Monday, 28 January 2013

Ringing 5 Sentence Fiction

This a second entry for Ringing on 5 sentence fiction for my hopelessly romantic friend. She didn't like my Undead story. So to keep my No 1 Fan happy, I have written this for her. I hope this is up your street Jan. xxx  

A hopeless romantic, Jan’s heart leapt nearly out of her mouth as the church bells rang out; it wasn't anyone she knew getting married but the thought of someone having the best day of their lives thrilled her.
She hurried home and rummaged for the photo albums; her wedding so long ago that digital wasn't even a word let alone a concept.
Turning each delicate page, Jan stared at the familiar faces looking back at her, wide grins, sparkling eyes and dancing hearts which after twenty five years were still dancing to the same tune.
Yes, her husband joked about doing less time for murder and when was he going to be out on parole but that’s what they were- jokes; he was her soul mate, her partner in crime, her best friend and she would never tire of his lame jokes, his face or even his tired whinging when she spent too much money.
The church bells were still ringing and Jan hoped the couple would last longer than Jordan and take their vows seriously but mostly she hoped they married for love like she did twenty five years ago and still feeling it now as strong as ever.

Ringing 5 Sentence Fiction

Ruby lay in her bunk, reading a magazine she had found on her latest scavenge; a few months old, the puzzles already completed but something to read none the less even if it was covered in dried blood splatters.
She had taken extra care (as always) not to be seen or followed but it wasn't difficult as she was the  quickest scavenger; sticking to the shadows, nimble and silent, looking for anything that would make her life easier and more bearable.
Living in the tunnels was not ideal but it was all they had and the band of humans was increasing daily bringing with it more technology and weapons, more ideas and more bodies to try and fight and attack; but it also brought sympathisers and slaves of the Undead who would sacrifice their own souls and that of the camp for their Undead masters.
Turning the page she was faced with a picture of David Beckham looking tanned and gorgeous but that was such a long time ago for now he was Undead, lusting after flesh, blood and souls which was ironic as before the Undead came, Ruby would have given David Beckham the lot.
A ringing echoed throughout the camp and Ruby threw her magazine down, grabbing her weapon knowing it meant the perimeter had been breached; she was ready to face her enemy with their unseeing eyes and their unsatisfying hunger but were they ready for her? 

What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week  will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction. 


Saturday, 12 January 2013

5 Sentence Fiction Inspire

Another week and another chance for some 5 Sentence Fiction. This week is Inspire and I have been truly inspired by reading all the flash fictions for the Masquerade and by reading Dodger by Terry Pratchett (my first time of reading his work and sure not to be the last). So here is my take on Inspire. If you want to read more flash fiction on Inspire then visit lillie mcferrin . You won't be disappointed. xxx

Victorian Night Walk

The choking, thick smog still hung stagnant as the setting of the sun gave way to night; bringing with it the night people with their shouting,  drinking, light fingers and fights, all looking for a way out of their own personal hell.But all this drowning of sorrows in cheep gin and beer among the grimy alleyways of the capital was just what Charles needed; their desperation for want of a better life or even a meal the next morning fuelled Charles’ desire to explore this seedy part of existence.
His coach halted by the Thames and he stepped out in just shined boots and new cloak with a cane in his gloved hand and he began to stroll in the damp night, wanting to get closer, watching this life unfold around him; their destitution and despair, their only escape the tankard of beer.
It was no place for children,  urchins as they were known, but they scurried about, lapping up the dregs of the tankards with eagerness before a belt around the ear made them duck for cover;  it was all there for Charles to see, the sheer pitiful sight that had to be told.
Inspired by the night’s walk, Charles looked at his notes and a story formed as he began to write with great expectations ‘Oliver’; soon everyone would know exactly what Victorian London was truly like. . .  

