Another week over already, and a round up of challenge entries below. If you don’t participate in weekly writing challenges, you should they are a fantastic way of practicing and developing your craft.
Esther’s up first, with another 10 word story, but this time the challenge was: I’d like another ten word story but this week, you need to find some way of using the words ‘potato’ and ‘Friday’ in your story!
Friday fish and chips do not count as healthy potatoes.
Charli Mills fantastic challenge this week was: March 25, 2015 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) include a juxtaposition between the ordinary and natural worlds. It can be civilization and nature; an edifice and a nest or cave; a human act and a natural occurrence; acculturation and adaptation. Compare or contrast as the prompt leads you to write.
Life Cycle by Sacha Black
We knew it was coming, dad had been sick for a long time. He sat in the corner, breathing laboured as I cramped and cried through my own labour.
I pushed again, and again.
“One last heave.”
With a final groan my baby was born.
“It’s a girl,” the midwife said.
I looked at my parents. Mum had tears rolling down her cheeks.
Dads breathing was shallow and intermittent. His eyes glossed, and mouth fell slack.
“You have a granddaughter poppa.”
Dad died with a soft smile painted on his lips.
Mums sobs were interspersed with new born screams.
Ronovan’s Haiku challenge, his prompt was to use the words, ill and rest. I am still struggling to write a Haiku, I just don’t seem to get them, but I tried nonetheless. Here’s my go:
Ill was his sick head
Rest not the evil or foul
Not till they are dead
Keith Channing has another Kreative Kue, this week, another lovely photo.
Narnia’s Shed By Sacha Black
“I’m not going in there Tom,” I said shoving my hands in my pocket and kicking at the grass.
“I’m not chicken. You go in if you’re so brave.”
“That wasn’t the dare. I’ve done mine. Tell him, Chris.”
Chris nodded, and gave me a hard shove towards the shed.
“I hate you both.”
A heavy well of dread formed in my stomach, twisting and furling knots. I took a couple of steps towards the shed and looked back at the boys.
“What if I never come back, like those other kids?”
“It’s not Narnia, moron. It’s just a bloody shed. Get a move on. Chicken, CHICKEN. Chiiiiicken.” Tom rammed his hands under his armpits and flapped around making chicken sounds. Chris sniggered and my cheeks burned.
“You’re a basterd. You both are.”
I stormed toward the shed leaving them behind me giggling. I won’t be shown up. Besides they were only rumours. The three kids that disappeared probably just ran away from home.
I touched the shed door and pulled the lock back. A rush of cold air shot through the gap sending a tingle down my spine. I paused. What if I really didn’t come back? I looked back at the boys. Chris had joined in the chicken dance. I closed my eyes and puffed my chest out yanking the door open.
A rush of freezing air blew around me and sucked at my body. It pulled harder. My hands struggled to hold on to the handle. The wind blew stronger. Colder. Both legs were sucked in. My waist then torso. I yelped as my fingertips fell one after another. My hand burned trying to hold on.
Both boys froze, colour draining from their faces. Chris moved first. Then Tom. Feet pounding on the grass. Another finger slipped. And another.
“I can’t hold on. Hurry.”
One finger and a thumb were left grasping the wooden door. Chris stretched his arm, reaching, red faced and puffing. Splinters shredded my finger. Chris screamed “hold on.”
My energy drained, he wasn’t going to make it. Tears streaked my cheeks, and warm liquid dribbled down my leg.
“No,” Tom yelled, eyes bulging his hands stretched out.
My last finger slipped. I let go.
Finally my own writespiration challenge:
I knelt on the double yellow lines and touched her shoulder.
“Not a usual hang out, love, you ok?”
She had her head in her hands, a brown bag suspiciously shaped like a bottle strewn at her feet, and a seriously expensive looking suit on.
Locks of platinum blonde hair fell by her shoulders as she slipped off her hands, and her head ricocheted.
“Ok, love, lets get you home. Do you know where you live.”
She laughed, clumsily nodded, and gestured at the house behind her. I raised my eyebrow.
“Your locked out aren’t you?”
She pushed herself to an upright position. Despite her stupor her piercing blue eyes were still radiant. She was stunning.
“Yep, left the fucking keys on the inside of the door, didn’t I?! Cut my hand up trying to squeeze it through the letterbox and… the spare key is missing.”
She picked up the bottle and leant on the fence.
“So I thought I’d get pissed while I waited for the locksmith.”
“You’re in luck love…”
Her goggly eyes peered at my jacket badge.
“Bout friggin’ time, drank a whole bottle of Prosecco waiting for you!”