Monday, 10 February 2014

On the Rocks

I've taken on the challenge from Trifecta to write 33 words about love gone wrong but without using love, sad, tears, wept, heart or pain.  Here is my take...

I'm trying to explain to the kids why mummy left, why there is no money and why she left a pile of whisky bottles behind her.  We are abandoned for her next drink.

Image from

A Cold Picture

This week's prompt from Write on Edge included the picture below.  I decided to carry on the Steve Adderson story, to see where it goes.  I would be grateful if you feel able to comment and let me know if it stands alone.  It is drawing from a world background I am exploring in other places, but I think it's unfair to write something that assumes prior knowledge and don't want to cheat.  Actually, I'm really grateful if you comment at all.  

Image from Unsplash

The cold leeching out of the picture burned Steve's hands.  "I thought deserts were hot." he said, putting the picture down and rubbing his hands together.
"When I was at Acre I found the heat of the day and the cold of the night difficult contrasts." Lord Marius looked thoughtfully at the picture.  "You could refuse this request, you know.  Taking a package from one faerie lord to another has its risks."
Steve carefully wrapped the picture in its layers of silk.  "Do I understand this correctly.  Lord Ragnar in York is gifting this picture to Lord Justinian in Rochester.  Lord Justinian will not be sending anything in return."
Lord Marius seemed lost in his memories as he gazed at the silk wrapped picture.  "It is such a remarkable picture, made many centuries before I went to Jerusalem." He returned to the present.  "Lord Justinian is having problems with a salamander which the picture will solve and Lord Ragnar is in a weak position at the moment.  He will rely on magical aid from Lord Justinian before long, I am sure.  How is Elaine?"
Steve had wanted to avoid this part of the conversation.  "She's fine."
"And you are still not married?"
"She didn't think that a proposal in a magical land counted." Steve held the picture lightly in his hands.  Even the silk wrappings were icy.  "She thought I had just got carried away.  She says we need to wait a bit."
"Is she performing wifely duties?" Lord Marius asked with helpful innocence.
"Why can't one of the elfen take this package?" Steve changed the subject.
"Distrust and paranoia." Lord Marius waved a hand.  "A werewolf will give you the letter from Lord Ragnar to accompany the gift.  You will meet him in the tea shop on Micklegate, near the bridge, on Monday at 11am sharp.  Here is an image of him so that you are not mistaken.  Another werewolf will collect the package in Rochester Cathedral tea rooms, once you have confirmed you have arrived.  Their image is here."
Steve nodded.  Werewolves were usually trustworthy in this situation.  "It's not a bad journey.  It's motorway all the way."
"Lord Ragnar is not popular." Lord Marius warned.  "He is only sending this treasure under great need.  You are at risk of interception."
"How great is the risk?" The cold stung Steve's fingers as they clenched on the picture.
"Do not take unnecessary risks." Lord Marius said carefully.  "Be careful where you pause your journey, and be particularly careful of strange weather."
"I've taken precautions."  Steve shoved his hands into his pockets to try and warm them.
"I know I can no longer approach your car." Lord Marius shrugged then changed the subject back.  "How do you propose to make Elaine wed you?"
Steve  concentrated on sliding the picture into its thick, insulated bag.  "I don't know." He carefully buttoned the cover.  "But it will be without elfen help, no matter how well meant.  I'm already in enough trouble."

Wednesday, 5 February 2014

The Bells of St Brigit

This is a surprise prompt from Write on Edge, a challenge for a piece no more than 108 words and starting with the phrase, 'The bells of St Brigit are calling tonight.'

The bells of St. Brigit's are calling tonight,
The moonlight is sparkling over the sea,
The stars are shedding their magical light,
And my lover's dead soul is calling to me.

The roses are breathing their passion filled scent,
The soft waves are hissing onto the sand,
The bells chimes are ringing an empty lament,
My lover's drowned hand slips cold into mine.

Down the stone staircase and out to the sand,
Across the storm wreckage to the now quiet sea,
My lover steps slowly away from the land,
A final farewell as he's lost to me.    

I wasn't intending to try this, it seemed a bit hard for me, but it has been a good distraction at a tough time.  I can't remember for the life of me how to punctuate poetry, so I've just done my best.

Monday, 3 February 2014

Just a Point

Once again I am taking the Trifecta Challenge to write between 33 and 333 words on the prompt '3: to change by artful or unfair means so as to serve one's purpose : to doctor'

Kent waved the letter at his wife.  "It's the valuation." He ripped it open.   Rupert watched carefully.
"You can't be thinking of selling it." Alison said.  "It's been in your family for generations."  Her voice dropped to a whisper.  "And you know painting is haunted.  Look what happened last time it was sent for cleaning."  Rupert nodded.  At least someone else was paying attention.
"Those sort of accidents are normal for a house of this age." Kent looked uneasily over his shoulder.  "And we have to face reality.  We are in a Grade I listed English Stately Home with a leaking roof.  We can't just get any old tiles from the local builder's yard and get the cheapest quote plus scaffolding.  Did you see how much the only firm I could track down wanted?  We need the money."
"Do you want to sell it?" Alison asked as Kent pulled the letter out of it's rich, cream envelope.
Kent shrugged.  "No, I don't.  It's part of the place, I was fascinated by the old man in the picture as a child.  But sentiment won't patch the roof."  He absently straightened out the letter.  "I wish we didn't have to."  He straightened his shoulders.  "And if I'm not getting a good enough offer, I'm keeping it.  There are grants, after all."
Jenkins stuck his head round the door.  "It's Soames about his business proposition.  He's in the study, sir."

Rupert waited until Kent and Alison had left the room and inspected the letter.  He concentrated.  Kent would certainly sell for £350,000 but while the figure was flattering, he could not let the portrait go.  It took some work to manipulate it but by the time Kent got back the offer was £35,000, take it or leave it.  The old ghost knew that Kent would never settle for that.  The portrait would be safe for now.  Rupert tapped his ghostly finger on the polished mantle.  Now how could he help with this business idea?  

Sunday, 2 February 2014

Elves Delay Highway Construction

The link is here.

A very kind friend sent me the link.  A construction project in Iceland is being delayed because the local population fear that the road would cut through the local elf population.  People are standing in front of the machinery and it's gone to Iceland's Supreme Court.

I am comforted that the elves go to church, as apparently there is a concern that an elf church will be affected by the development.  The link is here.

I feel like my fiction is being left behind by the real world.