Allergic to the Letter ‘E’

writing challenge

I was kindly tagged my Melissa Barker-Simpson to take part in this frustratingly fun writing challenge, which has us write a paragraph without using the letter ‘E’ anywhere. Having been at a loss as to what to write about, I decided to write precisely about that very predicament. So, here is my entry:

—

A man sits by his laptop, staring blankly at a monitor which has stood idly in his stubborn watch for far too long. It’s only an unassuming blogging task – how could it possibly birth such a bout of dumfounding block to all logic. Alas, that blinking cursor taunts with its flashing joy. But snubbing a loss, this man will hunt victory with words; small in many minds, possibly, but crucial for his own sanity.

—

Here are the rules:

1) Write a whole paragraph (a paragraph sounds easy right?) without any word containing the letter “e” (still easy?)

2) By reading this you are already signed up.

3) Challenge at least five bloggers to do the challenge. They must do it within 24 hours or it is considered as failure.

4) If you fail or pass, suffer in the Page of Lame.

5) If you win, wallow in the Page of Fame.

—

I’m making it an open tag because, yes, let’s face it, it’s the easier option 😉 but also because I found this a surprisingly worthwhile exercise and want to encourage you all to give it a go.

Freestyle Writing

Let’s write!

I was kindly tagged by Mel to take part in a freestyle writing challenge. I haven’t done any short fiction for a while and loved the idea of jumping straight into an unknown topic, so I couldn’t resist getting involved.

The scenario Mel gave us was:

The world as we know it has ceased to exist. Describe this new reality.

—

The world lies dormant beneath a layer of ash, still as death itself. A new silence reigns now, one born of a purge so devastating not a single lifeform could have hoped to survive. Pushed beyond her limits, Mother Earth rebelled, erupting from her very core a genocide of global proportions, expelling each and every one of her assailants in a glorious retribution. There was no mercy.

Minutes pass, or perhaps they are decades, when all at once something miraculous occurs. The faintest whisper of a breeze disturbs the stubborn blanket of blackest dust, and beyond this residue of pain rises a single shoot of freshest, vibrant green – Humanity’s revival, the birth of second chances.

(115 words – 5 minutes)

—

That was my interpretation of Mel’s concept and I had a lot of fun writing it! I chose to use the shortest time limit because I wanted to try some real flash fiction. I’m going to make this an open tag and invite as many of you who wish to take part to do so, even if you’ve already done one. Here are the rules:

1. Open a Word Document.
2. Set a stopwatch or your mobile phone timer to 5, 10, or 15 minutes, whichever challenge you think you can beat.
3. Your topic is at the foot of this post BUT DO NOT SCROLL DOWN TO SEE IT UNTIL YOU ARE READY WITH YOUR TIMER!
4. Fill the word doc with as many words as you want. Once you start writing do not stop.
5. Do not cheat by going back and correcting spelling and grammar using spell check (it’s only meant for you to reflect on your own control of sensible thought flow and for you to reflect on your ability to write the right spelling and stick to grammar rules).
6. You may or may not pay attention to punctuation or capitals. However, if you do, it would be best.
7. At the end of your post write down your word count so that we would have an idea of how much you can write within the time frame.
8. Do not forget to copy and paste the entire passage on your blog post with a new topic for your nominees and copy and paste these rules with your nomination (at least five (5) bloggers).

—

Without further ado, here is your topic, should you wish to take part:

“One morning, your protagonist wakes up to find they can hear everyone else’s thoughts.”

Getting Even – Featured Fiction

FF #20

Special Agent Marcus Fenton swallowed back the bile that had gathered in his throat; no matter how many crime scenes he was assigned to, his body responded the same way without fail. And so he stood there, looking like he’d been remoted onto ‘stand-by’, his face momentarily blank of expression.

“Sir, the paramedics are taking the woman now.” The voice barely reached him, struggling to push its way through the wall of thick fog that clouded his mind.

“Right,” Marcus grunted. He shook himself back to reality, the air around him seeming to plummet by twenty degrees or so.  Blood had indiscriminately splashed around the room before him; the pool that had gathered by the body of the John Doe already seeping its way into the oak floorboards beneath. Barely a few paces to the left had been the resting place for the woman, also as yet unnamed. They had found them both like this; door wide open, hands outstretched towards each other, the man already very much dead, his lifeless eyes lingering with the pain of his final moments; the woman barely breathing, her other hand clasped over the stab wound on her stomach.

