Thursday 29 January 2015

Five Sentence Fiction - Bedtime

I know that with Five Sentence Fiction it is the word that is meant to be the main prompt, and not the photo, but I like to combine them, fitting one to the other. This weeks went a little dark, so I hope you don't find it too disturbing, but where flash fiction is concerned it tends to be how my tales come out. 


Peter stuffed more newspaper under his shirt to keep the worst of the bitter wind out; it worked quite well, he was glad Linda had told him about that in the shelter.

The shelter – he wished it had been, but that greasy man who tried to climb into his bed on the first night had tainted it, and now there was no way he’d go back there. Peter didn’t need more bad memories of bedtime, he’d had his fill of them as a child and why he was out here in the first place.

People said his mum must be worried sick about him, and he should go back home, but they had no idea what she’d let her string of boyfriends do to him; there was no way he was going back to that. He was safer here on the street where he could run if he needed to, and not trapped in a bedroom. 

Wednesday 28 January 2015

Visual Dare - Tenacious

As always, an interesting photo prompt and word from Visual Dare this week, which gave me a snapshot of a story. Enjoy.


“You’re a tenacious bugger, aren’t you? When will you realise you’re not wanted.”

“So YOU say!” Damien knew shouting at the man might earn him more pain, but he didn’t care; he wasn’t ready to give up yet, even though he was lying in the dirt.

The man stepped forward, and Damien flinched as the back of his head was pushed to the concrete. Fortunately his arms were under him so he was able to resist.

“You’re a snivelling grunt of boy, aren’t you?” The man spat into his ear, “I ought to do you right now!”

“Winston, No!”

The shout came from the fire exit across the road, causing Winston to release his grip instantly. When Damien’s head bounced up he saw it was the Controller in his gleaming white suit.

“Bring him here. I might have found a use for him after all.”

Damien grinned. He was in.

150 Words


Tuesday 27 January 2015

Gun - MWBB

This is my inadmissable entry into last weeks Mid-Week Blues-Buster - inadmissable because I was the judge! I was compelled to write though, as this week the song just spoke so loudly, even the first few cords, and the story had to come out. I think it was worth it, although I was stuck with when to end it. I could have gone on for a really long time, but I felt that would mean there was a chance of him getting out of it, and yet from the beginning I knew there wasn't. I hope it works. Enjoy.

The song was Gun, by Emilana Torrina - click on the link if you want to hear it. 

He felt the cold of the metal on his temple and his whole body stopped - even his breathing. His mind paused, running through a rapid list of variables; what he could say or do that might remove the gun and give him a chance. But she spoke instead.

“Hey Gary. How’s it going? Anything I can do for you?”

Gary eased back slightly, bringing his weight off his hands onto his knees, hearing the bed groan beneath him as he did so, and hoping it wouldn’t startle Bridget’s trigger finger. But the gun held steady – in fact it didn’t even tremble. He slowly brought his hands up as though surrendering.

“What you doing, Gary? Giving up already. Don’t even want to fight you corner? Disappointing.”

Gary wasn’t foolish. He could hear the edge in her voice, and he knew that edge. His mother had had the same edge, and it usually didn’t bode well for his father. His father was the only one who dared to challenge it. He and his brother learnt quickly not to, especially after she caught their dad with the neighbour; he’d been lucky their mother hadn’t had a gun then, otherwise he might not have survived - just like Gary might not now.

Gary cleared his throat and kept his voice even and soft.

“Easy now Bridget, you don’t want to be doing anything rash?”

“Rash? Rash? What like you and Lucille thinking it’s okay to fuck in our bed? Oh wait, not just in our bed, but in our car, and on our sofa too, eh?”

In that moment Gary realised this wasn’t a surprise discovery, or a knee jerk reaction, Bridget had known for a while – and quite a while too if she knew about the car, that had been months back.

She read his silence. “Yeah Gary, I’ve known a while, not just some dumb dyke that Lucille took pity on and took into her bed for a good time. I’ve known her a long time, long enough to have caught her fucking more than just your pretty arse. But you, you’ve not just fucking her, are you? I’ve counted at least three others that you've been with.”

Gary’s mind spun. He was in deep shit now, and the pressure of the gun barrel hadn’t relented. He’d backtracked out of many things, but this was going to be hard. She’d really done her homework.

“You been stalking me, Bridget? Want a piece of my pretty arse too? I’m sure we can arrange something.”

She laughed so hard he thought he might get away with it, but when it died out as abruptly as it had started, and the metal didn’t budge, he began to think otherwise. Time was ticking on.

