No Pressure, Writer!

genre writing challenge lunasonline No Pressure Writer by chris hall

I watch the time countdown on my screen. My shift is about to start. I run my fingers over the keyboard. I’m ready.

The workload has been increasing. So far I’m keeping up. The monitoring is continual. From the moment you are woken until the lights and screens are turned off: when to shower, when to eat, when to take a break.

It’s all about production, efficiency, the bottom line.

Clock in, clock off, clock out. Thank you for your contribution.

At least I’m only writing ‘soapies’ to entertain the masses. Imagine the pressure if I was doing something crucial.


100 word story written in response to Teresa, The Haunted Wordsmith’s Genre Writing Challenge April 16: Technological Horror

Aether Prompt Winner: Chris Hall

In case you missed it…
What a nice surprise I had the other day. I love the way Jason has presented my winning piece – as with all his work. Take a look if you haven’t already discovered his dark and humorous little stories!

Jason H. Abbott's avatarAethereal Engineer

Storyteller and Accidental Blogger Chris Hall of luna’s on line grabbed the win for the March 13th Aether Prompt with tendrils of terror and her piece “Cepha’s Revenge”:

Cepha observed the two galleons turn broadside. As greed and hatred erupted into sea-churning canon fire, she flung a tentacle into the pool beside her, summoning the sisterhood.

They came, they writhed, and the sea boiled. They pulled timbers apart with zealous suckers. Masts crashed onto splintering decks. Water gushed in.

For the humans must pay: creatures, so new to old Mother Earth, now plundered her riches and fought over them.

Cepha stirred the pool again.

Coins and trinkets emptied from chests were gathered up by eager tentacles, while sailors sank into the murky depths.

Calm returned.

Congratulations! Now you’re in the running for the 2019 AETHEREAL ENGINEER WRITER SUPPORT PRIZE PACKAGE! How might she, or possibly you, perchance win such fabled…

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The Other Side of the Black Hole

black hole guardian.com
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Everyone fled for the old, deserted places; to the caves, the ruins and the ancient abandoned settlements. The cities had long gone; collapsed in on themselves. All modern infrastructure wiped out.

No-one understood why, but there was no longer anyone to ask or to explain. The politicians, the scientists and the specialists had long retreated into their state-of-the-art doomsday bunkers. Much good would it have done them. All technology had fried when the black hole came into view.

The inevitable came, although it took months. Quite a number of us survived. There had been long enough to prepare. But then the time came. The skies grew dark. There were flashing lights, the rushing of wind, a strange hollow feeling that seemed to gnaw on the soul.

When it was all over, we awoke to a bright new dawn. We opened our eyes, felt our limbs, went outside and looked at each other. Then we noticed. Everything was reversed like in a mirror. Our hearts were beating on the other side of our chests. It took a little getting used to.

We carried on, improvised. Crops grew. The water in our wells was sweet. Everyone felt good, younger by the day. We were more vigorous, more robust, we were quicker and stronger. And then we realised. We were actually getting younger, day by day. And the process was speeding up. What would become of us as we hastened to youth, to childhood and earlier?

Where were you before you were born?


Don’t have nightmares, it’s a long, long way off: 
https://www.bbc.com/news/science-environment-47873592

The Rain Forest Revolts

Ecothriller
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The Foremost Developer had taken the bait: 100 acres of rain-forest, ripe for replanting with oil palms. He rubbed his hands. His bulldozers were ready. But this time Gaia had been awakened; she too was ready for destruction. This time the earth would revolt. It would not be the last.


50 word story written in response to Teresa, The Haunted Wordsmith’s Genre Writing Challenge.

Sign Here

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– Okay, that’s what I signed, but I didn’t sign up for this.

– What do you mean?

– I signed up to write one post a day, every day, for a month.

– To start with.

– Yes, but…

– Didn’t you read the small print?

– No, well, I just assumed…

– Never assume.

– But…

– It increases in intensity. Exponentially each day. One post a day, two posts a day, four, then eight…

– So today’s Day Seven and it’s 64 posts, then tomorrow it’ll be 128 and the next day 256 and so on.

– Exactly.

