Sorry? Who am I? His mother, that's who.
50 - Never again
(snow rollers, harpy, nail gun, motorcycle airbag)
Escaping through the door, still clutching the paper bag, he slipped and slided to where he’d left his bike. No snow had fallen since entering but a cold penetrating wind had begun, cutting through his thick ski jacket and woollen undergarments. Climbing onto his bike, he placed the key into the ignition and fired her up. By his reckoning, he had a few minutes jump on the beast. With both feet on the ground, he rode his bike out of the carpark and took the quickest way home, along the farm road and through the forest. There was a loud smash behind him as though a window had been broken. It was free.
"Goddamn it!”
He revved his motorbike to max and sped down the road, hitting bumps and almost losing his seating once or twice. The bike bounced badly once more and he narrowly stopped himself from joining the large snow rollers in the fields to his left. Sighing with relief, he heard an ominous sound of beating wings overhead. With a screech, the Harpy divebombed him, scratching its claws into his helmet, but he swerved to the right preventing it from keeping its grip. It screamed in frustration as it saw the forest appear, forcing it to fly higher, unable to get to him.
Once in the cover of the forest, the Harpy could only follow him from a distance and he felt safer. He looked up to see its progress and his bike hit a rock, sending it straight into a tree, head-on. Luckily, he’d listened to his uncle’s advice and bought a Honda Gold Wing with airbag instead of some fancy speed killer. But even with the airbag, his helmet broke in two and rather shakily, he picked up the paper bag and left his beloved bike, running through the deep snow in the direction of home.
A few metres into the cover of the trees, he noticed Old Ted’s place, a small wooden hut, and he remembered something. Clearing the snow from the outside workbench, he found what he was looking for, Old Ted’s portable combustion nailer. Losing no time at all, he turned around and started shooting nails at the Harpy, who was now racing towards him on foot through the snow. The nails had no effect on the creature.
He dropped the now useless nail gun and ran back into the forest, but to no avail, the Harpy clutched onto his back and flung him down into the soft virgin snow. Its claws ripped at his jacket and he could do nothing to stop its onslaught. The end had come.
"Oh, all right, goddamn you!”
He threw the paper bag as far away as possible and the Harpy scurried away to retrieve it. Searching in the snow, with a final screech it took the paper bag and devoured its contents. Sitting up watching, he pointed his finger at the beast.
"But I’m telling ya, that’s the last time I’m taking you to KFC!”
51 (Grudge 4) - Tunktan eh Lamar
(no ‘to be’ verbs, dying in a dream, "Punch and Judy" - it can either be a literal use of a Punch and Judy show, or an interpretation based on the common storyline of your typical Punch and Judy show, one of your characters must have a secret crush)
Squening im ulm loval smay, flaffling dun, wheaped upe du kartnal, du bartli henness uff du narted yoff mitt u. Nat zark ohn loval smay, varnig loval smay. Ha!
"Tunktan! Tunktan! Offanar il? Tunktan!"
Ulm fissart turpt, e narnared imtu du kartnalnu.
"Lamar, ulm balting fiss, dute datte il dana?"
"Tunktan, ulm balting Tunktan! Luzorn wid u!"
Olm luzorn fanass du kartnalantar, sissing eh flissing ath lovatt datte.
"Pah, Lamar, il gontlo ath olm datte im olm finky lanty marr."
"Tunktan, il luzom ath il mingala datte."
Olm smuzzeed eh kluzzeed eh crottched mumuze.
"Tunktan, u kakat ningning."
"Kakat ningning? Arrag? Eh olm lovat tutai?"
"Olm lovat tutai il karrang."
"Karrang?"
"Karrang, Tunktan, karrang. Dana il linige?"
"Pah, dana linige, dana linige. Il kaat ningning."
E kluzzeed eh crottched u.
"Tunktan, u lovat batta."
"Na, na, lovat batta. Sini!"
"Sini!"
U fissart turpt kakat ningning eh u karrang olm lovat tutai, nat olm lovat tutai zazakani!
"Lovat tutai! Ani, ani zazakani!"
E zazakani boll, yuka boll.
"Lovat tutai! Fi poff zazakani, gi u errofalli! Parning?"
