Stocking Up

Trifextra: Week Ninety-Two
Another round of 33 words for the Weekend Challenge.  Congratulations to the Trifecta winner from earlier this week.  I'm still playing catch up on the reading! 

Now, on to the weekend prompt...
In The Scorpio Races, author Maggie Stiefvater writes, "It is the first day of November and so, today, someone will die."  Give us the next thirty-three words of this story, as you imagine it.  Take it wherever you like, but make it original and make it 33 words exactly. If you want to find out more about Maggie Stiefvater, check out her Twitter here and her Facebook here.  If you use her words on your page, please be sure to credit her. Good luck! - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.TWXI7eNy.dpuf

Here's my submission:


You were all asked to be frugal with last month's rations.

Abigail did best, with two weeks worth left.

Be sure to thank her for the additional food as you wish her farewell. 



.

Fast Food

Master Class Summer Edition #2

SAM asked Lexy to choose any book and give her a 10. Here is the new assignment from the 10th page:
the assignment is to use that line somewhere in the body of our piece. 

Murph looked up at the darkening sky.  Thunder rumbled in the distance, they needed to get a move on.  The incoming storm would be a disaster if they didn't wrap up soon.

The ME was going through the deceased's pockets, looking for ID.  She'd already done liver temp to establish approximate time of death, or TOD.  There hadn't been any visible injury, the autopsy would have to determine the cause.

As he scanned the area in front of him, Murph made a mental catalog of the elements of the scene.  Middle aged male, curled in fetal position on the grass in front of the park bench.  No briefcase, but an empty fast food bag.  The half eaten burger several feet from the body, as though he'd thrown it.  While the team was busy elsewhere, some pigeons had waddled over to inspect it.  "Hey!  Charlie!  Bag that burger before those vermin make off with it!"  He yelled over the latest roll of thunder.

"Got it boss, sorry!"  Charlie hustled to the sandwich with an evidence bag.

Murph moved on, muttering thoughts to himself about the scene, the imminent rainstorm, and the half-assed job his crew was doing.

"Boss?  I think you better come see this."  

He heaved a sigh, then joined Charlie at the body.  "What'm I seein', Charlie?"

Charlie pointed at a pigeon beside the burger, now not only partially eaten by the deceased, but bird pecked as well. 

"It's a pigeon, Charlie," said Murph, as the sky opened and rain began its cleansing.

"Yeah, Boss, I know that," Charlie answered.  "But, Boss, it's a dead pigeon, now."

It's Not Over

Trifecta: Week Eighty-Three   
and
Write at the Merge, Week 26

After my Trifextra offering, I was inspired to create a new character in my ever changing world of Anne Marie McClarren.  So I'm throwing two prompts together this week,  this image from Write on Edge..

and, from Trifecta Writing...

This week's word is:

RUSTY
1: affected by or as if by rust; especially : stiff with or as if with rust
2: inept and slow through lack of practice or old age
3a : of the color rust  

  b : dulled in color or appearance by age and use <rusty old boots>
4: outmoded
5: hoarse, grating

- See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.31EjgJ5O.dpuf

Damp air touched his face, a soft caress awakening him.  Jean Philippe Michel L'Parre struggled to raise rusty eyelids.  As consciousness returned, so did memory.

She'd been there, in his lair under the lighthouse.  Lying in wait for his return at sunrise.  He remembered the surprise followed by the pain.  Excruciating, burning pain.  It immobilized him as she sealed the entry of his cavern.  His final memory had been of black, dry silence.

His eyes adjusted to the dark as he slowly moved his weakened extremities.  Arms lethargically drew his hands over his body.  When they reached his unmoving chest, he grasped the rotting wood of the stake driven there. 

He twisted the shaft free, the accompanying scream reverberating in the small space meant to be his tomb.  The elder memory of pain blotted out by fresh agony.

He lay still, willing strength to return.  Vengeance growing hotter as the burning wave of pain subsided.  He threw the offensive wood, its clatter echoing more softly than his cry.

Hours passed before he became aware of the sound dripping water.  Then the scuttling of tiny clawed feet.  Here was the creature that had breached the seal, inviting the wood moldering wetness.

Curiosity drove the rat closer.  L'Parre waited patiently as it sniffed and shuffled about his feet. When it moved within his reach, he snatched it with one emaciated hand.  Not bothering to bring it to his fangs, he simply twisted its head off.  He held the body over his open mouth, letting the crimson flow run down his throat.

When the blood no longer ran freely, he used both hands to wring the remaining rusty drops directly into the gaping hole in his chest.  

He tossed the empty body  the same direction as the stake.  Then closed his eyes once more, resting, to let "nature" take its course, while he dreamed of the demise of Mademoiselle McClarren.


