Over on BookDNA website, they asked me what my top three reads for 2023 were so I told them!
Click on the picture below to find out why
And if you are an author, Shepherd are always looking for more authors to join, so get in touch with them here. It cost nothing!
This week's picture prompt was created by French digital artist Cyril Rolando. They call this one We are dancing in chains. They have made some incredible pieces and clearly their works speaks to me because I have used a few on Mid-Week Flash before: Week 283, Week 278 and Week85.
Finally got round to writing this piece that's been stuck in my head. It's a dark one.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
There was that
sound again and he was gone, triggered back into a time he had worked so hard
to put behind him. But suddenly he could see that room again and smell the
rancid sweat, not just of the visitor but of his own fear. And he could feel
them – the chains, on his ankles and on his wrists, holding him, keeping him
there, keeping him submissive, keeping him as their play thing.
He was frozen to the spot. He worked to
take a breath and remind himself it was over, it would never happen again. But even
after all this time (he’d be celebrating ten years next month) the sound of
chains did this to him. It didn’t matter where they were – today was the
harbour – or why – they were hauling in an anchor – it didn’t fail to paralyse
him, stopping him dead in his tracks.
He felt his mind switch over into automatic
pilot. He managed to continue walking back to his car, and get in and drive
back to the office. It was like he was watching himself as he made all the
correct motions on the way back, while his mind tried to stop him from falling
into the pit of darkness that would shut him down mentally for days or even
weeks. At the office he made all the correct sounds and expressions for people
to believe he was fine, but once alone behind his desk he knew there was one
person he had to speak to; the one person who could help him get a handle on
this flashback.
“Hey, Giles, it’s not like you to call me
during the day, is everything okay?”
She knew, she always knew.
“No, not really. I had to go down to the
docks and watch something being loaded, and it happened …”
“What happened?”
“Chains on concrete.”
“Oh shit. Do you want me to come over?”
“I’m still at work.”
“I can meet you after if you like?”
“I just needed to tell someone who
understood. I just needed to say it out loud.”
“I understand. Sounds are the hardest part –
and smells.”
“Yeah. It’s like I could smell it again,
though it was just in my mind.”
“I’ll meet you after work, we’ll have dinner.
It will break the cycle of the reaction.”
“Good idea.”
“When’s your next therapy session?”
“Next week.”
“Not too far away then.”
“No. Hopefully I can report on how I
processed it.”
“You already are processing it by calling
me.”
“True. Thank you Shaunna.”
“I’m just happy you called. I’ll see you outside
at six, okay?”
“See you then.”
“Bye.”
Giles put the phone down. He felt like he
was coming back to himself again. He felt like he could focus on what was in
front of him on his desk. He’d managed to switch off the autopilot.
He didn’t know what he would do without the
support of another who had been put through the same. Someone who knew the
horror of being sold as a child, and used and abused for years. Some days he
hated that they had survived to live with the memories, but most days he was
just grateful to be free.
This week's picture prompt was creted by fine art photographer, Vassilis Tangoulis. This is among his collection, Dreams in Colour on his site. He has some wonderful pictures, worth checking out.
Delving once again into Tricky's world and the characters in there. Last time was Week 315.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
Tricky had also left a piece of peridot and
yellow birch leaf, and while Nathan slipped into the trees on the right side of
the path, he used it to become invisible by pressing them together in his other
pocket.
He remained where he was and waited, hoping
that whoever or whatever had their eyes on him would appear.
He heard a shuffling and a boy stepped out
onto the path from the trees on the other side.
Nathan frowned to himself. He might not
have thought much of such a youngster except they were wearing a black cloak.
It looked like a uniform, one that triggered a memory from his youth. Could
this be one of Douglas Bottle’s students? Did he even still have students? Nathan
thought he probably did; it was useful having underlings to run errands for
you, while you passed on your craft. And Bottle was that kind of old school mentor
– one that Nathan used to respect, but less so now he knew Bottle was involved
with The Network.
But this confirmed one thing, he was being
watched. Did they know he went to the cabin on the lake? He remained still. He
would let the boy show him.
The boy looked both ways up the path and
then crossed into the trees, passing close to Nathan. He walked a few trees in
and then stopped looking round himself.
Nathan doubted this young one would have
any perception of using gemstones to make yourself invisible. Surely if they
did they would be using it. Nathan was sure the boy couldn’t sense him, and
enjoyed being hidden right under his nose. Tricky had certainly excelled at
discovering the intricacies of such energy combinations. Dufray had been just
as gifted, and Nathan felt a slight pang of remorse that he was dead; so much
knowledge lost to their little world at a time they needed it most.
He watched the boy look around, trying to
track Nathan. But Nathan couldn’t be tracked because he hadn’t gone where the
boy was looking.
He continued to observe the boy as he return
to the path and continued along it, this time with Nathan in pursuit still veiled
from view. The boy paused at Dead Lake, and looked at the cabin. However, he
didn’t endeavour to go across the jetty and inside, instead giving it a cursory
glance then continuing along the shoreline of dead trees, and then passing
between them into the living trees behind.
Nathan followed.
