100 Challenge - 20. Fortitude

Boo.Yeah! 2 in one week, a roll is happening! (Cursed it now mind!)

Had some fun writing this, I'm on a medieval/peasant-Lord thing at the moment (Merlin's fault!) So when i thought about it, and the word "Fortitude" I liked the idea of something to do with "courageous Knight" in some way, and this was tapped out. 

Make your own back story up. It's pretty easy to 

(Little bit of a mature theme, death 'n' all)

20. Fortitude

There was a horrid crunch as I felt bones break and muscles rupturing. Blood then began to flow freely, hot and sticky against my skin, cooling very quickly in the day’s breeze. The offending sword was sharply removed and I heard gasps from all around.

I could feel myself swaying, my legs going numb far too quickly for my liking. My breathing becoming a chore, laboured and heavy while moans and gasps escaped my lips. A hand grabbed my shoulder tight, my offender, dragging me close to him so he was speaking into my ear. I steadied myself up against him, a bloody hand on his fancy clothes, tightly gripping.

“And what, dear Francis, did that prove?” My eyes widened as his hissed words came at me. God, so much pain, make it end, Gods. Another moan flew from my now bloody mouth. So much pain. “You’ll die and I’ll still do whatever I want to her.” My fear filled eyes darted to Juliana’s. She looked so lost, a deer caught in a trap. “Trying to be the courageous knight in armour?” He pulled me closer, the movement caused so much pain that I wailed out. “You’re nothing but a peasant, an ant compared to me.”

I placed my bloody hand on his face and dragged his ear close to mine. “Never kick an ant’s hill.” My breathing was so painful, rasping gasps now. Lord Bale just shoved me hard, one shot to the shoulder that a smarter man would have been able to defend against, but my feet and my brain were no longer connected so I stepped back a few times before falling down heavy, my arms taking a little of my fall.

I smelled Juliana before I saw here swim into vision, she always smells like summer roses and lavender. She propped me up a little on her, her fair hair falling down in smooth locks. I reached out and played with one a little, my blood smearing over the golden strands.

“Why Francis?” Jen asked, pain scratching at her voice. I could see tears rolling down her face. I convulsed slightly as my insides began to shut down, a moan from my mouth. I could no longer feel my legs and my lungs felt like they were made of lead, every breath so heavy. I took her hand and brought it to my lips and kissed it. I wanted to tell her how I felt, how much I cared for her, how I cherished everything she was and ever would be. I wanted to say that I wasn’t sorry for our love, but I was sorry that she was married to that awful brute.

“Juliana!” I heard Lord Bale shout; he then grabbed her arm roughly and threw her to her feet. I fell back to the floor, my head painfully knocking against the dry mud floor. I saw him tightly grip her arm and slap her hard across the face, her hair flailing wildly across her face. He shook her hard now, screaming in her face. He raised his fist to throw a punch but a strong arm held it back.

I’d love to say I found some strength, some second wind, but I was still sprawled out on the floor, life ebbing away. Instead my words had rung true, “never kick an ants hill,” and my village people were revolting. The men folk had found their strength and courage to fight back and were now surrounding and chasing after Lord Bale. I could heard their roars of anger and a faint cry from that horrible man.

Juliana came into focus again, her face reddened from the slap, a feisty anger in her eyes that I’d not seen in some time. She planted a kiss upon my dry mouth as my eyes flickered back and forth. My body was moments away from sleeping eternally; I was making pathetic sounds, moans and squeals as the pain worsened. It was so much, too much, Gods, God help me, save me. I tried to breathe again but it was too painful.

“You were so brave!” Juliana said, hugging me into her. I felt her tears plop against my pasty skin. She leant down, placed a tender kiss against my cheek, her hair spilling down like a curtain against us and whispered “I love you, my courageous Knight.”

100 Challenge - 19. Grey

Good lord! That has taken me 2 months to write! Some of these blighters are a little hard to do!

First it was happy, love story, blahh
Then it was all angsty and rahh
Then it was about tea (Don't ask!)

Finally sat down and knocked this out and it's okay, but I need to do more "writing" like story/prose style.

(Also, sorry to anyone who thinks I've spelled grey wrong like ten times, I haven't. I'm English and we're kookie like that!)

19. Grey

Grey was the colour of his suit, a medium grey, made from cheap polyester material that caught and clicked easily.

Grey was the colour of his underwear, what were once white and new was now stained and washed together with his black socks, the colours muddling together like his memories.

Grey was the colour of his hair, what was left of it anyway. Not silver like a fox, the rich dark locks gone from his youth, leaving only wisps of this grey.

Grey was the colour of his skin, too much smoking has left him with this tinge, now his face hung and sagged, deep sad wrinkles scattered.

Grey was the colour of his brain, fogged up and old, forgotten thoughts, recollections. Suit? Socks? Wisps of grey? Grey?

“Grey is the colour of my suit.”...

100 Challenge - 18. Under

 100 Themes Challenge - Variation 2

My little brother had just gone to university, the first in my family to actually "go" (like stay in halls and all that, I stayed at home and commuted) And I don't miss him, but I guess somewhere in my subconscious I do because this just spewed out quite soppy like

18. Under

Under all that, little brother, I still see you.

Under your heavily tattooed skin I still see the baby of the family.

Under your facial piercings I still see that cherub face.

Under those sleep deprived eyes I still see the baby blues shining through.

Under all that, little brother, I still love you.

