Feb 2014

"Dogs and Lust" - MWBB#50

My first Mid Week Blues Buster for a long while… MWBB#50 was from the The The song 'Dogs of Lust'
Check out Jeff's MWBB site by
clicking here.


Dogs and Lust
by A J Walker

The urban noise outside is assaulting my ears, stopping me think properly, I just can’t turn off. Thick curtains are keeping the room air raid black I’m sure, but my eyes are hurting from some brightness, which I can still see your face in – and your body.

I’m like an iron filing to you and you’re electromagnetic power. A super magnet that makes me helpless when I’m near, the feelings just rise up in me unbidden, however I try to fight it. Sometimes I don’t off course – we’re so much meant to be together, that it must be obvious to everyone.

This morning when we said “hello” I rose inwardly, and I fear outwardly too. That’s why I had to run. Someone must have seen it, maybe even you.

And now, as I’m lying here this evening alone in this painful darkness, I can’t get you out of my useless head. I know I must find someone else, before I go truly insane, even someone that can’t live up to you. But it’s so hard when all I can think of is you. It’s so hard.

I know you’re at home tonight, watching a film, having dinner, maybe a glass of wine. With your girl. The whole family caboodle – yes, with your husband too. I know I could love you so much more than he does – I know, because I already do.

There are hard-men dogs somewhere outside barking their territorial warnings again. I’m definitely staying in tonight.

Every path in this head-based maze of mine leads to you. I always find you but when I get there you’re inevitably just out of reach. I’m never going to get you in reality or even in my head. What cruelty, when even my own dreams are playing these tricks?

In this wicked darkness your face and your body is still here with me, looking like it always does – I can feel the electromagnetism flicking me on. The heating’s yet to burst up, but I am sweating cobs with the thoughts of you.

Two dogs outside barked their testosterone reminders of my solitary confinement.

I reached for the Laphroaig and last night’s sticky glass. I needed to get some serious drink in to wash away this lust. I foresaw waves of malty oblivion. I’ll drink to you and me of course, but please leave me after this first bottle – I want no dreams to remember tonight.


@zevonesque 406 words
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"The Psychic" - Visdare #50

Angela Goff's Visdare #104 this week is brought to you today by the word 'Remote' and this picture by artist Pat Perry. So, 150 words from this… well, here you go with: 'The Psychic'

Pat Perry
Pat Perry - photo source

The Pyschic


The ornate silk scarf Michelle had picked up in Paris was being alternately stroked and scrunched by Theresa. Her eyes closed tight, as she inhaled deeply. Jonathan stood by the door impatiently looking on.

        Suddenly, Theresa pulled the scarf tight and shouted. ‘I can see something.’

        Jonathan stepped closer, but Theresa held out a hand to stop him.

        ‘The vision is coming, resolving itself,’ Theresa said. 'Be patient.'

        ‘Sorry.’

        ‘I can see birches, long grasses... an old shack,’ Theresa said. ‘A trailer in the distance. The place seems remote. Hillbilly.’

        Jonathan couldn’t help himself, ‘Can you see her? Can you see Michelle? Is she okay?’

        Theresa shook her head.

        ‘Not yet.’

        The door rattled open and Michelle walked in.

        ‘Jonathan! Must you do this every time I pop to the shops?’

        Jonathan skulked into the kitchen to help with the bags. Disappointed, Theresa went home for a cup of tea.

(150 words)
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'That's Not What I Meant' - Trifecta #103

Trifecta this week is one of them dead short ones. Just 33 words in addition to (and preceding):

That wasn’t what I meant.

- See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.maqnilNf.dpuf
___________________


The Last Scouse

‘The scouse tasted funny.’

‘That’ll be the strychnine,’ said Sarah throwing the pot away.

My empty plate glared at me.

‘You did say you’d rather die than see Man United win another title.’

That’s not what I meant.


___________________

In case you don't know what scouse is then take a look on this site… it's global scouse day on Friday!!

Global Scouse Day
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Jura Whisky Comp

Rocks
It's nearly time for me to ask you to do me a favour. I want to win a trip to Jura with Jura Whisky, who wouldn't? And I'm one of thirty people with a chance in a competition so I'll need some votes to get there! Voting is imminent apparently via their website (you can click on the picture above). I can't link direct to the story, as depending on whether you've been on the site before and what country you are in you may have to confirm your date of birth before entering the site! My story is in the Winning Words Theme 2 'Into the Wild' and is the last picture (the one above) called 'Rocks'.

