Flash Fiction: Only A Theory

My weekend was a bit… hectic and I completely missed the Cracked Fiction submission deadline, but I did write the story so I figured I might as well post it.

The prompt was to use the phrase “I told you it was only a theory” and had a 300 word limit.

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“I told you it was only a theory!” she brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, watching the back of the old man before her.

“Ah…” his tired raspy voice echoed across the dark, “Every theory has a hint of truth child.”

His hands shakily dragged across the azure gleam of the etchings on the wall; calligraphy, graven images, spread across the cave wall and disappearing into the gloom around them.

“Regardless…” her voice came out small and fearful, “This theory is, well, ludicrous.”

The old man laughed, the wisps of white hair clinging to his scalp shook,

“Do you deny the truth even as it stares you in the face?”

“The fountain of youth is a fairy-tale for demented old foo-”

The old man turned suddenly, the torch light in his hand shining across her face, making her cringe from the sudden movement and the heat. His beady eyes were dark. Intense. For a moment she feared the aged man. Even with the anger, the old man’s voice was calm. Soothing,

“Do not lose faith child, when we’re so close.” He turned back towards the glowing wall engravings, his body shook in either excitement or old age. “Today we will uncover the truth or fallacy of this supposed fairy-tale.”  he spat the last word out vehemently.

Seeing his intensity, she involuntarily took a step back as she watched the old man straggle further into the dark cave. She wondered if this was the same kind of faith that drove religious men towards ungodly acts of violence; towards seemingly righteous causes that only ended in death. As the walls continued to glow around him, she suddenly feared for her life in the presence of the old man, wondering where this step of faith would lead them.

Words: 298

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Friday Fiction: Unusual Pets

Kind of late but it’s still Friday in this particular time zone, and every time zone before mine so here’s my it’s almost midnight Friday  Fiction. A little bizarre maybe even for me.

Once again prompt from Rachel Poli:

Time to Write: Unusual Pets

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“Take it in, take it aaaaalllll in!”

She spread her arms out and twirled around in a slow pirouette, which only embarrassed me more in the bustling city streets. It was one thing coming from the village and seeing a city for the first time, and another for her a city dweller, to proclaim it to the passing crowds. I pushed her arms down and held them against her waist,

“I get it, the city is… humongous.”

“Oh no, it’s more than that. Look at that man over there.” She pointed at the lanky man attempting to readjust the metallic arm of an old man who seemed to be more rust than flesh.

“I’ve seen an android before.”

“No… look closer.”

“At what?”

She threw her hands up and freed herself from my grip only to drag me along with her towards the scene that seemed so mundane, the people passing barely gave them a second glance. We edged our way past the crowds, getting disapproving grunts from those we pushed past but none of them seemed to mind as much as I’d thought.

“What are you showing me!?” I managed to straggle out in between breaths but she was determined to show me whatever it was she was dragging me towards. We finally stopped before the two men and I gaped in wonder at the spectacle before us. She turned to stare at my gaping form

“Is he…?”

“A Transmodified horse. Yep!”

I looked from her, to what I had thought was a rusted old man who turned out to be an old horse whose skin had shriveled up so much it clung to his almost humanoid bones.

“What… what is this?”

“New trend here in our beautiful city. Transmodified animals as pets of sorts…”

“That’s inhumane!”

“That’s city life for you.”

Friday Fiction: Ambition

Now that we’re a week into the new year, let’s talk about our ambitions and goals.

Write a character that is full of ambition and determination to meet their dreams.

Time to Write: Ambition

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The man walked into his office with a slow gait, fatigue etched into his drooping eyebrows and dark matted hair. He gingerly shut the door, the purple and swollen knuckles barely registering as he twisted the key. In the same slow manner, he shrugged the jacket off his shoulders and draped it over the coat hanger before slouching his way to his office desk. His fingers traced over the gleaming mahogany, all around until he fell into the plush leather seat. From within his desk drawer he pulled out a bottle of whiskey, along with a tumbler and set both on the empty desk.

