Wednesday, 18 January 2012

The beached tree

First Write on Wednesday for 2012 and I'm feeling a bit rusty! I did manage to get a few pieces written over the holidays, you can scroll to these on my blog if you like.
Thankyou Gill for your ongoing hosting, support and inspiration for WoW.

from Story

As he gazed at the tree he wondered at the majesty and strength of nature. How could this massive tree, have just appeared, stricken and lifeless, on the beach? He turned and gazed toward the horizon as thoughts of storms, waves and the boat trip swelled back into his consciousness. The breeze rising, her face slid unbidden into his mind as he felt the gentle kiss linger on his cheek.

The idea of a weekend away had been hers, a time for them to take a breath from the shop and her studies. The cabin had been perfect, they’d slept and laughed and loved. Weather checked, the grizzled sea dog had reassured them that it was the right day and that to leave it any longer would be risking missing out completely. So off they sailed into the bay, to find the legendary lover’s beach.

And stunning it had been, just as they had been told. As they drowsed under the palms, he realised gradually that something had changed, that the birds had quietened. He stretched and stood looking seaward, and saw the gathering threat. Waking her quickly, he grabbed her by the hand as they raced to their craft and set the engine roaring. The waves mounted and the walls of water became harder to scale. Their faces pale and pinched, the wind whipped their hair slickly against their greening skin. And then it came – the monster wave to which he had forfeited all. One moment, one dreadful moment, and she was gone.

And as he looked back to the tree, battered, beached and powerless, he understood how it come to be so.

Monday, 16 January 2012


I decided to follow on from last week's Five Sentence fiction piece "Hunger"

Trapped in the cage of her chest, her heart hammered, birdlike, as she scrambled backwards. Was it the berries that killed them, or something else, something more sinister? Consciously slowing her breathing, the tingling round her lips receded, and her eyes darted around the jungle floor as she tried to work out what to do. She just had to get help by whatever means she could – perhaps a fire would alert others to her presence. She reached out for a piece of dead wood, a sudden sting spread up her arm and as her sharp cry split the air, the world started to spin.

Wednesday, 11 January 2012

Hunger - 5 sentence fiction

Lillie's 5 sentence fiction word of the week is Hunger.

She wandered, footsore, along the jungle track, her eyes scanning for edible fruit. She felt so alone and confused, having woken from sleep to find him gone, and that was three days ago. The reality was that there was no-one else on the island, no-one else to help her, no way of summoning help. Spying pink berries along the side of the path, she instinctively reached out to grab them and shovel them into her mouth to fill her gaping need. But she stopped in fright as, from the corner of her eye, she saw the moonshine white of a skeletal hand.



This piece is loosely using the prompts of "sit under a tree" and "in my neighbourhood", and inspired by my love of voyeurism.

They’d come a long way for this, seduced by the promised bliss of sun and surf and not a bit deterred by the alarm of shark attacks or backpacker murderers. Two years of thrift and now they were here, the land theirs to explore for six long months.
Sydney had been fun, though the drinking and anger on the streets had daunted them and so they headed north.
Today, their playground was Yamba, a surfer’s mecca, a sun-kissed place of blue and gold. They’d swum till their legs ached and their skin hummed from the salt and sun.

Together they lay their towels on the scrubby grass and set up the camp stove. Water to boil, he pours in the pasta and waits. ‘One last swim!” – she kisses him lightly then darts down the path and out of sight.
He gazes at the outline of the trees above, perhaps dreaming , perhaps pummelled by the waves he is now devoid of thought?
Pouring water off into the scrub he shakes the pasta dry and sits to add the jar of red sauce. Poking idly at the meal, he glances down the sand path. He flicks an ant from the leghairs above his ankle and waits. And waits.

Minutes lengthen, forehead creased in concern, he stands to walk to the scrubby rise, shaking the sand from his shorts. He vanishes around the bend and all is quiet. A kookaburra swoops to investigate the meal, but decides against plundering.
He returns and sits again, hand tapping thigh, on alert, agitation spreading through him like caffeine. The food in front of him cools and gels. The light softening, the shadows lengthening as his panic heightens.
He stands yet again, distress screaming from every part of him. He looks around, wishing her back, not sure what to do, how to get help.

A flick of blonde hair catches the corner of his vision, his head snaps to focus. She calls his name and runs to him as his body slumps in relief. They embrace, his face wetly pressed to her salted neck.