Mid-Week Blues-Buster Week 22
Welcome to the Mid-Week Blues-Buster Flash Fiction Challenge, Week 22.
This is a flash fiction challenge. The prompt is a song. You are not required to write about or even mention the song. It’s there only to get the ideas moving around in your brain pan. If you want to write about the song (or the video- it’s all good here) go for it but don’t feel like you have to.
The rules;
500 words, but it’s a slushy 500, meaning you can go up to 700 or as low as 300.
Post your entry right in the comments section of this post.
MAKE SURE TO PUT YOUR TWITTER HANDLE NEXT TO YOUR WORD COUNT AT THE BOTTOM OF YOUR POST. IF YOU’RE NOT ON TWITTER GIVE ME AN EMAIL ADDRESS OR SOME OTHER WAY TO GET A HOLD OF YOU!
The challenge starts whenever I post this on Tuesday and ends at 4:30PM Pacific Time on Friday. You read that right. Pacific Time.
This week’s song prompt is a fun little ditty by The Creatures.
The tune is… “Right Now”. Here’s the link; http://youtu.be/B_9SdrN6D-o
This week’s Judge is The Purple Queen herself… Miranda Kate!
That’s all you need from me.
The challenge runs through 4:30PM EASTERN TIME on Friday July 19th.
So go write!!!
Posted on July 16, 2013, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 17 Comments.
The Tsuruoka Files 
tadaaaa! You can find my story here. http://cuppatae.wordpress.com/2013/07/16/monster-munching-siouxsie-sioux-flash-fiction/
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Thanks for jumping into the pool with us! Do me a favor though… go ahead and post the story itself here in the comments section & put the word count at the bottom? Gracias.
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“I would do anything to have hair like that,” Darina said, crunching her Monster Munch.
“Mnnn,” Maeve toyed with the remote control, ready to flick just because that’s what her finger had been doing for the last 30 minutes. “Just push the button.”
“Whut?”
“Nothing.”
Siouxsie continued her stilted shuffle on TV.
“Is she emo dancing?” Darina explored the corners of the crisp packet for final crumbs of Monster Munch goodness.
“Uh no, gobshite, this is the 80s. Emo wasn’t even alive then.”
“You weren’t even alive then.”
“She wasn’t even alive then,” Maeve nodded her head at the TV but Siouxsie didn’t seem to mind. Her impossibly pale, matte face stared back at them as though there were a hollow world made of garishly-dressed, re-caffeinated skeletons inside the TV, and in this world it was Halloween all the time. She continued droning out her pleas for sex and falling stars.
“How does she do her hair?”
“Why don’t you call her and ask her?”
“No need to be snarky.”
“Go Google it.”
“That’s all anyone ever says nowadays whenever anyone asks anything. It’s stupid. Soon nobody will ever explain anything anymore.”
“So?”
“So….so maybe we should like, I dunno, like talk to each other or something or like make our eyes look at each other’s eyes when we talk so that we…I dunno….stop staring at screens. You know?”
“Mnnn.”
The Monster Munch were definitely gone. Darina pouted at Siouxsie, but Siouxsie just repeated ri…ght no…w over and over, as the TV flickered on their faces, and the 9pm watershed drifted by.
——–wordcount 276.
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Almost there… Don’t kill me, but there’s a 300 word minimum, so if there’s anything you cut in the name of brevity, here’s your chance to use it!
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I will never forget the night Jamie texted me, asking, “Dinner?”
I’d restrained myself admirably, responding, “Where?” instead of “With you? Oh, hell yes! Not even Victoria of the RED movies could stop me!”
She’d texted back, “I’ll B there N 5”
Five minutes later, I’d had a shower, dried my hair, put on my deodorant and cologne, shaved, and gotten dressed. I never knew I could move that fast. I mean, I never moved that fast to get to work, no matter how late I was. When she knocked on the door, I jumped into my boots, and opened the door in one smooth move.
She didn’t ask. She threw both arms around me, and planted an open mouth kiss on me, her tongue exploring my teeth, and my tongue. There are times there are no words to say. Times I just can’t talk. Sometimes, I think that’s a good thing.
When she’d had enough of the kiss, she grabbed my left hand, and raced down the stairs, to her car. She got in on the passenger side. I briefly hesitated, wondering what was going on, deciding, “Don’t ask any questions, stupid. Just go with it.”
