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A Case Of The Ace
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When had her memory started to go? Sometimes, it felt like it was only a few nights in her 20s that she’d forgotten, but there were times when she realised that there were entire years of her childhood that were a complete blank. But then she forgot that she’d forgotten, and she carried on with whatever she was busy with at that moment. Usually, these revelations hit her in the shower, or while she was washing the dishes, or shopping for groceries, doing yoga, in therapy, walking among the trees.
Today, Alana had just completed half a hike when it hit her full force. As she gazed out at the gorgeous view below, she tried to fight off the sudden urge to cry, to mourn for all that lost time. She tried to keep her eyes open, knowing that if she closed them and gave in to this feeling, she would break down completely, and there were far too many people on this trail for that to happen.
But something was different this time. At the very edges of her vision, a black shadow was creeping in. And her heart felt … unstable. It was beating too fast, and every so often, not beating at all. Her chest was tight, and she couldn’t breathe. What was this? She couldn’t find her footing, and her knees buckled. She caught herself on a nearby tree. Her hands, her arms were trembling violently.
She couldn’t breathe, and she felt the strength leaving her body entirely. What was happening to her? She was going to die. It felt like she was going to fucking die.
***
She opened her eyes, and, fuck that was bright. She squinted and tried to bring a hand up to shield her eyes, but her limbs were leaden. Was that the sky? The hard ground pushed at her back, solid, safe. Twigs and rocks poked at her back. Leaves rustled above her. But the shadow in her peripheral vision wasn't the tree. It was too dark to be natural.
After a moment, with the shadow, came the faintest of breaths on the wind, too soft and quiet to even be a whisper. A tickle on the brain, more feeling than sound.
“Hello,” it said.
Her body seemed to move without her input. The chill that ran through her pulled her upwards and, despite her swimming, darkening vision, to her feet. Her back against the tree, she saw a couple walking towards her. She smiled, wondering how she could have heard them, they were like, 50 metres away, further down the slope. But they turned down a different path, away from her and the lookout spot she’d rested at.
“Hello,” she heard again, a little louder this time, like a proper whisper in her left ear.
What the fuck? She turned and looked around the trunk, up in the branches, towards the edge of the mountain. She stepped slowly in that direction, dreading what she would find. But when she got there, and carefully looked over the lip of the jagged rock and dirt, there was nothing. A few shrubs. A lizard. A dark shadow, too dark to focus on, so her eyes slid over it. Wait.
Her eyes went back to that shadow, but she couldn’t look at it directly. It was like her body knew. Every time she tried to focus on it, she felt ill. She tried very, very hard to look, and an oily queasiness rose up, from her stomach to her head. God, her head ached suddenly.
“Don’t look at me!” the voice hissed, and she stumbled back from the edge. As soon as she did, she realised just how far she’d been leaning over it. She was shaking now, her muscles trembling. She should leave, right now. Something was wrong here, and she should go. She tried convincing herself, but her feet stayed where they were.
“Help, but don’t look, please. Please. Ple- Help. Please,” It continued pleading, and the plaintive tones were somehow both a whisper and a screeching plea. An itch began, deep in her head, and she found herself dragging her feet towards the edge. She needed to help it get up somehow. She understood this.
When she reached the edge again, she lowered to her stomach and reached out in the approximate direction of the shadow she’d seen. She turned her head away as she did so. She didn’t want to look at it, and the thing didn’t want her to either. Her arms felt heavy as the thing held on, and she backed up, pulling it up and over the edge, onto the dirt. Her brain short-circuited at the feeling of it.
The shadow was large now, creeping in, slithering along the outer edge of her right eye. Was the sky darkening? She looked at her watch. 11:48 AM. She wanted to turn her face towards the sun that should have been there. She wanted to see the clouds that must have sprung up and turned the sunny day gloomy. Her neck ached as she tried to move, but it was like her body was being held in place by some unseen force.
“Hello, friend. So nice of you to help me.” The thing was right next to her face now, the voice caressing her face as she kept her eyes trained on one bright yellow leaf. There was a ladybug on it; she was so focused she could see the individual dots on its carapace. “Let’s go home, shall we?”