Monday, 7 January 2013


Well, I couldn't resist the pull of the Twelfth Night Masquerade hosted by the lovely Meg McNulty. You can click on the link and read all the fantastic stories by brilliant writers.
I hope you enjoy this tale. I love the picture as I think it captures my character perfectly well . . . . . .  at the beginning of the story anyway. xx 

The First dance

     Emily’s pulse quickened as she entered the Georgian masquerade; couples waltzing in their splendid gowns and outrageous masks. Curious glances came her way as Emily waited. She fiddled with her mask then with the back of her dress trying to alleviate the whale bone corset that confined her.
“Emily? How could I not recognise my own splendid daughter? There are some people I’d like you to meet; a fine husband I’m sure is among them.”  Emily sighed; her father had hinted at marriage for a few weeks now. But the choices didn't fill her with a wanting desire for anything let alone marriage. She hung back, looking around the room as her father spoke for her.  The bluest eyes stared at her; piercing against the palest skin. His porcelain face broke into a captivating smile and Emily smiled back, her face heated at the brief exchange before her arm was taken by Reginald Harper, a close friend of her father’s and just as old.  

       She waltzed around the floor. Every spin, she searched out the porcelain one and there he was, in the same place, the same intense stare. Spin after spin. Emily’s heart fluttered, until he disappeared. Literally, her heart sank to her feet as they became heavy and uncoordinated. Reginald snapped as Emily trod on his foot; more so for the black smudge on the white silk rather than for any discomfort and he let it be known with a bitter swipe to her face.
“I shall take over here.” It was him. His voice authoritive yet gentle. His glare unforgiving to Harper as he took Emily’s gloved hand and began to lead her around the floor; turning, spinning like she was flying. “You are magnificent” he whispered. “Can I kiss you?”  Her eyes gazed through her mask towards his.  He met her lips, crushing them completely.  A trickle of crimson seeped from her swollen lips. With his finger, he tenderly wiped it away, bringing it to his mouth with a wicked grin. “Delicious. I knew you would taste sweet. I apologise for my fervour.”
“No apology required Sir.” He lent in for another kiss as her mouth was ready but he skipped it; her bare neck more inviting and kissed hard. Her pulse throbbed to his rhythm.  She was floating. 

         A scream shattered the illusion of intimacy, followed by other screams as Emily looked down; for she was floating.  Blood flowed from her neck like a waterfall, splattering the marble floor below.  . . .

     “I’m sorry Emily” Doctor Harper said as he brought her out of a regressive sleep. “It appears the reason for your unfinished business and broken heart was an untimely death at a Georgian masquerade.”
“Broken heart?  I think not. Unfinished business, well that’s only a matter of time. Nice silk shoes, ancestor of Reginald.” Flashing a broad smile, she bared sharp fangs. “Promise I won’t put a black smudge on them but I can’t say the same about blood spots.”

Sunday, 6 January 2013

That Sunday Night feeling. . . .

I was asked whether I could write something this Sunday evening by a friend (The Mad American) who would like cheering up. You see she is suffering from ‘That Sunday Night Feeling’ and she’s not alone.  It happens every Sunday but this Sunday evening is much worse because it follows two fantastic weeks off work.

I know we shouldn’t moan about going back after two weeks when others went back to work after Boxing Day and some even worked Christmas.  (And I have been one of those people working Christmas in past jobs). And we are very lucky with the time off we do get and it is very much appreciated but we wish this holiday would never end.

The Christmas holiday has been amazing this year. The Mad American (who asked for this blog) stayed in the UK for Christmas and as much as she misses her family stateside, she has a lovely family here and shed loads of friends. In fact her daughter came back from the states to join her for Christmas. How cute. I think they spent an awful amount of time in Costa according to her facebook; single handed she's propping up the local branch.
And there have been an amazing amount of birthdays this past two weeks for the Mad American; one of which was mine of Boxing Day and another was a very good friend of her’s who had a mile stone birthday. Just so many things going on despite the weather.  

