100 Words: The Inspector

It was on Turnmill Street as we approached Farringdon that we saw him stooped low, inspecting the wall brick by brick.  My friend and I stopped, both equally amazed by the scene and stopped to watch.

He ran his fingers over each brick lightly, his eyes closed, feeling, thinking.  Then, once decided, he opened his eyes, shook his head and muttered, “no,” to himself.  On and on he went as we remained quite transfixed.

Until he found his brick, the wall opened and he stepped inside.  Within the wall we saw another world and we’ve been inspecting it ever since.

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Written for 100 Word Challenge #396 on Velvet Verbosity; the prompt was the word Inspect.

100 Words: She tried to escape alone

She tried to escape alone across the salt pans when they arrived with their kill lists and machetes.  She’d had no time to join up with others and, separated from her family, walked out of town and across those plains alone; away from civilisation turned feral and toward the unknown. 

As she fled she felt the presence of the assassins more and more as the heat and lack of water ground her down.  As she dropped to her knees she thought of her family, hoping their international connection would keep them safe and that this would be the last time.

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Note: Written for Friday Fictioneers from the picture prompt below.  This photo reminded me of the story of a Rwandan Genocide survivor who, in 1991, three years before the genocide, was evacuated to Brussels during a Rwandan Patriotic Front Coup.  Her grandmother, however, sadly died while trying to avoid killings by attempting to walk to the border alone. 

 

Copyright - Dawn Q. Landau 

An InLinkz Link-up

100 Words: A Shaft

They stood looking down into the shaft.  It was filled with the deepest black they’d ever seen, that somehow extended to the rim, the sun unable to penetrate even the first few centimetres: when they dipped their hand, it disappeared from view. 

Then there was the moaning, the calling out for help, that started after a few minutes.  The voices that sounded like them, confirmed they were them; that warned them yet also transfixed them completely.

After the push and fall came the deja vu, the repetition of all they’d heard. 

As they got up to speed the horrors began.

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Written for 100 Word Challenge #395 on Velvet Verbosity; the prompt was the word Black.

250 Words: The Acephalous Rider

Her hitched-up and ripped ballgown flowing behind, she thundered through the open gates, not daring to look back, hoping against hope she would not be followed.

Pushing her horse on through forests and fields, her immaculate hair fell slowly apart and itself took flight.  Her only thought was to keep on taking routes randomly while ultimately heading east, for the border. 

Her closest servants were to thank for this chance.  Feeling she was too innocent to face the mob’s blade they ushered her away from the party (slapping her into sense when she initially refused) and helped her onto a horse (ripping her dress and changing her shoes) before ensuring a clear path to the gate. 


She first heard them behind as her ride began to tire.  Louder and louder their galloping grew as hers lessened.  She looked out for a new route or solution but she’d taken a road that would only let her go straight on, swamps blocked all other directions but back.

As they drew up alongside she cursed the effects of the afternoon’s hunt before the sword swung and removed her head.

They stopped her horse, fixed the headless body in its seat and hung the head from her steed’s bit rings before thwacking its behind and sending them on toward her goal.


Now every night on that same stretch of road, each lost and lonely little toad will see her form once again in full flight, her complexion now and ever a bright ghostly white. 

100 Words: A QUEST, sir!

“A QUEST, sir!”

“A quest, you say?”

“I do, I say a quest is what we need, sir.”

“Any particular kind, what?

”Monsters… princesses… a con-quest, perhaps…?”

“Not the latter, sir, I’ve no taste for bashing inferiors upon the bonce.  Give me monsters and princesses any day.”

“Good, good.  I hear the fair Gwendolyne has been imprisoned by the Brute Bear of Black Mountain.”

“Too easy- she’ll escape herself in time.

“No, I propose we tackle the Werewolves of Wanstead, sir, to win back and restore the Midnight Maid.  More danger.  More challenge.”

“A fine suggestion, sir.  Onwards; to Essex!”

