Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Four months of Gomorrah

Second part of the Historic challenge at terribleminds. http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/08/26/flash-fiction-challenge-plucked-from-the-pages-of-history/ This one was written in a bit of a rush. Enjoy though.

 “Comte Francois, a man to see you. An englishman I think, or perhaps a Spaniard.” said the trembling servant. His master rose from his writing desk, setting aside his quill and after marking his place mentally along his writing. “An Englishman? Here? How odd. Send him in.” without a second word the servant ran out of the library to permit the entrance of the foppish visitor. He sported a fine beard and was perfectly appointed. “A pleasure to meet you my dear Marquis.” His accent was unplacable. He gave a deep bow to the lord of the estate, ringlets falling about his face. When no response came he peeked up to find that the Comte was back at his desk, writing away. The visitor straightened in a huff and invited himself further in.
He circled the desk and watched curiously for a few minutes. As more of the writing unfolded before his eyes he began to smile wickedly. “My that's quite wicked.” The lord only grunted in reply. Silence followed for ten minutes. “If I may, this piece seems wonderful, but please, we must speak.” Francois laid down the quill and rotated in his chair, looking into the eyes of his visitor. “From what country do you come stranger?” “From south m'lord.” “And who send you?” “My lord, er, m'lord.” “On what errand?” “We seek an alliance between your realm and ours...” The fop was cut off by the lords hand. “I do not care for such trifles. If the king demands something of me, let him come. Otherwise take issue with him.” “But.” “I will hear none of it. Now you may go, I have writing to attend to.” The stranger turned to go, but when he reached the door he merely slammed it shut. As if fed with tallow the fireplace roared to life and the candles on the desk melted in a moment. “Do not take me for some petty messenger to be ignored!” roared the stranger “I have come a greater distance than you know to offer you greatness!” Despite the chaos the Marquis barely stirred, only looking up to meet the man's gaze. The fire faded again the room growing paradoxically brighter. “Now that I have your attentions Sir we have much to discuss.”
The Marquis drew a flintlock from his desk and fired at his guest without a second thought. The ball struck and ripped through creamy flesh, but no blood came out. Only then did he grow shocked. “So, not some conjurer. Instead I find a demon in my view. What would you offer me agent of hell?” The old smile returned, the man unfazed by the hole in his chest. “I am glad you asked. We know what you've been writing, and we like it. My lord and I want more written by you. So much more.” “And in return?” From his pack the demon produced a book, on each page was a man or woman of exquisite beauty. “Any of these could be yours. Unchanging, unaging. To do with as you wish.” “Any of them?” “Yes.” The heavy silence returned as the lord perused the book. Hundreds of stunning beauties graced the paper, from every land and of every persuasion. After he had finished he began again. “If I may interrupt your enjoyment. I should like an answer to return to my lord with.” Once again the creature was ignored. As he looked through this time the Marquis removed some pages. He handed the book back to his visitor. “Bring me these” he said, offering up the torn pages. The demon blanched at such a voracious and inhuman appetite. The most innocent and most vile examples of humanity were on those pages. Innocent daughters, young men, hung studs, and aged prostitutes. “All of them?” he asked, quivering. “Yes you fear mongering coward, all of them, at once and simultaneously. I do not hold with your lord at all, nor any other I cannot print on a coin but his offer is tempting. Bring me these and you have your writing.”
Well the demon did as he was bid, and the Marquis de Sade had his chosen companions. For four months he did as he pleased, indulging in every twisted fantasy. The devil got the last laugh, catching him early on to get the mad noble thrown in prison. But de Sade kept his end of the bargain, writing even when in the Bastille. Few know this but the 120 Days of Sodom is a terrifying reality, made possible by a demonic pact.  

Monday, September 5, 2011

100 on revenge

From the flash fiction challenge at terribleminds. http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/09/02/flash-fiction-challenge-100-words-on-the-subject-of-revenge/ 99 words. Enjoy

He had beaten me down, destroyed me utterly. Left me adrift in the world with all my friends arranged against me. Hell I couldn't even get a decent job for years, all for one insult. Moral of the story is never piss off an ancient.
For a while I wanted to destroy him, but if not impossible it's difficult. And I had to ask. Would it be worth it? It would cost me so much. In the end I struggled through, made a new life, and now my world is great. The best revenge is living well after all.

