It's been a while...

Too long, actually. I haven't been writing much, but recently sat down at the keyboard again to try my hand at some prompted flash fiction. After a five year absence I discovered that Lily Childs' Friday Prediction is now being cared for by Sandra Davies, where it lives on as The Prediction. The genre selection has been expanded beyond horror and that makes it a little easier to squeeze inspiration out of the prompt words each week. Here's what I have come up with for the first few tries, each with the weekly words that Sandra presented to us.

evergreen, redundant, tilt

Evergreen Base, this is Evergreen Seven requesting immediate extraction."

"Evergreen Seven, report."

"Lost Stevens and Wood when the tilt-rotor crashed. Everyone wounded, six critical. Can't hold this position."

"Imperative that you hold."

"There's no goddamn way we can hold! Send a chopper before they wipe us out!"

"We are building reinforcements. ETA nine hours."

"Can't wait, send a gravtank or a hovercarrier."

"Negative, hold and await orders."

Dammit lieutenant, they're gonna leave us here. Didja
hear what he said about building reinforcements?

Yeah. They'll be the new models.

They're gonna leave us here until...

...until we're redundant.

 hirsute, punch, wheel

"Hirsute? Yeah, more like hair suit!"

(Ha, ha. It's been hours since I heard that one.)

"No, he wants to rent a car. The way I figure it, he's gonna chase the car instead of drive it!"

(This guy is a regular comedian.)

"He don't look like he could hold the wheel. Lemme ask." Turning to me, "Can you..."

"No, I can't, I have assistive devices. I'm fully licensed."

(Oh, god, I shouldn't have said that.)

"Get this, he says he's licensed!"

(If I were still human I'd punch him, my paw won't make a fist. But my teeth work...)

accent, elect, moribund

Puzzling

"I need help with this crossword."

The first words since dinner. Not much, but perhaps this is the best our moribund relationship can do.

"Eight letters, 'at death's door'." "Umm..." Why am I doing this? Because I have to do something. "How about 'terminal'."

No, it's not how I would have elected to live. But it could be worse.

"Seven letters, 'picked by voting'?" "I think that's 'decided'."

In other peoples' lives this would be an accent for the day's events, but for us? These are the day's events.

"'Emphasize a syllable', six letters." "Try 'stress'."

"Hey, thanks." Then silence.

barrel, plural, scant

Hardboiled

Scant justification? Yeah, but since when have I needed justification? I get all the justification I need from the barrel of my gun. If I want to take a client, I take her. And if it's clients, plural, then so be it. Even if they're all dames. I can handle tough situations. I've been in plenty of tight scrapes before. Of course, the ropes have never been tied quite so tightly...

febrile, medium, poetry

Inquisition

"Recite the charges."

"Master, the accused is a spirit talker and medium."

"How do you plead, witch?"

The woman, calm when the guards brought her, was now in the grip of some mental disturbance, febrile and incoherent. Her writhing stained the stones with sweat. She made only wordless sounds. Yet there was some pattern, as of poetry, or a chant, or...

"What does she say?"

"I know not, Master. No speech that I have learned."

"She curses us! Silence her!"

Now the heat was too great to approach. And in their confusion, none saw the great leathern wings unfolding above.

detonate, verdict, wraith

"Look, just because he's big and noisy and you're tiny and silent, that doesn't make you superheroes."

The big man scowled beneath his half-mask. "If I say so it does. You don't get to pass a verdict on us."

A deep sigh, exasperated. "A judge will do that, unless you stop, Leonard."

"I'm Detonate, dammit! And she's Wraith!"

She watched, ever-quiet, face unreadable.

"I'm sorry, I can't help you with this. It's just not..."

His eyes widened as Wraith's blade emerged from his throat. A whisper in his ear, "It's okay, we don't really need you anyway."

alphabet, dairy, vigil

The board: alphabet, numbers, YES, NO, GOODBYE.

The girls sit around it, all but one.

"It's a silly game."

"C'mon, Audrey, it's not really a vigil, just fun."

"Whatever, I'm reading my book."

Nervous smiles as they begin...

"Speak, oh spirit! Tell us what we fear to know!"

Nothing, a sigh of relief, then movement... L-O-O-K

In-drawn breaths as words come faster... I-N A-U-D-R-E-Y-S D-A-I-R-Y.

Relief: "I've read Audrey's diary, it's all silly stuff. Forget this, let's watch TV."

Behind her book, Audrey scowls. Her secret bovine laboratory is safe, but this is a new threat to be dealt with.

filigree, ominous, plug

(Three stories this week - the prompts were just so good!)

Making the Connection

I'm already holding the plug when I notice there's a little tattoo around his socket, a kind of filigree pattern where it meets the skin. That's not possible post-implantation so it must have been done before; it means he thought about the process, always a good sign. And could tolerate the pain of the tattoo machine in a highly sensitive spot, a more ominous portent. I'm curious if he has other ink but the robe covers everything. Anyway there's no time to look, the ceremony must proceed; I'll check afterwards to see if any parts of him are worth saving.

Today's Haul

"Whadja find?"

It looked like an electric lamp. Although verdigris crusted the delicately filigreed bronze surface and the shape was decidedly unusual, everything about it spoke of great craftsmanship. And even greater age, which meant more dough from the pawnbroker.

They circled around it, pointing at what seemed to be characters in the engraving. Someone with expertise in ancient languages might have found this both exciting and ominous. One of them fingered the dangling cord uncertainly.

"G'wan, plug it in!"

Shock, pain, cringing away from the sudden light. And when it faded, the lamp stood alone, waiting for the next.

Bad Habits

My mother was always seeing ominous signs - black cats, broken mirrors, sudden storms. She was a flake, but it stuck with me some. Maybe this rusty-red sunset was a sign. The dame sitting at my desk decided not to stick with me, so maybe her showing up again was a sign. Her cigarette smoke made fancy filigrees in the sunlight. Like blood swirling down a drain. I was mostly thinking about the plug of tobacco in my pocket, wishing I could bite some off. She wasn't making it easy for me to quit the smokes. Or to quit her.