Allusionary Assembly

The Writing of Kerry E.B. Black



The Edge

From Charli Mills’ : In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that goes to the edge. Consider what the edge might be and how it informs the story. Go where the prompt leads. Respond by January 30, 2018

My response. What do you think?


The edge

Written by Kerry E.B. Black

 Julia’s life balanced on a silvery precipice, its sharp cleavage pressed to her throat. Its wielder clasped a bruising hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming. As the blade cut into delicate skin, Julia pushed into the knifeman’s chest to escape its bite.

His voice rumbled, an avalanche of fear in tenor. “Stay back.”

Julia’s husband, palms outstretched in supplication, stopping inching toward them. “Alright, but let her go.”

A tiny blood rivulet escaped its confines and tickled to her collarbone. Julia held her breath, lest movement might cause a deeper cut.

“Can’t. She’s coming with me.”

Carrot Ranch’s 99 word Boots challenge

For this week’s challenge, Charli Mills asked her Carrot Ranch companions and guests to write 99 words that involved boots.


These 99 words explore a bit more of my novel, “Wolves at Bay.” I do hope you’ll enjoy them.

Ward slipped off his boots easily as a seal slipping into water. Mud from his trek clung to the soles, a reminder he’d not truly escaped the situation. Its insidious hold waited. With an old rag, he wiped the boot bottoms, but no matter how many swipes, streaks remained like broken shards from a mirror to his past. He’d have no choice but confront the truth.

“They’ll come for her, and if she’s not here, they’ll take us. You. They’ll put us on trial in her place, and still, they’ll catch her. She can’t run, and neither can we.”

Low-Balled and Parenting

I wrote two responses for the latest challenge issued by :

January 4, 2018, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about Copper Country. It can be any place, fictional, historical, or on another planet. Go where the copper leads. Respond by 9 January to be included in the Carrot Ranch compilation.


Written by Kerry E.B. Black

 Jenkins wiped grime along his plumber’s bottom.

The homeowner, a single mother of two, wrung her hands like an old-time heroine.  “What’s the damage?”

He cleared his throat. “How long were you away, Ms. Rowen?”

“A week. Make-a-Wish gave my littlest a trip.” She hugged the kids. “It was the kindest experience we’ve ever had, right boys? Then we got home, and the basement’s flooded.” A nervous giggle escaped.

Jenkins considered the pipeworks, yards of stolen copper mined from the vacationers’ house. He estimated the cost. A minimum of $5,000. More than she had, he suspected.

So he low-balled.





Written by Kerry E.B. Black

 Heather combed through the older woman’s thick hair, separating it into sections using plastic clips. Layers of steel and silver gave way to a small cove of copper. She ran a finger along the silky strands, recalled brushing and braiding when her mother’s head boasted autumn, not winter, a child mothering.

                She blinked back tears. “You were an awful mother.”     

                Her mother shrugged, unconcerned. “Orphans don’t know how to parent.”

                Heather’s scissors snipped, creating the requested fashion.

Heather’s children dominated her every thought, their needs always first; not at all how her mother raised her. “Yet somehow I learned.”  

My Wishing Star

The talented Ms. Charli Mills is at it again, this time asking anyone who visits to write a 99 word story featuring a wishing star. Follows is my offering.

nasa stars

My Wishing Star

Written by Kerry E.B. Black

Storms crowd the night sky, eager to take in the splendor of my wishing star. I imagine them with outstretched Sirius arms clutching pens and pads to collect her autograph, and she’d smile a cool and radiant dismissal. She has work this evening, as always. No time to cavort. She shines in the work, glorious minion of the heavens. She waves them away to peek upon her awaiting penitents. I stand among them, whispering my wishes as fervently as prayers. She collects them in shimmers and sigh and keeps them with ancestral wisdom until they are every one fulfilled.

*Photo from Nasa’s online images


Charli Mills at issued a challenge to any writer interested. Write a story in 99 words that includes white flowers. My response follows. What do you think?

paperwhite narcissus


Written by Kerry E.B. Black

Delicate blooms bobbed from fragile supports, yet fragrance rose like springtime that winter afternoon. Cindy ran a finger along its silky petals, marveling at the minute perfection of the Paperwhites. Narcissi. Named for a narcissist so in love with himself he ignored another and drowned attempting to hug his own reflection.

