tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post4008074274027403058..comments2024-03-29T07:18:41.334-04:00Comments on Janet Reid, Literary Agent: The Feline Intervention Required flash fiction contestJanet Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00615380335938685231noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-21375177063151848032016-10-16T08:57:30.177-04:002016-10-16T08:57:30.177-04:00The door jingled and I took in her fragrance first...The door jingled and I took in her fragrance first. I turned, and the first thing I saw were the legs. Long legs. <br />She fixed me with those eyes that could see through the soul. I bared a smile. She didn’t. Didn’t even know if she could. <br />I waved the barista back over. <br />“Sir?” the chick purred. <br />Seriously? She definitely didn’t have the body for that voice. “Give me the cat’s platter and the Venti Mew, all over the rats,” I hissed. “And make it warm.” <br />They sent up Ostrich. This was going to be a hell of a night. <br />Lennon Farishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03570629350169504234noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-3226605050023687342016-10-16T08:57:28.060-04:002016-10-16T08:57:28.060-04:00Splatta Fish is piped in 24/7, food, water randoml...Splatta Fish is piped in 24/7, food, water randomly.<br /> <br />I ask for a poster.<br /><br />“Why?” <br /><br />“Something to look at.”<br /><br />He brings me one – of the beach. I tack it to the wall, later move it to the water-stained ceiling. <br /><br />I stare up at it while he’s staring down at me.<br /><br />He says I’m a “real catch.”<br /><br />“But, looks don’t last,” he warns.<br /><br />Next time, the poster is on the wall.<br /><br />Ceiling.<br /><br />Wall.<br /><br />Ceiling.<br /><br />“What’re you up to?”<br /><br />“Nothing.”<br /><br />Next time, no poster.<br /><br />Sweaty faced, he looks around.<br /><br />I got him figured now.<br /><br />He backs out, forgets to lock the door.<br />Donnaevehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09026536210749494257noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-35115316963864975492016-10-16T07:19:40.445-04:002016-10-16T07:19:40.445-04:00Audio only
'Hurry up Donnie my knees are sma...<b>Audio only</b><br /><br /><br />'Hurry up Donnie my knees are smarting'.<br /><br />'Don't stop Hillie, I like to take my time'.<br /><br />'Mwu uh ah'.<br /><br />'Oh this is good, did you do it this for the Kenyan?'.<br /><br />'Muh wa… no he's gay'.<br /><br />'Really, friendly with George was he? Can we move over to that wall, this lamppost is murdering my back?'.<br /><br />'Okay, where did that cat come from?'.<br /><br />'Don't worry, I'm used to an audience, put your glasses on girl, there's going to be fireworks'.<br /><br />'Mah uh guh'.<br /><br />'Woah girl, not so fast—you didn't overdose on your meds again—Hillie…'.<br /><br />SPLAT.DeadSpiderEyehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07687178085803686186noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-55084867427070388352016-10-16T06:06:52.001-04:002016-10-16T06:06:52.001-04:00Emmeline's wrist bears a tattoo: "Revenge...Emmeline's wrist bears a tattoo: "Revenge is a dish best served cold." Got it after the fourth time she failed to kill Charles.<br /><br />Pause, rewind, try again.<br /><br />Same time, same attack. He grabs her, she reacts, he escapes.<br /><br />No, no! Too slow! The vortex sucks her back to the present with a gasp.<br /><br />Later she compares her times posted on the wall. Her rage is slowing her down. But if she lets it go, the need disappears and that would never do.<br /><br />Pause, rewind, try again...<br /><br />Wait. What happens if she catches him before his attack?Her Grace, Heidi, the Duchess of Knealehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17818060864422019573noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-65846766306644034692016-10-16T03:55:33.453-04:002016-10-16T03:55:33.453-04:00She scattered words across Time.They fell in beaut...She scattered words across Time.They fell in beautiful droplets from the skies. And those who looked might read the rain.<br />The soil, too, absorbed Her fluent notes so in turn we could learn to read the land. <br />She posted Sentries, tall and green, Guardians of the air. <br />Her. Message. Crystallized. Crisp. <br />Later, too many remained illiterate, ignoring Her signs, imagining we knew all. <br />And in our arrogance, we let down our Guards, and saw the Ice Giants fall.Marie McKayhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11405271051226910312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-55518168110783539802016-10-16T02:41:50.248-04:002016-10-16T02:41:50.248-04:00Shells plummet. Not for our side but against. So...Shells plummet. Not for our side but against. Sonny’s platoon is broken; if the bombs don’t kill them, time will. It’s winter. The cold conceals the scent of the dead; the scant remains of cover shield the wounded. <br /><br />Sonny catalogs the remnants of his company from his post. <br /> <br />Lenny – Limb shredded, artery nicked.<br /><br />Ralph – Head lesion.<br /><br />Eugene – Guts embraced with gauze.<br /><br />The air raid siren is blaring. <br /><br />“Swallow all your fears men!” A match was struck and smokes shared.<br /> <br />“May God have mercy on our souls.”<br /><br />But there is no mercy in war. There’s decay and sorrow.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15843896722320731272noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-16629986761676569412016-10-16T01:46:18.093-04:002016-10-16T01:46:18.093-04:00I can’t help who I love.
