Silence

It is the year 2092, 600 years after Columbus accidentally landed on what is now South American soil. Mankind has come a long way since those days of discovering new lands. the silence and natural harmony of our past has gone and been replaced with electric machines that can do things for us that we have never even tried to do for ourselves.

These machines store our memories, remind us to do things and do other things for us. They are not silent as they go about their work, beeping, bopping and booping as their processors whir and chirp their merry tunes. The sound is deafening but has become a part of our everyday lives.

Men who do not participate in their monthly silent treatment go mad as if their minds cannot stand the sound of living any longer. Some who have only missed a treatment or two can be saved. They undergo intensive in-patient silent treatments and are able to rejoin society. Some lose parts of their memories or entire sections.

Those however who let it go on for much too long are lost to us and must be silenced permanently. Those are very sad but necessary procedures. The part of their brain that allows them to process sound is removed. It’s difficult, and most patients do not survive the procedure. Those who do must live apart from others and be retrained to be a part of society again. They forget everything. They could be 60 years old and suddenly they don’t remember a thing and have to start all over.

Sometimes this is too sad and the Doctor gives them mercy.

Image by: ttronslien (http://mrg.bz/ZY9ebl)

Image by: ttronslien
(http://mrg.bz/ZY9ebl)

Pollulate

Michael took a step forward, his foot ย landing on squishy ground. He could feel heat permeating through his shoe, getting hotter the longer his foot stayed in the same spot.

Not sure if he should move or stay put Michael watched the ground around his feet begin to shake gently before soil became displaced and tiny green shoots burst forth. Looking like stalks of grass with arms, the shoots began to pollulate all around where his feet rested on the mushy surface.

“What the…” he muttered and bent down to examine the new life.

He looked closely, bending his knees so he could get close to the plants without touching them with his skin.

His breath ruffled the stalks and the tiny arms began to move and wave. The arms slowly grew longer, stretching higher and causing Michael to lean back to avoid the arms from touching his face.

The arms of the plants become long and began to wrap around Michael’s shoes. He gently tried to lift his shoe but found it stuck fast to the ground. His heart began to beat faster. Neither of his feet could be budged.

Reaching for his belt knife, Michael removed it from it’s case and bent down once more. The plant arms had completely covered his shoe by this time and as he applied his blade to the arms, the forest was filled with screams unlike any he’d heard before.

Image by: BessaAlmeida (http://mrg.bz/X2JPNo)

Image by: BessaAlmeida (http://mrg.bz/X2JPNo)

Sleeve

CobblestonesWalking softly, Issa crouched low and pulled the dagger from her sleeve. The lights ahead were bright and the door to the tavern was open. The city was silent and the hair on the back of her neck stood at the the eerie thought of a silent tavern. Continuing on, she approached the courtyard and stopped. Scanning the distance between her and the open doorway, Issa drew in her breath and waited.

 

Deliberate Accident

Police

Flashing lights in the growing darkness let Detective Inspector Robinson know where he needed to go. No less than five police cars surrounded the path head that lead down the hillside into the valley. Showing his identification to the officer on duty, he moved quickly past the trail head and began his descent.

At the bottom, where a small clearing began to widen out from the path, a team was investigating the scene. Tall trees lined the trail on either side as he made his way to the clearing. Yellow caution tape surrounded a tent off to the side of the clearing, almost inside the tree line. Robinson headed in that direction, nodding to a few officers he recognized as he passed. Removing his hat and putting it under his arm, he pushed the heavy tent flaps aside and entered. Right away, he saw Detective Inspector Warren speaking to the Coroner. Robinson moved further inside the tent, catching Warren’s eye who motioned her head toward the body on the ground.

The victim was a young man, perhaps in his mid twenties. His dark hair was matted with blood. His eyes were open and staring but his face was at peace.

“What a terrible accident.” Robinson crouched near the victim, lifting the young man’s lapel with the tip of his pen to inspect the wounds. Blood was thick on his flannel shirt, clotting already, though he had overheard the Coroner’s initial estimate putting the time of death at just under 5 hours ago.

Detective Inspector Warren crouched down next to him, gloves covering her pale hands as she held the jacket open. Her eyes were shining with excitement. Despite her morbid fascination with death, and perhaps because of it, she was the best homicide detective there was. She viewed the body silently, her mouth moving slightly as she worked herself through the scene and the final moments on this man’s life.

