Blues Buster: The Fog

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This week’s prompt for The Tsuruoka Files Blues-Buster is Judas Priest’s The Ripper. I took inspiration from the London fog and came up with this…dead on the word limit!

Photo by Lisa Shambrook (please do not use without permission)
Nobody expected the fog. It rolled in overnight and as Kit stared out the window she smiled. Only faint halos from the white gas lights could be seen, like will-o-the-wisps lost in urban alleys. She backed away from stark oblivion, her skin taut and cold in the early morning air, and slid back into bed beside Tay. He grumbled in his sleep and Kit ran her finger down his exposed spine. He tensed, his whole body suddenly alert, and she giggled. 
“Don’t do that!” he admonished sharply as he relaxed and rolled over. 
She responded by curling her legs around his torso and placing her lips firmly on his. 
“Okay, you can do that…again…” he said as he pulled away then drew her close for a more intimate kiss. 
She gave herself for a few sweet moments, sharing passion as if they were sharing their last minutes together, before reluctantly pushing him away. He watched, sated, as she rolled out of bed and pulled on her underpants then drew her jeans over her long legs. 
“Come back, just for a few more minutes…” he urged. 
She shook her head and pulled her sweater down over her body and stood. “C’mon Tay, it’s perfect out there today, and there won’t be much time, it could change any moment!”
Tay grumbled again, but pushed the covers away and got out of bed. She grinned, and threw his shirt at him. “Get dressed!”
Kit shivered as they stepped out of the apartment and into the gloomy world. She reached for Tay’s gloved hand and gripped it tight. “Don’t let go,” he warned.
“I should be the one telling you that!” She rose on her toes and kissed his stubbled cheek. 
Whispers of frost coiled within the fog and she shivered again. Holding hands they moved along the wall and waited at the corner. 
Kit listened. Her hearing was perfect, and in this low visibility hearing was the greatest weapon they had. 
The city was quiet, almost silent. 
The birds never sang anymore, and the only birds they ever saw were ghostly corvids, and they sat lonely and lost atop the gas lamps, like black shadows in the mist. They never sang.
 Kit squeezed Tay’s hand and they moved, heading into the labyrinth of alleys. Glancing down, Kit could barely see her feet. She pulled her soft leather jacket tight amid the cold, white fog. They were prepared, and ready.
Their familiarity with the dank corridors kept them on track and they ran silently through the streets. 
“Almost there,” whispered Tay, as they came to an abrupt halt. 
Kit listened, and Tay’s nostrils flared. 
“I can smell the river,” he murmured. “I can smell…”
“Don’t!” Kit placed a finger over his lips and she strained to hear. “It’s quiet, but I can hear them…we’re not alone.”
They stood with their backs against the once imposing, now dilapidated, Savoy, disguised only by the blinding fog. Kit reached into her jacket removing her hunting knife from its leather sheath. She noted the narrow trident dagger strapped to her boot, and felt the comfort of her combat knife snug against her thigh. Tay stood beside her similarly armed, with his kukri held close.
They moved stealthily forward, until reaching the embankment. On the river’s edge, they stood, back to back…ready.
Tay squeezed Kit’s hand and then let go. 
Sweat sparkled in the fog and they waited for their scent to betray them.
The water was still, stagnant and foul, but Kit listened as its tiny lapping waves grew and the tendrils emerged. Like snakes tentatively searching, tendrils peered through the fog and curled before their faces. 
“Now!” Kit’s battle cry rang through the fog. “The Kraken wakes, but so do we!” 
The swish of knives swung through the air, sweeping through tentacled flesh and ripping jellied arms and limbs from the leviathans.
From the Thames came explosions of water as creatures from the deep surfaced and climbed out onto the promenade, but alongside Kit and Tay, all along the embankment, came shouts of battle and wrath, and from the fog emerged a force so large and enraged that bloody battle to the end was the only possibility…
   
(700 words)

Blues Buster: Broken

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Another story for the Mid-Week Blues-Buster from The Tsuruoka Files, the prompt song is found here: ‘Man With the Hex’ by The Atomic Fireballs.

