Flash Fiction Friday: Preview

Hey Guys,

Friday’s posts are short Flash Fiction writing exercises.

I will either use a photo or a prompt of some sort, maybe a phrase from time to time, to get inspiration and start my introduction to any story.

This week I have a very special surprise for you all. It is a short preview of my book Mysery which I have finished writing and am about to start editing.

Matilda Mysery Downes is tired of her life in the quiet Village of Greenmoss and wishes for something bigger and more exciting, but she should have been careful what she wished for.
The 1920's girl ends up in present day London, lost and confused on how she got here. She knows that she does not belong and yet stays to explore, meeting a charming gentlemen called Richard on her journeys.
This story is about her travels and how the new coloured world effects this plain, grey-scale girl and what happens when she overstays her welcome.

This is the start of the first chapter, there will be an edit to this, but so far this is how it stands.

Mysery

Chapter One, Preview

As I sat alone in the corn field, I watched the stars as they twinkled and enticed me. The crystal moon stared my way. The night sky was so relaxing and pleasant.

I grabbed at an innocent blade of grass and started to dismantle it slowly. I sat wondering how the corn grew. The field had always been abandoned, forbidden even, and yet the crops grew, unaided yet wasted. The corn was never harvested; neglected by the village.

I thought about this small village that I had always been my home. This quiet village was a small pond, and I was a big fish and I was waiting for something to take me away. Every day I prayed that something exciting would happen in this village but each day was dull and un-eventful.

I laid back and wished to become one of the beautiful stars above, to twinkle and give hope. I hoped that I would be noticed, recognised, loved; this was my dream. This disillusion would never happen in such a small pond. I needed to escape.

I sat back up and snatched at another blade of grass. From behind came a foul barking, and I froze, staring out into the cornfields ahead.

Slowly I turned to where the vicious barking travelled from, but all that greeted me was darkness. I carefully stood up, turned and noticed a figure, stood on the other side of the gate, on the cobbled paving. Shouting shortly followed the sight of her.

 “Get out! Get out!” she shouted, distressed and panic-stricken.

I stood still for a fractured second, it felt like an hour. I had two choices: go back and face my punishment, as this woman would tell my mother of what had happened and she would be livid; or to run, run in the opposite direction

I foolishly chose the second option, turned on the spot and ran away from the cobbled pavement and the crazed woman who stood screaming. I could see on the other side that there was a second gate.  The woman sharply ran after me, the screeches of both animals ran faster than I could.

For more writing from myself please follow the link: http://mattthomaswriting.blogspot.co.uk/

Let me know what you think of my Flash Fiction writing and if you have any ideas for inspiration the comment below.

Stay safe,

Matt

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Flash Fiction Friday: The Gray's House

Hey Guys,

Friday’s posts are short Flash Fiction writing exercises.

I will either use a photo or a prompt of some sort, maybe a phrase from time to time, to get inspiration and start my introduction to any story.

This week I am going to be working off a challenge that I found online (credit at end). I thought it would be a clever idea as I have never written in this style before. So here is the challenge, followed by my Flash Fiction:

Challenge:

Write a short piece of fiction in second person. Use a lot of "you".


It’s pitch black, nothing can be seen around you. You reach out to find the wall and stumble your hands over to the switch on the light. You panic for a few seconds unable to find it, worried about what you may find. There are strange grinding noises coming from in front of you. Part of you does not want to find out what they are, you want to turn back and run away, but there that small part of you that is stronger, its fighting back, it’s inquisitive and curious to see what is in this house.

The creaking of the floor boards underfoot make your hear race, it fills you with terror and excitement in the same beat. You give up on finding the light switch and carefully step forward, not wanting to make much noise. You almost seem to tip toe forward.

Each time you take a step dust particles fly around, they tickle your nose and your eyes, making you feel dizzy. The small of damp contrasts to that of the dust being kicked up, it confuses your senses and makes you feel light headed, but you still continue forward.

Suddenly you remember you brought a flash light, you feel slightly embarrassed in yourself for not thinking to use it earlier to find the switch. You sigh and pull at the string round your wrist so the torch levels upward toward your hand. You grab it and turn it on, the bulb flickers and produces a thin beam of light, and it isn’t as strong as you first anticipated when choosing it.

You turn round, trying to look back at the wall you once was stumbling over, you see if there’s any sort of switch, there is nothing but torn dark wallpaper and cobwebs. You shiver and look down at your hands; they are coated in the thick webbed substance. You fiercely wipe your hands on your clothes felling a sickness in your stomach as you think of the eight legged creatures which created these webs, as you do so you let the torch drop; it catches itself with the string round your wrist, but hits you in your side winding you slightly.

You curse yourself for this action, grab at the torch again and continue to follow the direction of the wall round. ‘This place has to have a light somewhere’, you tell yourself. As you follow the wall round you start to notice dirt and grime on the wallpaper, the colour is dark, tricky to place through the lack of light your mind starts running with possibilities and it excites you a little. ‘Maybe the rumours about this house were true’ you start to recall the rumours you heard whilst still following the wall round with your poor shaft of light.

The stains start to get bigger and more defined, they worry you, you suddenly want to leave scared of finding worse, but you can’t leave yet, you haven’t found anything and if you left you knew you would forfeit the dare and therefor loose.

You started to curse Peter under your breath for making you enter this house ‘I dare you to stay in the Gray’s House’ you hear his high pitched voice and chuckle in your head and snarl, thinking of a way to get him back next time.

You suddenly notice something on the wall that stops your thoughts in their tracks. There on the wall in front of your poor shaft of light lays a set of markings, they almost look like lettering. You step up closer to get a better look.

The colour of the stained markings becomes more noticeable and darker, it’s a brownish reddened colour, and you still can’t see what the markings are so you take a few more steps forward. Then it hits you, you can see what it says and you wish you had never seen it.

On the wall scribed in this red substance were two warning words. The words ‘GET OUT’ scrolled down the wall. You get scared you panic, thinking that you had over stayed your welcome.

Suddenly the darkness is swarmed by a bright light, your eyes shocked into temporary blindness, you don’t want to open your eyelids to see who, or what just switched on the lights, and yet for some strange reason you are compelled to. You open your eyes and suddenly realise what the markings are made with.

The dark blooded hand prints trickling down the wall brought fear filled tears to your eyes, your heart sunk in your chest, you panic and turn to head for the door. You see that stood at the door was a tall shadowed figure with piercing pale eyes. Fear builds up inside you as the figure is suddenly standing in front of you, still covered in shadows, a few large noticeable scars and those wild piercing eyes. The shadow grabes you by the throat, you struggle and tears escape your eyes, wishing you had stayed at home.

The figure throws you against the wall, you hit it with force. As you hit the wall a shooting pain spirals down your side. His voice then booms across the room towards you, it makes you freeze on the spot and fills your throat with panic and fear.

‘Welcome to my house’ he cackles. ‘We are going to have so much fun.’

Challenge by T. R. Stoddard taken from Joseph Eastwood

Let me know what you think of my Flash Fiction writing and if you have any ideas for inspiration the comment below.

Stay safe,

Matt

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Flash Fiction Friday: Simon's New Cape

Hey Guys,

Okay Flash Fiction is a new thing I’ve been told about so let’s see how this pans out and works. Apparently the aim of Flash Fiction is you look at an image of something and you write for an allotted time, or until you reach a certain amount of words. Maybe once or twice I might change these Flash Fiction entries into short films so watch out for them on my film YouTube channel which I have set up for my short films.

This week I have used a prompt book to create my Flash Fiction story. The book itself is The Writer’s Book of Matches by the staff of fresh boiled peanuts, a literary journal.

The prompt I have used this week is the following, in bold, then my story follows shortly after:

A twelve year old boy decides to become a superhero:

It was a cold, early January weekend and Simon was playing with his Christmas toys. Simon loved the weekends because he got to come and see me.

His mother worked on the weekends, and his father was long gone. So he came round and spent some time with me, his one, and only, nana.

Simon loved coming round because I let him play, undisturbed, as long as he was well behaved. I also baked him cakes and cooked him his favourite meals.

