Hungry: Friday Flash

A deep rumble woke Ben. He sat up and looked around the loft of the stable thinking he’d been caught by old man McKeen.

The rumble came again only louder. It wasn’t the old geezer tossing him out, it was Ben’s stomach. Four days, it was four days ago his mama had left him at the station.

She left him behind, telling him to sit and wait. She would be right back with the tickets. They’d go to Virginia to live with his aunt. Mama never came back from the ticket booth. Her carpetbag was gone. All Ben had was his small pack and the Bible she gave him.

Dawn was breaking. He needed to get out before the old man really did catch him. Quietly Ben made his way to the street and around the backs of the buildings. Maybe he could find a scrap of something. Anything he was so hungry.

His insides felt like they were shriveling up as he stopped at the rain barrel by the inn. Cupping his hands he took a few long drinks to try and fill the void.

As he splashed water on his face a scent drifted down the alleyway. Ben’s stomach clenched with hunger as the scent filled his nostrils with one of his favorite things in the world.

Fresh baked bread was somewhere close, very close. He sniffed at the air and turned down the alley. He followed the smell, stomach growling loud enough to make the stray dog napping in the shade raise his head.

Ben stopped at the window there they were. Three fresh baked loaves of bread. The steam was still rising off the tops. His tongue licked along his bottom lip as he took a step forward to get a deeper breath of it.

Something hit him on the back. Mr.Grove the owner of the inn shook the broom he’d just walloped Ben with. “Get, you urchin. Take your filthy self back to the gutters.”

Didn’t he recognize him? His mama had done some work at the in. “Mr. Grove, sir… “

Before Ben could finish the broom was raised again. He raised his little skinny arms and ran back down the alley.

The innkeeper satisfied the boy was gone went back to sweeping the stoop.

Ben sat behind a barrel and rubbed his lower back. He could still smell the bread. It made his mouth water. If he didn’t eat something soon he’d turn to dust and blow away.

He tried to drink some more water to fill his gut, but, that only made his stomach groan and ache worse. The bread smelled so good.

He could feel it in his hands warm with a crispy crust and soft fluffy inside. It would melt in his mouth as he took a bite.

The sound of the inn’s back door closing made him open his eyes. Mr. Grove had gone back inside. There wasn’t anyone in the alley.

He crawled on his hands and knees to sit under the window so he could smell the bread. His belly ached to the point of tears now. Ben was so hungry. He could take it. There were two more loaves. They surely wouldn’t miss one.

No, he couldn’t take it. He didn’t have no money and stealing was a sin. Ben’s mama always told him to be good. Be a good boy and grow into a good man. He couldn’t do that if he stole. That would make him bad.

Lifting his face up he could feel the warmth from the fresh loaves. If he didn’t eat soon he wouldn’t make it past the age of eight to become any kind of man.

Stomach tight with hunger Ben raised his arms up and grabbed the edge of the cheesecloth. Slowly he pulled it toward him.

Mrs. Grove called out to her husband startling Ben. He jerked his arms back and hugged his knees waiting for the innkeeper to come back with the broom. Nothing happened.  Mrs. Grove went back to humming.

Sitting there had become torture, he didn’t want to make his mama angry. What if she came back and found him with the stolen bread. She’d have his hide for sure.

Ben looked up at the loaf. It had been four days since he saw his mama last at the station. She wasn’t coming back, no one was going to help him. He had to help himself.

He stood stomach aching and growling as his breath panted with fear and excitement. Before he could change his mind again Ben reached out and grabbed a loaf of bread. He took off running as fast as he could behind the buildings.

Turning a corner he ran to the ladder of the livery loft and climbed up. Hiding behind a stack of hay bales he hugged the loaf to his chest. It was still warm and smelled so good. He was panting still from his run. Waiting for someone to catch him.

