Writing Challenge ~ March 2016

[Britwitch]

WRITING CHALLENGE ~ MARCH 2016​

Apologies for missing February’s challenge, the month kind of got away from me for various reasons, and for the late start of this month’s but…better late than never, huh?
And so, here are your prompts for the March challenge…

https://41.media.tumblr.com/ac9dcb757437b79c69daf4c01e91096a/tumblr_o0crsjjcpv1v2y4qlo1_1280.jpg

https://36.media.tumblr.com/3d8612168370073580aa7f2f9ab70f6c/tumblr_o3q02qWuVJ1uqx9hno1_1280.jpg

https://40.media.tumblr.com/84287ccd9c57734531e39e698ae247c5/tumblr_o3pydrH6kh1s1zlzoo1_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 choose 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 2,500 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 Thursday 31st March 2016, with April’s challenge hopefully going live the following day.

Previous challenges and reviews can be found here.

Happy writing!

 

[DreamCloud]

https://40.media.tumblr.com/84287ccd9c57734531e39e698ae247c5/tumblr_o3pydrH6kh1s1zlzoo1_500.jpg

The Book​

It was the title that attracted me. The book was old, as was everything else in the trunk. A faded orange fabric bound the book, darker around the spine and back as if it was left face up in the sun many years ago. It wasn’t particularly heavy or thick. There were no engravings or pictures to attract my eye. It was the gall of the author to title a book in such a way that grabbed my attention.

Don’t Read Me

I preferred television to reading. My grandma, whose attic I was in, struggled to get me to read more, but I felt school assigned enough. I turned the book about, looking for other words that would help identify it. Nothing. Just the title. I pushed the dusty clothes around in the trunk, looking for anything else that might be of interest, something that might give me some context about the book. It was the only thing of interest besides fifty-year-old fashion.

I brought the book near a small hexagon window in the apex near the roof, where the sun provided better light. I opened the cover expecting to see the legal stuff that all books carried; publisher, dates, and ISBN. Rudely, the book repeated the title.

Normally, I followed the rules. If a sign says, ‘Don’t Touch,’ I keep my hands to myself. ‘Do Not Enter’ and I steer clear. A book, though, had no right to tell me not to read it. Its purpose was to be read. To not read it, would be to waste it. How would I know if it was worth wasting if I never read it? The title made no sense. It’s like a fire suddenly shouting, ‘Don’t burn me.’

I turned the page, hoping to find some reason for the idiocy. Chapter One greeted me. I was secretly hoping for a picture or two. The small print looked boring all by itself. I sighed and almost closed the book and put it back. Instead, I decided to read the first paragraph, and if it was as dull as I expected, I’d waste no more time.

The first paragraph was frightening. It described a girl, with long blond hair, who climbed the attic ladder, opened a chest, and found a faded orange book. I slammed the book shut and turned about, fearing there would be an awful creature from nightmares behind me. Silence. The sun still shone through the window. The chest remained open; its contents jumbled exactly how I left it.

I let out the breath I was holding and forced my muscles to relax. The book still beckoned to me. Its title begging me to defy the wording. I turned back to the sunlight and opened the book once again. The second chapter described the girl’s dress, white and high waisted with a large dust bunny gripping the hem. I looked down, over the pages, at a dust bunny the size of my fist dangling off the hem of my white high-waisted dress. I dropped the book and swatted the bunny as if it were a tarantula. Shivers ran up my spine when it wouldn’t dislodge at the first attempt.

The second attempt had me jumping away and shaking my dress is a panic. The dust ball floated away innocently to the floor. Forgetting I was barefoot, I pushed it with my foot to make sure it was inanimate. I retracted my toes quickly, though the bunny made no movement to attack or run away. My heart slowed and returned to its unnoticed normal.

A dark attic was no place to read a book that doesn’t want to be read. I thought of leaving it where it fell. There was no reason to read what I already knew. There was also no reason a book should know what I already knew. It was old, written years before I was born as far as I could tell. I squatted down, careful not to touch it, and looked at the worn corners. I was not the first to read it. Were there people who already knew I would shake off a dust bunny in the attic?

There was little choice but to read further. Nothing would be gained by leaving the book in the attic. Time may turn its pages brittle or a disaster destroy it forever. Someone had to read what shouldn’t be read. I needed space and bright light. The attic was too tight a room for such reading. My room would be little better, the closet and under the bed could not be watched closely enough while I read. I decided on the backyard where the sun shown bright and nature offset the deadness of the house.

A slight breeze strengthened me as I walked into the midst of the trees. Squirrels were chattering, scrambling about the branches, warning of my approach. Somewhere a robin was singing, adding to the serenity I needed to read on. I smiled as I twirled, looking up at the blue sky, admiring the few white clouds that ambled along. It was a perfect spot to read what shouldn’t be read.

