• Go get ’em, Tiger (a #weekendfreewrite)

    A burning question began to grow stronger in my heart day by day. “Is there anything missing…” I sighed, looking around at my squalid loungeroom of despair, my crotchety kitchen of corrosiveness, and then out the window at the brown grass, trees, and sepia sky. There was plenty missing. For one, a nice placed to live would be lovelier than this ramshackle mess. For two, perhaps somewhere nicer than… here. Where was ‘here’, anyway? I’ve been here for so long and sometimes I don’t even remember where I am or how I came to be here. Does that make me crazy, or just a mere hint of the mad? I…

  • Hyacaine (a #weekendfreewrite)

    The entire village was outside, waiting for the expected sign in the sky. It came every six months, without fail, but this time it was different. Marie stood and watched, alongside the rest of the impatient villagers, tapping her foot to and fro in time with the drumbeat. The musicians were playing, the drums thumping louder and louder into her soul, twisting and intertwining within her thoughts, the thudding bass reverberating against her blood. It was time. But, it was not. It was happening. But was it? A dull red glow manifested just beyond the horizon… was this what they were waiting for? A golden glow was supposed to form,…

  • 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…

  • 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,…

  • 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,…

  • Well-being (a five-minute #freewrite)

    This was not good for my well-being. I looked down at the meagre portion before me. It was a “salad” with a side of tasteless rice. Now, I say “salad” because I honestly wouldn’t call this a salad. It was a single leaf of lettuce, one shrivelled cherry tomato, and the tiniest sliver of an onion… and no dressing to make it more palatable. How could they call this a “decent meal”? Were they insane? I looked over at them, smiling and eating their flavourless helping of the little white specks. It was undercooked, but they didn’t seem to realise. They were definitely insane. I poked at my piece of…

  • In a World of Demons… (a weekend #freewrite)

    Slowly, slowly, the door opened creaking loudly. She sucked in her breath and whispered, “You were going to oil this,” and glared at me. I think that’s what she said anyway, her voice was so soft as she hissed those words, but the glare spoke volumes. Those piercing eyes. As hard as diamonds and as sharp as steak knives. If looks could kill, I would be on the kitchen table right now. I mean, assuming that she was a cannibal. Who knew these days. People held all sorts of secrets. I smiled at her, ignoring the murderous look in her eye. “Sweetie, I still am going to oil it. You…