Posts Tagged ‘fantasy’

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.


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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It’s Six Sentence Sunday www.sixsunday.com again, so we’ll continue where we left off in Stranger’s Gambit, on the water front in Nerros…

Val’s luck, his normal constant companion, had abandoned him or at the very least temporally deserted him. Picked pockets normally full of shiny baubles and coins, lately were empty. Prospects inexplicably absent, his coffers were almost entirely drained with no obvious resources appearing on the horizon to fill them.

Damn the guards and the increased security.

He should have never slept with the lieutenant’s wife, or at least not gotten caught. Fortunately, he made it out the window before the lieutenant could grab him, small blessings.

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One of the blogs I subscribe to, http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com, is doing 100 word friday fictioneer. On her website she posts a photo as inspiration, this is my contribution. Hope you enjoy.

“I swear that’s the same rock we passed an hour ago.” I stared at the lichen covered stone, knowing I spoke the truth, as the woods pressed down around me, suffocating.

“Quit bein’ paranoid.” Old man Crietcher said. “I know these woods like the back o’ my hand.” He moved on, with no other choice, I followed.

Darkness would fall soon. A night in the woods with old man Crietcher only slightly more appealing than a night alone. I pulled my red hooded cape tight around me.

Just beyond sight a wolf howled, I froze, alarmed.

“Now don’t you worry dearie, none o’ those wolves be botherin’ you, long as I be here.” Old man Crietcher said, teeth gleaming, voice suddenly gruff.

I’d never noticed before, but my, what big eyes he had…

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It’s Six Sentence Sunday www.sixsunday.com again, so we’ll continue where we left off in Stranger’s Gambit, on the water front in Nerros…

He pulled his cloak tight around him, raising the black cowl to cover his face, the soul deep cold inescapable. I’ve traversed too many years from there to here. Unfortunately the desirable continuum converged, in this moment, in this place, beginning with the man he now sought; Val.

The Stranger chuckled to himself. How apt, a rogue and a cut-purse, if only the others were still here to see, it would have given them a fit of apoplexy. Smiling at the warmth that thought gave him, he pressed on towards his destination, a small Inn on the waterfront of Nerros.

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I recently discovered Six Sentence Sunday and decided to join in on the fun. You can too at http://sixsunday.com

Here’s a post from my work in progress, Stranger’s Gambit, a dark fantasy.

He made his way along the docks, absently flexing his fingers, reveling in the sensation of being present in his own flesh once again. He inhaled the aromas of the sea, salt filled and fishy, allowing the usually offensive scents to roll over his olfactory glands uninhibited. Even the sounds, normally deafening in their conglomeration, came unfiltered; fishmongers calling out the days catch, sailors barking orders, gulls begging for scraps. Humanity, his bane and pleasure, bustled around him in all its messy glory.

Soon it would all come to stagnation.

He pulled his cloak tight around him, raising the black cowl to cover his face, the cold even here inescapable.

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With trepidation, I joined my first critique group a few months back.

I remember that first submission; uploading it for email to the group, finger wavering over the send button, stomach in knots. Somehow I managed to send it, immediately wishing I could take it back, knowing with a certainty it was lacking, a mass of uninspired drivel.

Too late, they had it, it was theirs to dismantle.

I woodenly went through the motions of critiquing the rest of the groups’ submissions, fear an ever-present shadow in the back of my mind. Far too soon, it was time for the meeting.

I didn’t sleep the night before.

I sat at the table, feeling as if I waited before the headman’s axe, lump in my throat, hoping for a pardon.

It was not what I expected. Oh it wasn’t completely painless, far from it. I discovered however, that it was not just about my own writing and insecurities, but about the journey we all must undertake on this grand adventure to publication. A group endeavoring to grow together, helping each other while each growing in the process.

Join a critique group. Do it now.

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