Forging ahead with fictional endeavours: ~ Write a life on a page and hurry not to its grave; abhor not the coming age, for eternal is the next page. ~ Read what you will, I hope you will enjoy reading as much as I do writing.

Posts tagged ‘action’



Post take two today.  Hopefully this one has less errors in it.  It certainly flowed more smoothly in the writing process.  The lava falls photo prompt has been borrowed from Red Lettering and the cozy looking reading spot photo prompt has been borrowed from Picture It and Write.  I think this combo worked rather well. 🙂

Claudia raced over the bridge. Her axe cleaved through foes. The place was dangerous; not just because of the horde blocking her path. The bridge was surrounded by lava torrents. Avoiding the frequent splashes added an edge to her movements. Sulphurous fumes so thick the mask could not filter it. Claudia needed the crystal. Her ruby objective winked at her from the dais. Claudia dispatched the last of the warriors, sprinted, and leapt. As her hand closed around the crystal, she was dragged towards consciousness. The lethargy of the dream slowly left. It had been so real. Sulphur haunted her nostrils. She swore she could still feel the heat of the lava on her skin.


Wait? Heat…? Claudia bolted forward, now wide awake. She had knocked over her tea light! Grandmother’s hand-knitted blanket was now a happy little blaze. “’Elp!” Claudia whipped the blanket off, lurched up, and doused it with her coffee. Great, ruined a family heirloom and an expensive rug.

Random fact: Particularly vivid sensations during dreams are often caused by bodily awareness.  Classic example is a child dreaming of going to the toilet, feeling the bladder relieve itself while dreaming and then waking up to discover they have, indeed, wet the bed.


Seven deadly sins V2.0

I’ve been nominated for ‘The lovely blog Award’ a second time. o.0 What is this? It has to be a conspiracy! ~sedatives and rubber room now on standby~ I’ve only ever been this popular with -bullies-! (Thanks Brooks)(V1.0 here)

Okayiess, I will used the cursed no. 7 again for facts but I’m gonna have to skip out on nominations this time (sowwies guys, there’s a lot of you I’d like to nominate but my brain’s in protest mode so trawling through the list of blogs I follow is a bit much right now.)

1) I’m as nutty as I seem, but I hide behind friendly, shy politeness until I’ve reeled in my prey. >.> <.< >.>

2) I was a grammar nazi. Once. Then I discovered how fun it was to bend the rules. 😉

3) I have had to be escorted of a property for my own safety.  The flatmates that my ex and I lived with were drug abusers. We had already had the police out on several occasions but one night he flipped out and tried to come through the door. By this point we had barricaded it and I was sat behind the door with a carving knife like a good soldier’s daughter.

4) Same housemate, earlier on in our stay. Tried to burn me in shower by suddenly raising the boiler temperature (the kind of boiler it is will cause scalding burns too!) I simply pulled on my robe, marched to the kitchen, and turned it down right in front of him.  Next time he was in the shower I pulled the same trick. It never happened again.  This was just one thing in a long line of harassment.  Never Piss Off an Aussie.  We stand our ground and we mean business.

5)  I migrated to the UK with only £1000 pounds to live off.

6)  I lived in a hostel for almost half a year above a club on Brighton’s busiest party street.

7)  I lived in a house without a working shower/bath, a toilet we had to flush with a bucket, and no working central heating in ENGLAND. Rich country, huh? Bullshit on that count, I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve shared a room/flat or lived in abusive situation because of lack of a living wage; a problem that still existed when I was working 50+ hours a week.

Yeah, I’m a tough nut(ter).

Sharp teeth

I’ve borrowed this writing prompt from The poets and the peddlers.

An evil overlord has foresight and, when having a prophecy written about himself, makes sure it says, “No man, woman, or child will defeat him,” covering all his bases.

Then the pesky protagonist brings a dog along.

Sharp teeth.

Aalen never had much use for prophecies. He’d brought Fuzz for the company. These infiltration missions could be lonesome, and a large, fierce Alsatian did make dealing with incompetent guards that much easier. Fuzz had been well-trained. The over-sized pup could drop a grown man in second; quicker if Aalen had slipped a treat into the targets pocket.

They ambled their way to Lord Steel’s command centre, dispatching private infantry like it was a game. Aalen would never forget the look of pure panic that had crossed the man’s face. “You can’t do this!” He shouted, leaping out of his chair only to stumble into his fancy looking computer consoles as Fuzz sat himself down at Steel feet. Fuzz held out a huge paw to skinny man who had begun to quiver. Fuzz whined and begged for a hand shake a second time. Steel stepped back, stumbling over a chair in the process. Fuzz scooted forward and nuzzled the dictator’s hand. The sound of Steel’s courage breaking was palpable. Face a mask fear and despair, the evil overlord turned tail and fled. Aalen leant his rear against a computer console, stroking Fuzz’s ears, while he watched his target trip and fall into his own pool of man-eating sharks.

“No need to freak out. Fuzz was only being friendly.”

Good kids


This one is for Monday’s finish the story. Not much to say about this one; I’ve a bloody headache and several real world problems to sit in the corner and grumble about. Much rather write though.

“They finally made their escape.”

Tires screeched and gears grinded as Dan developed a sudden case of lead foot. Houses whipped past he broke several road laws in desperation to leave suburbia behind. Hazel hung on for dear life as they drifted around corners.

“Why the hell did I let you talk me into it!” Dan cursed, narrowly avoiding a collision with an SUV. “What was I supposed to do?! They’re my Family!” Hazel retorted, slamming her palm into the dashboard as she jerked forward. “Family?! Switch them with raccoons and it would be an improvement!” He grumbled.

“They can’t help it! They don’t have your posh background!” Hazel shouted defensively.

“And, that excuses their sniping about my job?-” “Dan.” “-While your mother drinks their money and your brothers insinuate about dirty dealings in My company?” “DAN!”


“We forgot the kids!”

“Fantastic, that’ll teach ’em.”



Annd I’m on a roll today. Second piece of flash fiction.  For this one I made use of prompts from Jeremy’s daily challenge. I’m going to be so tapped out tomorrow at this rate. I’ve written in the area of 750 words. I know that doesn’t sound like a lot but a few months ago I was lucky to manage a 100.

There was no dirt for cultivation; no seeds to be sown. Just cold stone and concrete; a desolate place for one who worked the land. Hunkered down in a deserted alley, hiding amongst the human clutter; the soldier wondered how he came to bear his armour. There was no honour in this slaughter. If a legend were spun all he would remember was the suffering and ruin of the innocent. Unguarded in this moment of despondency, the legionnaire failed to notice the enemy until he felt the sword ram clean through. In that dank alley, oozing warm blood, he desired nothing more then a peaceful home. All he could see was the scarred face of a weeping man, a beacon against the blue sky. For just a moment, he imagined the same scarred man warmly tending his flock. Despite all reason, the farmer smiled as the world faded away.

Helen jerked awake, fear squeezing her chest. The dream had been entirely too vivid. She clutched the site of wound and discovered only sound flesh. Brian stirred next to her. “Bad dream, hun?” he murmured as flopped an arm over her in a sleepy show of comfort. She stared at his strong features, illuminated by the glow of her phone. For one chilling moment she saw a face from a lifetime ago. Helen pinched her cheek and looked again. This time all she saw was her supportive husband.

To cross a black cat.

old used door in retro look is opened

I have borrowed today’s prompts from Adrian Lilly. This is actually a piece I wanted to do yesterday but I was not up to writing fiction. I have to warn people today’s short story is a little on the dark side and contains mature content. I honestly prefer humour but I was not inspired in that direction this time.

Late at night the doorbell rings. Your character looks out the window and sees no one, so goes about getting ready for bed.  Just as your character is drifting off to sleep, it rings again. What does your character to?

Bzzt. I never should have had that fixed. Jane thought, rising from warm, fluffy bedding. Bzzt. 11pm. “This had better be good!” She shouted out as she took surly strides to the front door; throwing on a robe in the process. She jerked the door open to discover her neighbour standing off to the right; from the window he would have been completely hidden from view. Her crankiness fled when she saw the white cat he held in his arms. “Nathan got out again. I wouldn’t have bothered but he’s injured,” the man stated crisply, with accusatory undertones. Jane bit back a snarky reply and simply reached out to take the bloodied feline. “He needs a vet,” he continued, judgemental tone quiet clear this time. “…!” Jane was cut off as Nathan began to hiss violently at the mere mention of ‘vet’. Quickly she scooped Nathan away. “Thanks, Ethan. I will take it from here,” She replied curtly as she retreated inside with a slam of the door.

“Causing trouble again, Nathan,” Jane commented as she ran her fingers over him in a tender exploratory fashion. Blood at both ends… Jane schooled the horror from her face. “Ethan’s right, you know. You should go to hospital,” she remarked; Nathan simply glared at her as she continued to stroke his fur in a soothing fashion. Jane simple returned his glare with a gentler expression of her own. Nathan nestled into her chest while she poured herself a glass of whisky and laid out the first aide supplies. Jane downed the whisky in one go, climbed into bed with the shivering animal and curled round him protectively until his shaking subsided. The tender, rhythmic strokes of his fur hid the vortex of rage Jane felt perfectly. Her patience was incomparable as she waited for him to calm enough to return to his human form. In taunt silence she dressed his wounds. The effort to keep a lid on her feelings strained her self control; the rage grew as she saw each bruise, every cut and gash. She felt sweet relief when Nathan finally slipped into slumber.

Jane ran her fingers over Nathan’s bruised and swollen face; pushing up his blonde hair, examining the extent of the damage again with a glare that could melt rocks. “Nathan, I’ve never said a word about who you chose to date; male, female, human, or supernatural. However, this time I will not sit by,” She whispered with the strength of a promise, tears she had been holding sliding down her cheeks. Gently she leaned down and planted a kiss on his forehead, “Welcome home.”

The next morning, Jane listened to the news as she prepared a big breakfast. “- discovery of a body early this morning in Ridgefield park has officials stumped. The John Doe appears to have been mauled by a feline the size of a tiger, however-” Jane switched off the tv. She had restricted Nathan to bed, wishing to keep an eye him since he still refused to go to hospital. As she carried the breakfast tray up the stairs, she whistled cheerfully to the world.

Space Junk

crashlandingToday’s writing challenge is Monday’s Finish the Story. This is my first time trying this one but I quite like the extra element the combination of prompts gave me. This one combines the use of a photo prompt and an opening que (the quote below).  The two managed to spark off a bit of inspiration regarding a plot I was playing with a few months ago.

Racing down into the atmosphere, the unidentified object crashed, leaving behind one heck of a huge crater and a plume of smoke that could be seen from miles around.

Adrian kicked his way out of the ship wreck. “Damn Gillian. He’s outfitted me with space junk!” Adrian climbed out into the breathable atmosphere, jumping off the research pod. Forehead pressed into palm of his hand, he muttered “I can’t believe I was knocked out orbit by a stray satellite.” He would never live this down. With a curse, he kicked the craft, taking small satisfaction in the metallic clang. Taking a deep breath he thought, ‘Calm down. Take stock.’ The fumes needed to clear before he could salvage anything. It was fortunate he had sent off an S.O.S before he took a nosedive. Uncertain of when a rescue would occur his next port of call was survival. Spinning around to assess what the locale had to offer he became aware with a sickening jolt that he was not alone. A sword greeted his throat. “So much for no contact.”

Predator: Sunday Photo Fiction


Now switching from horror fic for Pic it and write to this action thriller for Sunday Photo fiction.  The rather royal looking raven in the picture is Thor, one of the many ravens of the tower of London.

Emmett stroked the glossy feathers of the crow perched on his shoulder. He felt the sharp beak gently nip his ears. The pair watched the crowds of the theme park patiently, waiting for the moment to strike. Their tension was palatable as a laughing child shrieked her way towards the field separating the rides of the park. The raven croaked as the mother scooped the child up and pointed with annoyed tones towards a sign: ‘Please keep off the grass.’ “Hush,” Emmett murmured, soothing ruffled feathers, “Soon, Dearest.”

The pair waited, watchful and silent. The crowds shifted; the families of the daytime were replaced by inebriated youngsters. Soon a large group stumbled drunkenly across the grass. Disturbed by their footfalls, the earth erupted open, revealing the gigantic arachnid underneath. The raven sprung from Emmett’s side, morphing and shifting as he fell upon his prey. Emmett watched on, eyes following the black blur as it fought the spider; undeceived by the fluid shift from humanoid to avian. Then, as the creature launched a final, desperate attack, Emmett pierced it through the Cephalothorax with a well placed round. Deed done, the raven settled back on Emmett shoulder with an affectionate nip.

Getaway: Picture it an Write challenge

Picture it and write challenge courtesy of Ermilia.  This time the picture actually inspired an excerpt of my recent short sci-fi/action story ‘Freedom’, sadly though the actual short story is no where near this stage in the plot yet. 🙂

Zale fell headlong into Payce as the shock waves buffeted the small aircraft. Payce reflexively pushed Zale upright and leapt into the co-pilot seat. Regent had been injured in the blast and was slumped over the controls like a sack of grain. “Check Regent!” Payce shouted, as he struggled to regain control of the craft against the turbulent atmosphere. There were already signs of emergency response crafts arriving at the scene. Pursuit was sure to follow. Zale leant over Regent, checking for a pulse while gentle checking the head wound. “How’s he doing?” Payce asked, the concern in his tone evident despite his unbroken focus on flying their getaway craft. “His pulse is strong, and near as I can tell it’s just a gash, but we better get a medic check him over soon,” Zale responded as he lifted the larger man out of the pilots seat with difficulty. “Oi, careful! I’m going to have do some fancy flying here,” Payce warned, as the screens filled with warning signals.

“All the more reason for me to put him in a harness. Besides, I can’t operate the weapons with his useless arse blocking the controls,” Zale responded as he shouldered the cumbersome frame of their unconscious pilot, dragging him to the passenger bay. Zale hefted Regent’s dead weight into a harness, strapping him in securely before bolting back to the pilots seat to strap himself in. “Can’t this retrofitted piece of junk go any faster?” Payce asked with a frustrated curse. Zale hammered at his controls, deploying a few toys designed to confound the sensors of the crafts behind them. “It was only designed for passenger escort, not quick getaways from armed crafts!” Zale responded in consternation. “That should give us a head start, head for the waste plant; we’ll loose them in the radiation.”

“Got it!” Payce replied, jerking the controls to swiftly alter their destination.

“Hey, Payce…” Zale said thoughtfully as he kept a watchful eye on the screens in front of him. It looked like the patrols had split off in different directions. “Yeah?” Payce asked with a quick glance in Zale’s direction, not once loosening his grip on the controls. Zale bit into his thumbnail, had it been flesh he would have drawn blood. “I’m fairly certain there’s a mole.” Zale turned his attention to Payce, trying gage the younger man’s reaction. The usually friendly features were sombre, and deeply furrowed into a frown. After a pause, Payce raised a finger to his lips in a age old signal for silence. From the hold Zale could hear movement indicating Regent had regained conciousness. Mirroring Payce’s expression, Zale nodded in silent understanding. Trust no one.

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