Finally, looking up at Robinson, she smiled a grim smile. Her pink lips lay on top of each other in thin, straight lines. Her pale skin shone in the waning light and tendrils of her strawberry blond hair framed her face lightly freckled face. Blue eyes examined his face as they always did as if filing away his expression for future reference.

“It was no accident, it was deliberate. The strong slashes. Downward, as if the victim was already on the ground when the attacker struck. Vicious, downward strokes, over and over again. 17 times he was stabbed.”

As she spoke, she moved blood soaked cloth aside so Robinson could see the slashes, deep wounds that began with a large slit at the top and became thinner as they moved downward, indicating the killer was already removing the blade for another stroke as the blade sank into the man’s flesh.

The inspectors were silent as they imagined the man’s last moments.

“Surprisingly,” Warren spoke again, startling Robinson from his reverie, “there are no self defense wounds on his hands or arms. Perhaps he was already out cold when the killer began her attack.”

“Her?”

Warren blinked up at him. “Yes, the killer was a women.”

“How do you know that?”

She grinned and turned her attention back to the body.

Through the Keyhole

Through the Keyhole

 

Tip toeing down the hallway, Magda could see light pouring from the keyhole near the end of the hallway. She chanced a quick glance behind her to make sure she was alone before she crept slowly, slinking through the shadows cast by the heavy drapery on the other side of the passage. Her slippers made a gentle scraping noise as she slid her feet through the dust on the side of the hallway. The drapes were always pulled shut in this part of the house and it was obvious no one ever cleaned here. As she neared the door, the blue light shone bright and Magda wondered if she would be able to see through the light to what lay inside.
For months Magda had noticed her father disappearing down this hallway for hours at a time and had raised the nerve to follow only the night before. Now, creeping toward the closed door while her father was out, Magda was sure she would discover the reason for her motherโ€™s constant tears.
Crouching to her knees, her skirt brushing the floor, Magda took a deep breath and pressed her eye to the keyhole. Gasping, she pulled back and looked down the hall. The sound of her fatherโ€™s footsteps echoed off the walls. She knew she would not get a second chance to see what was beyond the door.
Magda took a deep breath and pressed her eye to the keyhole once more. The footfalls got louder and she heard him call out her name and begin running toward her. She blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted through the light and focused on the figure of a child laying on a pyramid shaped bed. Her dark curls fell over the side of the bed and trailed on the floor. Magda fingered her own dark curls and touched her face. It was the same as the girl on the bed.
Her heart was pounding as her fatherโ€™s hand fell on her shoulder and pulled her back from the door. Magda blinked up at her father, the hallโ€™s darkness in sharp contrast with the brightness behind the keyhole. Finally her eyes focused on her fatherโ€™s terrified face as he waited for her to speak.
โ€œIs she asleep?โ€ Magda finally managed.
His shoulders slumped and he lowered himself to the floor beside her.
โ€œNo.โ€ He said. โ€œShe is not asleep.โ€

Cub

“He’s just a cub.” Sarah said quietly, her eyes diverted.

“It doesn’t matter. Where there’s a cub, there’s a mother.” Her father shoved his arms into his jacket, grabbed the rifle resting by the door and stepped out onto the porch. He looked back at his daughter. “And you know a mother will do anything to protect it’s child. As will her father.” He smiled grimly at her before turning and heading down the steps into the yard.

The winter wind was biting and Sarah wrapped her arms around herself as she watched her father’s back retreat into the flurrying snow.

A few flakes rode the wind inside the house and landed in her hair before she could shut the door. As they melted, Sarah could feel their icy chill running through her hair and down the back of her neck.

Sarah walked into the living room where she stoked the fire and added more wood. It was the only source of heat in the small cabin so either her father or Sarah always made sure it was going strong if they walked through the room. Sitting on the rug before the fire, Sarah gazed into the flames and brooded.

A noise coming from the back of the house snapped her out of her reverie. It was a bumping, scuffling noise. Sarah rose from her position on the floor and stood still to listen. Something scraped across the floor in the utility room and bumped into the door. Fearing her father had been hurt and was crawling in the back door, Sarah ran to the hallway and threw open the utility room door.

“Father!” She cried, expecting to see his large form on the floor.

Instead of her father on the floor, a large black shape loomed in the doorway. The mother bear let out a loud roar and Sarah, unable to scream, fell backward onto her rump in the hallway.

