wickedvoodoo
from Mansfield, England is reading stuff.May 27, 2012 - 5:56am
Chesteris a lean, mean, judging machine, so he will cope with a hundred plus submissions with ease.
Da boy iz tuff!
Chester Pane
from Portland, Oregon is reading The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot DiazMay 27, 2012 - 8:43am
Uhhh, thanks for the confidence Martin. But I think there is going to be a surge at the end. So looking at the date, this must become the Memorial Day Weekend priority.
wickedvoodoo
from Mansfield, England is reading stuff.May 30, 2012 - 3:48am
Phew - well it's late and I'm tired and I have to be up early to travel but I promised I would post something here and I won't get another chance and a promise is a promise. I posted it on the mainpage too. Bloody eggs.
This one is dedicted to Chester. It's his kind of thing.
T.P.B.C.L.R
Straddling a chaise-longue near the front of the stage, she pulls up her skirts to show the crowd her P.U.S.S.I. (Personal Umbilical Sound System Implant)
She feels a hum across her ovum-drums. She shudders like ripples on the surface of warm milk and arches like a whammy bar. Vibrato arms indeed! Vibrato legs too by the looks of things.
A cluster of eggs slides down each of her xylophelopian tubes. Tiny trebleggs and big juicy bass-shells. The jewels of the dance floor. Refined beat-matter, the source of the sound contained in little pearls. The rhythm of the life-cycle.
The crowd fucking loves it.
Leads loop from her clit pick-ups and plug into her nipple clamplifiers. Her ta-ta's staccato percussivally as she windmill-whisks her fibre-optic hair.
The noise in the room right now is pure sex, (fertility, for ovulation stations!) pure rock, (plus calcification, for a pretty shell!!) and a goddamn hardboiled yolkcore. (equals eggsravaganza, it'll scramble your grey matter!!!)
The crowd goes coital, they know this tune, know what's coming.
The riffmother bends over backwards until she's nearly folded in two, her P.U.S.S.I pulsating and erect. Another rumble of the ovum-drum, a giggle of the xylophelopians.
Then she plays the solo. What they all came here to see.
Techopolyblastocysticladyrhythms. (T.P.B.C.L.R)
Oh, baby, can you feel that? Grabs you by the reproductives, right? I wish one of my girls had the eggs for pulling off that kind of poach. Can you imagine? I'd put the bed in the goddamn studio.
Covewriter
from Nashville, Tennessee is reading & SonsMay 29, 2012 - 8:50pm
There are so many good stories this one likely won't win, and i sent a non-egg story in already so this might be "cracking" the rules But I couldn't resist being part of the group and writing an egg story. So here it is, for what it's worth.
Baby Chicks
"Girls you go on out to the barn and find me some eggs," Grandma told Cindy and me. We woke up early, eager to see what the farm day had to offer. But Grandma didn't need us standing around in her big kitchen, with the gas heaters cranked up and a bowl of bread sitting on the table with a cloth over it.
She wouldn't start the bacon and eggs until Grandaddy and our uncle finished feeding the cows, but my sister and I were in her morning space and she wanted us gone. Our mama was pregnant and lost a baby sister of ours yesterday. Daddy brought us to the farm to stay a few weeks so Mama could rest. We knew about giving people space. Seemed like Grandma wanted hers, too.
So we pull on sweaters and boots and make our way to the barn. Our feet crunch on the frost as we take in the smells of hay and cows. We know the spots the hens lay. There is one in Susie Sweet's stable, but we can't get those unless Susie, the show horse, is out of the barn. There is another in an empty stable, and two spots in the loft.
The loft is scary because it is strewn with hay. Grandaddy pushes the hay down from up top into the horse's stables. If you aren't careful you will fall through the open spots where he pushes the hay, and end up in Susie Sweet's feeding trough.
"You go to the empty stable," I tell Cindy. "I'll go up top."
"I'm coming up top too," she says, because we both know it's fun up there, looking down on the horses.
We make our way up the straight ladder to the loft, and at the top find a treasure of a different sort -- a bottle with brown liquid. "What is it?" Cindy asks, her face right at my blue-jeaned butt, so close she could bite me.
"Don't know. Looks like tobacca juice," I say holding it up."
"He couldn't spit in that," Cindy says. "He can't aim."
"True," I say.
"Maybe it's horse medicine?"
"Medicine for what?"
"I don't know! Just medicine for whatever they need."
I unscrew the top and sniff. Sure enough it smells like the Jack Daniels cough syrup Dad gives us when we can't sleep.
"Let's just get the eggs and go," Cindy says.
We find seven brown eggs, warm like dinner rolls, and carry them back carefully, wrapped in the ends of our t-shirts.
Grandma scrambles them for breakfast, but I don't eat them for thinking of the unborn baby chicks. I say this and Grandaddy lets out a big laugh, tipping back in his chair.
"Oh darling," he says. "They weren't fertalized."
"Oh," I say, but i don't know what this means.
Grandady keeps laughing so hard his face grows red.
"We found your horse medicine today," I say.
"Horse medicine?" he stops laughing.
"The brown stuff in the bottle in the loft."
"Oh you girls don't need to be up in the loft," Grandaddy says.
"We were getting eggs."
"Humm," Grandaddy says.
The table has gone quiet. Grandma moves eggs on her plate with her fork. Uncle Jamie looks down at his plate. Cindy kicks me under the table, a sign for me to stop it.
"Yep that medicine was up there," I say. " About half full."
Grandaddy's face goes from red to white. I somehow knew when I found that bottle I had a secret on Grandaddy. I guess he won't laugh at me anymore. No one should laugh at a girl for not wanting to eat eggs for the sake of unborn chicks, an unborn baby sister.
I picked at my bacon and asked to be excused.
Chester Pane
from Portland, Oregon is reading The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot DiazMay 29, 2012 - 9:21pm
Yay you guys! Egg heads.
Ummm, yeah, I am having a hell of a time deciding on a winner. I have a short list and will be shooting the winner and two runners-up to Rob tomorrow.
