenue, someone did.
Sabrina’s grandmother stood in their path. She gritted her teeth. “Put that thing down,” she growled.
Billbert de-levitated and skidded to a stop. “How rude. This is my friend. She’s not a thing.”
The old woman shook her head. “Anyone who interferes with Sabrina’s progress is a thing I will eliminate.”

DUANE

This Christmas I will expose the big-Santa industrial complex. St. Nick, the puppet of the toy makers, will be made to answer for years of consumer manipulation.

Spy cams have been set up on the rooftop and near the fireplace and tree. If Santa samples the milk and cookies there will be DNA evidence to identify him.

Their endgame is to get you used to having lots of presents at Christmas. As you get older they deny the existence of Santa. It’s then up to you to buy Christmas presents and stocking stuffers for everyone, so the capitalist cycle continues.

SERENDIPIDY

I know you’re watching me.

I know about the spycam in the television. I know you have my phone bugged, and I know you’re firing microwaves at my brain to read my thoughts.

Of course we’re not! Show us the evidence.” They say, “We just want to help you!”

But I know the truth.

Because the voices tell me.

And the voices are never wrong.

So, I won’t believe your lies, and I won’t take your pills, and I’ve no interest in your ‘help’.

The voices know best. The voices know everything.

And the voices told me where you live.

RICHARD

Enemy

It was sometime in the afternoon of the third day of the march that we came upon the checkpoint.

March, is probably something of a misnomer: If you could call the shambling, stumbling, trudge through the snow and barren countryside anything, a march it certainly wasn’t.

Today was Christmas Day, and fate had seen fit to gift us with the enemy: Oblivious to our presence, and with their guard down.

When we appeared from nowhere, he raised his rifle, panic-stricken.

I smiled at him, and held out a bar of chocolate, “Now, put that thing down”.

Enemy?

Not today.

LIZZIE

“Put that thing down now,” the owner said.
That thing was the spycam, the evidence of foul play.
It was all over the news.
They found cameras in all the rooms. The hotel was closed and the police ripped every mirror and every lamp off the walls. They tossed the furniture aside. They emptied the drawers and shoved them onto the floor.
It was their job, they said.
“This will cost a fortune…”
Well, not really.
The manager held “that thing” up.
“They missed this one. And it has the footage of the cops destroying everything.”
“Blessed be the taxpayer.”

LISA

I believe…

Reuben had been working on his project since March. He was about to prove that Father Christmas was a hoax. It was the big night, Christmas Eve, all quiet in the house except a little mouse stirring his midnight cup of tea.

Reuben had fallen asleep but the Spy Cam was set up and trained on the Fireplace, where a pair of boots appeared and then the man himself.

With a brisk efficiency Santa drained the sherry glass, enjoyed the mince pie, stashed presents in stockings, straightened a picture, deleted the evidence off the camera and returned up the chimney.

PLANET Z

As an answer to St. Patrick’s Day revelries and mayhem, Father O’Reilly came up with Christmas in March.
Despite promoting the sermon as best he could… I mean, two trays of Oreo cookies instead of one… well, the pews were more empty than usual.
So, the next year, he got a bunch of kegs and pizzas, throwing a St. Patrick’s bash.
The next morning, the church was a mess.
Trash, vomit, clothes everywhere.
But the collection box was stuffed to overflowing.
O’Reilly committed to a sermon-party every Sunday.
And the pews were removed to make room for the dance floor.