Posts Tagged ‘short stories’

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The Screamer

In Fiction on May 14, 2012 at 2:20 pm

One of several versions of the painting "...

The museum filled the sky behind me like some giant bird of prey, swooping down to snap at me with its stony beak, to shred me with its marble talons. I turned, startled, to find it standing still, entombed in shadows.

How securely entombed? I wondered. How completely dead?

I heard someone yell, a voice echoing from behind the columns, and I stumbled away lest the bird should suddenly awake.

In the park across the way the gray had leeched out of the water, onto the grass and up the trees – a symptom of the waning daylight. The geese were folded up, the flowers shuttered for the night. Clouds hung fat in the sky, lit from below by vicious oranges and reds.

Again I heard the voice call to me from across the road.

They know I’ve gotten loose, I thought, and I quickened my pace.

The realization of who you are – what you are – can destroy you, body and mind, if circumstances are right. When I reached the benches I realized I had no legs, so I collapsed. Looking out over the lake I saw the burning clouds descend and set the water alight, and I realized my eyes could not see.

The voice shouted to me once more, from without and within, and suddenly I realized I had no voice — so I screamed.

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This is the fifth and final post in the series of writing challenges that I’m calling Stolen Identities Week. This one is by far the most abstract of the bunch, and maybe one of the more abstract pieces I’ve done, but hopefully I’ve carried it off at least somewhat competently.

Leave your feedback below and be sure to check out the others if you’re in the mood for something a little more grounded!

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The Runaway

In Fiction, Writing on May 11, 2012 at 12:11 pm

moon stars sky

They floated downstream, the river sliding silently beneath the raft. The stars, reflected in its undulations, were like smoldering embers in a vein of shiny black coal.

“How long?”

“Til they come looking? Not before morning, if we’re lucky.”

“And then?”

“Then we’ll go to ground — hide out in them trees. Thicker past the mill.”

Tom rolled aside. Up the bank, the trees were marching by in gray and black bands, broken only now and then by the glow of a lamp in the distance. They had left the town behind.

“And then?”

“You know what then,” the man said. “Now stop asking.”

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This story is my response Madison Woods’ Friday Fictioneers prompt (the picture, from her blog, is the prompt). Check out the other stories (including Madison’s) and submit your own on the comments page!

Feedback and other stories welcome below! Please feel free to check out some of my other fiction — I’d love the feedback!

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The Midnight Gypsy

In Fiction on May 10, 2012 at 2:54 pm

Raindrops falling on water

“She’s a witch.”

“Is not.”

“Is too – and I’ll prove it to you.”

“Well hurry up. I’m soaked.”

Sean and Milo stood at the entrance of the shuttered drug store, the only place on the street sheltered from the pounding rain. The runoff was pooling against Milo’s shoes. Read the rest of this entry »

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The Albino Black Cowboy

In Fiction, Writing on May 9, 2012 at 1:46 pm

Grackles

The Albino Black Cowboy

“I gotta slither, sweetheart – there’s no changing that.”

He said it to himself, his snakeskin boots making tracks in the desert. The winds had renewed the sand overnight and the sun was coming up, a deep, fleshy red.

He angled his hat to shut out the flare.

“No point in looking back anyway,” he said. “Back’s where you’ve already been. Nothing to see there but what you’ve seen before, just from a new perspective.” Read the rest of this entry »

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The Mirror Lady

In Fiction, Writing on May 7, 2012 at 5:54 pm

Mirrored Alfama

We were born when I was nine. Or is it that I was born when we were nine? It doesn’t really matter; I picked it up and there we both were.

Mind you, I am not crazy. Neither is she. But my mother used to read to me when I was young, and told me how the characters only lived for as long as I would listen. Read the rest of this entry »

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Stolen Identities Week: Real life characters

In Writing on May 7, 2012 at 8:04 am
Silhouettes

(Photo credit: dbbent)

When it comes to creating interesting characters, sometimes the best inspiration comes from the people we encounter in our everyday lives.

Not to belittle the writer’s craft, but with quirky mannerisms, notable turns of phrase,  idiosyncrasies and internal contradictions — sometimes real people are just more interesting than the ones we can imagine. Read the rest of this entry »

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Renovations

In Fiction, Writing on May 4, 2012 at 12:53 pm


Standing in that room was like standing inside a giant collapsing lung.  The plastic sheets billowed in from the wooden frame, suffused with pink, organic light, rounded like alveoli by the gusts of a heavy wind.  The sheets cracked like tiny bones fracturing in the pressure of deep water.  Outside, the sea sifted into the pebbles along the shore and sucked at the spaces between the rocks, drowning breaths, though far away and out of sight. Read the rest of this entry »

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Short Story Contests: June

In Writing on April 30, 2012 at 2:51 pm

At the beginning of April I put together a list of some of the short story contests you could look forward to entering in May. Now, on this the last day of April,  the first of the May deadlines is upon us, and the final hours are winding down to make your submissions.

However, if you’re not quite ready to submit your story, you’re in luck — because now is also the time for an updated list of contests, this times with deadlines coming up in June! So keep writing and check out your options (and the potential rewards) below!

Read the rest of this entry »

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The Swan (and how to end your short story)

In Fiction, Writing on April 26, 2012 at 1:32 pm
Cygnus olor Deutsch: Höckerschwan am Rathausma...

A swan (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I stumbled across a story of mine this afternoon, one I wrote a while back, and decided to post it — not just because I like it (it’s about a man who wants to eat a swan, not to spoil it), but because it raised a couple general questions for me when it comes to writing. Read the rest of this entry »

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The Regenerating Man

In Fiction on April 16, 2012 at 6:53 pm

My job gets me up early, when the streets are empty and quiet except for the growls of far-away trucks, the chirps of their reversals, and the shuffling feet and subdued grumbles of the vagrants at the station.

So I am walking now, through this silent, noisy landscape,  and here, with all the others, I see a homeless man sitting on a blanket, a knife in one hand and three fingers missing on the other. Blood is pouring from what’s left of pinky, ring and middle.

Read the rest of this entry »