I am really surprised at some of this month's flashes. This is going to be cool moving forward because of the sheer volume and that volume's quality.
Thanks Martin, you mad man, for not breaking that promise.
And Lisa, you always say that. You have the talent. Own it!
Class Facilitator
ReneeAPickup
from Southern California is reading Wanderers by Chuck WendigMay 29, 2012 - 9:35pm
EEP!
Covewriter
from Nashville, Tennessee is reading & SonsMay 29, 2012 - 9:44pm
Chester, I'm being something not exactly passive-aggresive but close to it. I know i need to stop that. You called me out, and i needed it, so thank you.
Bill Tucker
from Austin, Texas is reading Grimm's Fairy Tales (1st Edition)May 30, 2012 - 6:49am
Nice stories, Cove and voodoo! Voodoo's is expectedly strange and Cove, while it's too long for this month's contest, is a great, homespun style tale. Really enjoyable! Chester has his work cut out for him!
Covewriter
from Nashville, Tennessee is reading & SonsMay 30, 2012 - 7:44am
Thanks Bill. And shoot! I can't seem to do 250 words anymore.
Class Facilitator
ReneeAPickup
from Southern California is reading Wanderers by Chuck WendigMay 30, 2012 - 9:14am
Chester, you are so judgmental! Going around judging everyone! Geez.
Bill Tucker
from Austin, Texas is reading Grimm's Fairy Tales (1st Edition)May 30, 2012 - 9:47am
Don't sweat the word count, Cove. Good stories are good stories, regardless of how long or short they are. 250 is a tough challenge, though. I barely got out of my story alive!
Chester Pane
from Portland, Oregon is reading The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot DiazMay 30, 2012 - 9:50am
Tucker, you wrote a very nice piece. Seriously.
Chester Pane
from Portland, Oregon is reading The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot DiazMay 30, 2012 - 9:54am
Martin. I love you. I want to send that to Nikkles.
Bill Tucker
from Austin, Texas is reading Grimm's Fairy Tales (1st Edition)May 30, 2012 - 1:24pm
Thanks, Chester, but the damn thing nearly killed me. Wrestling with a word count is exhilarating but maddening all at the same time, requiring a series of impossible choices. Flash takes me forever, but it's a good kind of forever. It's precision writing, which I love. Tough challenge, but I'm glad it worked!
wickedvoodoo
from Mansfield, England is reading stuff.May 30, 2012 - 2:22pm
@ Chester - feel free. It was a present for you. Share at will.
Class Facilitator
ReneeAPickup
from Southern California is reading Wanderers by Chuck WendigMay 30, 2012 - 9:24pm
Who's freaked? I'm freaked! I can't wait to see who won!!!!
Chester Pane
from Portland, Oregon is reading The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot DiazMay 30, 2012 - 10:35pm
Me neither!
Okay, sharing....
Fritz
May 30, 2012 - 10:41pm
Forgot all about tomorrow being the day - super competition with the 250 word contest - tons of good stuff... Winner gets major points for coming out on top of this pile.
gonna be neat to see who Chester picks
J.Dulouz
from New England is reading The Sirens of TitanMay 31, 2012 - 4:23am
I made a mistake and submitted my story early on, which has been a cause for many sleepless nights since. The minutes have seemed like hours, the days like weeks! Each time I'd check this thread, I'd wince, seeing that yet another great story had been submitted! My nerves are frayed, my confidence, pummeled. I've made meals of my fingernails. It's been fun.
Class Facilitator
ReneeAPickup
from Southern California is reading Wanderers by Chuck WendigMay 31, 2012 - 9:34am
@Fritz--it was you, commenting last night about wanting to see what would happen if the word count was significantly lowered, wasn't it?
@Dulouz--I did the same thing. I'm realizing now it was a bad idea.
Covewriter
from Nashville, Tennessee is reading & SonsMay 31, 2012 - 8:16pm
I say up the word count! Can i resubmit my longer than 250 on next month, but make it better?
J.Dulouz
from New England is reading The Sirens of TitanJune 1, 2012 - 4:20am
Yeah, it may not help us win, but in our mind at least, we'd have in some way won. Right? Did that make sense?
Class Facilitator
ReneeAPickup
from Southern California is reading Wanderers by Chuck WendigJune 1, 2012 - 9:31am
Yes, it makes sense...because it involves us winning.
Tucson
from Belgium is reading Late Essays - J.M. CoetzeeJune 1, 2012 - 3:25pm
Will there be another one?
J.Dulouz
from New England is reading The Sirens of TitanJune 2, 2012 - 6:55am
okay, Renee, so our plan is set. This month, we wait until the last day and then pound our submissions in...
...of course, we then run the risk of someone else posting a similar story, making ours seem unoriginal, and that wouldn't feel much like a win. I hate contests.
Flaminia Ferina
from Umbria is reading stuffJune 2, 2012 - 7:42am
So, we have two different flash competitions in June. One on the mainpage and this here one.
?
Chester Pane
from Portland, Oregon is reading The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot DiazJune 2, 2012 - 7:52am
I've made meals of my fingernails.
stealing this.
So, in case you faggots and faggotresses didn't see the header or are too lazy to look, here is the bomb you've been waiting for....
June.
500 words. Hard number. Title doesn't count in word count. And please title your piece! No title is DQ.
Prompt:
$100 cash.
Literally cash. A crisp $100 bill mailed to you in the mail with a love note. You can do whatever you want with it. It can be made into an airplane, stolen by a stripper, invested in the occupy my wallet movement, rolled up into a federal reserve straw to fight the anti-war against drugs...
I am digging the power trip Jumblie had with dishing out prompts. Well, Jumblie and Rob and Panda.
And hair dude.
hairjealousy™.
So...here we go. The Judge is high profile. Eyes you want on your work. So bring it. Push it. Sink it. Moan it.
June theme: moan it.
Ready. Set. Go.
