I declare a thumb war challenge. 52 weeks of the year, 52 stories. I only barely won NaNoWriMo this year, and for an Overachiever (35k in 24 hours last year!) like me that just isn’t good enough. So this year, I have a new challenge. A new short story every week, for the whole year until its time to do NaNoWriMo again.
As with any challenge I set myself, I’ll keep the rules intentionally vaugue and let them develop over time.
CW: Body Horror Not all that glitters is gold. Blood too, glistens in the darkness. We all carry darkness within us, we all have folds of horror. You. You too.
Can you feel them? The bones, grinding there beneath your skin. You might be inclined to call them your bones. Your body, held together by your bones. Right? Wrong. So wrong. Most people don’t think about it. You didn’t, until now.
Blood-red runes smoulder with hellfire heat, eldritch and arcane symbols twisting and writhing like caged beasts. Molten light pours from the blade, a cacophony of flaming colours pulsating to a deep, unseen beat. The air around it shimmers, trying to run from the smoking heat. Living fire, possessed with evil intent, drips from the tip of the wide spined sword, a deep groove running down its spine. The Evil Eye sits crouched on the hilt, slitted pupil moving erratically, madly.
Olivia crackled fiercely, enveloped in a maelstrom of energy that was as green as her eyes. It rose around her and whipped up the once calm air. Mimicking this rise, she took off. Incongruously slowly, her feet rose several metres from the sodden earth as her eyes flashed fierce with ethereal power. The unshackled force spilled out across the sky like a supercharged aurora, dancing as if it were alive and gleeful at being let free.
Galactic Council Record No. 2020
All races across the universe undergo natural selection. Few go so far as to let it run its course unchecked, though this is true of some particularly proud or warlike species like the dragonlike Yywrack, feared pirates and plunderers. Some have escaped it to varying degrees of success.
Except for one. Humanity. They have beaten it back, killed it completely. But on the galactic stage, strength came above all else.
Authors’ note: I reckons that should say “Trust your gut, cuddle a cat and slam tequila” But that wasn’t on Unsplash…
Three years ago, I never would have thought that I could write a novel. Let alone write on in thirty days.
That’s right, it’s almost that time of year again! November is fast becoming one of my favourite months — not just because of Halloween and the fireworks, but the novelling.
(The most ‘spacey’ one I could find!)
Writing Prompt: A colony mission sent from Earth loses contact, discouraging further missions. Hundreds of years later, the colony has established a powerful interstellar frontier and has regained contact with Earth, pledging their allegiance to the world’s leaders. Surprisingly quietly, the dropship’s landing legs settled into the dust, under the shadow of the gigantic ex-colony ship hanging in low-Earth orbit. Scarcely had the dust settled when the ship’s belly split open, a battered metal ramp crashing to the dirt.
A spark
a million volts
for a split second
If the spark lands just right
it kindles a tiny flame
Hot but flickering
Should you gentle cradle this flame
unafraid of being burned
It will resist when it would be doused
If you feed this flame
it will grow explosively into a fire
A conflagration that consumes and ignites
Should you survive the fire as it dies
you will be left with smouldering embers
The edge of vision otherwise dark I have a blind mind’s eye.
I don’t see mental images. It’s incredibly difficult to describe what I do see, but certainly not the vivid mental imagery that I’m told others experience.[1]I’ve also recently figured out I am a broadly visual learner. Which renders my memory next to useless. Since if I learn through imagery, and yet my image recall is short circuited…I can’t very well learn anything can I!
Like metronomic and distorted cackling laughter the idea-spiders skitter. Piercing clatter of a thousand million worming thoughts. Each one keens in its own way, hungry for freedom. Each one glibly promising sprawling webs of crystalline creativity. Each one truthful to a volatile degree.