tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49008360790658591742024-02-22T04:10:02.135+10:00Flash Fiction By AnnieFirst draft fiction from my scribble bookAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.comBlogger253125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-83749997920874936062018-04-04T23:34:00.000+10:002018-04-05T21:38:12.108+10:00To Cheat or Not to Cheat.<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is a first draft using a Writers Toolbox 3 sentence prompt stick and was written at tonights writers group session.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the space for 3 sets of 3 mins, three prompt sentences were read out. Participants needed to write the sentence down and continue writing until the time was up and the next prompt read out. In this space of time, they needed to ensure each sentence flowed and made sense within what they had just written.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">My three sentences were</span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">The only way John could pass the exam was by cheating.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">They were all the same I decided.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">The time he smashed a six.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">The only way John could pass the exam was by cheating. Sweat beaded on his sparsely populated dome. He lifted watery eyes to snatch a glance at Patrices’ stockinged legs, languidly crossed on the overstuffed couch in front of him.</span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Are you sure this is the only way I can pass?”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>John could hardly blurt the words out. Bile rose in his throat as a delicious mixture of terror, intrigue and guilt flooded his system.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Quite sure.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“But my wife.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Will thank you when your salary doubles because of this new qualification.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">She drew in a long breath before forming perfect smoke rings to dance and taunt him.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Look” John stuttered, “These extra subjects to get credit. They were all the same. I decided to do the easiest and quickest to finish my degree. I didn’t realise advanced domination skills would be this.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">He gestated wildly at the array of metal and leather goods on the coffee table in front of him.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“I imagined HR as being a little less hands on?”</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Suit yourself.” Patrice stubbed her cigarette out and fluidly stood. A shroud of perfume swirled around her.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Intoxicated with her aroma, John gripped the low table, trembling.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Are you sure my wife will never find out?”</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“This is your only time slot to complete this exam.” Patrice adjusted her corset idly.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“It’s just, my wife and I. We have never. I have never. Don’t even know what this stuff is! ” John furtively searched the items on the table. “ I need to pass this subject.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“You’ve already wasted 10 mins. Think of the disappointment on your wife face if you tell you her have been passed over again for a promotion. Now think of that big celebration part at the board room when your boss announces the newest member in HR.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">John exhaled slowly. The time he smashed a six in a pee wee cricket was the last time anyone had very congratulated him on anything.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Alright, Lets get on with it.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Patrice handed him a soft leather mask.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“You’ll need this to start with.</span>”</span></div>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-24245362972808849722018-03-26T23:48:00.001+10:002018-03-26T23:48:22.537+10:00Sarah
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">As she shifted, the cane stool creaked. Its echoing reverberated across the empty room. Sarah picked at her blood encrusted fingernails. Slowly, defiantly her eyes raised to stare directly into the black two-way glass. Her back ached after hours in this position, but Sarah refused to slump; betray any emotion, to plead innocence or to beg for mercy.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“We wait for a sign.”</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Isn’t that enough? She tries to rid herself of evidence.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“A nervous tick. She is a child.”</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Guardian, one might mistake your compassion for weakness.” </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Hooded eyes stared back at the girl, his fists clenched. <i>“We wait for a sign”</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">A tiny fly circled the room like a fighter pilot, attracted by the heady aroma of blood in this sterile white and chrome land. Sarah stiffened, sending a prayer to Gods she had long stopped believing in. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“She has been marked.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The girl had closed her eyes, a single tear glistened and traced its way down her cheek.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Blood trickled from the Guardians’ palms where fingernails had pressed deeply. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Witch, you have condemned yourself by summoning your beasts. Prepare for your sentence.” A triumphant swirl of robes exited the viewing room.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Sarah.” A bloodied hand slid unseen down the black glass. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Her eyes found his. “Father.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="s1">This is a first draft, submitted as part of a </span><span style="text-align: justify;">transmediation project between Stanthorpe Art Gallery and Stanthorpe Writers Group.</span></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Below are photos of the piece of art which served as the inspiration, and the exhibition on display at the Stanthorpe Art Gallery.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0NvgweMlXoayk5yYbjpOx6WxtUOvfxFIO2IHsvMjAvtWG4pWtzWwNAObRy2xsmoLAdtRDtbneXf8wQ7LBEg5cwWchEc9oq3kIbyUp7jJBS2SvIodKs5I35dy5yFfl2a896H40YCK0Ek8/s1600/29497547_153521045318923_4580587869973400404_n+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0NvgweMlXoayk5yYbjpOx6WxtUOvfxFIO2IHsvMjAvtWG4pWtzWwNAObRy2xsmoLAdtRDtbneXf8wQ7LBEg5cwWchEc9oq3kIbyUp7jJBS2SvIodKs5I35dy5yFfl2a896H40YCK0Ek8/s320/29497547_153521045318923_4580587869973400404_n+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRIjFDeen2M19KUJ8vkxz3Zox9pNKzu-44JbYJBSI8nTgkxg9VtxJIndZkCCxknA4CNwrR5SGpICGuJWW6vOuzkMs4AJGcjJ4K90Fbyo501MO-T8nxCEp1SY4C21vUreXjewfce9rYyFo/s1600/29542313_153521058652255_2727393283306017743_n+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRIjFDeen2M19KUJ8vkxz3Zox9pNKzu-44JbYJBSI8nTgkxg9VtxJIndZkCCxknA4CNwrR5SGpICGuJWW6vOuzkMs4AJGcjJ4K90Fbyo501MO-T8nxCEp1SY4C21vUreXjewfce9rYyFo/s320/29542313_153521058652255_2727393283306017743_n+%25281%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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art work is "Sarah" by Fu Hong. Permission for reproducing the photograph by Stanthorpe Art Gallery.</div>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-70271068615860893962018-03-24T23:42:00.000+10:002018-03-26T23:42:18.152+10:00She lives.. and is writing again.What? Annie is writing again I hear you gasp.<br />
<br />
The rumours are true.<br />
<br />
I am excited to have a flash fiction in the first Word Art exhibition at the Stanthorpe Art Gallery, situated on the Granite Belt in Queensland.<br />
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12 submissions (6 open and 6 Junior) are displayed with this months inspiration piece ‘Sarah’ by Fu Hong ( A Moran Portrait Prize winner)<br />
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Please visit, read these wonderful creations and support emerging writers.<br />
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I'll post up my entry in the next post.<br />
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For more information about the Word Art Project, pop over to <a href="http://annieonwriting.wordpress.com/2018/03/26/art-words/">Annie On Writing.</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-42075723789738051432013-12-28T00:37:00.004+10:002013-12-28T00:38:59.701+10:00Annie's Anti-Resolutions for 2014<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
With the new year desperate to make its presence known, its time to dust off the lists we all made around Christmas time last year and groan, realising that there were very few actually pursued and less with any intent to complete.</div>
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For many years, I have participated in an Anti Resolution campaign, firstly with writers in Write Stuff, then to its successor, Write Anything; finally with Todays Author, made partially from a group of writers who have known each other from these writing sites. It is a light hearted look at the promises we solemnly make each year at this time. The main idea is to commit to NOT doing something. Why not try a list of your own?</div>
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1. I will not enter stationary shops under the pretence that I am buying journals, fountain pens or glittery anything in order to coax my muse out to write. I already have drawers full of magnificent leather bound journals which I have deemed far to pretty to write my rubbishy thoughts down into.</div>
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2. I will not push my children to the front of the line in order to see fairy lights and Christmas displays, squealing with delight when Santa comes out. Although they edge away from me now rolling their eyes, but still can’t escape my steely grip. It is all for the kids, after all.</div>
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3. I resolve to continue my avoidance of gyms, running tracks and exercise programs; after all, statistically 100% of people who exercise regularly also die. I don’t like those odds much.</div>
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4. I will continue to stay up too late, continue to connect with other writers round the world in the name of networking and moan loudly in the mornings when I have to get up. This resolutions works in nicely with number 1 as I can compare unused writing journals with other authors and swap writers bock solutions as an extra avoidance technique to actually write.</div>
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5. I will not carry chalk or permeant markers around in order to correct common signage faults, which I believe form the basis of the disintegration of our language. I will leave signs which shout “4 sale”, “your so great” , when “who’s” and “whose” are swapped indiscriminately and the over usage of double negatives.</div>
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6.I will not offer the answer to peoples questioning looks when they look at my business card – announcing that I am a Writer and a Thaumaturg. Nor will I look apologetic when they don’t understand my sense of humour when I attempt to explain it. Get a dictionary, you uneducated plebs.</div>
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7. I will continue my avoidance in rushing over to teenage boys and offering to buy them a belt for their ever lowering pants. I couple this with my resistance in contacting fashion manufacturers to demand the return of braces for said teenage boys, and the ban of all fluro material.</div>
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8. I will not indulge in writers block though out 2014. After all, I have a stack of pretty journals and enough glitter pens to arm a small platoon of tweenage girls; not to mention countless tips on how to overcome said writers block.</div>
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9. I resolve to continue not to stress about getting a real job and settling down. Anyone can work 9 - 5 behind a desk for a big corporation or stand in front of a class in a public school; allowing their life and creativity to be sucked dry by the emotional vampires haunting the hallways, meetings and boardrooms. Instead my kids and I have no plans as we travel around Europe, bouncing from one menial job to the next, not knowing where we will be the next week. this sort of gypsy existence will not only build character, as if I need any more of that; but should boot said writers block in the pants; or at least provide fodder for a short story.</div>
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Perhaps to get you going, you’d like to gather some despair from this <a data-mce-href="http://www.despair.com/viewall.html" href="http://www.despair.com/viewall.html">site</a>; specialising in demotivation posters.</div>
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I wish you and your writing every success in the new year.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
On a more serious note, I am horrified its been over 12 months since I have written anything, but commit now to pick up the pieces and publish, at least monthly to begin with. </div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-55338518918146653202012-11-12T23:12:00.000+10:002012-11-12T23:12:41.224+10:00In Business
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Wooden heeled boots clicked harshly over cobble stones. The figure pulled her shawl tighter across her chest as she searched the shop front signs. Dusks’ misty fingers began to swirl as the streets emptied. Lights glowed in windows. She halted suddenly as the gas lanterns lining the street flickered uncertainly. Beyond the throw of the light was the threshold of the shop she had walked all day to find. The newly painted banner above the shop front proudly announced that Goodale and Sons provided all services to ease loved ones into eternal slumber. Phoebe poised at the curb, but shrank back against the wall when the shop door opened. She clutched the pendant at her throat, stroking it to gain confidence. </div>
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<span class="s1">A tall red haired woman unlocked a large chain to release some of the shops wares on display. Wisps escaped from the tightly wound bun as she wiped her brow. She deftly lifted a small iron cage from the pavement and brought it inside the shop. Returning quickly she retrieved a wooden stand advertising more products available inside. A young lad shadowed the woman, picking up lose items and ducked into the shop, keeping the door open for her as she struggled with the last items.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Pheobes heart hammered, considering the option of turning on her heel and leaving. Twisting the end of her shawl, she took a step sidwards and gasped as she collided with a solid chest. Gnarled fingers grasped her arms to steady her balance.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Yer right there Ma’am?” A fine mustache sweeping upwards and joining genteelly into a clipped beard conflicted with the disheveled and shabby presentation of the tall man she had collided with. Pheobe scuttled away from him as a slow smile flickered across his face. He emerged fully from the shadows and pushed the battered top hat from his forehead.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Chewing thoughtfully on a wad of tobacco, he spat noisily onto the stones; all the time carefully scrutinizing the trembling woman before him before finally speaking. “Yer don’t want ta be going in there Ma’am. Dealers with the dead. Lessin’ yer one of them believers.” A huge gob of black manducated tobacco landed near her left boot. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Regaining her composure, Pheobe took a small step towards him, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. “Excuse me, Sir. I’ve travelled these past hours to get here on a matter of urgency.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">His lip curled. “Its always urgent. The only force the dead need to contend with is the weight of their souls before the Almighty.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Pardon Sir. I need to speak with Mrs Goodale before she closes the door.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“If’n you are after quality products for your passed loved ones, yer may be best to find your way into Whitechappel. Don’t be wastin yer time with these charlatans.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“I think I’ll be the judge of that. Please step aside so I may pass. Good day to you Sir.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1"> “Give Emma my best. She’ll know who it is. Tell her - ” he smiled. “Never mind, I’ll be telling her myself soon enough.” Tipping his hat theatrically, the man shrunk back into the shadows.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Phoebe hurried over to the shopfront, gingerly twisted the knob of the door and pushed her way into the gloomy interior. The tiny bell above the door announced her arrival.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Emma Goodale bent over a sheaf of papers, transcribing a column of numbers into a thick leather bound book. The young boy straightened small dolls dressed in black lace. He sat some of them on their accompanying coffins and shyly smiled up at Phoebe. A flicker of a frown on Emmas’ face was quickly replaced by a bright smile as she welcomed Phoebe in. Emma took her round spectacles away from her eyes and put her pen into the ink bottle beside the papers. Phoebe noticed that the glasses had pressed lines into the woman’s heartshaped face.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"> “Come in. You’ve just caught me before I closed up for the evening. What can I assist you with? We have a wide array of mourning paraphernalia and every thing you need for your grieving rituals.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Phoebe stood on the threshold gripping her shawl. Her eyes, once accustomed to the low light raced from one surface to the next. “Its m-my father.” She stared at the iron cages at the foot of a stone weeping angel.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Newly departed or soon to be expected to be so?“ Emma swept around the counter and rattled one of the cages. These mortsafes are a very popular product and guaranteed to keep our loved ones where they are put.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">A shudder shook Pheobes body. “I should think that its too late for that.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Emma dropped the cage and straightened. “How unfortunate for you.” Her blue eyes bore into Phoebes. “What exactly did you have in mind?” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Gripping the pendant, Phoebe flushed. “Your husband’s name was recommended to my family, for situations such as the one we face. I was told you would believe us. You’d be ready to listen and believe us.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Emma pulled her bodice straight and strode over to the door. She twisted the lock and turned to face Phoebe. “What else were you told?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“I am looking to employ your alternate services. I hoped your husband may be here to speak with.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Of course.” Emma beckoned the lad over. “William, please ask Mr Goodale to step into the shopfront.” In his excitement, the boy knocked one of the tiny coffins from the bench, sending a stylized skeleton scuttling across the floor. William stared at the mess with a down turned mouth and looked imploringly at Emma. She huffed a dramatic sigh and shoed him away before he scooted into the back rooms. Turning back to Pheobe, she asked. “Where is your chaperone, Miss - ?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Phoebe Williamson. I’m nearly 21.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Which means you are 18.” Emma smiled. “I’m not here to drag you through the streets for being unaccompanied Miss Williamson. Though I must say I am a little shocked at your pluckiness. You need to understand that conversations can be delicate and not often received in the way it was mean - under these circumstances. I did notice you with a gentlemen before.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Phoebe shook her head and flickered her eyes toward the street. “I bumped into a man just before I came in. He knew your shop. He had a message, but he said he’d come tell you himself.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Emma’s lips flattened. “Did he? Shabby top hat? Chewed tobacco? I hope you ignored him.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Flattening the front of her bodice, Phoebe nodded. “His advice was most unwelcome.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Please, where are my manners? Take a seat.” Emma pulled a mourning veil from a chair and set it on the counter. She motioned to the seat. Phoebe nodded and sat down, but gasped as she realized the solid figure of a man was standing beside the chair.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Milton coughed. “Forgive me. I have a very light step.” His solemn face bore the traces of burden grief could only etch. Phoebe hesitantly offered her gloved hand. “Pleased to meet you Mr Goodale.” Milton captured it, squeezing it delicately and inspected it. “White kid, possibly Eastern Suffolk, but they aren’t yours.Far too loose.” He continued to hold her hand and stared at her. “and you aren't from Suffolk either are you?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Pheobe grimaced and pulled her hand away. Milton frowned and reached inside his vest to retrieve his snuff box. He continued to regard her with an unwavering stare as he tapped the lid. Emma laid a hand on her shoulder. “Forgive my husbands abrupt manner.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Nodding Pheobe laid her hands on her lap. “Its perfectly alright, I’ve heard, well - ”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">She glanced at each face before her before she took a loud breath. “Ghosts. My father who has recently passed. He’s a ghost and won’t leave the household alone.” She bit her lip and held her breath.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Its alright Miss” grinning, William piped up appearing at her elbow, “I ain’t afraid of no ghosts; hey, guv?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Emma frowned at the boy and pointed toward the back door. “Off with you little scamp.” She turned back to Phoebe and leant on the shoulder of her husband. Her eyes softened as she smiled gently. “Now start from the beginning. How can Goodale Ghostbusters help you?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">**************************</span></div>
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<span class="s1">This marks the first draft of the first chapter from a Novella I am working on, based on a steampunk ghostbusters group. Each week, as I interview the creators about their characters, I will build their world and adventures in ghostbusting. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The first story was *meant* to be about Milton. However, his character is extremely shy, quirky and I need to build some trust with him before he will reveal more about him to me. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">These stories will be loaded up as first drafts over the next few months, however, they will be pulled down to be edited and collated into the Novella for publishing and launch mid next year. ( links and info will follow, I can guarantee that!) </span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-29494542952278812852012-10-12T16:38:00.000+10:002012-10-12T16:40:04.649+10:00FGC #29 Silent Screams<br />
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<span class="s1">I feel your judgement. Eventhough your eyes dart away if I try to engage you with a glance. Your thoughts shout across the room. Irresponsible mother. Heartless, unfit, uncaring.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I am haunted by the repetition of those lost minutes. Scant moments, snatched asleep. Enough for him to wander into the laundry. Then. Silence. Screams. My screams.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The stillness of this room, the beeping machines, the sterile scent of cleanliness only harsh chemicals can emulate. My waking nightmare. My red eyes stricken by drought. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">This ultra-bright floor, frowns at me as it compares my worn slip on shoes against its pristine efficiency.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">They tell me its time. I nod mechanically as switches are flicked. I watch his rhythmic breaths, forced downward are suddenly silenced. Tubes are removed and the incessant beeping map of the journey of his small heart are ceased.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Like automatons they leave; wheeling their machines toward the next room, perhaps to save a life this time. Their judgment and disgust pollute the air. It chokes me and I wish for tears.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I grip the tiny body trapped under that shiny white shroud. His face always peaceful, does not fight for breath. I smooth the mouse-brown wisps away from his face. Lips now blue. Just the way they had been when I found him. My lips white as I screamed, desperately pulling him out of that overly large bucket, half filled with soaking nappies. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">If only I hadn’t tried so hard to be environmentally aware. Been like other mothers. If only I had used disposable nappies, he’d still be alive.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The purity of all the whiteness hurt my eyes. All the chemicals used to make everything so sterile, seep insidiously around us. Nothing toxic had been allowed into my child's life …… until now.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">An efficient hand feels for a pulse and with a cursory glance at the clock; calls the official time; summoning death to collect another soul before stalking robotically out. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">I feel the judgement of the orderly as he wheels my bright little soul away. The one who should be playing in the garden today. Digging his fingers into the cool earth and smearing it over his dungarees. I see your judgement.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Irresponsible mother. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">A few moments distraction. A few centimetres of water. Playful boy, pulling at those soaking nappies. Reaching inward and toppling forward. Trapped. Drowning.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Can you ever look at me again? This end. Is this the end of us?</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Irresponsible mother. Murderer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This was written in response to <a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/writing-prompts/information-page/">Write Anything's Form and Genre Challenge </a> </span>FGC #29 Monologue <br />
