Fleas jumped off of the tangled hair, copulated in mid-air and settled back amid the black tendrils.
I stared in disgusted fascination, my nostrils having made peace with the assaulting stench.
My mind was drawn inward, savouring the festering feeling of satisfaction acting like balm against the long-aching depths in the pit of my stomach.
I watched the gaping hole betwixt its eyes, the hole I had just made, rendering its horns useless; unable now to ram at me; its dead legs unable to stalk me; its glassy eyes, emptied of the evil spirit that has haunted me for so long.
The first time I left home, I managed to get to the front gate before Doreen ran out and grabbed my shoulder. I had walked out in the middle of a talking to, so I wasn’t really expecting to go very far.
The second time I made it out onto the street. She was sleeping that time and I was very, very quiet so I don’t know how she knew I was leaving.
But I didn’t plan it right, you see. I should have done it when Daddy and Doreen were at work.
The third time… Continue reading
Copyright -Mary Shipman
All I remember from the day the humans left is an all-encompassing, bright flash. They were gone before the night was dawn.
My three little ones are my world now, and the humans’ house is our home. The most recent danger is a lone wolf that roams the woods that have spilled over the front yard. While I hunt, I hide my kittens in the holes up in the wall. Wolves don’t jump that high.
And yet, I return to a quiet house. A claw marks the length of the wall; too high for a wolf; deep enough for a bear. My babies are gone.
For Friday Fictioneers. Football fever has caught me by the throat this season. I write this as I watch Spain v. Chile. Tell me, is football an inspiring muse?
The mummified corpse on Dr Jade’s table lay on its side with fingers clawed and legs crouched, kneeling. The mouth was open, caught in the middle of a frozen scream.
All Dr Jade was interested in were the teeth though; the perfect white teeth on the grey, withered body. Continue reading
I started this journal with ‘Day 5’ because it feels like almost a week since I washed up here.
A month ago, I boarded the yacht for the adventure of a life time. Breaking the yacht on the rocks was unexpected. Waking up with my face buried in the sand at the break of dawn was a miracle. Continue reading
Copyright – Douglas M. MacIlroy
Tyron smacked his lips happily. The perfect title hit him after two empty hours. ‘Seven mountains in seven years’, his answer to the challenge: ‘Wildest dreams’.
His finger hovered for a hesitating second longer. Then, click; the post was published. Continue reading
When leaves turn gold,
Copyright -Jennifer Pendergast
I know that their time has come.
With roses for cheeks
And chirping laughter,
I watch them enter in loud hordes.
The sky grows dark,
Eclipsed by pearly clouds.
Fragile branches sag under heavy ice;
Bags droop under tired, learned eyes.
I watch as hordes become silent clusters.
Snow melts. Unveils
Emerald leaves no longer burdened.
With roses back on their cheeks,
Straight backs, relieved shoulders,
I watch as one by one they leave, triumphant.
‘Your mama is so fat, that—’
A long, low booing resonated from the audience.
‘Okay! okay…Have you ever heard of the koi who was coy with his wife?’
‘Get off the stage!’
‘No, no wait…Okay; man walks in a bar—‘
Whizz. Glass shattered on the stage.
Damian ran out of the theatre for his life. He sat in the dark alley next to the backstage door analyzing the scribbled list in front of him.
‘Garbage Collector’ was next.
A man’s voice startled him; ‘How much for half an hour?’
Damian froze for a second, then shrugged. No reason ‘Male Prostitute’ shouldn’t be on that list.
Copyright – Douglas M. MacIlroy
For Trifecta and Friday Fictioneers. Two in one; economizing in this economy. The word given by Trifecta is: BOO – 3 (verb) to show dislike or disapproval of someone or something by shouting “Boo” slowly. Friday Fictioneers, on the other hand, gave us the lovely picture above.
I feel tentacles rising, slithering up, wrapping themselves around my brain, consuming it.
My full mental power comes to my defense.
I hack, but Doubt creeps up again and takes over my head.
For Trifextra. The challenge is to write 33 words on a beast in an unusual place. Hope this qualifies.
There were once three men who used to sit on the bench shaded by the carob tree at the far corner of the square. They were much younger than the tree, albeit as wrinkly and bent by age as its bark.
Everyday their vigil began right after the seven-thirty mass. They sipped English tea in a tall glass at eight-thirty, then bread and cheese at ten. The bench under the carob tree would be empty between twelve and two; which was precisely the span of time it took the sun to graze the wooden bench before its rays were eclipsed by the second house on the left. Continue reading