100 Challenge - 17. Blood

17. Blood

100 Themes, variation 2


Gooood Lord, it's very long. I just went for it. Full steam ahead! Aye aye Captain!

I quite enjoyed writing this, the ending is piss poor, kind of unraveled because I wanted to keep writing but if I keep writing it kind of stops being a Blood theme and moving onto what it's all really about.

Points if you can guess? ;D It's oh-so obvious but I enjoy where it's going so I might carry on with this one and see where I end up.

TL;DR? 

17. Blood

The sight of blood knocked me sick; it brought waves of nausea, cold sweats and eventual unconsciousness. My Mother says I was forever being clumsy when I was younger, scraping my knees and gashing my head open. My Father thinks I’m a sissy girl.

Any mention of blood makes my upper lip sweat, the sight of anyone else’s brings clanging to my ears and bile to my throat. The sight of my own blood is all of the above plus me eventually passing out in an ungraceful manner. So here I am staring at my index finger pouring with blood, doing quite well I thought.

My upper lip was damp, as was my forehead and I could hear a familiar clanging and buzzing in my ears. I shook it off as best I could as I quickly grabbed the kitchen towel from the counter, wrapping it many times around the slice as tightly as I could. The blood quickly soaked through the four wraps and a little shrill panicked noise escaped my lips. The buzzing returned but I began to sing nonsensical sounds. Laa’s and hee’s were sung at the top of my voice as I raced around the kitchen in the hope it would help.

I noticed my phone lying on the counter and I thought about ringing for help. My Mother would just chastise me; shout at me for being so careless with a knife. My Father would call me a sissy girl. My sister lived in another County and all friends within available radius would ridicule me for such a silly cut. The thought of ringing an ambulance crossed my mind as the tea towel was now soaked through but again it could be nothing and I wouldn’t want to be a time waster.

I didn’t realise I was singing so loudly until I stopped when I then heard the heavy hammering of a fist on my flat door. I slowly swayed across to the door, grinding my jaw as the blood was seeping through the towel now.

“Hello?” I asked, opening the door wide, hiding my covered hand. A tall man looked down at me, thirties, rough dark hair, dark eyes and angular facial features. His face fell straight, no hint of any emotion. I thought he maybe looked a little amused though.

“Are you okay?” His accent was rough too, masculine but rough sounding. I nodded, hoping he couldn’t see how pale I probably looked, or how sweaty I was feeling. He gave me a quick once over, his eyes giving nothing away. “I heard you singing, loudly.” I forced a small smile of ‘Sorry’ and added a nod too. “Do you often do that?” I shook my head, no, afraid to talk to him as I felt nausea ripple through me. A trickle of blood escaped from the towel and slicked its self down my arm. The crimson bead was the last straw; I’d been brave for long enough now.

The buzzing in my ears grew louder, and I could see the man in front of me talking but his words grew fuzzier and my eye lids felt heavy. I don’t remember falling, but I remember a firm grasp holding me from somewhere, slowly picking me up and carrying me.

I hadn’t been out long, minutes, if that. I was now lying on the sofa though, head propped up with a cushion while someone was touching my hand. I rolled my head over to see the man crouched before me, wiping away the blood from my finger with some tissue from my coffee table. It stung like hell but he was gentle in his ways. A small smile was sitting on his lips, he looked up and the smile spread a little further. “You should look away,” he finally said as he stopped wiping.

I gave a little glance down to my finger and made a small retch sound. The cut looked deep, not stitch worthy but messy all the same, a clean slice at the top of my index finger.

“First aid kit?” He asked me. I blinked away a few nauseous thoughts and motioned toward the bathroom across the way.

“Bathroom cabinet.” I mumbled, feeling less fuzzy and more embarrassed. I swung my legs back round and planted them on the floor, sitting upright on the sofa. I took a quick peep at the man in my bathroom, his attire was a suit, a store bought, poorly fitting black thing that he looked so uncomfortable in. I saw a black tie was loosened around his neck as he came back through.

“So, you don’t like blood then?” He asked as he crouched down before me again.

“Never have done,” I replied, not daring to look into his eyes, the embarrassment creeping onto my face. He opened the kit up and wiped the last of the blood away with a wipe, it stung and I made a fuss but he didn’t stir from his occupation. Finally a plaster was wrapped round the wound and he clicked the kit shut. Silently he rose to his feet and went to replace the kit in the bathroom; the man came back and slid the bloodied tissues into his suit pocket. My eye brows hitched up my head at this .

“Oh, oh don’t worry!” He replied to my widened eyes, “I figured I’ll bin them at my place, save you looking at them all the time.” I nodded, smiling a little at his thoughtfulness. “It’s not like I’m a vampire or anything,” He said with a nervous giggle on the end, like there was some big joke and I wasn’t getting it.

“So where do you live then?” I asked in my most coy-slightly-flirtatious voice.

“Here and there,” he replied breezily.

“Here?” I asked with a little too much hope in my voice. He smiled. Drat! He’d caught me flirting. I coughed and regained some composure. “I meant this building? The area? Town?” Jesus will you shut up! Just stop talking! Again a small smile played on his lips.

“Three doors down, Larry, the guy who owns it, has gone on a fishing trip and asked me to take care of his flat.” I nodded again, I had a faint idea of Larry, I could see a wispy old beard and a leather waistcoat. We’d never talked much, or at all except niceties about the news or weather. The man picked up the very wet and very soaked through tea towel and I retched.

