Friday

Nowhere by @chimping_dandy (150 Words)



Christ… Oh God! That… Really… He came out of… I was just… Oh… Oh God… He pulled straight out… I… I… Crap! My legs… Jesus… I can't feel… My... Oh God!.. I must have... Uh… must have… the lamp post… Went straight… Straight over the… He just… He can't have been… Wasn't looking… He just…  Pulled straight… My legs… It's cold… I feel…  I… It… It really… My… Why?.. Why do I feel?.. Wet?.. Why?.. Wet… My chest… hurts to… To breathe… Shit… Can't move my… My helmet must… Shit… Where's my?.. My bike, where?.. Can't turn my head… I can hear… Who's shouting?.. Someone… Someone's… I can see… Is that?.. Is… That's blood… Is that my?.. Who are you?.. Were you?.. Were?.. No!.. Don't take my… My helmet… Please God!.. No!.. You'll kill… Please God… Don't take my… Fuck!.. No!.. Don't… Please… Shit… Why won't you listen… Please… Pl

Soft and fluffy by @neilsehmbhy (131 words)


Opening the wooden box in the hotel bathroom, he recoiled, horrified.
Nestling within the box, white and shining, was a cluster of cotton wool balls. Stepping back, he collapsed onto the floor. The thought of those soft fibres squeaking as they pressed against his skin induced goosebumps. Wrapping his arms around himself he rocked to block out the fear he'd had his entire life. Just thinking about cotton balls made his skin crawl. Flash backs of his mother washing him with silky soft cotton balls, slick with soap made him shudder. Peter moaned quietly, remembering them being rubbed deep into his skin, leaving their mark. Thinking back to his mothers last moments he remembered her face calm beneath the bath water, drowning. Her constant molly coddling had drove him to it.

Locked In. (117 Words)


Once for yes.

Twice for no.

Not exactly the most complex code in the world but try as I might I can't get to grips with it.

I can hear the questions, I can see her asking me them but when it comes to my part of the conversation I can't remember what to do. I mean I know the answer to the question I just can't find the right command to  reply.

It's been like this since I came around from what they are calling the "accident".

Only it wasn't an accident, I didn't jump in front of the bus I was pushed and as soon as I can remember how to blink I'll tell them.

Thursday

Breakfast By @Lucy_Magnuson (31 Words)




Waking slowly from millenia of sleep, the devourer of worlds stretched and opened its eyes.

This is how our world ends. Not in a cacophony of special effects but as breakfast.

Stand Up (128 words)



The bright lights are making him sweat and have dilated his pupils into yawning chasms of black, eclipsing the calming pale blue of his eyes. The drugs haven't helped of course, he shivers as they course through his veins, scattering his thoughts. Ideas come charging into view only to stop just out of his reach.

He takes a step closer to the edge of the stage, peers down into the darkness trying to look for his devoted audience.

He swipes at the sweat on is forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, licks his lips and clears his throat.

Lifting the microphone he finally speaks "You people make me fucking sick."

His final act done, he drops the mic, turns his back and walks offstage to thunderous applause.


Wednesday

Oh My God (46 words) by @Richwiltshir


"Why have you sent a sterilisation fleet to Earth, Admiral Baal?"

"Because we've received a transmission they've discovered cold fusion"


"How long ago?"


"By their calendar, fourteen years ago. The fleet should arrive in 2017"


"Well, we can't afford for halfwits to have such power. I'll miss them," said Yahwey.

Rinse Set and Perm (142 words) by @neilsehmbhy



Mrs Hamiltons disapproving words and stares fractured the silence. Jenny swallowed her anger.
Finishing off Mrs Hamiltons hair, she leaned forward and a waft of a sharp smell assaulting her nostrils. The womans perfume ,floral and cinnamon scents, that made her head pound.
Another smell lay beneath. A smell she hated and dreaded, an odour so terrible it remained engraved into her nightmares
The acrid stench of burning flesh filled the air, rank and fetid.
Within seconds the salon was filled smoke. Mrs Hamilton had started to combust the aroma of cooking meat and burning fat filling the air. Jenny grabbed the fire extinguisher but it was too late. Mrs Hamilton was gone, lost in the flames.
Placing her hand over her mouth and nose in a attempt to banish the awful smell she started to cry. It had happened again..."

Tuesday

The Monster By @Lucy_Magnuson (123 Words)



As a child I was told there were no monsters. It was just my imagination. There was nothing under my bed, nothing in the wardrobe and certainly nothing behind the curtain. But it didn't stop the nightmares, the fear of the dark.

Then I grew up and found the monsters were real. They were in nightclubs, down alleys, in my flat, waiting in the dark for me.

The damage was done and the fear stuck with me. The monsters haunted my dreams and my waking time.

The solution was clear. I needed my own monster to keep those monsters who would hurt me at bay. The Monster in my heart, in my bed, in my soul. My monster who protects me from the dark.

New Born (135 words)


She had been in labour for fourteen hours; weak, weary and feeling like she had nothing left to give. With one final almighty push, Mrs Cranston beared down and the child who had spent nine months inside  her was finally free.

The delivery room fell into silence as the collection of midwives and family members held their breath waiting for life to be affirmed with a frustrated and pained cry. The silence hung in the air, no cry was forthcoming. 