I sat with my back along a tree stump, one I had relaxed on before, and opened the book. With the room the world provided, I was not as shaken, nor surprised, when the words described the girl leaving the attic for the backyard. Like me, the girl in the story enjoyed the freedom that nature provided and felt comfortable in its surroundings. I smiled when the squirrels and bird were described. I looked to my left and saw a deer moving slowly, ears perked, shifting between the trees just as written in the book.

A thought struck me then. I was reading my present, yet it was written in the past. Therefore, it was the future when it was written. I closed the book and wondered what would happen if I moved ahead, jumped a bunch of chapters. I pinched my leg to verify I wasn’t dreaming. It hurt enough to convince me.

The title was more menacing, now that I thought of skipping ahead. I looked at the words, half expecting them to start glowing. They remained black in simple block letters. They seemed more warning than instruction. I took a deep breath and opened the book about fifty pages in.

I blushed when I read how his hands moved along the woman’s tummy. I quickly closed the book. It wasn’t describing Todd Perkins, the cute boy in Mrs. Hawkin’s math class. It was describing some man I didn’t know. Someone I would know, and wanted to know when I was older. I couldn’t read this now, he was too handsome and so confident in my affection. It wasn’t the first time his hands were on my skin.

The book shouldn’t be read. I knew that now. What if I did something different? What if knowing about the man changed what would be. It could ruin everything. I pushed the book aside and closed my eyes to think. Maybe, it could fix things as well.

I could randomly scan the pages. Read only deep enough to leave the happy parts alone, but learn of the bad. I could fix things before they happened. Like that time I spilled ink on Grandma’s carpet. Had I known it was going to happen, I could have refilled my stamp pad in the kitchen. I smiled thinking of all the misery I could save myself. Do-overs before they happen.

I opened the book at a random spot and scanned quickly. Something about a trip to the Grand Canyon. I flipped a bunch a pages forward and stopped reading when I realized it was describing some kind of promotion. I flipped back randomly toward the front again.

The woman was crying. I stopped reading and wondered if it was a good idea to continue. I wasn’t expecting crying. Somehow, I was thinking there would be an unemotional list of don’t-do-this things that were easily avoided. I took a deep breath and decided to continue.

I was a paragraph deeper when I realized what was written. My throat seized and tears began to flow. It couldn’t be, not something so horrible. I couldn’t control the sobs. I hated the book and saw it for the evil it was. I grabbed the top of the page and began to tear it out.

“You were warned!” A strong voice bellowed.

I stood quickly, dropping the book. My heart was beating almost audibly as I stared at a giant version of the book that appeared before me. Opened to the page I had tried to tear out.

“No!” I screamed at it. The same paragraph describing my Grandma in the coffin was blazoned before me. Letters as big as my hand. I dropped to my knees and begged it to be wrong. I pleaded with the book, wishing it to close as I had so easily done before.

“Begone demon,” Grandma said calmly. “You have no power over the daughter of my daughter.” I felt the ground shudder and turned to my Grandma. She looked somewhat taller than I remembered. Her long gray hair flared as if there was a strong wind, but I felt only a subtle breeze.

“She chose to read,” the book said, its voice no less ominous.

“Grandma,” I whimpered. I couldn’t get the image of her in the coffin out of my mind. Maybe it was to happen now. Maybe my reading had hastened it.

“I can change all, my Lovely,” the book said. “Life will be as you desire, no pain and soft hands on your skin.” I looked at the book, knowing that a lot of what was written was true, I did see the deer and the dust bunny. I turned toward Grandma in my confusion.

“He trades on lies,” Grandma said. The soft smile I had trusted for years was on her lips. She stepped closer, no fear in her eyes. “You are blood of my blood, and now a woman. See him for what he is.”

I turned back to the book and it shrank back, though I did not know if it was from Grandma or me.

“It is your time of choosing,” Grandma said. “He knows this and uses deceit. Meer trickery to bend your will to him.”

“What should I choose?” I asked, remembering the coffin.

“White or black,” Grandma replied, “that is your decision. I must have been blind not to see it coming.” There was pride in her voice.

“How do I choose?”

“Accept his lies or banish him,” Grandma said. I turned to the book and it grew larger, more imposing. I risked much if his lies were really the truth. “Why did you come out here to read?” Grandma asked sweetly.

“It’s safer here,” I admitted. “The trees and the wind, it’s all safer.” Grandma’s smile grew, her apron moved strangely like her hair.

“Can you feel the earth?” Grandma asked. I didn’t know what she asked. I just knew it felt right. There was something about being outside that just felt good.

“Deny her,” the book said, “and save her. She knows naught of the future you have read. Let me rewrite it the way you wish.”

“Let it go,” Grandma said, “feel the ground, follow the roots.” I loved her pride in me though the image of the coffin was etched in my mind. “Try.”

I closed my eyes and curled my toes into the grass. A tingle grew in my feet, soft, warming, and almost ticklish. I think I smiled as it grew.

“No!” The book yelled, “it will consume you.” It broke my concentration.

