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 ‘superntural’

Trickster: Friday Fictioneers

Little bit of Flash Fiction inspired by photo promt provided by Rochelle for Friday Fictioneers. For other Friday Fictioneers fics please head over to her blog and click on the blue frog under photo prompt to see other links. I was going to try and embed the code here but I’m too tired to remember my account details without resetting them.

 

Time.

Chime. Chime. Chime.

Engines spark; sputters, rumbles, and roars.

Stately procession purrs along tarmac.

Dusty relics? Vintage? Classics?

Terms don’t matter to onlookers; admiring invention, progress and change.

Unwittingly worshipping time.

At the head of the procession – Chronos: slurping in belief.

Wily Bastard – Surviving the fall of the pantheons.

Should have known the Old Man had a trick up his sleeves.

Loki smirked. It had been soo very long since he had greeted another god. How could he not say ‘Hello?’

The Trickster dealt wild cards, the pranksters in the parade.

Loki skipped, chaos where he tread.

Tidbit of current WOP

I have had a bugger of a headache all day.  It’s almost 1am and I’ve only just found a prompt I may use.  So, instead, here’s a tidbit from my current Work in Progress. 🙂
The water’s were treacherous here. A lone figure stood upon a dark ocean surround by countless fox fires. Though the water lurched and broiled the woman remained unaffected; hovering inches above.  From her a net of silk unfurled; settling on each bonfire.  For a moment, she shone with the brightness of every fire. She could only savour the omnipotence.  Then, with a flick of her wrist, the net disconnected from the dimmer fires.  With the brighter ones, she was more thorough; disconnecting only from the familiar. This night none remained. Task complete, the net reeled back in, then for a split-second brushed against another. Instantly the net fanned out in that direction, closing in on… Nothing.  Perturbed, she stretched the net out as far as her strength allowed. Still nothing.  Imagination? Or another like her? The plane of the collective unconscious was a strange reality, at best.  Travelling back to her own dreams, the dreamer tripled her wards.

Lady of Fool’s lake

foolHere’s one for Monday’s finish the story. Yes, I know. It’s friday. 🙂 That’s how long it took me to get all the humour orientated plots that I could not get to work out of my mind.  It seem that writing the haikus earlier forced my brain out of stubborn mode on what it wanted to write based on this prompt.

Dropping her line into Fool’s Lake, she patiently waited for something to bite.”

There was a legend about Fool’s lake. It was once Loch Caitlin; named for Caitlin GilleChrìost, her love for the Loch renowned. Count Calum’s marriage to Caitlin, whose origins were mysterious, had been met with titillation and ire. The woman remained a dutiful wife despite subtle intimidation by her peers; becoming an elegant hostess while she raised heirs. One eve of their anniversary Caitlin disappeared and the bodies of Calum and a servant were found in his chamber. When her gown was fished out of the Loch it was assumed she had drowned out of grief. Caitlin was labelled the Fool by those responsible for her despair.

Sandra Gilchrist, alone, knew the real story of Caitlin. She waited for her brethren, the Selkies, to claim her as they had reclaimed her ancestor. For now, she fished.

Where there’s smoke there’s fire

house

This time the prompt has been borrowed from Five sentence fiction.

Where there’s smoke there’s fire.

The house stood still, lines still beautiful despite the time it had stood abandoned; uncared for by time or man.

Disrepair was predominate; for the longest time no one dared set foot inside the place where tales of ghouls and ghost abound.

Abandoned and far from a watchful eye, it became a den; littered with scavenged furniture – chairs, rugs and a mattress that was spare.

The site was chaos – cans, wrappers and stains that shouted of the wild abandon that came with youth; complete with sounds that could wake the dead.

The owner stirred from his coffin; it was his turn to engage in unruly abandon now.

One person’s heaven

oldbuilding

Sunday photo fic, albeit I’m dangerously close to Tuesday. I given up a trying to do all the flash fics I think of on the day I think of them.  I’ve been working to hard in all areas; not just my writing. Now I’m hitting the overload wall. Anywho, I introduce Eric the ghost hunter.  I had to edit this a few times – The first draft made him sound so… Perverted.

One person’s heaven.

This jobs a bust, Eric decided, as he stroked the ears of his tranquil collie. Simpletons! Point at an old building and the chances are 5:1 that some fool will say it’s haunted. Eric shot a moody glance at the fireplace; a log had just crackled naturally. I bet that tree grew straight and pure! At least give me some gnarly old wood grown over a forgotten grave! Eric was irked.

