Blues-Buster: Red Right Hand

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Another of Jeff’s Blues-Buster’s, and the prompt song is the brilliant Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds – Red Right Hand. I was particularly caught by the lyrics: ‘…where the viaduct looms, like a bird of doom, as it shifts and cracks, where secrets lie in the border fires, in the humming wires, Hey man, you know, you’re never coming back…’
Scan by Bekah Shambrook manipulated by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use without permission)
Red Right Hand

Jenson ran, his rasping breath burning his throat, but he ran without looking back. He’d learned long ago that looking back got you killed and that wasn’t part of his plan.
The streets were deserted, but he knew they were coming as sure as his blood raced through his burning veins.
The old town spread its fingers in narrow, contorted lanes and he knew most of them, his pursuers did not, they relied solely on the tracking device in Jenson’s stomach. He smirked wryly, barely thinking cognitively as pain seared his lungs, but aware of the irony of his enemies using the same tech he’d developed himself so long ago.
His fingers closed around a foil containing a bead of liquid purge, but he was unable to use it for fear of damaging the other prize churning within his stomach’s bile.

A helicraft whirred, not far out of range and he knew time was running out. He ducked into an alley and stared at the screen strapped to his wrist; old tech, twenty-first century tech, this time. He gazed at the flashing dots, until sure of their definite positions. Seconds later he was running again.

The arm that grabbed him came out of nowhere and he reeled, spinning, his hand ready to strike as he stumbled into a doorway.
“Shhhh!” she hissed, “it’s me!”  She twisted his wrist pulling him down into her lap.
“I thought they had you!” he whispered, his hand moving from strike to stroke as he touched her bloodied and scarred cheek.
“They did…” Her voice caressed his ear.
“How did you escape? That place is strapped down like a lunatic in a strait jacket!”
“I have my ways,” she purred and slid her hand across his inner thigh.
“No time for that!” he said regretfully, but unable to stop his lips from claiming hers.
She pulled away. “Transport, Jenson, transport!”
He chuckled. “Always a tease…we’ve got three and a half minutes…stop delaying!” He yanked her to her feet and the pair of them left the doorway, sprinting across the road towards the most abandoned part of town.
“How’re they extracting you?” she panted, “Helicraft…or something else?”
He pulled her across the road towards the old viaduct and the crumbling bridge.
The whir of the approaching helicraft erupted, destroying the silence, and Jenson pulled her across the kerb. Rotary blades thumped and the craft loomed up over the bridge like a merciless vulture eyeing its prey. Jenson’s hand wrapped around hers and they raced for sanctuary. Above them came the crackling sound of gunfire and collapsing masonry.
Beneath the arch of the bridge Jenson turned her hand palm up and placed his over hers. “What’re you doing?” She was out of breath.
“Checking!” Jenson grinned. A red glow emanated between their clasped hands. “I had to know, you could have been playing me, been one of theirs, one of his…but you’re not.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m the only one who knows how to mess with the chip in your hand, yours is red…as it should be. Now are you ready for change?”
“Change?” She stared at him. “I’m ready for anything, I’m a wanted woman!”
“That you are!” He whirled her round against the wall and pulled her body close, kissing her hard. “I’m leaving with everything he owns,” He patted his stomach, “and you, if you’re coming with me?”
“Like hell I am!”
“A new century… this time I’m going back to the twenty-first!” Jenson slammed his hand to the wall above her head, directly onto an ancient, peeling, red graffiti hand print. Dust choked the air, bricks distorted beneath his palm and he grinned at his companion’s shocked cry as they plunged backwards. “Geronimo!”

(622 Words)

Diamonds in the Inky Night Sky…

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My Orion’s Belt Murano Glass bead from Lions Paw Jewelry
Last night I stood outside staring up at the stars in absolute wonder…an array of diamonds sparkling against the indigo blanket of night… *sigh*
I adore the night sky and on a cold, crisp and clear night it’s my favourite place to be…staring up at the Orion constellation in particular, which reminds me of my father and childhood stargazing. The night sky is offering two glorious twinkles in Jupiter and Venus right now too, so true wonders to behold!
If you get a clear sky, go and take a look, once the sun has gone to bed…

Zombie Flash: Time is Up…

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Governor Stirland was irritated. “Put him on hold,” he said curtly and lifted his finger off the comm button. He growled and leaned back in his shiny chrome, padded leather chair. From the sixty first floor he had a commanding view, he linked his hands behind his head, and surveyed his domed and air-conditioned, stainless steel city.

The city centre was clear of the undead…completely clear.

Professor Turnbull’s concoction had changed the world and made the young Governor a rich man, a very rich man, and he was grateful, really he was, but the professor’s whiny voice was now causing him a great deal of stress.
The airborne ZV39sT had worked and the undead had vacated the cities of their own accord, and now lived peaceably in the countryside, just as it was so across the planet. As a result the rest of mankind, now of no interest to the zombified, lived beneath domed cities, and were free to come and go as they pleased with no fear of the undead.

The Governor ran his fingers through his greying hair, sighed and picked up the phone. “So what’s the problem?”

