# Do Something With These Words...



## J.L. Franklin (May 23, 2014)

quaint


 vivacious


 cantankerous


 inexorable


 heinous


 nullify


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## Kepharel (May 25, 2014)

As I passed by a quaint little cottage overlooking the sea, all thatch and honeysuckle, a vivacious looking woman carrying a pail opened the door and made for the Well near the vegetable patch.  As she was about to draw some water a cantankerous looking old man in a Peasant's Smock approached her, straw dangling from his mouth.  As he ogled lasciviously down her blouse he gurned a homicidal grin.  Inexorably I began to realise he didn't have a tooth in his head.  With a haughty expression she slapped him repeatedly about his bald pate for daring even to think such heinous misdeeds, so to nullify the impact he turned and ran through the front gate and down the lane..  Thank goodness for that I thought!


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## thepancreas11 (Jun 6, 2014)

Okay, now do something with these words:

Flatulence

Ignorance

Relevance

Malevolence

Condolence

And when you do write it, suggest new words that we can write with!


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## Bishop (Jun 6, 2014)

"Excuse me," Jack said, once the stares from his friends relayed their discovery of his blast.

"What the HELL was that?" Mike asked.

"Gaseous planets like Jupiter are some of the largest planetoid bodies in space," Rick said.

"Was that really relevant?" Sarah gave Rick a quizzical look, and he shrugged his shoulders. Soon, as the air in the room shifted, all eyes were on Jack again, this time with a shared look of disgust.

"Dude! That's... GOD!" Mike shouted in anger.

"Sorry!" Jack said, face turning red.

---------

Next words:

Quasar

Buick

Abstract

Mongolian

Chartreuse

(I refuse to make it easy!)


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## thepancreas11 (Jun 6, 2014)

(First, I have to admit, wonderfully done with the interpretation, Bishop)

Roy had painted the word "Quasar" on his old, beat-up Buick. He stepped back, put his helmet on, and grabbed his goggles.

Next to him, Larry put on his helmet too, stepping into a Chartreuse Oldsmobile withe the words "The Mongolian" painted on the side. "Good luck, Roy," he said, giving him a thumbs up. "Ain't no way you take down The..dun dun dun...Mongolian."

"Aw, now that's an abstract thought, Larry: you doin' anythin' 'cept sittin' in the middle o' the ring yellin' that yer transmission's broke," he said and laughed. "This ain't no race. This's a Demo Derby. Best keep that in mind."


Next words:
kite

underpants

gourd

elephant

yeast


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## Hitotsmami (Jun 6, 2014)

They flew my underpants up on a kite for the whole school to see.

Recess freed us from our cooking elective where we learned about yeast and bread and baking, but I wanted nothing more than to go back inside and hide.

"Stop it!" I pleaded on my knees, but the bullies just laughed.

"Shut it, gourd-head!" said Richy, the meanest of the bullies. He pulled the spool and the kite soared over the students heads and everyone laughed.

They were blue with big white elephants printed on. It wasn't until the principal came out that that the Richy pulled the kite down and gave it back to me, but my face was red with tears by then.

---

I'm not convinced I pulled the yeast part off, haah.

Next five words:

Mistake
Startle
Holiday
Faucet
Champagne


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## aliveatnight (Jun 8, 2014)

Hitotsmami, your story made me really sad! That poor kid.
----
It was finally the holiday season. My family was sitting around, having just finished decorating the Christmas tree when I began to hear yelling coming from the other side of the room. Quickly spinning around, I saw my dad holding a champagne bottle in his hand, his face pulled down into an angry scowl. He stormed past me and went into the kitchen, but quickly emerged looking even angrier. He slammed the sink's faucet on the ground and began screaming that "It was a mistake! I didn't mean to break it!". His booming voice was so loud that it would startle even the strongest person. Fed up of yet another night being ruined I went to the corner of the room and just waited for the night to finally be over.
----
Next 5 words:
Bear
Airplane
Fantasy
Bread
Phone


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## Hitotsmami (Jun 9, 2014)

Nice use there, aliveatnight!

---

"I'm telling you, there's a bear on the wing!" I pressed my cellphone to my ear as I watched the bear claw his way up the wing towards my window.

My wife laughed on the other end. "Sure, honey. Hey, are you allowed to use your cell on the plane?"

"This is an emergency! Oh my god, it's getting closer." I heard the pop of a toaster. "Are you making toast? There's a bear on the wing!"

"Get some rest honey." I heard the crunch of toasty bread. "And call me back when you get in LA and out of your fantasy world."

I heard the dial tone and stared at my phone in disbelief. I looked back out the small round window and there was the bear, its paws against the glass and snarling.

---

Next five words:

Planet
Conduct
Steam
Divorce
Illusion


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## J.L. Franklin (Jun 10, 2014)

I accept your challenge! This time next week (at least, that is my plan! I have really begun to challenge myself and my writing skills!)  I shall have a completed project AND a new set of words! Be there...


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## thepancreas11 (Jun 12, 2014)

J.L., it's just a cutesy little competition, my friend. On the spot! Hitotsmami wrote about underpants, right?

"You need to divorce yourself from the idea that we are the only planet that can harbor life," Elsa said, pointing at the night's sky, the condensed, cold air pouring out of her mouth like jets of steam. I could see her brain working like some kind of old fashioned engine. "They're definitely out there. We just get the illusion that we're alone because we can't see them, can't hear them."

"Maybe so, but I'll be the judge of that. Alone until proven otherwise, councilor."

She rolled her eyes. "You're into mathematics, Barnaby, into logic."

"Well, yes," I answered. "I understand that logically we can't be the only ones, it's just more of a humanist thing."

This time she rolled her whole body towards me, the stars wreathing her head like little dew drops. "Let's conduct an experiment, shall we? You go on believing that life will never exist anywhere else. Tell me that the chances some other planet has life is 1 in 100 billion." She nodded, her eyes wide. "Then I'll tell you how many billion planets are in this galaxy alone, and then I'll tell you about the millions and millions of galaxies alone--"

"You don't get it," I said, putting a finger to her lips, her intellect seeping into my body and warming it from the inside even as I frustrated her. "I understand the numbers, I'd just like to think that we're special."

She squinted. "Are you trying to be romantic?"

I pulled her in. "Well, I didn't take you out beneath the stars to talk about aliens, if that's what you're asking."


NEXT FIVE WORDS:
umbrella

unicorn

unitard

unctuous

ubiquitous


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## Bishop (Jun 12, 2014)

Love it, Panc. Great work! 

"That is... interesting," Richard stared at the creatures, absolutely floored by what he was seeing. Before him stood dozens--perhaps hundreds--of them down in the valley, running about on their hooves, thundering the grassy hillside in chaos.

"I made them myself," Dr. Cholera said, "This way, people will think good things when they hear the name Cholera!"

"They're... Unicorns..." Richard said, giving the man an incredulous eye. He stared at him for only a second, before being forced to look back at them. They were unicorns, that was true. A whole race of them. But not as Richard had imagined. They had umbrellas attached to their horns, and wore black unitards over their bodies and limbs. "Why the... accessories?"

"Well, in order to make it more fun," Dr. Cholera smiled and pressed a button on his remote, and a wave of oily liquid poured from the heavens and doused the unicorns, all but their heads.

"What... why...?" Richard watched as the unicorns began slipping and sliding about, bumping into one another and all around being rambunctious.

"Get the camera," Dr. Cholera said, "This, my boy... is history. I'll call it... Ubiquitous Amounts Of Unctuous Unicorns Bearing Umbrellas and Unitards. Part II."

-----------------------------------------------------

Next words:

Foot
Clock
Assault
Mariachi
Cholera (Challenge for bonus points: Fulfill Dr. Cholera's dream... use this word in a positive way!)


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## T.S.Bowman (Jun 13, 2014)

"Paging Dr. Cholera." The voice over the intercom grated on what seemed to be his last nerve. "Dr. Cholera, to the E.R. stat!"

     Upon reaching the Emergency Room, he looked to the on duty nurse and said "What seems to be such an urgent problem that I had to stop in the middle of my lunch break?"

     "Well, Dr. the man in room three is a part of a Mariachi band who, witnesses say, irritated a man while playing on a street corner."

     "Yes, yes. Get to the point" the doctor said irritably. "What are his injuries?"

     The nurse rolled her eyes in exasperation. "It would seem that he has someone's foot planted firmly in his behind, Doctor."

     "That's a new one. Here I thought I had seen everything."

     "Not yet, Doctor. There is also a second member of the band who was assaulted when he got clocked in the jaw while trying to intervene. It's not broken, so we figured you could triage the band leader before seeing his partner."

     The good doctor nodded his approval. "Nicely done nurse. My apologies for being so rude a moment ago."

     The nurse, having gotten used to the doctor's outbursts, smiled and said "No problem, doctor."

     "Where are the other members of the band?"

     "In the waiting room. We couldn't allow them back here."

     "Oh to hell with it" Dr. Cholera replied. "Bring them on back. We may as well have some music while I try to remove the foot."

___________________________________________

Next set of words

Fish

Basket

Rose 

Hair

Mud

*note* I typed out my little story in about 5 minutes, then told my girlfriend I needed 5 more words. LOL


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## Bishop (Jun 13, 2014)

Why do I get the feeling Dr. Cholera will now be a recurring character in these?


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## T.S.Bowman (Jun 13, 2014)

Bishop said:


> Why do I get the feeling Dr. Cholera will now be a recurring character in these?



