writing

Day Warriors — 3 Line Tales

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From Sonya’s 3LineTales at Only100Words.
You can find the original prompt here. Thank you, Sonya.

photo by Nattu Adnan via Unsplash

Dawn teased open young eyes that greeted the day with energetic curiosity.

Whirling dervishes sped away from Dawn, trailing gales of giggles that transformed into belly laughs and faces filled with wonder.

The day warriors pressed onward, and Dawn smiled wearily knowing they would soon collapse into the deep sleep of the innocent.

______________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Devil in the Details — 100 Word Wednesday

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Title: Devil in the Details
Source:  100 Word Wednesday: Week 104
Word count: 100 words

Photo by Filip Gielda

Loralai worried. She obsessed about details. Worry made her good at her job. Her job required precise planning, contingency plans, escape clauses and backdoors. One miscalculation could spoil everything.

Cold fingers hugged the warm coffee cup as Loralai punched her mental checklist. The snow shovel and the spade were clean and dry. The spade returned to the utility shed and the snow shovel leaned next to her new red snow boots. Her old snow boots and coat were cleaned and donated to a homeless shelter.

As the snow piled higher Loralai relaxed and smiled.

They would never find the body.

__________________________________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Under Contract — Thursday Threads

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Photo by Samuel Zeller on Unsplash

I freed her from the black velvet hood. She recoiled from my touch, and I placed my hand on her shoulder to steady her. Beautiful blond curls had escaped the manipulated updo and caressed my hand. Breathing deeply, I savored the sweet aroma of strawberries and fear.

I removed her gag. I was sorry for the red marks the silk tie left on her tender skin. Sorry for the force I used to tie it hours ago.

I took my time folding the tie, placing it into the hood and laying the hood on the alter. Kneeling in the dim candlelight, her hands bound behind her, her ragged breathing slowed. I waited, breathless with excitement.

She raised her head seeing the throng of robed, masked figures staring at her.

“Do I need to explain why you are here?” I asked, knowing my voice echoed, ethereal in the marble chamber.

“This…” her voice wavered. She licked her lips. “This is my initiation?”

“You signed the contract?” I said more a statement than a question.

“Yes.”

“You have been sworn to secrecy?”

“Yes.”

“You are here of your own free will?”

“Yes.” Her voice was steadier, but that would change.

“You pledge yourself to The Order of the Seven Assassins?”

“Yes.”

“You will sacrifice yourself upon the Sacred Alter… Tonight?”

She trembled. The witnesses leaned towards her, hoping, waiting.

On her cheek, a single tear left a glistening stain.

Gathered her courage, she inhaled, and in a calm, sure voice, replied, “Yes.”

__________________________________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Tiburtine — Friday Fictioneers

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Title: The Tiburtine
Source:  Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words

PHOTO PROMPT © Priya Bajpal

Something wasn’t right. The feeling gestated in the pit of my stomach, seeking form, yet defying description.

Sitting in Sibyl’s vacant apartment did little to settle me. On the coffee table sat a mason jar filled with brightly colored and folded slips of paper. Countless time I had tried to open it, to no avail.

The door slammed, and I jumped as Sibyl appeared. She easily opened the jar and deposited two slips of folded paper before replacing the lid.

“Have you figured it out?” she asked.

The truth hit me.

“You record the words of the gods.”

Sibyl smiled.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Surprise – FFFPP – 2019 #1

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Title:  The Surprise
Source:  FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 2019 WEEK #1
Word count: 190 words

MorgueFile Fidler Jan New Year’s

Evan didn’t feel like going out. It was Friday night and his friends expected him, but today was his birthday and birthdays were a huge disappointment. Following the holidays meant he had endured years of presents marked “Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday too.” He was older, and wiser but it still hurt.

As he arrived at the bar, a thunderous boom echoed in the cold night air followed by an ear-piercing whistle that guided his eyes skyward. The missile exploded in a red blossom.

“Surprise, Happy Birthday, Evan,” his friends shouted as they swarmed around him.

“What?” Evan twirled catching glimpses of familiar faces as another rocket hurtled into the air with a boom.

“Do you like it?” Shelly asked.

Evan nodded as the rocket exploded.

“Remember, they cancelled the New Year’s display because of bad weather?” Shelly shouted to be heard over the crowd. “Well, we convince the council to set them off tonight,” she explained, “For your birthday.”

Evan smiled as another chorus of “Happy Birthday, Evan” erupted from his friends.

The boom of another rocket turned heads skyward, and Evan smiled. This was his best birthday ever.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Artistic Reverie — Weekly Writing Challenge

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Title: Artistic Reverie
Source:  Weekly Writing Challenge #175
The five words: CHARCOAL, SHADE, PALE, WAKE, LUCID
Word count: 220 words

Photo by Jacqueline Day on Unsplash

The charcoal stains my fingers, marking me, convicting me to a labor that consumes me. Working with broad gestures, the blackness swirls, sifting across the large format paper and floating into the air. It settles in my hair, on my clothes, and dances in the gloom.

