Tag Archives: Monday Mixer

Monday Mixer – Stars of Change

12. Monday Mixer - Stars of Change

© Lisa Shambrook

I’d hardly noticed my nose crinkle, but the strange essence swirling about me suddenly made my insides revolt as I landed face down in the leaf litter. My stomach turned and my throat released a splash of bright bile. I rolled onto my back and stared at the roof of the cave through the miasma of cold fog.

I blinked and tried to sit but my body refused to cooperate. I moved stiffly and brought my hands to my face. One hand clutched a stone, a rock, and I prised my fingers from it, wiping my mouth with the back of my sleeve as I gazed at the stone. It was just a dull, rough pebble, but from the fracture in its surface leaked light, sparkling, fluid, effervescent light. I cracked it against the frozen ground and gasped as the geode fell open between my fingers.

Crystal stars shone, stippling light through the mist that still veiled the cave. I shivered in excitement. Memories began flooding back into my head. The search through the cave for a fabled rock, disappointment, and fear, as I’d struggled through the fog to escape, and now wonder at the sparkling gems.

In one taciturn moment, I knew it all…

I knew the words, the prophecy, the promise, and my fingers gently stroked the crystals. They were soft, malleable, and my heart caught inside my throat as I altered its molecular structure. I now had what I needed, the power to, literally, change the world.

0. Monday MixerMonday Mixer is back at The Latinum Vault, and is a week-long challenge for those of more committed to time constraints! Write 250 words, no more, no less, and include at least one of each of the chosen nouns, verbs, and adjectives, you can choose from nine and if you choose to, use all nine prompt words! So, here’s mine, including five of the nine words (highlighted in my text). Stars of Change, see, I told you I’d be writing of stars this year!

 

Monday Mixer: That Sinking Feeling

bog, swamp, water, the last krystallos,

© Lisa Shambrook

The dread is interminable. It lingers like the endless stink in the soggy mire and Charlie’s eyes boggle, the whites widening as his fear builds.

The pervading mist combines with the constant dribble of rain and hides him from view. He shakes his head and tries not to whine, tries not to whimper and tries desperately not to cry.

Charlie’s hands are full. In one hand is a book, and in the other a bag. In the book is a full account, an account of everything; an account of every tiny thing, every moment, every little detail of every single transaction. In the bag is money, just money, but he grips it like his life depends on it.

In his present situation the value of the items is debatable, but he grips them anyway.

The cold, seeping water now spreads across the thin, cotton material stretched across his chest, and as he sinks deeper into the sludge, his whimpers finally turn into the practiced sound of a mad dog’s howl.

He is no dog, and as the real dogs pick up his scent, he wonders if it’s better to be caught, or better to just let nature take its course

(200 Words)

0. Monday Mixer

Yay! Jeff Hollar’s Monday Mixer is back…nine words (three nouns, verbs and adjectives) choose a minimum of three and create a flash fiction piece of exactly 200 words.

I decided in for a penny in for a pound – and threw in all nine! Prompt words are bold in my piece. If I haven’t ruined it by throwing in a past tense noun, then we’ll see…anyway hop over to The Latinum Vault and see what everyone else has written!

Monday Mixer: Heaven Sent

Heaven Sent

Her eyes wandered to the ornate gilded door and back again. A crack of pure white light ran down its edge and beneath the door. She licked her lips swallowing the fingers of fear that curled within her stomach. The second door stood darkly guarded by the thin, weasel-faced man, but no one stood by the far shaft of light.
“So, what’s your judgment?” She kept her voice as calm as possible, any fluctuation might arise suspicion.
The man in front of her cleared his throat gazing through steely grey eyes. She struggled to keep her eyes fixed on his so direct was his stare. He tilted his head, and ran fingers through his thick greying beard.
She broke her gaze and glanced round at the weasel, trying to ignore his supercilious sneer.
“I think…” began the man before her, softening as his mouth turned up at the corners.
She turned back and met his searching stare. Her muscles tensed and under scrutiny her jawline flickered. Just a tiny tic, but it was enough of a betrayal.
The bearded man slammed his gavel. “An inveterate liar…she’s all yours!”
As his new ward swore, Lucifer grinned and bowed low. “Thanks Peter!”

door_rusted_door_instagram_thelastkrystallos

Rusted Door by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use without permission)

0. Monday Mixer

Written for Monday Mixer over at Jeff’s Latinum Vault. A challenge which requires only 200 words, no more no less, and the use of three or more word prompts, a noun, a verb and an adjective.
Go and read all the other tales!

