Beltech Mortuary #DVersePoets #Prosery

Upstairs a door slammed. Then another, and another, until finally the cast iron monstrosity at the top of the stairs shuddered open.

‘Quickly now grab me a jar!’ The jumped the last three steps. Ellsmore jolted awake and darted for the draining board.

He fumbled with the jars but turned in time. The surgeon eased his hands over the open mouth and opened them slowly.

It thunked against the glass.

‘Real bad ‘un this one,’ said the surgeon and wiped his hands on his trousers.

Ellsmore closed the jar. The thing shivered.

‘What is it?’

The surgeon scowled. ‘There are moments caught between heart beats. They make us, us. This one, made a very, very, bad man.’

Ellsmore swallowed thickly.

‘If you cut it out, does that make him a good man?’

‘Well that depends.’

‘On what?’

‘On the moments I didn’t cut out.’

dverselogo

Elements Are Without Mercy By Nature – #DVersePoets #Prosery

The outcrop was low and Emile had to crouch for it to work as a windbreaker. Crouching made her thighs burn, but so did walking, and crouching in a low crag meant she could almost feel her face again.

She unhooked the water-skin from her belt and weighted it in her hand. Tried to judge how much she would need to get her down the the mountain.

More than she had.

She put it back and swallowed her thirst. Ignored the wind stripped skeletons propped against the same crag, one holding onto the withered trunk of a sapling to stunted to reach beyond two foot. She closed her eyes to the wedding bands.

These memories were left here with the trees, broken, dead, or dying.

Emile stamped her feet and braced herself.

She was not going to join them.

She’d promised herself more.

dverselogo

I’ve been trying to turn my attention back to my novel Darkened Daughter, and in doing so I’ve been working on some new characters to incorporate to the redraft. Yesterday I played around with Hanson and Raven for the #WeekendWritingPrompt and tonight I’m trying to work out Emile’s story. I might not use any of them in the novel but I’ve found that flash fiction can be really helpful in sounding out characters that might otherwise get lost in a novel.

zion-park-139012_1920
Image by David Mark from Pixabay

 

#SundayPhotoFiction: Stranded

Isabelle watched the foam settle as the speedboat winked out of view, scurrying its way back to the city. The old man hadn’t been keen to take her, counting her money twice before letting her aboard and then lingering for longer than necessary when she leapt out into the shallows.

Her skirts were damp, but she’d kicked her shoes free before getting off the boat. Her feet had dried while she waited.

She checked her watch and scowled. The glass was cracked, had been since earlier that morning when a cyclist outside her apartment careened into her. It was her own fault. If she’d not spent so long on land, she might have noticed him before he had chance to get close. Instead she’d been thrown from her thoughts by the bite of handlebars into her ribs.

The wind picked up and threw the waves higher along the beach. Isabelle waded out, shivering as the water closed around her ankles.

‘Please,’ she cried. ‘I’m sorry. I have learnt my lesson!’

Above her a seagull cried out but that was it.

‘Father please!’

The sea did not answer.

Isabelle dropped to her knees and sobbed.

‘Please. I’m ready to come home.’

spf-12-9-18-fandango-3.jpeg
Photo Credit: Fandango

Make sure to check out Sunday Photo Prompt for more writing prompts and the rest of this week’s contributions for this photo.

Off The Edge Of The Map

‘Leave me alone ya bastard!’

Henry’s words bounced off the cave walls harmlessly, much like the driftwood had, and the empty whisky bottle had months before.

Despite the projectiles, his reflection continued staring up from the shallow pool at his feet. Slightly warped and vaguely true to likeness.

‘You’re the one who wanted to chase after princesses,’ it pointed out. ‘I was quite happy on a street corner with my lute.’

‘You and your lute were shite,’ Henry spat. ‘We barely made a crown a day.’

‘Perhaps,’ shrugged the reflection, ‘I wasn’t stuck on an island alone though. I could take a break whenever I wanted, speak to whoever I wanted.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘But I could have.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘I almost did once.’

‘No you didn’t!’

Henry spat in the pool and sat down beside it.

‘Happy, fucking, ever after,’ he muttered.

‘Still blaming you,’ the reflection replied.

Writing Prompt 6

Writing Prompt From The Story Shack

If you’d like to read something a little longer I’m working on redrafting my Safe Haven series. In the meantime Solitary Creatures is also available and a fifth installment is on the way some time this month.