She looked at it then, surprised, and she gasped. A moment later, the shadows that darkened the sky were gone, replaced by the sun, the fiery, steady, reliable sun. Alana picked up her water bottle, forgotten at the bottom of the tree. She looked at it, turning it this way and that. If anyone had been watching, they might have thought … Well. They might have thought she’d never seen it before.
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Just a little one:
https://yourlocalwriterblog.tumblr.com/post/175754168960/dialogue-writing-prompt-tuesday
“Not all stories have to end this way.”
“Not all stories have to end.”
“Optimistic.” They cast their gaze across the universe to a dying yellow star. “They could have had millenia more.”
“They did find other homes. They will have millenia more.”
“You know as well as I do, that there’s no place like home.”
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Another dialogue prompt:
https://yourlocalwriterblog.tumblr.com/post/175754168960/dialogue-writing-prompt-tuesday
“You didn’t forget me.”
“I wanted to.”
Hurt flashed in her dark eyes, her face twisting slightly before smoothing out.
“Ouch. Didn’t realise our time together was so unpleasant.”
“Our ‘time together’ was perfectly pleasant, sweetheart. The ending, however …”
“Yes, I’ll admit, it was not ideal. But Steve … Stevie,” and she fluttered her eyelashes and pouted, “It was only a little stab wound. I’ll bet you recovered within the hour.”
His eyes softened a little, wrinkling at the edges in laughter at her coy display. He moved a little closer to her, and placed a hand on her back lightly. “Dance?” he offered.
A waltz played in the background as he pulled her closer to the dancefloor.
“If I’m honest,” he murmured into her ear, “I could have come after you.”
“And you didn’t because …?”
He huffed slightly, and she thought she saw his cheeks pink just a little. “I was embarrassed.”
She chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, baby. A lot of people have underestimated me.”
At the swell of music, he twirled her, admiring the gentle swirl of fabric around her legs. God, she had fantastic legs. He caught a flash of thigh, then looked away quickly. And as they came together again, she smirked and pressed closer.
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More dialogues prompts:
https://yourlocalwriterblog.tumblr.com/post/175754168960/dialogue-writing-prompt-tuesday
“How many times do we have to go over this? I was never really dead!”
She stopped, aware of all the eyes on them, then muttered, “Let’s talk somewhere a little more private.”
Grabbing a table at their favourite diner, they both ordered coffee. As they waited, she noticed Olly’s body language. Jiggling leg, hunched shoulders, twisting fingers: he was nervous. Or scared.
“Spit it out.”
“Well… if you weren’t dead, then why the fuck was I at your funeral, Sarah? Hmm? Why the fuck did your roommates pack up your shit? And why did I take said shit, and spend a month crying myself to sleep over it, huh? What. The fuck. Is going. On,” Olly gritted out the last, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed.
The waitress brought their coffee, and they both took a moment.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to meet his eyes. “Oliver. Someone’s after me.”
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[ID: a blackout poem stuck onto a page, with the poem written out next to it. It reads:
Joy, like new life witnessed
Vulnerable and dwindling
They will consume bodies
Move to the clock
A shocking experience in survival
The last species
Two hoped to be significant
Wild between Peace
Flown, ventured further, exploring
Capture joining hands
Peace
Trust
Support life
Continue restoring sanctity through rewilding
We roam, again reminded through restoration,
preservation of a sustainable future for mankind
End ID]
#blackout poetry#writing#writing exercise#this was originally an article about cheetah and leopard conservation
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[ID: a blackout poem stuck onto a page, with the poem written next to it. It reads:
Chief! A home united
Chief! Lift them!
Chief! Defend!
Believe! Defeat!
Prepare. Adapt.
We at home believe
Do well and rectify mistakes,
We can do anything
Chief! Enter not!
Losses have been recent,
Successive
His lack of Finesse
let them down
We tried, we did our best
The Turning Point
A Chance
We play this season
End ID]
#blackout poetry#never done blackout poetry before and this was fun#originally an article about soccer#writing#writing exercise
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I wake up every day and feel like I'm failing at living.
Am I capable of more, or is this the extent of it?
I just want to rest.
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This time, I did a dialogue prompt exercise, and kind of just went with whatever idea popped into my head, regardless of how morbid or silly it was.
https://yourlocalwriterblog.tumblr.com/post/175754168960/dialogue-writing-prompt-tuesday
“There will always be someone like me in your way.”
“And there will always be someone like me to stop them.”
Her father sank further to the ground. She’d never seen him so small, it was strange.
“I hope you understand,” she said clearly and evenly. “I never would have done this if you’d given me any other choice.”
“Stupid girl,” he spat, blood dribbling down his chin. “You always had choices. You simply,” he wheezed painfully, “excel at making bad ones.”
She knelt beside him and lowered her sword. Gently, she placed her hand on his chin and lifted his eyes to meet hers, and whispered, “I’m so glad you’ll never have to watch me make a bad choice ever again,” and slit his throat.
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This exercise was a bit of a weird one.
Using a random word generator, make two lists, one of concrete nouns and the other of abstract nouns. Then pair them up randomly and create a metaphor connecting the two things.
from writers.com
Garbage - Passion
Passion is garbage. It is a maelstrom of debris during a hurricane. It is the landfill, a dump of everything and nothing, treasure and useless waste. Passion is never bought nor sold, but repurposed from love to love.
River - Effort
A river is effort in motion. It moves under its own forward drive, forcing its way across land and through rock, over great distances. A river may slow, but only stops when made to. Even then, constant work must be done to keep it stopped up. A river needs to run.
Girlfriend - Patience
A girlfriend is patience. She picks up after you, knowing she will not be thanked. She labours without security, without an end in sight. She takes the time to teach, to observe, to love, never knowing if it will be acknowledged. You are a better person for having her in your life, but you could lose her at any moment.
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Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes - Writing exercise
from nownovel.com
This exercise is meant to help generate a character description, but this turned into a slice of life drabble instead? I tried.
Her shorn hair prickled along her scalp. The day’s heat, trapped between her armour and underclothes, was stifling. She felt sweat bead and trickle along her face and neck, yet her training forbade her from flinching or displaying even a touch of discomfort. Her soldiers looked to her as an example of what a warrior should be, so she had no choice but to keep her head high, and her eyes ahead.
***
It had been a hard day’s march. Nothing but endless sand and endless heat. The glare of the sun had blown out the edges of her vision, despite her visor shielding her face. And even though she’d removed every layer in preparation for sleep, she still felt a heavy weight about her wide shoulders, like a mantle of grief and despair. Crooked is the back that bears the weight of this responsibility.
***
Once, when she was not even a warrior-in-training, she’d defied her father’s orders. She’d muttered to herself, “To the darkness with him,” before skillfully smuggling herself out of the fortress and into the stinking, heaving, limitless city. For the first time in her young life she’d tasted freedom and all she had to show for it was a jagged scar on her left knee and a week of stable duty shoveling shit.
***
They didn’t tell her how much her feet would hurt. They’d prepared her for battle, offense and defense, and she’d had classes on strategy and tactics, how to adapt in the field, how to starve a city, even how to do minor repairs on her own weapons and armour, but they’d never said a word about what a week of marching in heavy leather boots would do to her toes. Damn them all, she thought, as she peeled leather and cotton away from bruised and bleeding flesh. She wrinkled her nose in pain and some disgust, and set about making herself as comfortable as was possible. They were some days yet from their destination.
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So excited to get back into writing. I struggle so much with being consistent. Maybe creating this blog will help with that.
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(Repost)
This prompt was ‘“Come on!” “I can’t do it!”’ - https://yourlocalwriterblog.tumblr.com/post/621007833782206464/writing-exercises-vol-i
Ludmilla thought about that day, long ago, before war and fear and hatred:
“Come on!”
“I can’t do it!”
“Don’t whine so! It is unbecoming of a soldier! Come on! Catch me!”
Uta ran ahead, her hair flying wildly behind her. Ludmilla was trying her best, but Uta was taller and more athletic than she was. Ludmilla pushed herself to go faster, and could almost reach her classmate’s flag, but she tripped over a rock, and went sprawling. She gasped for breath, then laughed when Uta’s face appeared above her. “Try to keep your feet, eh? How are you going to be a soldier of the great Vaclavan Guard if you can’t even run?”