The newborn surveyed his surroundings with a look of anger in his pale blue eyes. His mouth opened and the child did speak  “Lady did you really just shit on my head? Why am I naked?”

He then joined the stunned silence for a moment before sadly uttering “I’m human again aren’t I?”

Monday

Green fingers by @neilsehmbhy (146 Words)



Naomi washed her muddy hands in the kitchen sink smiling.  
A wren struggled against the blustery wind by her newly planted rose bushes. Soon the soil would be nutrient rich allowing birds to flock and feast on worms.

The over-burdened clouds finally broke ,spilling their contents onto the parched land.
Relieved at missing the torrent she brewed some tea, listening to the distant rumble of thunder. 
Its vibrations rattled deep inside her.

The thick pellets of rain fell heavily, slaking her gardens thirst. 

Reaching into a cupboard Naomi retrieved a hidden packet of chocolate bourbons. 

How many years had it been since she had been allowed to eat what she wanted? 

Picking up her pot of tea she switched off the light and moved into the living room.

Whilst raindrops splattered the garden outside, lightning illuminated the sky revealing an outstretched hand bursting from the earth.



The Autopsy (145 Words)


The wickedly sharp knives glisten in the harsh lights, ready to do their worst to the body laying in wait on the cold, white porcelain. With a slight tremble he picks up a blade and starts his commentary for the cameras, recording his actions for future reference.

"The body was found wrapped in plastic sheeting and had been stored in a chiller for some time after death. The head has been removed and hasn't been recovered, The limbs have been severed at the joints and the appendages are also missing.

I'm making an incision along the breastbone, peeling the flesh back allowing access to the flesh underneath. Then I am going to apply a generous amount of butter. After that I shall replace the skin and cover with bacon.

Roast for an hour and a half at 190 degrees centigrade and serve with fresh vegetables."

Friday

The Elite by @Lucy_Magnuson (434 Words)



253 new followers over night, 2 unfollowers, her tweet about the chicken in the supermarket Rted 89 times. Not the best start to the day but definitely not the worst.

She was still one of the people you had to follow. Her avatar coming up on new sign ups suggestions. Her #FF mentions through the roof.

No one really knew who she was. But the mystery added to it. The subversive high flyer who would tell the world exactly what fuck wittery would happen on a daily basis. How she was the one to sort the juniors mistakes. How ridiculous board meetings were. She. The living legend in her own TL.

And what a TL. She only followed the best. The other 'elites', the celebrity's (A listers, no spray tanned wannabes you know). She couldn't follow everyone back. 28000 and rising. So she had he group. Her select few. Her friends. The ones whose tweets mattered. Were interesting. Were Rted with a pithy comment attached (boosting her own RT score of course as her tweet would be Rted from there in in)


And people understood. They knew she was busy. That she couldn't reply to you all. There was many after all. Hell if she spent all day saying high to anyone who had responded to 'Morning bitchez' then she'd never get any work done.

So she ignored the little people. They were never interesting. Always the wrong type of sycophant...

'Oh hi, read you're tweet. Sooo funnny, love you'

'Can I have a follow back?'

Now she really would blocks those #TeamFollowBack cunts but, a blocked follower is a follower off the count and after all, every little helps. So they stayed. And she ignored. Muted. Talked to the people who counted. She was an elite after all.

'Dear god can Phoebe sort her gorilla legs out please?' * sneaky pic of colleagues legs, quick filter * twitter gold. Another golden tweet.

But it was time to go. She had a meeting.

'Loving you and leaving you. Important meeting with the medical division #Snogs'

With that she clicked her phone off. She couldnt take it to medical. Too many machines that cocked up so she passed it to a trusted colleague for safe keeping.

The orderly took her phone, pocketed it and got her on the trolley 'Come on Emily, ECT are waiting for you. Although why the hell Dr. Parsons lets you keep that damn phone I don't know. You fucking fruit cake'

She giggled and dribbled as she was pushed down the corridor 'I'm an elite you know! A FUCKING ELITE!!!'

Thursday

The Ritual (491 words)


The three girls nervously link hands, forming a circle around the crudely drawn pentagram on the church floor. Their eyes flit from one to the other each looking, waiting for someone else to take the lead.

After a few raised eyebrows and hissed threats, Cassie nervously starts the ritual. "Emoc ot su ew dnamed ti, emoc ot su ew dnammoc ouy"

The candles on the altar flicker as the other two join in with the chant. "Emoc ot su ew dnamed ti, emoc ot su ew dnammoc ouy" over and over they repeat the ancient words, growing in confidence, speed and volume with each round.

Thunder rumbles ominously in the distance, the candles go out plunging them into darkness but still the girls spill their words into the void.

"Emoc ot su ew dnamed ti, emoc ot su ew dnammoc ouy"

Lightning hits the church, the stained-glass window depicting saint Cecilia's martyrdom shatters sending shards raining down onto the teenagers who are lost in the trance of their chant now, the words now tumbling out in a furious flurry "Emocotsuewdnamedtiemocotsuewdnammocouy Emocotsuewdnamedtiemocotsuewdnammocouy"

A blue orb of light explodes out of the pentagram sending the girls skittering across the stone floor.

