Terribleminds challenge this week.
Pick three words from the list of
ten. Incorporate these words into your story.
Ready?
1. Scarecrow
2. Mint
3. Epidemic
4. Tongue
5. Republic
6. Scorpion
7. Divorce
8. Moon
9. Holiday
10. Legend
Again: three words. Incorporate
into the tale. Which doesn’t mean simply using those words — it means making
them parts of the plot, characters, or motifs found within. You can choose
these words randomly (d10 or random number generator) or eschew chaos and hand-pick
‘em.
I rolled tongue, scorpion, legend.
I was really stuck until I was
chatting to pukbak on twitter and she inspired me. so this one is for her. 935 words.
The legend of the scorpion queen
She strode into the saloon as if
she owned the place. He watched her; it was hard not to. Her skirts were kilted
up around her waist so that her long legs could move freely. The skirt folds
fell in long loops over the front of her thighs. She had tight leggings on underneath
to cover her nicely shaped legs and ankle boots. He looked. He was a man.
“Evening, boss,” the barman
called.
“Evening, Sam.”
Turned out she did own it. Huh. Maybe
he should have known that before he started running a tab. He didn’t like women
running businesses. Didn’t trust them; they were sneaky. Once a woman had told
him it was because women were smarter than him, but as if she’d know? He curled
his large, angry body around his whiskey and hunkered down. He’d finish this drink
and leave. The other bar looked okay.
He watched her from the corner of
his eye. She scanned the bar. He scanned her.
“Be careful, mate,” the guy next
to him said.
“Huh?”
“You’re new in town. You probably
don’t know the legend. It doesn’t pay to insult the lady.”
He snorted derisively. She was no lady.
“I can look,” he grunted. He took another sip of his drink. “What’s her name?”
Maybe he knew her by reputation. She’d have to be tough to run a business that
wasn’t a brothel in this area. The desert killed more than just the farm
holders’ crops.
“She calls herself Serket. At
least since the accident.”
“Weren’t no accident,” a grizzled
old crone mumbled. “He tried to kill her.”
Now that was something he could
understand. “Who did?” he asked the crone.
“Her lover.”
“Wanted her business,” the first
guy said.
“I heard he wanted her to put out
for the customers,” said another.
“I heard she had a treasure and
wouldn’t share it with him,” another supplied.
“Gossip,” he grunted.
He was distracted, trying to remember
what he had heard about Serket; that was the only reason why she could sneak up
on him. She patted him on the shoulder. He twitched. It was the shock that was
all. He wasn’t frightened of her. But he had heard of her.
She leaned down and whispered in
his ear, “He said he hated how I could talk. So he held me down and shoved a
scorpion in my mouth.”
Her hand caressed over his shoulder
and he had the oddest sensation. It felt like feet. Little scratchy insect
feet. He shivered and took a fortifying sip of his whiskey.
“It was a deathstalker,” she said
in his other ear. She jerked towards him, making a hissing sound.
Just like a scorpion.
He was getting spooked. He wanted
to leave but no woman was going to chase him off.
“Stung me on the tongue,” she
added.
“Not dead,” he pointed out.
“No. Clever boy.”
He wasn’t good with recognising
sarcasm. Never understood why people didn’t just say what they meant.
“That’s why it’s a legend,” the
old crone said.
Serket laughed. Put her head back
and shook her hair and laughed. He saw a glimpse of her tongue. It seemed kind
of dark. Maybe even black.
He gulped the rest of his drink
and made to leave. He’d had enough of this.
The barman saw him do it and had
his tab ready but he was feeling ornery. She was annoying him and he didn’t
feel like paying.
“Here’s your tab,” the barman
said, sliding it across the bar towards him.
He wasn’t good with figures
either. He stood and picked up his hat. Others shuffled away from him. He didn’t
pick up the tab.
She slammed her palm down on the
bar, blocking him from leaving.
She tilted her head. “You owe me a
buck twenty.”
He looked down at her hand and
shrugged. “Can’t make me.” No way was a woman challenging him.
The barman glanced at his boss and
raised an eyebrow.
She sighed. It sounded more
annoyed than sad. She made an odd click noise with her tongue.
It was then a movement in her
skirt caught his eye. The material moved as if something was underneath it. He almost
wasn’t surprised when he saw what it was.
It was a scorpion. It clambered out
of the skirt fold and delicately made its way up her hip. He couldn’t seem to
get enough air into his lungs. If he could have found his tongue he might have
offered to pay, but he could not take his eyes off the arachnid. Purposefully it
scuttled down her arm and onto the back of her hand where it still lay flat on
the bar.
The scorpion arched its tail and
pointed the barb at him.
He’d had guns pointed at him
plenty of times and he’d never felt his bowels go liquid like they did now.
“Buck twenty,” she repeated.
He had to reach for the piece of
paper. Past the armed creature. And he knew it was armed and aimed at him. They
could move so fast when they wanted to.
He reached into his pocket and counted
the coins onto the tab.
“Clever boy,” she hissed. He heard
an echo of the scorpion rattle in her voice.
He jammed his hat on his head and
stormed out of the bar. He made sure to tell everyone to avoid the place unless
they wanted to see the scorpion queen for themselves.
A few said they had heard of her. “Is
it true that her tongue is black?” one asked him.
~~~~
© AM Gray 2013
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