“Do you want me to bin this? Put it in the washing machine? Burn it?” I retched again and felt sweaty all over. He dropped the towel into my waste paper bin and with his clean hand came over and forced my head down so I was looking at my feet. The clanging and chimes began to disappear and I could hear him again. “-deep breaths, deep breaths, push against my hand, deep breaths.” I sucked in some well needed air, pushing back against his hand until he let go.

“Please, get rid of it.” I leant back on the sofa, all this blood just for a small cut on my finger. I heard him tie the plastic bag in the waste paper basket up and lift it out.

“I’ll take it back to my place, bin it there.” For what felt the umpteenth time that day I nodded. “You really don’t like blood do you? You look really pale, pasty even.” I hadn’t even thought about how I was looking. I was wearing cheap blue jogging bottoms and an old grey t-shirt with a faded logo and numerous stains. I had mismatched socks on, one bright pink one yellow and my auburn hair was looped into a rough bun, frizz probably sticking out every where.

“I’ve never liked blood.” I rose to my feet and crossed my arms over my chest. “Childhood trauma or something, just can’t stand the sight of it.” I looked him in the eye. I was very grateful for his rescue, helping my in my hour of need. But he had just called me pasty and I wasn’t having that. I locked eyes with him for a moment, his dark inviting eyes were calculating something but as soon as the moment had come it had passed. I strode across to the door and stood by it, defiantly. “Thank you for all your help...”

“James,” He helped, filling in the space between us in a few easy strides. He was close now, so close I could feel his breath blowing the wisps of loose hair on my head. I felt the heat radiating from his body and those dark eyes looking down at me. Something was pulling me to him, some force making me look up into his beautiful dark eyes, down to his soft wet lips. My arms loosened and fell useless to my sides, but itching to run over his body, through his hair. I could feel my blood pounding in my ears, my mouth becoming dry, lips parting, closer, closer...

I then stepped back, arms instinctively crossing back over my chest. “Yes, well, thank you James, thank you for everything.” I was flustered now; I’d been caught off guard, vulnerable. I scowled at him and held my arm out, showing him the way to the corridor. A puzzle was playing out on his face, like he was trying to do a ten thousand piece jigsaw in his mind. His lips were moving slightly but no words were coming.

“Thank you.” I snapped, almost shoving him out the door, slamming it behind him. I’d feel guilty about it later, probably go over and apologise. Perhaps invite him to dinner somewhere, bottle of wine, back to my place...

I moaned out loud, what was my problem, what hold did he have over me? I stormed into the kitchen, snapped on a pair of marigolds, got a spray bottle of cleaner and a cloth and set about cleaning up the dots and drops of blood. I cursed his name through out, almost forgetting that it was blood that I was cleaning up. 

100 Challenge - 16. Spit

Yes this is a poem. My kind of poem. I honestly don't understand poetry, all I know is it either rhymes or it don't, it's all the same (My English Lit. teacher will be so proud!)

So this is what I came up with for Spit...Honestly, it's a silly theme

16. Spit

There was a young lad,

Who used to spit on his Dad.

The kid’s Father got mad,

Told the boy it was bad

But the brat just laughed like he was glad.

100 Challenge - 15. Silence

Not happy about this, this theme stirred a thousand thoughts, but none wanted to shine as much as this. Ho Hum!


15. Silence
Glancing at the clock again I sigh a heavy hearted sigh, forty five minutes left until my lunch break. I'm almost dreaming of that little plastic Tupperware box when a RING of a phone and a WHUMPH of heavy papers being dropped onto my desk brings me back. I scramble about for my head set and take a deep breath before "Good morning this is Helen from Phones for Life how may I help you?"

    I can hear a SCREAM of a child in the background and a YELL of a woman to "SHUT THE HELL UP!" I then hear a disgruntled sigh and she comes on the line, a scratchy sounding voice with husky undertones. "Listen right, I've been on 'old for ten minutes yeah? 'Ow long does it tek to answer the phone?" I take another deep, calming, breath.

    "I'm very sorry miss, what is it I can help you with today?" I try to sound as calming and polite as I can knowing full well she's just listened to the "Your call is important to us, we endeavour to take your call within five minutes" reel that plays with the hold music. There is a BANG of a door and a good few BARKS of a dog. She YELLS at it and then gets back to me. Her credit hasn't gone through, she's got calls to make yeah, what am I gonna do 'bout it? 

   I quickly sort her out, promising the earth just to get rid of her, breathing a lovely sigh of relief as the click ends the call. I then have another loud woman, but she's just old and SCREECHES down the phone to everyone I guess. Then an man with the LOUDEST laugh I've ever heard, it broke my ear drum I swear. 

    As I finish with him I glance back up at the clock, five minutes to go. The Tupperware box is calling me from under my desk tucked away in my tote bag. I'm sorting out the mass of papers, the RUSTLE of them grating through me with each leaf. Across the way two colleagues of mine CACKLE away about their gossip and a staple gun is BANG BANG BANGED every second against more paper. I can hear CLACK of keyboard keys and CLICK of high heels against the hard floor. 

    I'm up and out of my seat as soon as the hand clicks by, grabbing my bag and leaving my head set to rest. I let my floor manager know and she ticks me off a register, she then tries to talk to me about something trivial but I apologise and make a run for it, like I'm escaping. Down six flights of stairs, through the main foyer and out into the open where my lungs take a deep needed fresh breath. 