Will let you know when the voting begins and badger you lots later.

Apologies in advance! And thanks to anybody who does take the time.



Jura


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"The Picture in the Drawing Room" - Visdare #49

Today's Visdare #49 is brought to you by the word 'Devoted' and the usual nice black and white:

Devoted
Photo Source

The Picture in the Drawing Room

The drawing room was kept pristine for Sarah, finer than it had ever been when she’d lived there. During the day Frederick avoided the room, saying he didn’t want to appear too maudlin.

But at night, under the flickering flames of the wood fire and candles, when Sarah’s portrait came alive then he really couldn’t be anywhere else. Each evening it was his reading room, his drinking room and usually the room he fell asleep in - before being roused by the cold when the fire flicked out.

Somehow Sarah's features would change through myriad moods. Usually, as Frederick read or wrote, she seemed simply to smile down on her beloved.

When he realised he was tiring he’d look up at Sarah, hoping that as the last thing he saw she would step into his dreams. Sarah was destined to be really close to her Freddie again only while he slept.


(150 words)
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"Dreams" - Flash Friday

Loved this weeks beautiful haunting photo for Flash Friday Fiction "Patience' - 14 Feb '14 (140-160 words). My story for it is 'Dreams' below.
Kolmanskop
Source

Dreams

Borba’s dreams were now inevitable and they were clearly eating him up. He visibly shrank daily in front of his investor’s eyes.

        He was building a Las Vegas in the middle of the most inhospitable African desert. A monument to mankind showing the mastery over the world he lived in. It was his dream, to be his legacy.

        But now his dreams were killing him. Each night the same voice spoke to him.

        ‘Go from here.’

        ‘This land is sacred.’

        ‘Do not build here.’

        Night after sleepless night. Incessant.

        ‘Leave.’

        Fine imported marble and grand glass edifices had risen up, some incredibly high, dazzling iridescent above the shifting sands of the dunes. They were heralded around the world as a modern Wonder.

        Slowly, almost imperceptibly, but inexorably the desert moved in. One by one Borba’s buildings were gobbled up by the sand as the desert patiently took bites from man’s monumental folly.

        Borba had played dice in a loaded game.

(160 words)
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Trifecta #102

The 'Lurve' Trifecta

In recognition of one of the worserest capitalist 'holidays' of the year tomorrow
Trifecta #102 has a love theme. They asked for 33 words about 'love gone wrong' - without the use any of the following words: love - sad - tears - wept - heart - pain

So here is my little (33 word effort):
_______________________

The young couple grinned when the vicar asked the congregation, “... anyone knows any lawful impediment?
Recognising the groom’s parents from the day they’d picked Louise up from the orphanage her adoptive parents screamed.

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"Calling" - Visdare #48

Today's Visdare #48 is brought to you by this picture and the word 'Beneath' or something like that. Ha ha haa!

Chasm 1
Photo source

Calling


I was inexorably drawn to the stark old mansion with its faded, not unattractive facade. I somehow squeezed through a gap in the timber fence before picking my way through the frost touched grasses.

A swollen back door took a couple of shoulder barges before it fell open revealing a large rustic kitchen. The sturdy table in the centre was surrounded by aged bags and cases and the chairs were draped with decaying mounds of coats. There was no sign of recent visitors.

Then I realised that the house was stifling so I too dispensed with my jacket draping it over a kitchen hook, not thinking to wonder about the heat source - that which called me.

A closed door waited to be pushed and I helplessly relented, to find the decrepit corridor behind it pulsing reds from an unearthly chasm beneath the gouged timbers. It called silently to me.
Welcome.


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"The Competition" - Flash Friday Fiction Vol 2-9

The Competition

Brothers Gargol and Rygol were playing the ultimate game of Civilization. They each started with a sparsely populated planet, which they named after themselves. They were permitted a little prodding and pruning every four years, when they could also introduce selected technology to assist their population.

Gargol was doing rather well he thought. His was a pretty and self contained planet, if not particularly dynamic. The people were happy with their lot, particularly once he’d introduced wine and beer technologies.

Rygol was envious of the general happiness observed on Gargol. There seemed to be a lot more aggression, even wars, on his planet. He mused that it may have been how he’d engineered the population. In 1896 he’d reintroduced competitions on Earth to find who were the fittest, fastest, strongest then he’d spirit away the athletes to his planetary stud - several years after their success, when no one would notice their disappearance. It had seemed like a good idea.