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Words: 410</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-84666082213516496472012-10-07T23:36:00.000+10:002012-12-04T12:12:41.396+10:00FGC #28 The Staircase.<br />
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This story has been pulled offline in order to polish and submit to a competition.. wish me luck!</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This was written in response to <a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/writing-prompts/information-page/">Write Anything's Form and Genre Challenge </a> </span>FGC #28 Time Travel.<br />
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Words: 2894</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-20072172990704885382012-09-24T01:22:00.002+10:002012-09-24T01:26:44.105+10:00FGC #27 Out of the Rain.<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Explicit Content Warning.</b></div>
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<i>As part of a genre challenge, I have written an <b><u>Erotic Short Story.</u></b> If you are easily offended or embarrassed by sexual content, do not read on.</i><br />
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<span class="s1">Carlyn pushed against the door relieved when it released and allowed her in. Rivulets of water streaked her blouse, its thin gossamer clinging to her skin. Her nipples threatened to push their way through the fabric. Hot breath formed a cloud once inside. A distant siren wailed, sending shivers down her body.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Crazy night huh?” The voice satin smooth. </span>Carlyn froze, clutching her sodden blouse. “I’m sorry, I though I’d find a dry spot, just until the worst was over. I didn’t break in. The door, it was.”</div>
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<span class="s1">“Open. I let myself in too.” A heavy jacket slid over her shoulders. her eyes adjusted to the dim light as she made out the shape of a broad man.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">An explosion rattled the windows. Carlyn crouched out of habit, her eyes brimming with tears. “When will this all end?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Gentle hands gasped her shoulders and encouraged her to stand. He quietly shh’d as she pulled emotions into check. She gripped at his shirt as another explosion ripped at the street outside. Carlyn loosened her grip on his shirt; suddenly aware of the proximity between the two and shocked as her body reacted to him. She flattened her hand against his chest, allowing a moment to delight in the firmness underneath his cotton shirt. Her breath shortened as her heart hammered. She could feel the blood rise around her own cheeks. Swallowing hard, she dropped her hand; hoping he’d not sensed the flare of hormones she thought had died within her; killed off by the constant fear of death following her steps.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“We might be here for a while. Come away from the doorway at least.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Carlyn smiled, “Thank you. For being so kind and ” she ran her hand over the suit jacket, “Well, for making sure I didn’t freeze.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">His hand caressed her tight grip and they stared at each other. His arms slithered around her and gently held her as she shook. She allowed her form to meld into his. The faint armoma of the warm spice on his body grew stronger. Alarmed at her lack of self control she attempted to push him away. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">”I’m not normally like this. I’m sorry.” She attempted to straighten and sit up. His arms loosened, but continued to press against hers as his hand rubbed her back gently. Carlyn shook her head and took a deep breath. She could feel her heart racing as his hand continued to stoke her shoulder. Eli’s hand ran up her arm and brushed across her cheek. His smile calmed her as the air between them sparked with intention.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“The bombing is worse tonight. We might be stuck here for hours.I’m Eli.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Carlyn.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">He brushed a hand across her hair. “You’re very beautiful.” One hand slid down to her arm. He moved in closer, his hot breath tickled her throat. “But you’d hear that all the time.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Carlyn’s breath shortened. She’d never felt the rush of emotions which now coursed though her body. She rubbed her face against his and nibbled at his ear. “Not in a long time. I’m all -” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Alone?” Eli’s lips met hers; lingering as they breathed in one another’s desire. Carlyn brought her hand up around the back of his neck. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">She gasped at the firm touch. He took her open mouth as an invitation to explore. His tongue flickered possessively around her lips, flittering against her teeth before plunging into the cavity of her mouth. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">They both groaned as the kiss deepened.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">As Eli’s hands clutched around her body, Carlyn’s fingernails ripped the back of his shirt as he pushed her onto the floor. He breathed her scent in as rubbed his face down her chest, finding the bottom of her shirt and lifted it with his lips. She gripped the ends and pulled them apart, the buttons ricocheting onto the floor boards. His tongue danced around her navel as his fingers stroked her hips. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Carlyn felt a heat flush pulsate through her body as she groaned and thrust her pelvis up. Eli pulled her trousers down her thighs and nuzzled at the mound in her panties. She shimmied and wriggled. “Get these drenched pants off me” she pleaded. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“So greedy, so demanding.” Eli smiled as he assisted.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">She hooked a thumb at the top of her panties to wrench them downward, but Eli halted her with a firm hand. He drew her hand on top of his head as a finger lifted the elastic of the side of her panties. Pushing it back, his tongue slivered over her protruding lips, now wet and sleek with anticipation. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Carlyn pushed his head toward her pussy and riped her panties away. She bucked against his face, but was firmly pushed down by his hands on her hips. His teasing escalated as a finger is inserted into her vagina and pushed a steady pressure downward. His tongue flickered around the labia, delighting as it engorged and reddened.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">With her control dissolved, Carlyn moaned and gripped his head, her fingers twirling around his hair. His tongue plunged deep inside her dark red cave.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Let me. Come up here.” Carlyn horsely cried. Eli’s attention eased as his slid up to lay beside her. A free hand tweaked her erect nipple and slowly circled it.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"> </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Carlyn pushed him over gently and slid a leg between his. “My turn.” She ran her hands down to the zipper and clasp of his pants and teased them open. His cock was swollen, threatening to burst from its confinement within his drawers. She knelt between his legs and smiled across his body at him. Carlyns tongue traced the head gently as she gripped the base and squeezed. She eased her mouth over the tip and slowly lowered her head. She felt his penis throb and quiver inside her mouth, a salty invitation sent heat through her body. Drawing herself upward, she flattened her tongue to lick all the way down the shaft. The wrinkled sack of his scrotum was tight as she teased a ball into her mouth and sucked hard. Carlyn grasped his cock, wet with her salvia and ran her hand up and down firmly. She could feel the blood pulsing in the thick vein.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Kiss me” his gravelly voice begged. Carlyn slid on top of him, delighting in the slick wetness oozing from her pussy as it rubbed against his hairy body. With both legs astride him she eased herself onto his cock, shifting and pushing to enjoy its full length. Carlyn thrust her legs under his to lock the position his and rocked rhythmically against his thrusts.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Her hair tumbled over her face as she lent over him. “Still want that kiss?” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“I want it all.” His hands tightened on her hips as he thrust upward. He Pulled her toward him and in a fluid movement, they rolled over, so that he was on top. His knees screamed in pain against the hard flooring as he spread her thighs wide. He penetrated and pounded her, thrusting deeper beneath her belly. She ground in time with him, her heart thundering in her chest. Just as suddenly, the tension drained away from them as their fluids intermixed, spasm after shuddering spasm.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Eli reluctantly pulled away from her and lay on the floor, staring up into ceiling. “Its nice not to feel so alone. Even just for a moment.” His hand reached over to rest on her belly and stroked it gently. Carlyn’s eyes glittered in the light of the fires outside. “We aren't alone if we are together.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This was written in response to <a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/writing-prompts/information-page/">Write Anything's Form and Genre Challenge </a> </span>FGC #27 Erotica.<br />
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Words: 1306<br />
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Reflection: Far out - the closest to erotica I have written is a few smoochy kisses, but I'd rather be writing about things blowing up or dying horribly thank this. Be kind with your feedback.. I hope I have done the genre justice.</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-49556433496695701992012-09-16T15:10:00.000+10:002012-09-16T15:10:15.560+10:00FGC #26 Tantalising Fixtation
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<span class="s1">Tantalising contented fixation</span></div>
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<span class="s1">we hunger for that sacred precious state</span></div>
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<span class="s1">captivated by its sweet caress and salvation</span></div>
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<span class="s1">lips moist with anticipation</span></div>
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<span class="s1">soft sensual succulent hunger consummate</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Tantalising contented fixation</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Dark guilt and innocent flirtation</span></div>
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<span class="s1">despised, feared adored and delicate</span></div>
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<span class="s1">captivated by its sweet caress and salvation</span></div>
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<span class="s1">useless to beg for its cessation</span></div>
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this smothered spiritual liquid paradise</div>
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<span class="s1">Tantalising contented fixation</span></div>
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<span class="s1">angel whispers, demon temptation</span></div>
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<span class="s1">exotic sacred and decadent</span></div>
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<span class="s1">captivated by its sweet caress and salvation</span></div>
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<span class="s1">bounty in anyone’s translation</span></div>
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<span class="s1">aromatic soothing indulgent chocolate</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Tantalising contented fixation</span></div>
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<span class="s1">captivated by its sweet caress and salvation</span></div>
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<span class="s1">XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX</span></div>
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<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This was written in response to <a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/writing-prompts/information-page/">Write Anything's Form and Genre Challenge <span style="font-family: inherit;">,</span></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36; font-family: inherit;"> <a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/2012/09/fgc-26-villanelle-submission/"> </a></span><span style="color: #413f36; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-image: url(http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/wp-content/themes/Bold/images/arrow-1.gif); background-position: 50% 100%; line-height: 40px; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-top: 5px;"><a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/2012/09/fgc-26-villanelle-submission/">FGC #2</a></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/2012/09/fgc-26-villanelle-submission/">6 </a>Villanelle Poem </span>Challenge<span style="font-family: inherit;">.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I have to admit, I'd never heard of this style of poem before I did quite a bit of research first about the structure - but basically ( from a <a href="http://members.optushome.com.au/kazoom/poetry/villanelle.html">great poetry website</a> Kazoom)</span><br />
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<i>The villanelle has 19 lines, 5 stanzas of three lines and 1 stanza of four lines with two rhymes and two refrains. The 1st, then the 3rd lines alternate as the last lines of stanzas 2,3,and 4, and then stanza 5 (the end) as a couplet</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The advice many places gave was to choose a subject or topic area that you are obsessed with... and well.. Chocolate is high on my list.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-91491585341021869062012-09-09T23:05:00.001+10:002012-09-09T23:05:39.550+10:00FGC #25 DeLorean Dilemmas <br />
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<span class="s1"><b>ECOPOCALYPSE</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b></b></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1"><a href="http://chooseordie.blogspot.com.au/">Choose Or Die </a>is created by a bunch of scribblers who loved choose your own adventures when they were younger. Desperately unhappy about the sucky outcomes they were always landed, they decided that the power of choice needed to be handed back to the audience, and in this space, a different writer will continue the story along. A truly interactive storytelling experience where the readers actually do get to choose the fate of the main character. Season 4 looks at an Eco Apocalypse. I was invited to write one of the choices from Chapter 1 - italics will indicate a summary of the previous chapter.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i>Early in your career as a brilliant scientist you created a revolutionary Eco-Waste Control product which has been installed in a large percentage of home across the globe. As the figure-head CEO of one of the most prosperous companies, you spend most of your retirement recovering from wild parties or glued to your virtual games, completely unaware that your invention has had disastrous side effects. </i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i></i></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1"><i>Picketers have over run your mansion and an emergency board meeting has been called.</i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i>Your boardroom is filled with panicking blamestormers with tempers rising. Your Vice President, Milo, is finding it hard to take it seriously.</i></span></div>
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<span class="s1">You pound the highly polished table for emphasis. Bickering halts as all eyes turns toward you. “Listen up here, you bunch of sissies. You get paid the big bucks to react to shit like this. Do your freaking job. It can’t be as bad as the media is pretending it is. The reports I am hearing is ridiculous.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Milo bites his hand to stifle a giggle. The stress has obviously gotten to him. You glare at him. You’ve been in the boardroom a handful of times, but this is the first time you’ve spoken in front of the senior staff. You are determined to come across as masterful and in control of the situation; despite having no clue what is actually going on.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Where the hell is the Marketing team?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">A manicured hand shoots up in the back. “Maria Britanny, Marketing.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">You point at her. “Get a spin on this; blame the Chinese for their poor work practices and child labor factories. India can’t withdraw their contract. Remind them that most of the online and phone support from a large proportion of tech companies are routed to them, and they will lose billions if they do withdraw. Korea has problems with its whole weirdo government and hairstyles. Do something with that, will you?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Uh, the hairstyles of the government?” Someone clears his throat. “Are you talking about North Korea?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“What?” You bluster. “Aren’t they the same place? North, South, not that different surely?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The boardroom shuffles uncomfortably as a dozen sets of eyes bore into the table in front of them.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“What about Sweden?” quavers a question from the sides.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“I hate them because they all look so damned healthy and happy outdoors.” You puff your chest out, filled with an unnatural confidence. You feel like J.R. from the old Dallas show.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Paul Poppins from Public Relations glares across the table at the head of Marketing. “I think you’ll find that Public Relations will do a better job at negotiating those areas, rather than the gloss and pomp department.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">A shriek cuts the air as Maria’s manicured hands find their way around Paul’s throat.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“I don’t give a rats ass who does it. Make it so.” You look off into the distance, wishing you’d mentioned ‘Number Two’ or tried for a better Pickard voice.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Todd Brammers taps on his iPad, darkening the room and illuminating the wide expanse of one of the walls. You wish he would use up to date equipment. He projects several channels of live news reports into spots around the wall. Images of tattered humanoids stumble across the wall. Wide-eyed reporters breathlessly relate to their audiences what they are experiencing—that is, until the shit-covered masses reach the TV crew and the camera is dropped, the operator is dragged away or fled. Real life re-enactments of the Blair Witch Project are relayed on multiple screens. Screams are cut off into gurgling, pathetic drowning sounds. You gulp realising for the first time that something has gone terribly wrong with your invention.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“There is no way of making this go away with marketing OR public relations. Environaut is the cause for all of this. We need to shut down immediately and regroup under Chapter 11.” Todd firmly punches in a series of codes, bringing up spreadsheets and financial documents. The rest of the board stare, nodding and grunting at each other. You’ve no idea what the charts mean.</span><span class="s2"> </span><span class="s1">You push your hands through your hair. You realise you don’t even know what Chapter 11 is.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Fine!” You yell. “ Do the Chapter 11 thing. Shut down production—but I still want my spin happening.” You cling to the J.R. image.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Will you be coming with us then?” Scott Black, the Head of Mergers and Acquisitions, asks you.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“What? Me? No, Milo and I need to check out the Flux Capacitors and gamma reactors in the proton isolators in the Environaut prototype. Science geek stuff. You know.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Nods from around the room confirm that none of them understand what that means, but they are all relieved that they have a plan to execute without the CEO breathing down their necks.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Come on Milo, we need to go.” You grab Milo's coat jacket and shove him through the door.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">He explodes with laughter. “What the hell was that in there? Flux capacitors? And you know you still have shit on your forehead from this morning.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">You wipe it off. “If you’re not with me, go back to the boardroom and do whatever Chapter 11 is,” you fume. “This shit has gotten serious. I can’t understand what’s come unraveled and how it's happened so quickly.” You both stride toward the exit.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">“So what's the plan, Kimo Sabe?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Just start driving. I do my best thinking when I'm on the road.” Your mind is rattling off possibilities, reformulating the plans of the Environaut. “ I think this calls for a drive in the DeLorean.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Milo clutches your arm, stopping your train of thought. “You mean that thing actually goes?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">You grin. “The amount of money I paid for it, I’ve been guaranteed its an authentic working model.” You stride ahead. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">You and Milo climb into the car and exit the carpark. The outer perimeter of the security fence surrounding the Smart EcoGen HQ is slowly filling with picketers. You drive out as quickly as you can, hoping they won't notice you.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“It can’t be the recycling processors,” you mumble.”That had been tested for years in the earlier versions.” You steer the car onto the freeway and headed south. If nothing else, a trip to Mexico would clear the mind.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“What does this thing do?” Milo pokes a covered switch.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Surely the diagnostic console didn’t reboot after the—”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Hey, if I push this, will anything happen?” Milo doesn't wait for an answer and pushes the red, candy-like button. The DeLorean accelerates suddenly. The speedometer slowly creeps up to 88 miles per hour.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Did you say something about a Flux Capacitor?” Milo grins. ‘Don’t thank me now. Let's go back in time and fix this mess. Then you can shower me with gifts and double my salary.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The body of the car begins to shake as the inside glows blue. You take your hands off the wheel. You paid a mint for the car, and the previous owner stressed its authenticity. You grin, suddenly thinking of all the dumbass things you are going to fix up on your trip back in time. You decide you will scrap the Environaut and introduce either the Wii or Xbox to the market years before the original developers have a whiff of an idea of the gaming platforms. Hell, you may decide to do both.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Dials on the dashboard spin. “Shit. We need to set a date. Let's set it for when we met at college, convince ourselves not to bother and —”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Just set the date, idiot. We are nearly at 88 miles per hour.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“And running out of clear road.” The freeway ends, and you enter suburbia.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The speedometer slowly creeps around as the car surges forward. Tiny blue lights flash within the cabin. You cover your eyes. “It's 88 miles an hour. So long present day. You suck!”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The Delorean slams into the wall of a low set apartment block. Glass splinters as the steering wheel drives its way through your chest. Your ribs shatter as your lungs burst from the sudden impact. Your neck whips back and forth, breaking in the process. It flops to the side as blood seeps out of your nose and mouth. Milo’s body is ripped apart from the impact. Gore hangs in tendrils in what is left of the Delorean.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1"><i>You seriously didn’t think a flux capacitor exists, did you? Go back to the start and try again.</i></span></div>