He most likely will be when I decide to give it another shot. LOL


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## Kepharel (Jun 13, 2014)

No real story... just an exercise in descriptive narrative so folks aren't going to get much out of it 


----------------------------------

Berwyn stood in the middle of the narrow country lane, feeling the heat of a midsummer sun beat down on his head and the softening, now spongy, tarmac beneath his feet. He was tired and the air, radiating and shimmering above the floor was slowly sapping his reserves of energy.  The tall hawthorn hedgerows either side gave his situation a claustrophobic feel.  Foxgloves with their short, tubular, cerise flowers, like fat little fingers, seemed to lean outwards and towards him in a gesture of threat. The metal frame of his bike, that he could now only push, due to his exhaustion,was almost too hot to touch, and the once Ice cold bottle of lemonade in the basket on the handlebars had long since succumbed to the summer sun, and could no longer offer any respite.


Running his hands through his sweat matted hair he squinted into the distance, and saw ahead of him what might be a sanctuary from his torment in the shape of a large Horse Chestnut tree, branches stretching out across the road almost to the thatched roof of a house opposite. It was enough to give him the impetus to make the next step, and the next, until he found himself under the dappled shade of the tree. Letting the bike fall from his exhausted hands he almost collapsed into the cool green grass and stared thankfully up into the branches of the tree above him and beyond into the cobalt blue of the sky.  As his senses returned, Berwyn heard the liquid tinkle of a stream, and saw that it run in front, and parallel to the hedge, a colony of Hart's Tongue ferns, and a solitary Dog Rose beyond.


In a flash he removed his shoes and socks, grabbed the lemonade bottle from the bike, and emptied it.  First, dipping the, now empty, bottle into the stream, he held it until the cool water had filled to the brim.  Next, he buried his feet in the delicious coolness of the stream, pushing and squishing his toes under the mud and sand bed.  Putting the bottle to his lips, he took a draft of the sweetest tasting water into his parched mouth, and another and another, until he was finally sated.  As he watched some nearby fish upstream of him, he had only to stretch out his hand to pick a single Dog rose; twirling the flower by the stem..... _and I could go on and on etc etc.

cage

glove

dandelion

meringue

knot



_


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## Paulbee (Jun 14, 2014)

Dr Collar glanced over at the cage where the combat budgie, Septimus Bloodspilla, was ripping a glove apart. The breeding experiment had failed, mused the doctor as he sipped the dandelion tea. Septimus was not supposed to try and help himself to a finger. Collar helped himself to another meringue. He was about to decide how to kill the bird, when he saw it tie a knot in one of the glove fingers. Collar sniffed, intelligent, short-tempered and psychotic? Traits common to most politicians of his acquaintance. Perhaps there was a market for his budgies after all.

Serendipity

Muscular

Nasal

Marine

Duplicity


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## Kepharel (Jun 15, 2014)

Serendipity Evans adjusted his Non-Conformist Presbyterian Dog’s Collar in a way that seemed to suggest to his congregation that there may be an Achilles heel in his faith.  Within the corrugated confines of the Tabernacle in which they were all seated they had just heard him say that striped shrouds should be encouraged as they were a genuine attempt to ‘give god a giggle’.  He knew that the alliteration, though meant in jest, had gone too far this time, and he was on borrowed time.

Edith Evans (no relation) felt she should stand up on behalf of the whole congregation. In the most solemn voice she could manage she began.

“Pastor, this has gone too far.”  

The congregation nodded, and Serendipity Evans began to wilt.  Fear etched his face; even his cultured, muscular handlebar moustache began to sag disconcertedly.  In the small window of silent opportunity Edith produced her nasal spray from within her handbag, knowing her next words should be clear and concise if they were ever to rid themselves of this Pastor’s attempts at levity.

“Why ever would you think god has a sense of humour?  The very thought is ridiculous.  Good gracious, God gave, graciously, Gavin Goodriches gonads a golden opportunity…..”

Serendipity Evans smirk heralded a force ten gale of laughter that echoed around the Tabernacle.  He knew Gavin, a marine who had gone ‘native’ while on duty in Uzbekistan and fathered many little expatriates due to the duplicity of The Merthyr Mawr Family Planning clinic.  Their botched ‘snip’, subsequently covered up, was the real reason behind the fruitful proliferation of little Goodriches.  

hero
melanoma
whisky
solitude
wristband


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## T.S.Bowman (Jun 16, 2014)

He had had a hero, once. When the diagnosis (melanoma oh my God how could it be cancer) came he had looked to the man who's name was synonymous with the words fighter, champion, survivor. He had bought the wristband. He had bought it all.

But now, he sits in solitude. Wife, gone. She couldn't handle the strain. Children, avoiding him because they don't want to watch him "suffer." Don't they know that he is suffering all the more because they won't visit him?

Now, he sits. His only solace a bottle of cheap whiskey. He holds on to that bottle for dear life. He knows he doesn't have much time left. He is going to call his daughter tomorrow. He wants to see his grandchildren. He'll go so far as to beg her if he has to.

But tonight, he sits. Alone. 

__________________________________________

Thai

monkey

efficiency

Mario

scalding


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## T.S.Bowman (Jun 29, 2014)

Really? Was the last bit I wrote so depressing that no one can find it within themselves to write something?? LOL


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## thepancreas11 (Jul 7, 2014)

Dr. Cholera looked up from his Thai food and smiled at Claire with a piece of spinach caught between his teeth. "Dear, you do look marvelous."

Claire's scalding hot gaze would have burned through a less oblivious man. As it was, Dr. Cholera's gaping smiled did not dim in the slightest. "I'm here because you're paying me, Mario."

"Please, call me Dr. Cholera," he said, raising his eyebrows. "We're in a fancy place, Claire. Best Thai food in the Tri-State area. It makes me feel more important, and please, no more mention of the payment. I want this to seem like a torrid affair."

"Can't be that good," Claire muttered, under her breath. "Where's the food?" she said louder. "I'd expect a little better efficiency out of the finest Thai restaurant in the Tri-State area."

Mario Cholera shrugged, licking his lips. "The best things take some time, my dear. Sweet romances, for example."

"Can it be a sweet romance if I'm on the clock?"

Dr. Cholera leaned in close, his hot breath making her retreat but not fast enough to avoid him grabbing her wrist. "It can be if you let it, my little love monkey."

NEXT WORDS:
usurp

rambunctious

halved

gargle

tuxedo


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## Pluralized (Jul 7, 2014)

Algo brought the filthy glass to his lips, took a long pause to gargle the halved dose of warm liquid, working hard to suppress his gag reflex. The liquified fat of a dead man tasted of bitter revenge. To absorb even a modicum of the dead man's dna would delight him. The fat tasted of almonds and salt-pork, but left a rotten taste in his mouth. He finished it and spluttered a gray-white spray of fat-spittle onto the sleeve of his tuxedo. Back inside the room, rambunctious guests waited and he felt a surge of concern over the appearance of the stain. They might be partying too hard to notice, he reasoned, but anyone with a taste for fat would be enraged. He'd usurped them, fat-wise. Setting the glass down he grasped the corner of the tablecloth and wiped it clean.  

Fisticuffs

Concatenation

Plumped

Melodious

Plaque


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## T.S.Bowman (Jul 14, 2014)

Let me go look up 'Concatenation' in the dictionary and I'll get back to ya.


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## Kepharel (Jul 14, 2014)

The I.T lady absent mindedly plumped her extravagant breasts, which fell alluringly across the keyboard as she continued with her Excel presentation on advanced functions. For the life of me I could not see any use for the Concatenation function, and told her so in no uncertain terms. Pushing a breast aside in order to get an uninterrupted view of the screen I was surprised by a mobile phone falling carelessly onto the desk from the inside of her cleavage. It immediately gave off a melodious tone and a picture of a tattooed looking moron appeared with the name Rickie Rotunda beneath.  His smile was only momentary, until he saw me with a pair of pendulous breasts resting against each of my ears which he recognised immediately as belonging to the I.T. lady, his I.T. lady. Taken aback by the dangerous looking plaque in his mouth I was unable to understand a word he was saying, until I realised my unconventional ear-muffs were the cause of the problem. By then it was already too late for me because he was in the lift and heading my way. The resulting fisticuffs were quite perfunctory really, the bicycle chain around his knuckles the deciding factor in my hospitalization.

Calligraphy
flatulence
playwright
mendacious


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## thepancreas11 (Jul 14, 2014)

"You mendacious bastard! I saw you smooching Gladys." Dorothy clocked Harold over the head with her cane. The orderlies came running toward them but not before a flood of red had blossomed over Harold's eyes.

"Dagnabit, Dot, will you listen to the flatulence coming out of your mouth?" he yelled, fencing her off with his walker. "Gladys has been dead for two years now." He dragged a finger beneath his nose to stop the blood from pouring into his mouth. "And she was my wife. Of course I smooched her."

Understanding tramped across Dot's wrinkled face. "She's what?"

"She's dead, you bag of bones." Tears began to mingle with the blood. "I'd appreciate it if you'd stop bringing it up every chance you get."

The orderlies stood stock still watching the old man cry, not sure whether to step in or leave them be. The violence seemed to be over.

"I--I'm sorry, Harold."

"Yeah, I know you are," Harold said, pushing aside her cane. "Getting older sucks, doesn't it?"

He grabbed her hand and helped her down the hallway. "They've got Calligraphy lessons down the hall, Dot. You up for it?"

She sniffed. "I'll forget it tomorrow for sure."

"So what, I ain't going to be a playwright anytime soon, and I'm doing it. It's about the experience." He stroked her shoulder. "Let's live while we can, eh?"

NEXT WORDS:
cantankerous
pianist
hash
ogre
rocket


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## T.S.Bowman (Jul 15, 2014)

Dr. Cholera was in a cantankerous mood.

Two days ago, his wife had run off with some sissy pianist after telling the good doctor that she was tired of him acting like an ogre. 

