October Absolute Write Blog Chain: the Great Cat #absolutewrite
Oct 06
My chosen words: Foetid1, and also arguably cat.
The antiquities wing of the Louvre had few guards. No one cared to steal a clay cracked clay pot from 1500 BCE, and so a uniformed guard dozed on a chair, unconcerned as to the activities taking place in the room. No one save myself remembered or cared about the tools made at the command of the Old Ones, nor did they want to gaze rapt upon the knives that proffered the first offerings, the bowls that caught the first blood. Most wished merely to gawk at the Mona Lisa and then buy T-shirts in the lesser of the souvenir shops that proclaimed their gawking accomplished.
This pattern of the mindless allowed me to lure my compatriot away from their frog-like masses.
We settled side by side in an overlook, our shoulders touching as we chatted in forbidden English. I allowed his patter to continue as I gazed upon the winged beasts, doomed to light their baleful glares only upon each other and the occasional stupid tourist for as long as western civilization persisted. Ignoramuses, not recognizing the holy guardians of the Great Consumer, profaned them every ten minutes or so, placing hands upon those mighty forelegs and posing for snapshots.
Robby’s obsession with my female form disrupted my reverie. “Who’s your dream boy?” he asked, his bright brown eyes turned toward me, showing the hint of madness that influences one who awaits great revelation. I opened my mouth to answer, and in my moment’s astonishment at such impertinence, a foetid smell burst upon us both, filling my throat as though a rotting coil slid inside my being.
We clung to the overlook as our bodies convulsed under the pounding waves of stench. I managed in the end to retain my repast but Robby did not, his vomit splattering onto the floor below. As though the contents of his stomach merited an offering, the smell of rot and boil disappeared as if it merely walked out of the room. Only the odors of our own refuse remained. A dripping sound drew my eyes back to the great cats snarling on the wall.
In the great cat’s mouth hung the head of a tourist, smirk still fixed in place, as the remaining fluid drained from his remaining neck. The savaged body lay in the middle of the floor, arms and legs askew. A growling rose from the edges of the room. The sound of crumbling rock filled me as the odor had, and at last, I witnessed the miracle I had awaited from the night I emerged from the sea and acquired the form of this young girl. The guardians of Shub-Niggurath lived and as the screams of their massacre echoed through the great halls, I allowed my smile to shine upon Robby, now crumpled on the floor. He already made a fine disciple. If he wanted to be a dream boy, I would gladly make him my messenger. Certainly, he would try to thwart me and in that struggle lay my victory.
I stepped over his prone form, to watch the first feast of the awakened guards. Praise be to the One Who Sleeps, the Guardians are Awake!
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Absolute Write 2011 August Blog Chain: the Story–and Song
Aug 18
From the AbsoluteWrite forum August 2011 blog chain:
“Step 1: Choose a song. It can be any song, vocal or instrumental, but you have to know what it’s called and who did it. If you really want to spin the roulette wheel, use the random function in your music player. Bonus points for finding and linking a YouTube video or other (legal) source. The song should be one you like and doesn’t have to be related to anybody else’s pick.
Step 2: Continue the story. Read the post before yours and continue the story in any direction you see fit. Your continuation must be based on, inspired by, or in some other way influenced by your song choice. Be prepared to explain it in the comments section!”
“The warm early morning sun through the clear water cast a mosaic of light on the beach as it sloped away into the abyss, and the water and sky met on the distant horizon, delineated only by a wall of cloud that might have been a storm. “
Big Words – Page 2“Allison lifted each item out of her bag and placed it on a towel on her bed in turn – iPod, speaker dock, scissors… She looked at the scissors with apprehension for the first time. Is this going to hurt? Am I going to go to hell? “
AbielleRose – Page 3“For so long he had waited for this moment; the right moment.”
Ralph Pines – Page 4“Lost in a roaring sea of spite and vodka , her brain forgot to coordinate the next step. “
Hillary Jacques – Page 5“The sun exhaled a final pastel sigh and disappeared. Before it went, he saw her, motionless at the water’s edge. “
Darkshore – Page 6“ ‘Somethings not right with this place Willow,’ Greg spat. ‘Ever notice how damn high the suicide rate is here?’ “
Pyrosama – Page 7“Greg stopped at the edge of the table, downed the bourbon and coke and placed the empty glass next to an ashtray, home to a lit Gurkha Black Dragon cigar.
‘Are you Spanky?’ “
“He saw everything over the years as time moved past him; the resort spring up over him. Time had forgotten him, Death had forgotten him, but he never forgot. His vengeance burned on. He would make them pay.”
Soulless Human - Page 10“He stayed by her side, hoping for a chance of company tonight and also to make sure she would not be ending up dead. “
Alynza Smith – Page 11“Chris gathered a whimpering Clarissa in his arms and headed in the opposite direction, unsure of where to go.”
Cath Smith – Page 12” One bikini clad girl lay in a pool of blood, a small silver gun still clasped in her left hand. “
Dolores Haze – Page 13“Chris pulled the dead body from the ocean and stared at it. Its face was covered with sand, but there was no mistaking that slight body; no mistaking that nightgown.”
Alpha Echo – Page 14“He’d rather be insane than have a crazy woman from his past threatening him with promises he never made to anyone, let alone to some God or Gods in whom he’d never believed.”
pezie – Page 15Song: Voodoo Child by Jimmi Hendrix
Spanky turned his smile to shine on Greg. “I’m Mr. Byron Saturday,” he acknowledged, “But some of the girls call me Spanky.” The smoke of his cigar clouded in an “O” around Spanky’s face, and for a moment beneath it Greg could swear he saw a creature with elongated fangs.
Greg’s face warmed. “Mr. Saturday,” he said, rasping against the smoke, “I was wondering if you might know this woman?” He flashed a picture of Allison taken from her belongings.
“Mmmm,” Spanky inspected the picture with hunger. “I’d remember her.” Spanky’s accent hovered between Spanish and French; rs rolled, but never quite from the same direction.
The locals had a habit of lying through omission. Usually, Greg let it go – those illegal activities were often the only non-resort money to circulate on the island. If no one spoke of them, no one really needed to lie.
But this crime left behind a 6 year old child, and more than the usual damage that radiated to parents, lovers, and friends after a death.
This was not a crime of survival. Even if this guy really did have fangs, he owed it to the little girl to ask.
“Did you see her recently?” If he asked three times, islanders felt compelled to speak the truth. He repeated the question.
Spanky took another puff, and exhaled a smoke halo that rested for a moment just above Greg’s head. “Two days ago.”
The innkeeper reported Allison’s body three days ago.
Greg put the picture away. The women dripping off Spanky might act overtly sexual, but they were no bimbos. At least two carried, in ankle holsters and an especially creative bikini-shoulder holster. This Spanky had sway. “Could you come by the station tomorrow – just as a courtesy?” He didn’t want to arrest a man protected by armed bikini babes. “It would do a world of good for this woman’s daughter.”
Spanky’s eyebrows shot up. “There’s a child?”
A girl wearing a compromise between a band-aid and a bikini appeared at his side. Greg took note of the red bag she wore around her neck – yeah, that’s what he was looking at – as he answered. “Yes, this woman had a daughter.”
Spanky allowed the woman to rest her head on his shoulder. “A child…” he muttered. He recovered himself. “I will of course come by the station tomorrow afternoon, officer.”
As Greg left, he kicked himself for not bringing Willow. He did so much better with the weird island culture stuff.
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