Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 94

I picked this week's photo as it is Valentine's week and it seemed appropriate. It was created by a company called Ars Thanea, and it is an actual sculpture they made, called The Ash. An explanation about how they did it is here.

I have gone with a standard storyline this week, one of heart break, although some might relate to 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.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Ashes

She used the poker to push them into the centre of the coals and sat back watching them crinkle and burn. The initial burst of fire consumed the fake roses then died down. The blackened roses retained their shape as the embers lit them from beneath, giving them an ethereal glow and tingeing their edges with red light.

Alexis remembered when she’d bought them; they were part of the fad of roses that had become the in-thing to have in your home. She’d been full of love then, full of hope, full of dreams about her new relationship.

Rafe had moved in just weeks before. It had been heady days, they’d barely come out of bed that first week. Then they had slipped into an easy routine and easy roles, never a cross word; everything talked out properly. Their hearts and feelings taken seriously by each other, and the flowers had sat proudly on the mantelpiece as a representation of that, of their commitment to each other.

Alexis felt her heart ache for those times, but years had passed and slowly things had decayed. She couldn’t pinpoint when or what, just a slow erosion of life, and then of distance as Rafe found a new job that included a lot of travel, and the silences between them became less comfortable and more like a void.

She’d developed her own life, both career and social life. She’d had to establish one on her own with him being absent most of the time. And when he’d return he’d talk about people, places and a life she didn’t know, a life she was no longer part of, and then she’d realised she was doing the same.

And then the thought had crept in, ‘what was the point of being together if they were living separate lives?’ And it had grown, making the void bigger and become like an abyss. Then the tension had grown. When he was home it had felt like he was in the way, that he was interrupting her life, and she knew he felt it too.

But rather than talk about it, like they would have done at the beginning, they kept their own counsel. Fear had crept in, fear that if they voiced it, it would be painful, that it might make it worse – when it fact it probably would have made it better.

And then the day had come. The day they both had dreaded. He had told her about another job opportunity, another life he could go and lead, but this time permanent in a far off land she’d never heard of. He had suggested she could come too, a tiny spark in his eyes, but in the same breath he had also provided reasons why it wouldn’t be a good idea, and she wasn’t convinced it was what he wanted.

Then the tears had come, the ending had come, and although they used the excuse of the job as the reason for the break-up they both knew the truth: their love had died and they had let it, and there was nothing to share anymore.

Alexis sat looking in the fireplace at the roses that had meant so much to her. No tears came now, no regret, just numb. And as the coals slumped and broke apart so did the roses, crumbling to ash, just like her heart.

Review of Traps by MacKenzie Bezos

Traps by MacKenzie Bezos
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This book was chosen by my local bookclub for the next read. I was dubious that I would like it, but I did. There was a certain amount of intrigue as to how the four characters would interconnect and that drew me in.

I found the point of view a little distracting. It was omniscient, meaning that the story was narrated in a way that we, the readers, were observing it as it unfolded. There were a couple of instances where it even uses 'we' (such as 'we can see from how often she ...'), making this POV apparent. It keeps the reader at a distance from both the characters and the story in some ways, but at the same time it was like watching it in real time: we didn't know what was coming at all, there was no alluding to what would come, and we also didn't know the backstory of each of the characters so this unfolded before us, keeping the reader captivated and engaged.

We are introduced to the four characters, Jessica, Dana, Lynn, and Vivian, individually at the beginning of the book, and then we start to slowly see how they cross paths, or are connected to each other. Some of them are a surprise. In some ways we only get a snippet of their lives, just a moment as they intersect, never knowing the full outcome to their situations or the history behind them.

For me that was probably the only thing I felt lacked here. It felt too brief, and in some ways had little point, short of being a 'fly on the wall' with each one and observing the situation or dilemma they were facing at that time. Yet strangely I felt okay with this when it came to an end. I had engaged with each emotional moment and experienced it along with them, so that in itself provided a certain satisfaction.

This was a very different read for me, and a different style of writing. One that I felt had room for development and improvement.

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Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 93

This week's photo, was taken by Laura Williams, a photographer from Cambridge, England. She calls this one Invisible. She takes some fabulous shots. You can find them on her Flickr account here. She calls this one Invisible.

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.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Gone

It first occurred when the hair dresser tried to show Lucinda the back of her hair. She couldn’t see it; her head wasn’t there. The strange thing was she could see herself in the mirror in front of her, just not in the one held by the hairdresser when showing her the back.

If the hairdresser hadn’t freaked, she could have pretended she had seen her hair and gone home and processed the event there. But the stylist got hysterical, especially after testing it out on her other clients and it only being Lucinda.

Lucinda had dropped cash on the counter and rushed out.

At home she tested it out herself. It was handheld mirrors – she tried several of them. It’s like she was invisible in them. She even turned her back to the full length mirror and faced the handheld. There was no reflection of her face in the handheld mirror, but she could see the full length mirror reflected and her back in it. It was bizarre.

Lucinda went into her sister’s bedroom and tried it out on her, making some excuse about her new haircut and wanting to compare it. The back of her sister’s head showed just fine in the mirror. However, she made sure her sister didn’t see her reflection – or non-reflection.

She did the same with her brother and her mother and again, theirs were perfectly normal. In the large oval hallway mirror she could see herself, but when she took it off the wall she disappeared. It made no sense.

But when she attempted to hang the mirror back onto the wall, her thumb slipped and disappeared into the mirror. She paused, looking at her thumbless hand clasping the mirror. She wiggled her thumb, she could feel it move, but there was no movement on the surface of the mirror. She drew her hand back, her thumb was intact.

She needed to investigate further, so she took the mirror up to her bedroom and shut her door. She propped it up against her bed. She sat cross legged in front of it and reached out, putting her index finger against the surface. But there was no surface, her finger vanished. Again no ripple; the surface was not liquid, it just wasn’t there. But she couldn’t see her finger. She could only see the reflection of the wardrobe behind her.

She pulled her hand back. Her finger was unchanged.

She laid the mirror flat on the floor and stood. She dipped a bare toe in, it disappeared, and then she put her whole foot in until the ankle. She did a sort of hokey cokey with it: in out, in out, shaking it about. It was normal.

She knelt down on one knee and lowered her entire leg in. There was no resistance, nothing to stop her. She then moved round onto her bottom and lowered her other leg in to join it, right up to her thighs and sat there swinging them about – or at least that’s what it felt like. There was no sensation. It was like she was dangling them over a building, she just couldn’t see them.

Then she turned herself round, laying face down on the floor, her legs still inside the mirror, and slowly shuffled her body further and further in, until only her arms, shoulders and head were out. Her arms taking her weight, because there was nothing under her feet.

She contemplated letting go. Wondering what she would drop into; wondering what was on the other side of the mirror. She debated until her arms started to ache, and then she thought, why not? And let go.

***

A few hours later her mother came upstairs. She’d called her for dinner and had no reply. She knocked on her bedroom door. No answer. She opened the door and found Lucinda’s room empty, the hallway mirror lying on the floor. She tutted and picked it up, taking it back downstairs with her, while calling for Lucinda again. She hung it back on the wall and adjusted her hair in it, and went back into the kitchen.  

Snowflakes Challenge - Mad and Sad

Snowflake's Challenge is a monthly writing challenge hosted by R.B. McConnell. Every month a picture is provided to write a piece of Flash Fiction. Here's mine for prompt No.4.

Mad and Sad

Nadia stood trembling in the bushes watching the door & waiting. She could hear the noise, as could all the neighbours. People were starting to come to their front doors and look, standing out on their front steps and gossiping. Nadia pushed herself further into the shrubbery so they wouldn’t see her; she worried they might take her.