Olm lovat tutai zazakani, yuka. U errofalli eh olm lovat tutai yuka yuka zazakani. Ulm fissart turpt leekakat ningning.
"Tunktan! Offanar il? Tunktan!"
"Lamar! Fleele?"
"Tunktan, dute...dute datte il dana?"
"Olm lovat tutai zazakani, yuka."
"Zazakani? Yuka? Eh il dute datte? Il errofallit?"
"Na, na, u errofallit."
"Dutte il fanapilar, Tunktan? Fanapilar?"
"Ani fanapilar! U errofallit!"
"Ani errofallit! Olm lovat tutai mingala! Mingala!"
Du moolonoh-ho ningning, e datte fliff-fliff ulm fissart turpt? U kajzah e fliff-fliff?
"Moolonoh-ho, sisi."
"Sisi, Tunktan, Lamar. Dute dana fleele?"
Du moolonoh-ho fliff-fliff wikiniki ulm fissart turpt! U ani kajzah, u kaj!
"Dute datte il dana, moolonoh-ho?"
"Dute datte dana il, Tunktan?"
"U errofallit olm lovat tutai. Eh il? Il fliff-fliff ulm fissart turpt?"
"U ani dute datte!"
"Ani datte! Ani datte? U kajzah, u kaj!"
"Ani, ani, il ani kajzah. Na, na, il ani kaj."
"Fanapilar, moolonoh-ho! Fanapilar!"
E ani jajtah fliff-fliff eh ulm fassart turpt ani kaj.
"Ani, ani, Tunktan! Il errofallit olm lovat tutai. Il fanapilar!"
U errofallit du moolonoh-ho.
"Tunktan, ulm balting Tunktan! Dute datte il dana? Dute fanapilar?"
"U errofallit wikiniki errofallit!"
U errofallit ulm fissart turpt. Du moolonoh-ho wheaped, flaffed dun.
"Tunktan! Fo poff eroorfallit! Fi poff!"
U errofallit wikiniki du moolonoh-ho yuka eh yuka. Olm lovat tutai zazakani, yuka.
"Olm lovat tutai, ani zazakani!"
U errofallit olm lovat tutai.
"Tunktan, ani, ani errofallit olm lovat tutai!" ulm fassart turpt marmared.
"Errofallit? Errofallit? Hart du kass o datte dana! Hart du kass o datte dana!"
U narte eh warkkate, eh u toolt im ulm majmuj.
"Tunktan?"
U flaffed dun, yoff mitt u.
"Yoi datte?"
"Tunktan?"
"Yoi datte!"
"Du slizzola."
U yoff mitt u, yuka eh yuka!
"Slizzola? Dute il datte dana?"
Ulm chiki terlaplap.
"Il fanapilar, Tunktan."
"U fanapilar?"
"Na, na. Howlet kaj."
"Howlet il kaj?"
"Na."
U errofallit du slizzola.
"Tanktan! Ani, ani errofallit! U slizzola!"
"U slizzola gi ani u slizzola! U errofallit!"
Du slizzola ani flaffling dun olju du blaffing terke tungtung.
Only for my loval smiploff (nonsense poetry)
(based on Challenge 51 entry)
Squeening in maloppal ossmaj,
Flaffling, wheafing in the tooknaj,
Bartli henn a narted moz-yoff,
Only for my loval smiploff, only for my loval smiploff.
Fissart turt narred in kartnahnu,
Wheeking on a loozarn dahtoo,
Sissing and a flissing lovatt,
Klozzing for my crotchled hollatt, klozzing for my crotchled hollatt.
"Tunktan, Tunktan, kakat ningning,
Arragag our lovat tooning?
Karragang and dana linning.
Pah! You katta sini pingping!"
"Zazakani yuka bollmoll.
Errofalli! Para nollhall!
Fissart turt leekakat offnar,
Moolonoh-hoe kajzah tiklar!"
Wikiniking in the p
ilaar,
Jajtah fliff-floff under feela,
Lamar dana tutai kassa,
Lizzo geejee blaffing tassah, lizzo geejee blaffing tassah.
Squeening in maloppal ossmaj,
Flaffling, wheafing in the tooknaj,
Bartli henn a narted moz-yoff,
Only for my loval smiploff, only for my loval smiploff.
