Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 49

This week's picture was created by artist Erlend MØrk, from Norway. He has some interesting dark art and his website is worth checking out.  

I had planned to go a bit darker - although some might feel my tale is dark enough - but instead I veered toward the storyline from a partially written novel from more than 15 year ago. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

Infilteration 

“Surely someone will notice them.”

“Why should they? They’re just jars.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

“No, but no one else does.” 

“They’ll be spotted at some point, I’m sure of it.” 

“You credit them with too much intelligence.” 

And you credit them with too little. They can be smart you know.” Adrienne wasn’t prepared to accept Johnny’s under estimation of the local inhabitants. She’d been here longer than he had; she knew how they worked; what they saw and what they didn’t see. He liked to think he and Adrienne were superior.

“We are the same species, Johnny, you seem to forget that. Their brains work the same as ours.”

Johnny scoffed. “But they’re blind where we are not. They have no clue what is really going on around them.”

“Not all of them, you’d be surprised.”

Johnny stood up in the dark basement, his head almost touching the ceiling. “We have to keep them here, there’s no other option if you are going to bring the hosts here for the procedure.”

This time it was Adrienne’s turn to scoff.  “Hosts? You mean surrogates. I have some lined up already.”

“Top echelon? We have to get them into high positions otherwise there’s no hope of pulling this off. If we don’t provide evidence of visible change, the government will remove them under the contamination laws. There’ll be no salvaging them then.”

“I know, I know. Don’t worry. I have three from families whose influence covers half the globe. And I’m talking to seven more. Trust me. We can turn this around. But I need the jars to remain hidden. I can’t have anyone asking questions. My reputation depends on it.”

“Do you think someone will?”

“With this being the basement of a shared building there’s no telling. We need to get some tarp to cover them.”

“Won’t that make them more suspicious? Like this they just look like pickle jars.”

Adrienne laughed. “Gosh they’d get a shock if they open up one of these expecting a pickle.”

Johnny smiled. “They would indeed. I’ll get a tarp.”

Adrienne looked at her watch. “Look, one of the surrogates is due here in a minute, so I need to get back upstairs. You go do what you need to do to make these look inconspicuous, and I’ll meet up with you later.”

“You hoping to implant today?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ve put a jar upstairs in my cupboard just in case.”

Adrienne prepared the apartment for the planned session with her client. The art of fortune telling had brought her into the higher circles of society. She had managed to target a few key people and word of mouth had done the rest. It was amazing what being adept at reading minds and bodies could achieve. It meant nothing where she came from, everyone could do it, but here they existed in the lower brain levels, so it was unique.

A few had mastered elements of it but without full understand, so it had been shunned by the controlling religious factions who preferred to live in ignorance and pretend that things they didn’t see or understand were the work of some strange, unreachable being – a far less rational notion, but one that allowed people to shirk responsibility for any of their words or actions.

Adrienne and Johnny hoped to change that with the souls they had brought. They were pure and once implanted would bring about words and actions that would alter the course of society here. It was just a matter of bringing about the opportunity to install the implant, which Adrienne hoped to achieve today.

The client arrived and Adrienne got to work putting them at ease by instinctively knowing their likes and dislikes, while lulling them into a sense of trust and security. Then she talked them into a trance state, which went easier than expected because really Johnny was right.

She retrieved the jar from her cupboard. When she opened the lid the new soul climbed out, moving straight to the client’s face. Adrienne spoke a few words and the client’s jaw went slack, so the soul could squeeze into the mouth. The client convulsed a couple of times, but then sat up, bright eyed and ready for more. Adrienne could see the glint of the new soul inside. It was done, a new era was about to begin on Earth – one of true enlightenment that would restore the planet back to health for her people to harvest. 

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 48

This week's picture prompt comes from Hossein Zare, an Iranian artist. He has some wonderful work, check out the gallery on his website here.

This turned out gentler than planned. I wanted to give it a twist at the end, but it came out how it came out, as they often do. I look forward to seeing how others interpret this weeks.

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
 

Not a Mirage

“Not much further now. Look you can see it up ahead.”

“Are you sure that’s real and not another mirage?”

“It has to be, look how the light sun is highlighting it.”

Gabriel paused to catch her breath and look at their destination – a tree. It could be the only tree on earth. They’d been travelling for years and not seen one yet. It looked too real with its rich green foliage standing out against the scorched earth it stood in; it seemed surreal.

But then the whole of the earth was scorched now, the only life that could be sustained was in the crowded, dirty cities, using recycled ocean water. The seas might still exist but nothing lived in them now – nothing lived anywhere anymore, except humans in their cities. Mankind had made sure of that – or at least the ones that controlled the bombs. A hundred years had passed and the land had grown hot, arid and barren. The only plants that grew were in underground glasshouses and were only for those that could afford them, the rest of the population had to make do with supplements; it was the second largest thing to cull the population after the bombs, and the one that kept it to a minimum.