So, tonight, the good doctor, after a dinner of corned beef hash, goes in search of a rocket propelled grenade launcher. He'll show her and her pianist just how much of an ogre he can be.

Next words:

bemused
antithesis 
strawberry
children
sponge


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## Kepharel (Jul 15, 2014)

I am sitting here on a bench in the town square, completely bemused by all around. I’ve always lived in this town, but to tell the truth much of the fabric, the buildings, roads even, I no longer recognise. I live somewhere else now, apparently, and no-one even bothered to tell me; just went ahead and changed stuff around when I wasn’t looking. If I try hard enough I can find similarities, well, of sorts.  People still hang around on street corners I notice.  Fifty years ago it was big boots, belts and braces and flat caps, in the throes of inebriation brought about by rough cider and warm beer. Today, it’s still there as a kind of antithesis of what was, with NY baseball caps back to front, Nike trainers, flea market joggers, and cans of weak fizzy lager.  What isn’t there is pride and respect for others, quite where that went I don’t think I’m ever going to figure out.

A little girl sits next to me while her mum is distracted by a shop window.  She is eating a strawberry sponge out of a small plastic container. I’m not sure whether to envy her or not. No need to make a choice yet about whether to turn left or right on life’s path, no dead ends, no regrets.  I see children differently now, I suppose; hemmed in by a society suspicious of the motives of strangers, convoyed by parents from one place to another, where I and my friends roamed unfettered through streets at all hours as kids. There again, with a few exceptions, perhaps in a way its better we don’t always learn from the past.  True, we will end up making the same mistakes, but isn’t life about making mistakes anyway.  How else are we going to learn?

Undigested
Simpleton
Floozy
Distinguished


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## Deafmute (Jul 15, 2014)

Sharon's face contorted, her bemused expression  the antithesis of what Roger had expected. "What do you not get this time, Shar?" 

"Why did you give the strawberries to those children?" She replied slowly. "They were yours, what benefit do you get in giving them up?"

Roger sighed, this was going to be harder than he had thought. Turning around the room he looked for a new teaching tool. His eyes drifted to the kitchen sink. Picking up a sponge he held in front of her. "Its like this, Shar." spinning the porous object around he passed it over the counter top a few times scrubbing off an old stain. "This spot is clean now. The rest of the house may still be dirty, but this one spot at least is clean. Sometimes even if you can't fix everything it feels good to fix what you can."

"I still don't get it..."

edit: dang missed the new one.


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## Kepharel (Jul 15, 2014)

Deafmute said:


> edit: dang missed the new one.



No law says you can't....btw you've not put the next prompts up so get to it!


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## Deafmute (Jul 15, 2014)

alright well I guess people will get to choose then between mine and yours. 

Prompt:

encumbered 
echololia 
precipitous
fathom


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## T.S.Bowman (Jul 26, 2014)

Dr. Cholera sat and tried to fathom how it was possible for a writer to force another to be encumbered by trying to find a use for the word 'echololia'. It seemed, to him, a precipitous plunge into the thesaurus would be in order. 

He shuddered just thinking about it.

____________________________

Blasphemy
cobalt
takedown
mongrel


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## thepancreas11 (Aug 10, 2014)

"Barry Cobalt, of Cobalt Industries," the man in the well-pressed suit said, flashing a plastic smile. "You must be Henrietta."

"Call me Hank," I said, flatly. "How did you know?"

Barry nudged my arm with his fist. "You look a lot like your father, a chip off the old block. How is the old mongrel?"

"Dead," I said, arching an eyebrow and sipping some whiskey. "Two months now. Car accident."

"Blasphemy!" He shouted, shaking his head a little too dramatically. "I thought nothing could take down The Beast."

I shrugged. "Nothing except a little alcohol and Toyota Corolla." I held my empty glass out for Barry. "How about you buy me some whiskey in his memory, and we'll mourn together." I touched his hand. "You in, Bar?"


NEXT WORDS:
honk
goat
gator
sapling
iodine


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## T.S.Bowman (Mar 7, 2015)

Time to bring this one back, I think.

"Hey" Eustace said "tie that damn goat to that sapling over there. It's close enough to the river so that ole' gator will have no trouble getting up there to get him."

Paul, who had been blowing his nose, gave a last, wheezing honk into the handkerchief, wadded it up and put it back into his pocket, then stood up to do as ordered.

The goat, not willing to be tied up easily, bit Paul on the nose. After much cursing and a couple of kicks in the goat's general direction, Paul finally managed to get it tied to the small tree.

As he joined Eustace in the boat he said, "You think this is gonna get infected?"

"I dunno" came the reply. "We'll put some iodine on it once we get back to the cabin."


Next set

spaghetti
meatballs
muffin
cake
spaceship


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## T.S.Bowman (Nov 28, 2015)

Oh, come on, people!

No posts since March? Was it Dr Cholera that killed it? LOL

I know we can get this little challenge going again.


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## Red Sonja (Nov 29, 2015)

One hospital I used to work in had a doctor named "Hugh Ovary" AND he was a gynecologist AND he was a surgeon. So they would be paging "Dr. Hugh (Hew) Ovary." 

Anyway: 

spaghetti
meatballs
muffin
cake
spaceship


(A scene, not an entire story)

Spaghetti and meatballs, and a poppy-seed muffin with room enough only for one brave little candle, its flame trembling in the draft from the kitchen window, for a fifth-birthday dinner. Not the spaceship-shaped cake that had been at his school friend's party two weeks ago that he hadn't been able to stop talking about since. I felt guilty about the two (losing) lotto tickets and pint of (really cheap) vodka I'd wasted money on coming home tonight, but assuaged my conscience by reminding myself those few dollars would have only bought half a spaceship cake, anyway.

At least I'd been able to get him the game he'd wanted, even though that meant we'd be eating baloney sandwiches and canned fruit cocktail for dinner for the next few days until I got paid again.

Does Stew complain? Oh, never! He still loves his mom's spaghetti the best, and says so, but at least he talks about her less and less over time. His mom, the bitch. (To add insult to injury, she's only my half-sister.) Giving him spaghetti out of a can so she can buy crack for her and her so-called "boyfriend." But he loves it! And her "special" garlic toast. What's so special about it, you may ask? It's Italian dressing on bread toasted in a toaster. Because (high squeaky bitch-voice) "butter is BAD for you!" The bitch. 

He's a good Stew, though, and very perceptive. He knows it upsets me when he makes references to his mom's cooking, her perfume, her laugh, her taking him to movies, to the park – and anything else about her, really. I can't help it and he always senses it, especially since we've been at such close quarters for almost a year now.

How dismal and tragic that I'm the best thing this kid has going right now, that I'm the only thing standing between him and foster care, and that just barely. Tragic, but I can't wallow in that with Stew around, at least. At least there's that. I'm a happy drunk, these days. A determinedly happy drunk.

"Uncle Dre? Aren't we gonna sing?"

Here I sit, staring out the damned window, fists clenched, while wax drips on my nephew's birthday "cake."

Just like always, that boy's smile is like water on a hot day. The image of his mother and the stench of her endless drama dissolves like a reflection in a pond and my smile swims up to greet his from the murky depths of my troubled soul. Baloney sandwiches and being happy will be the pattern of all my days.

"Sorry, little man. Just tired after work. Ready to sing now?"

We both start singing "Happy Birthday To You" just as the people one floor up begin their every-other-night drunken shouting match. Stew giggles, sings louder, and so do I and we finally end with a histrionic, opera-volume: "TOOOOO-OOOOOO… YOOOUUUUU!!!!" collapsing in a storm of childish laughter, realizing after a moment that our noise has startled the upstairs drunks into silence, which makes us laugh even more. 

*NEXT FIVE WORDS:

Typewriter
Obstreperous 
Fan (can be any use of verb or form of noun) 
Placate
Diapers 
*


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## Shi (Nov 29, 2015)

Finally.

A typewriter.

She's finally gotten her hands on a legitimate typewriter, the kind that clicks and has that little roller for the paper and needs her to go _chii-ink_ to start a new line. The kind with the font that she always emulates.

"Daddy, thank you thank you thank you!" she squealed, hovering her hands over the machine, not daring to touch in case it was all a dream and the typewriter wasn't there.

Her father chuckled, ruffling her hair.

"Bring it up to your room and we'll set it up, Jane Eyre," he said.

***

A week later, she was frustrated.

She didn't know it would be so _hard_ to write with a typewriter - she was too used to typing on a computer with it's automatic capitalizing of the 'I', the automatic capitalizing of the letter after a full-stop, the automatic spelling corrections.

She had already wasted so many papers, what'll happen to the poor trees?!

The ceiling fan whopped unhelpfully, and just as she glared at the typewriter now sitting on her table, the baby in the other room began to cry.

"Nanny!" she called, annoyed.

When the elderly woman didn't reply, she stuck her head out of her room. "Nanny! The baby!"

And then she remembered the nanny was out shopping for tonight's groceries.

She whacked her head against the doorframe.

Just her luck.

With that, she strode to the nursery, where the baby was nearly howling.

When she approached him, the acidic stench of urine hit her.

"Argh," she said, waving a hand in front of her nose. The baby had wet his diapers.

A few minutes later, the baby was clean again, and she rocked the crib, trying to placate the red-eyed baby with a teddy bear.

Nonetheless, she apparently didn't do a good job, because it began to howl, again.

"Obstreperous devil," she muttered, giving up, and when her brain informed her politely that in no world would she be able to spell 'obstreperous' without breaking her train of thought while using a typewriter, and she threw down the teddy bear in anger.

"Damn it all," she stalked back to her room, intending to console herself with some music while waiting for the nanny to return and deal with her baby brother.


