FlashMob Writes Broken

“This, this is the only thing that dulls the pain,” slurred Cheryl, holding up her glass against the dim, smoky light. The caramel liquid swirled gently against the glass, intoxicating her eyes as it swayed and rolled like waves before she downed it one, intoxicating her soul.

“It’s what caused the pain in the first place,” said Cane, making a grab for the bottle, now half empty.

“You don’t understand. No one does!” she spat.

“Then let me in. Let me help you.”

“It’s too late. I’m broken, Cane. The day I got in that car-”

“Stop! We know what happened. You served your time. I don’t know why you keep on hurting yourself like this, hurting me. I already hurt, Cheryl. I lost a son that day too.”

An unwelcome silence hung heavy between them. She knew Cane hurt. She knew she caused it. Why did he think she drank? Every day, she woke up to see his sallow face etched in pain, his dull eyes devoid of seeing any beauty especially when he looked upon her. The one who took from him the most precious, innocent gift. The pain tore at her from the inside out, gnawing and gnashing as it feasted on her being.

“I’m going to bed,” Cheryl said, tipping over the chair as she clumsily got up. She swiped the bottle from the side as Cane could only look on.

The sound of the bottle plonking to the floor made Cane get up from the settee. He sighed, knowing Cheryl would be done. But he still loved her; somewhere deep down, he loved her. Every night he had to remove the bottle from the floor or bed.

“Hey, Baby,” she murmured. “Look, watch the colours paint,” she said. “It’s so pretty.”

From the door, a shaft of light swept across the floor towards the bed. Cheryl lay on her front, her head hanging over the bed, her long dark hair hiding her face. Her bare, pale arm moved ever so slightly as her finger twirled and stirred. It was then Cane noticed red. Lots of red. It ran down her arm, pooling on the wooden floor where her finger swirled, mixing with the spilt caramel liquid.

“I  . . . feel  . . . no  . . . pain,” she whispered, before her finger hung motionless.

382

Written for FlashmobWrites hosted by Cara and Ruth

Choice of prompts: "fit the pieces back together" or/and "watch the colours paint" 

  

The Adventures of Katie Button by Me, Lizzie Koch, is happening!!!!

Back in Feb 2012, I started my blog. I didn’t know what I was getting into when I first wrote about a disastrous journey home. All I knew was, I wanted to write. Then, quite by accident, I stumbled upon Five Sentence Fiction and thought I’d have a stab at it. 

My very first Five Sentence Fiction Wicked

The reaction from the community of writers to my piece inspired me to write more. Friendships blossomed too. I loved this new world of flash fiction!!

In November, 2012, a few writers were taking part in NaNoWriMo so I investigated and thought I’d take part. National Novel Writing Month is a challenge for 50,000 words in 30 days. And, The Adventures of Katie Button was born.

Now, I’m preparing to share Katie Button with you all . . .  in less than 3 weeks,  thanks to my publisher, Crooked Cat Publishing . Exciting times!! But a little nervous.

The launch date is Friday June 12th and I’m having a little online launch party (on facebook) of which so many of you have said you’ll come!! Yay!! Some of you have asked 'what the heck is an online launch party?' Well, it’s a place where you can drop in throughout the day to share and enjoy the launch of my book, leave comments and eat virtual cake! And of course, purchase, read it, and let me know what you think!

With that in mind, I thought it about time I share the blurb with you.

Thank you, all for your support. And I look forward ( I think) to your reviews . . .

The Adventures of Katie Button by Lizzie Koch

What it's about in a nutshell . . .

What happens when your dreams collide with reality?

Katie Button doesn’t believe in soulmates. When charismatic Jack Masterson asks her out on a date, despite him being her new boss alongside his more aloof brother, James, she agrees.

But her romantic dreams about a dashing highwayman, heroic gladiator and Tudor Lord are becoming more frequent. And, more worryingly, they feel real. She remembers every detail, every touch, every kiss. Until she realises the man in her dreams is James.

But Katie doesn’t even like James. And what about Jack, who is whisking her away for sexy mini breaks in the here and now?

Katie knows she needs to put an end to her dreams before they ruin her life.

But how?

Available June 12th

Amazon
Smashwords

Thursday Threads I Just Killed A Man

Here's the story that won a HM. xxx

“I just killed a man,” Nancy said, flatly.  

    “That’s what I thought you said,” replied Karen, digesting the words.

    “It still doesn’t seem real, even when I say it.”

    “But why? How? Who?” Karen blurted.

    “The lodger. He refused to pay rent, refused to leave. I couldn’t get him out. I wanted him out.

    “There must’ve been another way? I mean, to kill someone? Are you insane?”

     Nancy shrugged, turning her back on Karen as she prepared dinner. It was her only choice. She was sick of seeing him strutting around like he owned the place, like he owned her.

    “How did you do it?” Karen asked, sipping her wine, hoping it would calm her.

    “Stabbed him,” she replied, turning back to Karen. “Actually, with this knife.” She placed a basket of crusty bread on the table. “It made a bit of a mess. But I’ve been wanting to remodel that room for ages.” She noticed Karen looking ashen and wide eyed. “Oh for goodness sake, Karen. I’m not going to hurt you. You know what he was like! You didn’t have to live with him.”  She slammed down the casserole dish.

   “Sorry,” whispered Karen, resting a hand on Nancy’s. “It’s just a shock to hear.”

   Nancy served up dinner and watched Karen eat.

   “This is delicious! But, before we move on, can I just ask, what did you do with him?”

    A smirk crossed Nancy’s face. “Let’s just say I don’t mind having him to dinner these days.”

249     

Written for Siobhan Muir's Thursday Threads 

FlashMobWrites #03 Fall Out of the Atmosphere

I was left for dead.

Clawing my way through mud, I dragged my broken body through the decay of the forest floor. This was not my day to die. A hole in the ground was no place for a sorceress to rot. But I bled like any human. My strength and spirit seeped out in the blood oozing from the gash in my head but I pushed myself forwards, snagging a fingernail on a root and ripping it clean off. Pain scorched my body, paralysing me to the floor.

Maybe this was my time to die. Submitting easily to my fate, I closed my blood sodden eyes.

When I awoke, darkness surrounded me. I lay for a while, adjusting to the night as a cool breeze dulled the burning pain. I’d stopped bleeding. My strength was returning, I felt the energy tingling in my fingers, healing my fragile shell. Magic coursed through my body. And my mind turned to revenge.

Making him suffer would be easy. How was the tricky part. Being a sorceress opened up so many ways.  I had to choose carefully as I wasn’t his only victim but I would be his last. Begging with his last breath, on bended knees, he would eventually fall. Out of the atmosphere, a shooting star blazed across the indigo sky, interrupting my thoughts. It died just as suddenly as it appeared, leaving the night empty. That’s what I would do to him. Leave him empty. Leave him in a state of permanent darkness to match his heart. Leave him with the nightmares of his victims’ last moments, playing over and over in his tortured mind. Leave him broken, screaming out in pain, screaming for me to end his misery, begging me to let him die.

He would never die.

He would never live.

Eternal darkness waited for him. His soul would be nothing more than a black hole, consuming his body from within.

323

A new flash fiction challenge to get stuck in to. Flashmobwrites, hosted by Ruth Long and Cara Michaels. 300-500 words and a choice of prompts.

Cara: 'leave the evidence far behind'.

Ruth: 'fall out of the atmosphere'.

       

Thursday Threads wk 159 Maybe You'd Like to Give It a Try

A Honourable Mention for this little story. 

Huddled close to the fire, Ella watched as Conor placed their skewered dinner carefully on top. The flames licked at the flesh, hissing and crackling as fat dripped down. It had been three days since they’d eaten a proper meal, three days of scavenging, three days of walking, hiding and killing.

