Daily Picspiration - InterDimensioning

Due to the continued pain my back/right shoulder/arm, which is finally reducing, I did have to skip another Daily Picspiration entry, which my friend Jeff Tsuruoka (host of the Mid-Week Blues-Buster), coverd for me - read his piece here. 

But when I got the next round of pictures, I immediately saw something to write and went with it. It's a bit surreal and I am deciding whether to serialise it, but I will have to see what the next pictures inspire. I like writing these type of off-the-wall futuristic tales, they pull you in and keep you there - at least I hope so.

You can read 'InterDimensioning' here.

Fringe Living - MWBB

Last weeks Mid-Week Blues-Buster, was a song I couldn't miss, so I wrote, despite the continued pain from the trapped nerve in my neck. Fortunately the symptoms are reducing this week so I am hoping to return to more writing.

The song spoke to me as it reminded me of how of I don't feel like I fit into any given lifestyle, or group, and feel like I sit out on the edge. And this is how it translated into a story. it also spoke to many others, and the MWBB had one of it's largest turnouts with 12 entries, thus I didn't make it into the top 3 this week, but here's my story anyway.

The prompt song this week was:

  Suzanne Vega - Left of Center

 

 

“Come out with me tonight.” He whispered in her ear.

“You don’t need me to.”

“Need, no, but want, yes.” Greg tugged at her arm, bringing it across his torso as they lay there on their backs staring at the ceiling.

He’d come by earlier in the day, catching her on one of her rare days in town and taken full advantage of her. It was something they did. It was something they couldn’t resist doing. 

“I’ve got stuff to do.”

He scoffed. “You’ve always got stuff to do. Please. Come.”

She peeked at him from the corner of her eyes. He was staring back earnestly. She sighed. He smiled and kissed her hand.

That evening Kate tugged at the little chiffon dress she’d put on as she stared at herself in the full length mirror. It didn’t feel right. She fiddled with her hair for the second time. It didn’t sit right. But she knew it wasn’t her clothes or her hair.

When she reached the bar she braced herself before entering, ready for the melee within, fixing a smile on her face. He spotted her right away. He’d been watching the door, waiting for her and she knew it.

The usual crowd was with him, a mixture of couples and singles. She behaved herself and showed interest and for a moment enjoyed being there, being with him, a part of something, sharing time and space, but then someone cracked a joke that only they knew about, and something got lost in the translation making it fall flat. He squeezed her leg. She smiled wishing they could go now.

But they didn’t. Two more hours of drinks and as the alcohol took affect she caught herself watching him, and watching them respond to him and how they all responded to each other, having known each other all their lives. There was some kind of comfort in being able to see their closeness as a group, but it left her feeling empty inside. Part of her wished for it, and part of her was glad she’d never experienced it.

When it was time to go, he didn’t hesitate in taking her hand, treating her as though they had always been one, always been together and she liked it. And as they staggered back to her apartment she wished she could enjoy this feeling every day.

But come morning, while watching him get dressed she thought about the packing she needed to do for her next trip, and although she enjoyed the lengthy goodbye kiss, she was relieved when the front door behind him and she could think again about the next place she needed to be, and the next thing she needed to do, without the distraction of belonging.

She would belong to him again in a couple of weeks, and that was enough for her.

Horror Bites - Blind Eye

A second of  a new fortnightly challenge hosted by Laura Jamez over on her site, Office Mango called Horror Bites. This image spoke volumes to me, and took me a while to gather how I wanted to present it, reflecting elements of my own childhood within it.

No-one in the street knew who called them, but the Risley’s were suspected. They’d all known things weren’t right; the mother had been seen sporting black-eyes often enough. But it wasn’t done to wash your dirty linen in public, not in this street, in this tiny corner of elite suburbia. Although that night everyone had heard the screams.

Before then the children hadn’t been considered. They were seen playing, sometimes with others, and they’d seemed okay - a bit skinny maybe, a little withdrawn, but nothing to cause concern, no sign they’d been affected, at least not publically anyway, out in front of people where it mattered. Although no-one had known there was another child.

After the police arrived an ambulance had been called, kicking off a three-ring-circus of flashing lights. No one liked it, but it drew them outside where they gathered on their perfectly manicured lawns to bear witness.

The children were there, huddled together as their father was brought out of the house in handcuffs. Then their wailing mother appeared, and there were audible gasps when a blood covered bundle in her arms was spotted.