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<span class="s1">If you’d like to continue reading this adventure ( on a winning streak) and be part of the decision process, chapters are still being written - so please pop over to <a href="http://chooseordie.blogspot.com.au/">Choose Or Die</a>, read the story so far and vote for your favourite option.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This was written in response to <a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_899469997">Write Anything's Form and Genre Challenge</a><a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/2012/08/fgc-22-dialogue-only-submission/"> </a>,<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36;"> </span><a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/2012/08/fgc-21-noir-submission/" style="background-image: url(http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/wp-content/themes/Bold/images/arrow-1.gif); background-position: 50% 100%; background-repeat: repeat no-repeat; border-width: 0px; color: #413f36; display: inline !important; line-height: 40px; margin: 5px 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;" title="Permanent Link to F&GC #21 Noir Submission">FGC #2</a>5 Second Person POV.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Words: 1500</span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-87537042365787517682012-09-03T00:59:00.002+10:002012-09-03T01:00:09.480+10:00FGC #24 Conflict of the Order.<br />
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<span class="s1">Telana pushed her fringe back from eyes as she scanned the shadows. The back of her neck tingled as she sensed the presence of another unnatural. As it dissolved, she breathed out, thankful she didn’t have to face whatever it may have been. The glittering lights of Las Vagas’s infamous strip reflected blindingly in the puddles formed in the dips of the road.She walked resolutely on, her collar flicked upward to protect her from winters final gasp of cool night air.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">A group of drunken boys called her over, grasping their desperate hands towards her. She smiled and shook her head, scanning their auras. Nothing a few years of sensible living with a mortgage and kids would fix.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Under a street lamp, she flicked open her fob watch, immediately glancing up at the bar across the road. As she entered, she spotted the one she’d been looking for, alone dirty with guilt and downtrodden. He sat at the bar, ill at ease with his eyes shifting about the room. A half full bottle of scotch sat beside his glass. Telana smiled and glid into a chair beside him, ordering a glass of wine. She undid her coat and slipped it off her shoulders, revealing a glistening white mini dress. The hundreds of embroidered mirrored beads caught the disco lights, swirling iridescent colours around her lithe body. Folding her coat into a ball on the bar beside her, she then spun in her chair nursing her drink, careful to appear to ignore him as she glanced about the dance floor. He was captivated by her every move.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Telana placed her glass on the bar beside him, tipping and spilling a small quantity on his hand. With a practiced banter, she apologised, blushing perfectly and tenderly wiped the moisture from his hand, dabbing the sleeve of his shirt.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">He spoke haltingly, barely believing that he had a beautiful young woman sitting beside him. She listened intently, hanging on every word until he reached his hand out, stunned when she didn’t shirk away.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“You’re too pretty to be here on your own accord, alone. I know you come with a price tag.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“We all come with a price tag, Robert. Some are more prominent than others.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“What’s yours? Without being too blunt.” He flushed. “I’m sorry, that was rude. I know you must get asked in a lot of ways and a lady of your, I dunno, classiness, doesn’t come cheap. I just.” He faltered and looked away.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Its ok Robert. Its been taken care of.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Who?”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Lets not worry about that part of the transaction. We were enjoying ourselves up until money came into the picture.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Aint that the truth.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“You know, <i>Money is</i>”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“The root of all evil? Thats a misquote. Its the love of money thats evil, not the money side of it. God doesn't want you to be poor. I’ve always believed that.” He flushed again and swirled the melting ice in his glass. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Telana smiled warmly. “I know. Shall we go?” Her fingers lingered on his shoulder and she traced it down his arm. A tingle shot through his body at her touch. He left his drink at the bar and followed her through the gyrating masses. She flung her coat at his chest, pushing him away as a fist clawed its way from the crowd towards him.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Leaving so quickly Angel?” A heavily muscled blond man towered over Telana.”Leave that jerk and come with us.” As he lifted his arm to grasp her, a body barrelled from the sidelines, knocking him over. Her rescuers cowboy boots landed a heavy kick into the blond mans prone state. Telana hid a smile as she grasped Roberts’ hand and led him out onto the street.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Ahh, what was that - trouble?” He stammered looking back into the bar.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Tracing her finger on his cheek. “Nothing we need to be concerned about. Shall we? I have a room next door.” She guided him toward a boutique hotel, tucked into a side street.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The hotel clerk held a key toward her as he continued to read the newspaper. Robert stumbled behind Telana, his heart hammering in anticipation and fear. A man past his middle ages, he had long lost the battle for his college football star body. She undressed slowly, allowing him to fumble awkwardly at her body. Her encouraging tone and smiling face belied her distaste for this part of her job. Telana thanked her creator for the small mercy that Robert was both out of shape and at such a heightened state of arousal, their love making lasted scant moments. She kissed his forehead, sending him into a deep sleep. Although she had powers of attraction available for her disposal, she had learnt the many tricks of her trade, not to have to use them. Instead, she reserved her powers for instant sleep in order to get her true job done.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Telana carefully slipped out of the bed and went to the bathroom to scrub herself clean. She padded naked across the room and fished out a small bundle from her coat pocket. She rolled out the soft leather case onto the sheet beside Roberts’ sleeping form. Exquisite scalpels, tiny elongated forks and small knives make from crystal caught the bedside alarm light, sending tiny stars onto the ceiling. he held her hands out over his body and tugged at his aura, pulling at the invisible chains of guilt, loathing and hate which trapped his soul.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">She fought back tears as she stripped away his earliest hurtful memories. A mother who dies too early, father who resented the presence of a child, constantly reminding him that his wife was long cold in the ground.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Robert’s beginning was so alike hers. She stroked the memory of his mothers smile watching it glow and shimmer, placing it straight into his heart. His face softened as he slept. His soul awakened, yawning and stretching upward.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Telana continued to cut slithers though the chains around his body. Dark patches of jealousy shrouded his judgement, spite smothered empathy. She carefully separated the darkened chains from the tiny glimmers of hope until the floor was covered in tendrils of oozing hate. Telana picked up a tiny pearl from her kit and threw it into the midst of the swirling dark emotion. A crack appeared in the floor, sucking the negative energies into the deepest realms of hell.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">She slumped into the chair under the window, exhausted with the effort this repair had taken. Robert shifted in his slumber, a small giggle emitting from his lips. Telana often wished she could see what happened after she had left; but knew that once a soul had been repaired, it found the true light and would follow in the path toward God.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Her fob watch glowed and vibrated. She flicked it open to reveal a compass face and physically groaned when she saw her next assignment. Telana swiftly collected her instruments and wrapped her dress about her, securing it at the waist. She picked up her shoes and coat, sliding out the door silently. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Shiny cowboy boots polished within an inch of sparkle tapped impatiently outside the room. Her heart skipped a beat. “You’ve missed your chance Twain. He has been saved.” </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Why do you always assume the worst with me?” He pushed himself off the wall and smiled revealing perfect white teeth. His elongated canines pressed against his lower lip.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“You are damned Twain. With no soul and no redeeming features.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“And yet you always take the time to speak to me. I like that. The ever positive angel, always trying to poach another one for her boss.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Can we not have this conversation so publicly?”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Sure. My truck is parked across the road.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Telana hesitated. “I owe you my thanks. For stepping in back at the bar. They took me by surprise.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">A toothpick twirled in Twains lips. “Couldn’t let one of those Greek boys muscle into your catch. Coffee?”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“I’ve got another job. I want to get it done before - “</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“The Greek lads do? Don’t you think Vegas will get to him first?” </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“I shouldn’t be talking to you. I need to go.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“I’ll take you. The least I can do for holding you up.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Telana allowed herself to be led to his pickup truck and climbed in. She wriggled into her coat and slid her feet into her shoes before buckling up.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Twain cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve been down here too long. Gone native.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Its against the law not to have a seat belt.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“If we have an accident, its not like its going to hurt you.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">She crossed her arms and fumed. “I knew it was a mistake to let you talk me into giving me a lift. I can’t think when I’m round you. You drive me crazy.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“I thought angels had more patience than a saint? Or is that just a saying?” his tousled hair hung in his eyes as he winked at her.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">She refused to look at him, unable to guarantee she could control her true feelings. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">So where can I take you in this big ol town? Twain negotiated the truck out onto the road.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">She flicked her fob open. “Caesars Palace”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Twain gripped the wheel dropping his casual front. “Look, I know you think we are on the opposite sides of this war, but take it from me, you don’t want to go in there on your own like - “ he gestured up and down at her. “The Gods of Olympus have a stronghold in that place, and you’ll get eaten up; literally.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Why should you care?”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Twain changed lanes and stared at the road ahead. His jaw twitched as the internal argument raged inside. “I’ve been a soul seeker for longer than you have been an angel. Don’t try and deny it. I doubt you’ve even gotten your silver wings yet.” he checked her response, the side of his mouth jerked momentarily as she flushed. “Do you realise that this is the longest conversation we have had in the five years we have known each other?”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Telana uncrossed her arms. “I’d hardly say we knew each other”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“More is the shame.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><i>Damned straight</i> she shrieked silently. “Twain, I shouldn’t even been talking to you. Being this close to you. Soul Seekers are plain evil beings.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Why do you think you aren’t allowed to know about Soul Seekers? What my kind do?”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Just when I thought we cold skirt around our differences, and be civilised, you have to bring it up. Are we nearly there yet?”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Telana, we do the same thing. Our methods may be different, but ultimately, its the same”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Her lip upturned. “It would be un-angelic of me to sneer, but really? Your kind kill and feed on humans, trapping their souls and enslaving their bodies. Everyone knows that.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“and thats the sort of tripe Hollywood and the church will keep perpetuating.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Then tell me. Make me understand. What you do?”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Like you, I sent humans free from their chains. We let them choose their destiny without influencing them with silvery sparkles.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Telana glared at him. “I don’t use my powers to influence anyone. They are healed and come to me of their own accord. They then find God on their own accord.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“And thats why you and I should work together, against the real enemy.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“I can’t work with a vampire. Your kind are all evil.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“And Las Vagas hookers are hardly saintly.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Telana opened her mouth, but had no words. Tears sprung to her eyes. How could she ever expect to know real love, to have a partner who could care about her after the years she had spent doing this job?</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Twain pulled up opposite Ceasars Palace. “Many truths make us who we really are to our Creator.” He slowly reached over and put his hand on hers. “What matters is inside. Our enthusiasm for the job we have. Do you think I have always been this way? It has its advantages, but hell, its got its disadvantages too.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">A tear slid down her cheek. “I do what I do because its my job. When God asks you to do something, you don’t question it - even if its being a hooker in Las Vagas.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“I remember sunshine. I can smell it in your hair. I gave up so many things so I could serve a great force. Something bigger than just me.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“So, we both freeing humanity?”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Twain pulled the toothpick out of his mouth. “Yep, one at a time, so that they can choose independently. And we use our powers to do so enthusiastically.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Enthusiasm as a hooker?”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Did you know it comes from the greek word, ‘theos’?’ as in ‘in - theos’ - in God? You do what you do with Gods blessing.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Want to go and kick some Greek butt and free a few souls?”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“After you.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Telana applied her glossy lipstick and puffed her hairstyle up again. Linking arms with Twain, they strode into Ceasars, not knowing what would happen, but that at least, they would do it together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This was written in response to <a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_899469997">Write Anything's Form and Genre Challenge</a><a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/2012/08/fgc-22-dialogue-only-submission/"> </a>,<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36;"> </span><a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/2012/08/fgc-21-noir-submission/" style="background-image: url(http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/wp-content/themes/Bold/images/arrow-1.gif); background-position: 50% 100%; background-repeat: repeat no-repeat; border-width: 0px; color: #413f36; display: inline !important; line-height: 40px; margin: 5px 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;" title="Permanent Link to F&GC #21 Noir Submission">FGC #2</a>4 Urban fantasy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Words: 2200</span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-87753918887150492572012-08-20T00:10:00.003+10:002012-08-20T00:10:37.210+10:00Noticing the blessings along the Journey FGC #23<br />
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<span class="s1" style="font-size: large;">A journey honours the realisation</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-size: large;">of changes made</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-size: large;">Never forget your dreams</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-size: large;">Prepare for your passion</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-size: large;">Face day and night</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-size: large;">Share like the luckiest people</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-size: large;">You want to rebuild</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-size: large;">choose your way.</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-size: large;">A solid foundation</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-size: large;">so beautiful</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-size: large;">is ahead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This was written in response to <a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_899469997">Write Anything's Form and Genre Challenge</a><a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/2012/08/fgc-22-dialogue-only-submission/"> </a>,<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36;"> </span><a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/2012/08/fgc-21-noir-submission/" style="background-image: url(http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/wp-content/themes/Bold/images/arrow-1.gif); background-position: 50% 100%; background-repeat: repeat no-repeat; border-width: 0px; color: #413f36; display: inline !important; line-height: 40px; margin: 5px 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;" title="Permanent Link to F&GC #21 Noir Submission">FGC #23</a> Found Poem.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is a new format to me. I found a definition on <a href="http://www.creative-writing-now.com/found-poetry.html">Creative Writing Now</a> which best describes this genre. "A found poem uses language from non-poetic contexts and turns it into poetry. Think of a collage -- visual artists take scraps of newspaper, cloth, feathers, bottle caps, and create magic."</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I flicked through the pages of "Road Ahead" - a Motoring Magazine focusing on cars, engines and motoring holidays, cutting out headings as they struck me. Collating it, I asked for personal </span>guidance<span style="font-family: inherit;"> in my life's journey - having struck some road blocks and </span>challenges<span style="font-family: inherit;">.... and these words strung together; giving me a meaningful message. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I've taken a photo of my collage - and also written it for clarity.</span></span></div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-55348972816668754842012-08-12T16:28:00.001+10:002012-08-12T16:28:44.764+10:00Forgive the Sin of Knowledge FGC #22<br />
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<span class="s1">"You hold your sins as though they are armour. "</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"You say that as though its a bad thing."</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"They’re your downfall. "</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"I don’t regret a thing."</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"Even now? Here?"</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"I see judgement in every eye staring at me. Not a spec of forgiveness, there’s no empathy, no love." </span></div>
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<span class="s1">"Your ego and pride stop you from seeing the truth. It always has. Please Ayah, without admitting your sins, there is no hope. Think of your family, think of me."</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"Knowledge is never a sin."</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"You can’t be saved without asking for forgiveness. Please."</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"What I have done or not done is between the One and I. Only He has the power to pass judgment. I can only pray what I have done set the path for change in others."</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"Ayah, you do understand what’s at stake?"</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"Our entire civilisation refusing to question what is beyond our borders, to understand other cultures."</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"Enough of the rebellious speech Ayah. Its over. "</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"It may be for you."</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"Your choices are an eternity in the depths of darkness or to be saved into the arms of the One. Your soul is at stake. Please. For the ones you love. Admit and save yourself."</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"I have said my peace. I know where I am going. Do you Rueban? Really? I’m only the first of those who will stand up to you and your obsessive religious fervour. It’s you who should be worried."</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"Then there is nothing else to be said. Open the hatch Brother Midshipman. Let us pray for the lost soul of Ayah Minton. Fear the darkness of space and of the unknown beyond."</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span class="s1">"All Hail he One. </span>Fear the darkness of space and of the unknown beyond."</b></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was written in response to</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"> </span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_899469997">Write Anything's Form and Genre Challenge</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"><a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/2012/08/fgc-22-dialogue-only-submission/"> </a>,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"> </span><a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/2012/08/fgc-21-noir-submission/" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: url(http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/wp-content/themes/Bold/images/arrow-1.gif); background-origin: initial; background-position: 50% 100%; background-repeat: repeat no-repeat; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #413f36; display: inline !important; font-family: Arial; line-height: 40px; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 5px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;" title="Permanent Link to F&GC #21 Noir Submission">FGC #22 D</a>ialogue Only</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Words - 284</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was also submitted to <a href="http://fridayflash.org/press/the-collector/">Friday Flash</a> </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-83897548817160154062012-08-06T01:52:00.002+10:002012-08-06T19:51:31.517+10:00Giri - FGC #21<br />
