#Blog Battle: The Sunken Statue

I’m taking part in Rachel Ritchey’s writing #BlogBattle this week’s theme is Head. Apparently this is Rachel’s 6th month of doing BlogBattles!!!

Week 25 Theme is Head

Date to Post: Tuesday, September 8th, 2015.

http://rachaelritchey.com/blogbattle/

This was the perfect prompt for me as I have been intending to write a short story about a visit I had to The Edinburgh Modern Gallery of Art, where a particular head greets you as you enter the grounds of the gallery. Here’s the link to my post: https://mjmallon.com/2015/08/26/edinburgh-festival-photographs-of-my-art-gallery-visit/

So I wrote this very quickly this morning, rush, rush, rush, so hope it meets with your approval!

Genre: Fantasy

The Sunken Statue

He hadn’t always been concrete. He had lived once, an ordinary life, nothing spectacular you understand. Art had been his life, he called himself a sculptor, a very poor one, unknown, and undervalued. He lived alone, had no pets, no friends, no family, just his art. It wasn’t surprising that he became bitter, angry that his works of art were being ignored. His favourite art gallery was in Edinburgh, the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art on Belford Road, he went there often to fume. He was aghast when he saw the pathetic nature of some of the exhibits, the nonsensicalness of them. That particular day in August, he scowled as he saw the blocks of square colour that were meant to constitute art. Who were they kidding? A child could have drawn this.

That’s how it began, the answer to him seemed to be simple, a child, he needed a child to rekindle his child-like eye for art, to transport him to great heights of prowess. But how could he even begin to achieve this? He had no wife, no lover to provide him with a son or daughter. The seed of yearning planted deep within his soul he set out to find a child, an artistic child. Where better to look than the art gallery itself?

In the gallery the shop and the café provided him with the perfect place to find a child who had slipped past their parents’ watchful eyes. But how could he justify this? He didn’t consider himself to be a criminal. His conscience was like an uncharted piece of paper but surely what tiny remnants remained would not allow him to behave in such a despicable way? To snatch a young child from the loving hands of a parent? His justification had to be his love of art; art was his wife, his lover. He knew this action, if he carried it out, would be the ultimate heinous act, and though his heart was empty he sensed there would be a dreadful, most shocking price to pay.

He tortured himself for days and days drinking, smoking and ranting. Nobody heard him, apart from his own ears which devoured his angst and his forgotten sculptures, that sighed. Finally his anguished soul gave in. So with this terrible plan in place he went to the gallery, and waited and waited for an opportunity. The girl was pretty, her rosy cheeks, blonde hair and colourful skirt caught his eye. He imagined her as a watercolour painting, a rainbow of sun drenched colours. She kept wandering off from her mother, exploring, chatting to strangers, her mother didn’t seem to notice or mind. Perhaps she was used to it. This was the sort of girl who could not be confined; she was a wanderer, a free spirit, an artistic soul, so that knowledge more than justified his actions.

‘Hi, that’s a pretty postcard,” he said, standing beside her.

She smiled, a dimple on her innocent face winked at him.

“Yes it is thank you, but this is my favourite.”

She held up a postcard of a statue, an exhibit that he knew was outside in the gardens. A short walk away. How easy could it be? A gift. Not from God, but he was not a believer.

“Would you like to see it? It’s just outside in the gardens I could show you if you’d like?” he asked.

He hadn’t thought what her reaction would be. So when she smiled and said, “Yes please,” he didn’t show any emotion.

He left the art gallery with her by his side, he felt proud that he had found such a wonderful child, his artistic angel. Now he believed that his sculpting ambitions would be fully realised.

She appeared thrilled by the Miró sculpture. She ran her small hands around the circular top as if she was experiencing her own personal ride through life.

She stroked it fondly as if she wished to gain an insight into the artist’s mind.

He knew then without a shadow of a doubt that she was the one.

An opportunity presented itself to him, sneaking into the silent grounds, on tiptoes of devilment it crept. No other soul was about, to witness its wicked arrival. So he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the exit. She began to shriek. He hadn’t expected that.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, confused by her sudden change of sunny mood.

“You’re making me scared,”

“Scared of what?” he asked, frowning.

“You!” she replied in a small uncertain voice, trembling.

“I just want to take you across the road to the art gallery opposite; there are more wonderful exhibits there too.’

“No, I don’t want to go,” she said, tiny tears began to make a sad appearance on her rosy face.