Killing.

Technically, the Infected were already dead so killing wasn’t quite true but you never ignored an Infected. That’s how you lost people. Ella shivered.

“Reminds me of the bbqs we used to have, although the choice of meat was better,” he laughed.

“It’s not funny.”

“You gotta lighten up. This is the new world now, you eat what you can. Gotta stay strong.” He turned the skewer. “You have to at least try it.”

“Maybe you’d like to give it a try but I’m not. I can’t believe you’re going to eat it.” Ella turned away as Conor slid the meat off the skewer, tearing the hot flesh with his fingers. Bile rose, burning her throat, at the sound of Conor’s chewing, her appetite for even the meagre berries now lost.

“Are you sure you don’t want some?” Shaking her head, Ella sipped some water, thinking back to the days of Sunday roast; a simple roast chicken with all the trimmings. It turned her stomach. She would never eat meat again. “Shame, it tastes just like chicken.”

229
Written for Siobhan Muir's Thursday Threads over at The weird, the Wild and the Wicked

Judge, Tina Glasneck
Tina says: The Cannablism story was dark, just like I love a story, and I couldn't help but wonder what got them to that point -- and I also wondered if they were eating the flesh of other humans, who'd they'd killed or actual zombies, and infected meat. 

Thurs Threads wk157 With What I know

A Honourable Mention for this little story.

“You think these bonds are enough to hold me!” Sarah hissed. “You know nothing of what I can do.”

“Why don’t you tell me?” offered yet another doctor, pen poised despite his look of boredom.

“With what I know, I could destroy all of you.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Because that’s what I’m made to do.” She watched him scribble away, flexing her wrists. A restraint snapped but she didn’t move. “Dr? If I were you, I would leave.” She felt he deserved a warning, and she was feeling generous or playful; much like a cat with a mouse. “Only one of us is walking out of here you know.”

He ignored her, looking through his papers before meeting her wild gaze. “Sarah, we all have choices. For instance, I could sit here, listening to your idle threats, pretending to write up my notes . . . Or I could just do this.”

In one stride he was at Sarah’s side, his pen plunged in her free arm. His hand smothered her face, stifling her scream.

“You see Sarah, I’m just like you. Made to destroy. Made to kill. Except, I work for the other side.”

He yanked out the pen. Crimson flowed freely down a limp arm. “And yes, only one of us is walking out of here.” He shut the door quietly behind him.

226

Written for Siobhan Muir's Thursday Threads over at The Weird, the Wild and the Wicked

The judge, Tom Keller said:

Tom says: I liked the imagery and the ending.

Thursday Threads If They Stay, I stay

Innocence Lost

There are two types of people in the world.  Raiders. Survivors. If you don’t fit in either, you’re a Biter. This was Casey’s world now. Gone were the books, revision for exams. Now, she helped ration food and cook for the small community.

The camp was good. Crops grew. Biters were few. No Raiders for ten days now until throbbing engines could be heard in the distance. There wasn’t panic as everyone knew their role. As Casey ran to hide, counting the children in, her father came running up. He handed guns to Jack and AJ; boys  Casey’s age.

“We need you. You up for the job?” he asked. The boys nodded vigorously, itching for the opportunity to show they were now men, and get their hands on the guns.  

“What about me?” Casey asked.

“Go inside.”

“If they stay, I stay.”

“I don’t want you to see this Casey. I’ve got to protect you.”

Casey stood before her father, laying a hand on his rifle. “You can’t shield me from my responsibilities. This is my world now Dad. I gotta get used to it. I gotta start fighting for it. You’ve got to let me fight.”  She saw pain in his eyes as he loosened his grip on the rifle. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“I know,” he whispered as he watched his child run to the boundary, shedding her innocence with every step. “That’s what worries me.”

239

written for Siobhan Muir's Thursday Threads over at The weird, the Wild and the Wicked