All semblance of my humanity is gone, lost to the dark, icy waters of the lagoon. From a towering height I glare down upon the feeble defenses of the city as I cut a swath of destruction through their ranks. Wickedly taloned feet the size of tanks smash their barricades and emergency response vehicles. I care little for lives lost as a result.
Bullhorn enhanced shouts to “Halt!” are lost in the din created as I slam elephantine fists into buildings lining the streets. A hail of debris rains down as they retreat, realizing their resistance futile, the battle lost.
Using “lost” for inspiration, write 100 Words – 100 exactly – no more, no less. You can either use the word – or any form of the word – as one of your 100, or it can be implied. Include a link in your post back to Thin Spiral Notebook, and add your story to the Mister Linky list there. If you don’t have a blog, you can leave your submission in the comment section, or as a Facebook status post. Remember to keep spreading the love with supportive comments for your fellow Wordsters.
I cannot feel my fingers or toes. Stumbling through the blowing, blinding blizzard, woefully ill-dressed for such weather, wishing I’d heeded the warnings as I ventured out alone into the woods. Limbs and trunks creaking as the temperature drops, trees shiver and snap as I brush hastily past. Ice clings to my beard and lashes as frosted, labored breath painfully plumes from my mouth, lips already dry and chapped..
Faltering, my hips and ankles seizing, I slump to my knees and fall woodenly to the ground in a puff of powdery snow. I wonder, how long until my bones freeze?
This week’s word is:
What to do:
Using “Cold” for inspiration, write 100 Words – 100 exactly – no more, no less. You can either use the word – or any form of the word – as one of your 100, or it can be implied. Link back to Thin Spiral Notebook to share. If you don’t have a blog, you can leave your submission in the comment section, or as a Facebook status post. Remember to keep spreading the love with supportive comments for your fellow Wordsters.
The suits milled about, oddly calm, the rumbling sounds of thunder and a mild tremor underfoot creating only a low murmur of concerned voices. The bank of windows, darkened by night and driving rain lit up with intermittent streaks of lightning casting erratic, jerking shadows across the floor.
As pairs began to form, a ladder carrier with a rope holder, and the suits streamed up to the roof for rescue, I began to panic. Every pairing seemed to come together slightly faster than I could move. Every suit made it out of the now crumbling building but me. I died.
Using “dream” for inspiration, write 100 Words, no more, no less, then link back to this post, or leave your submission in the comment section. Remember to keep spreading the love with supportive comments for your fellow wordsters.
Standing now, shaking flecks of plaster and brick from his hair, Max walked tentatively toward the gaping hole where once the elevator doors stood, mindful of the rubble strewn across the hallway. There was no sign of Ralphie, or the cop, or the dark, hooded figures…
Did he remember that correctly? Had there truly been dark, hooded figures in the hallway? The last day or so melted in his memory like so much rainwater streaming down the windowpanes of his friend’s apartment building. A ringing persisted in his left ear, bothersome that.
A crowd of startled faces appeared from Ralphie’s open doorway behind Max. Various neighbors on the floor began filing out, a quiet rumble of questions and exclamations emanating from them as they gathered, transfixed by the aftermath of what seemingly was some kind of explosion. Was it terrorists? A gas leak?
Though Max hadn’t invited him, the elderly gentleman from 9A was suddenly at his elbow, peering down the ruined shaft. The scent of oil and burning electrical wires assaulted their senses. The old man muttered, “how positively noisome.”
Max looked at him, blinking.
(This excerpt was prompted by Studio30 Plus. Click through and join us!)
The traveler trod a tree-lined trail, macadam cracked and worn much like the boots on his feet. A menacing hedgerow loomed on his left, branches and brambles waving in the wind, willowy and weeping witches’ heads creaking and crackling in the bitter wind. What he believed to be trees to his right instead were a forest of gnarled, twisted hag hands, reaching pitifully for the cold, gray sky.