   

Old Acquaintances

 This image and These words from "Some Night" by FUN: I found a martyr in my bed tonight
She stops my bones from wondering just who I am, who I am, who I am

Tiger Eyes – Master Class 2013 #5

Congratulations to Carrie!  

In keeping with “changing it up,” when I asked Carrie for a line from a novel, I asked her to give me the last line. That’s right class, this week, you have to END on the prompt, not begin with it. Carrie chose Judy Blume’s Tiger Eyes, which ends with:

Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

and on to the story...

Liam hunched through the afternoon downpour.  His footing was sure on the rain slicked rocks as he climbed the rise toward the abandoned chapel. At the foot of the cracked and weather warped granite steps he stopped to survey ruin. The walls were mostly intact, the turrets not all crumbled. 

He mounted the first six stairs. Before he could reach the topmost step, a rush of air pushed him back. Leathery wings spread wide, framing a bestial face. The features were the same shade as the walls of the chapel. The cheeks and forehead were similarly marred by the erosion of years and weather.

"Thou shalt not enter this holy house, Liam Braden."  Its voice was as eroded as its face. 

"Ye're not serious, are ye?  Tis my family land, gargoyle."

"Thou art unclean. Thee may not enter."

"Unclean?  I'm soakin' wet!"  Liam attempted to side step the creature.

A rock hard hand gently blocked his move. "I am sworn to keep the unclean out of God's house. Thou hast partaken of human flesh, Liam Braden." 

"Ah, that. Well, they was already departed this world. It's not like I slew them meself." 

"And thou hast committed murderer." 

"Self defense."  Liam countered. 

The wings spread as the monster stood to full height. "The murder of thy Father and Mother were not self defense, nor the killing of thy siblings!" 

Liam sighed, "No, but I was under a compulsion.  It was not me fault."

It was the gargoyle's turn to sigh. "A geas set upon thee as the price for the dark gift thee chose to cheat death.  Thou cannot deceive me."

"Alright. Ye've got a point. But, honestly, how holy can this place still be?  None have worshipped here for centuries. And besides, I helped me father raise ye to the tower. T'was meself that named ye. Cedric."  Liam grinned.  "Ye were marvelous! All grim power and stony strength."

"Thee was a good boy then, Liam.  Cedric, yes, I remember."

"Then let me in, old friend. We'll reminisce."

Cedric pondered a moment. "My strength is not what it was, I am lonely. Against my judgement, I bid thee enter Liam Braden."

Together, they walked into the nave. Liam was surprised and unexpectedly pleased to see the stained glass behind the pulpit was intact. The weak light of the dreary day muted the once vibrant hues as they tinted the decomposing body that lay across the podium.

He glanced sidelong at the creature next to him. "Ye've been entertaining?"

"Badly behaved youngsters.  They thought to practice the black mass.  In fact, summoned a demon before I could rouse myself. I had to put a stop to that."

"And the others?"

"Fled. This one chose to martyr herself for her demon."  Cedric gazed sadly at the corpse. "A wasted effort. I sent it back to Hell anyway."

"I see."  Liam eyed the remains hungrily, "Perhaps I was sent to help ye cleanse the house.  I could, oh, dispose of that bit a mess for ye."

"Ghouls!"  Cedric rolled his stony eyes. "Alright then.Maybe that's the way its supposed to be."

Siren

Write at the Merge Week 5

This week, I give you a French phrase (you are not required to use the phrase verbatim, but you can) and a photograph:

La Douleur Exquise (French): The heart-wrenching pain of wanting someone you can’t have.

************

Trifecta week Sixty-two

MOUTH

1a : the natural opening through which food passes into the body of an animal and which in vertebrates is typically bounded externally by the lips and internally by the pharynx and encloses the tongue, gums, and teeth
  b : grimace <made a mouth>
  c : an individual requiring food <had too many mouths to feed>
2a : voice, speech <finally gave mouth to her feelings>
  b : mouthpiece
3: something that resembles a mouth especially in affording entrance or exit: as

  a : the place where a stream enters a larger body of water

  b : the surface opening of an underground cavity

  c : the opening of a container

  d : an opening in the side of an organ flue pipe

Please remember:

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.

• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.

(I've attempted two prompts in one this week)


He wasn’t immediately aware of the music. It started low, worming its way into his conciousness slowly, until he found himself humming along with the melody. Swaying to the soft beat.

He smiled, an involuntary twitch of lip. He stopped his work and leaned back in his wheeled desk chair to listen more closely. The harder he listened, the farther away the music became.

A frown crossed his brow. He rose and went to the small window of his office. The window wasn’t made to open. The door, however, was.

Soon he found himself on the sidewalk in front of the building. He cocked his head, honing in on the direction of the haunting notes and in a semi-daze, he followed.

The journey through the city went unremarked. He almost noticed the rural land he passed as day became evening, then night. By morning, he’d entered a wooded tract and was following a small, forgotten river.

