Runner Up - Spooky Tales Competition - What the Dickens? Magazine

Sometime ago I entered a piece into the Spooky Tales Competition run jointly by What The Dickens? magazine and Miracle E-Zine.

The deadline passed and I heard nothing so assumed my piece was not up to scratch, then out of the blue received an email to tell me I was one of the 18 runners-up and I am going to be in their anthology - which was originally only going to be an ebook but they have now decided to publish in print too! Whoo Hoo!

I will post up again once it is made available!

Daffodils - MWBB

It has been a long time since I have written for the Mid-Week Blues-Buster, due to a mixture of chronic pain in my right arm and the song not quite inspiring me. But as this song prompt for last weeks was from the Smiths - and a famous one at that - I had to give it a shot, being as they were such a huge band through my teenager. I really enjoyed writing the piece, and efforts brought me a 2nd place win, so enjoy!  

The prompt song this week was:

The Smiths - What Difference Does It Make?

 

He blinked his eyes open, the crack in the curtain confirming it was daylight even though the darkness in his soul hadn’t lifted. Within seconds his mind was crowded with the memories of the night before, the dancing, the laughing, the snogging and later the daffodils.

He looked on the floor and saw the petals there, the yellow so vivid in the rays of sunlight pushing through. He followed the trail they made to the bathroom, her black and white checked shirt crumpled in the corner like a marker at the half open door, giving a clue to what lay beyond.

An image flashed in his mind and he flinched. He was sure he hadn’t done it; it had to be his overwrought imagination. It might have been what he felt like doing when she had told him, but he hadn’t put those thoughts into action…surely.

His eyes traced the frame of the door as he recalled her pleading words.

“I didn’t mean to Jas, I really didn’t. It was just the heat of the moment, just a kiss. Please forgive me Jas, you must!”

He’d watch the tears fall from her eyes as he stood there in the nuddy by the bed, about to jump in, about to fulfil all his desires and hers.

He’d thought he’d heard a whisper of it earlier at the bar, but he’d laughed it off. It couldn’t have been his Linda, she wouldn’t have done that.

But when they’d got home her sullen mood had kept killing the spark he was trying to kindle, until the crushing confession came.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. But he hadn’t done anything, had he? Other than show her forgiveness. He’d filled each thrust with his desire for revenge, driving it home. Her moans had been good moans…hadn’t they?

His eyes betrayed him again, returning to the bathroom door. There was only one way to find out.

His toes met the wooden floorboards with trepidation, and they creaked his way across the room, maybe trying to speak to him, to warn him it wasn’t a good idea.

He hovered in the opening, his eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight reflecting off the stark white tiling. He pushed the door further, letting it swing open. Her kick-pleat black skirt lay strewn under the basin, and her under things were huddled in a pile next to the toilet. He peered over the edge of the bathtub and shuddered. The long-legged hairy spider might not be able to climb the enamel sides, but it could still give an unsuspecting person a fright.

She wasn’t there.

He slumped, retreating out of the bathroom and falling back into bed, scuffing the daffodil petals as he went. He buried his head into a pillow, relieved but annoyed at the same time.

She burst through the door, tray in hand.

“I thought I heard movement. I made us some tea.”

He peeked out from the edge of the pillow as she sat down on the bed, his black and white shirt billowing round her thighs, but not quite covering everything.

“You alright Jas?”

He reached out an arm and put a hand on thigh.

“Yeah Linda, I’m alright.”

“You’re not still angry about last night?”

“I thought I showed you I wasn’t?”

She grinned. “Yeah you did.”

His hand crept up her thigh. “Do you need me to show you again?”

She paused, her eyes sparkling. She put the tray on the floor. “Yeah go on then.”

As she snuggled under him, his mind flashed images again and he wondered if he would have the nerve to make them memories rather than dreams this time.

Daily Picspiration - The Dive

It has been a while since I have posted anything as I have been suffering from extreme back/right shoulder/arm pain, an old RSI returned to haunt me. It is not yet over, but I have at least managed to write something. I skipped one Daily Picspiration entry, but I didn't want to skip anymore, so I managed to write a short piece. It was inspired by a dream I had the night before, or more like a nightmare, as I suffer from vertigo; writing this piece and even re-reading it gives me tingly feet and sweaty palms! Enjoy!


You can read 'The Dive' here.

Visual Dare - Remote

Another great photo this week, I didn't want to miss from this weeks Visual Dare. This picture is so surreal but speaks to me on all sorts of levels. This is what it said to me.

 

She thought the noise in her head was normal, that the constant run of home-made movies in there was what everyone did. She thought everyone relived their lives in this same cinematic way, creating their own drama, persecuting themselves with clips of what they wished they’d said and done.

It seemed not. It seemed others could live free of this, that they had space in their heads to move around, live, breathe and think at a normal, unrushed pace. They didn’t chase thoughts related to the present day, or remind themselves of what they should be doing so they didn’t turn up late.

And this revelation exasperated her already tenuous state of mind, one running beyond capacity, causing the carefully constructed house she’d built inside her mind to come tumbling down. She could glimpse the daylight through the broken roof, but she couldn’t climb out. She was stranded. 

148 Words

 

Feminine Power - MWBB

The weeks Mid-Week Blues-Buster spoke very quickly to me, with it's deep sexual overtones. It was easy to come up with an image and write with it and it earnt me a 2nd Place. It countered a piece already written by Mark Ethridge, which is disturbing and brilliantly written. There were some exceptional pieces, so I was surprised to get placed at all. 

