tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post5868233025174159818..comments2024-03-18T09:09:59.625-04:00Comments on Janet Reid, Literary Agent: Flash Fiction contest: Shadow Weaver by MarcyKate ConnollyJanet Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00615380335938685231noreply@blogger.comBlogger61125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-69390499127941834592017-10-22T08:44:21.196-04:002017-10-22T08:44:21.196-04:00“Daddy needs his magic pills.”
Those words prick...“Daddy needs his magic pills.”<br /><br /> Those words pricked at my flesh. I opened my mouth but before words formed his eyes dared me to choose his fist over the shadows of the dark. Not wanting to aggravate the devil, I grabbed my coat.<br /><br />With fear wrapped around me I weaved in between the helpless and hopeless. Just as my foot touched Jackson’s corner, a large hand seized me from behind. Before I could put up a fight, he had me on the ground.<br /><br /> When my attacker finished, he pulled out a gun and finished a life giving impossible odds.<br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18170680013342625332noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-83441283542049060862017-10-22T07:57:59.469-04:002017-10-22T07:57:59.469-04:00'Memo lost,' bah.
"Eye of newt, fles...'Memo lost,' bah.<br /><br /><i>"Eye of newt, flesh of frog, dragon's gizzard found in smog: the swirling oily Fog of Death." </i><br /><br />It's death all right - to servitude! <br />I shatter rubies, swallow pearls, chain twisted lizards by my door. They see through darkest subterfuge. I spell a man to make me glass (my cat is black, of course) and shovel all the naked weft of words into the flame he blows. <br />A shadow grows inside the sun, transmuting rage to gold. <br /><br />Magic.<br /><br />I smash the globes and gather rhymes. This time, I choose. <br /><br />-------<br /><br />DOA <br />NAME: Euterpe. <br />OCCUPATION: Weaver.<br />CAUSE OF DEATH: Unknown.Leilanihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08948847733088202324noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-25381531055132470392017-10-22T07:49:26.433-04:002017-10-22T07:49:26.433-04:00"Don't trust a redcoat, Sallie," Pap..."Don't trust a redcoat, Sallie," Papa said.<br /><br />"James is different, Papa."<br /><br />They eloped in shadow.<br /><br />DAR lineage - check.<br /><br />"Flesh is weak," James said...again. "You'd kill me if you could get away with it."<br /><br />"Drat modern forensics," Sallie said.<br /><br />Her tapestry was a hit at Yorktown re-enactment. <br /><br />"She is quite the weaver," DAR President gushed.<br /><br />"Magical," said James, resplendent in his redcoat. "We could walk right into it."<br /><br />Just for fun, they did - right into the Battle of Yorktown. <br /><br />"You said it wouldn't work again," James said.<br /><br />"I didn't think it would."<br /><br />James reached for his bayonet. <br /><br />Sallie gave it to him.CynthiaMchttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12175917641033760408noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-35291532258556444602017-10-22T07:23:58.565-04:002017-10-22T07:23:58.565-04:00Portos, the weaver of magic, trapped the shadow of...Portos, the <b>weaver</b> of <b>magic</b>, trapped the <b>shadow</b> of <b>Dar</b>tagnan upon the wall. Portos, rubbed his hands and cackled to himself. He would upend D, finally besting him. None of this all for one crap, he giggled. Nevermore.<br /><br />But Dartagnan in the <b>flesh</b> bridled, knowing Portos was playing games with his spirit. He pulled out his sword and sliced through the candle, releasing his shadow before his spirit could be trapped for good.