7.7.7

Hello… I got tagged into this by the awesome Holly and it would have been rude not to have accepted. 

Post 7 lines, from the 7th paragraph, on the 7th page or chapter of your work in progress.

A plump, haggard and disturbed looking woman walked down the stairs with an expression of disgust. Fer thanked the creator for not being placed with her. Gracious nodded towards Miss D but her expression never changed. Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, she looked towards her group, arms folded and shook her head with disapproval. Fer feared for her fellow subjects.

If that is what the first group are getting, what are we in store for? Fer thought as she waited for the dreaded introduction.

“Gracious, would you please do me the honour of escorting your subjects to the west quarter in which they will reside,” Miss D requested.

If you wish to participate please do so. It is fun to do!

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Misguided Angel

 The new year is nearly upon us. Are we all making resolutions and preparing to be better at things? Maybe? Maybe not? Let’s just enjoy the ride 🙂
This post was inspired by a Cosplay picture I posted by @Saundersalannah a great artist and dabbles in poetry. Should really check out her thread.

I wrote this story and when I looked at the word count it was exactly 60 words. So why not post another short short short short story, I thought. I am not sure if I will expand on this in the future but there is every possibility I will. We shall see what the new year holds.

                              Misguided Angel

She walked through the broken land a beautiful creature but a battered soul. The trauma that had been dealt by years of conflict and unholy war, a reflection of the being she was now. She stood tall, black wings poised, as the city of Perfection burnt to a cinder behind her, leaving nothing but a shadow. The next task awaited.

———————————————————————-

All written work is the property of Hyperactivepandemonium

Song for the week

Happy holidays!
I hope everyone has had an amazing Christmas period; enjoying family time, great food and drink and unwrapping the amazing gifts Santa (in different shapes and sizes) brought you! Now there are the New Year celebrations to look forward to!

I was unsure when I would be posting again before the new year but inspiration has struck at 1am in the morning. I find it difficult sleeping; ever since I was born I have never been keen on sleeping (you sleep when you are dead, right?). So this is why you are getting this post.

  
I achieved 30,000 words this month for the Sibling novel. I shared on Twitter novelaesthetics (I will be starting a Pinterest for this soon) and it got me thinking of the future. I know it will not end on this novel (possibly 3, maybe less, maybe more). I have been listening to music at night recently and came across a song that I have not heard in such a long time. Once I heard it, I realised it fit in well with a storyline in the novel and will guide me through the writing process over the week (it won’t give too much away for the possible readers). So for the first ever Song for the week and one that has provided inspiration, I present to you the lyrics of Motley Crue’s If I die tomorrow. I recommend checking it out!

                            

                              If I die tomorrow

I wake up to find myself
after all these years
and where all the time has gone
still seems so unclear
‘Cause there is no one else
since I found you
I know its been hard
You should know

If I die tomorrow
as the minutes fade away
I cant remember
Have I said all I can say?
You’re my everything
You make me feel so alive
If I die tomorrow

It brings out the worst in me
when you’re not around
I miss the sound of your voice
the silence seems so loud
‘Cause there’s no one else
Since I found you
I know its been hard
You should know

If I die tomorrow
as the minutes fade away
I cant remember
Have I said all I can say?
You’re my everything
You make me feel so alive
If I die tomorrow

I spent all my life
Looking for our innocence
I’ve got nothing to lose
One thing to prove
I won’t make the same mistakes
now I know
that everything will be okay
when I die tomorrow

If I die tomorrow
as the minutes fade away
I cant remember
Have I said all I can say?
You’re my everything
You make me feel so alive
If I die tomorrow
You make me feel so alive
If I die tomorrow
If I die tomorrow

Fantasy #4: Merry Christmas

  

It’s Christmas Eve! This is the final instalment of the Fantasy week and I have had so much fun writing it! The usual schedule of posts will no longer take place for the rest of the year, instead there will be a few posts that I have set up so this blog can still run. All things will return to normal on Saturday 2nd January with Supplementary Saturday!  

I hope everyone is all set for Christmas; presents wrapped, food and drink ready to be consumed and the spirit of Christmas all around. Christmas Eve for me is walking around the beautiful town of Sandwich, wrapping up warm and enjoying a hot drink. This will follow up with baking, getting wrapped up and watching A Muppets Christmas Carol and anticipating Christmas Day with our families. (I may even sneak in a few Gin and Tonics or Ports).