He dragged her until they approached the crossing; he heard her cries but divorced himself from the monster that he was becoming. Then he stopped. It was sudden, the loss of sensation in his body, the terrible sinking feeling. Was this the price to be paid? He let go of her hand, he didn’t need her anymore. He had never needed anyone. Least of all a child. This was no price, this was the perfect solution. For the first time in his life he felt pure contentment. He was art, he was the Sunken statue. He would be seen and revered by all the art lovers in the world. Nobody would ever dare to forget him again.

Rules:

1000 words max
fictional tale (or true if you really want)
PG (no more than PG-13) Content – let’s keep this family friendly!
Your story must contain the word(s) from the theme and/or be centered around the theme in a way that shows it is clearly related
Go for the entertainment value!
State the Genre of your story at the top of your post.
Post your story on Tuesday, by 11:59 PM PST
Use the hashtag #BlogBattle when tweeting your story, put a link back to your #BlogBattle Short Story in the comments section of this page, and/or include a link to this page in your own blog post (it creates a “ping-back” which will alert me and our friends to your #BlogBattle post)
Have fun!

I hope you liked my entry to BlogBattle, and it didn’t alarm you too much! Apologies to the woman and child in the photo I’m sure no harm came to you on your visit to the art gallery!

Do leave a comment I’d love to know what you think of my short story.

Bye for now.

Marje @ Kyrosmagica. xx

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September 8, 2015 21

#Blog Battle: Ryder’s Feast of Unsuspecting Legumes

This week I’m taking part in Rachael Ritchey’s Short Story Writing Blog Battle. Here’s a link to her blog if you’d like to take part in this fun community of writers: http://rachaelritchey.com/blogbattle/

Week 25 Theme is Legumes

Date to Post: Tuesday, September 1st, 2015

This was a tough one, Legumes, huh, not the easiest of themes but I enjoy a challenge so why not?

The Genre of my entry is a New Adult Fantasy story, (for the purposes of this post I will try to keep it PG friendly!) This is a continuation of an idea which I have already started to develop on #Blog battle if you’d like to see the previous posts I’ve done then follow the following links: https://mjmallon.com/2015/08/04/blog-battle-week-21-writing-theme-eye/ and https://mjmallon.com/2015/08/11/blogbattle-week-22-time/

Ryder’s Feast Of Unsuspecting Legumes

The cupboards were practically empty apart from a few sorry almost forgotten tins of vegetables. Ryder picked them up, checked their sell by dates, and shrugged. A week or two past their sell by date wouldn’t kill him! He set them out on the kitchen counter and proceeded to open all of his flatmate’s cupboards looking for a large enough frying pan to create his imagined feast. He opened and shut the doors slamming them without any thought for his sleeping flatmates. He found a large wok that didn’t belong to him, but no matter, he decided that no one would notice if he borrowed it for this early morning feast. He set the flame to full throttle, flooding the pan with a cascade of vibrant vegetables, and loud legumes. The sizzling sound made him smile he loved the buzz of riotous noise in the silence of the early morning.

He waited patiently for the moment when someone would burst through the door and discover his antics and somebody always did, today was no exception. Olivia burst into the kitchen, a bleary-eyed look lay crumpled on her face. She scowled at him. Ryder couldn’t help but smile; Olivia was wearing her skimpy pyjamas again. Olivia must have clocked his lecherous look, but it was apparent from the dirty look that she gave him that she wasn’t in the mood for Ryder’s attempts at four a.m. flirting.

“What are you doing Ryder? It’s four o’clock in the morning, I’ve got a lecture at nine.”

“Making you breakfast,” said Ryder with a grin.

“Huh, that’s not funny, Ryder you’re driving everyone crazy with your early morning stir fries.”

“Oh, you’re too pent-up Olivia, you need to learn how to relax. Let me give your shoulders a rub.”

Olivia gave him a look that said that sounds about as appealing as a torturous Chinese burn. “Get lost Ryder, stop being such a creep.”

“I’m only trying to make it up to you Olivia, sit down, I’ll prepare you a very special VIP breakfast.”

Olivia looked at the legumes in the frying pan and pulled a face.

“I don’t eat out of date rabbit food.”

“Ah, but you haven’t eaten my rabbit food, trust me it will be amazing,” said Ryder, his eyes momentarily lifted their attention from the flambéed frying pan, and lingered on Olivia. There was something elemental in that look, Ryder knew it, it came naturally to him, he could turn on charm like a blazing uncontrollable flame.