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## Shi (Nov 29, 2015)

Oh and here's the next few words:

River
Hands
Flying
Life
Bulb


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## Red Sonja (Nov 29, 2015)

That's hilarious! 

PS, mine shows how much I know about kids: Who buys a five-year-old a GAME...? Nevertheless, I'm not changing the kid's age.


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## Red Sonja (Dec 16, 2015)

Shi said:


> Oh and here's the next few words:
> 
> River
> Hands
> ...



Haha, you wouldn't believe how difficult it was to figure out how to use the word "bulb" in this story fragment. It's pretty long; sorry about that! 

----------------

At first there was a headache, then an everything-ache. Then came awareness of being wet and muddy. There was a drizzle falling on me; I was lying in an unpaved, deeply rutted, road that was presently, and most fortunately, vacant of traffic.

I sat up. There was rain that seemed to be clearing though night was coming on, with a heavy, cold, humid murk setting in; trees all around, deciduous trees decked in varying shades of green (good, at least they didn't drop me into a place where it was winter); a wide muddy road that stretched off into a darkling forest and the light fading fast. There seemed to be no one about.

I didn't wonder if they'd taken my weapons, my food, my navigational devices, my survival kit, but I felt for them anyway in my pack which hung lightly, limply, emptily, soggily from my sore shoulders. Nope. I had been beaten, they had taken my things, so for now I was stuck here, where "here" was. I was without so much as a butter knife to defend myself. My personal magic was at such an ebb I decided then and there to reserve it in the event I needed to heal a broken bone or lacerated liver.

The ruts on the road indicated human activity, or at least human-like. I got up. I was hurting quite a bit but it seemed they had taken pains not to fuck me up too badly. Cowards. Even here at what had to be an absolute nadir of my power, they still feared to kill or even cripple me. It made me want to laugh (though I didn't due to my very sore sides).

With shaky hands I continued to grope my backpack as I limped to the trees to hide. It didn't appear as though I had any fellow-travelers on this road, but who could really tell?

In the couple of minutes since I'd opened my eyes, it had become so dark I could barely see enough to get in among the trees by the road.

There, in the reinforced lining of my backpack, was something. Daring to hope, my fingers traced the shape of the rood. It was still there! Strange that they hadn't thought to check linings, I reflected, and so thinking searched the secret recesses of my cloak for my spare Universal Currency Key. And found it. Wow! Of course, I would need some real local currency to use with the key or it wouldn't work, and from the looks of things I was either in a desolate area or the people here were very poor. Well, where there's the potential for money there's hope, right? And the rood, if it could be made to function in this continuum, might be the answer to my problems.

Taking the rood out in the deep gloom under the trees, I could see right away that it was unbroken, but depleted of energy. The bulb-shaped gem at its center gave off a dull, trembly, reddish glow that I could barely discern even with magic Sight. Hah. Well, didn't that just figure? But I still had it and I still had my Universal Currency Key. I had my backpack. I had my hat, boots, and relatively intact, though soiled, clothing.

If the rood had any power in it at all, it only had enough to do one or two things right now. Shivering, I pondered various courses of action while the dark came on. No one passed along the road, and there was hardly any sound except for the leaves dripping.

Shouldering my empty, bedraggled-looking backpack (which totally matched the rest of me, from what I could see in the dark), I walked out into the middle of the road. Now the darkness was nearly complete. At least the drizzle had stopped. The sky above darkened from gunmetal to charcoal.

Still I wondered why they had left me the rood. Hadn't its outline shown up in any of their scanners? A Universal Currency Key can be made of anything, which is why the one in my cloak had not been found, but the rood is mostly metal, and has a definite shape. Hm. Maybe they had just considered it just another toy, like (as I continued to feel the folds of my cloak, and my pockets) my penny flute. I pulled the flute out and, in spite of all my pain and mounting anger, suddenly I felt hope and I smiled. Then I laughed aloud. It hurt (even wincing at pain hurt).

The miraculously-unbroken flute was flimsy, but I doubted the scanners had missed it. My adversaries apparently just didn't take it and the rood seriously. Maybe they considered it sort of a joke? That was always possible.

I was relatively certain this wasn't a test. They had learned not to test me long ago. It was something else. One of their backhanded, "you made your bed now lie in it" assassination attempts, perhaps?

My most educated guess at the moment was that this continuum was an oubliette: Bad Magician goes in; Bad Magician doesn't come out. They perhaps had some other magicians who had pissed them off stashed here, then. There might also be some hope in that direction, if I could survive long enough to find these theoretical others.

I held the rood up and addressed it with the necessary words; it gave a wan, barely-perceptible flicker in reply. So far, so good.

"I ask it questions and seek truthful, short, replies. Flash once for yes and twice for no. Is there understanding?" One flicker like a weary eye, ready for sleep, opening and closing. "Is there a settlement of humans within a distance of five miles from this place?" One flicker. I nearly groaned with relief. The prospect of wet, dark miles of trudging with bruises and pain was not an enticing one, to say the least, but it was only five miles at most. I could crawl that far if necessary.

"Are these urbanized human beings?" After a pause, one flicker, then, slowly, another. The rood was becoming moribund now that the sun was below the horizon.

Shit. "Are these rural and village human beings?" One flicker. I waited for another but the rood remained quiet. Okay. I reflected for a moment on the best way to ask the next question, since it might be the last one. "Are these human beings civilized enough that they will not attack a stranger upon first sighting?" One flicker. Again I waited. The rood was still. Okay, so I wasn't totally screwed then. Mostly screwed, not totally screwed.

If I was lucky, the rood would be able to answer one or two more questions. I thought carefully. Facing the tree I had sheltered under, I said, "Is the nearest settlement of human beings on my right?" After what seemed a dreadfully long pause, the rood gave two weak, shuddery pulses. It had a bit more power left, perhaps, but I decided not to ask any more questions in case I needed to do something like make a light.

With a sigh, feeling every bruise, carefully I tucked the rood into the inner pocket of my leather vest, placed the tin flute back into the lining of my cloak, said a prayer for safe travel, settled my hat on my head, turned to my left, and started down the muddy, rutted road. Five or fewer miles. No problem!

A desultory, drawn-out mutter from the sky announced the arrival of more rain. At least it would wash some the mud from my clothing.

***

Sunrise saw me crouched hiding in bushes at the edge of a village. The sun came up and BOOM there was the heat. Mist rose in heavy billowing columns like smoke from the soaked ground. It started to get hot almost immediately. Animals penned in corrals at the village's perimeter began milling around and making noise. Fires were lit; I smelled smoke, then cooking, and my stomach complained.

From my estimation about two hundred souls inhabited this village that sprawled for about a mile on each side of the intersection of two unpaved but heavily-traveled roads. There were some poor-looking huts at the fringes, more prosperous-appearing one- and two-story mud-and-frame houses clustering nearer the center of town, and several apparent taverns, inns, stores, and other places of business right around the intersection. A couple of these were three stories tall and included bricks in their construction: An encouraging sign.

My arrival had been about an hour or so before sunrise and everything had been dead quiet then. There was no village lookout, another encouraging sign. Some canines had come bounding out to challenge me as I roamed around the village, but at least my personal magic was not so depleted that I couldn't silence their barking and send them off on other business.

Past the town apparently was a rather fast-running river, judging by the sound, though I stayed out of that part due to it being where most of the herd animals were kept. The land slanted down and got rockier toward the river.

Once the sun started to come up people showed themselves. I could see everything pretty well from where I was. This was good. I had to see how they were dressed, whether I (in my dark-brown leather breeches, boots, and vest with linen shirt, dark-brown cloak, and black hat) looked vastly different than the average denizen of this continuum, or whether I could pass with a little adjusting.

The first people I saw were a couple of men, looked like a dad and his grown son. They left one of the huts near where I was hiding and headed in to the center of town. Roomy linen smocks over hide breeches that stopped mid-shin and heavy boots. Muted, home-dyed colors. One wore a shapeless hat that covered the top part of his head and left his ears bare. Pretty standard.

Shortly after, I saw a couple of other guys pulling a canoe toward the river. These were wearing overcoats of some dark woven material but otherwise were a match for the first two. Awesome.

The men here had dark hair and olive skin, and wore short beards. Their clothing was close enough to what I was wearing that I felt I would not seem alien; in fact, from what I could see, I might be able to pass for someone of breeding and education among them – someone of breeding and education who'd only a few hours earlier had waked up in the middle of a muddy road with the shit beat out of him and all his gear gone.

I got the rood out and used its shiny back as a mirror to perfect my disguise as I hid there in the overgrowth at the outskirts of the village. The gem was still dull and nearly lifeless, but soon (was my optimistic thought) I would be able to find a nice safe place where I could start charging it. And maybe a place where I could get my hands on some local currency so I could use my currency key.

I didn't need the rood's power to disguise myself, though to reserve as much of my personal magic as possible for emergencies I changed only my face and hands. I would have to trust Fortune that no one good a good look at the rest of me, at least until I found an ally.

It took only a few minutes.

There! Looking out at me from the silver surface of the rood I saw a thin-faced but raffishly handsome, sallow, long-nosed, dark-haired man about thirty or so years of age. No beard but a suggestion of five o'clock shadow. No way to disguise the big bruise next to my mouth, which gave me a disreputable look, without makeup and more magic than I could bring to muster at the moment. Oh well.

It would be hard to keep the disguise going without the power of the rood and also a hot day was in the offing, so I would not be able to keep my cloak on as I had planned. Sleeves would have to stay rolled down, of course. With luck, I wouldn't have to stay in disguise all that long.

Here goes Nothing.

