Twittering Tale #72 – 20 February 2018 – “Hopewell”

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Photo prompt by Leigh Heasley at Pexels.com

Kat Myrman has provided an eerie prompt for this week’s Twittering Tale. This is my offering:

She stared at the name intently, it filled her with dread of the darkest kind. Her soul curled at the edges, repelled by the prospect of revisiting old nightmares. Ana was the last of the bloodline and had to break the Curse. They warned her not to return, too late she was back.

(279 characters)

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Highly Restricted -Twittering Tale #70 – 6 February 2018

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Photo by PIRO4D at Pixabay.com

My little ditty for Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tale. The horror of what was going to be unleashed left me a little lost for words. Make what you will of this news:

Headed Highly Restricted
It was lifted from locked files and sent to shadowy cliques

This was point of no return, and others had to be warned now

The contents were dire.
How could they unleash this on the world?

Surely It was Marketing gone mad? Why? Ken and Barbie sing show tunes.

(280 characters)

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Twittering Tales #68 – “The Village” – 23 January 2018

Image: Photo by hschmider at Pixabay.com

My contribution for Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tales this week. A tale splashed with blood…

The Damned looked out with eyes of hunger and lust
Lust for the life force of humans, blood was its matrix
Blood the wine of choice, ruby red and of rare vintage
They lured their prey, in numbers unequalled, to this place
Pretty, pretty village, dark in soul, mired in shadows
“Come”

(280 characters)

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Fountain of Youth – Twittering Tale #65 – 2 January 2018

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Photo by WildOne at Pixabay’s Creative Commons

The group looked suspiciously at the pool.
It wasn’t what they imagined the Fountain of Youth to be.
The Tour Guide beckoned creepily, everyone paused and then
ran back to the bus.
He laughed, took off his clothes, then his skin.
“The effects are astounding as you can see”.

(273 characters)

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Hartley and Mrs Scroop: A Marrow Made In Heaven #microcosms #shortfiction from TanGental

A tale of dark goings on in the vegetable patch. Avoid the marrows at all cost…I chuckled darkly at this unusual take on a familiar activity. Geoff at TanGental has a cracker here:

Vicar/pastor, rural parish, crime The Reverend Hartley Scroop bent slowly and stroked his marrow. ‘Come on beauty. Just give me a little more.’ Over the fence his neighbour listened to the blandishments with scorn. Rupert Penfold had won best marrow and supreme vegetable for the last umpteen years and he wasn’t about to lose to […]

via Hartley and Mrs Scroop: A Marrow Made In Heaven #microcosms #shortfiction — TanGental

Tryst -Twittering Tale #57 – 7 November 2017

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Photo: “Saddle” by PIRO4D at Pixabay.com

My tale of doomed love for Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tale #57 this week.  A sad tale of love and ashes…

Wolf and vamp
Lovers doomed
A tragedy waiting to unfold
Riding on steeds of antique silver and garlic leather
A tryst soon ended
Life in flames

(139 characters)

 

 

 

Feral – A Random Act Of Poetry

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Image: skeeze, Pixabay

Annette Rochelle Aben posted a timely reminder about the joys of poetry on Random Acts of Poetry Day. It brought back many memories of early scribblings in the back of school exercise books, and freestyle sessions at literary events. Those were the heady days of youthful creativity, exciting and edgy. I devoured the poetry of Baudelaire and Neruda and took their lead in spinning tales surreal and impenetrable. My efforts were badly written but mine to own and proclaim in hushed tones. Such acts nurture the weird and wonderful natures of surrealists in the making. I know, a grand comment to make a worthy goal to aspire to don’t you think?  Anyway, enough of the procrastinating. Here is my very own Random Act of Poetry, a mish mash of parts, much like antipasti in a zombie restaurant. Please enjoy, or not. Do leave a tip for the ghoul at the door but don’t look her in the eyes.

 

“Don’t feed the horses” the sign calls loudly, but do I listen?

The cracked wood invites, beckons me in, and whispers “look”

Heart in mouth I approach, chest gapes wide, blood drips fast

Feral beasts wait, bellow fire from lungs of bronze and voice of dreams

Reality distorts, fazes mind, and whispers “look”

Feral beasts approach and sacrifice is offered

Heartless I stand, bloodied but unbeaten

 

Where am I now? “On the other side of No Return my darlin”

Drawls the lone cowboy, with eyes of smoke and voice of venom

He looks and says nothing, just stands watching

He looks and says nothing, just stands smoking

“Don’t feed the horses” the sign calls loudly, but did you listen?

