Wednesday, 16 April 2014

Horror Bites Perfection

Sally held Baby Doll. “You said you couldn’t get the parts anymore and I should think about buying a new doll. Now, she’s perfect.”
   “I know, someone must’ve found some spares. It’s quite remarkable,”  said Richard, the doctor at the toy hospital, as he admired the doll. “She looks so real, her eyes . . . so familiar . . . lifelike.”  
     The doll stared back, a thin smile spreading across her mouth. Richard blinked. On opening his eyes, the doll now had her usual lifeless stare. “Anyway,” he said thrusting the doll back to Sally, “glad you’re pleased.” He walked away, closing his office door behind him, sitting at his desk. Rubbing tired eyes couldn’t rid the image of the doll.
     The computer screen opened up, drawing Richard’s attention. An image filled the screen; a kitchen, just like his. The same appliances, tiles, paint . . . it was his kitchen, last night. There was his wife, sitting at the table, her dinner untouched that he had cooked before leaving for work. The camera zoomed in, Richard choked. The doll was on the table, blooded scissors in her hands. She looked directly at the screen.
   “You told Sally to buy a new doll!” she spat as she plunged the scissors into his wife’s eye. A piercing shrill filled Richard’s ears as his wife’s eye was ripped from her socket. “ I will not be replaced!” the doll screeched  as she did the same with the other eye. Richard cried. Blood poured down his wife’s face as she sobbed, enveloped in permanent darkness. The doll placed her new blue eyes in her sockets. “Perfect fit!” she hissed. “No one will replace me! I am perfect! Except . . . Sally will love me more if I had . . . a heart!”
    “No!” Richard roared as blood splattered across the screen.



Tuesday, 15 April 2014

Mid-Week-Blues-Buster- Left of Center Suzanne Vega

Lipstick Kisses

“Morning gorgeous,” I said, rolling over to find Mia’s side of the bed cold. I never believed in love at first sight until Mia. I thought she felt the same. I noticed a neatly folded piece of paper on the pillow.
   If you want me, you will find me  with a ruby lipstick kiss.
   Screw that! I threw the scrunched up ball across the floor. She knew I hated games. Told her that last night, completely up front and she goes and kicks me in the bollocks. Just because she liked the thrill of the chase.
   I sat in the cafe across the road from the hotel, opening up the menu. A piece of paper fell out.
    If you want me, you will find me, you’ve joined the game with another lipstick kiss was. I looked around but Mia was nowhere. She knew I’d be here, it’s where we met. She wanted me to play, wanted me to find her.
    Finishing my coffee, I jumped on a passing bus, grabbing a window seat but I wasn’t concentrating on the view as Mia’s flirtatious giggle filled my head. I tried to dismiss her but something caught my eye. Ruby red lips! Jumping off the bus, dodging traffic, I ran up to the newsstand where the lipstick kiss was.
      “Have you seen a woman, about this high, wearing a short denim skirt, white top, brown hair, red lips?” All was met with a shake of his head, offering me a magazine or paper. I scanned the racks. The Face! I picked up the top copy. Mia mentioned this, a magazine for aspiring artists.
     “Hey, if you wanna read it, you buy it,” the man said. I handed over a note and walked, flicking through the pages. A piece of paper lay neatly inside.
     I’m glad you want me, you will find me . . . soon and another lipstick kiss.
     I thought back to the conversations, way into the small hours. She said she wanted to be a singer. Did some busking . . . Another bus to Covent Garden. I ran around the bustling market, but only saw living statues. No point asking them. There were no clues. I was sucked into a game I didn’t want to play but now couldn’t leave. There had to be something. She said her favourite drink was a mojito. I looked up and found I was outside Henry’s. I ran in, downstairs (because Mia said she liked to drink downstairs). I opened up a menu. Nothing. Opened another. Nothing.
   “Can I help you?” the Australian barman asked.
    “A girl, Mia, orders mojitos, have you seen her?”  
    “Sure, she used to work here, handed in her notice this morning. Looks like you could use a drink.” Never having drunk a mojito before, I ordered one, flicking through the magazine, stopping at her kiss. I’d wasted the entire morning and now reached a dead end. That’s why I hated games. There was always the chance of losing or never finishing.
     “I don’t suppose she said where she was going?”
    “Na, just said she was going to be a popstar.”
     I looked back at the lip print, gulped down the mojito and left, back out into daylight. It was easy hailing a cab. I looked at the lips again, circling a talent agency for singers. She had to be there. It was a short cab ride. I burst through the doors, met by security. Calmly I asked them about Mia.
     “Are you Elliot?”
     “Yes!” He handed me a note. The note was blank. Not even a kiss. “What? I don’t get it. Isn’t there another note?”
        I sank in the chair, head in hands.
        “If you want me, you will find me,” Mia’s voice sang. I looked up. She stood, grinning flirtatiously at me. “Good song eh? My agent thinks it’ll be a hit. How about you?”
        AT that moment, I didn’t care about the song. All I wanted was to taste those ruby lips once more, hold Mia and would only play another game again if winning was ever this good.