Mom tries to understand....I can’t help who I love.<br /><br />Mom tries to understand. Scatters a few compliments, but she doesn’t like me spending time with him. She worries about how it looks.<br /><br />Dad doesn’t even try. Splatters my hopes like paint on a canvas. You’re can’t play with him! He’s a rat! From the dirty part of town.<br /><br />They don’t realize, I just think he’s fun. Besides, it’s only hide ‘n’ seek.<br /><br />I spy him sneaking into our living room. Such nerve! I straighten my posture, swallow my own nerves and approach. <br /><br />“Meow,” I say.<br /><br />“Squeak,” he answers. <br /><br />Goody! My turn to hide.<br />John Davis Frainhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18020019400599228492noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-5766835832254995952016-10-16T01:31:45.094-04:002016-10-16T01:31:45.094-04:00The rain raps a sharp staccato on the porch roof a...The rain raps a sharp staccato on the porch roof and splatters my boots with mud. I wait for the boss.<br /><br />Meeting here is dumb. Yeah, offing Frankie at this cabin cemented our partnership, but who needs such sentimental codswallop? We should be somewhere warm. And dry. But hey, when the boss says jump...<br /><br />So many lies since. The posturing. The power plays. I've often wondered if I'd have been better off in Frankie's spot.<br /><br />I don't hear the approach at all. I'm slammed backwards, then kissed hard on the lips. She leans back and grins.<br /><br />"Hi, honey. Happy anniversary."<br />Nate Wilsonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09690171790664252309noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-10703070839228758612016-10-16T01:21:33.608-04:002016-10-16T01:21:33.608-04:00Hey! You're just in time to check out this pos...Hey! You're just in time to check out this post of a cat splatting into a wall!<br /><br />-Very funny. Leave me alone.<br /><br />No, I'm serious!<br /><br />-Well I'll be. Ha! Play it again!<br /><br />-That kind of looks like our cat.<br /><br />-And our wall.<br /><br />-Where's the cat?shaunhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02353153642490585405noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-83024260383018639442016-10-16T01:08:08.221-04:002016-10-16T01:08:08.221-04:00Flitting anxiously to and fro in the twilight, the...Flitting anxiously to and fro in the twilight, the insect searched for safety. High, preferably. Dry. That <b>wall</b>? No, the inn’s <b>cat</b> lurked there. The tree? No, a storm approached. Undercover, somewhere, was needed. <br /><br />Sh’lar, astride Belzahn, thought so too. <b>Time</b> was, he’d never have overnighted at an inn, but the threatening storm had his elderly dragon agitated.<br /><br />Tom, the aslee<b>p ost</b>ler, awoke at the noise. It’d been years since he’d stabled a dragon, but an immense red was landing now. He hoped their stay would be brief.<br /><br />The wa<b>sp, lat</b>e that evening, chose to alight on Belzahn’s nose.<br />Kae Ridwynhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10356868531870405990noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-64422831297488594732016-10-16T00:49:31.181-04:002016-10-16T00:49:31.181-04:00We liked being the youngest. The idea of becoming ...We liked being the youngest. The idea of becoming middle children didn’t sound too good. <br /><br />“I’ve got a job for you two,” said Mama. “I need your help baby-proofing the house.” She hung a poster on the wall: 100 Ways to Keep Baby Safe. It was splattered with eye-catching colors, and showed all the dumb ways babies could accidentally hurt themselves. <br /><br />Well…we guessed that didn’t seem so hard. <br /><br />The whole family pitched in. By the time the baby came, there wasn’t a single thing left in the house that could hurt him. <br /><br />So we improvised. The Noise In Spacehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13433798159445551782noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-69540818754784146262016-10-15T23:41:50.969-04:002016-10-15T23:41:50.969-04:00Per pale indented, sable and argent, a man and a w...Per pale indented, sable and argent, a man and a woman addorsed, on a chief azure two wedding bands entwined.