There was no doubt as to the murder weapon; a blood soaked knife lying discarded by the fireplace as though a proud reminder of a heartless victory. The rest of the room lay dormant under a scattering of letters, each one carefully constructed in a false, unidentifiable script. Anger, vileness and a seething lust for revenge gripped every word of the threats scrawled across the plethora of pages. Threats that promised to see them both be targeted; threats, it seemed, that had been realised. Every photograph that had once been proudly displayed around the homely living room had been smashed, the broken shards of glass from the frames tearing at the images of the formerly happy, young couple.

Marcus moved over to the stretcher onto which the woman had been strapped. Her eyes were wild with fear as beads of sweat trickled down her pale face.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Marcus asked, leaning in close.

The response was barely a whisper. “M… Molly.” Her cracked lips parted to try and speak again, her hoarse voice escaping in sporadic rasps. “They… they came… I… warned him… No way out… No way out…”

“It’s okay,” said Marcus, a comforting hand instinctively reaching out for hers. “You’re safe now. It’s over. We’re going to protect you.” He turned his attention to the medical staff poised for his instruction. “Get her to hospital, ASAP.”

With a nod, they wheeled her from the small house and a deafening silence briefly weaved its way back into the desolate space.

“Tragic, isn’t it.” One of Marcus’ co-workers brushed her shoulder against his, sensing the struggle within him. “All of this over money.” The hate-filled letters had already confirmed that the deceased man that still lay before them had become embroiled in thousands of pounds worth of debt to rogue loan-sharks; predators that fed on the vulnerable and would evidently stop at nothing to get even.

“It’s sick.” Marcus sighed, taking his glasses from his face and wiping them against his coat sleeve. “That poor woman probably didn’t even know what was happening until it was too late. She shouldn’t have had to pay for her husband’s mistakes. We can’t let those bastards get away with this.”

As the paramedics slammed the ambulance doors shut and began the journey towards the hospital, Molly’s eyes glazed with a cold stare, her shoulders relaxing and mouth curling into the slightest suggestion of a smile.

 

—

This piece was written in response to the latest prompt over at Featured Fiction. Thanks for reading. 

Lucky Number Seven

Lucky 7 Tag

I was kindly tagged by Harliqueen to take part in Lucky 7. It’s a fun blogging exercise to help writers get snippets of their work out there and I haven’t done anything like this before so I thought I should give it a go. I’m sure any writer can relate to the fear of putting stuff out there before we’ve had time to tirelessly tweak and polish it but I’m all for trying new things. The guidelines are as follows:

 

• Go to page 7 (or 77) of your current WIP.
• Scan down to line 7.
• Post the next 7 lines or sentences on your blog.
• Tag 7 people to carry on the challenge.

So, without further ado, here is a tiny snapshot from my WIP, False Awakening, in all the glamour you’d expect from an unedited first draft.

—

“I think…” Abi paused as she gasped for more air. “I think I remembered something.”

Before either of her friends could speak, two police officers in full uniform walked in through the open doorway.

“What are you two doing in here?” asked one of them. Male, tall and inherently intimidating; his ice-cold eyes moved from Dan to Luke as he swept into the room like a cool breeze. “We specifically told you not to speak with the victim until we had questioned her.”

The word victim made Abi’s stomach squirm again.

—

Ooooh, mysterious! 😉

I’ve seen quite a lot of the bloggers I follow tagging and posting with regards to this challenge, so for the sake of avoiding repeat tags; in the spirit of wanting to include everyone and perhaps through just a little dash of laziness, I’m going to say that if you are reading this and have a WIP you’d like to share with us, I hereby tag you to take part. I’m always intrigued to find out what everyone else is up to! Thanks for reading and I hope to see your Lucky 7 soon.

Trust – Featured Fiction

Featured Fiction #12

The smell hit them as soon as they walked through the door; a sinister, decaying atrocity that assaulted their senses. This all too familiar scent could mean only one thing; there were infected nearby. Regardless, food and medical supplies were running dangerously low, leaving Derek and Lisa no choice but to venture inside. With any luck, the infected would already be dead; after all, there weren’t many survivors left to sustain their violent hunger for human flesh.

“You know the drill. We get in; we get out.” Derek’s husky voice was barely a whisper as he signalled for Lisa to follow him into the building’s kitchen.