This week's tune is Suzanne Vega Left of Center 

Tuesday, 8 April 2014

#HorrorBites Challenge A Bag Of heads

“Weirdo,” was the usual  greeting for Sasha as she walked through the school corridors. All she wanted was for someone to call a best friend. But she was alone.
   Luckily, Sasha found a way to have friends.
   Her dolls.
   They travelled with her everywhere.
    Until the school thug, Tony, decided that today he was going to be extra mean. Not content with kicking Sasha’s bag across the hall, he decided to empty it all over the corridor. Deafening laughter followed as Sasha’s dolls tumbled out for everyone to see. Red with rage, Sasha tried to ignore the laughter as she bent to pick up her dolls but not before Tony picked one up and pulled off the head, copied by Ryan and the rest of the gang until every doll was headless. Ryan threw a head at Sasha as the gang walked off, their laughter echoing in Sasha’s ears.
    “I’m so sorry Michelle,” Sasha said softly to one of her dolls. “I’ll fix this.” She placed the dolls in her bag and left.
     Once home, Sasha fixed up her dolls. 
But the magic had gone.
     The next day in school, the halls were peaceful. Tony wasn’t one to hunt without his pack but Sasha approached him.
    “Fancy kicking my bag around today, decapitating my dolls?” She delved into her bag and pulled out a doll.
     Tony blanched.
     “This is my new doll  . . . Ryan. He makes a fine doll don’t you think? While he’s like this, I can bring him back to life but if you do this,” she pulled off the head. Tony wretched, “he’s always going to be just a doll. Shame, for Ryan . . . and you.” She threw the head back in her bag with the rest of Tony’s gang, biding her time for their leader.


Wednesday, 26 February 2014

Blues Buster Dogs of Lust wk50 Lust

After last weeks' second place, I thought I'd give Jeff Tsuruoka's Mid Week Blues Buster over at The Tsuruoka Files another try. This week, a song by The The called Dogs of Lust. To listen, click the link. x here.


It had been eight weeks since Jay had his heart crushed. He thought he was over the worst but as the days grew longer and the mercury rose, Jay was reminded of sultry days on the beach. When he closed his eyes, he could see her glowing, bronzed skin shimmering in the sun, smelling of coconut and looking good enough to eat.
     Even when Jay was awake, he saw Emma everywhere, in the coffee she drank to the waft of her perfume as he walked down the street.
   The one place he didn’t expect to see her was at the back street bar as he sank his third bottle of beer, trying to celebrate his birthday with friends.
      His pulse raced.
      His mouth became instantly dry.
      The ice cold bottle of beer warmed quickly in his sweaty hand.
      “Is that Emma?” Gary asked.
       Jay couldn’t speak, unable to lift his gaze from Emma as she sauntered onto the stage. Her long blonde hair tucked up into a dark, bobbed wig; it suited her, bringing out the dark pools of her eyes. Her lips were plump, glossy and waiting to be kissed. He remembered vividly kissing those lips, as they smiled back at the audience. He could see her tasteful rose tattoo just at the base of her back. He remembered how he caressed that tattoo with his lips as she moaned under him. Now she was showing off that tattoo to complete strangers as she wrapped her legs around the pole, throwing her head back.       
     She licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. Jay groaned, remembering being on the end of that tongue.
    Even when her eyes fell on Jay, she kept smiling, not thrown for a second. In fact Jay was sure she tried even harder as she faced the crowd and slid down the pole, thrusting her legs wide open, before crawling towards the audience, and Jay, on all fours.   
        Jay felt a tightening in his jeans. He knew she was agile and supple but he’d never seen her do the splits. She was oozing sex, the sexiest thing he had ever seen  . . . and tonight he wanted her.
       Always wanted her.
       She knew it.
       Jay was hot. The sweat dripped down his back. His jeans skintight, stuck to his thighs. He ignored his friends as they tried to talk with him, trying to ignore Emma. They walked away, feeling uncomfortable watching their mate’s ex girlfriend writhe in front of them wearing next to nothing. But Jay sat, intoxicated, knowing how she used to respond to his touch, as he gently stroked her soft contours.
     He groaned, running a hand through his hair, not knowing what to do with himself.
   The music stopped and the crowd cheered. She bowed, which raised more cheers due to her skimpy bra, before running back stage. Moments later, her blonde hair flowing down her back, Emma appeared, fully clothed. She walked towards Jay. He wanted to reach out to her, glide his fingers down her tanned arm, wanted her completely.
      He couldn’t stand.
      He tried adjusting himself. She smiled. It was the acknowledgement Jay needed. Just a drink . . . a lingering kiss. . .
     She carried on walking to the guy behind the bar where he kissed those lips.
     Jay left his beer, needing fresh air. The night was still. Enveloped in lust, Jay walked home alone wondering how he would ever forget Emma.  



