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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.

Friday Fictioneers: Silence Is A Gift

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The house looked completely different under the veil of blackness, night had crept in and poisoned the place with darkness as she had crept in and began her search.

Picking the lock had been as easy as threading a needle through the hole in a truck tire, a novice could have done it with ease as well and it would have been that simple. The main entrance had led her into the main living room where everything was spruced up to perfection, not an inch had been left uncleaned.

As she crept into the kitchen, her knees bent and arms out poised for any interruption or quick retreat, she sighted the glimmer of the crystal vase encrypted with the ultimate prize. Her heart pounded with excitement as she reached the locked cabinet and began picking the lock.

The owners had not been quite so cursory with their choice of locks this time. Her frustration grew like a boil inside her as her first pick snapped in two, piercing the silence. She jammed another in just as she heard the slightest movement of well oiled hinges open from a room above, her heart raced faster and she stroked the knife in her pocket cautiously.

The second pick snapped as she heard soft footsteps press into the plush carpet of the stairs, she growled and grabbed her knife, knowing her presence was now known. She smashed the tip of her knife solidly into the glass door of the cabinet, fragments of glass shattered in all directions and spun on the wooden floor like ice shards on a solid slippery surface. She ignored the yell from behind and the broken glass as she reached in and snatched the vase.

Without second thought she turned and ran back to the door but a tall lean man barred her way, his great circular spectacles glinting in the moonlight which shone through a crack in the living room curtains. Panic rose within her as a flash of her previous time spent in prison crossed her mind, she wanted nothing more than to stay away from there forever.

She didn’t think twice as she stabbed the knife in between his ribs and felt it squirm towards his heart, he let out a final yelp as he sunk to his knees. A great wave of terror crashed down on her as she realised what she’d done, she’d never meant to hurt him she’d never done so to anyone in her life. She fled with tears carving thin rivulets down her cheeks and pain so strong within her she thought she was having a heart attack.

Friday Fictioneers: Web Of Knowledge

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She slammed the book closed in a dignified manner, knowing she had added a string of new knowledge to her ever-growing web of it. Carefully she slid it back into the bookshelf and dislodged another ancient manuscript which had been lost in time. The dust coating the edge of its yellowed pages, crammed in a rudimentary fashion, was easily blown away with a wisp of her breath.

With a content sigh, she leaned back into the comfy rocking chair which creaked with age like the bones of an old man. She flicked her heels off and rested her relieved feet on a box of more books, before plunging into a new pool of knowledge found in the realm of literature.

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.”

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?”

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.

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?

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