Zoe Adams's Blog, page 9
June 8, 2014
Writing Challenge - Day 8
To all who are reading this,
We are nearly a third of the way through the challenge! I hope you are enjoying it as much as I am! It's been a very busy Sunday here in the United Kingdom - I have been working on an upcoming cosplay, gardening, and had Sunday lunch with the family, which was nice. I also made friends with a nice guy in McDonalds because he had a Final Fantasy tattoo! How did you spend your Sunday?
Let's get on with the story, shall we?
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 8. - DRUNK
"Another one over here for me and my buddy!"
Oh Goddess, he was so clichéd. Where did these mortals get these lines? Obviously he spent too much time watching movies than actually speaking to women? His 'buddy'? It was laughable, but instead, I turned my grimace into a smile.
"Thanks ever so much, Colin."
"Ah, you're welcome, sweetheart. Anything for you."
Now he was calling me sweetheart. Was there no end in sight for this, for lack of a better word, loser? God, how I hated men. Once they had a drink inside of them, they all turned into big and pig headed dunderheads, who had one thing on the brain. He had already groped my leg several times, and just his hand on my jeans made me want to snap his wrist.
Instead, I had to smile, and reassure him that I was okay. It was all for the greater good. How else was I supposed to complete my mission.
Colin was a rather tragic figure, even for a mortal. He had thinning hair, pimples even in his thirties, and thick rimmed glasses. He had a geek themed t-shirt that was fading with one too many washes on thirty degrees, and his jeans had creases all over as if he had slept in them. He was hardly a looker, but hey, he had answered my call, as I had answered his.
All I needed was a little ol' mortal to satisfy me. All he needed was a woman. It would be the first, and the last time he had one.
"Have you been on many dates, Col?" I asked, using a nickname, and hoping he'd respond.
He slugged back a shot of clear liquid. "Honestly? No. I went on one before to the carnival, but things didn't go well. She felt sick after our first ride on the waltzers, and had to go home."
"Oh, what a shame. I love carnivals!" I did too. They were full of life and love. Places were secrets were concealed, and often revealed.
"Maybe I could take you, sometime?" He was growing braver with each glug of his lager, and several shot glasses were empty before him. I simply had red wine.
Red. The colour of lust. Love. Life.
"Maybe you should." I grinned, leaning forwards, letting my hand lightly touch his. I trailed my nails on him. I saw him swallow the empty air, and he hooked a figure into his shirt collar, as if he were struggling to breathe.
I had him on the ropes.
"You're... You're a very beautiful girl."
"And you're a sexy guy." My nails caught him again, a little harder than before. Blood welled, and yet he didn't notice.
"Can I... Can I kiss you?" he asked, licking his lower lip in anticipation.
"Only if you don't ask." I fluttered my lashes, leant in and placed my lips on his. He responded with as much urgency as he could muster, his lips flailing like fishes against mine, and it was then I realised something. He had never been kissed. He had never kissed someone. He was a virgin! Oh, it was my lucky day.
Blood bubbled beneath my skin, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. I needed this as much as he did, and I tried to control his movements, guiding him with my lips to make sure that his first and final kiss would be one to remember.
I urged his mouth open with my tongue, and I introduced French Kissing into the scenario. He shied away at first, but he threw himself into it with as much gusto as he could possibly manage. It was like a slug writhing around, and I carefully nipped him with my teeth, stopping him in his tracks. I tasted blood, and I savoured every taste. I could feel his breath sliding away, his alcohol tainted breath, and I knew his life force was stumbling this way and that. And by that, I mean into the realm of death.
I parted, tapping his face, before letting out an Oscar worthy scream. "Help! Help, something's happened to my date!" I let my arm drop from his, and his body shook, sliding from the barstool and slamming hard into the floor. I stepped back, holding my hands to my face, letting the fake tears come, and roll down my cheeks.
The bartender was trying his hardest to resuscitate him now, but there was nothing he could do. "Call an ambulance," he called, but I could tell him he was wasting time and effort. Colin was dead.
Nobody could survive the kiss of an incubus.
© Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014)
Currently reading: Piercing by Ryu Murakami
We are nearly a third of the way through the challenge! I hope you are enjoying it as much as I am! It's been a very busy Sunday here in the United Kingdom - I have been working on an upcoming cosplay, gardening, and had Sunday lunch with the family, which was nice. I also made friends with a nice guy in McDonalds because he had a Final Fantasy tattoo! How did you spend your Sunday?
Let's get on with the story, shall we?
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 8. - DRUNK
"Another one over here for me and my buddy!"
Oh Goddess, he was so clichéd. Where did these mortals get these lines? Obviously he spent too much time watching movies than actually speaking to women? His 'buddy'? It was laughable, but instead, I turned my grimace into a smile.
"Thanks ever so much, Colin."
"Ah, you're welcome, sweetheart. Anything for you."
Now he was calling me sweetheart. Was there no end in sight for this, for lack of a better word, loser? God, how I hated men. Once they had a drink inside of them, they all turned into big and pig headed dunderheads, who had one thing on the brain. He had already groped my leg several times, and just his hand on my jeans made me want to snap his wrist.
Instead, I had to smile, and reassure him that I was okay. It was all for the greater good. How else was I supposed to complete my mission.
Colin was a rather tragic figure, even for a mortal. He had thinning hair, pimples even in his thirties, and thick rimmed glasses. He had a geek themed t-shirt that was fading with one too many washes on thirty degrees, and his jeans had creases all over as if he had slept in them. He was hardly a looker, but hey, he had answered my call, as I had answered his.
All I needed was a little ol' mortal to satisfy me. All he needed was a woman. It would be the first, and the last time he had one.
"Have you been on many dates, Col?" I asked, using a nickname, and hoping he'd respond.
He slugged back a shot of clear liquid. "Honestly? No. I went on one before to the carnival, but things didn't go well. She felt sick after our first ride on the waltzers, and had to go home."
"Oh, what a shame. I love carnivals!" I did too. They were full of life and love. Places were secrets were concealed, and often revealed.
"Maybe I could take you, sometime?" He was growing braver with each glug of his lager, and several shot glasses were empty before him. I simply had red wine.
Red. The colour of lust. Love. Life.
"Maybe you should." I grinned, leaning forwards, letting my hand lightly touch his. I trailed my nails on him. I saw him swallow the empty air, and he hooked a figure into his shirt collar, as if he were struggling to breathe.
I had him on the ropes.
"You're... You're a very beautiful girl."
"And you're a sexy guy." My nails caught him again, a little harder than before. Blood welled, and yet he didn't notice.
"Can I... Can I kiss you?" he asked, licking his lower lip in anticipation.
"Only if you don't ask." I fluttered my lashes, leant in and placed my lips on his. He responded with as much urgency as he could muster, his lips flailing like fishes against mine, and it was then I realised something. He had never been kissed. He had never kissed someone. He was a virgin! Oh, it was my lucky day.
Blood bubbled beneath my skin, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. I needed this as much as he did, and I tried to control his movements, guiding him with my lips to make sure that his first and final kiss would be one to remember.
I urged his mouth open with my tongue, and I introduced French Kissing into the scenario. He shied away at first, but he threw himself into it with as much gusto as he could possibly manage. It was like a slug writhing around, and I carefully nipped him with my teeth, stopping him in his tracks. I tasted blood, and I savoured every taste. I could feel his breath sliding away, his alcohol tainted breath, and I knew his life force was stumbling this way and that. And by that, I mean into the realm of death.
I parted, tapping his face, before letting out an Oscar worthy scream. "Help! Help, something's happened to my date!" I let my arm drop from his, and his body shook, sliding from the barstool and slamming hard into the floor. I stepped back, holding my hands to my face, letting the fake tears come, and roll down my cheeks.
The bartender was trying his hardest to resuscitate him now, but there was nothing he could do. "Call an ambulance," he called, but I could tell him he was wasting time and effort. Colin was dead.
Nobody could survive the kiss of an incubus.
© Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014)
Currently reading: Piercing by Ryu Murakami
June 7, 2014
Writing Challenge Days 6 & 7
To all who are reading this,
Once more we have entered a blog post in which I am sharing with you two pieces of flash fiction. This is do to with the fact, that I am writing from a new laptop! Goodbye old Acer, you did me proud, and hello... New Acer! Very shiny, fast piece of technology, with Windows 8, which I am slowly getting used to.
So... Here are the stories!
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 6. - VILLAIN
Yasmin adjusted her floral shirt. Her hair had been coifed to within an inch of its life. Her make-up was perfectly applied, and her clothes had been chosen by her boss at the television studio. Her camera man was even wearing a smarter checked shirt and plain black jeans - much more normal that his outlandish comic book t-shirts, and the tattered shirts he wore instead of a hooded sweatshirt. After all, it wasn't everyday that you spoke to esteemed television personalities at award ceremonies. This was Yasmin's first live broadcast, and she was terrified. She had reported from specific locations, but there had been plenty of takes. This was on the red carpet - hundreds of thousands of people were waiting in their living rooms from the safety of their homes, on tenterhooks and holding onto pieces of paper with their picks of the winners. "Yasmin, we're on. Five, four, three, two, one..." Balanced on his shoulder, Ben, the cameraman gestured with a free hand, and Yasmin held onto her microphone with shaking hands. "You join us exclusively on the red carpet. We are live at the Awardies, and the stars are flocking in their hundreds. Tonight, they are all competing to be the best in their categories, from Best Film, to Actor of the Year and beyond. Let's see if anyone is willing to talk." Yasmin turned on her heel, conscious that she might trip with the lumps in the carpet, but she was careful. She set a celebrity in her sights and leaned out to speak to him. "Hi, I'm Yasmin from Big and Bright TV Studios. I'm just wondering if we can have a quick word?" The celebrity turned on a bright smile, and nodded. Yasmin turned back to the camera and Ben, smiling to herself. She had all his films at home, and she wasn't going to admit it, but he had featured in wild and bizarre dreams. One of his photos was also stuck to her fridge in the kitchen, something her house mate would giggle at and threaten to draw on. "So... Vincent! Vincent Gallows! First of all congratulations on this year. You've turned from small town theatre actor, to A-Lister. And you are up for three awards tonight! Are you nervous?" Vincent adjusted the shirt of his collar and laughed under his breath. "Yes, I'm terrified! I've been to a few ceremonies since the start of the year, but this is something I've dreamt about since I was a small child! I'm so lucky to be here, amongst all these fabulous stars! And lovely presenters, such as yourself." Yasmin hoped she wouldn't blush. She had to get information from him, she wouldn't have long with him before he moved onto the next interview. "Your portrayal of the Norse wolf-man, Fenrir, has had teen girls and grown women alike glued to the screen. Did you ever imagine that you'd have this type of role?" "Not really. I'm being pin-upped as a bit of a heart throb, which is strange. Fenrir isn't a heart throb in the books by Raven Carr. He's much darker, an outsider. Cast off from his family, and those who would understand him, he's doomed to live amongst the mortals. I'm naturally not this type of person, so it was strange to get into the role. I spent a lot of time on my own, trying to find myself, and thus, Fenrir was born." "You're in the category for Best Actor, Best Villain, and the rest of your cast for Best Film. What do you think you're most likely to win?" "Personally, I'd love a clean sweep!" Vincent laughed, and turned serious. "In all honesty, probably villain. Being Fenrir is a new experience. He's back for both the second and final films of the series, so I just hope that I can live up to expectations." "Before you leave us, can you give us a taste of Fenrir, for those who might not be familiar with your work?" Yasmin prayed that he would say yes. She had been a fan of the books since they had first been released, and Fenrir had always been her favourite character. Vincent brought his right shoulder forwards, and leant in the same direction. His face turned into a disgusted grimace. His voice was gravelly as he spoke, sending shivers down Yasmin's spine. "I could have been somebody, but no. You cast me aside as if I am nothing more than dirt. But I am not dirt, and I'm going to prove it to you, if it's the last thing I do. You just watch - I am not my father!"
© Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014) JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 7. - SISTER
"Boys. Girls. I have never felt more privileged than standing before you all on this evening. To be awarded the National Youth Certificate is an honour. I know that if my sister were alive today, she would be bursting with pride. Since her death six months ago, I have seen your tireless efforts to stop those drinking publicly and erecting signs to stop those who are trying to drive, and encouraging others to joyride around the streets and estates. You have all been hit hard by her death at the hands of one such individual, and I have appreciated every single kind word, cards, flowers, and attendance at her funeral. Every single one of you are all valued members of this community, and you have proved constantly that teenagers are not just loud mouthed, binge drinkers. You all give your time to those who need it, and assist those who may not be able to help themselves. You have written articles that have been praised by councillors. You have visit politicians, circulated petitions and taken part in parades, and hundreds of charity events. The spirit of my sister lives on in all of you. She may have started the Youth Action Challenge, but she hasn't stopped it, has she? Thank you all for this special occasion. And now, I'm going to hand over the Lady Mayor. Congratulations, each and every one of you!" Valerie stepped away from the podium, the postcard in my hand. There had been tear stained patches on it as she had been writing it. She meant every word she had said to the Youth Action Challenge volunteers of the town, and when she spoke about her sister, Monique, she had had to hold back even more tears than she had thought possible. All those months ago at the funeral, she had not been able to say a single word. All she could do was cry, and mouth wordlessly. She had sat between her mother and father, and held onto their hands, hoping against hope that it was all just a bad dream. She was going to wake up in a moment, and she would be at home in her bed. She would wander to the next room, knock on the door, and her own sister would be sat up in bed, her hair pinned in a messy topknot, her thick pyjamas comfortable, and a battered paperback in her hands. She would look up, annoyed at being disturbed and say: "What you staring at, Val? Have I grown another head or something? Go away, I'm busy!" Sadly, it was not a dream. It was a horrible reality that was never ending. She didn't speak to her parents very often anymore, and she devoted her time to her sister's community work. She had grown to love the group as much as her sister had, and was always helping them with any work. She gave a sympathetic ear, and spoke to them about the hardships that they may be suffering with in their lives. Since her sisters death, she had done everything she could to keep going, but sometimes things would get on top of her. She would excuse herself, shut the door, and take her frustration out on the dartboard that hung. It used to be her sisters office, and at first she had felt like she was intruding. She had moved her paperwork around into boxes, emptied drawers and changed the inspirational posters to something more cheerful and stylish. The photo of the family however, she kept on the desk. Now, it was her domain. The organisation was much better - she could find things now. She had brought in cushions and blankets for a more homely touch, and it made the kids feel more at ease. She went around certain organisations and they donated technology, and entertainment facilities to help the kids be comfortable. They were able to study in peace and have friends, like her sister would have wanted her to. Valerie would make her sister proud. She knew that at this award ceremony, her sisters spirit would be with her. She would hold a champagne flute filled with Bucks Fizz. Her feet would be tapping in her sensible, yet fashionable brogues, and she would be dressed smart and chic. Her sister would gush over the latest music, films and books with the young people, and cajole her sister into having a wild dance with her. They would be the centre of attention, and be beloved by all. They were not only sisters, but they were the best friends. And not even death would stop that. © Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014) Currently reading: Eternity by Elizabeth Miles
Once more we have entered a blog post in which I am sharing with you two pieces of flash fiction. This is do to with the fact, that I am writing from a new laptop! Goodbye old Acer, you did me proud, and hello... New Acer! Very shiny, fast piece of technology, with Windows 8, which I am slowly getting used to.
So... Here are the stories!
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 6. - VILLAIN
Yasmin adjusted her floral shirt. Her hair had been coifed to within an inch of its life. Her make-up was perfectly applied, and her clothes had been chosen by her boss at the television studio. Her camera man was even wearing a smarter checked shirt and plain black jeans - much more normal that his outlandish comic book t-shirts, and the tattered shirts he wore instead of a hooded sweatshirt. After all, it wasn't everyday that you spoke to esteemed television personalities at award ceremonies. This was Yasmin's first live broadcast, and she was terrified. She had reported from specific locations, but there had been plenty of takes. This was on the red carpet - hundreds of thousands of people were waiting in their living rooms from the safety of their homes, on tenterhooks and holding onto pieces of paper with their picks of the winners. "Yasmin, we're on. Five, four, three, two, one..." Balanced on his shoulder, Ben, the cameraman gestured with a free hand, and Yasmin held onto her microphone with shaking hands. "You join us exclusively on the red carpet. We are live at the Awardies, and the stars are flocking in their hundreds. Tonight, they are all competing to be the best in their categories, from Best Film, to Actor of the Year and beyond. Let's see if anyone is willing to talk." Yasmin turned on her heel, conscious that she might trip with the lumps in the carpet, but she was careful. She set a celebrity in her sights and leaned out to speak to him. "Hi, I'm Yasmin from Big and Bright TV Studios. I'm just wondering if we can have a quick word?" The celebrity turned on a bright smile, and nodded. Yasmin turned back to the camera and Ben, smiling to herself. She had all his films at home, and she wasn't going to admit it, but he had featured in wild and bizarre dreams. One of his photos was also stuck to her fridge in the kitchen, something her house mate would giggle at and threaten to draw on. "So... Vincent! Vincent Gallows! First of all congratulations on this year. You've turned from small town theatre actor, to A-Lister. And you are up for three awards tonight! Are you nervous?" Vincent adjusted the shirt of his collar and laughed under his breath. "Yes, I'm terrified! I've been to a few ceremonies since the start of the year, but this is something I've dreamt about since I was a small child! I'm so lucky to be here, amongst all these fabulous stars! And lovely presenters, such as yourself." Yasmin hoped she wouldn't blush. She had to get information from him, she wouldn't have long with him before he moved onto the next interview. "Your portrayal of the Norse wolf-man, Fenrir, has had teen girls and grown women alike glued to the screen. Did you ever imagine that you'd have this type of role?" "Not really. I'm being pin-upped as a bit of a heart throb, which is strange. Fenrir isn't a heart throb in the books by Raven Carr. He's much darker, an outsider. Cast off from his family, and those who would understand him, he's doomed to live amongst the mortals. I'm naturally not this type of person, so it was strange to get into the role. I spent a lot of time on my own, trying to find myself, and thus, Fenrir was born." "You're in the category for Best Actor, Best Villain, and the rest of your cast for Best Film. What do you think you're most likely to win?" "Personally, I'd love a clean sweep!" Vincent laughed, and turned serious. "In all honesty, probably villain. Being Fenrir is a new experience. He's back for both the second and final films of the series, so I just hope that I can live up to expectations." "Before you leave us, can you give us a taste of Fenrir, for those who might not be familiar with your work?" Yasmin prayed that he would say yes. She had been a fan of the books since they had first been released, and Fenrir had always been her favourite character. Vincent brought his right shoulder forwards, and leant in the same direction. His face turned into a disgusted grimace. His voice was gravelly as he spoke, sending shivers down Yasmin's spine. "I could have been somebody, but no. You cast me aside as if I am nothing more than dirt. But I am not dirt, and I'm going to prove it to you, if it's the last thing I do. You just watch - I am not my father!"
© Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014) JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 7. - SISTER
"Boys. Girls. I have never felt more privileged than standing before you all on this evening. To be awarded the National Youth Certificate is an honour. I know that if my sister were alive today, she would be bursting with pride. Since her death six months ago, I have seen your tireless efforts to stop those drinking publicly and erecting signs to stop those who are trying to drive, and encouraging others to joyride around the streets and estates. You have all been hit hard by her death at the hands of one such individual, and I have appreciated every single kind word, cards, flowers, and attendance at her funeral. Every single one of you are all valued members of this community, and you have proved constantly that teenagers are not just loud mouthed, binge drinkers. You all give your time to those who need it, and assist those who may not be able to help themselves. You have written articles that have been praised by councillors. You have visit politicians, circulated petitions and taken part in parades, and hundreds of charity events. The spirit of my sister lives on in all of you. She may have started the Youth Action Challenge, but she hasn't stopped it, has she? Thank you all for this special occasion. And now, I'm going to hand over the Lady Mayor. Congratulations, each and every one of you!" Valerie stepped away from the podium, the postcard in my hand. There had been tear stained patches on it as she had been writing it. She meant every word she had said to the Youth Action Challenge volunteers of the town, and when she spoke about her sister, Monique, she had had to hold back even more tears than she had thought possible. All those months ago at the funeral, she had not been able to say a single word. All she could do was cry, and mouth wordlessly. She had sat between her mother and father, and held onto their hands, hoping against hope that it was all just a bad dream. She was going to wake up in a moment, and she would be at home in her bed. She would wander to the next room, knock on the door, and her own sister would be sat up in bed, her hair pinned in a messy topknot, her thick pyjamas comfortable, and a battered paperback in her hands. She would look up, annoyed at being disturbed and say: "What you staring at, Val? Have I grown another head or something? Go away, I'm busy!" Sadly, it was not a dream. It was a horrible reality that was never ending. She didn't speak to her parents very often anymore, and she devoted her time to her sister's community work. She had grown to love the group as much as her sister had, and was always helping them with any work. She gave a sympathetic ear, and spoke to them about the hardships that they may be suffering with in their lives. Since her sisters death, she had done everything she could to keep going, but sometimes things would get on top of her. She would excuse herself, shut the door, and take her frustration out on the dartboard that hung. It used to be her sisters office, and at first she had felt like she was intruding. She had moved her paperwork around into boxes, emptied drawers and changed the inspirational posters to something more cheerful and stylish. The photo of the family however, she kept on the desk. Now, it was her domain. The organisation was much better - she could find things now. She had brought in cushions and blankets for a more homely touch, and it made the kids feel more at ease. She went around certain organisations and they donated technology, and entertainment facilities to help the kids be comfortable. They were able to study in peace and have friends, like her sister would have wanted her to. Valerie would make her sister proud. She knew that at this award ceremony, her sisters spirit would be with her. She would hold a champagne flute filled with Bucks Fizz. Her feet would be tapping in her sensible, yet fashionable brogues, and she would be dressed smart and chic. Her sister would gush over the latest music, films and books with the young people, and cajole her sister into having a wild dance with her. They would be the centre of attention, and be beloved by all. They were not only sisters, but they were the best friends. And not even death would stop that. © Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014) Currently reading: Eternity by Elizabeth Miles
June 5, 2014
Writing Challenge - Days 4 & 5
To all who are reading this,
You will notice that today is a blog post with a difference. We have two pieces of flash fiction from the Writing Challenge today, since I was unable to post last night.
