More scratchings …

Stories on this page:

On the Cheap – Dead End  – Patience – Luna’s Revenge – The Long Wait


 

My flash fiction submissions to various competitions …

Runner-up in Lily Childs’ Feardom, Friday Prediction blog, dated 22 July 2011. Words were, slur, invisible, moat.

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On the cheap

Dark John sat on the chair, hunched forward, elbows on knees.
“As I was sayin’, it’s all to do with loyalty.”
She lay on the carpet and the room slurred in and out of focus, a moat of blood and vomit forming around her head.
“See what happens when you get your shit from some low-life, cheap skate.”
Her mouth opened and closed.
“Just didn’t know when you was well off.” he stood, took his jacket from the back of the chair and draped it over his shoulder.
Broken fingers clawed for invisible support.
“Loser.” The door clicked shut.

All articles and stories (c) K Patrick Moody


Winner of the February 2011, One Word Challenge on Writers’ News Talkback forum, inspired by ‘Fresh’

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Dead End

The inquisitor was as good as his word. My life was spared with my confession, although my crushed hands were now useless. He laughed and told me that soon I would wish he’d finished the job.

My last gasp of fresh air was as the king’s men bundled me across the court yard and down the narrow steps to the acrid stench of the dungeons. The only light crept in through a slit high on the wall. There are dark shapes, heaped, moaning and cursing. Their chains rattle and scrape across the stone floor.

They dragged me along the urine filled gutter running through the chamber, on to the narrow cul de sac at the far end, there they dropped me into my cell.

Here there is no light, no door, the iron grate above me the only way in. There is no way out. I can only sit, there is no room to lay. I cannot stand, there is insufficient height. My only friend is the rancid remains of the last occupant, and the curses from the lucky bastards above. All I have is time; God willing, precious little of it.

This is the oubliette – I am lost.

All articles and stories (c) K Patrick Moody


Submitted to Lily Childs’ Feardom blog for her Friday Prediction (closed 3/2/2011) flash fiction, up to 100 words to include –  temper, gouge and milk.

Achieved a mention as runner-up for that week.

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Patience

“Master wants your confession.” He shuffled the spike in the hot embers of the forge.
“Can’t wait no longer.” He spat on the cherry-red point. It boiled and hissed on iron tempered to perfection.
“Says you seen too much.” He faced the whimpering form manacled to the bench.
“Gouge ‘em out, he says.” The searing point burned its way through the screwed shut eyelid and boiled the soft matter within.
“Shush, now.” He shuffled the spike in the hot embers of the forge. “We’ll save the other one ‘til later. Ain’t I the milk of human kindness, eh?”

All articles and stories (c) K Patrick Moody


This one missed the deadline for Lily Childs’ Feardom blog for her Friday Prediction (closed 27/1/2011) flash fiction, up to 100 words to include –  spiral, thousand and  hair.

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Luna’s Revenge

A thousand years she had lain beneath the hele stone while Gaia spiralled through Chaos. But today she will stop the omnipotent Sol usurping her power. The stone’s shadow, cast by the mid-summer sunrise, will never again fall upon the altar. She will not be denied the sun’s warming energy.

Her vaporous form rises from the ground, ethereal wisps blowing hair-like in the breeze. She pushes; the hele stone topples, until, like a flaccid phallus, it lay procumbent and powerless. Soon he will return and this time his empowering rays will fall upon Luna’s icon.

All articles and stories (c) K Patrick Moody


Posted on Lily Childs’ Feardom blog for her Friday Prediction (w/c 10 Dec 2010) flash fiction, up to 100 words to include –  spring, chain and melt.

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The long wait

He was last seen walking along the tow path, just after the heavy snow. It was spring when they found him.
The melt water running off the hills stirred the canal, and the chain attaching him to the concrete block pulled though his decomposing flesh. His heavy top coat was holding the rest of him together when they found him draped, like a rag doll, over the weir .
Lucky for me the eels and fish had picked away at his neck wounds, the police said it was suicide. Shame he missed out on the Christmas party.


All articles and stories (c) K Patrick Moody

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