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
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:
- Write a pitch/logline for a book based on the prompts (less than 100 words)
- Write a short story/flash fiction piece of less than 200 words based on the prompts
- Write a poem with a twist using the prompts as inspiration (in less than 200 words)
- Write a story/poem in five sentences, each sentence based on one of the prompts
- 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.
