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Picture It & Write: Clicking Predators

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I missed Friday Fictioneer’s this week so am determined to complete a piece for Picture It & Write. The link for that is here. This week I have written something that could become part of my novel. It’s also a POV from another character in my Friday Fictioneer’s series. So enjoy and remember constructive criticism is welcome.

Eels of heat swam ahead on the shimmering horizon, causing mischief with her mind. Bodies of swirling, carmine dust danced upon the stage that was the desert. Teza brushed the grit from her eyes which peered out from behind her scarf, grey slits of steel scanning the devious horizon. The blazing sun was forever sprinkling an endless rain of heat onto her unclad skin which gleamed with a sheen of perspiration.

Behind her the city lay, the Fire Capitol as it had become known after King Lochlan’s death. Teza’s ‘death’ lay back there also, in attempt to escape her pursuers she had forged her death and run into a desert, it had been a plausible plan at the time. Now Teza doubted whether she’d last the first night, already the desert heat had wilted her spirit and her encounter with the city’s outskirt guards had left her slightly battered.

In the swirling haze of the distance she caught a glimpse of four figures. A blinding knife of light pierced her eye and when she looked back they were gone. Teza stopped in her tracks at a sudden clicking noise, she looked back and already the shifting red sands where coating her footprints, leaving no trace of her journey. Behind her she heard the ominous clicking of pincers and the horror stories of the desert’s cruelest predators came rushing back from her memory.

One Lovely Blog Award :)

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 To my pleasant surprise I received a comment from Austere Alacrity on monday, informing me that she had nominated me for the ‘One Lovely Blog Award’. I thank her immensely for this, it is such an honor,and  it inspires me to continue my blogging and writing, which are two of my passions. In the past I have read other posts from bloggers receiving awards and looked upon them, wondering if my blog would one day be as popular or great as theirs. Now I know, although I am I small blog, that others do appreciate my work, and that makes me feel over the moon.

Now…

Here are the rules of this award:

1. I need to thank the person who nominated me.

2. Share 7 things about myself that you still may not know

3. Nominate 15 bloggers.

4. Notify the nominees that I have done so.

5. Put the logo of the award on my blog site.

And now here are 7 things that you probably don’t know about me;

1. I play football (soccer, whatever)

2. For someone who loves to write and is apparently good at it, I’m a slow readers.

3.  I used to have a heated passion for music and my guitar, although now I barely find the time to play or even listen to music. 😦

4. I have braces, at the moment they are blue and silver.

5. At school I am in the advanced learners A classes, which means I am a down right nerd (not a bad thing). (And I’m not trying to brag)

6. I frown upon the teenage/college society, even though I am a part of it.

7. Next year I am thinking of taking english, history, geography, media studies, science, and maths (because I have to). When I’m older I am aiming to become a journalist or psychologist

Now you know quite a bit about me, although from my perspective, I think I am quite a complex person. Time to pass the torch on, here are the blogs I have chosen to nominate, although some may have already got it, I don’t know.

Ermilia

Logi-ligi

Castelsarrasin

Littlewonder2

Writersclubkl

Ironwoodwind

Write away

Carol J Forrester

Reading Pleasure

The Forgotten Wife

ABC Of Spirit Talk

The Equiatic Bind

Woman On The Edge Of Reality

Anne Schilde

 

Picture It & Write: The Reflection

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This week’s Picture It & Write can be found here. I enjoy this new group and seem to get a good lot of hits out of it, so thank you Ermilia. Hope you all enjoy and constructive criticism is welcome.

Soft piano giggle echoed through the corridor, light tapping and the occasional swish of a dress also accompanied the sound. Dane trekked silently down the hall, as quiet as the fall of a feather, ancient sheets of dust lay on the floor and sprung to life with each footstep. He came upon a door, paper birch white with a prominent brass handle protruding from it, beckoning Dane to open.

Slowly he turned the handle, it creaked from years of being untouched, its echo filled with relief. Dane pushed against the door and looked inside, crumbling brick like a cake, fell away leaving a trail of dust cascading after it caught in the eerie light of the full moon outside. As he looked in he caught the shimmer of a figure, seemingly disappear like a hologram, a sweet young giggle stroked his ears and sent an abnormal shiver through his body.

The only feature in the room was a large mirror leaning against the back wall as though tired with waiting. Dane crept towards it and brushed away century old dust, revealing intricate patterns engraved in the brass of the frame. He glanced down at the mirror which not only reflected his image but a petite young girl behind him, dressed in a swam white dress which shimmered with purity. Dane yelped in fright as the girls face transformed and a sudden boiling talon of evil engulfed him.