When there were no shouts he began to relax and looked down at the bread. Ben licked his lips as his
fingers dug into the crust and it apart. Steam flowed out as he pulled a hunk of the soft white fluff into his mouth.

Tears rolled down his face as he ate. His belly hurt from not having anything this solid in so long then it started to feel full. That feeling was the best thing he’d ever felt. He wasn’t a good boy anymore. Maybe he wouldn’t be a good man but he wouldn’t be hungry again.

Bells of Wesley

They stood together on the balcony of their hotel room that overlooked the large city. Dirigibles carrying their

passengers floating through the sky in the distance. Sarah grinned. “What a spectacular view. I’m looking forward to seeing the sights.”

Jonathon slid his arm around her waist with a mischievous expression as he kissed his wife. “I have all the sights I need to see right here.”   

She laughed and wiggled away. “You saw plenty last night and if you want to see more tonight you’ll take me out, Sir Jonathon Adam Hargrove.” She picked up a brochure. “Take me to the Franklin Wesley Gallery first.” 

He smiled. How could he not indulge her? Her life was about to be cut short. “Where ever you wish my dear.” He kissed her taking a long drink of her essence.

When they part she blushed feeling a touch dazed. “We should order breakfast.” Sarah walked over to the bell rope and started to tug when Jonathon rushed over.

His hand closed over hers to stop the pull. “We should go out for breakfast. You wanted to see the city.”

When Sarah moved away to fetch her coat and hat, he slowly put the rope back into place as he watched the bell. When it lowered back into place without so much as a ting he sighed in relief.

His eyes stay on the bell for a moment as he moved away from it to help Sarah with her coat.

When they stepped outside the paperboy stood on the nearby corner. He rang his hand bell and called out the headline. “California becomes 31^st state of America.”

The moment Jonathon heard that sharp ting and tang of the bell he started to tremble. “Sarah, this way, away fr..from that.”

She looked at him, for a second her husband looked as though he’d seen a ghost. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, the café is just this way, my darling.” He guided her down the walk away from the boy and his bell. He attempted not to show too much haste in his efforts.

Sarah noticed he finally calmed when they had gone far enough the ringing was washed away by the sounds of the city streets. It was a very odd behavior for him, he was the calm in their marriage. She was always the emotional one. She dismissed it with a shake of her head.

Thankfully they reached the café and Jonathon opened the door and the tiny bell at the top tinkled to let waiters know patrons had arrived. He froze in place; his hand trembled on the door handle.

He backed out the door still holding Sarah’s hand. She followed him; she didn’t understand his reactions to these places. He didn’t act this way back home. Maybe the city was too much for him. He’d lived his entire life in the small country town they grew up in. “Jonathan what is the matter?”

He shook his head and wrapped her hand around his arm and started to walk her down the sidewalk. “Nothing, everything is fine. That café didn’t seem… clean. We’ll find some place better.

She wanted to protest but didn’t as she gripped the side of her skirt and lifted to keep from tripping as he moved so quickly away.

They turned the corner and his pace started to slow to a stroll, which Sarah was grateful for. She looked up and smiled seeing the great church with its stained glass and tall bell tower. “How beautiful, may we go inside? I love church glass.”

He paused his walk and followed the line of her sight. “Perhaps later, aren’t you famished for breakfast, my darling?” He would be able to distract her thoughts during the meal into other locations.

“Oh, but we’re here now. I’m sure it won’t take long.” She gripped his hand and dragged him up the steps to the doors. “This chapel must be very old, perhaps medieval.”

His voice was tight as he stood before the great doors with large round glass windows with images of Christ in them. “Perhaps. I think it would be better if we came back later, Sarah.”

She opened the door herself since he didn’t seem to be feeling himself much less gentlemanly. “Nonsense, we’ll get caught up in some other exploration. Jonathon, you are acting very strange today.”

She went inside, his hand still caught in hers which gave him no choice but to follow.

