Tag Archives: fiction

Monday Mixer: Heaven Sent

Heaven Sent

Her eyes wandered to the ornate gilded door and back again. A crack of pure white light ran down its edge and beneath the door. She licked her lips swallowing the fingers of fear that curled within her stomach. The second door stood darkly guarded by the thin, weasel-faced man, but no one stood by the far shaft of light.
“So, what’s your judgment?” She kept her voice as calm as possible, any fluctuation might arise suspicion.
The man in front of her cleared his throat gazing through steely grey eyes. She struggled to keep her eyes fixed on his so direct was his stare. He tilted his head, and ran fingers through his thick greying beard.
She broke her gaze and glanced round at the weasel, trying to ignore his supercilious sneer.
“I think…” began the man before her, softening as his mouth turned up at the corners.
She turned back and met his searching stare. Her muscles tensed and under scrutiny her jawline flickered. Just a tiny tic, but it was enough of a betrayal.
The bearded man slammed his gavel. “An inveterate liar…she’s all yours!”
As his new ward swore, Lucifer grinned and bowed low. “Thanks Peter!”

door_rusted_door_instagram_thelastkrystallos

Rusted Door by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use without permission)

Written for Monday Mixer over at Jeff’s Latinum Vault. A challenge which requires only 200 words, no more no less, and the use of three or more word prompts, a noun, a verb and an adjective.
Go and read all the other tales!

Trifecta: Quaint Authenticity

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Image by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use without permission)

Robert’s shiver had nothing to do with the draughty windows. His lip curled as he brushed the greying sofa before planting his expensively suited behind onto it.

Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Just be quick,” she urged, “get it over with, then we can be gone.”

Polly glanced at her siblings and unfolded the yellowed, crinkled paper. Robert shook his head wrinkling his nose whilst Polly smoothed her hand across the page, allowing a small smile as she gazed at the authentic, but untidy handwriting. She cleared her throat.

Robert stopped her. “We don’t need this, Polly, look everything’s already been divvyed up. The bank account held exactly thirty-seven pounds and seventy-nine pence, which is twelve pounds sixty each…and that’s it. The house…” He sniffed as his eyes roamed his mother’s lounge taking in the archaic curtains and velvet cushions. He gestured dismissively at the disparate ornaments adorning the mantelpiece, the dour landscape above it, and the eclectic mix of dusty books. “The house, as…quaint as it is, is owned by the social…nothing to do with us. So why are we here?”

Polly held up her slip of paper, and dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight peeping through the grimy window.

Robert grimaced. “Unnecessary…” He shrugged. “There’s nothing here I want. Sylvia?”

Sylvia’s fingers played with her pearls as she perched on the sofa beside him. She shook her head. “I’ve got all I need. Mother gave me a few bits and I don’t want anything else.”

“It’s all charity shop stuff now. Look, Polly, if you want anything…it’s all yours. I don’t have time to sort through it all, and since you’re happy sorting, feel free. It’s all cheap tat anyway.”

As her brother and sister left, Polly glanced at the folded document in her hands, an old, time-stained docket. The shaft of light grazed across the painting above the fireplace, a smile from beyond the grave, and a wry smile played on Polly’s lips.

(328 Words)

This is the first time I’ve tried a Trifecta prompt, I’ve always felt just a little intimidated by the huge popularity of this writing challenge, but always wanted to join in!

Pop over and take a look at the other entries. This week, Week 110, the prompt word is ‘Quaint’ and must be included in your piece which is to be between 33 and 333 words.

NaNoWriMo Teaser: Oncoming Traffic

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So it’s the final NaNoWriMo week…and here’s your last unedited snippet:

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

Once on the main road, Meg stared out of the window at the river running alongside, the sunshine glinting and sparkling across its surface, and Meg thought how inviting it looked. The she heard sniffles, just a little one then another. She squinted at Mum as the sun gleamed across the windscreen, and Mum choked back a sob. Meg wanted to say something, but nothing made it out of her throat.

“I don’t know why I bother!” wept Mum, “What’s the point, everything always goes wrong…”

Meg sat, her skin prickling and her fingers clenching.

