Writing Challenge ~ February 2017

[Britwitch]

WRITING CHALLENGE ~ FEBRUARY 2017​

I know. It's been far far too long but I finally had the time and desire to get one of these up and running and I can only hope there are those of you who'd still like to take part.
And so, with that hope burning bright, here are a few prompts to hopefully get your muse working!

https://68.media.tumblr.com/82527938c6c71592639861f2d514548b/tumblr_nna06wobt41tjfex7o1_500.gif

https://68.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mcmhc9G4ND1qiz3j8o1_500.gif

https://68.media.tumblr.com/0a477903e11557216fb030b3be68eb4d/tumblr_o4c36wnUNm1tnzc97o1_500.jpg​

You can involve the prompts themselves in your piece and make your link to the prompts as obvious or as subtle as you like or use them simply as inspiration for something else. You can use part of the prompts, just one aspect of the images, or use them in their entirety.

As there are several prompts you can of course chose to use all of them in one piece or write one for each…again, it’s your writing, your challenge. You write whatever you’re inspired to write!

The word limit for this challenge is 2,017 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 – Comment and Review Thread
And please, if you do take the time to read? Please just take a few more minutes to leave a comment.
The deadline for this month’s challenge is Tuesday 28th February 2017, only a week but I promise that with March’s challenge hopefully going live the following week you'll have longer to work on that one.

Previous challenges and reviews can be found here.

Happy writing!

 

[DreamCloud]

https://68.media.tumblr.com/82527938c6c71592639861f2d514548b/tumblr_nna06wobt41tjfex7o1_500.gif


The House Party​

The house had a noble air, not unlike the man that owned it. I didn’t yet know if it was a product of Damon’s design, or he was a product of it. There was a fresh ancientness to the place as if everything was meticulously placed by someone who wanted it all to look like it had grown there over the centuries. A movie set.

Damon smiled at me as I walked around the room examining the knick knacks that I was sure possessed interesting stories. He watched me closely, as I sipped a cognac that most likely cost more than my car. I struggled not to look impressed as if I was used to floating around in such opulence.

“You’re really quite beautiful,” Damon said, his deep tone weakening my defenses.

“Does this work often?” I asked, turning my face away so he wouldn’t see my traitorous smile. When a man that looks like him projects power, I weaken. It was a failing, but an entertaining one.

“Does what work?” I looked back at Damon, his blue eyes had gone from wolf to puppy, presenting the innocence of a young boy. I let him see my smile.

“Bringing women into your study,” I responded, my eyes traveling along the rich woodwork that edged the room.

“You desired a tour,” Damon said, shrugging his shoulders. “As a host, I am obliged to acquiesce to my guest's desires.” I laughed at his forced formality.

“There are many guests at the party,” I pointed out. “Aren’t you ignoring the rest?” I could feel the cognac swimming in my head. Even the aroma was intoxicating.

“Only if you’ll let me ignore them,” Damon replied. All wolf again, though he made no forward move. I sensed a little decorum in his overt flirting. He wanted me to know his desires, but also gave me room to decline. I enjoyed the power.

“Am I here because I’m new to your group?” I asked. My sweater and Levi's weren’t exactly up to par with the little black dresses and diamonds running around. Damon fought with his own smile.

“I’ll admit you’re a breath of fresh air in a stuffy world,” Damon said.

“A new conquest?” I summarized. Turning, I moved along the bookshelf, running my fingers across the old leather bound books. I wondered if anyone had ever read any of them.

“Yes,” Damon replied, surprising me. “Only if you wish to be.” I turned to find him no closer, but intensely nearer.

“You are certainly sure of yourself,” I said. Poor girl and the rich man, usually a bad combination for the impoverished.

“It was that little spat you had with Jessica, the way you didn’t allow her to run over you.” Damon leaned against his desk, lessening his aggressiveness.

“She called me a Walmart wannabe,” I said. Damon laughed. “Pure Target,” I said, waving my free hand down my attire. “I hate Walmart.”

“I think I regret trying to impress you,” Damon said. “Would it weaken my position further if I asked you on a date?”

“Buffet cruise and the opera?” I asked, giving him a smirk.

“Dinner and a movie,” Damon replied, smirking me right back. “I get seasick and hate the opera.”

“Now, I’m impressed,” I lied. I was impressed the moment I walked into the house. Of course, a two room apartment was impressive to me. I enjoyed his calm laughter, the way his eyes danced as if our familiarity was a forgone conclusion. I took a step closer, and he didn’t budge. “Action adventure or romance?”

“I want to say romance, but I just can’t,” Damon replied. “I prefer action movies. Is that a deal breaker?” Shaking my head, I took another step closer.

“What type of cuisine?” I asked.

