Tag Archives: #vss

No Repetition Story (WIP)

No Repetition Story (WIP)

(200 words without repetition.

Any comments gratefully received) – G:) )

“What are you doing?” shouted Lady Melanie Montmorency. “Get out of my brand new jacuzzi immediately!”

Brendan o’Briain leapt about three feet skywards into clear air at his landlady’s voice, unwillingly exposing a pale nakedness for her Ladyship’s unwanted delight.

“Sorry!” was heard uttered upon the Irish lumberjack’s sudden departure.

“Funny fellow; but, so well endowed.” sincere sounding approval soaked smoothly within those virtuously aristocratic words.

Disaster avoided, said water-filled garden feature, receiving some needed cleansing attention, soon returned to its former glory.

Later, ‘Dive-In Thursday’ commenced; all behaved impeccably; ubiquitous aperitifs were copiously imbibed, perky petit-fours neatly nibbled, clandestine conversation eloquently colluded.

Observing proceedings, Tangworthy Times’ lead reporter, Mrs. Fenella Finglewort, vividly reported: ‘absolute debauchery, total mayhem, flagrant philandering – so jealous!’ Pictures left nothing unimagined.

Friday’s headlines read: ‘Upper Class Street Theatre Brings Down Lasting Shame!’ which nobody understood – heavy editorial restraints meant little, as subsequent salaciousness could be experienced per highly detailed pictures printed within.

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“Where” SoCS @LindaGHill

“Where” SoCS @LindaGHill

See here for Linda’s blog and details for #SoCS

‘Where were you when Wednesday came, and went? I know that you ‘come and go’ as is your wont; but, on a need-to-know basis, we need to know ‘exactly’ where you were.’

Whether it makes any sense to you is a matter of no concern to us. We are just doing what we are programmed to do – be it unavoidably etched in binary codes upon our souls, or in a flippant aside made by our master (Hail to Parrlos) which we still obey as if it were one of the ten rules.

So, starveling, where were you?

We can only ask three times, then we have to dispose of you as ‘faulty’. Any ‘Ting’ not found worthy, or deemed to be in a state of disobeyance is to be disposed of.

I ask for the final time: where were you?

No?

Nothing?

In that case we shall have to say ‘arriverderci, starveling!’ ‘

A click was heard. Nothing more. A click where there should have been a shaft of light that ‘disposed’. Another click.

‘There seems to have been an error.’ Obot1 faltered. Its database calculating all possible causes of this occurrence happening here and now.

A light dawned on Obot1’s dark horizon.

‘You weren’t, by any chance, where you shouldn’t have been on Wednesday? Messing with our parameters. Where you could have altered our core programmes?

Starveling thought. ‘Where ‘was’ I on Wednesday? Where?’ And laughed. ‘Where indeed.’

Apparitioning Parishioners

Apparitioning Parishioners

The apparition of parishioners was causing something of a problem in Catterbury Minor – the village population had recently rocketed from a paltry seventy to a mind-numbing four hundred and thirty-seven (and counting) – this had soon filled up all of the available spare-rooms, sofas, and a few uncomfortable camp beds left over from the Crimean War; and a growing number of tents had sprung up upon the village green.

An extraordinary village meeting had been called; but the church of St. Mary the Martyr wasn’t nearly big enough to hold the hundreds that turned up – so they all decamped to the playing field.

The register was taken – and updated for new late-comers – and all (and more) were found to be present and correct.

The meeting was quickly brought to order – the Chairman’s air of authority reaching out and dousing all of those many quiet confabs that were happening around the field.

TBC

It’s 4:30 in the afternoon (well, it was).

It’s 4:30 in the afternoon (well, it was).

It’s 4:30 in the afternoon,

and, soon, it will be 4:31;

I only have less than a minute to write this…

but, sadly, it couldn’t be done.

It’s 4:32 in the afternoon…

“The Cakes!”

“The Cakes!”

The Cakes were flying out of the door.

“Stop!” came the cry from the rear of the café.

The last few Victoria Sponge slices beat their wings all the more and reached the freedom of the open air.

“Come back here at once!” shouted Mrs. Flour.

The cakes, not having ears, turned a blind eye to the command.

Free of the café, where they had always waited for the slice of the cake knife with dread, the cakes swooped and glided along the air currents above the town.

“Crumbs!” said the first Herring gull that spotted them – and very soon they were.

A Tale of Three…

A Tale of Three…

Aubrey the Strawberry, Salty the Peanut, and Banango the Weird – a mixed up one if there ever was – walked into Kind Café, one day.

It had been a very hot day, and the three of them were in search of an Ice-cream each to cool themselves down.

Aubrey, Salty, and Banango surveyed the ice-cream menu.

Aubrey looked on with dismay as she saw the options, Salty turned up his little peanut nose at the PB &J cone;

Banango ordered a Banana and Mango Chip Cornet (with sprinkles).

Aubrey and Salty looked at Banango with wonder – he was being really weird lately.

Banango paid and took his selection ‘to go’ and they all left the Kind Café.

Within two minutes a hungry Herring Gull had swooped down and the Banana, Mango Chips, Sprinkles and Banango the Weird had all been swiped by the hungry gull.

Aubrey and Salty were sad, but this was slightly relieved by the fact that Banango the Weird had gone as he had always said he had wanted to.

“Absent Friends!”

“Absent Friends!” – A Liskeard Writers Group prompt for a 15-minute exercise.

(LWG exercise 02-07-2019)

We gathered around the round table and took the register of names.

It was sad that every year the knights became fewer; this time Sir Lachrimae was absent (tears were shed for his loss) and Sir Hector de Maine was counted as being amongst the fallen at Caer Baden.

The spaces at the grand old table of Arthur were almost matching those places filled by the elderly knights.

That was another thing, there were three present that wouldn’t be lasting past Lammas-time, their ailing and failing bodies soon to succcumb to ‘la Morte’.

Arthur raised his chalice. The room hushed as the knights, standing strong around the circle, finished raising their armoured arms to place their own goblets to within a touch of their stubbled and bearded chins.

“Absent friends!” Quoth Arthur.

“Absent friends!” came the response from the room.

They drank, thinking of those who had taught them to bear arms, fought alongside them through quests and battles, and who had fallen in mortal conflict when their time to go had arrived.

It was soon after this meeting that many of the knights decided to go on individual quests in search of grails; to find saintly places lost to knowledge, or to take up hermit status in caves in the woods or the mountains.

The Holy realm of Logres was fading quickly and would soon become a legend that would inspire the hearts of many in the centuries and millennia to come.

Arthur, king, hero, knight of the round table, founder of Camelot, was to become the once and future king – if legends are to be trusted he will return at the time of England’s greatest need.

But, legends being what they are, he may never be seen by any, apart from in a few written documents and the many tales that were ignited by England’s need for a giant in history.

The legend is still growing, Camelot, Tintagel, Arthur’s Seat, Badon and Silbury Hills, Logres, Glastonbury, and the like have claimed his name throughout the centuries, and shall do so for many more.

Hic Jacet Arthurus. Here lies Arthur.