Indeed, on New Year’s Eve which was blustery, wet and cold (as usual), my Hubby and I went for a mad stroll along the beach which was whipping up a frenzy so much, the sea looked like a milkshake. The wind felt like a million stones were being thrown at our faces such was the sting and ache with bitter cold. But I need my daily walk. My Hubby says that I am very much like a dog in that I need the fresh air to tire me out so I sleep well and it gets rid of my mood and I was moody. It was New Year’s Eve and we ended up being a taxi for our son.  But I am pleased he had a good time if not slightly filled with envy but then he is 14 and I’m 40something 39 again. So I had to let off some energy and being tossed around the beach like a polystyrene cup in that wind certainly did the trick. Soaked through and freezing cold, it was the best New Year’s Eve after a long hot shower and snuggling up all cosy until being summoned to collect No 1 Son.  

There was another walk a few days later at Cuckmere Haven which turned into a survivalist’s adventure. Ray Mears I am not! The footpath was three feet under water so had to go off road which was awful for someone who is a city chick, hates heights and mud.  And the Hubby left me as I was being a wimp and laughed at my struggles from above as I slipped and slid all over the place. I think at one point I was on all fours crawling up a bank to avoid a deep bog.  

But I digress. It is Sunday night and it’s back to work tomorrow. It is lovely to see everyone again and get back into the swing of things. But it’s that early morning alarm call that is going to keep me awake most of the night as I worry whether I will hear my alarm in the morning.  And that worry will keep me awake. Not that I am an insomniac- the beach walks, writing and giving up drinking Pepsi Max have sorted that out.  And it’s not the ticking of the clocks either; there are no ticking clocks. It drives me mad. When I stay at my mum’s, all her ticking clocks are shoved deep in drawer smothered in blankets.  It’s back to clock watching, getting lunches ready, uniform ready, getting up while it is still dark which should be banned, walking to work in the dark which is scary even though it’s the same route as the summer, it just seems sinister and therefore should be banned, if nothing else for my own sanity.

And now to sign off this blog so my friend can be distracted from her planning and read this (yes although it has been a nice break off work, work still needs to be done in preparation for the next six weeks and another week off- woo hoo). I hope you all had a fab Christmas, New Year, Birthday (if applicable lol), parties, family time and if you made any New Year resolutions, I hope you are going well with them. Mine is going brilliantly after five days in but we shall see . . .
PS Good luck to Sis who has decided to give the cigarettes the push once and for all.  
Love, Me

Saturday, 5 January 2013

#12 Days of Christmas Blog Hop

Here we are at day  12, the final day of the blog hop which has been such a lovely expereince. I am sorry I missed a few.


It was the moment Selene had been waiting for, she couldn’t have wished for a more perfect setting; the moon was in its full glory; a Wolf Moon shining on the night her splendour where the clouds were uninvited. The fresh fallen snow glistened like that on a Christmas card and all was peaceful, still. Her anticipation was fizzing. It was her third and final night in the mountains and something just had to happen. She sat patiently, not giving up for a second. A rustle nearby had Selene’s fingers twitching. It was just a rabbit. Her attitude made her smile; just a rabbit? That was her bread and butter a few months back. Now here she was at the top of her game bored at the sight of rabbits.
 Silence cracked as a lonely howl echoed through the mountains. Rigid and ready, Selene lay still, her finger poised. This was it. There was an air of excitement rippling through the trees. The light crunch of snow was so close. She held her breath and in the moonlight she saw the shining bright eyes of her quarry; the wolf.  The moon seemed to shine even brighter in Selene’s favour which didn’t surprise her.
The wolf padded closer and stopped as if to sense someone was watching him.  He stared right back at Selene but did not flinch, did not growl or snarl. He just stared with soft surrendering eyes. Selene didn’t move but placed her finger on the trigger. This was going to be her moment. For a split second, both were connected, eye to eye, under the full moon who watched the close encounter.
 Selene shot. . . .
The wolf stood fast as if posing and Selene feeling brave moved closer and continued to shoot this magnificent creature looking so regal in the moonlight.  Satisfied he had done enough, the wolf padded away and Selene pointed her camera to her namesake, the moon, in thanks as a lone wolf’s cry filled the silence once more.