Silence envelopes the chapel, the storm abates as suddenly as it started and one by one the girls pick themselves up.

"Has it worked?" asks Cassie crawling from underneath a pew.

"I can't see him" replies Tasha, "where's Becky?"

An otherworldly voice echoes across the empty house of God. "You dare disturb my slumber?"

Stood in the centre of the throbbing and glowing pentagram is a deceptively youthful looking, naked old man. Becky is lay at his feet, her head turned around at an impossible angle. He glares down at her, prods at her with a hoof and giggles "You mortals have always been so deliciously fragile."

Cassie approaches the demon and addresses him, "Sir Cliff we have summoned you to defend our realm from the greatest threat it has ever …"

She doesn't get to finish her sentence as Cliff reaches out with lightning quick speed, plucking her head from her shoulders, her body stands for a few seconds before collapsing in a heap on top of Becky. Holding Cassie's head in hands Cliff looks mournfully into her eyes and gently places a kiss on her lips. A smile creeps over his ancient face and with a chuckle he tosses the head over his shoulder, it lands in the font with a splat and a splash.

Tasha realising they have bitten off far more than they could ever chew. Slowly, tries to sneak away from the macabre scene but her movement gets Cliffs attention.

"Where do you think you're going my precious? You must have awoken me for a reason"

Still backing away Tasha delivers the news that mankind has feared since the dawn of time. "It's the Bieber my lord, its hatched and it's far, far worse than we ever imagined."


Wednesday

Day at the Zoo by @neilsehmbhy (436 Words)


Chimpanzees
-----------

Wrestling, leaping, jumping playing. The kids in matching chimp masks are indistinguishable from the those on the other side of the glass. Peering inside she sees two primates holding hands, sharing a banana. Mates for life.

The twins don't see her tears, she saves them for the night.
In the dark she prays for him to come home safe, honourably discharged in one piece.
Please let him be safe.

'Mom ! Mom! Look. Ice cream. Can we have some?'

'Yes' she says smiling back the tears.


Tiger
------

Prowling regally, stalking. 
Raw power and grace bundled together. 

Standing, watching he gawps at the pure majestic beauty.
Daydreams of hunting in the Savannah.

Tilts his head down to read.
Leo Tigris. Dips too low.
Glasses fall to the floor.

Reaches out then pulls back quickly. A foot lashes out connecting with his leg.
Laughter and jeers jostle him.
'Twat'

Laughs with them ridiculing himself. Again. Hides his fear.
Defence mechanism.
Safe alone he retrieves his specs to clean off the dirt. Slowly rejoins the class, feet shuffling.

Stick insect
------------

He stands there behind the counter. Soul slowly bleeding away.
His name badge reads 'No one'.
At first it was a joke to see if someone noticed.
A month has passed and still nobody responds.

People shove money in his hands for purchases but avoid his eyes.  Fussing over children and bundling tat in plastic bags.

A girl with red hair buys an orangutan pencil case.
She smiles and looks him in the eye with her brilliant green eyes. Slowly he smiles back.

She winks at him, nodding to his badge.

'Thanks noone.'


Eagle
------

The Eagle is last on the way to the exit just before the gift shop.
They look through the green squares of the fence.

Both staring at the bird of prey trapped in a cage, no matter how big it is.

It should be soaring free!

'Free! I wish I was free, no more work. No more seagull managers dropping crap on my desk.
No more stress. Free to relax and spend time as a couple.' he reaches out tentatively for her hand.

Sullenly she pretends not to see  him outstretched towards her. Imploring. Just for a moment though.

'Free', she thinks trying not to reach up to her eye, covered heavily with makeup.

'I wish I was free. Free from the housework. Free from the taunts the shouts, the name calling.
Free from the stench of whiskey and sweat.
Free from the flurry of fists'.

They step away together, fingers interlocking, slipping into each others hands... Trapped

Tuesday

Faith No More (474 Words)


From up here everything looks so small and peaceful; you can almost forget what is going on down there. Forget how mankind is tearing itself apart, how the mistakes of our past are being ignored and people are being slaughtered just for thinking differently.

Before all of this I would have said I was an agnostic. I wasn't a believer by any means but the thought of there being nothing after death terrified me; it still does to be honest. I was raised in the typically British half arsed Church of England way, was christened as a child but only ever went to church for the big three, christenings, weddings and funerals.

They were soon outlawed of course when the proof was found, when the truth was told. 

There is no God.

Those four words and their implications started all this. The broken body of God was laid out for all to see. The Religious orders said it proved nothing, said it was the ultimate test of faith, academics sneered at their ignorance and the world fell apart.

Suicide rates rocketed as people realised they had wasted their entire lives living by a now obsolete code. Neighbours fought each other in the street, Churches, mosques; temples were razed to the ground. Holy men hung from lampposts and scientists were burnt alive in revenge attacks. 

No one was safe.

As their numbers dwindled the major religions formed an uneasy alliance, thousands of years of hate were forgotten so they could fight the common enemy, the heathens, the educated and the informed. They took the darkest parts of their histories and taught each other lessons. Soon we had Christian suicide bombers blowing themselves up on packed school buses. Muslim led crusades through the smaller, weaker countries trying to convert the bewildered masses by force.

