Magenta Monster

I thought instead of putting anymore story starters up I would do something a bit different for a while and instead I thought I would post three pictures of mine as sort of writing stimuli – so basically feel free to write stories about these images 🙂

My Warrior Geek (first published on Turquoise Monster)

Alaric the name unfolds
Warrior King of legends mold
Uber Geek in strange Nu Spk
Two in one
Wearing black for fun

Alaric my Wonder Geek
Fighting zombies in his sleep
Forking daemons
Spawned zombie child
He’ll fix the system for a while

And when it breaks
He’ll battle all night
Until his code spins out what’s right

He is my Warrior Geek
Saving the world for his child to keep!

The Musical Note (first published on Blue Monster)

The musical note danced and skittered across the sheet, constrained by the lines that tangled and barred its way. Sometimes it tried to jump clean over those lines but it was always snared back again. Sometimes it tried to tunnel beneath, but there was always something barring its way. So the little note carried on trying desperately to get to the end.

Shy (first published on Turquoise Monster)

Shy sits silently
Shrouded by curtains of curly hair
Staring scared from below lashes
Squashed firmly into shadows
Watching with secret hopes
Crowds dancing
Loud is the sound
Such a slender slight form Shy retreats
Shy’s voice is lost
Scared away today
No one notices anymore
The scintillating scene streams past
Shy slips away into self consciousness
Screaming in silent agonies
Shy’s words are broken
When the word’s voice speaks – they stutter
Shattering the sounds of thoughts that should be shared
Shy used to speak but no one listened
So the word stream stopped
Clogged with What’s the Point?s and Silly Childs
But now barbed words are stinging
Struggling for escape
Ripping the throat
Sitting still Shy thinks
One day the song will come
And then Shy will sing!
Sing on Stage!
Staggering the audience
But for now Shy hides in the shadows
Silent and grave

Wool (First published on Blue Monster)

Tangled in the bottom of a green woven bag sat a scone of blue wool. It was the vibrant type blue of Thomas the Tank Engine and was hoping to be knitted into something for a kid, but unfortunately it was excess to requirements and had no bright future of jumper wearing ahead.

It sat in the bag becoming more tangled, watching other colours coming and going, bright pinks and purples, oranges and yellow. Then, just to add insult, more blues of every shade imaginable. They were all knitted away, but not that little scone. No, it sat there still hoping, becoming tatty and fluffy.

Then one day a hand much smaller than that which it was accustomed to reached in and extracted it with care. To the wool’s delight it was turned into hundreds of friendship bracelets, a couple of hair braids and an impromptu wick for a homemade candle.

Why being chopped up, twisted and knotted should have made it happy I cannot say but it did.

Selorian: His memories were like the snowflakes. They formed, floated down to him, and dissipated when he tried to hold on to them. #storystarters

Selorian: The snake wrapped around his leg and beat him with it’s whip-like tail. He frantically kicked, trying to dislodge it. #storystarters

Selorian: The radio blared to life at precisely 8am, just as it did every morning. It went unnoticed by the couple in eternal slumber. #storystarters

Selorian: Respected stock broker to drug addicted homeless man. Nine days. A walk into darkness. #storystarters

katirra: As the elevator abruptly stopped, panic set in. Claustrophobic, she’d taken it today b/c doc. advised her to conquer fear. #storystarters

Selorian: The waves crashed into the beach, dragging remnants of my lost life out to sea. With each came new determination to live. #storystarters

ajbarnett: A room, dark with shadows, coloured only by the feeble glow from the gas fire. A sad umbrella plant, desperate for water. #storystarters

Selorian: “I’m not sure that you fit into the longterm plans of the company any longer.” #storystarters

Selorian: Dawn broke on the first day after the end of the world to reveal some things went on. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks: The coffee tasted funny. The toast was off, too. He spit it out, unable to swallow. The soggy blanket fell on his face. #storystarters

Selorian: The straight and narrow is the hardest path to follow because of all the twists and turns required to stay the course. #storystarters

Selorian: The trunk of the tree opened up and swallowed him before he had a chance to run. #storystarters

The night was damp, not raining but a haze lit by the amber street lamps making everything glow a sickly yellow whilst moisture penetrated through layers of clothing giving that chill dankness.  Amelia stood at the bus stop a ladder in her tights and lipstick smeared, mascara rims were growing around her smudged eyeshadow, it had been fushia, now it was a a muddy colour on a waxen washed out face.  She was tired the club had been a mistake.  Her lungs felt like bursting from dry ice, in bed it would be a rock on her chest and she hadn’t got a clue were her inhaler was.

A bus cast in cordial orange where red should have gleamed, pulled in with a hydrolic hiss, she staggered on board bouncing her oyster card on the yellow circle.  She didn’t even make eye contact with the driver hidden behind thug proof shielding.  She slumped on the nearest apparently gum free chair, huddled inside her thin coat.  The window was scratched with gang sign, the floor sticky in its glittering grit.

