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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.”

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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.

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.