Agonies of a Young Author

It's a poor bit of substitution, but I have no thoughts left. To many deadlines. So very very many deadlines. None of them homework. Why do I do this to myself? Oh, yeah, research grant. Thoughts of research grant, research grant...

So enjoy my ROD#13 entry. It was based a picture of an abandoned hospital, but looked like a Victorian house in ruins. I didn't want to go the Jane Eyre route, but the classical literature motif stuck in head regardless.  So can you pick up on the other famous book that I used as my allusion?


          My bit of earth was extraordinary in the summer. The trees blossomed, and everything was so green, so wick. There were roses, fountains of them, but most importantly…

         Colin! COLIN! 

        My eyes watered as I saw his form stand up from his chair, strong and straight. He smiled crookedly at me as he took that first proud step towards me.

        I raised my arms and rushed at my friend, my beloved. When I caught him, my arms clenched so tightly around his torso. At the sound of his heartbeat, I choked up…

… and sobbed out the taste of sulfur.

       “No!” I cried. I looked up. Colin’s smile stretched, protruded razor teeth and black gums. His blue eyes were pierced by bloodlight pinpricks that grew and spilled over the irises and into the whites.

“No!”

        I jerked away. The garden withered again before my eyes, the roses falling, the ivy browning, leaves dropping. I heard a thousand poppings, and whirled to find the manor windows cracked and missing panes of glass. The massive front door sagged in on itself, and fell.

“Colin…”

“Ahahahaha!” the devil laughed victoriously. “Well, Miss Mary? How do you like my work? Memory can be one HELL of an illusion, huh? Ahahahaha!”

“Colin…”

But my Colin had died centuries ago, and my secret garden was no longer mine. I was alone once again. And I had caused all this rottenness myself.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
how does your garden grow?
In seven hells and human skulls,
and torments all in a row!

Right Now:

What I'm listening to: "Candlelight" by Imogen Heap

What I want most: food

Ahhhhhhh! It feels good to finally submit again to the Deadline Dames' ROD (Readers on Demand) art-inspired flash fiction contest. I've missed the past few months, and that was a big part of my casual writing routine. I've been serious about getting poems out for publication, etc. but I haven't really sat down just to write and goof of in my writing for a while. It's nice to just to enjoy yourself, without a purpose or a goal to fulfill. Just to play with words and plots and characters and possibilities.

I really need to build in a little more time for fun in my writing schedule. I didn't start off 6 years ago to get published, so I shouldn't act that way for the next half century or so.

Anyways, enjoy! I certainly did. =)

****************

(Inspired by a photo with mountains and red, flame-like ground coloring)

"Shaya..."

Ignoring the voice, she continued to yell at the men scrambling on the fortress walls. "Hurry with those bags! Pack them tight!"

"Shaya, it's no use."

She wretched away from the sympathetic weight of the hand on her shoulder. "Have they tried--"

"They're tried everything. It's no use. Please, Shaya, come away now."

"We've got another one here!"

Shaya stared at the man facedown in the street, his companion tugging uselessly at the limp weight.

Dammit. "Leave him," she barked out. "He's dead already."

The man glanced at the Commander at her shoulder before glancing down one last time.

Shaya turned away. "Call it," she said.

"My liege," the Commander said, bowing.

"Retreat! Retreat! Head for the hills!" he bellowed at the last of her people. They might be able to make it to safety before the volcano caused utter destruction; some, inevitably, would not.

Dammit. Shaya glared through her tears at the abandoned shell of her home and cursed with every last reserve.

"Damn you brother! Damn you for eternity, leaving this place and bringing the wrath of the gods here!"

She watched as hot magma crawled ever closer to the barricaded gate. The normal defenses were meant for the might of man. Nothing was adequate against the gods.

"Just damn you."

Right Now:

What I'm listening to: "So Contagiously" by Acceptance

What I want most: mac and cheese....

Good evening, mes enfants.

I feel quite aged today, as if appellation "my children" really did suit my mood and my personality. Perhaps the Witch of the Waste's spell infected me too, and not just Sophie. (If you have no clue what I'm talking about, I watched Howl's Moving Castle last night as I was mending my Beledi skirt.)

Well, today is the ROD deadline again, and here is my submission. It was over the word count, but this really was the most distilled that I thought I could make it without sacrificing character and background, so I posted it anyways. We'll see if it qualifies.

*****
In response to this image:



It wasn't that she failed, exactly. Not quite. It was just... well really, it was just an aberration...
Oh, bloody bells, she had failed. A simple transfiguration spell, and she failed. Ended up a bullet shaped ornament, as useful as modern art and about as pretty. Not anywhere near the crystal ball she was aiming for.
"Jan! Jan, what happened? You ok?"
She didn't bother replying to her brother. It was his idiotic idea that got them here in the first place anyways.
"I knew this was stupid! Just like all your idiotic schemes! I swear, Jan..."
All for such a simple trick. Just a few gigs, a few well-paying customers--
"Hey! Answer me!"
--just turn into a crystal ball, utter a few mumbo-jumbo nonsense phrases to any fool fool enough to go to a fortune teller, and...
"Jan! I'll tell the Lord Wizard!"
Dammit, they could have been rich.
"January, I'm leaving-- NOW!"
"Aw, shuddup. I'm working on it," she finally answered. "Leave me alone."
"No! I told you we should have gone to him on this one! You never listen to me," Tommy said.
"Such a momma's boy, always running and crying to the Lord Wizard, and yet we always do just fine on our own."
"Yeah? Can you get back on your own?"
She hesitated.
"That's it-- I'm going to go get him," Tommy said.
"No!"
"Why not?" he demanded.
"Yes, petite, why not?" another voice added.
Jan stared in horror at the Lord Wizard advanced into the room, amusement and resignation flickering across his thin face.
"Oh, mes enfants, what mischief have you been up to now?"

*****

Right now:
What I'm listening to: Sleepless by Kate Havnevik
What I want most: ...?