His throat felt tight and he eased his hand from hers to keep from venturing further into the building than just over the threshold. When Sarah looked back to him, he gave her a tight smile. “Go ahead, darling. I will… wait here.”

She cast him back a vexed expression then turned away to explore and look at the glass.

The longer he stood there the more his skin felt as though it were going to melt from his bones. It was hard for him to look at anything for too long it made his eyes ache. He had a great need to rush outside and back to the sidewalk away from all that these ancient stone walls held.

He saw his wife had finally started to walk back toward him. She stopped to speak to a priest then carried on to him. It wasn’t Sarah, Jonathon’s eyes followed but the priest. He saw the man in his long black cassock disappear behind a door. There was a small brass plate on the door, inscribed… Bell Tower.

He reached out to Sarah in an effort to urge her to walk faster. “Sarah, let’s go.”

She sighed and looked at him. “What has gotten into you?”

He opened the door and they started to step through when the first tone rang through the building, echoed by the tall open ceiling. It was a deep rich bong of the largest bell in the tower, followed by two higher pitched rings. The sounds began to loop growing in strength.

Jonathon trembled at first, then began to hug himself and crumble trapped in the threshold of the old church. His body shook as he cried out, the sound of a man as he went mad.

Sarah dropped to her knees beside him. “Jonathon… my love what is…”

Her breath caught in her throat and she scooted backward away from him against the wall. This just couldn’t be she’s been so weak and ill through their marriage, surely her eyes had played a cruel trick. This vision couldn’t be real.

One of the parishioners fetched the priest to help the wailing man. He started to kneel down to try and ease the man’s suffering when he saw the eyes. Solid black pools of the deepest darkness known to man. The priest felt his soul tremble as those eyes gazed into his own. He crossed himself and lifted the gold cross that hung over his heart.

Jonathon turned his head away he can’t stand any more assaults. “Get away.”

The priest stood and ran to the alter. He grabbed the aspergillum and ran back to Jonathon. The priest began to recite prayers to protect those present and rid his church of this horror as he flicked the aspergillum.

Drops of Holy Water fell upon Jonathon. He cried out in terror and agony as the bells continued to ring. He couldn’t take any more his body arched, mouth opened wide as if to scream. Instead something else slipped out of the body. It was smoky, the scent of sulfur filled their nostrils as it flew out the door and out to the street.

The priest watched as the demon melted into the cracks. He knew it wouldn’t be last dark soul the Bells of Wesley would terrorize and he said a long prayer of thanks for that. 

Part of the Blogging from A to Z Challenge for the letter B. Visit the site for the linky list to visit more great and creative blogs as we journey through the alphabet this April. 

Goggles, Steam and Superstitions A to Z Theme and more!

I’m excited about this year’s Blogging from A to Z Challenge. It’s going to be a blast, but also challenging. I’m doing a theme this year, Goggles, Steam and Superstitions A to Z.

Each day I’m hoping to write a flash fiction about a superstition in the steampunk or dieselpunk genre. There might even be a touch of atompunk tossed in we’ll just have to see. J

It’s going to be a challenge to keep with the theme, but I have always loved superstition stories. They can be creepy, scary or just good food for thought. So I’ve got a lot of research to do on different superstitions.

To add to the daily chaos of story writing I’ve also signed up for Camp NaNoWriMo. Yes, I am crazy but Camp NaNo is a NaNoWriMo lite. You can choose your word count from 10k to 1 million words. You can choose to do short stories, novel revision, poetry or even a script!

this will work rather well.

 

An extra awesome feature this year is the ability to create a private cabin so your writing circle can be added to that one cabin instead of randomly assigned to a cabin.

Challenges like Blogging from A to Z and  NaNo can really push your limits but they also make a writer accountable and help us build or rebuild our daily writing habits. They keep us encouraged and even if we’re behind on counts or letters they make us want to keep going.