Instead of replying, Ludmilla laughed again and swung her leg around, kicking Uta’s feet from under her. Uta grunted when she hit the ground, and the two of them lay side by side, their breath evening out slowly. “I’m not even sure I want to be a great soldier,” Ludmilla panted. “I feel as if my entire life has been planned for me. I’ve never done anything that hasn’t been decided for me.”
“Ah, poor little princess, so sad because she never has to think about where she’ll sleep or where her next meal is coming from,” Uta teased gently. “You just don’t know how good you have it.”
Shooting up into a seated position, Ludmilla insisted, “That’s not true! I know that my life is easy, I do … I’ve just been wondering recently what it would be like to make my own choices, you know, wake up and get to decide what I’ll do each day. There’s so much I’ve never experienced.”
“Yeah?” Uta gave her a sidelong look, “Like what?”
“I don’t know, so many things! I have Proved myself, and I have followed in my parents’ footsteps by joining the Guard, but I feel like a child. I’m fourteen, and I’ve never even kissed anyone!”
At this, Uta sat up as well, turned towards her and said softly, “Well, in that case, what are you waiting for?”
“What?”
“What do you mean, what? Do you want to kiss me or not?”
Ludmilla hesitated, unsure of whether Uta was joking or not. The moment struck her, then. Here she was, alone in a meadow with a girl who apparently wanted to kiss her, a girl who was sweaty, and strong, and smart, but she was waiting too long to answer and it was becoming awkward, so she nodded vigorously. Now, Uta was leaning towards her, and she could see the green flecks in her stormy gray eyes, and she could smell apples on her breath, and … her lips were soft, and dry, and her hand was on her cheek, and Ludmilla sank into the feeling. When Uta pulled away, she smiled shyly, and whispered, “I thought I’d never get the chance.”
Ludmilla didn’t know what to say to that, so she didn’t say anything, instead bringing her hands to frame Uta’s face gently, kissing her again. She felt clumsy, and was her mouth too wet, she felt like her mouth was too wet, but it was good. She pulled away, and when she looked Uta’s eyes were open, looking back at her. “Was that good?” she asked.
Uta smirked and said, “Never fear, my lady. You are a natural,” and she dipped forward for another kiss. “However ... I could teach you what I know of kissing, if you’d like.”
Ludmilla giggled and stood, pulling Uta up into a hug. “You’re my best friend, Uta. I’m so glad we were placed together.”
“Oh, don’t get all weepy on me now. We’ve still got all afternoon to get through.” Never comfortable with emotions, Uta pulled away, but did so gently, and if she held Ludmilla’s hand on the walk back to the barracks, no one had to know but the two of them.
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(Repost!)
This prompt was “She had never seen a blade so big before.” - https://yourlocalwriterblog.tumblr.com/post/621007833782206464/writing-exercises-vol-i
She had never seen a blade so big before. From hilt to deadly tip, it was longer than she was tall. For the first time in her military career, she felt true fear. It felt like all of her considerable strength had left her arms and she could not, despite wanting it, needing it, lift her weapon to ward off the pure menace rolling off the figure before her. It lifted its sword to strike, and then time took on a dream-like quality.
She focussed on her breath, inhaling deeply, smelling her own sweat, the trampled, dry grass beneath their feet, the metallic tang of blood. The harsh sunlight glinted off armour all around her, making the air sparkle. The bright day seemed so at odds with the death and destruction happening on the ground. She felt a breeze lift the hair at her nape, and she thought she could hear something on the wind, something that raised goosebumps along her arms. The moment stretched into infinity, and it was enough.
When time snapped back into place, her sword was above her head blocking the berserker’s blade with a mighty CLANG that shook her bones all the way to her toes. She dug her heels into the hard-packed soil, and swung diagonally, faster than the warrior before her, faster than most warriors in her own army. Her sword became a blur, flashing with each movement. Eventually, the berserker's strength flagged, his great stamina waning, and she drove her blade home, between the plates of his armour, her aim true and fatal.