Beast and bird scuffled through the undergrowth unseen, but for a few feathered fiends, glinting like jet among thorns and thistle. The traveler trekked on, heedless of how his path proceeded. A step at a time, bracing himself against angry aerial avian gusts, gangs of obsidian obscuring the way.
Above in filigree fingers a shrieking, screeching scornful sound followed our fellow, frightening and frustrating him as he fought free, bleeding from the bedeviling battering of wings, a choking cloud of drowning darkness. The horrible howl of a Jay, jeweled in sapphire, diving dangerously down upon the poor retch’s hatless head.
Painfully pursued, plodding perilously as twilight descended, the wonderer wondered wearily whether weather would win, wearing him out til too tired to traverse the remaining distance. When suddenly a cheerful chirping chimed through the wood.
He hearkened, halted hopefully as the hateful Jay circled once again. Seeing the source of such satisfying song, a smile broke across the man’s mug. The Jay cried once more in defeat, dashing away into darkness as a pair of garnet-breasted Cardinals settled onto our hero’s heaving shoulders.
Your plastic exterior never fit
and neither yarn nor filament will leave the impression of a fossil
in the baked mud.
Flexible, the current flinches
while hydraulic power plants pump fluid
through seals of oil & bolts.
Ornamental pain worn like a spray of jealousy from a hose,
painting a halo over the bust of Michelangelo.
Reel it in, it takes too long to run,
dragged by an anchor low through iron railings.
The guards skin figures by the gate.
Max slowly raised himself up on his elbows as the smoke cleared. The hallway stank of sulfur, urine, and fear. Broken shards of glass fell tinkling to the floor, abruptly breaking the eerie silence.
“Hey Ralphie? You okay?”
There was no answer.
This is a submission for the yeah write weekly writing challenge #190
Thin wire forms, blasted apart by grinding horns, bit by bit, byte by byte. Progressive precision, torrentially assertive. Creeping, lifting, happily engineering the most uncomfortable connections. An icon besmirched, scandalized, immortalized in latex.
Traveling o’er rooftops systematically merging with motorcycles, engines gunning, he dances a jig. The gossiping, whispering tell-tale signs of hens, clucking and strutting their awkwardness, grudgingly relenting to an unwelcome touch on the shoulder.
The bleating of farm animals and heady stink of the barnyard, you can’t drive it away with simple clamps wearing gloves. Brushed by industrial transmission, rocketed to heights hoisted heavily Heavenward.
Another fun, weekly prompt from Should Be Reading. Follow along through the link or click the image.
To play, simply answer the following 3 questions in your post and be sure to add a link in the comments over at the original page.
• What are you currently reading?
• What did you recently finish reading?
• What do you think you’ll read next?
I’m currently reading and just about to finish The Family Fang, by Kevin Wilson. Pick it up and get to know the Fangs, you’ll enjoy the ride.
I just finished The Long War, by Terry Pratchett & Stephen Baxter, the second book in the “Long Earth” series. If you’re familiar with Pratchett’s “Discworld” series you’ll recognize a few of his nuances, but this is something completely different. You don’t need to know anything about his other work to enjoy it but read The Long Earth first.
Next up will be Happy Hour in Hell, by Tad Williams, the second Bobby Dollar book. It’s got everything you’d expect in a book set in the underworld, plus some characters you wouldn’t. Dollar being one of them. Buckle up, because Bobby doesn’t really use the brakes. Again, I’d suggest reading the previous book before jumping into this one. Not for the faint of heart, just sayin’.
This is a fun, weekly prompt that I lucked onto some time ago and I’m trying to be more consistent in my posting so I wanted to include it again, and hopefully will continue to do so moving forward. You can click the image above to get to the original site or use the following link:
Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just do the following:
• Grab your current read
• Open to a random page
• Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page
• BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for others!)
• Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their TBR Lists if they like your teasers!
I’m currently reading The Family Fang by Kevin Wilson. This excerpt is from page 120:
“Okay,” Mr. Fang said, sweeping the tray off the table, dumping it into the trash. “This little experiment is over. Let’s go home.”