The hum of the bus lulled her into a stupor deepened only slightly by the mix of fancy fruit beers and vodka.  The later she had supplied herself in the old guise of an evian bottle.

‘Amelia?’

She crained her neck slowly around such liquid tones she had not heard for what seemed an eternity, Jose was there silver in her hair, chapped pink lips, wonky glasses.  Amelia took in the ink stained finger and paint splatter clothing, a frown creased her forehead.

‘Jose?’ the woman nodded and smiled, it lit up her face, she became an angel – cracked lip, broken glasses and all.  As it had always been.

‘We’ve been wondering were you’d got too!’ she chirped, a look of disgust contorted the womans features, ‘you’ve fallen off the wagon haven’t you?’ she demanded harshly – it was as it always had been, somehow at odds with her general demeaner as if it had been learnt.

Amelia bristled to hear it, ‘no!’ then she blushed, she remembered the young man in the bar the one who had offered to buy her drinks.

‘Don’t lie I can smell it on you from here!’ Jose looked livid.

‘What’s it to you anyway,’ she hissed.

Jose got up from her seat and glided to the one next to Amelia, leaning down so that all the world become just Jose and whispered, ‘You know the answer to that one don’t come the fool! Were have you been we assumed you were with another group.’

‘Hah! How many groups do you think there are Jose!’ she spat then regretted it, the vitality of the other woman seemed to sag.

‘I… I had hoped?’ the eager hope, the fear in her eyes hurt Amelia as she shook her head.

‘How many are left Jose?’ she asked far more soberly than should have been possible.

‘Just the three of us,’ she said quietly.

‘But…’ Amelia shuddered at the thought, ‘there was 120 of us! How many are awol like me?’

‘Not many and we think… it doesn’t matter, were are you living? We could have a cuppa – you don’t have to be part of the group but we would like to see you again.’ The urning in the older woman’s eyes burnt into her.

‘I… I don’t think I should Jose.’ She turned her face away not to see the other crumple but instead a fierce grip dug into her arm.

‘Amelia, you have to understand, you have to know!’

‘Let go!’ she said prizing the other woman’s fingers off of her – what was the woman thinking.

‘You have to listen!’ she pleaded.

‘No Jose I don’t I am well shot of you lot, we can never go back, we are stuck here and that is that, we should just get on with blending in, the sooner you lot come to terms with that the better.’ Her venhem ebbed away to a hiss.

Jose slumped back on another chair, ‘and how is trying to fit in working for you?’

Amelia shrugged, she was not about to admit that it wasn’t, she was lonely and sick but she wasn’t going back. Not that there was much to go back to by the sounds of it.

She snugged down in her coat and pointedly ignored Jose who stared penetratingly at her, it itched.

At her stop Amelia stood a bit shakily, Jose grabbed her wrist, ‘please reconsider, it’s not safe for our kind here anymore!’

She snorted, ‘and who’s going to know as long as I dress and talk like everybody else? Jose you need to think about yourself more, look at you! Go on holiday on your own or something.’

She ripped her hand out of the others and staggered off the bus. Her heels clicked on wet pavements sounding too loud, the panicked furore in Jose’s eyes had spooked her. Twisting her key in the lock she felt the unease of panic turn her stomach, she had to wiggle the key and pull the door, finally the little click ment she was in.

The air smelt wrong in her flat, dry ice always messed with her senses. She bunged the kettle onto her hob and went to the cupboard, a sharp grinding sound made her jump, metal on stone. She turned around and almost screamed. Talons clasped her throat holding her off of the floor, a snout dripping mucus snorted at her.

‘Little angel run, Little angel hide, Little angle going to hell for a ride!’ the apparition wheezed through slits of teeth. Amelia flailed and kicked at the Beast but knew it was no good, this had been what Jose feared then. She choked and dragged ragged breaths, painful and not enough. A jolt shot through the monster sending her sprawling, dazed she looked up to see Jose pummelling the creature. It ceased moving.

‘I think I’d like to rejoin the Fallen Angels Self Help Group’ she said horsely.

Classic Moments filled Nazwick’s brain as he stumbled forward, the rain was heavy, thick almost and his hair was plastered to his skull like cranium. The girl was there equally emaciated with large dark eyes, the music filled up his brain, the conditioning. Moments, this was a moment. Her peach dress was soaked orange and her head devoid of any hair. She curtsied.

Nazwick smiled, it widened the rictus that gashed both their mouths.

Lightning streaked the sky and he thought of thorny blooms. Again the music increased in tempo and filled him, the smell of damask, of rotting rich sweetness surrounded him. He bowed and stepped forward.

‘Would you care to dance?’ he rasped. Her skull like head bobbed and she held out a brittle thin hand. He took it. Fire works exploded in his mind.

They danced a deluge, soaked and sodden and then trod into the hallway of the mansion. The allure of her was strong but he wanted to fight the conditioning, he had not ment to ask her to dance. He was loosing, big dark eyes in a sunken face, so vunerable and pretty. She should not be this way. The Classic Moments thumpered a war tatoo in his mind. Thought on humanity and love and life were entwined in a devine rage.

