Prickly Fingers - Flash Flood Journal Entry

 

In aid of National Flash Fiction Day, which takes place on the 27th of June,  I wrote for the Flash Flood Journal, an international flash-fiction journal created by writers and edited by a team of volunteer editors on behalf of National Flash-Fiction Day. Every 10 minutes a new piece of Flash is put on the Flash Flood Journal for the full 24 hours of Flash Fiction day.

My entry 'Prickly Fingers' went up this afternoon. This is a piece I already had and I reworked it for this submission.  It is very dark - as usual. You can read it here.

There are some awesome piece in a variety of genres, some worth checking out are:

Susi Holliday's - First Love
Catherine Connolly's - Her Doors Unlocked
A.J Walker's - The Lion's Share of the Cleaning

Alicia Vanoy Call - Bring an Extra Suitcase

Donna B McNicol - Weenie

Stuck - MWBB

I hadn't written for Mid-Week Blues-Buster for a while, and as I am judging the next one I will be missing another one too. I liked the song for this one even though there was already a clear story in the lyrics. I went with my emotions in response to it and didn't feel it was much of an actual story, just the suggestion of one, and probably why it didn't get noticed by the judge. But I liked it. Hope  you do.

 

The prompt song was:

“Through the Glass Darkly”, by Annie Lennox

 

Helena stepped out of her house, and felt their eyes on her. They followed her down the path and out onto the street. Even when she climbed into her car she could still feel them watch her as she pulled out and drove away. She wished she didn’t have to come back.

He would be home later, and it would be better. She hoped. She refused to acknowledge the voice that said she hoped every day but she was always let down.

She thought about just driving on and on, and not turning back. She ran through the scenario in her head. The reaction, the gossip, the chatter behind every door - the place would thrum with it. How she was a foreigner in their midst, she didn’t fit, she wasn’t good enough, they were better off rid of her - that he was better off rid of her.  But she always faltered when she thought of him, how he would feel, what it would do to him, how difficult it would be for him to continue without her, juggling it all, work, house, kids.

Kids. Helena took a deep breath and felt her foot come up off the accelerator as the frustration ebbed, churning in her stomach, turning into guilt.

Her mind spun, trying to find a focus point, trying to find a path that didn’t lead to a dead-end. She needed to find a way forward, a way to continue. It started with him and it ended with him.

She arrived at the supermarket and went through the motions, getting what was needed for them, to nourish them, to cherish them and keep it all together. Then she drove back, pushing down her feelings, refusing to allow any more mutinous thoughts to surface.

His car was there. He was home. On the one hand she was elated, but on the other she was afraid. She tolerated the curtain twitching, the eyes of the neighbourhood on her as she took in the shopping, and she smiled at him at the door, and he smiled back. But there was something missing, something tangible. He was there, but he wasn’t. He hadn’t been since they’d moved here – his home town. It was as though she had lost him in the move and he didn’t want to be found, even though he was standing right in front of her.

But had she lost him or had she lost herself? Helena let that thought echo round her mind as she prepared the evening meal and stared out the window at the tainted life around her which had once been filled with so much hope.

Five Sentence Fiction - Hunt

I'm quick off the mark with this week's Five Sentence Fiction as the combination of the word and photo presented a nice little story. 

Helena looked at the sign post but could only make out the name of the country, which she already knew, not the direction she was travelling in – for all she knew she could be driving round in circles.

She berated herself again as she returned to the car, for not having grabbed a map as well as her passport when she’d left, although she’d been in a bit of a hurry. It wasn’t often he left her alone, certainly not for long enough to pack a bag and make a run for it.

She’d spent the first few hours of the journey convinced she was going to see his truck pop up in the rearview mirror flashing at her to pull over, and driving her off the road if she didn’t comply – it wouldn’t have been the first time.

The only thing that stopped her despairing was that if she didn’t know where she was, then neither did he, and he wouldn’t be able to find her; she was free.

Indulgence - 100 Words Challenge

I came across a new writing challenge - 100 Words Challenge. Another friend had posted up her entry and I thought, mmm, interesting, I'll have a go at that. The only shame is there is no photo prompt, so I have decided to source my own that relates to the story. Enjoy.

Photo by Navid Baraty - click photo to go to his website and see his other stunning shots of New York

 She wanted to feel everything. She wanted to engage all her senses; she wanted to smell it, see it, taste it, hear it - even touch it.

Hannah imagined all the sensations as she stepped up on the tiny wall of the penthouse balcony and looked down. The ground coming up to meet her, the traffic growing louder, the rush of the air in her ears accelerating as she whistled through it; the pressure against her skin, even in her mouth as she fell. 

