Satanist for a Day

goats_and_graves_3_randy_mazie

Copyright – Randy Mazie

When Boo decided to become a Satanist, Randy tagged along.  They bought themselves leather jackets and dog collars and prepared for the ritual. They had watched enough television to know how that went.

Full moon saw both youngsters at the cemetery dragging a bleating Sandy behind.  They found a marble tomb and took out the knife.  Then sat and stared at the goat.

‘I can’t do it, Boo! Me Pah’ll kill me!’

‘Grow some balls!’

‘Boo, I can’t!’

Boo gave out a grunt and snatched the knife, hiding his trembling fingers.

A twig snapped.

The young men were back at the barn faster than Sandy could bleat a reminder that she was still attached to the tree.

When I saw this picture on Friday Fictioneers, I went, ‘Oh shit! How can I explain this one away!’ Then I thought and thought, and an idea did come to me, but I must confess, I couldn’t keep to the hundred word deadline this week; which is a pity because I’ve missed quite a few challenges in the past weeks! If you can offer any suggestions they are very welcome and I’ll edit as the comments come in 🙂

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The Speed of Mouth

It all started when Emma told Donna that she liked Fred. At the time they both giggled and left it at that.

Later that day, when Donna was walking home from the bus drop-off with Pippa, Donna found herself at a loss for words.  Pippa, who was in with the cool crowd, only walked with Donna because she had to, them living on the same street and all, so when Donna felt that familiar awkward silence coming on, she fished frantically inside the innards of her brain for a topic.  And she found it; only, when Donna told Pippa that Emma liked Fred she scrunched up her nose and tried hard to sound all-knowing; “Not just likes Fred…she likes-likes him.” Who could blame Donna? This was Pippa she was talking to!  Pippa shrugged and allowed the silence to fester. It was not until the next morning that the little piece of news came in handy.

She was sitting in the aura of Maggie; taller, blonder, more beautiful than Pippa could ever be.  Gazing at the jocks walking by, Maggie disturbed the air with a high-pitched; “I dunno what you’re all looking at! They’re all little boys!”

“Hmm-mmm, we all know what your type is!” said Sammy, and Maggie smiled her I’m-so-grown-up-and-mysterious smile, which basically gave her a duck face.  Pippa, who in the two years of high school had become allergic to that smile, began to simmer; “If it’s Fred you’re talking about, forget it.  He likes Emma!”

And that was the last peaceful morning Emma spent at that school.  She was jeered at and bullied to the brink of depression until her parents dragged her and their belongings out of town.

Still, Emma got it better than Fred did.  His attorney pleaded with the judge that it was only a rumour, and the judge should know how rumours fly; especially ones so juicy.  But the judge didn’t buy it and Prof. Fredrick Simmons ended up in jail for abusing a minor.

mona-lisa-duck-face

For Trifecta.  The word given to us this Monday was FLY:

You know it actually took me two days to come up with a story?! But my mind pulled through in the very early hours of the third day (It’s 00:53 over here).  Hope you like this one.

Page 7

metal work beanstalk

Copyright – David Stewart

 

‘What the hell happened here?’

‘I—I don’t know, boss! I followed all the instructions!’

‘Like hell you did; look at it!’

‘But I did, honest.  All the instructions on page six. “Throw the bean and pour water on it.”  I did just what the recipe says.’

‘What about page seven?’

‘…P—Page seven?’

‘The chant on page seven.’

‘I—Wh—’

‘You’re telling me that the reason I am now looking at a ladder instead of a beanstalk is that you opened the book, read the recipe and forgot to turn the page?’

‘I—’

Idiot!’

 

Hello all! This little dialogue was triggered by the picture taken by David Stewart, chosen by Rochelle Wisoff and posted for Friday Fictioneers.  It’s been a while since I participated in this challenge and I missed it!  Hope you like it.

My Mediterranean Summer

Returning home at five, I’m a prisoner in a wheeled metal furnace. Air steams; my body melts. A fly hums drowsily, fogging my brain with dreams of cold water sizzling on my tongue.

For Trifextra.  I put this in the present because it is something I am experience everyday.  The AC in my car doesn’t work.  I hate Summer.  I hope you got that.  Spring; now that is a season!

A Biography of Sorts

It was as they say; a light at the end of a long tunnel, dark and lonely.  I walked towards the light.  I say ‘walked’ but, in truth, I can’t remember walking, or feeling my legs for that matter.  Let’s say ‘moved’.  I moved towards the light.  Not because I was drawn to it, particularly, like a moth towards a candle, I went to it because, in the blackness that surrounded me, there was simply nowhere else to go. Continue reading

The Man who Wanted to Fly

 

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mohammadali / Love Photos / CC BY-NC-SA

 

‘Why did you do it?’

‘So I could fly.’

‘But you can see everything from up here!’

‘It’s not the same.’

‘Say that to yourself when you’re trying to type in those feathers!’

For Trifextra.  I think I was overwhelmed by this incredible picture this week because it took me quite a while to come up with this…and still I’m not happy. *sigh* Sometimes, it just happens!