Category Archives: Blog Hops

12 Days of Christmas: Storms

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Day seven and we reach storms in our 12 Days of Christmas Bop…and mine’s an ice storm:

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook and Streamzoo (Please do not use without permission)
Storms
They knew it was coming, but they were so far out, so cut off, there was nothing to do but wait.
So they battened down the hatches, like the government had advised, and watched the crazy exodus on the television all cosied up on the sofa. 
The storm was coming, coming from the north and they were the north. 
The television signal vanished as the storm arrived. They glanced at each other, smiling nervously, and he took her hand in his, squeezed it, then urgently pulled her off the sofa and led her upstairs.
She gazed out of the window and smiled at the blanket of snow. The trees, silhouettes against the brooding skyline, barely moved and the world was silent except for the heavy patter of falling snow. She fell into his arms and his mouth hungrily devoured hers.
In the afterglow, his arm cradled her and his hand gently stroked her bare thigh as she lie with her back against his stomach and she sighed. The snow had stopped and the room lightened, a cold brightness filled the air and she clasped his hand in hers. 
It was silent when it came.
They watched Jack Frost’s masterpiece overlay the window, outside and in, and they followed the frost as it bathed the walls. She watched it spread across the sheets and their entwined hands and she felt her toes disappear. Ice travelled up her body in exquisite contrast to the fiery heat enveloping her just a few minutes ago. Feathers of rime patterned her arms and her face grew tight as it froze. She felt his heart beat against her back and closed her eyes as the ice danced across her frigid eyelids, and moments later their heartbeats vanished as the storm quickly passed.
(296 Words)
A Jar of Fireflies 12 Days of Christmas
Day Seven: July – Storms
And there are more great stories to read…

12 Days of Christmas: Flowers

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So we come to day five of the 12 Days of Christmas blog hop and our prompt is: Flowers, though is not really what I’d call a gift…perhaps another warning…

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook found at flickr.com/photos/thelastkrystallos


Flowers
Rays of sun fell onto pale pink candytuft interspersed with lavender, while tall, magenta foxgloves with mottled tubes, and variegated greenery gave the display height. Two oriental poppies, with silken, paper-thin petals adorned the arrangement and in the centre sat an arum lily in all its glorious purity.
If there was anything she spent time on it was her garden, and her indoor displays were as heavenly as the well-tended outdoor ones.
This arrangement sat on her windowsill, in pride of place, beneath the frilled jardinière net curtains. A different floral attraction decorated her sill every week, without fail.

 The neighbours were used to her colourful bouquets and ox-eye daises made them smile, blood-red roses brought on flushes of romance and huge purple alliums caused a stir.

So on Monday morning, when the lily trumpet and silken poppies still flourished in the window, the postman raised his eyebrow, the milkman smiled, and the neighbours assumed she was just late with her floristry scissors.
They were still there on Tuesday, and Wednesday, but it had been pouring with summer rain, so maybe the garden was just too wet for old Mrs Thomas.
Thursday was dry, and the poppy petals were wrinkled.
On Friday the candytuft and poppies were sad, they drooped and a day later the poppies black, inky stamens were adorning the actual windowsill and not the flowers.

During the third week the flowers began to brown and dehydrated stems hung limply over the side of the vase…and the neighbours shook their heads in disapproval.

A week later, and the postman noticed not only the papery, brown blooms, but the far less than flowery stench that permeated the house when he lifted the letter box…
The flowers had spoken for weeks, but no one had heard…

(298 Words)

Day Five: May – Flowers
Read the others…they’re worth it!