<br /><br />Per pale argent and sable, a woman and a man respectant, the man dimidiated with a wolf.<br /><br />Gules, a man bitten and clawed prostrate.<br /><br />Per fess azure and vert, the sun in his splendour or, a man splattered and gory.<br /><br />Sable, a wife wall-eyed and grim, a husband posthumous.<br /><br />Per fess sable and vert, the moon in her plenitude argent, a wolf rampant transforming.<br /><br />Gules, in bend dexter, a woman armed septime, a bullet argent, a monster adjudicated.<br />RKeelanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16761835094251669865noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-85033388786390179602016-10-15T23:27:15.623-04:002016-10-15T23:27:15.623-04:0011:13pm
Post time. You sit resolutely at your com...11:13pm <br />Post time. You sit resolutely at your computer, you'll get a good start on fulls. <br /><br />First book; "SELACHOPHOBIA", you snicker and scroll down to #2: "NYCTOPHOBIA". Seems to be a phobic trend. <br /><br />Outside, lightning and thunder collude with the flickering streetlights; you jump. <br /><br />Rain splatters on the iron fire escape with determination. The wind, insistent and guttural with admonishment moans, <br />"...Janet...why..."<br /><br />Your sphinx-like loner cat, green eyes glowing, sits fixated on the blank wall behind your desk. <br />"...Janet...no..."<br /><br />The night intrudes as the electricity convulses into obscurity.<br />"...Janet...stop..."<br /><br />11:33pm<br />Decision's made – chocolate, vodka, "Pride and Prejudice" and Somniphobia.Kate Higginshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09861373649696211491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-47940489747510816292016-10-15T23:17:59.369-04:002016-10-15T23:17:59.369-04:00Joe walloped me good this time but I was grateful ...Joe walloped me good this time but I was grateful he didn't splatter me across the floor.<br /><br />“No cat scan needed,” the doctor said, examining the gash on my brow. Its fresh mark crossed over an old one. <br /><br />“Take Advil. Ice it for the swelling.” he finished, eyeing me.<br /><br />“Do you feel safe at home?” the doctor asked abruptly. My eyes cut to Joe, seated near me. A domestic violence poster behind him.<br /><br /><i>No.</i><br /><br /><i>Nowhere, really.</i><br /><br />“I live alone,” I replied and turned to go.<br /><br />The doctor watched her leave as she came, alone.Angel Lanpherehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18018211234380237842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-52002177595974770962016-10-15T23:15:30.574-04:002016-10-15T23:15:30.574-04:00Cathleen's breath comes at me like a rusty old...Cathleen's breath comes at me like a rusty old tire iron. I close my eyes and imagine her splattering my guts all over the bedroom leaving shards of glass and wooden splinters in our amorous wake. The bed post here, the headboard over there. I open one eye slowly. Cathleen's hair is already a mess. The light in the hallway glows just enough to illuminate the blondish summer streaks covering her face. Last time we did this the neighbors called the cops. She backs me slowly into my favorite corner. Christ, can't you just almost imagine it?Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06528464265060334823noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-86186208030210996062016-10-15T22:20:43.153-04:002016-10-15T22:20:43.153-04:00Chartreux is at his usual post beneath the catalpa...Chartreux is at his usual post beneath the catalpa when a catastrophic gale topples the garden wall. His cater-wail, heard throughout the alley, is choked off by falling debris.<br /><br />Neighbors spring to action. Their paws scratch at the rubble as though it were giant pieces of litter. Minutes turn into hours. Miss Devon Rex’s famous Cat-A-Tonic sells out completely. <br /><br />And then, as Savannah carries plates of anchovies to the search-and-rescuers, a spectral figure slinks from the would-be catacomb. <br /><br />“He lives,” whispers Pixie-Bob. “It’s a miracle.” <br /><br />“Wasn’t his time,” old Sphynx reminds him. “It was only number eight.”Just Janhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12546035917149403735noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-53877809779787812852016-10-15T21:48:53.452-04:002016-10-15T21:48:53.452-04:00Timestamp 20211016 21:14:10
