Weekly Six XXXI – Six Word Stories

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MORE STORY FOR¬†your money/ time. Well, yeah, time. Some more six word stories, the 31st edition. I’ve seemingly stockpiled six word stories like a country might with nuclear warheads whether the war is cold or not. Enjoy:

50 shots. None dead. Toy won.

No angels, no snowmen: nuclear winter.

Evolution reversing without mirrors. Phoneshop queues.

Obedient tech. Standing by always. Always…

Curse lifted for fee. No refunds.

Prostitution ring more rhomboid on analysis.

“Hi Jack!”
Tackled.
Escorted from plane.

Human head hit riot shield. Game-changer.

Tampered evidence. Donuts missing. Internal investigation.

Telescopic voyeuristic triangulation. Nobody gets off.

P.S. My laptop isn’t working and using WordPress isn’t much fun on my phone, but I should be more active in the near future thanks to librariesūüôā I appreciate people still dropping by and will do my best to catch up tomorrow.

lion around 2

Weekly Six XXX – Six Word Stories

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THE WEEK WHERE roman numerals are very, very easy to misinterpret… I’m still busy and settling so this it for now, I’ve been scribbling a bank of six worders all week at my new place, and doing some book editing. Hopefully normal WP service will resume shortly and I’ll be reading your posts once more. Enjoy:

Letter cen-ored. Dictator-hip doe-n’t need rea-on-.

 

Kettle boiled. Water ran cold. Stroke.

Earth! Wind! Fire! “Err, where’s Water?!”

Broken glass. Body burst. Which floor?

 

Beep. Ammo. Beep. Shotgun. Beep. Death.

Cannibals friendly. Hated my skinny friends.

 

Frozen section. Homo Sapien 50% Off.

 

lion around 2

Weekly Six XXIX – SIX WORD STORIES

 

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WELL FOLKS, this is the last weekly six for the forseeable future, but as soon as I get a chance to hop back online, I’ll be at it once more on a regular basis. Enjoy:

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Sent. Tracked. Delivered. Blackmail on time.

Dinosaur omelette excellent. Relatives followed caveman.

Shotgun wedding; no cake, three dead.

Slipping hand. Bulging eyes. Strength draining.

Millions dead, if looks could kill.

Harvesting season. Clones not quite ready.

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lion around 2

 

Goodbye For Now

traveller

How long is a piece of string? How long, is a goodbye?

It depends, seems like the most reasonable answer. I’m moving and I’ll be without laptop and internet for the forseeable future, although I’m sure I’ll find somewhere to get online and stay up to date with all my favourite blogs. I’m not sure what WordPress is like on my mobile; I’ll still be writing though, keeping it analogue with a pen and pad.

Posts will be erratic, although I have scheduled some, so I’ll get back to you just with a slight delay.

I’ve heard horror stories of blogs disappearing into the abyss after a few weeks inactivity…I may have made that up, or I may be having early withdrawal symptoms.

Seems a good time to have a little recap:
It’s been a fun year so far writing wise. A couple books in the can, but no publisher yet. Quite a lot of short stories written and lots of activity on the blog. Instead of leaving projects half-finished like I would have a few years ago I’m taking things through to completion. Equally good is the fact I have found the ability to revamp old stories that were once left to rot. I once had some puritanical obsession with leaving a piece of writing as is, that any editing compromised the artistic integrity – what a load of shite. Editing is everything. All in all I’ve learnt a lot about the writing process through experience and reading other bloggers trials and tribulations too.

The rest of the year will be editing, re-editing, sending out short stories and kidnapping a literary agent if necessary.

A big thank you to all the regular visitors. I’ll miss reading everyone’s posts, and will catch up soon.

 

lion around 2

Customised – SHORT STORY

dark roomI WAS FLYING. Academically. Monetarily. Socially. Well, maybe not socially. But here I was at the airport after a four hour departure delay, ready to sail through customs, to escape my tedious surroundings, wretched ex-girlfriends and somewhat more importantly, death.

I approached in the silent queue, shuffling and staring to either side, trying to alleviate the boredom, but the queue was snaking, so on either side was always the same people, doing exactly what I was doing. For once a bawling child was welcome stimulus. Too bad they’d never remember the family holiday as they were too young.

All of a sudden about fifteen people peeled away, led off by a uniform – who never seemed to have a face. That left me at the front, the leader of the pack, the temporary head of the snake. A beautiful moment. A beam of sunlight piercing clouds.

