November 2017

Sun, Nov 5 2017 02:45pm GMT 1
jkdavies
jkdavies
40 Posts
November. November rain. Last leaves and bonfires. Gunpowder, treason and plot. 30 days of November, 30 pieces of silver.

This month's theme is betrayal. 400 words maximum. Happy writing!
Thank you J.Net for helping out by posting this - much appreciated
Sun, Nov 5 2017 02:54pm GMT 2
healeymonster1
healeymonster1
51 Posts
Great choice of theme.
Mine's nearly ready!

Mon, Nov 6 2017 06:40pm GMT 3
Mat
Mat
12 Posts
Draft or two away, bang on 399/400. Been summoned back to work after my hissy - boss told me 'I should have hit him,' so not sacked...oh well, no more drafting.

....

My Own Personal Narration @ Barrowby Infants School, the Death OF FAWKES educational series, 400 words

‘Here at the gallows, and before his still living eyes, before even, his disembowelment, executioners raised the blades for a crowd to see.

The skyline darkened, men in hoods sharpened the instruments of pig iron complexion, the tools of the three stage English justice. Guy Fawkes groaned, and to the amusement of spectators, anticipated agonies of this most-favoured ceremony.

But for now the chopsmen laid the knives back down on the trestle, aside this traitor’s flank, and debated in their whispers the procedural order of intimate butchery. Steam of mankind rose from shoulders, executioners turned, carvery lust leaping as a flame from both of their very nostrils.

Yes, savage indeed, and savagery, some might say so, but why, we ask, class?

DO intellectuals refer to the political imperative, revenge..?

How in duty to our great and glorious nation, two executioners themselves conspired together in such irony, to slice, pop, and shove Guy’s testicles…why?

Yes, Eric..?

No, there were two of Guy Fawkes testicles, listen to the story properly, into his mouth because, anybody, he was a Catholic, thank you, and like your Maltesers if you say so – into his chasm, hole of Satan, mouth-hole Fawkes flickered treason, children, read your Bible. The serpent tongue waved as a Saracen’s banner. Or even, god forbid like the Vatican dome radiating sedition at its solstice, like this, now watch carefully my demonstration, with tongue and my hands, boys and girls.

Pay attention to the chitterlings, Klara…

But no, evidently, sadly this was not to be the case, please take the chitterlings away from me, thank you, the fate would never befall Guy Fawkes because as we now learn, he hurled bodily, with his wrists tied, hurled his red breast in bondage, from the scaffold, and was strangled at the noose.

He swung, or he snapped perhaps most certainly, and spared himself from life

and the sight of his own ripe intestines dragged in dirt, the taste of a mouth crammed goolies under lip, the sensation of cheek in blood, with foam to ears, trampled alive among cart wheels, among horses, the poor on all fours, brought down amidst loyal whores of the righteous Protestant family von Windsor-Bildenburg, God save the Queen, Ulster is British, remember the Alamo, uh hum. Yes, every word is true

that only the Papist’s corpse was hung, drawn and quartered, and why Daddy buys fireworks.

Any more questions?’

Thu, Nov 9 2017 06:48am GMT 4
Seagreen
Seagreen
2181 Posts
*bump*
Thu, Nov 9 2017 08:56pm GMT 5
Yo
Yo
181 Posts

The Smiling Face of the Friendly Fox.

Mummy said, "Never trust a fox."

But a fox was the only creature that helped me when she walked away to Hedgehog Heaven.

"Trust me, my prickly friend. You need food, you need water and you need somewhere warm. I can take you to a place where there's that and more. Trust your friend, Mr Fox."

I liked him, he was true to his word, we didn't have to walk far before he ushered me into a lovely, warm home. A castle that reached right to the sky, as far as I could see. When I looked for Mummy in the stars, I still couldn't see the top.

"Tomorrow I will show you, and if you're lucky, we may find some other prickly friends who've lost their mummies."

The next night, although I was very hungry, I awoke refreshed from a cosy day of sleep, nestled inside my magnificent castle. I dreamt of warm fires and incredible lights, of humans in scarves and machinery swirling and wooshing.

"All the fun of the fair, all the fun of the fair!" a human cried out.

A sweet smell in the frosty air greeted me as I was met by Mr. Fox and his welcoming smile. He wasn't at all like Mummy had warned.

