Daily Picspiration - Time and Motion - Part 1

My Daily Picspiration piece went up today.

Both the pictures spoke to me this time and produced something I am quite excited about, although at this point I have no idea where I am going with it - I have a vague notion, and will follow that. It's been a while since I have done any Science Fiction so I am looking forward to the change. I am worried about it turning into a cliché though so we will have to see what comes during the new few instalments. 

You can read 'Time and Motion - Part 1' here.

Creature Comforts - MWBB

This weeks Mid-Week Blues-Buster brought a different kind of song, one that didn't work well for me, so I used the lyrics for inspiration. It's a short piece, not one of my finest, but one that is rings true for me. Enjoy

The Song Prompt for this weeks was:

In a Lonely Place, by The Smithereens

It was only the washing line, but when it snapped it felt like the last string of sanity that had held her together through this nightmare.

Gemma sank down to the floor, propped up by the corners of the kitchen cabinets. Her sobs wracked her entire body with no end in sight. She relived the moment he’d walked out the door, and the urge she’d had to fling herself at his legs and hold onto him and stop him walk out the door. She wanted to beg him to stay, but she hadn’t, after watching her mother do it when her father left she knew it wouldn’t make any difference.

She never imagined it would end; she imagined that this was them set for the rest of their lives. She couldn’t believe that the decision had been made over a simple argument about doing a First Aid course, but it hadn’t really been the course had it? It had been about the fact that he hadn’t wanted to do it with her, and he hadn’t wanted to do anything with her for more than six months now.

She had no idea how it had broken, but it had, and she couldn’t fix it.

Eventually the tears stopped, but she remained where she was, still hitching. She knew she had to get up even though she didn’t want to. She wondered what would happen if she didn’t, if she sat there forever; would anyone notice? Would anyone care?

One of the cats came over and put a paw on her leg, looking at her with worried eyes. Gemma’s heart squeezed with the love for her cat Millie, right there and then. She loved them like they were her children – people even thought they were when she talked about them.

She reached out her hand and Millie pushed her head against it, her purr starting up, deep and reassuring. Then she stepped into Gemma’s lap and curled up in one move.

Tears flooded Gemma’s eyes and poured down her face, dripping onto her top and onto Millie’s fur, causing her skin to twitch at each drop. In the deep darkness Gemma found light and comfort. She was grateful for that.

'Assisted Dying' - Published in Sirens Call magazine

On Christmas Eve I was informed that the new December Issue #12 from Sirens Call Publications was available for download. Another piece of mine is in it this month, on Page 18, called 'Assisted Dying'.

The theme this month is 'Dead & Dying' and I had to write about my own demise, so again these are not tales for the faint hearted!

The good thing about this ezine is that it is free to download.

Daily Picspiration - Throw Yourself Away

My Daily Picspiration piece went up on Sunday.

As soon as I saw the picture I saw the story. It looked like Mossman Gorge to me, near Cairns, in Queensland, Australia. When I visited it was cascading with water, although the second time I went it was as dry as it is in this picture. I liked it flowing, and that is what I envisaged in this piece. It contains elements of a visit I made to The 12 Apostles, along the Great Ocean Road in Victoria too. That's what it's all about - twist it all up and see what comes out!

You can read 'Throw Yourself Away' here.

Bad Santa Blog Hop 2013

This year I decided to take part in Ruth Long's Bad Santa Blog Hop 2013. It's about taking the idea of Santa and turning it on it's head, in which ever way suits, and writing a piece of flash fiction, up to 500 words bout it. This is what I came up with.

RAVING SANTA 

“Give me a look at that list, will you?”

Alfred handed over the computer print out. It was heavy.

“Wow, that’s grown since last year.”

“Yes, it get’s bigger every year.”

“But we only need a couple of hundred, don’t we?”

“Yes, that should be enough. How do you want to select them this year? Gender? Area? What?”

“Gender’s no issue, I don’t care about that, but area matters; we should just pick one. I don’t want to waste time like last year trying to get round them all – we cut it fine as it was.”

“True.” Alfred remembered the previous year when they’d only just managed to get away before sunrise. They couldn’t risk another close call like that.

“And remember; check birth dates - when I say over 18, I mean it! We’ve got to keep some kind of moral integrity!”

Alfred snorted a laugh. “Okay, that’ll cut the list in half then.”

“Good.”

“Anything else? I need to put this together quickly otherwise the invites won’t make it.”

“No, that should be it.” Santa rubbed his hands together. “I can’t wait; finally a good use for the naughty list.”

Alfred grinned. “Indeed.”

***

 

As they stuffed the last stocking, Santa stretched. “I’ve definitely had it for tonight.”

Alfred’s eyebrows arched. “You sure about that?”

Santa chuckled. “Well I’ve had it with stuffing stockings; it’s time to stuff something entirely different!”

They both let out a hearty laugh, and climbed back up the chimney.

***

They slipped through the gates and followed the thumping music. They’d never heard jingle bells set to a rave beat before and liked it, but the sacks hindered their ability to dance along.

