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Friday Fictioneers

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Copyright -Claire Fuller

Hi again, I don’t think I’ve posted in almost half a year but I’m back, although I can’t promise I’ll stay, being so busy with exams coming up and all. Here’s something I whipped up for Friday Fictioneer’s, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff. I haven’t written anything good in months, my pathetic excuse is writers block but I’m trying to beat it. Anyway, here it is, constructive criticism wanted and I hope you enjoy.

                                                                                                                                                        

It has been a while. For months I’ve passed this place and looked away, afraid to see the noose hanging from the tree. It’s gnarled knots and thick twisted branches, we used to climb across them and pretend we were monkeys’, or elves, or spies, giggling with glee, oblivious to all else.

So many memories, so much pain. I still remember our first kiss round the back, how we’d clambered onto the church roof, how once I broke my arm. I remember playing hide and seek, the last time I’d found him, hanging with a noose around his neck.

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 4

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Slaves Bones: / Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 /

Friday fictioneers again, it feels so long since I have contributed because I missed last week 😦 . Anyway, I saw the photo this week and couldn’t help recoiling in sudden disgust, why on Earth would you frighten us with such a picture Madison? Haha. This week I am continuing with the slave bones series, which I am actually writing as a draft novel at the moment. Now, onwards and upward, I hope you enjoy and constructive criticism is welcome.

 

 

Night had nestled upon the desert, Rordan leaned against the crumbling brick of the building, peering out a gap into the endless darkness. Fatigue weighed heavily on him, pulling him into sleep which was so tantalising. He couldn’t be seduced by the beauty of sleep though, Gunkiar roamed the desert at night when the temperature dropped and the sun didn’t reign, and Rordan was on watch.

Rordan had been in the shackles of slavery for over a year, he’d encountered many of the desert dwellers but only twice had he felt the squirm of disgust from setting eyes on a Gunkiar. The wind moaned in his ears, it swirled up columns of sand, dyed black by the lack of light. Rordan’s eyelids drooped, sleep was slowly luring him in, he snapped them open and caught sight of a figure in the corner of his eye. His stomach clenched at the memory of the yellow pulsating creature which exuded frothy white poison and glistened with a sheen of sticky, sand speckled liquid, was it a Gunkiar?

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.

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.

Friday Fictioneers: Sharp Ends, Part 10

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Sharp Ends Series:/ Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 /

As soon as I saw this prompt I knew what to write. The link to Madison Wood’s website where friday fictioneers is done, is here. Constructive criticism is welcome, I hope you enjoy.

 

 

Her emotional dam collapsed then, her thoughts and emotions spilling out like a waterfall.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry David! Because of you we were drowning in debt and you were drowning yourself in alcohol. I was angry at you and confused and he was just there, your brother helped me, cared for me and loved me, and then he left, and pretended it had never happened!” She cried, her guilt had its jaws tightly latched to her and was now tearing at her, spilling her blood.

She sobbed, tears and emotions saturating her, and then he was there, the man she had fallen in love with was holding her and helping her. She suddenly stopped and looked at him, in his abrasive palm was a collection of red berries.

“We eat these and we’ll never have to worry again.” David leaned forward and whispered softly.

Friday Fictioneers: Sharp Ends, Part 9

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Sharp Ends Series:/ Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 /

I remember this photo from Madison’s old blog, great photo. Last week I was kind of slack with checking my blog, I’ve had so much homework though. Anyway, the link to Madison Wood’s blog is here. Constructive criticism is welcome, hope you enjoy.

She staggered to her feet, looked about and screamed. She beat her fist against the side of the planes in frustration.

“Why aren’t I dead!” She repeated over and over until she slumped down in a softly upholstered seat. A moan rippled through the sudden silence, she crept towards the sound and saw him unconscious in a mangled heap on the ground. She inspected him for wounds and found he had a nasty gash in his forehead. She jumped up and began dragging him towards the sound of water, which wasn’t far away.

Once at the small creek she cleaned his gash and sat peacefully, watching as a dragonfly skimmed across the water as majestically as a ballerina.

“Why did you kill my brother?” He suddenly asked, his voice slurred and almost incoherent, she jumped at the sudden sound of his voice.

“Because he cheated on me.” She whispered.

“Ha! Karma’s a b***h isn’t it babe.”

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