52 - Mon 'anime'
(how you would quit your job, the scent of rain, Kiwi bird, Joan of Arc)
Escaping the torrential rain outside, Kourano burst into the room, a room dark, dank, forbodeing. In a corner lay a pile of rags glowing in blue flame. Her flame.
"Jeanne! Jeanne! Is that you?"
He stopped dead from the sight of a red flamed hand held outstretched towards him, emerging from the rags.
"Jeanne!"
She sat with her head in her knees, the outstretched arm trembling. This was the dreaded Jeanne D'Arc, Drifter killer.
"Mon 'anime', do not come another step closer or I will in-flame you as I have with so many before. You are nothing but a heretic to me."
"But Jeanne, the Black King, he summons you! Toyohira is drawing near and you must battle!"
"Go, I tell you, go! I have no use of such things! I renounce all such destruction and carnage!"
"But...!"
The hand trembled and fell, the flames died to mere cinders. Kourano heard the sound of weeping.
"Jeanne!"
She wiped her tears and stood, her Christian upside-down crosses clearly showing on her armoured apparel.
"I...I...I hate this rain, this never-ending rain!" cried Jeanne, her head still in her hands. "The sound, the cold, the scent of the rain...."
Kourano saw that she had lost it, broken, in remorse. He stood opposite her, careful not to come within reach.
"Jeanne, Jeanne, where is the woman...."
"Woman? Am I a woman?"
A face with streaks of mascara appeared from her hands as Kourano took one step back.
"Err...?"
"Do I not wear man's attire? Do I not have a monster's appetite for death? Are my breasts not small?"
"...err...well...err..."
"Do I not eat turkey?"
"Turkey? Jeanne! Where is the warrior in you? Where? In this time of great need, where is she?"
"Gone, mon ami, gone."
"What? You are an End! You kill, destroy Drifters with fire, burn the world to ashes! You have great manga lines like "There they are! There they are! I can feel their stench. The stench of Pine Fresh Deoderant!" or...or...wait, there was that really good one, err..."Kiwi birds, kill that cassoway! I will eat this chicken!" Yes, that one!"
"She is...gone, no more, mon ami, she...she..."
The flames grew and Kourano retreated back further towards the door.
"But you, mon ami, you are...a man."
He didn't like the sound of that.
"Err...yes?"
"Then take me! Take me as the English Lord did when I was imprisoned in my cell, take me as I have never been taken before!"
Jeanne ripped open her armour to reveal her bare self. Kourano gave out a yelp and cowered. After some moments had passed, she slowly covered herself again and slumped back down to her defensive seated position, head in knees, sighing. Kourano took the chance of opportunity.
"Err...Jeanne?"
He stepped closer once more.
"Jeanne, this...this Toyohira..."
"What about him?" wimpered Jeanne.
"Well, I've heard he's...he's a bit of a 'ladies' man."
The soft sobbing halted and one eye peeped through flaming arms.
"Pardon?"
"A bit of a charmer."
A smile appeared...
Weekend Quickie 1 - Bradán, the moaning sod
(image - burning wicker man, element - applesauce, emotion - abject despair)
It was a typical annual get-together at the burning sacrifice with the relatives, sitting and watching the Druids perform their wonderfully detailed rituals. The women had brought the usual picnic. Trust Bradán, the moaning sod, to ruin it.
"Where's the applesauce, Genovefa?"
I heard his request and poked Genovefa with a stick.
"Applesauce? I thought I...oh. Sorry, left it. The kids were playing 'hide the acorn' and I..."
"What? Oh, Genovefa, how can I eat my pork without applesauce?"
Bradán started to whine. Another of the women tried to help him out.
"I got some cranberry."
"It's not the same! Oh, you've brought me to abject despair, you really have! How can I enjoy this poor man burn without applesauce on my pork?"
"There, there, Bradán. Look, his arm has fallen off first. That's different from last year."
"I don't care! Oh, how could this have happened? No applesauce!"
"Bloody hell, Bradán, put a rag in it!"
"Oh, the pain! Pork without applesauce!"
"Shut up, you're spoiling the sacrifice."
"Haerviu, go and take Bradán away, could you, dear? Let him go and sulk elsewhere, over by the crannog...oh look! His head has rolled off!"
"Ah, the gods will be pleased."