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (please do not use without permission)
Broken

Crushed blades of grass made him almost as sad as the broken daffodil stems. Golden yellow trumpets drooped and withered and his heart sank as he shuffled down the path, his hand reaching down to lift a flower with as much gentleness as his frail body could manage. A tear dropped from his hooked nose, but even that had no more than a moment’s restoration power for the doomed bloom. 
He glanced about his garden, turning his arthritic neck and surveying the damage. It wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last, but every time he stood and gazed, his tears welled and his heart froze, just a little bit more.
Emerald grass was battered and churned where feet had converged and turned the small patch into a veritable bog. Mud spattered across blooms that now struggled to stand tall. Scarlet tulip petals, stained with saffron yellow, splayed open and wide, their stamens and pollen laid bare. His orchestra of daffodils slouched, bewildered, petals torn and creased, and stems snapped and broken. Mounds of purple aubretia lie crumpled beneath foot and burgeoning clumps of bluebells were flattened and trampled. Primroses stared at him from rumpled beds and cowslips’ had been creamed, the innocent victims of the garden massacre.
He closed his rheumy eyes and clenched his tired, bony fists, his brittle finger nails biting into his hardened palms. In his mind he saw the feet of reprobates and hooligans dancing in his garden, screaming and whooping while he hid behind his curtains, and his dry, cracked lips pursed tight. 
He remembered his body jumping in fear as stones from his path clattered against his window. He recalled his heavy heart and the way his shoulders gently bounced as he wept. He felt the twinge in his back of his neck as he’d bowed his head, and how hot tears slipped down his furrowed face, and slid down inside the open collar of his shirt, soaking his grey, wiry chest hair. He recalled the rage that had built and the tension that had gathered in his old body and the strength his anger had given him. 
The boom, as something large hit the window, and the subsequent crack of glass like a frozen lake waking, had roused his wrath and turned it into something terrible and he’d flung open the door and stared. 
Now a football lay abandoned in the middle of his swampy lawn and he stared blankly, wondering why the boys hadn’t retrieved it when they’d scarpered. His eyes caught the mud, now dried in a strange circle on the cracked window, and he shook his head. 
He hobbled slowly up his path, his joints creaking with pain and age, and he sighed in deep disappointment. As his door clicked shut, curtains from neighbouring home swung back into place, the football quivered as three young toads cowered behind it…and the neighbourhood quietly mourned the loss of three more of their intrepid, but foolish, young boys.
(497 Words)

Monday Mixer: Rogue

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I’m jumping back into the Flash Fiction saddle with a Monday Mixer at The Latinum Vault. Write a piece in exactly 150 words using at least three of the nine prompts: a place, a thing and an adjective. Once more I’m going for Overachiever as I’ve used six of the prompt words. I also really wanted to use the word: crepuscular, but it just didn’t fit with the narrative!

Source:commons.wikimedia. Photo by Avenue, manipulation by Lisa Shambrook

I saw him coming, like a dervish on a racetrack, yelling and cursing, and I cowered behind the kirkyard’s plumes of pampas grass.
When he dropped beside me, panting hard, his sky-blue eyes met mine. He clapped his rough hand over my mouth, and I didn’t understand a word he uttered as he pulled me close.  His stubble chafed my cheek as I melted into his intoxicating scent of sweat and aftershave.
He peered beyond the razor-sharp leaves.
“Ye okay lassie?” he asked, “Sorry…” and then he was on his feet and gone.
Weak-kneed, I staggered from the hideaway and leaned against the cold, stone wall. When the Copper, truncheon raised, bowled round the corner, a smile played on my lips and sedition brewed in my heart. “That way!” I pointed, breathless.
Then I ran, the opposite way, after the Scottish rogue who’d woken a wild paroxysm in my soul.

(150 Words)

Find Monday Mixer here: and check out the other great stories!