Olivia’s barriers began to melt; little by little she began to return his look, now it was easy, all he needed to do was stare back, to penetrate the layers of Olivia’s resistance with his wicked eyes. He just hoped she didn’t faint, that would be annoying. He liked girls to be awake; they were far more interesting that way. He’d have to be careful not to employ too much Ryder charm, just the right amount of gentle coercion had to be used, a few words would help too.

“It’s not Rabbit food, Olivia it’s a feast fit for a king.”

Ryder set the food out on the table. It did not bear any resemblance to the simple dish of legumes he had just been cooking. Its centrepiece was an enormous, flat, round Indian delicacy resembling a chapatis pancake, and on the side was a bowl of richly spiced curry sauce with a side dish of fragrant legumes. The aroma would make you feel as if you’d been re-born in curry heaven.

Olivia gasped. Curry was her favourite, Ryder knew that.

“Sit down, Olivia join me,” Ryder said, his words gently caressing Olivia’s unsuspecting ears.

Olivia practically dived to sit down. She acted like she’d been on an enforced hunger strike and was now able to eat again.

But something stopped her from touching a bite. She just sat there staring at the food, her outstretched hand hung in the air as if she was about to pick up a chapatti. The reel of her life waited temporarily suspended for a second.

“Do help yourself,” said Ryder with a smirk.

There were no plates on the table, no cutlery, or napkins. Olivia picked up the chapatti, filled it with curry sauce and legumes and rolled it on the table as if this was the most natural thing to do. She downed that chapatti in a few ferocious bites and licked her lips.

“Don’t you want a plate?’ asked Ryder raising an eyebrow in mock horror.

Olivia blushed. It was obvious from her reaction that she was mortified by her own behaviour. This was so unlike Olivia. Olivia had a reputation for being neat and tidy, and would normally never eat off a table, particularly one in a messy student flat.

She glanced at the table, and her expression said it all. Poor Olivia turned a nasty shade of green, the exact colour of the curry that she had just wolfed down. She ran to the toilet to be sick.

As soon as she fled out the door, Ryder laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh. He could hear her retching, but he did nothing to help her. When he stopped laughing a wretched feeling came over him, what had he done? He felt the crystal in his eye smarting, it was vibrating, sending spasms of guilt throughout his body. That wretched crystal, he wished he could dive a dagger into his eye and rip it out.

But he couldn’t do that, not without blinding himself, the crystal was there for keeps. He had no choice, the crystal fragment acted like a conscience making him want to help Olivia. So he tucked her into bed, and crept in next to her, she didn’t seem to mind. She thought he was a nice guy, but he and the the crystal knew otherwise. Afterwards he shed crystal tears; a deep feeling of disgust filled his being. He was tainted, a lost soul, blinded by the splendour of his own shadow, with no way of being saved.

Rules:
1.1000 words max
2.fictional tale (or true if you really want)
3.PG (no more than PG-13) Content – let’s keep this family friendly!
4.Your story must contain the word(s) from the theme and/or be centered around the theme in a way that shows it is clearly related
5.Go for the entertainment value!
6.State the Genre of your story at the top of your post.
7.Post your story on Tuesday, by 11:59 PM PST
8.Use the hashtag #BlogBattle when tweeting your story, put a link back to your #BlogBattle Short Story in the comments section of this page, and/or include a link to this page in your own blog post (it creates a “ping-back” which will alert me and our friends to your #BlogBattle post)
9.Have fun!

I hope you liked my contribution to this week’s blog battle. Do let me know what you think. Don’t forget to vote for your favourite story.

Bye for now.

Marje @ Kyrosmagica xx

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September 1, 2015 20

#BlogBattle : Week 22: Time

Well it’s time for another Blog Battle, if you haven’t come across Rachael Ritchey’s Blog Battles here’s your chance to join in this fun community of writers.

This link will take you to her blog battle page: http://rachaelritchey.com/blogbattle/

The rules are:

Week 22 Theme will be Time

Date to Post: Tuesday, August 11th 2015

Rules:

1000 words max
fictional tale (or true if you really want)
PG (no more than PG-13) Content – let’s keep this family friendly!
Your story must contain the word(s) from the theme and/or be centered around the theme in a way that shows it is clearly related
Go for the entertainment value!
Post your story by Tuesday 11:59 PM PST
Use the hashtag #BlogBattle when tweeting your story, put a link back to your #BlogBattle Short Story in the comments section of this page, and/or include a link to this page in your own blog post (it creates a “ping-back” which will alert me and our friends to your #BlogBattle post)
Have fun!

