Category: Weekly Challenge

• Richard
• Lisa
• Tom
• Serendipidy
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

The next topic is Pencil case

LISA

The Dog Walk

Afternoon. The light fails fast. The poetry of the season doesn’t escape me as a golden glow hugs the park: it’s a feast for the senses. Russet leaves rustle underfoot. Mustard and claret cling on in trees above.
I forage with an urgency through damp, decaying debris in a thousand shades of brown. I find a perfect red mushroom straight from a fairytale but on I search to avoid a fine.
My foot, with full body weight wins the treasure hunt. It oozes either side of my deep treaded boot and smells like I should’ve found it a lot quicker.

LIZZIE

She wrote poetry.
He said it was garbage.
She tried again and again.
He laughed.
She cried.
He mocked her.
She wanted to stay, but couldn’t. She wanted to leave, but couldn’t.
He torched her poetry.
She wrote some more.
His rage became impossible. He destroyed her clothes and her books.
She grabbed her purse, her poetry notebook and her umbrella. She didn’t know why she took the umbrella with her. She just did. It was hers and it reminded her that when you look at an umbrella from underneath, you can see the sky and feel that you’re flying.

RICHARD

Poetic
I’ve never been one for poetry. Give me prose any day. I don’t need flowery language or complicated structure, just give me facts in plain, straightforward terms.
It’s not that I don’t like poetry. I appreciate it, and there are times it’s perfect for my mood or the occasion, but I don’t go out of my way to find it.
The same goes for writing.
I suck at poems.
I never have the time,
And they never really rhyme.
Well, how about that?
I’m writing on the train right now, so I guess you could say that’s poetry, in motion.

SERENDIPIDY

‘Roses are red, Violets are blue
With a shot to the head
I’m going to kill you’
I told you I wasn’t the artistic one in the family.
If I’d asked my sister to pen a poetic prelude to your last moments, she’d have done a much better job of it.
It would have been full of drama, pathos and emotion; you’d have wept at how she’d captured the moment in all its horrific beauty.
But, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, and my less than brilliant grasp of rhyme and meter.
So…
‘Roses are red:
And now, you’re dead!’

NORVAL JOE

Billbert watched the old man spin up into the sky and disappear. He shook his head. “Poetry in motion.”

Bobbi squeezed Patrick’s arm. “What is wrong with your head? You were going to kill those women.”

Patrick shrugged away. “What does it matter to you?”

Tears formed in the tall girl’s eyes. “It matters because you’re my brother and I love you. And I don’t want you to go to jail.”

Patrick looked like he had been hit on the head by a brick. “You love me?” he asked. “Even after everything I did to you, you still love me?”

TOM

reads us stories out of I Ching
She was poetry in motion you can let go. An angel from the angel band. A shadow in a wasted land. A Specter rising up in the sand. Sweet Lorain. You know you should run, cuz your feet know better. The mark on the ground is big red letter. Sweet Lorain. The spell that she cast will be your end. To bottomless pits she will send. Sweet Lorain. Now you know it’s a shame and a pity you were raised up in the city and you never learned nothing ’bout country ways. You’re the not first you’re not last. Sweet Lorain

TURA

Poetry
———
In 1892, young Matilda Dunnett travelled by steamship from New York to Liverpool. During the voyage, she and a young man called James Hurt struck up an acquaintance, and discreetly became lovers.

At some point James wrote her a declaration of love on a ship’s biscuit, its durability promising his faithfulness. It is not known what became of the affair, but Matilda’s grand-daughter found it among her belongings after she died.

The biscuit is preserved at the National Maritime Museum in London. The caption reads:

“This ship’s biscuit

(inscribed with a love note)

shows signs of damage by larvae.”

Poetry!
———

Z

Jerry was posted to a far colony. Faster than light travel, made travel fast, but the infrequency of ships along the routes made communication less than instantaneous. A Data block would collect important information, and it would be delivered along the route. Sometimes a ship would be lost and news of the loss would take a while to arrive before another data block could be sent. Jerry sent poetry back to his fiancé, trying to entice her to get aboard the next ship. Eventually, she agreed. It wasn’t until the next circuit that Jerry learned her ship had vanished.

