Little wonder we stumble in life.


Trifecta – The Forest For The Trees

Tonight, I found a new writing challenge that I just couldn’t resist:

“Write a horror story in 33 words, without the words blood, scream, died, death, knife, gun, or kill. Good luck.”

Here’s my entry…

She trembled. Her heart was thumping through her chest; she clutched at it desperately as she ran. The murderer was getting closer, and she almost thought she would faint. The forest closed in…

Prompt taken from Trifecta.


Friday Fictioneers – Abandoned

It had only been a few decades since she’d abandoned it. In the life of a vampire, that’s not very long, and that had only been at the start of her new life. So very few people ever appreciate the young of her kind, unlike for humans.

She had left her broken home and torn through the bush in this old ute, which then had only broken down by the fence. It was the barrier between her old world and her brand new life, and she had jumped it easily. She’d never even thought twice about it.

But now she knew better in the early night. Life was hard here too.

I got the idea for this from the story I’m working on. From Madison Woods‘ blog.


Top 4 Best Modern Anti-Heroes

Everyone loves an anti-hero, let’s face it. They may date back to 1714, but anti-heroes are very much considered to be modern day characters.

1) Lestat de Lioncourt

For a modern character, his age probably dates back to about that same era. Created by Anne Rice in Interview with a Vampire, he was definitely the stand-out character. More ruthless than Louis, his actions turned Claudia against him, forcing us to see the errors of his ways.

When I watch Lestat in that movie, I just can’t help to root for him up until, and even after that point, when we learn how mistaken they were. Even though I know what he advocates is bloody wrong. (Get it? Bloody?)

I love writing vampires, and he is my role model for what vampires should be. Unfortunately, the rest of the world seems to have gone more for Louis. And now look what vampires have become!

I really wish vampires would go back to their badass glory days. Is it any wonder there’s a movie called Vampires Suck with vampires like Edward Cullen out there?

2) Greg House

Let me count the ways that House has captured my mind.

He’s intelligent; I tend to agree with almost any point he makes, not necessarily about medicine, but about real life opinions. Anything from “Everybody lies” to “There is no dignity in death”, and multitudes in between. Besides, I respect intelligence immensely.

He defies social norms; speaking as a person who’s been as rejected as I have, with an Aspbergian mind (something House himself was once suggested of by Wilson, only to have it disproven or else rejected), I tend to revel in House’s rebellion of normal society.

He’s an ass; and he gets away with it. I certainly wouldn’t want to work for him, and few others can handle him. But he gets away with it. Maybe if he can get away with being who he is, then there’s hope for the rest of society’s rejects.

These are the various reasons I love him; these are the various ways he’s an anti-hero.

3) Severus Snape

The serious Potions professor is rather another role model to speak of. Both as someone similar in hygiene to myself (which honestly sounds sad), and as one who is far too often misunderstood, perhaps even to his fans.

Harry Potter certainly was no fan. At every turn, he reveals his common ‘judging a book by its cover’ mentality, despite the fact that in his world, nothing is ever as it seems.

Severus Snape was certainly one of many of those.

There are plenty of reasons why fans adore this character. The stoic strength of his persona, the comedy of seeing him torture the students, and for a lot of time, there was also the question of his true loyalty.

But most of all, Snape is also a representation of the odd bullied school kid with a lifelong grudge. And that is the thing that I think might have drawn in more fans; the fact that he was seen to be a senseless victim in Order of the Phoenix of James Potter and his leering friends (minus Remus).

He clearly wasn’t the innocent one either, though, considering his vast knowledge of the dark arts and his liberty with Sectumsempra, but many people sympathised (and empathised) deeply with him.

And it’s understandable. But that’s why he’s an anti-hero.

4) Dexter Morgan

Dex: cop by day, killer by night.

Dexterously distinct, delightfully dark Dexter takes the cake when it comes to playing the anti-hero. How many of us delved deeply into fantasies of such renegade justice in our youths? I know I did.

An idea transcended into life sums him up pretty well. It’s alright in the safety of our minds, but where is the line?

