It has been a few months since I have posted something from Visual Verse. Truth be told, the last few prompt pictures, I sincerely did not care for, and when I cannot be prompted, then there’s nothing that comes from the art presented to the Writers from my mind to the screen, however, this month–I truly enjoyed the artwork used and I wanted to create something a bit fun, creative, yet emotional too. As always, I will post a snippet of the piece here, then direct you to it in its entirety via the website.
A big thank you to Visual Verse for letting this one fly.
she’s gifted, you know?
that’s what the administrators
at our school say of her.
she’s “exceptional”, “amazing”
“vibrant” and “eclectic”.
she has her own style.
I’ve watched her work,
watched her splay the brush
back and forth, making art
quicker than anyone I have ever known.
with simple brushstrokes,
an inanimate object
comes to life.
You can read the rest here. As I stated above, I truly enjoyed this month’s prompt and I am anxious to see what January will offer. As always, thank you for reading.
Challenge open Saturday 24th November 2018 – Thursday 29th November 2018
Welcome to a slightly late Six Word Story Challenge.
Regular contributors, my apologies! It’s been a hectic week, moving back home after 2 weeks living out while the kitchen was rebuilt, then a visit from one of my oldest and best friends – all of which has left me very behind with other commitments. But I’m back, albeit 12 hours late!
So for those who have never dropped by before, here’s how it works. A new prompt is posted every Saturday morning at 9am (or thereabouts) GMT, either on this site or that of fellow blogger Wonderwall. Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to plot a story on that subject… in just six words. And your prompt for this week, echoing the crazy busy week I’ve had, is:
Challenge open Saturday 4th August 2018 – Thursday 9th August 2018
Welcome to the Six Word Story Challenge.
For those who have never dropped by before, a new prompt is posted every Saturday morning at 9am GMT, either on this site or that of fellow blogger Wonderwall. Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to plot a story on that subject… in just six words.
Lemuel’s eyes are fixed on the broken sky. His big sister Cassie is planning to sneak out again tonight. This will be the fifth night in a row. Lemuel is not a snitch, but he’s been itching to get Cassie into trouble since she ratted him out for eating the last thin crust pizza, their Mom’s favorite. This behavior is not what he expects from Cassie, she’s never jumped ship on a “babysitting” gig before. Although Lemuel was thirteen and could practically fend for himself, he was blind. Their parents depended on Cassie to make sure Lemuel’s well-being was positively maintained.
“I’ll be back. I put some leftover barbecue chicken in the oven for you. The timer is set for thirty minutes. I’ve heated up the mashed potatoes and the spinach only needs two minutes in the microwave. Don’t forget to take the aluminum cover off this time, Lemuel. For God’s sake, just don’t.”
Lemuel nodded in his sister’s direction and did not utter a word. The timer dinged, signifying the sweet morsels of honey-glazed barbecue chicken and Lemuel skirted his way into the kitchen. In the dark, dank, confines of the tiny space, he could hear soft whispers,
“Tattletales go to Hell.”
Lemuel ignored the whispers, surely he needed rest. He devoured his dinner, remembering to remove the aluminum cover on the spinach. Before he could swallow the last bite, he heard the chant once more. This time, it filled the walls and filled the cracks in the floor. Lemuel’s parents came barging in the door, one after the other. Lemuel couldn’t wait to let them know about Cassie leaving every night this week when she was supposed to be overseeing his care.
The voices grew louder and louder. Lemuel’s parents gazed at the boy, finally believing his days were numbered. “Cassie isn’t here. I don’t know where she is. And, she’s been leaving every night this week.” He felt a sense of pride revealing his sister’s secret.
“Tattletales go to Hell.”
Lemuel pointed to nowhere in particular as the voices grew louder and louder. He smiled in his parents’ direction and bit down lightly on his tongue before opening his mouth.
“Cassie, she’s been…”
Thunder roared, the floor in their kitchen shook, and hands erupted from beneath Lemuel and his legs were the first to disappear. The souls pulled Lemuel under while his parents watched him sink in a fiery heap.
At that very moment, Cassie walked in. The only thing she could think to say was,
She presses the steamy pot into a hole in the ground outside her log cabin. There are canned tongues, eyeballs, and lips curing inside. Opal has been waiting for this day to come.
The Day of the Big Feast.
Her goal is to devour ten children in less than three days.
She fasted all Winter, storing up more than enough fat in Autumn to be able to excel accordingly for this challenge. Hazel, her nemesis, is the only witch in Gutter Way who has eaten nine children in two days. Opal knows that in order to be Top Witch, she must beat Hazel. In the pot is a blend of lizard toenails, butterfly wings, owl eyes, vinegar, seaweed, bear jawbones, water, and wasabi. Not only will she beat Hazel this year, she will beat her for years to come.
Or so, she thinks…
Opal summons the forces of the ancestors before her, casting a spell that only she could reverse. Her intent? Poison Hazel and gather all of her spells while garnering a vast reward from the Witching Panel. The stew stews, sending a luring cloud of steam into the direction of Hazel’s cabin. Before it finally reaches her door she opens it and counters Opal’s attempt with a secret MASTER reverse spell.
“Gutter Way, beware. Witches drenched in jealousy will fall to their own spells.”
Hazel blows the cloud back to Opal’s cabin, spits another spell behind its steam, and closes her door. On her table lay a plump, little boy with his mouth stuffed with an apple and his belly glazed in pig fat. He is Hazel’s fourth meal of the day. Opal stirs her pot some more and tosses a set of twin toddlers into the stew. The ancestors toil and bubble. In the girls are the souls of Hazel’s Aunts–popular witches of Gutter Way from two hundred years ago. They awaken as soon as the bodies touch the heat.
“Your life is on the line. Our blood will carry on. Of this, you can be certain.”
Opal stirs the stew, sips it heartily, then begins to lose her balance. Her eyes bleed, her tongue splits down its middle, and her hair catches fire. In less than two minutes, ashes lay near the stewing pot. In the quietness of the fields of Gutter Way, Hazel can be heard agreeing with the Ancient Aunts,
“Our blood will carry on. Of this, you can be certain.”