Mid-Week Blues-Buster Week 3.09

Welcome to the Mid-Week Blues-Buster Flash Fiction Challenge, Year 3, Week 9.

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.


The challenge starts whenever I post this on Tuesday and ends at MIDNIGHT PACIFIC TIME on Friday. You read that right. Pacific Time.

This week’s song prompt comes from one-hit-wonder (on this side of the Atlantic, anyway) Edwyn Collins.

The tune is… “A Girl Like You”. Here’s the link; https://youtu.be/nkKxGzm98AU

This week’s Judge is… it’s me again.

The challenge opens the moment you read this post and runs through MIDNIGHT PACIFIC TIME on Friday July 31st.

Now… Go write!!!!!


Posted on July 28, 2015, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. angietrafford

    The audition
    word count: 478

    I tapped my finger against the side of my whiskey glass and blew out a sigh from between my lips. To say that this was my least favourite part of owning that club would probably be an understatement. Crushing somebody’s dreams was not something that I particularly enjoyed doing, and, not for the first time, the wish that I had hired somebody else to do the auditioning process flew through my mind.
    “You are not quite what we are looking for,” the words that I had uttered a countless number of times that afternoon fell from my lips.
    There was nothing I could do but watch as the face of the singer in front of me filled with disappointment. I desperately downed the golden liquid within the glass in the vague hope that it would divert my attention slightly from the look of sorrow. There was only one thought in my mind at that moment, which was, please don’t cry.
    “Thank you anyway,” the disappointed girl mumbled as she clutched her guitar to her chest as if it was a teddy bear that would offer comfort. She darted from the room at great speed and I realised that she was probably going to get just outside the door before she let the tears get the better of her.
    Please don’t let her see those waiting to come in. The last thing I needed was for the singers to be an emotional wreck before they even entered the room. I refilled my glass before looking round the small room. There was nobody in here except me, but on a busy night all these tables would be full of patrons expecting a certain level of entertainment. My job today was to find the people that would provide entertainment. It was difficult though, as all the songs of the various singers was starting to sound alike to me.
    I did not make any eye contact with the singer that bustled inside. To be honest, there was not much expectation left in me, and so I was already rehearsing my denial. Then she started to sing. My fingers froze around the glass as the velvety voice seemed to seep into my soul and wring it out. Slowly my eyes began to travel to stage and stared at the scene. The girl was average looking, you would never expect the effect that the voice had on you. I let my lips curve into a smile as I let this amazing voice wash over me like some sort of refreshing wave.
    It felt like she had drawn me said that I was crawling on the floor, almost begging her to take a position within my club. I had never met a girl like her before. She was certainly one of a kind, and not only that but she was mine; I found her.


  2. Luca and Cecily. 650 words. @wayneassiratti

    “I need your help”

    She looked at me, there in the dark, dank alley with a sad smile on her face. “Luca, you’re beyond my help and I’m pretty useful.”

    I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the box. The little brass inlays glowed dull in the light of the streetlamps that spilled into the alleyway.

    “I have this.”

    She arched an eyebrow and leaned in closer to inspect it. “Well that certainly changes the status quo.” she replied, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. I watched her as she leaned over the little mahogany and brass box, her movements automatic to her. To me however, it was the the epitome of grace and poise. Prima ballerinas had nothing on her. She looked back up at me. “Do you know how to open it?”

    “No. That’s why I’m here Cecily. I have a feeling that you might know someone who can.”

    “There are a few who know the secret of the box, I know one or two.” She looked serious now, a frown furrowed her perfect forehead. “If the stories are to be believed, no one has opened this box for four thousand years Luca. There are theories regarding the contents of it. Some say great power lies within, others allude to great knowledge or possible wealth beyond imagination. Tales of evil and pestilence, horrors that humans can barely concieve.” her tone contained a warning.

    “I have heard the stories,” I replied, “but I’ve done my own research.” I put the box back in my pocket. “I spoke with Judas Jones. He tells me that the box once opened is somehow sentient and the opener receives exactly what he or she needs most.”

    She arched an eyebrow in surprise. “You have been mixing with the high and mighty if you have been speaking to Judas Jones. I expect he was eager to see the box for himself. His research into the occult and supernatural is second to none. The thing is though, do you believe him?”

    “I do.”

    Momentarily she looked into the middle distance, lost in a memory. “I haven’t seen Judas for such a long time. He and I were lovers once you know.” she sighed, remembering a better time in her existence. “We couldn’t keep it together though. He was a workaholic and I was… well I had another fate.”

    “Do you think you can find out how to open the box?” A trace of impatience was creeping into my voice. Unintentional, but there all the same.

    “Now now Luca. I can and I will as I owe you a big favour. Once I have obtained this information for you we are quits, right? She smiled again, looking up at me. Cecily was impossibly beautiful; raven black hair, bright green eyes and cupids bow lips, red as the cheeks of a liar, caught in untruth.