<br /><br /><i>Hah! Take that Portos,</i> thought D, knowing that scissors cut paper, which covered rock. Swords were scissors, sort of.Ly Kessehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05934641232058610364noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-60699405643453908992017-10-22T07:18:42.147-04:002017-10-22T07:18:42.147-04:00The small, dark outline appears once more on the w...The small, dark outline appears once more on the wall at our bedside; in silhouette, twisted bones weave reflections of a brutal time.<br />'Bad dream, Little One?' we ask.<br />His head nods the ghost of a yes.<br />We sooth with song and hushes so he may rest.<br />Whatever magic brings him here, will keep us here. Compelled; we remain to warm this cold, cruel house; unable to abandon this shadow child we found here and call our own, despite the contradiction of our blood and fleshMarie McKayhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11405271051226910312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-12270937387314084782017-10-22T03:26:57.706-04:002017-10-22T03:26:57.706-04:00At awkward, inconvenient times (a meeting, a phone...At awkward, inconvenient times (a meeting, a phone call, an interview)the time-<b>weaver</b> slips from my mental <b>shadow</b>s and, with vile <b>magic</b>, sucks me back.<br /><br />A cold, wet bus stop; a family friend with a warm, dry car. <br /><br />“How’s school?” “Are there any boys you like?” <br /><br />A <b>fleshy</b> hand rests on my thigh, a moment too long and a fraction too high to mistake intent. <br /><br />A frozen heartbeat, a change of breathing and a single word, “Out.” <br /><br />A bullet dodged, I walk the long way home. <br /><br />I never tell.<br /><br />But, in awkward, inconvenient times, I choose the <b>dar</b>ker path.Kate Outhwaitehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12294866010972517265noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-42508892611745054012017-10-22T02:01:04.248-04:002017-10-22T02:01:04.248-04:00Shadowy elm-branch arms were capering across the f...Shadowy elm-branch arms were capering across the floorboards when Tia went to bed, sick and sore inside.<br />Such lies he’d told! Boozy breath stinking like limburger. Tia hadn’t called 911 even when he passed out cold.<br />Ugh! Orphaned at the father-daughter dance! <br />Everyone had laughed.<br />Overhead, her magic dreamcatcher. Grandma Weaver had strung it, said Tia would need it. <br />If only dreams were real.<br />Beneath the bed, a darkling beetle’s tic-tic - like her father’s heart when he held her - made her flesh crawl into goosepimples. <br />Daddy’s snoring paused, hiccupped.<br />Tia dreamed of belladonna’s soporific effects.<br />The tic-tic ceased.<br />Lucy Crowehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16763986083601056597noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-89963012508576057592017-10-22T01:49:07.859-04:002017-10-22T01:49:07.859-04:00We called him Weaver because his web of lies had m...We called him Weaver because his web of lies had more tangles than Rapunzel’s hair. We didn’t know his real name, only his stories which consisted of an old lover who broke his heart and stole his son. <br /><br />“That boy is my flesh,” he’d say nightly over a pint. Dark shadows resided under his glassy eyes. We were apt to feel sorry for him until he started talking nonsense about helping the queen magically spin straw into gold, them bonding over being outcasts. <br /><br />Someone jokingly suggested he build a new son out of enchanted wood. Never saw him after that.<br /><br />Mallory Lovehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16282261391938135052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-86630743929535008272017-10-22T01:21:25.925-04:002017-10-22T01:21:25.925-04:00The weaver bowed. “You summoned me, Sire?”
