Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 21

This week's photo was taken by an online friend of mine, Stuart Hancock while he was travelling in America. It shows legs of the pier on Pismo Beach, California. I asked him if I could use it because it is begging to be written for. So many tales are glimpsed between those posts. What will yours be?

I ummed and arhhed over which tale to tell as several vied for position, although I felt a few were a bit cliche or darker than I fancied going. So this is what got written.

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.

 

Tied vs Tide.

The sloshing sound and rocking motion woke her.

Her eyes focused on the slats of wood far above her head. She kicked her feet and heard splashing; they were underwater. She put them down and felt mud and seaweed debris squelch between her toes. She tried to raise her arms to balance but found them tied to one of the pier posts. Damn! She’d forgotten about that.

Veronica awkwardly tried to stand, but couldn’t get up to full height, the rope tied round her wrists restricting the ability to do so. She could only move the rope up the post a little. Bent over with legs straight, the water had reached her thighs; the tide was coming in.

She look back at the beach, but it was wet and windy; there was no-one in sight.

She looked at the rope. It was orange poly rope: extra strong, extra tough, not easy to break. It occurred to her that if she had been able to tie herself up, surely she would be able to untie herself. Then she smiled; ever the perfectionist with attention to detail. She’d practiced that knot for months, tying it with her teeth, but never quite foolish enough to tie both hands in – not until last night.

She had no simple answer to this. She considered whether chewing through it was possible. Looking round again at the deserted beach and promenade, there wasn’t going to be any other option.

Veronica gnawed at it, kneeling in the water to keep her balance as the current of the incoming tide pushed against her. Her mouth was dry and salt water kept splashing up, making her need to spit.

After a while she stopped, barely having made a dent in one of the winds of rope – there were three to get through. She turned facing the beach and started to call out, in the hope that someone might hear her, but with the whistle of the wind rushing round the underside of the pier, the sound was carried out to sea; it was hopeless.

What had she been thinking? Not good things, clearly. Aided by two bottles of vodka she’d acted out a fantasy she’d had for a while. Although, as was always the case, it turned out the reality wasn’t going to go as smoothly as the fantasy: She hadn’t drowned in her sleep, and she hadn’t been rescued by anyone in shining armour - and scanning the still deserted beach she wasn’t going to be either.

The water was up round her waist now. She wrestled with the rope, moving it further up the pole, and continued to chew on it. It was the only chance she had. Would the same courage it took to get into this situation, now get her out? Was she strong enough to save herself?

 

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 20

Welcome back! I hope you all had a good summer. Now as we face the autumn I am rearing to go, with a litany of interesting photos at my disposal, and here's the first. 

This week's photo is of a horse sculpture by Japanese artist, Sayaka Ganz. She creates sculptures out of household rubbish, as she says she has a “strange sympathy for discarded objects.” Apparently the Shinto (Japanese religion) believe in the sacred power (kami) in both animate and inanimate objects. All Syaka's animal sculptures appear to be moving in some way. You can find more of her incredible work on her website: Syaka Ganz, Reclaimed Creations.

I recalled parts of this story from a dream I had had many years ago. It took me a while to squeeze it into the word count, and it begged to be continued. Maybe I will one day. Hope you enjoy it.

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.

Try or Die

I could feel the ground starting to shake, the thundering roar not quite drowning out my racing heart as I ran for my life. Then another sound reached me and I looked over my shoulder to see an entire band of wild horses coming, creating a sand storm in their wake; the thunder of their hooves reducing the magnitude of the quake as they approached.

I looked for a high point, somewhere to scramble to, lest I be knocked and trampled underfoot. There was no shortage of boulders in this patch of the desert, so I climbed one, getting as high as I could until an idea came to me, making me ponder my sanity – not for the first time.

As their steaming sweat-soaked bodies rushed by me I leapt knowing that I risked suicide. But catching a glimpse of the mammoth crack chasing the horses, it was my only chance of survival.