Everyone wanted to believe it was a new born, maybe a delivery gone wrong, but their guts told them otherwise as they watched the medics rush over and lay the little body out on the lawn, displaying what they’d all missed – a small child of two or three.

Even in the poor light the damage was visible, the contorted limbs causing some of the neighbours to cry out; the stream of blood from various locations detailing the torture. And there wasn’t a dry eye in the street when a sheet was pulled up over him, crying for the shame of their ignorance as much as for the cruelty the child had endured.

300 Words

Moon Play - MWBB

I managed to try and write something for last weeks Mid-Week Blues-Buster, despite the persisting pain in my right arm and shoulder, due to a trapped nerve. I was particularly surprised at this piece getting 3rd place as I struggled with ending it on Friday through a sleepy painkiller induced haze and ended up deleting half of it. The song really spoke to me though, with it's moody Doors-like feel to it, and with the moon only one outcome was possible, although I rarely write any of these sorts of supernatural creatures.

The prompt song this week was:

 Tito & Tarantula - After Dark

 

Jonas shifted his leg and felt another next to it. He lifted his head from the pillow and saw several tangled limbs entwined with his. It had been another busy night. He sighed and fell back.

Hours later he stirred again, the heat getting too much for him. This time there were fewer limbs on the bed. He shuffled up into sitting position, rubbing at his face, feeling the days of stubble.

He looked round. She was gone. Damn, he’s missed her departure again.

He pushed the other limbs off him, causing groans as he left the bed.

He grabbed boxers and a t-shirt as he staggered out onto the landing, tripping down the stairs to see who else was up.

In the kitchen three of them were sitting round the breakfast bar nursing mugs.

Darius looked up. “Hey Jonas.” His tussled hair still had leaves in it.

‘Where’d Cathy go?”

“Didn’t see her, sorry.”

“Arh shit.”

“But she was with you guys last night, right?”

“Yeah, she crashed in my room, but I want to be sure she’s running again tonight.”

“Third night Jonas, that’s asking a lot.” Darius’ twin brother Damien took a swig from his mug.

Jonas regarded him as he took the milk out of the fridge. “She’s ready for it.”

“You think?”

“Definitely.”

When Cathy walked through the door at sunset Jonas was relieved. She went straight to him, sitting across his lap in the crowded lounge. He embraced her.

“I was wondering where you got to. You ready for the last run?”

“What do you think? It’s not like I have a choice.”

He grinned. “True. You can feel it then?”

“Been gagging all day.”

“Good, cuz tonight’s gonna be intense.”

She smiled. “I wouldn’t expect anything less on full moon.”

“I’m serious Cathy; there’ll be no playing tonight.”

His didn’t smile and hers faded as she caught the serious intent.

Once they were all gathered in the lounge, people started to get up, jumping up and down, and making whooping sounds as they removed what few clothes they had on, until eventually everyone was ready and psyched. Then they ran out into the night air, following the leader out into the forest behind the house.

They raced each other to the summit of the clearing, all eyes turned to the horizon, watching the bright edge of light grow and reveal its magnificence - the full moon.

Their whoops turned to howls as their transformations wracked their bodies. Even though it was the third night, it was no less painful as hair sprouted, claws protruded and faces elongated, until the pack was complete.

And this time, rather than race into the forest and find small creatures as they had the previous two nights, they headed for town.

 

Horror Bites - Bag of Heads

A new fortnightly challenge is being hosted by Laura Jamez over on her site, Office Mango called Horror Bites. She wants something dark and/or scary, and although I and not sure my piece does either of those things, it is what the prompt photo gave me - a little dark humour maybe? Enjoy. 

Peter shoved the sack at the thin man behind the counter.

“Here, as ordered.”

The man observed him with an arched eyebrow, the point of his nose flaring in distain. He snatched the top of the sack and opened it, his head turning slightly at the odour of decaying flesh.

“How many?”

“Five.”

The arched eyebrow was presented again.

“Take them out and count them if you don’t believe me.”

The man recoiled at the suggestion, making Peter smile. Then he grabbed a quill, dabbed at some ink, and scribbled on a scrap of parchment, shoving it under the string as he retied the sack.

“You don’t want to verify the names then?” Peter held up a rolled parchment.

“The King will do that himself, he knows these men better than I.” The man eyed Peter. “And we know where you live should there be any discrepancies.”