Cindy smiled at the gift-giver. “They’re beautiful.”

He shrugged. “I picked them.” His gaze swept her party dress and updo. “Are you ready? I mean, is that what you’re wearing?”

Cindy inhaled the delicate perfume and sighed. Never fall in love with a narcissist, yet here I am.

#FFRodeo – Arachnid Cacophony



Geoff Le Pard wanted participants in his Carrot Ranch #FFRodeo event to make him laugh using about 300 words. The winners can be found here, and my feeble entry is below.

Winner of Flash Fiction Rodeo Contest #2

Arachnid Cacophony

Written by Kerry E.B. Black

 Christine and Sarah enjoyed a lazy summer afternoon. A light breeze ruffled the grasses and the old dog’s fur. Latte’s nose twitched, catching interesting scents and perhaps remembering puppyhood.

            With a start, Christine pulled her flip-flop-clad feet up onto the lawn chair. “Uh oh, Sarah. Look. There’s a huge spider on Latte.”

            Sarah squinted. A wolf spider crawled along the dog’s shoulder. Sarah gulped. “What should we do?”

            “We’ll have to get it off.” Hugging her legs, Christine shrunk into herself. “She’s your dog. You get it off.”

            “Come on, Christine. You’re older.”

            Christine blushed. “Yes, but guess what? I’m terrified of spiders, and that one’s gigantic.”

            “Well, I’ll call Latte over and knock the spider off with my crutch.” Sarah lifted her forearm crutch to illustrate.

            Christine nodded. “Be careful, though. Don’t hit Latte. Just knock the spider off.” She fixed her friend with a serious look. “And don’t send it flying over here, either. Got it?”

            “Got it.” With a mock-calm voice, Sarah called her dog. “Latte.”

            Latte’s ears perked. She wagged her golden tail, and an unaccustomed glint infiltrated her chocolate-drop eyes. The usually slow-moving retriever surprised them by leaping to her feet and, with great galumphing, undulating bounds, closed on the women. The spider flopped with each stride, seemingly suspended for seconds before bouncing against the dog’s shoulder, a horrifying progress intensified by arachnophobia.

            Christine screamed and in her haste to escape, knocked her chair to the ground. Her foot tangled in the nylon webbing. The chair slapped against her as she dragged the unwanted tag-a-long in her shrieking, arm-flailing retreat.

Latte followed Christine, unable to hear Sarah’s commands to sit over Christine’s cacophony. Christine ran around the front yard, chair and dog in tow. By the time all calmed, the nobody could find the spider.

#FFRodeo Contest: Twitterflash Stories

For #FFRodeo contest #5, C. Jai Ferry provided a #Twitterflash story. Participants were asked to write a complete 99-word story using Twitter. Every #Twitterflash story also had to be 11 sentences with exactly 9 words each.

The results were interesting!

Winner of Flash Fiction Contest #5

For my entry, I explored a bit more of the complicated relationship between Erin and Marlin, the main characters in my Middle Grade novel WIP, Mae in May.


Erin’s Diary

Erin seethed. “Don’t you dare open that book, Marlin!”

Marlin’s mouth twisted bedeviled innocence. “And why not?”

He held her diary over his head. “Whatcha hiding?”

Marlin laughed as she leapt to retrieve her book.

“Give it back now, Marlin!” Mirth bubbled from him.

He stretched, using his height to advantage, and read.

“Mom gave me this to keep track of thoughts.”

“Please! I’m not kidding. That’s private.” Erin pleaded, hot-faced.

Marlin’s eyes sparkled with mischief. He pushed Erin back

He spoke in falsetto. “So much of life’s changed.

She kicked his shin and scooped the dropped book.


However, I first wrote an exploration for another of my WIP’s, Wolves at Bay. I usually write late at night, and when I wrote it, I must have been a bit blurry in my Swiss cheese brain, because I misremembered the rules. Instead if 11 lines of 9, I wrote 9 lines of 11. (sigh.) This is the product of my sleep-deprived imagining.

Nina’s Courtroom Entry:

They dragged Nina into the courtroom, twisted legs sprawled behind her.