Time is such a perfect subject for me, as it is one of the central theme’s in my writing. This particular #BlogBattle is a continuation from the previous #BlogBattle post Eye. If you’d like to read Eye here’s the link: https://mjmallon.com/2015/08/04/blog-battle-week-21-writing-theme-eye/

It’s an idea for a New Adult novel, I have had to edit some of the content of this to make it more PG friendly! I don’t want to be banned from #BlogBattle but I reckon the final version (if I get round to it!) could be a bit more steamy – any thoughts?

Time’s A Slippery Devil

Time.

Such a slippery and transient devil, one minute it’s on your side the next it’s beyond you slipping past your reach, laughing at your precociousness. Ryder had been Time’s master, but no more. Now he was alone, with no one to control. No scratch that. He had a girl, a willing conquest, one solitary soul was his. An easy task lay before him, and what better place to hide than the leafy parkland of the University of Falmer in Brighton? Here he could be a shadow without a name, a person without a recognisable face. No one would remember him unless he wanted them to, he could be as fluid as the breeze in the trees. A nowhere man.

His only current regret was his choice of course, he had fancied himself a philosopher but he saw no benefit in discussing the merits of a grain of sand. The only worthy purpose of a grain of sand was its place within a timepiece, capturing a precious minute so perfectly turning life’s longings upside down. Perhaps studying a touch of poetry and prose would suit him better? He needed to find some new playmates, his current flatmates were a bore. His midnight wanderings had been purposely noisy but had fallen on deaf ears, his distinctive footsteps had cast him as an outsider in his own flat.

His eyes could read the sky, tell the time of day. He smiled, only minutes remained before he had agreed to meet Bethany. He had enjoyed their last encounter. The reminiscence of the feel of her silky skin against his body caused him to smile. She had smelled so meadow fresh, untouched by someone like him. He remembered the moment when she had surrendered, the bitter-sweet light in her eyes drifting to an inky murky black. It had been a fleeting second, one the ordinary eye would have missed but Ryder had flourished in that moment. Thereafter her eyes had lightened turning just a slightly harder, darker shade than they had been before, with a hint of a tiny crystal caught in them for all eternity. The tiny crystal light within his own eyes smarted at the thought. He had upset its crystal sensibilities, as he often did. He cast aside that thought, willing the crystal to be within the palm of his hand, a powerful force to command rather than a controlling force imprisoned within his sight. The crystal reverberated, a sharp dagger of pain pierced his eyes and tiny crystal tears shed a pathway down his sculpted cheekbones.

Blinking back strange tears he walked to the campus shop, his long limbs carrying him there within minutes. The crystal tears abated coming to a jagged halt. Bethany was already waiting. In amongst the throng of students, she seemed overlooked but Ryder found her more striking than she had been before. Her eyes gleamed at him like a cats, she dressed to entice, her short skirt making his eyes linger on the shapeliness of her legs. She carried herself with a new-found confidence and freedom. A dare suggested itself in the curve of her lips, a flicker of danger fluttered in her curved eye lashes, and a gleam of naughtiness escaped from her eyes. A buzz of energy circulated throughout Ryder’s body, making his heart pound with unleashed excitement. He longed to entice her into the privacy of his room, but now was not the time. He sighed. He had more pressing matters to attend to. He would introduce this former bookworm to the delights of his room before long that he was sure of.

The canteen was buzzing with students, lunchtime beckoned and everyone seemed to be eating, chatting and drinking. He gestured towards a table in amongst the throng, it didn’t matter where they sat his privacy would always be assured. He didn’t bother to say hello and neither did she, instead he reached out. This reflexive reaction betrayed his desperate need to touch her. He grasped her hand in his, and turned it over as if he was reading her palm. He planted sweet kisses on it, her eyes flickered and she gasped.

“I see you enjoy my kisses, now that we are more acquainted,” he said breaking the silence.

“I do, it’s almost as if my hand can taste the honey-dew of your lips,” she replied. Ryder saw confusion resting in her eyes, her words had betrayed the veiled privacy of her emotions.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself. It’s an ability you will develop but it takes time.”

“Really? You tease me with such wicked promises.”