As Simon played with his Christmas toys, I watched him from the corner of my eye, making sure he didn’t hurt himself or get too over-excited. At the same time I had the news on the television.

I was watching Simon and listening to the news when suddenly an article came on that grubbed hold of my attention.

The reporter was telling me the dreadful news about a war in some faraway place.

I took a huge a huge gulp and tasted my worry as the reporter continued to tell me that the British army would be getting involved.

I licked my dry lips and wiped my fear stained brow. I thought about my son Jack, who was part of the army. He had been injured a few times whilst on duty and I didn’t want him to be injured again, or worse.

Each time a news reporter came on and informed me of a fight, or a war that needed the British army’s support, the taste of fear and worry would hit me in the back of the throat.

I looked over at my only grandson, hoping that he would stay twelve. Praying that he would stay young and innocent forever and that he wouldn’t end up like his uncle Jack, or divorced and unhappy like his mother, Rebecca.

The sound of clanking toys laid my worries for the child to rest for a short while.

‘Simon.’ I called to him softly. He looked up at me. ‘Would you like a slice of cake?’ I ask. Simon nodded, I was glad of this as it gave me a reason to escape the report on the fighting.

I held onto the sides of my aging armchair and lifted myself out; I walked over to the kitchen counter behind me and reached for the draw. I opened it and pulled out a cold metallic knife.

 I placed the knife on the glossed, wooden surface of the counter and walked over to the fridge.  As I opened it, the light and cold air hit my face and cooled my worried brow. I pulled out the cold china plate which held the chocolate cake that I had baked the night before. I closed the fridge door and placed the cake filled plate onto the counter.

I then placed both my hand on the counter edge for a few seconds, staring deep into the cake, into space, and day dreamed. I was hoping I would somehow find an answer or a release from the pressure building in my pounding heart.

Suddenly I felt a tug on my Knitted cardigan. Surprised, I turned round and looked down. I saw Simon staring up at me, his light blond hair shimmering at me. He was wearing the blue comic-hero cape that his mother had bought him for Christmas.

I kneeled down to see what my little grandson wanted.

‘What’s up dear?’ I stroked his soft cheek as I asked. He placed his hand upon mine and I felt a strange sensation travel from his hand to mine. This sensation then travelled up my arm. I looked at Simon in bewilderment.

‘Nana,’ He looked me straight in the eyes. His pale blue eyes had a certain, special sparkle to them.  ‘I want to help Uncle Jack.’

My fear forcibly built, my heart sunk. It started pounding at the bottom of my stomach. It started racing and forced tears to collect and well up. This was exactly the words I had dreaded.

As my fear built, Simon’s hand tightened slightly and another shoot of the strange feeling somewhat calmed me.

‘You don’t have to worry Nana.’ He paused and smiled. He let go of my hand, letting it drop to my side. He touched the middle of my chest, it felt as if he had extended through my ribs to massage and calm my racing heart. ‘I want to become a superhero.’

I smiled at the little boy’s innocence. He still believed in superheroes and thought that, with this cape, he could become one.

‘You will always be my superhero dear.’ I whispered into his ear, brushing his soft, pale hair behind it as I did so. ‘Unfortunately you can’t help your Uncle Jack or...’

‘I can though Nana!’ Simon interrupted; he stepped back from me and looked up at the counter where I had just placed the cake. I followed his line of sight and wondered what he was doing.

The next thing I saw was unbelievable and incredible. I blinked constantly, thinking I had fallen asleep and was dreaming, yet the tears of amazement that rolled down my cold, wrinkled cheeks informed me that this was real.

The metallic knife which was lying on the counter next to the plate started to rise; it hovered over to the cake and cut through it.

I stared back at Simon in astonishment, wondering what was happening.

‘See Nana,’ He exclaimed. ‘I can help Uncle Jack and become a superhero.’

I looked at my grandson in shock as his smile gleamed at me.

Let me know what you think in the comments below.