Her severed hand spla...Timestamp 20211016 21:14:10<br /><br />Her severed hand splatters blood on code book.<br /><br />Keep that warm. The hand stains his shirt. <br /><br />Scattered voices commanding him, mocking him, muddling his thoughts. <br /><br />Shut up. Shut up.<br /><br />Enter code.<br /> <br />Shut up.<br /><br />Posted. Please wait. <br /><br />System Processing<br /><br />Code accepted. <br /><br />Select target 1. Enter.<br /><br />Russia. No, Canada. Both. It’s only a game.<br /><br />Do you wish to add another target? Y/N<br /><br />Belgium, China, Cuba? Select all.<br /> <br />Draw a new map.<br /><br />It’s only a game.<br /><br />Touch keypad for verification. Bloody.<br /><br />Swallows the pill. Launch. It’s only a game.<br /><br />Voices silent. Peace at last. <br /><br />Game over. <br />E.M. Goldsmithhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18387494005655553037noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-54053032650341065452016-10-15T21:01:27.630-04:002016-10-15T21:01:27.630-04:00“Time!”
Veronica handed LeBoeuf his plate, the on...“Time!”<br /><br />Veronica handed LeBoeuf his plate, the one with special sauce. He didn’t like bland food served by bland girls. He’d told her so, twenty years ago.<br /><br />“Do I know you?”<br /><br />She shrugged.<br /><br />“Bread pudding should be warm,” he barked.<br /><br />“This one’s best served cold.”<br /><br />He took a bite. “It reeks of almonds and isn’t even fit for my cat. Veronica, you are flambéed!” The judges’ thrones spewed flames. The audience cheered.<br /><br />As a 12-year-old on <i>Flambéed Junior</i>, those words had nailed her to the wall. Now she smiled as she crossed the border, a <i>chef de postre</i> seeking work.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09886045611763178062noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-1239514606647080662016-10-15T20:48:16.379-04:002016-10-15T20:48:16.379-04:00It was time again! God fearing man I am. Cat house...It was time again! God fearing man I am. Cat house lost another one in a short minute. Splattered that sinner’s innards all over everything. Knife better… no noise this time. Her warm blood tasted funny. I spit it out. My heart tasted hot lead. No spiting it out. I slid down the wall… our blood mingled. I looked straight up at the moon. A giddy-up breeze chased a wisp of cloud across its smiling face. I closed my eyes. Can’t post this one on twitter. Damn cop!Ken Frisbie, Jr.https://www.blogger.com/profile/06997113590992606612noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-76525563254071437052016-10-15T20:10:16.915-04:002016-10-15T20:10:16.915-04:00A most important day, with musical accompaniment. ...A most important day, with musical accompaniment. "Moments to Remember" (Four Lads, 1955)<br /><br />Come home from work; he's gone. "Why Do Fools Fall in Love?" (Frankie Lymon, 1956)<br /><br />No clothes in his closet. "Helpless" (Platters, 1957)<br /><br />His phone doesn't answer. "I Need You" (Beatles, 1965)<br /><br />Find the note. "The First Cut is the Deepest" (Cat Stevens, 1967).<br /><br />Skip dinner. "Alone Again (Naturally)" (Gilbert O'Sullivan, 1972)<br /><br />Wine. "Killing Me Softly" (Roberta Flack, 1973)<br /><br />Pills. "Bad Time" (Grand Funk, 1975)<br /><br />"Another Brick in the Wall" (Pink Floyd, 1980)<br /><br />"Fade to Black" (Metallica, 1984)<br /><br />"Pearly Gates" (Poster Children, 1997)<br /><br />Celia Reaveshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14477769617945528997noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-76276449627142582382016-10-15T20:02:58.779-04:002016-10-15T20:02:58.779-04:00The writing was on the WALL. Literally.