Wednesday, 19 February 2014

Mid Week Blues Buster Images of heaven

A backdrop of thick, grey cloud cast a dark shadow  over the run-down building and Oliver shivered, checking the address scrawled in his notebook. It was right. He gingerly pushed open the peeling wooden door, afraid it would fall off its hinges but wasn’t prepared for the splendour within. His eyes trailed up the grand, wooden staircase, following the smooth curves until they fell onto the ruby red gown. He couldn’t help but linger on the creamy flesh of slim leg through the split . . . a long split . . . past the knee . . .  up to her thigh.
      “You found it then?” Her sultry voice swathed Oliver in silk. He gazed up to her sun-kissed face, unable to speak. “Come,” she offered extending a delicate hand.
    Oliver climbed the thick carpeted stairs, unable to avert his gaze from her sapphire eyes. He found himself in a bedroom, where sunlight flooded through floor to ceiling windows, casting a natural glow on her beautiful skin, making artificial lighting redundant.  She draped herself across the billowing, snowy white covers of the bed. Fumbling with equipment, Oliver’s hands trembled.
     “Everything OK?” she asked in a breathy voice.
    “Yeah, good, just getting ready. You said these photos are for someone special?”
     “ Yes. Aren’t all photos special?” she purred.
     “Of course. Shall we begin?” Oliver immersed himself in his art which was easy when the muse was so beautiful. He didn’t imagine her penetrating stare, her flirtatious manner, teasing him, drawing him in. He was helpless, like a moth seeking the light. She was the light he fell into with heart, body and soul.
   It took time for sleep to slip away. He tried to adjust to his surroundings but it was dark. Footsteps lingered close. He smiled. A beam of light shone through the door before it burst open. Oliver shielded his eyes from the intrusion.
   “OK, Romeo, get your things and clear off,” the gruff voice said. Oliver found himself naked, lying on a shabby mattress in a squat.
  “But I was with a woman. Where is she? Where am I?”
   “Yeah, I know the type of woman you were with, do anything for a fix, steals your wallet. You’re in a condemned building, trespassing I might add.”  
    “But the staircase, the windows,” blustered Oliver, pulling on his trousers, “the bed.”
     “Must have been some trip,” the guard replied, watching Oliver pick up his camera and bag.” You’re lucky she never stole that.”
     “Trip? I wasn’t on anything! I was invited here for a photo shoot.” Full of exasperation, Oliver glanced round, seeing discarded needles, rusty teaspoons, a rat scurrying into a dark corner. He shuddered, feeling the cold as the hairs on the back of his neck bristled.
      “Yeah, I’m sure she was a supermodel,” he offered, dripping with sarcasm.
       “She was more than that, a classic beauty! She lived here.” The stairs creaked with every step, no carpet and Oliver was careful to avoid holes. Once outside, Oliver looked back at the building, just as it was when he arrived. His head ached, his mouth felt full of sawdust. The guard walked away. Oliver ran over the events. He wasn’t drugged. He’d taken nothing, only her, repeatedly. He could smell her perfume, see the contours of her body, the gentle curls of platinum hair tumbling across her eyes, so easy to love, to photograph.     
       “No! wait!” Oliver shouted, running through puddles. “I have proof.” The guard stopped as Oliver reached for his camera. “Look! I’m not lying!”
       “I’m sure whatever went on in there was mind blowing but you’re this close to me calling the police.”
       “No, look.” Oliver stared through the viewfinder, scrolling through the photos as the guard looked on impatiently. Every frame showed the same thing, an empty room with a stained, threadbare mattress. “I don’t understand. She was there. She was real!”
    “Go home!”  
    Hollowness engulfed Oliver. He knew it happened, could still feel her touch on his skin, the heat of her body. He trudged away, hearing her wispy voice behind him. He spun round, but was alone, her breathless laugh echoing in his mind, never to leave him.


