Plane Distracted

Lincoln was restless; he was in the underground car park at the airport, awaiting his sister's arrival from some far-flung exotic nation - yet another glamour shoot for that magazine she was always prattling on about. The radio was quietly playing in the background - not that he was really listening; he was too busy cursing the fact that he was the one designated to pick Donna up.

He glanced at his watch for what was the fifth time in as many minutes - two in the afternoon and she was already fourty-five minutes late. He wondered what tired, lame excuse she was going to use this time: the plane was delayed, customs was a bitch, I broke a fingernail - he had heard them all before and wasn't too keen on hearing another version.

The news on the radio broke in on his thoughts: "....Air France flight 2228 has gone down over the Atlantic Ocean, there were no survivors...."

"Bloody hell, another one, can't they keep these friggin' things in the air? What the hell is keeping Donna..?”


(This was a piece for Thinking Ten. The prompt was:
On Location, Monday: Air France Flight 2228
The only rule: somehow tie the above location into your daily flash.)

Ornamental Warfare

"What can you reach for right now without getting up and without cheating. Pick the weirdest and strangest thing within your grasp and write about it. The weirder the better." This was the challenge issued by Jo Prescott at her cool site, A Reader's World. Below is my response. I hope you like it.



I stood atop the Deeping Wall. Aragorn stood to my left, sword held by his side, eyes fixed firmly on the advancing army. King Theoden, now over his spell thanks to the magic of Gandalf, was on my right. Archers lined the walls, swordsmen stood by the ramparts, awaiting the arrival of the enemy, axes and swords in hand, ready to deliver the killer blow to the heart of The Evil One.
The battle horn sounded from afar. I could hear the enemy below the fortress chanting their war song. Unintelligible words soared upon the wind, carrying with it the smells of boiling tar and rotting flesh. I knew that my foes would catapult the hot, viscous mass up and over the walls. We were prepared.
Swords clashed on shields, pikes held at the ready – the enemy advanced. It wasn’t a quick march, mind – they were slow and ungainly creatures, but their size, strength and thick skins were going to make it hard for our men to penetrate their defences. But I knew these men – I knew they would stand tall, stand firm – for their King.
I held my sword by my side as I waited for the right time to issue the command to attack. I could feel it coming closer...
“Captain, you must come see this.” It was Legolas – my elfin friend. He was agitated and pointing in the direction from which he had come. “Bad news coming from the East. Very bad news. You must come at once.”
I watched as he raced back to his vantage point, gesturing to others in the vicinity to come and see. I strode across and smiled as the men remained at their posts. Legolas was flighty and prone to exaggeration.
Coming across from the East were creatures that I had never seen the likes of. They stood tens of feet tall and must have weighed in the hundreds of tonnes. Even from this distance, I could tell that what we possessed here would be no match against these vile creations.
Gimli strode forward, rested his hand on my shoulder and addressed the King.
“Sire, if arrow and sword fail, my axe would be most pleased to sink into the flesh of those fell beasts.”
“Gimli, you honour your ancestors with such fine intentions. We shall battle this new evil in whatever fashion we must – and we must if we are to save Middle Earth.”
My attention returned to those at the base of the walls. They still waved their torches and beat upon their drums of war and slowly made their way towards us. Then, without obvious command, liquid fire began to rain down upon the Hold. Men around me cried out in agony, some died before they had a chance to seek the temporary shelter. Arrows began to fly over the walls as the enemy fired blindly. Several found their marks and I watched, devastated as man after man, fell in battle.
“We must fall back.” Theoden cried out to Aragorn and those around him. “Fall back.”
I stumbled backwards and fell, staring up at the sky and saw the mass of fire and stone hurtling towards me. I knew there was no escaping...

***

“Dad...Dad! I thought we agreed that the figurines and ornaments were for decoration only. Put them down and just watch the movie, all right?”



The winning piece by Kathy Monson is available to be read HERE.

Jo's Challenge - She DARES Us!!

Over at JM Prescott - A Reader's World, a challenge has been issued. A weekly challenge...with a twist (and we all like twists!!)


What is the challenge I hear you ask? Well, you are just going to go and have a look. It can be found HERE.


Our host, Jo, is a very talented writer and co-editor of The Glass Coin. Her writings can be found at Thinking Ten, Six Sentences Main Page, Six Sentences Social Page, Like Birds Lit, and the Leaf & Lizard chapbook she co-authored with Sairah Saddal, her co-editor at The Glass Coin.

The Glass Coin accepts "Good Help Is Hard To Fry"

My story "Good Help Is Hard To Fry" has been accepted for the July issue of The Glass Coin. I am extremely pleased with this story and am deeply grateful to the editors Sairah Saddal and Jo Prescott for taking a chance with this piece.

I will give you more details for this piece when it is up and able to be read.

If you haven't checked out The Glass Coin...go and have a look. Every month has a dual theme. You can see the future themes HERE.

Submission guidelines can be found HERE.

Although only a fledgling publication, The Glass Coin has all the hallmarks of becoming a fantastic site for prose, poetry and art.

Check it out HERE.

Shameless Self-Promotion

"Good not-day-nor-night evening, salutations and welcome to the transmission of us. Tonight we will be using the english - no other - language to make conversational discussionable commentry on my new baronial and majestic inscribing of opus-creating text. It contains, yes, yes, it does, it comprises many, many divisions and sections, from the prolegomenon, that's right - prolegomenon - through to the noted feet at its hindermost part. In the course of my august and grandiose personal narrative, i set forth, not back, to record the peregrination that all my born days have availed itself of. The availability and, indeed, its puchasableness, is in multitudinous and multifarious merchants and vendors of splendiferous collections of printed utterances."

"Yes, he is talking about his autobiography and you can buy it at your local bookseller."



(This was originally on 6S, but I have decided to repost some of them on my blog over the next few weeks. This one was the best fun to write. Aren't words cool?)

All Quiet Down Under

Hasn't it been quiet around here? I wonder where the landlord is?

Last I heard, he was pounding at the keyboard, trying to make words join together in coherent sentences but failing miserably. That was last week...

This week, for some reason, he seems to be making a reasonable fist of getting some quality work done; some for his blog and various writing sites - some even to send off for submissions. Seems to be a good week.

I don't know why some weeks he - let's face it - sucks at what he is trying. Nothing comes together and he throws up his hands like a petulant little boy. Other weeks, he gets on a roll and gets a few really good stories out there. Why? Like I said, no idea (and I bet it has nothing to do with a certain single malt scotch - Ed.)

All I can ask is this: please be patient. He shall have some new work for you, as Uncle Stephen would say, the Constant Reader. And I am sure he would like me to add that he thinks it may just kick ass!