Peace love and tolerance were all forgotten

We fought back of course, using logic and then bullets; millions have died in the name of science.

Mecca was flattened, the Ganges ran red, the Wailing Wall fell, and yet they still believed.

The powers that be thought a show of our true strength was needed, the words Hiroshima and Nagasaki were mentioned. A suitable target was selected and I was called up to do my duty.

I crossed over the border of France and Italy a few minutes ago. The Vatican City was always secretive, always secure. Now it is like a citadel, crammed to the rafters with the faithful and the frightened, the last stronghold of the old world order.

Hidden from radar and invisible to the naked eye at fifty thousand feet it's down to me to rain death and judgement on them.

Only I don't think I can do it.

In the old days this would be called a crisis of faith but what do we call it now?


Monday

Les By @UncleSpong (298 Words)



There's a strange whiff coming from next door at 222. I say 'strange' but I know what it is. It's marijuana. Lord knows what type – I'm not a connoisseur of these matters but even I know it's ripe. It pen and inks big time. It must be Les smoking it. I think smoking must be his job because I never see him go to work. I call him Les because I don't know his name. I've never spoken to him and I doubt I'll ever get an insatiable urge to speak to him either.

Les. It's a strange name and I don't quite know how I arrived at such a moniker. It's fun to guess whether someone is a Steve or a Neil or a John before you're formally introduced to them. Then you find out they're a Montgomery and it sort of blows your mind because they don't have Monty eyes or Monty cheekbones. Les, though, he's a character. His jeans hang around his arse. But this is no gansta-style fashion statement; he's just crap at wearing clothes. The calorie-laden midriff and holocaust bum cheeks make sure of that. He probably has a belt but I'd put money on him having lent it to one of his mates to make a tourniquet.

And then there's his partner. I don't know her name either. I spoke to her once but she sounded a bit weird. I call her Les too. Her belly is almost as big as the other Les's. I like to watch her muffin-top spill over the pink pyjama bottoms she wears. Wibble wobble.

Here come the kids. I haven't given them names yet. I think they need to grow into their features first. I'm hoping they'll give me some variety. Another Les would be ridiculous. 

Friday

Happily Ever After By Chi Yau (460 Words)


Once upon a time there was a young woman named Cinderella who lived in unfortunate circumstances.  She was unjustly oppressed by her wicked stepsisters and stepmother.  Invited to a ball to be a potential bride for Prince Charming the wicked stepsisters and stepmother destroys Cinderella’s dress.  Cinderella is saved by her Fairy Godmother bestowing a blue dress and glass slippers upon her.  The Fairy Godmother transforms a pumpkin and some animals into a carriage and horses.  
But the spell will be broken at midnight.   
Cinderella meets Prince Charming at the ball.  They dance and fall in love but the clock starts to chime at midnight.  Cinderella flees and unknowingly drops one of her glass slippers.  
Eventually when the Grand Duke visits every household in the land to try on the abandoned glass slipper and it’s proven that Cinderella was the owner and her and Prince Charming get married and lived happily ever after...........
............Five years have passed and Cinderella and Prince Charming are living together in a wonderfully built silver palace.  
It’s late and Prince Charming arrives home, takes his cloak off and kicks his boots off slumping into the grand chair.  After a while he decides to go and find Cinderella.  He finds her in the kitchen due to the heavy rattling of pots and pans.  
“Are you OK honey?”
Cinderella looks at the Prince and notices red lipstick on his collar.  She carries on tidying up and slams one of the cupboard doors hard and walks away without further acknowledgement for the Prince.  Prince Charming tries to console her but she walks too fast up into the bedchamber leaving Prince Charming alone downstairs.  The Prince notices in the dining court two plates of uneaten food placed upon the table.  A card is placed upon the table setting saying “Happy fifth Anniversary!”  Prince Charming sighs.
The Prince grabs a beer and the leftover food and walks into the lounge slumping back into the Grand Chair.  Remote in his hand he turns the TV on and kicks back with feet up.  He hears someone coming down the stairs.
Cinderella appears dressed in a black dress as if she’s ready to go out.
“Where are you going? It’s late as it is” he says.
“While you’re going to slump in that chair I’ve decided to go out with the girls”.
“The girls?”
“Yeah.  Me, Snow White, Aurora and Belle are going to Princess Fiona’s for pre-drinks then we’re hitting the town!”
“You’re going to that ugly bitch’s place?”
With that she walks to the door, exits and slams the main gate shut.  Prince Charming looks in disbelief then looks back at the TV, chewing some steak and then he belches.

Thursday

The Mother Of All Evil (331 Words)


The incubators hum, barely audible over the sterile labs silence.  Statue still a lab coated scientist hunches over a microscope marvelling at her latest creation. Each generation mindlessly reproduces, the masses of progeny evolving  whilst cultivating successful traits from previous strains.

It has only been a few months but she already knows they are her masterpiece.

They are relentless, destroying anything she introduces into their environment and at times the environment itself. Their hunger is phenomenal and is only rivalled by their hostility. In the early days of the experiment she tried to merge separate samples so she had a bigger cluster to work with. Within days the stronger sample had devoured the weaker. At first she was frustrated at the loss but soon came to begrudgingly admire the tenacity of her creation and began trying to see just how far the virus would go to carry on living.

