Writing Challenge ~ 16th - 30th May 2011

WRITING CHALLENGE ~ MAY 2011 ~ PART TWO​

This month’s second prompt…


You can involve the prompt itself in your piece and make your link to the prompt as obvious or as subtle as you like or use it simply as inspiration for something else. You can use part of the prompt, just one aspect of the image, or use it in its entirety.

The word limit for this challenge is 1,000 words and your submission can take whatever form you desire – poetry or prose, complete story or a vignette. Erotic or not, serious or light hearted, it’s whatever you want it to be!!

Post only your submissions in this thread, constructive comments and reviews are to be posted in the appropriately named – Writing Challenge Review Thread

The deadline for this month’s challenge is Monday 30th May 2011, to allow readers time to get through everything before the first challenge of June starts!

Previous challenges and reviews can be found here.

Happy writing!

That Song

"The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they called 'Gitche Gumee'
The lake-"

"Oh Sam, not that fucking song again!"

The obese man stop his song, turning his mass of black bristling hair to look at Rob with an openly questioning look, before he chuckled. "Ok, sorry. I really like it, and since we're looking over this old tub to see if we can float her again, you know, I thought it was a good song to sing."

"Yeah, but every time we go out on a salvage run like this, you sing that song almost all the time. I, personally, am getting sick of it. If you know something else, please sing that for a change."

"Alright, Rob. Since I don't know any other songs well enough to sing, I'll keep my mouth shut."

"Sorry, Sam, I didn't mean to rouse you like that, buddy. You know, I can't figure out what happened to the crew. I have seen no evidence of life boats or life jackets being taken. Have you?"

"No, actually, I haven't. I've checked the crew's quarters, mess and such, but no signs of them there. No signs of violence, nor disturbances apart from what would happen when the old Lady ran aground."

"Good thing the autopilot commenced slowing down, otherwise the hull would have been torn off." Rob looked around, scratching his head. "I'm going to the security room and see what's there?"

"Security room? You're kidding me."

"Nope. The cargo that Lady Rana has been carrying recently warranted extra security measures. They have cameras and other gear like that all over the place. Maybe some of the footage will show up a clue or two."

"You do that, Rob. I'll check things here. You holler for me if you find anything."

Rob waved as he headed deeper into the crewed section of the freighter. Sam stayed on the bridge, checking the instruments and other systems to see if there was anything that could shed light in the grounding.

"Holy shit! Sam, get down here! Quickly. The cameras caught something."

"On my way buddy." Sam moved slowly toward the security room. He walked through the opened door, closing it quietly behind him. Rob's voice was muffled, before he started to scream.

"What the fuck?!?! How did... Get away from me!! GET AW-"


Sam walked back to the bridge, whistling softly to himself. Once he reached the pilot's wheel, he started to sing. But rather than the raspy voice, he sang with a clear woman's voice.

"The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they called 'Gitche Gumee'
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
As Robbie found out the hard way."

The laughter was light, and definitely feminine. "They are mine now, no one elses. Just mine."

Sirens

The Sirens don't just sing to sailors trav'ling in the tropics, they call in every ocean.
Their melodies are more intoxicating than any alchemist's love potion.
The unrelenting harmonies assault the senses, causing neural shocks.
Their fates are sealed with deadly kisses, met upon the rocks.

Not just high-masts and clippers know the Sirens' fatal call.
Oil rigs and freighters, barges and tugboats have equally met their fall.
Run aground or snapped in half, on coral, sand, or icy fjords.
Not even sturdy wax could save the poor souls now trapped aboard.

So ends the tale of many men on bright and murky seas
Despite their most defiant tones and most suppliant pleas.
Their final writ, their last pluck at life's taut strings
Are played as eternal elegies in the song the Sirens sing.

Grounded

It was funny, hearing men scream like little girls as they scurried to latch onto anything they could against the ship’s violent rocking to and fro. The ship was propelled forward sharply as if done by a large hand to its stern, right up onto some rocks, beaching it. It’s sudden abrupt halt threw a few bodies overboard and their screams could be heard, muted as they were. Shouts of instructions, repeated from man to man along the ship’s deck could be heard, though just the general sound of it, not the clear, concise words.

The ship stilled. One could see the frightened looks on the men aboard her. Indecision was clearly written upon their faces as they debated releasing their life saving holds. Slowly, cautiously, they began to move upon the Lady Rana’s deck. They stopped to help someone else up or checked an unconscious body for wounds. Injured men were lifted and taken below deck.

It took a couple of hours before a semblance of order appeared. Men still hurried about upon the deck but it was now to right everything back into its proper order. The silence around them was deafening, unnerving in a lot of ways, perhaps. Though it could be said they were already unnerved by what had occurred. All was well as it could be, considering they were beached upon rocks and gently listing starboard.

A sharp, shrill, piercing scream filled the air around them. There was an unnatural sound to it, as if someone’s sanity was in question. A sailor, standing at the starboard rail was pointing off into the distance. His pallor was pasty at best. His eyes were wide with disbelief and shock. More men crowded to the rail to see what was going on. Their eyes looked in the direction the screamer was pointing.

There, before them, was a huge eye, staring at them. It blinked. Men scrambled away from the rail in fear. Yet, the eye just stared. A childish giggle could be heard. The lad, to whom the eye belonged, gently picked up the bottle in which the ship was encased and set it lovingly on a shelf before he skipped away.

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To the Future

He opened his eyes, where was he? The last thing he could remember was leading the charge against the beasts summoned by the Mage Council. The Mage Council was the enforcers of the magical rules, but they became corrupted by their power and tried to take over the world.

He slowly sat up, his armour creaking a grinding, he realized that he was on sand, not on grass, a thick mist seemed to crawl over the ground all around him and the sound of waves crashing nearby made him wonder where he was. He slowly got to his feet, a feat in its own right considering the weight of the armour, he found that he had no weapons on him; a frown creased his brow as he studied his whereabouts. It was like the mist was alive and one moment it moved around him, as if to envelope him and the next moment it moved away from him, as if it tried to flee from him, but could not.

He took a few hesitant steps forward, the ground seemed solid enough and he gave a few more experimental steps. He came to a stop as the dark behemoth figure came into his view. He waited in silence, but the hulking figure did not move, summoning the courage to approach he went closer and the mist pulled away. There in front of him was something that represented a ship…yet it was not any ship that he had ever encountered. It was made of metal as the rust was easy to distinguish, it groaned loudly as the water crashed against it. He moved even closer, he could make out a name on the side of the nose: Lady Rana. The ship was deserted as not a soul stirred among her as he hailed the crew and captain, there was a ladder attached to the one side, but it was threadbare and he knew that it would never carry his weight. He turned from the ship and scanned his surroundings, it seemed that another question had come up, not only where was he; the other question was…what year was this?

A loud grumbling came from the skies and he looked up, only to be blinded by a flashing light. When his vision cleared he heard a voice call out, it was one of his knight comrades’ voice, he answered the call and made his way back, it seemed that the Mage Council was much more powerful than they had given them credit. For a moment he feared for his comrades-in-arms, but the fact that here was no Mages, made it certain that in the end good did triumph over the evil of the Mages.

Devastated


the best laid plans
can still go usunder
I feel the waves,
lapping against my toes
and yet I still have hope.
I keep hoping
that words can be unsaid,
that hearts can be unbroken
but I feel the water rising
and I know.
I know that my heart is still aching
and you are who you showed me you are

Tragedy

This world is full of tragedy, some deep and profound, some smaller and almost inconsequential. At least objectively they fall somewhere on the spectrum, personally even the smallest "tragedy" resonates deeply within the person. One can measure the difference in the waves that spread from it. Some affect the whole planet, others just a small child whose first hamster has passed. From that perspective my tragedies are small, the waves spread out to those just around me and then the energy dissipates. The most devastating are the ones that only affect me. The energy doesn't spread, it crashes and reverberates within me. It doesn't affect anyone else.

Just me.

So here I sit, on the edge of the metaphorical wrecked ship, the whole thing perhaps avoidable if someone had been at the helm.

I wonder where he was?

A Good Samaritan's Reward

Carl whistled looking at the beach and the wrecked ship on it. It was fucking huge, a freighter. It said the Lady Rana on one side.

He climbed down from where he had stopped the car and onto the beach wondering, “How the hell did it get here? There was no storm or heavy fog last night. Didn’t they see the lighthouse?”

He clambered up ontop of the rocks and began to approach the fucking huge freighter. “Hello,” He called up to it, “Anyone up there? Do you need help?”

There was no answer. Carl carefully stepped around to the other side and tried calling up to the ship again. Again there was no answer. He guessed no one was on board.

“Just wait until the guys hear about this,“ He said. He turned to head back up the beach and his waiting car. A sound from behind him made him glance back to see a rope ladder hanging from the deck. It wasn’t there a second ago. It was bouncing off the side of the ship like it had just been dropped.

“Hey,” He called shakily making his way to the ladder, “Anyone up there? Do you need some help?”