  

I would like to say a huge thank you for all the readers of the blog this year and I wish you all a ver Merry Christmas and an absolute wonderful new year! You are all amazing! I couldn’t do this without you and your support is wonderful.

                                Merry Christmas

Jess turned the red bauble over in her hand, her mind elsewhere. 
It was Christmas Eve and the tree was bare. All ornaments were in cardboard boxes, presents wrapped but hidden underneath the bed and in the cupboard, the life of Christmas not yet felt in the household.
Sten stood in the doorway, arms folded and casted an eye over the girl that was no longer a child. She had grown up fast over the year since her parents death, and now at sixteen, all magic of Christmas had been drained from her. 
“Why do we bother with this?” Jess said, holding the bauble up, not taking her eyes from the ornament.
Sten walked over to the girl he had taken in at her time of need, placed a hand on her shoulder and knelt down. At seventy five, his energy was lacking, his body not as stable or worked as it once had, but the love of the festive time was still strong.
“It’s a magical time. Snow falls. wishes are made and dreams come true.” 
Jess placed the bauble back into the box, closed it and sighed. “I’m sorry, I am not in the mood. It doesn’t mean much anymore to me. I’m sorry Sten, I know you love it, but I just can’t.”
Jess jumped to her feet, placed a kiss on Sten’s cheek and went to walk out. Sten was unsure how to pacify the girl. He could use his talents, the art of manipulation, but the thought made him nauseated. Sten could never do such a thing to a person he cared for. A moment later, a thought occurred to him.
“Wait, Jess.”
Jess stopped at the door and turned with a forlorn stare. “Sten?”
“Grab your coat, scarf and gloves. I wan’t to show you something.”
—-
Sten and Jess wrapped up appropriate for the bitter winds of the Kingdom, the snow falling hard and the two battling the depth of the snow with each step. Sten led her to a small wooden gate that held back any potential visitors to a disregarded forest.
Jess raised an eyebrow, already defeated. “This it?”
Undeterred Sten smiled and shook his head. “This is just the beginning, Jess. To see it at full effect, you must hold my hand as we cross over.”
Jess rubbed her arms to battle the cold and from her countenance she was disappointed. Sten was not cruel to her, he knew she saw the same thing as he did. A battered old gate, wearing thin and being held up by two broken wooden supports either side and a stretch of fence separating the land area from the forest that had been worn down by the harsh winter. 
“Sure, why not?” Jess said with reluctance and took Sten’s hand.
Sten smiled but knew it was only an act of Jess’s part. In a few moments, Sten hoped that would change. He flicked the lock, swung the gate open, stepped in hand in hand with Jess and pulled the entrance shut. For the first time in over a year, her eyes widened and a smile of wonder spread over her face. 
The grey sky turned to a dark blue night, stars twinkled high and far. The forest dissipated to a village of thatched houses, sweet shops and taverns, all decorated with Christmas lights and ornaments. Pine trees stood tall, dusted with snow; an enormous Christmas tree lit up the village in the distance, lights bright and wonderful. A stream with a thin layer of ice ran through it, a wooden bridge with fairy lights allowing access from one side to another. Men, women and children wrapped in warm clothing strode or skipped down the street, smiles wide and jovial spirit infectious. Families skated on an ice rink, stars shooting above and exploding into a fountain of colours. 
Jess turned to Sten and gasped. He had felt it happen. His skin stretched a little, his face puffed out and grew facial hair, his long hair thinned and his clothes changed. A tall reindeer rode up next to Sten and nudged him with his head. He patted the head and took hold of the reins. 
“Santa?” Jess choked.
Sten chortled. “Do I have a story to tell, but first, welcome to Christmas.”
They headed for the village, snow falling and the spirit of Christmas high. 


Fantasy #3: Magic


Only two more sleeps to go! Ruby the Cat wanted to wish you a very Merry Christmas and has snuck into this post! She is a lovely assistant to my writing but a terrible critique. If it was up to her, my work would be torn, up, chewed and eaten. Half the time I would agree with her.

