Writing Challenge - Days 11 & 12
To all who are reading this,
Today, we have two pieces of fiction from the Writing Challenge, since I was unable to post last night. I had some time away from the computer, as I had been on it non-stop at the day job on Wednesday.
So, without further ado, here we go.
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 11. - STORM
"It was a dark and stormy night... No, no, no, that won't do at all!"
Angie scrubbed out the line that she had written with her pencil. It wasn't right - nothing was right. Being a writer was the hardest thing in the world. She had to make a deadline and the juices were not flowing. Why was it so hard to put pencil to paper and write the damn short story?
She tried once more. "Night had drawn in, and lightning lit up the sky... How cliché?"
By now the page was covered with eraser marks and scribbled lines. There were copious paper balls littered around the bin. Not all had made their way into it. Her desk was littered with paper shavings and lead chunks, where she had pressed too hard and broken the nib off. Propped up towards the left side of the desk were several well thumbed paperback books. Helpful tips were highlighted with strips of sticky notes and pen marks. Corners had been folded and straightened back out again. Receipts were stuck in the back, from the original first purchase. A dictionary was falling to pieces, and a thesaurus was near pristine condition.
The bulb flickered above her head, and Angie reached for the pale blue coffee cup. It was precariously balanced on a tattered notebook, like usual, and the notebook was spotted with coffee droplets. She took a gulp, and swallowed hard. The coffee was cold and tasted horrible. She made a mental note to make herself another cup, but knew it wouldn't happen. Instead, she dug in the doodled pencil case and brought out a rolled cigarette. Pushing herself away from her desk, she opened the window of her flat, leant out and lit her cigarette. The flame shot up, and she inhaled the night air deeply before taking a drag.
"Come on nicotine, help me think." The smoke spiralled up and away into the night, whilst the thunder rumbled overhead. The weather had been awful these past few days, but even so, she had not managed to write. She had done her weekly shop, tidied up, had lunch out with a friend. And no matter what, creativity refused to flow.
She stubbed out the cigarette on the window ledge, before flicking it out onto the street. As she moved back to shut the window, a great flash of lightning lit up the sky, and she could see everything around her. Persistent joggers in high visibility gear. Dog walkers. Even a few teenagers running with their battered umbrellas, and their hoods up. Cars trundled along the busy main road, whilst motorcyclists swerved to avoid doing any damage to their machines or themselves. The cove was in the distance - the water dark and ominous, the boats bobbing up and down tied to their moorings.
Lightning well and truly had hit.
Angie locked the window with a flourish, sat on her chair at her desk, pulled a fresh sheet of paper towards her and began to write.
"Humans would have you believe that mermaids do not exist. That we are the product of mythology gone crazy, and the animator Walt Disney. Any expectation you may have of us is about to be shattered. How and why I hear you asking? Well, what kind of creature do you think is narrating this tale of hardship, woe, and forbidden love?
"Why, a mermaid of course?"
By the time that midnight had rolled around, Angie was very happy with her short story. It was ten pages in length, but she wasn't sure just how many words that truly was. Her wrist ached like hell, and she had not made a fresh drink. In fact, she had gotten quite sweaty as she bent low over the paper, letting the artificial light fall upon her, as her arm flew over the pages, telling the tale of Melpommene the Greek mermaid, and her ill fated human lover, Antonio. Their love was dashed like his head upon the hard rocks, and Angie felt herself shed a tear more than once as she wrote. All she needed was a title...
As she stood and cracked her back, the thunder rumbled. The storm had been raging now for several hours and when she was younger, she used to be terrified. Now, she knew they wouldn't hurt her. They were the perfect writing conditions.
Just like her sailor Antonio needed perfect conditions to sail his ship across the waters, before the storm well and truly hit.
Angie wrote her title with a flourish : Weather Eye on The Horizon.
Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014)
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 12. - DECAY
"Mummy, Mummy!"
"Mind the cake!" Lucy squealed, as her excitable eight year old daughter came running through the kitchen. She wiped her hands on an old tea towel, and pushed the cake further onto the table. Jade was her pride and joy. As the crazed child in a school uniform barrelled into her, she realised just how infectious her daughter's smile was.