• Richard
• Lisa
• Tom
• Serendipidy
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

The next topic is Poetry

LISA

Christmas
Christmas was always the same at Mums. Everyone stayed over except Auntie Lizzie because she had to get back for her dog. She gave the best gifts but apologised saying she hadn’t got out to buy anything this year so, it was a shock when she handed me a present. It was a pricey looking necklace.
“They’re real. Not paste.”
Excited by this my brother unwrapped his even larger parcel. It was heavy and had a bit of a smell. He said nothing but showed us her dog.
I was dying to say: ‘at least you can stay over now.’

RICHARD

Ho, ho, humbug!
I hate Christmas gift shopping.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy choosing and giving gifts, it’s all the hassle that comes with it, and I’m not the most organised of people.
I have friends who buy presents throughout the year, wrap and label them as they go along, and when December comes around, all the hard work is done.
Not me though.
I used to leave it to the last minute, and it was always a nightmare.
Thankfully, I don’t usually see family and friends until after Christmas, so now I buy most of my gifts in the January sales!

SERENDIPIDY

I grew up in a very annoying family.
All my siblings could have been described as gifted. Between them, they excelled at sports, the arts and academically.
Unlike me.
You’d never describe me as sporty, I can’t paint, write, sing, act or play music and I dropped out of school, failing every exam I took.
I suppose you could say that, for me, it was an unhappy childhood: watching my brothers and sisters succeed and flourish, whilst I floundered.
They’re not succeeding now however.
Not since I poisoned them all.
I guess my cooking skills weren’t up to much either!

TOM

Tis Da Season
I don’t go Christmas gifts. My family and every close friend is a good
1000 miles away. I do have one person who I do un-Christmas gift with.
Each year we head down to the local Walmart. Pick out a functional but
not so fashionable leather wallet. You do this four decades you end up
will a draw filled with wallets. Not bum you all out, but that friend
die a few years back, so now truly I don’t do Christmas gift. I must
admit look in the draw of wallet is a bit of gift when the snow falls

NORVAL JOE

The old man snarled at Billbert. “You’ve gifted the Five Star Sisters a reprieve, but it won’t last very long.”

The door slammed open. Mrs. Weinerheimer charged in, shouting, “Gift is a noun. Not a verb.”

His mother’s superpower of efficiency was more than the Black Knights control over Billbert and Sabrina could handle.

As the tsunami dissipated to nothing, a tornado formed over the dilapidated cabin and ripped the feeble roof away.

Mandy and Mrs. Weinerheimer rushed to Billbert while Bobbi grabbed Patrick’s arm.

The tornado shrank, wrapped its tail around the Black Knight leader and whisked him away.

PLANET Z

Sometimes I like to buy things on Amazon for myself, get them gift wrapped, turn off notifications, and get blackout drunk. I don’t remember that I bought the things, and when they arrive I’m pleasantly surprised. Then I read the notes, and they’re horribly disturbing… downright creepy. How the Hell did they know this about me? Are they spying on me? Are they stalking me? Then I see the credit card statement and wonder if they hacked my account and stole my credit card. I call the card company to cancel my card and I change all of my passwords.

• Richard
• Lisa
• Tura
• Lizzie
• Tom
• Serendipidy
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

The next topic is Gift

LISA

Cynthia’s had a Fall
It’s a tale as old as time: we were discussing the idea of assistive technology. Well, we mentioned things, they were refused. Luckily, Cynthia’s house already had rails and ramps but the idea of wearing a medical assistance necklace was dead in the water.
She really didn’t want a daily phone-call either, once a week on Friday was all she’d agree to.
Cynthia fell again on Tuesday. She didn’t answer Friday’s call so we went over. There was smeared blood, as if she’d been dragged, across the carpet and Aunty Cynthia, dead, an arm stretch away from the pendant alarm.

RICHARD

Help!
Gotta love assistive technology!
I’ve ditched clunky, outdated and labour-intensive interfaces with my computer, in favour of technological solutions.
I replaced my keyboard and mouse with speech recognition, and I don’t even turn my monitor on, since my screen reader takes care of that.
My Roomba does the carpets and the robot mower cuts the grass.
Alexa takes care of boiling the kettle, ordering my groceries and controlling the heating.
All I have to do is sit here.
Even my chair helps me to my feet.
Then I fall down, unable to get up, thanks to my atrophied muscles!

