This was a full week of #Flashfiction and I wrote more than I have just to keep up with all the challenges. Because it was Halloween on Monday, the
#MenageMonday blog by
Cara Michaels was appropriately moody with the following photo, the phrase "didn't see (insert phrase) coming", and my judge's prompt of Borophagus, the extinct North American bone crushing dog. ;) We were allowed up to 500 words. I was judge, so my entry didn't count, but here it is, Title: A Dog Day.
I sighed with contentment as I rested my back against rugged hillside; well, mountainside, really. The sun warmed my shoulders and the crown of my head through my straw hat. The environment was changing once again. We humans changed the landscape of our world, but the planet itself went through cycles and environmental variations, the likes of which we’d never seen.
Gazing down at the valley before me while I munched on an apple, I followed the relatively new railroad tracks marring the pristine desert landscape with “progress” and mentally changed the vegetation and geomorphology of the vista. The scraggly trees shot another twenty feet in the air and larger bushes plumped along the filling streambeds like mushrooms. A herd of giant ground sloths ambled slowly away from the pack of Borophagus canids, scoping out the prey animals. They in turn were watched by a pride of Smilodons, the great sabertoothed cats, their chief rivals for the herds of bison, mastodons, and sloths.
I sighed again. God, I loved paleo! The critters were so much cooler than the ones we had in the world today. I tossed the apple core down the rocky slope, then sneezed as grass fronds shot past my ears, the entire hill becoming furred like the back of a long-haired cat.
“What the – ?”
I froze as the two predator groups turned their heads, ears perked in my direction. Could they hear me? How was that possible? This was my fantasy, dammit!
I lifted my daypack silently, never taking my eyes from the hungry predators. No outrunning them, but maybe I could deter them. I dragged my rock hammer out of its nylon cocoon and gripped the rubber handle tight enough to etch the pattern into my palm as I got my feet under me. I’d fight them standing up.
The Smilodons launched off their ledge first, flowing down their hillock in a tawny wave. They were silent and I just waited with dread. Those long canines they sported were gonna be a bitch to defend against.
A piercing howl raised the hair on the back of my neck as humanoid shapes burst from the grass of the valley just this side of where the railroad tracks had been. Exclusively male, the bipeds met the cats with knives and spears, screaming war cries.
The cats scattered and bolted, leaving two of their number dead on the ground and the humans celebrating their victory by dancing on the bloodied turf.
I must have made another noise because one of them paused and turned my way, hunting for me in the tall grasses. I raised my rock hammer when he arrived in all his loin-clothed and war-painted glory. Fierce brown eyes stared back at me curiously, dismissing the weapon.
A large canid loped up beside him and I flinched in recognition, dropping the hammer. Not Borophagus, he’d befriended Canis dirus.
“Man, I didn’t see this coming,” I squeaked before he grabbed me and threw me over his shoulder.
Also on Monday, I entered
#MondayMotivation hosted by
Wakefield Mahon where we had 500 words to write a story continuing from the following first line: "Mary stumbled out through the motel room door. The frightened look of the maid reminded her she was covered in blood." I was the winner and will be the judge next week! Here's my winning entry, entitled, The Sacrifice.
“No, no, dammit!" the Legendary Arthur MacKensie growled as he furiously erased the words on the page. "That's pure crap!"
Yeah, legendary, to someone who knew nothing. He hadn't written a good word in weeks, but his editor was hounding him to at least send the beginning to a new story so they knew he was doing something.
Arthur started again. “Mary staggered through the motel room door, her clothes sticking to her where the blood soaked through. A passing maid shrieked and tossed three fluffy towels into the air in her hurry to get away.”
That was a little better, but still not what he wanted. He banged his head against the desk and moaned.
“You know I can give you what you want, Arthur.”
“I know.”
He raised his head and looked over at his best armchair. Kiera sat with one leg crossed demurely over the other under her skirt, her hands folded in her lap. His Muse, the woman who promised much and took much more.
“But there’s a price.”
“There always is.”
She gave him a half smile, never revealing her teeth. “This time it could be worth it.”
It could be. He’d benefited from her help before, his books selling millions. Her help had gotten him this luxurious house, the Aston Marten in the drive, and the adulation of the world. But it had cost him his wife, family, and quiet moments out in public. He was a famous celebrity. It should’ve been enough. But lately, it had started to pall.
“Tell me how it could be worth it.”
Kiera threw back her head and laughed, sensing victory. “Oh, Arthur, this will be the best one yet.” She rose in a fluid movement and slid behind him, draping her arms over his shoulders. “The story will bring people laughter to lighten their hearts, tears to cleanse their souls; even suspense and thrills. It will be your greatest masterpiece.”
He nodded, resigned. “Will I get to enjoy any of it?”
She was silent for so long fear froze him solid and his testicles tried to crawl up inside his body, seeking warmth.
