Friday Fictioneers: Yum, Tasty

unidentifiable-on-a-stick

‘It’s just a stage he’s going through,’ she says to the other mothers. ‘Yesterday, he ate two earthworms, an earwig, and the dog’s dinner.’

‘Mum. Look. Tasty lolly.’ He plucks the mouldy seed pod by its stem from the path and stuffs it in his mouth.

Long silence. Delayed reaction. Family mutt slinks off under the park bench, trembling. Mum moves in slow motion towards her son, through a force field of invisible treacle.

Ploff. An explosion of spores.

One nappy draped over tree branch. No more toddler. Just a furry grey monster toddling off into the bushes, ploffing with delight.

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Picture Prompt courtesy of Kent Bonham
Friday Fictioneers — 100 word stories

Friday Fictioneers: Titch’s Space Mission

Copyright - Marie Gail Stratford

He had spent months constructing a space-ship console in the kitchen. Each morning, when Ma lay sprawled on the sofa in the next room not recovering from a hangover, Titch reconfigured his glass control levers, filling with empties the slots vacated the night before. Despite Ma never feeding him, he would make a fine astronaut.

Already an expert in drawing up blackcurrant juice from cartons with a syringe, one day soon — probably Sunday — Titch planned to fuel his space-ship from the vein in Ma’s arm, sure she would have enough alcohol in her blood to launch it way beyond the sun.

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Image courtesy of Marie Gail Stratford
Friday Fictioneers — 100 word stories 

Friday Fictioneers: Lost and Found

©Tales_From_the_Motherland

Rachel walked the rectangles of water, hoping to find a cure for old age. The featureless shallows surrounded by stark rock symbolised her brain. Lost memories and hardened blood vessels. If only she could see her reflection in these pools, her emptiness would vanish along with her wrinkles.

Today, Rachel’s face seemed closer to the water than ever, her spine bent double where the landscape had leached the minerals from her bones. For a second, in the white sun, she glimpsed a mirrored child, before walking over the edge and tumbling into the pools below along with her recaptured memory.

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A big thank you Rochelle Wisoff for this weeks photo prompt. This is my first contribution to Friday Fictioneers, a story of exactly 100 words in length. To find out how you can join in with the weekly flash fiction challenge and to read other people’s stories to go with the image above, do visit Rochelle’s blog.

September’s Guest Storyteller, Leigh Ward-Smith

Leigh Ward-Smith

Leigh Ward-Smith has a journalism and editing background, but fiction, poetry, and creative nonfiction occupy most of her current brainspace. She blogs at Leigh’s Wordsmithery  but also tweets, tweaks her wordcraftery, and sometimes opines on Twitter @1WomanWordsmith or on Facebook.

[quote] “I credit Serendipity with helping me discover Sarah’s blog, for which I’m very grateful, and I thank you all for taking the time to read my work”.

Out of a group of genetically enhanced humans with canid capabilities, a female and male study subject battle for dominance with increasing aggression. One researcher monitors them from a distance, mindful that the study could spiral out of control but determined to see who will emerge as Alpha.

The Enhanced: Prologue

“Observation is the most pervasive and fundamental practice of all the modern sciences, both natural and human.” — Histories of Scientific Observation, edited by Daston and Lunbeck

Brandon tore a clot of hair from Thea, not appearing surprised when she snarled. She wasn’t one to whimper. By arching her back she’d managed to get them to pinwheel a few times, but then he splayed across her again, his panting animal form struggling to pin hers.

“Stay down, bi—”

With another strong upthrust of the broad, muscular plain of her back, Thea flipped Brandon’s bulk just far enough away for her to roll opposite and get partly upright, but still lupine. If she could have expressed herself in human terms in that instant, she’d have said that a lone instinct seized her mind by its muzzle and shook it violently side to side. The buried impulse rose up, gutturally thumping and pronounless:

Rip throat. Rip throat. Rip throat.

When she twisted her tongue out, grazing her mouth’s corner for a tentative taste, she found salt and grit mingling with thready saliva.

“You can’t get away, T.” Brandon talked his tough wannabe talk as he took a half-step backward, never lifting his eyes from the forest floor. “Give it up.”

Even though she glared and gnashed bared teeth, he kept up the chatter. At a distance.

“C’mon, show me your yellow belly,” he called, his scratched-up lips peeled back in a grin.

That must have raised all kinds of hackles, fully human and otherwise, for she loped the since-blossomed distance in a hummingbird heartbeat. A miniature maelström of organic materials whorled the air in her quick wake.

Brandon had no time to prepare. Either repulse or countermove. With Thea’s head cocked to the side like that, it appeared that she had gathered some grim satisfaction from his shocked yelp, which also hurt my quotidian ears, even at this distance. With the finely calibrated instruments in my use, I could even measure, calculate, and record the give and recoil of the cypress that caught Brandon in the shoulderblades and mid-back. From the handheld, I saw that it wrested 89% of the oxygen from his barreled chest in an anguished “arhhhh.” Even the trees seemed to give credence to the rightness of research subject 209B’s counterattack.