Lisa hated going indoors, the enclosed spaces and narrow corridors like vices closing in around her. She much preferred to be out in the open; fresh air in her lungs and at least a chance to flee should a group of the infected turn up. Derek did not feel the same way. Despite making a good vantage point for the infected, he knew that being out in the open also left you vulnerable to other survivors, most of whom would kill you in a heartbeat and loot your body for weapons and food without so much as a blink of the eye. He kept them constantly on the move, sticking to woodland as much as possible and raiding secluded buildings when they had the chance.

So far the derelict cabin showed no signs of life. A small stream of light seeped in through the mud smeared window, illuminating the counters just enough to show the long since discarded plates with the rotten remains of whatever meal the former residents had been enjoying when the virus hit. Drawers and cupboards sat open, cutlery, plastic cups and other miscellaneous items strewn across the floor; clearly they weren’t the first ones to plunder here. They just had to hope something useful had been overlooked in the usual rush of a supply run.

Lisa’s eyes scanned the room quickly, her instincts on high alert for anything worth taking with them. So far they had found nothing. Derek was already in the doorway to the next room. It always amazed her how silently he could weave through a building, moving like a shadow in spite of his large, muscular frame. With a fleeting glance back towards her, he crossed the threshold and was engulfed by darkness.

For a moment, Lisa gazed back at the door left ajar in the wake of their entry as her pulse continued to hammer against her temples. Knowing she could not leave Derek alone, she swallowed down the lump of fear that sat in her throat and returned her attention to the small kitchen. A packet of tissues lay in one of the drawers. Like clockwork, she grabbed hold of them, knelt to swing the backpack from her shoulders and tucked the bounty in the front pocket.

In seconds she too was making her way into the next room. The air was stagnant, still gripped by the hot reek of death. The windows had been boarded up, allowing pure and uninterrupted darkness to rule the space. Using the wall to feel her way to the next door, she turned the handle and held her breath as she pushed it open. It was a bathroom with enough light sneaking past the cracks in the wooden planks across the window to bring her surroundings back into focus. The tiles were stained with mould, the toilet pulled from the wall, but Lisa’s attention was stolen solely by the mirrored cabinet opposite her, the sight of her own face a rarity these days. Pale skin flecked with cuts both old and new and stained with fresh mud, all framed by a head of wild hair scraped back into a ponytail. She found she could not look for long.

Opening the cabinet she hoped to find some basic medical supplies but instead was greeted by nothing. With a sigh, she slammed it shut. As the mirror swung back to face her, she saw a figure looming in the open doorway over her shoulder.

Eyes wide, a gasp escaping her lips, Lisa spun round to see a young girl, barely seven years old, her crystal clear eyes full of fear revealing at once that she was, at the very least, not infected.

“Who are you?” breathed Lisa, her heart beating so violently it threatened to force its way past her ribcage.

Without a word, the girl turned to run. Lisa reached across the small room and grabbed her arm, turning her back to face her. She crouched to look into the girl’s face as her frail body trembled.

“It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Lisa squeezed the girl’s shoulders lightly to try and comfort the youngster but as her grasp loosened, she once again made her escape, running from the room, shadows swallowing her whole.

“Wait!” she yelled after her. “We can help.”

By the time Lisa had plunged herself back into the darkness, the girl’s piercing screams tore through the cabin. Re-emerging in the kitchen, she found her trapped in Derek’s arms, kicking violently to try and break free.

“Quiet.” The anger in Derek’s voice was clear, even without rising to anything more than a gravelly murmur.

At once the girl was silenced, her pupils swelling to overwhelm her eyes.

“It’s okay,” said Lisa, moving to join them in the middle of the room. “Don’t be scared. We just want to help. Derek, let her go.”

Obliging, Derek’s arms opened and the girl fell to the floor. Lisa knelt down and placed her hand gently on her face. “My name’s Lisa. We didn’t mean to scare you. We were just looking for something to eat.”

The girl refused to speak but her muscles visibly relaxed somewhat.

“Lisa…” Derek had moved towards the door.

“Just wait,” said Lisa. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

The girl searched Lisa’s face before answering. “Rebecca.”

“Well, hi Rebecca. Have you been staying here?”

Rebecca simply nodded.

“Alone?”

This time she shook her head, dark hair brushing her shoulders.