When the boy was four or five trees deep,
he stopped again and let out some whistles. Two more boys joined him, and they
held a whispered conversation Nathan couldn’t tap into while veiled. Then the
three of them moved off further into the woods. Nathan continued to trail them,
even when they used their energy to pick up speed, a simple trick he used a lot
when covering large distances, which this turned out to be. They didn’t meet up
with anyone else and eventually disappeared down inside the base of a very
large red-coloured tree.
Nathan looked up at the tree. At this point
he wished he had Tricky’s ability to communicate with it. He put his hand on
the trunk, and although he could feel the energy running through it, and even
tap into it, it didn’t give him any information. It was a shame. He could see
the opening they used, but it wasn’t a good idea to go down there when he had
no idea where it led. He knew it was into one of the bunkers, which was probably
connected to others, but getting lost in a rabbit warren of them when your enemy
was all around would be foolish.
Nathan turned back instead, remaining cloaked
the entire time, not feeling safe to release the peridot and leaf until he was
back inside the time wrap in the cabin.
He was confident they knew he was residing
here – or at least suspected he did. How long had they been watching him? Questions
he couldn’t answer. But they’d know who he was; he was familiar with their mentor,
as anyone who had schooled under Tricky’s mother, Angelique Hayek, would be.
They had all met Douglas Bottle at some
point – or Gandalf as he liked to be nicknamed. Bottle might look uncouth and
larger than life in his garish coloured suits, but he had a keen memory and
knew everyone. Nathan knew he’d recall his association with Tricky, Annie, and Lucien.
There was no doubt he knew they were working together. But the question that
burned brightest was, did they know this was Tricky’s cabin, or did they think
it was just another of Nathan’s abodes? Which led to the next question: how
much longer was Nathan safe here?
Nathan needed to inform Annie and Tricky as
soon as possible.
This week's picture prompt was created by hungarian born, Sarolta Ban. She doesn't give this a name, but it is located in the fabulae category. It's not the first time I've used one of her images. I used one on Week 31, Week 304, Week 28, and Week 24 . She has some exceptional images, I would probably pic a different one every week to use they're so good.
A brief one as I keep exploring some ideas for Tricky's tales. Last time I wrote one for her was Week 314 - just last week.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
“It was huge, it came at me out of
nowhere!”
“It was just a bird, Dimitri. It was
probably as frightened as you!”
“No, it knew what it was doing! It had been
sent by her.”
“Who?”
“Tricky, that thorn in our sides.”
“But talking to birds is not one of her
gifts, that belongs to Dufray.”
“It definitely wasn’t one of his, Gandalf.
I’d have recognised it.”
“I think you’re exaggerating. It was
probably one of his jackdaws.”
“Oh no, this was much bigger than one of
those.”
“Probably one of the larger corvids then.”
“Are there bigger ones?”
“Oh yes. I used to have a pet raven,
beautiful bird it was, so intelligent. I couldn’t communicate with it like
Lucien does his birds, but it was smart enough to be able to communicate with
me. There aren’t many of them left now – at least I don’t see them around where
I live. I hope they have managed to repopulate.”
“Aren’t ravens black though? This was brown
with a white head.”
Gandalf laughed.
“That was no corvid, that was a peregrine
falcon. And that means they’ve brought Safa Odeh in.”
“Who’s that? Someone we should be worried
about?”
“Probably not, though her falcon is
definitely as keen as any raven. It seems they have their spies out.”
“Maybe I should arrange to have the birds
killed.”
Gandalf laughed again.
“Oh, Dimitri, I doubt very highly you’d be
able to outsmart a bird of prey. But no, if they are watching us, we can put on
a show for them and lead them on a merry dance.”
Dimitri Stanislav’s thin, hard face lit up
with an ear-splitting grin.
“Oh yes, what a good idea.”
This week's picture prompt is a digital creation by Ciara, or Aura, as she calls herself online, and She Freaks, She Speaks, over on Facebook. She has some wonderful digital art, and she also has a shop where she sell crystals and crystal jewellery. If you like that sort of thing there's a lot of choice. I have also used one of her pictures before on Week 301 with the teapot, & Week 291 I with the stained glass bath.
A Tricky related story, exploring some backstory. The last time I wrote one about Tricky was on Week 312.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
“Have you got it?”
“Yes, it was easy, he gave it to me without
question.”
“Good.” Douglas Bottle, aka Gandalf, took
the smooth, large, palm-sized obsidian from Adric and turned it over in his
hands. “It is rather special, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes.”
“And it records, you say?”
“I’ve tested it a few times, it’s quite
easy to activate, you just have to use a combination of energy light and
sound.”
“Sound?”
“Yes, if I use a certain pitch or
intonation with some keywords, and run some magenta light through it, it turns
it on.”
“And you can play it back the same way?”
“Yes. And it’s personalised; every person’s
voice has a different level of intonation.”
“So I can’t activate it then?”
“Not recordings I make no, but you can make
your own.”
“So it’s like secret recordings for each
individual?”
“Yes. Though, Dufray has managed to record
on it and I’ve managed to activate it by running light through it, so I’m not
quite sure.”