Flash Friday Fiction 7 February 2014
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"Click, Clack" - Visdare #47

Visdare No. 47 'Contemplating'

Alfred-Eisenstaedt
Photo Source


Click, Clack

The gentle click clacking needles and the robotic looping of the wool had always been the easiest way for Jean to relax and contemplate. It was nice to create a little order out of chaos too.

Click.

The door at the back of the theatre opened and a man crept in. He looked over to Jean, trying to judge the best way to get to her. He tripped noisily over a carelessly dropped handbag.

Clack.

Jean had heard the door and smiled at the subsequent cussing. She glanced at the ball of wool, noting it was coming to an end.

Click.

The man stood before her separated by two neat rows of seats, but she didn’t look up.

Clack.

Last row. Just enough wool.

The man saw wires and the bomb in the bag, no way to get to it without Jean triggering it. He fingered his gun.

Click.



(150 words) Visdare #47 |'Contemplating'
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"Angles" - Trifecta Week 111

Pasted Graphic

Angles

The orange tinged lights flickered erratically then fizzled out as the lift stuttered to a halt. Stephen’s shoulders sagged when he realised they were stuck between floors. He looked across at the other man to see if he would react.

        Grieg touched back his jacket cuff to check the time, but otherwise looked unphased.

        ‘It won’t be long,’ Grieg said to Stephen, who he didn’t recognise.

        Stephen looked at Grieg without thought to hide his disdain. His features squirmed across his face as though he was tasting waves of chili, vinegar and Stinking Bishop.

        Grieg was used to it. He was held in the utmost esteem for his magical abilities by the few, but most people treated him like something unpleasant they’d trodden in.

        They were trapped in the lift for over an hour before Stephen spoke.

        ‘How can you do what you do?’ said Stephen.

        ‘I sleep fine,’ Grieg said.

        ‘But the lies you tell affect people every day,’ Stephen said, ‘and it’s always the poorest who suffer most.’

        Grieg preened some imaginary hair and looked Stephen directly in his eyes.

        ‘I sleep fine.’

        There was a pause before Grieg spoke again.

        ‘I’ve never lied, I've never manipulated the figures. All the information I provide the Ministry are what they ask for, based on the story they want to sell.’

        ‘But the lies.’

        ‘I’ve never lied with my statistics. Admittedly I sometimes tell truths from unusual angles.’

        ‘But they’re always torn apart afterwards by the opposition and the media.’

        ‘Of course, but by then my job has been done. The story has gone days before. People have short attention spans you know,' Grieg said. 'I just do the best job I can for my wage. Never done anything wrong in my life.’

        ‘Not sure most people will agree with you.’ said Stephen.

        ‘Everyone is entitled to their view of the truth, from whatever angle they chose to see it.’

        The lights suddenly flickered back to life and the lift jerked violently upwards.



Pasted Graphic




(333 words)
Trifecta Writing Challenge - 'Manipulate'

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"Stew" - Race the Date #12

Spices

Stew

Master Phillips was rudely woken by a crewman at daybreak. He struggled to see through his sleep encrusted eyes, but from the stench he guessed it was Gove.

        ‘Cap’an, chosen you for the landing.’ he growled.

        Phillips grabbed a cloth, arguably less filthy than him, and proceeded to smear dirt around his face, trying to leave the bit around the nose a little cleaner. He bounced up to the deck before most of the landing party, who ambled up in their own time showing varying degrees of enthusiasm.

        Before long they were rowing through the Pacific waves towards the broad sandy beach.

        ‘About time the weather let us in,’ muttered Spencer.

        ‘Desperate for some new friends?’ said Daniels.

        ‘Some fruit wouldn’t go amiss, maybe some meat,’ said Spencer, ‘But aye if there are any ladies…’

        After watching the island, stuck for days behind the reef, the only sign of island life they’d seen were birds. Fredricks said he heard pigs at one point. His marbles were lost during the Doldrums though.

        As they approached their landing the forest rose as a monumental impenetrable wall from the edge of the beach.

        Excitement was palpable as they pulled up the boat – the men on the ground would get their fill of the first fruits; a great position to be in Phillips thought.

        He was reconsidering this whilst he tried to loosen the ties around his wrists. The giant bubbling vats, which currently smelled of vegetable stew, were drawing his vision. Phillips was pretty sure he’d get to taste some of it shortly, but was not looking forward to his dinner placing.

        They were evidently not the first pirates to land there, as the indigenous tribe, as well as outnumbering them, were much armed better. They also had fabulous spices for their stew.


(300 words)
Race the Date #
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