TOM

old

When you reach a curtain age in life one needs a bit of Assistive
Technology to get through the day. Take the Randick Pecker Electrostatic
360. A marvel of modern know-how. 11 setting (max level may cause death,
see your doctor if you stop breathing) And there are lot of add-on
packages for your package. The rainbow led array, the quadrophic micro
speaker sub-woffers. There the AC-DC switch hitters add-on, the solo
master unit. Powered by harmless hydro cells (do not store in a dark
place for over a month, call 911 in the event of a fire). Use responsively.

TURA

Assistive technology
———
All technology is assistive— that’s what it’s for. But everything that assists you weakens you. Writing destroyed memory. Keyboards destroyed handwriting. Central heating, hot showers, and soft beds destroy resilience. Abundant food destroys health. Prosperity destroys reproduction. Instant communication foments strife. Peace flows inexorably into war.

Teaching prevents learning, answers prevent thought, advice saps initiative, ease destroys character.

And AI, the everything box, will destroy everything.

For this is the iron law of success: that every success contains the seeds of its failure. The easier we make the path of life, the shallower the heights we scale on the way.

SERENDIPIDY

The torture business is hard, physical work, and it really takes a toll on your body.
After a long day in the dungeons, your body aches and you feel utterly worn out.
It’s lifting all those heavy iron shackles, manhandling prisoners and hauling on ropes and chains all day.
Chopping off heads is the worst. My dodgy shoulder isn’t up to hefting that axe anymore.
So I persuaded management to buy one of those new -fangled guillotines, and it’s completely transformed my life.
You can say what you like about the modern world and the march of progress.
But assistive technology rocks!

LIZZIE

The little robot rolled around, following him. No, thank you. No need. You can roll back to your corner, he said holding his daughter’s photo. The pain was unbearable. The robot tilted its head to look at the photo. He frowned. What do you want? The robot blinked twice. He stared at it in silence. He knew that blink. He looked closer. Is it you in there? The robot blinked twice. He rushed to read the gift card again. And there it was. It’s just a robot, he thought, but it wasn’t just a robot. That blink saved his life.

NORVAL JOE

Mandy and Bobby waited in the back seat of the car. The strange old lady patted her head three times. “This is the place. Billbert’s inside.”

Seeing the tail of the active shooter’s van in a garage, Mandy knew the woman was right. “How did you find him?”

The woman muttered something about assistive technology, then said, “Stop wasting time and save the boy.”

Mrs. Weinerheimer was first out of the car and followed by Mandy and Bobbi.

They peered through a filthy window and saw the backs of two men and Billbert with his hands wrapped around Sabrina’s neck.

PLANET Z

Fred’s documentation is the world’s best.
He doesn’t just walk people through the process, but he works with the developers to get the interface so intuitive and easy to use, he barely needs to write anything.
And yet, people call Support with the dumbest questions.
They want people to do things for them.
And when the support person walks them through the process, it’s so easy.
It’s not like they’re sucking and puffing on a straw to make things work.
Shut up. Quit whining. Just do it.
Fred finishes the memo and blinks his eyes to close the text window.

• Richard
• Lisa
• Tura
• Lizzie
• Tom
• Serendipidy
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

The next topic is Assistive technology

RICHARD

Unstuck
My son developed an interest in model-making and, like so many of his hobbies, I ended up funding the majority of it, but I reckoned it was educational and keeping him off the streets, so I never complained.
I’d be tasked with finding model kits, tools and supplies, paint – the standard fare for such activities.
Then, one day, he asked for horse glue.
It took me ages to find, and a very unpleasant trip to the local abattoir.
“What’s this?” He asked suspiciously.
“Glue made from horses, like you wanted.”
“No… Stuff for gluing horses. For my model farm!”

LISA

Him
As first dates go it was OK. We met. We ate. He invited me back to his. He made me pay my half of the cab fare. His flat was immaculate. Clinically clean. But, an overwhelming smell of what I can only describe as horse glue.
How many red flags did I ignore?
Reader, I married him. The first time I questioned his behaviour was in the dock years later, prompted by the barrister. You’d know him – his crimes had been front page news for so long he was a household name.
That smell? I could still almost taste it.