Other challenges like Round of Words in 80 Days (ROW80) does the same but in a different way. We’re accountable for our weekly goals. Reporting in makes us take a look and focus on what’s important to our writing lives. Sometimes real life goals added in.

The write life isn’t always an easy one, we’re struggling artists in our craft and sometimes we just need that kick in the arse to keep us motivated. Challenges and blog hops help us do that in a fun way where we get to cheer on fellow writers in the fray.

ROW 80 Goals

Last week’s goals:

Write 1k daily  Check, on various things, was able to write 1k daily

Get 3 teacup hats completed I was able to complete half of one. lol It just wasn’t a week to be crafty I guess J

Get blog back on track with at least 3 posts per week   Check! Had 3 posts last week yay!

Start working on Blogging from A to Z Challenge posts  Nope but there’s a legit reason for that one. NaNo rules state that you can’t start on projects until 12am April 1^st. So I will be slinging out that first post for A to Z as soon as the clock strikes 12.

This week’s goals:

1. Write 2k daily to keep up the short story pace *gulp I think I can I think I can I think I can!

2. Three posts on blog this week.

3. Get those 3 dang hats done!

Teacup Hat! 

Are you taking one of the above challenges? What do you do to make yourself accountable to your goals? 

Want to visit more blogs revealing their A to Z theme (Most will be up on the 23rd I'm a day early :) click HERE or check out the awesome goal making wizards of ROW80? Click HERE Have fun reading and maybe finding an awesome challenge for yourself! 

Tentacle

His eyes snapped open, darted about the darkened bedroom. The room was too quiet, too still. His breath panted. They were almost here. No, not again.

A soft whirring sound made his muscles tense and jump. Then he felt the warmed air on his feet from the vent just below his bed. It was just the heat, he let out a breath.

There was a sound a claw scratching on the wall. The breath turned into a gasp as a dark blur shifted in the corner of his vision. His body stiffened and stilled, his heart raced until all he could hear was his pulse pound in his ears.

“Please.” His voice squeaked as his hands gripped the bed sheet.

The room fell into utter silence, until it began to quake. Mild tremors that caused nick knacks to clank on shelves, then stronger until the bed moved side to side. His hands tightened onto the mattress. “Please, please.”

The quake stopped as he begged into the still silence of the room. He began to pant, his fists balled around the sheet and pulled it up to his face. The clack of claw against the tiled floor became louder.

He tried to hold his breath, if he was still enough they may not see him. Sudden pain coursed through him as electricity lit every nerve ending on fire. The blaze faded enough for him to catch a breath.

It was difficult to take that desperate breath as though a weight sat upon his chest. He couldn’t sit up, couldn’t move any part of him.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see a blur, it reached out to press something by his head. He attempted to struggle against his paralysis as he felt his body being lifted then lowered. Cool thick liquid oozed over his skin until he was submerged.

He tried to hold his breath but it was too long and his lungs gulped in the gel. It burned as it filled his lungs. Then he felt them, their tentacles crept across his skin. Some of the creatures latched on. He screamed wordlessly as the tentacles bore into his flesh.

They crawled over his face reaching into his ears and mouth. He felt first one then another push its way down his throat. His screams were choked off by the creatures. Sensations of the arms inside him probing made him were sickening.

Worse, as the paralysis wore off. He screamed and pleaded for mercy from the things. After minutes that seemed like hours of hell he felt the shock of pain down his spine once more.

The electricity jolted his body forcing the tentacles to flee their host.  He cried out in pure agony until….

He sat up, screamed wildly, his hands pulled at his face, hair and clothing. His breath came in hard gasps. He could see his reflection in his dresser mirror. The realization made him look around the room.

It was morning… He pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside as he searched his chest and arms for any evidence. Nothing. “It was a dream… just another nightmare.”

He didn’t know why they had begun, but hoped they would end soon as he swung his feet to the floor.

His foot stepped on something soft… wet…  His pulse in his throat, he looked down to what it was. A tentacle.