Sitting in the driver’s seat, I asked, “Where to?”
“I need music and a drink,” was all she said.
Every alarm bell in my head went off at one time. I swear to God I saw the Lost In Space robot going ‘round in circles, flailing it’s arms around, screaming, “Danger! Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!”
But, hell, it was Jamie. The most gorgeous gal I’d ever known. And after a kiss like the one she’d greeted me with, I wasn’t going to run away like a 5-year-old kid, screaming, “Oooo! Kooties!” Who knew? Maybe I’d get lucky and she’d plant another of those on me. Maybe she’d pull my arm over her shoulders, and snuggle a while. Wherever we wound up.
“Music and a drink?” I thought, rapidly reviewing the list of every place I knew that served food. And coming up empty. Music was the big problem. Drinks were easy. Chili’s, Margarita’s, or any of a dozen other places would work for that. But music?
That meant something like a nightclub, or dance club. I felt my brain cells running for the hills. The loudness, the colors, the sensory overload of a club overwhelmed my ability to cope with it, and I wound up sitting there like a statue. But, Jamie wanted a club. So, I’d find one.
Midnight’s. That was the name of it. They had a sign out front for a live band. One I’d never heard of, of course. And it was Ladies Night, with women having no cover charge to get in. I took here in, and we sat down at a table. She ordered a Black Russian. I ordered a Sprite, knowing I would be driving.
We sat there, listening to the music, watching people dance. I’m not much for dancing, and Jamie knew that. When the first slow dance song started, Jamie stood up, grabbed my hand, and drug me out on the floor. She pulled me in close, put her head on my shoulder, closed her eyes, and pressed her whole body to mine.
My brain cells had just flat given up trying to do anything at that point.
Jamie had two more Russians. And pulled me out on the floor every time a slow song came on. After a couple of hours, she said, “Take me home. My place.”
I had no idea what that meant. I just wondered how the heck I was going to get home, since we’d used her car. I never expected her to drag me inside and plant an even bigger kiss on me. I never expected her to whisper in my ear, “Stay with me tonight.” And I certainly never imagined she’d strip naked right after saying that.
Jamie. Naked. Planting a whopper kiss on me. Pressing her whole self against me. Putting my hand on her waist. Grinding her hips into mine.
I didn’t make it home that night.
682 Words
@LurchMunster
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‘Hot and Cold’
‘I’ve never felt this way before,’ Helena said pleadingly to Ian. She fluttered her eyelashes jokingly, ‘Come on I need you, right now!’ She stamped to emphasise how much she meant it.
Looking seriously worried Ian looked both ways across the empty shopping mall, checking to see if they were being observed, ‘Come on. You know we can’t, not here.’
Helena edged closer and looked up into Ian’s grey pebble eyes and whispered, ‘While you were paying for lunch I found a door over there. A cleaner’s room, unlocked. We can lock it it from the inside.’ She grinned widely showing of her pearly whites, slightly marred by a fragment of coriander.
‘Sheesh!’ He took her left hand and looked into her eyes, ‘You’re a bad girl baby. You really are getting me going here.’
‘Mission accomplished then,’ she said pulling back her dress to accentuate her full figure, ‘You’re so easy!’
‘To be fair this mega air-con is killing me and I could do with some warming up,’ Ian smiled and flicked up an eyebrow in a practiced Roger Moore style.
Helena tugged at Ian’s hand, dragging him toward the door. The young couple looked nervously about them between some serious eye contact, both excited by this dangerous liaison.
She pushed the door open easily and then yanked Ian in over enthusiastically, so much so he went flying over the mop bucket landing hard on one knee. ‘Sorry,’ she giggled as she turned the lock closed.
Ian was still on the floor as she proceeded to take off her blouse. ‘You are in for a most memorable afternoon now babe.’ She bit her lip provocatively and Ian shook his head in feigned reluctance.
Excitement was rising in Ian and by now he was feeling a tingling sensation in more than his knee. This was love and desire at its most incendiary. He would have felt hot under the collar had the mall air-con not been so damn cold.