TURA

Horse glue; evolution
———
For violin-making, marquetry, and carpentry, there’s nothing like horse glue. But ever since petrol displaced horses it has been scarce and expensive. So we’ve bypassed evolution and genetically engineered the glue horse, Equus glutinosus. It produces so much glue that it accumulates in a reservoir under the skin of its belly. An implanted spigot allows it to be drained at regular intervals, a gallon at a time.

When the horse must be retired, the whole body can be rendered for glue. Scarcely anything will be left of it afterwards.

The flesh of Equus glutinosus is toxic and should be avoided.

LIZZIE

She waited for the bus. A bus drove by and she waited. Another bus drove by and she waited. Is the fare too much for you, dear, asked an old lady, trying to help. She shook her head. And waited. The bus stop had a small bench. She sat down, her legs so heavy. I’m so tired, she thought, so tired. Why are people screaming, their panic seeping through her haziness. Perhaps it was time, yes. But she had already done it. The bus stop was taken by the flames. It burns, it burns!, was the last thing she heard.

TOM

Skibidi Tree Friends

The evolution of American English has taken a shape right hand turn. Due to algo gatekeeping Gen Alpha has had to speed up creating terms to stay one step ahead of the media wasteland. It is no longer about value-added content for kids to claim their voices; it is life blood of their cultural center. As a boomer it would be easy to discount the humor of the Alpha-s as pure nonsense. But that’s the point, the powers that-be are quite mad, so truly why spend the time to sift out deeper meaning. I say skibidi this. 6 – 7

SERENDIPIDY

I take my job as senior product developer for the Spanish Inquisition very seriously.
It’s not only the evolution of new and novel methods of cruel and inhuman torture techniques, but I focus on the quality of the torture we dispense too.
So, I’ve set up a focus group of ‘customers’ to gain helpful feedback.
For example, it’s not enough to simply scream ‘It burns!” I want to know how badly? Is it a pain that lingers and grows worse over time? Can you give it a rating on a scale of one to ten?
Torture: Continuously improving since 1478.

NORVAL JOE

Patrick held up a phone with a Facetime video of the wave building up to crash down on the Five Sisters Coven. As it approached the shore it had grown to fifteen feet in height. “Thanks for your help, Billy,” Patrick said. “That’s some real value added to Sabrina’s power.”

“Don’t get too excited, Patty,” Billbert said with his hands still on Sabrina’s bare neck. “Sabrina is still the one in control.”

The tidal wave stopped, ten feet from shore, like a stationary water-wall. The women ran for higher ground.

“Looks like you failed,” Billbert said. “It burns, doesn’t it?”

PLANET Z

It’s an easy scam, really.
Get a bunch of rookies hooked on poker or blackjack or some other game.
Rig the games so they’re deep in debt.
To pay off the debt, they ease up on their game or fake an injury for a bit.
Maybe pass along things the public doesn’t know, like a teammate spending too much time in the training room.
What sport is this? What league?
All of them.
Because gladiators are stupid, and suddenly rich gladiators are stupider.
Don’t let that year or two in college fool you.
They didn’t learn a thing in there.

My grandfather ran a chain of drycleaning stores.
Buttons would fall off of the clothes, and we’d get boxes of shiny buttons of so many colors and shapes and sizes.
We’d also get maids who’d “retired” from the drycleaning stores.
All were old and sick, and none lasted longer than a month or two.
My grandfather eventually lost all the drycleaners.
He’d been sued into ruin because his workers were all dying from carbon tetrachloride poisoning.
And he was too, leaving my grandmother destitute and reputation ruined.
I remember sorting those buttons.
Now, I wonder if they were poisoned too.

• Richard
• Lisa
• Lizzie
• Tom
• Serendipidy
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

The next topic is PICK TWO
It burns!
Fare
Value-added
Horse glue
Evolution

NORVAL JOE

The Five Star Sister’s coven sat around a campfire in the sand. Waves crashed on the shore a dozen yards away as they toasted marshmallows and assembled smores.

After an hour of enjoying the tasty trifecta of graham cracker, marshmallow, and melted chocolate bar, one of the women said, “Do you hear that sound?”