On to the story. Today’s story came to me last minute and is a short one. It replaced a few I had in mind but was fun to write and thought I would share it. I hope you all stick around for the finale tomorrow. Thank you all for reading 🙂

Magic


Her lips tasted sweet, her neck was soft and smooth, his hands removing her clothes as if unwrapping a gift with care as the anticipation grew.
Nee allowed her to kiss his lips, but he wanted to remain in control. Her magic was much potent than his, he could feel it when he gripped her hands. The tingle in her fingertips, the vibration that emitted from her palms, and with every kiss he placed on her shoulder, every trace of the tongue along her neck and lips, her once pale skin glowed with vigour.
Her messy brown hair was silky soft, his hands glided through it, gripping it at the strand as he nibbled around her breasts. Embers flaked off the smooth body of the woman, swaying above the amorous pair and lighting up the room. A pale mist left her mouth with every moan, her back arched and hands gripping at his hair as his mouth edged its way down her body until her legs were over his shoulders.
His strength began to wane, his concentration fading and his hands becoming lazy. His body rushed over her, an urgency controlling his actions, pulling her on to him, her strength combining with his as he took her with a new found life. Screams of passion filled the room, their bodies entwined, skin again skin and in the throes of passion, Nee taking control and casting his evil deeds over her. The embers lit the room for the rest of the night until the man and woman were left in an exhausted state.

—————————

Nee woke the next morning revitalised. He left the bed with an extra bounce in his step, light on his feet and a sense of magic that he had never felt before. His finger tips had a touch of gold, his once dimmed view of life now bright and full, an energy surged his mind and body that could not help bring a smile.
He made himself a hot cocoa, something that he never liked the taste of before but found in the woman’s cupboard, showered and was dressed in yesterday’s clothes in no time. The woman’s corpse remained on the bed, her magic drained along with her life, and flowing around Nee. It wasn’t the most dignified way to claim someone’s magic, but to Nee, the most enjoyable.
He left the house leaving the antics of the night before behind him, stepping out in to the bitter cold, snow blizzards in his future and the warm glow of claimed magic keeping his temperature right.
He looked back at the logged cabin and a thought occurred to him. He closed his eyes, cast his mind over the magic that was foreign to him and drew it up from deep inside. His fingertips tingled, his temperature increased and the sense of direction guided him to the next woman. The Magic of Being was the powers he had stolen. It wasn’t the greatest but it would be a start.
There were several more powers to claim before he could return to the Kingdom he was once banished from. He would return a different man, one with powers and knowledge far superior than any other and claim the throne that was once his.
The King would have his day again.


Fantasy #2: The mute and the quill

  
It is getting closer and closer to the joy that is Christmas! I hope everyone has been enjoying the nibbles and the drinks that this festive season brings! Time to indulge, and time to read!

Here is the next story, two out of four, for the week in the fantasy collection. This is a story that I did not alter or edit after the writing experience as I felt if I went back I would over think it. So I have left it in its raw form. 

One more thing before I unleash the story upon you. If you have any prompt suggestions that you wish for me to turn into stories please  either leave a comment on here or contact me on Twitter. I have a few already that will be posted early January but looking for a wealthy stash to keep my mind occupied with. The usual format is three separate lines that I either turn into a three parter or a prompt style of your choosing. I’m pretty easy in that respect. I look forward to hearing from you! 

