Thursday, 20 November 2014

Thursday Threads Just Sat There and Watched

Not guilty.
How can that be? I don’t understand, the words jumbled in my mind, mocking at my sanity. But I saw his grin, a wink of his eye and I just sat there and watched, watched him seize his new found freedom with both hands. Watched him celebrate, his face all lit up at the chance he had been given, the chance to wring freedom with both hands before stamping his size twelves all over it, like he’d done before.
He smiled. I shivered.
I should have spoken louder, not the pathetic whimper of a coward.
Too late now as his hand was on my shoulder, his grip like a vice.
“Time to go home babe,” he said.
I looked to his shattered victim, too dazed to even shed a tear. Too numb to feel. Her freedom gone.
My freedom all but a dream as he squeezed my hand.
Home. I couldn’t believe he was found not guilty. I wanted freedom, a new life from him, suitcase already packed. But a guilty verdict escaped common sense and justice today. And he’d see the suitcase. See my betrayal. And I, I would see the blur of his size twelve.


Written for Thursday Threads over at The Weird, The Wild and the Wicked. This week's prompt; just sat there and watched.  

Tuesday, 18 November 2014

Horror Bites #12 The Special Offer


  The Special Offer

Fed up with wilting plants?
  Worry no more with our new 
Miracle Fertiliser.
  100% organic ingredients. As natural as nature intended.   
                Alfred read the leaflet with interest, looking out upon his withered flower beds. He’d tried everything without success. The new garden centre in town was just what he needed. And it was the grand opening tonight, promising special offers along with a glass of fizz.
            When Alfred arrived, it was packed but that didn’t stop him noticing the larger than usual potted plants, the champion winning sized vegetables and beautiful, aromatic flowers; brighter, bigger and taller than anything Alfred had ever seen.
          Excitement fuelled him as he hurried around the centre, searching for the fertiliser until a shrill scream stopped him in his tracks. Everyone rushed to the source of the scream and found a woman quivering in front of a bench where an arm hung at a distorted angle.
         Silence fell.
         Fear clenched around Alfred like a fist, wanting explanation but not prepared for the answer.     
        “I guess we’ll have to buy into this,  buy a bag of fertiliser,” a man said next to Alfred. “Ask no questions.” Alfred stared back, horror etched on his face at the acceptance of such an act. “It might be our only way out,” the man said.
       “Yeah, except,” Alfred began, “all I see are very large flowers and vegetables . . . but not one bag of fertiliser for sale . . .  not one . . . anywhere in this entire place . . . Don’t you think that’s odd?”
        “But . . . you can’t mean?” the man spluttered, his face devoid of all colour. Alfred never got a chance to reply as the ceiling opened up to slicing, grinding metal, descending down, cascading the plants in a wash of crimson.

287 excluding title but including advert.  

Thursday, 13 November 2014

Take Care Of Him ThursThreads

I haven't written for ThursdayThreads over at The wierd, The Wild and the Wicked , hosted by Siobhan Muir for like a gazillion years. Thought I'd try it this week and hoping it gets easier! xxx

Jack couldn’t carry on as blood seeped through the bandage wrapped around his thigh, trickling down his leg. He’d told them to just leave him, but Carl refused.
“We’re not far from the river,” began Carl. “We’ll go scout the area, you take care of him, until we get back,”  he ordered Laura. She watched as they were swallowed up by jungle in seconds.
“You’re slowing us down,” Laura whispered. It was a simple mission; retrieve the data, kill a few bad guys and get rescued. But there was no data. Just Jack and he was a liability. “I don’t want to die out here,” she said, kneeling over Jack.
“We won’t. Carl will get us back.”
 She pressed a damp cloth to his forehead. 
Vulnerability crept in along with the night. 
Carl would be back shortly and he wouldn’t go until Jack was ready. She was going to die.
Sliding the cloth down his face, she stopped before pressing hard over his mouth and nose, her knees locking his arms until he became still.
“We’ve sussed out the route,” Carl said, returning not long after. “How’s Jack?”
She knew Carl would check and then they could move out and Laura was already thinking of hot baths.
“We’ve got to back in,” said Carl, still looking down at Jack, noticing a purple tinge around his mouth.
“Jack had the data in his head. And because of you we’re all going back.”