Once she’d shoved him off her sword, she bent to take a closer look at the berserker's face and blade. This was no ordinary soldier. He had a scar on one side of his neck, no, not a scar, a brand. It looked like a coat of arms, but she did not recognise the configuration. She could make out a bird, perhaps a raven, and maybe stars? She would have to report back to Farica, and hear her thoughts on the matter.
She may not be certain of his identity or allegiance, but she was certain of one thing: this had been a meticulously planned ambush. This road was more of a path, narrow and flanked on both sides by tall, craggy cliffs. Their position could not have been more vulnerable. For that reason, no one outside this company knew their marching route. No one outside her own squad even knew the purpose of their excursion. How, then, had the enemy known enough to plan this attack?
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(Another repost)
All comments are welcome.
This exercise is Christmas, fight, jail, lemon, tiger. - https://yourlocalwriterblog.tumblr.com/post/621007833782206464/writing-exercises-vol-i
What was it about Christmas that made people lose all reason?
No sooner had they suppressed the latest wannabe supervillain in a lengthy, disastrous fight (and just, seriously, why did everyone want to be a mad scientist all of a sudden), than they received word of yet another magic-related incident in, where else, Central Fucking Park. It’s a wonder that people still took the risk spending time there.
This particular … wizard? … was very, very reluctant to go to jail, and they were down two team members; Thor was spending Yule in Asgard, and the park couldn’t handle Hulk rearranging their landscape yet again.
Finally, when the wizard (“I’m a fucking sorcerer!”) was contained, and the clean-up underway, the team took a breath and watched the sunset over the trees and the cityscape in the background. Out of the corner of his eye, Clint noticed that Steve’s looked like he’d just sucked on a lemon.
“Ok there, Cap?” and as the question left his mouth, a glow began to emanate from Steve’s chest. Tony and Natasha came closer, and Steve turned to face all of them.
“Uh, guys?” he croaked, “Something’s ha-” and then he was gone. And, in his place, was a tiger.
“Um, Steve? Is that you?” Clint wasn’t sure if this was smart, talking to a tiger, but they had to know whether Steve was still in there or not. Natasha stood slightly apart from them, ready to bolt if necessary, and Tony, for once, seemed at a loss for words.
The tiger looked right at him and gave an almighty roar. “Ok then, that answers that,” muttered Tony as he stumbled away, looking somewhat shell-shocked.
“Well, he’s not going to be of any use,” said Natasha, walking closer to Steve now that she knew he wouldn’t be an immediate risk. “Steve, we’re going to get you back to the Tower, to Bruce. Maybe he can tell us what happened.”
Steve chuffed, and then whined, and Clint was sure normal tigers couldn’t make that noise. He didn’t seem scared though, and when they boarded the Quinjet, he collapsed and took a nap on the floor. Clint took one look at him, then Tony, who was still in shock and too tired to fly, then Natasha, who was sleeping with her eyes open, and thought, for probably the hundredth time just that day, what even is my life?
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(A reposted work)
All comments are welcome.
This exercise is dragon, farmer, monster, love, friend. - https://yourlocalwriterblog.tumblr.com/post/621007833782206464/writing-exercises-vol-i
“Dragons aren’t real, idiot,” said a voice some distance away. The trees along the winding path hid the speaker from view.
“Well how do you explain all this, then, cheese-for-brains?” another, deeper voice insisted.
As they came around the next bend, the owners of the voices came into view. One was, quite literally, a great bear of a man; he was tall and barrel-chested, thickly muscled, and also the most hirsute person Ludmilla had ever seen. Nearby, another man stood; he looked younger, with wiry limbs, but was as tall as the bear-man.
“Hail, and well-met, gentlemen,” Uta greeted cheerfully, signalling the others to be on their better behaviour.
“Gentlemen we are not, fair maiden. Only humble farmers,” returned the bear-man, equally as cheerful. He smiled widely, but his eyes immediately zeroed in on their armour and swords.
“Nor am I a fair maiden, good farmer,” laughed Uta, pointing to the sigil on her armour, and waving an arm to indicate the squad behind her. She turned back to Ludmilla and nodded slightly, her smile still in place. “What has happened here? Are you in need of assistance?”