-Chester Alabaster Pane III
Renfield
from Hell is reading 20th Century GhostsJune 2, 2012 - 11:25am
I want $100. I've got a first line for the main page 250 wd contest. Another 500 should be okay, though I don't like Angaliner Jolie.
Who the judge then? Reinhold? Dredd?
wickedvoodoo
from Mansfield, England is reading stuff.June 2, 2012 - 11:35am
Chester Pane
from Portland, Oregon is reading The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot DiazJune 2, 2012 - 12:53pm
Don't forget who Brangelina is talking to. Martin hit it. There is a lot to expand on. It could really be just about any link to this scene. I really liked (blank) who died in this flick. And I really liked her in real life. Dead as well. A sorta tribute. Pleasurepain.
Covewriter
from Nashville, Tennessee is reading & SonsJune 3, 2012 - 10:27pm
Oh man i'm at 523 words, cut down from 800ish.
Covewriter
from Nashville, Tennessee is reading & SonsJune 3, 2012 - 10:56pm
Weighing in at 498 words, let me be the first or near first to post. (After all we have to "Keep June Open."). It's hard to do 500. In my humble opinion the longer version is better, but here you go! Thanks for offering the Flash contests.
Moving Up
Helen came home from mass and brunch to find Bill watching a western, sitting in his easy-chair, starting his second beer. She never knew on Sunday mornings if he would be drunk..
"I'm home!"
"Michelle called,” he yelled "She's coming over to take you to lunch."
"I just had brunch! She should have called earlier."
"Well," Bill said "It's Mother's Day. She's your daughter, so go to fucking lunch"
The doorbell rang and Michelle breezed in, dressed in a white suit and high-heels, arms full of roses.
“Happy Mother’s Day!”
“Oh these are pretty!” Helen said. “Let me put them in a vase. Happy Mother’s Day to you too,” she said. . “Where’s Cody?”
“He’s asleep. He’s taking me out for dinner ..
Michelle’s children are at college. Michelle and Cody are “empty nesters” in their big lake house on Poplar Point. Helen rarely sees them. Michelle was done with the old neighborhood, as far as Helen could tell, had even heard her call it the “slums.”
“I’m treating you to lunch,” Michelle said.
“Honey I just had brunch. You should have let me know.”
“Helen, go to lunch for God’s sake,” Bill yelled.
“I guess I could have dessert.”
Michelle drove, and Helen asked “Why is Cody asleep on Mother’s Day?”
“Oh he had a party last night.”
“Honey,” Helen said. “ This happens with Cody every holiday. That’s not good. I think you’ve changed the scenery but not the situation.”
“What?”
“You’re in that big house and got a lawyer husband earning tons of money, but you’re in the same situation as me.”
“Mom, no. It’s not the same. Cody was just out with friends. He’s not like Dad. He’s a top state lawyer!
“Your daddy never missed work Michelle. He put you through college.”
“Mom, I know. but it’s not like that. Please, let’s change the subject.”
They had lunch at Ruby Tuesdays. They did not talk much. When they returned to the house Michelle parked and cut the motor.
“I’m not going in.”
“That’s fine. But Michelle..”
‘”It’s not the same.”
“Okay.”
Michelle watched her mother walk through the yard into the house of unpredictability. Bill would never hurt her physically, but he was mean when drunk. So was Cody. Her mother, Michelle knew, would always make things work, just like Michelle did all those years her kids were home..
Michelle’s hands shook as she started the car. Cody would have scotch tonight but he wasn’t a drunk like Dad. Cody dressed well, was fun, in shape. He didn’t drink beer night after night at the house on Albany drive where the air conditioning always broke in summer.
But, he yelled at her the same.. And there was the vodka bottle in the closet. And the kid’s not coming home.
“My God,” Michelle thought. “ I changed the scenery but not the fucking situation. Tears fell as she drove to the mansion. At least she changed the scenery though. That was something.
jyh
from VA is reading whatever he feels likeJune 9, 2012 - 6:20pm
Playwrights
I sensed an opportunity, so I went for it: "If you replace one the masts on a ship, is it still the same ship? It has the same name, but is it the same?"
"Oh god," she said, "no philosophy. No. None." Her arms waved. She thought she was being emphatic, but she was coming off like a drunk umpire: safe, safe, safe, wait... okay, safe.
"Of course it is," I said, answering myself. "Just because you change a little something here and there doesn't make it totally different. It's not a completely different thing. It's not apples and oranges. It's mostly the same but a little bit different. What's hard to understand about that?" I set the tea-ball on the saucer with reverence, as for a censer. She drank some more gin and I continued, "Look, thinking about things reasonably, with intellectual honesty, doesn't necessarily amount to philosophy."
She scoffed, "No, you'd have to be better at it to get that distinction."
"I agree." I really did. "So don't give it to me. Or at least get better at making fun of me."
"Okay," she said, "no more fucking around. Who cares if it's philosophy and who cares if I'm right? You're just a cunt and I don't want to do it. What're you going to do? Sue me? Go to court over this shit? Nobody even likes it. You don't even like it!"
During all this I put some sugar in the tea and stirred gently so as not to swirl any over the rim, squeezed a little lemon juice in the eddy.
"You'll thank me when it's done," I said, and set the bitter rind beside the steaming metal sphere. In my fingertips and knuckles, up into my wrist, I felt the calm whirling subside as I brought the cup to my lips, just a little too hot. Just barely burning. Just right.
She set down her tumbler and picked up the bottle, wrenching the cap with one hand, cradling the round bottom with the other. "I'll thank you to finish it," she said as she stood. She almost smiled.
I sometimes forget how tall she is.
Class Facilitator
ReneeAPickup
from Southern California is reading Wanderers by Chuck WendigJune 9, 2012 - 11:38am
Eep. Two flash contests in the same month AND I'm trying to create a creature. Oh. Hmm. Well. OKAY, I accept the challenge.