DFQWBS – Noctilite Tryst

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Laura, Miranda and Rebekah have come together to offer us a chance to salute Anna and Michael in their forthcoming nuptials with a Dark Fairy Queen Writerly Bridal Shower, and the opportunity to write a romantic, wedding based piece of fiction…so here’s mine…with showers of glittery love…

Photograph and art by Lisa Shambrook (please do not use)

Noctilite Tryst

Oakenthorn soared around the outcrop and settled on the slippery scree with the setting sun dropping like a golden orb behind the Western mountains. He shook his wings and stood majestic, fully aware of the impact his silhouette made as he balanced high on the ridge. Beneath the copper sun Oakenthorn gazed keenly across the panorama, his belly growled and thrilled shivers streaked across his body.  His eyes roamed, his breath caught and smoke eddied as he exhaled. There she stood, down by the lake, her buttermilk scales and shot-silk wings catching the burnished light before it sank.

Oakenthorn paused, his muscular body gilded, until she raised her head and stared up at the ridge. His wings rippled as he stretched them then he launched, gliding across the tor, floating down and landing noiselessly beside Briar. Noses quivered, and extended and touched for a moment of electricity before Briar opened her wings and lifted high above her suitor.

The final moments of sunlight glinted with scintillating rays of gold in stark contrast to the long, dark shadows of the range. She circled and swooped, her tail brushing low over his head, and her intoxicating scent wafted on the breeze, making him reel with heady excitement. As the sun gave way to the dusky gloaming, Briar softly touched down beside Oakenthorn and the two stood with nothing but a sigh between them. Water rippled across the lake and the long grass whispered, and as night’s indigo deepened, the pair stood silent, waiting.

Far in the distance glowing torches of fire lit up the night, drawing closer, until a procession of dragons flew low across the vast, shimmering expanse of water. Dragons sailed across the darkening sky above the pair, breathing passion, and the valley blazed with yellow and white Noctilite fire. Smoke swirled and danced up into the night, and sparks and burning stars rained down in cascades of fiery confetti. Oakenthorn and Briar launched up into the horde and danced through the fireworks, their hearts alight with flames of love. They twirled amid the throng and one-by-one the dragons peeled away, gliding off into the twilight, until only the ardent couple were left wheeling and spinning together in the glowing dusk.

Night’s rising moon glinted across their scales and silken wings, and Briar let out a lingering, low growl before shooting up into the snow-capped peaks. As Oakenthorn whirled and darted after her, she vanished amid misty veils of cloud, every drop of vapour tingling with sweet anticipation. Oakenthorn followed, every sense heightened and sharp, and he glided into the shroud to hunt his feisty wraith. Silver moonbeams danced and the dragons twisted and weaved through pale shafts of light, flying close enough to kindle passions and ignite sparks that flashed like lightning atop the steamy crags. They circled, and rose above the mountain tops before bursting out of the feathery plumes of mist into the inky sky, and tumbling together, looping and rolling before dropping down to the soft, mossy grass.

Briar trembled and Oakenthorn puffed out his chest. Both released flames that danced, and whirled and intertwined, and then Oakenthorn extended his quivering nose to touch Briar’s flared nostrils. Electricity surged and long, barbed tails entwined. Briar shivered and leaned into Oakenthorn, her sigh sending burning ripples of hunger through his hard, lean body and he breathed out bathing her in amorous smoke. The moon cast rays of pearls across their iridescent scales and more rumbles smouldered in their bellies, rousing flames of desire and yearning…and finally the night was theirs.