“I can’t hear a thing, Marsha,” another replied.

“That’s just it.” Marsha said, stood and looked at the ocean.

Where waves had been crashing on the shore was only wet sand and seaweed. The ocean had withdrawn a hundred yards out to sea.

“Uh oh,” Marsha said.

TOM

The dwarf, the elf, the man, and the Wizard noted the swinging sign over
the ramshackle tavern. The elf asked: “Safe?!” The wizard replied: “Seem
so.” Upon entering the drinking establishment the man inquired about the
lore concerning the name outside the door. A world-weary barkeep said:
“We have an agreement with the arch-mage of the School of Magic
Confections to serve their student magus.” Just then a misspoke chant
rose from a table. The room was engulfed in Sugar Fire. All within were
completely covered in brown goo. Aye Melting Chocolate Bar. Licking a
finger the dwarf said: “sweet”

SERENDIPIDY

By the time I was done, his face resembled a melted chocolate bar.
That is, if you like your chocolate burned, bloody and full of broken bone fragments.
Coming to think of it, maybe a melted chocolate bar was a poor analogy. Think instead of that end scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark, when those Nazis had their faces blasted away when the ark was opened.
Either way, you get the general idea, right?
Did he have it coming? Probably not; he just happened to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
Right time for me though!

LIZZIE

With a melted chocolate bar, he said. The barista turned around. Melted? Yes, his teeth, he mumbled. I don’t want to be judgmental, she said, but perhaps chocolate isn’t a good option. He shrugged. With milk, please. She grabbed a chocolate bar from the counter and dropped it in the cup with hot milk. Anything else? No, he said. Are you OK? He smiled the saddest smile she had ever seen. Go sit down, now, I’ll come over and chat. I’ll even make a melted chocolate bar cup of milk for me! And this is why he’s still alive today.

LISA

The Joy of New Jeans.
I’ve been shopping. I got new jeans. White! I know… who even am I? Anyway, I’m feeling great. I think it’s changed the way I’m walking or my expression or something because it feels like everyone’s staring as I walk for the bus.
I’m sure I heard them whispering about me when I got off the bus too. I think I must be imagining it. I mean, it’s just a pair of jeans. Right?
When I get home I realise people have been talking: a melted chocolate bar has somehow spread it’s delight all over the back of the jeans.

RICHARD

— Melted —
I’ve never understood people who keep their chocolate in the fridge, and I can’t abide it.
For me, chocolate should be served at room temperature, better still, slightly above -soft and creamy- just on the point of melting.
And let’s not stop there. The ultimate indulgence for me is to pop a piece in my mouth, and let it slowly melt over my tongue.
Sometimes, I’ll stuff a bar in my pocket, just to bring it up to the perfect temperature for eating.
But, often I forget it’s there.
And end up with a melted chocolate bar.
Best thing ever!

PLANET Z

Some people credit Perry Spencer for inventing the microwave oven.
He was a Raytheon employee who noticed that microwaves from a radar set he was working on melted a candy bar he had in his pocket.
Later, he tested the effect on popcorn, and then on an egg.
Other engineers performed experiments and confirmed Perry’s findings.
They worked up a proposal and brought it to management.
Who rejected it.
“What fool wants to be cooking food in their pockets?”
It’s when they put the food in a bowl and inside a box with the microwaves that the management were convinced.

• Richard
• Lizzie
• Tom
• Serendipidy
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

The next topic is A melted chocolate bar

SARAH

I’ve always been ambitious, one who sets their sights on achieving the almost impossible, and my current objective could be challenging.
You see, I’m determined to get myself listed on the FBI’s most wanted list.
The competition is stiff, but I reckon I’m up to the task, it’s just a matter of coming up with the right strategy.
Should I become a serial killer, a terrorist, a cyber-criminal or fraudster?
So many interesting options, it makes it hard to decide.
Consequently, there’s really only one choice as far as I’m concerned.
I’ll simply have to do the whole lot!