Dulouz--perhaps we submit to one early and one at the last minute? Then we're covered either way. And if we both agree to consider the other "the winner in my heart" we can't lose.
jyh
from VA is reading whatever he feels likeJune 9, 2012 - 11:41am
Mine's sort of abstracted from the prompt; hope that's okay.
Is that from Girl, Interrupted? Never saw it before.
Chester Pane
from Portland, Oregon is reading The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot DiazJune 10, 2012 - 12:26am
@ Rachel: Please. Normally multiples are encouraged. But with this prize I am looking only for everyone's best.
However, if you edit or revise before the fifteenth, or even the twentieth I think I should have time to re-read.
Nice piece you have going. I am not saying this because I dislike it, but you have an exceptional piece in there somewhere.
And, as usual, I am no expert. And normally I don't do reviews on this thread. But since you asked I figured I should indulge.
Your language excites me. It is obvious you like language.
Thank you for the great read.
*I dream of someday becoming an adult.
wickedvoodoo
from Mansfield, England is reading stuff.June 12, 2012 - 8:26am
As If The Cosmos Had Stalled
After a time I left the house I had broken into and took me and my gun in search of the tallest building I could find that didn't have security. I found a multi-storey car park and now I'm up on top, dangling my legs over the edge. I'm going to shoot myself the moment I jump, the best way to make sure I don't screw up and turn myself into a vegetable.
Here's something funny, I was sentenced to death by Angelina Jolie. True story. She might not know it but she's the reason I'm up here.
I never really liked her or her movies much but it turns out she's a guide sent to save me. Metatron and Tetragrammaton and lipstick. God's words from a cute little pout.
Or maybe not.
Maybe she's a succubus, a siren. A daemoness and a harlot. A puppet, sworn to her cause in the dark.
Whichever power she serves, she serves well. Soon, I'll know the truth.
How it was arranged for lightning to hit that exact house at that exact moment I can only speculate. Celestial powers at work, no doubt. For the fork of white light to hit that particular satellite dish at that precise instant, to jar the receiver and to cause the television signal to loop a few seconds of the movie that was playing. To repeat those few seconds as if the cosmos had stalled, to have the volume up high and have me hear Jolie's voice over and over, her providing the key that I needed to unfasten the last chains. To have her release me.
I was never one meant for this world. I have dreamed of nothing but killing this body for years now, dreamed of joining the nexus and finding its core and the answers. I've never been a brave man but I have always known the reality of things.
This is not all there is.
Something from beyond the veil has given me the power though, given me courage. The words Angelina spoke barely matter, not anymore. It was bigger than that. It was in the way her face moved, her eyebrows furrowing time and time again, the turn of her head and even the flowers behind her in the scene were part of the code. It all fell into place. I read what was being told to me like it were written on paper.
I have achieved all I can of this little moment of life. I have touched every colour and heard every sight. I have tasted all of the shapes this realm has to offer.
Time to ascend.
Or descend.
I watched those few seconds of film loop for what could have been hours, while the woman I had murdered that night bled a lake onto her fancy carpet. After a time I left the house I had broken into and took me and my gun in search of the tallest building I could find that didn't have security.
Bill Tucker
from Austin, Texas is reading Grimm's Fairy Tales (1st Edition)June 12, 2012 - 3:05pm
Question: Does the protagonist have to be female, or at least does the person saying the Girl, Interrupted line have to be female? As much as I love women, the center of my story idea is male. Would work with a woman, but I'm afraid it wouldn't sound genuine if I wrote it that way.
Covewriter
from Nashville, Tennessee is reading & SonsJune 12, 2012 - 6:56pm
Bill I have no authority but i would think you can do whatever you want given a glimmer of the prompt. Go male! I love all your stuff anyway.
Chester Pane
from Portland, Oregon is reading The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot DiazJune 13, 2012 - 1:54am
Bill, it is a prompt. Roll wherever it takes your pen. Think about it. Then wherever it takes you is where you need to go. I don't really do rules. That prompt only means what it means to you. I hope that makes sense.
Bill Tucker
from Austin, Texas is reading Grimm's Fairy Tales (1st Edition)June 13, 2012 - 6:58am
That's what I thought, Chester, but I wanted to make 100% sure. Thanks for the clarification! And thanks, Cove, for the vote of confidence. Much appreciated!
J.Dulouz
from New England is reading The Sirens of TitanJune 24, 2012 - 4:08am
withdrawn. needs work.
voodoo_em
from England is reading All the books by Ira LevinJune 15, 2012 - 6:12am
@Chester ~ Question:
Could i submit my June Flash entry to the workshop and just post a link to it here?
I think I might try submitting this one... maybe. And I don't want to risk whatever slim chance there may be of it being accepted somewhere.
Is that okay?
Please?
*Pound puppy-dog eyes* Pleeeese?
Bill Tucker
from Austin, Texas is reading Grimm's Fairy Tales (1st Edition)June 15, 2012 - 9:54pm
Ever have a story title so energizing that you feel compelled to write something around it? Me and this month's flash attempt. Haven't started the tale yet, but I'll get it in for the deadline. Just need that damn depression cloud to lift and I'll be golden / motivated.
Bill Tucker
from Austin, Texas is reading Grimm's Fairy Tales (1st Edition)June 15, 2012 - 10:09pm
Oh, and heres a note on the few I've read thus far:
@Rachel - I love how there's a little piece of you in everything you write. There's bravery in your stories and it's always enaging. Nicely done!
@wickedvoodoo - Your stories are intimidating in how well they are framed and executed. I keep saying to myself, "shit, I'm in competition with this guy" but then realize this is all for the advancement of our craft, prizes be damned. Great read as always.
@Dulouz - Your imagery is exceptional. "leaving the drifting confetti to settle in the current." Not gonna lie, I jizzed a little. Sploosh.
Chester Pane
from Portland, Oregon is reading The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot DiazJune 16, 2012 - 12:18am
At Voodem, you can do whatever you want to do. I am not much of a rule guy. Have fun. Go crazy.
wickedvoodoo
from Mansfield, England is reading stuff.June 16, 2012 - 5:03am
@ Bill. Cheers, buddy.
