JULY 2023 -- 75 Word Writing Challenge -- VICTORY TO THERAPIST!

[Aknot]

Trust Or Treason

Ten years after the Second Crimean War, elves and goblins were finally coexisting peacefully.

“I assure you,” said the elf with a smile, “It’s completely safe. Our finest thaumo-engineers are confident it’s unsinkable.”
“You’d better be!” the goblin answered. “President Grimshank will be onboard. An incident could have catastrophic consequences for both our people.”
The fat goblin thought for a moment.
“Very well, I will arrange for the whole ministry to travel on the Titanic.”

 

[Paul J. Menzies]

The Ikebana of the Last Samurai
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I knelt, white-robed on white sheet, ceremonial blade in my lap. Seppuku awaited.

She watched. My one love, my master's wife.

It was all my own fault. I knew this would happen. I deserved this fate.

I slashed the blade into my belly. As blood's red flower blossomed around me, her lips moved, voice whispering inside my head like it'd been doing since we were 12...

"Tea tomorrow, dearest."

She was worth every agony.

 

[emrosenagel]

Portrait of Demeter

The Mistress sat still for that thing. Camera obscura, the box with the Devil inside. Steal her soul? She was counting on it.

"You'll be lost," they warned. "You won't find her."

Her chin ticked up, resolute. She knew the risks of venturing into the underworld. But a mother would do anything to bring her child back. Even combat with Death.

Bang!

Her body slumped — empty until she wrenched her daughter from his bony hands.

 

[M. Robert Gibson]

The Fiend of Whitechapel

"Ah Mina. Thank you for volunteering. Remember you're the bait?"
"Yes, Inspector."
"You can change your mind."
"No. Anything to catch this throat-ripping fiend."

* * *

Midnight. A fog shrouded street. Mina loitering beneath a guttering lamp. A flapping overhead becomes padded footsteps. A low growl. A caped figure slowly emerges from the gloom.

"Oh, Inspector. You startled me. Nothing to report, sir."

"I'm sorry, Mina, I tried to warn you," snarled the inspector, fangs glistening

 

[Starbeast]

Fezziwig’s Mercantile
We Sell Everything
Est. 1823​

(ding, ding)

“Good day sir. What can I get for you?”

“I would like a challenging game for my son.”

“How old is he?”

“21.”

“May I suggest a game called Risk? You get a Congolese Spider and pistol. Your son hunts the spider in your house.”

“Seems like overkill.”

“The spider is as big as a medium size dog.”

“Poisonous?”

“Not at all. Here’s a blindfold to make it more challenging.”

“I’ll take it.”

 

[Daysman]

Trade Off

"Ma'am," the constable called, "might I see your pendant?"

She held out her medallion.

"You ought not be exposed to the sun, Ma'am."

"As an astronomer," she complained, "I need to consider it, now and then."

"You've taken the death cure. Don't you blister in sunlight?"

"I itch, mostly… nothing compared with craving bloody meat."

The officer blushed at her remark.

"Also, apparently, I'll very likely spontaneously combust in some distant future… but not today."

 

[Christine Wheelwright]

Le Club des Mille Mètres d’Altitude

In Paris, before the Siege, I was one of Madame Delon’s girls on Rue Laffitte. I soon learned to get what I wanted from the rakes frequenting her establishment. Few could resist games of chance, and the queen of hearts secreted in my stays was advantage enough. That’s how I had the aviator Faivre accommodate me in his basket. Uncomfortable but thrilling.

He was killed a year later 200m above the Prussians. C'est la vie!

 

[Parson]

Dublin: June 7, 1880

The light from the gaslights offered no refuge. Fear’s shadows kept creeping into his consciousness. A ship’s pilot, Kare had faced irrational fears often. But this fear wasn’t irrational. Everyone knew “The Zebedee” stalked Dublin’s streets during the new moon. Terror roiled within him.

Bam! Bam! Books thundered to the cobblestone.

Terrified, Kare whirled. He saw nothing.

A victorious laugh cackled.

Poof! Kare disappeared.

The Zebedee had booked her first pilot. He wasn’t her last.

 

[mosaix]

I Only Bet on Certainties

A stench arises both from the open sewer running outside and from Zebedia Tooth who sits opposite watching with his one good eye. Rumour is he bartered the other for power over his dice.

He needs double six for the pot.

He throws. “Six!” they shout. “And another! No – it’s seven! Seven?!” Uproar.

I collect the pot. “Your dice, Zebedia. Your dice.”

I feel for the door. I didn’t barter both my eyes for nothing.

 

[chrispenycate]

Interlude​

The hissing from the gas mantle was soft and smooth as its diffuse light, soft as my baby's skin, contrasting with the harsh limelight and screaming vocals leaking round the blanket muffled door.

My voice should have been down there in the raucous chorus, but baby's screams had overridden adult voices and exiled me to this glorious peace. He'd already got a competitive set of lungs - potential soloist.

Cuddling, I hummed him into obscurity.

 

[Bren G]

Reckless Embrace

Upon a dusky London street, the ghoul reappeared, conjuring a fissure in the fabric of reality before me. Therein emerged the visages of dear Thom, and my beloved Eliza, their countenances aglow with rapture. I cursed my ill-fated hand, having cast the die which ushered them hence.

The apparition, delighting in my trepidation, beckoned. Notwithstanding, I ventured forth, vowing to amend this calamity. For I was guided by my foremost maxim: “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.“

 

[The Judge]

The Lamplighter (Or, The Not-So-Little Match Girl)​

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Dusk was falling already. And twenty lamps still unlit.​

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Throughout her stepfather’s illness she’d done his round without problem, but fetching his new medicine had put her behind.​

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She couldn’t be late – there’d be complaints. The guild would investigate, discover someone had covered for him. That meant expulsion, penury.​

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But if anyone guessed what she’d done...​

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No choice.​

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To hell with the Dragons’ Fire-Breathing Penalties Act – she puffed gently, and instantly lit twenty lamps.​

 

[Ursa major]

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The Sylph Employed…​

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He’s showing off our work… again. Discovering something’s hard enough, but we’re expected to supply an explanation of how he, a mere mortal, could’ve done it.​

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And on the braggart goes: “—and measles at age seven.”​

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“How’d you know that?”​

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I try a risky spell to trip him up.​

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“Elemental….” He coughs, and makes the ‘Do that again and I’ll tell the world you exist’ sign to me. “Sorry about that. Elementary, my dear Watson.”​

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[Ursa major]

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POLL -- July 2023 75-Word Challenge -- READ FIRST POST!​

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