Three Nightingales

From the terribleminds challenge: Plucked from the Pages of History.  http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/08/26/flash-fiction-challenge-plucked-from-the-pages-of-history/ It's late so I am giving a double dose. First up - this thing: 

 “They left. The bastards, it's just some mule outside.”
“I know Julius but what can we do about it?” “Yeah Julius, if they left for that we were stinking anyways. Mom won't be happen when we get home.” The Nagadoche theatre was largely dark, the stage was lit by flood lights and three all but identical kids were staring out into the wings. The seats were empty except for one man, who rose and made his way to the stage where the three boys were just beginning to argue. He vaulted up and stood by as they continued. “Texas, what a load. Adolf, why did mom even book us here?” asked the one called Julius. “Because she could? Come on, she means well and they did pay for tickets.” “She booked us in a middle of nowhere flop to sing for hicks.” The quietest of the three finally notice the stranger, a dapper smiling gent with a briefcase in one hand and a card in the other. The boys went quiet.
“Nice to meet you boys. Adolf, Julius and Milton is it? Ah yes, the Three Nightingales, here to serenade us with sweet songs. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mr. Fleas and I think I can help you.” He offered a card to each of the boys with a small flourish. “I think you have talent, really. But you won't get anywhere singing. No you need something bigger. Let me manage you and I can take you the height of drama. I guarantee it.”
Adolf read the card aloud, puzzling over each word as if trying to grasp a deeper meaning. “Mr. Fleas, agent to the stars. Working with the Lower Nine agency. Results guaranteed, contract required.” He turned to speak but was interrupted by offstage yelling. “Hey, whatsa matta you? Get offa da stage, eh?” Another double to the boys, just a bit older was storming towards them. “I'm da manager, and who are you?” He demanded of the tall man. “As I was just telling your brothers here, I want to sign them up for the big time. Have a card Leonard.” There was a deathly silence, Leonard dropped his accent. “How did you know my name?” “It was on the program.” “We ain't got no programs. Just their names on the poster.” “I overheard it.” “You heard no such thing.” Mr. Fleas started stammering. “Listen, it doesn't really matter does it? I mean. I'm offering you something big here.” Julius stopped him. “You keep saying that but what are you offering?” “Twenty years at the top boys. Two decades guaranteed success on stage and screen. All the fame money and women you can handle.”
Mr. Fleas drew a small wicked sharp knife from his breast pocket. “A hand if you please.” Adolf stared at the blade, “What's it for?” The noise outside was dieing down. The crowd would return soon. “To sign my dear boy. Easier to get a drop of blood than put dozens of signatures down.” “Right, could you give us a moment?” “Make it quick, the crowd will be back soon.”
the four brothers huddled together further upstage. Adolf spoke first. “I think he's a devil. Why else the blood and the nice offer?” Julius and Milton nodded in agreement, but Leonard seemed more reserved. “He's probably an old kook. So we wants some blood. Come on, it's worth the gamble.” Adolf gave him a hard stare. “Leo, your the one who taught me never play against the odds. This is against the odds.” For a moment there was tense silence. “Ah, so we tell im to wander off.” They stood up and stared at the waiting devil.
Doing his best uncaring walk Julius crossed the stage. He bowed overly deeply and snapped back upright. “Thank you for your offer but I would not like to be represented by any agent who will take me as a client. Good day to you.” Milton gave a polite no and when he was done Adolf stepped forward with a horn. He bleated out two notes in what could only be a negative, and Leonard just waved him off with a dismissive noise. The crowd returned finding the kids loafing around on an otherwise empty stage.
Unprepared Julius piped up instantly. “You know, Nagadoches is full of roaches if they left us for an Ass. Then again the jackass is the flower of Tex-ass.” The others recoiled at his sharp tongue but after the tiniest pause laughter erupted from the seats. And thus a comedy legend was born. You know them best as Groucho, Harpo, Chico, Zeppo and Gummo Marx.