Its survival instinct continually stunned her; she had never seen anything like it before. They constantly adapted and thrived in any terrain she planted them on.

She briefly debated destroying them as she knew the damage they could inflict out in the open, but here in the sterile confines of the lab they were safe and she had grown attached to them.

A colleague taps her on the shoulder making her jump and she reluctantly drags herself away from the microscope blinking and rubbing at her tired, raw eyes.

"How are G18 doing?" Her workmate asks.

"Amazingly well." She gushes, "I dropped the temp to below zero for a few days and am slowly increasing it again. They hunkered down for a while but are starting to blossom again now."

Clearly impressed but with an air of fear in his voice he replies "They are hardy little blighters, just make sure they are kept locked down we really can't afford to have them out in the wild. Have you even named them yet?"

"Yeah I think I'm going to call them Humans."


Wednesday

Grave Expectations (488 words) by @UncleSpong



"I can't do it, Steve. Look at my hands. They're shot to buggery." Paul's hands are trembling. He's been pounding away at the earth all day. "Can you finish it off?"

He is knelt before the freshly dug hole like a veteran pilgrim, a mix of earth, gravel and fibrous roots neatly mounded behind him. Night is chasing away the last vestige of dusk and the temperature is plummeting. He's regretting wearing his new jeans – a bargain purchase from TK Maxx barely a month ago which are scarcely recognisable beneath the mud. His black t-shirt, Ramones logo and all, is dripping with perspiration. Soon it'll be dark and they'll have to rely on the sodium orange glow of the streetlight 20 feet away.

Steve strides forward and his newly-lit Benson escapes the clutches of his lips, tumbling to the ground and nestling in the soft long grass where it dies a lingering death. "Bollocks!" he grunts, deadpan.

"Hurry up," urges Paul, a few decibels too loudly. "Someone might see us." Paul never could gauge the volume of his voice; great for getting served in a crowded pub on a Saturday night but utterly embarrassing at weddings and bar mitzvahs.

"Christ almighty, it's your fault we're here at this ungodly hour. If you'd listened to me this morning we'd be out of here by now," Steve reminds him.

Paul sucks in the cold air, his eyes opening wide at the frigid chill of his cold breath passing over the extra strong mint in his mouth. It almost hurts. But he knows it's nearly over. He passes the pick axe to his companion. Taking the wooden handle his right hand, Steve swings into the deepening pit, sending a shower of sparks into the dark gloom as the metal hits stone. He swings again, and this time the stone breaks. Soon the hole will be deep enough. He pauses for breath and straightens his back

Paul is stood behind him, twitching, animated, ruffling his hair with the palm of his filthy hand. "Fuck's sake, man. Will you please just get on with it? We haven't time to dick around," he barks.

They stagger towards the white double doors of the van, only one of which is fully open. Steve checks his iPhone. "No sign of the boss," he confirms.

"Good. Must be running late."

"Give us a hand then," says Steve. "You can't expect me to do this on my own."

Paul reaches into his trouser pocket and pulls out a stanley knife. It's blunt but not enough to prevent him slicing through the black plastic and gaffer tape, releasing an earthy smell of decomposing matter.

"One, two, three…" And with a giant heave, the silver birch tree slides from the Transit and sits upright in the hole. "Is that the last one?" asks Steve.

"Aye. Thought we'd never get it done," Paul replies. "We'll plant the rest of them tomorrow."

Tuesday

Godzilla Vs. Careerra (441 Words)


This wasn't the life he imagined when he was a child but to be fair he wanted to be a Godzilla when he grew up and part of him still does.

He sits watching the call waiting light blink at him relentlessly and imagines rising from the ocean and laying waste to all that lies before him. Eventually he realises that the person on the other end of the phone isn't just going to go away and he reluctantly lifts the receiver.

"Hello, yes, Benjamin speaking how can I help you?" He says parroting the script with the lack of enthusiasm that has infected him of late wincing as the engineer starts his tirade of abuse about matters completely out of his hands and of no real importance. After the first twenty seconds or so he stops listening and sees himself fighting Mothra on an anonymous desolate island. The engineers rant increases in volume interrupting his daydream so he resorts to his standard reply of "Leave that one with me and I'll come back to you ASAP" and promptly hangs up.


"SCreeeeeeeeeeonk!" he roars under his breath.

This gets the attention of Owen the resident in the next cubicle. A man with an impressive twenty five years of unflinchingly loyal service behind him. "Who was that Benji?" he says with his standard soulless chuckle.

For a split second he debates mentioning for what would be the nine thousandth time that he doesn't like being called Benji because it sounds like a dog's name but decides against it. For another split second he imagines crushing Owen like a fly with his gargantuan reptilian foot. Finally he decides to go with the mundane truth "Jock hasn't had his parts, customer is going ballistic apparently."

The colour drains from Owens face as this sinks in, "but … but .. but they assured, ASSURED me they would be sent out last night!" he stammers with panic in his voice. "Leave this one with me Benny I'll get onto it now …if you don't mind."