12 Days of Christmas: Rebirth

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Day Four of 12 Days of Christmas: and the gift is Rebirth:

Photograph  by Lisa Shambrook (please do not use without permission)
Rebirth
He was tired and his mind never stopped. Three years trying to keep his head above water in these times of recession had cost him dear. The business drained him, in a way he’d never have predicted all those years ago when he’d stood on the doorstep with Liz. The pride in her eyes and the flush in her cheeks had excited him as much as their new venture had, but now the light had faded behind her brown eyes, and the best part of his day was closing his own when his head hit his pillow. 
He barely noticed Liz, he was too tired. 
He didn’t notice his favourite meal on the table he was too busy calculating profits and losses. He never saw her longing eyes, and he never felt the stroke of her hand on his as he slept. He ignored her needs, because his were satisfied. He had no idea that his mother received flowers on her birthday, but he smiled when she thanked him for her gift.
He waved Liz away when she hugged him, no time for that, and her lips caught his hair as he rushed out of the door. 
He ignored her when she begged him to cut his losses, and he sneered when she told him they’d be happy poor. 
He didn’t notice when her eyes lit up again, or when her new dress fit her curves to perfection. He didn’t even notice the new scent on her pulse, or those heels. He never saw her new hair, or the blush-red lipstick, he was too busy stretching for his out-of-reach mobile phone as he lay on the floor holding his arm and clutching his chest. 
As he ended, she was reborn and he never saw his butterfly unfurl her glorious wings. 
(300 Words)

Day Four: April – Rebirth
Take a look at the other entries…

12 Days of Christmas: Music

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Day three of Stacy’s Blog Hop and the gift is Music…I decided to continue a previous flash challenge which you can read here at Monday Mixer ‘Impasse’…let the music play…

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (please do not use without permission)
Music
Linten pulled the evanescent stone from his leather pouch and shook his head trying to rid his ears of the ringing from the explosion. The corridor was completely blocked and there was no going back…  He could barely see the stone in his hands in the gloom, it glowed, but its power was fading fast. Linten closed his fingers around the warm stone. He could feel it vibrate in his palm and his hopes lifted, just a little. 
“This had better work,” he muttered, “One wish and this is it…I need an escape …”
He drew in a deep breath then coughed as rock dust tickled his throat. As he finished coughing he opened his fingers and glanced down at the stone, now vibrating more intensely and he smiled. “C’mon, c’mon…” He thrust his tulwar back into its sheath and enclosed the stone in both hands. His moth fluttered against his cheek as he willed the stone to work its magic. 
The stone began to sing, music pulsing through the cavern. The music continued, soft notes palpitating like Linten’s own heart, building to a crescendo. As the music reached fever pitch, Linten was enveloped in a tornado that ripped his breath away and he sank into oblivion. 
Fluttering tiny wings roused him, he still clasped the stone within both hands and a gentle melody echoed in his head. His helmet sat upside down at his side and his moth crackled with tiny flames of worry. Linten sat, warily. He was out of the mineshaft and free, and he drew in a breath of fresh night air and opened his fingers revealing the evanescent stone. It tingled and he brought it to his lips, but as he kissed the precious rock the music stopped and the stone vanished, its duty done.
(300 Words)
A Jar of Fireflies 12 Days of Christmas Blog Hop
Day three: March – Music
Take a look at all the others:

12 Days of Christmas: Love

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Photograph by Sarah Hall, manipulated by Lisa Shambrook
(Please do not use without permission)
Love
He’d never tell, but Kryos was jealous of his friends’ bond, something he could only ever dream of.  Within his devastated race he was the last surviving Krystallos. 
The vision he’d followed through the fog, last night, still haunted him… She was comparable to his race, but she wasn’t Krystallos. She was white, but she’d shimmered translucent green. Other details were hazy, and he’d really only caught a glimpse of her long, swishing tail as she’d vanished into the mist.
He had to find her…
Salt laced the air as the waves crashed against the mountain. The sea breeze revitalised him and as he soared around the eastern peak his mouth dropped. There she was, his ethereal vision, floating on the prevailing wind.
She whirled and spiralled through the air, flying without inhibition or fear. She was a lone creature dancing, above the ocean, dancing to her own song. 
He hung back watching in amazement and she twisted taking on an iridescent hue, the kind of green trapped within an opal, destined to shine with effulgence whenever a stray ray of brilliant light caught it.
Without a doubt it was her. Kryos beheld his ghost, and couldn’t move. He stared transfixed as she wheeled like a lost jewel against the clear blue sky.
He pressed into the mountainside, fearful of being seen, though he blended perfectly against the snow-bleached rocks. His heart thumped almost audibly against his tightened chest, and he watched as the wind carried her across the ocean. He fought the urge to leap into the sky, proud and majestic, and race to meet her. There was no way he was going to scare her off this time. Again, he melted into the frozen rock and couldn’t take his eyes off the mysterious dragon that thawed his heart.
(300 Words)

Written for A Jar of Fireflies 12 Days of Christmas Blog Hop.  
Day Two: February – Love. 
Go read the others! 

