Tag Archives: Writing

Fiction Friday >> Don’t breathe

[Fiction] Friday

“When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous vermin.” What has your character turned into?

I woke up, moving from sleeping to wide awake in a fraction of a second. I didn’t, however, open my eyes. I admit it, I was afraid. Afraid? No, scared shitless. Every day of my life has been like that, as long as I can remember. Even as a child, every time I awoke, it was to full consciousness in a blink, then that terror would swamp over me and keep my eyes tightly shut for as long as I could.

But it was never very long. With terror would come curiosity, a curiosity so overwhelming I had, simply had to open my eyes. And see who I had become while I was sleeping.

Today was no exception. Sweat poured over my body but I had to open my eyes. So I did. I was prepared. After all this time, I’ve been prepared for every eventuality. I’ve transformed into any type of animal I could think of, and each of them has a different need. Try to become an elephant in a two-bedroom apartment. I now live on the ground floor.

I opened my eyes and stared in horror as I started to choke. There was one eventuality I hadn’t expected, hadn’t planned for. As I watched sunlight dance on my scales, air entered my gills, and I began to die.

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Fiction Friday — “Sorry”

[Fiction] Friday Challenge #144 for 26th February, 2010

The bag was empty except for a smudged, slip of paper which said, “Sorry.”

The bag was empty except for a smudged, slip of paper, which said, “Sorry.” Jeannie hadn’t touched the precious artifact yet but she could clearly see the letters, crudely written with what she hoped might be what the old ones used to call a ball pen since the word was a faded blue. She wondered at the person who had written that conciliatory word and why the slip had been left in this near-fossilized leather bag.

How could the paper have survived after all these centuries? The word, this single word seemed pathetic, as if its owner had wanted to apologize for all the wrongs humanity had inflicted on itself, nearly destroying its planet in the process.

Jeannie examined the paper, the word, still without touching it. The meaning behind the word was fathomless and full of possibilities.

Six hundred years before

Lisa looked at the single word, “Sorry,” on a torn piece of paper Pete had passed her across the desk in Mrs. Benson’s arithmetic class. Yeah, he’d better be sorry for having broken her favorite pencil, the wretch. With a shrug and a glare at Pete, she stuffed the note into her bag. They’d discuss replacement at recess.

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The First Chapters Club

It’s not a tale of money, revenge, and it’s not modeled after the story of three women intent on plucking their husbands dry. But the First Chapters Club could lead you to laughter, tears, passion, fear, discovery, love, travel, murder, adventure, ogres, fairies, evil, aliens, evil aliens, zombies, samurais, and much, much more.

Zumaya Publications has assembled a collection of first chapters from its catalogue, in addition to one short story and the full text of my first novel, Metered Space, and offers them for free at Scribd (http://www.scribd.com/zumayabooks). You can read them online or download them in .pdf or text format to read on your own computer or reading device. Continue reading

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Fiction Friday>> Life’s joke

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for September 25th, 2009:

The house lights dim, the curtain goes up… you’re on.

Life’s a stage, someone said. Shakespeare, maybe, or some other writer who got immortalized. That’s what I do: I play at life. Life’s a joke. It grabs you when you rush out of your mother’s womb and lets you go only when it’s finished with you. It teases you, it prods you, it weighs on you until you want to scream. It forces you to move ahead whether you like it or not and it hard-wires the inability to do anything else than follow along. Even when you want to kill life, it has you by the throat until it decides to let go and let you fall.

Sometimes it takes forever for life to drop you off the cliff of the world. Sometimes it’s only a few short days, a few hours. There’s no rhyme or reason, no scientific data on why it happens. Some call it fate, others call it God’s will. I’m not here to judge. Just to say goodbye to life, after thirty-four years. I guess life decided I was finished. Life’s a bitch.

Rules for Fiction Friday:

  • Every Thursday, just check this page for this week’s theme or challenge.
  • Spend at least 5 minutes composing something original based on the theme or challenge.
  • But, remember, no editing. This is to inspire creativity not stifle it.
  • On Friday, simply post what you wrote to your own blog.
  • Then come back to Write Anything and leave the link in the comment section below.
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Fiction Friday>> Nine Lives

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for June 5th, 2009:

“Don’t sit there,” she commanded. “That’s the cat’s chair.”

“Let’s talk about this,” I said. “We’ll sit down, reason it out.” I backed slowly toward the living room, my eyes glued to hers, my hands away from my body to show I didn’t mean any harm. I could see her entire body trembling, in fear or anger I wasn’t sure. She’d bitten her lower lip so hard it was bleeding.

She followed me, the gun in her hand wobbling so hard there was no way could she shoot straight. I saw that as my only chance. In the living room, I made to sit down.

“Don’t sit there, she commanded, her voice tremulous. “That’s the cat’s chair.” She gestured at the fireplace with the gun. “Go stand there.”

I obeyed, still keeping my eyes on her. Something crinkled under my feet. I looked down. A large plastic sheet -industrial grade-lay on the floor. My head rose to her face so fast I nearly got whiplash.

Her eyes were clear, she had a slight smile on her face. Her hand was steady as she pointed the gun at my chest. “Vulnerability is such a nifty tool,” she murmured.

Oh, shit, I thought, just before she pulled the trigger.

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