“Secret recordings he’s made?”
“Oh no. I’m not even sure he knew it was
recording; it was just him jabbering on to his flock of birds. But it’s how I
realised it could record and I’ve been testing it out since.”
“It would be a neat trick to leave it in a
room to capture conversations.”
“Nice idea, but it needs to be activated by
energy light, which has to be sustained.”
“Shame. So there’s no way we can do this
without him knowing?”
“I
thought you were going to drug him?”
“Yes, but I was hoping to do it subtly so
he wouldn’t catch on. Here …”
Gandalf led Adric downstairs into a dimly
lit basement, one lined with shelves full of different bottles containing liquid
in an array of colours. He took them over to a bench where three bottles with
cat heads as stoppers stood. The innards of each one glowed with swirling
colours, but what unnerved Adric was that the heads moved as though alive,
blinking and meowing. Gandalf stroked one of them and it omitted a purr.
“What are those?”
“They’re just enchanted. If anyone but me touches
them they will hiss or bite to alert me to any trespasser. Their contents have
taken me years to develop, and it’s this particular potion I was hoping to test
out on Dimitri tonight.”
“He’s no fool. How will you get him to take
it?”
“Oh it’s tasteless, thus easy to put into a
drink.”
“Okay. Will he be dopey or out of it? To
activate the stone I need to create an energy light set up.”
“You could say it’s for protection. It’s
not like he will know; he has little concept of this stuff, he just does as I
tell him with any of the enchantments or energetic communications he partakes
in. He won’t be out of it so much as loose tongued. I’m intrigued what he will
come out with.”
“So am I. But remind me again why you
wanted this recorded?”
“I don’t trust Dimitri, or his endgame. He
treats folk like us as disposable. So should any of this not go the way we want
it, we have something to blackmail him with … should that time come.”
“Oh my father would love to get his hands
on anything that would incriminate Stanislav. He’s itching for a reason to dispose
of him.”
“He’d have to find him first.”
“Indeed, he’s a slippery bugger.”
“Which is why I’m hoping to pin him down on
this recording. Now, go back upstairs and get everything ready. He’ll be here
in a moment.”
This week's picture prompt is by Simone Pinna, a self-taught Italian artist, known particularly for Erotic Faires, so be careful clicking that link - it is definitely NSFW! Though this link should only go to the picture that I am using as a prompt. Despite the riskee nature, there's some incredible art and talent!
A dabble into the concept of getting wings being a trend.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
Mutant
She went up on
tiptoes, craning to see her ankles in the full-length mirror. She hoped they
looked better than they felt; she hadn’t anticipated them being so painful. She
thought that getting your wings would be delightful, maturing and completing.
But she felt none of those things; she felt disappointed, ignorant and naive.
She believed from here on out she would be blissfully
happy, but if the pain of the fitting into the ankles was this bad, she dreaded
to think what the pain in the back would feel like. No one had talked about
that, they had only talked about the delight of flying. They didn’t talk about
what it took to get there.
Still, she could flutter them, even if it
was sore and it made them bleed. They looked pretty. She just had to tolerate a
few days of discomfort. But it did make her think twice about how quickly she
was going to get her back wings fitted – although how stupid would she look if
she walked around for months with just ankle wings? She would only be able to hover
above the ground for a couple of minutes before falling flat on her face. No,
she had to suck it up and go ahead with her plans for the operation the
following week, and get all the pain over in one go.
She hoped that once it was done she would
get over her stupid vertigo too. None of her mates had a problem launching
themselves off cliffs, and she put that down to them already having their wings
for years. They’d had parents that had been able to afford to get them fitted
when they were young, so they could grow into them – although it did mean they’d
had to have corrective surgery a few times too. At least she would only need to
go through it once now she was fully grown.
She tried not to think about how bad her
vertigo had got when Belito had taken her out last month. She’d held onto him
as he’d taken them to a secluded spot for a bit of romance, but it had taken
all her willpower to stop herself going into full blown panic. She’d tried to
hide it from him, but he’d known, and when he’d dumped her the following week
he’d called her an archaic mutant.
She looked at her ankles in the mirror. She
felt more of a mutant now. Did everyone bleed this badly? She didn’t dare ask.
She didn’t want to be seen as weak or find out she was the freak. It was bad
enough living to this age without wings.
She dabbed at the blood, which was still
trickling out. She hoped they wouldn’t get infected. She’d go to the shop and
get some ointment today, and maybe visit the cliff, see if she still felt the
same. It wouldn’t be long before she’d be taking her own maiden flight. She
needed to get used to it. Things would improve – they had to.
This week's picture prompt was created by hungarian born, Sarolta Ban. She doesn't give this a name, but it is located in the old works category. It's not the first time I've used one of her images. I used one on Week 304, Week 28, and Week 24 . She has some exceptional images, I would probably pic a different one every week to use they're so good.
Okay, this week we have a snippet out of my WIP, Tricky's third book, which I'm working on for NaNoWriMo. It just so happens this kind of phone was mentioned. The last time I wrote about Tricky was Week 305.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