In my reconnaissance I had noted the main well was near the center of the village and there was another, smaller well on the road by which I had first entered: A rather picturesque little spot (or so it would have been if it hadn't been pitch black night and I had not been so worn out and in so much pain). The foot traveler ascends a steep bit of side lane into a tree-lined glade at the hill's crest featuring a sudden, most welcome view of the village below, with the little stone well beside the road like in a painting in a kids' book. There was a giant tree, heavy with some sort of apple-like fruit, planted by the well. The fruit (obviously non-poisonous, as I found only two lying on the ground after much searching) was very good. The few bites I had eaten upon my arrival to the town were not upsetting my stomach now, a couple of hours later.

I had guessed that the people who lived in the huts, the poorer people, would get their morning water from the well at the entrance to the village, so I sneaked back to this spot as the morning light and heat grew and stationed myself there. There were benches to sit on under the gigantic trees that grew by the road. I could see back the way I had come and down into the town for a distance from here and the forest close in case I needed to seclude myself.

I removed my cloak and spread it on some bushes near the well to dry; it certainly was soaked, no question about that, although no longer muddy, thanks to the miles of rain I had walked through to get here. I hung my poor empty backpack upside down on a branch. I set my hat at a rakish angle, took my flute out, and started to play.

I was careful to begin with a slow, melancholy, thoughtful hornpipe expressive of (or so I hoped) the angst of a handsome and worldly, yet perhaps too-kind, too-trusting gentleman, treated rudely, robbed, left for dead at the side of lonely road.

My skin prickled with the danger of this, to be sure. Another beating might put me down for good and I was aware of that. (Maybe that was the joke? That I would believe myself safe upon reaching a human settlement, then unwittingly do something so against local custom with the rood or the flute that I got killed for it? Hm.) I kept back from the well so as not to appear menacing and the bruised side of my face turned. I looked back the way I had come while playing as though pensively considering my future options.

The sun was well above the trees, and I had been tootling off and on for a good long while, before I saw any women. The women from the nicer houses used the well in the village center, the poorer women came to the well where I was hanging out and I had figured this would be the case.

Even with the obvious class division, the poorer people here were not emaciated, skulking, or dirty. That was also encouraging.

The first few women who visited the well were matrons and housekeepers. All wore long, duster-type dresses over knee-length smocks with heavy leggings and boots, again in home-dyed colors of linen, yellow-brown, dark brown. There were no head coverings but there was very little ornamentation. Some of them had kids with them. Everyone gave me a wide berth and pretended to ignore me. The kids stared at me. No one, however, seemed alarmed or inclined to be hostile. What a relief. Their speech was recognizably English and I could understand them with some small trouble. Good, good. For my part, I pretended to be too distracted by my own problems to pay attention to them. I kept my back turned, my posture beaten and wimpish. Which wasn't difficult.

The women got their water and some of them stood around talking for awhile, then left. No one seemed to pay much attention to me, but naturally in such a small place the appearance of a flute-playing (handsome, nice, friendly) stranger was going to cause commentary. Probably a lot of it. A gossip incubation period was required.

I kept playing. As the sun climbed higher and the day got warmer, I picked up the pace of my playing a bit, to some more sprightly-sounding jigs and reels. (Too bad I hadn't been left with a guitar instead of the penny flute! Tootling this much was making my already-sore jaw ache like hell.)

I was turned away from the village, leaning against a tree, staring down the road I'd entered by, and riffing exhaustedly through "Take Five," when I heard the bright voices of young women behind me. Ah, thank Fortune. I glanced over my shoulder, careful to keep the bruised side hidden, at the individuals climbing the hill to the well. There were four young women, wearing what were clearly their best outfits, only one with a child (a little boy), and an older woman wearing a more decorated version of the overdress-and-smock getup, her long hair plaited in an ornate style over one shoulder. Her mouth was a stern line and she was looking right at me.

The other, younger, gals were pretending to ignore me as they gabbled animatedly. It was cute. The little boy, of course, stared straight at me with his finger in his mouth. He was about three, small and dark, with black hair. His mom was a knockout, a short curvy girl with glossy black hair to her waist and large round eyes as green as emeralds. She was the poorest of the group, with a best dress that had been mended over and over, but by far the comeliest.

I kept playing. The girls laughed, chattered, and then one of them started clapping along with the song. I whirled in pretended surprise, stopped playing, then removed my hat and performed my deepest, most practiced, bow.

Of course the women all stopped talking when I did that and a couple of them showed mild alarm. I gave them my best smarmy smile. Otherwise I moved not a muscle.

"Good ladies! My name is Balemas Boma," I said after no one had spoken for ten seconds. "I was traveling on my way to yonder city and was set upon by robbers, as you can see. They took my food and my weapon, beat me, and left me nothing but the clothes on my back and my poor old flute!" I gave the flute a little flourish and was immensely satisfied to note how all their eyes followed it; well, except for the eyes of the older, well-dressed woman. She continued to stare right at me. "Mercifully enough, the sweet water from your well has restored me to a great degree and I thought to repay my debt, since I have no money, by providing entertainment for passersby."

I paused to give someone else a chance to speak. There was silence. Finally the older woman stepped forward, looking at me sharply.

"Balemas Boma," she said in a clipped, brisk tone. "You do not know our ways and you risk a great offense with your music and unseemly public bowing and capering."

Cringing slightly, I made no reply. (Why couldn't my adversaries have left me a pair of sunglasses? I could scarcely see in this ferocious glare.)

"Nevertheless," she went on, "our community may have a use for you." Stepping back, she gestured toward the black-haired, green-eyed girl who suddenly ducked her head and got all still and quiet. The little boy, sensing his mom's discomfiture, hid behind her skirt.

"This is –" and here the woman pronounced a name that was like ten syllables long. The first two syllables sounded like "Lilit," so: Lilith, Lilit. Fine, that would do. "Lilit has no man and there is much wood to bring in. Lilit's man went away down the river and never returned, leaving her in shame with a brat." The woman's mouth turned down sourly. I observed that Lilit's face was now beet-red as she stared at the ground. "If you enter the village, when they find you have no money, they will beat you and perhaps kill you to take your clothes, and throw your naked body in the river. But you will stay at Lilit's house and help her bring in wood until you have recovered and perhaps longer, if that is your wish." There was another brief pause. "Is this acceptable to you?"

Of course I couldn't grin right in her face. That is, oh, that is so never a good idea. Snatching my hat from my head, I made another, even more obsequious, bow. "Balemas Boma accepts your generous hospitality. He shall follow your wise advice to the letter, Madame, have no fear!" Still bowing, I peered ingratiatingly up into the woman's unsmiling face. "May I… please, Madame, may I play one more song for your delightful charges? The sight of their smiles and the sound of their happy voices is just the elixir I need after a harrowing night spent in the wild!"

The woman, I could tell, didn't want anymore tunes now or ever, but the girls, including Lilit, became excited and wouldn't go until I had played another song: This time "Sharkey's Jig," and it made them clap and sway. Fortune bless them! The little boy stared and stared, sucking his thumb with fierce, scowling determination as though memorizing the scene.

After the last notes of Sharkey's Jig had died away, the older woman uttered one or two harsh, scolding words and three of the girls floated down to the village with many a backward glance. I smiled and waved. The woman snapped at me: "Keep away from all the village men until you are healed." Turning to Lilit: "Take him to your hut." Giving me a final withering glance, she folded her hands together at her waist and followed the other three young women back to the center of the village, leaving me standing there with Lilit and the little boy.

The beautiful girl once again became shy and stood staring at the ground. Moving with deliberation (because by this point I was basically in so much pain I could barely move at all), I took my now-dry and much more presentable cloak off the bushes and put it over my arm, shouldered my backpack.

"Which house is yours?" I asked the girl. Mutely, she turned and pointed to a tiny, humble dwelling right at the eaves of the forest. Finally; the end of this part of this fucked-up journey was in sight. Even if I was to lie on the bare rocky ground, I would be able to lie down in relative safety. Maybe sleep. Just in time, too! One of my knees was starting to swell and ache something fierce.

Extending my arm to Lilit, I said, "Please don't walk too quickly, my dear. I am VERY bruised up." The little boy trailed behind us as we descended the road to the village and went to Lilit's hut.

Most of the village residents were now up and about their daily business. I could hear the voices of men in the distance but I didn't see any, or much of anyone at all, except for the small figures of people and animals moving around in the center of town, which was quite far away.

Lilit's hut was situated a distance from the village center so – now that I knew the village men could be dangerous – that was a good feature. I intuited that in spite of Lilit's obvious beauty, she was somewhat of a pariah and didn't have a lot of visitors. More good.

Neat stacks of wood cut to specific size showed Lilit's occupation. Now that they were home, the child obviously felt freer and darted here and there among the stacks, showing off for the stranger.

The inside of the hut was about as big as most people's bathrooms in the continuum and city where I usually make my home, but there was a little mud and stone hearth with a fire smoldering, a table with the remains of a meager breakfast set out on it, two low stools, one window, and (oh thank all the gods) a bed: A mattress of what looked like burlap stuffed with fibrous reeds raised off the floor on a little pallet. There was a blanket. Everything was rude but clean. The dirt floor was covered with mats woven of rushes and screens made of the same rushes kept bugs from coming in the window and door. I felt like crying with relief but I didn't.

The ceiling was so low I had to bend my neck and that was painful. "Please," I said, "may I lie on the bed? I am tired and full of hurts."

"Shall I fetch the doctor?"

"No… no. Don't do that. Here, let me do something…" I took the rood out of my inside vest pocket. Lilit's green eyes bugged out at the sight of the silver rood with its gems.