Again no answer. Was there no one up there? If the ship was abandoned how the hell did the ladder fall over the side.

He began climbing up the ladder. Wondering if he was crazy for doing this. It was a long climb and he was getting winded as he reached the top. Huffing Carl looked over the deck and found no one there. He scratched his head trying to figure out how the ladder had fallen if no one had dropped it over the side.

Eventually he shrugged and began to cross the deck looking at the cargo containers. Maybe since he found it he’d get to keep whatever is in these things.

He pulled out his phone wondering who he should call for a shipwreck. The screach of a door off to one side made him jump. It was wide open. He was sure it had been closed when he looked in this direction before. He ran up to it calling for any survivors of the crew.

Again there was no answer. He entered through the door way peering through the long narrow dimly lit hallway.

He could hear footseps as if someone was running down the hallway just around the corner.

“Hello,” He called again and again got no answer. Nevertheless he walked down the hall and looked around the corner. Not surprising no one was there. He could hear more footsteps and the sound of the door behind him slamming shut.

“Shit,” Carl ran to the door and frantically tried to open it. The lock turned but something heavy was keeping it closed shut.

“This way,” a voice barely above a whisper came from behind him. Carl jumped spinning around with a startled yelp. The hallway was empty.

He was getting a decidedly creepy feeling about this now. He raised his cellphone calling out to the ghosts or pirates or whatever was playing games with him saying, “I’m calling the cops.”

“Shit,” He said looking at the cellphone’s screen and absolutely no bars on it.

Swallowing past a terrified garble he decided since he couldn’t leave through the door he entered he’d have to find another way out, by, he swallowed again, by going further into this haunted ship.

For the next twelve and a half minutes came the scariest trek of Carl’s life. Doors slammed shut in his face others opened for him on their own. He’d hear the whispered, “This way,” three more times. It sounded like a woman’s voice though each one sounded like a different woman’s each time.

He was being led around through the bowels of the ship like a rat in a maze. Eventually the voices and the doors led him to the ship’s cargo hold where he found the crew. A dozen or more bodies strewn about over the shipping crates their clothes ripped to shreds and what looked like puncture wounds littering their bodies. The door he stepped through slammed shut. He pulled against the door, but like the others it wouldn’t budge.

He frantically looked around for another door. Carl didn’t find one but he found a crowbar which he held out before him like a knight with a sword. Around it were four opened shipping crates containing dirt. Except the fourth. When he glanced over he saw a man lying inside it, Another of the crew?

“Our beloved husband.”

Carl spun seeing three women behind him. A blonde, a brunette, a redhead. Dressed in gowns and clothes he had seen in period pieces on TV. They stood smiling at him lips pulled up showing long pointed fangs.

“Y-you‘re,” He stammered staring at those fangs.

“Strangers in a strange land, yes,” The blond laughed.

Carl raised his hand to cover his neck. “W-why did…W-what do you want from me?”

“We were very gluttonous when we awakened,” The redhead answered patting the nearest corpse of one of the ship’s crew. “The Count will be very cross with us if we left him nothing to eat when he awakens tonight.”

“It wasn’t our fault,” The blond said dismissively, “It had been so long we were starving and these seamen were all so very yummy.”

“That won’t keep the count from getting upset with you my sister,” The redhead sneered, “And I point out most were drained dry by you.”

They hissed at each other like snakes as the brunette stepped forward making Carl point the crowbar at her. “Stay back.”

“You came here looking to be a good Samaritan,” The brunette said ignoring the crowbar and staring deep into his eyes, like she was peering into his very soul. “We owe you a debt of gratitude.” She took another step.

“D-don’t come any closer.” He stepped around the crate holding the man, but nearly jumped forty feet when he backed up into the blond. How had she crossed so much distance in a blink of his eye.

“Don’t worry, our good Samaritan,” The blond whispered into his ear. Breasts pressed into his back and long pale fingers curled around his arms. “We are well sated from these sailors.”

Carl tugged and pulled but he could not free his arms from her grasp. “Let go.”

The redhead came up to him. Hands trailed slowly, anticipating, over his chest downward. “Relax, we won’t harm you. You’re for the Count tonight, but you can save us from this dreadful boredom, our good Samaritan.”

The brunette sat herself down on the edge of the crate with the man inside. Her hands pulling her gown down under her impressive breasts. “There are too few good Samaritans in this world, and every woman knows how to reward one for their charity.”

The redhead sunk to her knees hands pulling free his belt and lowering his zipper.

“Holy shit,” Carl moaned as her mouth enveloped his cock.

For the few hours of daylight Carl had left he was indeed well rewarded again and again.