J.Dulouz
from New England is reading The Sirens of TitanJune 16, 2012 - 5:26am
Hey, thanks Bill. Guess 'jizz inspiring' stories are the best any of us can hope for. Looking forward to seeing what you have percolating (story-wise).
voodoo_em
from England is reading All the books by Ira LevinJune 18, 2012 - 2:11am
Lie to me ~ I'm going for the heart, did I get yours?
underpurplemoon
from PDX
June 21, 2012 - 3:53am
Title: Help
500 Words:
Things are much easier when they are likeable. Jill’s “to do” list consists of things she does not like. Her one day off and she does things like that. “Geez. Seriously?” Jill groaned. “I don’t know why I made this list in the first place.”
Her husband Neil glanced at her as he was going up on his sit-ups. “Hey babe, can I help with anything?” He’s probably thinking about sex as payment for his helping hand. It’s not like he’s prostituting his wife to himself, it’s more of having Jill being more relaxed when she doesn’t have that stupid list in mind.
Jill had her favorite shirt on and looked even more seductive than when they first met five years ago. “Hon, are you helping out just for sex?” Her alluring cleavage always gets him.
Neil knew that while Jill loved her job as a cleaning lady at the Marriott hotel, she hated cleaning their home on her one day off. “Babe, you know I always want you whenever and wherever. It’s your day off! I should at least make it less miserable! Yes, sex, afterward.” He grabs her ass like he usually does. He kisses her in series.
He releases his grip, but still admires what he’s been pounding and gets to pound for the rest of his life. Jill, an unpleasant look on her face, dives her hands in the sink for the soaking dishes. “Neil, I don’t get why you don’t do these things during the week. You just wait until I get frustrated and then do them! You know what’s on the list ‘cause it’s the same almost every week. Go do it!” Neil protested, but wiped his sweat with his towel.
She kissed him long and hard. He liked that. She squeezed his butt a bit. Both hands, one on each cheek, the way Neil liked it. Encouragement to harvest the fruits of their labor, Jill always knew how to get to him.
“Jill, I’m going out.” He returned her affections. Neil took their fruit basket with him and went to the orchard.
Neil would lose track of time every moment he’s outside. He’s the minister of exterior and Jill is the minister of interior in the family. Together, they’d keep things tidy.
At last, the list has been completed, the tasks checked off. It was odd that Neil hadn’t been back yet, so Jill went out.
Jill heard Neil’s voice but it was incoherent. She followed the voice; it led to a fallen husband. “Neil!”
She rushed to his side. Embracing him gently, she caressed his forehead. Neil opened his eyes to see Jill. “Hey, babe. I’m so glad you finally found me. I can’t move but we can still do it here and now.” Neil was paralyzed but still up for action.
“No sex. I’m calling an ambulance.” She kissed him and told him to hold on. Neil moaned feeling a little neglected and unloved. Jill raced back inside and dialed 9-1-1.
Chesteris a lean, mean, judging machine, so he will cope with a hundred plus submissions with ease.
Da boy iz tuff!
Uhhh, thanks for the confidence Martin. But I think there is going to be a surge at the end. So looking at the date, this must become the Memorial Day Weekend priority.
Phew - well it's late and I'm tired and I have to be up early to travel but I promised I would post something here and I won't get another chance and a promise is a promise. I posted it on the mainpage too. Bloody eggs.
This one is dedicted to Chester. It's his kind of thing.
T.P.B.C.L.R
Straddling a chaise-longue near the front of the stage, she pulls up her skirts to show the crowd her P.U.S.S.I. (Personal Umbilical Sound System Implant)
She feels a hum across her ovum-drums. She shudders like ripples on the surface of warm milk and arches like a whammy bar. Vibrato arms indeed! Vibrato legs too by the looks of things.
A cluster of eggs slides down each of her xylophelopian tubes. Tiny trebleggs and big juicy bass-shells. The jewels of the dance floor. Refined beat-matter, the source of the sound contained in little pearls. The rhythm of the life-cycle.
The crowd fucking loves it.
Leads loop from her clit pick-ups and plug into her nipple clamplifiers. Her ta-ta's staccato percussivally as she windmill-whisks her fibre-optic hair.
The noise in the room right now is pure sex, (fertility, for ovulation stations!) pure rock, (plus calcification, for a pretty shell!!) and a goddamn hardboiled yolkcore. (equals eggsravaganza, it'll scramble your grey matter!!!)
The crowd goes coital, they know this tune, know what's coming.
The riffmother bends over backwards until she's nearly folded in two, her P.U.S.S.I pulsating and erect. Another rumble of the ovum-drum, a giggle of the xylophelopians.
Then she plays the solo. What they all came here to see.
Techopolyblastocysticladyrhythms. (T.P.B.C.L.R)
Oh, baby, can you feel that? Grabs you by the reproductives, right? I wish one of my girls had the eggs for pulling off that kind of poach. Can you imagine? I'd put the bed in the goddamn studio.
There are so many good stories this one likely won't win, and i sent a non-egg story in already so this might be "cracking" the rules But I couldn't resist being part of the group and writing an egg story. So here it is, for what it's worth.
Baby Chicks
"Girls you go on out to the barn and find me some eggs," Grandma told Cindy and me. We woke up early, eager to see what the farm day had to offer. But Grandma didn't need us standing around in her big kitchen, with the gas heaters cranked up and a bowl of bread sitting on the table with a cloth over it.
She wouldn't start the bacon and eggs until Grandaddy and our uncle finished feeding the cows, but my sister and I were in her morning space and she wanted us gone. Our mama was pregnant and lost a baby sister of ours yesterday. Daddy brought us to the farm to stay a few weeks so Mama could rest. We knew about giving people space. Seemed like Grandma wanted hers, too.