I now bring to you……  

                         The Mute and the Quill

“They are approaching. I’d say, ten minutes, maybe less,” Turk screamed from the windowsill.
“We need to hurry, and the damn thing won’t work,” Hass raised his voice in anger, throwing the quill back on to the table. 
“Whose up next?” Llor asked as he scanned the room.
Everyone fell silent, looking back and forth between each other. 
“They have gained speed, folks. We are running out of time,” Turk squealed. 
The tension in the room was more potent than ever. They had been there for twenty minutes and still they had no answers. Uri sat at the far end of the room lounging in the chair. He was the first to have his chance and in turn the first to fail. “What about Sasi?”
The whole room turned to face him, even Turk turned his attention away from the oncoming troops to check if he was being serious. Sasi waited at the door clutching her bow to her chest, unsure if she had heard Uri correctly.
“The mute?” Llor asked in surprise. 
Uri shrugged his shoulders. “What we got to lose?”
The whole room turned to face Sasi. She had not been able to speak since the age of five when she saw her parents murdered, their lives cut short for their possession of magic. Sasi had been spared her life, her veins lacking the strength of magic. Being unable to converse had its benefits and she did not entirely miss the charade of false pretences too much. Sasi preferred to be in the shadows, using her skill as a marks woman and being rewarded with alone time once the operations were completed. She had no desire to be the centre of attention.
“You’re up, Mute. Make it count.”
Sasi placed the arrow on the floor and took a tentative step forward to the table. Uri had failed first, followed by Llor, Turk and Hass. They all had belief they could make it work even without the aid of magic in their heritage.
Sasi reached the table and looked at the quill. It was wooden with a metal tip, brown and black and looked like it had been around for a few hundred years. The belief was that it held magic, allowing the possessor to write the future and use it as a weapon of sorts.  
Sasi pushed the quill with her middle finger and a shock ran up her arm, jolting her back. The others looked on, curious at the jolt but were smart enough not to question it. A stinging sensation ran up her arm but she persevered. In one swift motion, she grabbed the quill and held it up in front of her. 
Nothing. 
It was too late. The enemies had entered. A blue flash of lightning lit up the room and caught Uri in the chest, throwing him against the wall. Turk was hit between the eyes with a stray red blast, knocking him against the window. Llor ducked beneath the table for sanctuary but had been spotted by a female warrior. She flew through the air with grace, landing on the table and piercing his heart with a sword. Hass was the last. He ducked a magical blow, rolling and catching a man’s foot and sweeping him to the ground. He turned just in time for the quill to be imbedded into his head. The room went silent, the intruders anticipating the next step.
Hass slumped to his knees in front of Sasi, who ripped the quill from his skull and felt the energy surge within her skin. She pushed his head away and his body fell with it. 
“You did good girl, you did good,” Len said walking up next to her. 
He was the leader of the Warriors and the man she agrees the deal with. The death of her clan for a life she was destined for, the heartache of her parents death at the hands of Hass’s parents still strong. It had been a lifetime coming but finally the day would be hers. The power in the quill surged through her blood. Len placed a leather bound notebook in front of her, along with a pot of oil that contained a magic unknown to Sasi, and smoothed out a plain page. 
“You succeeded in delivering our enemies, now feel free to use the gift and good luck to your memories. Magic will forever be your guide,” Len said with a nod before turning to exit. “Let’s move out.”
The Warriors left with a sound of heavy boots. Tears dripped to the page as Sasi scribbled with the quill, the words shining in gold, the pages disintegrating into embers and encasing Sasi in brilliant gold.

—-

Sasi woke up in her childhood bed. Her pink unicorn curtains concealing the light, her brown teddy clutched tight to her chest and the smell of cinnamon rising from downstairs. Her mother was making cinnamon pancakes. 
Sasi jumped out of bed, slipped into her bunny slippers and ran out of the door and bombed down the stairs. She was overcome with the smell of cinnamon as her mother sat back, raised a finger and allowed the pancakes do their own thing. 
Sasi ran to her mother and hugged her tight. 
“Good morning, missy, get seated,” her mother said with a chuckle, hugging her back and ushering Sasi up to the seat. 
Her father walked in, tall and broad, in his heavy lumberjack attire with a smile as wide as his face. “Morning my lovely ladies.”
Sasi waved as she sat at the table. Her father walked over to his little princess and bent to one knee. “Want to see some morning magic?”
Sasi nodded with enthusiasm. Her father messed up her hair, stood tall and with a few waves of a hand, an array of brilliant colours spread throughout the kitchen. Sasi sat on in amazement, watching patches of fireworks explode close to the ceiling. 
Once the magic fizzled out and the food was ready, Sasi had a change of heart for the day’s plans.
“Can we stay in today, please mummy?”
Her parents looked on in shock. “But you have been looking forward to the town for weeks?”
Sasi shrugged. “I prefer to stay here with you.”
“Very well,” her father said. 
Sasi smiled and turned her concentration back to the pancakes, her life destined for a new path. 

Fantasy post #1: Death

  Welcome to a brand new week and the build up to Christmas! I love it; the family, the games, the bickering, the food, the alcohol and my yearly charade rendition on Christmas Day! It’s all go! But before then, I have Fantasy week in which I hope to entice you with! 

This week (Monday – Thursday) concentrates on Fantasy stories as voted by the majority that read my post. Before I start, I would like to go through the agenda for the posts in the new year. New Year’s Eve week will be disjointed but after, I’ll have a plan in place. It will go along the lines of this:

Saturday – Supplementary Saturday
Sunday – Serial Sunday
Monday – Word of the week/Song of the week
Wednesday – Prompt Wednesday
Friday – Haiku Friday

Now to the task at hand. The Fantasy story I wrote for today was unplanned. I wrote on the post last Monday the titles of the stories. They have changed. It’s a Dark Fantasy story and was a tough one to write it. To me it was distressing but I felt like I needed to get it out there. 