‘If it’s a tease then it’s a secret one. I’m afraid I can’t reveal my secrets but you will learn your own in your own sweet time.”

“What a delicious thought, I can’t wait.”

“Be patient Bethany, now’s not the time, you must let your power grow slowly, or else ……. in the meantime, I’d like you to make more friends,” Ryder’s eyes darkened, “We need more friends.”

Bethany shivered, “You make it sound so creepy, what do you mean?”

“There are only two of us, see how nobody notices us? Unless we draw attention to ourselves they overlook us, but if we become many, then imagine what we could do.”

A glint of darkness flickered across Bethany’s face, forming a temporary shadow. She shivered again.

Seeing her shivering Ryder pulled her towards him, lifting her off her seat, until she was sitting on his lap.

She smiled, a purring sound escaped from the back of her throat. He stroked her long brown hair.

“It’s fresher’s week, sweet kitten,” he said.

“No it’s not, we’ve already had fresher’s week,” she replied.

“I wasn’t in the mood for it then, but I am now.” His eyes darkened, “So now it’s time for fresher’s week.”

She nodded. “But why?”

“I want to make friends, don’t you?”

She purred.

I hope you enjoyed my entry for this weeks #Blog Battle. Do leave a comment I’d love to hear your opinion on my latest piece of writing for the #Blog Battle.

Thank you for stopping by.

Marje @ Kyrosmagica xx

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August 11, 2015 25

#Blog Battle – Week 21 – Writing Theme Eye

Well it’s time for another Blog Battle, if you haven’t come across Rachael Ritchey’s Blog Battles here’s your chance to join in this fun community of writers.

This link will take you to her blog battle page: http://rachaelritchey.com/blogbattle/

The rules are:

Week 21 Theme will be Eye

Date to Post: Tuesday, August 4th 2015

Rules:

1000 words max
fictional tale (or true if you really want)
PG (no more than PG-13) Content – let’s keep this family friendly!
Your story must contain the word(s) from the theme and/or be centered around the theme in a way that shows it is clearly related
Go for the entertainment value!
Post your story by Tuesday 11:59 PM PST
Use the hashtag #BlogBattle when tweeting your story, put a link back to your #BlogBattle Short Story in the comments section of this page, and/or include a link to this page in your own blog post (it creates a “ping-back” which will alert me and our friends to your #BlogBattle post)
Have fun!

This is a new piece of writing, it is a continuation idea from my first manuscript which is open ended and could become a series of books. If I wrote a second novel I would like the male character to develop his wicked side so this is a short unedited snippet from an idea I have. I hope you like it! This is probably more a YA plus or New Adult type of idea rather than a children’s book!

The Eye of the Shadow

Bethany always came to the same spot to read her book, the quietest corner of the park near her University campus. Today she saw that this favourite spot had been invaded by a strange person who she had never seen before. She considered moving elsewhere but Bethany couldn’t bring herself to move away.

The sunlight drifted over the young man, a warm caress lingered on his upper body, savouring him. He was stripped to the waist, his back lay like a half completed painting, a terrible deed still to be done. She imagined finishing his painting. Each exquisite brush stroke could become a wicked promise, or a sweet memory Bethany couldn’t begin to decide which of the two would be more likely.

At this moment Bethany spectacled eyes found no appeal in her chosen book, she did the unforgiveable, the unthinkable, this socially awkward book-worm pretended to read! She just couldn’t keep her eyes from the young man. It was too easy to stare at such a beautiful someone who lay face down in the grass. She felt a delicious sense of wickedness staring at his muscular but lean body. A flood of hesitant shadows drifted spreading their eerie pictures on the sunny grass.

He turned around. She didn’t have time to look away, his motion had been lightning quick, as if he hoped to catch her staring at him basking in the sun. He caught her guilt straight in the eye, and sent it back to her in an unexpected ricochet. He didn’t look down or away, no attempt was made by him to play such a game, his eyes bore into her soul, and rested there imprisoned in her cluttered thoughts. His gaze was so arresting that she was certain that she had forgotten how to breathe. She gasped. A second or two passed by but she could swear that he still held her soul in his dark green eyes, resting like a tiny glimmer of crystal light, a blink and she was sure that it would be gone.

She had no idea what his face looked like, all she could see were his eyes, his beautiful eyes, cruel and gentle, dark and bright.