Gabriel and Peter hadn’t wanted to stay in the cities. They were dangerous and toxic. They didn’t believe the stories that there was nothing out here; they wanted to find out for themselves. So they had. They had travelled across landmass after landmass, witnessing the desertification, the monotony broken only by isolated, congested cities where the people crowded in, trying to survive.

Up until now the only sightings of any other living thing between the cities had been water starved illusions. Gabriel was surprised they were still alive.

And here ahead of them was a tree – or potential tree. She had only seen them on computers and in old films. She wondered what it would smell and feel like.

“Oh I hope it is real, Peter.”

“Let’s find out, Gabby.”

He took her hand and led her down the rocky hillside onto the plain. The tree loomed larger as they drew closer. It didn’t wobble or shimmer, it remained steady. Gabby felt the same urgency as Peter as he tugged at her hand, upping their pace, breaking into a jog as they approached. They stopped a foot away, silently observing. They could hear the whoosh of the wind blowing through its leaves and smell the slightly acrid smell of its foliage. Peter stepped forward and tentatively put out a hand to its trunk. His fingers brushed its surface and he moved closer pressing both hands against it.

“It IS real!” he laughed. “It is! It is!”

Gabby rushed forward to join him, flinging her arms around the tree’s wide girth and embracing it. She felt the rough texture of the bark under her cheek and inhaled the woody smell, so alien yet so familiar. 

Peter stepped back a couple of feet and started digging in the ground.

“What are you doing?”

“If it can survive here, then so can we. There must be a water source.”

After he dug down a foot or more the earth started to get damp.

“See? I told you.”

Gabby joined him and after a while they had a puddle of water in the bottom of a hole. It smelt of sand and soil but when they licked it, it was sweet. Gabby cupped a handful, it was a little gritty but it quenched her thirst. She took another and found that the hole never quite emptied.

Once they had both had their fill, they settled down against the base of the tree.

“What shall we do now, Peter?”

“Set up camp, Gabby, this is our home now, and our tree.”

She smiled. They had done it. They had found life outside the cities; a fresh start, a new beginning.

Round vs Around

I came across the whole 'round versus around' debate while editing a manuscript for an American indie author. Being British, I use them both, and consider them words with different meanings, appropriate at different times, but my American friend felt that 'around' was predominantly used in all cases, unless referring to something actually circular. Hence my research began.

A divide has clearly occurred (yet again) between the American and British usage of this word. The Brits do indeed see them as two different words, with different meanings, and interchangeable, whereas the average American doesn't; they rely heavily on around, only using round when talking about an actual circle.

So let's look at a few facts:

The word round works virtually anywhere around would work, but the opposite is not the case. There are several definitions round doesn’t share with around. 

For example: 

The edge of a circle is not around.

Someone would not play an around of golf

You wouldn't have big around eyes.

'Around and around the Mulburry bush' doesn't work the same. 

And just today I told my son to move his legs round under the table - meaning to turn them from the side, where he had them, under the table. If I said, move your legs around, he would have waggled them at me!😉

The word round has five grammatical functions: noun, verb, adjective, adverb, and preposition, whereas the word around has just two: adverb and preposition.

In the British English section of Oxford Dictionaries, there’s a general preference among British speakers to use round for “definite, specific movement,” and around in contexts that are less definite. 

For example:

The sun moves round the earth.

He turned round.
A car came round the corner.

They wandered around for ages.
A second hand car cost around £3,000.
According to a rumor circulating around the boardroom, he’s retiring.

There is no denying they can be ambiguous, because they can be used to define different things, as well as be interchangeable. It is not clearly defined in all instances, thus it is a choice for the writer - especially for an indie author who is not tied to publishing house rules.

But then I came across an apostrophe in front of the word round: - 'round. 

Now this is tricky because, if it is a contracted version of around, it's not officially incorrect - because they can be used to define different things. But as round can work in nearly all the same places around can, it's confusing. 

The use of such an abbreviation in dialogue, to denote dialect, might  be considered acceptable, but outside of that would be questionable.  

I would never write: 'I walked 'round the tower' in a text narrative. But I might write: "We've bin walkin' 'round ages" in dialogue. (Although I personally am more likely to write: 'We've been walkin' ar'and 'ere for ages' - but that's a choice for the author.)

So there you have it, not as straightforward as it might appear. You might have to work around it, or round it, depending on your preference.😁

Find more editing tip posts HERE.