And Yay! It won a Honorable Mention. x


Saturday, 8 November 2014

Remembrance Stan

Friday 9th May 2014
      It’s the perfect spring morning, a bit chilly. There’s a thin coating of  frost on the ground  even though  there’s wall to wall sunshine in a cloudless, blue sky. The bare winter trees are now dressed in their buds of blossom, some have flowers. It’s really pretty. I’m so pleased the weather is perfect because today, I’m going to France, then Belgium, on the ferry, my first time abroad and two countries!
  It’s a special trip. I’m going to see where my Great, Great Granddad ( Stan) is buried. I’ve seen photos of him. He looked really young and handsome. My Dad said he takes after him. It’s the first time we’re all seeing his grave, Nan and Grandad are coming too. It’s hard getting the family tree in my head. But it’s my Nan’s Grandad. It’s her first time too.
   The ferry crossing is OK. Bit boring but better than school. Missing double maths. Cool. The view is amazing though. I can see the white cliffs even though I’m closer to France. France is no different to home except we’re driving on the wrong side of the road. Dad has sworn a few times and Mum is tutting. Trying to write but feeling sick.
     Journey was OK once Dad got used to the roads. Hotel is awesome. In my own room but can hear Mum and Dad talking, well their mumbled voices anyway. Tomorrow, we’re going to the grave, a place called Ypres, in Belgium. Apparently, the whole town was destroyed. I don’t know much about it as we’re just learning about it in school. Mr Gibbs wants lots of photos and a journal of my trip, saying how privileged I am especially as it’s a 100 years since the war started. I don’t know how I feel. I mean I know Stan’s a relative but I don’t know him. And this war was supposed to end all wars. Well, that worked out well ???
     I really wanted to try frogs legs but bottled it. Just had steak although Dad made jokes that it was  horse. Can’t take him anywhere.
    I’m stuffed and tired, bed cosy. Night, night.
Saturday 10th May 2014.
  Off to Belgium
   Missing Kayleigh’s birthday party today. Not impressed. Was OK with it yesterday as missed school but just been on facebook and seen all the plans and fun they’re going to have. Typical. And the weather is rubbish. And now Mum is having a go about the cost of going on the internet. What’s the point of having a mobile if I can’t use it when I’m mobile????
     Arrived in Ypres. So many chocolate shops!!! Of course! Belgian chocolate. Mum is excited. I’m excited! Grandad has bought me some. I might share with Kayleigh for her birthday when I get back. Might.
    Well, the Belgians have no idea about chips! Mayonnaise! Who has mayo on chips? Where’s the Ketchup??? They know how to serve ice cream though!
    Off to the museum now and grave, Apparently, there’s a special ceremony. Mum say’s out of respect to leave my journal at home and pay attention.
   Oh my God! I don’t know what to say! Mr Gibbs! Everyone should come here!
   I’m alone in my hotel room and I can’t stop crying. Apparently, it was 99 years ago today, TODAY that my Great, Great Granddad, Stan, died. He was gassed! There was a massive ceremony, chememorating commemorating the fallen. Over 59 thousand British soldiers died and my Great, Great Granddad was one of them. I can’t believe the carnage! The mud! The explosions! It was awful what they had to live through. The town was obliterated. I saw a model of the town in the museum of the war. Soldiers apparently disappeared in the mud. Stan had a grave. Some didn’t. They’re out there somewhere. And there’s graves that are unknown soldiers. That is so sad.  Rows and rows of  young men. All dead. Stan was only 19. That’s no age, only five years older than me!
    It was really quiet as we walked among the graves. They were really neat and clean, the grass so short and fresh. People come every day to look after them and that makes me so proud.
   The other thing that surprised me were the fields. So full of bright, green grass and poppies. Hundreds of them. It was beautiful. To think those fields were just mud, full of bodies and death, explosions. I can’t imagine it, even though the museum showed me. It’s so hard to imagine. What it must have been like to actually be there, living it, I just can’t imagine. So brave!
    After the graves, we had dinner. We hardly spoke. We were all subdued. But then we walked to the gate. Every night they have this ceremony. And it finishes with a lone trumpet or bugle playing the Last Post. We all cried. Such respect shown for people they don’t know. I love these people.
     I don’t care about Kayleigh’s party. Because of people like my Great, Great Granddad, Stan, she’s able to have one. I’m so pleased Mr Gibbs is teaching us about this war. It’s 100 years since it started and no one is left, Nan says. We have to remember. I’m going to put my feelings into a poem. Miss James wants a poem for English homework. I’m going to ask for a service of remembrance too. I want people to know how brave Stan was, and all the other soldiers from all over the world.
   It’s so quiet now. I think everyone is asleep. It’s so dark outside. I wonder how Stan felt, in the trench knowing he was to fight with all those guns shooting at him,  and bombs falling around him. How do you walk towards that? To certain death? I bet he was terrified. But so brave. So young. Nan said he loved spring, loved the garden coming to life. I bet he hated it here. I still can’t stop crying and I’m rambling.    
  My emotions are so jumbled.   
  Going to try and sleep.
  Night night Stan, your Great, Great Granddaughter, Megan.  

Saturday, 11 October 2014

Horror Bites #11 The Dance

Her fiery red dress twirled in a blaze as Miranda danced, spinning around the circle, lit only by the meekest appearance of the moon and the fire lit torches. On occasion, Miranda spun so wildly, her dress nearly caught the flame. Her bare feet bled from the rough ground but still she danced. Her olive skin glistened as her ebony hair plastered her face as her wild, dark eyes shone like black diamonds.