He stood up in one quick fluid movement, his agility reminiscent of a sleek panther, and then he smiled. Bethany saw the smile. The eyes told her to. She wasn’t sure if his mouth was forming a nice smile but somehow it didn’t matter. She wanted to capture that smile and plant it in her memory for later.

“Hello,” he said, delivering each syllable like a warning.

Bethany swallowed. She tried to return his uncertain gift of a smile but the smile that she would give appeared to have been swallowed, along with her words. She coughed and said nothing. A dry sensation lodged in her throat.

He walked over and stood directly in front of her. Now his eyes implored her to see his jet black hair, shining like a panther’s, willing her to touch it.

She trembled, the forgotten book slipped from her grasp, she reached out and stroked his hair. There was an expression of fear trapped in her eyes, but a desperate need in her shaking hands.

He picked up her book and glanced at it, turning the pages absent-mindedly as if he was searching for an answer to a question that he had posed. After a short while he grew restless and began clawing at the pages of her book until he threw it away in irritation. His temper lashed out, a cruel, forgotten wind that subsided before it began.

Bethany couldn’t believe it. Now her precious book meant nothing to her, yet a moment ago it had been her heart. He sat next to her, this book mauler, this uninvited marauder who dared to touch a loose strand of her hair and place it behind her ear. She did nothing to stop him, instead she stared into his eyes and plunged into their delightful but horrifying depths.

She could feel a tumbling sensation, as if she was falling down a long corridor. The corridor was narrow, wide, long, short, straight, and bending. The next thing she knew the tumbling sensation slammed to a complete and endless halt. She stood up, but her legs didn’t remember how to. She meant to run away but he kissed her, his lips hard and soft, apologetic and unrelenting. Her knees betrayed her giving way, buckling under, an independent component of her body.

The corner of his mouth twitched, an almost imperceptible motion but his eyes gave her a sensuous message before she had even imagined the possibility. She swore that she could hear a tiny purring sound, a throaty tender note that slipped into the heady air. He claimed her from the summer breeze as if she was a precious prize and laid her on the warm grass planting tiny kisses on her. The flood of hesitant shadows stretched their eerie long limbs reaching further into the untamed wilderness of grass.

“Who are you?” she breathed whimpering.

“I’m the Shadow you’ve been hiding from,” he replied.

She looked up at the sky, the sun was still out yet shadows danced and played all around them. She felt a strange sensation invade her body, a coldness swept deep within her soul, plunging her into a strange but welcome melancholy.

“It’s alright,” he said, his voice sounding regretful, but certain, “You and I are bonded by our shadows. Don’t be afraid. There’s no need to fight, that moment is forever gone.”

The richness of his voice inflamed her cold body, this purring black demon’s tongue struck a chord in her pounding heart.

He kissed her one last time. A tender kiss. Then it was complete.

Now he smiled, and frowned. “Welcome.”

I hope you enjoyed my entry for #Blog Battle. Do leave a comment I’d love to hear your opinion on my latest piece of writing for the #Blog Battle.

Marje @ Kyrosmagica xx

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August 4, 2015 24

#Blog Battle Week 19 Theme: Musk

Well it’s time for another Blog Battle, if you haven’t come across Rachael Ritchey’s Blog Battles here’s your chance.

This link will take you to her blog battle page: http://rachaelritchey.com/blogbattle/

The rules are:

Date to Post: Tuesday, July 21st, 2015

Rules:

1000 words max
fictional tale (or true if you really want)
PG (no more than PG-13) Content – let’s keep this family friendly!
Your story must contain the word(s) from the theme and/or be centered around the theme in a way that shows it is clearly related
Go for the entertainment value!
Post your story by Tuesday 11:59 PM PST
Use the hashtag #BlogBattle when tweeting your story, put a link back to your #BlogBattle Short Story in the comments section of this page, and/or include a link to this page in your own blog post (it creates a “ping-back” which will alert me and our friends to your #BlogBattle post)
Have fun!

The prompt word this week is Musk.

Now this had me stumped for a while but then it came to me in a flash of inspiration I could submit a part of a chapter that I’ve already written from my second manuscript (yes I have more than one, this is my second work in progress!) about a cheeky young lady called Morag Eu Fungh and her dragon.

How can this children’s fantasy tale possibly have anything to do with the word musk? Funnily enough my mind works in peculiar ways so musk is quite appropriate!

My #BlogBattle Entry:

Morag’s Musk Load of Trouble

Morag sneaked upstairs as fast as her short legs allowed. In her bedroom she cautiously peered at her reflection in the mirror. She drew back in horror. A large rabbit stared back at her.

