Undercurrents – Five Sentence Fiction

August 23, 2013freyathewriter 8 Comments

It’s time for my latest offering to Lillie McFerrin’s Five Sentence Fiction, a weekly prompt where there is no word limit, just a limit on the number of sentences. Plus, although she provides a word prompt, it is just for direction only – you don’t have to include the word itself in your contribution.

This week, the prompt is very apt for me, as I will be off on a week’s holiday tomorrow (hurrah!) – TRAVEL.

Do let me know what you think of my offering below – and whilst you’re at it, why not take a look at everyone else’s offerings (I’m sure they’ll be fabulous), and even give it a go yourself…

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– Undercurrents –

He had spent most of the past year planning the journey; it had been on his mind every day.

How to conserve his energy, what route to take, how to survive the most desolate of places – it had been a relief to stop thinking and finally set off.

Now at last his destination was just visible on the horizon, and the relief at knowing that he was almost there, that he had survived insurmountable odds, was indescribable.

He scanned the land below; the cities, the deserts, the forests and the seemingly endless oceans were now a distant memory in his mind, to be savoured when he came to rest.

The air whistled past as he adjusted, turned and prepared to land; migration was over, for another year.

Copyright - Freya

Copyright – Freya

Lillie McFerrin Writes

History Lesson – Friday Fictioneers

August 22, 2013August 22, 2013freyathewriter 33 Comments

Here is this week’s entry into the weekly challenge brought to us by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Here are the rules: Use the photo as inspiration, write a hundred(ish) words – and share! Here goes my offering for this week – and I welcome your comments again!

Copyright - Claire Fuller

Copyright – Claire Fuller

– History Lesson –

“Is this it, Grandad?”
“Yes, Tommy, this is it. We climbed up to the roof with buckets of water and bags of sand, and waited.”
“For the, the –“
“The Luftwaffe, that’s right.”
“But why did they want to firebomb the church? It’s not very important!”
“Ah, well. There was a big factory next door. That’s what they were after.”
“So, did they sometimes make a mistake?”
“Yes, so we had to stop the church burning down.”
“But why, Grandad?”
“Well, me and your Grandma wouldn’t have been able to get married here. Where would we be then?”
“And she wouldn’t have been buried here either, Grandad!”
“No, lad. Shall we take her these flowers, then?”

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Click the blue froggy to read other writers’ offerings – and enjoy!

Discarded – Trifecta Week 91

August 21, 2013freyathewriter 27 Comments

Below is my offering for Trifecta’s week 91 challenge word, which is ‘brand’. As you will see from the Trifecta blog post, the challenge is to write between 33 and 333 words of fiction, non-fiction, poetry or prose, based on the 3rd definition from the Merriam Webster’s Online Dictionary. This week the 3rd definition of ‘brand’ is:

a (1): a mark made by burning with a hot iron to attest manufacture or quality or to designate ownership;

a(2): a printed mark made for similar purposes: a trademark

b(1): a mark put on a criminal with a hot iron

b(2): a mark of disgrace: stigma <the brand of poverty>

Here’s my offering below – I hope you like it! By way of backstory, this is a tiny extract from my work in progress novel (first edit done, second edit underway), which I first began as part of NaNoWriMo in 2011. It’s very rough and sharing this feels like I’m walking naked in front of you all, but for the word prompt it fits very well, as the issue of branding people runs right through my whole novel.

Please check here for the other entries!

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– Discarded –

The Penitents halted their circling and stamped their feet together abruptly. The noise echoed across the landscape – a crow rose from its perch in protest, a jagged ‘V’ in the sky. Dragging Gregor to his feet, the men pulled him to a nearby tree, binding him to its trunk face first.

A hooded figure marched forward and with one movement ripped Gregor’s cloak and shirt away revealing his target – the brand that lay beneath. In piteous defence, bare skin puckered with goose flesh against the dawn chill, but nothing could protect Gregor from the slash of knives as they flew, glinting in the winter sunlight, carving deep clefts from which gory jewels dripped, splattering the rocks at his feet. Flint struck stone, a muffled woomph followed as a torch was lit. There was a moment’s hesitation, cut short by a swift nod and flames were set against the bloody flesh, consuming and devouring with sickening greed. Gregor’s body sagged – the flame was extinguished.

The hooded man surveyed his prey for a moment then spat on the ground. ‘Not a squeal from him – how disappointing. Unleash him. He’s not worth the rope. Dispense with the formalities, he will soon understand his fate when he wakes. He is Discarded, for the record. Let us return to The Portal and continue our task.’

The Penitents untied Gregor’s senseless form, and cast him to one side. For good order they too spat on the ground before gliding away.

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Copyright – Freya