Wanted: TARDIS, Time Machine, or the remote from Click.

Time can be a writer’s worst enemy sometimes. There are days we have plenty of it and others we need to cram about 80 minutes into each hour instead of 60. One thing many of us are very guilty of is over tasking ourselves. We try to cram tasks and projects into smaller time slots than they really need.

That makes our time wibbly and wobbly and we lose control of our schedule. Which is a big stress when you have a ton of appointments to make, personal work, professional work, and then there is that eating and sleeping thing we need to make time for. Yeah, that remote from Adam Sadler’s movie Click would be really handy some days.

We could just push the pause button on the rest of the world while we catch up at our own pace. HG Wells time machine might be a neat trick too. Go back in time to adjust what we need to without worry of deadlines or oh no we’re going to be late!

I’m not sure traveling in the TARDIS with the Doctor would be beneficial to catching up or going back and

fourth to complete those consuming tasks. But it would definitely be fun! Just look out for Weeping Angels or Cybermen.

Since time has kind of gotten away from me a great deal as of late I’m throwing out the schedule. Just concentrating on doing, not worrying about do I have time to do this before I go here or start on this?

It’s okay if projects overlap or take a little longer to complete. There’s no need to rush, there really is plenty of time to get it done. Though that time remote from Click would still come in pretty handy, so would an 80 minute hour. *wink

Goals

Write 1k daily

Get 3 hats completed (making teacup hats)

Get blog back on track with at least 3 posts per week

Start working on Blogging from A to Z Challenge posts (see why I need time under control? Lol) 

This post is part of the awesome Round of Words in 80 Days weekly hop. It's a writing challenge that realizes life interferes and making goals can make a difference. Check out other Rower's blogs on the linky below :) 

Beware the Ides of March

It was dark in the alley, the perfect cover to watch for him. The club across the street was alive with music, lights and people. Maybe she should go in… no,  he will come out. She just had to wait.

It was damp and cold after the evening rains, but, nothing she couldn’t withstand. There had been too much planning done already to waste the moment. It had to be done tonight. Suffering a bit of cold would be worth it in the end.

Loud music flooded the street when the club’s doors were flung open. There he was, that was him. Walking out alone, no tramp hanging off of him like so many others who had left before him.

He walked into the parking lot next to the club, not paying any attention to the rest of the world around him. 

When he paused to light a cigarette and she grinned. It was him, he was perfect. She walked over to the lot and smiled at him.

He smiled back. “Good evening.”

She didn’t reply, mustn’t seem so anxious. She walked over to her car then let go of a frustrated sigh looking at her rear tire. “Damn it, not now…”

Setting her purse on the roof before she moved to the back of the car and opened the trunk.  She leaned inside and pulled out the jack and walked around to the flat tire.

He glanced over as he flicked the cigarette to the ground. The perfect one walked over and grinned. “Can I give you a hand? No sense in a beautiful woman getting all greasy.”

She laughed and smiled back. “Thanks, I really appreciate it. I’m a serious girl with this stuff.”

He grinned and nodded as he slid the jack under the edge of the car. “I’ll say, you forgot a part. Do you mind if I look in your trunk for the tire iron?”

“No, go ahead. See I told you I have no idea what I’m doing.”  She grinned, shifting to accentuate her ample form for him.

He smiled and walked around to the trunk. He pulled his eyes from hers and looked in. The iron was way in the back. He had to bend half into the trunk to reach it.

She watched and waited until both his hands were inside the trunk and he was leaning way inside. Quickly, she moved to him sinking a needle into the back of his neck. Her thumb pushed the plunger as she looked around, to make sure there were no other eyes on them.

In a few seconds, he slumped, collapsing half into the trunk. She grinned as she tossed the needle inside then hefted the rest of him. 

For just a moment, she paused and looked down at her victim. The rest of the night would be spent in blood as she has done since the betrayal. None leave her now. He will be hers tonight and in the morning she will bury him near the others. “Beware the Ides of March.”