Little Red – Twittering Tale #50 – 19 September 2017

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keywest3 at Pixabay

My entry for Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tale this week.

Things are not what they seem in the woods tonight. Little Red is on the prowl:

Wolf where have you gone? Left or right?
I’ve haunted your dreams, whispered dread in your ears.
It’s time to meet, time to spar.
Time to EAT.

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It Was A Dark And Stormy Night

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Image: Pixabay

10 Months ago

Shadowed Dreams

Apologies for not having anything in this post if you’ve either stumbled across my blog or were looking for this post. I somehow managed to lose the contents today of all days (Halloween…). It was my response to Bernadette’s (of Haddon Musings)  writing challenge, It was a dark and Stormy Night. The post was death related…

Today

My original story was never meant to see the light of day, I understand that now for a variety of reasons. It was a stark story of a woman searching her home town for familiar faces on a dark and stormy night, one that ended badly for her. The spirits were in no mood to be trifled with on that chilling night, even the incursion of this writer into their realm was unacceptable. Hence the disappearance of my offering into the aether. Okay, it sounds melodramatic but I’m just setting the mood. All I wanted to do was make a few amendments directly on the site, forgot to keep a copy of it elsewhere. Then it vanished. How green and inexperienced I was during the early days of blogging. Sigh.

Perhaps it’s time to revisit the storm lashed location for a final ending. The story has been tweaked a lot and shortened. Perhaps due to my mood at this time:

I want to go home but this damned weather is making it harder and harder. Only been gone one day but everything looks so different, like years have passed. This isn’t possible. I’m tired and hungry, it’s disorientation, that’s the only explanation. Don’t feel well, why the hell is my stomach churning so much, I’d only eaten yesterday? Concentrate. There’s the road and looks like a car approaching. Hello! Please stop, stop! He didn’t even see me, what the hell is wrong with people?

At least the road is clear into town. Should be able to get a lift, more people travelling in. So cold, not surprised as I’m soaked through. Need to keep my mind occupied, otherwise I’ll not make it like Vida didn’t that night. They sent search parties out for several days but no luck. I miss her so much. This isn’t helping. Thank god, I can see lights now. Got here quicker than I thought, not complaining though.

There’s someone at a window. Hey! Please open up, I need to get home. Hello, hello. Why isn’t she opening the door? What’s happened to the townspeople? It used to be such a friendly place. The place feels, different. I can feel their thoughts, so frightened and angry. Their heartbeats are loud and fast, throbbing endlessly. They cling on to life selfishly and waste it so easily. Vida thought this was the case, she saw beneath the surface of this town, saw its rotten core.

Wasting my time here. Not far to go now, I can see the old district. Home, I’m coming home. That’s it, just keep remembering that but it’s hard. There’s this deep, deep emptiness inside. It’s a dark place with the shadows hiding things that shouldn’t see the light of day. Ah maman, what am I going to say to you? That I’m only home for this last time, then the world awaits. Freedom, of a sort! The wolves are stirring in the mountains, how chilling their cries sound but I love it. Always have oddly enough. They’re moving quickly through the forest, hunting, one mind, one purpose. We’ve almost destroyed them in our fear and revulsion of what they represent. The heart and spirit of true wilderness, Nature in all her glory and mystery.

Agh! I’m so thirsty and my stomach’s griping badly. What’s happening to me? There’s Mathilde. I’m so tired, a few more steps. She’ll know what to do. Eh, what’s Bastien doing here, with her? So thirsty. Bastard, he always fancied her. Surprised? I wondered when I’d catch you two. You look shocked, why? Because you got caught.

“We buried you ten years ago. You’re dead Vida”

That’s it, run away you coward and leave her here. Stop screaming woman! So thirsty but then you’re going to make that go away Mathilde, aren’t you? Lovely, lovely veins. Such soft skin and ruby, ruby wine in those veins. Don’t struggle, that’s a dear.

Perhaps my original story was never meant to see the light of day.