Wordle #136 – Cuts Like A Knife

1. Sound

2. Terminal

3. Rum Cull (A rich fool, easily cheated, particularly by his mistress.)

4. Knife

5. Gutter

6. Fabric

7. Discolor

8. Gloss

9. Jackboot

10. Passel (a group or lot of indeterminatenumber)

11. Stroke

12. Impatience

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem

The words can appear in an alternate form

Use the words in any order that you like.

Tag: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and Wordle

Freddie sounds ring terminal.  A dull thud echoes in the garage. 

  How could he be a Rum Cull?  His Gisela would never give up her life style.  The knife fills the gutter.   The glossy red flow discolors his fitted clothes.

His fading eyes see her jack boots.  Her clothes torn from an impatient burst of a passel of knife strokes.

Dark Skies

​The fog pulls back like a blanket thrown off the bed.  A warm breeze leaves a row of trees out in the open.  A loud rustling moves one of the oaks.  

Two dark figures hang high above the road.  Beneath them the daily traffic goes by without noticing.  

Morgan rustles his wings.   The morning chill has taken its toll.   The hunting trip into the city didn’t go as planned.   No little ones left unattended.  Dare they hang out during the daylight.   The question hangs much like them high in the trees. 

Opal looks back at him.   “We have to catch one before we go back.”

“They don’t know we exist.   I’d like to keep it that way.”  Morgan didn’t like being exposed. 

“Then they won’t know what to do when they see us!”  Opal makes it clear who’s in charge. Her amber eyes glow with emphasis.

“We aren’t meant to be here. Creatures of darkness.  Stealth and elegance of surprise.  No, I don’t like this.” Morgan looks the other way.   His nervousness telegraphed by his words.

“Just shut the hell up already.  I’m eating.   We have others to fed.  Maybe, next time you can stay back and prepare the food.   If you don’t want to become the meal, that is!”  Opal bares her four large canine teeth.

Morgan drops like a rock.  His brown wings spread at the last minute.  His black hair raised down his back like stubby quills.  A black lab gets caught in the crosshairs.  In the silence of the moment,  noone catches the strange scene.

“He picks off a dog.  How classically Morgan of him!  We have came too far for dog meat.  Pride is a dying art form.” Opal sees bodies moving.  The day has brought forth opportunity.  

The cars below grow more restless. Trucks and buses mix in.  The city street is wide awake. No eyes watch like those above.  The sidewalk is a supermarket.  But the targets aren’t solo.  

The stomach and the brain have a loose understanding.   Neither is in charge and decisions are often impulsive.  The hunter gets edgy.  The odds matter less and less.   Daylight is not Opal’s friend.

“I have to get back with something.   That idiot took a dog.  I can’t with back talons empty.  Why did he do that?   We could have picked a couple small ones together. Wait a minute…. There we are.  Come a little closer, my little tender one.”   Her eyes light up like a Christmas tree. 

The six year old is running ahead of her father with backpack dragging the ground. 

“Daddy, hurry!   We are late!” Ashley runs between strangers.  She turns to look at her dad.  His face is strange.  She takes flight without noticing what happened. 

“ASHLEY!”  Steward runs toward what has caught her by the shoulders.   His face twisted by disbelief.  His eyes lost on what has happened.   His heart speed cold by fear. 

Ashley climbs a hundred feet.  She should be scared but isn’t.  She looks up at what had grabbed her. 

“Are you taking me to school?”  Ashley’s quiet voice crawls toward Opal.

“Little one,  I’m taking you to a special place.   You’ll be the center of attention!   No more school for you.” Opal is somewhat shocked by her.   Opal loves to terrify the victim before crushing then with her talons.  This one is different. 

Breaking Time

Failures need not be terminal 

Points are scored in games only

Viewpoints are not trenches

Intent is a deadly weapon

Minds that are hardened

Should never mix with others

Life is measured in events

Moments are special when shared

Self inflicted wounds spread

Like a cancer they rob life away

Anger is a toxin of pestilence 

Left unchecked it kills all

Time to break away is now

Free your soul for dead weight

Hanging Around

The fog pulls back like a blanket thrown off the bed.  A warm breeze leaves a row of trees out in the open.  A loud rustling moves one of the oaks.  

Two dark figures hang high above the road.  Beneath them the daily traffic goes by without noticing.  

Morgan rustles his wings.   The morning chill has taken its toll.   The hunting trip into the city didn’t go as planned.   No little ones left unattended.  Dare they hang out during the daylight.   The question hands much like them high in the trees. 

Opal looks back at him.   “We have to catch one before we go back.”

“They don’t know we exist.   I’d like to keep it that way.”  Morgan didn’t like being exposed. 

“Then they won’t know what to do when they see us!”  Opal makes it clear who’s in charge.

Written as part of a challenge called Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, details are available at https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2016/12/19/fffaw-challenge-week-of-december-20-2016/