“Oh Gary, Gary, you do think a lot of yourself, and your wiener, don’t you? But what you don’t know is that I don’t like wiener, never have - even spent time inside due to my aversion to it -”

“Then you don’t want to be spending any more time inside for it then, do you? ‘specially not my little one.” He ended his interruption with a nervous giggle, trying to keep it light, upbeat, humourous. But beads of sweat were running down Gary’s face.

“Oh I won’t be spending time inside for you, sweetheart, I’m sure of that. We live too far out for that, see, easy to get lost round these parts. Many have.”

That was when Gary knew there’d be no talking his way out of this. 

Thursday 22 January 2015

Five Sentence Fiction - Abandoned

The new Five Sentence Fiction is up and again a brilliant photo and prompt work that couldn't be resisted. I really wanted to add a sixth sentence, but I found a way of linking it up! *pulls face* Yes, it might be pushing the limits of acceptable sentence structure, but it works! (I hope). Enjoy.


Lucy tucked her feet up under her as she perched on the windowsill, and pressed her face up against the stained, leaded window panes to look out into the garden and see what wildlife was about today.

The bushes had grown right up to the windows, which was a blessing really as now she had more of a chance to what rustled out there, and made the house such a daunting prospect to any buyers.

She would love someone to move in and return some light to the place, rejuvenate its paintwork, its broken floorboards, and fill the rooms with furniture and trinkets that had a history and meant something to someone. 

Lucy dreamed of a family coming to live here, maybe with girls who wanted to play dress up and pretend they were princesses in a castle like she had done, before that nasty fall down the main staircase. 

She hadn’t understood at the time why it meant everyone had to leave; she was still here, although they couldn’t see or hear her, and she missed them so very much. 

Visual Dare - Plunge

Another great Visual Dare prompt this week that couldn't be resisted. The story showed up immediately, just tricky fitting it to the word count! Enjoy.


He didn’t want to, but he had no choice; he had to take the plunge. Johnny swallowed hard, his fingers trembling in the smoky morning light. He was terrified of water.

Mr. Rogers stood at the side of the jetty, trying to keep everyone calm and focused. He instructed the children to form a queue behind Johnny. There was no way out of it now. It was his own fault. Johnny resisted the urge to puke.

He hated this lake, and this camp. Everyone knew he did. And now he was having to pay for that hatred.

When he’d poured out the gasoline he’d found behind Mr. Franks hut, he hadn’t anticipated what would happen, he’d just wanted to see the place burn. It hadn’t occurred to him that the only way out would be across the lake, especially as he’d cut off all the other exits.  

147 Words

Monday 19 January 2015

Daily Picspiration - New Location

My Daily Picspiration went up on Sunday. The photo immediately gave me the continuum to last week's piece, Frozen, so I have started on a new serialisation, and I am interested how this is going to develop and all turn out for these characters which I have yet to define.

Posted on January 18th, you can read 'New Location' here.

Wednesday 14 January 2015

Five Sentence Fiction - Healing

The new Five Sentence Fiction is up and I don't want to miss out on linking my story up this week, so I am being quick off the mark. I knew immediately what I wanted to write when I saw this picture, although a bit fiddly fitting it into five sentences. Hope it works.


Ariel saw Puck stumble as they ran through the forest, his head crashing into a tree root as he went down. Fortunately the leaves and other undergrowth covered him from their pursuers, and she ducked down behind a nearby bush to hide too.

When she was sure they had passed, she crawled over to Puck, her heart now beating from fear for his life, rather than their pursuit. His eyes were still closed, and she could see the blood trickling from the cut in his head as she moved her hands over it, hovering just above like her grandmother had taught her.

The light glowed immediately and she felt it run through her; hopefully he would come round soon and they could find a safer journey home. 

Visual Dare - GamePlaying

The first Visual Dare of the new year arrived, and I didn't want to miss out, now with something so inspiring as that photo. I am not sure if the words 'keep it PG' made it turn into this, but it worked. Enjoy!

11.09.10:::King of the Surf

Hugo liked taking control of the games. It made him feel better; made him feel bigger. Hugo wanted them all to look up to him and think he was the best at everything. Sadly all they did was cry. He didn’t understand that.

He crawled over to the blue block and put his pudgy hand on it, but Miss Cynthia snatched away.

“That’s quite enough young man! We won’t be having any more of that!”

She scooped up Sophie who’d been crying for quite some time - ever since he’d knocked over her tower with the red block - and left him there. He was confused; a pile of blocks was much more impressive than a tower, everyone knew that. He looked round. Bobby had crawled off to inspect the kitchen after Hugo had taken over driving the block trolley. He was alone. His bottom lip began to tremble.