Ahead of me lay the security checkpoint. Two uniforms, and a motionless man standing to the side, hands behind back, observing. Perhaps a leap forward in tech, some sort of cyborg that looked like a person, but who scanned all travelers from behind a thin hybrid skin. I’d just watched Blade Runner in the lounge, my hasty conclusion was somewhat skewed.

Both uniforms did what I thought no uniforms were capable of – they almost smiled as I approached. One swept me with a paddle, another patted me down, and seemed to take an uncanny joy from his job. I thought of my final destination as they finished. They even spoke. “You’re ok to go.” It melted my heart.

I was about to grab my carry-on bag when Hands Behind Back/ possibly a cyborg left the wall he occupied and walked over. With a surprisingly awkward gait. There’s a kink for the engineers to iron out.

He whispered near my ear, “Can you come with me please?”

“What for?”

The uniforms expressed more emotion – nervousness. The queue had been held back. This was my time. All bored eyes were on me, imaginations ripping through cogs and gears. Prejudices made. I was a book and my cover was being read.

I was led to a side door away from the bag scanner. A multi digit code and fob was used to enter into a corridor. I was made to walk ahead despite me not knowing the locale, surely cyborg should have led. I was guided through a rats maze of fluorescent tubes and indistinct white and blue hallways. I wondered what the prize was for finding my way back.

Eventually I heard a word. “Stop.”

We entered a room, the door seemingly invisible, had opened. Two chairs and a table. In one chair was a man whose face I could not see, or he didn’t have a face. I sat down and cyborg left silently. It felt like I’d entered a vacuum – airless, still, like time had had enough.

I sat down, not by being told but taking the obvious social cue of a spare chair. It was hard, metallic and screwed to the floor, for my comfort only. I tried to pick out some salient features on the thing across from me but the pale green exit sign spat out an unhelpful amount of light.

He looked directly at me, at least I assumed so. He spoke to me with a voice that could have been from a hypnosis CD, entirely calm, yet out of sync with the situation adding an eerie element. It was like an executioner whispering a sweet poem before lopping your head off.

“Do you know how many people I see everyday?” Every word was melodic, he even had soft ‘D’s’.

I took a second to absorb the words, to let it whistle through my head. “15?”

“In an airport this size?” he smoothly shot back.

“50?”

“No. None.”

What does one say in this situation? Was I somehow that special? Some sort of anomaly in this mans working life? I had always thought I was quite gifted…

But no. He continued; “I am blind. But that doesn’t mean I can’t see with my ears, my nose – touch. I need to know if you understand why you are here?”

This sounded like the prologue to a super hero’s story. In real life it didn’t sound half so good.

A hesitant “No?” was my reply.

“Oh, so nobody told you? Well, that is typical. You hire men and you get monkeys. Anyway, you are here on suspicion of having something, let’s say ‘undesirable’ on your person.”

In less stressful situations, in more pleasant company I would have had a witty retort to this such as, ‘My personality?’ But really I couldn’t think. Had they got me confused with some Mexican cartel member? I was caucasian but did have a tinge about me. My carry on contained precisely one tablet, entirely legal and electric, and a notepad. No drugs or illegal substances.

“You haven’t figured it out have you? – where it is.”

After awhile I heard a light tapping sound that grew louder. I eventually saw the source of it. My inquisitor was tapping a finger against his head harder and harder until I thought it might go right through the skull. Then he stopped.

“It’s in my…

…head. Yes. Precisely. And you can understand it’s a real danger. Can’t you? It still hasn’t hit you yet has it. Your thoughts are a danger to others. Ideas are beyond what a man like you should have. Too big, too bold.”

“But how can you tell?”

“Exactly..”

 

lion around 2original post 2014

Cut n’ Paste Graphics

AND NOW FOR something completely different. The following pieces of ‘art’ – honestly, I’m not sure what to call them – were put together a few years back. In a small scrap book I cut and paste titles, lettering, graphics and pictures to create new themes and ideas, essentially remixing magazines, the same way a DJ might splice sounds together on a track. Magazines used were Clint, GQ, and Games. Lemme know what you think:

once upon a time in harlem lionaroundwriting

This was cut and paste from Clint magazine, an idea for a comic with Samuel L. Jackson as the ass kicking protagonist.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

can of gas lionaroundwriting

I cut out a great action sequence from Clint and added in a caption from Games magazine. Although simplistic I enjoyed trying to match them up.