The rood was still exceedingly low on energy. I would not be able to charge it properly until I had recovered a bit, but it still had a couple of tricks in it. I moved over to the window, where a shaft of light entered to lie on the floor. I held the rood in the sunlight and it started to respond. Lilit and her little boy looked on with great wonder, wordlessly. (So, I thought: They have seen magic. They know this is a magic thing. Good.)

First I laid a spell of protection around the hut. Then, moving over to the low table, I held the rood over the remains of Lilit's breakfast (a small amount of what looked like porridge with milk and bread crusts) and spoke some words. At first nothing happened (and I got a little nervous because it seemed as though nothing WOULD happen) but finally one of the bowls of porridge started to jiggle a little, then there were some sort of wet noises and suddenly the bowl was full to the brim with large chunks of fruit swimming in cream. Lilit gasped; I saw she and the child were holding each others' hands tightly. A rich smell filled the tiny enclosure and Lilit's stomach growled audibly.

Sitting on one of the stools, I motioned toward the bowl. "Go ahead. It's real food."

Slowly, cautiously, first the beautiful black-haired girl and then the little boy fished pieces of fruit, dripping with cream, out of the bowl, and put them in their mouths. Pretty soon I had to use the rood again so I could have some, and then again so that Lilit and Orinye (the first three syllables of the boy's long-assed name) could have some more. Then I had to tell them to stop because eating so much fruit might make them sick.

"You're a wizard," Lilit said simply after we had all eaten. Orinye dozed on her lap, sucking his thumb, though he continued to watch me covertly.

"I need to sleep," I said. It was now about midday and very hot. All kinds of insects buzzed and flapped and hopped and chittered outside the screened door and window of Lilit's hut.

The girl motioned toward the bed. Now her face was crimson and her eyes shone with tears. Of course she thought I was going to turn out to be typical.

It was time to drop the disguise, anyway. The strain of maintaining it was giving me a blinding headache.

I removed my hat and cloak and placed them on the table. "Bring me a towel," I grunted as I sat to remove my boots. Without speaking, the girl complied. I took a rough square of cloth from her and rubbed my face. When the towel came away, there were bloody smears with tatters of skin and clumps of hair on it. The fresh air felt good on my (real) skin. Lilit made an astonished exclamation and the little boy laughed. (Smart kid; he'd probably known all along.)

"You are a woman!"

Observing her keenly, I perceived that mixed in with her shock and amazement was a large measure of disappointment. How I hate doing things like this sometimes! Was there any choice, though?

Setting the towel down, I put my hand on the girl's arm. "Don't be afraid. You're not afraid, are you?"

After a pause, she shook her head. "No."

"Do you ever see magicians here? Have you ever seen anyone else like me?"

"Yes… once."

My feeling that I had been placed into an oubliette grew stronger, as did my anger at my adversaries. Afraid to out-and-out kill me, they dump me here where I would either die or be lost forever. I get it. I get it. Well, if that's the case they made a HUGE FUCKING MISTAKE because they left me with the rood AND a Universal Currency Key BIG FUCKING MISTAKE GUYS, BIG MISTAKE.

I realized I was clenching my jaw and that hurt, so I stopped. "Lilit," I said slowly, "go about your regular business as though nothing unusual is happening. There is a spell of protection around your hut so you will not be disturbed as long as I am here, but be vigilant around your associates anyway. Inform me at once if any of them seems not to be behaving normally. Don't worry, I will do nothing whatsoever to call attention to myself and my disguise is always ready to hand." (Especially now that the rood was holding a bit of power.)

"I need to rest and heal. Tell me: Do you, or does anyone in your village, have money?"

At first she just stared at me with those kelpie eyes, but then she rose and went over to the hearth, where she dug around for a moment and emerged with a little clay pot. She lifted the lid and I saw stamped coins inside. It wasn't much but it would do. It would do nicely.

"This is very good," I said. "Go put it away now." Having doffed my boots, I limped the couple of steps from the table to the bed and gingerly, with some groaning, lowered myself to the mattress. Oh! Indeed. Pulling the blanket over my face, I fell asleep instantly.

Some time later I woke, confused, thirsty, needing to piss. Sitting up quickly, I saw it was night. A chill, damp breeze blew through the hut. At first I thought Lilit and her son had run off, but then heard the soft sound of breathing and saw a dark, human-sized lump next to the hearth; it was Lilit, curled on the floor wrapped in a shawl, asleep, with her little son sleeping next to her.

While I was outside peeing, I took the rood out and checked it in the moonlight. Now the gem in its center held a steady glow appreciable to regular sight.

The rood had been so low on power when my adversaries had captured me, maybe they had thought it just another of my dumb conceits, like the penny flute. No one had ever seen me use the rood, now that I thought about it; I had only just found it and not told a single soul about the find.

That actually might be what was going on, now that I considered everything.

"Let her keep the silly cross!" I could imagine them sneering. "Maybe some brigand will covet it and kill her." That would be a problem solved for them, wouldn't it? And of course no Bad Magician blood on their scaly hands.

Standing, I noticed I felt stronger but man oh man, was I ever beat up. Putting the rood away, I looked up and caught a glimpse of moon behind thick, high-flying clouds. So there's a moon here. This continuum is not that different, then. That means the rood will work much as it does in its continuum of origin. That means I can create a portal and get out. Especially if I can find another magician who has been imprisoned here by them: I can get out, I can escape. And then…?

And then didn't those assholes make a huge mistake here? I'm going to heal and I'm going to find the other magicians they've put here and league with them whether they are good or bad, and I'll bet they'll league with me. They're going to be so damned sorry, SO damned sorry.

I saw that Orinye was stirring when I limped back into the hut. Prodding Lilit with my toe, I woke her and indicated with gestures that she and Orinye should get in the bed, which she sleepily and with a grateful little moan did. I stretched out next to them, covering us with the blanket, and then my cloak over all. Shortly the three of us were cozy and warm, and we slept.

###

So the next five words are: 

Poke
Tease (any form of the word, noun or verb) 
Famous
Whiskers
Chimney


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## NJHeart2Heart (Dec 16, 2015)

The rambunctious little tuxedo patterned figure was usurping their bush and they were NOT HAPPY.  While Jasmine gave the little twirp a stare that, had it been a laser, would have halved the furry alien's body.  Meanwhile, Iris' mouth let out a gargle that could only be interpreted as the growl of death, until the cat, finally taking note of the furious animals on the other side of the glass, made a beeline for the next property.

Huh.. thought I was the current poster - Here are the last poster's words:

So the next five words are: 

Poke
Tease (any form of the word, noun or verb) 
Famous
Whiskers
Chimney


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## Hairball (Dec 17, 2015)

Santa came down the chimney, dragging a bag of presents into the crazy cat lady's home.

"Woooooo! Look, Saav," Pook said, her whiskers twitching.

Saav kept snoring. Pook gave her a poke, and Saav woke up. "Huh?"

"It's Sandy Paws!" exclaimed Pook. "You know, that famous guy with the reindeer who runs around the planet giving us presents!"

Saav sighed. "Don't tease me. He only visits good cats. You're so bad, Mom's on medication," she replied, and went back to sleep.


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## T.S.Bowman (Dec 18, 2015)

Woohoo! It's great to see people back in this thread again. I always found it a great way to stretch out a bit. 

Many of the responses (stories) in here are very good and show just how talented the writers around here are.


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## Hairball (Dec 19, 2015)

What are the next words? Or should I suggest them?


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## T.S.Bowman (Dec 19, 2015)

When you come up with a story for the previous words it's then your turn to choose the words for the next.


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## Hairball (Dec 19, 2015)

Party

Lawnmower

Chicken

Bowling Ball

This should be interesting...LOL!


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## TheWonderingNovice (Dec 22, 2015)

*A Super Bowl party invitation*

Alright y'all, the wife is gone and y'all know what that means- Super Bowl Party at my place! 

Cancel your plans - that means you Jeff. Everyone knows that you haven't joined a bowling team, you don't even own a bowling ball. So don't even use that excuse.

Anyways - Chicken wings, ice cold beer, chips and dips and no wives. 

Y'all bring your riding lawn mowers - we can make dirt circles on the lawn to celebrate. Ain't nothing better than that.

My place, and show the *right* team colors - that means you Jeff. Lets do this.


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## Hairball (Dec 23, 2015)

LOL! Now it's your turn to make a word list.


----------



## TheWonderingNovice (Dec 23, 2015)

incandescent 

Periwinkle

Undulation

irenic


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## Hairball (Dec 23, 2015)

TheWonderingNovice said:


> incandescent
> 
> Periwinkle
> 
> ...



Oh, hell no. Not this life! LOL!


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## Teb (Dec 23, 2015)

Incandescent molten rock oozes slowly down the hillside, causing little bright flares as it swallows the small periwinkles that grow in it's path. Gradually it flows down the slope onto the soft sands beside the gently undulating sea, it's appearance incogruous with the peaceful scene. Clouds of steam burst forth then fade as the cool soothing caress of the irenic waters do what the scores of fire fighters failed to do, stop nature in it's tracks.


Enrage
Glacier
Vibrator
Affair

(Random word generator picked em, not me)


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## Hairball (Dec 23, 2015)

Teb said:


> Incandescent molten rock oozes slowly down the hillside, causing little bright flares as it swallows the small periwinkles that grow in it's path. Gradually it flows down the slope onto the soft sands beside the gently undulating sea, it's appearance incogruous with the peaceful scene. Clouds of steam burst forth then fade as the cool soothing caress of the irenic waters do what the scores of fire fighters failed to do, stop nature in it's tracks.
> 
> 
> Enrage
> ...



OH @#$%&!! NO!

One of my troops had an affair with an officer's wife that involved a vibrator, and there's no way in hell I'm going there, either. 

Good job on the story, however. I couldn't think of anything like that. Well done!