Finally, at the first glimpse of dawn, Miranda collapsed at the feet of a young man. Grinning madly, he cradled her in his arms as the crowd dispersed, some with relief etched over their wisened faces.

Looking anxiously up at the approaching day, Miranda knew time was short. And hunger raged deep within her.
“Come, I have a nice room,” Carlos said, trying to lift her.
“No, here,” Miranda replied, rooted to the spot. If Carlos had taken time to look upon Miranda, he would have seen her feet disappear into the earth, her legs become a brittle stem of thorns. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her mouth to his, stifling his cry as her body stiffened. Thick thorns tore through her dress, stabbing into Carlos like he was a pincushion. His blood flowed through the thorns, feeding her as she grew. Her tendrils entwined him in a vice, devouring his soft skin and flesh to a pulp. Carlos could do nothing but watch his body slowly dissolve as her hair enveloped his face, before turning into tendrils of thorns, seeking out the soft flesh inside his skull

As the sun rose, it looked down upon a parched earth where the only moisture surrounded what looked like a decaying tree stump and its branches of plump, crimson thorns.

Written for Horror Bites hosted by .

Monday, 2 June 2014

Horror Bites #5 The Gift

The old woman sat patiently at her stall at the spring fair, watching people passing her by. But she didn’t mind. She knew someone would stop and that was all she needed. Just one.
Sally was that one. She squealed with delight seeing the beautiful brooches glinting in the sun and dragged Arthur by the arm for a closer look.
   “Oh these are beautiful,” Sally sighed looking at the table of moth brooches.
    “Each one is unique,” the old woman said, “but all beautiful. I can find just the right one for you my dear.”
     “Oh please Arthur!” She spied Arthur’s reluctance. “As an early wedding gift, from you to me.”
     Arthur’s face softened and he smiled. “Which ever one you desire Sally.”
     “This one,” the old lady said before Sally had time to look at them all. “This one matches your eyes perfectly,” she said holding up an emerald studded moth set in silver. Sally took the brooch, admiring the detailed silver wings, intricate like lace.
     “I like this one,” Arthur said, holding up a gold moth studded with sapphires, so deep and dark, they almost look black.
     “No. It has to match the eyes!” she said sternly, them more softly, “Men know nothing of jewels.”
      “I want the one to match my eyes,” Sally agreed.
      The old woman pinned it to Sally’s blouse. “There you go, it really suits you my dear. If I were you, I wouldn’t ever take it off, at least not today.” Her wrinkled face creased even more into a toothless smile as Sally and Arthur walked away.
The old woman threw everything into and sack, slung it over her shoulder and left just as Sally’s friends were admiring her brooch. One sale was enough.
Back in her cabin in the deepest, thickest part of the forest, the old woman dusted off an old book before opening it up. The pages turned themselves before stopping at a page showing a picture of the brooch Sally had bought.

Muttering incomprehensible words that only the book could understand, she watched as the picture of the moth faded.

At that moment, Arthur let out an anguished cry as Sally crumpled to the ground, her clothes hanging off her now frail frame, her golden hair was now as dry as straw and fading fast to grey. He watched as the years past in seconds on Sally. Wrinkles upon wrinkles, sunken eyes, like thin skin on a skeleton before she vanished into a pile of dust.

The brooch on her blouse fluttered its wings and flew off, towards the forest as Arthur howled with grief.

The moth landed on the old woman’s tatty robes and she breathed in heavily before looking in the mirror at her young, beautiful self.


Friday, 30 May 2014

Thursday Threads You Know What I Mean?

The drinks came thick and fast yet Lianne wasn’t relaxed despite the row of empty glasses. She’d pay  in the morning, no doubt, but right now, her mind and body needed numbing as she downed another shot.
   “I’m sure Tim would’ve forgotten all about it,” Janice said in a sickly sweet sympathetic voice.
     What did she know? “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lianne sneered. “You weren’t there.”
     “I know but, people have rows all the time, you know what I mean? In the heat of the moment, things are said, you can’t unsay but you can move on. Everything will be fine come morning.”
     Lianne’s hand shook as she picked up a fresh cocktail glass. Nothing was fine and never would be. He said dreadful things, pushed her too far with his accusations of cheating, throwing mistrust at her in the form of a fist. All she wanted was to go out for drinks with Janice, had planned it months in advance, knowing what he was like.
    It was when the second fist came in towards her already bloodied nose, she defended herself, grabbing the first thing she could, hitting him in the forehead. She’d never forget the blank look on his face as his eyes rolled back and a trickle of blood ran down his face before he keeled over, slamming into the floor head first.
   She’d left him exactly where he fell, and as she downed another cocktail, a story had already formed in her mind.


My first Thursday Threads in I don't know how long!!! Visit Siobhan Muir over at The Weird, the Wild and the Wicked for more tales. xx