Written for  Jeff Tsuruoka's Mid Week Blues Buster over at The Tsuruoka Files.

Here's the 80's tune by Peter Godwin.


Tuesday, 18 February 2014

Anniversary Blog Some Things Never Change

Happy Birthday to me! Happy Birthday to me! It’s been two years since my first adventure into the blogging world. Two years since I stumbled into flash fiction and made some amazing friends as I continue my journey as a writer.
But some things do not change. My first blog entry was about a trip to Croydon on Valentine’s Day to see a special friend. It was such a disastrous journey, I had to write about it. Since that Valentine's, every trip to Croydon has been  taken by train after I vowed never to drive there again . . .Until New Year's Day this year.
New Year's Day would be quiet, the car that died on me on that Valentine’s night has been replaced.  What could possibly go wrong?
Enter teenage son and his idea of a chilled night with friends. At our house. I even managed to talk Hubby into it. Never again.
They kept us up all night with their chit chat, movies, laughter. Eventually, all was quiet as they buggered off to McDonald's for breakfast. Far too early of course,  but I didn’t tell them that as I wanted sleep.
The next thing I heard was hubby asking what time I’m leaving for Croydon. I wanted to be there for 10. It was now 10.30. My phone had a string of texts, asking what time I was arriving. I sleepily said 11, knowing any later, I wouldn’t go.
Easy peasy. half an hour to get ready. No problem. A quick shower, hair washed and dried, dressed  and ready to go bang on 11. It’s easy when there’s no slap involved or breakfast.
But the weather was awful. So much rain! But I persevered. Every now and then, I thought I’d turn round in the next available place but when I reached one, I carried on as it didn’t seem too bad. Famous last words.  .  .
After a lovely day with my friend, it was the dreaded drive home. Still, lashing down had it’s upside; no traffic. But the amount of water was incredible. Darkness descended quickly. And then I hit a queue of traffic. I couldn’t see what the hold up was. The traffic crept along slowly and then I saw it. I know I swore. I know I gripped the steering wheel for dear life. I had no other choice but to drive through the flood, like a lake across the road. It was seeing the breakdown van on the other side, rescuing a stranded motorist that I relaxed. He would save me. I watched the 4x4 go through, half up the curb. I waited until he cleared it then went, keeping a steady speed, chanting ‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God' continually, heart pounding wildly. I’d never driven through a flood before. And punched the air when I reached the other side. I was feeling epic!
The next obstacle was my imagination as I drove through a valley, looking up at the army of towering trees, standing guard. The news had been full of landslides, trees blown down; I’d driven past a few on my journey. Of course, there was nothing I could do if a tree did decide to fall at the time of my passing through but it didn't stop me looking up, making sure they didn’t move. I was terrifying myself. But so relieved I reached open space. Until the forest.
Puddles. Floods. Wind, stupid car drivers not knowing how to drive in floods who slowed right down, breaking?? I kept my distance from those people in their gorgeous, too good for them Mini.
And after an hour and a half, I was home. I was relieved. But I couldn’t wait to share my epic journey, surviving floods and gales (see how the wind is now a gale). I declared I could drive through anything. I was awesome!
Needless to say, I haven’t driven since. Other than my Hubby up the wall but that's another story entirely. xx


Monday, 17 February 2014

My Writing Process Blog Tour

So when Laura James over at Office Mango invited me to the Writing Process Blog Tour, I automatically said ‘yes’ not actually thinking about what I would have to produce about writing. Gulp! It’s hard enough thinking of the next line in a story let alone thinking how you go about it.
But Laura did  and her entertaining entry. And thanks Laura for the invite. xxx 

My Writing Process

What Am I Working On?