“All ...The weaver bowed. “You summoned me, Sire?”<br /><br />“All with a shadow must lose its shape,” said the King. “And so all flesh must die. Not me!”<br /><br />“You wish to keep your shape? Wish to trap your shadow in the Norn threads? Say yes thrice, and I shall.”<br /><br />“Yes. Yes. Yes!”<br /><br />“Then stand ‘twixt torch and magic loom, and move ye not.”<br /><br />The king stood and the weaver worked, fixing the darkness of the royal shadow in the weft.<br /><br />“I am done,” said the weaver, “as are ye. Life's shape must ever change, but without a shadow, yours cannot.”Writer Geek Esqhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09156835922844681547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-68961653450339303552017-10-22T00:51:10.974-04:002017-10-22T00:51:10.974-04:00Abby robotically dispenses vaccines from prefilled...Abby robotically dispenses vaccines from prefilled syringes. <br />“Sign here,” boom, flesh pierced, done. On your way. <br /><br />The procession of sheeple weave relentlessly in line, believing that magically this serum will safekeep them from influenza. As if. <br /><br />A second pile of prefilled syringes for those rebelling against the mandate. <br />A wink, Abby’s cue.<br /><br />A huge shadow crosses her door. An officer of the law stares and Abby’s danger radar blares.<br /><br />He signs the pseudo informed consent form, and bares his arm. Hand hovering over the vaccine, Abby catches the wink at the last second and shoots sterile saline into his bicep. <br /><br /><br />RosannaMhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06399732751877180737noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-30103802038362787022017-10-22T00:46:20.937-04:002017-10-22T00:46:20.937-04:00Lucy,
How are you? I’m okay. I spent the day clea...Lucy,<br /><br />How are you? I’m okay. I spent the day cleaning cobwebs—pushing back the shadows, mom always said. I found your baby doll—such a darling find—real eyelashes, porcelain softer than flesh. I don’t believe in magic, but I stood it on the bedside table and slept all night without dreaming. <br /><br />I want you to have it, but I can only send letters, and you never visit. Are you still angry? You know how hard it is to tell the difference between a weaver and a recluse. Surely the scars have faded by now. Come soon. <br /><br />Love,Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14568769315076089434noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-80425300286456149422017-10-22T00:10:45.889-04:002017-10-22T00:10:45.889-04:00Hand a weaver rifle and cap, and some black magic ...Hand a weaver rifle and cap, and some black magic makes him a soldier.<br /><br />He had kneeled in these woods before. Same thin jacket, threadbare hopes. Another man stood over him with bayonet and hesitated. Today John stood amidst the skulls of last year’s dead, flames crackling in fleshless sockets. The man who spared him was one. <br /><br />Again the wounded unraveled in the shadows. A man in dusty broadcloth kneeled before him. For all John knew the weight of his country rested on his bayonet, but his heart was too heavy to thrust.<br /> <br />He would darn his soul another day.Brigidhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13768090206152536761noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-7000261749684786442017-10-21T22:18:39.237-04:002017-10-21T22:18:39.237-04:00“Flesh forms a prison. Bones call to the reapers.”...“Flesh forms a prison. Bones call to the reapers.” <br /><br />“What of blood?” the Darkness asked, fading to grey in eagerness.<br /><br />I dared not breathe.<br /><br />“Blood is mercurial, but the threads of reality beneath the fingertips of weavers is a magic neither dark nor light.”<br /><br />The unspoken hung in the black. The Darkness craved infinite unseen mornings. Baited and hooked, it stitched itself to my heels. Darkness became shadow.<br /><br />So close.<br /><br />“We cannot go on eight legs,” I whispered. Breathless.<br /><br />“Sixteen,” it countered but obliged.<br /><br />The fiber of my being unraveled; a familiar ache. I stood rewoven. Woman again. Arachne again.<br />Sherin Nicolehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06534766663397123868noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-78655904518561831202017-10-21T21:50:41.861-04:002017-10-21T21:50:41.861-04:00The shadow weaver stands alone after the battle.