    “Of course Cecily, we’ll be quits. To be honest, I think I’ll owe you a favour in return.”

    She stepped back and flashing me an emerald stare said “I hope its worth it Luca, you are putting yourself in grave danger by owning the box and the means to open it. A great many people will be after it, seeking the contents. This is a big risk for a hunch. Same time tomorrow night, don’t be late. Do try to find somewhere a little more private to summon me please? Alleyways are hardly my scene.”

    “Of course.” I smiled, enjoying this little game. “A nice table for two by the window maybe? I know a great Italian not far from here.”

    She poked out her tongue and laughed. It sounded like silver bells and babbling brooks and would have levelled weaker men. Then she turned on her heel and walked straight through the wall, leaving no trace.


  3. Pattyann McCarthy

    This is Some Girl!

    Eugene is a nerd. Worse, he’s a mate-less, jobless nerd, living in London’s Rookery. Squirreled away in his hole-in-the-wall, day after day, he’s hopeless.

    He’s girl watching as he sits wrapped in a tattered blankie on his crumbling stoop covered in black ash from wheezy chimneys, and no one looks his way. A sickening look slathers his face, his tongue lapping at the corners of his lascivious smile as they pass in their mini-skirts and knee-high white boots. One day, he hopes to have sex, but today is not that day. He knows he’s not that lucky. The Beetles current hit, ‘She Loves You’ rides the microwaves to his ears through his dirty window screen three floors above. It’s an okay day for a change.

    Bored, he heads upstairs to his tiny apartment, pushing a curtain of dusty purple beads aside into his bedroom. He sneezes; they rattle and tinkle as he passes through. Laying down on his twin bed, he stares at the psychedelic posters passing for art and falls asleep, wishing for more.

    A noise wakes him abruptly. His head’s cobwebby from sleep, he tries to stand, but can’t, tied to his aluminum and teal vinyl kitchen chair covered in duct tape. His head slowly clears, wondering how he got here.

    “Eh, what’s this then?” He shouts. He hears noise behind him and his cells peak red.

    “I am Genitevalia,” a sexy voice whispers hoarsely from behind. The pentameter lilt is weird, yet enticing. “Do not be feared of me, UnderThing, I heard your dream, and I’m come.”

    “Eh? What you goin’ on about me dream. I ain’t ʼad no dream, I would know, you think?”

    “You had deep dream, and I am come to UnderThing.”

    “An, why you keep cawlin’ me UnderThing? I ain’t under nuthin’, you dig?”

    “You live under I. My world above and so, you called UnderThing. I step out to you now. Mustn’t be feared of Genitevalia.”

    She came from behind him and stood proudly towering before him. Blinking, Eugene shook his head clearing more webs.

    “This ain’t real, eh? I ‘must’ be ʼavin’ a dream!” Whipping his long, greasy hair to clear his head, his glasses went askew on his face.

    Standing before him was a – woman? ‘What the . . .’ eyeing her from the floor, up. She stood on two thick, muscled legs, a fish tail resting on the floor behind her for support, like a photo frame stand, encrusted with bronze scales. Her smooth green skin glistened luminously beneath yellowish bones encircling her like a cage. Between her legs, a mouth bared, surrounded by bronzed June-bug wings, opening and closing like it was breathing. ‘Does that thing ʼave teeth?’ Her torso split in two, Eugene gasped. ‘Two torso’s each with four arms! What the ʼel? Two ʼands on each arm! I ain’t never . . .’ each hand had eight willowy pencil-fingers ending in talons. ‘Crimminy! That’s 128 fingers! 128 claws!’

    Each torso carried a female head. One, a smooth green divers’ helmet split down the middle. ‘The fuckers’ huge! ʼOw she ʼold that up?’ A heavy-looking breastplate barely covering . . . ‘is that five nippies on each tittie? This is some girl!’ Eugene’s mouth salivated slather.

    The others head, pointed like a squid with bronze dreadlocks flowing to the floor. ‘I could play jump rope with er ʼed!’ Four sets of humungous ice-blue eyes lined with horns, pulled to the back of their heads, unblinkingly gazed down at him, and perfect O-mouths sported white shimmery lips.

    The squid-head bent over peering into his face, “Do not be feared.”

    Helmet-head presented a long, thin bone-looking knife. “I stick this here in Limbic system,” she pressed it against his temple, “and you love me UnderThing! We mate. Stare to me and you be transformed.”

    He screamed a lot as the knife drove in, “Owwwwww! At ʼurts!”

    “Don’t, be, bay-bie, UnderThing.” Wrestling with his head.

    And . . . he screamed even more as he transformed into – something else, a goateed man-lizard with a snake’s tongue, a knife sticking out of his head. His bones poked out through his greening body, and while Genitevalia’s genitalia had her way with UnderThing, he learned, her June-bug mouth has teeth. Lots and lots of teeth!

    WC: 699


  1. Pingback: The audition | AngieTrafford

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: