Flash Fiction By Annie

Rightful Inheritance. FGC (2012) #1

2012-02-12T23:21:00.002+10:00

Rachel scrutinised the array of tiny sandwiches. Sitting perkily amongst the curried egg and the peppered tomato sat a selection of cream cheese, salmon and walnut on multigrain. She wrinkled her nose. No doubt her sister-in-law, Jess had prepared these, trying to impress the rest of the mourners. Why she’d bother was beyond Rachel. The whole family belonged in an asylum. Their weirdness was beyond charming quirkiness, despite what Gran had said when she first started to go out with Dane.

Her fingers brushed over the delicate caramel slices and froze. Rachel’s eyes flickered around the room searching for her husband before she scooped up two. She reasoned that no-one ever ate at these things and it would be a shame to let them go to waste. Further justifying her actions, Gran had always teased her about her slender frame. Taking these morsels was in honour of her memory.

Rachel slunk over to the window guarding her piled plate. Dane had been a real arse about her figure lately. She was glad to find he was not in the room. As her teeth sunk into the soft creamy centre of the slice, she closed her eyes in rapture. Dane had been Gran’s favourite. There aught to be no argument as to who get the house. With no will, it was up to the family members to divide Gran’s belongings. Gran’s heavy velvet curtains hung listlessly in the heat. As long as Rachel had her way, they would be the first in the skip on her renovation jaunt of the old home.

The murmurings of the small crowd still hanging around the wake settled into the background as Rachel began deconstructing the family matriarchs possessions. Most of the rest of the family owned their own homes. Dane and Rachel had been struck with a series of bad situations which saw them with little financial backing. It seemed obvious to her that they would be the best ones to move in.

Rachel allowed the next slice to melt in her mouth luxuriating as the exquisite thick caramel slid down her throat, ignoring the burbling masses around her. Most of the people present were related to Dane in some way. Gran had described the family as delightful eccentrics, though as far as Rachel was concerned they were a bunch of lunatics afraid of their own shadows. Timothy caught her eye and waved cheerily across the room. Rachel gave him a genuine smile. Apart from Dane, he was the only normal family member. Her eyes were drawn to his periwinkle shoes. He was so obviously gay. It saddened her that he was trapped in his own closet, afraid to jump out.

Hunched figures curled fingers around tea cups, balancing saucers of untouched morsels. Although she couldn’t hear them, she was certain they whispered dark secrets, where only family born were ever let into the inner circle. She leaned against the wall, allowing her head to rest near the window, wishing she could escape graciously and appear again when Gran’s things were being distributed.

“What do you mean its still here? Didn’t something grab it the second..”
“What? The moment Gran died, you think we were thinking about what do with..”
“Shhh will you?”
Rachel’s head jerked. Dane’s unmistakable voice cut through the murmurings in the room. She gently pushed the drapes over to peak out of the window onto the verandah. A small group huddled outside. Their eyes darted towards the sliding door where the reception was being held. Intrigued by this odd exchange between the siblings, Rachel pressed closer to the window, wriggling behind the drapes.

“But what are we going to do with...you know.. it?”
A huffed outlet of air and shuffling of leather shoes on wooden floorboard punctuated the silence.
“Gran was very particular. It can’t just go to anyone and its not like it could be put in the will.”
“There is no will, you idiot.”
“Whatever. It couldn’t be written down anywhere.”
“But who? Which one of us could, you know make sure its looked after..”
“You mean hidden.”
“If anyone found out. Saw it. Told anyone about it.”
“Can you imagine the media?”
“I wish we could have just put it in with her.” Another lengthy silence followed.

Rachel envisaged Pete’s adams apple bobbing as he swallowed. His trademark red flush no doubt would be rapidly rising from his collar. He cleared his throat. “You know, bury it with her. It might have been the best.”
“Are you kidding? Its been in the family for generations. It’s got to be handed down to the right person.” Jess’s hiss began to hit a shrill squeak.
“I’ll say it. It can’t come to me. Rachel wouldn’t understand its value. She’s more likely to get the wrong sort of attention about it. Who knows what might happen if she saw it.” It was Rachel’s turn to flush. She felt a sharp stab of cold slide down her chest before indignation set in. She set her saucer of sweets down on the window sill,undecided whether to march out and demand they reveal the item they were hiding from her or remain hidden and listen.

“Pete, you should look after it.” Murmurs of agreeance as Pete cleared his throat again. Rachel’s face wrinkled in disgust. The thought of the youngest family member having responsibility over an heirloom which was obviously priceless, left her speechless. She wondered how any of them would consider such a stupid decision.

“So, its still up in her bedroom, in with her dresses?”
“Has been for 65 years.”
“Remember when she first showed us?”
The small group erupted in laughter.
“Opening that cupboard.”
“The secrecy.”
“We felt so special that she’d shown us.”

The sliding door shot open, the grit in its runners squealing in protest.

“Dane, Pete, Jess. You need to be inside with the rest of the family. I know its difficult, but your Gran would have wanted you to celebrate her life with everyone, not hide out on the patio.”

“Hi, Uncle Stuart. We were just talking.”
“Not about to drag a skeleton out of the cupboard are we? Do you think Timothy will do it? I am sure plenty of the family are expecting it .” The hair on the back of Rachel’s neck rose as the tension outside crackled.
“Today isn’t really the time or place is it?” The sound of Stuart’s massive paw slapping a back made Rachel wince. His belly laugh exploded. “Good one, Pete. Well, inside with you all then.” Foot steps across the veranda headed over the sliding door as the group were herded back inside.

Rachel slid out from behind the curtain. It was now or never. Whatever treasure was in Gran’s cupboard in her bedroom was most certainly part of her inheritance and she was determined to secure it, for safety of course, before it disappeared into Pete’s unpredictable life.

With her eyes cast down, she slipped past the mingling mourners clutching their plates and cups. She kicked off her high heels and stealthily climbed the stairs, cringing at every creak. Slipping into Gran’s bedroom, Rachel stopped, shivering. She looked around the familiar room. Gran’s dressing table was still neatly set out with hair pins and brush. Her lipstick stood to attention, ready for application. She expected to see the matriarch stride in any moment and demand an explanation from this interloper.

Quashing her fears, Rachel grasped the door handle of the cupboard. She breathed deeply, every nerve tingling and opened the door a crack. Dresses were filed in strict colour coding on hangers, shoes precisely paired into the bottom with matching handbags and scarves on a shelf above. Rachel stifled a giggle. Gran was just as weird as the rest of her family.

She opened the door a little more, pushed the dresses to one side and leant in, peering into the dark; unsure as to what treasure she was searching for. A bony hand snaked its way round her throat and compressed her windpipe. Rachel gargled as the grip tightened and she was dragged into the cupboard.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

This story was written in response to Write Anything's Form and Genre Challenge and currently still in draft format.

This story was submitted for #1 of FGC.

Dark Rapture

2012-01-11T08:00:00.000+10:00

His eyes slither around the room, drinking in the dark shadows. With jewelled lips, oiled bodies, a whisper of leather and squeak of vinyl, denizens of the night flex tense muscles and wait.

A tiny smile turned upwards. He would tempt them out.

Minders perch overlooking the masses. Stone hands at their sides; ready.

Its time. He flicks a switch. A deep thump begins, reverberating through bodies; beating in time with hearts. Blood pumps as the tempo rises. Bodies writhe. Hands grasp toward the sky reverently. Glittering lights sparkle.

His music hauls the enraptured crowd onto the dance floor.

###########################################

This flash fiction was written specifically as an entry into Caroline Smailes 100 word Flash Competition. I've blogged about it here .

The Story had to be inspired by a song found on Youtube last year. I chose my favourite song "Dynamite" by Taio Cruz. A pity the video clip was so rubbish; just as well it doesn't take away from the great tunes.

Wish me luck - and if you have time - DO pop over to Caroline's site and enter it yourself!!

Ragged

2011-12-02T02:30:00.000+10:00

My breath is ragged. I rest my head against the brick wall and try to calm my racing heart. Perspiration soaks my hair and rivellets meander down my back. I shake; not in fear, but in an attempt to rid the drugs they have been administering me during my captivity. I’ve no doubt that most of it has been experimental. That non-committal, casual air the nurses had gave it away. A real nurse would care about the pain they cause patients.

My eyes dart around the manicured garden, caressing the whitewashed steps and wooden furniture tastefully arrayed about the small space. I’ve never been into this part of the facility. I’m sure its a secluded spot the doctors huddle to discuss their next devious step. I begin to hyperventilate picturing cruel eyes judging me. The way they pinned me to that chair, forcing me to conduct abhorrent practices. The way the doctors would come round every day, pretending to be concerned and ask the same questions. I saw through their act immedialty. I’ve always prided myself on the strength of my resolve; my resourcefulness. I never answered them. I refused to look them in the eye.

Two voices casually discuss the big game they plan to watch tonight. I hear the faint flick of a lighter and smell of a newly lit cigarette as the smoke wafts around me. I freeze. They must be the other side of the wall, inches from my crouched, shivering body. If they stop talking, they’ll hear my heart thundering. I wonder how they hadn’t heard me as I’d crept up earlier.

Scrunching gravel tells me that their break is over. I head a door creak as its opened and then shut firmly behind them. There is that unmistakable sound of a large lock tumbler turning; ensuring that uninvited guests don’t spoil the perfect garden.

My breath evens out. I shiver again as dusks cool breath licks my chest through the thin garment I wear. I listen. The alarm hasn’t been sounded yet. My escape has still to be discovered.

I know there is freedom across the lawn. The distant hum of traffic tells me that the world continues to exist, even though I am sure my disappearance has been masterfully covered up. I can’t wait until dark. I decide to risk discovery to make my dash toward the trees and fence beyond.

As I run, the grass and trees are blurry. I feel each blade as I step and stomp across it. I grip the rough bark of the first tree as I collapse against it. I remember I used to be able to run such distances. I blame the drugs and my captivity.

A tiny voice beckons me from the wide boughs above me. I laugh telling them I haven’t climbed a tree in years. I need to get back to work. I have important things to do. I need to escape from this place. The voice quavers and I know they must be crying.

I glance back at the big building and its perfect lawn. The upstairs lights are on and I wonder what they look like from inside the tree’s safe leafy embrace. I tell the voice I’ll come up. But only for a moment.

I fumble around the tree and gasp with surprise as I find some foot holds chiseled into the trunk. One hand and foot at a time, I clamber up to the first branch and ungracefully straddle it. I caress the bark with my hands, delighting in its sensuous, gritting feel. No longer cold, I pull the thin gown off and fling it to the ground and allow my stomach to rub along the bough. My arms feel slick and wet.

The lights at the big house are still twinkling as I hear confident feet swishing through the long grass toward me.

“Its time to come down now.”

I bellow in pain and frustration.

“You don’t want us to call your sister again do you?”

I shake my head. I remember now that Sissy gets so angry with me she makes the nurses take my icecream away for a week. I slither down and collapse on the ground crying.

One of the nurses picks my arm up and snorts. “Looks like we have some more stitches to do on your arms. You’ve rubbed them ragged against that bark.”

My breath is ragged from crying as they take me back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

This is a first draft.

PROMPT: Use this sentiment or theme for your story “Your character is escaping”

This story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter.

Its also recorded as a Spoken Sunday on Audioboo ( or will be soon....)

Precipice

2011-11-11T16:50:00.001+10:00

Yale fiddled with the heavy pottery mug, swishing the remnants of the inky contents around at the bottom. He looked up as he felt the waitress hover at his elbow. He answered her disinterested gaze with a slight shake of his head and drew his mug closer to his chest. She thrust a small credit box in front of him and eyed the ceiling while he slid his card through the verification slot. It blinked momentarily before displaying the positive credit message. Yale hadn't realised he was holding his breath until the waitress slouched away. He rubbed the card, silently thanking the Gods he was not allowed to believe in. Bringing the mug towards his mouth he halted to stare into its oily surface.

Other patrons hunched in their booths, peering similarly into their own cups. Cigarette smoke hung lifelessly above their heads. Yale slurped the dregs in his mug, gritting his teeth to strain the coffee granules from the liquid. As he stood, he used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth; taking the moment to surreptitiously glance around the diner.

A downtrodden workforce, discouraged from social gatherings or frivolous conversations kept their eyes downturned; interested in only finishing their meal and returning to their places of toil. She hadn’t come.

In a split moment, Yale had breathed freely but was immediately struck with a stab of disappointment. Why hadn’t she met him as she’d promised?

His feet rooted to the spot as he fumbled in his top pocket for his work I.D card. After pressing his thumb against the translucent screen, a tiny green readout flickered above it. He wasn’t rostered on for another six hours. Not long enough to get home to sleep, but too long to continue to drink coffee and wait for a girl he shouldn’t be seen with in the first place.

A shuffling mass sloped up to his booth and grunted. Yale shuffled to the side and pulled his fingerless gloves from another pocket. Neither man met the others eyes as they pushed past one another. The smell of hot grease and chemical fumes soaked into the others jacket wound their way round Yale.

At any other time, this might not have worried Yale. The rank, unwashed masculine smell which permeated his nostrils wasn’t the aroma he’d been planning to drink in this evening. He shook his head as he strode over to the door, mentally reminding himself to slow his gait down. Excitable movements with purpose or energy always rose suspicion. Yale furtively glanced up and down the street, hoping to see her waiting in the shadows for him. He could still feel her soft hand, damp with expectation as it brushed against his at the end of every shift for the last month. Intoxicated by last nights’ brief exchange as they pushed past one another at the coffee booth, Yale had been counting the moments until he could see her again. She’d breathed only three words before disappearing. “Walk with me.”

Yale’s stomach had knotted at the thought of wandering away from the grid of society; even for a moment; even to spend time with this girl he didn’t know. But, he’d nodded immediately; she smiled slightly and left.

He pushed his way outside and stood in the street, closing his eyes and imagined her face. Perhaps she had to work an extra shift and was rushing even now to meet him. Yale turned on his heel and began to walk as slowly as his excitement would allow him. He hunched his shoulders against the biting wind and began to walk.

Hurried heavy steps behind him soon caught up with him before a gloved hand grasped his shoulder.

“Where are you going Friend?”

Yale lowered his eyes and inspected the shiny shoes of the two enforcers who has stopped him. “For a walk, Amigo.”

“You passed a tram station a moment ago. Our city has excellent public transport and yet you walked passed it? Where are you going?”

“Just for a walk. Nowhere really.”

Senior Amigo held his hand out. “Your I.D, Friend.”

Yale pulled his glove off and exposed his wrist. Buddy scanned it and frowned as a holographic image of Yale appeared above his device.

“A factory technician with Integrated Technologies. No prior history. Prolific supporter of our solitary cause.” His lined face creased as the frown deepened. “ A true Friend then are you Yale?”

“Of course Amigo. Solidarity through Solitude.”

Yale kept his tone even, respectful; tempering his fear with deep breaths.

“Walking alone is very irregular.”

“Seeking Solitude.”

“Too smart an answer for a technician. Dissenter, trouble maker ; more the like.”

“I meant no disrespect, Amigo. I was just walking.”

“But for no purpose. Going nowhere. Everyone has a place to go to. Everyone has their purpose in the day and in their lives. Our city can’t operate if people like yourself go for walks with no destination.”

Yale seethed but forced his eyes to remain lowered. Senior Amigo thrust his baton under Yale’s chin putting pressure on his adams apple. Yale’s head was compelled to raise and their eyes met. The shocking view of another’s face so close to his forced Yale’s breath out of his lungs. His heart hammered.

“Or perhaps, Friend, you were off to meet someone? She didn’t turn up tonight did she?”

Senior Amigo nodded at his college and stepped to the side.

Yale felt a jolt from behind as the smaller Amigo pushed him forward. He stumbled on the rough cobbled walkway, catching himself on a large dumpster. Grasping the edge, he pulled himself up, fleetingly touching a soft, cold spongy shape, jutting out of the top.

The lump in Yales throat bobbed as bile rose as he realised it was an hand. Her hand.

“Lucky for you we found her. Now the two of you can talk, ” Amigo hawked and spat nosily on the ground, “As much as you like.”

A blinding light exploded behind Yales eyes as he fell forward in a bloody heap.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

This is a first draft.

PROMPT: Use this sentiment or theme for your story “A Culture of Solitude”

This story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter.

Its also recorded as a Spoken Sunday on Audioboo of Precipice

Sick with Sadness

2011-06-18T04:02:00.002+10:00

I sit on the end of the bed and fiddle with the cover. My fingers run over the surface finding a tiny hole. The edges are frayed. I dig my finger into it and wriggle, delighting for a moment with the though of ripping and tearing a larger hole. I flush, knowing I couldn’t explain the damage away or blame it on a pet.

I look up at the bedside mirror and see my slouched shoulders and rounded belly; hearing my grandmothers shrill voice correcting my carriage. I slouch further and stare at the stranger in the mirror. I clutch my cheeks , dragging my finger nails downwards. Red stripes appear but tears refuse to fall. I am sick inside with a gaping, empty feeling I could drown in.

I wish I could cry. I wish I could be angry. I wish I could feel.

Screams begin from my bed.

I open my mouth to scream back, but am stopped by the pale face in the mirror. My baby writhes and squirms on the bed, his fists clenched. With wide hungry mouth and screwed up face, he can only scream. There are no tears on his face.

I stand and press my face against the cool glass of the mirror, breathing hot air across its surface. I trace a finger down the mist. My image is crying now. At least one of us can.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

This is a first draft.

PROMPT: Use this sentiment or theme for your story “Sick with Sadness”

This story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter.

