And here we have part 3. Part 1 can be found here and part 2 can be found here. The photo prompt for this one is borrowed from Friday Fictioneers. To give myself and extra challenge I also borrow a prompt (quote below) from Writerish Ramblings.
I like these weird POV prompts so…Write a scene in the point of view of a piece of paper that a love note is being written on. Or POV of the pen.
The abuse had to stop. His tip was cracking. It begun with a ‘slave'(?) she was ‘caring'(?) for. Then panicky passages, crippling his ink flow, about an ‘alter-ego'(?). Now she was just getting… Soppy! Whole passages in elaborate detail about a dining hall that her mother(?) had left laid for a celebration before the family met their (well-deserved) demise. The ‘slave’ cleared it of dust one day. She told (is this her idea of freedom?) him to clear all but two. Oh god! Don’t write that! ‘It seems I’ve been waiting for him.’ That’s enough! Promptly the pen rolled into a bin.
Writing challengers, I’m Baack! (Okay, little hyper right now, please forgive me.) It’s a while since my last attempt at a challenge so I thought I would start off with Friday Fictioneers, a personal favourite, courtesy of Rochelle. The photo prompt provided is copyright to Jean Hays, for reference, and the word limit is 100 words. Perfect practise for concise, targeted writing. Actually wish I had started these challenges before my degree; would have helped so much with the assignments. Okay tangent over, on with the post: The Blackout.
Illinois, USA. Stacey stared at the sign. “What. The. Hell?”
Stacey paced, wide berth given despite the noon crush.
“Pockets… …!” Passport… Flight ticket?! Stacey held the last item up. “The hell?”
…I should check my phone!
No carrier… Ah! Latest text! Mum: Pull the other one, it has bells on! Eloping?!
! I eloped?!
She strained to remember the day before. “So. Much. Alcohol.” Stacey shuddered.
“Stace, you okay?” Stacey iced up as a hand landed on her shoulder. She spun around to see… Her younger brother’s best friend, Ryan. “Well, at least I nabbed someone cute,” she remarked numbly. Nice; he should blush more often.
As you can probably tell I was experimenting with punctuation use here. It was fun.
This weeks Friday Fictioneers photo prompt! Though truthfully, this one I already had written as part of a larger story; I just saw the prompt and remembered it. As always, if you like what you read, have a browse around my works – I participate in many other writing challenges. ^_^ This one comes with an advisory of mature content.
It was the parched throat and the sickening taste of bile that awoke Kylie. Head throbbing, Kylie dragged herself upright, leaden from overindulgence. Blinking blearily into the room, she became aware of three things. This was not her room, she was not alone, and she was completely naked. Kylie peeked at the figure next to her with excited trepidation. Tall, slim, nice rear. Blonde hair with crushed gel spikes. And then a face that was most definitely not masculine. Clutched by foreboding, she lifted the covers to discover… Breasts… And that’s when she fell off the bed.
Friday fictioneers flash fiction photo prompt now. ^_^ Now warmed up for my actual writing projects.
Delilah’s mother was a hoarder. She could no longer deny it. “Where did you say you put the silverware?” She shouted down the corridor as she squeezed through the towering piles of newspaper, books and general bric-‘n-brac. Suddenly something moved under her feet and Delilah went skating. With a shriek Delilah reached out to a shelf cluttered with lamps to regain her balance. The shelf snapped, and Delilah went crashing down only to be smothered by papers and smacked on the head by a stray lamp. With a groan she crawled out and shouted, “That’s it, Mum! Get out! I’m burning the place down!!!”
Another short story for Friday Fictioneers. This one’s a little sad…
The workshop once had been busy. Now it was bereft of all but a sole individual, a weighted-down man with no care for his appearance. He carved, hands moving roboticly. He stopped only to drink from a stained cup or half-eaten tasteless noodles. The framed photo of a child stared at him from the desk; he slapped it face down into the newspaper clippings. Sombre silence accompanied the wooden creation taking form on his bench. In that silence the doll of a child was born. The man looked at the empty doll he created, and shed his first tears.
This flash-fiction is part of the Friday fictioneers challenge. It is also a sequel to City girl, which is also part of the same challenge
Hot sun drumming down. The crush of dirt under trowel. Strong downs winds sweeping clothes and drying sweat. The work was hard, but boss paid well. There was the startling sensation of eyes upon him. Again. He gave a friendly wave to the sickly-tinted city-slicker sitting uphill, scrapbook fixated in hand. Her attempt at work was disastrous, now that was all she seemed to do. Sketch. And watch him like a mountain cat. He had goosebumps, but she was the boss’s daughter. He had to be polite. But he couldn’t help but wonder ‘Doesn’t she have anything better to do?’
Now for some Flash fiction!!! This is part of Friday Fictioneers challenge – the idea is to create a 100 word story inspired by the posted picture. Tough challenge but it seems my essay concision skills haven’t rotten completely.
Sandra sat utop the rolling hill, swift hands devotedly sketching the figure in the garden below. She etched in rounded details, remembering straight cityscapes. Gone were comforting smells of community; replaced by dirt and manure. Convenience of supermarkets sorely missed. Farm work now standard. Sandra hated it but for her new-found hobby. Her eyes rested fondly on the man, taking in his country-touched physique. Sensing her gaze, he turned his friendly grin in her direction and waved. Sandra waved back, flushed with delight. Sandra gazed into the uncluttered sky and thought with a satisfied smile ‘maybe I’ll tell him tomorrow’.