Jade's blonde high pigtails were haywire. She had bright eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her nose and onto her cheeks. She had a bright smile, even with a wobbly tooth on the top line. Her school cardigan was buttoned wrongly, and her white polo shirt had a small trail of baked bean juice down the middle. At least her pleated skirt was clean, but her socks looked disastrous. She must have had P.E. She looked over her daughter's head at the kitten calendar.
Thursday. Yep, P.E. day.
"Have a good day, chicken?" She kissed Jade's rosy cheeks and then the tip of her nose.
"We had a big assembly to say goodbye to Miss Mitchell. She's in Heaven with the angles."
"Angels, sweetie, angels. Go on through to the sitting room now chicken, and Mummy will get you some juice and a biscuit."
"Crusty creams, crusty creams!" Jade went bouncing along the hall, kicking her shoes off as she went. They clattered against the wooden flooring, and she heard her husband pretend to be a monster, and scaring their daughter silly.
"How are you, darling?" Jake moved into the kitchen, Jade's school and P.E bags in his hand. He hung them over the back of a chair, and leant in to kiss Lucy's cheek.
"Yeah, I'm okay..." Lucy curled her arms around her husband, drawing him closer to her. It was good that the school were paying Miss Mitchell tribute, but at the same time, it chilled her to the bone. Lucy had found the poor teacher on a playing field, when she had taken the dog out for a walk. The smell of decay was already upon the primary school teacher. There were no visible wounds, yet she had called the police straight away. It was only later on, when she had given her statement, and she was trying to relax and get everything out of her head, that she felt sick. That the realisation that Jade's teacher was dead. And that she had found her. A person like Miss Mitchell should not have died like that!
"Luce... Luce, are you sure you're okay?" Jake wiped the falling tears from her eyes.
"Yeah... Yeah, I'm fine. I've got to Jade her snack." Trying to keep her composure, Lucy took biscuits from the jar, and poured a beaker of fresh orange juice from the fridge. She caught sight of the defrosted chicken breast that was on the shelf for tonight's dinner, and for a moment, she thought she saw Miss Mitchell's glassy eyed stare.
The beaker fell from her fingertips, the juice spilling all over the floor.
"No, I'm not okay, Jake. I need to sit down."
Copyright - Zoe Adams
Currently reading: Seven Deadly Sins: Settling the Argument Between Born Bad and Damaged Good by Corey Taylor
Today, we have two pieces of fiction from the Writing Challenge, since I was unable to post last night. I had some time away from the computer, as I had been on it non-stop at the day job on Wednesday.
So, without further ado, here we go.
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 11. - STORM
"It was a dark and stormy night... No, no, no, that won't do at all!"
Angie scrubbed out the line that she had written with her pencil. It wasn't right - nothing was right. Being a writer was the hardest thing in the world. She had to make a deadline and the juices were not flowing. Why was it so hard to put pencil to paper and write the damn short story?
She tried once more. "Night had drawn in, and lightning lit up the sky... How cliché?"
By now the page was covered with eraser marks and scribbled lines. There were copious paper balls littered around the bin. Not all had made their way into it. Her desk was littered with paper shavings and lead chunks, where she had pressed too hard and broken the nib off. Propped up towards the left side of the desk were several well thumbed paperback books. Helpful tips were highlighted with strips of sticky notes and pen marks. Corners had been folded and straightened back out again. Receipts were stuck in the back, from the original first purchase. A dictionary was falling to pieces, and a thesaurus was near pristine condition.
The bulb flickered above her head, and Angie reached for the pale blue coffee cup. It was precariously balanced on a tattered notebook, like usual, and the notebook was spotted with coffee droplets. She took a gulp, and swallowed hard. The coffee was cold and tasted horrible. She made a mental note to make herself another cup, but knew it wouldn't happen. Instead, she dug in the doodled pencil case and brought out a rolled cigarette. Pushing herself away from her desk, she opened the window of her flat, leant out and lit her cigarette. The flame shot up, and she inhaled the night air deeply before taking a drag.
"Come on nicotine, help me think." The smoke spiralled up and away into the night, whilst the thunder rumbled overhead. The weather had been awful these past few days, but even so, she had not managed to write. She had done her weekly shop, tidied up, had lunch out with a friend. And no matter what, creativity refused to flow.
