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.

A new story for 2012

It's been a while since I've sat down to write something - almost two years, I find. A friend suggested that everyone should write every day, and while I likely won't do that, I should do more often. This friend is also a sometime-gypsy, or perhaps always a gypsy and most of the time pretending she isn't, so taking that cue. . .

-----

"Please?"

                        "No! Now go, go evey!"

"But, I, I've heard such wonderful things, you can. . ."

                        "I told you, no such tings! Dey do not happen!"

A hand that could've been the root of an ancient tree held the brocaded curtain open just far enough for one of her bright, black eyes to peer at him. Heart beating, with fear or anticipation, or both, he pressed his hands together and pleaded again. Even as he spoke the words they sounded crazy in his ears, but in such desperation he would cling to anything.

"I have a, well, a friend who had a problem, and he said that you, y'know, helped him. With his problem, gave him a thing, a kind of magic spell I guess, that let him take care of it. And, well. . ."

Her expression, to the extent it changed at all, only became harder. Now her voice was low; he would have leaned forward to hear better, but something make him keep a distance.

                        "Dere is noting I can do vor you. Is late, I am olt and tiret.
                         I haf no magic vor you. You go evey now."

Somehow this tone was more threatening still; and yet something in the way she'd reacted made him try once again.

"Please, please Madam Toltsi. I need your help. I have money, and if you don't want that, I know people, I can do favors for you. Somewhere to park your caravan, something you want done. . ."

He trailed off. It was no use. The stories must have been only that - hell, his friends had told him some crazy things before, why would this be any different. She was nothing but an old woman after all, driving around the countryside and separating fools from their money.

She could see his shoulders sag, knowing she'd won. At least this time. As the cards had foretold - the Five of Swords, victor in battle. But the cards always had more than one meaning. Motionless, she watched as he turned and walked slowly away, waiting until he'd disappeared from the circle of light cast by the caravan lantern. Letting the curtain fall, she addressed the figure behind her.

                        "Florica, ve vill vatch dis von. He may not give up
                         so easy. Use de crystal."

She had to know whether this man would take his defeat gracefully, or would need a more forceful message. Florica nodded her assent and pulled aside the silken covering. As the glistening sphere cast its ever-shifting light over the table, she gathered her cards for another reading.

An early start on Friday

Early by an hour, doesn't count for much but I know that I won't have any time to write tomorrow. This story was suggested by Lily Childs' three-word contest a week ago; I couldn't fit it into her 100-word limit, though, so I decided to put it here instead. Anyone who enjoys very brief flash stories, likes an interesting weekly writing challenge, and doesn't mind the occasional nasty bit of horror should see what's going on at her home, the Feardom.

- - -

From the personal journal of Dr. James Stinson, ship's physician, HMS Peacock.

July 15: 20th day; pleasant weather & a fine wind. Treated Jameson for cough w/ light phlegm. Lanced a v. unusual boil on Smythe, painful and w/ red-purple discoloration radiating 6-8 inches from infection.

July 16: Fine weather holding. Smythe complains of pain, stood his duty but was unruly. Capt. Arnold asked my advice on punishment, I suggested delay in light of the symptoms.

July 17: Smythe feverish and delirious, fighting, mate had him bound & brought to dispensary. Discoloration now across upper trunk and add'l boils. Jenks showing similar symptoms.

July 18: Diagnosed Jenks & Smythe w/ scurvy, gave 1c lime juice. They have lost considerable weight. Instructed cook to give Jenks extra beef today, Smythe refuses it.

July 19: Three add'l cases, extra lime for all in afternoon rum. Smythe v. weak.

July 20: Smythe died overnight, may God rest his soul. Unusual progression for scurvy, watching Jenks closely. Asked mate to keep Smythe's body for autopsy, odor already v. bad & he objected but at length was convinced. Agreed to wrap in old sheet & place in ship's boat for storage. Will proceed w/ examination once Jenks is past crisis.

July 21: Jenks declined rapidly & died. Body entirely covered w/ streaky discoloration. Three more cases today, lime is not curative.

July 22: This morning crew reported noises from ship's boat; Capt. Arnold spoke sternly with them abt. ghosts & childish fears. Two deaths: Lerne & Cooper. Four active cases now.

July 23: woke early to shouts on deck, fighting, shots. Watch said that Smythe & Jenks had climbed from ship's boat & attacked them, both shot & thrown over rail. Capt. plans discipline for this afternoon. Five new cases, three deaths (Lyons, Emley, Rall).


July 23 evening: Capt. Arnold began discipline, interrupted by Cooper & Emley reawakening & viciously attacking crew. Nine men injured & now infected.

July 24 early morning: ship is in chaos, fighting everywhere. The sickness must induce a fugue so deep it is like to death, but w/ some ability to recover. Reawakening causes extreme mental disturbance. I am barricaded in 1st mate's cabin, he is dead along w/ several officers. Capt. Arnold was torn limb from limb & eaten by a mob of sick crewmen while I watched from this doorway.

July 25: I believe some men are hiding belowdecks, cannot contact them. Constant attempts to enter this cabin. Ship is drifting, rudderless.

July 27: No more water, I must attempt to reach the cask abovedecks. Only a few men appear to be in the area (tho they can scarcely be called men).

July 28: Have water, paid for w/ serious wound to my left hand. Pain is excruciating. Considering amputation.