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Written for 100 Word Challenge #394 on Velvet Verbosity; the prompt was the word Quest.

Myths of our Solar System (13): Mars corrupted

Mars sat in a field, bored. Earlier that day he had overseen the planting of seeds for the
year. He had gone through the motions again because it was his job but it was not what
he desired anymore.

No, he wanted a life more exciting, of fast moving action, of life and death- not this slow,
seemingly eternal wait for growth and harvest. Once it had excited him but not for a long
time now.

Not since he had first smelled blood in the air and heard the distant clash of swords and
shield. Later he had found the remains left from the battle strewn across a field almost
ready for harvest. Rather than grow angry, Mars had begun to re-think his life.

And so Mars sat in a field, bored, and thinking back on that scene, he wondered about all
he had seen that day when an eagle landed close by.

“Greetings, Mars,” said the eagle, spreading its wings out and looking most regal.

“And greetings to you, sir eagle,” Mars replied impressed at the sight of these great bird,
its wings outspread.

“You yearn, do you not, for another life? One of glory and action?”

“I do. I’m so bored with this bollocks.”

“Even if it this activity is for it’s own sake and serves no purpose?”

“Oh, I don’t mind, escaping reason as well as duty sounds good to me.”

“Then it shall be so,” declared the eagle and it darted straight at Mars, attacking him, its
beak pecking and its claws magically clawing through his skull, leaving no trace upon
his head, but instead within it as the bird re-arranged his brain, changing his character
entirely, corrupting the farmer and turning him into something far different.

And from that day Mars was a warrior who sought the fight wherever he went. A
mercenary for the Empire, looking to extend it wherever and whenever. And he would
even caused rebellion afterward for an excuse to go back for more blood. It never
bothered him why or how the fight came about- he just wanted to be in the killing fields
every day, sunrise to sunset, and beyond if necessary.

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Not written but re-blogged (aka cheated ;) ) for the Light and Shade Challenge ("Hang on, I've written a story about an eagle and a field before," I thought to myself) from the following picture prompt:

 

Image courtesy of J-H Janssen taken from Wiki Commons

There are more Myths of the Solar System here.

100 Words: Shake well

Never give a psycho instructions, that’s what we learned that day.  Pinky did too- the hardest way.

Such a small, simple thing.  Full of excitement from the job he said, “You have to shake it before opening.”  He may have made it worse somehow.  I don’t know because I was already distracted by the look on our boss’s face.

They shook Pinky very well before opening him up.  He was sick so much in that concrete mixer that I was surprised there was anything else left inside to come out. 

Out it flowed, though, and no one spoke up again.

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Written for the Light and Shade Challenge from the written prompt, taken from a milkshake bottle: "Shake well before opening."

100 Words: At First Sight

The fire had me hypnotised in seconds.  Its movement, light, sounds, smells and warmth all combined to leave me staring while sitting on a log. 

I didn’t notice her sit down next to me, not until the fireworks started did I see her multi colored face and eyes.

Normally such tales would talk of an instant reaction yet I only had an internal shrug, distracted as I was by the display.

Its different now because so much is attached to that face but then, at that moment, there was nothing.

It was only later as we talked that I fell.

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Written for Friday Fictioneers from the following picture prompt:

 

Copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

An InLinkz Link-up

100 Words: Homes, Sweet Homes

Gruff had always been a gruff man, not helped by people constantly saying how his name reflected his nature.  “You say it ‘Griff’, you English prick,” he would respond.

Sometimes Gruff wished he hadn’t moved moved so far from his home, west of the border.  Until he went home, where his wife and children melted his rough manners and changed him each evening.

Gruff could have been anywhere in the world when he was with them, no sense of dislocation did he feel in that bubble.  Gruffness was left at the door for another day each time he arrived home.

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Written for 100 Word Challenge #393 on Velvet Verbosity; the prompt was the word Gruff.