Professor Turnbull cleared his throat at the other end. “Co2 levels are critically high and we’ve already lost huge land mass due to rising sea levels.” He paused for effect, “We may have turned the zombies vegetarian, but zombie deforestation has hit ninety-five percent and we’re about to run out of oxygen!”

(242 Words)

This was written for a fun Zombie Flash Fiction Competition hosted by Holly at Confessions of a Stuffed Olive. Must be written in under 250 words and contain humerous references to zombies! Go take a look at the rest on Holly’s page…they’re great!

Five Sentence Fiction: Whisper

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Photograph by Bekah Shambrook (Please do not use without permission)
“Tell me, tell me what you see” she murmured, and I pulled the heavy fleece tighter around our shoulders as she relaxed into my arms, her grey hair tickling my stubbly chin.
“I see a huge ball of white flame, a golden orb, dancing on the horizon. The sky is on fire, and the few cotton clouds are bathed in molten bronze…” my words struggled to do the sunset justice, but she gripped my hand with such fervour, I continued to describe what I saw. “The sky’s turning indigo, from orange to violet to indigo, I can even see a few early stars, right up high…and the waves are lapping gently on the shore…”
“Ah, I can hear the ocean…” she spoke softly, her voice a reverent breeze, “What else can you see?” 
I stared at her, my hand brushing her cheek, I gazed right into her sightless eyes and whispered words formed in the soul of my heart, “I see beauty, perfect beauty…I’ve never, in my life, seen anything so beautiful…”
Lillie McFerrin’s Five Sentence Fiction – Whisper

‘Those Silly Dreams…’ Beneath The Rainbow Review

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Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use)
The scariest thing about having a book out there in general public land is not knowing what people will think when they read it, or even if they will read it…will anyone ever read it? 
I’m lucky some lovely people have bought and read my book, and they seem to have enjoyed it! My friend, the lovely Sarah Nicholson at re-ravelling, took the plunge and read Beneath the Rainbow and wrote a beautiful Blog post about it at re-ravelling: here. Like I said it’s always scary when people actually read your book, so I was honoured and pleased to discover her enjoyment!
When Sarah told me she was reading it I knew it was near the second anniversary of the death of her husband, and I had no idea if my book about grief and joy would hurt or help…she writes:

‘Some books forever get caught up in real life events of the reader, something the author cannot predict, but in this instance it made my enjoyment of the book even richer helping me process a bit more of my own grief.

For me this is why I thought it was a great first novel and I would recommend it to anyone grieving because it is so beautifully written and thought provoking.’

I teared up when I read her praise and I was significantly humbled.

Something powerful happens in the mind of an author when they write and they always hope that that power, that inspiration, that something will engulf the reader, but they never know if it truly will.

I want to thank those who’ve read Beneath the Rainbow and enjoyed, and especially those who’ve left reviews whether on their Blog, on Goodreads, or on Amazon. You are so very much appreciated!

If you are interested my book is available on Kindle:
www.amazon.co.uk/Beneath-the-Rainbow for £1.53
and 
www.amazon.com/Beneath-the-Rainbow for $2.32
(and other Amazon country variants…)

Blues-Buster: Is This Love

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Written for Mid-Week Blues-Buster Flash Fiction Challenge Week 3 over at The Tsuruoka Files. This week’s prompt song is: Bob Marley’s ‘Este Amor (Is This Love) by Gerado Ortiz. A 500 word challenge, but anything between 300 and 700 words works! I was inspired by this section of the translated song: 
‘I want to love you and treat you right, I want to love you every day and every night, We’ll be together with a roof right over our heads, We’ll share the shelter of my single bed.’

Elena stood by the door arch, and the flames from the lantern flickered in her eyes as she stared down the dusty road into the night. Her bare feet shifted leaving scuff marks in the dirt and she cocked her head to listen to the sounds in the shack behind her. Small voices whispered and a complaint echoed. She leaned back inside and uttered instructions to share. The voices softened and faded, and she returned to her vigil.
The ground beneath her feet was pitted and worn, and her rough soles matched the patches of eroded earth. She shivered and pulled her holey shawl tighter around her shoulders, and leaned down to flick away an irritating mosquito.  Elena coughed, a sound that echoed through the night as much as it rattled through her chest, and she struggled to clear her throat.
She tapped her foot impatiently and tried to gaze further than her old eyes would see, tried to penetrate the dark indigo desert and see beyond the tall saguaro, the sentinel at the edge of the track into town. She pulled in a deep breath, shaky with worry, and leaned back against the stone doorframe. The wick in the lantern was low and the oil almost spent, but she refused to turn it out, refused to sink the track into the gloom of dusk…not yet.
A bark carried across the chill night air and resonated through her bones, and sent fear curling into the pit of her stomach.
Still she waited, aware that there was now quiet in the hovel, aware of the fatigue that chilled her fragile body, and aware of the last crust of bread and spoonful of soup sitting by the dying embers in the grate. Her belly growled.
The moon scrolled across the sky, and stars began to glimmer, and Elena wondered if time had moved too far.
She stepped out from beneath the arch and moved across the stony track, limping awkwardly, her heart sank each time the wild dog howled, and she tried to bat away the tears that hung on her lashes.
She waited, still standing firm, her resolve never wavering, despite the darkness of the night.  She stood until her feet ached and hope began to fade like morning stars.
Then she heard it, as quiet and soft as a mouse; footsteps, tiny footsteps beating against the dirt trail and her heart swelled. She shuffled towards the sound, dragging her lame foot, until a small child burst past the saguaro and ran, haloed in the moonlight, into her welcoming arms.
He wept, rubbing tired and dirty fists across his tear-stained face, and Elena hugged him close. “Hermoso niño!” she murmured, “Al fin en casa.”
After the spoonful of soup and the last crust of bread the exhausted child slipped beneath a ragged blanket on a narrow bed, with six other lost children, and slept beneath his guardian’s constant gaze.  