They rose in unison, wings the colour of moonlight and cream, beating in earnest as they flew across the lake. Their feet dragged exquisitely in the diamond encrusted surf, and then they soared up the valley, over the whispering grass and up into the moonlit mountains, where the moon respectfully withdrew…and only the sparks of blazing love lit up the night…

Title: Noctilite Tryst
Author: Lisa Shambrook
eBook: Yes
Word Count: 655
Website: www.thelastkrystallos.blogspot.co.uk
Twitter: @LastKrystallos

Wedding Toast: I wish you both a magical, moonlit romance, full of glorious sunrises and sunsets, as you take wing on a wondrous journey together…

Five Sentence Fiction: Words

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Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use without permission)
The sudden explosion lit up the dusk and its thunder robbed him of his hearing as he was hurled across the dusty, gritty road; shock and shrapnel embedded its shards beneath his bloodied skin, but nothing stopped him crawling back across the detritus to circle the remains of the best friend he ever had. Confusion tore at his heart, but despite the ringing noise and acrid smoke he refused to leave, and settled mournfully in the middle of the rutted road to wait.
Black night loomed with shouts and gunshots, then chaos and blasts, and he flattened his ears and his body, and trembled by his master’s corpse. 
Dawn sneaked across the hills and he shivered in the morning cold, until soldiers, bloodied and weary, marched back along the road, and he growled, his hackles raised and ears sharp. He flinched as they approached and their brusque commands failed to touch him; it took a burly trooper’s bristly embrace and soft, whispered words to allow the dog to leave, but never forget.
go and read all the other stories…

Visual Dare: Normalcy

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Photo Source
Doris tightened her lips and clenched her buttocks as she strode purposefully forward, under her best town hat. 
The city was not the place for her. 
The bus ride was best forgotten, particularly the appalled gasps of revulsion when her goose evacuated his behind and shook his tail feathers. The marabou plumes on the chic lady’s hat shook with the same shivering rhythm, but for very different reasons, and they’d been politely ushered off to continue on foot. 
The goose followed with a surprisingly majestic gait, but his constant honking strengthened both her resolve and humiliation. She avoided bemused giggles and glanced up at the street sign before turning resolutely onto Main Street.   
Heavy, ornate signage, chandeliers and swirly scripted menus intimidated, but before she pushed through the doors with countryside naivety and offered up her fattened prize, she checked: roast goose and fois gras were still on the menu. 
(150 Words)

How can you not write about this picture? 
Go and take a look at the other great entries!

Blues Buster: A Rainy Night in Soho

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Another Blues Buster from The Tsuruoka Files, the prompt song is A Rainy Night in Soho by The Pogues and several lines from this song inspired me: ‘I’ve been loving you a long time, down all the years, down all the days, and I’ve cried for all your troubles, smiled at your funny little ways…’ and ‘Now the song is nearly over, we may never find out what it means, still there’s a light I hold before me, you’re the measure of my dreams…’

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (please do not use without permission)

A Rainy Night in Soho

He glanced at her, his pale blue eyes tearing up as he gazed at her long hair, glowing silver in the moonlight upon the pillow. She stirred and a smile played on his lips. He wanted to reach across and move a stray lock away from her face, but didn’t want to risk waking her at such an early hour. A sigh swelled in his throat and he released it gently, shivering as his breath departed in a long wisp of smoke.
The cold penetrated his bones, even under the thick duvet, and he pulled the cover up tucking it round his shoulders. He carefully manoeuvred his body, again cautious not to disturb his lady, and settled on his side, his head gently relaxing into his flat and stained pillow. He drifted off to sleep with the beating rain drumming in his head.

She danced in his slumber, invaded his dreams with her youthful grace and honest beauty. He whirled her in his arms, up and down the rainy, glittering streets beneath the brutal neon lights and dirty windows.
Her crimson lips and tight dress won hearts and minds, and caused desire to rise through the steamy rain. He whirled her in his arms, letting her dance, and he fought her battles and defeated the dragons disguised as paramours.  He allowed her essence to soak him and he fell in love.

He awoke again, still in the depths of night. He tried to dilute the urge, but failed, and he pushed back the duvet and stepped out onto cold, hard linoleum. He hurried across the floor and down the corridor, the cold air prickling like a million tiny daggers of ice and he clicked the bathroom door closed.
Sweet relief and he moved as swiftly as he could back to bed. Sliding down beneath the covers he wriggled his toes to recirculate his chilled blood. He shivered violently as the temperature slowly rose and he gripped the duvet tight around his chin. He stared at the window, still partially lit by the roaming moon and smiled as familiar neon blue flickered in the bottom corner, from the sign on the building opposite. He sank into the mattress, feeling his body reacquaint to its accustomed hollow. His eyes gradually closed and his dream resumed.

