We've been experiencing some extreme winds for the past few days, so your charge today is simple. Write a bit of flash where the wind plays a MAJOR role. Give your best effort and blow us all away!
The stiff breeze chilled Ray as he paused in the moonlit field. His hoodie offered no protection from the wind whipping right through it, preventing it from trapping body heat like it did in the still of the night. He finally managed to get his cigarette lit, but the constant wind was burning it down quickly. "At least it's blowing away from me," he grinned, moving forward again. "Gonna suck heading back, though. Why'd I listen to that guy?"
'That guy' being the man at the bar with the odd cologne who told him about the long forgotten graveyard that had been exposed partly in the rainstorms a couple weeks ago. None of his friends had believe the story, but the stranger had sounded so sure of what he said. "Why would someone make that up?" Ray had argued, but to no avail. His friends still didn't buy it and refused to come along.
After a good downpour again last night, Ray couldn't help himself. He planned, sort of. He made sure he had fresh batteries for his flashlight, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a backpack to store whatever he found.
So far, Ray had come across half a dozen spots in the field that looked like they could have been graves, but none of them had corpses in them, much less the jewelry that was supposed to still be on them. His shoes were wet and caked with mud and he was already done with half his smokes.
"Who's there?" asked Ray, stopping and shining his flashlight around. No one was there, but his light flashed across what looked like something between a corpse and a skeleton. "Now that's what a zombie should look like," he said aloud. A closer look, revealed no jewelry, though. "Dammit! Well, I'm done with this crap."
Looking across the field, into the wind, Ray paused to light another cigarette before starting back. He had to turn away and hunch over a bit to protect the flame from the wind. Just as the cigarette caught, the wind died down, revealing a stagnant, earthy smell. There was something else mixed into that smell, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Moving back across the field, Ray silently berated himself for being tricked into coming out here while his brain kept going to the smell in the air. Movement to the side caught his attention and he turned to see something standing up, along with the hairs on the back of his neck. About the time his light hit the figure, his brain made the connection to the other smell: decay.
As more corpses began standing up in the field, Ray began screaming, a sound squelched by the wind that began howling across the field again.
RJ Clarken's first YA novel PENNY WISHES was published by Lilley Press in 2009. She is also the author of a quirky, offbeat collection of humorous poetry, MUGGING FOR THE CAMERA. She lives in NJ with her husband, son and daughter (twins!) and her crazy Cairn terrier.
Soul of a poet and writer stuck with the body and mind of a soccer player. That is Rob Halpin. On occasion, something worth reading finds its way out. To see if you agree, you can check out his blogs:
Michael Grove will offer his slant on Wednesdays. Michael is an ambidextrous Piscean. His poetry and work in finance keeps him shifting from right to left brain. He has logged many miles. Mike wishes he would have been a major league baseball player or at least an umpire.
Walt Wojtanik -- Thursday
Walt Wojtanik's poetry collection WOOD was released in 2011. His second collection, I AM SANTA CLAUS will be released later in 2012. He has written and staged three plays, and is a musician. Walt lives in NY, is married with two daughters.
Hannah Gosselin is a free spirit and beautiful soul blessed with a poet's heart and photographer's eye. She is perpetually inspired by love shared with her husband and their two young sons and is awestruck by beauty in nature. She enjoys indulging in heart-work: writing, dance and visual arts. Hannah was awarded a diploma by the Institute of Children’s Literature located in West Redding, Connecticut, for the successful completion of the course: “Writing for Children and Teenagers,” on April, 19th, 2010.
HANNAH'S BLOG
Open Mic -- Saturday
Open MicSaturday is basically a day looking for a leader. You may get a prompt from any of our contributors. If our readers / writers have any ideas they'd wish to share, this would be the place.
De and Laurie -- Sunday Sisters
De Miller Jackson is half of our Sunday team we call "Sunday Sisters". She wanted to be a Poet-Pirate-Princess when she grew up, but is (mostly) happily settling into the role of Mom/Freelance Writer. (Some days that slash cuts deeper than others.) She writes advertising copy, runs gleefully with scissors, plays well with poems…and has also penned a couple of children’s books that need a little magic fairy dust to find illustrator and publisher. You can read her stuff at whimsygizmo.wordpress.com.
Laurie Kolp is the other half of our Sunday tandem. She is a mother of six (including husband and two dogs)and maintains three blogs with numerous publications to her credit which includes most recently Chicken Soup for the Soul: Devotional Stories for Tough Times, The Dead Mule’s School Society of Southern Literature, Christmas Miracles, The Christian Communicator, Skive Magazine. Her poem Infatuation will be published in an upcoming issue of Writer’s Digest Magazine.
WHAT THE WIND HIDES
ReplyDeleteThe stiff breeze chilled Ray as he paused in the moonlit field. His hoodie offered no protection from the wind whipping right through it, preventing it from trapping body heat like it did in the still of the night. He finally managed to get his cigarette lit, but the constant wind was burning it down quickly. "At least it's blowing away from me," he grinned, moving forward again. "Gonna suck heading back, though. Why'd I listen to that guy?"
'That guy' being the man at the bar with the odd cologne who told him about the long forgotten graveyard that had been exposed partly in the rainstorms a couple weeks ago. None of his friends had believe the story, but the stranger had sounded so sure of what he said. "Why would someone make that up?" Ray had argued, but to no avail. His friends still didn't buy it and refused to come along.
After a good downpour again last night, Ray couldn't help himself. He planned, sort of. He made sure he had fresh batteries for his flashlight, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a backpack to store whatever he found.
So far, Ray had come across half a dozen spots in the field that looked like they could have been graves, but none of them had corpses in them, much less the jewelry that was supposed to still be on them. His shoes were wet and caked with mud and he was already done with half his smokes.
"Who's there?" asked Ray, stopping and shining his flashlight around. No one was there, but his light flashed across what looked like something between a corpse and a skeleton. "Now that's what a zombie should look like," he said aloud. A closer look, revealed no jewelry, though. "Dammit! Well, I'm done with this crap."
Looking across the field, into the wind, Ray paused to light another cigarette before starting back. He had to turn away and hunch over a bit to protect the flame from the wind. Just as the cigarette caught, the wind died down, revealing a stagnant, earthy smell. There was something else mixed into that smell, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Moving back across the field, Ray silently berated himself for being tricked into coming out here while his brain kept going to the smell in the air. Movement to the side caught his attention and he turned to see something standing up, along with the hairs on the back of his neck. About the time his light hit the figure, his brain made the connection to the other smell: decay.
As more corpses began standing up in the field, Ray began screaming, a sound squelched by the wind that began howling across the field again.