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<span class="s1">She had long strong fingers. They probed deeply into Candice’s lower back, exploring the knotted muscles, pressing exquisitely into painful areas before releasing, allowing pure blissful relaxation. Candice wasn’t sure if it felt so good simply because it wasn’t hurting any longer.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“You’re new.” A statement not a question.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The probing faltered momentarily, the touch lighter for a second.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“I’ve been away for a while.” The digging continued.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Candice rolled onto her side and caught the hand before it could withdraw. Her towel slipped revealing a breast. Both women drew a breath and regarded one another. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Candice slowly smiled and released the hand. She sat up and pulled her towel up to cover bare flesh. “Away huh? Must have been some holiday. What’s your name?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Roz” she stumbled.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“I’ve had enough today. Make sure you are free this time tomorrow. I’ll be asking for you.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Roz lowered her eyes, the flush rising to her cheeks. There was a time, she’d never have given the time of day to a woman like this. “Thanks Mrs Haynes. I’ll be outside if you need me.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Candice swung her legs off the massage table and stood naked, not even attempting to reach for her robe.”That a promise?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Roz closed the door behind her, clenching her fists and biting a lip. Toya looked up from her magazine. “Is she ready for her manicure yet?” Roz nodded. “I’m going to clock off. She was my last client.” Toya picked up her kit. “Suit yourself. I’ll be about 20 mins if you want to get a drink?” Roz shook her head and grabbed her back before heading out through the glass doors.</span><br />
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<span class="s1">XXXXXXX</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Roz feigned interest in the abstract art displayed in the hotel foyer, acutely aware her pale purple tunic uniform stood out in stark contrast to the whispering silks and luxurious furs which floated past. She was angry at herself for wanting to see Candice again, even if it was from afar. A warm, spicy presence slid up behind her.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Roslyn? Rose? Rosetta? I think you may be right. Roz suits you best.” Candice regarded her through long lashes.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Mrs Haynes; I -” Roz’s heart hammered. she licked her dry lips as her eyes fixated on Candices glossy red pout.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Put this jacket on. I’m buying you a drink.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Sitting down in the corner of the bar, Roz toyed with her softdrink. Candice sipped her cocktail, her hand finding Roz’s knee. Tenderly she traced a circle on the top. Roz lent across to Candice , hissing, “You don’t think I don’t know what you are trying to do? Play out your lesbian fantasy with something you can pick up and throw away like garbage? Then you can run on back to your sugar daddy or whoever the fuck pays your bills. I am not that person, so get your hands away from me and don’t come back to the salon.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Candice pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Now see thats where you are wrong. We are both very much the same. Trapped in a place neither of us wanted or dreamt about. Forced to play the parts of people we don’t like. Both of us are meant of better things. Away from here. And I will be back. You know you want to see me again.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Roz caught her breath as she stared at Candice. Her body, now tightly wrapped in the latest fashions, was now twice as desirable as it was when she was naked on her massage table. “You got the wrong girl. I need to leave. If I get caught here, talking to you - I’ll get fired.” Roz struggled to stand.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Candice put her hand on Roz’s. “Rose Lyn Ferrier. 27 years old. Jailed for 5 years for the Chiveld Jewellery Hoist. Out after 2 years for good behaviour. Self professed lesbian and known accomplice to Sugar Lil. Accused, but never sentenced for countless other artwork and jewellery robberies across the state.” She squeezed the cold hand. “ Oh, I think I have the right girl.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Slumping into her seat, Roz shook her head. “So much for the frigging slate being wiped clean after you get out.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Don’t look behind you, but I’m being followed right now. My husband controls everything I do, where I go, every moment of my life. He thinks I am having an affair.” Candice raised her empty glass to the bartender to signal another round. “Idiot doesn’t realise I‘ve been taking the pill for months. He’s desperate to get me banged up, breeding, a house full of kids.” Candice’s eyes suddenly welled, her bravado crumbling,” I can’t do it. I know thats what most women want but its not me. I want to choose.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Mrs Haynes, its been very nice sitting with you, but I can’t see what I have to do with any of this.” Rozs' eyes slid around the bar. Two men in suits sat with near full drinks in front of them. Her shoulders sagged. “Can’t you just say something? He’s your husband - I mean its the 21st century for Christ sake its not like you are a 50’s housebound bride.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Taking a swig from her newly deposited drink, Candice shook her head. “He’s THE Gerrard Haynes.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Roz stared. “Millionaire type, Gerrad Haynes? You guys live the high life. What are you doing here?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Some dumb conference he is opening and then we are stuck here for a fortnight while he does the rounds at the schools and colleges. I’d trade it in a second. But I can’t leave. I got no family, no money, nowhere to go. Just him.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Opening her jacket so Candice could see her uniform, Roz smiled, “Look at me, learn a trade - get some dummy papers, its not the highlife, but its a life. One I chose. You could do that.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Roz, its no accident I walked into your salon. I did my research. I knew you’d be the one to help me get out. Get papers, whatever. Please, get me out and away from him.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Well, You need a heap of money for what you are asking. Need time to plan things. But, I don’t do any of that any more. I am dead to my old life. I’ve made a new start.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Wait Roz. Its not just about me. My husband - he’s not a good person. You know he’s not all that clean?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Not really that interested in your bedroom life.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“He is made out to be this philanthropist doing all this charity stuff. He rips them off. The Charity, the people who sign up. All those orphans who are supposed to have money sent to them, to improve those orphanages never get a cent. You remember those places don’t you Roz? Cold showers, thin blankets, no food.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Roz shuddered recalling the beatings, solitary confinement and endless chores she suffered at the hands of the nuns.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Candice traced a pattern on the table from the condensation dripping off her drink. “What he is doing isn’t right. Those kids deserve better. You deserve better. You could help other kids have a better life. I need your help to expose him.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m not going back to the slammer. The girls in there - make me look like a marshmallow. I’m straight now.” She grinned half heartedly - “You know what I mean.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Candice stood. “Think it over. Help me, help the kids. </span>Don't you wish someone had done it for you? Its your duty to isn't in? Bring down one bastard who deserves everything he gets.” She traced a heart on Roz’s hand before gliding out of the bar.<br />
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<span class="s1">The next week overflowed with secret trysts; Candice always careful with meeting places and times. She didn’t mention the orphanages or her husband during their love making. For the first time, Roz felt she had connected with someone who was kind, loving and considerate. She fought the urge to be the first to suggest they leave their current lives together to build new ones. At night, she schemed and calculated how to make it - them - work.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">A week since they met, the pair lay entwined across a king sized bed. Roz’s lips tingled as a flicker of a tongue crossed over lips. Candice’s breath sweet, musky warm air between them, filled her with renewed desire.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“We could just stay like this - you and me. Discrete.” Roz refused to look at Candice, fearful of what her face might reveal after her suggestion. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Candice stroked her head. “I wish we could. But Gerrard wants me to have a baby. Once I do, nothing will be possible or the same. Please Roz. I can’t. I can’t let him touch me any more, not after you.” tears welled and grew in her eyes. “The thought of a creature growing inside me, clawing to get out, ripping me apart and then suckling mewling and helpless. I can’t” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Roz pushed a stray hair out of her face, catching the tear on her finger. “What can we do then?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Candice sat up. “He is exchanges a work of art for a replicas and then donates them to Art Galleries. Pays off the authorities who have signed to say its real.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“And the real ones are ?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Rolled up and sold to a private collector.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“But how is this going to help us?” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Its time to expose him and run. He has a Van Gough to auction off for the Children's Fund. We can take the real one with us. We may be poor and got rotten jobs in some hillbilly town, but we will have each other. Meanwhile he will have alot of explaining to do from the authorities, and the collector. All we need to do is to tip off the authorities, cause a ruckus, it will give us the space to get out.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Roz rolled onto her stomach. “This ruckus needs to be high profile. Mr Haynes - he is top end of the strip.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Candice clicked her fingers “ The strip - He is doing some promo for the Childrens Charity in two days on the Glitter Strip where the painting is going to be displayed. Everyone who is anyone will be there.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“So whats your plan Candice - neither of us are computer savy enough to hack into his presentation?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Candice shrieked in laughter - “As if anyone could do that in the first place.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“How about doing some sort of text message at same time to give everyone there the info about his underhand dealings?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“You watch too many movies. What we will do is the simplest thing. Start a rumour about the authenticity by word of mouth. I know some gossips who can’t keep their mouth shut. Once one of the art critics takes a good look at the painting, and has a questioning look, he will want to leave. We never go in the same car - Michael will probably chauffeur me we can meet up and take off from there - he won’t miss me for at least 12 hours.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Roz frowned. “This is dangerous ground we are going into. There is no turning back. Trust no-one till we are thousands of miles away, with new haircuts and identities. This is the real deal - we aren’t in some sort of action movie. Listen, if I get caught, I’m straight back into the slammer. This time no chance of parole. I can’t blow it. I’m not going back for anything.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“I know you want out as much as I do. We do this, and we are both free.” Candice traced a finger down Roz’s arm picking out the tribal tattoo entwining her bicep. It twisted around kanji. She pressed it. "Hmm. <i>'giri'</i> Seems we have a duty to do this. We will be together forever afterwards.”</span><br />
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<span class="s1">XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX</span><br />
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<span class="s1">In the alleyway outside the convention centre, laughter and music lilted their way around the two figures hunched in the shadows. </span>Roz handed Candice a small pack of paperwork and cards. “Our new I.D’s; untraceable and near perfect.”</div>
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<span class="s1">Candice unrolled a small canvas sheet. The women stared at it. </span><br />
<span class="s1">“Its alot smaller than I’d imagined.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Its worth how much?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Candice snorted and rolled it up again. “Beauty and art is in the beholders eye. Here, you keep a hold of it.” She slid the I.D’s into a handbag and swung it over her shoulder. “Lets get out of here.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Two dark suited men sprang from the dumpster and hoisted Roz by the arms, slamming her against the wall. One of them flashed a police badge while the other grabbed the artwork from her trembling hands.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Sorry darlin. Every girl for herself. Once a thief, always a thief.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Candice stepped gracefully into a sleek MBW Z4 and slid on a pair of sunglasses. “Trust no-one. Duty means shit.”</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was written in response to</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"> </span><a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/writing-prompts/information-page/" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;">Write Anything's Form and Genre Challenge</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"> ,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"> </span><a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/2012/08/fgc-21-noir-submission/" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: url(http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/wp-content/themes/Bold/images/arrow-1.gif); background-origin: initial; background-position: 50% 100%; background-repeat: repeat no-repeat; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #413f36; display: inline !important; font-family: Arial; line-height: 40px; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 5px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;" title="Permanent Link to F&GC #21 Noir Submission">FGC #21 Noir Submission</a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Words - 2000</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was also submitted to <a href="http://fridayflash.org/press/the-collector/">Friday Flash</a> ( though technically its a bit long for a flash.)</span></div>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-27881736134370192892012-07-22T22:12:00.002+10:002012-07-22T22:12:32.366+10:00Traitors Truth FGC (2012) #20<br />
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<span class="s1">Hair hung over the prisoners eyes. His head bowed as a thin line of blood and drool languidly reached his lap. The cold muzzle of a laser gun pressed into his chin and forced it upward. The guard leered, flashing a mouth of silver teeth. A shiver of fabric moved behind the guard as a newcomer stepped into view.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“So this is the pretender.” Hands which had never seen battle or hard work placed themselves on hips swathed in expensive cloth.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The prisoner brought his eyes to meet the new interrogator. “I am Prince Fekhe, son of Emperor Seth, Nephew to the usurped Prince Regent Ricco. Brother to Prince Zane and to Queen Elspeth. ” He spat blood onto the metal floor. “Your wife. I am the rightful ruler, by virtue of birth; Not you, riding on the slipstream of murder and treachery. ”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Prince Fekhe and Zane disappeared when they were chldren.” Emperor Rory coloured as his hands slowly gripped into a fist. “You are accused of treason, of raising an army against your Emperor and falsifying your identity. Your court case has been nothing short of a circus act.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Fekhe smiled. “And here we are. Behind closed doors and away from the legal system you so dearly love. You have had nothing to prove I am not who I say I am. You can’t discredit me. You can’t ignore who I am.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Growling,the guard brought the flat of his gun across Fekhe’s jaw. “Stand before your Emperor.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Rory winced as blood gushed from Fekhe nose, but immediately controlled his reaction. Fekhe swayed but managed to continue to stand. The two mens eyes burnt into each other. Rory stepped closer hissing. “You don’t look like a prince to me. A monkey is fine clothes. Falsified fingerprints, altered DNA from one of the outlaw colonies with questionable scientific practices. You may look like him, but you are no prince.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">A polite cough interrupted his barrage. “The United Treaty is very clear about the treatment of all prisoners.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Rory breathed in his retort and pushed the prisoner back into his seat. Turning with a thin smile he acknowledge the Cardinal and court recorders in the corner, his eyes flickering momentarily to the blank reflective wall behind them. “And you can all be assured this prisoner will be dealt within the appropriate manner.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Fekhe wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where was the United Treaty when my brother was murdered in this very building? Why was there never a public out cry or investigation?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Glaring at Fekhe, Rory hissed again, “You would be best to stay silent.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Fekhe laughed mirthlessly. “Or what? How can my situation possibly get any worse?” He stared at the dull reflective wall hiding officials from the court. “ By my Gods, I hope this investigation is being beamed live to every corner of the known universe. Let the people decide who is telling the truth, who has things to hide.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Rory stormed out of the room realising that the longer he stayed, the more opportunity Fekhe had in gaining sympathy and groundswell sympathy for his case. He passed the glass window open onto the interrogation room, noting the stony silence of his mother as she stared straight into the room. Her body was stiff and unrelenting as he approached and laid his hands on her shoulders.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“You need to finish this Rory. Its become more than an inconvenience. Every day he lives as Prince Fekhe, your grip on the Empire loosens. I will not see war again. Not in my lifetime.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">His court members melted out of the room, leaving the two figures to stare into the brightly lit interrogation room. Rory drew himself high and breathed in, refusing to look at his mother. “There are times, mother, I think you have plotted your entire life just to be the mother of the Emperor. That everything you have done was for that purpose and not for me at all.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“I serve the people, Rory. You would do well to do the same.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Froth formed at Rory’s mouth as he pointed into the room. “He is not Prince Fehke. He has no right to the Empire.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Constance stood and smoothed her gown. “I have little doubt who is acting as an Emperor aught right now.” She glid past him, her train whispering past his feet. A stab of horror rushed through him as he suddenly saw his mother in a new light. Scheming, manipulative; a the spider in a huge web encompassing the empire.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Straight to the skift waiting on the private dock. He slumped into the seat and glared at his advisor as he settled into the seat opposite. As the hatches hissed to a close, Rory squeezed the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “I thought that being the ruler meant I could do as I pleased. Treat people the way I felt they needed to be treated.” He glared at the silent advisor, “Conduct my justice system the way I felt it best suited.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“I’m sorry, my Lord that’s not the case at all.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Rory pounded the arms of his chair and gripped his chin as he fixed his stare out the window. His city lay beneath them as they sped over the highrises.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“I’ve more news which may not sit well.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Rory snorted. “My day can’t get any worse.”</span></div>
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<span class="s2">“I’m afraid it may, my Lord. The </span><span class="s1">ambassador for Queen Aquaitannia of NewSpain has suddenly arrived with a horde of lawyers to discuss the marriage between your son and their Eissabella. You must know that they’ve been following the rumours of the pretender for some time and before you became Emperor, the Lanx family and theirs were closely linked.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Before Rory could explode further, the Skift came to a halt and its doors opened slowly. Attendants bowed offering hot towels and cool refreshments. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The advisor indicated with a sweeping arm. “I’ve arranged for the ambassador and his entourage to await your pleasure in the Northern Gardens.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Grasping a towel and patting his face, Rory grunted, “We will go directly. No use in avoiding the inevitable.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Rory painted a thin smile cross his face as the doors opened into the gardens. Music stopped and all of the palace attendants bowed as the Emperor strode in. He sat in the largest lounger and gestured for the guests to take their seats.”Antonio Pergissi. Welcome again to Botania. Forgive me for not greeting you when you arrived. I was otherwise occupied.”</span></div>
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<span class="s2">Antonio bowed low. “Emperor. Thank you for receiving us so early. To be blunt, we are not interested in your petty family squabbles. As </span><span class="s1">I’ve come to discuss the agreements of the marriage between our royal families. My Queen has some concerns as these new developments you are exploring may deter this indefinitely.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Rory bit into an apple and chewed deliberately. “ Don’t tell me that Queen Aquiatainnia is entertaining the thought that this pretender is legitimate? Please assure her that we take our justice system very seriously and are ensuring that there can be no mistake when the final decision is made on his claims.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Prince Fekhe is very convincing. It brings many questions up.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“The prisoner is a clear fraud. Don’t refer him with any royal title. We don’t even know what his real name is.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“It would be more palatable, for everyone, if the disappearances of Prince Fekhe and Prince Zane were solved.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Rory slammed his arms on the chair. “Damn it. That happened before my reign even began. The Gods only know what happened to those two boys when their uncle took them into protective custody. I was in exile for the Gods sake.”</span></div>
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<span class="s2">Pergissi cocked an eyebrow smiling, </span><span class="s1">“And Prince Regent Ricco proclaimed himself ruler, the boys disappeared without a royal burial or any investigation. Seems odd, even for this planet; wouldn't you agree?” Rory crunched loudly into his apple glowering at the ambassador as he held court with the tale everyone had heard. “The Prince Regent Ricco is then defeated by your armies and you are advised to marry the boys sister Elspeth to forge your royal claim. So neat. Tidy.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Your point Ambassador?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Only that Queen Aquiatainnia is concerned about stability. Our colonies and empires work on a suspicious level of trust at best. She needs to be reassured that there will be no surprises. She is thinking of her people. War is such an expensive and mindless waste of resources. Especially if it is merely family squabbles.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Rory flicked the apple core behind him and drained a glass of wine. “ I couldn't agree more Ambassador. Reassure your queen that this matter will be brought to an end quickly and we can discuss more enjoyable topics shortly.” He waved him away and ordered more wine, indicating clearly that the audience was at an end.</span></div>
