Fall Flash Festival - Change

To celebrate his 40th birthday, a writer friend, Eric Martell, has decided to host a flash fiction contest called Fall Flash Festival with the deadline of his birthday (3rd of October). He has themed it by the present season of autumn, and anything that brings to mind. 

Here's what came to my mind.

Change

  

 

Emily looked out of the window and admired the bright autumn day. The trees in the wood behind the house giving their best before the winter took them. But as the leaves changed so did her mood.

Although Emily loved that the air turned cooler and preparation for festivities like Halloween and Christmas brought about excitement in so many of her loved ones, she couldn’t help, but feel low.

Was it the end to another year and not feeling any further? Was the feeling that her life was passing and she still had so much she wanted to achieve? Or was it something far more simple, like the darkening and shortening of the days? It didn’t really matter; she was helpless to change any of it, much like the trees were to stop their leaves from changing colour and falling. She had to accept there were limitations to how much a single person could do in one lifetime.

Emily could feel her mind baulk at such a thought; angry and frustrated. She started to chide herself for not being focused enough, or disciplined enough, not believing in herself enough. She was determined that this time she wasn’t going to tolerate such defeatist thinking, this time she was going to do the things she wanted to do. She grabbed a pen and paper and started scribbling furiously. It was time to reflect what she saw out of the window; it was time for a change. 

244 Words

Daily Picspiration - No.9 - Introduction

My fortnightly Daily Picspiration has been posted.

It took me a long time to come up with the next piece, particularly with the photo's for this week, but then I realised that I needed to follow up on another character and I was away. I already have the next one lined up too (in my head presently), and potentially after. But I am now thinking of how I am going to end this little serial - but maybe the pictures will guide me.

You can read 'Introduction' here.

Five Sentence Fiction - Magnetic

 

I haven't posted any writing for a little while, mainly because I haven't written any because I am busy editing my novel. But tonight I needed to get my writing muse going, and the photo prompt for this weeks Five Sentence Fiction worked for me. Enjoy.

 

Jonas looked out of the starboard window, and saw space shimmer as they impacted what everyone was calling the ‘magnetic zone’.

Some suggested that it might pin everyone and everything to the inside walls of the ship, like some kind of massive gravitational pull; others theorised that it would send all the machines and technical equipment on board screwy, causing them to lose all navigation data, even wipe all star charts, so they’d be lost in space forever; none of them were definitive and most only added to the escalating hysteria. No one knew what it would do - if anything - to the ship or any of them.

They slowed and there seemed to be some kind of resistance, much like the surface of a soap bubble before it burst, and then they were catapulted through at such a speed that the tracers of the stars seemed to be never ending.

Then a voice arrived, beaming out of all the ships speakers informing them ‘You have reached the end zone, turn back or prepare to be incinerated.’

Keepers - MWBB

My days of Flash Fiction writing are slowing down as I want to focus on editing my existing novel and gear up to this years National November Writing Month, which I really want to achieve this time round - third time lucky!

I found the song for this weeks Mid-Week Blues-Buster inspired something dark, but I don't think I gave it enough time to gestate. I had a busy week doing other things and so rushed it a bit too much.

The prompt song this week was:

Red Eyes and Tears, by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

In her dream she was in a nightclub; she could feel the thump thump of the music in her chest. It was getting harder to breathe the harder it thumped. She gasped as something touched her face.

Laura opened her eyes. She could just make out a black hooded figure above her. She opened her mouth to scream, but she could only hear the screaming music. Then there was breathing in her ear. A hand trailed down the side of her torso to her leg. Her clothes were still on, but her arms were tied to something behind her. She felt her eyes bulge as she tried to look around her, but it was too dark, there were only shapes.

Her mind raced. She’d been in her car in the parking lot leaving the campus; fiddling with the CD player. Something had come from behind. Something had covered her mouth. Then there was nothing.

A whisper, “I’ve been waiting so long my love.”

A man’s voice; soft and gentle. He touched her face; fingers searching, touching her mouth, pushing into the side of it; metallic taste - dirty.

She could hear her laboured breaths over the loud drone of repeating lyrics. She shifted. Her ankles were tied. Was she on a bed?

He continued to whisper. “I have you at last. You’re here. I can’t wait to show you my love. Oh I can’t wait to show you.”

His voice brought an image; the common room at lunchtime. A conversation. A debate. The boy opposite her slouched back, long hair covering half his face. He spoke in short sentences, gentle tones. Did she know him? What was his name?

“Nathaniel?”

The figure jerked, pulling back out of her view.

“Is it you Nathaniel? Why are you doing this?”

Silence. She shifted again, feeling the strength of the ties. No give. Then something covered her face and her attempts to scream were stifled by unconsciousness.

Laura was shivering so hard she jolted awake. It was raining; she was soaked. It was night, but the sodium lamps were working. The alleyway was empty. The stiffness in her legs as she staggered to her feet told her she’d been here a while. She found her car at the curb, dark and empty. The keys were in the ignition, her purse on the seat. She couldn’t have dreamt it, could she?

When Laura arrived on Campus the next day she looked for Nathaniel in the lecture theatre. He was at the top, hair hanging over his face. She switched on the overhead beamer and addressed the class.

“Ladies and Gentleman, last night I had an anomaly; a moment I wasn’t sure was real or whether I was dreaming. So our task for today is to consider, how do we know the difference between reality and dreams? How can we be sure which is which? Give me your thoughts.”

Hands shot up immediately, including his.

“Let’s try one at the back. Nathaniel, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Miss.” The gentle tones were the same.

“Tell me Nathaniel, what do you think?”

