The Tryst - Second Campaign Challenge

Using four of the prompts, doing a flash fiction, a pitch or logline,  an inspired poem.

Additionally, 
attempting three of the  activities tied by a common theme,
in a genre never before attempted,
and requesting a critique.


Flash Fiction

All that was left was to wait it out.

He stared at her, elegant looking despite the wet hair from the drizzle that caught them unprepared. Shooing away the starving kids at the garbage dumps hadn’t been easy, grim remainders of his past. He shifted his leg stump away from the jetting rails of what had once been the bridge of Bridgewater town. The pain would resurface soon making travel a nightmare.

The message had been delivered, the bird in his trap, dawn bringing the well earned reward. He day dreamed of the golden patterns, enjoyable side effects of the pain killing serum.

In a happier time reflected in her grandfather’s picture in the burlap, the sneak would have a name not just a number. The one who had foreseen the rise of Stonia, now something evoking fear and despondency was long dead but the movement he co-founded was alive in the hidden depths. She often wondered what had turned the still beautiful woman into the epitome of sadism.

Eric, she felt an ache at the very sound... this pathetic human staring at her brought her closer to the goal, the mission’s success hanging on his ignorance.

wc 198

Pitch/Logline

 In a world bereft of most natural resources, the International Council rules with an iron fist. The  self labelled high priestess and sadist Stonia, the true wielder of power ruthlessly mows any opposition. But the MOB, an underground resistance plots her demise, their reluctant assassin, the unassuming Charlotte, granddaughter of one of the founders,

A simple plan that needs only an image and the medical skills of the widow of the previous leader, finds her embroiled in a moral conflict that could sabotage the mission and destroy the movement...

Wc 89

Poem - Form 'Ode'

Grey cloaks the land,

Where once walked the green maiden

Lovely and captivating visions she spun.

The birds sang, the river hummed

the mad wind whistled in passing.

Happy faces, laughing eyes, scampering feet

were not yet yellowing postcard smiles.

She stood there, straight backed yet unsure,

taking in the detail,

stilling the mind and heart

with the skilled hands of years past.

The expectations weighed

heavy on her chest.

The spirit never truly waned nor wavered

until she met her,

The mother who could have been hers.

For the Rach Writes' Second Campaigner Challenge

Prompt 1: 
Two people are sitting together under the remains of a concrete bridge. Their backs are against a rusted bridge support. One person’s leg is cut. The other person has wet hair. 

Four picture prompts.

Do one or more of the following:

1. Write a pitch/logline for a book based on the prompts (less than 100 words)
2. Write a short story/flash fiction piece of less than 200 words based on the prompts
3. Write a poem with a twist using the prompts as inspiration (in less than 200 words)
4. Write a story/poem in five sentences, each sentence based on one of the prompts
5. Write a poem/flash fiction piece (in less than 200 words) about the water pear *without* using the words “pear”, “spoon”, or “droplet”.

For added difficulty/challenge:

• Complete at least three of the above activities and tie them all together with a common theme (feel free to either state the theme in your post or leave us to guess what it might be)
• Write in a genre that is not your own
• Ask Challenge entrants to critique your writing.

Painting At Night

Shadows crept across the wall. Lights from the opposite building through the thin curtains and the night lamp added to the effects…so quiet, she could hear her palpitating  heart.  Taking a deep breath, she picked up the thin brush, mixed the three  colours and carefully painted the petals.

‘Bitchy Prostitute’* the voice echoed, stronger than it had all week. She barely managed to pull away the shaking brush. The leaf was now shaded orange.

‘Damn!  Get a grip.’ 'It kinda looked nice’,  she noted…autumn leaves on the blouse would stand out indeed. She glanced at the clock on the wall, 12.45 a.m…half an hour more before  sweet talking  the mistress of dreams.

Lost in the swirling colours , she barely heard him till he stepped close. Laughed at her efforts,”Well, Picasso, get back to bed.”

“ A few minutes” the pleading voice.

“You know who’s up at this time?”

“Not that word, I will definitely leave this time.”

“Really? Poor Mrs Virgin, pity your face didn’t find any takers in college. We both know, your parents will send you right back.” walking away.

Ignoring the rolling tears, blurred eyes sought the brush… clutching it tightly, in its strength everything faded.

* the closest translation of the cuss word in English

WC 200 with the word 'orange' , the end words 'everything faded' and in my usual genre of  Realistic+ Contemporary Women fiction.

( Scene from my WIP on domestic violence  Scarred ....modified)



     At Rach Writes,  First Campaigner Challenge, woot!!! The Challenge is:

Write a flash fiction story in 200 words or less, excluding the title. It can be in any format, including a poem. Begin the story with the words, “Shadows crept across the wall”. These five words will be included in the word count. 

If you want to give yourself an added challenge (optional), do one or more of these:

• end the story with the words: "everything faded." (also included in the word count)

• include the word "orange" in the story

• write in the same genre you normally write

• make your story 200 words exactly!

Check other entries there.