Landing on the hard ridge of the animal’s back hurt, but I grappled in its mane for firm purchase and clenched my legs to stay on, keeping low. It made no attempt to buck me off, intent only on escaping the quake along with every other living thing.

I could see bison to the left moving like a black cloud in high winds. I hoped we wouldn’t run across each others’ path. I attempted to look behind me but there was only a wall of sand.

The sky grew dark, my initial thought being that the dust cloud had blotted out the sun, but when I looked up I realised the sky was full of flying creatures fleeing the disaster. Huge birds of prey mingled with flocks of parrots, sparrows, finches, ravens, every type of desert dwelling bird. I’d never seen so many and I’d spent a lot of time on my porch with binoculars trying. It scared me. How bad was this thing? How big? Would we be able to outrun it?

I knew that the rocky terrain would turn into brush soon enough and then into farmland, until we eventually hit town. Although would it still be there? If the quake had hit my isolated homestead, where else was it hitting?

I could feel the band of horses turning, moving to the right, the border of this scrap of land appearing on the horizon; the dark line of foliage would eventually grow into woods. I could see other groups of animals turning with us, foxes, coyotes, and even bighorn sheep running side by side. It was going to get messy once we hit the resistance of the trees.

But as I watched, the foliage began to shift upwards; the ground becoming sky. Another fork of the quake was cutting the earth. The horses slowed down, moving back to the left. I waited for a clash of animals, but they moved as one, the pace increasing towards the open farmlands.

I prayed to a God I didn’t believe in to keep our path open and let us escape this giant cataclysm, but the horizon started to darken with what appeared to be more groups of escaping animals - this time livestock - heading straight for us.

I didn’t know why our band wasn’t slowing or changing direction, but before I could panic I was falling with the horse beneath me. My eyes had been so transfixed on what was ahead I had missed the chasm that had opened in front of us. My world went black. 

When I opened my eyes again I could see a crack of light. The weight on top of me made it difficult to breathe, but it was shifting and moving as other animals became conscious and struggled to rise. There was pain in my body, but would it stop me from being able to get up and out?

Tremors were still running through the ground shifting the mass around me, and I used them to my advantage as I pulled and pushed my way up. It was hard work, but my body allowed it, despite one arm being broken. I hugged it to my side and tried to keep it immobile as I moved up. 

I had no idea how long it took me, but once I reached the top of the crushed, damaged and writhing creatures, I saw that it might have been the easiest part of my journey: The sheer wall of the chasm that faced me was galling – but I could try or die.

 

Goodreads Giveaway for Mostly Dark

I am running a Goodreads Giveaway to win one of two signed copies of my book, Mostly Dark.

Make sure you enter by the 10th of October 2017.

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Mostly Dark

by Miranda Kate

Giveaway ends October 10, 2017.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

Mid-Week Flash on hiatus.

MID-WEEK FLASH CHALLENGE

ON HIATUS

BACK ON WEDNESDAY 6th SEPTEMBER

Due to my children being home from school for the holidays and also due to the reduction in entries (which I hope is just due to the time of year) I've decided stop for a few weeks.

Hopefully there'll be more takers in the Autumn.

Meantime, feel free to enter any of the old picture prompts and here's a new one to be going on with -  you can find tons more on my Pinterest boards.

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 19

This week's photo returns us to the world of the surreal. The image was taken/created by Hermin Abramovitcha, a guy from Israel over on Deviant Art - and despite him saying that his work doesn't need to be credited, I think it should be. He's taken some great images.

It's only a short one from me this week - mostly because I thought it was Monday and not Tuesday and didn't have enough time to write more. I hope you all do better. 

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.

Wish and Dreams

She stroked the driftwood frame and imagined her life in its windows. She saw joy and laughter, elation and wonder, hugs and kisses.

Drops of water fell on the glass. They weren’t spray from the sea; they were tears from her eyes.
She wished so much she could create reality from those visions; she wished she could pluck them out and bring them to life.

But reality remained cold and hard, and empty, wishes were all she had.