...The shadow weaver stands alone after the battle.<br /><br />None but I dare touch her. She threatens to ensorcell me.<br /><br />I laugh. Magic isn’t real. I treat her kindly, though.<br /><br />Every night I dream of her flesh, but that’s not magic.<br /><br />She has a son, hidden among the slaves we took. I was a father, once—I can tell.<br /><br />Her son comes to live with us. They remind me of my own family.<br /><br />The men say I'm bewitched.<br /><br />I rebuke them for superstition.<br /><br />They build a pyre.<br /><br />I draw my sword.<br /><br />The shadow weaver and I stand alone after the battle.RKeelanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16761835094251669865noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-64833860591621169582017-10-21T21:44:45.601-04:002017-10-21T21:44:45.601-04:00The whitehorse-laden sea dashed against the rocks ...The whitehorse-laden sea dashed against the rocks and salt spray soaked the tasteful princess dress I wore. A metal shackle around my ankle bound me in place. <br /><br />My brother and I had been hungry. The queen, skillful weaver of magic, had been unexpectedly kind, adopting us, clothing us, serving food that plumped and sweetened our flesh.<br /><br />Along the shoreline, a man appeared. <br /><br />“Hansel. Help me. Hurry!”<br /><br />He reached his hand to help the shadow behind him. The princess? But she had been sacrificed, arranged by the king, devoured by Cetus. <br /><br />Had she not?Lisa Bodenheimhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17809067722921953857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-44029372003364186922017-10-21T21:31:10.200-04:002017-10-21T21:31:10.200-04:00We avert our eyes; she practices her magic in our ...We avert our eyes; she practices her magic in our backyard. One morning I find a waxy lump of burned flesh on the patio. The hydrangeas are an unnatural blue I've never seen and under them is a shadow shaped like a four legged creature. We don't dare say anything and I blame Hank, who seems to be under some sort of spell. I would confront her myself but every time I think what to say I end up staring into the fireplace, imagining the hair on my arms burning. We must keep the will secret, long as we can.katiehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05167978830347777260noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-69221695117815668802017-10-21T21:23:39.614-04:002017-10-21T21:23:39.614-04:00She emerges from dreams, shrugs off shadows and ri...She emerges from dreams, shrugs off shadows and rises. <br /><br />Guided by a vision, perfect in its nonexistence, the artist, weaver of the tapestry Life, picks up her golden brush—saturated with all the colors of light—and paints a line across the canvas of night. <br /><br />Above it, she layers illumination, a pastel backdrop for abstract terrain fleshed out in earthen hues. Upon her palette, she blends magic from which streak rainbows. Blues run in rivers and pool in lakes. <br /><br />She toils. Her brush runs dry. Darkness falls; all colors swirl into black.<br /><br />Time is come to dream the vision anew.MLWhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02039681163840668602noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-32796411359583071752017-10-21T20:50:04.479-04:002017-10-21T20:50:04.479-04:00"Mama," her daughter's voice a sorro..."Mama," her daughter's voice a sorrowful whisper, "Mama I need to go now. Please don't be sad," her hand against the mossy gravestone.<br /><br />"I know I promised."<br /><br />The shadow behind her barely visible as she felt the presence near.<br /><br />"I'm sorry," she sobbed, "but if there's a chance. . ."<br /><br />So wintery cold, the weaver's hand tightened against her flesh.<br /><br />The little girl stood, so small, yet so determined.<br /><br />He stepped closer, dark magic. Then tufts of black.<br /><br />"See you soon," came the voice across the wind, "My darling."<br /><br />Her curse: forever watch her daughter's failure to save her.nphollandhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11147914537371906782noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-32799821508808667962017-10-21T20:44:40.252-04:002017-10-21T20:44:40.252-04:00The ground shook and I dove for cover. When the wo...The ground shook and I dove for cover. When the world grew still, I abandoned the shadow of my protective outcropping. <br /><br />I found my partner, almost entirely crushed by the remains of the avalanche. He gritted his teeth, but a whimper escaped. He glared at me. <br /><br />This assignment was a lesson, our pairing a punishment. If I dared save him, revealing I was a weaver of magic, he could destroy me. <br /><br />At my command, the rocks lifted away and his flesh and bone were forged anew.<br /><br />“You trust me?”<br /><br />I shrugged.