She wanted it all. The spoilt brat’s last indulgence as her father would say. Her last hurrah.

Daily Picspiration - Occupied

My Daily Picspiration entry went up on Sunday. I pondered on the photos for a while, as they both spoke to me but to fit them with my ongoing saga I had to get creative. I decided to bring in another character - which I was a little loathe to do as I haven't developed all the others fully yet, but when I started writing it worked out really well, and I liked the end product. I hope you do too.

Posted on April 5th, You can read Part 6 - 'Occupied' here.
 
You can read Part 5 - 'Provisions' here.
You can read Part 4 - 'Moving Out' here.
You can read Part 3 - 'New Recruit' here.
You can read Part 2 - New Location here. 
You can read Part 1 - Frozen here.

 

Five Sentence Fiction - Entrance

I am quick with this weeks Five Sentence Fiction because the photo immediately inspired me. I might have stretched a few of the sentences with punctuation, but I didn't want to cut this too short. 

Elizabeth stopped and repositioned her backpack. She could see the light from the opening up ahead, it was getting brighter all the time, but she hadn’t reached it yet, the path kept winding off in different directions, taking her on wide loops before returning back to where she had been, although a few steps further along.

Each time this happened, her doubts grew about what was on the other side, making her wonder if she really needed to reach it at all. Was it really going to be everything she hoped it would be, or would she be disappointed and let down? Would she find what she was looking for – to fit in and be part of something – or did it just appear that way because it was brighter, and only be more of the same? 

The only thing she was sure of was that she wouldn’t know until she got there, and despite all her doubts and trepidation she knew she wanted to stand in that entrance way and see what was beyond otherwise she would regret it.

Hangman - MWBB

I went really dark for this last weeks Mid-Week Blues-Buster - the song required it. A creepy death call. So I wrote, no holds barred, just horror. Although I decided to skip the gruesome details. It didn't get ranked, but then there are loads of awesome writers writing for MWBB these days making it far more of a challenge - which is a good thing. Ups your game. 

The prompt song was:

“Dance the Hanged Man’s Jig”, by Aghast Manor

Vanessa moved methodically round the cellar, making sure she had all she needed. Images of surgeons collecting their tools ready for surgery and laying them out on the tray flicked through her mind. They helped block out the sound. It was like a whining, buzzing in her ears. She no longer heard the words, just the noise they made. It would be over soon though.

She pulled on one of the ropes of the system she had built, checked its tautness. It was still good. She had sourced the right type of rope to carry the weight. It was thick, but flexible enough to manipulate into the pulley system she wanted. And now in practice she could see what the salesman had meant by it working with you.

Touching them had caused the sound to rise again, and this time she listened. There was no emotion in response to what she heard. She felt literally nothing. She had even nicked herself with the scalpel she had used earlier, and even though it was a deep cut, she felt no sensation round the wound.

But then she had felt everything for too long, hadn’t she? All the rage, the sadness, the grief, the hurt, like it was a physical pain. And not at any time during that period had an emotion been reciprocated, whether of shame, guilt, regret, sadness, or care. Once that realisation had dawned all her feelings ceased. Some would say she shut down, but she would say she had done the opposite. She had understood. She had realised that words were not enough. She had seen what action was needed, to bring the point home.

The noose she’d weaved had fit well, the use of it bringing about the unconscious state she’d desired to be able to tie the rest of his body into place without resistance. When he’d come round she had winched the pulley system tight, splaying him out just enough to make it uncomfortable. Now it was time for the next stage. To be fully redeemed he needed to be emasculated. He needed to purged of what had caused his infidelity.

She turned to face him, a face she knew well. She had caressed the lines on it, run her fingers through the hair that framed it, and probably touched every inch of it with her lips at some point in the past twelve years. Although not in the past year, not since it had found someone else to kiss it, to caress it, to do all the things that she used to do.

Vanessa let him finish his sentence, full of desires to ‘put things right’ and ‘give her the love she deserved’, but she wasn’t stupid, she knew he was only saying those things to try and placate her so she would set him free. And the moment she did he would run, probably to the police.

She didn’t want that, it would ruin the plans she had meticulously worked on; plans that wouldn’t start them looking for him for more than a month; plans that wouldn’t put her in the picture once they did, but might suggest his lover; and plans that gave her an alibi should anything on his body be linked to her, but the chances of that were slim if she followed these next steps carefully.

She pulled on the latex gloves, snapping them for effect. It worked - he quieted. Then she picked up a pair of industrial ear muffs and put them on. She picked up a deep incision scalpel, and moved towards him. She could see his lips moving fervently, but there was no sound. She smiled, and made her first cut.