Its also recorded as a Spoken Sunday on Audioboo

Lacrimis

2011-06-03T20:40:00.000+10:00

Darlah drew circles in the spilt sugar on the cafe’s wooden table, pressing them meticulously into the grain as she went.
“Hey Darlah, Here again by yourself? Didn’t you and?”
She jerked her head up “Yeah - this used to be our favourite hang out after the movies.” She looked out into the street and shrugged.
The waitress stuffed her order book into her front pocket. “Why do you keep coming back if it makes you so sad?”
Darlah stared at the sugar grains. “Dunno Sally. Maybe I feel closer to Pete here than anywhere else.” She picked up her spoon and crushed a granual with the back of it. “Sometimes I just wish. I wish I’d said something more. Its all so unfinished.”
Sally dusted up the granules with her cloth and frowned at Darlah. “Honey, you can’t keep living on regret. You have to move on. There are other - “
Darlah twisted her mouth as she looked up. “You make it sound like we were a couple.”
Sally collected the empty coffee mug. “You guys used to spent all your time together and when you weren’t hanging out, you were on the phone, texting or on skype. You lived in each others pockets. And then.”
“And then it ended.” Darlah snapped her fingers. “Just like that. No warning. A huge void of dark nothingness.” A fat tear rolled down her cheek. “I can’t help it Sally, I miss my best friend. I just wish.”
“Listen to me Darlah. The both of you are as stubborn as the other.”
“But I didn’t do anything. She needs to apologise to me.”
“What for?” All pretence of tidying the table ended as Sally slipped into the seat opposite Darlah.
Darlah slapped her hands on the table. “I don’t know. Being a first class snob?”
Sally grabbed her hands. “Don’t you think she is sitting somewhere right now wondering what happened to her best friend?”
Fat tears rolled freely. “No. I don’t. She just left me behind. She didn’t look back once.” She swiped her finger across her iphone, tapped an icon and typed in a name. “See. She’s out with a group of her new friends.” Darlah stared at Petas the smiling face. “Looks like they are having a wonderful time.”
“You’ve been stalking her on facebook?”
“What? Isn’t that whats its for?” Darlah closed the app and stared at Sally.
“Unfriend her or call her and apologise. Otherwise, you deserve to stay miserable.”
“I should complain to your boss, Sally. You’re not exactly doing your job.”
Sally stood and crept her arms around Darlah’s shoulders. “Sorry Babe. My job description of big sister is being a pain in the arse. I doubt Dad would sack me no matter what I did.” Darlah smiled through her tears. Sally gently guided her to stand. “Life's too short being worried about other peoples problems. Sort this bump out, or it will cause a wrinkle in your whole journey.”
Darlah nodded and picked up her iphone. With a swipe of a finger, she took her next definitive step.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

This is a first draft.

PROMPT:
Use this sentiment or theme for your story “I miss my best friend”

Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter.

I do plan for this story to be recorded and posted up for Spoken Sunday via Audio Boo at a later stage.... whether it happens or not is a different matter.

Rapture in the 22nd century

2011-05-27T06:37:00.001+10:00

The prompt over at Write Anything this week looks at what the end of the world. (Given it was slated in for last Saturday evening.)

As always, this is in first draft format. I have picked up a blog serial I used to play with surrounding Turion ( see below for more info about it)

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Turion wound an extra layer of think cloth round the stubs of his fingers and palm, allowing the ends of his digits dextrous freedom. The deserts’ chilled air had begun to creep into the cockpit and quietly numbed his extremities.
His constant companion, the tiny sound system only played three ballads and sat beside his head as he worked. He hummed to his mothers favourite philosophers fish bowl song. The words to Mr Floyd's song had never made much sense to him; but he adored his mother and the way she sang it. The light was beginning to fade and he knew he needed to work quickly to secure the spare parts the Village needed. A tiny screw fell onto the rusting flooring of the shuttle. Turions shoulder protested as he twisted to retrieve it, secreting it in his cargo pants.Although he thought the elders mightn’t be worried about his keeping it; Turion wasn’t going to take any chances. he had plenty of little projects which he could use extra parts like the screw in.
The next philosophers work thumped out its tune proclaiming joy for the end of the world. Turion grinned. For learned people, Mr Floyd and Mr Rem and had a grim grasp on their future; his past. Turion looked about the cockpit and wondered what other secrets from the 21st century lay hidden inside the wreckage. He squinted at the wiring above his head. “It will have to wait till tomorrow.” He twisted his tool delicately. “There you are my beauty.” Turions face lit up as he carefully wriggled the circuit board free from its cradle.
He tucked it into his backpack and picked his way through the field littered with battle-scared and defunct robots and pieces of transporters. Apart from Chrishmash; May the 24th or Rapture Night was his favourite festival. He hoped to boost the sound from his system so that the entire Village square could share the three ballads from the 21st Century. Perhaps this year, the storyteller would share more about life in the citadel, or about the perfect life humans led in the 20th century. Turion rubbed his malformed legs. Perhaps this year, his mother would speak about the endless water inside the citadel. He squeezed himself and grinned. Turion didn’t mind who told a story. Rapture Night was perfect.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

This is a first draft.

PROMPT:

The end of the world has been penciled in by a number of religions and groups. How is your character preparing for it?

Authors Note: some background history which has come to me about Turion - in no particular order here are some of the other short stories about Turions world.

Wish you were here
Stranger
Pining for the moon
Chrismis
The beginning
Ana Asraf

Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter.

I do plan for this story to be recorded and posted up for Spoken Sunday via Audio Boo at a later stage.... whether it happens or not is a different matter.

Hashtaged Out.

2011-04-16T11:31:00.002+10:00

The prompt over at Write Anything this week looks at what the world might be if Facebook REALLY took over.

As always, this is in first draft format.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The holographic text above Ethan’s head shimmered and faded as he changed his status to private. No need letting workmates know how hungover he was or how much he hated slaving his hours in those cubicles. He eased his way past the kitchen, keeping his head slightly bowed so that he wouldn’t catch the eyes of the other office drones; so he wouldn’t be forced to look at their perky status updates, click the like button or worse yet, make some sort of socially acceptable comment.

“Yo Ethan, check out Lisas latest photos. One of your ex’s is tagged in one of them too.” Nathan’s lanky frame extended out into the corridor. “Hey you #looklikecrap. #TGIF huh?”
Ethan nodded, looking about to see where his supervisor was. Nathan grinned, “I’m ahead of you. She’s tagged and checked in at the conference room doing a presentation.” Nathan’s forehead furrowed as his fingers flew over the tiny palm held controller. “Looks like most of the #bigwigs are in there as well.”
Ethan plonked himself down on a spare seat and pulled out his PHC, staring into the holographic photos Lisa had just posted up. “Why can’t I pull her profile up? I’ve followed the tag link.”
“She probably unfreinded you when you guys broke up.” Nathan shrugged.
“Who does that? Just because we don’t go out together any more doesn’t mean she has to be so rude as to unfriend me. That spiteful bitch.”
“Its about the only freedom we have anymore with #FB. Maybe she was #tryingtomakeapoint ?” Nathan continued to click and tap, bringing further holographic screens up around him.
“Do you mind? Can you stop tweeting our conversations?” Ethan waved his hands ineffectually through the pale glow of the images around Nathan.
“Geeze Ethan. Ya showing your age. #getwiththeprogram.”
Pushing himself up from the seat, Ethan towered over Nathan, “Ya know, I never understood unfreinding someone before. But you’re annoying enough to be my first.”
Ethan pushed a button to the side of Nathans face. “Now I don’t need to put up with your stupid hashtags and inane dribble any longer. You’ve invaded my space long enough.”
Nathan rocked back on his chair. “Ya know - you could have just edited the settings; just got less from my feed. Its #prettyharsh. #lifesucks”.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

This is a first draft.

PROMPT: Set your story where Facebook institutions have been integrated into the norm This prompt was sparked by a FB discussion–so have fun with it!

Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter.

This story will be recorded and posted up for Spoken Sunday via Audio Boo at a later stage.

Decipio Lemures

2011-04-08T11:33:00.005+10:00

The prompt over at Write Anything this week gives us the theme of looks being deceiving

As always, this is in first draft format.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Madison slapped the wall and grinned at his mates. “Well, what do ya think? Did I land on my feet or what? Not a bad place for a first home?”
Terry drained his can. “I can’t see anything wrong with it, mate. Its structurally sound, in a good neighbourhood, no rot. Could do with a bit of spruce up, but thats it.”
“So whats the catch with the place, Madison? How’d ya get it so cheap?” Patrick gazed at the lounge room with open fireplace with undisguised envy.
Tracing his fingers along the roughen walls, Madison smiled conspiritually.” She’s solid, built at the turn of the century, meant to withstand the winters”
“and home invasion.” grinned Patrick.
“Solid stone walls, built the right way; by real craftsmen.”
Terry gave Madison a friendly shove. “Now you’re starting to sound like one of those real estate dudes.”
“So its not on any developers path, near a railway or flight path, what gives? Ya can’t leave us hanging Madison.”
Tossing Terry another can of beer, Madison looked sideways and motioned the men towards him. “The real estate agent was real cagy. Nervous as he showed me round. I finally got it out of him that it was…. haunted!” He hooted with laughter. “As if. ”
“So it was discounted because its haunted?”
“Yep.” Madisons chugged another beer. “The past four owners haven't stayed longer than a year each.”
“So? What actually happened? Its not like one of those horror movies where everyone gets murdered with chainsaws or something.” Patrick looked about the brightly lit room, expecting any minute to hear the hungry roar of a small two stroke engine firing up.
Crushing the beer can on his head and laughing again, Madison continued. “No-one really said much - noises mostly. No-one could sleep at night. Some went mad or paranoid about little noises. Load of rubbish if you ask me. Over active imaginations or too many drugs more likely. But its all good for me - I got myself a bargain and a good investment.”
The gathered men looked about and shivered; their own imaginations now running wild as silence stretched out between them.
“Well, congratulations on your new home. Umm. Great kitchen for something this old.”
“Built to entertain thats for sure.” Terry hastily added, not keen to have the silence engulf them again.
Madison shrugged. “Pity there isn’t more storage space, I mean its got a walk in panty but theres no other storage. I guess thats what the old designs were like. Anyway - cheers for helping me move. Better get back to unloading the truck.”
The men hastily drank the rest of their beers and continued unpacking.
Later that night as Madison snuggled under the quilts of his hastily made bed, a low creaking sound reverberated underneath him. His heart hammered as his ears strained to hear any further noises. The crickets held their song as the air buzzed with nothingness. A huge crash, sounding as though ten windows had simultaneously been broken echoed around the house.
Madison shot out of bed, thrusting his feet into slippers and dashing down stairs. He fully expected to see a wild animal or vehicle crashed into his lounge room. Turned the lights on to see the lounge room in disarray packing boxes, exactly as he had left it a few hours earlier. He frowned and searched every room, checking every window; only to find them all intact.
Over the next few weeks there were no more noises, until Madison convinced himself that he had imagined the noise.
In the following few months, an echo of a single glass shattering would wake him in the early hours of the night. At first, he sprang out of bed to explore his home, sweating and shaking as he discovered nothing astray. Eventually, Madison would put a pillow over his head and mutter his mantra confirming his disbelief in the spiritual world.
Late one autumn evening, Madison and his new girlfriend lay sprawled across his kingsized bed. The crisp evening air was shattered by an enormous crash of tinkling glass.
Verity sat up, her eyes wide with fright and looked at Madison for reassurance.
“You heard that didn’t you?” He whispered.
“Of course I heard it. Why are you whispering?” What the hell is going on downstairs?” She clasped the sheet around her.
Madison stumbled out of bed, shrugged on a t-shirt and slipped his feet into some crocks. “You stay here.”
“Are you kidding? I’m a nurse. Someone has run through your window and they're probably cut to pieced and dying downstairs.”
She wrapped the sheet around her body and shoved her feet into sneakers.
They furtively went downstairs but were dumbfounded when they flicked the lights on to discover everything appeared normal and intact. A further smash sliced the air.
Verity frowned. “The noise is coming from underneath us. I didn’t know you had a cellar.”
Madison shrugged. “I don’t.”
The sounds of more tinkling glass filtered up from under their feet.
Verity flung the doors of the pantry opened and pushed the half filled crates of beer onto the kitchen floor. She banged on the flooring of the pantry, smiling as the hollow echo of a large space underneath answered. Together, they picked at the shoddily laid lino flooring and tore it away from the wooden planks underneath.
“You got a torch?” Veritys heart hammered as she pulled the hatch door upward. The hidden cellars inky darkness yawned below them. Another glass shattered from its maw.
“Why don’t we look at this in the morning?” Madisons hand shook as he handed her his mag light.
“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts. Come on, lets see what you have down here.”
“Ghosts no, creepy things that live under my house for years.. maybe” Madison groaned as Verity disappeared down the narrow staircase. A yellow light suddenly flicked on, dispelling the darkness.
“Hey, you better come down here and see this.”
Madison clambered down the stairs and stood staring at the carnage around Verity. Years worth of preserving jars had been lovingly stored on wooden shelves around the small cellar. Decades of disuse and dry rot had set the natural decaying process in motion. Beneath their feet lay smashed bottles and their contents as shelves had gradually given way to the weight and rot.
“Well that solves your ghost problem.” Verity grinned at him.

The Welcome

2011-03-11T11:02:00.000+10:00

The prompt over at Write Anything this week asks the story to be set in the 1880s in a small tumbleweed town.

As always, this is in first draft format.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Newly painted saloon doors yawned open to dramatically frame the figure skulking at the bar entrance. He theatrically wiped sweat from his eyes and pushed a fashionably long fringe from eyes before allowing the doors to swing close.
Alert eyes shifted to regard the stranger as an old cowboy bit down hard on the toothpick he’d been gnawing. He snorted softly though one nostril, anticipating the antics about to happen as the townfolk introduced themselves to their new Deputy. Daniel stood resplendent in his brand new hat and stiff jacket, crumpled only by the lengthy coach ride he had to endure to reach his post. Gleaming shoes peeped out from his perfectly tailored trousers; a might feat in this dustbowl of a township.
Daniels eyes squinted adjusting to the dim interior as he strode over to the polished wooden bar. Daisy continued to stack glasses but turned with a practiced wide smile at the perfect moment to welcome him.
“Afternoon stranger, what can I fix you?”
Daniel hurriedly took off his hat and cleared his throat. “Ma’am,” he flushed as he tore his eyes away from her exposed tanned chest.
One of the card players at the nearest table slapped his hand on its surface and rocked on his seat. “I just loves it when a new face comes in and sees you Miss Daisy.” His fellow gamblers chuckled holding their grimy hands closer to their chests as they suspiciously checked one anothers hands. “ We ain’t as backward as you city folk may think. Women in these parts can do almost anything. An’ we let ‘em”
A thin voice ventured from the back. “Your missus ‘ud skin yer if you said anything different Bill.”
His table erupted in laughter amidst his protests and threats to shut up and get back to the game.
Daniel clutched his hat and attempted to regain his composure. The shock of seeing a female behind a public bar had blown all his confidence. “Beggin your pardon ma’am, you just took me by surprise. I’m looking for someone.”
“Seems we all are at one point or another.” Daisy picked up another glass and delicately placed it behind the bar.
The piano player, obviously a trained musician, subtlely changed his tune to a classical piece. The waft of heady perfume assaulted Daniel before his eyes joined the rest of the bars as they watched a profusion of lace and purple satin stretched over a generously proportioned figure sweep down the stairs. Although the gown design was meant to be subdued, it did nothing to hide the curvaceous figure as she floated past the bar. Daisy stiffened and stood a little taller as the woman haughtily ignored her all the way out the door. One of the men held their roughened hands out over the bar to Daisy. “Ignore her, Miss Daisy. As if she thinks she’s better ‘n you.”
Daisy slapped his hand away. “What you mean is that we are both…”
A loud slap resounded as cards were thrown down on the table in disgust. “Dang it Amos. Wheres your mind today? That the third time you’ve lost. Ain’t sporting nor fun when you’re like this. Git drunk or git out.”
A man with a heavily lined face with sallow skin and sad eyes stood and gathered his hat. “Sorry Bill. Got a lot on me mind. Just put what I owe yer in your book and I’ll square up as always on Friday. I’ve got me boy out lookin’ for a mob of heifers went missin’ a day ago. Best see how he is goin’.”
He pushed his chair in. “Danmed women. Flighty unpredictable little bints, always turning on yer. Might see you later if I can sort out my female problem, Bill.”
He tipped his hat to Daisy, “Give my regards to Jake.”
As he left, the thin voice from the back called out. “Where is Jake Miss Daisy?”
Daisy flushed slightly and rubbed a tiny spot on the bar. “Hes back at that freak show this afternoon.”
Bills chair rocked back precariously. “Not with that snake lady again?” The bar erupted with sniggers.
Daniel fiddled with the brim of his hat. “Um Ma”am? This seems a decent hotel and all.” She narrowed her eyes “That it is, now ya going to stand there gawking or will you have a drink? We have some new cordials Jakes just got in from the city. Real popular with the Reverend and the Mayors Wife.”
“Like thats an advertisement!” Hoots and laughter echoed about the bar again.
Daniel wondered if the stage coach had left yet. Although the bar held all the authentic markings his Dime Western had outlined, its occupants appeared better suited to the freak show someone had alluded to earlier on.
“With that sort of recommendation, how could I refuse?” Daniel pulled up a stool and watched Daisy mix a drink. The tense atmosphere began to ease as eyes grew bored from watching him.
The cowboy settled down beside him. “You might guess not much happens round here.” The cowboys windchapped lips barely parted as he spoke, the toothpick twiddling up and down with each syllable. “ Fact is, a new deputy who is looking to take over from the old sheriff is a beg deal. Creates alot of interest. Folks been waiting for months to clap eyes on you.”
Daniel gulped his drink and stared at the cowboy. “How do you know I’m the new deputy and not one of the other men who came in on the coach?”
The toothpick stopped. “ A new hat and strides might give it away, but its your shiny boots that did it. You must have stood outside for ten minutes rubbing them before you came through the door all dramatic. If theres one thing you’ll learn son, being a Deputy or a Sheriff for that matter, has got nothing to do with how shiny your boots are. It ain’t like that Dime Western you got hidden in your jacket neither. Folks here live and die natural lie. We don’t have gun fights in the main street, have murders happening every day nor outlaws making their home in our town. Its quiet, peaceful and very normal here.”
Daniels face dropped and he stared into his empty glass.
“I’ll buy yer a real drink now.” He raised an eyebrow at Daisy who settled a bottle and two glasses in front of them.
Daniel shook his head. “Thank you no. I’ve got to meet someone. The Sheriff.”
Sheriff Jenkins held his hand out. “You’ve met him. Now sit down and welcome to Silver City.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

This is a first draft.

Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter.

This story will be recorded and posted up for Spoken Sunday via Audio Boo

This story also forms part of a teaser for the upcoming CYOA (Choose Your Online Adventures) Series - set in a small tumbleweed town.

Impossible Bumble Bee

2011-02-24T00:00:00.004+10:00

The prompt over at Write Anything this week

As always, this is in first draft format.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Bumble bees are one of natures Anomalies. They just shouldn’t exist.”
Zane sat slumped under a tree, angrily snapping twigs. Kari leant against the trunk and flicked her hair, wishing she could feel the slight breeze teasing the leaves around them. She smiled down at him. “Like the platypus.”
Snap. A tiny piece of twig flew past Kari.
“Like the platypus. One of Gods jokes.”
Karis smile broadened until she saw he was sincere. Her brow wrinkled. “God? Since when did you start believing in him?”
Frowning at the tiny floral chain in his hands, Zane began to twirl individual daisies, marvelling at the delicate petals. Softly dappled sunlight filtered through the large tree he sat under.
Zane watched the green sap ooze between his fingers as he squashed the stems together. “Despite what the scientists say, you know about the aerodynamics;- the bumble bee flies.. no-one has ever told it that it couldn’t. Maybe God knows what he is doing. I sure don’t. “
Kari hugged her legs as she looked out over the park. “Remember the last time we came?”
Plucking up the last daisy Zane whispered, “ Last time we were here, that thunderstorm might have scared off the other picnicers, but not you. You danced in the rain laughing at me. Laughing at them. You crazy bumble bee.”
She rested her cheek on her knee and watched him destroying the last daisy. “Why do you keep coming back Zane?”
Throwing the remnants of the daisy chain onto the grass beside him, Zane sat tall and stared out onto the manicured grounds “When I’m here, I just I feel closest to you, Kari. Does that sound weird?” He stood, brushing his jeans down. “Nobody answer that. I am weird.”
“Thats our peace shattered.” Kari watched Toby stride over towards them .
“Zane. How ya hangin?” Toby's large hands shoved uncomfortably into his pockets as he shuffled unable to meet Zanes eyes.
Zane shrugged. “Ya know. Ok I guess.”
“Umm. We’re all heading up the Point in the morning. Some wicked waves gunna be there. You should come.”
Kari stared through Toby. “Yes Zane. You should go. Stop moping around.”
“Cheers Toby. Might give it a miss.”
Toby looked over his shoulder at the distant group of teenagers. “Look, Kari would want you to come.”
Kari stared at Zane. “He's right. I want you to go. You’re doing neither of us any good being here.”
“I’ve kept your board safe. I’ll bring it tomorrow. You don’t have to come out with us, just come.”
Zane shrugged, but with a little less enthusiastic negativity this time .
“We - uh - got something for ya too. You know, to wear.”
He dropped a carved bone figure into Zanes hand.
“Tawhi’s uncle carved it. Bumble bees aren’t usually a traditional totem; but well..”
Zane accepted it numbly and stared at the intricate detail.
Kari stood and smiled at Toby. “I never really liked your friends Zane. But they are growing on me. You should go. I’m fine. really.. and so are you.”
Zanes hand closed round the figurine. “Yeah Kari would want me to go.” Toby clapped Zane on the shoulder and they walked straight through Kari on their way into the sunlight.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

This is a first draft.

Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter.

This story will be recorded and posted up for Spoken Sunday via Audio Boo

Mea Maxima Culpa

2011-02-19T00:40:00.005+10:00

The prompt over at Write Anything this week sets the scene as late on Feb 14th. Your character has realised that they have forgotten Valentines Day and the affiliated expectations surrounding it. What excuse or reason are they going to give to their partner?

As always, this is in first draft format.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

This story has been removed to be polished and submitted into competitions.. wish me luck!

Found - at your fingertips.

2011-02-12T16:20:00.016+10:00

The prompt over at Write Anything this week asks us to identify a challenge within our society and to offer an invention which will solve or ease this problem. Its our "Million Dollar Idea". As always, this is in first draft format.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

All eyes tracked the slender figure at the end of the boardroom as pulled at his ill-fitting off the rack suit. He shuffled his papers and nodded to the technician to begin the powerpoint presentation.

Mr McDonald wriggled in his chair sighing dramatically and wished he’d never volunteered to be on the Industry Innovations Panel. Most of the inventions presented were ill researched and prototypes shoddily built. He rubbed his eyes trying to focus on the last presenter, ignoring the grumbling in his stomach. The perks kept him attending; an expensive lunch once a month and direct contact with the attractive head of research at their rival company.

The run of the mill video presentation gave little away and appeared amateurish at best. McDonald yawned loudly and winked at the executive from Merc Electonics, hoping his posturing has impressed her. She had steadfastly refused to look in his direction all morning.

Carl pushed his fingers through his hair and smiled nervously around the room, gauging he had lost the interest of most of the audience. He picked up the small box and opened it, dropping some of the plastic envelopes onto the polished wooden table. “The kit contains enough for most items an owner would reasonably lose. The usual car keys, mobile phones, wallets. But it can also be linked with larger items such as the car.”

There was a murmuring of muffled laughter.

With boosted confidence, he continued. “I mean, how many times have you parked in a large multi-story car park and forgotten after an hours meeting or shopping where it is and then spend half an hour looking for it?”

Nods round room sent a fresh boost of bravado through Carl.

A manicured hand rose. “ Hi, Carl. Tracey Goodshaw from Merc Electronics. I’m still a little confused as to how this chip works?”

“These chips carry are individualised codes and are held on file by our company.”

She shook her head and frowned at Carl as she closed her folder, keen to get to lunch and away from the leering eyes of Mcdonald. “This is hardly new technology - there are many microchipping companies all offering similar services.”

“True, Ms Goodshaw, Those companies supply tiny chips to the pet industry through to mobile phones; but they only record the information. They can’t help you find your lost item. We have pushed that idea further.”

Carl nodded to the technician for the lights to turn on again and focused his audience toward his smartboard. “The chips are married to a single sensor which is embedded into the owners finger. Its a painless ten minute surgery, which can be conducted by a suburban GP. This is inserted under the fingertips into the hypodermis - the third layer and one which will not interfere with your ability to touch or feel.”

The previously disinterested group has collectively sat up and leant forward studying the enlarged photo of the chip being surgically inserted into a fingertip. “Each item has a code number and is entered into your iphone app here.” Carl demonstrated the codes on the projector linked to his iphone.

He continued. “You touch the item icon you wish to locate on the iphone and then press your finger and thumb together. Its that simple.”

Traceys frown had not lifted but she had reopened her folio and picked up a pen. “So what happens then?”

“There are two settings - hot/cold or a pip” Carl pointed to the oversized iphone screen.

“A single touch of the finger and thumb together will create a hot or cold sensation, telling you if you are close or far away from the item. You can customise the range using your app.”

A low murmur of interest emitted from the back room as lunch was forgotten and rumbling stomachs ignored.

“The pip setting will set off a small sound from your item, responding to your searching. I’ll give you an example.” Carl gave his keys to Tracey. “Please hand these around the table and at some point would someone please put them under your folder or into your pocket while I turn around.”

Carl turned and hummed softly to himself, waiting for his car keys to be neatly hidden, before turning around.

“So lets imagine, I’ve put my keys down at home and am looking for them. I bring up my app, select car keys and then the range and press go.”

Carl began to walk around the table slowly, tapping his fingers together every so often. “As I walk around the table I am feeling a slight cold sensation. That tells me the keys are not on this side of the table.” He tapped again. “Warmer , so its around this way.” Carl tapped again and grinned. “Hot - I believe you have it on your person?” He held his hand out to the astonished executive.

“Lets look at the pip option now.” He held his keys out again, smiling at Tracey. She returned it with a coy half smile. “ One of you please hide the keys in one of the cupboards or drawers, or behind one of the pot plants while I go outside and get a cup of coffee.”

Carl walked outside, and like children, the executives chattered and chirped as a hiding spot was found.

He walked back in, steaming coffee in hand and. took a sip before continuing. “So using my app again, I select the pip option and press my fingers together.”

A tiny pip sounded from behind a cushion on the armchairs beside the windows..He pressed it again and as he walked closer, the pip answered clearly.

He turned and looked at the gathered board. “Although I now know where it is, I’ll press it again, so you can hear how loud it is when you are close.”

It piercing pip left no doubt as to its location.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you my new nanotechnology - Found. What you've lost is at your fingertips.”

Carl smiled broadly and took a short bow to a resounding standing ovation. Tracey clutched her portfolio as she strode over to where he stood, beating the other executives and ignoring McDonalds glowering dark looks.

She put her hand out and smiled more shyly than she had meant. “I’d like to speak to you more about your Found technology Carl. Are you busy for lunch?”

XXXXXXXXXXXX

This is a first draft.

Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything

and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter.

This story will be recorded and posted up for Spoken Sunday via Audio Boo

Silent Lies

2011-02-04T01:05:00.004+10:00

This story has been removed to be polished and submitted into competitions.. wish me luck!

XXXXXXXXXXXX

This is a first draft.

Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything ( Prompt - Tell about a time when your character “told” a lie by keeping silent about something important.)

and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter.

This story will be recorded and posted up for Spoken Sunday via Audio Boo

Peering out at you all

2011-02-01T11:26:00.001+10:00

She sheepishly slithers in and takes a seat up the back.. then realises that she is the one who is supposed to be addressing the crowd.. and walks with head hung low to the podium...

Umm.. hello? Yes you - my faithful readers. I need to apologise for my sporadic attendance over the last few months.

I'd made a pact that no matter what, I would publish a flash fiction on Friday each week... and I've let you down, and I've let myself down.

Yes, there have been circumstances which have made it more difficult for me to write. returning to working full time demanded alot of my writing space. And, certainly, my foray into editing and project managing a collaborative writing project was longer, harder and more gruelling than I had anticipated. I had not fully grasped the reality of holding 10 other peoples stories (times 4...each.... plus the extra 30) and editing them would have sucked every creative thread from my body.

And then of course I had the excuse of my involvement with 100 Stories and setting up of the new series of CYOA.. the list never ends.

So, its a new year and I've already posted Februarys goals up. These include the return of my weekly stories as well as recording them for Spoken Sunday . I return also to CYOA, but with a better structure.

The foundation, I believe to my creativity has been with friday fiction. It has birthed Captain Juan and both of the series for CYOA, allowed me to 'meet' writers all round the globe and given me the confidence to submit my work into competitions and anthologies.

My intention is to post this Friday Fiction.. and to continue each week. Perhaps I will have the creative space to retrofit some of Januaries prompts, but don't hold your breath.

Thanks again for your continued support and comments!

I want to help those in the Queensland Flood, but don’t know how…

2011-01-12T12:10:00.007+10:00

Over the next few days, waters will continue to rise - even if it stops raining.

There are a few ways people can help right now ...

you can donate to the flood relief appeal -http://www.qld.gov.au/floods/donate.html
if you live in or around Brisbane and can help with accommodation register here - http://www.facebook.com/pages/I-can-give-shelter-to-the-flood-victims-in-QLD/179213392111896
You can donate to specific towns that have been affected as most have set up their own appeal
f you want to volunteer to help - register your skills, time and availability with Volunteer Queensland - who are co-ordinating all of this.http://www.volunteeringqld.org.au/
Also check out http://www.disasterhelp.me which aim to connect people to help out.
You can if your local register with Disaster Managment Council - group formed made up emergency services and local govt reps with EMQ on all decision making they also are the ones who have a register so you can list as a volunteer, accommodation assistance with pets, caterer for evac halls etc - registering is important
If you are any type of entertainer, can face paint, or look after kids with games and activities turn up to one of the evacuation spots and start a show. There are alot of scared people who need their spirits lifted.
You could assist with those who have been evacuated as they could not take pets to the evac centres
Got a ute or truck? Help someone shift or move their gear. Storage King http://www.storageking.com.au/ have offered a free month of storage to those affected.
You could adopt a town - search for alistings of towns - this changes day by day
Gather any of your unwanted or excess stationary, books or IT gear and get it ready for donation to school in affected areas.
your community group or group of friends could adopt the town and support the local newsagency and assist with replacing items - same as trade services etc - each town needs money put back in - not in 5 weeks but immediately so the best way to help them get on their feet is find out what the town most needs and support them from there.
Organise a clothing, blankets and basic necessity collection and take it to an evacuation spot - or get it to Red Cross or one of the other charities.
Keep an eye out for charitable fundraisers such as the 100 stories for Queensland ( contact Jodi Cleghorn regarding this) which will directly assist those in need.

Many people will have lost everything. Especially straight after Christmas, this is devastating for kids who have had to leave their homes quickly. Donate toys and games to the Evacuation Centres or collect them to distribute through schools and church groups.

In the coming weeks the clean up is unimaginable. Gangs of cleaners armed with gurnys, gumboots, rubber gloves and stiff brooms will be needed in over 50 suburbs.. you do the math on how many homes have been affected. If you are close - volunteer to help someone.

It is important you understand that working with Disaster Management Council will allow needs to be met so get in touch through Brisbane city council or Toowoomba or the council for the town you wish to adopt!

Good luck and together we can unite and help rebuild!!!

Looking to be part of a Collaborative Writing Project?

2011-01-10T22:10:00.003+10:00

Writers, are you looking to work on a truly collaborative project with a dozen other passionate emerging authors?

Are you an aspiring editor, or a writer who is looking to extend their appreciation and knowledge in the process toward publication?

Are you flat out with your own projects, but interested in seeing what this is all about and can spare some time to be a beta reader?

Remember Choose your Own Adventure books?

Ever secretly thought that you could write better endings or plot lines? Wished that there were more female lead character, more guns, more aliens, zombies or whatever? Here’s your chance to be part of formulating the next generation of CYOA..

We are looking for more team members to immerse themselves in a highly interactive, spontaneous and exciting collaborative storytelling project. There will be three pods of writers - made up by three writers, one editor and one beta reader… and you’ll all be writing around the same stories, and characters culminating in unexpected endings.

Project : Editors and Beta Readers 12 weeks, Writers 8 - 12 weeks ( 8 weeks writing and reviewing, some may be required to continue redrafting)

Publishing Opportunities for this project may include

as a subscriber based paid online story and/ OR
as an ebook with hyperlinks to be read electronically and/ OR
traditionally printed format.

Writers commitment involves:

8 weeks ‘immersion’ with co-writers; i.e keeping in contact with the team via skype to swap ideas, discuss characters and write plot lines in true collaboration style.
Committing to the tight timeframe set out at the start on google docs.
writing 4 (interconnecting) short stories of 500 - 1000 words (max).
working with their pod and editor to redraft and weave storylines during these weeks.
keeping in contact with pod after main writing has been completed and assisting with minor tweaks as the story is edited.

Writers MUST

commit to the entire process
have skype
have email and check it every day
have access to google docs
be prepared to work collaboratively with storylines.
be ready for a great time!

Editors commitment involves:

writing one story 500 - 1000 words (max)
co-ordinating their team of 3 writers and at least 1 beta reader
facilitating the collaborative process over skype sessions.
conduct one on one feedback sessions as part of redrafting stories
Structural edit with an editor partner
Line edit with an editor partner

Editors MUST

commit to the entire process
have excellent negotiation and communication skills.
have excellent eye for literary detail.
have skype
have email and check it every day
have access to google docs
be prepared to work collaboratively with their team to ensure the best story emerges.
be ready for a great time!

Beta Readers commitment involves:

attaching themselves to a group and assisting the editor with intial read throughs of drafts
providing basic feedback with regards to flow, readability, consistency across the stories and believability.
reading alot of stories over the 12 week period

Beta Readers are NOT expected to

line edit
correct grammar, spelling or punctuation
provide mountains of feedback
catch up on Skype for all of the RTCs planned ( its nice if they can catch up on a few)

Beta Readers MUST

have access to google docs
be prepared to work collaboratively with writers and editors to assist them to achieve the best for their stories.
be prepared to give gentle but firm feedback.
be ready for a great time!

Sound like it could be a bucket of fun?

Please check out the Apply Page and Details Page before contacting with your interest.

Annies Anti – Resolutions for the New Year 2011

2011-01-01T16:00:00.003+10:00

A writing game started two years by Dale, continued by Jodi, Paul, myself and a myriad of others, once again last year here , so we continue this year with our Anti Resolutions - this time as part of Friday Fiction.

I hope you join in – either on your own blog ( and leave a link) or leave one in the comments box.

Top 6 Anti Resolutions for 2011.

1. I will not launch my families career into the pop scene based on our awesome scores in Guitar Hero. Nor will I insist we model ourselves on the Partridge family, their fashions or morals... though I wouldn't mind having that funky bus to drive around in.

2. I will not start a religious cult for writers based around the worship of coffee and chocolate. It will certainly not insist that initiated members record their sleeping patterns, evicting them if they dare slumber for longer than 4 hours at a time.

3. I will not remodel my writing space to emulate Bernards space in Black Books. Nor will I follow his example of hygiene and healthy eating. I will however use his quote " You will not use that word as a verb in my presence!" (party) as many times as I can.

4. I will not attempt to shave costs on our household budget by suggesting the family adopt the breatharian technique.

5. I will not fall in a heap every time one of my stories or submissions is greeted with hysterical laughter or a form rejection letter. I will take this feedback in a mature professional manner.......... find out where the judges live and hunt them down; forcing them to scream for mercy.. sorry where was I? small lapse of concentration.

6. I will not donate all my punctuation marks to charity, but rather allow them to roam freely amongst my blog and work, encouraging them to take up residence where they feel comfortable. I will continue to ignore societal demands for the standardisation of grammar and nourish the organic growth of my punctuation with my blatant ignorance.

That all being said..

I will write every day, no matter how much or how little.. I will remain consistent.

Have a great year everyone!! My more serious goals will be posted over at Annie On Writing

Soul Sucking

2010-12-04T23:40:00.002+10:00

Kim pushed her short fringe back and adjusted her head set. She stared again at the stark text on the screen. “I got nothing Laurie. What on earth was that writer on about with that sentence?”

“ And with that dialogue we might as well reset it as a space opera instead of down town New York crime novel.”

“ok so we’ve got ‘Marion turned facing the wind, long tresses whipping her face. She stared blankly and cursed her foolishness……”

They groaned in unison. Kim’s fingers flashed over the keyboard. “Hows that line now I’ve adjusted it? I don’t like the word foolishness. Who the hell uses that any longer?”

“I feel like I am on the set of Lord of the Rings.”

They giggled across continents.

“I hate cursing.”

Kim deleted the offending words and allowed Laurie to continue to read out the text, stopping every so often to interject with punctuation or alterations on words or phrases. She clicked on a document to the side of her screen and read the title again, her fingers poised to add the next few words.

“Now she does a high kick and decapitated the guy? What the? Firstly, thats going into my WTF file. Since when did Marion have super spy, karate moves?”

Shunted back to the task at hand, Kim reluctantly minimised the page. Editing this novel had sounded pretty glamorous a month ago. Late night skype sessions with her co-editor based in the US, fuelled with coffee or bottles of cheap wine was beginning to wear thin on the glamour title. Six weeks ago, she’d been able to get an article or story down in good shape in one sitting. Her characters and ideas had flowed to the point of interrupting her in the shower or at social engagements where she’d suddenly scramble of a napkin to capture a thought or series of dialogue. The lure of the page to write had always been strong with her. But now......

“Kim what do you think about that sentence?”

Kim shook her head and focused. “It isn’t particularly strong. But getting past the structure Marion’s motivation is piss poor, paper thin.”

Laurie agreed and the curser on the screen moved, new words appearing on the live editing tool they utilised to co-edit the manuscript.

Kim couldn’t remember why she had agreed to be an editor on the project. Not only had she never undertaken something as vast as this, but she felt her skills weren’t up to the responsibly of taking someoneles work and commenting or changing it. Bubbling to the surface were always her fears on what the writer would think of her personally or professionally when the edits were sent back.

“Now this part here, why would she want to do that? Its incongruent.”

Kim had to agree. She could feel every scrap of creativity being sucked away with each line of trashy text she edited.

“Hey Laurie, I’ll need to call it a night. I’ve got appointments tomorrow morning early that I need to be sparky for.”

Instead of shutting her computer down, Kim closed her emails and internet connection. She replaced her headset with earphones and cranked up the volume on her ipod.

The breath caught in her throat as her fingers hesitated over the keyboard. There were no ideas, no voices in her head begging for their story to be told. Was she too late? A tiny picture formed in her minds eye and without hesitation, Kims fingers darted over the keyboard.

She grinned.. She was back.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything ( Prompt - Use your response to this song (We want your Soul) as inspiration for this weeks flash.)

and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter.

This story will be recorded and posted up for Spoken Sunday via Audio Boo

Lumbricus

2010-11-12T23:40:00.002+10:00

Sundays glorious morning air had lost its crispness announcing that Spring had well and truly arrived. Cyril Lumbricus couldn’t hear the distant birds broadcasting the dawn, but sensed that they were too far away to be interested in his movements. He poked his head outside his home and felt the delicately tested the ground. Dew still clinging to the grass and the soil still sodden. Deciding that it might be a little cold still for his morning meander, Cyril headed into the warmth of his front hallway and down into his workspace, intent on making an early start on his mountainous task.

Although he lived in a communal collective, Cyril had prided himself in undertaking much of the construction of his personal space; perhaps more than a good citizen aught to. He paused at one of his rooms. Last nights downpour had flooded that part of his home. As he inspected the moisture still pooling on the floor, he decided to track down the real estate agent who had been so enthusiastic about the neighbourhood and for him to move so close to his work. True enough, there were plenty of other bodies, squirming their way, up and down the busy corridors making the opportunity for him to find a mate a higher chance than where he had grown up. Not that he needed a partner. Cyril was happy to be self contained and unattached. However, he was not impressed with the backyard or soil content; despite her reassurances that any water which did collect, would quickly be dispersed.

Cyril poked about in his workspace, is mind wandering and unfocused. He’d woken too early, skipped breakfast and had not gone for his normal morning outing. Little wonder he was feeling out of sorts. Heavy foot falls vibrated through his walls. Cyrils stomach sank. Most of his neighbours, although some of the slippery type, were generally well meaning and kept to themselves. Unlike these monstrous brutes who had little regard to the hours of work he undertook.

Giant thuds rebounded his workspace. Cyril shrank down, hoping the morning interruption would soon pass. It was normally worse on the weekends when those neighbours started their lawn mower or hedge trimmer. But this was a new noise; rhythmic, thrusting deep into the earth. For a moment everything seemed silent; but was punctuated suddenly with a sickening slice.

Cyrils home exploded. A razer sharp blade thrust itself through his main corridor and into his workspace. The pressure of the blade severed Cyril in half. Green ooze seeped from his middle aortic arch and his nether regions flicked ineffectually as it spasmed and squirmed. His top half was lifted unceremoniously out of his home and inspected by giant eyes.

“EWWWW.. Daddy you chopped a worm in half!”

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything ( Prompt - Utilise the T.S.O.D – a NaNoWriMo tradition. The rules are simple. In your story, kill somone. With a shovel. Read more F.A.Qs here.……)

and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter.

This story will be recorded and posted up for Spoken Sunday via Audio Boo

Sliver

2010-11-05T23:10:00.003+10:00

This story has been removed to be redrafted and used in a larger piece. Thanks for popping over and reading it when you did!

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Prompt -Include this theme in your story… Your Main Character picks a sliver of glass from their sleeve and gravely inspects it……..( now keep writing)

Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter. This story will be recorded and posted up for Spoken Sunday via Audio Boo

Chow Min

2010-10-29T15:55:00.001+10:00

Min shoved his hands deep inside his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the biting wind. Lights flickered sporadically as ancient fluro signs zapped and fizzled weakly advertising their run down premises.

He passed the nightmarkets where tiny fish were captured and suspended in plastic bags along a wall, brightly lit for display. Rows of bedraggled birds in bamboo cages fluttered and ruffled their feathers. Min shuddered and involuntarily scratched his arms. One of his eyes began to twitch but halted as soon as another breath of icy wind hit his face.

The spicy smells of street vendors wafted about him, enticing his stomach to convince his brain to stop awhile.

The rhythmic shuffling over overly large shoes down the pavement produced a bent figure; her brown, crinkled face peering between a wooden poll. She balanced two large buckets as she walked but seeing the hungry look on Mins face, she pulled out a tiny stool and sat, relinquishing the weight of her baggage to the sidewalk either side of her. Efficiently she opened one of the pails. The burst of smell assaulted Min, his stomach responding loudly. She grinned toothlessly up at him offering his a styrofoam cup brimming with noodles. Wordlessly, she thrust bamboo sticks at him and accepted his coins.

Min closed his eyes in rapture as he slurped the noodles, hot and soft. He closed his mouth around the cup and greedily gulped at the contents. He heaved a contented sigh as he finished, his worries monetarily forgotten. Still hungry, he peered into the cup but was disappointed to see only a thin oily film laying over the broth that remained. His heart hammered as he noticed a glint of steel reflecting from the liquid.

He tensed his body and twisted, thrusting the liquid out of the cup into nothingness. He twitched and shivered, suddenly exhausted by his fugitive status. The old lady stood, frowned at him and shook her head.

Min flicked a tickle on his ear with a swipe of his hand. His eyes bulged as an animated feather boa slowly wound its way around neck. He dropped to the ground gasping, his legs kicking wildly until his body went rigid. Mins face phased from bright red to a dull sheen as the last breath left his body. The welt around his neck in crept over his face in angry red fingers as his allergic reaction to feathers spread. His face puffy and grey in death.