“Rational thinking and logic, Miss.”

“Go on?”

“When awake we can think coherently, we can run our thoughts through a process. In dream state time and events jump about.”

“Give me a for instance?”

“Well say something happens, something disorientates you,” Laura went cold. “You have to take the key markers of the event and see if they run coherently, if one things plays after the other or whether they jump about. Like if you were in one place, then suddenly in another.”

“But there can be other reasons for that, like if you had fallen asleep - or even drugged - someone could move you?”

“Yes Miss, but is that logical? Is it likely?”

Laura didn’t respond, jumping to another student and continuing the class. When it was over she busied herself as the students filed out, preparing for the next class. She heard someone singing. A chill ran up her spine as she recognised some words; ‘Red eyes and tears’. She turned and saw Nathaniel. He smiled.

“Sorry Miss, I love that song. I just listen to it over and over.”

Long Listed

I was recently Long Listed for a writing competition, called The Writing Competition.

I was one of the final 20 to be put before the judge.

Despite not winning, getting in the top 3 or even having my story commented on by the judge, I am happy to have been able to get through. I must be doing something right.

You can find the Long List here.

The winning entries were interesting to read, although my favourite was the 3rd Prize winner.

Stay - MWBB

It seems my winning streak on the Mid-Week Blues-Buster challenge is over for the time being. I like to think that it is because there are more writers entering, all of whom have fabulous talent, than to consider that my entry might not be up to scratch. Particularly this week, as my entry was so emotive.

But then this song prompt would do that to me, as it is from my favourite band at present - Hurts, and the song Stay is one of the best off their first album - the voice of the lead singer, Theo Hutchcraft is just exquisite, and this song shows it off brilliantly.

Grab your box of tissues! 

*** 

He watched her move round the lounge, collecting, packing; he hated it…but he just sat there.

He wanted to speak; he so wanted to express how he felt, but how could he? How could he form the words she wanted to hear? He’d tried so many times - and several times he thought he’d managed it, but she still kept doing this, still kept insisting that she was going.

But this time it was different; this time she wasn’t screaming, she wasn’t ranting, this time she was silent, quiet – methodical. And she’d never packed this much before.

The children sat and watched too. They wondered if mummy was serious, if this time she would actually go, but their silence – and their presence - said that they believed that this time she just might.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He hadn’t believed her when she said she’d had enough, when she said she couldn’t do it anymore, that she couldn’t live in this emotional silence; that it was killing her, and her love for him. He hadn’t really listened - thought she was just having another of her tantrums; that it would blow over like they always did, and she’d be fine in a few hours, and all would be right with the world again. She’d attempted to leave before, three times in fact; walked out. But she’d come back, and to be honest he found it irritating now; he’d grown tired of it.

But today she wasn’t doing any of that; she wasn’t telling him what she needed, she wasn’t screaming at him, telling him where he’d gone wrong and how he’d failed her. She wasn’t doing any of that – and actually hadn’t for months. She’d been studying her self-help books, seeing her therapist and things were looking up. She’d started to return to the woman he’d met, the loving, warm, caring individual he’d fallen in love with.

So why was she packing?

He desperately wanted to know, but he daren’t speak. Whenever he spoke it always went wrong, somehow his words would be misinterpreted, and she’d start screaming, or crying. His words never seemed to work, she complained that they didn’t really say anything. And today, if it went wrong, that would be that, she wouldn’t be coming back. He knew it; he knew it in his soul.

She zipped up the last bag and stopped. She went over to the children, not speaking – not able to with the tears pouring down her face, and grabbed them off the sofa, squeezing them as tight as she could. The little one implored her with his eyes, and when that didn’t work, he wouldn’t let her go. She had to peel him off. That’s when his tears started and he ran to his Papa for comfort and support.

She turned to him, and again he tried to speak, he tried to form the words that would make all this stop, but he fumbled when she looked into his eyes, and only said, ‘So, this is it then?’

She blinked, the disappointment in her eyes palpable, and looked at her cases. ‘Yes.’ She walked over to them and gathered them around her. He knew she was stalling, waiting for him to say or do something, but he felt paralysed, frozen inside, not able to form anything. She picked them up and took them to the front door, managing to fumble it open and push herself out.

She faltered on the doorstep, turning again. And he stood there at the door holding the little one, while the eldest stood by his side, still trying to get the words out, still trying to form anything that would work, that would stop this horror unfold. But part of his mind was waiting, waiting to see if she would really go.

She turned. She walked to the car and loaded the cases in the boot. The children were crying loudly now. He had to do something.

‘STAY! Please stay!’ He shouted.

She stopped; pausing for a moment as she opened the car door.

‘I can’t.’

As her car pulled out, his tears started too.

Visual Dare - Implore

I haven't entered a Visual Dare for some time either - but then the school holidays keep me busy. It was nice to get back in the swing, and this photo prompt couldn't have been missed. Although the prompt word didn't get a chance - the main character didn't allow it! Enjoy. 

Elisa had been waiting all evening, but finally she heard the keys rattle in the lock. She was glad she’d practised the pose otherwise she’d never have lasted so long. She hoped she could keep it just a fraction longer.

She heard the key turn in the lock and his shoes clicking on the parquet floor. She heard them falter then stop – not daring to move her eyes from the focal point she’d found above the front door.

She heard him gasp in amazement.

“Elisa, come out and see this! Elisa, where are you? This is amazing, the likeness is uncanny. I know you said he was good, but… Elisa?”

Thinking about the next step was the only way she could keep a straight face.

His head turned sharply at the ‘thwang’, but he didn’t utter a sound as he fell backwards, dead before he hit the ground.