He found himself fumbling trying to tackle the button at the top of his shirt, then they heard a noise at the door and froze. Thus the nightmare began. Hot love in a cold shopping mall may add a frisson of excitement with the danger of being caught, but sometimes the risks really outweighed the reward.
Six weeks after tripping over the mop bucket Ian’s swollen knee was the least of his worries. The Saudi Government had still yet to permit the representative of the British Consulate to meet with Ian and he had no idea how Helena was doing, or even where she was.
He was sat in a small cell alone and friendless sweating profusely and feeling filthy, what he would give for another ten minutes in that super chilled air con.
(465 words)
@zevonesque
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Paroxysm
The din splintered Jericha’s head, every clang reverberated through the metal against her back and the heat seared her flesh. “Charter!” she called again, trying to be heard above the screech of creasing and folding aluminium. “CHARTER, Number One, where are you!” she screamed, squinting beneath the blinding strobes.
She ducked sideways to avoid a steel shard, crashing from the floor above, and slid back round the corner. Her heart pummelled her ribcage as she drew shallow breaths which stopped dead as she stared down the collapsing corridor.
A body lie, prostrate, beneath a sheared off door, and a crimson river ran down the listing deck. Jericha released a primal growl and lost her balance as the ship pitched. She fell into soft, but sturdy arms and the two bodies crashed down to the floor.
Jericha ignored the arms that held her and writhed free, racing off back down the corridor to the body beneath the door. Within moments she was back in his arms, restrained, and this time she turned fury seizing her mouth.
His face quietened her.
“Damn you Charter!” she hissed driving her fists into his chest, “I thought you were following me, I thought that was you dead on the floor!”
Their eyes locked and the eerie echo of pulverising steel churned their stomachs. “Let’s go!” he cried grabbing her fist and taking off down the empty passage.
Their feet clanked down the metal floor, echoing their presence, but no one would pursue them now. When Jericha set the self-destruct, she knew there was no hope, she knew escape was impossible, but with Charter, maybe, just maybe she could make it to the escape pod on time.
Numbers flew through her head, a countdown ringing in her brain and suddenly she pulled up, yanking her hand out of his.
“What are you doing?” Charter’s eyes bored into her. “Why are you stopping?”
She stood, red-faced, grease bleeding into her wound and laughed. She shook her head, her dark curls sticking to her cheek. She placed her hands on her hips and stared candidly. “We’re not going to make it…”
Charter shook his head, lurching forward to grab at her hand. “C’mon Captain, we’re not giving up!”
She stepped out of his reach. “It’s too far, any minute now the ship’s going to blow – even in the pod we’ll never be far enough away from the blast!” she yelled above the whine of her complaining vessel. “Let me just look at you, one last time – before it’s too late…”
Her eyes slaved across him, across his heaving chest, and she watched him run his fingers through his bloody hair, his outstretched forearm rippling with muscle and frustration. She threw herself into his arms and pushed him up against the metal wall. Her sudden strength and ferocity caught him by surprise, as did her mouth against his. The aroma of oil and fear and sweat mingled with orange blossom felled him, and her tongue betrayed her need.
For a moment he fought her, fear conflicting with passion, but as detonations ripped through the ship’s inner sanctum, he gave way to base desire.
Jericha’s hands followed his hard contours, feeling rippling flesh beneath his torn shirt, and she rested her head against the hot wall as his mouth devoured her neck and their smouldering bodies cleaved together.
Screaming, shattering metal flew down the corridors and burning, acrid smoke engulfed them, but Jericha and Charter were past caring, and as the ship exploded they had already risen far beyond.
(591 Words)
@LastKrystallos
http://thelastkrystallos.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/blues-buster-paroxysm.html
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The egg-crate padding on the wall cast multi-colored shadows in the flickering light from the equalizer. The only sound in the room was her heartbeat racing through her eardrums – the sound canceling effects were strong enough to dampen even the sound of her breathing. She grabbed one of the foam peaks and yanked it savagely, leaving an uneven and ragged edge behind. Now she heard something. His cry of pain, as sharp as if she’d torn off a piece of him, rang from his vocal cords, sweeter than any song he’d played for her in this sanctum.
But too much of that could cause problems.
“Can’t have that, now, can we? If someone came in here now, I don’t think they’d believe that you got your tongue ripped out when you walked into a door.