12 Days of Christmas: Snow

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This is written for the 12 Days Of Christmas Blog Hop with Rowanwolf over at A Jar of Fireflies. The theme is Gifts and each of the twelve days represents a month: January – Snow:

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use without permission)
Snow
As the snow fell, swirling and eddying, Cerys danced around her parents. She pirouetted and twirled, and leaped and flew around the garden, circling her mum and dad. 
The snow slipped through her fingers, its glitter coating everything else it touched, and she tilted her head, raising her face to the blizzard, trying to absorb the flakes that fell. 
Mum and dad stood oblivious to anything but themselves, their arms wrapped tightly around each other. Nothing Cerys did caught their attention, so she became wilder, twirling like a tornado, her arms outstretched, and flurries of snow spinning around her like a cyclone. 
Still nothing impacted her parents.
They stood in silence, her mother’s head resting upon her husband’s shoulder. Her eyes were closed and her nose was red, and the grey tracks of mascara upon her cheeks now tainted his cream fleece.  His eyes were as red as her nose and his arms ached as he held his wife as close as he could, and they stood amid the squall oblivious to their daughter’s efforts.  
Cerys danced and frolicked in the snowfall, and dressed in white, decorated with a million tiny, silver snowflakes, and fur-lined, white boots, she was a sight they could not behold.
She moved as gracefully and as invisible as the wind, but she was there, dancing her heart out…
Their grief and loss blinded them, but she danced still…she danced and danced until her mother’s freezing breath finally gasped, as tiny childlike footprints emerged in the snow. Footprints that danced and danced, and then were gone…
(260 words)

Bad Santa Blog Hop: Red vs Green

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This is written for Sweet Banana Ink’s Bad Santa Blog Hop 2012, and I should probably be honest and say I’ve found it very hard to sully Santa…but here goes!

Red vs Green

It was Rudolf who blew the whistle, and Old Nick’s face was one of sheer inglorious humiliation. Dasher snorted and Dancer turned away.
“You got the wrong man!” Santa blustered, desperation turning his face as scarlet as his suit.
The elves shook their heads and tightened their grip on the old man as he tried to dig the heels of his famous black boots deep into the frigid ground.
He began to weep as they dragged him, his tears freezing as they dripped from his white beard.  “Prancer! You tell them, we can work this out!”
The reindeer huffed and jingled the bells hung around her neck. Nick tried again, “Tell them Prancer, Vixen? Any of you? I’m innocent!”
His reindeer stood in silence, their eyes gazing down at the snow, until Comet nuzzled Cupid. Sadness glazed Cupid’s dark eyes and a tear slipped down her face. Nick tried to catch Cupid’s eyes as he was dragged unceremoniously past, but the little reindeer turned her back.
“Donner! Blitzen! You know me!” Santa cried, “We can come to an arrangement!”
Donner faltered, but Rudolph pulled rank and Donner stayed put, avoiding the old man’s gaze. Blitzen stood coldly and stared right into Nick’s eyes, and the old man shivered.
When Mrs Claus arrived she was pale, and not just because it was a cold night. She was flanked by several elves and she pulled her fur coat tight around her ample body. Nick bit his lip and her eyes froze him to his core.
“I always knew something was wrong…but I was never able to put my finger on it…” she began with pursed lips and folded arms, “It was when you gained all that weight, and grew a much bushier beard. You blamed it on excess mince pies and all those glasses of milk! Milk!” She shook her head. “Oh boy, was I foolish? You’ve been creaming off the profits ever since!”
“Darling!” Santa protested, “You don’t know what you’re saying!”
“I think I do, and I even found this!”   She pulled a moth-eaten coat from beneath her own fur and waved it in front of her. “It’s green!”
Nick balked. “And that’s what you’re judging me on?”
“It’s what you used to wear!” she hissed. “I thought you changed it because you wanted something new not because you were sponsored!”
“It was old…”
“So are you, so you should know better, you’re an icon, or you’re supposed to be!” She narrowed her eyes and hugged the old evergreen cape to her chest, burying her face into its soft, fur collar. “You’re supposed to be impartial…charitable…”
“You have no proof!” Nick lifted his fist.
“That’s just where you’re wrong…” she said in triumph pulling out her brand new smart phone. “Take a look at this!”
You Tube filled the screen and a jolly, red-faced Nick stared back at them holding a red and white can.
“You went corporate!” she spat.