Another week, another chpater

Wow, what a week. It was wonderfully productive and I feel like I'm mostly back on track.... mostly, I'm not sure I'm ever completely on track :)

Last week's goals
Write daily
Check! I was able to sit down and write some considerable words this week. I finished a chapter of Outlaw Born and it felt wonderful. Not for my poor MC Ben, he's having a rough time. Made me feel a smidge guilty writing him into it, but just a smidge. 

Write one article
*Buzzer sounds* FAIL The article was started but... not completed. 

Finish the book I’m reading
Ding ding ding! I finished the book I was reading, and started two more whoo hoo. I love falling into the pages of a great book. 

This week hopefully will be another productive week with lots of words, reading time, and other accomplishments. I've got my daily get'er done lists all set to for the next two days so I'm already off to a decent start.

This week my primary focus is going to be completing another chapter and developing a bit more depth into the secondary characters riding with my outlaw. Even though, these guys and gals aren't major players I feel like it's important to get to know who they are as well.

Who and what your secondary character is can affect the major character. If a secondary character questions the hero it could possibly cause the hero to rethink his or her situation. A secondary's difference in opinion might change the hero's decision to act or how he or she takes action. But these characters can't just suddenly have such a strong opinion. It doesn't feel genuine or true to life to suddenly toss them into a scene with such powerful views when they're a complete stranger to the reader.

Having a fully fleshed out sidekick to your hero or heroine can add more dimension and reality to your story. NYPD Blue was a great example of this. (yeah I know it's a tv show vs. book characters but that's what I'm watching as I write tonight lol) Detectives Andy Sipowicz and John Kelly are the main characters in the first and second season, but the secondary characters in the squad around them impact their many of their work and personal decisions. Sometimes in a big way.

Secondary characters aren't just there to move things along, they can be tools to further the reality of your hero/heroine and novel world. Who knows maybe one of the secondary characters in your novel will be  your next novel's hero.

How do you use those hero sidekicks? Have you ever started to like your sidekick better than your hero?

This week's goals 
Write daily
Write one article
Get rid of at least one box or bag of clutter.

Have a great week and good luck with your own goals!

Visit other Round of Words in 80 Days blog hoppers! To find out more about ROW80 click HERE

Get Hooked on Tingle

Happy Wednesday! It's time for Book Hooks blog hop Book Hooks is a weekly meme hosted by Marketing for Romance Writers as part of the MFRW Authors Blog. The authors in this hop are showcasing one of their books or works in progress. Be sure to check out the list of participants links at the bottom of this post, and don't forget to leave a comment would love to hear from you!

Get hooked on Tingel 
Tingle is a collection of flash fiction with a darker edge of the paranormal, suspense, and horror genres to make a readers spine tingle and provoke the senses and emotions.

An excerpt from one of Tingle's stories The Rosary

 He took a deep breath to clear the distraction his focus on God as he continued to pray.

A soft giggle broke the silence; Father McKenna opened his eyes and fell backward with a startled breath. A young woman stood behind the stone cross her arms wrapped around it. Her petite fingers covering her mouth to stifle her laughter. 

Her eyes were dark sunken into her face as though it had been a hundred years since she last slept. McKenna could feel darkness in her. “The church is open for prayer. The rectory is private, my child.”

The girl, no thing… pushed from the stone, her tongue slowly moved across her bottom lip. “Child? Priest… you’re not even old enough to be my father.”

McKenna stilled as she stood over him. His eyes couldn’t focus on her face, dizziness fell on him.

She… it, bent to bring her face to his and sniffed at the air before him, then again at his neck. McKenna’s pulse jumped as she moved closer, her lip curled wickedly. “I smell fear on your skin. Is your faith not strong enough?”

                                                      Get your copy of Tingle

Visit other participating authors and get hooked on more books!