Lisa – Empty Click

TOAST

The house felt empty when the first responders forced the door but found Paul unconscious on the kitchen floor. They fired up the defibrillator; heard the click that signaled it was ready, then waited for the green light.
“Clear!”
Paul’s body jerked but was unresponsive. The room filled with Ambulance Staff, Police, Family. A toaster, tethered by its plug, was hanging off the side; his Mum put back in its place. The job got harder the smaller the room became but they continued well after they needed to.
No one ever noticed the screwdriver that had rolled under the cooker.

George wasting time on facebook

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He spent most of his time on Facebook, telling his friends about his adventures.
Instead of actually doing anything. You know, like pillaging, looting, and plundering.
This annoyed the hell out of his shipmates, and they cut off his access to the ship’s WiFi.
But even the Guest access could access Facebook.
“It’s so that the people we kidnap for ransom can beg their relatives for money,” said the captain. “Or they can start a Kickstarter or something.”
The frustrated crew threw George’s laptop overboard. Then they threw George.

Weekly Challenge #988 – Give it all, Empty, Churrasco, Fiendishly difficult, Click

The next topic is Server

RICHARD

— Cross words —
Today’s crossword was fiendishly difficult. I’d spent twenty minutes trying to figure out six across: ‘Beginning with Spanish dippers, at Brazilian barbecue?’
I didn’t have a clue.
My wife peered over my shoulder, “Churrasco!” she said brightly.
“What?”
“The beginning of Spanish dippers… churros, and the Brazil barbecue thing… churrasco.”
She smiled disarmingly, whilst I plotted various ways of murdering her, without getting caught.
“OK, Brains”, I retorted, “Try this. Two words, four and three – last one, ‘O-F-F'”
She gave me her unimpressed look.
“In that case, you’ll find your dinner in the T, something, A, something, H!”

THOMAS

Churrasco

Gus had always loved a good churrasco, but grilling at home was fiendishly difficult now. His hands, butter-fingered with age, trembled as he tried to flip the steaks with tongs. The searing heat made him sweat, and balancing on two canes didn’t help. The first steak slid right off the grill. Cursing, he shuffled to retrieve it, nearly tipping over. His dog, Bruno, snagged the fallen prize. “Guess it’s yours now,” Gus muttered. By the time he managed a perfectly charred picanha, exhaustion won. Still, biting into the smoky meat, he grinned. Victory, however small, still tasted sweet.

TOM

Empty Click
I’m pretty sure the term Click is met with an empty response. Well, I
seem to be sore fully mistaken. The students of this century identified
as 12 general “crowds” in modern high schools: populars, jocks,
floaters, good-ats, fine arts, brains, normals, druggies-stoners,
emo/goths, anime-manga kids, and loners. It’s been half a century since
I did my click streaming, but without the exception of emo/goths and
anime-manga kids I could pretty much Id one on sight. For myself I
crossed two of these sub-groups during my high school stay: fine art and
brains. I actually graduating magna cum laude from university.

SERENDIPIDY

Dear Friend.
I was given your name by a mutual acquaintance, as a trustworthy and honest person.
I have sixteen million dollars in a bank account I need to take out of my country, but I need a sponsor for my government to authorise the transfer.
Half of that sum is reserved in your name if you are willing to help. I promise you, that if you assist me in this matter, I will give it all -Eight million- dollars to you for your kindness.
Please click on this link, to start the online transfer process.
Sincerely.
Prince Hakim Hassan.
—

NORVAL JOE

Billbert spun to face Sabrina. “What are you doing? I wasn’t going to tell them you were here.”

“I know,” she dropped her head sadly. “Your family has a reputation to maintain. I don’t want you to give it all up because of me.”

“Good.” The woman stood up. “Get your things. The family is waiting.”

Sabrina went upstairs.

“Where is she going?” Billbert asked, feeling empty.

“I can’t tell you,” Calabassa said. “Privacy concerns.”

“She’s my friend. I have the right to know!” Billbert voice rose in pitch.

She sneered. “No. You’re a little boy. You have no rights.”

PLANET Z

Even though I have a treadmill at home, I still like to walk in the rain. I get out my wet weather shoes and umbrella and put on my headphones and head out the door. There is something about the breeze and the moisture that’s refreshing. And walking through a space with trees and grass and everything else is a lot more engaging and feeling than simply walking on a treadmill, even if there’s a TV playing with a movie or scenery in which I try to lose myself. What’s a few allergy or cold pills in the end, right?

George the best man

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
You know how there’s no such thing as “bad” pizza or blowjob?
Well, don’t ask George to handle your bachelor party.
Rummy Bill learned that lesson the hard way.
One pizza. One stripper.
And the stripper turned out to be his fiancee’s sister.
She ate all of the pizza and threatened to tell her sister about the party.
Rummy Bill paid her off, but the next day, the wedding was off.
The sister snitched.
As Best Man, George felt relieved. Renting a tux was so damn expensive, you know?

George outsourced

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Which is why the captain teamed him with a group of H1-B foreign workers, who asked him a lot of questions and took a lot of notes.
“You’re going to outsource my job, aren’t you?” George asked the captain.
“No, I’d never do that” said the captain.
Instead, he replaced George with a robot.
The foreign workers programmed it with everything George did.
The problem was, George did everything wrong, so the robot did everything wrong.
When the robot fell overboard, unlike George, who could float, the robot sank.

George is bad cargo

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
One day, he and his shipmates took over a cargo vessel, filled with wooden crates marked “covfefe.”
“Did they just spell coffee wrong?” asked the captain.
“I don’t know,” said George. “Maybe we should open one of them?”
The captain agreed, and George got out a crowbar to open a crate.
That’s when he heard… something… something strange.
Claws scratching on wood. The snarling of a wild beast.
Two days later, the Royal Navy found George adrift in a lifeboat, covered in blood.
All he could say was “covfefe.”

George the dancer

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He worked off his frustrations by performing interpretive dance.
Along the pier, he’d twirl and leap and tumble, throwing his hands to the sky and screaming.
After a while, he got pretty good at it.
Pirates from all around would dock at the pier and watch George, and they’d applaud and give him money.
They became big productions, with a full stage, set designers, stage lighting, and a full orchestra.
It caused George so many headaches and frustrations.
So, he worked off his frustrations by being a pirate again.

George the fake

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Some suggested that he was some sort of agent, spying on pirates for the Royal Navy.
Which would explain George’s lack of pirating skills.
And the Royal Navy tattoo on his arm.
Oh, and the fact that all his mail was addressed to “Undercover Royal Navy Agent.”
George would take that mail and say “Oh, that must be a mistake. I’ll bring it back to the post office.”
He’d write notes in a little notebook, and take pictures of things.
“It’s an exchange program,” said the captain. “Don’t ask”

George loves Mondays

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
But he more than made up for it with enthusiasm.
Unlike other pirates, who moaned and groaned about Mondays, George wished every day was Monday.
He’d jump out of his bunk, ready to face the day’s challenges.
Not that Monday was any different than any other day of the week at sea.
Pirates don’t get weekends off.
Nor do they get holidays or sick time.
It’s not that pirates weren’t unionized or organized.
They just weren’t good at reading calendars.
Not that George cared. Every day was an adventure!

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.