He found me some scrumptious apples all covered in sticky sauce and best of all, a kind of bread with tomatoes and cheese and mushrooms and onions. There was so much to eat and I wanted to take it all back to my castle to keep me going through the cold nights to come.

"When the frost comes, you must search for food and bedding and somewhere safe and warm to sleep, until the smell of spring." Mummy had advised with worried eyes.

The next night when we got back to my castle, Mr Fox said "I've got a surprise!"

Inside were six prickly friends! And we all got on famously! They all loved Mr Fox too.

"Tomorrow, you're going to have so much fun!" he said.

That great big grin of his beamed wider than ever.

“It's the human Bonfire Night! And you're going to be right in the middle of it!”

He made it sound so exciting, and when he left, we all snuggled together dreaming of our friend Mr Fox and what fun the human Bonfire Night would be.

Thu, Nov 9 2017 09:00pm GMT 6
Yo
Yo
181 Posts
394 excluding title
Fri, Nov 10 2017 09:47am GMT 7
Penworthy
Penworthy
12 Posts

The Very Idea

412 years ago, thirteen key figures were responsible for one of the annual highlights of my childhood: Bonfire Night. My days of treacle toffee and parkin are long gone but their failed act of treason is still celebrated in shivery November evenings, the whooshes and oohs of firework displays, and the crackling of bonfires. Many of those who take part know little of the full story of the Gunpowder Plot which is why, several years ago, I sought to tell it as a novel. The producers of the recent BBC series were, they alleged, trying to do the same sort of thing but they failed.

The series went beyond filling in the blanks left by history and has, with its use of invention, grossly distorted the story of the Plot. Just two examples are that the first episode involved the discovery and execution of a fictitious young priest, included to illustrate a point – a legitimate device only if you aren't claiming to tell the full true story. The second episode had Catesby and Thomas Winter visiting the Constable of Castille in Spain to reveal their intention and request a Spanish invasion of England. In fact Winter went on his own to request the Constable's help in gaining concessions for English Catholics during forthcoming peace negotiations.

When I wrote my novel, "High Treason", I was keen to adhere as closely as possible to actual events and to invent only where it was necessary to flesh out characters or fill in history's unknowns but, even allowing for airtime restrictions, the BBC and the writer of "Gunpowder" have grossly misrepresented the Plot. On a lesser note, whereas I was anxious to avoid a "ta da!" moment when Guy Fawkes entered the story, the BBC series showed no such reluctance. I'll say nothing about the inclusion of an American actress to make the series more saleable to America. What is concerning is the thought that viewers on both sides of the Atlantic will accept what they see as the truth.

There is no comparison between my account of the Gunpowder Plot and the BBC's blandly-characterised one but theirs has received a major exposition whereas mine, having been rejected twenty times, will probably never see the light of day. We approached the same idea completely differently but, where the depiction of true history is concerned, I did it better.

(397 words)

Fri, Nov 10 2017 09:29pm GMT 8
healeymonster1
healeymonster1
51 Posts
Betrayal, I'm looking forward to hopefully readig a lot of entries on here through November.
This is my offering. It is inspired by a news story I remember seeing when I was 11, back in 1994. It must have made an impression on me as it immediatley came to mind when I read the opening post.
I have admit that as a beginner, I feel a bit uncomfortable with the content. I doubt it will shock anyone on here but it does contain violence and sexual swearing/content etc.