Monday Mixer: Scent

Scent

As she ran all she could hear was the susurrus of the murmuring leaves as they swirled about her, and she quickened her pace. She slowed stepping carefully through winding vines and convolvulus, still decorated with scattered diamonds of dew.  She paused, one foot still aloft, and flared her nostrils. Heavy petrichor rose from the forest floor masking the scent she tracked.  Her foot dropped and she stood silent, listening.
The breeze still whispered, and her mind whirled as scents mingled. Flora’s fragrance intermingled with fungi and soil’s pungent aroma, and different odours emanated from the undergrowth, confusing her and sending her into a tailspin.
She raised her nose, but the scent had vanished.
Just mere months since Christmas and here she was lost and abandoned. Her meretricious collar, now studded with dull zircona, had long since snapped…and she settled in the leaf mulch with a maudlin whine, to wait.

(150 Words)

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use without permission)
Written for Monday Mixer over at Jeff’s Latinum Vault. A challenge which requires only 150 words and the use of three or more word prompts. As this has five prompts, it fits for Overachiever, if so desired. Go and read all the other 150 word tales! 

Monday Mixer: Scorned…

Photograph by Bekah Shambrook (Please do not use)
Scorned…
The walls spun and draconian drum beats thudded through his hangover, splitting his head. His socked feet slid on the swanky marble floor and a painful schism seared through his ankle as he raced to the window.
She’d posited her argument last night, but he’d been too drunk to garner his thoughts and his mouth, and what he thought had begun in playful, sportive fashion had quickly descended into a drunken nightmare. She’d forgiven embezzlement, peculation she’d called it, but this was a step too far and she was calling in the heavies, yes, her words ‘the heavies’!
He’d offered diamonds, cash, anything, in vain, and now his hand gingerly massaged his temple.  His stomach heaved as the mawkish aroma of failure and vomit overwhelmed him as did the horrific stench of slurry, rising in a steaming haze from the pile in the driveway right where his Lamborghini was parked.
(150 Words)
Hmmm…so I plan to relax and fit only a few of the requisite three out of the nine prompts into my Monday Mixer over at Jeff’s Latinum Vault, so why, oh why do I keep going for Overachiever? ‘Cause it’s fun! This week the words put themselves there…and I had all nine before I realised it! Go read the rest and enjoy!

Monday Mixer: A Somnolent Surprise…

Photograph by Bekah Shambrook (Please do not use)
A Somnolent Surprise
I sighed, dandelion clocks, the bane of my life, no sooner than I eradicated every blighter, an errant, fluffy orb emerged in the grass. So, with billhook en garde, I moved carefully. Any breath, the faintest zephyr, and seeds would fly.    
I slipped to my knees, leaned close, and just as the knife touched the stem, the seed-head blenched
I stared, shaking my head, my insular world blown in one fell swoop. 
Parachuting seeds scattered as another sigh left my lips, this one a gale in the world of the tiny winged creature clinging to the dandelion stem. As I stared, thoughts flew, each more fantastical than the next. Bold flashing eyes gazed back, and I watched as the fairy unsheathed a tiny sword. Unable to resist, I leaned closer and the diminutive blade, emitting a somnolent hum, pierced my eye…  “Why, you…little…” and my legs collapsed as I yawned…
(150 Words)
Decided that less is more for this week’s Monday Mixer at The Latinum Vault, though I’ve still incorporated five words, so Over Achiever still possible… Go and take a look at the other entries…see how many words you can weave into a 150 word exact tale!

Monday Mixer: Cell Mates

My first thought about the words for The Latinum Vault’s Monday Mixer were: I’m never going to find use for half of them let alone all nine!
Requirements are to include at least three of Jeff’s nine chosen words in a 150 word piece. Including at least one thing, verb and adjective. However…trying something different from my usual prosey pieces, I got them all in, thus qualifying for Overachiever, ’twas fun, but you’ll have to tell me if it works!