They held hands and squeezed what nutrition they could from the fungal matts they were given. ‘What is your name?’ he asked hollow and dry.

‘Ankra’ she replied shyly looking away.

‘Ankra,’ he replied in awe.

A creak stopped what he was going to say, what he was going to ask, what he had been programmed for.

The mansion mistress entered and the sound of the Classic Moments stuttered. He jumped up but the shape of Ankra had filled his thoughts, up even with out the music to sway him.

‘It is at an end’ the tall willowy woman said, she was more flesh than they but not by much.

‘No,’ he said, wondering at himself.

‘Ankra,’ he whispered, ‘will you conscent?’

She nodded, she was so weak he feared even the smallest of movements now.

‘Very well’ the Manion Mistress said. She stepped forward, maroon gown shifting and grabbed his sodden hair, yanking it hard his head jerked back. Ankra gasped. Something was jammed into his mouth and scrapped along the inside of his cheek. Then he was let go, he danced a dizzy circle and knelt before Ankra.

‘I will fight for you, I will fight for a world for a child, a child that can not be born from your malnourished womb, a child grown in vats that should not be. I will bring the world back for us. And if not? I will bring the meat of those who banish us for our offspring to grow fat.’ Shuddering with a new fear he kissed her shining forehead with dry flaked lips.

Standing he nodded to the Mansion Mistress who nodded but went to administer her duty in collecting cells from Ankra.

Nazwick turned, an old scared man wiry with survival stood waiting by the door. They nodded to each other and then the old man led the way out. He looked back once, Ankra was holding two viles in her hands and watching him solemly. Large tears strolled down her cheeks. He would bring her meat he vowed silently. Music filled him up as he marched to war.

Standing coyly at the edge of the room, Belinda parted her dusky lips suggestively. Her skin powdered to a cloying white, a green square over her mouth and noise, another such square covered one perfect ear. Her teeth glinted in the light; a perfect contrast. Her mask was pearlised gold fading to glittering amethyst. Her gown of purple and green satins was encrusted with golden sea pearls. She was a Courtesan.

She was a Beloved Assassin, whose school of thought held that nobility would fall in love with known danger. What they had failed to tell her was of the risk to the assassin. Not counter-assassins nor guards but love itself. Assassins were chosen by the victim themselves once a contract was made. The Courtesan then lived a year and a day as the victim’s companion. Doing their bidding and entertaining.

Most often the aristocrat would fall in love and could not bring themselves to kill the beauty that has been by their side. Counter-Assassins were employed at the beginning of a contract and could not be rescinded. Belinda watched Shamish sail in a graceful arch across the dance floor, golden hair streaming down the sides of a dark blue metallic mask fading to baby blue at the cheeks. This was a masked death ball. It was in her honor. Could she kill that which she had come to love?

If she did not, the Guild would hunt her down and use her for training. Belinda regretted the things she had not said but it was too late now.

A strange ringing began as she took a knife from a feathered glove. The dancers whorled by once more, on reflex she threw. Not at the torso – where there would be armour – but at the neck. It was a glancing blow, she never missed, but this time she had. Shamish slumped anyway. Belinda stepped forward, the counter-assassins blade narrowly missing her. She spun reflexively, crushing their wind pipe. Sorrow filled her as she saw it was a maid-friend.

She knelt beside Shamish. ‘You going to finish the job?’ the girl laughed through bubbles of blood duller than the make-up.

‘It was finished as soon as the blade touched you,’ she whispered. The girl nodded. Belinda lent down, kissing salted blood away. ‘I love you’ she whispered. They held hands, as Shamish began to fit, body contorting and twisting into a shallow slumber.

‘Assassin, go’ said a harsh voice, Belinda turned; the Supreme Lady Shamish’s mother shook in rage.

‘No’ she said simply and lay down on the floor next to the dying girl.

‘I will have the guards kill you’ she hissed.

‘That is against etiquette,’ she murmured, ‘It does not matter, I am dead, the poison’s in her blood.’, she said quietly and closed her eyes. She hoped the fits where not painful.

She heard the Supreme Lady sobbing and another voice, that of the contractor. She threw her second knife. She never missed.

Ice (first published on Turquoise Monster)

At the beginning we were like snow flakes

Elegant and bueatiful

Slowely drifting through the sky

We landed on the ground

Blanketing all in pure white

Rainbows glinted off of us

But then we lay and they trod upon is

Changing us into dirty slush

Dangerous, slippery

A trap for the unweary

Icicles grew and punctured us

Bleeding out the joy

Drops fell from us

What was once apart of us

Compounded, compacted

We became transparent

All that had been bauetiful and intrinsic

Turned to a refracted invisibility

Yet warm hearts lurked benieth

A hard ician shell – to a delicate world

We still survived

Until the pressure of each blow

Growing nearer the middle

Then we cracked and we splintered

Fractured beyond repair

Moving apart

Leaving an abyss of darkness

Blistering cold to the skin

We no longer touched

Just drifted away

To melt alone

On seperate distant shores