***
Amoxicillin 500mg, the packet was clearly readable in the moonlight. Leaning on the cooker top she turned the box over again in her long slender fingers. How had this disgusting thing happened?
He must have known.
Dirty bastard.
She squirmed with discomfort again, clenching her groin against that fiery itch. She scratched at herself as hard as she dared without tearing a nail off on the stiff fabric of her jeans. It was pointless, there was no relief from it. Every movement just brought more of that hot, slimy, irritation. She held down the starter on the gas hob. It’s frantic clicking hammered through the silence until a blue flame bloomed into life. It picked out the sharp angles of her face with an eerie blue glow. She scratched again, nails raking uselessly at the thick denim. Scratching at the rot he’d stuck in there with his filthy dick. Scratching at the infection he had planted. Planted right in the place where the precious seed of their baby was meant to grow.
Amoxicillin 500mg, she read it again and thought of that pompous old tosser, doctor Cassidy. Peering over the top of his glasses at her and asking; “And you’re sure Matthew has been your only sexual partner in the last six weeks?” Arsehole.
“Dirty bastard.” she muttered and flung the packet into the dark. It skittered along the tiles and came to rest in the corner next to her engagement ring. She grabbed the saucepan and started to fill it.
Surrounded by empty candle boxes, she stirred slowly. Savouring these last moments of calm. The last minutes before her fiance found out exactly what she thought of him, and that nasty, dirty, little thing of his. The saucepan crackled and popped slightly as the first bubbles of wax vapour gained enough energy for them to race to the surface and escape.
Matt was fast asleep, sprawled on the bed naked. His hands were behind his head, not a care in the world. Fucking prick. She took a last look at his gym toned stomach, his muscular chest, and his perfectly sculpted little beard. Vain selfish prick. Amanda’s eyes kept being drawn to that ugly little arrangement of flesh in his crotch. Disgusting thing.
She started to pour, the first splatter of wax made a hissing sound as it heated that soft, tender skin. After that there was just screaming.

Fri, Nov 10 2017 09:29pm GMT 9
healeymonster1
healeymonster1
51 Posts
400 words exactly.
Sat, Nov 11 2017 08:51am GMT 10
jkdavies
jkdavies
40 Posts
Hello all - just to let you know, I can sometimes see theWord Cloud so I am able to read your entries without signing in! (even if I can't always comment)
The Word Cloud are working on the issue, now it's the weekend I will chase up progress.
Thanks to Mat, Yo, Penworthy & Healeymonster for posting already, and looking forward to more exquisite betrayals in the rest of the month...
Mon, Nov 13 2017 08:55pm GMT 11
L.
L.
125 Posts

The Ecstasy of Betrayal

Maybe, it happened because we had fought, or because I had run out of reasons not to, or because it was a Tuesday, and what a shitty day that is, or maybe your anger had reminded me of my father. It didn’t matter anymore; all that mattered now, was the flame licking the spoon. When ready, I dropped the piece of filter in and it swelled up like my heart anticipating the rush to come. Rolled-up sleeve, discarded morals, and a recycled hairband tied around my arm, I speared the soaked fibres like I had done so many times before until you had convinced me that I didn’t need it, but the quivers of my skin reminded me that I did.

The solution rising in the barrel stirred up a familiar tightness in my groin I thought forgotten. Lying on my back night after night I had lied to us both—you inside of me would never satisfy me as much as the warmth of heroin inside of me did. You would never compare or be big enough to fill the hollowness that needed to be filled. Your love for me was a windmill, a losing battle. What I was about to do to you saddened me but I took comfort in the thought that soon you would be like Tuesday—you wouldn’t matter.

The constellation of old scars mapping the veins running below the skin showed me the way. I tilted the needle before its tip tore the flesh. Skipping a breath, I anxiously waited until a cloud of blood uncurled in the syringe and the visceral excitement of hitting the vein uncurled in my stomach. Licking my lips, I pushed the plunger and every promise I made to you, myself and the people in N.A. dissolved in a chemically-induced ecstasy.

A flaming sun rose in my abdomen, its tangled rays creeping up my spine, firing upwards until they exploded in my mind, a tantalising wave of warmth drowning me. The radiating light bleached the memory of your face into oblivion. I let go of you. Untethered, my body collapsed back into bed and into the embrace of my old lover. I’d been so stupid for ever wanting to give it up, but it forgave me for my indiscretion. I should take the needle out and flush the blood from the syringe. I should. I should…

Days clean: zero

(400 words exc. title)

Thu, Nov 16 2017 10:22am GMT 12
J.net
J.net
684 Posts

A Perfect Alibi

400 words excluding title

‘Remember now, mum’s the word?’ Lauren says with a wink. ‘What others don’t know won’t harm, eh? See, the best things in life have a secret ingredient, Nicks, and mine’s a little extra spice.’

‘Mum’s the word,’ I concede, except I’m not Lauren’s mum; I’m her friend, or rather her perfect alibi. I mean, who wouldn’t believe plain old Geeky Nicky? – who prefers a good read than a trip round the shops; who could tell a manager in five languages that Lauren turned up on time, or stayed the whole weekend, cross her heart.