“Or your balls.” Here she nodded to the organs in question, displayed in a dyad of jars on top of the record cabinet. “Do you think they’ll buy that those just slipped out because you were clumsy?”
He jerked his head back and forth, but didn’t have the strength left to fight her off. The piece of insulating foam fit nicely in his mouth, now that his tongue wasn’t in the way.
The black stain of blood pooling on the floor under him was growing, and she knew that she’d have to speed things up, at least if she really wanted to hurt him before he died. She’d hoped to drag this out much longer, but he bled more quickly than she’d expected. It wasn’t to be helped, however – he was the expert at doling out pain.
She had taken plenty, though.
His record collection, he’d told her once, was the largest in the state, and maybe the country. And it was impressive. R&B from the fifties, British Invasion, Disco, Punk, Alternative, New Wave – he didn’t discriminate when it came to his music. He loved it all. She ran her fingers along the spines of the covers, whispering the names. And remembering.
None of the album covers were so much as creased. None save one. She slipped the offending record from its place, caressing the rip in the front cover. It ran between the couple on the cover, severing them from each other, much as she should have been severed from him that day.
Holding it in front of his face, she watched the fear radiate from his eyes. “You do remember. How sweet. That was our first anniversary, after all.
“And you were so excited. You’d finally bought me my own record, one I could place with yours. That I could play in here, in your space. But when I kissed you, it fell, and hit the edge of the coffee table.”
She opened the jacket and pulled out the record. It glimmered blackly, and she twisted it, looking at her reflection in the grooves. “The record was still pristine. Like the rest. Just a small tear in the cover on a record that was nearly thirty years old. I stopped vomiting blood after only a day that time.”
She drew a fingernail across the grooves, leaving a scratch through the songs on side one. He whimpered, and then moaned as she slammed the record over his head, watching the shards fly across the room.
The taboo broken, she turned back to the record cabinet and started adding to the debris on the floor. “Pet Sounds. The time I tripped and spilled soup on the rug.”
“Sgt. Peppers. When I laughed in church.”
“Never Mind the Bollocks.” She laughed. “Well, you won’t mind yours again.”
“Nevermind. Dark Side of the Moon. The Scream.”
She’d gotten louder and louder with each record, and finally she released a guttural cry and leaned into the cabinet pushing it over. With detachment, she watched the records at the top start to slip out before the cabinet really began to tilt, and roared with glee as it crashed down on him, crushing him to the ground.
“Sorry honey. You know I still love you, right? This will just be our little secret.”
The foam dampened the sound of the slamming door as she walked into a world without music.
@drmagoo
700 words
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All her life she had been told that she was sick, didn’t deserve to live a normal life. Her love had caused nothing but pain to the world and so she had been banished, forced to live in seclusion, meals delivered through a hatch at the base of her cell door. But all that was to change.
Her meal was passed through as normal, but the contents were far from normal.
No drink. No hot meal. Nothing edible.
All it contained was a can of lighter fluid and a box of long kitchen matches.
She stood for a long time just staring at the tray. Then her love surfaced and she stretched out her hand snatching up the box of matches and cradling them to her breast. Moving slowly she crossed to the far corner of the room and sat down, her breath catching in her throat, the anticipation of what was to come ensuring her senses were on full alert.
The first match was removed and lit. The flame was so bright, so hot. Match after match was lit, each one bringing her to the cusp of ecstasy, yet she could not find satisfaction. The room was filled with the flavour of ash, the air musky.
Dare she push the boundaries of her passion? How long before she was discovered?
Deep in her soul she knew there was only one way to finally become one with her true love.
Tucking the box of matches lovingly into a pocket she carefully removed all the bedding making a nest in the centre of the floor. The single chair she possessed was balanced under the door handle to prevent easy access should anyone discover her plan.
Turning to the lighter fluid she carefully squirted it onto the bedding and the clothes she was wearing. At last she was ready, the room was pungent with the smell, her skin slick with fluid. Sitting in the centre of the nest she had made, she started to light the remaining matches.
Word Count 336
@lejamez
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Calling The Tune
The club was hopping for a Wednesday night. Bodies writhed, contorted, spun and cavorted about the dance floor, their movements synchronized to the wailing horns and pounding drums of the bands hoping to make it big on Amateur Swing Night at the Roxy.
