Flash 500 by Nicole Pyles, Carrie K Sorensen (black authors fiction .txt) 📖

Week of 8/15/2012

Week of 8/15/2012

 

Photo courtesy of Uday Phalgun

 

 

Words Required

 

Creation

 

Mime

 

Balcony

 

Kidnap

 

Loaf

 

 

 

 

Like Mother, Like Daughter by Heather Musk

 

Celeste knew that sooner or later, her daughter would be drawn to the same dark powers that had once seduced her. She had tried to put it off, but Emma was as strong minded as she used to be. She'd hoped that by escaping and taking her away from it all Emma would never be involved, never be tempted into that other world. But Emma was of her creation, and so the risk was always there. It was out of her hands now though, Emma had chosen her path and all Celeste could do was wait and see if she survived.

 

She sat nervously in the balcony, not wanting to watch but drawn nonetheless. She used all her power to send encouragement and help, but the invisible barrier surrounding them sent it all straight back at her. Emma was on her own. She couldn't even mime any instructions to her, the viewing balconies completely hidden in the arena. The poor souls didn't even know they had an audience.

 

There were three of them down there, strangers to one another, all competing for the single prize of freedom. Celeste knew the other parents were somewhere near, watching to see if their only daughter was going to make it. It was a rite of passage into the unknown world, and you either made it, or you perished. There was no opting out. Once you walked through the doors, across the seal of the sacred symbol, there was no going back. All who entered did so of their own free will, much to their parents distress, willing participants in their own kidnap.

 

The three girls headed in different directions, towards doors that only they could see, Emma's directly beneath where her mother sat watching. Celeste crossed to the other side of the balcony to see her daughter enter her own personal challenge. She couldn't see Emma's reaction as she approached a table with two chairs facing each other. She sat down as a dark hooded figure approached and sat opposite. There was bread at the table and they each took a bite of loaf, neither taking their eyes from the other. Celeste could barely contain herself, wanting to dive in and help.

 

She didn't hear the people come from behind to grab her.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Emma stared into the eyes of her father and could sense his fury at her being there. She had managed to deceive her mother, taking her place for this challenge. Emma knew she would never have survived, she didn't have the strength in her any more. It was her mother that he wanted though. To take his revenge. She couldn't allow it, it was his own fault that she'd left, his own fault he'd never seen his daughter.

 

A door creaked open in the shadows and she saw two figures carrying a third in against their struggles. She looked into her mothers eyes and then she knew. It was over for both of them.

 

 

About Heather Musk

 

I wish I could say that I've been writing ever since I can remember and it's been a part of my life since I've been on the planet, but the truth is I can't.

 

It has taken the best part of 30 years to find this hidden thing within me, which is the need to write. It's my own kind of therapy, a way to engross myself in something else away from my life, my own bubble of the universe.

 

I'm still at the very beginning of this journey, learning and honing my skills. On the way I also have my husband and five year old daughter to contend with, as well as working towards an English degree with The Open University and working nearly full time for a science research institute. What can I say? I like to keep myself busy.

 

To join me on my travels and follow my progress head over to readingwritingeverything-heather.blogspot.co.uk.

 

 

 

 

The Fallen by Rome Taylor

 

As Prince Lotus looked out at his kingdom, he had a feeling of sadness. For his kingdom was empty. The bandits of Mime had come again, leaving nothing but destruction and despair in their wake. They even kidnapped all the sheep, no food remained in the land of Gnit.

 

Prince Lotus left his balcony to stab himself with his family's sacred dagger. What else could he do? No food, no water, no way of replenishing. He was going to die anyway, why prolong the inevitable?

 

He walked through his castle, each morsel bringing back memories. The drapes he used to climb on, the secret staircase behind the bookshelf, leading to the dungeon where he would torment the prisoners. All those memories seemed so long ago. Yet only two weeks ago they took place.

 

King Loaf passed away two weeks ago. Prince Lotus was next in line for the throne, but the bandits of Mime came before the coronation could take place.

 

The family's sacred dagger was said to lay in the Jester's Catacombs. Just below the dungeon. None had ever entered for fear of ambush by an escaped prisoner. No such fear laid in Lotus's heart.

 

The staircase wound down, growing narrower. He remembered when it was built. day after day of continual labor.

 

He reached the bottom, but saw no dagger. He saw short, round pedestals in a half circle, surrounding one. Each with a symbol. Prince Lotus recognized the symbol of the center pedestal, a snake hanging from a tree.

 

The symbol of King Loaf.

 

Prince Lotus looked at the opposite side of the pedestal. More symbols. Yet these symbols were not that of a family or of any one person. They were the of the language of Creation. Prince Lotus knelt to read them.