So we pull on sweaters and boots and make our way to the barn. Our feet crunch on the frost as we take in the smells of hay and cows. We know the spots the hens lay. There is one in Susie Sweet's stable, but we can't get those unless Susie, the show horse, is out of the barn. There is another in an empty stable, and two spots in the loft.
The loft is scary because it is strewn with hay. Grandaddy pushes the hay down from up top into the horse's stables. If you aren't careful you will fall through the open spots where he pushes the hay, and end up in Susie Sweet's feeding trough.
"You go to the empty stable," I tell Cindy. "I'll go up top."
"I'm coming up top too," she says, because we both know it's fun up there, looking down on the horses.
We make our way up the straight ladder to the loft, and at the top find a treasure of a different sort -- a bottle with brown liquid. "What is it?" Cindy asks, her face right at my blue-jeaned butt, so close she could bite me.
"Don't know. Looks like tobacca juice," I say holding it up."
"He couldn't spit in that," Cindy says. "He can't aim."
"True," I say.
"Maybe it's horse medicine?"
"Medicine for what?"
"I don't know! Just medicine for whatever they need."
I unscrew the top and sniff. Sure enough it smells like the Jack Daniels cough syrup Dad gives us when we can't sleep.
"Let's just get the eggs and go," Cindy says.
We find seven brown eggs, warm like dinner rolls, and carry them back carefully, wrapped in the ends of our t-shirts.
Grandma scrambles them for breakfast, but I don't eat them for thinking of the unborn baby chicks. I say this and Grandaddy lets out a big laugh, tipping back in his chair.
"Oh darling," he says. "They weren't fertalized."
"Oh," I say, but i don't know what this means.
Grandady keeps laughing so hard his face grows red.
"We found your horse medicine today," I say.
"Horse medicine?" he stops laughing.
"The brown stuff in the bottle in the loft."
"Oh you girls don't need to be up in the loft," Grandaddy says.
"We were getting eggs."
"Humm," Grandaddy says.
The table has gone quiet. Grandma moves eggs on her plate with her fork. Uncle Jamie looks down at his plate. Cindy kicks me under the table, a sign for me to stop it.
"Yep that medicine was up there," I say. " About half full."
Grandaddy's face goes from red to white. I somehow knew when I found that bottle I had a secret on Grandaddy. I guess he won't laugh at me anymore. No one should laugh at a girl for not wanting to eat eggs for the sake of unborn chicks, an unborn baby sister.
I picked at my bacon and asked to be excused.
Yay you guys! Egg heads.
Ummm, yeah, I am having a hell of a time deciding on a winner. I have a short list and will be shooting the winner and two runners-up to Rob tomorrow.
I am really surprised at some of this month's flashes. This is going to be cool moving forward because of the sheer volume and that volume's quality.
Thanks Martin, you mad man, for not breaking that promise.
And Lisa, you always say that. You have the talent. Own it!
EEP!
Chester, I'm being something not exactly passive-aggresive but close to it. I know i need to stop that. You called me out, and i needed it, so thank you.
Nice stories, Cove and voodoo! Voodoo's is expectedly strange and Cove, while it's too long for this month's contest, is a great, homespun style tale. Really enjoyable! Chester has his work cut out for him!
Thanks Bill. And shoot! I can't seem to do 250 words anymore.
Chester, you are so judgmental! Going around judging everyone! Geez.
Don't sweat the word count, Cove. Good stories are good stories, regardless of how long or short they are. 250 is a tough challenge, though. I barely got out of my story alive!
Tucker, you wrote a very nice piece. Seriously.
Martin. I love you. I want to send that to Nikkles.
Thanks, Chester, but the damn thing nearly killed me. Wrestling with a word count is exhilarating but maddening all at the same time, requiring a series of impossible choices. Flash takes me forever, but it's a good kind of forever. It's precision writing, which I love. Tough challenge, but I'm glad it worked!
@ Chester - feel free. It was a present for you. Share at will.
Who's freaked? I'm freaked! I can't wait to see who won!!!!
Me neither!
Okay, sharing....
Forgot all about tomorrow being the day - super competition with the 250 word contest - tons of good stuff... Winner gets major points for coming out on top of this pile.
gonna be neat to see who Chester picks
I made a mistake and submitted my story early on, which has been a cause for many sleepless nights since. The minutes have seemed like hours, the days like weeks! Each time I'd check this thread, I'd wince, seeing that yet another great story had been submitted! My nerves are frayed, my confidence, pummeled. I've made meals of my fingernails. It's been fun.
@Fritz--it was you, commenting last night about wanting to see what would happen if the word count was significantly lowered, wasn't it?
@Dulouz--I did the same thing. I'm realizing now it was a bad idea.
I say up the word count! Can i resubmit my longer than 250 on next month, but make it better?
Yeah, it may not help us win, but in our mind at least, we'd have in some way won. Right? Did that make sense?
Yes, it makes sense...because it involves us winning.
Will there be another one?
okay, Renee, so our plan is set. This month, we wait until the last day and then pound our submissions in...
...of course, we then run the risk of someone else posting a similar story, making ours seem unoriginal, and that wouldn't feel much like a win. I hate contests.
So, we have two different flash competitions in June. One on the mainpage and this here one.
?
I want $100. I've got a first line for the main page 250 wd contest. Another 500 should be okay, though I don't like Angaliner Jolie.
Who the judge then? Reinhold? Dredd?
Fucking aye.
500 words. Scenery. Situation. Duck pout. 100 dollars.
There's a formula there somewhere.
Don't forget who Brangelina is talking to. Martin hit it. There is a lot to expand on. It could really be just about any link to this scene. I really liked (blank) who died in this flick. And I really liked her in real life. Dead as well. A sorta tribute. Pleasurepain.
Oh man i'm at 523 words, cut down from 800ish.
Weighing in at 498 words, let me be the first or near first to post. (After all we have to "Keep June Open."). It's hard to do 500. In my humble opinion the longer version is better, but here you go! Thanks for offering the Flash contests.