If he was an enigma, an outcast, an anomaly amongst all of the revelry he didn’t really give a crap. He sat out of the fray at a back-corner table nursing the same lukewarm bottle of domestic beer that had been foisted off on him two hours ago by a waitress not to be denied. Consumed by the shadows in the nook he’d chosen, he merely watched and waited, watched and waited for…them.
He knew they’d be here tonight. They weren’t without some innate musical talent, albeit uninspired by originality, and they harbored dreams of making it big time someday. Anger burned within him as he recalled they intended to make that big time without him…without his guidance…without the muse of progressive musical inspiration only he had offered them. They would regret that all too soon.
As if there were an invisible cord binding him to them, he felt a psychic pull as the stage cleared and the lights dropped to presage the arrival of the next band. Yes…yes, he sensed. This would be them.
When the drummer began the backbeat and the first strains of the song pulsed outward, the lights blazed on and he saw them as if for the first time. They’d changed in his absence. Their hair teased and colored to unnatural measure, their make-up heavy and overdone and in their eyes burned a hunger to perform bordering on the manic.
Her voice almost a snarl she hurled the lyrics into the faces of the enthralled crowd and sent them into a frenzy of gyrations unparalleled in the previous performances. Through the first two verses he sat immobile and unaffected…immune to their Svengali charms. Perhaps it was the sting of old wounds or disgust they’d chosen to cover a song by Torme but their power did not affect him.
With ever a flair for the theatrical…for the performance, he waited until they launched into the chorus before he moved from his repose. Resting his back against the wall, he withdrew the shortened assault rifle from beneath his long coat and thumbed the selector to full-automatic.
Right now? Right now, indeed, he smiled. His finger tightened on the trigger and the first of the heavy slugs tore into the stage and into the vulnerable flesh of his traitorous former band mates. Panning the room in measured arcs, he did not stop until not a single soul remained upright or unbloodied.
Sliding the weapon back into the sheath he’d sewn into the duster, he spared not a second glance at the carnage he’d made. His thoughts, instead, were fixed on his need to depart the scene before curious outsiders could observe him. It was time to leave this city and its bitter reminders behind….right now!
500 words @klingorengi
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Title: Bets
“Wanna bet on it?”
“You’re on
She grabbed the small painting off the wall in the dim gallery light and took off running towards the door marked Employees Only. She knew she only had about a minute to get out of the gallery before the alarm system was back on. She ghosted silently through the door closing it just as the security system powered up. She leaned against the door heart pounding and closed her eyes for just a moment. Then she grinned, opened her eyes and headed down the long concrete corridor that would take her outside.
He pulled his Aston Martin Vanquish into the 7-11 and backed it in next to her 1966 big block Chevy Impala. His Martin looked like it was slumming whereas her Impala seemed right at home at 7-11. She was leaning against her car smoking. Just seeing her again set his heart racing. Red hair in a tight French braid, long legs in black denim jeans with a clean simple leather motorcycle jacket zipped half up her chest. He climbed out of his car and settled in beside her.
She handed him the smoke, “Took you long enough, did your little British squirrels get tired and have to rest half way here?”
“I took a small detour to pick up a gift for you.” He pulled a pair of black leather wrist cuff restraints out his jacket pocket. He planned on winning this bet and getting the prize of his choice at the end. She reached over and took the smoke back from him and then held out her other hand for the cuffs. He dropped them into her palm with a sly grin.
She dangled them from one finger as she cut her eyes to the side at him, “Mighty cocky attitude from a guy who almost got caught inside the Louvre last week.”
He leaned in close putting his lips to her ear, he could smell the citrus scented shampoo she used and whispered, “Cocky is exactly what I am.” Then he flicked out his tongue for a lightning fast taste of her neck.
She froze at the touch his tongue and her entire nervous system stuttered for a second. This handsome arrogant prick of a man with his golden brown skin and dark brown eyes could turn her inside out faster than anyone she had ever met in her life. She suddenly tossed the cuffs into the air and caught them as she pushed off from the car.
“Time to put up or shut up” she glanced at her watch, “Almost time for round two. You think you can get that little wind up car going?”
He chuckled as he walked to his car, “Don’t worry about me querida I can get to the finish line.”