Friday Fictioneers: Slave Bones, Part 3

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Slave Bones:/ Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 /

Another friday fiction prompt here again already, and now I’m thinking I shouldn’t have based the Slave Bones series in the desert. We’ll see what happens, the link to friday fictioneers is here. Hope you enjoy and constructive criticism is welcome.

 

 

 

Red sand seemed to stretch for light-years, carmine like the blazing eyes of an Ignis girl Rordan had met before he’d been thrust into the talons of slavery. He dazed out upon the barren land, his hands working automatically with a hammer to pummel the crumbling bricks.

 As he worked mechanically Rordan picked a random memory out of the many orbiting his brain. Images of lush green foliage strung to mind, rows of bursting vines with an abundance of succulent purple grapes just waiting to be picked. The memory of sweet fermenting grapes and crisp clean air was so strong Rordan could smell it there and then.

That summer had been unforgettable, when the tension between Ignis and Aluctions seemed to have settled and Rordan had felt free of malice. That was before the ‘Tear’ had happened.

Picture it & Write: Burning Kiss

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My piece for this weeks ‘Picture it & Write’, which is organised my Ermilia, the link to this week’s prompt is here. Hope you enjoy and constructive criticism is welcome.

 

 

Ted watched the wisps of smoke curl and ascend from the woman’s full lips lathered with scarlet lipstick. It flew away smoothly, white gaseous ballerina’s dancing into invisibility.

“Got ya eyes on Nancy do ya? She’s a demon that one, a beautiful one never the less but a demon through and through.” Johnny whispered loudly in his ear, his voice slurred and thick with intoxication. Ted’s eyes never strayed from Nancy, he was mesmerised by her ravishing appearance, he felt her knavish steam prickle his flesh.

“Your talking crap Johnny,” Ted replied, watching as Nancy flexed her long manicured nails which were painted scarlet like her lips, he watched as blood seemed to drip from her finger tips. With a gasp he recoiled, shaking his head, he’d seen a hallucination.

“No no mate, I’m serious, some say she paints her nails and lips with the blood of her victims.”

“Victims?” Ted asked, once again entranced as Nancy stood up, her deep red boots glittering in the candlelight of the saloon. She walked past them, her rose scented perfume knocking Ted’s sense’s clear out of the water, as she passed she stroked his arm and he felt a burning shiver crawl through his body.

“Yea, she puts people in a trance and does wicked things to them,”

“Whatever wicked things she does, I’m going to find out.” Ted smirked at Johnny and swaggered after Nancy, his tassels waving and cowboy boots clinking. He followed Nancy up to her room, and disappeared into her lair, the strong pungent of roses and blood attacked him and fiery touch burned his lips and spread through his body, muffling his screams.

Friday Fictioneers: Slave Bones, Part 2

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Slave Bones Series:/ Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 /

Another week and my stats seem to be dropping, oh well they will hopefully pick up soon as I introduce my new series for friday fictioneers; Slave Bones. The link to friday fiction prompt is here. Part 2 is below, hope you enjoy and constructive criticism is welcome as always.

 

As the sun completed its final milestone of its day, so too did the slaves. The next camp lay crumbling before them, a stone shack that Rordan couldn’t help thinking, depicted his current life style. Not that his previous one had been any better, he’d lived in squalor beneath the city, trying to avoid the wrath of the Ignis people like many people did. All his life the Ignis people had been an incessant threat to him, since the reign of King Corinth had died, so too had the respect between Ignis and Aluction people.

A single skeleton of a black barked tree stood in solace before the building, a buzzard sentry stood guard on it. It screeched at the slaves as they passed, like it too shared a passionate hatred for them. Everyone and everything Rordan had met, treated him with enmity which always curdled his Aluction blood and rattled his slave bones.

Picture it & Write: Frost Fingers

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So I was ‘blog surfer’ when I stumbled upon Ermilia’s blog which hosts a writing prompt every fortnight I think. The link to it (picture it & write) is here. Hope you enjoy my first piece for the writing prompt group and constructive criticism is welcome.

Cold, damp fingers brushed her cheek and caressed her hair. She shivered as a unseeable soul walked straight through her, whispering strange words from an ancient language into her body. The words rolled around inside her head and swam down her throat until they reached her heart. She gasped as the lexical intruders latched onto her heart like a parasite and began to gnaw on her soul.

From the truck he watched the little girl stand agonizingly still, as though she was acting as a statue waiting for a predator to leave. In the eerie glow of the trucks headlights, he watched as her knees buckled beneath her and muscle spasms rippled through her until she sunk to the ground and her body flew away as dust. Horror gripped him and his breath came in short and sharp as he watched petrified and suddenly felt frigid fingers stroke his care-worn skin.

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