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
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/
Henry cashed in his dividends and purchased an exclusive package to an upmarket campsite deep in the African bush. He got all the gear, the khaki shirt and pants, the wide-brimmed hat and he was on his way. He knew exactly what was what. He’d read a guide book. Or at least, he’d looked at some of the pictures.
He arrived and was greeted warmly by his hosts. After the briefing, to which he paid limited attention, he decided to go for a walk, all by himself.
Caught short, he squatted by a Khaya tree. As he perched precariously, a long, sinuous tree snake with bright yellow eyes wound its way down the trunk. Clearly offended by what it saw, it opened its jaws and fastened onto Henry’s tender regions.
Henry howled. He jumped up. He ran for the camp, clutching his pants.
But the venom circulated rapidly. It spread throughout his bloodstream into the tissues and the nerves. Henry collapsed in front of his luxury tent.
Later he was flown home in a polished box made from Kanya wood. The irony would, no doubt, have been lost on the hapless Henry.
Written in response to Paula Light’s Three Things Challenge PL45 with a little nod to my own recent close encounter with a boomslang!
And for those of you old enough to remember: enjoy!
Dawn approaches. You begin your lonely walk. The one for which you’ve prepared.
Snow crunches as you advance step-after-step towards the Cathedral.
Other figures approach; they have no single purpose like yours.
You have accepted that you are one of the Chosen.
You clear your mind. Your fate is not your own.
You bow your head. You shut out fear.
Step-by-step you advance. Steady.
Your will is not your own.
Over the threshold.
You Commit.
From a prompt by Hélène Vaillant of Willow Poetry
https://helenevaillant.com/2019/03/26/what-do-you-see-march-26-2019/
This afternoon we’re packing our bags and heading off up country for a few days. This is the kind of thing we’re hoping to see, so maybe there will be animal adventure stories next week. After all, this is Africa!
In the meantime, be warned. A deluge of chapters from my work-in-progress novel for younger readers is scheduled. I hope you have the opportunity to dip in.
Is it the end of the beginning or the beginning of the end? The Nameless Civil Servant asks himself as he lifts his head above the parapet and surveys the monumental mess before him.
He, the Great Man of Words, the Top Negotiator, the One who Won.
He had been. Once.
Years of precepts and precedents, chalked up challenges and crumbled contrary arguments. But now none will do. Now there is no way forward and there will be no winner.
The only way is back, he thinks. He glances back over his shoulder at the long-travelled road, its twists and turns. Maybe, he thinks, maybe.
Could he create a bridge, a bridge from the lobbies of enlightenment which would cross over the wall and into the abyss? To eliminate the wrongdoers and the naysayers.
He shakes his head.
This is a new beginning. Over which he has no control.
And it frightens him.
From a prompt by Hélène Vaillant of Willow Poetry
https://helenevaillant.com/2019/03/19/what-do-you-see-march-19-2019/
which I first saw on Sadje‘s Keep it Alive: What do you see March 19, 2019
Jerry: Repeat after me. There’s nothing under the bed.
Jules: There’s nothing under the bed.
[Pause]
Jules: But there is, I tell you.
Jerry: We looked. We looked again. There’s nothing under the bed.
Jules: Just because you can see them, it doesn’t mean they’re not there.
[Silence]
Jules: I see them all the time. I know they’re there. All over the house. Don’t you ever see, you know, something flash past, out of the corner of your eye?
[Silence]
Jules: Like ghosts maybe?
Jerry: I don’t believe in ghosts.
Jules: Okay. Maybe they’re from another dimension.
[Jerry sighs]
Jules: String theory. There was that article. Or something to do with Dark Matter.
Jerry: You watch too much science fiction.
Jules: That’s science fact.
[Silence]
Jules: Are you asleep, Jerry?
[Silence]
Jules: Jerry?
[Silence]
Jules: Jerry?
[Pause]
Voice: You’re next.
[Silence]
My prompt was The Haunted Wordsmith’s Story Starter Challenge #19
This article gave me a little prod of encouragement when it comes to marketing. I’m clearly not putting enough energy into my efforts and I need to re-double this for my forthcoming novel ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’.
by Allison Maruska
Now it’s time for the super secret post you’ve all been waiting for. Remember this Twitter poll?
View original post 893 more words
Teresa, The Haunted Wordsmith – nominated me to participate in the Tell The Story Challenge a week or so ago (this one slipped down the back of my desk temporarily).
This is the photo for the challenge.
The rules:
Write a story about the picture you’re given.
Select 3 nominees.
Give them a new picture.
Georgie’s secret
Georgie is a trusting kind of kid; obedient too. Each Saturday morning he dutifully departs to his piano practice with elderly eccentric Zephaniah Zimmerman, even though the open maw of the grand piano, with its great grinning gnashers, smirks at his inability to transverse their scales.
He’s always very smartly turned out, although his mother’s sartorial choices are not to everybody’s taste. Including Georgie’s. But even at the tender age of six, he rises above the taunts and sniggers.
That’s because Georgie has a secret. He leads a double life. Georgie disappears into other worlds.
You see, Georgie reads books.
Despite the rules to nominate three people, I think this time I’ll just throw it open and see what comes back.
What’s the story behind this old photo? I could tell you…
SanaH – A Pause for Nature – nominated me to participate in the Tell The Story Challenge. This is the photo for the challenge.
The rules:
Write a story about the picture you’re given.
Select 3 nominees.
Give them a new picture.
The Sealed City
‘You’re new here, aren’t you?’
He nods.
‘You see the city over there. It looks like any other city, doesn’t it?’
He frowns and shakes his head. ‘But it’s not; I heard. That’s why I’m here. I’m a writer.’
They sit down.
‘I heard there’s no way in or out. That, although you can’t see it from here, there’s a cordon, an impenetrable ring of steel around the whole perimeter.’
She nods. ‘Since the virus struck.’
He leans towards her. ‘Is it true about the virus? Everyone who catches it becomes some kind of monster?’
‘That’s what they say. Flesh eating monsters and worse.’
The writer’s eyes widen. ‘But the whole thing’s been contained? I mean, no way in and no way out.’
She leans forward and grabs his wrist. Her hand is very cold and her grip is strong. ‘Don’t be so sure.’ She smiles, pulling his arm closer.
I hope these three guys will up for this challenge:
A Guy called Bloke and K9 Doodlepip
Fangango: This, That and The Other
Flowers Beating by Walter Molino
luna's on line 