    Our office building does have a staff room with vending machines, sofas and furniture but it's often loud and even with head phones in my co workers always feel the need to talk to me. I'm not mean spirited, I'll have a good goss' about anyone with anyone but my lunch hour is to get away from that hustle and bustle. 

    I sadly eat my lunch in the car park, on a grassy spot on a bench. I've always questioned why this bench is here, the smokers go round the back of the building to their designated shelter and visitors are very sparse to have want of a bench. But I'm grateful for it every day, I plonk myself down in the middle, to ward off any one wanting to sit next to me, open my Tupperware box, take out a sandwich and lean my head back a little, soaking up the few rays of sunshine. 

    I can't hear a thing, not an angry customer, not an office moan or a stationary sound; just pure, blissful silence.

100 Challenge - 14. Smile

Wahey! Back on a roll! (probably jinxed it)


Quite like it. Little long, but makes up for all the shorts I've been writing of late.




14. Smile


"Write down one hundred reasons to smile." That was her 'homework' from today's session. Smiling was the first step to happiness apparently, and happiness was a step towards normality. Katie had thought about this on her way home, she hadn't smiled for a long time, she couldn't even remember what the last thing to make her smile was. She sat at the back of the bus and looked around. The dreary bus didn't make her smile; the bawling child at the front didn't either. The trees looked bare outside and the skies were murky grey.


Her boyfriend Elliot greeted her with a kiss, rubbing a towel in his hands. Katie could smell food coming from their kitchen, sweet spices of a chilli bubbling away and vanilla wafted about from a custard dish. He always made an effort when she came home from counselling; cooking a meal, attending to her needs, glass of wine ready. Katie took the wine and sipped at it, "this should be making me smile, I should be smiling." She thought loudly in her head.


Elliot talked about his job today, what happened, amusing stories of banter with colleagues and Katie felt her self smiling and talking back with him but it didn't feel right, her muscles in her face were just contorting to what Elliot wanted to see, her smiling. He grabbed her hand and looked into her eyes, "it's good to see you smiling again, I've always loved your smile." Katie nodded with another facial twitch that pleased him. She took a gulp of wine.


"Speaking of, I have to write a list." Elliot raised his eye brows in a sign of continuance. "100 things that make me smile." Elliot nodded and drank a little.


"Hopefully I'll be at the top of the list then?" He winked and smiled a wide smile; Katie felt like he was almost mocking her.


"Only if I get dessert," her facial muscles contorted and Elliot was up on his feet, clearing the dinner plates away, bustling himself into the kitchen, getting on with his custard dish. Katie sipped at her drink again. "I should be smiling." She tried hard to feel happy when he brought the custard desert out, really tried to feel this emotion, but in honesty she felt nothing. The food was bland in her mouth, she could guess it was hot and that vanilla was used but other than that it was just wobbly yellow custard with tasteless raspberries and un sweet sugar. Elliot cleared the dishes away and began to wash up, Katie made herself a cup of tea and set out a cup for Elliot.


"Just going to go write this list," she said, slinking away from the kitchen. He nodded, looking at the dish water. Katie knew that he knew she wasn't happy, but neither would say anything for a while. She sat at the dining table, pad and pen in front of her but untouched for an hour. Elliot kissed the top of her head half an hour in, said something about going for a run, don't wait up for him. He went running when things weren't right, he'd come back refreshed and ready to tackle his depressive girlfriend again.


He came back and she'd fallen asleep on her arms on the table, a furrowed frown on her face as she slept. Even in sleep she can't smile he thought. He glanced at the paper, his name wasn't there, she'd written the date, the title and numbers 1 to 20 down the side. There were stuttered dots one number 1 where she'd tried to write something. He kissed the top of her head again and almost for a second he saw a smile in her sleeping face before it slipped back to nothing. "I'm going to bed, you coming?" He whispered in her ear, she stirred, nodded and fell back asleep. "Thought so," he draped his jacket around her shoulders and went to bed.


This list made its rounds round the house, it stayed on the dining table for three days, mail, junk, bowls, boards and assorted house hold rubbish began to lie on top of it before Katie rescued it one afternoon while cleaning. She ripped the page out, folded it a few times and it lived in her jeans pocket for a day and a half.


Elliot saved it from her pocket when he did the washing. He unfolded it, read the nothingness, and pinned it to the kitchen notice board where it stayed, a bill covered half of it in the end and Katie scribbled a phone number down on it in a rush for paper.


It was Wednesday again, Elliot was back to his usual self, promising lamb chops with minted peas and an Eton mess for tea. He kissed Katie good bye and sped off to work in the morning, smiling that wide smile, was he mocking her? Katie busied herself with chores until she had to catch the bus again for her session, when it dawned on her; the list!


She ripped it from the notice board, a takeaway menu and notes covering it completely. Somehow it had a orange splatter on one corner and a phone number scribble. It looked a right mess. But it would do, she was already running late. She grabbed keys, coat, bag, paper and dashed out the door, down the road and to the stop. The bus wasn't there. It should be there it was due any time now. She might have missed it. An old man  was at the stop with her.


"Has it been?" She asked him.


"The 12? No, not yet, running late I think." She thanked him and carried on looking down the road. "Cheer up lass," Katie's eyes bulged out of her head and she was about to rant at this man for being so rude when something stopped her. She studied the man; he was dressed in beiges and browns. He wore a bulky cardigan and flat cap perched on his head. In his hands were a bunch of sad looking flowers and a card.