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<span class="s3">After Ambassador </span><span class="s1">Pergissi had overseen his personal belongings settled into his quarters, he wandered amongst the halls and found himself in a large room, comfortably furnished with sofas and a roaring fireplace. The Advisor beckoned him over and handed him a warmed cup of the planets liqueur. “You’ve come at an inopportune time I am afraid. Our court is not at its best. I can assure you that it will be resolved within days. ”</span></div>
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<span class="s2">Pergissisi took a sip.</span><span class="s1"> “ No need for such gentleness. We all have our spys everywhere.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Pouring himself a drink, the advisor smiled nervously at the ambassador. “Then you know in next few days the pretender will be discredited and executed. No-one is concerned.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“If the Emperor is not concerned, then why is he personally overseeing the interrogation? Why does the Queen sit outside every day?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The advisor looked toward the door and sat beside Pergissi.” Its true your spies are the best in the empire then. Fekhe knows things. Family specific events only someone who had been there would know.</span><span class="s2"> He knows of private moments, jokes and nicknames. The Queen has been brought to tears with those memories.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Trickery, surely. He may been trained by someone.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The advisor took a long sip and stared into the fire. “You cannot buy memories. Not the shared experiences of siblings.”</span></div>
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<span class="s2">“Our </span><span class="s1">Eissabella will marry the next in line to the throne; be it this Prince Fekhe or Rorys lad.Its up to me to decide where our allegiance aught to lay.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The advisor hook his head. “Who ever he is, this Fehke’s existence threatens the fragile peace we hold. Emperor Rory is not well loved. A resurgence of loyalty to a dead lineage is not what we can control.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Pergissi nodded. “The outer colonies flocked to his charismatic charm, to his fine clothes and promises of equality. It will be most intriguing what will unfold. Regardless of the outcome sir, our roles will remain unchanged. The ruler - whoever they are, needs advisors and ambassadors.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The men drained their glasses, nodded to one another and made their way to their bedchambers.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The lights in Fekhe’s cell had not been dimmed for the evening when the door slid open. He turned his head to appraise his visitor, surprised to see Constance stride in, leaving her guards on the outside. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Don’t bother to stand. I am only here for a moment.” She withdrew a tablet from her coat and waved her hand over the dark glass display. “Your wife and sons have been welcomed into the city.” An image of a room within the palace focused, showing a security display of his family unpacking and exploring the space. “They are unharmed and will remain so as long as you listen carefully to what I have to say.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Fekhe gripped his knees, forcing them to be still. “I’m listening.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Constance regarded him for long moments. “You’ve done well for yourself. Gathering the sympathy of colonies who feel they have been left in the cold. Gaining the hand of the Princess of Scoshia was a masterful touch. You must have put on quite a show.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“What is it that you want?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Peace.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Fehke stared at her, unable to comprehend the word.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">She flicked her hand over the screen again. Images of riots and angry crowds in streets flickered past. ” These are scenes my spies have sent me over the last day. The outer colonies want answers. They want a ruler and justice system they can rely on. You have been a thorn in our side for months, unsettling the delicate balance this empire has with peace. If it is found you are Prince Fehke, we will have civil war. Entire cities will be risk. Our empire will not only fight itself, but allow the outer worlds to invade. We must remain strong, united.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“I am Prince Fekhe. You can’t deny that. Deny me my right to rule.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“You will be executed regardless. If you die as a royal, your family will be hunted down. Your sons will never know a nights sleep. They will live in constant fear.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“And if I die as a commoner?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“If you admit your pretence, your family will live within this palace as guests. After all, they are royalty in their own right. You have my word.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">She turned on her heel and left, the door sealing shut as he began to weep.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Later that evening, a hiss woke Fekhe as he lay uncomfortably on the cold stretcher in his cell. He watched as the figures huddled in the doorway; their whispers too feint for him to make out the conversation. The bulkier figure stepped away, leaving the door open as the slighter one fidgeted before rushing in.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The dim night lights within his cell allowed him to see Queen Elspeth only as she knelt beside him. He stared into her clear blue eyes as she tentatively reached her hand out and brushed back his fringe. “I knew it was you the moment I saw you.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “There’s not much time. I only wish I had more to talk to you.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Fekhe grasped her hand and pushed himself up. “What are you doing here?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Her top lip quivered, “I can get you out, smuggle you away. My husband will kill you.” She put her hand on his chest. “ I’ve lost you once. I couldn’t bear the thought that I can save you only to allow -”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Where would I run to? What would I do? I am who I am and I must believe that justice will prevail.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Tears ran freely down her face. “Damn it Fekh, Why are you always so stubborn? You were as a boy and now - Take the chance to escape. Please. For me.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“What about my wife, my sons? I can’t run and protect them. I am the rightful ruler; by blood. But our Empire needs peace.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“You don’t think the Emperor knows that? That the colonies are on the verge of uprisal, just waiting for the excuse to follow you?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Fehke gently took her hand and kissed it. “My tender hearted sister. Peace has its price. Its bigger than just one individual. We will always know who I am and was. But for peace to have a chance. I need to be the deceiver.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Elspeth laid her head on his chest and sobbed. Her shoulders heaved as she drew gasps of air. Fekhe laid his cheek on her head and rubbed her back.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">He was woken roughly the next morning and not allowed to wash or change clothes. Guards pushed him through the series of passageways until they reached a large open space. Giant screens captured the beading of sweat on his forehead and the anguished look knitting his brow as he stood in front of the panel of judges. His eyes found Elspeth, whose face was puffy from crying. She had her arm around his wife who looked confused and panicked. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Fekhe looked directly at the Emperor. “I committed treason against my ruler by taking on the identity of a royal and raising sympathy for my false cause. I was born a commoner, the son of a ships mechanic. I pray to my Gods for their mercy as I expect none from this court.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Rory leapt to his feet and punched the air with his fists. “Traitor, by the powers of this court I sentence you to immediate execution.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Elspeth withdrew from the balcony and collapsed against her lady in waiting. Huge heaving sobs racked her body.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Fekh turned and allowed the guards to push him toward the platform. His body was numb as they placed his hands on the large orbs. He closed his eyes as he whispered prayers to his Gods. It would be over shortly. The pain of his life would end. he felt the platform raise and halt, knowing that the scene would be beamed across the Empire. A bolt of energy pulsed through his body. He jolted as his muscles contracted and expanded rapidly. Fekh found he was unable to move. The magnetic field surrounded his body and held it in place. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">A slight head movement from the Emperor signalled the final step with the execution. A huge bolt of pure energy pulsed into the magnetic field, incinerating the body held within it. The blue magnetic field evaporated as the last flake of blackened ash fell to the floor.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was written in response to</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"> </span><a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/writing-prompts/information-page/" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;">Write Anything's Form and Genre Challenge</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"> ,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"> #20 Space Opera.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Words - 2886</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was also submitted to <a href="http://fridayflash.org/press/the-collector/">Friday Flash</a> ( though technically its a wee bit long for a flash.. it kind of just kept growing)</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-67335509492950338762012-07-15T16:55:00.000+10:002012-07-15T17:10:26.670+10:00Broken FGC (2012) #19<br />
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<span class="s1">Escaping the cold mountain of words, I crumpled muddy and worn beside the churning rapids. Its termulstuous racket masked my stay, offering souvenirs of a throat raw from howling and stony dry well of tears. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="s1">With knees pulled tight to my chest, I watched the seething river unseeing. </span><br />
<span class="s1"><br /></span><br />
A leaf bobbed past, exhausted from its journey over frothing rocks and settled uncomfortably on a sunken, outstretched branch of a bramble. Though it clutched and tore deep into its backbone, the leaf serenely lilted away, its tip flicking me a reassuring farewell; gliding unconsciously past the trauma and towards new adventures.<br />
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I uncurled and stood, ready to re enter the world.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was written in response to</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"> </span><a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/writing-prompts/information-page/" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;">Write Anything's Form and Genre Challenge</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"> ,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"> #19 Prose Poetry.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Words - 110</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was also submitted to <a href="http://fridayflash.org/press/the-collector/">Friday Flash</a> ( though technically its a poem.. of sorts...)</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-29802820206699424762012-07-07T23:54:00.001+10:002012-07-08T12:25:56.062+10:00Tha mi duilich FGC (2012) #18<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Tha mi duilich" means "I'm sorry" - or "I have regrets" in Scottish Gaelic. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was written in response to</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"> </span><a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/writing-prompts/information-page/" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;">Write Anything's Form and Genre Challenge</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"> ,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"> #18 - a Letter under 700 words</span></div>
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Dear Family,</div>
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<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I want to write this as I don’t want to commit the words to air. As if saying them will make them all the more true. I’m sorry. I want to live. Its ironic now I can’t speak. Voiceless, I have so much I want to say, so much to share, so much to ask.</span><br />
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Yesterday seems such a long time ago. The world bleak, friendless. I trudged through my reality with death in my eyes. Everything shrivelled and colourless, dusty and worn. Any joy had been cyphered away months ago, trickled away under the scorching criticism of people who don’t even matter. I thought they mattered, but not now. </span><br />
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I was so certain yesterday. So sure that what I had decided to do was for the best. Best for everyone; really. I’d thought it through and planned for weeks. </span>Everything had been taken care of. You’ll see when you get into my flat. I’ve always been a stickler for details. No bills are outstanding, everything I own has tags and notes on it. Who should get what, so there was’t any disagreements. I didn’t want you to worry.<br />
<br />
But I see you are worried now. Looking at me with your sad accusing eyes, blaming yourselves, each other; talking in clusters outside my room; thinking that I can’t hear what you are saying.<br />
<br /></div>
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<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Maths was never my strong point. Everyone knows that. I should have done what you do, Mum; add a bit extra in every recipe you make, you know, one for the pot. But that’s not exact. Thats not my way. I wanted to be perfect and followed things to the letter; except, I messed up the dose and I mixed my methods. Thought that if I didn’t achieve my purpose one way, another would top me off.</span><br />
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Brett, you’ll blame yourself now, even though I am asking you not to. I’m sorry you were the one to find me. Alive. I should have been stone cold. But damn my organic juicing lifestyle. My body fought to purge itself of the toxins I’d swallowed. All that yoga I’d done must have somehow slowed my breathing, tempered my heart rate. I’d laugh if I could. Healthy living didn’t kill me. It put me on hold until the medicos yanked me back into the existence I had fought to leave. Planned with precision. </span><br />
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1">As the watery dawn leaked in through the curtains this morning, I heard a bird welcome the new day. I can’t remember the last time I heard a bird. I was so desperate to die yesterday. I've heard nothing but the thumping of my heart in my ears. I was so determined to die, I heard nothing else. Today as I woke to the sounds of air compressions and beeps, I cried knowing I’d failed.</span><br />
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1">It was nothing to that cold dread that scraped down my innards as the doctor stood beside the bed and put his hand on Mum’s shoulder, telling her that there was little more they could do. With my windpipe and lungs scarred from the exhaust fumes I’d funnelled into my little cars cabin, there’s no way I can breathe again on my own. I heard him. You don’t need to deny it.</span><br />
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<span class="s1">I also know they had to take out my stomach in surgery. Despite my beetroot juices, all that acid ate right through the lining. Even if I survive, the risk of infection and day to day life will be unbearable as I carry a bag around with me; like some old crone.</span><br />
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<span class="s1">I can hear the heart monitor. Its slow steady beep is perhaps the only thing I can anchor to at the moment.</span><br />
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<span class="s1">I see you with your eyes prickling with tears. Blaming yourselves and not daring to touch my flaccid hand.</span><br />
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<span class="s1">Voiceless, all I can do is stare at you, wishing my words could appear on paper beside me. </span><br />
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<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I wanted to die yesterday, but I want to live today. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span><br />
<span class="s1">Don’t give up on me.</span></div>
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<i>Suzie.</i><br />
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<span class="s1"><i>XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36;">Words: 670</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was also submitted to <a href="http://fridayflash.org/press/the-collector/">Friday Flash</a></span></div>
</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-70866118143240103182012-07-01T00:30:00.000+10:002012-07-07T23:38:56.624+10:00A Sense of Being FGC (2012) #17<br />
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<span class="s1"><i>Fear has no smell, no sound. It is simply a sense of being.</i></span><br />
<br />
Ray eyed the woman across the piles of paperwork on his desk. His stubby finger jabbed the only white sheet amongst the coffee and smoke stained. She twisted the buttons of her fox fur shawl. He sniffed, wondering what she were most afraid of. “Are you sure all of this is necessary?” Ray stared at the handsome woman, mildly intoxicated by her floral perfume.
She snapped her purse shut and patted a wisp of hair back into place. “Of course” She glared at him. ”Are you saying now you won’t do it? We had an agreement.” She reached out and placed a hand on a fat envelope, drawing it towards her. “Unless that means nothing to you?”<br />
Ray’s hand shot out and grasped the edge. They glared at each other. “Not at all. I’m just; concerned. Just how many people know about this?”
She let the envelope go and watched him pull it back towards him. She flicked her purse open and fished a silver cigarette case. A red fingernail separated the jaws to reveal snowy factory made cigarettes. The heat beaded on Ray’s upper lip as she watched her tenderly pull one out and place it in her dark red lips. The tip flared as she drew a huge breath in and leisurely allowed it to whisper out of her mouth curling snake-like round her face.
“Does it matter?”<br />
Gripping the paper, he dropped his eye to the list of demands. “So the deadline is eight pm tonight. It doesn't give me much time to-”<br />
“You have known about this for a long time. Don’t act as if its a surprise."She blew a cylinder of smoke over the desk. “You don't think you are up to it.”<br />
“Not saying that. Its just its too quick, I have so much more to do. Its too soon.”<br />
“<i>Ray Beconsfeld. Private Eye and champion of the people. Your concerns are my concerns.</i>” Jean pointed to the doorway. “ That’s what the sign says outside. Do I need to spell out what is at stake?”
He kept his eyes lowered, avoiding the blistering glare from across the table and shook his head.
“I don’t have to say that I don’t want any police involvement? The police have no sense of humour. With my brother now promoted as Chief sergeant, this matter is delicate. He wouldn't understand any of this - the reasons why - “<br />
He put his hand over hers “Don’t worry I won’t involve police. Your brother and the rest of the establishment don't look on what I do as anything useful. I’ve always been made painfully aware of that.”
Her chair scraped backwards as she stood. The discarded cigarette fell to the floor, her heel twisting it into the grimy carpet. She adjusted her fur shawl. “Tonight at 8 then. You’d better be there.”
<br />
<br />
“Jean. You shouldn’t have come here.”
She stood with her back to him considering for a long moment, before grasping the door handle and sweeping out. The door shuddered and attempted to close, but the grime and fluff built up stopped it in its tracks inches from the jam.
His fingers curled round the sheet. Ray considered crunching it in his fist before relaxing his grip and smoothing it out. “Why the hell are these always so complicated?” His picked a pencil up and used the broken nib to furiously scratch his head.<br />
“Mr Beconsfeld, what would you like done with all this filing?” Gilda thrust her crimped hair though the doorway. Rays shoulders slumped. Twenty years of detective work, clues, contacts and leads. It aught to be handed on; to someone who would see the value in it and -
Ray deliberately folded the snowy parchment in quarters and slipped it into his breast pocket. “Thanks Gilda. Box it up. I’ll put it in the archives.”<br />
Her mouth twisted. “Mrs Beconsfeld won’t like that. She told me -”
Jamming his limp hat firmly on his head, Ray growled, “Thank you, Mrs Schultz. I am well aware of that arrangement. Now box it up and do the job I pay you to do.”
Her head disappeared. He breathed in. Musty paperwork, decades of dust, sour sweat, stale cigarettes assaulted his nostrils. Gilda Schultz was afraid. Though his nose couldn’t detect it; he knew.<br />
Her head was bowed over a pile of paperwork as he stomped outside. Boxes were stacked in haphazard piles around the tiny waiting room. He put his hand on the word handle of the outer door ad stared through the frosted glass in the insert. His painted name on the reverse was chipped. “I’m going out. Close up would you Gilda? I won’t be returning. Got a few folk to see, things to do.”
Her stifled sniffle caught him unawares. He swore under his breath and shoved a hand into his pocket, retrieving a small box. Ray shuffled over to her desk and cleared his throat. “A token. Something small.” He dropped in on her desk and felt his toes squirm inside his shoes. Silence hung between them uncomfortably, until Ray turned on his heel and escaped out onto the street.<br />
<br />
The winter evening breeze clawed his face. Ray pulled his coat tighter and hunched as he strode along the main shopping precinct. The list Jean had left was nearly exhausted with nearly 45 mins to spare. He allowed himself a rueful smile. What sort of bizarre activities she intended with the items he’d procured was beyond him. He didn’t recognise the address she had scrawled at the bottom of the sheet, but knew enough of the darkened alleyways in old Chinatown to guess of its whereabouts. He checked his watch and picked up his stride. He intended to be early; just to see Jeans disbelieving face.<br />
<br />
The sour stench of rotting vegetables permeated the wide alleyway as he continued into the depths of Chinatown. A door opened midway as a waterfall of steaming liquid was thrown out into the gutter. Ray swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. A shriek from behind him sent fingernails of dread down his spine. Pounding footfalls echoed closer as a male made his escape from the woman’s continued screams.
Ray slumped his shoulders, but continued to walk, judging the distance between the approaching man and him. At the moment he passed, Ray stuck a foot out and grasped at the collar of the miscreant. The man groaned and rolled to an unsteady low crouch. Ray stared and exhaled as he recognised the figure. “Fred Bare. Tonight? Really?”<br />
More footfalls thundered up the alleyway. “Grab that pervert Mister, don’t let him get away.” The new arrival pushed his foot on the Fred’s chest. “Thanks for stopping him. This dirty bastard flashed my girl.” He poked the prone figure. “Lucky for you there is a witness, otherwise I’d have to beat the bejezus out of you.” He stuck a hand out toward Ray. “James O’Donahugh. My thanks to you.”<br />
The little mans beady eyes glitter murderously at Ray as his lip twisted in an uncomfortable grin. “ Caught me unawares. But not again, Ray. What ya doing bustin' my balls tonight for?”<br />
James smoothed his moustache and pushed his foot harder on Fred’s chest. “Caught ya with your pants down too. Not that anyone would notice.”
Ray put his hands up, hating the sound of his voice the moment he spoke. “Let the authorities deal with this weirdo, James. Just walk away.”
James gave Fred an extra push and grunted as he left the figure to roll on the alleyway.<br />
<br />
Cliperty clacks echoed up the alley as a tiny figure furtively called out to her boyfriend. “James? What’s going on? James?”
With a flurry of movement, the flasher leapt to his feet and crouched low, growling animalistically. His coat flourished behind him, settling around him like a mist.
James’s grin was wider that the harbour. “Now this is what I’m talking about. I’ll sort out this perv.”
Ray sniffed. Wet bricks and putrid fish. “Not tonight. Of all days. Where the hell are the police when you need them?” he muttered under his breath the irony not lost on him. James’s youth shone like a stupid beacon. Ray put his hand on his shoulder “I got this.” He felt old and wrung out. “You run along with your girl. Let me talk to Fred. We go back a long way.”<br />
<br />
Fred kicked a trashcan over sending the lid scattering across the cobblestoned pavement. He leered at both men beckoning with a hand. James leapt toward him and began to swing punches at his face. Both fell to the dirty street and began rolling in the grimy puddles. The flasher bucked and twisted, unsettling James’s position, forcing him to the ground. Fred fluidly stood and forced his coat back to display his naked glory.
