Thursday, 25 October 2012

Left Hand Path



Couple of weeks on and I'm giving the Trifecta thing another go, this week the word is 'sinister' with the meaning 'singularly evil or productive of evil'. Although I enjoy writing to prompts for it's own sake, I thought, with NaNoWriMo just around the corner I would take the opportunity to do some world building, which probably goes a long way towards explaining why the following is heavy on description and light on actual plot (you know other than that being pretty normal for me). Still, I kind of like it.


Left Hand Path

The left hand path leads down through twisted roots. Roots that drip sap as red as blood. With each step Splice takes the boards shift and sway beneath her feet. Her right hand trails across dark rock. Rock that seeps water like saltless tears. She follows the path to the base of the world where the harpy nests hang and turn in the breeze.
Splice watches them, mesmerised, these beautiful, sinister, bestial clawed angels. She watches them lounge and preen in their feather-lined roosts. She watches them swoop on flax coloured wings, spiralling downwards into endless blue skies. She stands at the very last step of the path, her feet on the very last board. She winds her right arm round the rope from which the path hangs and leans out over nothing at all. Her left hand is outstretched and the red drips that fall are not sap. She waits.
Red drips on the wind and the creatures call and bicker among themselves. They circle and spit until one rises victorious from the din. She soars, tasting the air with her crimson hued tongue. With sharp taloned fingers she snatches the gift that Splice brings. Sharp teeth and three gulps. It is done.
The harpy glares, with eyes golden and round as a hawk "A sweet heart." she concedes "What desire do you ask in return?"
But Splice simply turns and walks with the rock on her left. Up through the roots to the gardens above.

Tuesday, 9 October 2012

Blood Roses

It's been a while since I did any flash fiction hasn't it? All right it's been a while since I've posted anything at all, it's been even longer since I did any flash fiction. Anyway I recently found this Trifecta challenge thing, I've decided I like it. Mostly I like the whole concept of using a single word as a story prompt, a single word with a specific meaning. The level of abstraction of that appeals to me (turns out my muse is some kind of anthropomorphic dictionary). Not saying that any of the other forms of story prompt out there are bad, the pictures and the titles and the write about this topics and what have you, just I like this one.

The following story is based on the word 'Death' defined as 'the destroyer of life represented usually as a skeleton with a scythe'.



Blood Roses


A slender man walks through a crowded room. People he has never met part before him like a sea of costumed colour while he wears black. He passes a mirror and in the reflection his bone white flesh is merely bone.

A locked door does not hinder him and in the muffled hush beyond a staircase spirals. A trail of roses leads him on, deep red for love but these were white before someone steeped each petal in fresh blood. He takes each bloom as he reaches it, raises it to his face the scent as sweet as perfume to him.

At the top of the stairs is a passage, at the end of the passage a door. The door stands open, shifting slightly to and fro in a breath of wind. In the room beyond, a girl lies mangled on the bed. Her dress, like the roses was pure white once, now stained with crimson.

He watches the knife drop from her fingers, hears her last breath falter and fade. He senses her life seep out of every self-made wound, knows her last warmth is for him alone. In love with Death, she dies to be with him.