"Who are they for?" She asked, sitting beside him now.


"My wife," He replied, slightly proud sounding.


"Oh I'm sorry for your loss-" The man laughed a little wheezy laugh.


" She ain't dead lass, in a nursing home up route, it's her birthday today. I visit every week but today I thought I'd push the boat out a little." He smiled, clenching the flowers a little harder. "She won't be bothered mind, dementia and all that. Nothing makes her smile anymore, there was a glint in her eyes a good few month back when I played the radio, now not so much as a little grin. She's gone." He looked sadly down at the flowers and Katie felt a hard scratching lump in her throat. She wanted to burst into loud wailing tears, hug the man and tell him everything will be okay. "Here now, bus is here." He got to his feet and waved it down. He smiled a wide smile to Katie and got on, sitting at the front. Katie paid and sat down next to him.


They didn't talk for the entire journey. Just sat like two passengers on a bus. The man pressed the button for the bell. "Wish your wife a happy birthday from me," Katie said to him. The man nodded and smiled again. "How do you smile like that?" she quizzed him.


"Well, one of us has got to smile. She can't, so I'll smile for the both of us." He nodded his head to her, smiled a final time and got off the bus.


Katie felt numb for a second, she had wanted an epiphany, loud trumpets, a chorus and for the grey clouds to part to reveal warm sunshine and colours. She sighed and leant back on the seat, looking out the window. Her phone buzzed noisily in her pocket, waking her from her mood.


From: Smelliot


love you hun :) x


Katie rang him back immediately.


"I'm not happy. I never am, I fake my smiles and hate myself for it. You never ask how I'm feeling and I love you for that because I don't have to lie to you. I'm trying, I really am, I'm trying to smile again, but it's taking longer than I thought. So I was wondering if you could do me a favour?"


"Anything."


"Could you smile for me too? Smile for the both of us?" She heard Elliot chuckle down the phone.


"Course I can." She could feel him smiling down the phone.


"So, I'll see you tonight?" She asked, hopeful for the first time in months.


"Yep, love you."


"Love you too." He hung up on her but she kept the phone to her ear a little longer, in shock. Her cheeks ached, and her lips felt dry, but there she was, smiling.

100 Challenge 13. Misfortune

Just a quick thing written around the first line, I quite like it. 

Man and friend desert the war having been posted into it by someone of higher authority, Man begins to have doubts, Friend does too, but won't admit it. All lovely.

100 themes, Misfortune number 13, variation 2

13. Misfortune

"If fortune favours the brave does that mean misfortune favours the cowards?" He swung his arm wide and the pebble flew from his hand, plopping into the lake with a bounce of water. He palmed the other stones in his hand. He'd hand picked these particular rocks, picked them for their smoothness, their shape. These pebbles had been minding their own business, getting on with their pebble ways when He'd come along, ripped them from their home, marched them faraway and began throwing them into the murky waters. 

"What did you say?" His friend asked. The man looked at the pebbles again and picked another, a small flat one with brown colouring. He began to roll it in his fingers. 

"Do you think this stone has a wife?" He held it up to his friend, "a family?"

"It's a rock, are you feeling okay?" The man made some agreeing mumble. "We're not cowards you know, for leaving." The man looked into his friend's eyes but his friend looked away, shame crept into his face. The man swung his arm again and the brown pebble skimmed the water once before plopping like all the others. The man imagined the pebble drowning; begging and pleading with it's pebble God. He picked another smooth one, lighter in colour this time.

"What about this one? Do you think this stone, if given a chance, would jump from my hand, desert its pebble brothers like a coward and roll to freedom to be with its family?" His friend didn't reply he just fiddled with the straps on his clothing, checking something to avoid eye contact. The man swung hard again and watched the pebble soar and fall. One left, a grey stone, round and flat with speckles. "But then what is it to desert a wife and family? Is that not cowardly?" He rolled the rock a few more times. "Does misfortune favour us for deserting our brothers or for deserting our families when they needed us most?" The man threw the final rock, wanting it to skim the water many times, graceful and defiant to the end but it plopped into the water a few feet away, ungraceful and heavy sounding.

100 Challenge 12. Insanity

I have very little to say, this also took me a great long while. Didn't really whet my whistle!

12. Insanity


My house is my hospital
My bed is my padded cell
My duvet is my straightjacket


My pyjamas are my pyjamas.


My straightjacket is my duvet
My padded cell is my bed
My hospital is my house

100 Challenge 11. Memory

I do have a second alternative poem where I go into more depth about each item and it's meaning - but "I like it just like this. Memories are fleeting things. Random images that have only meaning to the one recollecting.


I wouldn't change a thing. Those seemingly random words jolt the readers memories as well, thrying to find what the bring back up from our own, thus making the point of the whole poem." - Thamalasca, a good friend on deviant art.

11. Memory


Through death they are forgotten.
Through memories they live forever.


A tea party.
A walking stick covered in badges.
Flowers and shells.

100 Challenge - 10. Breathe

This took me about 4 months to write..

Bloody writers block. I'm back on form I think.

So yes, quickly jotted this down on a coffee break from work, I think it works well.