“Now I want to say pizza and beer. Though I enjoy them, it would be too painful.” Damon sighed. “I’d have to insist on a middle-tier restaurant for a first date. I just wouldn’t feel right going cheap. You’ll have to leave me some room for my ego. Probably Italian, someplace with a table cloth.”

“I like Italian,” I said, placing my cognac on a side table with full intent on moving closer.

“Coaster,” Damon said, pointing at a small box on the table. “Sorry, my mother passed away many years ago, but she’d haunt me if you made a ring.” I smiled at his ability to turn the conversation in circles. The box held four coasters, each sporting a family crest. I placed one on the table and my drink upon it.

“So, your mother was a strong woman,” I said, moving still closer. I had full intention of testing Damon’s lips. One kiss should tell me if his intent was pure lust. I stubbornly required something more.

“You could say she demanded respect,” Damon said as I closed the distance. He did not flinch as I placed my palm around his neck and pulled his lips down to mine. A moment later, his hands were cradling my face as I cherished the warmth that surged to my extremities.

“I guess that’s a yes,” Damon whispered.

“Yes,” I whispered back. There was passion in his kiss and a large desire for more, peppered with the respect I demanded. I knew then, there would be much more.

 

[Britwitch]

Secrets

https://68.media.tumblr.com/0a477903e11557216fb030b3be68eb4d/tumblr_o4c36wnUNm1tnzc97o1_500.jpg​

It’s safe to say funerals are among the most emotionally stressful events a person can go through. For Charlotte this was the second funeral in as many months and while it was good to get the wear out of the black dress that had been hanging otherwise uselessly in the back of her wardrobe, it was more than a little emotionally exhausting. Last month they had said goodbye to her father, a man whose height and strength had slowly been chipped away over the last couple of decades until he’d almost faded entirely from existence. While it hadn’t been a complete surprise to any of the family it had still been incredibly hard to process that the man who had been such a huge part of her life was now gone forever.

Today had been even harder. Today they had buried her mother. Today it felt like her heart was simply going to shatter into a million pieces, never again to feel or love or hope. It might well be pieced back together, over time, but it would never be quite the same again.

She’d spent the day listening to people say how sorry they were for her loss, how it was surely a broken heart that had taken her mother from them after the loss of her father. She’d smiled weakly, hugged a hundred relatives who she’d barely known at her father’s funeral and whose names now eluded her, drank tea, listened to stories she’d heard countless times before and when the time came to bid everyone goodbye she had to insist more than once that she really was fine on her own. That no one needed to stay with her, nor did she need to go to anyone’s home for a day or two.
Truth be told she wanted to be on her own. She needed time and space and quiet.

She’d moved back in with her mum shortly after the loss of her dad, the house that had seemed far too small for comfort in her teens and early twenties now seeming enormous now that there were just the two of them. Of course, back then they’d been a family of five.

Closing the door after the last person Charlotte sank back against it heavily. Her head pounding dully and her feet aching in the heels she’d meant to take off when they’d first arrived at the house. Kicking off the black leather pumps with a quiet clatter onto the hardwood floor, she padded in stockinged feet through the house to the kitchen. She flicked the switch on the kettle, a cup of tea had been her dad’s solution to pretty much any problem and seemed an appropriate thing to have now. While she waited for the water to come to the boil, she pulled the pins from her hair that had held her long brunette waves up in a formal chignon all day and let the hair tumble down around her shoulders. Running a hand back through the lengths with a sigh of considerable relief.

....

To be continued

 

[fr33ks33k]

(Apologies for missing the deadline, but I hope this submission is still welcome.)
SFLITSOTOL


Her fingertips run down their spines yet it is she who feels the chill; a shiver that runs from the base of her skull to her tailbone. There is a whisper in the dust dispersed by the disturbance of the old tomes, the stories left forgotten and unread, yet yearning to be found once more. As she wanders through the library, she finds that there is always just enough light both before and behind her yet elsewhere only darkness.

A darkness typically reserved for a private showing, studded with the flicker of old projection bulbs and accompanied by the ticking of cellulose 'round the spool. The movie on display is out of focus, like the edges of peripheral vision. Yet there is passion to be felt in the moving smudges and barely comprehensible sounds. As she watches, the final credits roll and are not in type but in script, like the signing of a letter.

A bundle of letters, written along a lifetime and sent with fidelity to a secret confidant, lays strewn across a countertop. Her fingers shake as she reads each one, struggling through the cursive that may as well have been written in blood. The fire of anger, the deluge of sadness, the vigor of triumph, the breeze of contentment. An emotional spectrum like a geode left dangling in the sun. The last letter is signed: "Your forever faithful. D."

She carefully reties the ribbons binding the letters and sets them on a shelf, next to a stack of cinema reels, all labeled in some shorthand. As she departs, she can't help but run her fingers down the books, feeling their static tingle in every one of her nerves. The light that follows her departure is soft and warm, and is joined by what could only be described as a lover's sigh.