Photo by Carson Arias via Unsplash
No rest for the executioner’s axe.
The grisly nature of the job makes it easy to get ahead, though difficult to get head.
The pile grows.
© Grumpy Axolotl
Prompt: Three Line Tales
So I’ve been looking out my window. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m a pervert; lots of people look out of windows. Don’t you judge me! It’s interesting what we focus on. Maybe it’s a case of small things amusing small minds. In this instance I’m looking at a small bird: An Eurasian blackbird, to be precise. And this particular specimen is stone-cold fucking dead. Bird has been dead for 2 weeks now. In that time, Bird has undergone a significant transformation, but let us back up a step. <rewind>
The first week was dead boring. A biologist would tell you that there was a lot going on under the hood – so to speak, but from my perspective the bird simply flopped around a bit as the wind dictated. So anyway, Bird looked just as birds do (sans animation) for about a week.
In the 2nd week, the maggots became visible. Masticating meat-house maggots, merrily munching away. I love how nature cleans up after itself. I know maggots aren’t everyone’s idea of a good time, and I wouldn’t invite them in for tea and scones but the cycle of life is an endless wonder. Yesterday the carcass collapsed in the rain. It looks a bit disgusting but this is where the real fun starts.
There exists a sparrow (one of millions) that is visiting dead-bird, and eating the maggots that are eating aforementioned dead-bird. Bird eats maggot eats bird. Different species of bird, but it’s almost cannibalism-by-proxy. The sparrow works tirelessly, returning every few minutes to gobble more maggots, no doubt whisking the little wrigglers back to the nest to feed the next generation of hungry beaks.
The story ends there, but this whole scenario reminds me how simple it is.
(C) Grumpy Axolotl
She kicked me in the nuts.
(C) Grumpy Axolotl
Waiting for the end
The moment this heart will pause,
Then beat one last time.
(C) Grumpy Axolotl
Guest post by Linda G.
Ben was every woman’s dream, with his blue eyes, copper hair, and straight white teeth. Strong but gentle. Confident and in control, whether commanding the boardroom or the bedroom. And he was mine. Mine! … Until my best friend Kelly stole him. For days I cried and cried. I felt angry and betrayed. Kelly and I had been friends since 1st grade. After a couple of months I wondered if I should bury the hatchet, but then I heard that they were getting married and I totally flipped my wig. Now I wanted nothing but revenge. Revenge!
Kelly was hesitant at first, but I assured her that I was over Ben and wanted to maintain our friendship and invited them both over for some of my homemade steak and kidney pies. When she and Ben walked into my house, my heart burned so that I thought my chest would burst, but I kept my cool and choked down the emotions. Ben and Kelly loved the pie and I was seething inside when I saw how much they loved each other. As we wished each other goodnight I promised more pie in the future.
A few days later Kelly rang frantically “Ben’s gone. Missing. Totally disappeared. He hasn’t answered my calls for 2 days.” I hurried over to her house and wrapped my arms around her as she sobbed on her living room floor. “I should call the police.” she said. “No.” I reasoned with her “You know Ben is often called away on important meetings. He’s probably lost his phone. Give it until tomorrow. In the meantime, you can have some of the fresh pork pies I just made.” So that afternoon, I dropped off a box of pies to a tearful Kelly, assuring her I’d check back in the morning. “Enjoy your Big-Ben Pork Pies, you bitch.” I thought to myself as I high-tailed it to the city’s international airport.
Prompt: Worst Case Scenario
In defiance of orders to maintain a strictly professional manner, the nurses frantically rode the few remaining patients. Outside, hideous dogs with bulging eyes ran crazed circles on the scorched lawn, howling in terror at the remnants of stars still swirling in the purple night-sky.
Sheltered under a bridge that crossed the swollen river, Larry wrung his shaking hands in a mixture of fear and anger. What had come to pass so far was diabolical enough. The looting and rioting that would surely follow was not going to improve matters.
The rising water was already lapping at his boots. He had to move. “Pull yourself together man, you’re a knight”, Larry reminded himself. “A disgraced knight, but a knight still. It’s time to redeem yourself”. Larry crawled out from his cover and instinctively scanned the surrounds quickly, checking for any danger before standing upright. The naked body of a headless woman floating past was a vivid declaration that law-and-order had already ceased. “Sir” Larry was on his own.
It was an hour before dawn and things would only get worse come daylight. Reaching the crest of the enbankment, Larry stopped for a moment at the sight of the burning city, his few tears hidden by the wind and rain. “Sir Larry” he reminded himself. He drew his sword, and marched towards whatever fate was in store.
But I want more!
Ok we got you covered
Photo: Flickr.com public-domain licence
Don’t stand there dripping. Where have you been?
I’ve already fired up the machine.
Get out of those clothes. Come on, look keen.
I want you naked, scrubbed up and clean
Throw out your doubt. Don’t pout like a trout.
Don’t throw a wobbly. Please do not shout
I’ll tell you what this is all about:
People go in; sausages come out.
After years of bread, the toaster hungers for human flesh. No longer content with the burnt crumbs of wholegrains, the toaster wants meat.
There are three potential victims in this quiet suburban household: Bernard, Linda, and their daughter – Sally. Bernard would make a good-size meal but will not be easy. Wily to the ways of appliances, and not overly partial to toast, he is a long shot at best. Linda, on the other hand, makes toast every morning, but she is no fool. There are no flies on her in the morning and, being the smartest of the household, she will be the hardest to seduce and subdue. Then there is Sally; Sally, at 7 years of age is healthy, innocent and, through the eyes of a blood-thirsty toaster, positively drool-worthy. Yes, it will be the girl – and it will be all too easy. Simple appliances make simple plans. Success favours simplicity. Now it’s only a matter of time.
It happens one Saturday morning. Cartoons are on the TV so Sally is up bright and early while her parents doze. Sally wants toast. Perfect. Alone in the kitchen, she is vulnerable… and the toaster knows it. Sally approaches the toaster clutching a slice of heart-healthy wholegrain in each paw. The toaster can hardly bear the suspense but restraint is needed. Patience. Play it cool. Things will heat up soon enough. The toaster gracefully accepts Sally’s offering and settles into the familiar routine. The filament heats up and begins to work it’s magic on the bread as Sally sets the jug boiling and roots around in the cupboard for the Milo. After a few short minutes, Sally is watching the toaster in anticipation of the “kerchung!”, holding the butter-knife loosely in her young fingers, unaware that she is not the only one hungry.
The toaster tightens its grip on the bread and the first grey tendrils of smoke shoot towards the ceiling. The jug rumbles into its roaring steamy climax with immaculate timing, as if sounding a prescient warning. Black smoke now. The piercing shriek of the smoke-alarm splits the air. Sally panics and, still holding the butter-knife, shakes the toaster hard. YES. She’s fallen for it. Time to strike! The waiting has paid off. It’s all or nothing and the toaster is insane in its carnivorous desire. Come on Sally, come get your toast Sally. There’s a good girl, use your knife. I want meat Sally. Human-meat. Stick your knife in. Come in and get your toast. I’ve got 240 volts just for you Sally. I’ll fry your flesh. Meat, meat, yummy-yummy. I’ll sizzle your sausages. MEAT! Use the knife, Come on, use your knife you little bitch. MEAT! Do it.
NO! – not the power-swi…