Friday, 22 October 2010

Weekly Wordzzle 131

This is really, really late so I'll just post the text without all the blether.

The Mini (ink, cool whip, every cloud has a silver lining,static, platform)

“An’ you know what? She was givin’ me like, just sooo much static!” Vim was saying, “’Cos, you know like she wanted real cream and I got like this Cool Whip stuff in a can, you know?”

I didn’t know, of course, but that’s never stopped Vim: once he gets going in one of his stories he’s pretty much unstoppable and, as my part in the conversation was not expected to extend beyond occasional grunts and nods, I let him get on with it.

“Yeah, she was like freakin’ out, just totally freakin’ out, an’ I’m like what’s the big deal? And she’s like screaming that I’m a total loser and that I don’t care about her or the house or anything. How does she get from cool whip to me not caring about the house?”

I shrugged, the way of the female of the species was as deep a mystery to me as quantum physics.

Vim paused to change the cartridge on his gun.

“So, long story short, she’s kicked me out. It’s cool though, I’m crashing at Joe’s and we’re hittin’ that new club tonight – Platform-18, you bin there?”

I shook my head.

“It’s s’posed to be the best place in town to  pick up the lay-deez, you know what I’m sayin’? Yeah. Every cloud has a silver lining, right?

I nodded and Vim resumed his work. There were a few minutes of rare, Vim-free silence.

“Aw man!” he exclaimed, suddenly , silencing the buzz of his tattoo gun. “You said you wanted green for the eyes, right?”

“Yeah,” I replied, guardedly.

“Aw man,” he repeated sadly, “I’m really sorry, man, I loaded blue ink by mistake. Tell ya what,” he continued, brightening up. “This one’s on me!” He started up the gun again.

Every cloud….

The 10-worder  chilled to the bone, market, back to work, floating, lynx, glutted, shelter, garage sale, honey, marginal )

I hope Box gets here soon,” said Mercury, “I’m keen for us to get back to work, but I don’t want to start until everyone’s here.”

“I’ll call him,” said Othello. He dialled, listened for a while then hung up. “It’s gone to voicemail.”

“Maybe he’s on his way but can’t answer while he’s riding.” suggested India.

“Yeah, but I would have thought he’d be here by now, anyway.” said Othello.

“Maybe he got sidetracked by a garage sale on the way here or something,” joked Prada.

“Perhaps we should take the car and backtrack the route, see if we can see him.” Said India.

“Good idea,” said Mercury, “You drive, and you might as well take the demon with you, seeing as its at a loose end.”

Harold’s face lit up while Mercury’s suggestion had the exact opposite effect on India, making their two faces look like Comedy and Tragedy. Wisely, though, India didn’t say anything as Othello tossed her the car keys.


A crowded vegetable market. Everybody towering over him and no sign of Mommy in the throngs of people pushing past him without so much as a downward glance. The panic welling up and the hot, stinging tears starting. His mouth opening to begin bawling.

A taste of honey, sweet on the tongue. Abigail’s slim brown hands offering him another helping of honeycomb, fresh from the hive..

A lynx, lying in the dappled shadows, tail twitching lazily, glutted and sleepy after a kill.

The buzz of summer insects floating on the still air.

Himself, shaking and chilled to the bone, dragging himself over the frozen assault course under a lead-coloured sky which promised yet more snow, while Sgt McAllister yelled himself hoarse, letting him and everybody else in the group know in no uncertain terms that he was the single most useless maggot of a cadet it had ever been his displeasure to train.

The sudden silver flash of a fish just below the surface of the lake. His dad, showing him how to catch them, teaching him how to bait the hook and send the line far, far out over the water.

"Sir?" the mellow, husky voice broke into this dream, scattering lake, fish and dad. "Sir? Can you hear me? Can you squeeze my hand? That’s good, that’s very good. Can you open your eyes for me please?”

Box opened his eyes then quickly squeezed them shut against the harsh white light. All around him he could hear the noise of people talking, machines beeping, doors banging and general hustle and bustle.

The pain in his leg was now just a dull throb, its power to distract his attention marginal at best. His head felt like it was stuffed full of warm cotton wool and he floated in pleasant drowsiness. They must have given him something for the pain - a pretty powerful something if the vividness of the dreams was anything to go by. Box dimly remembered riding the bike into the hospital parking lot. He’d tried to stop gracefully near the entrance to the ER, but in had ended up slowing right down and pretty much just falling over sideways, unable to dismount. Still, he had reached the shelter of the hospital and they had taken him in, away from Infinity Recycling – assuming it was them who had been following in the white car.

He was safe for the moment then.


  1. Oh I'm glad Box is safe! I hope they're all able to reconnect...

    Love the first one - nice conversation. I need to work on mine a little more.

  2. Hope this means I'm going to get a double fix of Harold this week. I'm glad Box is safe... He IS safe, isn't he? It's not 100% clear to me and you are a tricky writer that way.

    I had an AWFUL time with today's words. I think it was less to do with the words than me, but in any case I was 100% boring.

  3. I just hope the eyes on the tattoo weren't too vital

    And i'm not entirely convinced that Box is safe at all :)

  4. your writing just gets awsomer and awsomer!.. i go away for a while and everyione turns into veritable geniusssses!.. loved them all!


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