Moving Up
Helen came home from mass and brunch to find Bill watching a western, sitting in his easy-chair, starting his second beer. She never knew on Sunday mornings if he would be drunk..
"I'm home!"
"Michelle called,” he yelled "She's coming over to take you to lunch."
"I just had brunch! She should have called earlier."
"Well," Bill said "It's Mother's Day. She's your daughter, so go to fucking lunch"
The doorbell rang and Michelle breezed in, dressed in a white suit and high-heels, arms full of roses.
“Happy Mother’s Day!”
“Oh these are pretty!” Helen said. “Let me put them in a vase. Happy Mother’s Day to you too,” she said. . “Where’s Cody?”
“He’s asleep. He’s taking me out for dinner ..
Michelle’s children are at college. Michelle and Cody are “empty nesters” in their big lake house on Poplar Point. Helen rarely sees them. Michelle was done with the old neighborhood, as far as Helen could tell, had even heard her call it the “slums.”
“I’m treating you to lunch,” Michelle said.
“Honey I just had brunch. You should have let me know.”
“Helen, go to lunch for God’s sake,” Bill yelled.
“I guess I could have dessert.”
Michelle drove, and Helen asked “Why is Cody asleep on Mother’s Day?”
“Oh he had a party last night.”
“Honey,” Helen said. “ This happens with Cody every holiday. That’s not good. I think you’ve changed the scenery but not the situation.”
“What?”
“You’re in that big house and got a lawyer husband earning tons of money, but you’re in the same situation as me.”
“Mom, no. It’s not the same. Cody was just out with friends. He’s not like Dad. He’s a top state lawyer!
“Your daddy never missed work Michelle. He put you through college.”
“Mom, I know. but it’s not like that. Please, let’s change the subject.”
They had lunch at Ruby Tuesdays. They did not talk much. When they returned to the house Michelle parked and cut the motor.
“I’m not going in.”
“That’s fine. But Michelle..”
‘”It’s not the same.”
“Okay.”
Michelle watched her mother walk through the yard into the house of unpredictability. Bill would never hurt her physically, but he was mean when drunk. So was Cody. Her mother, Michelle knew, would always make things work, just like Michelle did all those years her kids were home..
Michelle’s hands shook as she started the car. Cody would have scotch tonight but he wasn’t a drunk like Dad. Cody dressed well, was fun, in shape. He didn’t drink beer night after night at the house on Albany drive where the air conditioning always broke in summer.
But, he yelled at her the same.. And there was the vodka bottle in the closet. And the kid’s not coming home.
“My God,” Michelle thought. “ I changed the scenery but not the fucking situation. Tears fell as she drove to the mansion. At least she changed the scenery though. That was something.
Playwrights
I sensed an opportunity, so I went for it: "If you replace one the masts on a ship, is it still the same ship? It has the same name, but is it the same?"
"Oh god," she said, "no philosophy. No. None." Her arms waved. She thought she was being emphatic, but she was coming off like a drunk umpire: safe, safe, safe, wait... okay, safe.
"Of course it is," I said, answering myself. "Just because you change a little something here and there doesn't make it totally different. It's not a completely different thing. It's not apples and oranges. It's mostly the same but a little bit different. What's hard to understand about that?" I set the tea-ball on the saucer with reverence, as for a censer. She drank some more gin and I continued, "Look, thinking about things reasonably, with intellectual honesty, doesn't necessarily amount to philosophy."
She scoffed, "No, you'd have to be better at it to get that distinction."
"I agree." I really did. "So don't give it to me. Or at least get better at making fun of me."
"Okay," she said, "no more fucking around. Who cares if it's philosophy and who cares if I'm right? You're just a cunt and I don't want to do it. What're you going to do? Sue me? Go to court over this shit? Nobody even likes it. You don't even like it!"
During all this I put some sugar in the tea and stirred gently so as not to swirl any over the rim, squeezed a little lemon juice in the eddy.
"You'll thank me when it's done," I said, and set the bitter rind beside the steaming metal sphere. In my fingertips and knuckles, up into my wrist, I felt the calm whirling subside as I brought the cup to my lips, just a little too hot. Just barely burning. Just right.
She set down her tumbler and picked up the bottle, wrenching the cap with one hand, cradling the round bottom with the other. "I'll thank you to finish it," she said as she stood. She almost smiled.
I sometimes forget how tall she is.
Eep. Two flash contests in the same month AND I'm trying to create a creature. Oh. Hmm. Well. OKAY, I accept the challenge.
Dulouz--perhaps we submit to one early and one at the last minute? Then we're covered either way. And if we both agree to consider the other "the winner in my heart" we can't lose.
Mine's sort of abstracted from the prompt; hope that's okay.
Is that from Girl, Interrupted? Never saw it before.
@ Rachel: Please. Normally multiples are encouraged. But with this prize I am looking only for everyone's best.
However, if you edit or revise before the fifteenth, or even the twentieth I think I should have time to re-read.
Nice piece you have going. I am not saying this because I dislike it, but you have an exceptional piece in there somewhere.
And, as usual, I am no expert. And normally I don't do reviews on this thread. But since you asked I figured I should indulge.
Your language excites me. It is obvious you like language.
Thank you for the great read.
*I dream of someday becoming an adult.
As If The Cosmos Had Stalled
After a time I left the house I had broken into and took me and my gun in search of the tallest building I could find that didn't have security. I found a multi-storey car park and now I'm up on top, dangling my legs over the edge. I'm going to shoot myself the moment I jump, the best way to make sure I don't screw up and turn myself into a vegetable.
Here's something funny, I was sentenced to death by Angelina Jolie. True story. She might not know it but she's the reason I'm up here.
I never really liked her or her movies much but it turns out she's a guide sent to save me. Metatron and Tetragrammaton and lipstick. God's words from a cute little pout.
Or maybe not.
Maybe she's a succubus, a siren. A daemoness and a harlot. A puppet, sworn to her cause in the dark.