She’d heard about that happening at school. If people found out things weren’t right at home, they took you away to live with another family. She didn’t want that to happen. If they did that how would she protect her mother? If they took her too maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, but where would they go? And what would happen to her brother? She could feel her breath getting short and her limbs feeling twitchy as the sick feeling in her stomach spread.

There was a big crash inside and Nadia felt her belly jump. What was he doing in there to her mum? She heard her mother cry out. She was torn between rushing in and staying put. She stayed put. Mum always said, stay put, it’s not safe when your brother gets in one of his rages.

She stuck her fingers in her mouth. It helped sooth her. She started to hear crying. It was loud crying – not her mother’s. She felt her stomach loosen. When he did that, it meant the end. It meant things would calm down now. Whatever had upset him was now making him sad, not angry anymore.

She took in a sudden breath and it helped. Things were different for her brother, people didn’t understand that. He felt things too much. He couldn’t stop it and it made him mad. He’d let her hug him now. And her mum too. 

New Year's Revolution - Blog hop

It seems the blog hop team were hot off the press at the beginning with yet another blog hop, The New Year's Revolution, this time hosted by Cara Michaels, and co-hosted with Laura James & Ruth Long.

Sadly participants were not quite so quick - like myself - so the deadline was moved back to the end of January (today in fact!).

 

Not what it seems

I stand clamped against the wall, breathing hard. I can hear their heavy boots clomping down the hallway towards me. I inch over into the corner. The shadow will work to conceal me - plus they can’t turn their heads when walking, only when standing still.

It’s their weakness, a vital titbit of information we’ve gained. And it wasn’t easy getting it because their strength is seeing and hearing everything – and I mean EVERYTHING.

It’s more than just tapping into our global computer networks, satellite communication systems and mobile airwaves, they’ve got some kind of insider intel.

There aren’t many of us left. The rest have been reprogrammed. We don’t know how, being that the human brain isn’t mechanical, but they all operate on autopilot: eyes vacant.

But their sentinels are mechanical, which is why their heads don’t turn when they move. Knowing that has been a game changer. I’ve managed to infiltrate buildings I couldn’t before, like this one. It houses the mainframe of their operation: a huge sprawling complex they created days after their arrival. If I can get the devices in my bag in there, we stand a chance of reclaiming our lives and planet.

I sneak through the labyrinth of corridors, turning left and right, following the map I have in my head. Eidetic memory is a blessing.

I slow as I near the room we believe houses the neural feed of operation. I expect more sentinels but there aren’t any. I haven’t identified any cameras either. It’s eerie, and unsettling. I hope we’re not wrong.

I shuffle up to the door and put my hand on the handle. I can feel a hum through it. I put pressure on it. It moves down without a sound. I open it a crack. Can it really be this easy?

It’s dark inside. I slide in, closing it silently behind me. I wait for my eyes to adjust. There’s a light in the middle of the room. It pulses. My eyes can’t leave it. I feel the pulse behind them, and fall in sync with my heartbeat.

I slip the bag off my shoulder, my eyes unmoving from the light. I open the bag and feel for the device and bring it out. I run my fingers over it, feeling the buttons, knowing what each one does. I push the large one in the middle. It beeps. I take five paces forward and place it on the floor.

The pulse continues. I can feel it in my gums now. I can see pictures in my mind, images flashing up, of all sorts of strange things. I feel a kind of tugging at the back of my brain as though it’s trying to move away from it.

The light changes colour from white to green. I move to my left, counting my steps as the high speed movie in my head continues and the light shifts to yellow.

I retrieve another device from my bag, press the button and set it down. The light’s now blue. I move again to my left and remove another, activating it and putting it on the floor. The light’s now violet.

Then once more to the left and repeat; all four devices are down and active. The light’s moving into red. I shuffle backwards to the wall, sliding along it feeling for the door handle. I find it, but my eyes are transfixed, the red light pulsing like the blood in my veins.

