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Archive for March, 2012

Here’s the photo prompt for #Friday Fictioneers courtesy of Madison Woods. Thanks Madison, for starting and continuing this wonderful writing prompt. Please visit her site and check out all the other #Friday Fictioneers. Here’s my 100 word take on the photo:

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“That’s where it lives.”

Gran’s words echo through my head as I stare at the decrepit old truck down the hill.

“It’s the ‘tween times you needs to worry ’bout, evenin’ and mornin’. That’s when it comes out.”

I glance over my shoulder, the sun just a glow on the horizon.

I step toward the truck and place my hand on the pitted metal hood. Gran’s locket laced through my fingers. cool like her body’d been this morning.

I close my eyes and bow my head. Ready to meet the other half of the family, ready to make the Changeling’s Choice.

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Here’s the photo prompt  for #Friday Fictioneers courtesy of Madison Woods. Thanks Madison, for starting and continuing this wonderful writing prompt. Please visit her site and check out all the other #Friday Fictioneers. Here’s my 100 word take on the photo:

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“Watcha mean you’s afraid o’ the dark?” Beezel asked.

I glared. After all, what should I say? An imp afraid of the dark? Pretty ridiculous, unless you’d seen what I’d seen. Beezel hadn’t.

“Never mind. Just help me dig.” I threw dirt fast as I could. Deeper, it had to be deeper.

The ground vibrated. The limbs rattled. I whimpered. “Faster Beezel, hurry!”

“Whaat, was that?” Beezel stammered. Suddenly a believer, he jumped in the hole, focused on burrowing.

Perfect.

I tiptoed off, ignoring Beezel’s screams as it ate him.

Full was slow.

Beezel’d just bought me some more time.

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I just have one thing to add—Amen—oh, and please check out Limebird Writers…

Limebird Writers

Sabotage, that familiar word of dubious etymology — ‘some say it derives from the Netherlands in the 15th century when workers would throw their sabots (wooden shoes) into the wooden gears of the textile looms to break the cogs, fearing the automated machines would render the human workers obsolete’ — arrives in many forms. Especially insidious and as familiar to writers as sharpening pencils is the strain of sabotage aimed at oneself.

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Here’s the photo prompt  for #Friday Fictioneers courtesy of Madison Woods. Thanks Madison, for starting and continuing this wonderful writing prompt. Please visit her site and check out all the other #Friday Fictioneers. Here’s my 100 word take on the photo:

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The scouts had been correct. The new world was hospitable.

They chopped, clearing a swath of land for the homestead, the tuberous trees falling easily to the warm ground.

In other areas, they cordoned off sites for drilling. The life blood of this new world, waiting to sustain them, within reach just below the surface.

Soon, the colony would be established, procreation initiated, population exploding. Such was the way of their parasitical existence, always moving, searching out strange new worlds to colonize and use.

Canine base Bobby-Sue-One would be up and operational within minutes.

“That’s one small step for a flea, one giant leap for flea-kind.”

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Here’s the photo prompt  for #Friday Fictioneers courtesy of Madison Woods. Thanks Madison, for starting and continuing this wonderful writing prompt. Please visit her site and check out all the other #Friday Fictioneers. Here’s my 100 word take on the photo:

Pads raw, nails pulled back and bleeding, she stooped peering out at the world beyond. A small hole, a gap really, yet her everything. She inhaled the air, fresh and flowing, revelling in the wonder of it.

Simple things appreciated anew.

With a final snort of fresh air, she went back to work, enlarging.

Dirt flew faster and faster. She must hurry. He’d be back soon.

The stick caught her unaware, a sharp poke in the neck. She jerked back , curling for protection, licking the wound.

Meanwhile her tormentor, the human boy, laughed.

Nose twitching, she plotted her revenge.

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Photo Courtesy of Madison Woods  is today’s inspiration. Please go to her site and see what all the other Friday Fictioneers have written. Here’s mine. Hope you enjoy!

The packages arrived at the dummy address. I sat, cataloguing and tallying, knowing mistakes would be my undoing.

The Overseers did not forgive, they broke bones.

Even so, my fingers itched handling the priceless gems;  power, potential.  Just one energy filled stone, slipped into my pocket, and escape could be mine.

Freedom.

The word sang to me, and  this time I listened.

I slipped the largest gem into my pocket. Life or death,  change would come.

It was time.

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