She looked up at the receding tide on the beach, and watched the waves coming in and out, rushing forward and pulling back. Their motion was something to be trusted, to be sure of, to feel secure in. Their rhythm held fast every day; it didn’t deviate. There would be no sudden change, no hidden betrayal. She would not be left high and dry – not yet anyway.

She walked towards the ocean, feeling her whole body rock with their movement. In the wake of the waves the white horses ran, rushing in, hoping to be successful before petering out. When they reached her thighs she shivered at their touch. When they reached her breasts she gasped at their strength. When they went over her head she had no reason to wish anymore. She had reached the land of her dreams.

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 18

This week's photo is a photoshopping image of the Monticello Dam drain hole. And is in so many places on the internet I can not track the creator. The drain hole is the largest in the world, and located in northern California. (This funnel-shaped outlet, allows water to bypass the dam when it reaches capacity, as it swallows a rate of 48,400 cubic feet per second.)

I liked the perspective this image offered, both literally and metaphorically. I'm interested to see what others will make of it. 

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 End

Chloe had had enough. She couldn’t handle another day like this. She hated it here: the fakeness, the surface chatter, the ‘keeping up with the Jones’ they all did, the friendship cliques. She couldn’t stand it. She had tried intellectual conversation with them, but they would look at her blankly. They weren’t book readers; they weren’t deep thinkers; they weren’t creative. They spent their days focusing on the day to day trivia of life, and particularly that of their neighbours!

Living here was not for Chloe. But if she went back to where she had come from there was also nothing, just a bunch of bad memories. She’d be starting from scratch too. She had neither the energy nor the cash to do that. But staying here was a pit of nothingness too: emotionally dead, empty, a sinkhole that was sucking the life out of her.

She lay there on bridge looking up at the sky, imagining the abyss her life had become. She pondered the same question that always came up: how to change it? She couldn’t go back; she couldn’t stay here in the present, so she had to create a future. She had to move forward. But to where? And would it be any better there? – Would it be any better anywhere?

She had lived in so many places, tried so many things, and still she came to this point: bored, empty, lonely and disconnected. And was the lack of connection them or her? Was she doing something wrong? Was it all her, as so many indicated? Too intense, too deep, too real – that’s what they kept on telling her. Too open, too talkative, too keen – none of it won her any friendships. She was tired of trying, and believing there were people out there like her. She was tired of telling herself she just need to find the ‘right people’. She had started to believe that there were no ‘right’ people – she was just wrong.

She had no ties, she had no commitments (short of her job), and she had no connections holding her in one place. She used to be thrilled by that idea: free to go where she wanted, when she wanted and how she wanted. But the thrill had worn off. She felt like she was drifting, like a fish in a strong current trying to stay in one place. She wanted to feel connected, needed, valued. But she no longer believed it would happen in this lifetime.

Then came the next thought; one that went through her mind more often than it should: “Who would miss her if she was gone?” She couldn’t think of one single person. There was no family, no friends to speak of – although a few might be sad initially but it would be short lived. And people might wonder why, but really it wouldn’t matter what they wondered, she wouldn’t be here to care about it.

Chloe rolled over onto her front and looked down at the water. It churned and roiled, throwing up its rage at being pushed around by the sides of the river and the boulders in its midst. It foamed, and spat great white plumes into the air, the recent heavy rains swelling it, testing its patience as it rushed along. You could try and swim in it, but it would pull you under, bend you to its will, and Chloe had never been a strong swimmer, never had official lessons. 

She knew if she thought about it for too long it wouldn’t happen, so she pushed herself forward until her torso was over the edge of the bridge, and under the bottom rung of the wooden side protectors. She let her upper body drop over, enjoying the thrill of the rushing water underneath.

She paused, wondering if she could do it, but then felt her bottom cheeks brush the underside of the wood panel above and her weight shift forward. A moment of panic rushed through her as she attempted to grab at the edge above her, but the movement caused a further shift and before she knew it she was tumbling and hitting freezing water.

The last thing Chloe St. James registered was the sensation of being churned like she was in a giant washing machine. Then her head hit against something and she was gone.