Weekend Quickie 2 - Lunch with Austen
(image - Victorian women fight over a pair of breeches, element - a can of alphabet soup, emotion - elation)
"Lucy, trust you to only pack one pair of breeches."
Fanny stirred her alphabet soup with increasing irritation.
"Yes, Lucy. You know young Mr. Braithwaite would like to go riding this afternoon on the Downs. It's not sporting of you to not think of your other sisters in this matter."
Her mother also played with her soup and suprised herself.
"Oh I say, I've spelt 'cad'. Would you believe it?"
"How wonderful, mother! May I?"
Charlotte, the youngest of the siblings, reached over to admire her mother's soup.
"I'm sorry mother, I never thought to pack more than one pair."
"You did it in spite, Lucy! You know how much I'd like to ride with him."
"Looks like I get to ride with him...alone."
They sat in silence, spelling out words which appeared in their soup.
"It's only right you hand over those breeches."
"What? These?"
Lucy held up the aforementioned item and she jumped from the table, chased by her sisters. A playful, screaming fight broke out, with no outright winner.
"Girls! Please!"
Their mother's plea quietened them down.
"Oh my, that has brought on such...elation!"
"Yes."
"Let us try again."
"Oh, lets!"
And so they began yet again.
Weekend Quickie 3 - Three or more
(image - pink bird of paradise, element - snowglobe, emotion - Hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia)
"I see you're back to your old snowglobe."
Doctor Fleur scratched some notes down on his pad.
"Yes, it helps in times of stress, you know that. It reminds me of when my Dad came home for Christ…mas."
He noticed Rik's twitch had come back.
"Only 3 syllables, Rik? Tell me, what happened?"
"I had to read my Mum's pres…medi…"
"Your mother is ill?"
"Yes, I had to read the back of her bottle."
"And…"
"Too many."
"Ah, yes, I see."
Rik suffered from Hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia or Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia as they would say. His mother's prescribed medicine was always a constant threat.
"I'm almost calm now."
"Sure, go ahead, shake all you like. There's still some time left."
Doctor Fleur sat and waited, looking out of his window, sometimes admiring his new collection of framed birds of paradise he received as a gift from another patient.
"They're nice."
"Sorry?"
"I said, they're nice, doct
or."
"Oh, the pictures? Yes, Birds of…birds."
"The pink one is very nice, the wings and all."
"Yes."
"But, you know, there's a flower called that."
"What? Pink bird of…yes, I believe I know that one. Isn't that Caesalpinia?"
"Ahh!"
Rik went straight back to shaking his snowglobe.
"Sorry."
Weekend Quickie 4 - Two-timing bitch
(image - hurricane off the south coast of the USA, element - Flora-Bama (bar), emotion - sugar-induced hysteria)
"Max, you gotta stay, just for a mo."
He was about to leave but John the barman grabbed him. To be honest, he couldn't watch his ex with her latest boyfriend any longer. Everyone else at the Flora-Bama Oyster Bar was having fun, except him. His ex-girlfriend was being extra-squeaky tonight, too.
"Why, John?"
"Something special."
John moved across the bar and put in a DVD.
"I don't do that Media class for nothing, Max. She deserves it, that two-timing bitch."
"What?"
John flicked over the channel on the bar's main screen so all could see.
"Newsflash. This has just come in. A hurricane has just appeared off the Alabama-Florida coastline. Residents are warned to stay indoors..."
The lights and power went out, followed by the windows and door opening with the force from a wind outside. Screams went up, especially Max's ex.
"What? What's going on?"
"Been filling her with extra-sweet Sangria's all night. Sugar-induced hysteria, they call it. Should kick in right about now."
"I don't..."
Before he could finish, Max watched as his ex-girlfriend ran from the bar, screaming and shouting.
"Got some of the lads to bring along their airboats. Great, huh?"
"Fantastic. Thanks."
"No problem."
Weekend Quickie 5 - Samples needed
(image - autumn, element - 1909 penny covered in Mars dust, emotion - déjà vu)
Autumn. Leaves fall, winds blow, all living things hide from the coming winter, but we sat on a park bench. Bunt surfed on a new android phone he'd taken from one unfortunate sample.
"Primitive, but they're getting there. Nice colour."
"Anything new?"
He did his usual searches, anything space or NASA-related. That was our job.