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Michael
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Jul 09, 2014 11:50PM
Indeed and I enjoyed the joys of jousting :-)
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The ABC Drabbles of Death skipped a beat last week, but it's back with a vengence this week as we reach the letter 'J'. This one is another taken from my past and it's what I wonder went through her mind before she jumped. If you haven't read the previous drabbles in the series then you can find them all here:
http://thecultofme.blogspot.co.uk/p/w...
And if you're looking for more short or flash fiction then come and join the Facebook group dedicated to those forms of story telling:
https://www.facebook.com/groups/short...
J is for Jump
It’s a long way down and at the sight I almost lose my nerve. It’s almost funny really. I climbed all the way up here to make sure that the drop would kill me and now I’m afraid of falling.
Maybe this is a sign.
Not that it matters. This is the only choice left to me. My eyes fill with tears, but they are selfish tears for me alone. No-one else will lament for me.
That is the real sign for what must be done. One last moment of pain and then nothing more.
I step off the ledge…
That one's sad. Deep and thoughtful....
Great drabble Kath.Facing your Fears 1
I recently acquired a new home, or rather an old Amityville-horror-type home. It’s a creepy place, but has great atmosphere for writing my next novel.
However, as I wandered around the many rooms, I nearly wet myself with fright. I wasn’t alone!
One of the bedrooms was being squatted by a wolf. Maybe there’s a whole pack of them in there.
I sense its presence whenever I stalk along the cobweb-strewn corridors. I can barely sleep at night for dreams of werewolves.
Finally, I gather my courage and peak into the room. It’s still there, silently watching me; hungry eyed.
Facing your Fears 2
Weeks pass and I haven’t become wolf-fodder, but still, I’ve hardly written a word. I wander the corridors like some zombie flesh-eater. I know the wolf is waiting, hoping to catch me unawares and pounce. I don’t hear it, but I know it’s there.
Wolves are cunning creatures!
In desperation, I buy myself a shotgun. I must face my fears and kill the wolf before it kills me. Locked and loaded, I stalk up the creaky winding staircase and along the corridors. Slowly, I push open the door and take aim.
Bang! The wolf is dead. His stuffing flies everywhere.
After last week's rather serious ABC Drabble of Death I thought I'd go for something a little more fantastical for the letter 'K' and bring forth an old friend from legend!If this is your first drabble of death and are wondering what the hell is going on? Don't panic. A drabble is a story which is exactly 100 words long and this series takes each letter of the alphabet in turn and I write a suitably death themed drabble. You can read the previous drabbles in the series here:
http://thecultofme.blogspot.co.uk/p/w...
And now a beast awakens...
K is for Kraken
From the dark depths it arose.
A thing that should not be. A creature from legend and nightmare. Yet here I stand on the deck of my trawler with today’s catch spilling from torn nets. Tentacles of fearsome size crush the boat as if it were no more than a child’s toy.
Screams of the crew and the screeching of tortured steel surround me. The spray of the sea and the sweat of my face chill my face.
The trawler snaps in two and victorious against its defenceless foe it drags me and my boat into the sun starved deep.
The Radioactive Cat“Road Closed,” stated the first sign.
It was a temptation that I found too hard to resist.
“Do not enter!” read the second, a short while later.
I knew I’d made the right decision by ignoring their warning.
A little while later, “No Admission beyond this point!”
Curiosity was indeed killing me.
Then came: “Entry Strictly Forbidden!” They had even painted a skull and crossbones symbol beneath the sign. They surely had something to hide.
I continued on.
Four miles later I was stopped by soldiers in full contamination suits, waving guns at me. Geiger counters clicked like speed-freak crickets
A faerie ring of discarded fag butts.A henge of jagged bottles sawn off by practise bullets. Witches’ thimbles picked out in empty shell casings.
Wreaths woven from silver foil and torn up aluminium can crack pipes.
A cromlech of three shopping trollies.
Corn dollies fabricated from condoms and tampons.
Hag stones cultivated from car tyres, corn circles of six-pack beer plastic.
A small maypole erected from a medical crutch planted in the soil with billowing strips of bandages.
An outline burned into the grass, where a prone man had been set on fire without bothering with a wicker cage.
Lovely Drabble Marc, It dragged me right in.
Here's Jonathan's today, from IBB.Status Update by Jonathan Hill
Becky loved her social networking. If she were put in detention, Facebook would know before her parents. If she saw a new piece of eye candy, a tweet announcing love at first sight would immediately be flying out of her phone to her followers. Becky lived through social media.
When the fire alarm went off at school one day, she updated her status online before she followed the others out. ‘Fire drill lol. Yay got out of history! YAWN!’
While everyone was coughing and spluttering in the playground, their eyes streaming, Becky hit ‘post’ on her last ever Facebook update.
Not sure what you all will think of this?Frost
The moon is peeping from behind fluffy clouds, circled in rings of yellow and green she cast her glow on the cold, still, winter’s land.