An anti-hero that really tests the moral strings of our subconscious, Dexter is someone that stands up for the unfortunate in his own dark, twisted, transformed into good but inherently bad-natured way.


PS Something I’ve always wanted to express about House is that I think his story was somewhat derived from Sherlock Holmes. House and Wilson are so similar Holmes and Watson, and that bogus story Wilson once fed to Kutner and Taub… the “Irene Adler” story… that’s a Holmes reference, too.


Friday Fictioneers – Lost Sun

I breathed heavily, loud to my ears, like a wild wind.

I’d never see another sunrise. I know nothing about living in the woods. No one was coming, they had cruelly left me behind, betrayed.

My throat and nose were chilled raw, torn with too much air. I’d shivered all night, hadn’t slept, the whole ordeal had exhausted me. I just wanted to be wrapped up warm in my bed.

Then something amazing; a dewdrop of warmth shone upon my arm. I looked up; my long lost sun. It was still cold, but my new sun eased me a bit.

Still painfully lost, I saw a speck up on the hill ahead of me, waving, distantly shouting, a wild thrill to my ears. More people arrived.

They had come back for me.

132 words… From Madison Woods‘ blog.


Flash Fiction Faction – Burning Light

I used the following words for this prompt, in random order:









She sat, blinking her eyes painfully against the light. I watched her anxiously.

I put my hand on her shoulder. “How long have you been sitting in the dark like this? You have to let some light into your life occasionally.”

“Not if it hurts,” she complained.

“You look like a mess,” I told her. “What is this downcast behaviour, lately?”

“It’s nothing,” she said.

“No, it’s not.”

She sighed, eyes decidedly closed now. She didn’t speak for a long time. “What?” she snapped.

“Nothing,” I retorted.

“Alright, fine…” She hesitated for a long moment. She sighed again, before hesitating again a few more seconds.

“Alright, if you wanna know… you remember how overjoyed I was about getting a compliment a few weeks ago about my new haircut? A week ago, someone spat in my hair and called me ugly. Then when mom saw me washing my hair out later, I told her, and she agreed with them, thinking I was ugly.”

I looked at her sadly, disappointed in my wife. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her tonight.”

“Thanks, dad.”

“There’s just one thing I’d like to know, Fifi. Did he do anything else… after he spat at you? You know, because some people… can sometimes step outside their bounds.”

“No?” said Fifi, definite in her response.

“He didn’t threaten you?”

“No, he didn’t, dad!” she moaned, as though I had just asked her if she had put product in the wash.

“I’m serious, Fi, men can be like that.”

“Dad, it’s not like we’re living in some ancient dynasty in which slaves get whipped every day and die of internal bleeding or something.”

“Maybe not, but you should still be careful. You never know who’s out there ready to hurt you or kidnap you or something awful.”

“Yeah, yeah…” she said.

“Not ‘yeah, yeah’,” I told her. “‘Yes, dad, you’re right.’ Say it with me.”

“Yes, dad, you’re right,” she repeated with me in a monotone.

“All right. As long as you know,” I said. “Now, do you think you might be up to helping me harvest in the backyard tomorrow? I’m eager to see how those Roma tomatoes are going. Perhaps we can use them in a delicious homemade pasta tomorrow night, huh? What do you think of that?”

“Sounds great, dad,” she said, not entirely enthused. I supposed it would be a slow process to get her back on track again. It was hard work trying to preserve her optimism, especially with an outspoken mother like she had.

I still hadn’t exhausted my online resource. Still, it was tough dealing with a sensitive daughter.

Thanks again to Quill Shiv, for her writing prompts. It’s not as good as the last one, maybe. But still; tell me if it’s believable.


Flash Fiction Faction – Blood

My heart tightened in my chest, wrenched at the sight before me. It was devastating, it was life shattering. I crashed to my knees in reverence to the higher power before me.

Blood, everywhere, obscuring everything. Red, the only colour left in the world, I lingered on it weakly. It was grisly in its nature, torturous to the mind.

My baby sister. Killed by a maniac.