Oops, 37 words over but I couldn’t cut and slice any more.
Foot notes
·         Selene was/is the Greek Goddess of the moon
·         Wolf Moon is the name given to January’s full moon by Native American tribes due to the howling packs of hungry wolves.
If you enjoyed this story, then take a look at the other entries on the last day of the 12 days of Christmas Blog Hop.

Friday, 4 January 2013

# 12 Days of Christmas Blog Hop

Day 11


The Crimson Moon

It was a magical force that made the full moon appear on the stroke of midnight.  Anya expected it from her visit to the new tiny gift shop on the beach earlier. The airy fairy woman behind the counter became intense as she touched Anya’s hand.  Her face became still as stone, her eyes became large spheres of darkness as her piano fingers with long scarlet nails gripped Anya’s wrist.  Anya was used to funny stares and odd behaviour; she stood out with her deep red curly locks compared to the icy blondes of the village and was quite bemused by the woman’s behaviour.  
“The Feast of the Crimson Moon is upon us. Be prepared.”  Anya stared at the full moon with an unusual reddish hue. A full moon wasn’t due for another week according to her calendar yet here it was and it seemed to beckon to Anya.  
She didn’t know where she was going but her feet carried her off confidently through the woodland towards the beach. Anya noticed three things on her walk; the gift shop was no longer there, the night sky had not one twinkling star and a huge wooden table sat by the sea, the water hungrily lapping at the sturdy legs.  
The moon deepened, almost crimson as a sweet feast appeared on the table; too much for one person. A sweet perfume surrounded Anya as she ate, the waves unnoticed, lapping against the table, higher and higher they rose, surrounding it and Anya like an island. Soon the rising water was caressing her long red hair but Anya was not afraid. She felt for the first time in her life that she belonged as the waves completely submerged her.  She smiled as her family welcomed her home. Looking up, Anya saw the twinkling of the stars before she swam away.

Slightly over the word count (again). Couldn't help it. If you enjoyed this then take a look at the other entries for day 11 of the 12 Days of Christmas Blog Hop, hosted by a jar of fireflies

Thursday, 3 January 2013

#12 Days of Christmas blog hop

Day 10 
I hadn't realised I'd missed so many days of the Blog Hop. Here's my entry for day 10; Spirit . xx
“Where’s your Christmas spirit?  Haven’t you got something better to do?”  Mark tried to ignore the grumbles as he slapped on the handcuffs and escorted the man to the car. Why did people think he had nothing more important to do? It was Christmas and he should be at home with his family; his children hanging up their stockings, leaving out a few mince pies, sharing a tipple with Becky as they waited for the children to go to sleep but were too excited to.
“Do you honestly think I’d rather be here than with my own family?” Mark’s anger spilled over.  The stench of stale alcohol and curry was filling the car. “I’m here with idiots like you and I wish I was at home with my family more than anything so please do me a favour and shut up!” 
He wasn’t making a difference at all.
“Mark, Mark? Are you ok?” Becky handed over a glass of wine.
“Ye-yes, erm I was somewhere else.”
“Where else would you be on Christmas Eve?”  He strugged and turned up the TV; something catching his eye- a news report of a drunk driver wiping out a whole family on the motorway. It was the man he had arrested, but how could he? He was here. He paled, walked outside for some fresh air.
“Think you don’t make a difference?” A man sat on the steps.
“Who are you?”
“Every now and then we show ourselves to those doubting their worth. That family were on their way home.  You made their journey safe by arresting that man.”
“But how can I? I’m here.”
“It was your wish to have Christmas Eve with your family.”
“But at what cost? That poor family.  You have to do something! It’s so unfair.”
“Unfair? You’re not the one sitting in the back of a police car handcuffed!” Mark smiled as he stared in the rear view mirror. Stale curry and beer never smelt so good.  
Thanks to Inky fingers herself, Ruth and Jar of Fireflies for hosting. xxxx