I will give some back story. I suffer from or did suffer from Thanatophobia or Death Anxiety. Since I was around five I have been plagued by it, staring wide awake at the ceiling, crying and cursing and concerned that any moment my family would be taken from me. I have controlled it over the years but it still niggles at me. I have concealed this from my closest family as I do not wish to bog them down with such things but I am at place now I understand things. I have also used it for my own good and propelled me to achieve. This story was written with that in mind and I apologise for dark story, I promise lighter ones. (I also apologise for being verbose with my back story.)

So here it is: 

  
                                         DEATH

The weather was harsh, the trek was long and by the time Death had reached the Tavern he was looking forward to a hot drink. The blizzard blew around the dark figure and his horse as he removed a torn piece of paper from his sheep skinned jacket. It was hard to decipher the words but he managed it. 

He rode over to the desolate hitching rail, slid off and tied his horse up. Death stroked the horse’s mane as he looked back towards the route he came. The wind blew hard, whistling as it carried snow back and forth, sidewards and upwards, concealing his past. 

The Tavern was a small cabin; the decking covered in snow, the curtains pulled closed, two lanterns either side of the door emitting such little light and a row of fairy lights along the guttering on the edge of the sloped roof to show the holiday spirit. Death sighed and made his way inside, the emotional strain taking its toll.

The whistling stopped as Death closed the door. He stomped his feet on to the welcome mat kicking off the snow. The Tavern was small, with a seating area to the left; two leather sofas and a chair was placed next to the burning log fire, a Christmas tree in the corner bright and decorated with perfect precision, boxed presents laid underneath. The bar on the opposite side was dimly lit and quiet. A hallway that led to the back was dark and uninviting. 

Death walked over to the leather sofa, removed his sheepskin jacket, placed it over the arm and lowered the hood of his robe revealing his bald tattooed head. He sat on the sofa, leant back and closed his eyes. A short awhile later he felt a tug at his robe. 

He opened his eyes and found a young girl with mousey brown hair staring at him. She was only six years old but was confident in her approach. He didn’t have to ask her name to know it. She was Daisy, the Hangrows child. It was always the children.

“You have come for my parents, haven’t you?” Daisy asked forlorn, moving around Death and sitting next to him in the sofa, kicking her legs in a nonchalant manner.

“I have seen you in my dreams. You are not a very nice man, but I understand, it’s your job.”

Daisy rested her head against Death’s arm. It was an unusual experience which made it harder for Death to accept. He had been claiming lives since the dawn of the days, but it had taken his toll. There was never any thrill in taking a life, but the more he took, more would be replaced. It was a vicious circle that the Ruler of Worlds had bestowed upon him. He understood it was necessary for life to make room for another soul but he disliked his act in the matter. He was just the pawn in the greater schemes of things.

“Could you take me instead?”

Death was taken aback by the question. It had never been posed before by a child. He could not reverse the decision that was destined and a pang hit his dark heart. Death just sat there, avoiding eye contact with the girl.

“That’s a no isn’t it? The same thing happened in my dream too. Why? Why do we die?”

Death couldn’t answer. He was forbidden to talk to anyone in relation to his business. He looked at the child and sighed. Every death was greeted with apprehension and anxiety. He had been burdened with the job of ending life and would continue on until the end. 

“Daisy, here you are. I have been looking for you. It’s time for dinner,” Char Hangrow said storming in the lounge area. 

Death was invisible to those who were tainted by life. She was tall and looked an older version of Daisy. Death could read her worries. She and her husband had the rest of her life planned out. Death felt sorry for the planners. It hit those the hardest. Char picked up Daisy and carried her out of the room. She looked over her mother’s shoulder at Death, blinking through the flow of tears.

Death stood, walked over to the bar and ignored the hot drinks, instead going for hard liquor. He poured himself a shot and downed it in one. Death followed it up with several more shots. The liquid warmed his body and made him giddy. 

He removed a small box from his robe and placed it on the counter, teasing his finger over it and thinking of the repercussions if he failed to fulfil his duty. Thinking with his head instead of his heart, he opened it, allowing the black mists of death to form in to human shapes, swaying apparitions in the dim light and filtering through the Tavern. He washed up his glass to the sounds of screams in the background. Death stood by the box until the apparitions returned to their safe place. He returned the box back into his robe, put on his sheepskin coat, wrapped up tight and headed for the door. 

“They are dead,” a young voice cried.

Death did not turn to see the girl. It would have been too heartbreaking. He did not know the outcome of her life just that they would meet again in the not so distant future, and that time, he would be coming for her. 

He left and never looked back, riding his horse through the blizzard, blocking the recent events out of his mind and venturing on to the next person on his list.