Monday 12 January 2015

Five Sentence Fiction - New Year

It's been several months since I've written for Five Sentence Fiction, so I have decided to try and get back into it. It really doesn't take much to write five sentences, and this one inspired me. Enjoy.


As she reached for it, Melissa knocked over the glass of red wine and the cats scattered, letting it splash all over the rug. She slumped back in the armchair and threw up her arms at the empty room as Big Ben started to chime on the telly and the fireworks went off. 

Perfect! She thought, her inebriated mind spinning, just what she needed to start the New Year. She’d always hated New Year and this was one of the reasons why; drinking alone in an empty house, left to think about all things she’d failed to achieve over the last year.

She chucked a towel down over the wine, deciding she’d deal with it tomorrow, then smirked at the idea of cleaning up her mess on the first day of the new year – it had a certain irony to it. 

Synchonicity - MWBB

I did write for last week's Mid-Week Blues-Buster, and I was early for a change, posting Thursday instead of last minute friday. But what I had in mind didn't quite work. I got half way through and thought, okay where am I going? I did put an ending to it, but it wasn't really what I had in mind. It reads okay, but really is just the beginning of something a whole lot bigger. Maybe this week I'll do better.

The prompt song was:
Dark Road, by Sarah Jarosz

Alicia stopped walking for a moment and closed her eyes turning her face up to the sky, imagining the light falling on every inch of her skin. When she opened them again, she smiled, looking out across the open land. It was warm and welcoming, and she wanted to run into it. After years of darkness, she felt light returning to her soul.

Her smile faltered a little as she thought about what she had left; the familiar sick feeling returning to her stomach. But she refused to allow it to pull her under and paralyse her. She was not responsible for his life; she was only responsible for her own. She could choose to put someone else’s desires before her own, or she could choose to follow her heart. He didn’t want to go with her, he wanted to stay, he’d told her that. But she wanted to move on and find more life to embrace.

She took a deep breath. The sick feeling subsided. He would work it out, and if he not, he could hate her, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t change it how he felt, she could only change herself, and she was more than ready to do that.

Alicia started walking. Her heels kicked up dust on the dirt track road, but it wasn’t far to the highway. Then she’d hitch a lift into a town and find a motel for the night. She’d be okay. For the first time in a long time she was sure of it.

When she reached the road there was plenty of cars, although they were slow in stopping for her. By the time she reached the motel on the outskirts of town the light was starting to fade. She was just in time to sit out back on the veranda and watch the sun go down. But she wasn’t alone.

He sat down a couple of seats away from her. She didn’t know if he was being polite and giving her space, or maybe he wanted to be alone, but it made her curious. The third time she glanced at him their eyes met. 

“Hey.” He said, and smiled.

Alicia gave a small “Hey” back, grateful the darkness hid her blush.

“Hope I didn’t disturb you. I just wanted to take a moment.”

Alicia smiled. “We all need to take a moment sometimes.”

His smile broadened. He leaned over and put out his hand. “Craig.” She took it and said, “Alicia.”

“Where you headed, Alicia?” He took a sip from the bottle of beer in his hand.

“I don’t know yet.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Just letting the road take you?”

“Something like that.”

“Me too. I thought it was high time I saw some of this big country of ours, sick of sitting in the same place, doing the same thing every day.”

Alicia let out a little laugh. “That’s exactly what I thought. Sadly my other half didn’t feel the same way.”

“Mine either.” Craig’s smile faltered as he looked out at the darkening fields they faced. He sighed. “It’s the hardest part.”

“It sure is.” Alicia took a swig from her own bottle, looking out too. “But there’s light after darkness. We can look forward to that.”

Craig glanced at her with a smile. “We sure can.”

They drank in silence, Alicia not feeling uncomfortable for the first time in a long time. It didn’t matter that they didn’t speak; they weren’t in a relationship.

Then Craig stood up and said, “I’m going to turn in, but if I can give you a ride anywhere tomorrow, you just let me know, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll think on it.”

“See you at breakfast.”

“See you.” Alicia smiled and gave a wave of her hand as he disappeared into his room.

She looked up at the stars. Had she just been offered a new adventure, or would it be foolish to take such a risk? But she knew the answer. Life without risks was pretty boring, she knew that. She smiled, draining the last of the beer, a flutter of excitement in her belly starting up again. 

Tuesday 6 January 2015

Meeting the Train - MWBB

I didn't manage to write anything for the Christmas week for Mid-Week Blues-Bustermostly, because I was too busy, but also because the song didn't work for me. But the New Year song did. It was very Bluesy, and I got a very middle America vibe from it, so that is what I went with. I struggled with the story and where I wanted to go with it, keeping in mind the word limit, and I felt very 'meh' about it, but it still caught the judges eye, who gave it a third place, which pleased me no end. It's always interesting what other people read into your stories.

