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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.”

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: 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?

Friday Fictioneers: Slave Bones, Part 3

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Slave Bones:/ Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 /

Another friday fiction prompt here again already, and now I’m thinking I shouldn’t have based the Slave Bones series in the desert. We’ll see what happens, the link to friday fictioneers is here. Hope you enjoy and constructive criticism is welcome.

 

 

 

Red sand seemed to stretch for light-years, carmine like the blazing eyes of an Ignis girl Rordan had met before he’d been thrust into the talons of slavery. He dazed out upon the barren land, his hands working automatically with a hammer to pummel the crumbling bricks.

 As he worked mechanically Rordan picked a random memory out of the many orbiting his brain. Images of lush green foliage strung to mind, rows of bursting vines with an abundance of succulent purple grapes just waiting to be picked. The memory of sweet fermenting grapes and crisp clean air was so strong Rordan could smell it there and then.

That summer had been unforgettable, when the tension between Ignis and Aluctions seemed to have settled and Rordan had felt free of malice. That was before the ‘Tear’ had happened.