"No worries Owen, you knock yourself out." Benjamin replies, cursing himself for not being able to find a different take on his nemesis's name. In the six months they have worked together he has tried his best to rile Owen but really the best you have is "O". He had even tried different pronunciations, personally favouring the drawn out pig like "Oweeein" but nothing fazes him he is just focussed on the job in hand.

Owen busies himself on the phone and Benjamin retreats once more into his fantasy world with only the thirty one more years to go until retirement.

Monday

Sanctuary by @Lucy_Magnuson (487 Words)



It had been a long day. But a good one. The way everyday should be really.

Breakfast, leave the mess til later, then straight out with the family. The 3 of them. Making the most of the freedom that they had for the next few hours.

But that was the advantage of living so remotely. That you could just get up and go. That and safety. Safely away from the people who had wanted to hurt them.

They had done it all. Walked, climbed, chased, splashed in the river. He had fished while his baby and love had slept by the river bank. The memory alone was enough to make him smile.

But it was getting dark. And cold. They should get home. Back to the warmth and safety of the house they had built to get away from it all.

But something was wrong.

He paused. He didn't know what it was but as he approached the clearing he was aware that something had changed.

'What's wrong my love' she said, clutching their child in her arms.

'I'm not sure' he replied 'just something feels. I dunno. Just not right?'

His suspicions rose as they got closer. The lights were on in the house. Their house. Their sanctuary.

No. NO! No more running. He had had enough.

'Stay here, keep the baby quiet. I'll sort this'

She was scared. Worried. She had never seen such anger in his eyes but she knew she couldn't stop him.

'Stay safe my love' and with that he was gone. Silently though what was left of the woods and into the clearing.

She was amazed that despite being so big he could be so stealthily. Her love. Her protector.

He opened the door. Silently into his home.

The kitchen was trashed. The breakfast bowls dumped on the floor. Whoever was in his home had been ransacking it. Looking for something.

He stood still. Listening. Clues. He needed to figure out where they were. He had one shot at this. If he got it wrong...

Deep breath. He thought of his lover. His baby. The life he had rebuilt after the shooting. The wound aching as a reminder.

Upstairs. They were upstairs.

So be it. They would be trapped. This could be in his favour.

Silently, swiftly, he was up. He paused. One chance. 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms. Where. Where were they?

A sound.

A breath

His room.

They were in his fucking bedroom.

The rage built til there was no reason left in his body, the adrenaline pushing him forward, crashing through the door.

In seconds the intruder had been located. They were his.

The child with the golden hair screamed briefly as the bears jaws clamped round her throat. She didn't stand a chance.

'Last time you eat my porridge, bitch'

With that he carried her still twitching corpse to the kitchen. His family would eat well tonight.


Sunday

Taking Stock (172 Words)



She sits on the cliff top assessing her lot in life.

 All things considered it’s not a bad life she's got for herself here down on the Cornish coast, her sister lives in the city, surviving on hand outs. Living from other people’s hands to her mouth.

It’s a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky and out past the breakers the ocean is still and serene.  She loves living by the sea its where she feels she belongs. The sounds and smells calm her, it can be a cruel and an unforgiving mistress but the rewards are more than worth it.

Out in the distance she can see a trawler reeling in its nets, soon it'll turn back towards the shore, heading home with its daily haul.

She stands up, stretches her legs, looks at the beach below and dives off. Falling like a stone, the sand and rocks rushing towards her. At the last second she opens her wings and sails out, soaring over the waves.

Friday

50 Shades Of Shite by @ GeeDubya67 (457 words)



She sighed.

That fucking book had so much to answer for. She'd lost her husband, pissed off her kids and even her Mother had sided with Jeremy.

'50 shades of Grey' she mused, 50 shades of fucking shite more like.

She thought back. It was Sally who'd insisted she'd read it. It was because she'd been moaning to Sally about the lack of 'yahoo' in her sex-life. Jeremy was unadventurous, perfunctory and brief and she wasn't getting any thrills, but to be fair, she was just as unaware of some of the, errrm, more daring moves that she'd read about in the book.

Then began the coffee-machine flirting with Steve. He was taller than Jeremy, and was a cheeky sod. He'd spotted the book poking out of the top of her handbag and had teased her incessantly about it ever since. He kept making outrageous suggestions but yet again it was Sally who'd egged her on. Sally had suggested that Steve might help her 'blow away a few cobwebs' and eventually she thought 'fuck it, I'm going to call his bluff'.

And she did.

Only Steve wasn't bluffing. Steve was quite serious. Steve agreed to wine her, dine her, and then he '69ed' her. And it was fan-bloody-tastic!

It was so good that she soon decided that Jeremy had to go. So she wrote him a 'Dear Jeremy', packed her bags and moved out. Mum gave her such a bollocking. It wasn't leaving Jeremy so much, but leaving Stefan and Elisabeth was 'unforgiveable', and deep down she knew it was too, but she was having fun for the first time in, well, ever…

Until now.

The handcuffs were too tight. The gag was uncomfortable and she couldn't spit it out. The smell of sweat and rubber was making her feel quite sick but the gag was stopping her from doing anything.