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## Teb (Dec 24, 2015)

Damn, the word was undulation not undulating.

(Hangs head in shame)


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## Hairball (Dec 24, 2015)

Teb said:


> Damn, the word was undulation not undulating.
> 
> (Hangs head in shame)



You did NOT say that.


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## Teb (Dec 28, 2015)

Hairball said:


> You did NOT say that.




I did say that, all of it. I know cos I was there when I typed it.

Seem to have killed this thread as well. :-(


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## Shi (Dec 29, 2015)

Well, I'll give another 4 words, then:

Foot
Unit
King
Frog


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## ArrowInTheBowOfTheLord (Dec 29, 2015)

A young, dusky brown cricket sat on the tip of a grass blade, delicately cleaning her feelers, watching the armies go by. Insects of all kinds were going to war against the King of the Frog Kingdom, who had, apparently, allowed his people to eat the Dragonfly Queen, or something of that sort.

First there came the Stag Beetles, black as night, clacking their great claws in time. Then the Praying Mantises, with crosses on their breastplates, then the Mosquitoes, with their hungry eyes and tattered black capes, and then the Dragonflies, who were the archers. After them came the Bees, bearing tiny swords and dressed in yellow: they were the Valkyries of the insects, the shieldmaidens, for no drones were among them. _I wish I were a bee, _thought the cricket, shifting her foot.

Last of all in the great march there came the Crickets. They tapped their drums, they fiddled with their wings, and all together they shouted, _to battle! _Among the drummers the cricket saw one of her friends. She wanted to call out to him, but she knew he had to stay with his unit. _Why can I never be part of __these things__?_ thought the cricket, slipping off the grass blade. 

She turned toward home. _Someday. . ._



Next words:
Exile
Pistol
Paradox 
Autumn


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## Hairball (Dec 30, 2015)

In exile, Princess Autumn of Moldova asked a question of her uncle.

"Tell me what a paradox is, Uncle," she said, clutching her pistol. The royal family was in danger of being found and possibly executed by the rebels in the region.

He smiled. "That's easy, dear. A paradox is a pair of doctors."

(Yes, it's a pun)


Next words:

Fart

Cabbage

Flower

Waterfall


Good luck!


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## Teb (Dec 30, 2015)

Dave sank into the warmth of the bath letting the waters wash over him, using his toe to turn off the fast flowing waterfall from the hot tap. He gave a contended sigh and relaxed, feeling the tension of the day seep out from his body into the coccooning waters. Perhaps a little too relaxed, a series of bubbles rose through the water and erupted in little explosions on the surface.

"Cabbage? When did I last eat cabbage?" 

Dave asked the world in general, expecting no answer since he was alone in the house. His nose wrinkled and he found himself wondering why farts in the bath were not cleaned as they rose through the waters, since the water was full of soap and soap cleaned things. As he mused upon this paradox of life the flowers on the window ledge wilted slowly.


Difficult
Blowtorch
Fathead
Barren


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## rcallaci (Dec 31, 2015)

*Little packages pack a mean punch (language)*

Josie was having a difficult time with welding that uneven shard to the steel girder. Her mind was elsewhere, she was still fuming over  what that fathead Homer said about her. He called her a barren bitch with small tits. She lit up the blowtorch and fired it up his ass. IT would be a long time before Homer would talk shit like that again or even take one, sitting or standing. 

next words:

agony
helpless
tormented
misery


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## Teb (Dec 31, 2015)

Homer was living in his own personal world of misery and pain, the feeling helpless tormented him more than the actual agony of the burns. The one consolation he could take from this experience was the fact that sour faced flat chested cow was now behind bars and probably crying every night and hoping he would forgive her. He adjusted his position carefully, laid full length on a hospital bed wrapped in bandages with tubes leading to plastic bags taking care of his bodily functions. With any luck it would be that big chested nurse who never did her top buttons that came to change them this time, maybe he could get a sympathy date.

Attic
Pile
Cruise Ship
Beard


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## T.S.Bowman (Jan 23, 2016)

Scratching his 5 day beard, Dr Cholera sat in his attic. He was looking for the tickets he had bought for his wife. 7 days on a cruise ship destined for Puerto Rico. He had somehow misplaced them over the last few days and was now desperate to find them because the ship was scheduled to leave in less than 24 hours. He didn't think they would be found here, but again, he was desperate. 

He sighed heavily, thinking how badly he had wanted to do something nice for his wife. Goodness knows the woman has had the patience of a saint over the last forty plus years.

Well, he thought, one last pile to go. 


Next set

fumble
monkey
bamboozled 
chairman


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## midnightpoet (Jan 23, 2016)

When the monkey fumbled, he bamboozled the other team's captain.  With a quick feint, the monkey picked up the ball again and ran for a touchdown.  The crowd of orangutans cheered while the hippos were aghast, for this was the first time the simians had scored in ten games. 

The chairman of the league is investigating.

Next set

inane
propagation
wilted
drunk


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## Darkkin (Jan 24, 2016)

It was the propagation of the inane, a morass of wilted, drunk warbling.  It was poetry, narrative, nonsensical poetry.  Make it stop...

Quantifiable
Soliloquy
Obloquy
Sunder


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## Shi (Jan 27, 2016)

It was a impromptu work, you know, as per all their stagings. Medea's Chariot specialized in it. And satire.

So, it wasn't that surprising for the audience when the peasant turned his tear-fuelled soliloquy to a screaming, hair-pulling obloquy at the prince.

Though perhaps it was a bit overdone, little too much personal. The actors had a huge row among themselves after the tour.

*sigh* If only their achievements were quantifiable, then maybe the result would have been different.

As it stands, my dear listener, the Chariot broke apart, each section to sunder from the other, each going their separate ways.

Ah, well. With the new day comes more short stories, and I will see you again, listener, when the sky is a face and the ground green, and my speech in black upon white.


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## T.S.Bowman (Jan 28, 2016)

Shi said:


> It was a impromptu work, you know, as per all their stagings. Medea's Chariot specialized in it. And satire.
> 
> So, it wasn't that surprising for the audience when the peasant turned his tear-fuelled soliloquy to a screaming, hair-pulling obloquy at the prince.
> 
> ...



I have to say, that was rather impressive. I was completely stuck with that set of words. Well done.

But you forget to post the next set of words.


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## Shi (Jul 2, 2016)

Oh my. I've killed the thread. Hope this isn't too late to bump the thread!

Wash (any form of it would do)
Cup
Paper
Sanitizer


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## Montana (Jul 14, 2016)

As the man stood by the sink, he thought of how much him and his wife do for this family. He grabs some of the material  from the sink and takes and washes it. He washes the cup from the sink and cereal bowls  and other stuff. He lays it on the paper like towel from the sink and then he checks it off his list from the paper. He then sanitizes his hands from the dirt and from the sink and washes his hands.


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## Shi (Jul 14, 2016)

Great attempt! Nice to see this thread going. Next set of words?


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## MacDub (Oct 28, 2017)

(I used a random word generator for six words, because the original post had six. Here's a link to the generator I used: 
https://www.randomlists.com/random-words
I hope that's okay.)
Cheat
Rule
Noiseless
Program
Voyage
Arch


_(includes gun violence and death)_

   "I don't cheat," he said with a slow grin. "That, me boys, is how the game is played."

   The others grumbled and tossed their cards on the table in defeat. They knew he had fairly bested them, and although the game only served as a distraction to pass some time, they were upset by the loss.

   "Don't forget my number one rule," he said while pulling in the pile of loot. "Never lose."

  A few of the men chuckled and others scowled. They were a rough looking bunch, dirty and unshaven. Some were missing teeth and some didn't have all of their fingers.

   A nearby gunshot jolted their tired nerves and the door burst open, blinding them with a sudden brightness of the sun.

 A man stumbled through the door and collapsed to the floor. Blood pooled around him as he writhed in agony. Then he stopped moving, frozen with a noiseless scream contorting his face.

   "They got Billy," someone yelled. The men jumped from their seats and drew their weapons. "He's dead. They got Billy."

  One of the men knelt next to Billy's corpse, nearly sobbing in shock. "This wasn't supposed to happen. You said we'd all be alright."

  "Get out of the doorway," commanded the man who won the card game. "Get with the program and take cover."
Another gunshot cracked and the sobbing man slumped over Billy's body.

   "We're in trouble here, boys. They've sent two of us to the final voyage beyond," the card winner said flatly. "Looks like we gotta make a stand here or lose it all. They've come for what's theirs and they mean to get it back."

   "What're we supposed to do," one of them asked. "They got us boxed in here." His eyes darted wildly.

   "We charge at 'em," the cardman said. "Right out that front door, to glory or death, we cut them down like they did to Billy and Sam."

  The men nodded and rose up with weapons ready. They prepared to risk everything to keep their only hope of riches and avenge their fallen pals.

   "On my word," the cardman said with cold determination. "Now!"

  The men rushed out the door with savage conviction. Guns roared outside as the cardman hefted a strongbox and tossed it out a back window. He jumped to leap through the window in a graceless arch, following the strongbox.

  He could hear the gun battle happening on the other side of the house as he dragged the strongbox down the river bank. The canoe dipped deeper into the river under the weight of the box. The cardman got in and started paddling.

  He looked back to see the last of his men gunned down, but the attack party didn't seem to notice him through the brush at the rivers edge.

  "Remember, me boys, my number one rule. Don't lose."

Next words:
Heartbreaking
Offer
Planes
Condemned
Peaceful
Comparison


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## Adderbury (Jan 12, 2018)

*London, England   January 1667
A private meeting room of King Charles II, Whitehall Palace*


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"That whole section of London should have been condemned a century ago, your majesty.  It is not a true loss, after all." the statesman said.