Taken from variation 2 of the 100 Theme Challenge





10. Breathe


In through the nose, out through the mouth. Repeat.
I suck in my cheeks, feeling the flesh roll through my teeth and I bite down. Like a little child I'm having a tantrum and biting the inside of my cheeks calms me. I bite so hard I feel a crunch followed by the rush of warm metallic.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. Repeat.
I slam my fist into a wall, tear at my hair, punch my self, I'm squealing in frustration. Never a scream or a wail, always a squeal through gritted teeth. Fat, silly tears are plopping them selves onto my top and my face feels hot.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. Repeat.
I'm sat in my chaos, like I've just woken up. My head is throbbing and I can hear blood pound in my ears. I look down an watch my chest slowly rise and fall. In through the nose, out through the mouth. I feel the inside of my cheek, it stings but isn't bleeding anymore, I straighten my hair, rub my fist and get up. In through the nose, out through the mouth, in through the nose, out through the mouth.

100 Challenge - 9. Cut

So much fun with this one! This one I actually thought of as soon as I read 'cut' when I first read the list weeks ago! Again with the "mock" Austen (only a little better I hope.) But I think it's cute.
(Sorry to anyone who was expecting a sliced arm and descriptions of blood )

(Authors note: To anyone who feels the need to nit pick - Yes, I know that a scene like this in an actual film would take days maybe to shoot, having to split and splice camera angles together and different dialogue shots for each character. But you know, use your imagination (They've got super hi-tech equipment? And can shoot a blockbuster film in a day? Yeah that'll do.)






9. Cut


A large country house is the back drop of this scene. A grand and tall building, with wide hedges and large gardens sprawling out in the background. In the foreground is a young woman, curled hair bouncing about her shoulders and an empire line dress about her body. She looks as though she is thinking, sat upon a stone bench, surrounded by a lush green hedge. Her eyes flick up to see a man storming from the house, his riding jacket billowing behind him. She looks panicked and rises to her feet immediately, turning one way and another before turning and sliding through the hedge opening of the maze.
She runs through and round the maze until finding the centre of it and comes to an abrupt halt, her chest rising and falling rapidly. There is a small bench in the middle of the maze and she seats herself upon it to calm down her giddiness. Just as she feels herself returning the man she had fled from enters into the maze centre.


"Miss Partridge," he begins. She is facing away from him, sat on the bench. "Katherine." He comes closer to her and seats himself on the bench next to her, facing the wrong way to her.


Katherine takes a couple of needed deep breaths. Finally she musters "Mr Merryweather." We see tears prickling her eyes. She blinks them away and asks "How is Mrs Merryweather?" The words are pained in her throat.


"I would not know," he replies. She looks shocked at his response, looking up at him.


"You mean to say you have not spent any time with your new wife?!"


"I mean to say I do not have a wife, of the present." Katherine thinks of this, confusion written all over her fine features.


"But in town, a few weeks ago, I heard rumours of marriage between you and Miss Long."


"Rumours Katherine, rumours and nothing more. She spread them herself, spiteful woman, hoping to make her suitors jealous. It has backfired upon her though as no man will have her now they think she is married! I have settled these rumours among society though, having only just found out about my marriage recently." Katherine let tears prick her eyes again. Her hand came to her mouth to stop herself from wailing out.


"Oh Mr Merryweather, what have I done?" She finally asked. He looked at her puzzled. "I have been avoiding you for these past weeks, thinking you were married, dashing all hope of..." She stopped herself and looked down at her hands that lay in her lap.


"All hope of?" He took her hands in his.


"All hope of love." She smiled, finally meeting his gaze. He smiled back a widesmile . "Oh Henry!" She exclaimed before he embraced her in a passionate kiss.


"And cut! That's a wrap people!"

100 Challenge - 8. Away

With away, I immediately thought of "up, up and away!" but dashed that to pieces and thought "Too silly, don't bother." So I've been going round in circles with break up stories "no, don't go! But I must, I love you too much!" Then added a werewolf twist "No, don't go! But if I don't, I'll eat you!" then some crappy emo poem, about leaving.
Then I went, "Meh! Screw it!" Went back to the original idea and came up with this.
Bit cheese-tastic towards the end, but I think it works as a prologue as something bigger.

 8. Away


"Up, up and away!" The young eight year old James Frost yelled as he leapt from the top bunk of his bed, attempting to glide his way down with his newest contraption. To his imaginative mind these wings he had strapped to his back were made of the finest, thinnest silver metal, engraved ornately and powered by the magic in his veins. In reality James Frost had spent the morning cutting the news paper up and sticking the thin feather shaped pieces of paper to some thick card with string straps. But he truly believed he could fly up and away, or glide through the skies with his magic powered wings.


"Honestly!" His older sister Lucy exclaimed as she watched her younger brother jump from his bunk and land on the wooden floor with an impressive thunking sound, again. James Frost brushed himself down and inspected his wings. A few feathers had slipped loose from their flour and water paste and one wing was a little dented. He made a few notes on these matters in his mind. "Sixth time today James, you'll bash your brains out if you carry on." Lucy remarked as he inspected the wings.


James ignored his sister's rantings; it's all she ever did now. Don't do this. Don't do that. You'll hurt yourself. That's a silly idea. He imagined sticking his tongue out at her, pulling all sorts of faces at her in his mind. He then again focused his intentions on the wing design, deciding what was wrong with it. Lucy gave a teenaged sigh of frustration and stormed away, still ranting and raving as she stomped down the stairs to tell their Mother that James was a missing link.


The young James Frost clambered back up onto his bed, having un-kinked the wings and swept away any loose feathers that had become stray. In the name of magical science, he would try this as many times as it took. When he was a little older, he would go to Devil's Cliff, and from there the young James Frost would, with his magical silver wings, jump and fly. Finally going up, up, and away!