“There really is no point. Did you know that Meg, there’s no point, no point to anything…”

“Mum…” squeaked Meg.

“Just know that now, before life decides to rip you apart with its dreams and promises. Know that nothing’s worth it!”

Meg’s eyes welled up too.

Mum turned her head to look at her daughter. “Meg, don’t cry, that’s not worth it either. Crying doesn’t do a damn thing!”

Tears began to slip down Meg’s face as she sat in silence.

Mum continued, as a car horn blared behind her. “Don’t cry, there’s nothing we can do, not a damn thing!” Mum released the steering wheel and Meg’s eyes widened. She cried out. “Mum!”

Mum’s hands were back on the wheel but she was staring rigidly at the road. Not at the road, thought Meg suddenly as she stared out of the windscreen, but at a lorry heading down the opposite side of the road. Her mum was staring at the lorry. Her mum was staring at the lorry!

“Mum!” Meg screamed, “Mum!”

The car began to veer across the double white lines, and Meg’s cries got desperate. “Mum, stop, Mum, stop!” Meg began to wail as they veered into the lorry’s lane. Meg grabbed at the wheel but Mum’s hands were too firm. Meg closed her eyes, her heart about to break through her chest and just as suddenly, the car swerved back onto the right side on the road, the lorry’s horn screaming as it passed.

Meg’s legs were jelly, her hands sweaty and shaking and she wanted to get out of the car. “Mum, stop the car, stop the car!”

Her mum, slowed the car down, but kept driving, a car horn sounded behind them and Meg begged her mum to stop again. Finally, as they approached a lay-by her mum slowed and pulled over. The car stopped and Meg scrambled out, slamming the door behind her and running to the hedge. She thought she was going to be sick, her head thumped, her stomach swam and her heart broke.

NaNoWriMo Teaser: Fault Lines

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Our third NaNoWriMo week is upon us…therefore another snippet:
This one, again very unedited…is harder to give you. I make no apologies for the nature of the excerpt, I write what I know, but please bear in mind this is fiction.
You need to know that Meg is fourteen and troubled, her mother is depressive and Meg hadn’t realised how bad things had become. She sneaked upstairs to find her mum and saw her mother cut herself, through the door hinges. Meg was devastated, and in the following chapter tried it, but couldn’t do it, herself. The tension mounts:

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook and Instagram (Please do not use without permission)

While Dad sat at the desk checking emails, Meg disregarded the chair she usually sat in and took the empty seat beside Mum. Mum glanced at her daughter and a smile played on her lips. She rested her hand on Meg’s thigh and caught Meg’s eye, and her daughter leaned across to burrow close. Nobody spoke but mother and daughter felt familiar warmth. Meg placed her hand on Mum’s and felt emotion bubble in her throat; she couldn’t talk even if she wanted to.

They sat like that for a while, Meg’s head resting on her mother’s shoulder and their unusually tender affection soothed the crippling anguish in both of their hearts.

The clock ticked, the cat sat in the middle of the floor straining his neck to reach his hindquarters as he meticulously washed, and Meg’s mum closed her eyes as she relaxed.

Meg heard her mum sigh and her chest rose and fell with comforting regularity, Mum was in a good place and Meg allowed herself to breathe deeply. She stared at her mum’s hand, the one that lay on her lap, and gently stroked the back of it. She rubbed her fingers across the rings on Mum’s third finger. The smooth gold band and the perpetual circle of tiny diamonds circumnavigating her eternity ring. She lightly rotated the diamonds, letting them sparkle, then massaged Mum’s hand up to her wrist.

Mum’s breath was soft and tranquil and Meg softly pushed Mum’s sleeve up her arm in a gentle move to massage further. Her mum didn’t move, and Meg pushed it higher. The cut tapered below the furrowed sleeve, peering angrily at Meg. She massaged lightly and softly followed the cut, then ran her finger over the reddened, swollen ridge.

Her mum flinched and instinctively reached across and pulled the sleeve back down, covering any betrayal.

