Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 269

This weeks prompt photo was created by Hermin Abramovitch, an artist from Israel - known as ahermin over on their page on Deviant Art. He calls this I am God. He does what I call Perspective Art, and Surreal art - seemingly mostly based off rubbish found on a beach. I've actually used a couple of his pieces, one of them a really early one on Week 19  and Week 146. 

This week we return to Tricky's tales as I brainstorm book 3 for some inspiration. The last time I wrote about Tricky for MidweekFlash was back in July, for Week 257. 

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.

Shocking

Tricky crouched down and peered into the discarded light bulb on the beach. He really thought he was invisible in there, didn’t he? She chuckled to herself. Oh dear. What an oaf. But he could see her, she had no doubt about that. Why else would he be in there? But not for long. She grinned into the reflective surface of the electrical unit, hoping he could see it.

Tricky didn’t know a lot about electricity, it wasn’t something they had brought back fully; they couldn’t generate it like they had before the shift. And people no longer knew how to make these funny delicate objects. The problem with it having been mostly rich people and their servants who had survived the shift, they were lacking people with specific skills and scientific minds. You couldn’t make electricity or lightbulbs if all you knew about was playing with your money and cheating others out of theirs, or sitting about spending it on worthless toys. And those that served them only knew how to be a lackey. Oh no, Tricky didn’t have any truck with lording over or licking under – well not in a cleaning capacity. There was no time for sitting about and being a useless lump, you had to find a way to earn a living otherwise you starved!

But even though Tricky had no scientific mind, she knew electricity was something that could be generated by humans. Not in enough quantities to light up a city, but a single bulb could well be a possibility. She was adept at using energy in all forms, so why not this one. She had a suspicion how she could do it too.

She took a couple of breaths and sucked up energy from the air around her. The sun shone brightly on this beach and the sea was at a safe distance, latent energy lay everywhere – Safa had taught her that. And it grew within, sparking her own energy, while she increased her breaths to a pant. She began to clap her hands too and felt it accelerate. Then she began to hop from foot to foot. The sand was squelchy and splashy, but Tricky didn’t care. She was enjoying herself. He’d get the shock of his life – quite literally!

She stifled a laugh; the energy it would take to let it out would be a waste; she needed every bit she could get for this to work.

She continued on for a few more minutes, feeling the hair on her body start to rise. Yes, that’s what she needed! And then in one swift movement she bent down and touched the tip of the metal part.

The bulb jerked a fraction at her touch, but light beamed out of the glass end, lighting up the dusk sky.

She heard a muffled scream and knew she’d achieved her aim: Gandalf was no longer in the little time bubble he’d created inside the object. She’d just pushed him out into who knew where. He might well manage to track her again, but she had more tricks up her skirt. She’d beat him at this game, oh yes she would. He wouldn’t be getting his fat fumbling fingers on her or her gemstones. And with any bit of luck, if her suspicions were correct, she might just be able to stop him ever finding them, or the landmass, ever again.   

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 268

This weeks picture prompt is by Igor Zenin a Moldovian photographer. This one is simply called Winter Landscape. This is actually the fourth time I have used one of his pictures for Mid-Week Flash, the other were on Week 175  Week 10 & Week 97 He has some great art pieces.

I had to do a rewrite to get this to come out as planned. It's a dark one, but I think it works. I've gone over the word count, but I'm not sure anyone cares.  

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.

Evacuated

Fagan crept up to a tree and peered round it. All was quiet in the valley, the snow making it soundless. He saw tracks leading from the boat into the town.

He stepped out from the cover of the trees, risking exposure as he scurried up to inspect them. There were four sets of boot prints. He followed the trail over the bridge into town.

He kept close to the wall at house on the corner so as not to be spotted. What were they doing here? The town had been evacuated weeks ago. Maybe they didn’t know.

Fagan skulked further in, following their tracks. They’d gone straight to the town hall. They hadn’t bothered checking any of the other buildings. They knew the people were gone, so why were they here?

He ran down the side of the building rather than follow them in. It had been left unlocked as had all the buildings. He reached the side entrance and carefully opened it, sliding in as soon as the opening was wide enough.

He took the back stairs up to the main floor as silently as he could, listening out for them. When he reached the door into the main foyer, he stood with his back against the wall next to it, listening.

‘They’re not here; they’ve taken them with them.’

‘He said they didn’t. He said they’d be here waiting for us.’

‘Well there’s nothing here. So what do we do?’

‘We can’t go back without them, he’ll kill us.’

‘If we stay we’ll be killed too!’

‘Don’t be silly, they were just being hysterical. There’s no one here. It’s completely quiet.’

‘Too quiet if you ask me. It doesn’t feel right.’

‘Come on, there’s another level to this place.’

Fagan heard them stomp up the stairs to the attic where the town memorabilia was kept. He couldn’t work out what they wanted; there was nothing of value here. After a few minutes of scuffling sounds overhead, he heard them coming back down.

‘They could be in the church. He said the centre of the community; maybe we’ve got the wrong place.’

‘Bit sacrilegious to ransack a church, isn’t it?’

‘What you getting all religious on us now?’

‘No, it’s just it wouldn’t be right.’

‘And you think stealing from here would be?’

‘Well no, but at least HIS eyes won’t be on us.’

Fagan heard laughter.

‘You’re a funny sod, no one’s eyes are on us, the town’s dead. Can’t you see that? They’ve been evacuated.’

 ‘Yeah, and why exactly is that, Clancy?’

‘It’s all a load of guff, there’s no psychopath on the loose. I think it’s something he arranged to get them out so we could come in and retrieve the stones.’

 Fagan grinned. Their naivety would benefit him.

‘Why couldn’t he have come himself? He knows where they are and what they look like.’

‘How do we know he’s not sending us to our death?’

There was silence for a moment.

‘Don’t be so bloody stupid, why would he do that?’

‘Maybe because he’s the psychopath!’

There was a smack, and an ‘Ow!’

‘Don’t talk about him like that. He’s served us well. Come on, let’s go to the church.’

Fagan silently backtracked out of the building, while they went out the front, heading to the church. Fagan took another route round the back, using the side vestibule entrance. The pastor hadn’t wanted to leave but there hadn’t been much choice in the matter. Too many had died.

Fagan climbed up the stairs to the bell tower. He reached up inside the bell and found the little sack hanging from the bell clapper. This was what they had been sent to fetch. They were pretty gemstones and would fetch a good price, but Fagan had no interest in riches.

He quietly made his way down to the gallery. He could hear them below, their inane chatter bouncing off the walls as they looked around for the stones. Fagan moved down to ground level and past the door, carefully locking it as he went by. He crept up the aisle on the left, towards the altar, keeping out of sight.

‘What was that?’

‘What was what?’

‘Thought I heard something?’

‘You’re paranoid.’

Fagan found himself grinning again. He loved how people dismissed their instincts when they were in danger. This time when he moved he deliberately scuffed his feet. All four of the men froze, eyeing each other in terror. He wanted to laugh but would hold off a bit longer. Instead he chucked the little bag of gemstones onto the alter table.

They all drew their weapons as they scanned the church, still unable to spot him. While their backs were turned, he rushed across to the altar and crouched behind it.

‘There’s someone here. Oi, mate! There’s no point hiding. Show yourself & we can talk.’

Fagan had no plans to talk, only plans to sacrifice.

He rushed them, killing two before they turned; stabbing one through the back into his heart, and another with a swift swipe across the neck. His blade had never been sharper. The other two tried to swing at him, but they were clumsy and he dispatched them without even breaking a sweat.

All four lay on the church altar. Perfect. He’d say his prayers then prepare them for the spit. He’d have a feast and pay thanks tonight.

Review: Substitute, by Susi Holliday

Substitute by Susi Holliday
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

It's difficult to rate this one, as I feel it is more in the 3½ realm, but as there is nothing specifically wrong with the writing it is also not a 3 star.

I have read all of Susi Holliday's books, and I can't decide if it is because she is writing to market now but the quality in the last couple of books is lacking. The premise starts out well and there is enough to lead the reader in, but then it gets bland. The characters aren't particularly likeable - Chrissie is an agitated character who isn't really happy and you don't ever fully understand why, or what the history has been with her husband. A lot is eluded to but never explained. Then Holliday weaves all the threads of the tale together through different perspectives and in this case different time lines.

I noticed more in this book that it is written in present tense, rather than third, and found it more jarring than usual. I think skipping back and forth between time periods rather than finding another way to write the backstory, is not beneficial for the reader because they have to keep checking the chapter titles, which do become irritating. I also felt this style of writing was repetitive and a little tired. I felt the story could have been told in a whole other way with much more tension and suspense.

