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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.

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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.

Friday Fictioneers: Sharp Ends, Part 7

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

“Oh dear” is what I thought when I saw this weeks prompt, “Is Madison trying to make my brain explode!” Well, I’ve done it, and surprisingly, I think it’s a bit too much over 100 word. Anyway hope you enjoy, constructive criticism is welcome, and Madison’s blog is here.

 

The plane lurched and pitched like an ocean liner in a storm, she didn’t cry in fear though, she would be happy if she died now, the pain of regret and guilt would wash away as easily as soap suds. 

 He yelped though, struggling to stand, he swayed like a drunken man as he stumbled down the aisle, it reminded her of their barbabic wedding. She remembered the humiliation of that day well, like a film it played in her head in her last hours of living.

Him tottering into the chapel late, eyes blurry and bloodshot, an empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. Outside the chapel there had been a blimp in the sky, everyone had pointed excitedly, but he had fainted from the nausea of looking up at it. 

“Cathrine!” He yelled at her, stumbling back down the aisle towards her and falling to his knee beside her. “I’m sorry Cathrine I am, I love you, I do, but why did you do it?” She simply stared at him and answered bluntly.

“Do you remember our wedding?”

Pain of Poignancy

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Wind howled in Alastair’s ear,  ripped at his clothes, and bit his unclad flesh. Painful darts of horizontal, wind-driven rain stabbed his uncovered skin and drenched his curly hair. The building suddenly loomed before him in the dark, reaching for the sky like a recently sprouted plant. It seemed to go forever, prevailing all odds to reach something other than Earth. Alastair knew he was up there somewhere, up amongst the clouds on the roof, he always went there to think. Alastair pulled his hood tightly on his head so that the edge hung over his face, he continued onwards, penetrating the storm, desperate to reach the building.

Inside the building offered protection from the voracious storms but it rendered no light. Alastair walked around blindly, inside the building was no different to the outside except the wind and rain didn’t attack him like wolves. In his blind attempt to find the stairs, he tripped over several times but persevered. Any pain he felt now would be nothing in comparison to the pain he’d feel if he didn’t get to Garth in time.

The stairs seemed to spiral on for centuries, Alastair was ravaged by fatigue and his calves screamed in pain but he proceeded to run on. He felt no pain, he felt nothing but desperation and a fragment of fear which sliced through his heart. Suddenly the stairs seemed to fall away and Alastair collapsed in a heap on the ground, muscles screaming, chest heaving, rain and wind pouncing on him once more. Alastair scrambled to his feet as the black fabric of the sky was ripped by a scar of lightning. A silhouette of a small, skinny figure was portrayed, standing on the edge of the building as peaceful as it had ever been.

“Garth!” Alastair yelled, but his voice was only a whisper under his panting breath and it was snatched away by the storm. Alastair ran forward, his mind in panic mode, he felt like he was running on a treadmill and wasn’t going anywhere. “Garth! Stop!” He screamed, reaching out for his brother who seemed to suddenly lose all control of his body. Alastair knew that wasn’t the case though, and as his brother fell to his death he screamed in anguish.

Everything seemed to vanish from his mind, nothing mattered, life didn’t matter, nothing but his brother mattered. Screams and sobs escaped Alastair’s lips, his sounds of despair were ripped from his body and stolen by the winds. He was carried away by hurt, pains of poignancy gripped him and dragged him into a loss of mind. The apocalyptic world didn’t care for him, didn’t notice his adversity, it cared for nothing but to heal itself.

A Second Chance- Part One

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/Part One/Part Two/

Time slowed, I could see the brass bullet hurtling towards me, it had pounced from the gun like a stalking lion, now it was coming in for the kill. It was too late for me to do anything, the bullet too fast, and me not fast enough. The bullet winked at me in the morning sunlight as it punctured my chest, a blossom of blood marked its success. I could imagine the bullet biting through my flesh, weaving through my ribs and making its home in my heart in a matter of seconds. Pain grasped my chest, twisting me around its finger as I wailed and sunk to the ground in agony. The grass engulfed me, it encased me in my coffin, all I saw before my internal injuries whisked me away to death was my the man who had shot me. His gray features had a tightened sadness in them, my last thought was of happiness, because the man would feel guilt for the rest of his life. What father wouldn’t after they’d murdered their son?

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I woke up, which perturbed me, because yesterday I died, I saw the bullet enter my chest, I felt the pain, I had felt a blanket of death drop on me, and I had seen my killers sadness and guilt. How is it possible I’m alive then? Grass no longer keeps me captive and the sun or moon is not looking down on me. In fact, there is nothing around me except an infinity amount of nothingness. A stain of blood on my chest, marks my death, I prod the bullet wound but it doesn’t hurt. What the hell is going on?

“Confused?” A femine voice coo’s behind me, I spin around and face the most beautiful woman ever, her soft, sky blue eyes radiant friendliness but that’s not what settles my trust for her. It’s like she had cast a spell on me, and I know she has, but I tell myself to trust her, that’s all that matters. “Stop gawking, this is not my only form.” She says with an edge of harshness, which is to be accepted, since I’m kind of perving.

“Myra have you told him yet?” An equally beautiful woman asks, appearing beside her, they are identical funnily enough.

“Told me what?” My voice asks, but my brain is distant and I feel like I’m watching the situation.

“You are dead, William, but we can help revive you.” Myra says.

“Why would you want to revive me, and how?” I ask, still feeling distant.

“To be honest, I don’t know why, Jonas never told us.” The other woman answers, she is not as friendly as Myra, and even though their identical, I can see she is not as beautiful. “To revive you, we must rewind time and put you back on Earth to create peace with your killers.”

I’m thoroughly befuddled, maybe this isn’t happening and I’m just drunk off my face, but I don’t have a wrenching headache, or a dry, bile taste in my mouth. So I listen to the two woman as they explain my task and tell me of different consequences.

“Time for my second chance at life then?” I conclude as the two brush up on some finer detail which I’m only half hearing.

“Yes, and it is exactly time now, the spell is at its peak and will only stay so for a minute, good luck William.” Myra says, before the two suddenly vanish like me when modern music plays. All of a sudden I have clear head and the bullet wound is gone, nothing is replaced by the pounding of bass music, the smell of alcohol, sweat and deodorant, and the feeling of people dancing around me. I’m in a dance club, suddenly I remember where I am, groan in annoyance and disappear out the back door because I know what song is coming on next.