Writing Wednesday – 21 June 2017

Writing Wednesday – 21 June 2017

Hello everybody and welcome to another Writing Wednesday. The idea of this is I am going to write about whatever subject has inspired me this week.

Everybody is welcome to join in, of course, and you can do that by either writing something in the comments or giving me a pingback to your work. (It goes without saying that you should feel free to share your work if you get the urge to do so!)

What am I going to use as my inspiration this week?

The word… Dreams.

(The following is a short piece of fiction inspired by my work in progress, Dreamweaver.)

Time has gone by

The dream I stepped into could not be described as the usual scene. It was a chaotic swirl of colours that I am sure were being used to distract the dreamer. Well, maybe not distract, but to completely disorientate and confuse. Different images would flash up that I am sure were relevant to the dreamer.

Images of children being abused, images of someone crying at a party, somebody standing watching a wedding, a man growing old alone. I understood none of it, but then I was not the dreamer in question.

Usually, the dreamer was easy to spot because of their golden aura. However, in this particular instance, I was struggling to find anybody at all. For some reason, my palms felt sweaty and I wipe them on my shirt as I gazed about.

Eventually, I found a young man with tears streaking his face. He looked up as I approached and it radiated his sadness. “I am going to grow old alone,” he muttered.

Suddenly the images made sense. It was supposed to be showing him and everything that was going to go wrong in his life. I held out my hands. “You are all right, this is just a dream and I here to take you from it. My name is Marcus, take my hands and I will get you out. I am sure none of this is going to happen. The dream has been made to try and break you. You are better than that I am sure.”

The child, who could only be about 12, reached to take my hand. “My name is Warren.”

I smiled at him as I began to beat my wings and knock the dream apart. I was satisfied that I would have set him on the right path for the future.

Looking back now, this certainly wasn’t the case. I should have left him broken.

FFfAW: Beauty in the strangest of places

FFfAW: Beauty in the strangest of places

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Footy and Foodie. Thank you for our photo prompt!

From inside the rubble that had once been her home, the small girl looked up into the sky. The sunset had turned the clouds pink and was somehow hauntingly beautiful. Of course, it was quite possible that the colour change was due to the fires of war but she refused to think about that.

The once quiet neighbourhood had finally succumbed to the war that ravaged the country. The bombs had struck ripping both home and family from the young girl that was now staring at the sky.

It seemed strange that she was smiling, but sometimes nature was beautiful.

Written for flash fiction for aspiring writers

SPF: Hawkeye

SPF: Hawkeye

203 06 June 18th 2017

Many thought that the eagle resting on the gate was a simple ornament. However, if you look very closely you would see that this ‘statue’ would blink. It was not a statue at all, nor was it any bird we are familiar with. No, this was a mythological creature not unlike a gryphon. The actual name of this being was a Hawkeye.

The Hawkeye had been summoned many years ago when people still believed in the old gods and their ways. The owner of the house had summoned it so that it would be able to keep him safe and act like a guard dog would in modern times.

The owner was long gone but the Hawkeye had remained even though it did not fly down and attack anybody you perceived as a threat. His master was gone, so he silently kept watch.

He should have returned to the void. But, there was a curiosity about him that kept him watching. He was amused by the people changing their beliefs and forgetting everything that had once been taught.

The Hawkeye knew that the old gods would be angry and seek revenge.

He was going to be watching when it happened.

Written for Sunday photo fiction

FFfAW: The big house

FFfAW: The big house

This week’s photo prompt is provided by The Magicsticgoldenrose. Thank you for our photo prompt!

During my years of growing up, all I wanted was to go to the big house. I had met the Prince and he was truly the man of my dreams. I had many romantic notions that he would love me too and everything would be perfect the day we were married.

Looking back, I realise that I was young and naïve. The Prince loved nobody but himself and I was merely a trophy wife. In my heart of hearts, I still loved him, and my craving for him would be never-ending.

Unrequited love hurts.

The big house became my prison.

Written for flash fiction for aspiring writers

The pusher (200 words)

The pusher (200 words)

This is a story inspired by the idea that there is a serial killer on the loose in Manchester who pushes people into canals.

As the urban myth grew into headline news, it got my full attention. I loved the fact that I was given a name; an identity whispered by many and feared by some. I like the way that I could always be the enemy of the people while at the same time I gave them friendship. Friendship and confidence. The people of Manchester loved me.

My strikes were seemingly random which is how I managed to evade detection for such a long time. Not that they had identified me now but suspicions were growing.

It was not like I planned the killings. These people just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Watching them slide into the murky waters to disappear was enough to sate my appetite.

The thing was, I had been such a part of their lives for so long that I was certain I was not going to be separated from my friends. I was the one they went to if they wanted a good time, or if they needed a shoulder to cry on. I was everything to them. I was hiding in plain sight, feeling invincible.

Guessed who I am?

Yes. Alcohol.

SPF: The great game

SPF: The great game

SPF - June 11th 2017

She had made a bet. Probably a very stupid one but she had made it all the same. She was overconfident and had underestimated opposition when she sat down announcing the start of play.

Her opponent smiled at her as he made the first move. He was not completely confident, to be honest, but he wanted to avert some form of disaster. The choice of play was taken away from him because everything was under her rules. Still, he was going to play to the best of his abilities.

At the beginning of the game, it would have been believed that she was the winner. Every single sign pointed to her having domination by the end of the game. She could picture herself running through those wheat fields in celebration.

However, as these things often do, the game started to turn around. The opposition didn’t seem as insecure as was once believed. Their leader played with some masterful moves and twisted the game to such a point that nobody knew who would win.

When the play was over, Theresa May just stared in horror at the fallen chess pieces. She was still the winner but had lost everything she had.

Written for Sunday photo fiction