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 47

This week's picture prompt is from Polish artist Tomasz Alen Kopera. He has a way of creating that is magical. He has some wonderful pieces  so many I could write for. Check out his gallery on his website.

It took a while for this story to surface, I stopped and started (and procrastinated) quite a bit. I wanted to capture their intensity and their desire. I think I managed to do that, and also give it a dark edge at the end. I like it, I hope you do too.

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

The Lovers

She longed eternally to bring up her arm and touch his face, but she could no longer move. She could only stare into his eyes as he did into hers and remember their love forever.

They heard the movement around them, time passed in a strange disconnected way, seasons and life growing around them. One minute buried in green, another surrounded by city. It was all a blur in their peripheral vision. Like the rest of their bodies, their sight was fixed on each other and could go nowhere else.

Then one day there were ribbons and pieces of paper floating down and draping over them. They heard song and dance surrounding them, hands on them. A fluttering began at their backs and they felt for the first time in millennia air touching their bodies. Cracks ran up her partners face and over his head, and she felt the same on hers. She attempted again to raise her hand and this time there was movement: a breaking, a cracking as it began to bend.

She wriggled her fingers getting ready as the last crumbs of stone fell from his soft dark skin, and brought her arm up. The delicate sensation under her fingertips of the smooth warm surface caused her to gasp, as did the feel of his hands on her hips as he could finally begin to embrace her again.

She ran a finger over his lips as their bodies began to lean in, the stone crumbling & falling away from their bodies in clouds of dust, leaving traces of their movement in the air. She stared only at his lips as they moved closer, anticipating the touch which was far more tangible than she had imagined all these centuries. Its softness flowed through her and her body responded by collapsing against his, moulding with it, her desire reaching its peak as they were once again lovers.

The crowds had fallen silent around them, in awe and wonder at this marvel of life returning to what they believed were statues all these years, unaware of the magic it was bringing forth and letting loose. As the lovers turned towards the people, cheers went up and the festival began again in earnest. Swathes of the ash from the Lover’s bodies rose up and filled the air the people breathed. One by one they became as rigid as the lovers had been; some caught in the act of dancing, some in kissing, and some attempting to run away as they witnessed what was happening.

It was their turn now to stand for centuries, locked in desire, in joy, and in perpetuity. The Lovers were back and would have their revenge. 

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 46

This weeks picture prompt was created by Ukrainian artist Mikhail Batrak. He has some incredible art, check out his website here.

I tried to come up with something original and encompass as many of the elements of this picture as possible. I ended up using a character from one of my novel's and a sort of 'alternate ending' to her story. It helps to explore the character and put her somewhere different and see what she would do and think.

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

Ocean Dreaming

Lizzy stood contemplating the ocean. She had done this many times over the years, at different stages in her life. When she was a child it was with awe at the waves and their white horses and how they would shrink down to ripples at her toes. As a teenager it was with jealousy at the waves as they lifted up and crashed, releasing their rage, spraying it everywhere, laying it bare. And now as an adult Lizzy watched the ebb and flow of the tide, wondering where it would go to, and what far and distant shore it swelled on.

With each aging process it brought with it a certainty: it was always there, always doing the same thing, steady and constant, its movement a comfort. So unlike her life which seemed to grow in its turbulence, inside and out.

Lizzy would spend hours picking apart the view, rearranging it in her mind as though trying to find a way to paint it that would express how she felt. It differed every day, from the clouds and the sky, the shells and the pebbles, to the colour of the water and the position of the sun. And sometimes she would try and paint it but it never looked the same or felt quite right – much like herself.

She could blame all the factors in her life: the failed pregnancies, the failed marriage, the affair her husband was having that he thought she knew nothing about. All of them a part of her decline into depths so black she despaired of ever finding a way out. But the truth was she had lost her way, and then her will. And even though there had been a sudden spark of life for a short time, it had been built around frustration and anger, which burned out as suddenly as it started, leaving her empty.  

And so here she was, looking out at the waves, feeling spent, contemplating her future. Lizzy didn’t have the energy to face it. It would only be a matter of days before people would discover what her rage had wrought. There was no way she’d be able to talk her way out of it. It didn’t matter that they were the ones in the wrong: fucking in the middle of the day, in her bed, in her house, for everyone to hear. She could still hear his grunting and her moans as she had climbed the stairs with the knife in her hand. There was no turning back from what she had done and how she had left them.

So here she stood in the rising dawn still wearing the blood spattered clothes – because there’d been no point trying to hide them – looking at the waves and wondering what they would feel like on her skin. How they would wash over her and cleanse her body, the cold refreshing her and flushing out the dark weight she had been carrying. How it would feel to breathe in the spray and eventually the water and be engulfed from head to toe, submerged without redemption, released from the horrors of her life.