She grinned at him and twirled the cuffs on her finger, “I sure hope so.”
They both got into their cars and watched as the desk clerk in the 7-11 walked out staring at his watch. He raised his arm and then dropped it and both cars flew out of the parking lot in two different directions.
He couldn’t believe he was breaking into a second museum to LEAVE a painting. He really had to stop letting that red head talk him into shit like this, but he also had to admit that swapping paintings at two of L.A. biggest museums was the most fun he’d had in ages. He waited in the dark as the guard started on his rounds. Then he took off at a silent run to get to the gallery he needed before the guard got there and noticed the missing painting.
His house was dark as he pushed the bedroom door open and his mouth fell open in shock at the sight of her sitting on the chest at the foot of his bed. She was twirling the leather cuffs with a dangerous smirk shaping her blush pink lips.
“I sure hope you know what to do with these because I already spanked your ass tonight, I’d say it’s my turn.”
He pulled her into a hard hot kiss filled with the promise of making good on all bets.
Word Count: 700
@MissBliss
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UNION BLUES
It had been the mother of shitty days.
A hostage crisis ended in death, a dispute with a commanding officer resulted in suspension, and a bout of moral indignation produced an unlikely attachment.
She jammed the key in the lock and shoved the door open. “Come on in, Doc. I have some antiseptic in the kitchen. Don’t know why the paramedics wouldn’t attend you on-scene.”
He glanced around the tidy apartment. “I appreciate the ride, the hospitality, and the concern, Detective. I’ll get myself patched up quick as I can and call a cab.”
She retrieved the medicine and handed it to him. “Considering that I’m off the roster and you’re off the clock, I suppose we could use our given names.”
He smoothed the salve into his scraped-up jaw. “Probably best to stick with the job titles. Keeps that nice polite wall between us.”
She perched on a kitchen stool. “Yeah, I know about setting boundaries. Why do you think I’ve been such a bitch to you?”
He chuckled. “Figured it was because I was a man or that I was white.”
She grabbed his dress-shirt with both hands and yanked it open. “No, I was keeping you at bay. Wanted to avoid having to put up with your intellectual arrogance as long as possible.”
He eyed her, surprise and something darker in his gaze. “You were intimidated by me?”
She unbuttoned his cuffs. “And there it is. The famous Dr. Robert Lloyd egotism. Don’t flatter yourself, Doc. You don’t intimidate me. You irritate the hell out of me. ”
He tugged the shirt hem out of the waist of his pants. “Then why did you bring me home tonight?”
She got up, went to stand behind him, and slid off his shirt. “Because of what happened out there today.”
He sighed heavily and leaned forward, resting his hands on the counter. “If I’d known the police department considered the use of a consulting psychologist as bait for an unstable man as fair play, I’d never have taken the job.”
She thrust her knee between his thighs, splaying his legs as though spreading a suspect to be searched. “The kidnapper was going to surrender, wasn’t he?”
He dropped his chin to his chest. “Yes, he was.”
She skimmed her palms up his back and shoulders, acclimating herself to his lithe power. “I was watching your face when they shot him. I saw the disbelief, horror, and fury. All your hard work gone to hell with a single bullet.”
He toed off his shoes. “I could have saved him and that’s not pride talking. That’s fact.”
She reached around and unbuckled his belt. “Commander Simpson doesn’t give a shit about saving souls or psyches or whatever it is you do. She just wants the situation under control.”
He pulled the belt through the loops and let it hit the floor. “Is that why you challenged her methodology? I appreciate the gesture but I don’t want you to lose your job on my account.”
She unfastened his pants. “It was a long overdue confrontation. My union rep will straighten things out so don’t worry about it.”
He turned and caught her around the waist. “I don’t mind you taking charge or being in control, Vera, but there are other ways to demonstrate empathy, if that’s what this is.”
She brushed her lips against the underside of his chin. “You hear the band playing in the bar downstairs? Right now, that music is our religion. Right now, our bodies are its temple. And right now, the only question is, how will you enter in?”
He slid his hands into her coarse dark curls, drew her face to his, and kissed her, mouth gentle and body hard. “As all fervent worshipers do. On my knees.”
Yeah, it had been a damn hard day and it was about to be a hell of a night.
– – – – –
651 words / @bullishink
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