I blow. My breath lifts a dark cloud and sends it spewing misery wherever it falls. My thumb smudges into the mire, arching along the curving line and creating a homogeneous shade, a sharp contrast against the pale paper.

Pausing, I interrupt my fevered race to behold my creation, if only for an instant. The lingering stillness questions me. Do I wake from my half lucid plight or succumb to its madness?  I close my eyes, feeling emotions coursing through every fiber, my senses heightened, they claw at my throat. Demented wailing pounds upon my skull and shreds my gossamer resolve. My fingers twitch, and they dance to a master I do not know.

Another fluid gesture rips the completed sheet from the pad. The piece flutters, with a lightness that belies the burden it carries as it settles into the land of the forgotten. Pristine bleakness taunts me, coaxes me, concocts hollow promises fed with saccharine lies. In the safety of the siren song, I find shelter from the terror of the light.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Long Game — 3 Line Tales

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 7 Comments

From Sonya’s 3LineTales at Only100Words.
You can find the original prompt here. Thank you, Sonya.

photo by Beata Ratuszniak via Unsplash

Alexi mastered his craft, working diligently, he painted every day.

Prints of work by Van Gogh, Ruben, and Klimt sold better than any of his original pieces.

Despite the hardship and the obscurity, he refused to listen to his family and friends, confident that in the end, everyone would remember him.

______________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Buried Treasure — Flash Fiction Challenge

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Title: Buried Treasure
Source:  Flash Fiction Challenge
Prompt: write a story about a character who looks back.
Word count:  99 words

Photo by Joshua Hoehne on Unsplash

Cal dropped to his knees and gently lifted the book from the debris. Somehow it survived. If he wasn’t cradling in his hands feeling its weight, the caress of its leather cover, he would not have believed it possible.

Clutching the book to his chest, the memories coursed through him. Professor Dugan stood before him, telling Cal the odds were stacked against him ever succeeding. Cal felt defiance surge through him once again. They could laugh and sneer, but they were wrong. Sitting in the rubble Cal felt his destiny waiting.

He would show them how wrong they were.

_________________________________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

River’s Run — Thursday Threads

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Photo by Michael Browning on Unsplash

River’s eyes flew open.

“River?” Simon scanned her face then checked the monitors.

She yanked off sensors, pulling her IV as she leaped from the exam table and ran to the door.

“What is it?” Simon yelled.

“Reavers,” she called as the door swished open.

Medical instruments clattered to the floor as the ship lurched, rocked by an explosion. Simon stumbled through the doorway. A Reaver slammed him, snarling teeth lunging at his throat. Suddenly, its head twisted violently, and the body crumbled.

River smiled at Simon and ran. Phaser blasts echoed, and Simon heard directions shouted to the crew from Mal, the ship’s captain. River disappeared around a corner.

Rounding the corner, Simon tripped over another dead Reaver. River caught him, whispering, “Run,” before she was off again.

Behind him, Simon saw another Reaver and ran.

The hallway ended with narrow stairs descending into the cargo bay. At the bottom, River swung right, ducking behind a container. Simon tried to follow but the muzzle of Mal’s gun stopped him.

“Mal, what are you doing?”

“You know I‘ll stand for nothing but serenity and bliss on my boat,” Mal said as he took aim and fired.

The shot whizzed past Simon, lodging in the gory, rotting mass of blood and teeth of the Reaver’s head. It’s convulsing body fell into Simon and they tumbled to the floor.

Mal stepped past them to stare at River huddled under the stairs.

“That all of them, Darlin?” he asked.

River nodded.

“For now.”

__________________________________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

All Aboard — FFfAW

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 3 Comments

Title: All Aboard
Source: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
Word count: 175 words

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Akshata Ram. Thank you, Akshata!

Ricky slammed the door, dropped his backpack with a bang and raced to the basement.

“Whoa,” he said, skidding to a stop before the model he and Gramps had started during his holiday break.

Smoke billowed from the shiny black stack of the train sitting at the depot. In the town, lights twinkled, and tiny figures walked the streets. The train whistle blasted, shattering the ice crystals that coated every surface. Startled, Ricky jumped, running for the train. It couldn’t leave without him. He sprinted across the wooden platform and leaped into the cab as the fireman blasted the whistle once more.

“I’m here,” Ricky yelled, and the old man released the cord.

“About damn time. You gonna drive or what?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m driving,” Ricky grabbed the lever and pushed. The engine’s wheels spun on the iron rail, sparks spewed, and the boiler puffed.

“Slow. You gotta get traction first,” his fireman counseled.

Ricky eased back, the engine chugged, the wheels caught, and they were on their way as the first snowflakes fell.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer