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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: 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.

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.