Fear

WoW for this week  - Think back to when you were very young. Try to recall one of your first fears. A shadow on the wall, a ghost in the closet, a person, a scene from a movie or book. Write about that fear. Try to remember the feeling it gave you, what that fear would make you do and how you were comforted. Write a real life story or a piece of fiction. Wherever the prompt takes you. Keep your post on the short side: up to 500 words OR a 5 minute stream of consciousness exercise. Link your finished piece to the list and begin popping by the other links. Oh, and enjoy!

She sits in front of the flickering screen, thoughts elsewhere as screenbound Heidi flicks her platinum plaits and runs up snowcapped mountains. She loves the story of Heidi, but not today.

Her mind is firmly across the road at home.

Sprinklers on the roof, gutters full of water, down pipes clogged with ragbag clothes. Dad had swept leaves away, closed all the windows and doors before leaving her at the neighbours’ to play.

But play is not for her today, as smiles and chatter will not come easily. Her tummy feels tingly and slightly sick, her heart beats quickly in her chest. Her sticky hands screw her hanky into knots in her lap. The acrid smell of smoke is everywhere, the daylight weirdly orange as the temperature rises further. Her breath comes faster as a sob rises. She wants her Mum, her Dad, she wants them here and she wants everything to be all right. Now.

Shiver - 5 Sentence Fiction

I've been a bit distracted by an online Creative Writing Course I've just started through the Sydney Writer's Centre. I've been loving "just writing" for 5 Sentence Fiction and Write on Wednesdays and thought it was time for me to learn a little about theory and technique. Thoroughly enjoying it so far!

So here goes for Shiver - as requested by my lovely commenters, I've continued my story from Hunger and Poison.

As she slowly drifted toward the surface of her consciousness, her throbbing mind tried to understand where she was. Pitch black had stolen her sight, she had to make sense of this without her eyes. Reaching a trembling hand sideways to feel the dampening walls, she slowly began to comprehend. She knew she was on an island, a tropical island, so why was it so dreadfully cold? Feeling braver, she stretched further and at the moment her seeking hand reached an immovable handle she realised to her horror that she was on the inside.

from motomorinsport

Poison

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.

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.

berries

Yamba

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. 

http://i218.photobucket.com/albums/cc255/wphenco/Trips/Canada/Okanagan/Waterfront-Couple.jpg