I went to see Maleficent (2014) at the cinema with my mum last night, and it was an amazing film! I'm hoping to do a review of it shortly, but I will have to see how the rest of my blogging duties go.
So... Here are the stories!
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 4. - BONES
"Will you just leave me alone, already?"
"Oh come on, Em! Let's just head back home and talk about this!"
"Does it look like I want to talk about this! Just... Just... Go away!"
Emma's scream ripped apart the air, as she clapped her hands over her ears. Turning on her booted heel, she stormed off the pathway. She picked up the pace as she moved through the woodlands. She knew he would follow. He was determined, and dogged her steps. Yet, Dominic's voice was the last thing she wanted to hear right now.
How could he dump something like this on her and expect her to be okay with it? They were a couple, they were supposed to make these sorts of decisions together. Not do things like this behind each others backs. What gave him the right to book himself a plane ticket out to Spain? How long had his suitcase been packed for? How did he think she felt?
They had spent a long summer day together - a picnic and walking aimlessly. It had been perfect - her favourite foods and he had even poured a white wine into two plastic wine glasses. Then he took her hands in his, and for one wild moment Emma thought, This is it. He's going to propose. She was mentally preparing herself to say, "Yes!" The last thing she had expected to hear was, "I'm travelling out to Spain. I'm working the season in a bar on the Benidorm beachfront. I leave in a few days, and I'm staying with Dave, at his family's timeshare."
At first, she had wanted to hear everything - all the details that had led up to his decision. Was he escaping from her? Was he seeing someone else? Was it work, or had he got himself involved in a dodgy deal like his cousin had the other year? Yet the more she got herself worked up about it, the more she realised she didn't. What if it was sordid?
Emma had been so lost in her thoughts of Dominic and his futuristic plans that she didn't see where she was going. As she cut through a bush, she caught her ankle on an upturned tree root, and with a thud, she hit the ground. Dirt sprayed up her jacket and jeans. The skin on her hands was scraped red raw, whilst her ankle throbbed wildly. She bit her lip as tears sprang to her eyes.
"Dom!" she wailed. Then louder, "Dom!"
"Em! Em, what's happened?" He was beside her in seconds - she had been right in the assumption that he had followed her. He held her shoulder tight, and helped to turn her onto her back, every movement painful. "Are you okay? Oh God! What did you fall on?"
The pain was unbearable, and she could barely speak. Instead, she raised her hand and pointed to the offensive shrub.
"What an ugly shaped root!" Dom was halfway inside the shrub now, pushing aside the leaves and tiny thin branches. He stretched out a hand, and tried to push the root back into the earth, but it didn't budge, and the dirt seemed to slide along its surface. He was studying it with an intense curiosity that Emma didn't like.
"Dom..." Emma's ankle was already swelling. She could have done anything to it. It could be sprained, or fractured or even, God forbid, broken, and here he was - more interested in roots and jetting off to some hot holiday destination. "Dom, can you just come back here already? I need your help."
"Em, you need to call an ambulance. And get the police too. We're going to need them."
"And pray tell, why do we need the - argh - police?" she asked, trying to get her mobile phone out of her pocket, but the way she was angled made it hard work. Every part of her hurt - emotionally, physically, externally and internally.
"Just look."
Emma did as he said. And then she found herself screaming hysterically, for it was not a root, that she had stumbled and fallen over. No, it a very human looking bone, and it was protruding from the earth. Dom's hands were dirty, and there was sick on the sides of his mouth. Flesh was rotting away from the offensive bone, and there were even the remains of a pair of trousers.
Emma was very aware that they were sitting on top of what could be a potential crime scene, but she wasn't bothered about that. She was very sure that if the police came they would want to investigate, and he wouldn't be able to leave the country for his precious holiday work.
That bone could be the answer to the very problems that lay before her.
© Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014)
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 5. - HEART
The room that Annalise was kept in was hardly what anyone would call shabby. In fact, it was befitting of royalty. Lush thick drapes were hung at the windows, and there was a cushioned window seat from where she would sit and draw, or read, or write. When the night rolled in, she drew the drapes and they shut out the world. She would light golden candelabras, and snuff them out when yawns escaped her mouth. Hand woven tapestries adorned every inch of stone wall. Whilst the flagstones were cold on her feet, in the center of the room there was an oval carpet, depicting the rise of the sun and it's eventual setting, turning into the moon. A large fireplace was never lit, and there were splendid baskets full of logs and coal lumps, and various shaped pokers. Wooden cabinets had been erected, holding dusty books, hair and jewelery accessories. A wardrobe was almost bursting open with the array of dresses, flowing tunics, riding trousers, shifts, underclothes, and capes. Shoes of every variety and colour were arranged artfully. The four poster bed had deep purple hanging drapes, and the bed sheets were made of silk and velvet.
From her window, she could see rolling hills and fields where farmers grew and harvested their crops. To the far left, there were fast running rivers that merged into a large lake where fish and amphibians lived and thrived. In the distance to the right, lay a small village, and beyond that there would be bustling towns and cities where royalty ruled. For Annalise, who had been named for the Goddess of Grace, had been a simple peasant girl, and could only dream of what the world beyond this castle was like. She would observe the comings and goings of the castle from her window, but shy away when others looked towards her. She was sure that rumours flew to the village about the mysterious young lady who lived with the Master, and was never seen or heard.
Annalise was given three square meals a day. Fruits, vegetables, eggs, breads, cheeses, meats, fish. Water, wines, mead, fresh juice squeezed from any fruit that was left over. She was in no danger of being starved. She was escorted every morning, lunch, and suppertime, by the stony faced palace guards to the dining room, where she sat at the other end of the table from the Master of the Castle. They ate in silence. When they had finished, Annalise curtsied to the best of her ability, and thanked him for his kindness. The Master of the Castle would nod and the guards would escort her back.
Every night when the full moon rose, the Master of the Castle would sit at the head of the table. His entire body would erupt in hoarse black fur, whilst his fine clothes tore, and fell in strips at the bottom of the chair. His face lengthened and his teeth were long and became slightly yellowed, almost as if he had aged suddenly. His eyes would be large and almost glow with their clear blue colour. And yet, Annalise would never flinch. She would be asked to wear a dress of purity, and each full moon, she would wear a pearly silk dress that fell over her curves. Her hair would be swept up to the top of her head, her curls falling down her neck, and the rest would be kept upright with opal hair pins. There would be no silver chains or rings on her, and she would wear heeled shoes, with ornate gems on the toes.
The meal would go ahead. The main meal would be meaty, and a little bit bloody. It was not to Annalise's tastes, but she chewed, swallowed, and washed it down with a gulp of wine and hoped that he wouldn't notice. Servants would serve each course and refill their glasses, until the end of the meal. Annalise would stand on ceremony, curtsying as normal. As she rose, the Master of the Castle would stand and bow back. He would walk the length of the table, and press his muzzle to the top of her right hand. Annalise would hold back her shivers. Then the Master would sink onto one knee, still holding onto her.
"Will you give me the honour of becoming my lady wife, and giving me your heart?" he would ask.
And every full moon, Annalise would give the same answer, "No." For she could never give her heart to a werewolf.
© Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014)
Currently reading: Rebel Springs by Morgan Rhodes
You will notice that today is a blog post with a difference. We have two pieces of flash fiction from the Writing Challenge today, since I was unable to post last night.
I went to see Maleficent (2014) at the cinema with my mum last night, and it was an amazing film! I'm hoping to do a review of it shortly, but I will have to see how the rest of my blogging duties go.
So... Here are the stories!
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 4. - BONES
"Will you just leave me alone, already?"
"Oh come on, Em! Let's just head back home and talk about this!"
"Does it look like I want to talk about this! Just... Just... Go away!"
Emma's scream ripped apart the air, as she clapped her hands over her ears. Turning on her booted heel, she stormed off the pathway. She picked up the pace as she moved through the woodlands. She knew he would follow. He was determined, and dogged her steps. Yet, Dominic's voice was the last thing she wanted to hear right now.
How could he dump something like this on her and expect her to be okay with it? They were a couple, they were supposed to make these sorts of decisions together. Not do things like this behind each others backs. What gave him the right to book himself a plane ticket out to Spain? How long had his suitcase been packed for? How did he think she felt?
They had spent a long summer day together - a picnic and walking aimlessly. It had been perfect - her favourite foods and he had even poured a white wine into two plastic wine glasses. Then he took her hands in his, and for one wild moment Emma thought, This is it. He's going to propose. She was mentally preparing herself to say, "Yes!" The last thing she had expected to hear was, "I'm travelling out to Spain. I'm working the season in a bar on the Benidorm beachfront. I leave in a few days, and I'm staying with Dave, at his family's timeshare."
At first, she had wanted to hear everything - all the details that had led up to his decision. Was he escaping from her? Was he seeing someone else? Was it work, or had he got himself involved in a dodgy deal like his cousin had the other year? Yet the more she got herself worked up about it, the more she realised she didn't. What if it was sordid?