“Lisa, now.” Derek’s voice was louder this time, his hands already gripping the door.

“Who else is here with you, Rebecca?” Lisa asked, not daring to tear her glance from the girl.

“My daddy.”

“Where is he, sweetheart?”

Rebecca glanced at Derek before moving her eyes back to Lisa. “Upstairs. He’s sick.”

Before she could answer Lisa felt Derek’s hand grip her arm and pull her away from the girl. Scrambling to her feet, Rebecca made for the other room, once again concealing herself in the blackness beyond.

“Rebecca, wait!”

“Lisa, get it together. We can’t.” Derek dragged her from the building, the blinding sun blurring their vision not enough to slow him as they made their way across the muddy courtyard.

Lisa tensed her body and pulled herself free from Derek’s grasp.

“What the hell is wrong with you? She’s just a kid.” The words, slathered with disdain, leapt from her mouth.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? You heard her, her dad is sick and we both know what that means.”

“We can’t just leave her.”

“Yes we can, because that’s what we always do.” Veins were bulging across Derek’s brow as beads of sweat rolled down his skin.

“Not always.”

“Sure, we trusted Johnny and Marcus but they got sloppy and look what happened to them. I won’t let that happen to us.”

“But she wasn’t infected.”

“If she had even one drop of her dad’s blood on her…”

“Maybe she’s immune.”

“Maybe she is immune. Maybe you’re immune. Maybe I’m immune too, but that’s a hell of a lot of maybes Lisa and that’s not something I’m willing to risk my life for.”

Lisa placed her hands on Derek’s arms, the tension flowing through his body immediately relenting.

“It’s different this time. She’s a kid, Derek. We can’t leave her and you know it.” Lisa’s eyes burrowed into him.

“But…”

“I trust you.” Lisa cut him off before he could argue any further. “I have done for these last six months and I don’t doubt that’s why I’m still alive. Now I’m asking you to trust me.”  She reached up and brushed her lips across his.

“She’s coming with us.” said Lisa before smiling up at her partner.

A brief, strained smile flashed across Derek’s face as he nodded in submission but his eyes still burned with fear. As Lisa turned her back and began to head towards the cabin, Derek reached into his pocket and silently pulled out his knife; the only companion he had ever truly trusted throughout this nightmare.

—

This piece was written in response to the latest prompt over at Featured Fiction. Thanks for reading.

Gone – Featured Fiction

Featured Fiction #10

Nothing could have prepared me for this. I no longer felt any pain, anger or regret. I wish I did, maybe then I would have had a chance; a tangible enemy within me to fight back against. Instead, all I am left with is a barren emptiness. This cold void where my heart used to be – the desolate cave robbed of all its former love – it’s too much for me to bear.

The people around me try to break their way through the concrete walls my mind has built but it’s futile. They wouldn’t find me even if they did. I’m not there anymore, not really.

I can feel it. The darkness is snaking its way through my very being, reaching from my core and wrapping itself around my lungs. It’s taunting me; squeezing just tight enough to hold my breath prisoner but not yet enough to put an end to this living hell.

And so I find myself in the water now. Currents are lapping at me like monstrous hands, desperate to pull me in. For the first time since it happened, I can truly see. The birds are chirping and the trees are swaying but their beauty is gone, replaced by a sense of bittersweet longing that she could only be here to see them with me one last time. But she can’t. She can never return, and so I must join her.

I wade deeper until the ground gives way beneath my feet to an endless chasm of sorrow and death. In those final moments, as the sun shimmered through my watery grave and sparkled off the pebbles below, I swear I saw her bright blue eyes, waiting to welcome me home.

—

I wrote this piece as a response to the latest prompt over at Featured Fiction. Its inspiration actually came from a heart-breaking article about a mother drowning herself in the same water her child had died in that I read a while ago and it sat in my mind for a long time. I originally wrote a poem – one I plan to post on my blog soon – but something about this prompt made the feelings materialise again and I wanted to readdress them accordingly. Thanks for reading.

Beware the Writer

Featured Fiction #6

Some say that a writer is weird
but really they’re not to be feared.
Unless like a fool
you act really cruel
in which case you might just get smeared.

—
I wrote this poem as a response to the latest prompt over at Featured Fiction. I’ve never written a limerick before but thought I would give it a go, seeing as they’re meant to be pretty silly anyway! Thanks for reading.