for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt where the given word is Continuity and the limit just 35 words.
Continuity of thought comes …
mmm, nice wine
naturally to some, …
must check my emails
not allowing …
oh look, a spider
random notions to …
what’s the time?
interrupt …
Sunday tomorrow
their …
yawn ……..
What was I saying?
to Sue Vincent’s #writephoto Prompt.
I have one golden rule when writing pieces for my blog. No more than 200 words. But today I’m breaking it and posting 376 of the little blighters. I’ll tell myself off later!
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He was scared, so very scared. Never before had he known such fear. He was running, faster and faster. He had to run. Run, run. run.
He hurtled between the trees, tripping, stumbling, bouncing from one trunk to another. His shoulder throbbed with pain. One arm hung limp and useless.
A glance behind, then suddenly the ground before him fell away. With a thump and a splash, he landed in water. For a moment, he let the icy stream wash over his aching limbs; for a moment the pain eased. Holding his breath for a second, he listened. He heard no one but that didn’t mean he was alone. Any wistful thoughts washed away. He had to carry on.
Scrambling to his feet, he climbed the bank. Foul water trickled from his hair into his eyes. They were stinging. Streaming. Almost blinded, he clambered through the foliage, brushing wet leaves from his face,
A sudden chill. He stopped. A bitter breeze swirled around him. He shivered. He heard a hollow echoing laugh. A blood-curdling laugh. Firstly before him, then behind. Utter panic set in. Where to go, where to run. Don’t think about it. Just run. Run.
He rushed through long grass and dragged himself through a thorny hedge. A warm trickle of blood ran down his scratched and torn face.
A clammy hand grabbed him. An unseen slimy hand, which clasped his neck and strangled his cry for help. But he struggled free and clambered on all fours up a slippery slope. Without warning an avalanche of stones and rocks tumbled downward, pummelling his aching body.
He knew it was up.
He could go no further.
Then that laugh again. That mocking, brutal, terrifying laugh. His mind was a muddle of swirling images, echoing sounds. A grey mist filled every part of his trembling body.
Suddenly he was swept from his feet. Something unseen caught him, enveloped him, carried him skyward. He stared down at the moor and the forest below. A feeling of euphoria came over him. A warm glow. Contentment. He heard a soft voice, as smooth as silk.
“You are safe now,” it said. “No need to run anymore”.
His eyes closed and he slept the sleep of an angel.
It was over, for another night at least.
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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and jeff Arnold for this week’s picture.
Tap Froggie’s window to join in the fun!
I have stayed close to my home for this week’s Wordless Wednesday. I took these pictures on Pevensey Marsh on the East Sussex coast which separates my seaside town from the one to the west.
It’s a large salt wetland and grazing pasture which once formed the seabed. In 1066 William the Conqueror sailed over it during the Norman invasion. As kids, we used to dig into the soil to find seashells.
They depict some of the numerous man-made channels (known as dykes) that crisscross the marsh intending to prevent the area from flooding, though not always successfully!
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… and finally, residents Mum and Dad Swan with their lit’lun!
Add your link to join in the fun!
for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt where the given word is Muddle, and the word limit just 16
I got befuddled just trying to pronounce last weeks word, som-nam-bul-ist!
Now, muddle. A muddy puddle?
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for Friday Fictioneers.
My friend Rosey rushed into the pub with a big grin on her face.
‘Guess what?’ she shouted interrupting our conversation.
‘Guess!’ she squeaked hopping up and down.
‘Do tell us’ pleaded Sally, ‘don’t keep us in suspenders!’
‘Drumroll please’ yelled Mike tapping his hands on the table.
‘Well … I just parked my car… between two others … perfectly!’
‘Wow,’ I said remembering the time I tried guiding her and she ran over my toe.
‘And, both wheels are exactly one inch from the kerb!’
Then her expression changed.
‘But there was no one there to witness it’ she sighed.
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and J Hardy Carroll for the picture which immediately brought to mind some of the weird places Rosey parks her car!
Click on Froggie to join in the fun!
You can’t travel to Rome right now, so I’m bringing Rome to you!
The Trevi Fountain
The Coliseum
The Vatican
St Peter’s Basilica
The Vatican Museum
Pincio Gardens
The Roman Forum
Victor Emmanuel Monument
The Pantheon
Piazza Navona
I could go on but I’ll stop here!
PLEASE ADD YOUR LINK!
It’s back, the annual A-Z Challenge, and I’m back too!
This April I’ll be resurrecting a theme I first used in 2016, and once again present daily pieces of flash fiction, stories between one and two hundred words, each of which contains one or two under-used or obsolete words.
I’m clearly a glutton for punishment!
I will, of course, explain their origins and meanings in the hope my tales make sense!
So, welcome to another month of scriptitation – a 17th-century noun meaning ‘continual writing’!
I used to love this garden with its swaying trees, smiling flowers, and the calming sound of sprinkling water.
But now look at it, it’s totally neglected.
Here in the empty fountain, buried beneath dead leaves are the coins I dropped in all those years ago. What a fool I was to think my wish would come true.
I’ll gather them up.
But they are old, soiled and worthless now. A bit like me. I may as well throw them back.
Did I just imagine a splash? It’s a sign. I’ll make my wish again and wait a little longer.
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and CEAyr for the photo.
Click on Froggie to join in the fun
You’ll probably think me odd when I say my car was jinxed. I swear it was. It attracted vandals and dodgy road users. My kids are normally well behaved, but not in the car. I envied parents whose children simply asked if they were there yet.
My wife Martha and I had a bad marriage. We clung on for the children’s sakes. But one afternoon in a supermarket car park we had the most awful row. Terrible it was. The car’s fault, of course, it always was.
I’d had enough. The next day I drove to the forest, shoved the lever into reverse and drove full pelt backwards into a tree crushing the boot. It took me a few minutes to recover as I sat dazed amid the inflated airbags.
I’m no longer with Martha. Just me and the little ones now. People ask where she went. I say I don’t know. As far a the cops are concerned its just another closed missing persons case.
*
The scrapyard’s an odd place. Like a cemetery of busted, unwanted and unloved worldly goods. Everything from washing machines to motor vehicles. There’s my wretched car, up there where it belongs. The red one with the crushed boot.
Rest in peace Martha.
Thanks to Donna for hosting. The photo is from Morguefile