Red, gold and brown the leaves and bracken are touched by the frost fairy as she passes, rising to the trees, coats branches and twigs in crystal, falling tiptoes across the grasses.
Her work done, all shimmering in the moon’s soft light. A fairyland of silver bright, whose splendours are missed by human sight. Dawn comes creeping to herald in the new day with Apollo his weak sunlight kindling anew the warmer light of day.
It's lovely, Pat! When you used to enter the writing competitions you were always good at description.
Agreed, it reads well. It reminds me of some of my favourite song lyrics:Corn is the gold that will shine in the summertime
Leaves are the emaralds you find in the spring
In autumn they turn and as copper they burm
Then they fall like the diamonds that bleak winter brings.
Oh thanks folks, I might try more now.Michael I love that, what is it from?
It's from a song called Mythhistory by Sabbat. It was a concept album inspired by a book called The Way of the Wyrd which is an excellent read.Here's another snippet:
Mother, sister, virgin, whore
She is all these and yet still more
That I could hope to understand
She takes my heart, I take her hand
And can you blame me?
Is it such a crime?
To crave for one small piece of Heaven,
That I can call mine.
And they were an 80's thrash band :-)
I really enjoyed reading The Way of the Wyrd and could read it again.
ditto. Wouldn't mind getting it again though, if my TBR was a little smaller. It was a worthy read.
The Way of the Wyrd sounds as if I might enjoy this too.Thanks
It's available on Kindle - bought :-)
One of my drabbles today.Holidays by Kath Middleton
There was all the usual palaver before they went on holiday. Dad checked the vehicle over and ensured he had all the documentation. Mum had single handedly done all the packing but Dad didn't trust her to stow it away in the most efficient manner. She had also prepared a hamper of food and cold drinks in case there was nowhere to stop on the way.
And the children. Well, kids are kids - the youngest had already been sick twice with excitement. Then, strapping themselves in, they folded their tentacles and the ship took off and left the galaxy.
Ah the wonder of the twist in the tale :-)
Mr Brookes, you're following me around! But thank you!
Nice one Kath. It reminds me on many a journey with my own two children, minus theintergalactic element
The Obe PagePeter Smyth turned to page thirteen of his local newspaper. It was a daily ritual that he took great comfort in. In fact, it was the only part of the paper he bothered with … apart from the crossword puzzle and the cartoon section. They were on page forty-two.
But he always started with page thirteen: Births, deaths and marriages. All of the good news on one page. The rest of the rag was utter tripe.
He started to read: Congratulations to Margery Piddlesworth on her new novel: Slaughterhouse. It was born, flourished briefly before dying a horrible death. R.I.P.
The latest in the Murder Drabbles series has been posted in the Indie-Book-Bargains newsletter (get a daily drabble and Kindle bargains from the website here: www.indie-book-bargains.co.uk). If you've not read the previous drabbles in the series then you will find them all here:
http://thecultofme.blogspot.co.uk/p/m...
And if that hasn't satisfied your hunger for short and flash fiction then come and join the Facebook group dedicated to those forms:
https://www.facebook.com/groups/short...
Shiny New Toy
To keep the urges at bay I devoted all my energies into finding the perfect blade. A task which took longer than I expected with so much to consider. It couldn’t too small, but if it was too large then where would I conceal it?
And then there was the shape. At first I was drawn by the exotic allure of a curved blade. I imagined it drawn across slender throats. Then I pictured the straight edge of a stabbing blade and I knew my choice had been made.
When it arrives it will be time for my next dance.
Great drabble Michael. Speaking of blades, here is a couple of drabbles for you all.Punishment
Alemia slipped from her blood-red dress, revealing the slinky baby-doll beneath. Most women couldn’t pull off pink bunny patterns, but Amelia could.
She could see the lust his eyes as he lay handcuffed on the bed. Her eyes trailed down his body to the bulge in his boxers.
A sneer touched her lips, revealing her sharpened incisors. “You’ve been a very naughty boy, Jeremy. I’m going to have to punish you,” she purred.
His eyes glowed with excitement. He would have smiled but for the ball gag.
It was too late to struggle when the cutthroat razor caressed his manhood.
Divine Punishment ‘Thwack!’
The unexpected sound echoed within the room. It was followed by a whirring sound as the pneumatic crossbow reloaded.
Amelia looked down at the bolt protruding from her left breast. She gurgled an incoherent protest before collapsing on the bed.
A man stepped out of the walk-through closet, sporting black leather and a fedora. He was rather short.
Her victim was hyperventilating on the bed, eyes wide with shock.
The dwarf lit up a reefer and pulled deeply. “Malachi the Vampire-slayer, at your service. Don’t bother getting up!” A business card was placed on the naked victim’s panting chest.
LOL Thanks. These two were inspired by a vampire multi drabble colaboration I am working on with Bryan, Chris, and Ava, but they may never see the light of day as part of that story. I have to wait and see when it comes back to my turn.
Punishment is quite nasty - I like it!