With a flick of her dip-dyed hair, Lauren folds her shapely body into the sports-car at the kerb, a perfect specimen of muscle and white teeth at its wheel. They’ve barely rolled away before I reach for my coat.

As withered leaves crunch beneath my feet, I consider this maze of betrayal I’ve entered into. Do I feel bad about my own? I shake my head free of lingering guilt. The world couldn’t exist but for deceit.

The mellow sun picks out a silken web as if to highlight my meaning, its master deluder busily wrapping its latest dupe. I look down the avenue of trees, their autumnal display melting the hearts of lovers and dreamers too enthralled to acknowledge it is but a moulting cloak of amber and russet decay.

A squirrel runs across my path, its cheeks pregnant with gathered booty after stripping the ancient branches further of their flesh. And so it will continue until only a skeleton remains.

It’s nature.

A dog-eat-dog world of deception.

Of grabbing what you can while you can …

Except Lauren’s husband, James, deserves better – and he needs to know it.

Breathing in crisp air infused with a tang of spent bonfires, I stride on. One avenue leads to another, until I arrive at an imposing end terrace. A deep breath, and I tap out my arrival on the brass lion’s paw.

The door opens.

‘Nicole,’ James acknowledges my preferred name, while casting a glance up and down the street. ‘And Lauren?’

‘With … him.’

‘You sure?’ he puckers his brow.

‘Well, at mine ‘til Sunday evening if you ask her, but I’d say she’s hitting the motorway about now if you ask me.’

He stands aside; a flick of his head invites me in.

The door is barely closed before he seals his lips on mine.

Thu, Nov 16 2017 01:54pm GMT 13
John Alty
John Alty
98 Posts
Semantics
Adam spooned chutney onto his chicken Madras, tore a piece of naan and started to eat. Sarah prodded her curry with a fork.
“I’ve got something to tell you” she said.
“Hmm. Is this where you tell me about Daniel?”
“Daniel?”
“Yes, Daniel. Your lover.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I was going to tell you someone scratched my car at the supermarket.”
Adam smiled, nodded.
“I know you’ve had a thing with this bloke for at least three months.”
“Who told you that?” She reached for her lager, lifted the glass, put it down again, “you don’t believe it, do you?”
“I thought we were happily married, Sarah. I was deluded.”
Sarah slammed through the restaurant door, strode down the pavement, fists clenched.
*
“Open this bloody door, Miriam, or I’ll break it down.”
“Be quiet, you’ll have the neighbours complaining.” said Miriam, through the gap afforded by the security chain, “calm down and I’ll let you in.”
Inside, Sarah flung herself on the settee, face flushed.
“You told Adam about Daniel, didn’t you?”
“I did no such thing. It could have been anyone, Sarah. A barman at the club, one of Daniel’s mates.”
Sarah started to speak, stopped, slumped back on the settee.
“Look, love, is it really that bad? Just ‘fess up. Adam’s a reasonable bloke.”
Sarah took out her phone, fiddled.
“He’s not picking up. I should go.”
*
“Was she here?” said Adam.
“Yes, as you predicted. She had a rant but then saw sense, I think” said Miriam.
“Good. Next step, divorce on my terms. Look, darling, must dash, she’ll be waiting.”
The doorbell rang. They froze, mid-kiss. Miriam looked through the peephole.
“Christ! It’s her again” she hissed. “What does she want now?”
“I’ll be in the bedroom, get rid of her.”
“I left my phone” said Sarah, “There, on the settee, sorry.”
*
Adam walked into the kitchen, Sarah was sitting at the counter with a glass of wine.
“You alright?” he asked, “Wondered where you’d got to. I popped into the Kings Head for a pint.”
“I went to Miriam’s for a bit, then walked home. Do you want to talk about my dalliance?”
“I think I’d call it betrayal, wouldn’t you?”
Sarah reached for her phone, hit ‘Play’ on the digital recorder and said,
“No, Adam. That’s what I’d call betrayal.”

(394 words)

Sun, Nov 19 2017 01:00pm GMT 14
jkdavies
jkdavies
40 Posts
bump!
Mon, Nov 20 2017 10:46am GMT 15
Ariejester
Ariejester
28 Posts

Here's my attempt for betrayl ;)
400 words (excluding the title), contains swear words

...............................................................