100 Challenge - 7. Heaven

I have had too much trouble with this theme. I love the story ideas...But too much trouble getting them to this point. Plus I think it's waaay to long, but if I read it over again I would have pressed delete and just wrote "I believe in heaven. Yup."

Celestial Liaison Officers and Persecution Executives are probably my favourite bit about this ;D

7. Heaven

"Devil Witch!" A curled up drunken man yelled on his usual park bench, littered with empty cheap wine bottles and assorted litter. He kicked his foot out, his rugged shoes only making contact with the wooden arm of the bench. 

"Good morning to you too Bob." The woman sat on the end of the bench said to him. She was a slender young thing, light fair hair and pale clam eyes. Bob grumbled as he sat himself up. He never did like it when she 'sat' on his feet, over his feet, through his feet. It just didn't feel natural.

"Mornin' Witch." Bob smiled his yellow decayed smile while digging around for his wine bottle. The woman winced a little at the pet name Bob had given her but smoothed her face back into a smile. Bob unscrewed his bottle and took a deep longing swig from it. "So, what's the plan for today, Witch?" He finally asked her.

"Got the morning off Bob, I get to do as I please, and doing as I please includes sitting here on my favourite bench in my favourite park soaking up the sun and watching the people stroll by." Witch smiled and titled her head back to the sun which was now shining bright on them. She then looked down and towards the crowds of people streaming into the park on this warm summer's day. Families out enjoying themselves, couples in love, old people going for a daily walk, Witch surveyed them all and her face fell to a small grim smile of knowing. She shook off the thoughts that had followed and looked toward Bob now, then to the people. Some Fathers were shielding their children away from the smelly old tramp, and Spouses grips tightened from fear. But no one looked Witch in the eye. They just looked past her, through her, just a drunken tramp talking to him self.

"I've always wondered why you could see me Bob." Witch said, not really to him. "Why, out of the hundreds of thousands of people I see a day, only you can see me." She mused a little longer, surveying the tramp next to her. He dug around in his pocket and produced a little bag full of dropped and stubbed cigarettes. He chose a particularly long one and lit up. 

"Maybe I'm dead," Bob replied to her thoughts from before, "maybe I'm dead, but I don't know it."

"I'd know it," she replied quickly. "It's my job to know." Witch scrunched her face up at the thought; there was a little doubt inside her as she thought his words over. "No, nonsense! Utter nonsense!" Bob let out a hearty cackled laugh, loving that he'd nearly got her.

"Always think you know everythin', but you know nothin'," Bob took another deep drag on the stolen cigarette and another deep swig from the bottle. Sometimes, when he saw families and the like in the park, he sometimes wished for better things. He was happy with his lot, but just sometimes he wondered where he'd gone wrong, what he'd done, who he'd pissed off. He was old now, older than he dared think, he should be in a home, with a blanket and slippers and coco on an evening. Not smoking stolen cigarettes, drinking cheap wine and sleeping with newspapers on a bench. Where'd he go wrong...?

Witch studied Bob as he slipped into his mind, the alcohol dragging him down into some dark deep thoughts. He still smoked, and still drank, but his eyes were glazed over, deep in that thought. "Bob?" Witch finally said as she finished soaking up her morning sun, enjoying the peace and quiet for a little. "Bob? I have to get to work, my shift soon." She stood up and brushed herself down, not that she really needed to. Bob was still lost in his thoughts. "Bob." She placed her hand on his shoulder and he came back to reality with a crash. 

"Ah get away wi' yourself." He brushed her hand away and flicked the smouldering end of his cigarette away in a long arch. "See you later, Witch." Bob smiled his smile again and snuggled himself back on the bench, ready to sleep through the afternoon in a drunken haze. 

"See you around, Bob." Witch walked off, ready to get on with her work. She glanced back at Bob and looked a little above his head, sighed, and walked on. Witch didn't know why Bob could see her, no one else could really see her, not even in their last moments could they see her. Only when people passed on could she be seen. Her job was then to take them to Heaven after their death, and make it as peaceful a transaction as it could be. 

Witch knew the reason why she appeared on the bench, the ground around it used to be a church site many, many years ago and there, where that bench was erected, there used to be a sacred alter, which in turn held the sacred threshold. But why Bob could see her was another matter entirely. Maybe he was dead and she'd missed it? "I mean he is living a half life. And he's spent a good amount of his life on the sacred threshold." She mumbled to herself, walking on, checking people as she did, seeing their life in years, months, days, minutes, seconds. With Bob she was certain he had one year, ten months, six days, nine hours and six seconds. She saw it when she talked to him, his life ebbing away and she could see when he died, how it happened exactly; lying on his bench, his liver disease finally taking him on to his better place. 

Witch thought of the matter a little longer and then decided to leave it at that. There was a nice old lady ready to be taken to Heaven who had been waiting 87 years, six months, fifteen days, eleven hours and fifty five seconds to go there. She was very sweet about the whole thing, Old people usually were. They were ready, especially when they died peacefully in their bed. It was the young and restless that put up more of a fight. Witch sometimes had to spend hours calming down the dead, promising them that everything was going to be fine when they got to Heaven and no they weren't going to Hell, that wasn't in her Job Description. 