LISA

Doing their bit for charity
Pete’s latest Charity shop find was an old looking pottery Spaniel. The volunteer laughed saying they’d had another one donated overnight.
A pair! He nearly dropped it in his excitement.
“I’ll take the other one too!” and haggled the price down.
He listed the pair on eBay as soon as he got home. The final bid was four figures.
A disgruntled buyer contacted Pete a week later – the Maker’s Marks had rubbed off so he’d reported Pete for selling fakes.
Pete’s account was closed immediately but the mystery donor continued adding clever little sharpie marks to their items before donating.

LIZZIE

Not listed?! He was furious. They had rejected his book. Years of work had been snubbed by pseudo-intellectuals who had nothing better to do than to scalpel every detail of his story. Yes, he got the color of his main character’s eyes wrong once, so? We could argue that it was a matter of perception, a symbolic overview of the character’s rage. But no, they had rejected his masterpiece without a second thought. Breathe in and out. Calm down. He stood at the door of the jury room, holding a katana and thinking he’d do much better than his character.

TOM

The Grand Index

“Mr. Franklin you don’t seem to be listed in Category B,” stated the clerk. “Please try Cat C,“ replied the priest. Lines scrolled across the screen. “Not there, Father. Should I go into File 140?” A quiet nod and the clerk open the iron cabinet. A shuffle of folders. “Nope not there. I think we’ll need to go down in the cellar and check the parchments. Down the marble slabs. The clerk unrolled the oldest sheep-skin. “Here. It says check the Stone. With flashlight in hand the two enter the crypt. On the Great Arch was the rune for Franklin.

NORVAL JOE

“If I listed every way their competition has complicated our efforts, it would take all night,” the man growled. “Suffice it to say, the Black Knights are malicious enough to rule the pacific northwest all on our own.”

The man seemed happy enough to brag about his capabilities that Billbert tried to keep him talking. “How could Sabrina do anything to them, wherever they are.”

“We know where they are right now.” He grinned. “A little wave from Sabrina might crash on the beach. But with your help, a tsunami will wipe them away.”

PLANET Z

We’ve been working around the clock to get the app ready for launch. Last minute testing and design changes, the beta program brought in a few more bugs and tweaks. Letting it run for a while, confirm that it was stable and working. Everyone gathered in the auditorium as the timer counted down and when it hit zero, everything stopped and then vanished.

Fred halted the worker processes and ran the image duplicator. The software development team artificial intelligence module is a complete success, bug free, and he knew he’d never have to write another program for himself ever again.

• Richard
• Lizzie
• Tom
• Serendipidy
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

The next topic is Listed

RICHARD

— Star quality —
We started rating the kids’ chores around the house: one to five stars.
It’s gives them an incentive to do things well, and the number of stars they get is reflected in their pocket money.
It’s working well. Dishes are always washed, bedrooms are kept remarkably clean and tidy and any time there’s an errand to be run, there’s no shortage of volunteers.
In fact, it’s worked so well, I suggested using the system for the wife.
Meals, cleaning, shopping and so on, all rated, and rewarded with… sex.
“Can’t see the point” she responded, “You’re two stars, at best!”

LIZZIE

Five stars for what, crappy food?
The food was not bad, said the receptionist.
No? What about that horrid thing on the wall?
The receptionist looked up at the bull head skull. It was a sculpture, not the real deal. Besides, continued the receptionist, we are not in the business of eating the decor.
Insolent! The client’s always right!
Not here. You see, sir, here we rate the clients, not the other way around, and you are a 0.
What?!
Would you like the bull head skull wrapped to take, so you remember us, since we won’t allow you back?

SERENDIPIDY

Five stars, shining brightly in the night sky, never seen before, not part of any known constellation.
They gleam and twinkle more brightly than any other. What could they be?
Meteors? Asteroids? Comets, perhaps?
Or maybe they aren’t natural at all.
They could be satellites or space debris, burning up in the atmosphere as they fall to earth.
They aren’t satellites, although they are man-made.
But who made them? That’s the big question
Was it the Russians? Are they Chinese? Could they be American or from distant North Korea?
We’ll find out, soon enough.
Once they hit their targets.

TOM

The Game

The rules were simple. Five cities. Five riddles. Five Stars. You could have five members on your team. And most importantly was the Five hundred thousand dollars. Linda was the first to figure out New York was the first city to explore. Better she had narrowed it do to a particular area in what was once Five Points. An old map showed that once there was a body of water in the city. “We find the center of the Collection Pond we will find the star.” Said Linda. Bill asked “Any idea what it will look like?” Not a Clue.