A slender leather clad figure dropped dramatically to the ground. Flicking its head up, it looked around and through the hooded mask, winked at the old lady. She spat on the ground and gathered her things. “You shame me. Pettiness does not make one great.”

The figure stood and strode over to the corpse and retrieved the boa and wrapped it around its neck and then scooped up the cup to examine it.

“The shame is on him. I have been hunting this offender for weeks. Always the same. Bite marks on the cup and sometimes whole chunks ripped away.

The old woman heaved her load onto her shoulders and glared at the figure. “Styrofoam cups do not need avenging, Tyron.”

Tyron stood proudly and thrust the cup towards her. “I stand for those who cannot defend themselves.”

“I wonder at times why the league still allow you to operate Tyron.” The old woman shook her head again and slip slopped down the pavement, searching for more hungry customers.

With a whisper of leather, Tyron leapt up the wall and scaled the heights of the city, leaving Min sprawled in the gloom, a wet noodle flaccidly protruding from his mouth; a small signature feather thrust up his nose.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Did I mention I was in a really silly mood? Maybe its the stinky year nines I have had to endure, editing their english homework and submissions all week?

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Prompt -Include this theme in your story… In most parts of the world, Halloween is celebrated – in some form or another – this weekend. Your challenge this week is to write a horror scene ( or something horrific) using a wet noodle, a styrofoam cup and a feather.

Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter. This story will be recorded and posted up for Spoken Sunday via Audio Boo

Passage of Darkness

2010-10-22T09:37:00.011+10:00

This story has been removed for further editing and refining.. Hopefully it will be submitted to competitions and perhaps an Anthology...

thanks for popping by when it WAS up.. and leaving your comments

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Prompt -Include this theme in your story… "After a long night, a hunter sees something he/she cannot believe."

Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter. This story will be recorded and posted up for Spoken Sunday via Audio Boo

Oh Super!

2010-10-15T23:54:00.000+10:00

“ You must be Madam Mild?”

“its Madam M now… I’ve dropped the last word from the name. Its snappier.”

The biro ticked the name off the list punctuating the silence in the boardroom. She waved the newest member into a seat at the far end of the table.

“All here and accounted for. Now,” The neatly attired woman, brandishing her list and biro at the seated members around the table, glaring at each in turn. “What are we going to do about this?” She shot a buff coloured manila folder down the table. All eyes followed it along its path till it stopped, perfectly in front of where the new arrival sat.

“If I’m not mistaken this is the work of Beryl?” Madam mild looked enquiringly across the table. Everyone opened the portfolios in front of them and stared at the neatly collated news clippings. A low murmur of appreciation filtered around the table.

Beryl flushed. “Thanks, just another one of my talents, or ‘powers’,” she emphasised with her fingers punctuating the word, “ I’ve recently discovered.”

“And there you go again. We are all missing the point. Its time that we were given more of the lime light. Our powers are just as important as theirs.”

A timid cardigan clad arm raised. “ P, I have to agree, I mean how useful is flying to anyone?”

“Exactly what I am saying, the fact you can open any pickle jar you are given. Now thats a power worth having.”

“Absolutely, all that posturing around saving someones life. Those super heros have alot ot answer for.”

“No one appreciates our powers! Damn that Batgirl, Wonderwoman, the so called Miss Marvel. I’ll bet under their skin tight lycra everything is sagging, and they are only wearing the lycra because it a some sort of in built scaffolding powers.”

Heads nodded around the table.

Miss Possibly Peeved clicked her remote, initiating the powerpoint presentation. “If everyone turns to the back page or look at the screen. Even the bad guys get more coverage than us. Where is the fairness there?”

Another arm raised. “Do you think its our names?”

“What are you saying Mr Optimism?”

“I don’t think the common folk take us seriously.”

“Thanks Mr Optimism. I couldn't have done a better introduction if I’d tried. Everyone knows my husband? Darling, you can take it from here.” Miss Possibly Peeved sat down and intermeshed her fingers, placing them under her chin and watched in admiration as her partner stood to address the group.

Slightly Miffed Man creased the sheet in front of him. Everyone gasped at the intensity of the action.

He fumbled with is glasses as he took them off, carefully laying them on the table before staring at the congregated Very Mild Superpowered heros . “I say we join the other side. The goody two shoes don’t want us to help, so we may as well have some fun.”

They all gasped theatrically.

“So who do you think we should contact first?”

He smiled, “We don’t bother. Look what I found on the internet. “The Evil Overlords Handbook” he nodded to his wife to change the slide on the presentation and directed all eyes to the screen.

“It details all the problems and mistakes that the bad guys have made in the past. Follow this and we are assured respect.”

“You mean, use our powers for evil.”

Slightly Miffed Man rubbed hands together, “Thats right Squeeze. Now, brainstorm people ;-what are our powers and how can we mis-use them?”

“well, mine is always being able to find the remote.”

“I always have paired socks - even if I put one odd sock into the washing.”

“I always get green lights when driving.”

“Mine is always finding a park at the front of the shops.”

“I have the ability to get last squeeze out of tube of toothpaste or mayonnaise bottles.”

“Madam Mild, you are being very quiet over there.”

Smiling, she closed the folio in front of her. “Please, its Madam M now. I’m simply waiting for the plan. You do have one Slightly Miffed Man?”

“Indeed I do Madam M. I followed the plans in the back of the book for a Power Augmenter. If you all will indulge me in a little demo?”

He waited for nods of agreement before opening a plastic bag and tipping out some brand new paired socks. Slightly Miffed Man then flourished each pair theatrically to the gathering and undid each, placing them into a clear plastic bowl on the bench.

“As you can see, brand new pairs of socks. I’ve just unpaired them and placed them into the bowl, which if you can imagine, is the washing machine in a suburban house. Now Paired Socks Dude, please stand in front of the bowl and wait until I tell you to empty the bowl out to find your pairs of socks.”

Paired Socks Dude pushed himself from the table and ambled over; frowning as he came closer. “Umm, you may have misunderstood my powers? I always find paired socks, even if there were different coloured socks in that bowl, I will always get a pair. What you got there is hardly going to demonstrate my powers.”

“Just stand there.” Slightly Miffed flicked a switch on the lazer gun he held and pointed it at Paired Socks Dude. An astonishing nothing happened as silence filled the room. He flciked the swtich off and grinned. “Now, please pair those sock in the plastic bowl.”

Wide incredulous eyes were glued to the bowl as the Dude tipped the socks onto the table; only to find a mass of coloured, patterned and textured socks tumble out.

Brandishing the Augmenter, Slightly Miffed grinned. “Not one sock will match another. This is the power we now wield.” He nodded at Miss Possibly Peeved, who strode over to the door and unlocked it.

A creaking trolly trundled its ways slowly in. “Hazel, our tea lady has a gift of one of these for you all, as well as a nice cup of tea. Cause havoc and see we don’t get the recognition for our powers now!”

Slightly Miffed Man cackled, croaked and doubled in a fit of coughing. Miss Possibly Peeved thumped him on the back making soothing noises. He smiled weakly at her. “Yeah, I might need to work on my evil laugh.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Prompt - The theme of this weeks story is " What is your Characters Very Mild SuperPowers? Click this link to listen to the song for inspiration."

Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter.

Like to win a copy of the Yin Book?

2010-10-11T21:30:00.002+10:00

You've heard all the hype about the mated Anthologies, now - to get your hands on a copy of one of them - The Yin Book - where my story "Kanyasulkam" is nestled.

I am running a promotion over the next four days where one lucky person will be sent a copy of The Yin Book. The winner ay choose to get it in one of the three different formats – epub, mobi and PDF - that is currently available in. ( A printed copy will be available on line over at Chinese Whisperings in Dec)

All you need to do is go over to my Facebook Fan Page and become one of my screaming fans ( alternatively, you could be one of the creepy quiet ones in the corner)

Then post a comment - it can be a congrats, be about the Yin Book, or the launch, or Chinese Whisperings on my wall. (i.e "Congrats on the launch of the book, Annie" - or "Love to win the Yin Book".)

Current Fans are defiantly included in here!

RULES -

You must be a fan
You must post a comment on the wall - related to the launch
Comments need to be made between now (Monday 9.30 pm Brisbane time through till Friday midnight - Brisbane time.)
One comment every 12 hours is allowed. One comment on my fan page wall = 1 'entry ticket'
If you comment on YOUR own wall ( and use the tagging system Facebook has so I know you have done this) about the promotion or about the books - you will be given 5 'entry' tickets into the draw. (i'll confirm I have seen the tag with a comment underneath it. If for some reason I haven't put a comment under your post within 12 hours, please pop over here and put a comment or email me. I won't have missed you intentionally - stuff happens!)

Its not too taxing on you..so spare a few seconds and make a comment for a chance to win this fab book.

DRAW - I am attending the Logan Writers Festival Expo on Saturday and will have a table to promote Chinese Whisperings and the newest project CYOA . I will do a public draw there and then post the winners name on FB when I get home Saturday afternoon.

The winner can then choose what format ( epub, mobi and PDF) they want their Yin Book to arrive in.

Good luck!!