 

green tea redacted lionaroundwriting

Inspired by serial killers, terrorists and kidnappers (cool it, I’m joking) I cut each individual letter for the sequence above Samuel L. Jackson, the reknowned health advocate the world over. The right hand side involved cutting out captions from Games magazine, redacting them Government style and giving them a totally different meaning, and I stuck them on a galactic background with Super Mario letting his stance on gaming and violence known once and for all.

 

square one lionaroundwriting

I cut and paste the water from GQ magazine crinkling it to create the 3D water effect, adding in some lettering from Clint and graphics from Games to give some meaning.

 

lion around 2

Big Trouble in Little Time – SHORT STORY

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EVER WATCHED A kung-fu movie? I used to watch them a lot as a kid, loving the fantastical tales of redemption replete with bad dubbing, outrageous stunts and frequently outlandish deaths. I wrote my own. Sort of:

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“He must die!” Wei Ping, the Golden Bear stood defiantly in the middle of Tu Langs modest yet entirely functional home.

“No – I will not let you kill him!”

“Tell me where your great teacher is hiding, and I will not harm your pet goldfish!”

“Not my goldfish! Please!”

“Such manners!” said Wei Ping, a ripple of respect washing over him. “But still! Where is Chan Li? Tell me and you will be spared.”

Tu Lang felt he had no other choice. He began running.

Through the back door he sprinted, winding through alley ways, nearly knocking over a woman with her wares and accidentally kicking a cage of chickens in the process. Gasping for breath a short while later, he stopped and looked back. No sign of Wei Ping. Ha!

As if from nowhere Wei Ping appeared in front of Tu Lang, whose face turned to shock. “Thought you could speed things up a bit by running? Well try this for size!” said Wei Ping stroking his white goatee. “I nearly kill you. You leave this forsaken place along with the girl you could never get, and the goldfish. You train hard, fail, try again, fail, and eventually become a champion fighter, even defeating your old master Chan Li who turned against you through jealousy. Upon hearing of your success, the girl wishes to marry you. But juiced up on your own success, with greater clarity than before, you realise she never loved you anyway, and is more shallow than a goldfish bowl. You turn to a true beauty who comes from a village in the hills. With unparalleled fighting talent, the respect of your people, and the woman of your dreams, you return here, to your home town, to avenge the death of your family, killing me, and everyone else I taught at the Golden Bear.”

And with that Wei Ping, the Golden Bear dropped dead.

 

lion around 2

The Sea Can Take – SHORT STORY

surf

¬†¬†¬†¬†¬† SURFBOARD WASHED UP; broken. They were still catching waves, I was sure of that. No more paddling, just one grand wave, ever moving, never breaking. Of course the mind plays tricks, tries to convince us there’s a life beyond life.

It would be greedy, don’t you think? One is enough. Some of us get to age until we are as helpless as babies once again. Gilly got twenty five. Enjoyed every minute that guy.

Supposedly it’s all the more tragic. So full of life they said, always smiling. Never said a bad word, the usual news friendly regurgitations. He was a real son of a bitch on a bad day. But then, aren’t we all?

Fuck it. He got twenty five years, loved every one, or so it seemed.

He’d been in the sea since the age of six, and if he didn’t have to leave to eat and sleep, he’d never have set foot on land again. Nobody thought to question why he was out there bobbing on the obliging Pacific’s blue skin, day after day. Not once. The assumption was he loved surfing so much, it was scandalously obvious that was his reason for bonding with the seas margins.

Undeniably he loved it. But not half as much as people thought. Not even half as much again.

No. What it really represented was detachment. From people. People didn’t make sense to him. He understood how people functioned, just couldnt hang with it. Their worries and stresses over the trivial…no – Gilly had to surf, like an addict needs theirs; to get away from them, to free his mind.

It’s a fucking tragedy he’s gone. And 99% of the people mourning his loss, he would never have given a shit about. Not that they cared. Once someone’s gone, there’s no holding back. Amazing how much people miss him now he’s dead. ‘Bit like anyone of even a speck of fame. They become more important than they were and might ever have been, through the long, long lens of death. Especially those early to the grave.

Looking out there, sand between my toes, my shirt rippling in the wind, I put my hand to my forehead and squinted at the sparkling swell. Gilly, you son of a bitch, I know you’re out there.

The conditions looked near perfect. Tomorrow they would be. I’d come back early, beach to myself, and Gilly and I would surf like old times. Typical really. He didn’t even need a surfboard. He was that good.

 

lion around 2