(495 Words)

Zombie Run: Something Strange

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Photograph and Prosthetic by Bekah Shamrbook (Please do not use without permission)
Getting really fed up with local kids now…running past the house and yelling, up the path, knocking on windows, throwing stones, eggs, knocking on the door…you name it, fed up now. 
It’s all the more annoying with Mum so poorly, literally on her last legs and had been for a while and it frightened her when these louts tried to be cool, daring each other to run up our path. 
Well, not tonight, I’d had enough! 
This time, when the lad knocked on the window, I was ready. Mum whimpered as the boy peered into the room, and I leapt to my feet, grabbed the door handle, flung the front door open, and gave chase. The lad saw me and his face drained. Scare him, just a bit, and he wouldn’t come roaming our neighbourhood anymore, not him or his mates. 
He turned and ran, but seized by adrenalin I was on my feet and after him. 
He stumbled, fell, I caught up and snatched him. His mates were hidden in the shadows and the boy mumbled, so I told him to shut up and put up as I grabbed his wrist. I wasn’t gonna hurt him, just scare him…
Running up the road came a woman, old enough to be his mother, her reaction proved that’s just who she actually was. 
She asked what was wrong with a face as pale as the lad’s, so I explained, whilst still gripping his wrist.
Mum’s ill and I just want her last few months to be carefree, worry free, just want to sit indoors on a Saturday night and watch rubbish on telly. We’re half way through X-Factor’s new series, Mum’s favourite show, just let us indulge her!
She stared at me, looking like she was trying to gather courage; I wasn’t trying to scare her, just the delinquent son, so I released the boy who ran, whimpering, to his mother. 
I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head, the youth these days… 
She took a deep breath and spoke, warily but calmly. “X-Factor finished years ago…and after Simon Cowell’s law suit, repeats are forbidden, all recordings were destroyed, so it’s not on TV anymore, not ever. So could you please leave my boy, and the others, alone…”
I shrugged again…if they leave me alone, fine.
I returned home to comfort mother. 
Simon Cowell was sharing his opinion, and I frowned. The screen flickered, we were losing the picture again, electricity was iffy, digital signal was iffy, everything was iffy. I turned to mum again, she smiled, a blank smile, with a mouth missing many teeth. I stroked her cheek, ignoring the blood that coursed down her face…something wasn’t right, but I — her eye slipped out of its socket, and I reached across to put it back in — couldn’t quite put my finger on it… 
(475 Words)
Written for Lisa McCourt Hollar’s Zombie Run over at Jezri’s Nightmares. Take a peek, if you’re brave enough, at the other entries!

Poem Walk: Mysterious Rhapsody

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Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (please do not use without permission)
Mysterious Rhapsody
Eyes flash green. Eventide drifts. The sun slips away to its bed. She stretches. Waits for dusk’s shroud to fall. Silver rays dance across her back. An elusive silhouette flirting beneath the moonlight.
Querulous squalls spit. Fear chills. Malevolent whispers murmur. She launches. Through the darkness. To lose the sudden repine. To escape the revenant incubus that breathes throughout the woods. 
Shadows loom. Menace exhales. Shivers ripple across her form. She dashes. La Luna beholds the black bullet. Chasing its rays. She escapes the gloom. An inquisitive curiosity cured.
Motionless trees.  Soft padding feet. Wood smoke fragrance filling the air. She hisses. Suddenly alert with feline beauty. Moonlight’s rays smouldering in lustful earnest. Grace dancing with every step.
Dewy fields.  River of jewels. Cast down beneath night’s glancing moon. She hurries. Through diamonds. Soft paws fly rhythmically. Writing twilight’s rhapsody. Scribing a masterpiece through the night. 
Iridescent. Wild chase done. She stands yet midnight’s carved statue. She stretches. Arches and yawns. She wanes. A wraith evanesce. An illusion. Silently moves to fade into indigo black.
(175 Words)

My entry into Bullishink and Dusty Journal’s Poem Walk contest.
I struggled more with this than I do for flash fiction. This is somewhere between prose and more formal poetry, and I love it, but found it harder to fight the metering which I use with poetry!