 

If you are reading this, my son, I trust you will know what to do in this situation. Reading these symbols from his father brought tears to Prince Lotus's eyes. These pedestals have been placed so that you may read the symbols and bring back those you have lost.

 

Of course. King Loaf knew the language of Creation and must have consulted his soothsayer who foretold this event. And wrote words that could create anything so long as they were spoken. The other pedestals had their symbols toward King Loaf. Prince Lotus stood and read them aloud. His voice echoing off the empty walls.

 

"'Those who came and served us well, had lives to live, stories to tell.

Yet they left this world all to early, leaving behind all things worldly.

Oh spirit of Creation, bring back peace to our nation.

Those fallen from fighting in war, return them here, to fight once more.'"

 

The ground rumbled. The pedestals grew into human shaped statues. The stone cracked. The statues exploded into flesh colored warriors with battle armor.

 

Lotus's father was standing in the center. Lotus embraced him with a ferocious hug. The land of Gnit could begin again.

 

 

About Rome Taylor

 

Rome Taylor is a budding writer with a hope of becoming a full-time author. He has participated in many plays including: Shakespeare's A Comedy of Errors and Romeo and Juliet, as well as Sam Club Private Eye and the Case of the Malted Falcon. You can visit his blog at MiStoryTime.blogspot.com to see more of his writing under his pen name: Skeletal Gadget.

Week of 8/29/2012

Week of 8/29/2012

 

Photo courtesy of IvyMike

 

 

Words Required

 

Zoo

 

Necklace

 

Tonic

 

Shelf

 

Turtle

 

 

 

 

A Cowboy's Grace by L.T. Dalin

 

This is the last time, I thought, and glowered in his direction.

 

Just an hour earlier we'd been at the zoo. I'd seen a pair of giant turtles who'd been happily married for the past seventy years. I thought they were cute, Mike didn't. Not a surprise as we didn't see eye to eye on anything.

 

He'd gotten bored and decided to get drunk; he always had his special tonic at hand, and at home he had a whole shelf full.

 

On our way home he nearly drove us off the road, and when I grabbed the steering-wheel he rewarded me with a shiner. I got out of the car after that. I fiddled with the necklace around my neck as I closed the gap between us.

 

A truck slowed down behind me and pulled in behind Mike's car.

 

The sun was blistering hot, and I'd chosen a bad day for wearing black. I hoped it wasn't one of Mike's drinking buddies.

 

I walked alongside it, heading for Mike's car. A man jumped out wearing a cowboy hat, with matching rugged, dirty jeans.

 

"Car trouble?" he asked, and flashed me the whitest set of teeth I'd even seen.

 

I was momentarily speechless, and blinked twice before opening my mouth.

 

"Not that I know of," I replied, but Mike cut me off as he opened the door and stumbled out.

 

The cowboy's smile slowly died as he looked from me to Mike and back to me again. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to think of something to say. My right cheek was probably starting to change color, though he never slapped me hard enough to bruise properly.

 

"I'm Joe," he said.

 

"I'm Mike." His speech was slurred, and he shoved a hand forward.

 

"And I'm sick of this," I said, and leaned in through the window, fetched my jacket and left both men and cars.

 

"Jen! Don't be like that!" Mike yelled, and I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see him fall over the hood of the car.

 

Fucking jackass, I thought, and continued walking.

 

The pickup cruised up on my side, and Joe the Cowboy rolled down the window. "Need a ride?"

I was sick of men, but I wasn't sure if I was up for two hours of walking. "Probably." I looked up at the sun.

 

"Come on. I'll drive you home." He stopped the car, leaned over and opened the door for me.

 

"I won't be good company; I'm in a foul mood," I warned, feeling it was only fair that he knew.

 

"Maybe I can do something about that too. Nothing like a damsel in distress to make a man feel like a Knight." He grinned broadly.

 

I got in the car, and Joe handed me a bottle of water just as my favorite song came on the radio.

Gotta love cowboys, I thought, and then I told him about the turtle.

 

 

About L.T. Dalin

 

L.T. Dalin started writing at a young age. Her favorite thing to do when growing up was handing in essays. She learned a lot about writing, the art of writing and more importantly; how not to write, during her time studying Broadcast Journalism at University in England. She started writing seriously five years ago; four of those dedicated to her Fantasy Trilogy.

 

http://chessnysilth.blogspot.no/

 

 

 

 

The Phone Call by Scott Taylor

 

"Yo…it's me."

 

"Hey—where are you, man? We thought you'd be here ½ hour ago."

 

"Yeah, so did I. The car died again!"

 

"Again! You've gotta get rid of that thing once and for all."

 

"No funds, man!"

 

"Well, where