A Deliriously Deceptive Truth

Did I really just see that?

A glimmer of reflection, a shiver through my spine.

It could have been my eyes again, they play tricks on me. I’ve seen it before. Could it really be that?

He said I was wrong last time, told me I was crazy. Could I be crazy? Crazy in love, blinded by emotion. Maybe I am crazy, maybe I do see things. But then if I really didn’t see that, what was it? What could it have been?

She was pretty, blond, slim and everything I’m not. Perhaps I should dye my hair, lose some weight. Would he like me then?

He still likes to play in the bedroom, still enjoys the odd cigarette after sex. He cares for me, cuddles me and whispers sweet nothings. So maybe I am crazy, maybe I did really see things. Maybe he wasn’t fucking the next-door neighbour again.

Maybe I heard things too. The high-pitched scream, the cries for help. Maybe that really didn’t happen. The blood-stained clothes, the axe by the bed stand. Perhaps that was in my head after all. The bloody carpet, the dirt under my fingernails. I must be going crazy. He said it wasn’t real, clearly, I believed him. I had believed him, every day for three fucking years. Three years that bouncy blond had sprawled herself over my kitchen counter. Three fucking years.

Did he really think I was that naïve? Did he really think I’d stick by him after THAT! He was the crazy one, lusting in love, what a fucking prick. It serves him right now, divorce is the least of his problems. He can rot down there, rot in hell for all I care.

He said he loved me, it wasn’t my fault, I couldn’t have kids. We could have adopted, fostered. But no, he went and got her pregnant instead. I mean really, the huge bump was damn obvious. The look on his face though, priceless! I’d waited long enough. Well even though he was a cheating bastard, at least he gave me a child after all.

Reflection, that’s what I saw in the first place, a glimmer of reflection in the glass. Now the reflection’s changed. Now I’m pretty, now I’m beautiful, covered in her blood, cradling my new baby, would he want me now? Too late, as the spade fell against the cabinet. Too fucking late.

Mon, Nov 20 2017 09:50pm GMT 16
JimB
JimB
2 Posts

BETRAYAL

The gash on Simon's forehead dripped blood into his eyes, as he stared up at her, perched on the diving board looking down at him, at the side of the pool, where he had fallen. She looked rather amused, which Simon found disconcerting. Bill had punched him, and Simon had fallen hard against the gas-powered barbeque.

Bill was standing over Simon, ready to hit him again if he'd been foolish enough to stand up. Simon and Samantha had been having an affair for a month. Bill had found out about it from one of the staff. Bill was impetuous and never asked first, so he'd just punched Simon, and asked after.

“Are you having an affair with my wife?” demanded Bill. A question he should have asked before punching, but like I said, that's Bill for you.

Simon looked from Samantha and up at Bill. This was a situation he was surprised to find himself in. Not only had he slept with Samantha, the most desireable woman in the compound, but now he found himself at the wrong end of a wronged husband. Not at all a typical scenario for Simon, who was largely a coward, in love and war.

“Well, I don't know if you'd call it an affair,” he prevaricated, “a dalliance, perhaps?”

Bill laughed. “'A dalliance' indeed. You've both betrayed me. My wife and my best friend. How do you think I should deal with you?” he glared at the prone Simon.

Simon found this difficult to answer. He didn't want to get battered further, but he also felt he should answer honestly, to avoid any more complications.

“How about I apologise and grovel very sincerely, and promise not to do it again. How's that?”

Bill laughed again, with even more menace in his voice.

“How about I hang you from that diving board, with your own guts?”

A sharp peal of laughter rang out from Samantha, who had climbed down from the diving board, and was pouring her beautiful self into Bill's sports car, which had Jeff at the wheel. The engine revved, and they were away, Samantha's laughter trailing in the air.

Simon's blood finally reached his mouth. The metallic taste was a shock.

Bill put out his hand, helping Simon to his feet. “Drink, old chap? And I'll get you something for that cut.”

“Cheers, Bill. Nice of you.”

Mon, Nov 20 2017 09:51pm GMT 17
JimB
JimB
2 Posts
My first post on this forum, and the first thing I've written and shown to anyone for at least 10 years. Took about 20 minutes. 400 words.

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