The house had the right atmosphere, damn it. The wiring out-dated; the heating pre-war. Disrepair had touched every surface. Without the grace of the supernatural these were but… Idiosyncrasies! Peaceful, and utterly boring, Eric sighed. He missed finding his keys in odd places. The titillation of strange shadows, the rush of an unseen presence. Eric found no excitement here; all he found was a brief holiday in hell.

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.

Saturday Six

I have pulled out a second piece today. I really was not expecting to manage another short with my headache but I’ll take it as good occupational therapy today.  The prompt I have used for this one has be borrowed from Saturday Six run by Kristi Simpson. The prompt I used for this one was to write a description about a major character from another character POV.  As you will probably tell from the following the novel I am writing is a supernatural romance.  The protagonist is Susanne, and from her POV the plot makes a hell of a lot more sense.  If you are having trouble writing a scene or element I really do recommend a change of speaker.  Through using my lead male voice for this section I had realized aspect of their relationship that I was unaware of before – key points of which could trouble for my protagonist down the line. I actually feel sorry for her… Her love interest is idealizing her for doing her job.

Chris let out a sigh.  He was in a very awkward position. Susanne’s deep, rhythmic breathing was causing warm puffs of air to caress his neck as she relaxed into his shoulder.  Her palm was warm against his where their fingers were intertwined. It was a bad combination. He could feel his palms begin to sweat as his temperature shot up a 100 degrees.  His eyes traced over her neat, angular features, admiring the look of intense concentration she wore even in her sleep. There was an uncomfortable shifting from Mark, on her opposite side, who bore the look of the third wheel. Chris cast his friend an apologetic look, bringing himself back to reality.

Chris knew they had word to do, but he found himself in a complete state of disarray where Susanne was concern.  He was slipping dangerously close to idol worship but it was not something he stop.  It was through her that he had gained a life again. His talent had left him unable to interact normally. He had lived in a constant state of anxiety; he could so easily bring harm to others. He knew Mark felt the same; the two of them had lived a lifestyle on the run for fear that they may be discovered for the monsters they believed themselves to be. It was a great irony that in fulfilling this very fear Susanne had saved the pair.

Susanne, in discovering Chris and Mark, had opened a door for them they had not known existed. With a gentle acceptance she had washed away the shame and fear the pair had carried and enfolded them into community of fellow talents. For two isolated individuals as themselves, this sense of community was far move then they ever expected, but Susanne had taken it one step further and found them teachers to aid in the mastering of their individual powers. The control he had learned had opened up his life in ways he had long since given up on. However, mastering his ability had led him to a discovery he had not expected.  His power far outstripped that of the capable woman at his side. This realization had caused an up-welling of concern for Susanne, who’s job frequently put her in danger. It was as the sleep net Susanne wove pulled him into a state of unconsciousness that he realized equally important: his power was nothing. The ease in which Susanne had pulled him unknowingly into a sleep state made him painfully aware that power was nothing to her delicate skill. As she held out her had in the dreamscape she had created she soothed his helplessness with the words, “Ready to lend a hand?”

Butterfly Dreams: Visdare

Image
Today’s project is a poem just to make a change.  The photo prompt simply did not inspire a story.  The Visdare challenge can be found here.
Butterfly dreams.
Splash of paint upon canvas.
Imperfection. Start again.
Beauty of the model transcendent;
ethereal, surreal now reaffirmedly real.
Aphrodite. Venus.
The elusive muse.
Beckoning with her beauty.
Charming in her form.
In her cage, so inviting,
With hope she is confiding,
Despairing not in her devotion
To the love that gave her life.
Timeless, she waits
Ageless in her patience
Waiting for the dreamer.
Essence of purest love.

What’s up, Doc? Chap 2 Part 1

rabbit

Links to previous sections can be found here.

To say I shot out of my apartment like to was on fire would not be an exaggeration. I had lived there for a few years so it felt appropriate to treat leaving like ripping off a band-aid – best done quick. The move itself turned out relatively easy. As Emily had said, Victor was kind. He had been very accommodating; he even offered to help move my junk in the evenings. By they time evening rolled around I had a wall of boxes neatly tucked away in my new room and Victor had given me the short tour of the house. “There’s space in the loft if you need it, just let me know I’ll carry stuff up for you,” Victor offered with an odd look towards the attic.

“Thanks but I wouldn’t want to bother you. I’m a lot stronger than I look.” Victor looked a little distressed. “It’s not a bother, and I hope it didn’t sound like I thought you were weak. Just please don’t go up into the loft – It’s dangerous.” There was an urgency to his tone that immediately made me need to question Victor but then I noticed something that distracted me completely. “Hey, is that a rabbit??”

Predator: Sunday Photo Fiction

theraven

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.

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