She still danced, but this time she waltzed just out of reach, her long, black hair glinting against the stormy night, her lips smiling and teasing. He relaxed to watch and adore his queen as she stole the hearts and yearning of every man she saw. He had nothing to worry, for she returned to his embrace every night, creeping back into his arms and soul in the early hours to slake their desire.

The moon was vanquished when he woke, and salmon pink streaked through the early clouds peering in through the icy window. Frost had etched and encrusted the pane while they’d slept, and dawn’s colours danced, filtering through the oblique design.
A tired sigh escaped his mouth and he chuckled at the smoke eddying through the crisp morning air, as he turned to regard his love.
She remained asleep, her raven hair, now silver and white in dawn’s gaze, and he carefully propped his old body up on his elbow. Ravaging cold bit through his greying vest and goose-bumps exploded across his wrinkled skin, and his rheumy eyes blinked with unshed tears.
He caressed her shrunken cheek, and moved the stray lock of hair. He leaned forward and tenderly kissed her dry, cracked lips.
Grief tore through his ancient body, and he shuddered, and swirling breath danced across her peace, as his tears dropped onto her tranquil face.
Her song was done, not a note escaped her silent lips, but he gently moved from his depression in the mattress and cupped his body to hers. There he lingered, holding his love, his tears wetting the pillow and her silver hair, and in his dreams she danced…

(662 Words)
@LastKrystallos

Monday Mixer: Silver

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This is for The Latinum Vault’s Monday Mixer, write a piece in exactly 150 words using at least three of the nine prompts: a place, a thing and an adjective. This one qualifies for Overachiever as I’ve used five of the prompt words.

Photo Source: Joe Mabel on Wikimedia (cropped by Lisa Shambrook and Instagram)
Gwenllian smoothed her fingers across the filigree threads, newly set, against the burnished silver cuff and absently wiped the dusty, glinting swarf from her work table. Tears fell as she stroked the soft, pink scar running down her face, recalling the scandalous lies and trite excuses she’d offered in his protection. 
Now she hid herself away in the croft on the banks of Afon Caer and waited.
A mewling cry came from the small bedroom, and Gwenllian pulled her mind back from its dreams and stared up at the full, yellow moon.  She snuffed out her candles, grabbed the annealed bangle and hurried towards the cry, wiping her tears of hiraeth as she moved. 
She gently cwtched her daughter, placing the silver bracelet around the babe’s tiny wrist. “Ah, cariad, not long now…” She grabbed the rifle, propped by the cot, and loaded the silver bullet. “Now let him come…”
(150 Words)

Find Monday Mixer here…and take a look at the other entries…

55 Words: Recollection

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Photo Source: 55 Word Challenge
Beads of perspiration formed on her skin. It was these lonely, hot summer nights that she couldn’t bear, these balmy evenings that lengthened into humid and unbearable nights, where inky blackness served only to torment. 
She turned on her back and stared at the ceiling, reminiscing, remembering, recalling the night she handed over his name…
(55 Words)
Written for Lisa McCourt Hollar’s 55 Word Challenge

Five Sentence Fiction: Paradise

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Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use without permission)
The moon slowly rose, lifting high over the purple mountains, casting its pink glow across the bleached land. Stars faded into an inky backdrop as the moon took its place on night’s stage. Light mists crept across the peninsula, like curtains, rising from the rocks and crevices around the base of the ridge. 
The two sated dragons met each other’s eyes and rumbled, contentment flooding their bodies. They dropped to the ground and nestled close, and allowed their dreams to guide them through the night. 
Written for Lillie McFerrin’s Five Sentence Fiction.
Read more great stories using the prompt here.