 

Cub

 

Happy Reading!

~ Eileen ๐Ÿ™‚

Apologetic

Into the night she sneaked, her black shoes quiet on the soft grass. The wind whistled softly, almost apologetic through the branches above her head. Looking to her left, she could make out the mansion. There was a light on in the lower level but the upstairs sections were completely dark.

mansion

 

Happy Reading!

~ Eileen ๐Ÿ™‚

Writing Resource: Random First Line Generator

If you’ve been following me for a while, you know I like to use random generator tools to spur ideas for quick and spontaneous writing. Some people find it difficult to think of something to write when they are under pressure even if it’s self-imposed pressure. However, I find doing writing exercises regularly that are prompted by a random generator of some sort keep my writing skills sharp. I can pretty much write something worthwhile at the drop of a hat now. All it takes is some regular practice.

Today’s resource that I would like to share with you generates an entire line randomly when you click the button. It’s on the Writing Exercises website which you can find HERE. There are several generator tools to choose from and they are all pretty great. For example, from the home page, you can select a Random Quick Plot Generator. When I used that tool, this is what I got.

QuckPlotGenerator

Right away my mind begins spinning off into the setting for the opening scene in which my young man is standing on a cliff ready to jump, the wind whipping his blond hair off his forehead to reveal his royal blue eyes and the police are after him. Then there is a ‘4 Days Earlier’ transition into the meat of the story. I can’t wait to write it!

One of my favorite tools on this site is the Random First Line Generator. This tool just gives you the first line of your piece and then you’re off! I like to use generator tools in conjunction with my Write or Die Desktop Edition (there is a free web app version too). I set a time or word limit and pound away on my keyboard until I hit my set goal. Sometimes I stop there and sometimes I keep going. Other times I set it aside so I can think about it and add more to it later. Whatever you decide to do with your piece of writing, it’s an excellent way to get your juices flowing.

Here’s what my First Line came out as:

FirstLineGenerator

 

And here’s what I wrote in 5 minutes. (This is completely unedited.)

# # # # #

There was nothing left of the money except what lay on the table. Hank looked at the paltry stack of bills and felt his anger rising up into his face. He took a deep breath and trained his eyes on Marney.

“This is it?” He tried to control his fury, but it seeped out through his teeth like smoke.

She nodded silently, afraid to meet his eyes.

“Look at me.”

Her head came up inch by inch, her fresh shiner a grim reminder that Hank was back home and he was in charge. Her arms twitched, grabbing onto each other for comfort, her hands flitting up and down her too thin arms like dying birds.

“This is all that’s left?” He growled at her.

“Yes.” She said, tears leaking from her eyes. She nodded. “Yes. That’s all.” She waved a small hand at the paper on the table.

The silence was pregnant with unpent rage.

“There were bills, Hank. ” She stammered. “And Malorey . . . needed school . . . clothes and supplies . . .” Her voice trailed off, knowing Hank didn’t care about what their daughter needed to raise above the filth and poverty they both had grown up in.

“Damn it, Marney. I needed that money!” He yelled, slamming his fist onto the formica table top.

The paper bounced once and rolled over onto its side before it fell with a plop onto the kitchen floor. Before Marney’s eyes could get from the money on the floor to Hank’s face, she felt his fist pound into her cheek.

She opened her eyes. The money was inches from her face, his boots were coming closer and Marney began to cry.

# # # # #

I like to use generators and a 5 minute timer on my Write or Die to get myself warmed up. Then I get to work on my novel. Or sometimes, I use the generator as a blog post topic AND a writing warm up to boot!

Happy Reading and Happy Writing!

~ Eileen ๐Ÿ™‚

Failing

Amid the chaos, Noah could feel his panic raising. He turned, his cloak swirling around his calves, searching the faces swarming around him for a friendly set of eyes. Blood splattered faces grimaced at him in pain and fear and Noah knew his search for a friend was failing.

 

failing

Happy Reading!

~ Eileen ๐Ÿ™‚

Dignity

He stared. His eyes, not moving from her face.
“Now?” He breathed quietly.
She made no sound but nodded her ascent.
“What about my dignity?” His eyes begged her for understanding, his hands reached toward her, palms up, hands open.
“You have none.” She seethed.

dignity

 

Happy Reading!

~ Eileen ๐Ÿ™‚