<br /><br />“You can.” He offered his hand. <br /><br />I took it.Gaylehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02646484878657759453noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-52723718245283291992017-10-21T20:10:19.934-04:002017-10-21T20:10:19.934-04:00This comment has been removed by the author.Asha Shttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00089958038269580792noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-66816657041004939262017-10-21T19:42:43.761-04:002017-10-21T19:42:43.761-04:00Joey was a greenhorn; a kid, really. Ed was older...Joey was a greenhorn; a kid, really. Ed was older, but not necessarily wiser. She killed them slowly, while they struggled helplessly against her silken bonds.<br /><br />She’s a master manipulator--a weaver of webs so complex most never catch on until it’s too late. And she’s coming for me. <br /><br />“Darling,” she says, her voice dripping with saccharine, “come closer. I can’t see you.”<br /><br />I remain in the shadows, poised to pray, until curiosity gets the best of her. She scuttles forward. I work my magic: One strike and her flesh is mine. <br /><br />Wherever you are boys, this one’s for you.Just Janhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12546035917149403735noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-74848444423821656022017-10-21T19:41:14.013-04:002017-10-21T19:41:14.013-04:00Local paper runs same article each year, warning ‘...Local paper runs same article each year, warning ‘bout strange happenings in the woods, going on for years. Under the shadows of tall oaks or pines, waiting on bones to tell them ‘bout unsolved murders. They ain’t yet. Bones? Them I don’t know ‘bout. Flesh? Yes.<br /><br />At the sound of leaves crunching, I turn. <br /><br />“Why, hello lil darlin’.”<br /><br />“W-What’re you doing?”<br /><br />“Waiting.”<br /><br /><i>Watching.</i><br /><br />“I should go back.”<br /><br /><i>She’s perfect.</i><br /><br />“Wait. I’m a weaver.”<br /><br />Eye alight, curious.<br /><br />“Weaver?”<br /><br />“Of magic.”<br /><br />“Can I see?”<br /><br />“Look up. What's that there?”<br /><br />“Noth---“<br /><br /><i>Exactly.</i><br /><br />One a year. I ain’t so selfish, am I?<br />Donnaevehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09026536210749494257noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-71064018459145599962017-10-21T19:17:15.413-04:002017-10-21T19:17:15.413-04:00Twenty years she waited, worried, stoked fires and...Twenty years she waited, worried, stoked fires and balanced books. From rosy-fingered dawn she toiled, sought his shadow o’er the wine-dark sea. Midnights she wove and wrecked her web till weaver and task became one. <br /><br />“Penny for your thoughts,” he croons as whiskers chafe her care-worn cheek. His hands work that old black magic, plying her body like a well-strung bow. Flesh might forgive what the heart can’t. <br /><br />“But first,” she snaps, “the dog needs walking.” She sinks into his favorite recliner. Wily, they called him. “And WHILE you’re up,” she snorts, “fetch my scotch.”Fearless Reiderhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12207513105790759320noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-29279703220393538122017-10-21T18:41:33.008-04:002017-10-21T18:41:33.008-04:00
I wanted it clean, hard, sharp. A revenge that ca...<br />I wanted it clean, hard, sharp. A revenge that casts no shadow. <br /><br />Like many, his daring shocked me. His jiggling flesh, his bloated smile, robe pulled aside like a magic show curtain.<br /><br />But a spell is harder to cast than a shadow. For years, we averted our eyes, souls scarred by hate. Enthralled, enraptured, our magic inside.<br /><br />My magic is growing. Now I’ve learned tricks. The lock. Two tumblers, a hairpin. So quick.<br /><br />Now I’m inside, and nothing is different. You still like the bath. I am still lithe, thin as a shadow, softer than murder on black, muddy feet.<br />Timothy Lowehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07514224628760035696noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-7968523600862122572017-10-21T17:22:39.683-04:002017-10-21T17:22:39.683-04:00Lady Octavia Summers was known for two things. Bei...Lady Octavia Summers was known for two things. Being very not nice; and being ever so good at it.<br /><br />She was also rich, which was why two young bucks stood before her.<br /><br />Lord Flourish was so well turned out he was almost in again.<br />‘My lady. How handsome you are’.<br /><br />In contrast, Mr. Townsend’s feature was his silence. He nodded. She nodded. He nodded. She nodded. When he went to nod again she rang a little bell, which thankfully did the trick.<br /><br />She made her decision.<br /><br />But alas, a daring shadow magic flesh-weaver’s wayward steamroller flattened her.<br /><br />The villagers rejoiced.Brighttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04404682134487083817noreply@blogger.com