Witch had never lived a life. She'd been born in Heaven, or created in Heaven, by Him. It was then her Job to make sure the souls of the Dead made their correct way to Heaven in a peaceful manner, without getting lost. If they get lost, they roam, and if they roam they get ghostly and spook the living. Those that had lived an okay life were welcomed by open arms. Then there were just the down right sinful. They went to Hell, helped by people with the same Job Description as Witch, just less peaceful and more a reminder of their wicked life.

Her official name was an Angel, but that word had become muddied along the way, and introducing herself as an Angel now got some very funny looks. Instead she was now known as a Celestial Liaison Officer. Witch preferred it, the Name had a better, more important meaning to it now. More modern too. The 'Devils' from Hell were now given new Job Titles as well, they were now Persecution Executives. 

She finished up with her shift, if Witch were human she would have felt 'beat' or 'tired' but these feelings didn't wash over her, instead she was just sluggish in her mind and wanted to get back to the bench. The park was closed now, gates locked tight, but that didn't stop her slipping through, undetected. Witch rounded the corner and locked eyes to the bench; Bob was sprawled out on it, probably in a drunken stupor. But something wasn't right, Witch thought. She could no longer see Bob's time. It wasn't counting down anymore.

"Bob!" Witch broke out into a sprint to the tramp and knelt down beside him. She couldn't touch him but she could see he wasn't breathing and giving the bench a thorough look she found a bottle of pills and his beloved drink. "Dammit!"

"It's blasphemous to curse you know." A Persecution Executive came out from the shadows, dragging Bob by the collar. Witch glared at the pair of them, not knowing who she was more angry with, Bob for committing suicide or the Devil for getting here so quick and mocking her. 

"You can't take him Devil. He's done nothing wrong, you know that." Witch spat at him. Devil smiled and released Bob with a shove in the back. Witch helped the Tramp up and wrapped an arm around his.

"I know, but you see we all know that this one is your little human pet, and the thought of angering you just thrills me." The Devil smirked, sweeping his dark hair back in a triumphant movement. Witch looked at Bob and squeezed his arm, smiled and let him go, promising nothing bad was going to happen. She then took a few steps up to Devil, looking him in the eyes.

"This isn't over. I swear I'll get you back for this." Witch knew that the Persecution Executives loved to actually sit on people's shoulders and whisper dark thoughts into their minds and she knew that Devil had done this to Bob today, messing up his countdown timer. 

"Ooh, and here was me thinking that you Celestial Officers were all forgiving and peaceful." He mocked her. Witch calmed herself down; she couldn't afford to get into trouble, not with Bob to sort out. 

"Leave Devil, and we'll leave it at that." It took all of Witch's effort not to punch the smug idiot in his idiot face. Devil laughed a hearty laugh, showing off his dangerous razor teeth.
"I preferred you when you were angered," he smiled down at her and gave her soft silk hair a gentle tug and deeply inhaled in her neck. Witch's skin crawled as he did this. She detested Devils, this one in particular; they could do anything and get away with it while she had to remain sweet and forgiving. He walked off into the shadows, laughing to himself. 

"Bob," Witch turned to him and smiled her best smile possible. Devil was right, she did have a soft spot for Bob. He'd kept her sane through their talking and it nearly choked her to think that his human body was a few feet away, dead. 

"I'm sorry Witch, it all got too much and I took an easy route out." Bob looked sheepish, looking down at his feet. Witch sighed once more for the Drunk and took his arm in hers again. 

"You're forgiven." She began to walk with him. "Now, let's get you sorted." 

As Bob blinked a quick blink the world he knew slipped away and when he reopened his eyes moments later he felt at peace. He felt warm. He hadn't felt warm for years.

"Don't suppose you'll visit?" He asked a little hopefully. Witch shook her head slowly, no. She helped him into a comfy chair by a fire and wrapped a blanket around him. She then slipped a pair of slippers onto his feet and left coco on a table beside him. Witch placed a little kiss on top of his wispy haired head. "Ah get away wi' yourself."

100 Challenge - 6. Break

This is what I decided for break, not the breaking of something (i.e someone's bones, items or self) But just a lunch break and the joy of having one on one of those painfully slow days where you swear the clock is going back round on its self.

6. Break Why do we drum our fingers when we're stressed? Or bored? Or waiting for something to happen? I wondered this while drumming my fingers against the counter in front of me. I realised I was doing it for something to do, to make a sound with out making a proper sound, to prove I was still here, still working, even if every other sod here had sod off. It had to be the slowest Sunday I've ever worked, and it might only be a small ten 'til four shift but I had to be here at nine to open and I'll be here until five to close. Three customers have come in since I opened, grabbing a pint of milk or those forgotten items for their roast dinners like stuffing or frozen Yorkshires. I almost pleaded with them to take me with them; I think I nearly begged an old lady to bring me some scraps back. Though I'm not entirely on my own though, there's Ben with me today, his main job is stacking the shelves but he'll maybe help on tills if it gets too hectic. Which it might towards the end when quite a lot of people enjoy coming in at three fifty five, grabbing a basket and going for a proper shop, even though we're closing in four minutes. I'm stuck on this till for most of the day though, until my lunch break. My glorious hour to my self. I'm going to take my packed lunch into the rotten old staff room, plug my headphones in, grab a paper and just ignore everyone and everything for my beautiful free hour. If the shop caught on fire I wouldn't be bothered until my lunch hour was up, or if we were robbed, or if anyone famous decided to pop in for their forgotten frozen peas for lunch I would not give a fig because it is my hour of sanity. My break.