The coat theatrically swept upward again as he fumbled inside it. Too late, Ray spied slender stiletto knives being withdrawn from their secret spaces in the hemline. James’s face crumpled in disgust, but was immediately replaced with a look of blank shock. One of the knives appeared in his chest as seeping claret began to colour his shirt. Ray recognised the acrid thin scent of blood and wondered if this distinguished the smell of fear. James’ girlfriend began to scream as she clattered over to his body. Ray shook his head. Fred was a serial pervert, not a killer. “Has my world gone mad? I’m really losing my touch.”<br />
A wailing siren he had dreaded hearing for twenty years resounded; blue and red lights bouncing off the alley walls. He turned to the weeping girl. Blood crept across the cobblestones and licked at her shoes. He averted his eyes, hating his lying voice as he tried to calm her, “He’ll be fine. Miss. The police are here now, they’ll take care of everything.” His breath caught in his throat. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” His mouth twisted as the last few words left his lips. He’d never walked away from a scene before.<br />
Fred crouched in the shadows. Another knife flashed, burying itself in the girls back. With a whimper she slumped over James’ body. Fred and Ray exchanged stares momentarily before the flasher plunged into the darkness. Ray rubbed his chin and ran his fingers up his face. “Why tonight Fred? Why didn’t you just stay with flashing?”<br />
Police whistles peeped. Ray slunk into the shadows and slipped away. With heavy heart, Ray continued down the alleyway, searching for the address Jean had impressed the time sensitive importance on. Perhaps everyone was right. He as getting too old for this game any longer. Ray argued with himself along the alley, desperately unhappy he had not been able to foresee or prevent the attack.
<br />
<br />
He stood in front of the Empire Theatre, once grand old gentleman; now tattered in disrepair and relic in modern times. Jean had always been one with the theatrics, so it was not a surprise, now he stood on the empty street, that this was the place she had chosen. The case he carried suddenly weighed a ton. He heaved it with a grunt as he walked round to the side and pushed his way into the old theatres back door. It relented with a creaking groan.
Ray fancied he heard hushed voices a a burble of laughter echoed from the darkened beams. Cobwebs hung testament that no-one had passed through the corridors for years. “Damn it Jean, why do you always have to be so.” He caught himself as movement from the side flicked his senses. A board creaked. The voices had stopped. Ray cocked his head as if positioning his ear would in some way assist him hearing anything more. She was meant to be alone. A thrill of emotion ran through him. His heart hammered. He grunted, angry at himself again. There was a time, he’d have leapt forward, fists swinging to face whatever was behind the velvet curtaining.<br />
<br />
A feint waft of grease paint and sale cigar smoke wafted around his head. The frayed side wing curtains rippled. He was certain someone was waiting beyond on stage. He shivered brushing off old superstitions. Grasping the curtain, he strode onto stage. Spotlights clicked on, their searing beam scorching brilliant white light into his eyes.
“Surprise!” More lights blinked on as champagne corks popped and streamers fell from the rigging. Jean sashayed toward him, offering a champagne flute and shy smile.
A huge banner floated down across the stage proclaiming the joys of retirement.
“Damn it Jean. No-one was supposed to know. We were meant to just meet up and go -”
A bead of condensation trickled down the flute.<br />
Jean thrust it into Rays hand. “Happy Retirement Darling. I trust you enjoyed your last day?”
He shrugged. ”Nothing out of the ordinary.”
A barrel chested man put his arm around Jean and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He held his hand out to Ray. “Finally getting you off the streets then, Ray? Don’t go giving those folk in Hawaii any trouble will you?”<br />
Ray gave Jeans brother a thin smile. “Still jealous I get the results I do? ”<br />
Straightening his shoulders, Brian jutted his chin outward. “Still deluded that your Private Eye business solved anything. Nothing more than a vigilante pestilence.”<br />
Ray growled “My methods give people answers.”<br />
Eyeballing him, Brian countered, “You don’t know anything about a flasher seen on 32nd Street about an hour ago? He’s more your type of investigation isn’t he?”<br />
Rays grip on the champagne glass tightened. “More than you can guess.”
Jean put a hand on her brothers chest. “Come on now Brian. Its a party, not some back street brawling match. Let’s be nice.”
Puffing his cheeks out, Ray gazed around at the small group of friends and family gathered on the stage holding drinks and laughing. “I thought we agreed not to make a fuss about me closing shop; that we could go on vacation without all this fanfare.”
She took a swig. ”If its worth doing, its worth a party. Our taxi leaves in an hour. You’d better have brought everything on that list.” She looked down at the suitcase at his side.
Ray drained his glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Let say some of the things were murder to get.”<br />
Jean put her small hand on his and smiled. Her floral perfume surrounded him. "I can't beleive it. At last you've left that stupid agency and we will be together in retirement."<br />
Ray choked. He knew what fear now smelt like.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was written in response to Write Anything's <a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/2012/07/fgc17-mystery-detective-submission/">Form and Genre Challenge</a> ,<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36;"> a Mystery Detective Story under 2500 words</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36;">Words: 2456 words</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was also submitted to<a href="http://fridayflash.org/press/the-collector/"> Friday Flash</a></span></div>
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</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-73883765011028978982012-05-26T10:40:00.000+10:002012-05-27T22:41:29.712+10:00Summer Pleasures FGC (2012) #16<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">For Summer and her pleasures, a bittersweet farewell<br />
tiny claws on the clouds foretell<br />
Spring shadows murky within the mist<br />
her hunger burnt unsated until the hidden tryst<br />
she lay sinister lustful beneath the blooms spell</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">every detail shared in her diary bombshell<br />
shocked eyes torn across the words compel<br />
me now, wishing never to see that list<i>.</i><br />
I pray to unlearn of her walk in the meadow</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">the translucent touch of my hell.<br />Peaceful vapours turn late light to damp evil<br />
Can I feed on Summers crumbs and exist? <br />
Summers pleasures where we kissed<br />
embrace deeply before she can scream and yell<br />
winter welcomes Summers blood bright across the snow.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was written in response to Write Anything's <a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/writing-prompts/information-page/">Form and Genre Challenge</a> ,<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36;"> a Rondeau Poem - number 16#.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36;"> Once again delving into poetry where things for me are not comfortable. I realise the absolute importance of choosing the right words within the right space.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #403f36; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222;">A Rondeau is a short poem consisting of fifteen lines that have two rhymes throughout - as far as my research told me - something similar to a shakespearean sonnet.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was also submitted to Friday Flash ( thought technically - its not really a flash....)</span></div>
</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-34675033601866881482012-05-21T00:45:00.001+10:002012-05-21T00:45:54.776+10:00Crisis of the Crystals FGC (2012) #15<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Empress Jorvan strode in to the council hall, her eyes locked on to the head seat at the round table. The counselors stood and bowed low as she walked past them. Standing tall with her dark long hair flowing down her back, towered Mythris, Head Sieth Seeker and the leader of the Sisters of the Goddess. As the Empress approached her ornately carved seat Mythris bowed again, “Welcome Great Lady, we are still awaiting the arrival of Cyrian from Asesca”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Jorvan slightely inclined her head toward Mythris in recognition and spun turning her back on her, “Sisters,” Jorvan greeted the gathering with her hands raised, “I trust you all had uneventful passages within the Gateways.” </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Before we open our formal meeting and whilst we wait for Cyrian, I am sure all of you would like the latest news on the regeneration of our gateways. Morfarn, how goes the reconstruction of the Gateway taken from the Abby at Cora?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Morfan hung her head. “Poorly, Empress I am frustrated and ashamed to say. Despite the intricate drawings and careful instructions I am afraid that the secrets of building a circle again has been lost to us. We have the crystal from the old circle but as yet have been fearful to test the theory that these crystals are replaceable. Thus we have not attempted to pull one out of a working circle and place another in its place; just in case it stops that circle as well.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“What is your educated guess to what might happen, should we take a working crystal out and replace it with another?” Jorvans eyes bore into Morfans bowed head.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Morfan took a deep breath and continued to study the flooring of the council chambers. Mythris stepped forward, her face flushed.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“With all due respect Empress, educated guesses are not what our empire was built on. Observance of the ways of the Goddess and respect to the ancient sacred feminine has always been the first and only answer we have needed.” </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Jorvan glared at Mythris, “Perhaps if the hierarchy were encouraged to strictly observe the Goddess’s ways rather than line their own pockets, we would not be in the situation we are. Now, Morfan, your thoughts..” </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Morfan looked around the circle of desperate eyes, knowing the outcome of her findings would tip the balance for many on their faith in the empire. “All the circles stop, they don’t work again, the one we test no longer works. We just don’t know. It is a total unknown and to be honest, I don’t want to be the one to order the destruction of a working gateway. Goddess knows, the ones we have left are becoming erratic at best.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Our foremothers debated long into the usage of the circles and spoke of limiting travel to Essential Transportation only and yet here we are still flitting confiders from one citadel to another on a regular basis.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Mythris glared again, “Confiders provide an essential service to the wellbeing and function of each society. Are you using this council meeting to announce your omnipotence and suggesting changing the ways of the Goddess? ”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“I understand, Sieth Mythris, more than any other the gravity of my words and decisions.You are not above the lore of the Goddess, nor should you forget your place, nor simple manners; especially amongst esteemed council members from across the Empire.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Perhaps Empress, a better forum to speak on the Goddesses words and interpretations would be in the council of Seith and not this one.” Tanissa stood between the two women, her tiny stature in direct opposition to the energy and power her presence emitted. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> Jorvan looked about the Council. “ I am simply suggesting that perhaps the confiders function might be localized, with resident confiders within communities,rather than ones who travel throughout the Empire on regular basis. It would cut the Gateway usage down considerably.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Shocked gasps came from round the room.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Even you, Empress are not above the doctrine of the Goddess. You are stepping a dangerous line.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“As are you Mythris. The ways of the Goddess seem a little too convenient for some.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Their long stares at one another was broken with the arrival of Cyrian whose strident footsteps echoed the room.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Many apologies Sisters, might I take the first place in reporting; especially as my lateness comes directly from our primary meeting issue.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Tanissa looked up for her papers and nodded. “Of course, it is duly noted in the proceedings, you shall have the floor after the ritual opening. Mythris, once you ready, you may have the floor.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Mythris swept her hand over the side wall and sang in her evenly toned timbered voice a greeting to all assembled and blessings upon them; invoking the blessings of the Goddess in each path. Her hand followed an intricate pattern in the air beside the wall and the council joined hands to complete the ritual.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">A transparent image of the star system hovered over the middle of the table and then faded in and out during the ritual. As the last note ended, the image became intermittent and gratefully zapped into nothingness. Mythris’s slender hand completed the intricate closing pattern in the air and in a fluid motion, sat in her seat.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Sisters, even our opening ritual heralds the demise of the blessed artifacts. Not one to announce my true age, however, I recall a time in this council that the images were strong enough to believe they were real objects; not mere projections.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Jorvan looked around the room as many nodded also recalling stronger crystal power.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Without putting too finer point on it, our Empire relies on artifacts we don’t understand and cannot replicate. The circle of nineteen Gateways are fading. I barely arrived today, thus my lateness. There are whispers of an ancient religion. I can barely say the name.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Jorvan looked up at the waiting servants and administrators in the wings. “I would call for a locked meeting” She started hard at the staff, “Please excuse yourselves and position guards at the doorways, allowing none to enter until we come out.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">She waited for the silent feet of the excess personnel to exit before continuing. “Technology and sciences died out centuries ago. We have no need for them while we have the way of the Goddess.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">She stared at the sober faces at the table. “I cannot accept we are unable to understand even the smallest details of these gateways. Without them, travel between Abbeys not only within Terra, but throughout the Empire will be impossible. We can rely on the planetary ships, but time is of essence and I cannot wait for months for the council to assemble to discuss urgent matters. We must speak plainly as the time for diplomacy and religious correctness has ended.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Each of us know the power of the Goddess and have benefited from her gifts of the mind and of perception. Only recently have we rediscovered that our rituals are intertwined with the functions of the artifacts and with out completing the minutest detail, they do not operate.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">She stared around the room. The silence was overwhelming.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“We have long known that the crystals which form the heart of the planetary ships also influence and assist the circles functions. Our foremothers were unable to find a source to mine or collect more and we too in this generation have been unable to clarify any further information. So my sisters, It has come to the time to make a firm decision on the Gateways.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Perhaps that decision can wait until I demonstrate my findings.” Cyrian smiled a languid catlike smile, her eyes glittered with promise.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Please Cyrian, continue with your report.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Thank you Empress. As you know the planet Asesca has been unstable for generations. The weather patterns have become unpredictable making sustainable farming and the functioning of citadels unbearable. Last year, with the assistance of the planetary ships the final inhabitants were moved to my planet and resettled. The Abbey’s artifacts have been stored and being brought back to Terra with the next Chosen Ship that docks for supplies. Your orders for the Circle of Nineteen to be dismantled was undertaken by our most gifted Sisters and talented stonemasons. I now bring you this.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">She stepped forward and withdrew a fist sized chunk of transparent and cloudy rock.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Each drew a breath in. Jorvan picked it up and examined it. “So this is that it looks like when not embedded into a wall.” It glowed dimly at her touch.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“We have extensively tested it, Empress – it seems to only glow when someone with Goddess gifts touches it.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Humm, so a similar glow to when one of us touches a planetary Ship crystal before take off? “</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">She nodded. “However, the Ceremonial Touch of the crystal lasts only seconds. The longer someone with the Gift holds a freed crystal like this, the brighter it glows. We tested it with different sisters until one passed out after an hour of holding it. She recovered the next day but felt giddy and drained for over a week.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Jorvan carefully placed it on the table in front of it and stared at it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“So instead of answering any questions it poses more. Is it ….alive?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Everything the Goddess touches is alive in someway, Empress.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Spare me the religious doctrine. So we don’t know; is that what you are saying?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Cyrian nodded.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“There is something else. What else does a free crystal do?” Jorvan noted perceptively.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“I cannot explain it – its best to demonstrate it. Please excuse me for a moment.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Cyrian walked to the door and opened it motioning someone behind it to enter.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Her two guardians marched it, restraining a man dressed in rags. His eyes rolled in terror as he saw the congregated women. Cyrian closed the door behind her and collected the crystal from the Empress.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Myrthis stood frowning, “Who is this?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“A common criminal, I assure you.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Crime of most types are not common within the Empire. We live in peace and harmony, there is no need to restrain him.” Mythris haughtily barked.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Cyrian bowed in an over exaggerated manner. “With all due respect Mistress Sieth, you have not walked amongst the people within the empire for many Solar Turns. You and your priestess live an isolated life far beyond that of normal people. I wonder what you might call common in any case.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Jorvan broke in. “ What are you saying Cyrian?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“I am saying that within many planets of the Empire, petty crime is not the only issue our guardians are having to deal with now. This man is a murderer.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Silence filled the hall puzzled or blank looks met her.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">She stared around the room realizing that many didn’t understand the term. “He killed another person …..deliberately.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">There were immediate gasps and looks of horror amongst the council.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Tanissa grimly looked around at the faces. “<i>Hypocrites all of them</i>” she thought. “<i>Each of us have ordered the death of at least one Confider to keep our secrets. Each of us would not have a second thought in arranging an accident for another counselor which would result in higher political power for us</i>.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Though, she mused, the death of another person for no political gain was unheard of; certainly the average person had no fear of physical violence within their society. The normal person would either purposely ignore a missing sister or not wish to be involved with Goddess Business.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Mythris approached the man and studied his eyes. She closed hers and breathed a prayer to the Goddess and held her hands in front of her, her fingers fanned out over his heart. She immediately took a step backwards reeling with horror. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“His energies are dark and unrepentful. What she is saying is true. He is an abomination to the Empire and to the Goddess.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Tanissa stood. “ Why have you brought him here? To show him off as a circus piece? A curiosity? Our society is not equipped to deal with this sort of crime.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“I may have an answer to the crystal crisis as well to the mounting crimes within the outer planets. The Goddess has gifted us with the perfect solution. As the Empress stated earlier, we have been unable to find a source of these items. Perhaps there is a reason. Perhaps they were manufactured rather than mined from a planet.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“That has been a theory held for centuries, but we have no means to replicate the crystals. What little we know of this religion, Science, tells us that there are many books to learn its secrets from. Much the same with Technology. There are far too many tools which are unknown to us for us to begin to research the tenuous links we already have between that and our gateways. None of either are in existence to day. “ Cyrian’s face remained a mask of assertiveness. Tanissa leant forward on the table. “ So, tell us, what is this solution? Something that will force us away from our core beliefs and from the Goddess?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> Cyrian pointed towards the man and ordered her guardians, “Hold him tight.” She thrust the crystal onto the mans chest.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The crystal glowed, its white light growing in intensity every moment. The man’s mouth opened in a silent scream, his body stiff. Over the matter of moments, his skin wrinkled and sagged, his teeth fell out to the ground and his hair grayed and blew away by a breathless wind. Cyrian held the glowing crystal to his chest till he sagged in the arms of the guardians. They allowed the husk of the ancient man to fall on the floor.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">She turned triumphantly toward the Empress. The crystal glowed with a warm pink tone, vibrating and giving off a low hum. Its cloudyness had cleared and in places looked nearly transparent. She walked to the wall Mythris had been at for the opening ceremony and swept her hand over it, her fingers delicately dancing in the air. A small opening appeared in the wall and a cloudy crystal sat ebbing intermittently. Cyrian pulled it from its cradle and replaced it with the glowing rose coloured one, closed the door and swept her hand over the wall again.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Immediately the images of the planets appeared, real enough to touch. The Empress touched Terra and the rest disappeared, exploding the tiny planet to a larger scale. An aerial view of the citadel appeared intricate with detail.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The assembled women gasped.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“I never thought I would see this. The Chronicles of the past Empresses tell of this tool , but I had imagined them to be fanciful recollections, not based on truth.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Jorvan’s mouth was open as she stared at the images. She quickly glanced up at Cyrian.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“How long will the power from this crystal last?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Cyrian smiled. “Again Empress, I am unsure, as you can imagine, criminals of that mans, humm caliber… are hard to come by. However, we have tested it on other men, taking the crystal away from their chest usually before they die withered and useless. They recover eventually if they are still alive once the crystal is take away.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Jorvan began to pace the floor. “Is it possible that the answer has been at our fingertips? Our rituals state that no ungifted must touch the crystals and that each gifted using the gateway or planetary ship must touch it momentarily as way of thanks to the Goddess.For centuries, the crystals have needed regenerating with life force and we have only been feeding them crumbs with our tiny touches. It seems incredible that we have our answer to the gateways and crystals crisis. Cyrian you have our heartfelt thanks for this discovery.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Tanissa looked about the room incredulously. <i>Was this the same council who argued for hours on the possible banning of the rodeo events the men indulged in; all because some felt it were cruel to the horses and bulls?</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was written in response to Write Anything's </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/writing-prompts/information-page/">Form and Genre Challenge</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> , Science Fiction</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Words: 2683</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This was submitted for #15 of FGC and forms part of a work in progress ( one I have let sit for 4 years but have promised myself to continue.. one day)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This was also submitted to <a href="http://fridayflash.org/press/the-collector/">Friday Flash</a></span></div>