It was afternoon when he reached the mouth of the river, where it emptied into the sea. The trees still clinging close to the banks, roots reaching out to the water. He didn’t feel the cuts on his arms from pushing through brush. He didn’t care that his shirt was in shreds, or his shoes waterlogged and muddy.

All he knew was the song. Sad and sweet and full of unfulfilled promises.

He found its source. A monstrous gatehouse of stone. Empty windows in its upper reaches, watching his approach.

Without hesitation he climbed ancient, lichen covered steps. Higher, the melody quickening the closer he came. At the top of the stairway, a room. From the fading light of the window he saw the singer. A woman, of sorts. At his gasping entrance, she silenced.

His heart broke at the quiet, his arms reached out, pleading. She turned swiftly to the window and leapt to the sea below, her jeweled scales flashing in the last rays of sunset.

With a cry of pain, he followed.

Offering

 Trifecta Challenge-Week 59
This week's word is:
INTENTION (noun)

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.

• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.

• The word itself needs to be included in your response.

• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above. 

1: a determination to act in a certain way : resolve
2: import, significance
3a : what one intends to do or bring about
  b : the object for which a prayer, mass, or pious act is offered

I chose definition 3b

Marta carried her offerings to the freshly dug hole. She assured herself once more that the dimensions were correct. When she was satisfied, she set the objects on either side of the potted berry shrub that had been entrusted to her. A pail of clear spring water to the left. To the right, a basket of soil judiciously mixed with manure. She took a small spade from the ceremonial belt she wore and laid it in front of the pot.

When all was perfectly arranged, she knelt breathlessly before her intention. Her voice barely audible to herself as she began the words of prayer.

“Mother, Earth, embrace and nourish these roots that they spread and multiply.

Father, Sun, warm these limbs that the sap of life runs strong.

Sister, Rain, give drink to these buds that they become fruits.

Brother, Wind, be kind to this being that it stand straight and not break.”

With gentle hands, she removed the shrub from its pot, spreading the compacted roots so they could better reach into their Mother’s care. She lowered the plant into the hole, holding it steady with one hand, she used the spade to carefully fill the spaces around the roots with the fertilized soil. After the hole had been filled, and the earth firmly pressed around the base of the shrub, she poured the water from the pail around it.  She mouthed one last prayer for the health and survival of the plant.

She returned the spade to her belt, gathered the empty vessels, her task complete.  With one backward glance at the newly planted shrub, and the hundred others just like it.  She  faced forward again and joined the other sisters to began the long trek back to the temple.

Borrowed Time

His heart beat against her breast in time with her own. One arm about her waist, the sleeve of his black jacket indistinguishable from the black sheath embracing her.

They floated around the dance floor as one.  The orchestral notes weaving a spell of desire.

A whisper so soft. "Don't let go..."

The final notes faded, overcome by the insistant shrill of dream's end.  They are drawn away from each other. Fingers lingering, tracing the curve of cheek, sweep of lips.

Each committing the other to memory as they are pulled apart.

"I'll come back for you."
 
"I'll be waiting."


Joining Leeroy for the 100 Word Song.  The 100 words inspired by Mumford and Sons’ I Will Wait.

Midnight Snack

This week, CDG and Yuliya tasked you to push yourselves out of your comfort zone, to shake things up a bit.





It had followed her for some time, attracted by her smell. When it finally struck, her neck was broken with practiced ease. She was dead before her body dropped to the ground. 

It dragged her corpse into the brush, then knelt, savoring the smell of her. An intoxicating odor, it began to drool uncontrollably. 

The hand-like paws stroked her body, the claws cutting her clothing like it was tissue paper. Small gashes oozed blood, that new odor fueling the creature's excitement. 

It lay across her body, sniffing and licking. The paws pushing, groping at her flesh. Each fresh wound, each fresh odor heightening it's lust. 

A breast, freed of fabric was the first taste. Fat laden, succulent. It moaned at the flavor, it's head dipped for a second helping. 

Claws drew down her abdomen lightly at first, then with more urgency. Opening the way to feed on the still warm entrails. 

It fed slowly, delighting in the flavors. And always that intoxicating aroma that first drew it to her. It shivered in ecstasy, gorging on different parts. Stopping to stroke or lick another limb. Cracking bones as it went, even the skull to reach the tender matter there. 

Finally, it was satisfied. It scraped earth and leaves over her remains. It slept curled beside it's kill. 


Jonah awoke in the predawn, confusion at his surroundings.  He started violently as he realized he was naked, and covered in blood and gore.  As he moved, the pile beside him shifted. He recognized in horror the mutilated remains of a human corpse. 

His belly heaved, and the puking began. He tried to catch his breath. A glint in the vomit caught his eye. 

A scream that began in the remains of his soul tore through his body. He screamed again. And again. His eyes still seeing the piece of finger encircled by the engagement ring he had placed on it only two days before.