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Flash Fiction: “A Castle of Souls”

June 2, 2014 Leave a comment

My feet pad silently on floors of unforgiving stone, the tread of each step having worn smooth a circuit around the small room. I have long since stopped searching the walls with arms outstretched, seeking an opening, some small crevice with which to cling to in this claustrophobic darkness. Sadly, I find nothing. The clammy walls pitter-patter with rivulets of dampness, the air thick and suffocating.

One more step. Then another. The number of my footfalls have been lost to the ages. I reach out wasted fingers to brush the passing wall, nails dig into the divets packed tight with mortar. On and on hunting, searching, seeking out an end to that monotony of wet stone. Trace them up, trace them down. Nothing. Nothing.

Am I back at the beginning again? Was there ever a beginning?

I pause. I can’t breathe.

Confined within these walls my body continues it’s relentless search. In this abyss, my soul seeks out its unrequited salvation. Freedom comes only at the gentle touch of cold, wet stone on flesh, again and again.

One more step. Then another. The number of my footfalls have been lost to the ages.

(Word Count: 194)

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Flash Fiction – “The Little Death”

May 21, 2014 5 comments

“Sleep, those little slices of death – how I loathe them.” – Edgar Allen Poe

Time seemed to stand still. No one can see your desperation in the dark, when sleep never comes. Being locked in here, not in this building, or in this room, but in this mind… it’s a wonder I’m still alive. The snoring beside me breaks the silence, as does giggling from the hallway and the faint sounds of the oldies station on the radio. You would think this late they’d have turned that crap off, listening to Elvis again is enough to make a person want to slit their wrists. Ok, well, again.

I must have counted the ceiling tiles a hundred times. The number doesn’t matter, I’m sure I’ll forget and start all over again. Rolling over I glance out the room’s only window lit by a single glaring orange street light. They can’t see me, the passing cars, the wandering drug dealer or the random prostitute. Oh no. Couldn’t afford the nice place across uptown, I had to end up here.

It’s been six days since I’ve slept. Even longer since I last dreamed. Dreams don’t have a place here, behind these walls. They won’t let me go home until I sleep, but that’s a chance I’m willing to take. I can’t relive what happens in the darkness behind my eyelids. Nobody needs to see the things that I see. The night brings the unspeakable, the undefinable, the unknowable, clawing at the inside of my skull, screaming to get out. Digging at my skin to find some kind of release, to tear away what traps this evil inside me, all I found was blood and tears. That’s how I ended up here.

They won’t let me go home until I sleep, but nothing they try will overcome my will to survive. What waits in the night can’t get me, as long as I don’t close my eyes. They don’t understand, and how could they, ignorance being bliss and all? If they could see the things I see, they would break out their scalpels and slice their lives away as well.

I’m not afraid of dying, it would be a welcome release from what lurks beyond mere human perception. True terror isn’t death. What you can’t see is far more terrifying than anything that you can. I can hear them, scratching and scrambling behind my eyes, and I know that one day they’ll find an exit, a way to crawl out from behind flesh and bone. Death of the body is nothing. Consumption of the soul, of everything that makes us human – now that is true horror.

The first rays of dawn cut a dagger across the far wall, and I’ve survived another night. They’ll bring me another chemical cocktail in the hopes of bringing the little death, but it won’t work. I have to be stronger than the pills. Stronger than the voices. My strength will keep me from that oblivion that waits for me when the lights go out.

It’s been seven days since I’ve slept. Even longer since I last dreamed. Dreams don’t have a place here, behind these walls. All that exists for me here is my own extinction, when the night comes that sleep takes me, and drags my soul to hell.

I’ll sleep when I’m dead.

(555 words)

Writing: An Update

May 15, 2014 Leave a comment

“With the wooden floor’s first creaky footfall, Maggie knew she shouldn’t be here.”

And thus opens our story.

I guess, since I’m about 2,300 words into my story, this makes me a writer now (despite my previous post of desperation).  Progress is progress I suppose.

With two scenes under my belt, and I still haven’t introduced my antagonist yet.  Eek.  I’m finding coming up with an introduction scene for my antagonist to be difficult.  I think the introduction of the antagonist will be brief, and probably fit in somewhere between the two scenes I’ve already written.

I’m glad I’m finally at the point where I actually start writing, and not just researching.  I’ve tried to come up with some kind of outline, but was told by others that I didn’t really need one.  I have a loose series of events at play in my noodle, I just have to get them down on paper and figure out the details.

Class starts Monday, so I’ll have to split my time between school work, house work and writing, but I think I’ll keep up with this.  I have four “beta” readers who are helping me along, and I thank them for their contributions.

For now, I think I’ll get back to considering how to introduce my antagonist.  Ta!

Found Poetry: Travellers

July 28, 2013 1 comment

The fair and radiant seraph
glorious, golden, it did float and flow,
gentle winged wanderers.

Spirits moving in His glory
all with glowing and sparkling echoes
of their King.

In robes of dawn, round his glory
travellers now move fantastically
discordant no more.

(ref: The Haunted Palace by Edgar Allen Poe)

Found Poetry: Ill Angels

July 28, 2013 1 comment

Lonely angels
reached an ultimate space —
bottomless and boundless —
that drip into restless skies of fire.

Murmuring by the dismal spot
each melancholy shrouded form
sigh in agony.

The woes for the shadow
may not dare its mysteries.

The sad soul, obscure and lonely
haunted by ill angels
wandered home.

(ref: Dream-Land by Edgar Allen Poe)

Writing Prompt: Cat

June 20, 2013 2 comments

I’d like to try something a bit different here at BFL. I woke up in the middle of the night with two rhyming lines that I felt I’d share:

I wonder, what does my cat see
when she stops to look at me?

I’d like to use these lines as a writing prompt to inspire you to complete the poem! It can be as long or as short as you like, rhyming, not rhyming, free verse, whatever floats your boat. Post your results either in the comments section below, or attach a link to your work on your own blog. I look forward to reading what you creative folks come up with! Namaste 🙂

Found Poetry: Spellbound

June 10, 2013 Leave a comment

I am under the drug —
no longer a slave to these pages
why is it all the prisoners had little idea?

I knew nothing;
my solitude vast and dream-infested.

I should not hope in absolute silence
and a vast reach of black.
In its cloudless cruelty, I realised
through some portion unfathomable
graver things forged my dreams so wild…

Such visions!

In the glow I saw through my terror
realms of darkness in the sky
an abyss beyond the strange worship of the moon —
it did hold me spellbound.

In my delirium I knew nothing,
as a hopeless slave,
as a pure phantasm —
It shall not find me.

(Ref: “Dagon” by H.P. Lovecraft)

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