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</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-78544637665652439362012-05-11T01:00:00.000+10:002012-05-13T23:55:51.969+10:00Boots and Simnel Cake FGC (2012) #14<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">First light filtered lazily in through the attic window. I am glad that winter has finally left its grasp of us. The damp, constant present of chilled draughts surrounding me has only been replaced b the lack of ventilation and heat radiating from the roof tiles. But I am thankful all the same. With no fireplace in winter, I’m nearly crushed by the weight of any material I can use to cover myself, thought the shivering generally means it finds it way to the floor in the early hours of the morning. In the summertime, I must cope with the sweltering evenings. Spring, especially May, is my favourite time of year. Especially today.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I throw the covers from me and push myself up. The rough floor boards are freezing. I creep over to the water-set and splash a small amount of liquid into the deep bowl. My fingers trace the chipped rim and run down to circle the delicate floral design on the side. It’s more grand than anything the Reeve in my home village may have had, despite the cracks and chips.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I glance upwards and give thanks for the kindness her Ladyship has shown me. Although the food is far less appetising than what is served on the Lord’s table, at least I know I have a meal every day. Much more than most folk can say.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I tease out the tiny sliver of soap from its dish and make a luxurious lather before scrubbing my face clean. I try not to feel a tingle of pride as my fingers whisper along the skin on my face. A maid’s work is hard with long hours, but it keeps me out of the harsh sun. My complexion is still as dewy as a twelve year olds and for that I give further thanks for my position at the Manor.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I slip on my best dress. Its cold as it shimmies down my frame and I realise that its a little tight across the chest. The moment I wonder if Thomas would notice, I blush deeply and put the baker’s apprentice out of my mind.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I loosen my hair from the thick plat and brush it fiercely with the whale bone comb the young mistress flung out the window in one of her rages. I flick my hair up, sweeping it into a bun and secure it tightly on my crown, ensuring no wisps escape around my ears. Her Ladyship will inspect all of the staff before they set off to their Mother Churches this morning. She warned us that if a thread or hair were out of place, she would not allow us to leave as it would bring shame on her name.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I decide to loop a shawl around my shoulders as it will hide the puckered material across my chest. With my sturdiest boots in my hand, I creep down the stairs and make my way down to the kitchen. Dawn has just broken and I can only imagine her Ladyships displeasure should she be woken by my clomping heels above her. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I shiver with delight, anticipating the freedom once I leave the Manor Gates. The world is seen through the gratings of the kitchen windows or from atop in my attic room. I see the well to do folk promenade up and down the streets, hear the hiss and crackle of the gas lanterns at night. One day a year I too can experience this world outside the Manor.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Nellie smiles at me as I enter the huge kitchen. She pokes the roaring fire and sucks on her pipe as she points to the steaming kettle set on the table. Blowing a stream of smoke from her nose, I stifle a giggle as I try not to verbalise her dragon nickname. I bob a thanks to her and make a cup of herbal tea. Nellie likes to think she is above the rest of us girls and forces us to cursty first thing in the mornings; as if she was the Mistress of the Manor. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Yer Simnel Cake is over there luv. It come out real nice too. Shows a dumb cluck like you can learn somethin’ other than to mop a floor.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> I bite back a retort and smile demurely. “Thanks to your good teaching Miss Nellie. My Mam will be pleased.” My herbal tea steeps, its aromatic smoke winds its way around my head. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Best be on yer way then. You’ve two good hours walk ahead of you to get home and them church bells wait for no-one.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I look toward the doorway. “But her Ladyship. She - “</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Nellie drew a huge breath in through her pipe and formed rings as she exhaled slowly. The other two housegirls crept in and bobbed their greetings.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Her Ladyship is indisposed this morning. Put me in charge of your morals and whatnot.” Nellie tapped out the ash of her pipe on her shoe. She squinted at the three of us. “I don’t reckon I needs to be telling you how to behave today.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I shook my head vigorously. A tiny bead of sweat tricked down my back. The only day in the year house staff were allowed to leave the Manor was Mothering Sunday. Christmas, Easter and all other festivals were simply days were there were more guests to feed and clean up after. I chide myself for feeling so hard done by. Other members of my extended family were taken in as apprentices in factories or continue to work on the land in farms and dairies. Although its true that in no other trade that there is a lack of personal freedom, I remind myself that the benefits of living under the care of the Manor far outweighs the limitations. Her Ladyship does not tolerate friendships around the kitchen table, with certainly no laughing or horse play at any time. We work from the time we wake at dawn through till at least 10.30 at night; ceasing only for a meal break. I miss the sunshine, though in London, the grey days never extend to bright skies. Our only break of the week is the walk to church and bible study afterwards. I give thanks again for our Ladyships broad mindedness which allowed the housemaids time on the Sunday afternoon to learn to read. For my part, I persevered when the others gave up. I can hardly wait till I embrace my mother and read from the family bible to show her how much I have learnt in the past year.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I glance up at Nellie as she lights her pipe from a long straw kindled at the fireplace. She blows the glowing tip out and sucks at her clay pipe.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“There’ll be no chattin’ to the apprentices along the way, nor stoppin’ in at no hay barns. I’m Nellie, see.” She blows smoke from her nostrils. “And I hear everything. You’ll not be bringing any disrespect on this household by your actions, nor your words.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We all bobbed and mumbled our agreeance. My fingers were sweaty, but I dared not rub them on my skirt. Once a year I am allowed to visit my mother and the rest of my family. Once a year, we were allowed to venture to the village we were born in. Through the generosity of our mistresses, we were allowed to bake and decorate a special fruit cake and deliver it to our mother. A twitch of an eyelid or speck of dirt on the hem of a skirt could mean that privilege were take away and another 365 days would pass before the opportunity was place before us again. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">With a sickening realisation, I remember my boots are still in one hand. My bare feet curl on the flagstone flooring. I bend my knees a little to ensure my toes don’t poke out or are discovered. A bang at the door jolts Nellie from her scowling regard of our presentation. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Just like the butcher to be early for once.” Nellie set her pipe down on the table. “Well, get your cakes and wrap them securely with those bindings over there. Would be no good if all your hard work landed upside down on a country lane now would it?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> The door banged again.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“No-one will be looking for those squares tonight when you get back. A clever seamstress could fashion a nice blouse for themselves from them.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Adele frowned. I bumped her with my elbow and shusshed the question as it formed in her mouth. We quickly bound our cakes for our journey and farewelled one another. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Daisy.” Nellies voice ripped panic through my heart.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I turned, careful to hide my boots and to bend my knees so that my feet remained hidden.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“You might want to put yer boots on before you are leaving the Manor. We don’t want anyone getting the wrong impression about the housemaids.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I met her eyes. “Happy Mothering Sunday Nellie.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Don’t you be telling anyone Nellie has gone soft. Now be on your way before I change my mind.” </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was written in response to Write Anything's </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/writing-prompts/information-page/">Form and Genre Challenge</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> , First Person</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This was submitted for #14 of FGC - with the inspiration coming from the traditions of today - Mothering Sunday.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This was also submitted to <a href="http://fridayflash.org/press/the-collector/">Friday Flash</a></span></div>
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</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-7360945553182810632012-05-07T08:40:00.001+10:002012-05-07T11:09:46.875+10:00Cyotta Falls FGC (2012) #13<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Imagining intimate caress of spring’s breath on his cheeks were the sweet lips of a Silver City’s showgirl, J.W leant against the gatehouse of the town’s churchyard and smiled. The warmth of the morning sun on his face chased away the last threads of bloodshed and screams which haunted his dreams and chased him across the country. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Mr Hardin? I fixed you some fresh brewed coffee.” </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">J.W touched his hat and nodded as he stretched his arm up to receive the mug. ”Thank you, Mrs James. Thats mighty kind of you.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Rebecca brushed a cobweb from her skirt and shyly smiled at him through frame of golden wisps surrounding her head. “My husband enjoyed your company last night. Men who can debate over scripture the way you can are far and few between.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“For my sins, I won’t forget my Methodist Preacher as a fathers upbringing.” He brought the mug close to his face and breathed in the earthy aroma, delighting again in the hot moist breathe it emitted. Rebecca’s lips continued to move but the sound muffled as he imagined the showgirl once again. Another two days ride and he would be in her sweet embrace. As Rebecca continued to talk, he concentrated on her low cut blouse as it puckered and strained across her chest. J.W imagined that the buttons threatened to explode off her chest at any moment. He shook his head and forced his eyes toward her face.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Her hands fluttered around her face as she pushed her hair back into place, acknowledging his straying eyes. “Well, I best go and tidy up the church. For the service this morning.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Your husband?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Left early this morning. Said he had to help out with something down at the docks. But rest assured, even on Gods day of rest, he will be preaching the word as he lends a hand to what is needed.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Not your usual preacher then?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I give thanks to the Lord every day for that.” She twirled a tiny ringlets above her ear. “Well, when he’s not preachin’ the Lord’s word or blessin’ someone’s smelly cattle.” She pushed the errant lock behind her ear</span><span style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Arial; letter-spacing: 0px;">. “He’s keeps Elijah or Amos from drinkin’, so as they don’t get in trouble.” </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Arial; letter-spacing: 0px;">“</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Sounds like quite a town you have here.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Her eyes glanced up the street as a nervous smile played on her lips. “You’ve no idea.” She cleared her throat and stumbled before shaking her head. “You’ll be staying tonight, of course?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">J.W took a long sip from the steaming cup. “‘‘fraid not Ma’am. I’ve got business to look in on at Silver City.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Of course. Well, I’ll see you at the service then.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Nodding, J.W drank again and watched her disappear up the pathway and into the modest home set to the other side of the church. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">He allowed his shoulders to relax as he shuffled into a more comfortable position to enjoy the peace. He stretched his legs across the gateway and brought his arms up above his head, allowing the battered felt hat perched on his head to flop over his forehead. He adjusted it so that if need be, he could open an eye and still see what was around, but that it was far enough to shade his face from the morning sun. Too relaxed now to move under the promise of the shade of the nearby apple tree, even the incessant buzzing of a fly, desperate to explore his nostrils and ear cavities; could not break the tranquility of the moment. Cyotta Falls was as far from Texas Rangers and their threats as he could imagine. A pity he needed to find Delia Bell Donnally in such a rush. A pity, he mused, for her. No-one stole from him and lived much longer. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The fly buzzed across his mouth. He blew it away between rounded lips. There were secrets this town was withholding from him, just itching to be revealed. He shuffled down the post a little more and set the near empty coffee mug beside him. Rebecca’s painted red lips transposed over Delia’s perfect face. His eye twitched, suddenly curious at the choice of borderline immodest clothing the preachers wife wore. Something about this sleepy town didn’t sit right and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out what it was.<br />
<br />
Panicked feet broke the silence as they stumbled up the dusty street. J.W’s left eye opened a slit to regard his intruder. A thin figure, barely past boyhood tore round the corner, his cotton shirt ripped exposing a mottled chest. The boy’s dark eyes were wide with fright, streaked with tears and desperation.<br />
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“Please Mister. Let me through to the preacher.” Even in his panic, the boy was polite, respectfully awaiting an answer.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">J.W yawned theatrically and stared at the lad, realising that the shade had nothing to do withe the speckles of colour on the boys face. J.W’s poker experience schooled his emotions, refusing to allow his shock to register as he also realised the young man’s dark eyes had no pupils.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“They’re going to hurt me.” He twisted fearfully around searching for a pursuer. “Please, move aside.” The boys neck was a patchwork of speckled skin, stretching, it seemed, all over his body. J.W realised where he’d seen the boy before. Felix the Leopard Boy was an acrobat and spectacle within Soame’s Travelling Circus. He’d arrived in town just as they were setting up for the next show and had shaken his head at the collection of unusual individuals Mr Soames had managed to employ to entertain the bored masses on the frontier. </span></span></div>
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J.W stretched, stood and pulled an apple from his coat pocket. “Thieves aughta be punished. Specially you Carnies and Freaks. It’s in your blood.” He took a huge chunk and chewed noisily. “I hope you stole something good.”<br />
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The boy straightened and snarled. “I didn’t take anything. I was just - walking.” </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">J.W placed a firm but gentle arm on the boy’s tiny shoulder. “Then why are you running now?” </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The boy swept the hand off his shoulder. “Just like you. Judging me for the way I look. They shouted at me, started to chase me. I ran.” He twisted again to look behind him. “Please let me past. Preacher James won’t let them hurt me. He’s always been kind to us folk.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">”Point taken lad.” apple juice dribbled down J.W’s chin. “Well then it all depends on who is chasing you and what you were really up to.”<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“I just wanted to see a steamer up close. The men saw me and threw things at me. They - ”</span></span></div>
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Horses’ hooves clattered on the hardened dirt road. </span></span></div>
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J.W stopped chewing, frowned and looked about the gatehouse quickly. <br />
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“Climb up into the tree till they pass. I’ll give you a boost up.”<br />
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J.W crossed his arms, slid fluidly down the trunk and closed his eyes.<br />
<br />
A half mounted men rode steadily toward him, several extra jogged behind exploring doorways and searching the alleyways. Those on the ground carried wooden bludgeons or hooks used on the docks. <br />
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“Ehh! You. See anyone come past just now?”<br />
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A loud snore erupted from the slumped figure. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The horses stamped and shook their heads. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Leave him, Terrance. Just another one of Preacher James’s drunks drying out before the sermon today.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">An empty waterskin thrown with accuracy at his head was neatly caught as J.W’s hand flashed out.<br />
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“On your way tumbleweed.” Amos Ewing leant forward on his saddle and hawked. A huge glob of tobacco laded spit rolled over in the dust as it landed beside J.W’s boot.<br />
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J.W yawned, stretched languidly, “Wassup?” and looked up at the men with one eye open. “Yer, woke me.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Cyotta Falls ain’t your sort of town.”<br />
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Hooves echoed in the narrow street as the men drew their horses into a semi circle. J.W pushed his hat up and stared at the ring leader.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“What sort of town might that be?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Amos shifted in his saddle and rested his hand on his pistol. “A town that don’t need newcomers snooping round. Askin’ questions.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">J.W loosened his crossed arms, feeling his pistols press against his chest under his jacket.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“I’m just passin‘ through, friend. Ain’t after no trouble.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Terrance wiped his mouth and sniffed. “Come on Amos. We are losing time. Gotta find that little snit. Show him a thing or two.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Just who are yer looking for? Might be worth my while in helping you find them.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Amos hacked a laugh which ended in a coughing fit. Terrance pounded him on the back and yanked his horse to stop as it skittered about.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Just what we don’t need. Another hired gun or wanna be deputy.” Amos drew a deep breath and stared evenly at the lanky figure still seated at the gateway. “Take some friendly advice, son. Get out of town while you can. While your leaving, take them circus freak show folk with you. Us decent folk can’t get a wink of sleep just thinking of the indecent acts they might be performing.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Amos glared down at the figure, punctuating his speech with another glob of spit. It landed on the tip of J.W’s boot.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Terrance slapped his thigh laughing, the reflection of a huge hinting knife strapped to his leg, revealed as his coat parted. ”You may get a part in the circus if’in yer wanted. Yer ugly enough to be the bearded ladies son.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> J.W took his hat off slowly,placed it on the ground beside him and ran his fingers through his hair. “I killed a man in a huge hotel in the middle of the night because his snoring got to me. Disrespectin’ folk cause they are different just doesn't stick with me, neither.”<br />
<br />
The lads from the docks growled as they shuffled in closer to the gatehouse. As one thrust a kick at him, J.W grasped the leg’s progression and pulled violently, using the force to flick himself upward and tip the aggressor ungraciously to the ground. J.W slipped inside an overhead slice, blocking it painfully at the joint and with an outward reap sent the man stumbling into the dust. <br />
<br />
With a roar, another attacked J.W with a swinging haymaker. J.W unbalanced him easily with a low sweep to the legs, ducking his head beneath the next hamsized fist. Within moments, the gleeful shouts of a half dozen men about to beat one, turned into groans and gurgles of a score of the vanquished. J.W crouched in a guarded stance watching for the remaining mounted men’s next movement.<br />
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A painted horse with its tail held high cantered into the scene. The man in its saddle assessed the situation quickly and, stared hard at J.W before glaring at the two men still on horseback. Continuing to gauge J.W, he barked “Where’s yer sense Amos? Attacking a man in the street? In case you forgot, I’m the law in this town. You’re lucky he didn’t draw his two pistols and shot you down like the dogs you are.”<br />