Meg bit her lip desperate to speak, her heart raced, thumping so loud she was sure Mum could hear it. Indy stopped licking himself and paused in an ungainly fashion mid-clean, he stared at Meg and Meg stared back. Mum sighed and Meg spoke, softly but firmly.

“Mum, how did you cut your arm?”

The silence was ear piercing for a split second, and Meg felt the tension pool into her mother. Her mum cleared her throat and nodded towards the cat gazing at them on the floor. “The cat scratched me.”

Nobody spoke; even Dad’s fingers hovered above his keyboard.

Then Mum cleared her throat again and despite the palpable tension she brushed her fingers across Meg’s arm. “And how did you get that scratch Meg?”

“The cat,” Meg’s answer was quick and precise. She was learning well.

Visual Dare: Mystique

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Anonymous Legacy’s Visual Dare #11:

Mystique

Source: Sarah Kjelleren

It was the last time she would stare into his eyes…and the finality hit her with a permanence she had refused to allow just moments before. Eyes locked and souls lost in a single moment that would mirror eternity in the weeks, months… years to follow.
Every fragment of their love, every last glimmer had to be shared before the moment was gone, and though not a sound left their lips, every word that was left was said.
Then he stepped back and vanished and the reeling, shimmering portal sealed with a radiant burst of light.
He was gone.

(99 Words)

Why write?

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Painting ‘Forest Nymph’ by Lisa Shambrook: 1994 (Please do not use)

Sometimes I wonder why I write…but the answer is easy; I write because I have to, if I didn’t I’d be lost… As highly-strung as I am, if I didn’t allow myself to escape in writing, I think I’d go quite mad…
So why do I write?

Escape… I write to escape. I free my imagination and let my fingers loose on the keyboard, and words come alive… Life sometimes gets too much and I can lose myself in another world, a world in which I choose what happens, unless my character dictates for me! Which brings me to my second reason:

Create… I can create worlds, lands, species, dragons, people, languages, situations, anything and everything. I can breathe life into creations, I can watch romances develop, sunsets fade, I can melt hearts, I can kill, I can raise the dead…nothing is forbidden and remember, creation of life is the ultimate human achievement.

Fiction… Stories have always filled my mind, seeking an outlet and I have to give in. I’ve had a wild imagination all my life. When assignments to write stories were given as homework, I would spend hours writing and would wait, with bated breath, for grades accompanying the latest 15 page story scrawled in my homework book! I love making up stories, I love seeing imaginative visions end up in print on a blank page…expanding and growing, metamorphosing into something more, something bigger…

Inspiration… from Enid Blyton to JRR Tolkien, inspiration has accompanied my reading. I spent my childhood lost in books, curled up on my bed, or in the corner of the lounge with my head buried in literature, feeding my love of words, descriptions and adventure. I hope my writing inspires others…isn’t that what we, writers, want? To inspire as we have been inspired? I hope…

Manipulation… maybe this goes along with creating…I love the ability to manipulate, to change things, to alter and decide. I’m a control freak, there’s no escaping that. I love writing for a person, a character who becomes dear to me, but one who cannot see where her life is going or what she will face after the next turn in the road… I can decide if she finds happiness or I can break her heart…but where I take her will help her grow, will change her and mould her…until, and sometimes it does happen, she controls me…and I have no choice but to take her forward to whatever comes next, whether I want to or not!

Discovery… I grow! I discover new things about me. I move and grow with my characters, I cry with them, and laugh, and shout, and argue. I get taken to places I’ve never known, and experience emotions as raw as my leads. They teach and I grow…

Consistency… I’ve kept a diary, a daily diary, since I was fourteen-years-old. Can’t miss a day…my OCD trait, well one of them! I added journals many years ago and discovered blogging just a year or two ago. Sharing secrets with a journal became a way of coping, a way of archiving, a way of saving my life. I pour out my heart and file it away, day by day, year by year…and I know that I am alive, I am living!

And finally… I write because I am compelled to do so… I write because it is in my soul, the need to put words on paper is a compulsion, part of my very being. When I am sad it consoles me, when I am broken it mends me, when I am happy it completes me, when I am in love it raises me higher than ever…writing is who I am, it’s what I do…I write to be me…