The prompt song was:
 Slow Train, by Joe Bonamassa

Jefferson sat out on the veranda, enjoying the late afternoon sun. He had a good view from here, could see the track up on the ridge and knew the train would be coming soon; he could set his clock by it. And he knew he had to go and meet it soon too, although for now he was content to watch this one pass.  

He’d thought it through many times, watched himself in his minds eye take that walk up the hill to the ridge. How he would look back across the land he’d lived on for the better part of his life, as the sound of the engine grew louder. He’d have no regrets.

He’d lived with Eileen for enough years now to know that regrets were a bad thing. He watched her wallow so deep, consuming herself with grief for what could have been. He’d tried at the beginning to pull her out of it, but it got too hard. She’d suck him right in too, if he’d let her. But he wouldn’t. Damn, somebody had to be here, work the place, and remember what living was for!

He wondered if they’d be there waiting for him, wondered what they looked like, and if they’d recognise him. He’d spent his life wondering those things, but now he could feel the clock ticking harder, and couldn’t hold off for much longer. Although while he could still rock here in the chair and drink his beer, he wasn’t in a hurry; the sun was yet to get down and reveal the night lanterns in the sky, along with a full moon lighting up the land with its eerie brightness. He wanted to see that one more time at least.

Then her voice came, dispelling his daydreams, calling for him to come tend to her, and he felt the pull again. Maybe tonight would be a good night, he could see his way up the ridge in the full moon. He knew what time the train would be coming.

He went into the house and up the stairs to the bed he’d shared with her for what felt like forever, and saw her all swallowed up by life. There was little he could do for her now but give comfort. Her breathing was short and he didn’t think she’d make the morning, although it wasn’t the first time he’d thought that. He looked through the medicines by the bed and thought about his trip up to the ridge. Watching her made him feel more restless than ever. He patted her arm as he gave her what she needed, and stroked her hair. With her quieted he knew it was time.

With nothing more than his wallet in his pocket and his best jacket on, he stepped off the veranda and started the climb. The light was now caught between the setting of one and the rising of the other, its juxtaposition putting the house behind him in darkness with the light in front. He paused as he always dreamed he would, just before the top, and looked back at the home he had built for them.

From this position he could just make out the side yard and the three dark crosses in the shadow by the house. She wanted them near, she’d said, so they knew where home was, even though they’d never lived in it. As they’d brought each one back from the hospital, he’d dug their graves, burying a little piece of himself along with them.

He turned then, at that thought, and headed on to meet the train. He could hear it now, travelling along the ridge. It would be here soon, and he would be there to meet it. And he hoped they would be there too, as he stepped out on the tracks and faced the big engine at full speed.

Daily Picspiration - Frozen

My Daily Picspiration went up on Sunday. It took me a while to come up with a story despite constantly looking at the pictures, probably because it was something big, so I ended up starting what might turn into a serial, depending on the way the next lot of photos will go.

Posted on January 4th, you can read 'Frozen' here.

Friday 2 January 2015

HorrorBites - Knife versus Scissors

The festive Horror Bites went up a week or so ago, but with a sick family over the Christmas period I didn't get a chance to write - even though I provided the photo. So to start the New Year here it is. A nice bit of blood and gore to bring the New Year ushering in.

She told him to leave her alone when she was untangling the lights, but he wouldn’t listen. She’d put them up on the tree enough times to know how it was done, but he liked to think he knew better. She bit her tongue and went with it, because she wanted to get the decorations up and relax, but all the way through he kept irritating her.

She watched him hang the paperchains up at the window, at least he was good at that; he had the height for it. But when he stood back to admire them, she could feel her rage building again.

Then at the dining table he started wrapping up the presents. He used a knife, claiming it was easier than scissors, but she knew he just liked being a smartass and wanting to look cool, wrapping his all nice and tight, while hers were baggy and unprofessional.

Then he did it; he finally pushed that one last button, commenting how he could do it all himself, he didn’t really need her - well those might not have been his exact words, but it was what he meant.

Sophie grabbed the scissors and stabbed them through his hand. She didn’t give him too long to recover from the shock of her actions before pulling them out and going for his chest. She was surprised how easy it was. Although this time they were harder to get out. And when she yanked them, they flew out of her bloody hands into the tree. She glanced over her shoulder to see where they'd gone, ignoring his gurgling sounds, and decided that if they weren’t clearly visible she’d leave them there – she didn’t want to ruin the tree.

When she looked back at him, his tongue was protruding and his eyes were wide, but he was gone. She sighed. She got up and went to the sideboard, and poured herself a large port. Now she could relax. 

Words: 330