She has to knock down this whelp a few more notches, I thought as I watched from my blind hunkered down with long-range binoculars, barometers, and the like activated—yet organically disguised—to measure everything from wind speed to body heat to brain-wave activity through utilizing an MRI machine, which included an MR angiogram to measure arterial and venous flow. Some might remember such previously stationary and cumbersome devices from the history files, but ours was a portable ultra-long range resonance imager that could measure brain activity, flow, and structures at up to 1000 meters. And getting better all the time.

Of course, subject 5157R was unwise to challenge Thea’s pawed-out pecking order, her rightful place, among this branch of The Enhanced.

My current research subjects think that the vast, burgeoning newly engineered world is theirs to claim through the bravery born of their genetic gifts. Their enhancements are the spoils of R and D. Including robust physiological and psychological make-up, these cases have been shown to be evolving at speeds never before seen in my previous benchwork or in a literature review done by my colleagues Tolk and Pinell at the Solar University of the Americas. The subjects’ already manifest, and manifold, puissances were in fact palpably expanding. The clinical trial was no longer controlled by us, the Kingdom Animalia Plus Research Group. Our former intellectual quarry—unwittingly surveilled subjects—were not mere guinea pigs. They had turned around and slaughtered just about every expectation, every illusion of scientific control and decorum.

And it was there that I began my research chronicle, prepared for those learned ones who would tread after me, if any did. It was impossible to begin at any other place than at 209B Thea’s climb to extended dominance among The Enhanced.

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Sarah says: Thank you so much, Leigh, for your awesome contribution as this month’s guest storyteller. I wish you every success with writing the novel to follow this prologue, and look forward to seeing the finished product.

To read more of Leigh’s writing, which embraces speculative, dystopian, and science fiction, do visit her blog, Leigh’s Wordsmithery.

You can also find the links to previous guest storyteller posts at https://sarahpotterwrites.com/guest-storytellers-2/

August’s Guest Storyteller, Blondeusk

photo

Bio: Blondeusk has always loved writing stories and has spent hours day dreaming of one day seeing her books on the shelf in Waterstones. On her 40th birthday Blondeusk woke up and decided that she had done enough dreaming and it was time to take action on making her dream a reality.

Sarah says:  Blondeusk, welcome to my blog and thank you so much for guest storytelling this month. Whilst you’re here, I’m going to take the opportunity to tell people the success story of your blog, Blondewritemore. As a complete novice to blogging, Blondeusk created her blog in April of this year and already has 200 followers (probably more by now!). This must have taken some hard work and determination to achieve in three months, and I know she’s beavering away with equal determination at her first novel.

The extract below is from one of her stories: a thriller about two women; a captor and a prisoner who become friends and use their bond to break free from their respective confines.

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 Extract from’ The Beautiful Prisoner’

The door to her attic prison cell opened slowly and Kim watched the blue plastic tray come into view. As usual the two bony white hands that gripped the tray tremored slightly which made the china plates of food rattle.

‘Thanks’ Kim said, standing up to accept the tray and smiling graciously at the timid looking face in the dark unlit doorway. The face silently nodded and waited for Kim to step away from the door, so it could be locked and bolted again.

As Kim sat down on the floor, the door was shut and the three bolts screeched angrily as they were forced back across the thick wooden door. Heeled footsteps moved from the door and gradually faded away.

Tray time was Kim’s favourite part of the day. The meal today was chicken casserole, creamed potatoes and peas. It was a sizeable portion and filled a hole within her cavernous stomach. She ate with speed in case one of her captors decided to come back and take it away from her.

After licking the plate clean she sat for a while on the dusty floor boards until she felt sleepy. Soon enough her eye lids started to grow heavy and she crawled onto the small mattress. It didn’t take long for her mind to transport her back to the night of the accident. Her brain had no other dream material and so every time she slept she relived the same scene.

She was back there, lying twisted and broken in the middle of the road, on that hot and sultry evening in July. An eerie silence had descended the road. The birds in the trees had stopped twittering and the sheep in the field opposite were no longer bleating.

Craning her neck she could see the steam vapours from the silver car’s bonnet twirling up into the air. The monstrous car was wedged into a huge bush and there was no sign of life from the driver inside. It had happened so fast. One minute she had been walking along the pavement texting her friend, the next minute there was a roar of an engine, tyres skidding across the road and she was being catapulted into the air.

She lay back and grimaced at the pain emanating from her legs. Suddenly the driver emerged from the car and staggered towards her. He was a tall dark-haired man dressed in a crumpled pin stripe suit. In silence he crouched over her and looked at her sternly with angry dark eyes. After a moment of thought he bent down and scooped her off the road with his crater-like hands. The ground fell away as they lifted her high into the air.

Over his shoulder she watched the giant boot of the silver car rise revealing its dark mouth. As he turned towards the boot, with her in his arms, she started to struggle but it was futile, her body was broken. He reached the boot and placed her inside. As he leant over her she could smell the sweet smell of alcohol on his hot breath.

The boot closed firmly and darkness enveloped her. She started to scream when the engine of the car started.

Kim awoke screaming ‘NO PLEASE STOP!’ Her face was damp with sweat and her heart pounded hard in her rib cage. This has to stop she thought getting up from the old mattress, there has to be a way out of this prison.

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You can find the links to previous guest storyteller posts at https://sarahpotterwrites.com/guest-storytellers-2/