Emma had been so lost in her thoughts of Dominic and his futuristic plans that she didn't see where she was going. As she cut through a bush, she caught her ankle on an upturned tree root, and with a thud, she hit the ground. Dirt sprayed up her jacket and jeans. The skin on her hands was scraped red raw, whilst her ankle throbbed wildly. She bit her lip as tears sprang to her eyes.
"Dom!" she wailed. Then louder, "Dom!"
"Em! Em, what's happened?" He was beside her in seconds - she had been right in the assumption that he had followed her. He held her shoulder tight, and helped to turn her onto her back, every movement painful. "Are you okay? Oh God! What did you fall on?"
The pain was unbearable, and she could barely speak. Instead, she raised her hand and pointed to the offensive shrub.
"What an ugly shaped root!" Dom was halfway inside the shrub now, pushing aside the leaves and tiny thin branches. He stretched out a hand, and tried to push the root back into the earth, but it didn't budge, and the dirt seemed to slide along its surface. He was studying it with an intense curiosity that Emma didn't like.
"Dom..." Emma's ankle was already swelling. She could have done anything to it. It could be sprained, or fractured or even, God forbid, broken, and here he was - more interested in roots and jetting off to some hot holiday destination. "Dom, can you just come back here already? I need your help."
"Em, you need to call an ambulance. And get the police too. We're going to need them."
"And pray tell, why do we need the - argh - police?" she asked, trying to get her mobile phone out of her pocket, but the way she was angled made it hard work. Every part of her hurt - emotionally, physically, externally and internally.
"Just look."
Emma did as he said. And then she found herself screaming hysterically, for it was not a root, that she had stumbled and fallen over. No, it a very human looking bone, and it was protruding from the earth. Dom's hands were dirty, and there was sick on the sides of his mouth. Flesh was rotting away from the offensive bone, and there were even the remains of a pair of trousers.
Emma was very aware that they were sitting on top of what could be a potential crime scene, but she wasn't bothered about that. She was very sure that if the police came they would want to investigate, and he wouldn't be able to leave the country for his precious holiday work.
That bone could be the answer to the very problems that lay before her.
© Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014)
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 5. - HEART
The room that Annalise was kept in was hardly what anyone would call shabby. In fact, it was befitting of royalty. Lush thick drapes were hung at the windows, and there was a cushioned window seat from where she would sit and draw, or read, or write. When the night rolled in, she drew the drapes and they shut out the world. She would light golden candelabras, and snuff them out when yawns escaped her mouth. Hand woven tapestries adorned every inch of stone wall. Whilst the flagstones were cold on her feet, in the center of the room there was an oval carpet, depicting the rise of the sun and it's eventual setting, turning into the moon. A large fireplace was never lit, and there were splendid baskets full of logs and coal lumps, and various shaped pokers. Wooden cabinets had been erected, holding dusty books, hair and jewelery accessories. A wardrobe was almost bursting open with the array of dresses, flowing tunics, riding trousers, shifts, underclothes, and capes. Shoes of every variety and colour were arranged artfully. The four poster bed had deep purple hanging drapes, and the bed sheets were made of silk and velvet.
From her window, she could see rolling hills and fields where farmers grew and harvested their crops. To the far left, there were fast running rivers that merged into a large lake where fish and amphibians lived and thrived. In the distance to the right, lay a small village, and beyond that there would be bustling towns and cities where royalty ruled. For Annalise, who had been named for the Goddess of Grace, had been a simple peasant girl, and could only dream of what the world beyond this castle was like. She would observe the comings and goings of the castle from her window, but shy away when others looked towards her. She was sure that rumours flew to the village about the mysterious young lady who lived with the Master, and was never seen or heard.
Annalise was given three square meals a day. Fruits, vegetables, eggs, breads, cheeses, meats, fish. Water, wines, mead, fresh juice squeezed from any fruit that was left over. She was in no danger of being starved. She was escorted every morning, lunch, and suppertime, by the stony faced palace guards to the dining room, where she sat at the other end of the table from the Master of the Castle. They ate in silence. When they had finished, Annalise curtsied to the best of her ability, and thanked him for his kindness. The Master of the Castle would nod and the guards would escort her back.
Every night when the full moon rose, the Master of the Castle would sit at the head of the table. His entire body would erupt in hoarse black fur, whilst his fine clothes tore, and fell in strips at the bottom of the chair. His face lengthened and his teeth were long and became slightly yellowed, almost as if he had aged suddenly. His eyes would be large and almost glow with their clear blue colour. And yet, Annalise would never flinch. She would be asked to wear a dress of purity, and each full moon, she would wear a pearly silk dress that fell over her curves. Her hair would be swept up to the top of her head, her curls falling down her neck, and the rest would be kept upright with opal hair pins. There would be no silver chains or rings on her, and she would wear heeled shoes, with ornate gems on the toes.
The meal would go ahead. The main meal would be meaty, and a little bit bloody. It was not to Annalise's tastes, but she chewed, swallowed, and washed it down with a gulp of wine and hoped that he wouldn't notice. Servants would serve each course and refill their glasses, until the end of the meal. Annalise would stand on ceremony, curtsying as normal. As she rose, the Master of the Castle would stand and bow back. He would walk the length of the table, and press his muzzle to the top of her right hand. Annalise would hold back her shivers. Then the Master would sink onto one knee, still holding onto her.
"Will you give me the honour of becoming my lady wife, and giving me your heart?" he would ask.
And every full moon, Annalise would give the same answer, "No." For she could never give her heart to a werewolf.
© Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014)
Currently reading: Rebel Springs by Morgan Rhodes
June 3, 2014
Writing Challenge - Day 3
To all who are reading this,
Whilst I had an initial plan for this piece of flash fiction, it did go off kilter, and somehow ended up the way it is now. I didn't expect it to, but I think it works!
Note the word think.
And I also didn't expect the lovely compliment on my official Facebook page today from a reader - that's made me feel great that people are reading these posts!
Enjoy.
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 3. - TEETH
Tues 3rd JuneThe newspapers are already calling him a mastermind. A criminal genius. Some have even called him the new Jack the Ripper - the infamous and unidentified serial killer of the Whitechapel area, of London in 1888. But we aren't in Whitechapel. We aren't even in London. And it most definitely isn't 1888.
It is 2014, and we are in the heart of the city. The city of Lincoln. I need to be careful. Sitting in a coffee shop, mulling over my cappuccino, I feel the strong desire to write. I am compelled to lay my thoughts out before me in black ink, but every so often I keep checking to see if anybody is watching me. There are few people in here today - there are two paint splattered graduate students sharing a bowl of chips. A harassed looking businessman is reading the newspaper and anxiously checking his fancy mobile phone. A young mother burdened with carrier bags has just entered, her sleeping daughter in a pushchair. I feel safe enough to drop my gaze back to the page, but the mantra repeats itself.
"Be safe".
After all, if this journal entry was ever discovered, I could become the latest victim of The Dentist.
The Dentist cannot be human. The things he does, the things he leaves behind - it is like looking down at stills from horror movies. He's a monster. Every two weeks, a body turns up in some part of the city. There have been body dumps at the cemetery, outside of the shopping center, and even outside a pizza parlour.
The Dentist doesn't discriminate. There have been men, women, and two days ago, the body of a child turned up in a park. There have been full figure and incredibly thin bodies. There has been blondes, brunettes, dyed hair colours. It is the same with eyes. There have been no distinguishing figures to connect them. They are all dead, and the only thing that remains the same is that the front two top teeth have been pulled from the mouth, with surgical precision. The newspapers tell us that the rest of the teeth that have been left are in good condition, and there is nothing to indicate someone other than a professional could have done it. It was they that christened him The Dentist, and gave him status within the media.
All the qualified and practicing dentists from the surrounding area have been examined and cross examined. Each one of them has an alibi for the evenings, and as much as they detest this, they are constantly being monitored. The news crews are rolling in from the surrounding areas, and when I switch the television on in the evening after work, I see some of the reports, live from the body dump sites. It makes my skin crawl.
Who knows what he is doing with them? Who needs multiple pairs of front teeth? Besides Donald Yetter Gardner who wrote that comical Christmas tune. "All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth". All I want for Christmas... Well, it's too far away to think of Christmas gifts. Especially when a killer is walking around. If you bought someone a gift, they may not even make it to the holiday season. As morbid as that sounds, it's also the truth.
I don't dare go the police. I'm fearful enough as it is, but the thing is... I couldn't say it before, but now I need to. I know who The Dentist is. And the worst thing is, I'm in love with him. I know - it sounds like someone who would write to a woman's magazine. "Help, I'm In Love With A Serial Killer!" But sadly, it's the truth. I've been in love with him for several years, and I didn't know about his connection to the kills until last night, when he gleefully told me. He's been saving the clippings. Recording the news sections on his phone and searching for them on YouTube. I don't know the full extent of why he does it, how he chooses the victims, but all I know is, he has serious problems. I wish I knew what was going on in his head, but at the same time, I don't, because The Dentist is as human as you and I. He appears like an ordinary man. At work and at home, he acts like an ordinary man.
And that, dear journal, is what makes him even more dangerous.
THE END© Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014)
Currently reading: Rebel Spring by Morgan Rhodes
Whilst I had an initial plan for this piece of flash fiction, it did go off kilter, and somehow ended up the way it is now. I didn't expect it to, but I think it works!
Note the word think.
And I also didn't expect the lovely compliment on my official Facebook page today from a reader - that's made me feel great that people are reading these posts!
Enjoy.
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 3. - TEETH
Tues 3rd JuneThe newspapers are already calling him a mastermind. A criminal genius. Some have even called him the new Jack the Ripper - the infamous and unidentified serial killer of the Whitechapel area, of London in 1888. But we aren't in Whitechapel. We aren't even in London. And it most definitely isn't 1888.
It is 2014, and we are in the heart of the city. The city of Lincoln. I need to be careful. Sitting in a coffee shop, mulling over my cappuccino, I feel the strong desire to write. I am compelled to lay my thoughts out before me in black ink, but every so often I keep checking to see if anybody is watching me. There are few people in here today - there are two paint splattered graduate students sharing a bowl of chips. A harassed looking businessman is reading the newspaper and anxiously checking his fancy mobile phone. A young mother burdened with carrier bags has just entered, her sleeping daughter in a pushchair. I feel safe enough to drop my gaze back to the page, but the mantra repeats itself.
"Be safe".
After all, if this journal entry was ever discovered, I could become the latest victim of The Dentist.
The Dentist cannot be human. The things he does, the things he leaves behind - it is like looking down at stills from horror movies. He's a monster. Every two weeks, a body turns up in some part of the city. There have been body dumps at the cemetery, outside of the shopping center, and even outside a pizza parlour.
The Dentist doesn't discriminate. There have been men, women, and two days ago, the body of a child turned up in a park. There have been full figure and incredibly thin bodies. There has been blondes, brunettes, dyed hair colours. It is the same with eyes. There have been no distinguishing figures to connect them. They are all dead, and the only thing that remains the same is that the front two top teeth have been pulled from the mouth, with surgical precision. The newspapers tell us that the rest of the teeth that have been left are in good condition, and there is nothing to indicate someone other than a professional could have done it. It was they that christened him The Dentist, and gave him status within the media.
All the qualified and practicing dentists from the surrounding area have been examined and cross examined. Each one of them has an alibi for the evenings, and as much as they detest this, they are constantly being monitored. The news crews are rolling in from the surrounding areas, and when I switch the television on in the evening after work, I see some of the reports, live from the body dump sites. It makes my skin crawl.
Who knows what he is doing with them? Who needs multiple pairs of front teeth? Besides Donald Yetter Gardner who wrote that comical Christmas tune. "All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth". All I want for Christmas... Well, it's too far away to think of Christmas gifts. Especially when a killer is walking around. If you bought someone a gift, they may not even make it to the holiday season. As morbid as that sounds, it's also the truth.
I don't dare go the police. I'm fearful enough as it is, but the thing is... I couldn't say it before, but now I need to. I know who The Dentist is. And the worst thing is, I'm in love with him. I know - it sounds like someone who would write to a woman's magazine. "Help, I'm In Love With A Serial Killer!" But sadly, it's the truth. I've been in love with him for several years, and I didn't know about his connection to the kills until last night, when he gleefully told me. He's been saving the clippings. Recording the news sections on his phone and searching for them on YouTube. I don't know the full extent of why he does it, how he chooses the victims, but all I know is, he has serious problems. I wish I knew what was going on in his head, but at the same time, I don't, because The Dentist is as human as you and I. He appears like an ordinary man. At work and at home, he acts like an ordinary man.
And that, dear journal, is what makes him even more dangerous.
THE END© Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014)
Currently reading: Rebel Spring by Morgan Rhodes
June 2, 2014
Writing Challenge - Day 2
To all who are reading this,
Today at work, I wrote today's prompt on a sticky note, and set it by the desktop computer that I use at my desk. Every so often, I would scribble a word on it, and hope that imagination would spark. The end result was that I used none of the ideas I had.
And here is the result.
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 2. - ASH
The woods were usually quiet at this time of night. No children shrieked and splashed in mud filled puddles. No dogs barked and hurtled themselves through the bushes in pursuit of an illusive ball or stick. No love struck teens kissed against the trunks of trees, nor did they climb the branches, hoping that they would hold any weight that was applied to them.
Tonight, any wildlife that usually strides around the woods, or hunts their prey, hide themselves away. Two pairs of trainer clad feet crunch over dead leaves and snapped twigs. One pair is pink and black in colour. They are very trendy and show barely any signs of wear or tear. The other plain black pair is falling apart - the sole of the left hand shoe can almost talk.
The beams of the torches swing over the ground, illuminating the pathway before them. No words were spoken as they move. Leaves fill the fashionable turn-ups on both pairs of jeans, whilst the figures hunch their bodies in thick warm jackets.
"It's deep enough here, we can probably stop." Donna is in charge. She stops at the edge of a clearing, and crouches low, touching the ground gently with her fingertips. Her blonde hair falls in her face, and she flicks it away with a practiced turn of her head. "You won't have to dig far."
Katy follows suit. She drops the tattered army print messenger bag from her shoulder, opens the metallic catch, and takes out a small garden trowel. She had found it in the shed - it has been a long time since her mother has done any gardening and the faded green handle was encrusted with spider webs, dead flies, bits of sawdust and other such filth. She untangles the tool from the plastic carrier bag, and gets a good grip on the handle. She digs into the earth - it is soft, like digging a spoon into a bowl of ice-cream. It is not difficult work, yet with Donna's torch light flickering elsewhere in the night, it makes it hard going, and once or twice she almost catches her finger, with her own clumsiness.
"Stop," Donna says, and pulls a clear plastic red lighter from the pocket of her jacket. She has stolen this from the desk tidy of her older brother, but he will never know. It has been six months since his last cigarette, and since getting into university, his habits have changed completely. He has been busy studying and has barely come home. When he does, his backpack is bursting with library books and pages of handwritten notes. When he sleeps, he is dead to the world. When he is awake, he is like a walking zombie. He has changed before her eyes, and Donna feels as if she has lost him.
Other people have worse problems though.
"Okay, you know what to do."
Trying to stop the shakes that come thick and fast, Katy takes the small bundle of letters, photographs and ticket stubs from her bag. They are bound together with a thin red ribbon. She drops them into the hole that she has dug, making sure that enough of the paper sticks out of the top. Her fingers linger on them for one long minute, and she draws a deep rattling breath.
With a face like stone, Donna clicks the lighter into life, and draws it close to the bundle. Flames lick and catch the paper instantly, and within seconds the bundle is alight.
Memories, words, lost love - it all shrivels into a pile of ash. The acrid smell of burning fills Katy's nostrils, and she tries to fight back the tears that threaten to spill. She wants to snatch them back, repair them, save them in the bottom of her desk drawer, but the damage is done.
Using the trowel, Donna pokes at it, and once the flames are out and nothing remains, she piles the mud back on top. She wraps it back up and tucks it under her arm. Pulling her hood up like some sort of gang member, she stands. "Let's go," Donna says, and sets off back the way she came.
"Coming," Katy replies, but makes no move. She stays low to the ground, her eyes focusing on the small mud pile before her. She misses Robert like no tomorrow. The way he would comb her hair for her after she had been in the shower. The way he would hold her hand tight as they walked to and from school. The way he told her that he loved her...
Why did that car have to come speeding down the road? Why did Robert have to be crossing the road? Why did it happen?
But Donna says that Katy has to let him go. It has been three months since the funeral - since the moment that she said goodbye to the first boy she has ever loved. To think that this would be painless, Katy thinks, letting a tear roll down her face. Silly little fool.
THE END© Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014)
Currently reading: Rebel Spring by Morgan Rhodes
Today at work, I wrote today's prompt on a sticky note, and set it by the desktop computer that I use at my desk. Every so often, I would scribble a word on it, and hope that imagination would spark. The end result was that I used none of the ideas I had.
And here is the result.
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 2. - ASH
The woods were usually quiet at this time of night. No children shrieked and splashed in mud filled puddles. No dogs barked and hurtled themselves through the bushes in pursuit of an illusive ball or stick. No love struck teens kissed against the trunks of trees, nor did they climb the branches, hoping that they would hold any weight that was applied to them.
Tonight, any wildlife that usually strides around the woods, or hunts their prey, hide themselves away. Two pairs of trainer clad feet crunch over dead leaves and snapped twigs. One pair is pink and black in colour. They are very trendy and show barely any signs of wear or tear. The other plain black pair is falling apart - the sole of the left hand shoe can almost talk.
The beams of the torches swing over the ground, illuminating the pathway before them. No words were spoken as they move. Leaves fill the fashionable turn-ups on both pairs of jeans, whilst the figures hunch their bodies in thick warm jackets.
"It's deep enough here, we can probably stop." Donna is in charge. She stops at the edge of a clearing, and crouches low, touching the ground gently with her fingertips. Her blonde hair falls in her face, and she flicks it away with a practiced turn of her head. "You won't have to dig far."
Katy follows suit. She drops the tattered army print messenger bag from her shoulder, opens the metallic catch, and takes out a small garden trowel. She had found it in the shed - it has been a long time since her mother has done any gardening and the faded green handle was encrusted with spider webs, dead flies, bits of sawdust and other such filth. She untangles the tool from the plastic carrier bag, and gets a good grip on the handle. She digs into the earth - it is soft, like digging a spoon into a bowl of ice-cream. It is not difficult work, yet with Donna's torch light flickering elsewhere in the night, it makes it hard going, and once or twice she almost catches her finger, with her own clumsiness.
"Stop," Donna says, and pulls a clear plastic red lighter from the pocket of her jacket. She has stolen this from the desk tidy of her older brother, but he will never know. It has been six months since his last cigarette, and since getting into university, his habits have changed completely. He has been busy studying and has barely come home. When he does, his backpack is bursting with library books and pages of handwritten notes. When he sleeps, he is dead to the world. When he is awake, he is like a walking zombie. He has changed before her eyes, and Donna feels as if she has lost him.
Other people have worse problems though.
"Okay, you know what to do."
Trying to stop the shakes that come thick and fast, Katy takes the small bundle of letters, photographs and ticket stubs from her bag. They are bound together with a thin red ribbon. She drops them into the hole that she has dug, making sure that enough of the paper sticks out of the top. Her fingers linger on them for one long minute, and she draws a deep rattling breath.
With a face like stone, Donna clicks the lighter into life, and draws it close to the bundle. Flames lick and catch the paper instantly, and within seconds the bundle is alight.
Memories, words, lost love - it all shrivels into a pile of ash. The acrid smell of burning fills Katy's nostrils, and she tries to fight back the tears that threaten to spill. She wants to snatch them back, repair them, save them in the bottom of her desk drawer, but the damage is done.
Using the trowel, Donna pokes at it, and once the flames are out and nothing remains, she piles the mud back on top. She wraps it back up and tucks it under her arm. Pulling her hood up like some sort of gang member, she stands. "Let's go," Donna says, and sets off back the way she came.
"Coming," Katy replies, but makes no move. She stays low to the ground, her eyes focusing on the small mud pile before her. She misses Robert like no tomorrow. The way he would comb her hair for her after she had been in the shower. The way he would hold her hand tight as they walked to and from school. The way he told her that he loved her...
Why did that car have to come speeding down the road? Why did Robert have to be crossing the road? Why did it happen?
But Donna says that Katy has to let him go. It has been three months since the funeral - since the moment that she said goodbye to the first boy she has ever loved. To think that this would be painless, Katy thinks, letting a tear roll down her face. Silly little fool.
THE END© Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014)
Currently reading: Rebel Spring by Morgan Rhodes
June 1, 2014
Writing Challenge - Day 1
To all who are reading this,
Welcome to June! My attention has been brought to a writing challenge, guaranteed to get your imagination flowing, and the writing too. Not that my brain needs anymore writing projects at the minute...
