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Picture It & Write: Golden Times

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My Contribution for this week’s Picture It & Write, click here to see, is below. Hope you enjoy and constructive criticism is welcome as always.

 

 

 

 

 

They were the good old days, memories from that time are lathered in gold because they are my golden memories from a golden age. Back then when time was irrelevant, we felt like we had all the time in the world to share our special bond. Time didn’t matter to us hence why it spilled between our fingers and represented itself in occasional grey hairs which spouted amongst our normal young dark hair. We pretended it didn’t exist, we shoved it into the back of the closet and left it there, a ghost which sat and waited until the right time to come out and torment us.

By the time we realised it was real and it was there, we were too late, we’d let in stalk us in silence like a lion waiting to pounce. Time had separated us, it had torn the fake immortal chain which linked us, which we thought had been unbreakable. The chain had been broken and used to hold a pendant watch, a reminder he’d given to me before he’d left, that time was there and it was impossible to stop. He’d placed time in a cache of gold, to remind me of the golden days and that time was alway there, always watching your every move and counting down your final moments.

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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.

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.

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: 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: The Reflection

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This week’s Picture It & Write can be found here. I enjoy this new group and seem to get a good lot of hits out of it, so thank you Ermilia. Hope you all enjoy and constructive criticism is welcome.

Soft piano giggle echoed through the corridor, light tapping and the occasional swish of a dress also accompanied the sound. Dane trekked silently down the hall, as quiet as the fall of a feather, ancient sheets of dust lay on the floor and sprung to life with each footstep. He came upon a door, paper birch white with a prominent brass handle protruding from it, beckoning Dane to open.

Slowly he turned the handle, it creaked from years of being untouched, its echo filled with relief. Dane pushed against the door and looked inside, crumbling brick like a cake, fell away leaving a trail of dust cascading after it caught in the eerie light of the full moon outside. As he looked in he caught the shimmer of a figure, seemingly disappear like a hologram, a sweet young giggle stroked his ears and sent an abnormal shiver through his body.

The only feature in the room was a large mirror leaning against the back wall as though tired with waiting. Dane crept towards it and brushed away century old dust, revealing intricate patterns engraved in the brass of the frame. He glanced down at the mirror which not only reflected his image but a petite young girl behind him, dressed in a swam white dress which shimmered with purity. Dane yelped in fright as the girls face transformed and a sudden boiling talon of evil engulfed him.

Picture it & Write: Burning Kiss

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My piece for this weeks ‘Picture it & Write’, which is organised my Ermilia, the link to this week’s prompt is here. Hope you enjoy and constructive criticism is welcome.

 

 

Ted watched the wisps of smoke curl and ascend from the woman’s full lips lathered with scarlet lipstick. It flew away smoothly, white gaseous ballerina’s dancing into invisibility.

“Got ya eyes on Nancy do ya? She’s a demon that one, a beautiful one never the less but a demon through and through.” Johnny whispered loudly in his ear, his voice slurred and thick with intoxication. Ted’s eyes never strayed from Nancy, he was mesmerised by her ravishing appearance, he felt her knavish steam prickle his flesh.

“Your talking crap Johnny,” Ted replied, watching as Nancy flexed her long manicured nails which were painted scarlet like her lips, he watched as blood seemed to drip from her finger tips. With a gasp he recoiled, shaking his head, he’d seen a hallucination.

“No no mate, I’m serious, some say she paints her nails and lips with the blood of her victims.”

“Victims?” Ted asked, once again entranced as Nancy stood up, her deep red boots glittering in the candlelight of the saloon. She walked past them, her rose scented perfume knocking Ted’s sense’s clear out of the water, as she passed she stroked his arm and he felt a burning shiver crawl through his body.

“Yea, she puts people in a trance and does wicked things to them,”

“Whatever wicked things she does, I’m going to find out.” Ted smirked at Johnny and swaggered after Nancy, his tassels waving and cowboy boots clinking. He followed Nancy up to her room, and disappeared into her lair, the strong pungent of roses and blood attacked him and fiery touch burned his lips and spread through his body, muffling his screams.

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