Short stories, Flash fiction, and Novel Excerpts

Posts Tagged ‘Writing Promt’

Only fool’s rush in

In Writing on January 8, 2010 at 10:37 pm

It sat on the shelf, calling to him.  Every time he turned his head, he would catch a flicker out the corner of his eye.  Its shadow haunted his soul, obscuring the light of all before him.  Food lost all taste.  Life leeched of color.

No more could he stand it, the dread of trying.  Hands shaking and cold with the thought failure, Stephen pushed his chair back and stood.  He turned and faced the bookcase.  He stood there, chest heaving and fists clenched at his sides, laboring to take that first step.  His body shook and tears trailed their way down his cheeks as he strove to overcome his fear.

Stephen turned his head away.  His pasty white cheeks burned with shame.  His own inadequacies dropped down into the pit of his stomach.  He had failed to try.

He pounded his fist into the table, bruising his knuckles.  Again and again he punched out, burying his humiliation in pain.  Bright blood splattered the table, flew across the desk in long slow arcs, shattering him from his haze of agony.

Stephen turned on his heel, knocking the chair out of his way, and raced his dread to the book.  Everything in the room seemed to stand in his way.  He tripped over the rug, slipped on a stool, crashed into the lamp, and slammed against the bookcase.  But he was there, he made it.

Reverently, he set the book down on the blood painted table.  He sat, sharpened his quill, unstopped the ink, and opened the book.  Blank pages filled with words.  Flowing over the virgin canvas, page after page swelled with life and love.

An eternity later, exhausted, beaten, and battered he reached the last page.  He wrote, THE END, and fell dead upon his work.  With a smile.

Quote writing prompt:  Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton (1803-1873) British politician, poet and critic.
The only living works are those which have drained much of the author’s own life into them.

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My interview @Stories without words

In Writing on January 7, 2010 at 9:01 pm

My first interview! This is so cool! I’m probably way too excited about something like this, but I don’t care. Squeeee!

http://storieswithoutwords.wordpress.com/the-interviews/ben/

Find me on Facebook

In Uncategorized, Writing on January 3, 2010 at 12:49 pm

I’ll be here

Lurker

In Writing on January 3, 2010 at 10:55 am

Photo

They didn’t know me, couldn’t know me, in this incarnation.  I watched them from the lurking shadows, poised to fall on the unwary.  Sitting among darkness and death, I remembered bits and pieces of my past life.  Misery and pain spun through spider webs of gossamer memory. 

Movement on the snow-dusted path snapped me from my reverie; another naïve trespasser passed into my domain.  My blood surged in anticipation, the short tussle, the scream of anguish and fear, and the taste of hot blood on my tongue.

My muscles tensed as my prey drew near.  The mouse would never know what hit it, I thought as my whiskers twitched.

Rescue

In Uncategorized, Writing on December 27, 2009 at 2:26 am

Photo Prompt

Raj ‘aud knelt in the snow, his dead sister cradled in his arms.  Fresh tears scalded his wind burned cheeks as he vented his grief.  He tried to reach them, ran as fast as he could and almost caught up, but they dumped her body onto the trail; mocking him.

He checked his sword, making sure it was secure in his scabbard, and set his skis in motion.  The bitter cold lanced through him; his eyes watered and he rubbed away the tears before they could freeze to his face.  Leaving his beautiful sister alone and untended, naked to the elements waiting on their father, filled him with sorrow; She deserved better than to be left on the side of the trail like discarded carrion.  However, he had to fight for the living.  Shara and little Tizzy were still held by the slavers.  He had to get them back.

Raj covered Shara’s mouth with his hand as she sat up wide-eyed.  He raised a finger to his lips warning her to be quiet.  He pointed to himself, then her, and finally Tizzy, willing her to understand.  And she seemed to, nodding her head.  He motioned Shara to follow as he scooped his little sister into his arms and crept away.  They moved a short distance into the trees following pale slivers of moonlight to safety.  Raj set Tizzy down and motioned Shara behind him, then lifted his hunting horn from his belt to his lips.  A single pure sorrowful note lifted into the night air, faded, then stilled.  He gazed at the moon above the clearing were the slavers had camped.  They stirred at the sound of his horn, but had no time to do more as the sky filled with arrows, and death rained down among the slavers.