“Aye, we may be. It seems we have a monster in our midst.” And now, the entire squad had come upon the scene, and had circled the small clearing. Ludmilla was the second last to enter with only Greer behind her, and despite her years on battlefields, the stench of blood and offal was overwhelming as they neared the others. She could now see what appeared to be the remains of a few goats, a cow or two, and, gods, what looked like a small child, all in a haphazard pile.
The bear-man continued, “Some weeks ago, the first animals started to disappear. At first, we were sure it was the bandits who raid these lands. Then, little Maksi didn’t come in for supper one night. His mother has been distraught, begging any and all for help. Our land is the furthest from the village, and the last she visited. When we heard her request, we could not sit idly by. And so here we are, having found all this after three days of searching.” He waved his arm in the general direction of the remains in the grass. “And, judging by the wounds, I would not say this is the work of bandits.”
Ludmilla and Uta walked closer, forcing themselves to examine the pile, visually and sometimes lifting a limb here, a flap of skin there. Greer stood with her back to them, facing the men. She really was not subtle at all, thought Ludmilla, chuckling inwardly. The others stood back slightly, although one or two of them kept their hands at the hilts of their blades.
“Oh, for the love of all The Eldred.” Right in front of Ludmilla was evidence that, indeed, this likely was not done by any human hand. Long gashes had torn flesh from bone, the edges jagged, and many of them ran parallel to each other; clearly made by claws. One unfortunate cow had a distinct bite taken out of its flank. The remains were in different stages of decomposition, so this had been done over time, each new body thrown on top of the ones that had come before.
Ludmilla and Uta had one of their eerie silent conversations; their eyes narrowed and widened, their eyebrows lifted and lowered, their lips quirked and flattened. Finally, Uta turned to the farmers. “Friend farmer, we believe your theory is quite correct that no human has committed these crimes. However, what proof have you that this was a monster?”
“Oh, only these,” he said, and pulled something smallish and colourful from his pocket, handing it to Uta. She examined it closely, and her eyes were slightly wide when she passed it to Ludmilla. Now she could see that it was what seemed to be a scale, the size of her thumbnail, iridescent purple-black. The farmer went on, “Found more around this area, seems like a regular stop for the beast.”
This decided it. Ludmilla whistled once, and the squad gathered to her. “We seem to have come across some people in need of exterminators. I know that is not our purpose at this time, and we are not as prepared as we could be, but this creature has taken the life of one child already. We cannot allow it to take another.” At this, every one of her hardened warriors nodded. “Let us escort these good men to their land. We will return here before sunset to await a sign of the creature.”
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(Another repost)
All comments are welcome.
This exercise is pink, dust, saturated, rust, bleak- https://yourlocalwriterblog.tumblr.com/post/621007833782206464/writing-exercises-vol-i
A pink flush on Ludmilla’s cheeks was the only evidence she bore of the fight. She was remarkably untouched for one who had been at the centre of the fray. Around her, her squad finished off the last of the bandits. As violent as it had been, it had been an easy scuffle. The ruffians had been woefully underprepared to deal with the Vipers.
As the dust settled around the bodies of their foes, the sun began to sink, taking the warmth of the day with it. The sky was saturated with pink, and peach, and lavender as they cleaned their blades, then stripped the enemy of valuables and weapons; no need to leave anything useful behind. They gathered all of them together, eight in total, and set fire to the impromptu pyre. Slowly, the blazing sky was overcome with a deeper blue, then darkness. A beautiful sunset over a pile of corpses.
They were lucky there was a large stream nearby. As the fire burned behind them, they knelt side by side, rinsing their faces and necks, washing grime and blood away. Rust-coloured rivulets wound through the water briefly, before disappearing downstream. Weary as they were, they would have to continue on this night, and no one wanted to camp near a funeral, tired or not.
As one, they seemed to savour the crisp night, marching towards the edge of the wooded landscape. And although their breath fogged in the air, they were grateful. This was the last night before their surroundings became ever more bleak, as they travelled southward, closing in on the frontlines of the real fight.
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