• Through Darkest Night… (a creepy Christmas carol)

    Through darkest night, baubles of silver they gleam, Ten golden baubles shine by moonlight. Hidden within every corner does stand, Strange spruce emanating deepest fear, deepest fright. The people; they ignore, they cheer and they wrap. The spruce; they stand in despair, Dressed in artificial shrouds of red and green, The people lark and make merry; no care. Not one living soul recalls that night long past, The witch, how he crouched by shadow in deep night, Clothed in red and disguised by shocking white beard, Within each tree was transferred most mocking plight. He cackled with glee, a throaty, “Ho ho ho!” His clawed hand delivered an elven soul…

  • Billy the Boxer (a five-minute #freewrite)

    When Billy O’bill told people that he was a boxer, most people laughed. He was short –if he were female, they would probably call him ‘petite’– and was incredibly skinny. He looked as weak as a milky coffee, which was to say that he was pretty damned weak. People didn’t understand though. How could they? All of those preconceived notions. All of the so-called perfect ideals. All of the stereotypes. The fact was, he wasn’t what they thought him to be, neither was he a breed of dog, as some had smirked about. People were complete ning-nongs at times. How hard was it to understand that he packed boxes for…

  • The End is Nigh! (a five-minute #freewrite)

    “The end is nigh!” “The end is already here, you numbskull.” The sky darkened further, fiery debris whizzing through the air akin to an angry goblin juggling a thousand fireballs. “No, no. It’s still nigh. We’re not dead yet.” A juggling fireball zoomed over Josh’s head, setting his hair alight. He screeched and dunked his head into the broken water jug that lay conveniently within head-flinging reach. I raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?” Smoke sizzled from the waterjug and Joey whipped back upright, shaking what remained of his hair back and forth like an overzealous pup. “We’re not dead yet,” he repeated, a grin firmly fixed to his…

  • Why, Barry, Why? (#weekendfreewrite)

    “Where are they coming from?” she screamed. The window was black, covered with buzzing flies. Henry shuffled out from the bedroom, rubbing at his bleary eyes, and raised an eyebrow at the window before shrugging. “Oh, that’s just Barry’s…uh, ‘science project’ he called it.” “What the hell is he doing with twenty thousand flies?” Henry shrugged. “Buggers me,” and shuffled back into the bedroom, a dull thud reverberating over the floor as his heavy frame collapsed back into bed. Great. She would have to deal with this herself. Leonie marched downstairs and into the backyard, and swept her eyes over the gardens. Where was Barry? Her eyes widened. There he…

  • Oblivion (#365daysofwriting)

    Autumn winds dance through rain-drenched fields, Golden grass dulled by darkened clouds – A tangled passage that will be conquered. Determination. Traversing across untraveled paths, Sheer curtains inhibit delicate steps – Slender blades conceal certain peril. Indifference. Windswept branches pierce through the mist, Tainted skies breached by gnarled limbs, The forest beckons. Oblivion.     Today is Day 313 of the #365daysofwriting challenge, hosted by @mydivathings, and this is my little creation for today’s challenge. 🙂 Which you can find behind these blue words. I knew from the moment I saw the photo that I wanted to write a small poem for it, but the words failed me for most…

  • An Eternal Dance (#fiftywords and#365daysofwriting)

    The encroaching mist transformed into a woman, pirouetting and twirling in a mesmerising dance. Lily watched, enraptured by the woman’s grace. A chill touched her heart. The air stood still. The woman vanished. As flexible as a windswept branch, Lily danced along the city’s pathways… she had never danced before.     Today is Day 312 of the #365daysofwriting challenge, hosted by @mydivathings, and I thought that I would do this story in #fiftywords, of which the prompt for this week is – ghost. This one took a while for me to fit. I wanted to embellish it so much more! Ethereal this, ghostly that, and focus more on the…

  • TRAPPED! (a five-minute #freewrite)

    The cupboard was empty. Simon stared at the bare shelves, at the empty jars, and realised that he was trapped. Trapped by life, by expectations, by everything, by his own self, and most of all, by his not-so-secret vice. His daily coffee. The jar was empty! His fuel for the day, the sustenance that allowed his life to be lived and not merely tolerated, without it he would perish, he would be tired, he would be a husk. He needed it. It was Sunday. The shops were closed. Dammit! He was doomed. Doom and dismay exuded from his every breath, his every heartbeat, every heart-wrenching minute without his life’s blood,…

  • Sixth; Survival

    Nisha peered left and then right. A chill swept across her chest and she looked down, quickly wrapping her arms about herself. Where the hell were her clothes? Where the hell was she? How long had she even been out here? It couldn’t have been long or she wouldn’t be awake right now, alive… was she alive? A wintry forest rose tall above aqua waters, concealing snowy peaks that tried to peer out from behind the thick growth, and the silence was a whistling scream that threatened to rupture her muddled mind. Soft tendrils of steam danced atop the flawless lake -warmth; that was all that mattered. Her missing clothes…

  • Run For Your Life (a five-minute #freewrite)

    Clouds of fire and dust rose up from the earth and shrouded the sky, deafening bangs echoed into the night, and Marie near knocked me over as she zoomed past. “Run for your life!” she screamed over her shoulder. Didn’t need to tell me twice. Were we at war? What was going on!? Unable to help myself, I turned around to see what all the commotion was about, and stumbled over as I saw it. IT. The giant hotdog. What the actual hell? It was the size of my apartment block and was dripping mustard and tomato sauce everywhere. I narrowed my eyes. It was holding people! It was eating…

  • Eavesdropper! – a #weekendfreewrite

    “Don’t you know that violence is an expression of an unmet need?” he said with a smile. She wanted to punch him in the face. Her violence was an expression of the distinct lack of empathy around here. She clenched her fist and returned his smarmy grin. How would that be described in a Stephen King book? A shit-eating grin, probably. That was definitely the grin. She had always imagined it as an unsavoury, filth-dripping grin, but this… this was definitely a shit-eating grin made manifest. Instead of responding, she slowly raised her hand, turned it around, and flipped him the bird, before tossing her hair back and walking away,…