Dried blood marred her too-pale skin, and her sparse hair tangled.

Guards thrust her onto a stool; Ward sickened; he’d made it.

Just as his father’d taught, he’d whittled delicate but sturdy legs.

At home, the utilitarian piece would never have served for Nina.

Her muscles knotted and her nerves spasmed, and she bolted sideways.

Nina’s head lulled, and her eyes rolled like a painted saint.

Feelings of suppressed protectiveness rose like a fever in her brother.

Ward balked, long accustomed to disgusted embarrassment of his disabled sister.




#FFRodeo entry: Invisible Scars

Irene Waters designed #FFRodeo contest #4 to expose scars. The winners’ heartbreaking stories are posted here:

Follows is my entry.

Invisible Scars

Written by Kerry E.B. Black

Some scars are invisible.

Three-day Labor Day weekends break Kayla. The change of the air rouses latent fears. The scent of blooming chrysanthemum and backyard barbeques inspires panic. She scratches skin grown feverish, leaving bloody tracks. Her head pounds with remembered shame, and she battles a torrent of emotion. Anger. Fear. Revulsion. Her eyes grow wide, not seeing the world of that day, plunged into reliving an abuse that left lasting and invisible scars.

A man Kayla trusted betrayed her. When visiting her father, he violated what should have been a loving relationship.

She fought disgrace and disclosed the act to her mother, to her doctor, to any teachers who would listen. CYF sent agents. She answered their questions, ignoring the mounting stomach sickness caused by reliving. She endured forensics exams, psychological consultations, and police interviews. In the end, CYF and the state dropped charges against her violator.

She railed. “This is wrong. Why isn’t he punished?” Her mother plead with the courts to help protect her daughter. They put small safe-guards in place. With a PTSD diagnosis, she entered a weekly therapeutic program.

The strangest little things trigger reactions to unresolved memories. These invisible scars demand acknowledgement.


My First Writing Rodeo

In October, Carrot Ranch ran a series of contests instead of hosting weekly prompts. Judging for the events is completed, and the result of the interesting challenges are posted. Please take a moment to read them here: www.

For my part, I entered all of the contests, and in light of the high-quality stories from all the entrants, I’m thrill to have won one! I posted the winning entry in an earlier post. It’s title is “Like Retribution.” However, I’ll post my other entries here now that the judging is completed. 🙂 Below is my entry for #FFRodeo #3 designed with a magical twist by Jules Paige. Find the rules and winning entries here:


Winner of Flash Fiction Contest #3

My septolet-containing entry was Russet Leaves Jacob found the scrap of parchment while raking Oma Rochinka’s yard. In shaky handwriting were the words:

Russet leaves

Reveal skeletal keys

Otherwise hidden

Toadstool rings

Powdered, infused, consumed




He slid it into his pocket. Maybe Oma’s writing poetry.

He raked and wondered which of the leaves qualified as russet. He picked a couple, sniffing their elegant decay, and slid them into the warmth of his hoodie’s pocket. Music crooned from his left earbud, but he left his right ear music-free to enjoy the last autumn bird songs. Red-capped mushrooms made a circle at the foot of the maple tree. Wonder if that’s russet? He picked a couple and slid them beside the leaves, determined to ask.

Jacob tapped the song’s back-beat. He played with his high school band, but he aspired to create a country music group. Trouble was, nobody around wanted to put in the work required to make a go of such a thing. When people heard about his dream, they laughed and said, “Better have a back-up plan.”

After Jacob bagged the leaves, the old lady beckoned. Inside a small room crowded with old-world charm, delicious baking smells enveloped him.

“Good work, Jacob. Have some cobbler.”

Oma always baked something delicious for him. As he tucked in, he handed her the note. “Is this yours?”

Her eyes twinkled behind chained spectacles. “No, it belongs to you.” She produced a mortar and pestle. “Well, let’s have them.”

He knew Oma too well for surprise. He set the mushrooms and leaves on the table. “Are they russet?”

“Near as I can tell. Crush them into a powder.” She dropped the results into a bottle of rosewater. “When you’re ready, you drink. This’ll guide you.”

Jacob never questioned, but accepted the bottle and its future.




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