Peter sighed. He turned away from the counter and adjusted his clothing. Then, taking a deep breath, he pulled out his broad sword and swung it round at shoulder height, slicing through the man’s neck. Then he whipped his other hand round to grab the head by the hair as the body crumpled.

Blood saturated the counter top as it pumped out of the neck. The eyelids fluttered. “No point flirting with death now mate, it’s over.” Peter said to the twitching head.

He shoved the head into the sack. “You should have checked the list of names then you’d have known who you were joining.” 

253 Words

Runner Up - Spooky Tales Competition - What the Dickens? Magazine

Sometime ago I entered a piece into the Spooky Tales Competition run jointly by What The Dickens? magazine and Miracle E-Zine.

The deadline passed and I heard nothing so assumed my piece was not up to scratch, then out of the blue received an email to tell me I was one of the 18 runners-up and I am going to be in their anthology - which was originally only going to be an ebook but they have now decided to publish in print too! Whoo Hoo!

I will post up again once it is made available!

Daffodils - MWBB

It has been a long time since I have written for the Mid-Week Blues-Buster, due to a mixture of chronic pain in my right arm and the song not quite inspiring me. But as this song prompt for last weeks was from the Smiths - and a famous one at that - I had to give it a shot, being as they were such a huge band through my teenager. I really enjoyed writing the piece, and efforts brought me a 2nd place win, so enjoy!  

The prompt song this week was:

The Smiths - What Difference Does It Make?

 

He blinked his eyes open, the crack in the curtain confirming it was daylight even though the darkness in his soul hadn’t lifted. Within seconds his mind was crowded with the memories of the night before, the dancing, the laughing, the snogging and later the daffodils.

He looked on the floor and saw the petals there, the yellow so vivid in the rays of sunlight pushing through. He followed the trail they made to the bathroom, her black and white checked shirt crumpled in the corner like a marker at the half open door, giving a clue to what lay beyond.

An image flashed in his mind and he flinched. He was sure he hadn’t done it; it had to be his overwrought imagination. It might have been what he felt like doing when she had told him, but he hadn’t put those thoughts into action…surely.

His eyes traced the frame of the door as he recalled her pleading words.

“I didn’t mean to Jas, I really didn’t. It was just the heat of the moment, just a kiss. Please forgive me Jas, you must!”

He’d watch the tears fall from her eyes as he stood there in the nuddy by the bed, about to jump in, about to fulfil all his desires and hers.

He’d thought he’d heard a whisper of it earlier at the bar, but he’d laughed it off. It couldn’t have been his Linda, she wouldn’t have done that.

But when they’d got home her sullen mood had kept killing the spark he was trying to kindle, until the crushing confession came.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. But he hadn’t done anything, had he? Other than show her forgiveness. He’d filled each thrust with his desire for revenge, driving it home. Her moans had been good moans…hadn’t they?

His eyes betrayed him again, returning to the bathroom door. There was only one way to find out.

His toes met the wooden floorboards with trepidation, and they creaked his way across the room, maybe trying to speak to him, to warn him it wasn’t a good idea.

He hovered in the opening, his eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight reflecting off the stark white tiling. He pushed the door further, letting it swing open. Her kick-pleat black skirt lay strewn under the basin, and her under things were huddled in a pile next to the toilet. He peered over the edge of the bathtub and shuddered. The long-legged hairy spider might not be able to climb the enamel sides, but it could still give an unsuspecting person a fright.

She wasn’t there.

He slumped, retreating out of the bathroom and falling back into bed, scuffing the daffodil petals as he went. He buried his head into a pillow, relieved but annoyed at the same time.

She burst through the door, tray in hand.

“I thought I heard movement. I made us some tea.”

He peeked out from the edge of the pillow as she sat down on the bed, his black and white shirt billowing round her thighs, but not quite covering everything.

“You alright Jas?”

He reached out an arm and put a hand on thigh.

“Yeah Linda, I’m alright.”

“You’re not still angry about last night?”

“I thought I showed you I wasn’t?”

She grinned. “Yeah you did.”

His hand crept up her thigh. “Do you need me to show you again?”

She paused, her eyes sparkling. She put the tray on the floor. “Yeah go on then.”

As she snuggled under him, his mind flashed images again and he wondered if he would have the nerve to make them memories rather than dreams this time.