Friday Fictioneer 100 words: Auntie

Who’s that scratching at the window…?

Joanna K Neilson

Well, I took the image below as inspiration, but the image I’ve added underneath quite nicely sums it up! Thanks to Rochelle for hosting these 100 word challenges, as always.

ice-on-the-window

Auntie waited by the window all winter. Her drool left frozen dark brown streaks as she scratched at thick frosted glass, her yellowed teeth gnashing. Weeks passed. Auntie watched. As I reluctantly chewed up my last shred of beef jerky, and penultimate multivitamin, birds began to squawk and chirp outside. The pane had turned from grey to deep blue. Curiously, I squinted beyond. The snow was dotted with green shoots, and Auntie had become a pile of meat-flecked bones under the window. Excited, I finally prised my way out of the cabin, to explore what was left of the world.

Thank you for reading, comments are welcome!

For more Friday Fiction by other writers, please click on the little blue frog…

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Friday Fictioneers 100 words – Keep Your Eyes Peeled

I feel that this is a proper 100 words for horror fans this time, enjoy, my Eyeballers 🙂

Joanna K Neilson

My Friday Fictioneer entry for 11th March – thanks to Rochelle for the prompt as always!

Warning: This went a little dark, I reckon – I saw that huge glossy shadow in the lower section and was totally drawn into it….

Prompt from Emily L Gant Prompt from Emily L Gant

Keep your eyes peeled, girl.

They move between dark places when the shadows shift. Between buildings. Inside homes.

My neighbour was left with a cave for a face.

They spread in shadows, their domain increasing as storms get fiercer, knocking out power, soaking firewood. They caused that too, of course. Moment they landed here the bastards were blotting out our sun.

So never blink. Be vigilant and you’ll catch a lifesaving glimpse. A spidery leg here, a scuttle at the corner of your eye. Shoot the bastards.

Keep ‘em peeled, girl. Here’s a razorblade. I can help, if you’d like?

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Friday Fictioneers 100 Words: Kaylee, Benji and KB

What horror can be wrought from a bunch of batteries? Please read on…in my entry for Friday Fictioneers.

Joanna K Neilson

Thanks for the link at Friday Fictioneers!

copyight-sean-fallon

Image: Copyright Sean Fallon

Almost alone on a semi-deserted junk world, Kaylee badly missed her beloved Benji-dog.

But she’d finally found a new friend within the scrap heap.

The dusty robot gratefully consumed all the batteries she’d scrounged. He sucked thoughtfully on each one, his red headlamp eyes growing brighter, and his spiny fingers twitched and rusty claws flexed.

“KB is ready,” KB finally announced in a scratchy, staccato voice.

“So we can play?” she said.

“Yes, Kaylee.” said KB. “What shall we play?”

Razor sharp teeth chomped the last cell.

“I have a great game,” she grinned, “Huntin’ the varmints who murdered Benji!”

*****

Find more Friday Fiction 100 word stories below!

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Friday Fictioneer: When Ben Burned Down the Bandstand

Friday fictioneering, Bandstand Burn!

Joanna K Neilson

A strangely psychotic piece this week – think it was partly prompted and crystalised by everyone’s shock, including my own, at the hideous air crash where the pilot apparently very calmly flew himself and 150 other people into a mountain – for no good reason (all will probably be revealed, I suppose). Still, fucking unbearable to think about. Shudder.

This act of senseless brutality freaked me out and filtered its way into my story, though it’s also still inspired by the band picture. Apologies to the band people btw 😉 At least this guy has a clear motive for his dreadful actions, however dreadfully weak.

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Friday Fictioneer By Dave Stewart

Bandstand Burn

When Ben burned down the bandstand, he didn’t seem the chap. He’d always been a nice guy,  we’d never heard him snap. But his one true love was music, and he had longed to play. But talent at it…

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Sunday short story: 100 Words – Green

The Green. Accidental alien invasion? Or malfunctioning alien technology…

Joanna K Neilson

Started as a Friday Fictioneer, but as it’s now Sunday, I’ll just say it’s a piece of writing inspired by the photo from here:

The inspiration. All I saw at the first glimpse, was the green... The inspiration. All I saw at the first glimpse, was the green…

Green

An alien ship died overhead, spraying bright juice from degraded bowels. Hungry fluid chewed all life it touched. Insatiable green turned the trees to bone sculptures, fuelling a fast-growing, acidic moss that spread faster than I could ever hope to evade. Clothes burned to nothing. Everything suffocated. Holding my breath, I dived in the fountain. Water thickened with alien weeds. Moss clambered around my spine, flowers bloomed atop my screaming lips. Planets burst behind my eyes. Emerald stars burned my lungs. I swallowed the universe. Green was warm. I wondered numbly, nerves dissolving, if there were worse ways to go.

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EXPLOITS: Artist Bill Lewis and the Cosmic Unconsciousness

Must look up this MR James story, Casting the Runes. Sounds wonderfully horrible 🙂

THE REMODERN REVIEW

Lewis

Remodernist Painter and Poet Bill Lewis at a recent exhibit in the UK

But where does imagination end and reality begin?

-Dr Julian Karswell                                                    

Carl Jung was a visionary psychiatrist who understood religion, spirituality and mysticism as key elements of the human experience. In his work he developed the concept of synchronicity, the significant coincidence. It’s when things happen that seem meaningfully related, but which happen without any apparent cause. For Jung it was a demonstration of the collective unconscious in operation, a universal awareness that everyone shares. In my life experiences synchronicity is a common phenomenon.

I recently experienced an amazing moment of synchronicity. It involved artist and poet Bill Lewis. Bill is one of the original  British Stuckist artists, having been part of the seminal Medway Poets group even before the art movement began. Bill Lewis has continued his work as a Remodernist artist, and as I got involved with…

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Short Story: The Will

The pit is dark and rats nibble at her toes. But is this Jane’s last chance for survival?

Joanna K Neilson

Jane had been down here a long time…

This is an original piece written by Joanna K Neilson:

dry-well

The Will

Worry gnawed at her bones. Her stomach was so empty it no longer hurt and she couldn’t remotely remember the softness of a bed. It was hard to sleep down here, in the cold darkness, with rats running over her feet and nibbling at her whenever she passed out from exhaustion and pain. No, there was nothing left inside her to shake off the misery, to fight for a way out. She was broken and beaten and wanted to die. He had destroyed her. What was left was a stringy, starving thing that could barely remember kindness or her life before these curving walls, kept in this dingy cellar space that stank of rodent droppings and her own filth. Her captor had grown bored of her, that’s the impression she…

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