Stay safe,

Matt

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Flash Fiction Friday: First Attempt

Hey Guys,

Okay Flash Fiction is a new thing I’ve been told about so let’s see how this pans out and works. Apparently the aim of Flash Fiction is you look at an image of something and you write for an allotted time, or until you reach a certain amount of words. Maybe once or twice I might change these Flash Fiction entries into short films so watch out for them on my film YouTube channel which I have set up for my short films.

The following picture is what I have decided to base this week’s Flash Fiction on. To make it fair, I wrote this out on paper and set myself to four pages. My writing it rather big and messy so might not be that long one here, but here is what I created from this picture below.

It was a crisp, dark night. The sky was a winter’s blue and the air held a certain chill; it tickled my fingers and me nose. I should not have even been out at such a late hour on such a night like tonight. I was going against every rule my father had taught me to strictly follow.

Tonight was one of those magical nights, when the moon is full and the tide was at its highest. This is when everything happened in this place; when the Elders met together. Rumours about what happened on these nights flew round, yet only the Elders and those closest knew.

That was why I was here on this frost-filled December night. I wanted to find out the truth and why there were so many rules and secrets between our people. I walked towards the stables, where I had discretely followed the Elders. The candles dimly lit the pebbled path and gave an ominous glow to the barn where the Elders were holding these meetings.

I waited for my time and kept my distance, whilst also keeping a look out for anything suspicious as I still wondered over the rule that I had broken; that no woman under the age of 18 should be allowed out on a full moon and a high tide.

Suddenly I heard chanting from the stable barn and a flash of red light. Smoke started to rise from somewhere inside.  I could not see clearly so I risked a closer look. I peered through a small hole, trying not to get noticed or caught.

Inside was a group of tall hooded shadows whom where all chanting around a cauldron of some sort. I was unsure of what they were chanting or what was happening, but I did not like what I saw.

I carried on watching; wondering what was going on, when suddenly I noticed one of the hooded Elders pull over a girl, dressed in pure satin white. He dragged her by the hair into the light and I instantly recognised her. She was the Farmer’s daughter, Elizabeth. I could tell by the small mark she had on the right side of her face.

The hooded man then grabbed Elizabeth by the chin and placed the back of her head on the hot cauldron. There came an instant sizzling sound from the girls flesh. This was followed very shortly by screaming from the poor tortured girl.

As soon as this happened, I winced away and instantaneously the chanting became louder. This made me look back, not wanting to take me eyed away from this evil; but knowing, in my mind, that I should stop, and run away.

The same hooded member turned Elizabeth round so that her marked cheek was over the opening of the cauldron. The girl continued to shrill and wail as her flesh blistered, singed and fell away. Then in one quick swoop of a knife to her throat, it was over. Her cries turned into gurgles and choking as the bright crimson blood gushed and spurted from her wound and her mouth  into the pot. As this happened I shed a few tears for the poor Famer’s daughter.

As Elizabeth struggled on her last blood filled breaths she was shoved away from the pot and left to wilt and rot. One of the other masked murders then picked up the cauldron and immersed his hand into this mixture of blood and other unknown substances.

For any normal human, putting their hand into a boiling pot would scold them and burnt the skin off their hands, but the hooded shadow took his hand out of the cauldron and it was fully in tacked without any marks or scaring visible. Instead it was covered in the blood mixture the Elders had just created.

After this the other masked Elders immersed the hands in this concoction and started placing it on the far wall whilst chanting. I could not see what they had done until they had evaporated away from the wall they had just spread blood onto.

When they dispersed, I saw what had been written; the words, ‘Like a Fire That Commands all.’ These powerful, black-magic filled words meant nothing to me. I did not understand what was going on.

I wished right then that I had never left the house or followed the Elders to this slaughter house. I took myself away from the hole where I was watching and away from the suffering and horror inside. I just wish I never looked.

As I turned round to sneak back to the house, there stood one tall hooded dark shadow of an Elder staring back at me. No defining facial features were visible.

‘I believe you’ve seen enough Rose.’ He cackled.

Hope you liked this. If you have any photos you wish me to looks at and write a flash fiction story on, then send them my way.

Stay safe,

Matt