NORVAL JOE

“You’re going to do us a favor,” a gruff voice said from behind Patrick.

“You’re the shooter from the meadow,” Billbert said when the man stepped into view. “You should be in prison.”

He just sniffed. “Your friend is going to help us obliterate the Five Star Sisters and their coven. They’ve interfered with the Black Knights for the last time. We know your girlfriend is most powerful when you’re touching each other, so, you’re going to put your hand on Sabrina’s neck, and I’m going to tell Sabrina what to do.”

Billbert hesitated. “And what if I don’t cooperate?”

PLANET Z

Normally, when you see a movie with five stars, it’s probably some Hollywood woke garbage that ticks all the diversity boxes and hates Republicans, conservatives, Trump, religion. everything the left preaches. So when I saw a well-known conservative reviewer give one of those leftist propaganda movies five stars I was completely flabbergasted. I wrote him asking why, and he said, he thought the movie was a parody of leftism in a comedy and not actually trying to be serious and he laughed all through it at how ham-fistedly stupid the writer and director and actor all had been.

• Richard
• Lisa
• Lizzie
• Tom
• Serendipidy
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

The next topic is Five stars

RICHARD

— Non-Standard —
Why do they call it a standard lamp? It’s anything but.
There’s a bewildering variety of the damm things… Edwardian, art deco, modern, minimalist, futuristic, or that old classic timeless design.
Do you want softwood, hardwood, metal or something more exotic? A contemporary stylish glass shade, or a big, old fashioned flowery one? Tungsten, LED, halogen…
Frankly, I can’t cope with the choice, I’m more than happy to simply grab the first one I see and get the hell outta here.
But, it’s the usual story – shopping with the wife, and she wants to know which one I prefer!

LISA

Being Neighbourly
I’d been waving at him for years – he was always in the same arm chair, with the standard lamp behind it, watching TV when I walked to and from work.
I could see the outline of his head, and I didn’t stare in – I’d never spoken to him so didn’t know if he liked me waving. He’d waved back sometimes though. And once you start something it’s hard to stop.
It was only when the flies had covered his window that I realised there was something wrong and for quite a while now I’d been waving at a dead man.

LIZZIE

Look behind the phone. There was nothing. It’s there, she said. But it wasn’t. And she giggled. That old classic… Made you look! She giggled again. And where is it? When she started giggling, he lost it. He was standing there, holding the damn phone, looking stupid, and she was making fun of him. On top of it all, the phone was yellow, the one color he couldn’t stand. I need that fucking code, right now. She bok-bok’ed and giggled some more. The next day, there was a headless chicken on her doorstep and no one saw her, ever again.

TOM

You need it, I know a Guy.

I love cities. You can feel the pulse of life in the movement of people and cars, an infinite random dance. In a great city on one particular street, the people will lay claim, and a culture of its own will emerge. For generations my family has been part of the Maxwell St. street-life. I have heard stories of my great grandfather sharping knifes for a nickel a blade. Since my people have climbed up the economic ladder there or on longer Kosick’s and Valor’s on Maxwell St. But life on the street goes on. Life always finds a way.

SERENDIPIDY

“Banish her”, they said.
Different village, same old story, that old classic “she’s got the pox”; reason enough to treat me like a pariah.
So much for compassion and the milk of human kindness.
They called a town meeting, just a formality really, the outcome a forgone conclusion: “she has to go”.
And so, like every other occasion, every other village, I find myself cast out, never to set foot within its boundaries again on pain of death.
So I’m going, and you’ll never see me again.
And yes, I have the pox.
But, so do all of you now!

NORVAL JOE

When a sack was pulled from Billbert’s head, a shadow of a person loomed before him, lit from behind by a single standard lamp in the otherwise dark room. He looked around the small room and saw Sabrina beside him, gagged, blindfolded, and headphones covering her ears.

“Sabrina,” Billbert shouted.

“Don’t waste your breath,” a familiar voice said. “She can only hear what I tell her.”