“Choose,” Grandma reminded me. I sank my toes back into the grass and let the tingle return. It rose up my body as my awareness flowed down it. The grass was alive, so beautiful in the way they strived for the sun. I followed their roots till I found stronger ones. My mind could feel the veins running thirsty into the ground; large, strong, and so bold. I followed them to their source. Wise old trees welcomed me with something akin to joy. They lent me strength and my eyes flew open.

The book shriveled quickly, crumbling into itself. I turned to my Grandma and saw nothing but a glowing love. I felt a squirrel running along impossibly thin branches without fear. Chicks no bigger than my thumb, huddled close together in a nest awaiting the return of their mother.

“I feel everything,” I said. I turned back to where the book had once lain. A small red creature, no larger than a baby, with two tiny horns atop its head, stood in its place. I smiled at the sight, knowing I could just reach out and slap it to the side. It had no power, no life. It was not of this earth.

“Begone demon,” I said, duplicating the speech of my grandmother. Grandma laughed as the creature ceased to exist. “It’s so beautiful,” I said, marveling at the life around us.

“She has chosen,” Grandma announced to the earth. “You have another white witch to protect the future.” I slowly released my link to the earth though something stayed. A whisper of a connection that I could hold onto and grow at will.

“The book,” I said, “I saw your funeral.”

“Someday, you will bury me,” Grandma said, “But certainly not at the whim of that creature. Our futures are our own and built from our choices. I have so much to teach you now.”

“I am a woman?” I asked proudly. I knew I chose correctly, the earth told me so.

“Yes, and it is a wonderful thing,” Grandma replied, “though it comes with a curse among the many blessings.”

“Like the demon?”

“He was nothing,” Grandma laughed. “Our curse requires a trip to Walmart. In another day or so, I suspect you wouldn’t have been so kind to the demon.”

 

[ValeriioN]

Truth Or Dare

It was a cold, windy night. An old bookstore (now out of business) stood across the street behind the few remaining people on their way home for the evening. Out of the black glass peered a thick stack of dust-covered pages, and a more careful inspection revealed a chair, and a desk, that had been left in the room. Probably by the movers. Following the brick wall around the side, a green metal door appeared. It hung loosely on rusted hinges and a draft of stale, mildew-laced air brushed outside.

"What are you doing in there?" a voice asked from behind. "Uhh... nothing! Just looking around" John said, turning. But the voice he heard was nowhere near him. He looked again and walked around the other half of the building. He could only see a vacant gravel lot that he was sure used to be for parking. He wondered if he should be getting home with everyone else. And then he heard the voice again. "This punctuation is terrible. And a talking cat? How original." A few feet away, an old woman sat on the ground leaning over a fistful of papers. John had no idea what she was saying, but her voice trailed off thinly. When she looked up, it was obvious that she was much younger. "And who leaves this trash lying around anyway?" she said, picking herself up angrily. John was sure the old woman was harmless, but as she started to approach him, his attention was arranged.

Her eyes were much softer than he had expected. Her hands were white and dry with a blueish tint, but he could not see much of the rest of her. "I'm sure it can't be that bad" he said defensively, although for no reason he could determine. She stared blankly. "And what makes you such an expert?" A gush of ice-cold wind hit them both and sent one of the papers flying. "Guess we'll never know" he said wryly, thankful for his luck. There was a certain spark missing in her eyes. And while they were not sad, a matter of time had brought them to a place where they stood heavy on their own. John took slow, even breaths in the dark as he realized she could see much better than he could.

Her hands wrapped around a square of chocolate and broke a small piece off for herself to chew on. John didn't want any. "I didn't ask if you did" she stated. John felt some of his tension dissapate with the request that appeared in his mind. "Was that you talking earlier?" She popped the piece of chocolate in her mouth and nodded. "I'm editing" she said, her tounge melting away a corner of the bar. "Would you like to read part of it?" she asked, looking at him.

He stared back at the building as he realized his mistake. "No" he caught himself, "I was going to see what's inside of that building. I didn't mean to interrupt you." She refocused herself and stepped forward awkwardly, startling him. "Let's go look together." She smiled lightly and dropped the papers on the ground as she began walking.

John had no interest in anything but why it had become so late all of a sudden. As he stepped inside, he looked around and felt the space of the room. She had wandered over to the desk and was pretending to write. "Well for one thing, you'll never get any inspiration in a place like this. No wonder it's empty." John was standing by the books he saw outside and looked out of the glass. The street was clear except for the debris that had scattered. He felt the cold creeping into him, but she seemed not to mind. She scribbled at her desk. "I'm going to name this one A Stranger in a Foreign Land". She glanced over her shoulder disparagingly. John felt self-conscious but said nothing.

He picked up a book out of habit and drifted over towards her. She had become deeply engaged in whatever it was she was doing, and didn't bother to look up. John noticed there were no words on the page, but had no idea where it had come from to begin with. She stopped. Her hand followed the inside of his leg and she tilted her head just enough to see him. "I can't think of anything!" she said with no surprise. John felt like it was an apology. She stood up with her hand following and found the only warm place they had left. They would meet again.