I bowed down before him, surrendering to the violence. Surrendering to His Will. After all, it was all in His plan. He was no God, but he was the beginning and the end of my world now, he was the Creator of chaos. He showed as much mercy as Mother Nature, as much love as Lucifer, as much power as God Almighty.

I cradled my demised sister in my arms, wailing, mouth gaping, letting the blood flow over me, her blood. I wanted to feel connected to her still, but there was nothing to be connected to anymore. That blood, that precious blood, I needed to be covered in it to remain as part of her. Even now. Especially now.

She had been so sweet, a sweet contrast to the world’s evils. She had been so pure, my poor sister, and she hadn’t deserved this, no, not at all. She had been so innocent, had never done anything to anyone, even if she was only young. She was a child, a simple five year old child, and he had killed her.

And why? What had she done to deserve it? All she had ever done was treat people with kindness, even the ones who had treated her poorly at school, teased her. That was sad, but surely no tragedy, not like this.

That was one thing. At least she was alive. This was taking a life away, it was destroying others, it was cruel and dark.

And it twisted my heart. It rung it out and squeezed from me all the life, all the happiness that was known to it before. There was something missing from me now, the fullness of my heart, the fullness of my life, and however I tried to absorb it back, I would never be the same, I would never be that perfect again.

And there he was, standing over me, satisfied with what he had done, so happy and smug, as though he had done his job, as if my reaction was the only reason he had done it. But why? I had always known he hated me, but this? He was a psycho. He wasn’t human. No true human being could cause such cruelty for one of their own. If they could, then I didn’t want any part of it, not if this was the result.

My heart was broken, dry and shattered. This felt like the very end of existence, I couldn’t think beyond it at all, yet I knew it was a lie. Unless he planned to kill me too.

I heard his evil mocking. I turned to him, and demanded, like so many who feel forsaken by their god, why he had done this. I shouted it at the top of my lungs.

And he just sat there smiling. Like he could break me if he wanted. Like any second I’d crumple back at his feet, begging for mercy or forgiveness. Like he deserved to be worshipped.

I rose to my feet, furious, incensed, ready to pounce like a puma, claws out, teeth bared. And he laughed. After all, it was just a big fucking joke to him wasn’t it? My fear, my pain, and now, my anger. He was the one who should be lying dead right now!

So I attacked, fighting with my fists instead, ready to bite, ready to crush his body. He pushed me back hard, as though I were just a kitten trying to play, and I were getting on his nerves. That hurt far worse than it ever had before, and my fury mounted.

I wanted to prove myself, show him that I was no child like everyone always thought of me! I could take him down! I could make him hurt!

But the pain from his blows hurt so much I wanted to cry. I literally fought tears as hit me over and over again, and I began to believe it, that I was weak.

No, I thought determinedly. I couldn’t let myself become that. I had to keep fighting.

I landed another blow on him. He staggered back, injured. I seized my chance.

But I didn’t keep it long before he struck back at me once again, practiced in parries and blows, and sent me back to the ground. The tears really flowed now. I really fought them, wiping furiously. But no matter how I hard I tried, they wouldn’t stop. My hands were now coated in tears.

He seemed pretty pleased with himself, just standing there domineering over me. I hated that. I tried to swipe his feet to knock him down, but he was as fast with his feet as with his fists. I was defeated. Desperately, tragically defeated.

I was nothing.

A prompt from Quill Shiv. Obviously a little late, but I’ve done a video writing prompt, and at the time I didn’t realise.


Friday Fictioneers – Good Dog

She was a good dog. When you told her to sit, she sat. When you told her to roll over, she’d roll over.

Personally, Darren didn’t think he could stand it if he was like that. You tell a person to do that and you get no respect if you do. They probably laughed at her just as they would laugh at him if he acted like that. Probably called her a little bitch after she did, just like they’d call him a poof.

Being docile and agreeable counts for nothing; it makes you nothing. You have to be aggressive, hostile to survive. There’s no other way.

“Good Dog” Taken from Madison Woods‘ blog.