Frankenstein. A name his enemies and work staff had come to call him, and not only because of his amazing stitch work on those who were under him; he was the elixir that gave people life; the scientist who animated the living corpses that straggled his streets.

And at the root of this… madness… well he had ambitions that ran right through the teeming streets of Jozi CBD, along the no-longer-so-dusty streets of Soweto, across the populated Sandton avenues all the way to the quiet walkways of the East Rand. His… monsters, as they referred to themselves, were with him on this ridiculously chaotic road to the top. Top of what, one might ask, and that answer would both overwhelm and seem stupidly ridiculous to the one asking.  But what was ambition if it didn’t seem impossible? Where the odds were tested every waking hour as the country fell into chaos?

He took a sip of his golden drink and grimaced, which in turn became a grin so wide it looked as though his jaws would break. He slammed the glass down on the desk, and as though not satisfied with the action, dragged it over the table and across the office to smash into the far wall.

Alone. Forsaken. Recluse. Fragile. Weak. Brittle. Incompetent. Inadequate. Useless.

He let the words roll around his tongue, spitting each word vehemently as he steeled his mind against the onslaught of doubts plaguing his thoughts. He would punch, sweet talk and stitch up as many as he had to until he was treated like the man he deserved to be; King.

But success SHALL crown my endeavours. Wherefore not? Thus far I have gone, tracing a secure way over the pathless seas, the very stars themselves being witnesses and testimonies of my triumph. Why not still proceed over the untamed yet obedient element? What can stop the determined heart and resolved will of man? Robert Walton – Frankenstein

January 2016: Intentions

2016 started off on an interesting note and it looks like it will only get more interesting. So in order to balance all of these new things happening, here are my intentions for January, something I will be doing each month so you have a heads up about whats coming up on the blog.

Reading:

You will note that I have a Goodsreads 2016 Reading Challenge widget on my blog. So will start off January with the following books:

1. The Well by Catherine Chanter
2. Hollow City by Ransom Riggs
3. Finders Keepers by Stephen King
4. The Desert Spear by Peter V Brett

Writing:

1. A couple of us NaNoWriMo writers from Joburg are compiling an anthology of short stories so I will be writing those.
2. Looking to enter as many Writing Competitions as possible.
3. Contributing to Flash Fiction blogs and posting those here.
4. Continue working on the various novels on my plate.

Do you have any plans for the month or the year?

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Check out Rachel Poli and her January Goals here: http://rachelpoli.com/2016/01/04/january-2016-goals/

Time To Write: Sense of Smell

Prompt courtesy of Rachel Poli

Time To Write: Sense Of Smell

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I stared up at the man in the white coat as he unwrapped the last of the bandages from my face. He was grinning maniacally. He smelled like alcohol and medicine. Underlying that was a stronger stench of death.
“What have you done to me?” I asked. The words seemed to tumbled from my numb lips as though I had not said them. The words smelled like stale egg and toast. Breakfast. Only that was eight hours ago.
“Oh this is so exciting!!” The doctor rushed to his table with incredible speed, grabbing a pen and scribbling furiously on his desk.
“Doc!” I shouted. He turned his face towards me, dark locks flicking across his face to give me a truly maniacal face.
“It’s amazing! Truly! I. Am. A. GENIUSSSS!” he threw a hand to the sky and rushed up to me.
“What have you done!?”
He turned his eyes towards me as though seeing me for the first time. His smile widened though I would have deemed it impossible.
“It’s genius, really, not sure why nobody thought of it.”
“What!? What is it!?”
He giggled like a school boy.
“You know how you were suffering from sinuses, hence why you came to me?”
I nodded slowly, still too aware of the smells the man and the room were radiating
“Well…” he patted my nose “I replaced your nose with a dog’s. Did someone say olfactory?”

Friday Flash Fiction: War

Words: 100
Title: War

On Friday everything changed.
One moment the sun blazed uncomfortably over our heads as the school principal explained the day’s proceedings during assembly. The next moment the entire school was in uproar, as a quake shook the ground and an ear-piercing explosion threw us to the floor.
In the chaos that ensued, fighter jets painted the skies with black smoke as mechanical voices echoed loud in the commotion,
“ATTENTION! ATTENTION! THIS IS NOT A DRILL. FIND COVER! WE ARE UNDER ATTACK. WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!”
The voice continued. The explosions continued. I stared up at the receding Joburg skyline. War.