   I wish the answer to this was a simple “I’m working on X” but the reality is, I’m also working on Y and Z too. Writing is like reading. I have three books on the go that I am reading and like wise with my writing. Last year’s Nano novel, which suddenly came to a halt due to a dead laptop, has now found new love/life and a few late nights which is great considering this week is half term. It’s a paranormal romance with a kick ass heroine. That is all I’m going to say on that one.
   Some lovely friends Beta read my Chick lit which I am also in the process of editing. One day, when I feel confident about sharing it with the big, wide, world, I will publish on Amazon.
   My very first attempt of a novel is also being revisited on occasion when I can face it due to the many errors I can’t believe I made!
    And of course there’s my blog I am working on with flash fiction. Often, a short story is the spark to something bigger.

How Does My Work Differ from Others of its  Genre?   

   That’s tricky. I can only go by what I have read. And there is not enough time in the world to have read every book in the genres I write. I guess it’s unusual to write in different genres and not stick to one. Whether this is a decision that will hinder me or enhance my writing, I do not yet know. But I do know I write because I enjoy it, love the characters and know there is a story there. I also know my female protagonists are not just there to be eye candy or fluff. They have purpose, are fun and can definitely look after themselves no matter the genre.

Why Do I Write What I do?

I would like to say ‘because the fairies in the bottom of the garden told me to.’ But it’s a lot less boring than that. Like I said, I always wanted to write but didn’t know how to start. Then, two years ago, a funny thing happened that I just had to share and on Feb 18th (two years tomorrow) my blog was born. It was then I stumbled into flash fiction and this is where ideas grow for feature length pieces of work. Flash enables you to experiment and go places I never thought possible. Only last week, due to the prompt, I wrote my first piece of erotica (very tame). It was well received so I may (when brave enough) expand on it. If I love the characters and there’s a story, I will write it. My venture into the  paranormal was inspired by my son wanting me to write for him, not sure I have fulfilled that though as it’s gone bit gushy. So I will be culling very soon.

How Does Your Writing Process Work?   

Sometimes it doesn’t! It completely leaves me with a blank page for days. So I walk away and enjoy life (usually a walk along the beach, or baking) until something hits me and I can’t wait to get back and write it, noting it down in case I forget (which does happen).  But I tend to be a rather chaotic writer. Too many things going on, notes everywhere. If it comes into my head, I write it. So where my story goes depends on the mood I’m in, the music I’m listening to and something I may have heard either on TV or spoken to me. I have a main plot written down in various places (too many notebooks) but any sub plots are victim to the time, mood and place. I make it up as I go along I guess. If I’m really excited, I will talk it out with close friends which inspires me even more. Often, ideas come into my head during the night. But can I remember them in the morning? I can't be the only one that happens to. There's probably loads of best sellers that have been born and died during the night somewhere in the world.

Thank you for reading and thanks again Laura for the tag. Now I have some people who would like to share their writing process with you. Here’s a little tease until next week ( Monday 24th Feb) for their story. . .

Rebecca Fyfe

An author with stories in several anthologies and collections, is a mother of seven children and, having lost 145 lbs. of excess weight, blogs about health and fitness at In keeping with her lifetime love of stories, she graduated with a degree in English Literature. She is a Californian who married an Englishman and now resides in Great Britain. Rebecca created and runs the chapter book challenge which runs every March, and, when not writing short stories or children’s stories, she’s busy creating urban fantasy novels, full of her own special blend of magic. She gets her inspiration from her five daughters and two sons. She is the founder of Melusine Muse Press and owns several online gift shops, one of which can be found online at You can find her on facebook, Twitter and through her blog at Rebecca and at

M L Gammella 

M L Gammella has been writing on and off since hight school, where she was often found scribbling in her notebook instead of following along in class. Who knew you had to pay attention in Pre-Cal to understand it? To this day, she still doesn't. 
She put down her pen for several years as she got caught up with college and work, but finally found her muse again after graduating with a bachelors in business in 2010. Her day job as a mortgage laan processor pays the bills while she pursues her love of writing. M L Gammella is currently trying to finish her Nano novels from 2012 and 2013 (she won in 2012). She also participates i several flash fiction contests throughout the week, runs the Daily Picspiration blogspot., and freelances in content marketing. When not writing, M L enjoys travelling, football, cooking, reading and spending time with her husband and three pets.