The latest drabble in the Tales of the Imp series has been posted in the Indie book Bargains newsletter (visit www.indie-book-bargains to sign up for a daily drabble and Kindle bargains). If you've not read the other drabbles in the series then you can find them all here:
http://thecultofme.blogspot.co.uk/p/t...
And if you want to read the Imp's origin story then you'll find it in in the Off the KUF Volume One anthology, check it out on Amazon here:
http://amzn.to/1fbJHXv
And now what has the diminutive devil been up too...
The Morning After the Night Before
I floated on cloud nine. Naturally I felt exhausted, but in a good way. It wasn’t my first time, but I’d never been much of a ladies man. For the first time I’d made love rather than simply having sex.
And in so many different positions as well.
I grinned with joy and later I hoped to return for another evening of delightful discovery. My love had finally found its physical counterpart. This was really it and she most definitely the only woman for me.
“Nice work!” The Imp wore a smile of his own. “And now onto the next.”
Skin DeepThey say that beauty is skin deep. I’ve spent my whole life being ugly. I shuffle around dreaming of becoming something more. The sun rises each day, and I do nothing but eat. I am a pathetic case of Bulimia Nervosa, wallowing in my own self-pity, and mourning my fat ugly body.
Finally, I can eat no more. Exhausted, I wrap myself up in my hammock and sleep.
Warm sunlight wakes me. Breaking free of my cocoon, I stretch languidly. Fluttering my wings, I bask in my new-found beauty. I was once an ugly green grub. Now, I’m a flutterby.
After a brief hiatus last week the ABC Drabbles of Death series is back. We have now reached the letter 'L' in our deadly journey through the alphabet and I think I've picked an unusual one for this. If you haven't read the other drabbles in the series then you can find them all here:http://thecultofme.blogspot.co.uk/p/w...
And if you're looking for more drabbles or short fiction then come and join the Facebook group dedicated to those forms. There are some great stories there!
https://www.facebook.com/groups/short...
L is for Light
After so long alone in the dark I never imagined that it would be the light which killed me. For an age I hid from the decision waiting to be made. Instead I lurked alone in the vast unknown before time began.
A sacrifice would be needed so that others might come to be. I feared my death and what would happen next for me. Those yet to come would never comprehend the truth of my choice. Instead they would conjure up strange fantasies to explain the mystery.
Four little words which would change everything forever.
Let there be light.
Very unexpected. Well done on that one, Michael.
A rather philosophical drabble from me in today's Indie Book Bargains newsletter (sign up for a daily drabble and Kindle book bargains at www.indie-book-bargains.co.uk). I also found the perfect painting to accompany it on Wikimedia Commons - a big shout out to the artists cédric sorel - I'd love this hanging on my wall!
If you haven't read my other stand alone drabbles then you'll find them all here:
http://thecultofme.blogspot.co.uk/p/1...
Giga-thoughts
Everything began with a single thought. A pure singularity of consciousness where nothing existed. That first thought begat another and then more. Time formed to mark the passage of one concept to the next.
A universe created to encapsulate the phasespace of infinite possibility. The calculation of perception stratified into a framework of existence.
Immensity expanded into complexity, which in turn compressed into beings with their own thoughts. Nova of consciousness sparked throughout the expansion of the first thought. A billion minds increasing in number creating a confusion of experience.
From ‘I am’ to ‘We are’. What will come next?
Welcome to the latest in the ABC Drabbles of Death. In this series of drabbles (100 word stories) I write a macabre story for each letter of the alphabet and this week we reach the letter 'M'. I had a bit of trouble picking this week's word as it seemed a bit obvious and then I thought of a nice twist :-)If you've not read the previous drabbles in the series then you can find them all here:
http://thecultofme.blogspot.co.uk/p/w...
If that doesn't satisfy your hunger for short and flash fiction then check out the Facebook group dedicated to those forms:
https://www.facebook.com/groups/short...
M is for Martyr
The crowd came to watch me die. For some it’s their duty, for others the thrill, but some want to ensure that I can speak no more. It is the end for me and I have failed in my task save them from their impending doom.
I tried everything I could. I talked to everyone who would listen and even to those who wouldn’t. The elders accused me of spreading fear in their paradise. I refused to recant my warning.
So here I am, tied to the stake awaiting the flame.
It won’t stop the asteroid destroying their planet though.
I've read that drabble a few times and still think its class, great drabble Michael. Here is a bit of history for you, Nav's version of it anyway :-pThe Man from Uffington
I’m a simple farmer, barely making ends meet. I scratch a living from the chalky soil each day, while my mind dreams of better things.
My wife berates me for constantly drawing pictures. She doesn’t understand my compulsion, my need to create. It drives me on to greater things.
Ignoring the mockery of the villagers, I work each day on my hill. I wield my mattock until my shoulders ache, and then dig some more, all the while singing praises to Epona.
Finally my work is done, and I stand back and admire my hill, my wonderful white horse.
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