<br />
Terrance lowered his eyes. “Awhh Sheriff, we’d have worn him down eventually. He ain’t no-one you need to worry about.”<br />
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“You and Amos aughta know better. Not today anyway.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Sherriff. Strange sort of town you are running here.”<br />
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They all looked down at J.W, noting despite the exertion of the last few moments, his chest rose and fell normally.<br />
<br />
Sheriff Jenkins patted his horse as it stamped and shook its head. “I take it yer just passin’ through Mr Hardin?”<br />
<br />
J.W picked up his hat and dusted it off. “Not surprised you know who I am.”<br />
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Terrance spat. “John Wesley Hardin. You augtha hang for what you did to Wild Bill. That man’s a God Damned legend. And you had the gall ta - ”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Sheriff Jenkin’s horse shook its head, the halter metal jingling. “I’m hiring. This town could use someone like you.”<br />
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“Like me?” J.W lowered further. “So I can murder in the name of law and order, instead of just doing it when I please?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Texas Rangers don’t give up easily Mr Hardin. A deputy’s badge can give you protection, specially out here.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“If its all the same to you Sheriff, I got some business with a Miss Delia Donnelly.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Silver City’s Delia? She is long gone from there. You are chasing a ghost with that one, Mr Hardin.” The painted horse pirouetted and threw its head. “You may be better off staying here.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“The offer is tempting but as I said, I’m passing through.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“If that’s the case then Mr Hardin, best you be on your way.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Ahh, Sheriff.” Terrance wiped his mouth and leant over the pommel of his saddle towards him. “Shipments in. We gotta get it unloaded before -”<br />
J.W leant against the gatehouse and crunched another apple. “Before the sermon this morning gentlemen? I hear its about loving your fellow man, acceptance of all God’s creatures. Helping those less fortunate.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Damned Preacher James needs to stick to his scriptures instead of telling us God-fearing folk how to live our lives. Them freaks should be moved on Sheriff. They got no place in a Christian town like this.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Amos Ewing, of all people; you’d be the last to be judging others on they way they live their lives. I’d best not hear you and your bully boys have harmed one hair on the heads of those decent folk camped over at the common.” He pulled his horse up close to Amos and poked him in the chest. “Not one hair.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Amos’ top lip curled,but he kept his eyes lowered. Ignoring his petulant behaviour, the Sheriff stared at Terrance and Amos, placed both reins into his right left hand and rested his left purposefully upon his pistol. “Now I’d suggest you get back to the docks and make sure the preacher gets to his sermon on time. Seems to me Mr Hardin’s observations are timely. We all need to be a bit more accepting of others.” </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Sheriff Jenkins pressed his heels lightly into his horses flanks and pushed it underneath the tree. He looked up at Felix clinging onto the branch above him. “Come on down lad. I’ll take you back to your caravans. You got nothing to worry about.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The lad fluidly slithered down and accepted the sheriffs arm to swing up behind the horse.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Sheriff Jenkins tipped his hat to J.W. “Much obliged. But I’d strongly suggest you take the mountain route rather than the river path. Less - excitement that way.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Amos regarded J.W with unguarded fury as Sherriff Jenkin’s horse cantered away and Felix’s grin widened as he waved.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was submitted for #13 of FGC. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was also submitted to <a href="http://fridayflash.org/press/the-collector/">Friday Flash</a></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you'd like to read a little on the folk at Cyotta Falls and are a fan of Choose Your Own Adventures - check out<a href="http://chooseyouronlineadventures.com/read/dust-and-death/teasers/series-2-portal/dust-and-death"> Dust and Death</a> - an online CYOA, written collaboratively by a group of emergent talented authors. This story is set only days before the main events explored at Dust and Death.</span></div>
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</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-45379777612425687102012-04-29T11:05:00.000+10:002012-04-29T11:05:20.244+10:00The Unseelie Court FGC (2012) #12<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Hand me that box, Chloe.” Trent stretched his arms out toward the slouched figure at the doorway.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Chloe’s long fringe shrouded her face as she fiddled with the door handle. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Do you want that box up here, or in your room?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Chloe shrugged lethargically. Her eyes cast low as she studied the dust in the cracks on the attic floor.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Trent opened the lid, pulling out a pink unicorn. “It’s just your old toys, dolls, teddy bears. Everything from your old room.” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A fleeting look of panic crossed Chloe’s eyes, but was quickly replaced by a dull pain.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The unicorn dropped back into the box. “How’s about we leave it close to the door. Just in case. Or would you like me to bring it down and put it into your room?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“No.” Chloe dug her finger into the keyhole of the door. “ Its fine Dad. They’re dumb.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Trent reached out to touch her on the arm but withdrew as soon as she flinched. “Chlo - they’re just toys. What about Fairy Fay?” He pulled out a delicate porcelain fairy doll. “You may be more comfortable if you have some reminders from the last house.” He brushed the dolls hair back and held it out to her, “Good memories. We left the bad ones there, remember?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I’m fine, Dad. They’re dumb. I don’t want anything from my last room. I don’t want to -” She flushed and turned her head away from him. “Are we done here?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Trent straightened and cracked his back. “Yep, thats the final boxes to be stored in the attic. Though I have no idea where your mother thinks she is going to fit all that stuff in the lounge room.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As Chloe scuffed her shoe against the wide planked flooring, a large splinter broke away and stuck into her sand shoe.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Watch yourself Chloe. Your leg is still healing. You can’t go round kicking things. And look at all those nails jutting up all over the place here. I’ll have to come up and knock them down sometime.” Trent bent for a closer inspection. “Huh, They are those old iron ones. Just like the ones in your leg, huh Chloe?” The sharp tips drew blood as Trent touched one. “Yeaoww! Man, they are sharp.” He shook his hand and then sucked the bleeding digit. “Going to be a tougher job than I thought. Well, you know the saying as tough as..” He looked up at his daughters blank face, the smile on his face withering.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Chloe folded her arms and kicked a wooden crate. “Whose stuff is this?” She glared at a collection of crates and a large wooden trunk under one of the lower beams.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Trent straightened “The old owners, I guess. They must have forgotten them. I’ll call the agent tomorrow and see if we can get them sent on.” He pushed at the trunk. He frowned and bent for a closer inspection. “Now why would someone put huge angle hinges to attach this to the floor like that?” He narrowly missed banging his head on the beam as he straightened. “Damned place is a health hazard. I’m going downstairs.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Chloe kicked one of the nails poking up from the floor, noticing that there were a number of them clustered underneath and surrounding the wooden trunk. She idly pulled at a piece of lace poking out from under its lid.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A shout from her father forced her interest from it towards him. Her racing heartbeat slowed as she realised he was dusting an old spider web away from his face. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He blustered, wiping his face zealously. “Come on, Missy. Too many dangerous things up here for my liking. I’ll bring some pest killer as well as my hammer tomorrow.” He held the door she leant against. “ After a day like today we deserve ice-cream.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I’m not a kid, Dad.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He hesitated a moment before flicking her pony tail. “Girls any age will eat ice-cream. Even if they have transformer legs.” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A tiny smile graced her pale face and disappeared. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Trent’s hand faltered as it rose to touch her on the shoulder. “Honey, I can’t fix what happened. I don’t even know what to say to you any more.” He puffed his cheeks out as Chloe refused to look at him. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She waited till his footfalls echoed down the narrow stair case before looking up and around the attic. Tracing a hand over the film of dust atop one of the crates, she stopped and bent to examine the ornate latch of the largest trunk. With a swift pull, it sprang open. She opened the lid slowly, only to be disappointed to discover the cavernous trunk empty but for a broken, old-fashioned hand held mirror and a small doll whose dress had been caught under the lid and had piqued her initial interest. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now that its skirt was free, the doll plopped to the bottom of the trunk, its clunk echoing hollowly. Chloe's eyes darted towards the stairs, waiting for her fathers impatient voice. She bent into the trunk, her hand searching the dark space for the doll. As her fingers sought to curl round the dolls waist, she dropped it, squeaking with surprise and pain. Chloe brought her hand to her mouth, sucking the fleshy part of her thumb; tears springing to her eyes. She inspected her hand, expecting to see a gaping wound from what she suspected was mirror shards. When it showed no such injuries, Chloe frowned and turned her hand over. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Come on Chloe! Theres a fudge sundae with my name on it and you’re keeping it from me!” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She closed the lid and pelted down the stairs two at a time; soon forgetting her injuries, the nails, the trunk and its contents.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The next morning, Chloe stumbled out of bed and continued to yawn through breakfast after she’d dressed. Trent took a sip of his coffee and eyed her with concern. “Didn’t get much sleep last night, Missy? Your leg hurting? Nightmares?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“No”. Chloe shook her head. “I dunno, I went to sleep straight away. I just feel whacked this morning.” She brought her hand up to her collar bone and unconsciously scratched. Trent offered her the rest of his toast. “Its an old house with all its strange noises. You’ll get used to it.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Oh honey, I thought you’d grown out of your eczema.” Her mothers eyes were a mix of disappointment and anxiousness. “You haven’t scratched yourself to bleeding like that for months.Not since - ” Fiona grabbed Chloe’s hand and inspected her fingernails. “I’ll cut these straight away. Look what you’ve done to your neck while you were asleep! You can’t afford to get any sort of infection. Not while - ”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Fi, Chloe is doing fine.” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Chloe pulled her hand away. “I’m alright Ma. Its just the dust we stirred up yesterday afternoon up in the attic.” But the scissors had already arrived and there was little she could do about the fussing that followed. Trent winked at Chloe as she rolled her eyes.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Chloe was lethargic most of the day as the family continued to unpack and rearrange furniture. Sent to rest in her room, she stared up at the ceiling, suddenly remembering the trunk in the attic. She took her torch and slipped out of her room. Chloe cautiously opened the door to the narrow staircase to the attic, her bare feet whispering up the stairs. The afternoons weakened sun filtered through the attics only window, casting muddy shapes on the uneven flooring. Huge support beams thrust themselves from footings to ceiling, transforming the shadowy space into an angular jungle. Her feet raced over to the trunk and in her haste to reach it, she forgot about the nails haphazardly surrounding it. Wincing, Chloe bit her lip as a shard from a nail protruding from the floor plunged itself into her big toe. She sat on the floor and shone her torch over her wound. Touching it gingerly, she gasped at the pain. “Damn it. Stupid nails. Going to have to dig that one out.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She glanced at the stairway and held her breath, rewarded by silence. Her eyes darted to the wooden trunk as a small smile crept across her face. “After I check the crates.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Shifting over to the wooden trunk, Chloe ran her hands over the rough boards. The chill of the iron cladding tingled at her finger tips. She ginergly opened the latch and shone her torch into the depths. The small doll slumped in a corner its tattered lace underskirt pulled upwards displaying her carved wooden legs. Chloe picked it up and examined the sweet but sad smile painted on the dolls pale face. She brushed its fine woollen hair back.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“What are you doing here all by yourself? Strange thing to leave behind.” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A tiny bell tinkled. Chloe dropped the doll and shone her torch toward the other wooden crates. The bell chimed again. She reached to pick up the doll and shrieked as it was grasped firmly. Her knees slid along the wooden floor, tiny splinters or wood and nails embedding themselves as she was hauled into the dark trunk. Chloe screamed as the clawed grip on her arm dug deeper. Her fingers desperately sought to grip something to slow her abduction. The torch clattered to the bottom, the tiny bulb smashing on impact. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Her strangled screams echoed hollowly in the trunk. By now, Chloe’s throat was raw from the earthy bellows of terror she continued. She felt herself falling through the darkness and just as suddenly, landing; warm sand enveloping her. Chloe clutched a gritty fistful and struggled to open her eyes, rewarded as sunshine screamed into her pupils. A shadow above her blocked the glare. Chloe brought her arm up and tried to focus on the shape. Translucent wings shivered in the warm breeze, sending rainbows dancing across the sand.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Chloe rubbed at her eyes and went to sit up. Hands grasped her pyjamas and tore them into strips. Chloe screamed again, kicking and thrashing at the hands, a new terror filling her body. Dark memories, like icy fingers slithered across her heart its insidious progression gripped her throat.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Cold water sliced across her body as small hands scrubbed at every part. She slapped at them, shrieking profanities and struggled to stand up. “Get the fuck away from me!” Her voice was raspy from screaming. More water drenched her as she scrambled on the soft sand. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Chloe’s arms wrapped themselves around her breasts as she hunched and glared into the searing light. A lock of hair tumbled across her face as she twisted about, glaring at the figures surrounding her . </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Her feet sunk into the sand as the light caressed her naked body. Chloe’s ragged breath began to even out. “Fucking freaks! Who are you?” The tiny figures around her stood silently.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A sudden wind slapped sand into her eyes and as she fought to focus again, she found herself alone.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A lithe, feminine body swirled before her and a long arm stretched out to touch Chloe’s face. She battered the hand away, shocked to find her arm passed through the figure, only to reform as the wind shifted the sand. “Where the hell am I?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Small mounds pulsed beneath the sand around her, finally forming an army surrounding her. Chloe’s lip curled as her eyebrows wrinkled. “Fairies? But fairies don’t live in the sand. Fairies don’t even exist.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Translucent wings fluttered as the silence buzzed.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The figure wound itself around Chloe’s body, its face close to hers. “So you say. But here you are. And here we are.” Sand tendrils slithered around the fairies before forming a slender regal figure in front of Chloe. “So tender.” She regarded her court. “ Are my loyal subjects hungry? Its been far too long since we’ve had a visitor.” A hundred rosebud lips opened into leering grins, revealing razor sharp teeth.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sandblasted lips pressed against Chloe’s forehead, immediately recoiling with a hiss.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> “Unclean and damaged.” A spray of sand seared into Chloe’s skin. “Order the doll who sent us this child to attend to me. Immediately.” A flurry of wings darkened the sky momentarily. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The beautiful face leered achingly close to Chloe’s, “Safe for now from us and you’ve no idea. ” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“How? What? Whats going on?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Spiting sand stung Chloe’s cheeks. “You have links with your human land. Embedded inside your legs, under the skin of your knees. Protected with iron. Count your blessings, human child. Begone!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Chloe felt small hands clutch her arms as she was dragged into a whirlpool of sand. Her world went black and her mouth filled with sand as she tried to scream again.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Large soft hands grasped her around the waist and Trent’s aftershave enveloped her. Chloe shook as he father smoothed her hair and pulled her out of the trunk. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“What on earth were you doing in that trunk Chlo? Its just as well you left the attic door open, or I’d never have heard you screaming.” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Fiona tore her jacket off and covered Chloe’s shoulders. Trent’s face coloured as he realised she was naked. He stared from his wife to Chloe’s face, unable to put any further words together. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Fiona began to lead Chloe down the stairs. “Make sure you do something about those nails sticking out on that floor tomorrow Trent. Its like a minefield around that trunk.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“No!” Chloe struggled. “No - Leave them. Don’t touch them.They’ll find me. They’ll come.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Sweetie, I thought we’d left all your nightmares behind.” Fiona brushed her fringe back. “No-one is going to find you. You’re safe now.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I’m fine. Really.” Chloe pushed herself away from the embrace of her parents and rubbed her leg. “Turns out some things are a blessing in disguise. Fate even.”</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was submitted for #12 of FGC. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was also submitted to <a href="http://fridayflash.org/press/the-collector/">Friday Flash</a></span></div>
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</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-55140376475511714512012-04-27T22:49:00.000+10:002012-07-08T21:41:32.750+10:00Weaving Lost Notes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidIHqOghqXB1QiPajb2cUEd1bFg-1cxAhHrm4M9LzFa4AdFNJRObFLbkNzzmY2dF3lq4QyIty_El8tb-UKyNANZ82lTyapXJDtu949unOTZw1imbDwmCjlNrtWuF-vzNrZ6mBZctJwko8/s1600/Once+Upon+a+Time+Logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidIHqOghqXB1QiPajb2cUEd1bFg-1cxAhHrm4M9LzFa4AdFNJRObFLbkNzzmY2dF3lq4QyIty_El8tb-UKyNANZ82lTyapXJDtu949unOTZw1imbDwmCjlNrtWuF-vzNrZ6mBZctJwko8/s200/Once+Upon+a+Time+Logo.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Words: 348</div>
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Theme : <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #30110f; font-family: 'Josefin Slab'; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px;">Unexpected Fairy Tales</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #30110f; font-family: 'Josefin Slab'; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px;">This competition is part of the wonderful <a href="http://nationalflashfictionday.co.uk/">(Inter) National Flash Fiction Day</a></span></div>
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My entry into the <a href="http://yearningforwonderland.blogspot.com.au/2012/04/once-upon-time-ready-set-go.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #30110f; font-family: 'Josefin Slab'; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #30110f; font-family: 'Josefin Slab'; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px;">OUAT Flash Fiction Contest</span></a> was chosen to be published - and therefore I have removed it from my site! How exciting! It is part of the Anthology, Once upon a time, and can be purchased from Amazon. Click on the image below!<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Once-Upon-Time-Collection-Unexpected/dp/1477453318/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1341745978&sr=1-1&keywords=Once+Upon+A+Time%3A+A+Collection+of+Unexpected+Fairytales"><img alt="" class="alignleft" height="300" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41Z4%2BQXWd%2BL._SL500_AA300_.jpg" width="300" /></a>
</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4900836079065859174.post-15373105847120386102012-04-21T23:26:00.001+10:002012-04-28T23:37:55.985+10:00Betrayal Births Moirai FGC (2012) #11Suspect it, yet I’ll never tell<br />
Foulest lies poison your heart<br />
you betrayed my trust as well<br />
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I should have known it from the start<br />
Now this ill-wrested love has soured<br />
Your hate, from hate birthed from your mind<br />
any goodness from you devoured<br />
all the meanwhile I was blind<br />
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Low snipes and envy does you little favours<br />
my strength sucked dry at your leisure<br />
poverty struck my Muse it waivers,<br />
I’ll starve her no longer for your pleasure<br />
You’ll now feed my pen with plot and skill<br />
Unwittingly your tainted tongue has birthed goodwill<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was written in response to Write Anything's </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/writing-prompts/information-page/">Form and Genre Challenge</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> , Sonnet</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was submitted for #11 of FGC. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Moirai is defined as the personification of the fates. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I give thanks to the betrayer of my trust for allowing me to step up and away from a situation I may have become stale ... and ordinary. Truly.. thank you. I follow my dreams now; all because of you.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was also submitted to <a href="http://fridayflash.org/press/the-collector/">Friday Flash</a>.</span></div>
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</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">var sc_project=3819302; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_partition=34; var sc_click_stat=1; var sc_security="7d786d4b"; </script><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.statcounter.com/counter/counter.js"></script><noscript><div class="statcounter"></div></noscript></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01308937047474819914noreply@blogger.com3