I have two novels to write, and then I need to start a whole new series that keeps talking to me! Oh yes, big things are coming from little ol' me!
This challenge is to write flash fiction from a one word prompt, with a minimum of 750 words. There will be different prompts for each day and I will be taking part! Whilst this challenge has no official title, I am calling it JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... There will be thirty prompts in this challenge - so just imagine the final word count!
I hope you enjoy these short works of fiction! Maybe you will be encouraged to try your hand at this challenge with me. If you have any questions about my works, or anything of the sort, please don't hesitate to get in touch! You can always post a comment below!
So... Here's the first prompt.
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 1. - HERO
I stand to the side of the dais, head bowed low. Around me, the party is in full swing. Candles illuminate the room, but still managing to hide its many secrets. The largest candelabra is suspended from the center of the ceiling, and occasionally, the light flickers. It always settles down, but I have seen people moving aside, almost scared that sparks will fly out and set their high priced clothing on fire.
The King is drinking joyfully on his throne. The knights are topping up his tankard, eager to hear more of his battle tales and dalliances with women up and down the country. Before he was married, of course. The Queen sits to his side, and is entertaining the women of the court. They surround her, and sit by her feet like loyal hounds. She sits primly, her hand on the left hand side of her ribs, and I am sure that the corset she wears to pull back her shapely figure must be paining her. The young Princess is fending off well meaning suitors on the dance floor, whilst her gaggle of royal friends beg her to tell the tale of her daring rescue again and again. And to not leave out any important details.
I sigh and slip away. I follow the wall, into the shadows, edging around the revelers. The finery I wear makes my skin itch, and the sword hanging from my leather belt is too heavy. The boots are at least a size too big and slop around my feet. I have been shaved to within an inch of my life, and my unruly hair, that usually hangs in my face, has been tied back with a plain black velvet ribbon.
On the veranda, gentlemen and ladies of the courts talk amongst themselves. They do not pay me any attention to me, nor I them. They are too interested in swapping favours, stealing kisses and flirting their ways into new bedrooms. I, however, have done none of these things. I lean against a marble balustrade, watching the moon hover in the night sky above me, and wonder.
Is she staring at the same moon too?
I cast my mind back to before the... The act. I remember counting the stars at night, my hand in hers. I remember shepherding animals into the next fields, the apple she would always toss me in the woven bag at my side. I remember visiting her in the village tavern, watching her face light up each time she saw me...
"Excuse me?"
I jerk out of my reverie and stare into the eyes of a brunette. Curls frame a pointed face, and her eyes are a river blue. She is bedecked in jewels, from her ears, to neck, and fingers. She wears a light pink dress, with frilly sleeves, and the way her skirt falls makes it clear that she is wearing a corset, and a hoop. A voice whispers, "Impractical tart", in my ear and I almost smile.
"Yes?" I ask, then add, "Milady."
"Are you the brave young man that saved Princess Yolande?" She wafts the air around her with an elegantly embroidered fan that matches her dress.
"I-"
"It was very heroic of you, sir. I have heard all about it from the princess herself!"
"It was nothing." I try to brush it off, but she continues, regardless.
"The way you brought down that hideous boar!" She shivers, a cat like smile on her face. A cat that has caught a mouse in a cellar, at any rate. "She could have been gored to death, but you stepped in! A mere farm boy turned hero with a few practised moves with a shepherd's crook!" She bats her lashes, and I resist the urge to ask her if she has something stuck.
"I-"
"May I have your name, sir?"
At last. A question I feel secure in answering.
"Killick, Milady."
She gives me a puzzled expression, then arranges her face artfully. "I am the Lady Cleo. It is an honour to make your acquaintance!" She pushes a white handkerchief into my shaking hands. It is edged with lace, and an elegant 'C G' have been stitched into a corner in - surprise, surprise - pink thread. She gives my a curtsy, and rushes off to join a gaggle of exited looking girls in the doorway to the main hall.
I let the handkerchief fall to the floor. It was not heroics. It was instinct. I am not a hero. I never will be. I wish I could go back in time, and change things. Let the simpering girl child fall from her mare, and into the path of a startled boar. She shouldn't have raced away from her guides in the first place! If I had not had been there...
Hero Killick. A name the King has bestowed upon me. As nice a name as it sounds, I prefer Killick, the farmhand. Son to Marshall and Rowena. Friend to all. Betrothed to the maiden Marianne, the tavern girl.
THE END© Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014)
Currently reading: Rebel Spring by Morgan Rhodes
Welcome to June! My attention has been brought to a writing challenge, guaranteed to get your imagination flowing, and the writing too. Not that my brain needs anymore writing projects at the minute...
I have two novels to write, and then I need to start a whole new series that keeps talking to me! Oh yes, big things are coming from little ol' me!
This challenge is to write flash fiction from a one word prompt, with a minimum of 750 words. There will be different prompts for each day and I will be taking part! Whilst this challenge has no official title, I am calling it JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... There will be thirty prompts in this challenge - so just imagine the final word count!
I hope you enjoy these short works of fiction! Maybe you will be encouraged to try your hand at this challenge with me. If you have any questions about my works, or anything of the sort, please don't hesitate to get in touch! You can always post a comment below!
So... Here's the first prompt.
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 1. - HERO
I stand to the side of the dais, head bowed low. Around me, the party is in full swing. Candles illuminate the room, but still managing to hide its many secrets. The largest candelabra is suspended from the center of the ceiling, and occasionally, the light flickers. It always settles down, but I have seen people moving aside, almost scared that sparks will fly out and set their high priced clothing on fire.
The King is drinking joyfully on his throne. The knights are topping up his tankard, eager to hear more of his battle tales and dalliances with women up and down the country. Before he was married, of course. The Queen sits to his side, and is entertaining the women of the court. They surround her, and sit by her feet like loyal hounds. She sits primly, her hand on the left hand side of her ribs, and I am sure that the corset she wears to pull back her shapely figure must be paining her. The young Princess is fending off well meaning suitors on the dance floor, whilst her gaggle of royal friends beg her to tell the tale of her daring rescue again and again. And to not leave out any important details.
I sigh and slip away. I follow the wall, into the shadows, edging around the revelers. The finery I wear makes my skin itch, and the sword hanging from my leather belt is too heavy. The boots are at least a size too big and slop around my feet. I have been shaved to within an inch of my life, and my unruly hair, that usually hangs in my face, has been tied back with a plain black velvet ribbon.
On the veranda, gentlemen and ladies of the courts talk amongst themselves. They do not pay me any attention to me, nor I them. They are too interested in swapping favours, stealing kisses and flirting their ways into new bedrooms. I, however, have done none of these things. I lean against a marble balustrade, watching the moon hover in the night sky above me, and wonder.
Is she staring at the same moon too?
I cast my mind back to before the... The act. I remember counting the stars at night, my hand in hers. I remember shepherding animals into the next fields, the apple she would always toss me in the woven bag at my side. I remember visiting her in the village tavern, watching her face light up each time she saw me...
"Excuse me?"
I jerk out of my reverie and stare into the eyes of a brunette. Curls frame a pointed face, and her eyes are a river blue. She is bedecked in jewels, from her ears, to neck, and fingers. She wears a light pink dress, with frilly sleeves, and the way her skirt falls makes it clear that she is wearing a corset, and a hoop. A voice whispers, "Impractical tart", in my ear and I almost smile.
"Yes?" I ask, then add, "Milady."
"Are you the brave young man that saved Princess Yolande?" She wafts the air around her with an elegantly embroidered fan that matches her dress.
"I-"
"It was very heroic of you, sir. I have heard all about it from the princess herself!"
"It was nothing." I try to brush it off, but she continues, regardless.
"The way you brought down that hideous boar!" She shivers, a cat like smile on her face. A cat that has caught a mouse in a cellar, at any rate. "She could have been gored to death, but you stepped in! A mere farm boy turned hero with a few practised moves with a shepherd's crook!" She bats her lashes, and I resist the urge to ask her if she has something stuck.
"I-"
"May I have your name, sir?"
At last. A question I feel secure in answering.
"Killick, Milady."
She gives me a puzzled expression, then arranges her face artfully. "I am the Lady Cleo. It is an honour to make your acquaintance!" She pushes a white handkerchief into my shaking hands. It is edged with lace, and an elegant 'C G' have been stitched into a corner in - surprise, surprise - pink thread. She gives my a curtsy, and rushes off to join a gaggle of exited looking girls in the doorway to the main hall.
I let the handkerchief fall to the floor. It was not heroics. It was instinct. I am not a hero. I never will be. I wish I could go back in time, and change things. Let the simpering girl child fall from her mare, and into the path of a startled boar. She shouldn't have raced away from her guides in the first place! If I had not had been there...
Hero Killick. A name the King has bestowed upon me. As nice a name as it sounds, I prefer Killick, the farmhand. Son to Marshall and Rowena. Friend to all. Betrothed to the maiden Marianne, the tavern girl.
THE END© Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014)
Currently reading: Rebel Spring by Morgan Rhodes
May 28, 2014
The Les Vaporistes Anthology
To all who are reading this,
Today is a blog to celebrate the latest release for Hot Ink Press, an anthology - Les Vaporistes. A steampunk read, it is filled with a variety of short stories and artwork! My short story, 'A Love Token' is going to feature in it too, and whilst it isn't my first foray into erotica or steampunk, it is my first time combining them together.
The anthology is going to be a popular read, I can already tell! Whilst I cannot confirm any release links yet, you'll be sure to find it on Amazon. If you are a fan of Hot Ink Press on Facebook, you can guarantee that there will be multiple posts about the book, and you will be able to buy it as soon as it's out.
What is the Les Vaporistes anthology though? That's what I hear you ask. Well...
Vampires, scientists, demons, dirigibles, thieves, slave girls, airship captains, bounty hunters, lost loved ones, prim and proper ladies, saloon girls, and aliens. Within this compendium you shall find all of these things and more, to fuel your fantasies. These twelve molten erotic shorts to rev up your steam engine, along with three works of art by Jackie McMahon, are sure to make you spring a cog. Take a deep breath and get lost in the worlds of Les Vaporistes.
Featuring:
- Cast the Mold by Andrea L. Staum : Even the best have their skills put to the test.
- Clockwork City: Immortal Lovers by Natalie Hancock : Hunting Dark Immortals is dangerous. Falling in love with one is deadly.
- A Love Token by Zoe Adams : Let them make love.