Someone h...The writing was on the WALL. Literally.<br /><br />Someone had capped my tag over a double row of POSTers and onto an original Banksy.<br /><br />When I found the wannabe who spray painted my fingerprints on their crime, they’d be graffiTI MEat.<br /><br />Still, I’d need to go low pro for a while. <br /><br />Lights flashed along the alley. Shit. <br /><br />A rock through the bodega’S PLATe glass might buy me some getaway time.<br /><br />No way were the cops gonna CATch me. At least not until I’d paid back the poser who tried to steal my style.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06611656982367077903noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-81083158341609181602016-10-15T19:57:08.082-04:002016-10-15T19:57:08.082-04:00Do. Re. Do re ti me.
-Sound of Music crap.
Solf...<i>Do. Re. Do re <b>ti me</b>.<br /> <br />-Sound of Music crap.<br /><br />Solfège. Shut up.</i><br /><br />I sketch notes with my Bi<b>c. At</b> least they didn’t thro<b>w all</b> my pens away. Sharp nibs only.<br /><br />-<i>Cuh-rap.<br /><br />It’s for him. Valentine’s Day. Handmade gift.<br /><br />-Gross. You wanna give him a gift, go sexy. Get Li<b>po.<br /><br />St</b>op. It’<b>s plat</b>onic.<br /><br />-You wish, whore.<br /><br />That better be a joke.<br />What did you do?!</i><br /><br />The song’s crumpled. I take the pill hidden under my pillow. Stare her down in the window. Her smugness blurs.<br /><br />A knock.<br /><br />“Mrs. Thomas? Time to see Dr. Drake.”<br /><br />“Ok. Can I bring his gift?”unavoidablytigerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03873885714218763028noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-85459354941480039622016-10-15T19:51:29.119-04:002016-10-15T19:51:29.119-04:00Tonight it was the Cisplatin that had me puking at...Tonight it was the Cisplatin that had me puking at 3 am, throwing up the high calorie shake that was supposed to keep me alive long enough for the toxic agent to do its job.<br /><br />I shuffled back to my recliner. The cat took her post at the base of my feet, the crocheted afghan pulled up around my shoulders. I had always longed to have those bones exposed. And now, well… <br /><br />I looked up at the clock on the wall, the seconds indifferent to whether I lived or died. <br /><br />“It’s just time,” I sighed. I closed my eyes.<br />Brooke Linvillehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11824265390071755615noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-83772336741694818872016-10-15T19:44:32.266-04:002016-10-15T19:44:32.266-04:00In my family, we clasp latticed confessionals like...In my family, we clasp latticed confessionals like lovers. We know all the proper hymnal chords - and that 3/4 time belongs to Lucifer - and cherish brokenness as proof of Divine love. We show love how we are shown, and fear the emptiness that follows.<br />I didn’t know forgiveness until I met Lucy. Lucy, the question in love’s catechism, made an answer out of me. We danced, our legs off-tempo stilts. Lucifer clapped along. <br />Sirens singing. Shattered hands in mine. <br />Love is turning cheeks. She wouldn’t strike, and I don’t know how to love a gentle thing.<br />I tried.Bethany Elizabethhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12829932931010851406noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-9163427316474815332016-10-15T19:28:22.387-04:002016-10-15T19:28:22.387-04:00Hush now, and sleep my dear. The harvest moon sail...Hush now, and sleep my dear. The harvest moon sails above us all and winter time draws near. The autumn knight is a dormouse paladin, who keeps sternly to his post throughout the years. Each night he paces the shadowy walls of dark forest halls in search of errant dreams to rescue. At midnight, he sallys forth astride a snarling, brindled tomcat whose hot, heavy breath splatters wetly upon the fallow fields. In the morning, there will be frozen ferns of delicate ice that brush your window, cats paw soft, and melt away with the waking dawn.<br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16897419742026430918noreply@blogger.com