She stubbed out the cigarette on the window ledge, before flicking it out onto the street. As she moved back to shut the window, a great flash of lightning lit up the sky, and she could see everything around her. Persistent joggers in high visibility gear. Dog walkers. Even a few teenagers running with their battered umbrellas, and their hoods up. Cars trundled along the busy main road, whilst motorcyclists swerved to avoid doing any damage to their machines or themselves. The cove was in the distance - the water dark and ominous, the boats bobbing up and down tied to their moorings.
Lightning well and truly had hit.
Angie locked the window with a flourish, sat on her chair at her desk, pulled a fresh sheet of paper towards her and began to write.
"Humans would have you believe that mermaids do not exist. That we are the product of mythology gone crazy, and the animator Walt Disney. Any expectation you may have of us is about to be shattered. How and why I hear you asking? Well, what kind of creature do you think is narrating this tale of hardship, woe, and forbidden love?
"Why, a mermaid of course?"
By the time that midnight had rolled around, Angie was very happy with her short story. It was ten pages in length, but she wasn't sure just how many words that truly was. Her wrist ached like hell, and she had not made a fresh drink. In fact, she had gotten quite sweaty as she bent low over the paper, letting the artificial light fall upon her, as her arm flew over the pages, telling the tale of Melpommene the Greek mermaid, and her ill fated human lover, Antonio. Their love was dashed like his head upon the hard rocks, and Angie felt herself shed a tear more than once as she wrote. All she needed was a title...
As she stood and cracked her back, the thunder rumbled. The storm had been raging now for several hours and when she was younger, she used to be terrified. Now, she knew they wouldn't hurt her. They were the perfect writing conditions.
Just like her sailor Antonio needed perfect conditions to sail his ship across the waters, before the storm well and truly hit.
Angie wrote her title with a flourish : Weather Eye on The Horizon.
Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014)
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 12. - DECAY
"Mummy, Mummy!"
"Mind the cake!" Lucy squealed, as her excitable eight year old daughter came running through the kitchen. She wiped her hands on an old tea towel, and pushed the cake further onto the table. Jade was her pride and joy. As the crazed child in a school uniform barrelled into her, she realised just how infectious her daughter's smile was.
Jade's blonde high pigtails were haywire. She had bright eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her nose and onto her cheeks. She had a bright smile, even with a wobbly tooth on the top line. Her school cardigan was buttoned wrongly, and her white polo shirt had a small trail of baked bean juice down the middle. At least her pleated skirt was clean, but her socks looked disastrous. She must have had P.E. She looked over her daughter's head at the kitten calendar.
Thursday. Yep, P.E. day.
"Have a good day, chicken?" She kissed Jade's rosy cheeks and then the tip of her nose.
"We had a big assembly to say goodbye to Miss Mitchell. She's in Heaven with the angles."
"Angels, sweetie, angels. Go on through to the sitting room now chicken, and Mummy will get you some juice and a biscuit."
"Crusty creams, crusty creams!" Jade went bouncing along the hall, kicking her shoes off as she went. They clattered against the wooden flooring, and she heard her husband pretend to be a monster, and scaring their daughter silly.
"How are you, darling?" Jake moved into the kitchen, Jade's school and P.E bags in his hand. He hung them over the back of a chair, and leant in to kiss Lucy's cheek.
"Yeah, I'm okay..." Lucy curled her arms around her husband, drawing him closer to her. It was good that the school were paying Miss Mitchell tribute, but at the same time, it chilled her to the bone. Lucy had found the poor teacher on a playing field, when she had taken the dog out for a walk. The smell of decay was already upon the primary school teacher. There were no visible wounds, yet she had called the police straight away. It was only later on, when she had given her statement, and she was trying to relax and get everything out of her head, that she felt sick. That the realisation that Jade's teacher was dead. And that she had found her. A person like Miss Mitchell should not have died like that!
"Luce... Luce, are you sure you're okay?" Jake wiped the falling tears from her eyes.
"Yeah... Yeah, I'm fine. I've got to Jade her snack." Trying to keep her composure, Lucy took biscuits from the jar, and poured a beaker of fresh orange juice from the fridge. She caught sight of the defrosted chicken breast that was on the shelf for tonight's dinner, and for a moment, she thought she saw Miss Mitchell's glassy eyed stare.
The beaker fell from her fingertips, the juice spilling all over the floor.
"No, I'm not okay, Jake. I need to sit down."
Copyright - Zoe Adams
Currently reading: Seven Deadly Sins: Settling the Argument Between Born Bad and Damaged Good by Corey Taylor
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