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MFTS – Accept No Substitutions!
Here is my little story for Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. The supplied sentence is in bold in my story. To read this week’s other contributions, click on the little blue froggy!
From her small balcony, the witch watched the world go by.
She had no choice, actually. And the world went by really really fast. In fact, mostly it was just a blur. She could make out details, sometimes. When she’d cast the spell, people had clippity-clopped by on horses. Now they shot past in horse-less chariots!
It was that “time in a bottle” spell. Maybe she shouldn’t have substituted grapes for eye of newt? But eye of newt was awfully expensive, and grapes looked, well, roughly similar. She didn’t think the Goddess would notice, She was always so busy. And now the witch was the one trapped in time, her house the bottle.
Today, at last, the reversal spell was ready! She raised her hands, chanted… and with a thunderclap four hundred years caught up with her all at once.
It was weeks before someone found the little pile of dust where the witch used to be. Evidently, substituting cheap cotton for expensive silk in the “protection” element of the reversal spell was a no-no.
Friday Fictioneers – Carpe Diem
Here’s my story for Friday Fictioneers, a weekly photo challenge hosted by Rochelle. The photograph this week was contributed by Jennifer Pendergast.
To view the other stories for this week, click on the blue froggy.
Pete, designated “Team Leader”, read the instructions.
“Row across Doom Lake, navigate the Rapids of Certain Death and finally enter the Canyon of Damnation.”
“Um,” said Charles, “this sounds awfully dangerous.”
“These team-building exercises always sound like that,” chipped in Nancy. “It’s fine!”
“Well,” said Charles, “I don’t like the sound of it. I’m not going.” He watched his workmates sail off before going back to his room. He popped a beer, tripped over his slippers and broke his neck.
The moral of this story? Seize life. Because that bullet with your name on it? You’ll never see it coming.
MFTS – What Goes Around…
Here is my story for Barbara Beacham’s Monday’s Finish the Story. This week’s photo was provided by Marcy B. Ayanian. She also provided the opening sentence! The opening sentence is in bold in my story, and to view this week’s other contributions, click the blue froggy.
I spent all day yesterday holding on to a comedy story with grim determination, but couldn’t think of a decent ending so I’ve written this instead.
As her mount shifted uneasily under her, she grasped the brim of her old felt Stetson, gazed upwards and remembered Jean Pierre.
The way his eyes flashed with amusement at some joke. The way his body moved while playing tennis at their Paris manor. The smile on his face when he repeated “I do” at their wedding, the smile which remained throughout the reception, and later, when they were alone…
The way his beautiful eyes opened wide as saucers as the laced brandy took effect, the poison causing his heart to falter, then stop.
She even spared a thought (however briefly) for the maid, eyes streaming tears as she was lead to the gallows, lips protesting her innocence of a crime she didn’t commit.
Lady Genevieve smiled as she rode back to the manor – her manor now – and looked out over Paris.
In the shadows lurked her butler, sometime lover of the maid, a grim smile on his face as he watched her sip the cocktail he’d so carefully prepared.
Literary Lion – Skool Dayz
Here is my contribution for Laura’s fortnightly Literary Lion challenge. The Literary Lion has spoken, and this week’s prompt word is “limerick“.
The photograph was taken by Christopher Web (flikr) and supplied under a Creative Commons licence.
Mr Glass looked around the class.
“Right everyone, I hope you’ve done your homework. Randall, we’ll start with you.”
Randall stood up and began reading.
“Limerick is a town in Ireland, innit. It is in the province of Munster, yo. It…”
“Let me stop you there, Randall,” interrupted Mr Glass. “The assignment was to write a limerick, not to write about the town of Limerick.” The class tittered.
“Woah dere. I has spent hours…”
“… minutes at most…” broke in Mr Glass,
“… on dis!” finished Randall.
“I’m sorry, Randall, but…”
“Right! Here is a limerick den, yo!” Randall began to make boom-box noises.
“I does da homework on time,
But Mr Glass he wants a rhyme,
I was doin’ jus’ fine,
All dahn the line,
An’ I don’ do drugs,
‘Cos I ain’t no mug,
Rub-a-dubba-dub. Pshhhhhhh… the Word. Yo.”
The class burst into appreciative applause.
“Randall,” said the long-suffering Glass, “two things. One, that barely makes sense. Two, that’s a rap, not a limerick.”
“Oh man, it’s like I can’t do nuffin’ right!” exclaimed Randall. “Okay den, here’s a limerick for ya!
“Dere once wuz a teacher named Glass,
Who always had trouble in class,
He hates all da kidz,
Now his life’s on da skidz,
He could do wiv a kick up da…”
“RANDALL!”
Friday Fictioneers – Flicker
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was also supplied by our hostess!
To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.
Samson looked up at the lights in the window and reached for his walkie-talkie.
“They’re flickering, man.”
“But you can’t hear anything?”
“Nope. All quiet.”
“Good.”
“I’m coming down.”
He trudged down to the basement. “I told you we should’a used car batteries,” he grumbled.
“D’ya know how much they cost? It’s an old building. Dodgy electrics. It’ll be fine.” Mason walked over to the table and looked at the man strapped there.
“So, snitch, let’s try this again, shall we? Who’s your contact?”
He twisted a knob and the man screamed, his back arching. Upstairs, the lights flickered.
MFTS – The Origin of Hell on Earth
Here’s my story for Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. It’s slightly over the word count but I’ve already chopped out 40 words!
The supplied sentence is in bold in my story, and you can see all the other contributions by clicking on the blue froggy.
The cemetery spread along the area known as Devils Abode.
However, the Devil was away on business and the minions were having a party! There was jelly and ice cream, little sausages on sticks and, of course, unspeakable torments.
All the best demons had turned up. All the worst demons too. Chamblezook, Defiler of Small Animals, had accidentally marked the invite “public” on FaceScroll.
Chamblezook watched in horror as the demons… “tore up the joint”, he believed was the “in” term. He gasped as he looked out the window to see Grigglebarg, Corrupter of Kitty-Cats, taking a leak on the Master’s prize-winning geraniums.
Then he heard a voice. “He’s mine, she’s mine, missed him…” The Master was coming, reading the graveyard headstones. He would not be pleased.
He was not pleased. In his rage the Master created Hell on Earth. He later admitted he may have gone too far, but billions of humans would now be subjected to the worst torment ever devised.
And thus the Reality Show was born.





