(488 Words)  

(For those of you needing a translation: “Hermoso niño!” – “Beautiful child!” and “Al fin en casa.” – “Home at last.”)

Monday Mixer: Moonlight Tryst

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This is for The Latinum Vault’s Monday Mixer. Write a piece in exactly 150 words using at least three of the nine prompts: a place, a thing and an adjective. I’ve gone for six, therefore putting myself up for Overachiever…
Photo by Lisa Shambrook Instagram Brannan (Please do not use without permission) 

Nell struggled to keep up with Liam, striding ahead up the hillock. She shivered as the cool night air danced across her bare skin, and her thin skirt wrapped itself around her legs. Liam glanced back, waiting a few yards ahead, and Nell’s pulse quickened. He was gorgeous and profligate with her emotions, but she just couldn’t help herself, she’d follow him from one end of the river to the other if he asked. The crease in his brow faded as she caught up.
Overlooking the firth was a small copse, the surrounding farmland abandoned, a perfect place for a nocturnal tryst.
Now pensive in the moonlight, Nell allowed him to pull her to the ground and as his eyes flashed and he shuffled in the dirt, his yelp surprised both of them! Slightly relieved, Nell examined his nether regions and not in the way he’d desired. “Caltrops!” she giggled.

(150 Words)

Find Monday Mixer here, with all the other great entries!

Flash! Friday: Casting Pearls

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Eloise disliked the constraints of the time she found herself in, almost as much as the heavy, corseted skirts and laced-up boots she’d been bound into, and when the opportunity had arisen to rid herself of these constrictions she took it. She slipped out of her skirt with the same ease she slipped the knife into his chest.
The look of incredulity upon his cruel, angular features had been worth every last minute that she remained staring into his dying face.  
She wiped the blade’s crimson stain on her discarded skirt and slipped the knife into her belt, before fingering the sumptuous strings of black pearls at her neck, the only possession that truly belonged to her.
She was out on the pier in a matter of moments. The moon’s rays danced like teardrops on the black ocean as she jumped. A siren rang out up at the house, its warning piercing the silent night air, and she knew his guards had rallied. Her underskirt clung to her legs as she sank into the murky depths. Behind her bubbles effervesced through the gloom, but even his aquatic guards held no fear, not this time.
She flung her head back, brought her hand to the heavy necklace and tore it away from her neck. She threaded pearls through her fingers until she found the right one, and then she squeezed.
One flash and the ocean glittered, and she swam like an eel through the portal, hoping to emerge in a slightly more equitable time…

(253 Words)

Written for Flash! Friday #13. 
Write a 200-300 word story based on the prompt picture.

Five Sentence Fiction: Empty

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Photo by Lisa Shambrook Instagram (please do not use without permission)

It was the imprint in the sofa, the flattened cushion and the worn patch in the carpet.
It was the ridge in the centre of the bed; she’d tried sleeping on his side, letting her body mould into the contours of the mattress, but she could never get comfortable, could never sleep that way.
It was the lack of matching knives, forks and spoons at the dining table, no need for the half-full jar of Marmite, and too much milk in the fridge.
It was the shaving gel and razor still sitting lonesome on the bathroom shelf, and the memory of aftershave.
It was those sad puppy eyes his beloved old Labrador gave her when they sat together in the quiet sitting room, with too much to think about, surrounded by ghosts and empty hearts.

Written for Lillie McFerrin’s Five Sentence Fiction.

Five Sentence Fiction: Abandoned

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Photo by Lisa Shambrook www.flickr.com/photos/thelastkrystallos
The dinghy rocked, and she didn’t have enough energy to move her legs as they fused to the soft, scorching PVC sides, beneath the baking sun. She tried to prise open her salt-coated mouth to lick her lips, but her tongue stuck to her sandpaper lip and the cry that escaped was little more than a lost whimper.
The glare of the blazing, white fireball in the sky saturated her brain and silence screamed building slowly to a crescendo, until the noise was so loud the roaring filled her entire being.
A shadow passed over her and the little boat pitched wildly.
Fuzzy radio sounds and blips disturbed her delirium, and rough arms grabbed and dragged her, and she was lifted high, high into the sky beneath whirring rotor blades, and the dinghy was left, abandoned, amid the rolling waves.