- For The Love of Lexi by Eada James : When you love this much, there's nothing worth letting go.
- Demon in Steam by Lexi Ostrow : In the London Underground, the Alliance of Silver and Steam is all that protects humans from demons.
- Conjuring Pleasure by Hannah Nixin : Faced with many suitors, the best are often the ones we dream into being.
- The Hunted Heart by Aurelia Fray : When hunting Magpie, Xan will have to either give up the woman he loves or run with her.
- Blowing Off Steam by Molly Hammerman : It takes a professional to see that Captains blow off steam.
- Clockwork Heart (Prelude) by R. A. Sears : Seth McDougal hasn't been around for a few months, but when he strolls into the Timeless Tavern for his regular meal and drinks, his entire demeanor draws Zylphia in like never before.
- Black Diamonds by Skye Knizley : There's no such thing as circumstance to this thief. Enjoy the ride.
- Airship X by Josephine Ballowe : Can cold Esme Sinclair be warmed by the touch of Claire Aston, and will their lust be enough to fuel this flight?
- Paper Dolls by Rue Volley : When your only HOPE of survival is taking to the skies.
Is that enough to wet your whistle? Is your funnel steaming yet? Get ready for the 30th of May because your socks will well and truly be blown off.
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
Currently reading: The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai by Barbara Lazar
Today is a blog to celebrate the latest release for Hot Ink Press, an anthology - Les Vaporistes. A steampunk read, it is filled with a variety of short stories and artwork! My short story, 'A Love Token' is going to feature in it too, and whilst it isn't my first foray into erotica or steampunk, it is my first time combining them together.
The anthology is going to be a popular read, I can already tell! Whilst I cannot confirm any release links yet, you'll be sure to find it on Amazon. If you are a fan of Hot Ink Press on Facebook, you can guarantee that there will be multiple posts about the book, and you will be able to buy it as soon as it's out.
What is the Les Vaporistes anthology though? That's what I hear you ask. Well...
Vampires, scientists, demons, dirigibles, thieves, slave girls, airship captains, bounty hunters, lost loved ones, prim and proper ladies, saloon girls, and aliens. Within this compendium you shall find all of these things and more, to fuel your fantasies. These twelve molten erotic shorts to rev up your steam engine, along with three works of art by Jackie McMahon, are sure to make you spring a cog. Take a deep breath and get lost in the worlds of Les Vaporistes.Featuring:
- Cast the Mold by Andrea L. Staum : Even the best have their skills put to the test.
- Clockwork City: Immortal Lovers by Natalie Hancock : Hunting Dark Immortals is dangerous. Falling in love with one is deadly.
- A Love Token by Zoe Adams : Let them make love.
- For The Love of Lexi by Eada James : When you love this much, there's nothing worth letting go.
- Demon in Steam by Lexi Ostrow : In the London Underground, the Alliance of Silver and Steam is all that protects humans from demons.
- Conjuring Pleasure by Hannah Nixin : Faced with many suitors, the best are often the ones we dream into being.
- The Hunted Heart by Aurelia Fray : When hunting Magpie, Xan will have to either give up the woman he loves or run with her.
- Blowing Off Steam by Molly Hammerman : It takes a professional to see that Captains blow off steam.
- Clockwork Heart (Prelude) by R. A. Sears : Seth McDougal hasn't been around for a few months, but when he strolls into the Timeless Tavern for his regular meal and drinks, his entire demeanor draws Zylphia in like never before.
- Black Diamonds by Skye Knizley : There's no such thing as circumstance to this thief. Enjoy the ride.
- Airship X by Josephine Ballowe : Can cold Esme Sinclair be warmed by the touch of Claire Aston, and will their lust be enough to fuel this flight?
- Paper Dolls by Rue Volley : When your only HOPE of survival is taking to the skies.
Is that enough to wet your whistle? Is your funnel steaming yet? Get ready for the 30th of May because your socks will well and truly be blown off.
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
Currently reading: The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai by Barbara Lazar
May 25, 2014
Smaug the Beardie...
To all who are reading this,
Many people who know me quite well know that I'm not a fan of scaly creatures, like lizards, crocodiles, and snakes. I was quite averse to these creatures, and even when my partner had a female bearded dragon, and a male corn snake, I wasn't happy. The idea of feeding a defrosted mouse to a snake just sends shivers down my spine... *insert realistic shudder here readers*
So, you will be pleasantly surprised to know I am now an adoptive mother of a bearded dragon! Meet Smaug! Yes, he is named for the eponymous dragon of the classic Tolkien book, The Hobbit. Oh believe me, there was a great list of male and female names - many of them coming from the fantasy series A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin.
Now... You're probably wondering how this has happened.
Well, my partner has recently moved house, and as a result, hasn't had a true pet of his own for a while. His two family dogs were unfortunately put down, and knew that he wouldn't be able to have a big dog at the house (he likes German Shepherds and Husky's - mainly because they have wolfish characteristics about them). He also likes lizards and snakes.
We spoke about getting him one, running over various problems like a feeding schedule when he is at work, where the vivarium (enclosure) will go, what age he'd prefer, which sex would have a better temperament, what we could actually feed them etc. Yes, I actually discussed it like a human being!
So, as I was leaving work one lunch time, I popped into Medusa's Reptiles, in Cleethorpes, just five minutes away from my home. The shop is owned by Charr 'Medusa' Marshall, a young reptile enthusiast, and good friend. Now, I'd never been in a reptile shop, so I was pleasantly surprised. The vivariums were good sized, the creatures clearly looked after, and with a great variety of choice to personalise and make your new pet feel at home. It didn't have a smell that people associate with reptiles, and it was also home to a Myna bird named Diablo.
There were so many creatures in the store - snakes, tortoises, lizards, geckos and more. I inquired whether she had any bearded dragons of a good age that would go to a good home, and she brought out a little fellow, who came to be Smaug. She checked the sex under the tail, told me he was a male. He has a orange/ginger beard, and he was still quite young - not a baby, but not an adult. He would be a live wire during the day, and sleep at night. He has a kink in his tail from when he was hatched. He doesn't have a tragic back story - the owners were simply moving, and couldn't take him with them.
I've never held a lizard before, so when Charr popped him onto my arm, I was initially freaked out! But he was a very gentle creature, with lovely scales. He likes to lick people that he gets on with, so I was lucky I guess. And I was smitten. I decided to ring my partner and we discussed it on the phone, whilst Smaug was on my arm. We put a deposit on, and were told that our hand crafted vivarium would arrive on Monday. We would collect him on Tuesday!
Unfortunately, through no fault of Medusa's Reptiles, the gentleman building the vivariums had staffing issues, which led to our vivarium being delivered on Friday morning. Friday afternoon rolled by, and I arrived at my partner's house to find the vivarium, and our accessories in his room, the lizard clambering up on top of him.
Building the vivarium was a stress. Cables had to be fed through vents, and for that night, we had to duct tape the heat and UV lights to the roof, until we could get some pins, as our vivarium came without pin holes to hook them up. The heat lamp caused the duct tape to pull away from the roof, so we had to turn them off and remove them for the night. Bearded dragons have twelve hours of heat and UV a day, so we were lucky. Other than that, it was a great set up - well crafted and lovingly made.
The next day, we bought the pins and hooked the lamps up for him. He'll now sit on the wooden bridge we have for him, and bask in the light. In the evening, he sits under the bridge and sleeps.
He's an energetic lizard, often trying to scratch the glass and come out for a cuddle and a run around. He likes to run up arms and shoulders and lick you. So, there's plenty of heart stopping moments from when he jumps off you and runs across the bed, and you have to catch him as soon as possible, before he disappears and injures himself.
He has salad for seven days a week - no iceberg lettuce, cucumber or tomato though. He has bugs for four days - mealworms are a great favourite already. He'll take them from your hand, but the bugs are my partners job. He has fresh water everyday, and enjoys burying himself in his vivarium sand and trying to eat it. Mainly because it's calcium based and it's good for him. The sand in his vivarium is changed once every four to six months.
It's weird saying goodbye to him, and coming home to my cats, and it's scarily how much he is under my skin already. I love the little critter, but I don't like the scratching at the glass to wake me up in the morning!
I am officially a beardie lover! As one of my friends on Instagram called me: "Mother of Dragons!" My response... "Khaleesi!"
You can check out Medusa's Reptiles on Facebook here, or if you are in the area, pop in. See the creatures, get some advice, get your scaly friend some treats, or be converted like me, and hold them! Very competitive prices for all your needs!
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
Currently reading: The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai by Barbara Lazar
Many people who know me quite well know that I'm not a fan of scaly creatures, like lizards, crocodiles, and snakes. I was quite averse to these creatures, and even when my partner had a female bearded dragon, and a male corn snake, I wasn't happy. The idea of feeding a defrosted mouse to a snake just sends shivers down my spine... *insert realistic shudder here readers*So, you will be pleasantly surprised to know I am now an adoptive mother of a bearded dragon! Meet Smaug! Yes, he is named for the eponymous dragon of the classic Tolkien book, The Hobbit. Oh believe me, there was a great list of male and female names - many of them coming from the fantasy series A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin.
Now... You're probably wondering how this has happened.
Well, my partner has recently moved house, and as a result, hasn't had a true pet of his own for a while. His two family dogs were unfortunately put down, and knew that he wouldn't be able to have a big dog at the house (he likes German Shepherds and Husky's - mainly because they have wolfish characteristics about them). He also likes lizards and snakes.
We spoke about getting him one, running over various problems like a feeding schedule when he is at work, where the vivarium (enclosure) will go, what age he'd prefer, which sex would have a better temperament, what we could actually feed them etc. Yes, I actually discussed it like a human being!
So, as I was leaving work one lunch time, I popped into Medusa's Reptiles, in Cleethorpes, just five minutes away from my home. The shop is owned by Charr 'Medusa' Marshall, a young reptile enthusiast, and good friend. Now, I'd never been in a reptile shop, so I was pleasantly surprised. The vivariums were good sized, the creatures clearly looked after, and with a great variety of choice to personalise and make your new pet feel at home. It didn't have a smell that people associate with reptiles, and it was also home to a Myna bird named Diablo.
There were so many creatures in the store - snakes, tortoises, lizards, geckos and more. I inquired whether she had any bearded dragons of a good age that would go to a good home, and she brought out a little fellow, who came to be Smaug. She checked the sex under the tail, told me he was a male. He has a orange/ginger beard, and he was still quite young - not a baby, but not an adult. He would be a live wire during the day, and sleep at night. He has a kink in his tail from when he was hatched. He doesn't have a tragic back story - the owners were simply moving, and couldn't take him with them.