The storyline in Substitute might have a unique premise, but it became predictable as it wasn't fully fleshed out and wasn't given a chance to run fully before it was all wrapped up neatly. No cliffhangers, all without question, and basic characters who all end up happily ever after. It's a shame a developmental editor didn't help Susi find a better way to draw out the darker side to this story, and it would be great to have a fully fleshed character the reader actually cared about rather than indifferent to. But then this could just be standard for crime thrillers, which are not my preferred genre.

I get the feeling Susi Holliday would do better to write what she really wants, which is dark, scary stories, that aren't necessarily tied to crime or to a market. I still feel that Blackwood and Violet are her best books to date.

View all my reviews

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 267

This week's picture, according to all the sources I can find, say this was created by Adam Gaia, who I have found on an art website, but this image doesn't appear. The Instagram account the art website gives also doesn't exist anymore. Shame. Hope it is theirs - but can't find it associated with anyone else. 

Went a bit esoterical this week. 

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.

The Light

Tim was terrified. He had no way of knowing if he was going the right way. The path might be clear, but should he be on it? It wound through the grasslands which surrounded him in all directions. There was no other path or direction. This was it – which in fact it was … or at least he thought it had been. He’d died, he was sure he had, yet this felt real, tangible. He could feel a breeze, hear wind through the grass, smell the grass. He bent down; touch the grass. So if he wasn’t dead, where was he?

He refused to entertain the idea of heaven. He’d never believed in that concept, spurned it all his life. He had pondered the afterlife, but this wasn’t life, this was a path. But to where? Would St Peter and some gates come into view shortly? He chuckled to himself. But yet he wondered if he should. What if that was where he was headed? At this point he couldn’t rule out anything.

The way ahead seemed to narrow, or at least it felt like it did. Tim couldn’t trust his eyes anymore – or any part of his body, because it wasn’t really there. It was residual; in his mind’s eye only.

He began to feel like the path was leading him through a tunnel, the grasslands wrapping round him to the left and right and overhead. There was a light ahead. Oh good grief, was this THE light? The one you were meant to go through to ‘go over to the other side’? Surely that was just humans and their hopeful bullshit. There was no other side, or light. But that was exactly what was ahead of him.

The light glowed, and basked the grasslands in a golden light. It was magical. Tim mentally scoffed at the word, but it was the only way to describe it. It shone like light he’d never seen before, and it enveloped him. He looked down at what was once his body. It hadn’t been his body before his death, it was his body from his youth; how he always remembered himself. Even though the clothing was dark, it glowed and sparkled. He could only smile.

He felt elated. He had no reason to be elated – he’d just died, but there was an excitement in the light that was infectious. He felt his stride quicken and he rushed forward. The light seemed like a destination. The path seemed to disappear out of sight. Tim wondered if there was an edge, and if he might fall or jump or step through into something. He wanted to know what. He felt eager, like a child before an exciting event, restless: curious and a little nervous.

Was he going to see family? People he’d known who had passed? His mind raced at the thought of who he might see, and he considered the past relationships he’d had, some of whom had already passed. Would any of them show up? Would he want them to? Or was it all a fallacy that you met your loved ones? Maybe there were no people.

The light filled his entire vision as he approached it and he knew that at any moment he would cross over into it, but the path kept on going and he kept on walking, and it remained there in front of him. His excitement didn’t fade, it matured into a keen knowing that he was about to witness something that would explain it all, the very existence of life; that he was on the verge of knowing everything.

There was a flash, and the light was all around him and in him and he was a part of it, and it was a part of him.

Thought was gone.

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 266

This week's picture prompt is by Sarolta Bàn, a hungarian artist. She creates the most incredible images, which offer a world of meaning.  I actually used another piece of hers back in 2017, on Week 28 and this won't be the last one. 

This week a poem came out. It's rare when it happens, but it's what came. 

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.

Life choices

It was there but he didn’t see it

He carried it with him, but he didn’t use it

It was with him all along but he chose to ignore it

He believed himself unlucky

He believed himself unworthy

He believed he never had a chance

But there it was right there

The key to his life

The key to his success

The key to open up all the doors of opportunity

It started with him

It grew with him

It was part of him

But he wasn’t aware of it

He just kept trudging on

One foot in front of another

Taking the hard route

Travelling the monotonous route

Being frustrated by the emptiness of life

The lack of abundance

When all along, the key there

And it grew heavier with every passing decade

Weighing him down

Waiting to be seen

Waiting to be felt

Waiting to be sparked into life

But it wasn’t to be.