King Charles bit down hard on his lower lip.  No, it had not been a place of peaceful life for those who lived there, and much of it had been a fire hazard, but people had lived there.  People who now had no place to go at all. Far too many of them were still living in the makeshift camp of Smithfield, and in the dead of winter now.

The fact that nearly 90 percent of London had burned to the ground in a mere 3 days was worse than heartbreaking, it was a disaster nearly worthy of Armageddon itself, in his opinion. But, the country did not need its leader to allow himself to be caught up in that kind of dark thinking - the reports of those using the pulpit to express those exact thoughts had made a healthy stack on his desk long before the ashes had even cooled enough for anyone to venture in to see what, if anything could be salvaged of the city.

Instead he turned his attention back to the large expanse of paper spread out over the table before him, absently twisting his parrot headed walking stick in one hand.  Christopher Wren nearly leapt forward in his eagerness.

"This would put London above any city in the world sire," he said, sweeping a hand over the large, intricately detailed map.  "It would be a city transformed, with clean planes, sharp lines, and broad throughways that would highlight the best landmarks, easy to traverse, as well as pleasing to the mind in its logical layout."

Charles nodded.  There was no question but that London as it had been built over the centuries had become a quagmire of confusing lanes and courts and alleyways by comparison to the sketched-out map that lay before him.  It was an offer he would love to just accept and say, 'let it be so'. 

But, the reality was that people needed a place to do business and set up their homes now, immediately, and he already knew Parliament was not going to just issue him a blank check for the rebuilding of the city.

'How exactly does one go about rebuilding a city that had taken centuries to create itself', he couldn't help but wonder to himself.

"One brick and stone and piece of wood at a time," came the answer.  He looked up, not aware he had spoken out loud to find Catherine of Braganza, his small wife, had come to stand at his side.

Catherine smiled shyly and moved close enough, so she could take his hand in hers.  She gave his hand a gentle squeeze and he let out a soft sigh in response. No, it did not solve the problems, but it did make him feel less alone............






Next words:
copper
tenuous
branch
unite
notice
decisive


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## Art Man (Aug 17, 2019)

I pinned the notice to the corkboard with two copper pins, making sure the paper was neatly placed. The light of the sun threw a silouhette of a tree branch across the notice through the window. My time at the corkboard was tenuous, being the actively decisive person I am, I was there under a minute, just long enough to be satisfied that the notice was firmly in place. I quickly walked away hoping the notice would unite us once and for all.

Next words:
chosen
done
onward
hearts
keep
world
ourselves
oblivion
power
honor


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## Mish (Aug 19, 2019)

A solicitor entered the chamber. The judge lifted his head and acknowledged him with a quick glance, before returning to filing his nails.

"Your honor, our client has chosen to move onward from the deeds that were done in these dark times of oblivion by the greedy hearts of a few. Let us keep the world safe for ourselves and our children, by moving on. We have settled out of court to everyone's satisfaction," stated the solicitor. 

"The prosecution concurs, the victims of this heinous crime are happy to move on," confirmed the prosecutor.

"By the power invested in me by the states I pronounce, case closed!" announced the judge returning to the important task of filing his nails. 

Irreverent
Merciful
Titanium
Posturing
Meadow
Sesquipedalian


----------



## Art Man (Sep 1, 2019)

Irreverent Merciful Titanium Posturing Meadow

"I am the irreverent, the puncture wound in your soul. I stand here, posturing like this to strike mercifully at you with this splintered baseball bat, because if I was one step closer it would hurt twice as bad as it already does. You'll never escape the titanium meadows, because here, I rule."

brewing
horizon
better
weapon
vent
knock
damage
times
stop
kill


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## Trollheart (Sep 6, 2019)

There was a hell of a storm brewing; I could see the thick thunderheads gathered on the lowering horizon, and given that I was still a few miles from my destination I thought it might be better to stop and book a hotel room for the night. I never liked storms, and the bigger they were the less I liked them. Ancient mythology used to afford gods the ability to use lightning as a weapon, and while this was obviously nothing more than Man's way, back then, of giving vent to his fears when the stormclouds rolled over, it felt at that moment uncomfortably appropriate to me. I had no intention of being the latest victim of Thor or whoever, so I pulled into the driveway of the first motel I saw. I had to knock several times, to be heard over the rumbling thunder and the shrieking high winds, which were surely going to do some major damage later that night. I was already late for my meeting, but desperate times and all that. I knew that if I hadn't made a stop the chances were that I might be one of the many the storm would no doubt kill later on. Best to be late, and safe, than on time and dead. Not that the boss would think so, but he was safe at home, so his opinion didn't really count.

Okay then, back to six words?

Nostradamus
Flying
Execution
Purple
Indefatigable
Monument
Tearful


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## Art Man (Sep 13, 2019)

Nostradamus  Flying  Execution  Purple  Indefatigable  Monument  Tearful

I murdered Nostradamus the moment he approached my bed, believing I was a sleep.  A sharp hatchet in my hand, his bright red blood pouring down his purple robe.  I was indefatigable at that moment, filled with a flying sense of power at my defensive actions and something felt amiss because there was no chase.  His tearful stare of surprise etched into my memory like a grand monument to regret.  But for all his regret in his last moments he could not change what either of us had done. Not his mistake, not the execution.

With
Thought
Things
Lucid
High
Stare
Overdose
Meet
Know
Bide

I like giving 10 words. Not a big deal. You may choose to not use them all if you wish.


----------



## NoFuchsGiven (Jan 21, 2020)

With little thought for my own safety I grabbed the things and put them all into my mouth at once. It could have been ten minutes or ten hours, I couldn't tell. Through the haze I'm sure there were some lucid moments. The ridiculous high that I was riding caused me to stare at the same spot lost in my own thoughts. Then it hit me. I'd taken enough pills to kill myself. I was going to die. My death certificate would have _Cause of Death: Overdose._ Then I would never get to meet my grandchildren. Never know their names. I should not have taken all of the pills. If I hadn't then my sister would have found them. She would have used it as ammunition to blackmail me, she would bide her time and when she was ready my parents would know everything. I don't know if I slept at all but the next thing I knew I was awake and in the back seat of my mum's car. We were in front of my school.

"Have a good day hun," my mother said.

"Thanks mum, bye."


Next words:
Challenge
Details
Punishment
Finding
Metal
Green


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## Foxee (Feb 15, 2020)

Mosquitoes kept sticking into the sweat at the back of Amos's neck as he and Jayne stood on the smooth _green metal_ disc in the middle of the jungle. Well, maybe not the middle but he would figure out the important _details_ later. Half the _challenge_ had been _finding_ the disc in the first place, he didn't want to think of the_ punishment_ that awaited if they failed to finish the challenge.


Next words:


torpor
momentous
elfin
toxic
leaping
seasoning


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## BigBagOfBasmatiRice (Mar 19, 2020)

The girl sank in her chair, just as her brother was sinking into his torpor. He spun an elfin disk on his finger. 
"How quaint." She hissed. "You decide to do something with those worthless hands." Her words were toxic.
She leaped up, not wanting to mimic her brother in his chair. 
"I'm not asking for you to do something momentous!" She spat. "I'm just asking you to do _something_!"
"I think you're excited enough...with you leaping out of your chair and everything..." He murmured. 
"Maybe it is a curse...your laziness...or maybe just you." The girl mused. The girl spun around.
"Just...add some seasoning  to your mundane existence, alright?" She smirked devilishly. "Hm...ha..."


Next words:
archaic
misogynist
bureaucracy
qualitative
satire
oxymoron


----------



## Wannabewriter (Jul 1, 2020)

It was archaic way of doing things, but he was a misogynist and he ran the place like a bureaucracy All of the qualitative measures had gone out of the window. That someone so kind had turned into someone so uncaring was a real oxymoron. It was almost like satire how much he had changed.

Pavement/sidewalk
Yellow
Belief
Motorbike 
School
Old


----------



## MistWolf (Oct 21, 2020)

It was her belief she could ride her motorbike down the yellow brick sidewalk, old school.

Ogive
Atomic
Homburg
Firefly
Cessna
Magnetosphere


----------



## Arewa Mata (Oct 26, 2020)

What she sees as quaint to me is her vivacious personality struggling to be free. Call her what you will, cantankerous. She is as you would have been had you lived her inexorable life knowing the heinous crime of birthing a girl child could nullify your very existence.


----------



## Triffids (Dec 28, 2022)

J.L. Franklin said:


> quaint
> 
> 
> vivacious
> ...


----------



## Smith (Dec 28, 2022)

MistWolf said:


> Ogive
> Atomic
> Homburg
> Firefly
> ...



The *Homburg*, an *atomic* powered *Cessna*, shone like a *firefly* as its *ogive* *burned* across the cloudy *magnetosphere*.

---

crown
snowfall
roses
silence
blood
sword


----------



## Triffids (Dec 28, 2022)

Tarquinius the terrible and cruel  king of rome,who wore a crown upon his head, upon hearing his son had conquered far lands.lands with snowfall, strode into his garden, messenger in tow, strode past the place of roses,blood-red and beautiful, till he came to his patch of poppy's.he took his sword and slashed the heads off, leaving only the small still blooming. There was silence for the messanger had gone to relay what he had seen. The son realised if he returned home he would be killed.
Interesting to adapt a well known tale into these words 
My words:
Alone
Chattering
Steam
Earth
Putrid
Rock


----------



## Louanne Learning (Dec 29, 2022)

Triffids said:


> Alone
> Chattering
> Steam
> Earth
> ...



On the third rock from the Sun, named Earth, a putrid steam rose from the valley, and I sat alone, chattering to a bird.

New words:

burden
cunning
equal
innuendo
rinse


----------