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Being a Flash Fictioneer (like a writing Musketeer…or something similar…)

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Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (please do not use without permission)

Scribbling notes onto scrap paper, improvising stories in the playground, acting ‘spies’ in the park with my brother and creating long detailed character lists for future epics was how I spent half my childhood…drawing and reading occupied the other half!

Then I grew up and life got busy!

I continued to imagine and write, but barely more than a diary entry or shopping list…
It took years before my confidence recovered enough to allow my creative side freedom once more. When my youngest was born I began to write again creating a world of fantasy and dragons for my children, and I knew I had to let my writing develop wings of its own.

After discovering Twitter, some random follows lead me to Five Sentence Fiction with Lillie McFerrin. Over Christmas last year I read lots of entries, but wasn’t sure of blogging etiquette and whether I could just join in…I could! I threw myself in feet first with Clandestine and there it was my first ever Flash Fiction!

I got some encouraging comments, another first for my humble little blog, and I couldn’t wait for the following week’s word, hoping my ability to string together a little paragraph with a twist wasn’t just a ‘flash in the pan’ (pun intended!)
The following week gave my writing purpose and creativity.
Til then everything I’d written over ten years had been lengthy works in progress and one finished book. I hadn’t written anything short, bar occasional poetry. Five sentences had fired my brain, making me think hard and forcing me to create a whole story in nothing more than a few lines.
It made me confront structure, characters, language, nuances, metaphors and twists; I even had to brush up on grammar, though I’m no way an expert, so forgive a few semi-colons lurking where they shouldn’t!
Five sentences had me trying prose, a snapshot of a moment, a whole story and many other variations in creative writing in response to a single prompt word.

And along the way I made friends who, without knowing, built up not only my self-confidence and writing skills, but my self-worth at the same time.

When, in April, I saw many friends entering Anna Meade and Susi Holliday‘s Once Upon A Time Contest I read the entries eagerly, but didn’t think I could enter, then several bloggers asked if I was, and I suddenly realised I’d become part of a wonderfully supportive writing community, and if I believed in my writing it was time to diversify! So I entered and this adventure ended with my story being included in the Once Upon A Time: A Collection of Unexpected Fairytales book amongst authors I really admire!

Since then my Flash Fictioneering has grown, my blog has become a writer’s blog and my skills have expanded.

I’ve taken part in the Forbidden Love Bloghop hosted by Lillie, Ruth and Janelle; yearningforwonderland’s Faerytaleish Pinterest Contest with The Coat, for which I got an Honourable Mention, and Waiting; I wrote an Unzombie Tale for zombiemechanics flash fiction contest and completed Terri Long’s Blogflash2012.
I’ve written actual stories, learning how to craft and structure, I’ve learned how to cut what doesn’t matter. I’ve learned  how every word counts, especially in anonymouslegacy’s Visual Dare and jezri’s Nightmare’s 55 Word Challenge, both Angela and Lisa’s challenges show that every word makes a difference and you quickly discover what you don’t need!
These visual prompts allowed me to explore different genres and ideas and put me on the spot, 55 Words only allows 24 hours…think fast!

Becoming a Flash Fictioneer has helped me no end, there are still new prompts I want to try sweetbananaink’s Friday Night Write‘s musical prompt chief among them, though I’ve learned that right now my weekend’s are usually too busy to write! And try oneword my latest find, hit the button, see the word and you have sixty seconds to write!

So if you want to flex those creative muscles, get over to one of these sites, I shouldn’t need to prompt you now, should I?

*Note: There are other Flash Fiction sites available: glitterword’s Tuesdaytales, caramichaels Menagemonday and Donna B. McNichol’s Write4ten to name a few. If I’m missing any you love, feel free to comment below!