Flash Fri…Wednesday

So Friday the 4th of December I was supposed to post a Friday Fiction thing but this was my Friday:

Morning: Work rush because we had to finish everything before we went out for our end of year staff function.

Afternoon: End of year staff function late into the afternoon.

Evening: NaNoWriMo TGIO late into the eve.

What does that mean? Bad planning and therefore no Flash Friday. Sooo here it is. Today. On Wednesday.

December Intentions

It seems that every month as I write this pre-Month blog post, I speak of the difficulty the previous month was and all the intentions that I failed to achieve. This time, a positive recounting of the month is ahead including an amazing NaNo.

NaNoWriMo

50 000 words. 30 days. 1700 average words a day. A task that may seem gargantuan on the 1st of November and looking back you wonder how you managed (or did not).

This year I am proud to say I wrote my 50 000 words, thus making me a NaNo Winner and that was a whole week ago.  This was all possible through the massive support of my local NaNo writers who are affectionately known as the Jozi Wrimos, the supportive Write-Ins and doggedly writing during the unearthly hours of midnight and 2AM.

My novel this year is a Southern African Historical Fantasy Fiction combining African mythology and superstition with magic.

Book List

For November, due to NaNo and other things, I only purposed to read one book which I have read and thoroughly enjoyed.

Sir Terry Pratchett: The Colour of Magic (Discworld series)

For December I plan to read at least four books, one a week.

1. The Harvest Man – Alex Grecian
2. The Well – Catherine Chanter
3. Hollow City – Ransom Riggs
4. Library of Souls – Ransom Riggs

I will also be continuing the Friday Fictions continuing to refine my writing.

So drop by and journey with me through the intricacies of life, writing and reading.

Friday Fiction: Huntress

Title: Stress-less Huntress

Words count: 158

Theme: Hunter

 

She kicked the door in. Half height. Orange hair. A freckled face scrunched up in disgust.

“Alright, alright maggots, one of you is going to die. I’m here to do the dirty deed.”

The cowering men looked up in surprise at the little girl. She swung the crossbow around with alarming dexterity. Her attire was boyish in every way, including the knives at her belt

“Waaah… we were expectin’…” one of the men began

“Yer should be expectin’ nothing mister.” She cut in. “You ought to stay on your knees hoping I’m not here for you.”

The men exchanged looks of confusion. One of them nodded at the girl with a smile. He lifted his head in an attempt to get up when a small brown boot caught the side of his face, breaking his jaw.

“Well now let’s not be stupid ok? I’m a huntress so you ought to be respecting that!” She grinned at them mischievously.

Friday Fiction: What Child Is This?

Title: What Child Is this?

Conflict: Man v Man

Character: A child born with a pig’s tail

Theme: Fate

Setting: a village cut off from the outside world

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“What child is this!?” The nurse cried. The babe, soft and pink and wiggling a curled tail, cried at the noise.

“Mayhap Father Dawkins be right, the world comes to an end sister.” The older woman stared at the thin tail with abject horror. If such a thing has occurred, what other horrors await them. Father Dawkins may perhaps be right after all.

“Call the father immediately. Alert him that the time nears.”

“Ay sister.”

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Father Dawkins paced the water storage tank, a smiled etched across his old face. The nurse had called claiming a babe had been born with a tail. Only years of self-control and discipline kept him from leaping in glee. Patience had proved indeed to be a virtue though he knew there was no virtue within him.

“Henry!” he hollered at the dark haired man limping out of the shed by the tank

“Yes Father?” The man’s hands had been bleached white.

“We no longer need additives in the water, our faith proves fruitful!”

“Truly?”

“Truly! A babe with a pig’s tail is born!”

“Aye Father, our faith lives.” The other man smiled too. For him it was time a man of science proved fruitful. Him.