July 29: Should have amputated; overnight, infection spread into shoulder. Incredible pain.

July 29 late evening: Fever, pain. Hungry. Will place this book in mate's locker and hope it is found. Then must get food.
- - -

To sleep, perchance to. . .

I can't remember where this story idea originated; it's one of the ones I'd scribbled on a piece of paper and saved, and the only one of the four stories I tried to write this week that I was able to turn into something. Of course, it's up to you to decide whether I turned it into something good ;)

- - -


"Have a seat, Mr. Limbert. You're here because of some disturbing dreams, yes? Fine, since this is our first session, let's start by recounting them, the parts that you remember."

The man on the couch is a collection of opposites - tall, strongly built, seemingly a tough character; yet he is perched just barely at the edge of the cushion, hands nervously fidgeting, eyes on the carpet. He bites his lips for a moment, clears his throat. Still looking down, "I, umm, you know, these are only dreams and all, they aren't, umm, anything else. Just dreams."

"Of course, yes. That's one of the things that disturbs you?"

"No, I mean, the stuff that happens is, it's like a movie or something. I've seen lots of movies, that's probably where it comes from."

A note about that, pen slipping quickly across the paper. "Why don't you choose one and tell me what happened in it."

He takes a deep breath, coughs again. "Ah, okay. About a week ago, that was the first one I remembered. I was walking, you know, someplace, don't really know where. And there was this guy, just kind of waiting. . ."

"Mmm hmm. Was he waiting for you?"

"I dunno. I think he was just hanging out, he didn't really look at me. But I knew I was supposed to do something when I saw him, and, umm. I had something with me."

"Yes? What was it?"

A pause. "It was a gun. A pistol, Glock 19."

More notes. "A pistol, and you knew what kind it was?"

Shifting on his seat, he finally looks up. "I used to, um, use one of them. Long time ago. I don't even have one now. But I know what they feel like."

"Well, then, that makes sense. If you're going to dream about a gun, it's natural that you dream about one you're familiar with."

He seems slightly relieved by that, and continues, "So then, it was in my pocket, in a jacket I had on. I pulled it out and, he looked at me, and I capped him."

"Capped? You mean, you shot him?"

"Yeah. He dropped, and I walked over and put another one in him, just to make sure. And then I, well, I just kept walking."

"I see. How did that make you feel?"

He looks confused, thinks for a moment. "I dunno. I didn't feel anything, really. I just put the gun back in my pocket and walked away. Until. . ."

"Yes?"

"Doc, that's the really weird part. I kept going a while longer and then I saw this other guy, I mean, this thing. It was like a person, but it wasn't."

"It's not uncommon for us to fuse images together in a dream. Was it a person you remembered from somewhere?"

Shaking his head, "No, it was the size of a person, maybe six feet, but it was like a, well, a big bunny. I mean, a rabbit, but more like a toy, you know?"

A skeptical look, over lowered half-glasses. "A big toy bunny? Something like you might see at a toy store?"

He grimaces, recalling. "Yeah, I guess so. I was just standing there, at first, and then it kind of waved to me, like it wanted me to walk over. It reached out, and grabbed me on the arm, right here," indicates his bicep, winces a little. "It pinched me, I can still feel it, sort of."

"And then what happened?"

"That's it. I guess I must've woke up. That was the whole dream."

"Well, thank you for going through that. Now, is there a part of it that you find particularly disturbing?"

He fidgets again, while she waits, pen poised. "It isn't that dream, I mean, if it was just that one time, it wouldn't be a big deal. But, umm, it keeps happening. Every night. Five nights, now."

Raised eyebrows, and another note. "Five times with the same dream? Walking, the man, and the bunny?"

His eyes are unfocused now, remembering. "No, it's different. One time it was a lady, and I had a, umm, a rope. And I choked her. The other times it was another Glock, but different people. Different places, too, I remember one was like a beach house or something. And then there was, some sort of parking garage."

"Mmm hmm. And does it always end the same?"

He looks up, eyes wide. "Yeah! It's always that damn bunny! And he pinches me, and then I, well, I guess I wake up." It seems to deflate him, and he knuckles his eyes, hunches again. Speaks from behind clenched hands, "I'm so tired, doc. I gotta figure out what's doing this, it's going to make me crazy." He looks up again, "I'm not crazy, am I?"

She smiles. "Oh, no, Mr. Limbert. You're not crazy, not at all. These sorts of dreams typically indicate some stressful event that's been left unresolved in your life, something that's worrying you."

She sets the notebook carefully aside, picks up a smaller pad. "What we need to do is find that event and help you work through it, and the dreams will fade away. We'll keep working on that, and in the meantime I'm going to prescribe a mild sleep aid for you. It will help you sleep more soundly, without dreaming. After you've rested a few days we can talk again."

Still hunched, he stands; takes the square of paper, mumbles his thanks. As the door closes she picks up a phone. "Jeff? It's Sarah. Yes, I just got finished with him. Look, you're going to have to go a little easier, he can't keep up this pace. Maybe one a week, and give him a few days to rest before the next insertion. Oh, and you have to ditch the bunny outfit, he's getting fixated on that. No, I don't think it matters, you can use anything you have. Try the Santa Claus getup next time. Okay, good. Yes, I'll be talking with Mr. Johnson this afternoon, and I'll let you know how if he's okay to use for tonight."

- - -