I've never held a lizard before, so when Charr popped him onto my arm, I was initially freaked out! But he was a very gentle creature, with lovely scales. He likes to lick people that he gets on with, so I was lucky I guess. And I was smitten. I decided to ring my partner and we discussed it on the phone, whilst Smaug was on my arm. We put a deposit on, and were told that our hand crafted vivarium would arrive on Monday. We would collect him on Tuesday!
Unfortunately, through no fault of Medusa's Reptiles, the gentleman building the vivariums had staffing issues, which led to our vivarium being delivered on Friday morning. Friday afternoon rolled by, and I arrived at my partner's house to find the vivarium, and our accessories in his room, the lizard clambering up on top of him.
Building the vivarium was a stress. Cables had to be fed through vents, and for that night, we had to duct tape the heat and UV lights to the roof, until we could get some pins, as our vivarium came without pin holes to hook them up. The heat lamp caused the duct tape to pull away from the roof, so we had to turn them off and remove them for the night. Bearded dragons have twelve hours of heat and UV a day, so we were lucky. Other than that, it was a great set up - well crafted and lovingly made.
The next day, we bought the pins and hooked the lamps up for him. He'll now sit on the wooden bridge we have for him, and bask in the light. In the evening, he sits under the bridge and sleeps.
He's an energetic lizard, often trying to scratch the glass and come out for a cuddle and a run around. He likes to run up arms and shoulders and lick you. So, there's plenty of heart stopping moments from when he jumps off you and runs across the bed, and you have to catch him as soon as possible, before he disappears and injures himself.
He has salad for seven days a week - no iceberg lettuce, cucumber or tomato though. He has bugs for four days - mealworms are a great favourite already. He'll take them from your hand, but the bugs are my partners job. He has fresh water everyday, and enjoys burying himself in his vivarium sand and trying to eat it. Mainly because it's calcium based and it's good for him. The sand in his vivarium is changed once every four to six months.
It's weird saying goodbye to him, and coming home to my cats, and it's scarily how much he is under my skin already. I love the little critter, but I don't like the scratching at the glass to wake me up in the morning! I am officially a beardie lover! As one of my friends on Instagram called me: "Mother of Dragons!" My response... "Khaleesi!"
You can check out Medusa's Reptiles on Facebook here, or if you are in the area, pop in. See the creatures, get some advice, get your scaly friend some treats, or be converted like me, and hold them! Very competitive prices for all your needs!
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
Currently reading: The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai by Barbara Lazar
May 3, 2014
Loki: Agent of Asgard: Your Life Is A Story I've Already Written
To all who are reading,
Welcome to the first blog post of May! And we are kicking things off with a review of the third comic book in the series, Loki: Agent of Asgard. Al Ewing wrote this issue and was joined by various artists such as Lee Garbett, Nolan Woodward, VC's Clayton Cowles and Jenny Frisson. It is published by Dan Buckley, through Marvel.
Blurb
Loki heads back to the dawn of Asgard to join its greatest heroes on a quest for an otter-skin of gold, the heart's blood of a dragon... and a certain magical sword. Meanwhile, Loki does not appear in this issue. Both of these statements are, for once, true.
At £1.99 for a digital issue, I was delighted to see the email notification pop up on my mobile phone to tell me that this was available. Bought, paid for, I read this straight away.
The story begins with Loki in the present day, where his form is older - wrinkled and reveling in his glory. As per the cover art. He decides he needs to get to work, and wanders into the past, the Old Realms. He meets a princeling on a road, who hopes to seek a fortune. Loki introduces himself to Odin Borson as a "humble teller", and they continue on the road together. They come across an otter, who is as large as a man. Loki attacks in a deep richly red panel, and they skin and eat the otter, making Odin troubled.
They arrive at a tavern, where they learn the truth about the otter, and Loki is sent out on a mission to cover the otter fur in "blood-gold", whilst Odin is kept as a hostage. He heads to the hoard of Andvari The Dwarf, who has taken the shape of a giant fish. The page is richly detailed of Andvari in his pool of water, and it's a bit like looking into a fish tank. That is until Loki pulls out an M20 recoilless rocket launcher...
The story leaves Loki and Odin for a while as we learn about Fafnir, a once greedy human who turns into a great and hideous dragon, intent on keeping the blood-gold to himself until a handsome prince ends his life. And who should enter the story, but Sigurd, The Ever-Glorious. A splash page of glorious violence astounds and makes the story worthwhile here! It reminds me a little of the dragon in The Pagemaster (1994). The story of Sigurd also refers to Journey into Mystery #638.
Odin suffers heartache and takes the Hero's Blade. Loki returns to Odin and asks him to remember a promise to build him a box with five locks. He tells Odin to scatter the keys so no one will find another Hero's Blade.
Our final page ends with a present day scene of Sigurd, hunting down his sword up a mountain. And we know this will mean war...
I am a huge fan of the splash page and many smaller panels. The art is incredibly detailed and draws us in. We see it, we have to read to know why it's happening. We are also seeing more of Loki and his "trickster" nature. He is always changing and the reader will never know what he will do next. And that is part of the appeal ladies and gentlemen!
Whilst I did enjoy this issue, it has a lot of information on other characters of legend, which can be overwhelming at times. Whilst it comes in through drips, it all becomes a little too much, and may require more than one read through.
Fans of this series are awaiting news of the release of the fourth comic book!
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
Currently reading: Shadows of the Workhouse by Jennifer Worth
Welcome to the first blog post of May! And we are kicking things off with a review of the third comic book in the series, Loki: Agent of Asgard. Al Ewing wrote this issue and was joined by various artists such as Lee Garbett, Nolan Woodward, VC's Clayton Cowles and Jenny Frisson. It is published by Dan Buckley, through Marvel.
Blurb
Loki heads back to the dawn of Asgard to join its greatest heroes on a quest for an otter-skin of gold, the heart's blood of a dragon... and a certain magical sword. Meanwhile, Loki does not appear in this issue. Both of these statements are, for once, true.At £1.99 for a digital issue, I was delighted to see the email notification pop up on my mobile phone to tell me that this was available. Bought, paid for, I read this straight away.
The story begins with Loki in the present day, where his form is older - wrinkled and reveling in his glory. As per the cover art. He decides he needs to get to work, and wanders into the past, the Old Realms. He meets a princeling on a road, who hopes to seek a fortune. Loki introduces himself to Odin Borson as a "humble teller", and they continue on the road together. They come across an otter, who is as large as a man. Loki attacks in a deep richly red panel, and they skin and eat the otter, making Odin troubled.
They arrive at a tavern, where they learn the truth about the otter, and Loki is sent out on a mission to cover the otter fur in "blood-gold", whilst Odin is kept as a hostage. He heads to the hoard of Andvari The Dwarf, who has taken the shape of a giant fish. The page is richly detailed of Andvari in his pool of water, and it's a bit like looking into a fish tank. That is until Loki pulls out an M20 recoilless rocket launcher...
The story leaves Loki and Odin for a while as we learn about Fafnir, a once greedy human who turns into a great and hideous dragon, intent on keeping the blood-gold to himself until a handsome prince ends his life. And who should enter the story, but Sigurd, The Ever-Glorious. A splash page of glorious violence astounds and makes the story worthwhile here! It reminds me a little of the dragon in The Pagemaster (1994). The story of Sigurd also refers to Journey into Mystery #638.
Odin suffers heartache and takes the Hero's Blade. Loki returns to Odin and asks him to remember a promise to build him a box with five locks. He tells Odin to scatter the keys so no one will find another Hero's Blade.
Our final page ends with a present day scene of Sigurd, hunting down his sword up a mountain. And we know this will mean war...
I am a huge fan of the splash page and many smaller panels. The art is incredibly detailed and draws us in. We see it, we have to read to know why it's happening. We are also seeing more of Loki and his "trickster" nature. He is always changing and the reader will never know what he will do next. And that is part of the appeal ladies and gentlemen!
Whilst I did enjoy this issue, it has a lot of information on other characters of legend, which can be overwhelming at times. Whilst it comes in through drips, it all becomes a little too much, and may require more than one read through.
Fans of this series are awaiting news of the release of the fourth comic book!
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
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Currently reading: Shadows of the Workhouse by Jennifer Worth
April 22, 2014
Propagate the Seedlings
To all reading this,
I'd like to welcome you to the blog celebrating the launch of Propagate the Seedlings, which is my second erotic short for Hot Ink Press. This book was written during a long dry summer, in which I found myself researching plants, herbs, vegetables, and flowers, in regards to a project I was writing at university.
The book was launched on 18th April 2014, which was Good Friday. Whilst it didn't chart (the category is notoriously hard to break into), I gained my first five star review, and actually sold better in America, and in my home of the United Kingdom!.
I present to you my cover, created by the wonderful Riley Steel!
Blurb:
Linda Copley is a single History teacher, living in suburbia with her dog. She has a passion for gardening, and she's content with her life. Yet things change when new neighbour Constable Stuart Gallivan moves in.
Linda finds herself instantly attracted to him. She's always liked a man in uniform, and this one is about to show her that there is more to gardening than just plants and vegetables.
Coming to a Kindle near you, with just the click of a button: http://smarturl.it/ZoeAdamsSeedlings
Please feel free to comment on this post, I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
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Currently reading: A Storm of Swords: Blood and Gold by George R. R. Martin
I'd like to welcome you to the blog celebrating the launch of Propagate the Seedlings, which is my second erotic short for Hot Ink Press. This book was written during a long dry summer, in which I found myself researching plants, herbs, vegetables, and flowers, in regards to a project I was writing at university.
The book was launched on 18th April 2014, which was Good Friday. Whilst it didn't chart (the category is notoriously hard to break into), I gained my first five star review, and actually sold better in America, and in my home of the United Kingdom!.
I present to you my cover, created by the wonderful Riley Steel!
Blurb:
Linda Copley is a single History teacher, living in suburbia with her dog. She has a passion for gardening, and she's content with her life. Yet things change when new neighbour Constable Stuart Gallivan moves in.
Linda finds herself instantly attracted to him. She's always liked a man in uniform, and this one is about to show her that there is more to gardening than just plants and vegetables.
Coming to a Kindle near you, with just the click of a button: http://smarturl.it/ZoeAdamsSeedlings
Please feel free to comment on this post, I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
Currently reading: A Storm of Swords: Blood and Gold by George R. R. Martin