Alfred had done a great job setting up; the DJ’s booth stood in the middle of the courtyard decked out in Christmas glitter, and Christmas trees lined the perimeter giving it a cosy feel. The place was heaving with bodies, all getting into the spirit of thing by way of free hot toddies and eggnog.

“A bit of a different kind of venue to last year.” Santa looked up at the derelict factory.

“Yeah, being able to create just has made it much easier, and we’ve got a huge turnout.”

“Indeed, perfect.” Santa pulled his sack up to the podium by the DJ and climbed up.

He grinned at the MC and took the mike.

“Ho, Ho, Ho boys and girls. I have arrived!”

There were raucous cheers and wolf whistles as he reached into the sack and threw out a handful of sweets to the crowd. They grabbed them eagerly. He exchanged glances with Alfred. “That should warm them up.”

Alfred laughed as they threw out more. “It’ll get them going that’s for sure, like it does with the elves.”

“Yeah, but hopefully they won’t start making toys on us!”

“No, hopefully it’ll be something else they’ll want to make!”

They sniggered at each other and threw a sweet into their own mouths. It was time to join in.

Surrender - MWBB

This weeks Mid-Week Blues-Buster brought an interesting song. It's only the second song I've really listened to from this band, but I really liked it, it said so much. But as always the challenge is putting those thoughts and emotions into a story. So here's what I came up with, and it earnt me an honourable mention. Enjoy.

The Song Prompt for this weeks was:

Heavy in your Arms, by Florence & the Machine

He saw it in her face that first night; the look in her eyes. He didn’t let it distract him from what they were doing, and still lost himself in the moment of sexual ecstasy - but he’d registered it.

After she left in the morning, showering his face in kisses and making him laugh; he sat and pondered what he’d seen. He didn’t want to do it again; break someone’s heart, it wasn’t much fun. But this one? Could he love her?

He sighed. He wanted to; he wanted to give her all she deserved, but could he? Or would he just let her down like he had all the others?

Later that day he had to smile at the text she sent. She wasn’t going to wait for him, she was going to run the show and he liked that. And when she turned up at his door again the next day, throwing herself into his arms, he was overjoyed to embraced her, although he kept her in check with his silence.

The days grew into weeks, which gathered up into months. He took out the shoebox he kept under his bed and sifted through all the cards and scribblings she’d given him, trying to find the courage to return the emotion, but all he’d been able to give was his time; taking her out to dinner, shows, the cinema, pubs, bars, anywhere to keep her entertained and distracted, because he knew she wanted more. She would start to say something then stop, or tell him she wanted to know him better and then wait for him to speak, but he wasn’t good at speaking, he was only good at showing, so that is what he did. He took her to bed and showed her time and again.

It didn’t stop her pouring herself into him by including him in everything she did. He was happy to join her and get to know her friend’s boyfriends. He enjoyed the elaborate dinner parties she arranged and lost himself in the drunken conversations. But every moving it was still there; that look in her eyes.

Then the first year was over and they celebrated, and the whole evening she was watching him with expectation. He did all he could, spun her the best night they had had, and in the morning he thought he had pulled it off, but there she was looking at him only this time with a little box in her hand. He was terrified.

She had always been forward, moving it all along and he wondered how far she was taking it as he turned the box over in his hand. It was a perfect tiny square with a raised top. His mind reeled at the idea that someone else might pop the question. He fiddled with it, delaying, but she pushed his fingers against it, showing him where he could start unwrapping.

He fumbled it open and tipped the lid a crack, trying to glimpse what was within, before revealing it. And what he saw made him frown and he paused, opening the lid wider and picking up its contents.

“A key?”

“Yes, a key.”

“To your heart?”

She laughed. “No, to my apartment. It’s time, don’t you think?”

“What, for us to live together?”

She frowned at him and laughed again. “No silly, for you to be able to come round whenever you want. Why, do you want to live together?”

“Well...” He flustered.

She laughed again. “That’s what I thought. One step at a time, eh?”

“But..” He stammered.

“What?”

“But, I thought, you know, that as we’re in love, you know, that was the next step? I mean, it’s been a year.”

Her jaw dropped as she looked at him, and he felt his cheeks flush. Then she threw herself on him, pushing her lips against his with such a fierceness he could only surrender - although surrender was all he wanted to do, so he returned the passion.

That night he packed a bag, and when they reached her apartment he picked her up, carrying her over the threshold. There were no broken hearts here.

Five Sentence Fiction - Alone

There was no way I was going to miss this weeks Five Sentence Fiction prompt or photo. It spoke to me immediately.

 

‘I am totally alone and always have been’, she thought to herself as she left, and with it came a sense of relief.

The visit had confirmed her feelings; feelings that she’d fought for so many years and tried to prove wrong at every turn - that these people weren’t to be trusted and never had been.

She walked across the park, her emotions swirling; going from deep pain to the elation of finally having closure, something she had longed for, for so many years. She had been seen, she had been heard, she had been acknowledged and that was enough; she could close this chapter now and move on.

There was going to be fallout as she came to terms with it, knowing that they weren’t really there for her - never had been, never would be, but at least she could be sure of one thing: herself, and that was all that mattered now.