Billbert peered at the shadow form. “I know you. Patrick something, from school. What do you want from Sabrina, and me?”

Patrick laughed. “You two, together, are going to do me a little favor.”

PLANET Z

Victor had been a renowned chemist before the war. Somehow he survived two years in the camps. His wife and daughters didn’t. He went to the states, got married and had a son and never talked about the numbers on his arm. He ran the paint counter at a hardware store. Every now and then a guy would paint a swastika on his door. He knew who he was because he kept track of who was buying paint. He formulated a varnish for the outside of his front door. When mixed they made toxic fumes that blinded the evil painter.

• Richard
• Lisa
• Lizzie
• Tom
• Serendipidy
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

The next topic is PICK TWO
Street life
Pox
Behind
That old classic…
Standard lamp

RICHARD

Random Words
Every week I go through the same process.
I retrieve the old cardboard box from its place under my desk, give it a good hard shake, remove the lid and close my eyes.
Reaching into the box, I rifle around its contents and pull out a selection of folded postcards, and then I can open my eyes.
The postcards have a selection of random words written on them. I lay them out on the desk and rearrange them thoughtfully.
When I have what I’m looking for, I add some filler words.
And, hopefully, end up with a hundred word story.

LISA

The One That Got Away
She was delirious when I entered the woodcutter’s cottage. As ever I was amazed how cramped the space was with so many living in it. I clasped my scarf to my face; burned rosemary to try to cleanse the air.
She lay there, wet from the sweats, rambling random words. I couldn’t feel any lumps under her armpits so felt perhaps this time there was still hope.
I stayed just long enough to give her a draught to bring the fever down but made my decision to answer the King and to live at the palace ‘til this pestilence passed.

LIZZIE

‘I don’t… you… me’. This could mean anything, said the detective, where’s the rest of it? No one knew. Is this blood? No one knew that either. Did you search the rest of the house? That they did know. And? Nothing? Nope. How about the garden? Silence. OK, forget it. Send this to the lab. They all nodded, relieved. By the way, said the detective, I don’t care what you think about me. I’d fire the lot of you. Amateurs, thought the detective. Wait a second, what I just said… Perhaps these words are not as random as they look.

TOM

Without Merit

I have found no matter how vacuous two individual might be, if one passes by during any random collection of words that flow in the public space, those random words will sound pretty cogent. Lingering for additional context will help one to understand the form and purpose of the discourse, but nearly always leds one to question why matters so banal, merits the level and length of inquiry. Chalk-it up the mind-numbing list of stuff one needs to get done in the average day. Little time to ponder the deeper questions of life. As why isn’t any more penny candy?

SERENDIPIDY

They may sound like random words to you.
You may think I’ve made some of them up, or perhaps I’m speaking a foreign language.
What could they possibly mean?
Nobody really knows.
I certainly have no idea!
I found them in an old leather bound book, hidden away in my grandmother’s attic.
Many thought grandmother was a witch, and if the book is anything to go by, she quite definitely was.
You’ll see.
As I chant the mysterious words, you’ll start to feel very strange.
Until, with a poof of smoke… All of a sudden, you’ll turn into a frog!
—

NORVAL JOE

Mandi and Bobbie sat in the back while Mrs. Weinerheimer drove north out of Eureka.

A small gray-haired lady with dark glasses held both hands flat on top of her head and muttered random words, “Kelp, wind, stinkweed, bottlebrush, cardboard box, thunderhead.”

After passing windy beaches littered with piles of kelp, Mandi glanced out of the window, and shouted, “Over there.”

A single cloud rose above the low hills.

They quickly turned onto Bottlebrush Lane and drove until they came to a broken down cabin, the front yard crowded with weeds, and a tattered cardboard box rotting on the porch.

PLANET Z

If you stir alphabet soup enough, you’ll see words.
Usually short words, but the longer you stir, a few longer words will appear.
I imagine the noodles sloshing around in my stomach, forming words and sentences and poems nobody will know about.
Dissolving into goo as I digest them.
Maybe they’re not gone?
And somehow, subconsciously I absorb them.
And they make their way on to the page.
For me to read to you.
Or perhaps, if I stick my finger down my throat, they will appear on the page faster.
Stand back. I feel a masterpiece coming out now.