Some Non-Specific Voodoo – #FlashFiction

‘Take a ticket,’ said the man behind the scratched perspex glass.

‘It’s empty,’ said James, glancing at the busted plastic dispenser.

‘Huh?’ The man looked up. ‘Oh, so it is. Well, take a seat to wait and we’ll be right with you.’

‘We?’ asked James. The man didn’t answer.

Turning, James shuddered and stumbled as the room stretched like elastic.

‘Careful there.’

A set of hands steadied him.

‘The voodoo throws you at first. It’s how they fit us all in.’

‘Us all?’ James asked.

‘Yeah, all the demons,’ said the voice. ‘Sorry mate, looks like you got busted.’

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With all the poetry I’ve been writing for ‘It’s All In The Blood’ I’m in need of a bit of fiction in my life tonight. It’s amazing how much focus it gives you to have a set word limit on a piece of writing. It makes you go back and think about each individual word. A very useful skill that transfers well into poetry.

 

NaPoWriMo – Early Bird Prompt: Letters To Nowhere

Letters To Nowhere

There are no postmarks for lost corners,

you can’t address an envelope

to the shadows between the pavements slabs

where you slipped from reach

days before I noticed you were gone.

 

When my hand closed around thin air

I could feel a chord pulling down,

yanking through my chest

into some deeper part of me,

where everything lost collects

and vanishes all at once.

 

The weight of your ghost became a stone

knocking against my ribs

like the second hand on a clock

forever stuck in turning circles

coming back to the starting mark

over and over again

until no one comes to wind it.

 

I still turn the covers of my bed,

expecting to find you inside some nights.

Pressed between the sheets

as if you’d been there all along

simply waiting for me to come back.

It is almost too easy to dream.

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Tomorrow is the first of April and the first day of National Poetry Writing Month! That’s right, thirty days, thirty poems, and a whole host of eccentric people who are readying themselves to get in on the challenge.

Today we have the Early Bird Prompt which is a recycled prompt from previous NaPoWriMos, The challenge is to write a love letter to an inanimate object. Now there are actually a couple of things that inspired this piece. A teddy bear I called ‘Snowy’ that was about the same length as my hand, and a locket I lost during primary school that my great-grandmother had given to me. Both items failed to show up again and their loses were quite significant to younger me.

Let me know what you think of the poem, or if you are a fellow NaPoWriMo participant. In the meantime, thank you for reading and happy writing.

Friday Fiction Challenge – Carry On The Story

I kicked this off last week but since there was only one response I thought we might extend the run of it a little bit.

Below you will find the opening of a story. The first part I wrote, the second part was written by Kaleiyah Prose. All you need to do is carry the story on in the comments below. Have fun.

The pocket watch has sixteen hands and they all pointed in the same direction. Twelve. It was ridiculous really, who would want a watch that didn’t tell the time, never mind one that had sixteen hands, none of which had ever moved a millimetre. Marcel clicked the watch closed and slid it inside his jacket pocket. He was used to the weight of it bumping against his ribs as he walked and when it wasn’t there he missed it. Missed the useless bit of junk like a limb.
He waited for the little man to light up green on the crossing and checked both ways. The way was clear and he followed as the crowds surged forward, carrying him from one side of the road to the other.
Forty-Seven, Ivy Road. He counted the numbers beside the doors of the shops as he passed. Forty-Nine, Fifty-One, Fifty-Three…
There was a space between the end of Fifty-One and Fifty Five. Barely wide enough for a grown man to squeeze through but just about there. He ran over the address in his head  and counted down the street again. Yes he decided. He’d found the right place.
Inside his gloves he could feel his fingers itching, impatient to get to work. They were trembling too.
One step, that was all it would take.
One step…

by Carol J Forrester

Bzzzt!
One would think that after passing through an interdimensional rifts for a living, one would get used to it. But without fail, Marcel felt the sting across his spine straighten each of his vertebrae and the tell-tale heaviness settling across his body like an ocean wave. His vision blurred briefly, but returned to normal after blinking a few times. Instinctively, and to ground his mind and body in this new rift, he reached inside his jacket pocket to touch the familiar metal of his watch.
Only this time, he felt nothing but his jacket’s cloth.

by Kaleigah Prose

Writing Prompts That I Sometimes Use

Just click and you’ll find the link beneath the image.

Can you think of any prompts that really need including? Leave the title and the link in the comments then!

Lost And Found

The house was upside down. Quite literally.
Sat on the front lawn, Samantha stared at the upstairs bay windows now level with her garden fence.
“Found ’em?” asked her neighbor, trimming the box hedge between them.
“Yep.” she said. “Last place I looked of course.”
“And that was?”
“The toaster.”

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