She couldn't move, couldn't use their safe word, couldn't scream, couldn't even whimper and she was struggling to breathe.

And Steve wasn't paying any bloody attention to her. He was no help. He was fucking dead on the fucking floor.

Dead. And she was trapped.

He'd tripped over one of the handcuffs and smacked his head on the sideboard on the way down. The trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth and the glassy sightless gaze told her all she needed to know.

So her predicament was looking serious – a dawning realisation that she might not make it through the night and would be found bound, chained and gagged in all her glory was an inglorious way to go…

50 shades of Grey. She harrumphed again. I wonder if they'll carve that on my head stone?

Not the epitaph she'd have picked for herself.

Thursday

Blood Of Our Father (238 words)


With a backwards lurch of his head he pulls the belt ever tighter around his arm. He struggles to find a healthy one but eventually he pushes the needle into a vein, letting out an involuntary whimper as the skin is broken. He pulls the plunger back and fills the chamber with his life's essence.

He pauses and his heart races with anticipation, he enjoys this moment almost as much as the high that follows and likes to draw it out for as long as he dares. Finally he caves in and fires the plunger home, flooding his body with the poison it craves. The whimper is replaced with an orgasmic groan as the drug charges through his body, all of his aches, pains and troubles melt away.

He closes his eyes, holds his breath and savours the moment. Everything is going to be ok, he can quit anytime, this was just a special treat. Each lie easily following the one before.

Slowly he opens his heavy lidded eyes, frees his arm and wriggles the fingers trying to get the feeling back in them. Wary of being caught he cleans up after himself, stowing his gear deep in the pockets of his robe.

He splashes some water on his face, slaps his cheeks to get some colour back in them, adjusts his clothes and steps out to address the audience.


"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today …"

Wednesday

The Journey by @mrsbumsmith (315 Words)


She needed to get away. She needed to go on a life changing journey. She needed to discard the monotonous certainty of her life like an old pair of knickers, once a loved pair of lacy thongs, now a pair of grey over the belly affairs. Her life was good once, but now it was quite simply mundane.

 She prepared mentally for the journey. She knew where to start it and where she would like it to end. She reminisced, 'If only life could be the same again' There was no going back. She hoped that the journey would help her regain her once youthful vitality. Her lust for life had bowed and ebbed, like the waves of the ocean. It now lapped at the safe, sandy beach. She craved her previous life that was like a tsunami. Huge, unpredictable waves crashing down on unsuspecting spectators. But there had been a change in the tide. That momentous occasion to change her forever for good.

With these memories fresh in her mind she mentally prepared. This journey would help her become the person she once was. She knew that the residue of that person was still there. It hadn't been totally replaced by the new duller, opaque her.

There was no more thinking left to do. Her waiting was coming to an end. The vehicle that would drive her on to her new beginning was about to arrive. She gathered her thoughts and her belongings and leaped into her new future. The past was gone, her then can no longer be her now. She was going on this journey for the good of her well being. If only to find a semblance of her previous incarnation.

 The new Mum stepped onto the bus 'one single adult fare to Manchester please' And that was her, hurtling towards her now, her first day at her new part-time job.

Tuesday

The Return Of The Good Doctor (486 words)


I snap on a pair of gloves and drum my fingers on my spotlessly clean desk. The gloves are the only thing the board let me cling onto from my old ways and after a spell in rehab and a sex addiction course I was deemed fit to practice again. It has always made me giggle how we refer to it as "practising" no other line of work would take the years of studying into account and admit that we don't really know what we are doing.

I take a deep breath and risk a glance at the clock; it's a digital one after the incessant tick-tock of the old one threatened to tip me back over the edge. Surgery has been open a whole five minutes and I'm already bored out of my mind.

I sigh and press the buzzer to summon Mrs McGee. I like Mrs McGee she has a cracking pair of titties on her and I used to like to "examine" them regardless of what ailment she came in with. I managed to convince her once the best way to check for cancer was to suckle on her nipples for a few minutes. I think she knew it wasn't strictly true but preferred it to the honking I gave them when she came in with sore knees.

With a polite rap on the door she glides in and my heart melts, she is every bit as beautiful as I remember her. Sure at seventy five she is no spring chicken but she doesn't look a day over sixty eight. I smile and give her my best gp voice, authoritative yet gentle and soothing, I tell her to take a seat and tell me what the problems are today.

She sits and crosses her legs; there is a brief flash of stocking top and I'm instantly hard. I grip the edge of the desk until it feels like my knuckles are going to explode. Remembering the breathing exercises they taught me at the "retreat" I take a minute and find my centre. When I open my eyes she is staring at me with a worried look on her face.

"Are you ok doctor? Do you want me to take my top off?"

"I don't think that would help either of us at the moment Mrs McGee." I stammer, my grip on reality growing weaker by the second.

"But what about the lump I've found?"

"Oh yes, well you better had then hadn't you?"

As she slowly unbuttons her blouse I know I am at a crossroads in my life, I can continue on the path of the righteous or I can embrace the devil within. She unclips her bra, a lacy black number, and her perfect breasts drop to her knees.

Decision made, I snap on a few pairs of gloves and lick my lips.

It's going to be a long day.