– Well, sorry, I can’t. I quit.

– You quit. Okay.

– Thanks.

– You didn’t read the penalty clause then?

– No… What? Oh no!

– So what’s it going to be?

– Okay. I’ll do it.

– Sign here.


From Teresa, The Haunted Wordsmith‘s Story Starter Challenge #6 – 1 day late, blame the time zone.

With best wishes to Camp-NaNoWriMo’s and NoPoWriMo’s everywhere!

The Fall of ‘The Sparrow’

 

The Sparrow by Chris Hall lunasonline
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Small, brown-clad, zip-lining across the city skyline, the bird-like acrobat would alight on the tiniest ledge. Clip on, push off, hurtling through the topmost branches of the urban jungle. But tempted, the bird became a cat, a peeping tom. His wings were clipped and now The Sparrow flies no more.


50 word story, written in response to Paula Light‘s Three Things Challenge: PL51

No More Stories

say what you see 08.04.19 lunasonline chris hall

In the sodium lit, neon flicking city, electricity hums.
In homes where data downloads and Netflix streams,
everything’s on tap, content feeds.

No more mysteries, no more myths,
fables are unnecessary. All is explained
by an expert, a pundit or an app.

A glorious storm floods the dark skies,
unnoticed a lightning bolt flies.
A switch is tripped. Darkness.

Emergency lights click on, generators kick in,
faces are blue-screen illuminated.
No-one tells stories any more.


From  a prompt by Hélène Vaillant of Willow Poetry
https://helenevaillant.com/2019/04/02/11001/

The Secret Ingredient

magical realism challenge by teresa 040419
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The restaurant was closed the following day and I was leaving that afternoon. What potent ingredient had been in the aperitif which caused the world to change before my eyes?

A seemingly innocuous ruby concoction which rendered people’s reflections invisible and gave me a voracious appetite for the steak tartare.

 


50 word story written in response to Teresa, The Haunted Wordsmith‘s Genre Writing Challenge. I’m not quite sure that I pulled it off, but it’s just a bit of fun!
Based on a strange evening I once had in Seville. I’ll tell you about it sometime.

Solitude

000 Solitude - oil on canvas by Igor Egorov posted on LinkedIn by Zeljko
Solitude, Oil on canvas by Igor Egorov

It was isolated. Very isolated. No one for miles and miles.
That was what she wanted, what she’d planned for.
And what she needed.

The house was almost on an island. Just a rickety wooden bridge led to the lakeside.
Otherwise, just water. She could hear it lapping, gently.
On the rocks below.

She unpacked her things. Not much. Who would need much here, alone?
No-one to please, no-one to dress up for.
No-one to dress for.

Just her, the house and the elements; the water, the sky and the sound of nothing much.
She breathed in the cold air. Threw her arms wide.
She was part of it.

She had all the time she wanted now, for this would be her final journey.
She would simply be swallowed up.
Into the landscape.

Character Confusion

coverpic

Previously

I’m back in Cynthia’s flat and the main characters from my very-soon-to-be-published novel are all staring at me. They don’t look happy.

“The book’s going to be out soon. Aren’t you pleased?” I say brightly.

Connor stares at the bottom of his empty wine glass then looks directly at me “We’re pleased that you’ve set the wheels in motion, so to speak.”

“Good.” I nod. “I’ll get the draft copy of the paperback around Easter.”

Connor looks around the room at his fellow characters. Cynthia nods at him.

“Well, Ms Hall, the thing is…”

Lucy interrupts. “We’re sorry,” she says, squeezing Pierre’s hand, “but we’re not really sure about the cover.” She smiles at me weakly.

“Oh?” I shake my head. “Have you any idea how long it took and how many versions of my beloved’s artwork I uploaded before we, or rather I, was happy?” I frown at them all. “I’m really pleased with it. It looks really…”

 “Old-fashioned.” Gina interrupts.

I was going to say ‘retro’ actually. Like a Penguin Original.

“But why a drawing?” Lucy says, fiddling with her long golden hair. “Why not a nice photo of all of us?”

“That’s, er, not going to be possible.” How do I tell them they don’t actually exist?


Another true-life story of an author and her characters 😉