Whichever power she serves, she serves well. Soon, I'll know the truth.
How it was arranged for lightning to hit that exact house at that exact moment I can only speculate. Celestial powers at work, no doubt. For the fork of white light to hit that particular satellite dish at that precise instant, to jar the receiver and to cause the television signal to loop a few seconds of the movie that was playing. To repeat those few seconds as if the cosmos had stalled, to have the volume up high and have me hear Jolie's voice over and over, her providing the key that I needed to unfasten the last chains. To have her release me.
I was never one meant for this world. I have dreamed of nothing but killing this body for years now, dreamed of joining the nexus and finding its core and the answers. I've never been a brave man but I have always known the reality of things.
This is not all there is.
Something from beyond the veil has given me the power though, given me courage. The words Angelina spoke barely matter, not anymore. It was bigger than that. It was in the way her face moved, her eyebrows furrowing time and time again, the turn of her head and even the flowers behind her in the scene were part of the code. It all fell into place. I read what was being told to me like it were written on paper.
I have achieved all I can of this little moment of life. I have touched every colour and heard every sight. I have tasted all of the shapes this realm has to offer.
Time to ascend.
Or descend.
I watched those few seconds of film loop for what could have been hours, while the woman I had murdered that night bled a lake onto her fancy carpet. After a time I left the house I had broken into and took me and my gun in search of the tallest building I could find that didn't have security.
Question: Does the protagonist have to be female, or at least does the person saying the Girl, Interrupted line have to be female? As much as I love women, the center of my story idea is male. Would work with a woman, but I'm afraid it wouldn't sound genuine if I wrote it that way.
Bill I have no authority but i would think you can do whatever you want given a glimmer of the prompt. Go male! I love all your stuff anyway.
Bill, it is a prompt. Roll wherever it takes your pen. Think about it. Then wherever it takes you is where you need to go. I don't really do rules. That prompt only means what it means to you. I hope that makes sense.
That's what I thought, Chester, but I wanted to make 100% sure. Thanks for the clarification! And thanks, Cove, for the vote of confidence. Much appreciated!
withdrawn. needs work.
@Chester ~ Question:
Could i submit my June Flash entry to the workshop and just post a link to it here?
I think I might try submitting this one... maybe. And I don't want to risk whatever slim chance there may be of it being accepted somewhere.
Is that okay?
Please?
*Pound puppy-dog eyes* Pleeeese?
Ever have a story title so energizing that you feel compelled to write something around it? Me and this month's flash attempt. Haven't started the tale yet, but I'll get it in for the deadline. Just need that damn depression cloud to lift and I'll be golden / motivated.
Oh, and heres a note on the few I've read thus far:
@Rachel - I love how there's a little piece of you in everything you write. There's bravery in your stories and it's always enaging. Nicely done!
@wickedvoodoo - Your stories are intimidating in how well they are framed and executed. I keep saying to myself, "shit, I'm in competition with this guy" but then realize this is all for the advancement of our craft, prizes be damned. Great read as always.
@Dulouz - Your imagery is exceptional. "leaving the drifting confetti to settle in the current." Not gonna lie, I jizzed a little. Sploosh.
At Voodem, you can do whatever you want to do. I am not much of a rule guy. Have fun. Go crazy.
@ Bill. Cheers, buddy.
Hey, thanks Bill. Guess 'jizz inspiring' stories are the best any of us can hope for. Looking forward to seeing what you have percolating (story-wise).
My Flash Me June attempt is in the workshop now.
http://litreactor.com/workshop/sub/lie-to-me-500-words
Lie to me ~ I'm going for the heart, did I get yours?
Title: Help
500 Words:
Things are much easier when they are likeable. Jill’s “to do” list consists of things she does not like. Her one day off and she does things like that. “Geez. Seriously?” Jill groaned. “I don’t know why I made this list in the first place.”
Her husband Neil glanced at her as he was going up on his sit-ups. “Hey babe, can I help with anything?” He’s probably thinking about sex as payment for his helping hand. It’s not like he’s prostituting his wife to himself, it’s more of having Jill being more relaxed when she doesn’t have that stupid list in mind.
Jill had her favorite shirt on and looked even more seductive than when they first met five years ago. “Hon, are you helping out just for sex?” Her alluring cleavage always gets him.
Neil knew that while Jill loved her job as a cleaning lady at the Marriott hotel, she hated cleaning their home on her one day off. “Babe, you know I always want you whenever and wherever. It’s your day off! I should at least make it less miserable! Yes, sex, afterward.” He grabs her ass like he usually does. He kisses her in series.
He releases his grip, but still admires what he’s been pounding and gets to pound for the rest of his life. Jill, an unpleasant look on her face, dives her hands in the sink for the soaking dishes. “Neil, I don’t get why you don’t do these things during the week. You just wait until I get frustrated and then do them! You know what’s on the list ‘cause it’s the same almost every week. Go do it!” Neil protested, but wiped his sweat with his towel.
She kissed him long and hard. He liked that. She squeezed his butt a bit. Both hands, one on each cheek, the way Neil liked it. Encouragement to harvest the fruits of their labor, Jill always knew how to get to him.
“Jill, I’m going out.” He returned her affections. Neil took their fruit basket with him and went to the orchard.
Neil would lose track of time every moment he’s outside. He’s the minister of exterior and Jill is the minister of interior in the family. Together, they’d keep things tidy.
At last, the list has been completed, the tasks checked off. It was odd that Neil hadn’t been back yet, so Jill went out.
Jill heard Neil’s voice but it was incoherent. She followed the voice; it led to a fallen husband. “Neil!”
She rushed to his side. Embracing him gently, she caressed his forehead. Neil opened his eyes to see Jill. “Hey, babe. I’m so glad you finally found me. I can’t move but we can still do it here and now.” Neil was paralyzed but still up for action.
“No sex. I’m calling an ambulance.” She kissed him and told him to hold on. Neil moaned feeling a little neglected and unloved. Jill raced back inside and dialed 9-1-1.