Monday

The Sisterhood by @lucy_Magnuson (485 Words)






They worked by candle light, the scratching of the quills over the rough parchment acting as an accompaniment to the background hum. The faithful hard at work before evening prayers.


There was always need to copy the Book, always more coming to the flock, in need of guidance, in need of support, of hope in the chaos. Life had little hope in the Age of Darkness

The crops had failed this year, the Abbey was over run with pilgrims and the desperate, families hoping for shelter and food. To access the famed nursing skills of the Sisters who resided within the stone walls. Safe from the Barons who taxed and worked the serfs to an early grave.

And they shared. They shared their meagre supplies. They always did. It was in the Book, in their teachings, in the words of the Messiah. You didn't look out for the self, you provided for fellow believers, for those who knew he was the chosen one. The one who loved them. Faith in him kept them strong.

Sister Antoinette watched the candle burn. It would have to be extinguished soon. Light was a precious commodity in the long winter months. But evening prayers were her favourite time of day and as much as she wanted to complete her embellished letter tonight, it could wait. Her love for Him was far greater than any pride in her work.

Extinguishing all but a couple of the candles, the Sisters shuffled along the cold corridors, their feet bound in the sandals they had made when they promised their lives in devotion to Him and his word.

Antoinette looked at her robes, they needed cleaning but clean water was more precious than the candles and pride, while not a sin, was unbecoming. Her duty was to Him, her life in servitude to spread his message, to help fellow believers.

The chapel was full, as expected. Tonight was one of the holiest of nights in the Sisters calendar, the background hum overwhelming, Antoinette found a corner to stand, to reflect, to prepare for the ritual. To show her devotion to Him.

Father Merek raised his hands. And so it began,

'Sisters, pilgrims, children of the true flock. It is upon us again, the night we show our love for the one true Saviour, he who loves us and shall show us a way out of the darkness'

The winter winds picked up outside, the hum in the chapel peaked with them. The Sisters looked up briefly, but it died back down, back to background levels.



Father Merek reached for the Alter, raising the knife, he took it to his wrist 'Sisters, let us Cut for Bieber'

As Antoinette sliced her knife into her skin, she heard the hum of the Geiger counter. 750 years since the great cleansing and still the true Bieliebers waited for Justin to come save them from the darkness.  

Friday

Who'd be a Warlock? by @neilsehmbhy (500 Words)


Shuffling forward as fast as the line would let her she bounced lightly on her toes to get a better look. It was no good. Whoever was standing in front of her was as tall as a giant and smelt like one too. Except giants were dead. Everyone knew that.

It turned out the monstrosity blocking her view was in fact a troll, explaining the smell.

'Next'. A voice called.

Petunia stepped forward nervously. 
'Name'? A very officious looking reptile sat behind a plain wooden desk handling a quill in its claws.

' Errm Petunia.' she whispered gently.

'What? Speak up! There's a queue don't you know.' The lizard tapped its claws impatiently.  Petunia looked at its nametag. Zvvbhar. Did that mean she was male or female?

Clearing her throat she opened her mouth wide like she had practiced and said 'Petunia Clark'.

'Better,' the lizard said primly pursing its lips. Definitely a female.'Speciality?'

' Warlock', replied Petunia glibly.

'A Warlock? You? Look stop messing around. You don't get girl Warlocks. Especially Dwarf ones. Those bumps on your chest aren't moobs you know?'

'But I am a Warlock.' Replied Petunia indignantly, her face flushed from embarrasment as she self consciously folded her arms across her chest.

Someone behind her in the queue said 'Stupid dwarf thinks shes a Warlock,' 

'Twat.' thought Petunia.

"Yeah? And I'm a dragon overlord," Zvvvhar said.

"No, seriously. I'm a flipping warlock. My whole family is. I can do stuff." Petunia said angrily.

"By stuff, you mean drinking ogre pee or smoking that green herb the goblins peddle? ' said Zvvvhar winking.

Petunia was bright red at this point and could feel heat radiating from her head.

'No magic and incantations.  Things like that.'she said through gritted teeth.

'Sure your not getting mixed up with Witches. Or Sorcerers. 
We did have a girl Sorceror once.  Think she was called Chloe or something.' The lizard looked up, her tongue flicking out to the side as she studied the girls face.

'I'm not a witch. I haven't got a wand see.'said Petunia waving her hands.

'I'm not a Sorceror either. I'm a Warlock.' Reaching behind her she pulled a long object off her back and carefully unwrapped it.

'I have a staff see? Got it off my Grandad.' Petunia gave the staff a little shake.

'Whoa there! Don't shake that in here! It looks like one I suppose. Prove it then.' Zvvvhar replied smugly.

'Prove it?' Petunia asked.

'Yeah do something Warlocky.' The lizard rasped.

'Right'. Petunia concentrated hard letting her emotions settle like her Grandad had told her. When the warmth and buzzing in her head got too much to hold, she released the energy through the staff aiming for Zvvvhar.

POP! BOOOM!

The smoke slowly settled and Zvvvhar had been replaced by a plastic teapot.

'Welcome to Winblem's school for magical creatures. Can you change me back now please? Squeaked Zvvvhar the teapot.

Petunia smiled triumphantly 'Sure no problem.'