“Arthur, you can enjoy it, but not in this form. You must choose to expand your horizons.”
He nodded again and pulled out of her arms as he stood up. He sought her hematite colored eyes, swallowed hard, then tilted his head to one side in offering. She smiled widely, the sharp points of her canines flashing before she wrapped him in her embrace.
“This will only hurt for a moment, beloved,” she whispered before she bit him.
Sharp pain quickly diminished before the surge of sensual lust blooming within him, his penis hardening without his say so.
“Oh God, yes!”
“Famous reclusive author Arthur MacKensie is missing. Despite the success of his latest novel, he would not answer calls from his publisher. Police have no leads in his disappearance.
In other news, the Bloodless Butcher has struck again, increasing the victims to nine.”
On Wednesday November 2nd, I added a 100 word post for the
#HumpDay Challenge hosted by
Tracey Hansen to the prompts of "station", "humble", "crossed", "tooth" and "hover". It's entitled, Razrael's Redemption.
They followed the path taken by Jesus that fateful day, now called the Stations of the Cross, in small groups here and there. Pilgrims from all walks of life, both humble and genteel, flooded Jerusalem every year, looking for salvation from the remnants of a saint. Razrael snorted with derision as he crossed to the long evening shadows of the building ahead. He picked a tooth with one sharp claw as he hovered over an old woman praying. She’d be a perfect meal.
As he reached for her, she remarked, “There’s still hope for you, Razrael.”
“Mary? Is that you?”
Thursday November 3rd, I joined the
#3-4Thursday Challenge hosted by
DRyan Leask where you can write on 300 word story with all the prompts or 3 100 word "blind" stories when the prompts are given. I chose the blind version to the three prompts of "The story is the character's last letter or letter to someone special", "every breath (someone/thing) take", and "mustache". The voting for the best story will be open until Monday so go check out the other entries. I had Weird Al Yankovic's song "Since You've Been Gone" in my head when I wrote mine, which is entitled, His Beloved.
Dearest Cynthia,
I miss you so much, it feels like my heart has stopped beating in my chest. Each breath I take slides into my lungs with the sharpness of broken glass and my ribs hurt with the effort. When you left to go visit your folks in Saskatchewan, I thought it would only last a couple of weeks, but as it turned into months, the time has dragged me through my days like I’m trudging through sludge. My whole body aches with the effort to move. Waking up is almost as painful as dreaming of you with me.
Yesterday, Mrs. Crenshaw pruned her roses for winter, the ones you love so much because they smell like your perfume. Every breath I take is full of your scent when I walk past her yard waste bags warming in the waning sun of autumn and it brings tears to my eyes. I cry so much from your absence my eyes sting like I’ve washed them in vinegar and my abdomen cramps with my sobs. The scents of you and your little Chihuahua Kinzey are slowly fading and I scour the corners of the house for little mementos of your presences.
I’m surprised how much your absence affects me and what a difference it’s made now that you aren’t here. My house is so clean it sparkles and the stench of unwashed canine and dog shit is gone when I walk through the door. I don’t find random hairs woven into my mustache; my couch is free of the fur that works its way into all my good dress pants. I’m breathing easily for the first time in years and your decision to stay home longer warms my heart. I’m sure your parents are thrilled. I know I am.
Sincerely, Kurt
Today, Friday November 4th, I've posted 2 100 word entries in the
#FridayPictureShow challenge hosted by
Jen DeSantis to the following photo prompt. No title for this one, and if you want to read the other, please visit her site.
The dream started off slowly, sensation skimming up along Rhianna’s legs with fingers of pleasure. His body took shape in her awareness; dark hair, broad shoulders, and heat, so much heat. A rigid length of velvet covered steel pressed against her thigh. His lips sealed over one breast, his tongue dancing wet circles around the nipple. She arched, moaning as he slid inside, grateful his visits had increased after Bobby walked out.
“Are you ready, my love?”
“Ready? Always.”
Orgasm shot her into the heavens with him, his arms holding her, and she sailed through the starlit bliss until morning.
There is also the
#FridayFictioneers hosted by Madison Woods where you're given a photo prompt and #100words to tell your story. Here's mine, entitled "The Promise".
The forgotten road wended through the bare-branched tunnel of sleeping trees and brush, leading to a place of legend.
I knew I’d find the magic if I followed it, but I
didn’t know if I’d find him again. He’d promised to meet me here on the Winter Solstice, his kisses offering more than fleeting pleasure, but it had been so long since I last saw him. Would he hold true to his promise?
In the fading light of day, he appeared, offering me his hand and a wide triumphant smile
“Come, my Lady.”
Squaring my shoulders, I took his hand.
So that's it for this week. Do visit all the blogs. There are many opportunities to write #flashfiction all week long, these are just a few of my favorites. And come back again to see my #sixsunday post this weekend! Happy reading! :)
