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Friday Fictioneers: Slave Bones, Part 7

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Slave Bones Series:/ Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 /

A lovely picture this week which concocts a variety of great short story ideas. unfortunately my series takes place in the desert which is completely out-of-place for this picture, never the less, I will push on with the slave bones series, which is coming along quite nicely as a novel. The link to friday fictioneers is here, hope you enjoy and constructive criticism is welcome.

 

Cold arms of the night embraced him as Enoch herded him along and out into the darkness. Rordan clutched the rucksack tightly, still struck by fear and surprise as he shuffled in front of Enoch. Enoch took the rucksack from him and helped him guide his arms through the straps, the darkness made it barely possible to see but slowly, with the moonlight’s help, Rordan’s eyes were adapting.

“Come along, we ain’t got all day an’ ye said there’s a Gunkiar roaming.” Enoch said, grabbing Rordan’s hand in a vice-like grip and pulling him along after him. Rordan had to jog to catch up, Enoch’s pace was double his usual.

“Wh-wh-where are w-we go-ing?” Rordan asked, finally plucking up the courage to ask from deep within the deepest canyons in his body.

“We’re escaping, heading south to the forests by the southern mountains, there we’re to join a rebellion.”

Picture It & Write: Bitter Sorrow

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Bitter sorrow is the taste on my tongue,

Strong southries caress my cheek.

Way up here I can reach the marshmallow clouds,

Far below the sea hurls itself angrily against the steel pillars.

 

Up here I can see everything, feel everything and think everything,

The scarlet spray of his blood splatters across my mind,

A deep shudder reveberates down my spine,

Like the impact I felt from driving the hammer in his skull.

 

Again the wind strokes me, taunts me, welcomes me into it’s open arms,

I can sense the devious flash in it’s movements,

Still I find myself standing on the edge, it’s arms waiting…

Waiting to let me slip into the turmoil beast bellowing below.

Friday Fictioneers: Slave Bones, Part 6

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Slaves Bones Series:/ Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 /

This week has gone so slow in my opinion, it feels like so long since I’ve participated with friday fictioneers! Anyway, if you want to join the action click here. Otherwise, enjoy and constructive criticism is welcome.

 

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, Rordan yelped in surprise and jumped ten feet in the air before facing Enoch, one of the guards. Enoch’s red eyes shone like embers in the darkness of night, he was looking over Rordan’s head and beyond, into the inhospitable desert.

“Follow me,” Enoch whispered, pulling his gaze away from the desert and herding Rordan through the dying building. Rordan kept his mouth closed tightly, trying not to think about what Enoch might do to him and what he’d done to deserve this. He wanted to hide, to disappear, to climb a tree and be out of reach. Enoch led him to a back room which was filled to the roof with tumbling shelves, storing imperishable foods. He bustled round the room for some time before pushing a full rucksack into Rordan’s chest and leading him outside. “Ready kiddo?”

Picture It & Write: After A Hard Day

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My offering for this week’s Picture It & Write is a bit late I think, I spent a lot of time pondering on what to write about and here’s the result. The link to the prompt is here, hope you enjoy and constructive criticism is welcome.

Cold water trickled down her back, wriggling its way into the maze of elaborate scars which crisscrossed like busy city roads. Needles of painful stinging prickled a fresh wound which ran from her shoulder down. She reached for the antiseptic potion she’d concocted from wild plants and low-cost ingredients from the alchemy store. Carefully she dabbed small amounts of the valuable lotion onto her wound and hissed in agony through clenched teeth.

Working as a slave was pulling her down, sapping her slowly diminishing strength, she knew she was born a slave and that she would die a slave simply because she looked different to the locals. She longed for the chains of slavery to be destroyed and the welcoming arms of freedom to envelop her. She wished for it, dreamed of it, all the time in knowledge that it was impossible. The arms of exemption she prayed for were waiting over the other side of the vast grey body of the sea, a body impossible to persuade or move.

Carefully she lifted herself out of the large wooden bucket that the slaves used as a tub, tendrils of pain weaved their way through her body as she did. There was a polite knock at the door, she wrapped herself in a ragged towel and signalled for the person to enter.

Surprise erupted inside her, followed by a bubbling anger which had remained dormant for so long. She stared into those cold gun-metal eyes and felt the dying embers inside her glow rebelliously one last time.

Slave Bones Series Question

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There are two reasons why I’m putting the post up, the first is because I felt like making a poll. Second reason is because I am attempting to write the Slave Bones Series (which I’m writing for Friday Fictioneers) as a novel. As with all my novels I’m trying to finish it so I can enter the publishing world and let my novel go and see if I get results. So without further or do, those who actually read this post, feel free to answer this quick poll.

Friday Fictioneer: Slave Bones, Part 5

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Slave Bones:/ Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 /

This is a tricky one for me trying to fit it into the slave bones series. The link to the prompt is here. Hope you enjoy and constructive criticism is welcome.

 

 

 

Rordan glanced about anxiously, suppressing the urge to awaken the guards at the sight of an unknown figure in the distance which created no threat for the time being. He scanned the dark horizon once more, it was incredibly hard to penetrate the blackness of the night’s shadowy blanket, this time he couldn’t see the figure. Fatigue played tricks with your mind, it brought up premonitory images and cast hallucinations of the unwanted or most wanted.

A strange gurgling howl rippled through the night, the howl of a Gunkiar. Rordan was overcome by trembling, he whimpered for a guard but his voice had been snatched by fear. Suddenly two white eyes blinked in the near distance, like two polished shells laying side by side on a black sand beach. They were pupil-less eyes, sparkling like sunshine spangled water, they disappeared and the squishy shuffling of a Gunkiar’s movements followed.

Listen & Write: Hot N Cold

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This week Ermilia has provided us with ‘Listen & Write’ a spin-off from Picture It & Write. The song was Hot N Cold by Katy Perry (a singer a despise) which I felt suited a bad break up story. If you’d like to join in the link to Ermilia’s blog is here.

                                                                                                                                                                                

Drip drop, drip drop the ominous dripping of water signified a pipe leakage, Sara took no notice of it as she back away from the man she thought she once knew. Her memories of him contained a soft faced man who’s delicate caress sent tendrils of adoration to her heart and took root. Sara wanted to see that man again, wanted to feel his loving touch, to hear his kind words brushing the back of her neck.

The man advancing on her now was not that man, he was deranged, foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog with his mane of bedraggled hair falling about his face as he approached, snarling. This was not the man she had cast aside six months ago, unaware of the hatred that would form for her.

“Please, don’t hurt me Matt,” Sara pleaded, feeling the cold steel pipes make contact with her back, she was cornered, nowhere to run, no one to call out for.

“Don’t hurt you? Like you didn’t hurt me,” Matt snarled, his lips contorting into a crazed smile, feeling her fear so strongly he could smell it.

“Matt please, I didn’t know, I…”

“Matt please…” He mimicked, throwing back his head and cackling demonically, “Of course you knew Sara,”

“I didn’t love you anymore, I didn’t want to pull you along.” She said, remembering the last weeks of their relationship and how she’d carried his love without fueling herself with her own.

“Why not?” Matt asked, his mud brown eyes welling with tears, he fell to his knees and began to cry. Sara watched and remembered Matt’s abnormal way of switching emotions very quickly, the doctor had said he was bi-polar.

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