The prompt song this week was:

The The - Dogs of Lust

She danced; her hands sliding down her long, luscious thighs as she wiggled her arse, which was tightly covered in a short black skirt. They were all looking at her, every single male in the place. She could have any one of them at the snap of her fingers. Their feet tapped with the beat, their bodies swayed as they watched her get into the grove. And their eyes followed her hand as slid it up her body to her face, the tip of the middle finger dipping into the edge of her mouth for a second before she swept it up into her hair. Her eyes peeped out from under her heavily laden lashes to look at them, all the animals in the house with their tongues hanging out for her.

She knew what she was doing. It was a fine balance between a tease and a genuine dance. No one could fault her - no one could say ‘she was asking for it’, she was enjoying the music and they knew it. Just because she was female didn’t mean she didn’t have the right to do that. But it was a test too. It wasn’t the first time things had gone awry here.

The bouncers watched too, but not her; they watched the dogs panting and getting ready to hump – whether her or any other girl in the house. She was setting them all off - even the girls, who started to join her.

They drifted in through the crowded men at the edges, feeling no shame as they started to move to the beat along with her, showing what they had to offer. They were looking at each other, not the men. And with each beat they moved closer, but not touching. They held eye contact, turning every now and then to face another girl; enjoying the freedom of being able to show of their sexiness, their raw feminine energy, without fear of reprisal, without fear of having it misunderstood and taken from them by force.  The throng kept increasing until all the women in the club were on the dance floor creating a writhing mass.

And their intensity towards each other broke the spell; their feminine collective being too much for the raw animal lust. The lusting stopped - some of the men averted their eyes, whether due to sensory overload or that something unsettled them about it no-one was sure. The women had made it clear they didn’t want them – or more than that they didn’t need them. They were enough on their own. A few men even stepped away to find the bar.

And like an invisible string being cut, the tension was gone. The men returned to a human state, and conversation resumed.

And the bouncers went back to enjoying the show.

Daily Picspiration - Intimate Love

I have returned to one off flash pieces again for my Daily Picspiration piece, which was posted up today.

It is short and sweet, mostly due to time constraints. Despite having two weeks to produce something, I am very bad at actually writing it earlier than the day before. In some ways a long deadline doesn't work for me. In that respect a serial works better as I am already thinking about what will be coming next when I write the first piece. And as ever with my pieces, there is a sad element to it.

You can read 'Intimate Love' here.

   

Stalker - MWBB

The weeks Mid-Week Blues-Buster gave an 80's sound to things, but the content of the lyrics gave it the story. Mine piece was unfortunately very similar to another entrants - even though I had not read any of the other pieces before writing - and I think that might have killed it a bit. I still enjoyed writing it though.

The prompt song this week was:

Peter Goodwin - Images of Heaven

Johnson shifted his position slightly and found the window he was looking for. He fiddled with the focus on the binoculars and someone came into view. It wasn’t her. He sighed. Was she home? He thought she was; he’d seen the limo turn up, and a group of glitter clad individuals rush into the house. He assumed she was among them. Maybe he was wrong. 

He scanned the top floor windows. Lights were coming on and people were running about. Couples were pairing off and he wanted to know who she would be with.

Movement in another window sent him looking there and there she was, head thrown back laughing at the guy in front of her. He looked like a typical New Romance geek; silver shoulder pads making him look like something out of a badly made sci-fi movie, with hair lacquered into an elaborate quiff. The guy was lighting a cigarette, if he wasn’t careful his hair would catch light. Johnson smiled. He’d like to see that.

They were drunk, swaying all over the place, and he was waiting to see if they were going to get undressed, but no such luck as they exited the room.

He pulled up off his elbows. Watching that guy light up had made him want a cigarette too, so he pulled a packet out of his jeans and enjoyed a smoke here on top of the world.

Johnson surveyed the city below him as it glistened in the night light. He’d been scooping this location out the last couple of days, making sure it overlooked the right house.

He’d wanted her ever since he’d first seen in her debut music video. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t someone worthy of knowing; he owned a music production company, but it wasn’t a big enough concern for her to notice. He’d found out all he could about her, and even though he could access to the parties she attended, her group of sycophantic security guards wouldn’t let him close. 

He knew he tipped into the obsessive when he woke up every morning thinking about her and fell asleep every night with her image in his head. He’d started to resent it, started to resent her. And that’s when he’d come up with this plan.

Johnson ground the butt into the ground and kicked it away, then spun round back onto his belly. Looking through the binoculars again he found her downstairs in the lounge, moments before the French windows burst open and they all came flooding out. Even from this distance he could hear their screams of laughter and knew what they were planning.

He reached out and grabbed the hold-all he had with him and scrabbled about inside with one had. He didn’t want to miss this opportunity.

He saw her come out, already stripping off her clothes, revealing a sexy string bikini beneath, reflecting gold in the light round the pool. He paused as his hand found what it was looking for and took in the view for a moment. He imagined his hands on that soft, supplicating flesh. It was such a waste.

He took away the binoculars and replaced them with the sight. He found his target easily and flicked the safety off the rifle in one movement. He took a breath and waited a second as he saw her approach the diving board. She jumped once, then twice, and as she jumped a third time he pulled the trigger. It hit home, making the dive into the water less elegant, but the crowd round the pool still loved it, cheering and thinking it was just the drink.

Johnson smiled as he beat his retreat, knowing that in a few seconds those cheers would turn to cries as the blood surfaced and she didn’t.

He jogged down the top of the ridge, more sure-footed than he’d imagined, and jumped into his jeep. Being half way up the hillside he was able to coast the car down to the tarmac, keeping his retreat silent.

If he couldn’t have her, no one was going to.