Short fiction written on the writing prompt ‘Taboo’. Day 4 of the Writer’s HQ Advent Challenge – 30 mins, no edit, here’s what I got: Continue reading “Taboo”
Day 3 of the wonderful Writer’s HQ Writing Advent challenge. This time, it’s about allowing yourself to have bad ideas, and letting what you write be shit and being okay with it. Some such garbage. It’s pretty good advice. I found a picture by searching through Urbex images (Google it), and thought about the past of this location, and what it was like once before, and what might be found there. This is what I came up with. Continue reading “The Old Chateau”
This is the second Advent Writing Challenge from Writers HQ. Find a card from PostSecret that resonates with you and explore it. Write around it for 20 minutes, focusing on how it FEELS and then try and sum up the nugget of Human Truth in the story. This was how mine went.
TRIGGER WARNINGS: Rape/Non-Consensual, Child Abuse Continue reading “I’m sorry I touched you”
Prompt: The first Day
Scene: A space station.
Characters: Commander Stryker, Lt. Jenson and Ensign Taggart.
Synopsis: Commander Stryker is on her early morning run when she gets a red alert from Lt. Jenson. She goes to the walk-dock and sees that there’s a malfunction with his suit, so she has to get out and pull him in manually. A total cluster-fuck and he’s very injured.
Hades, lord of the underworld sat askew on a roughly-hewn throne. His silent wife, Persephone stood, as she always did. Just behind him. She looked at the floor and said nothing. The cavern was ghost-quiet, though billions of ephemeral souls blew about them in an astral wind, filling the dark chamber where Hades sat. Pensive. His clammy fingertips touching. He drew in a deep breath and blew a thick smoke ring from his cold, pale lips, watching dispassionately as the vapour coalesced into human form, a shade in the aether. It was Apollo’s son, Orpheus. Orpheus the bard. Orpheus the lyre. He had his famous harp slung on his back, and arms unused to toil were struggling him up the entrance to a cave, to the banks of the river Acheron. It was hard to see in the smoke-vision, but Hades fancied that Orpheus’ eyes carried a steely, determined glint. In the smog, Orpheus knelt at the river and cried out. Soon enough a boat appeared from the mist carrying Charon, the silent ferryman. Charon held out a skeletal hand, but Orpheus had no coin to pay him. Instead, on his knees he unslung his lyre and strummed and sang. The strings of the instrument vibrated with such power that they coloured the smoke-screen Hades was viewing through. Tinges of purple and violet plumed outwards, and when he sang, the smoke billowed from his mouth in a dizzying electric indigo. It was his song of grief. He sang of his lost love Eurydice, cruelly taken from him, and of his quest to the underworld to bring her back to the land of the living. He sang with such passion and such pain and such raw emotion that Charon, the empty and impassive ferryman was moved. Bones that could not feel, felt. The ever-still waters of the Acheron rocked up against the boat to listen closer, and the rocks themselves wept. Charon extended his hand and helped Orpheus, the tear-stained, onto the boat. Hades waved a hand through the vision and the smoke dissipated. “Interesting.” He said aloud. He turned to look at his wife, but Persephone’s expression had not changed. “None may cheat death.” Continue reading “Orpheus”
The First Chapter in a potentially long series about a steampunk magical world where the Tarot function like Yu-Gi-Oh cards.
“I am NOT being the page of Cups!” screamed Lydia, charging down the hall with all of the blind fury that a scorned eleven year old can muster. “I am the Queen of Swords!”. The hallway was long and lined discreetly with coats of arms, suits of armour and stuffed animal heads mounted over guns. Lydia took a swipe at a moosehead as she passed, but it didn’t seem to mind. Lydia’s mother simply stood in the hallway, hands on hips.
“Lydia St. Jude, you will come back here this instant, or by the Tower, you’ll regret it.” Continue reading “Tarot 01”
The postman arrived unusually early with a large lumpy package under one arm. Amy signed for it and the postman hurried away, looking back over his shoulder at the delivery. Amy took the parcel and placed it on the sofa in the front room. The delivery began to wriggle and squirm to try and free itself from its brown-paper confines. This was curious and unusual behaviour for a package. Most of them, in Amy’s experience, did not do this. She decided to intervene. Tearing open the paper, she saw a small dark blue Dragon that was struggling in a doomed-but-determined sort of a way against the cellophane that bound its wings, and trying to bite through some duct tape with little success. Amy fetched the scissors and freed it. Continue reading “A Birthday Mishap”