Photo by Lisa Shambrook (please do not use without permission)
Cell Mates
The Fridge leaned against the bars, obscuring daylight from the cell. Fingers, (yes, that’s how original names were here) rapped his digits on the table behind Errol. Errol, in turn, balanced on his tremulous legs. Fear, dread, anxiety…discomfort, the whole gamut whirled as he moved gingerly across the room. 
Fingers murmured and Errol could barely hear him, “Keep this ‘ere quiet boy…don’t want no bruiting ‘bout this…you hear?” Errol couldn’t hear; his obstreperous heart pounded like the proverbial jackhammer. 
The Fridge held up his finger, staring at the postern jail gate, and Errol paused, his legs spraddled wide. Errol gurned and squeezed his buttocks.
The Fridge’s hand dropped. Fingers glared at the table, at the kludge of bits and pieces, and then stared expectantly at Errol. Errol dropped his trousers and released a pained ululating sound.  
Fingers smiled as a small screwdriver dropped with a clink. “Copacetic Errol, done good!”
(150 Words)

Monday Mixer: Bound and Free

Some great words in Jeff’s Monday Mixer over at The Latinum Vault. Requirements are to include at least three of his nine chosen words in a 150 word piece. Including at least one thing, verb and adjective. I decided to throw caution to the wind (which I wish existed in this current heatwave!) and go for placing all nine words, thus aiming for Overachiever:

(Please do not use without permission)
Bound and Free

Craven thoughts stifled him, like the heat in the chapel. He eyed the nattering congregation, and gazed at the threadbare carpet as his trembling fingers moved to the small, glass orb attached to his cummerbund. The fandangle shone, refulgent in the sunlit rays cast through the stained glass.  
Inside the orb, whispers and beguiling tones echoed enchanting his soul and the wraith allowed herself a rival’s glimpse as a glorious blizzard of white swept down the aisle, like a portent in the summer heat.
His bride stood, innocent, beside her swain as sweat bloomed upon his lip. 
One word would exchange his bride with the nefarious spirit trapped within the orb, but his hand closed around the sphere, blinding her power, and wallop, his heart hammered and courage prevailed; a sharp tug freed him, letting the orb drop like a discarded marble, and his heart remained true to his betrothed. 
(150 Words)
Go and read the other great entries here:

Monday Mixer: Illusions

How I love words…and there’s no Flash Fiction challenge better than trying to shoehorn nine of the lesser known ones into a 150 word (exact) piece of fiction! A warm welcome back to Monday Mixer courtesy of The Latinum Vault. Though we only actually need to use three of the words, one location, one thing and one adjective…unless we wish to use more. I kept it simple this week with four.

Illusions
Sam stalked, like Mad Max across the wilds of the badlands, to Mr McGregor’s office. Mr McGregor‘s door swung open. “Watch out! Here comes Bilbo Baggins!” 
Sam glowered muttering under his breath in his best Gandalf whisper, “You fool… of a Took, wish I had a real bilbo, that’d show you…” and he imagined the narrow blade resting in the vulnerable cleft of Mr McGregor’s throat.  Oh, how he wished to thrust it!
“Got the memo?” Mr McGregor‘s smug, rotund face infuriated Sam and he moved his illusory sword to the side of his boss’s neck, planning to pierce the bulbous scrofula instead and watch the alien drool of pus and goo.  “You’re not right for the job. Can’t have a hairy bigfoot selling stilettos.”
Tootsie ran through Mr McGregor’s mind as Sam rammed his egalitarian sword through Mr McGregor’s neck and murmured “My name is Inigo Montoya…prepare to die!”
(150 Words) 

Monday Mixer: Rogue

I’m jumping back into the Flash Fiction saddle with a Monday Mixer at The Latinum Vault. Write a piece in exactly 150 words using at least three of the nine prompts: a place, a thing and an adjective. Once more I’m going for Overachiever as I’ve used six of the prompt words. I also really wanted to use the word: crepuscular, but it just didn’t fit with the narrative!

I saw him coming, like a dervish on a racetrack, yelling and cursing, and I cowered behind the kirkyard’s plumes of pampas grass.
When he dropped beside me, panting hard, his sky-blue eyes met mine. He clapped his rough hand over my mouth, and I didn’t understand a word he uttered as he pulled me close.  His stubble chafed my cheek as I melted into his intoxicating scent of sweat and aftershave.
He peered beyond the razor-sharp leaves.
“Ye okay lassie?” he asked, “Sorry…” and then he was on his feet and gone.
Weak-kneed, I staggered from the hideaway and leaned against the cold, stone wall. When the Copper, truncheon raised, bowled round the corner, a smile played on my lips and sedition brewed in my heart. “That way!” I pointed, breathless.
Then I ran, the opposite way, after the Scottish rogue who’d woken a wild paroxysm in my soul.

(150 Words)