I need to leave. I need to go now. Over the live stream of images in my mind I can see my path out. The handle moves down and I pull the door open ajar. I move my body into the gap, but my head’s still facing the light, my mind locked in. I inch it back and then with one almighty mental pull, yank it out.

I stand for a second, the silence in my head deafening as it stops processing the images. I blink a few times. Then I move; breaking into a jog back along the empty corridors, knowing there’s no one here, because they didn’t need to be.

They didn’t need to be, because they aren’t real. They’re an illusion and we’ve fallen for it. It’s a screen for something much worse. The light’s shown me.

I need to get back to the others before the devices kick in, because all hell will break loose once they do and we see what’s on the other side.

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 92

This week's photo was taken by a guy called Garret Stark who likse gaming. From what I can gather he took a lots of shots of his dice, and this is one of them.

This week I have used it as a prompt to help me climb back into the story of David Sinclair, a character from my novella The Game (in the collection Slipping Through), and his current situation in the sequel to The Game - Pool of Players. What is the Jester up to this time? Here's a snippet.


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.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Game Playing 

David saw it on the floor and picked it up. It was a dice – or was it die if there was only one? He thought it might be. The surface was rough and worn. He could see cracks in the white. He tapped it with a finger nail; it was stone. He pondered the person who had left it here.

He hadn’t been in this room before, but he had been in the building. That was how he’d been able to get here. He turned the die over in his hand and wondered at its meaning. There was always a meaning, the Jester never left anything by chance and David knew this had to be some kind of clue.  

He took another look round the room which was devoid of furniture and furnishings: A bare board floor with blank walls and curtain-less windows. Another derelict building; one less worn this time. The Jester seemed to favour them, especially in this city, which seemed to sprawl out in every direction and contain lots of them. They remained hidden behind its facade of uptown glamour. There was no other sign of his elusive adversary, so this was it, the only lead he had to go on.

It could only mean one thing; he had to venture into clubs again. The dark dingy ones the Jester liked to frequent in this time parallel were abhorrent, full of dangerous, often psychopathic, men of deviant means. And the die would indicate some kind of gambling den. One came to mind that he had passed a few times, in the back streets when he’d been trying to find somewhere to bunk down for the night. Could he find him there? Or was this another set up?

Before David could think further on it, he was there, a few feet away from the entrance. He found this new ability to slip through unnerving, yet exhilarating. Think of a place and just go there. If only he could work out how to do this back home – or to get him back home, but the chances of him seeing it again were slim. He knew too much, the Jester would never let him go back now. And he still had so many questions to ask, he just wanted to find him and ask them. He hated being played like this, again.

The die was still in his hand, and it matched the one hanging on the name board above the heavy wooden door, flanked by a bouncer. He was in the right place. What would the Jester have in store for him this time?

Review of Gwendy's Button Box, by Stephen King & Richard Chizmar

Gwendy's Button Box by Stephen King
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

It's rare I sit down and read an entire book so quickly, but with this being a novella, by my favourite author, and such a gripping little tale, it was easy to do.

As always with Stephen King, when I pick up one of his books, having not read him for a while, it's like coming home. It always flows; he always drops breadcrumbs to what is to come next to keep the reader interested and reading further, and the characters are real and immersive.

I particularly liked this tale, which for me is a return to King's more quirky side, matching the likes of From A Buick 8, UR, or Mile 81. I also love that he brought us another RF character. This one called Richard Farris, but to his constant readers it eludes to Randall Flagg a character that started in The Stand but has popped up in many of his novels - never quite the same, but always wrapped in mystery and with a name that provides the same initials - RF.

The story is about a box, given to Gwendy when she is 12, that has button's on it. It is entrusted to her for safe keeping, due to its use being so profound, but it also pays for its keep in a way that is different and intriguing. .

I don't know how much input Richard Chizmar had in the writing of this novella, as I am not familiar with his writing or work, only his magazine Cemetery Dance (which I have great affection for), but maybe he added to some of the darkness in there. I like to think so.

As a Stephen King reader this one hit the mark for me. I loved it.


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