Monday, January 31, 2011

Flash Fiction No. 24

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A Grave Error


Closing her eyes, she knelt beside the grave. The ghost placed an icy hand on her shoulder. She could feel the chill seep through her skin and into her bones.

His lips whispered by her ear. “Well, hello again, little necromancer…” The words hissed as a serpent’s breath.



She hated this part and she hated him.

Instinctively, her senses tried to push him away, but he just laughed his hollow laugh and wriggled his fingers against her warm flesh like he was playing a piano. “Tut tut. You know you can’t get rid of me, love. Best just to get on with it.”

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

My Own Personal Minions

I decided yesterday that I would write you all a delightful post about the strange creatures with whom I share my life. And I don’t mean my family or my boyfriend… Though, a deep analysis into Master Berserker followed by an anatomical dissection could prove amusing…

I’ll stop with the sadistic thoughts of things I’d like to do to my younger brother and, instead, move on to introducing my feline and canine friends.

And, of course, we should start with the oldest first…

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Flash Fiction No. 23

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The Taste of Lust

The corners of my mouth lifted with feline delight but I pressed my lips tightly before anybody could guess. I nodded at the cafeteria attendants, carefully placing the food on my tray. It all looked wonderfully prepared, delicious even, but I knew that it would taste like ash on my tongue.

My shuttered eyes explored the seated crowd of chatting cattle. If only they knew who was in their midst. They wouldn’t be so blithe.

I seated myself near the windows, gazing out at the clear day. It was cold, another November morning seeping into winter. He knew that I didn’t like to be disturbed on cold days. After four hundred winters, it wasn’t something I looked forward to. Summer wasn’t any better. It was the in between times I preferred. Not too hot or too cold.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Second Hand Smoke

Writing… Well, what can I say? That’s what I’m attempting to do. That’s all I’m attempting to do these days. You’d think that means a lot would get done, wouldn’t you?

Mostly, it does… sixty percent of the time. The rest of the time it gets swallowed up by stress or chores. I get stressed by the things that go on in my life and this results in a loss of concentration.

That’s why I’m writing this post. I’m trying to lessen the stress.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Flash Fiction No. 22

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Airing It Out

She squeezed her eyes tight shut, scrunching hands into fists against the cold wind. Tears tracked slowly down her cheeks.

The cliff drop yawned before her.

She clutched the broken bracelet in her hand, the wind toying with its loose strings like an anxious child. It hurt that he hadn’t even noticed her. It hurt so much. Salt water collected on her lips. She kept her lashes slammed shut, afraid of seeing the drop in front of her right now.

The wind dipped, whirling slowly around her as a bizarre comfort blanket. It tugged gently at her blonde hair, whispering comfort in her deaf ears.

Nobody could comfort her now. She ached.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

So It’s Sunday

Yes, I’m being very imaginative with my titling today. Don’t yell at me. Everyone has to have a break sometimes and this weak title is mine.

My throat is feeling much better than it was. I’m still suffering from tickliness when I haven’t taken a tablet, though, so I don’t think I’ll be better any time soon (like tomorrow) but I’m getting there so all is good. My mum seems a lot better than she was, though she’s still getting dizzy spells and times when she feels overcome.

However, as much as I worry about her, there comes a point when having her at home just becomes stressful and irritating. Do not read this as ‘I don’t love my mum’. I do… but I think anyone knows that after so long they get bored and start prying more than usual and then decide they have to move the furniture around and find some fault in your life to pass the time away.

Or is that just my mother?

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Flash Fiction No. 21

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Tempted by Chickens

Teeth flashed in the dark, dazzling and sharp. Feet thundered through the undergrowth not far behind him. The noise was almost deafening to his sensitive ears, which quivered and rang with the smallest crackle of twigs underfoot.

He slid to the left, moonlight mirrored in the slick of blood dripping from his hind leg. Dogs howled behind him, too close to slacken his pace.

The hunters still followed through the dense trees.

His stomach churned. He hadn’t had an easy kill for miles. Those chickens had just been sat there, plump, prime for the picking. His jaws had slathered with drool when he’d spotted them. They’d been so uselessly protected. It only made sense that he showed the humans how easy it was for poachers…

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Tablet Roulette

If you follow my twitter, you may be aware that I have been quite ill lately. I may have mentioned in a previous post that I started with a sore throat on the same day that my mum had her mini stroke.

If I didn’t mention it then I am now.

The annoying thing is that it isn’t just a sore throat. Oh no. It certainly isn’t.

Thursday, January 06, 2011

Flash Fiction No. 20

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A Short Space of Time

The sea crashed against the shoreline, angry clouds whipping the horizon like a slave driver. He scrunched up his face as the sea spray smattered him with its frothy encore. Understanding what had happened was a slow process. His mind felt like a squelching mass of seaweed; waterlogged and tangled up.

His eyes edged anxiously to the fervent froth before skittering away again. He couldn’t look up and see it. It was safer to observe the sodden sands. It was too much for him to handle.

These things didn’t happen except in story books.

Wednesday, January 05, 2011

Hecticity

This week has definitely been hectic. It started off quite nicely – I went to stay at R’s and we watched V For Vendetta. But then things took a turn for the worse. My mum called me to say that the dog’s had eaten the hat I got for Christmas from R on the Monday. Later we found out that they’d ripped the bobble off the top of my lovely hat and shredded it in the back yard. They look like butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths, don’t they?

That isn’t how things took a turn for the worse, though.