The rabbit wasn’t attractive or cute.

It was no cute pet bunny rabbit

with a fluffy tail and floppy ears.

No, this creature staring back at her

had the definite air of a wild rabbit,

a dirty and downright ugly, wild rabbit.

Morag screamed but no sound came out. Panic rippled through her furry body, sending nervous twitches down her large ears, and tears threatened to smart her eyes but no tears came.

Morag’s rabbit body sneezed. Then between sneezes she started to say a few words to her rabbit reflection.

“This can’t be happening. I must be dreaming.”

But the more she stared the more she realised that she was indeed a rabbit.

Then, a string of words tumbled out of her furry mouth before she could stop them.

“It’s that dragon. He’s cursed me, turned me into a stinking, smelly, ugly, rotten old rabbit. Ugh.”

Morag hopped all the way down the stairs and out the door, mumbling, and groaning without her mother noticing her at all. She was otherwise engaged chatting up the postman!

Out in the large expanse of garden Morag felt very small and vulnerable. She heard the sound of a cat meow. She hid under a bush, only daring to come out when the cat disappeared. The sounds and smells all around her had magnified to an intense level. She could hear tiny insects scurrying about in the earth. The drone of a faraway lawn mower hammered in her eardrums. Her stomach gurgled so much that she made for a patch of juicy grass and ate, and ate, and ate. Then to her horror she began to gulp down whole, small round pellets of rabbit poo that were sprinkled across the park area beyond the garden. Augh, how disgusting! When night came a darkening sense of terror burrowed into her thoughts. The stars in the sky did nothing to make her feel better. She tried to stretch her long rabbit body and relax but no sleep came. In fact she was so frightened that a fox or an owl would attack her that she kept her eyes wide open all night long. In the silence of the night she heard a whisper, and then a loud crackle, and then another. Soon she was convinced that someone nearby must be lighting a fire. She hopped towards the sound to investigate. A flash of red, and then a blast of fire scorched the night sky.

The dragon.

Only the dragon could light up the sky like that. For a long time she remained still, watching, too scared to approach him. But at last her courage grew and she moved nearer and nearer.

Morag could feel the force of his relentless stare scorching the fur on her back. She hopped back and nearly turned tail and ran but the Dragon stopped her in her tracks with his words.

“How does it feel Morag, to be a defenceless rabbit?”

“Horrible,” Morag’s rabbit ears seemed to fold into themselves in despair.

“My thoughts entirely,” said the dragon, though he didn’t sound sympathetic at all.

“I have this musky smell. I eat poo. I have ticks, lice, and a family of mites are crawling all over me.”

“Yes you reek!” said the dragon pulling a face, “What an overpowering scent. Musk. It may be all the rage with deer but it isn’t dear to me! Huh, serves you right. Such a terribly mean thing that you did to your sister. I have no sympathy, you’re lucky that I didn’t turn you into a rat.”

“Please, mighty dragon. I can’t live my life as a rabbit. I’ll do anything you wish, just turn me back. I can’t live out here in my back garden.”

“Of course you can. Rise to the challenge, scaredy rabbit. Be a rabbit for a day. If you survive the night and aren’t eaten by a cat then maybe I might just come back tomorrow and turn you back. But it depends on how busy my day is. I’ve got lots to do you know,” said the dragon as he admired his long, sharp nails as if he intended to file them.

“No. You can’t leave me. You wouldn’t be so mean. I won’t last the night.”

“Stop grovelling, of course you will. Be a resourceful rabbit, see you tomorrow. Best of rabbit luck.”

With those final words, and a cold-hearted backwards glance the mighty dragon turned and disappeared into the night sky.

Morag shivered. Nearby she heard an owl hooting, and then all the sounds of the night seemed to chorus into song as if they were singing just for her, except they sang a song that she didn’t want to hear. She tested out her rabbit legs, and was satisfied to find that at least her hind legs were strong. She hopped fast across the lawn and then leapt into the air. What fun! So she did it again, and again, and again. Being a rabbit had its plus points! Soon, she was warm. Then she saw and heard a rustling in the nearby grass. A snake was twisting and turning its way towards her. Her ears pricked up in alarm. In a panic, she scampered to the right and the left zigzagging this way and that. It was time to find a burrow and hide, before she met any more snakes, owls, or foxes. Foxes frightened her more than anything with their big, furry bodies and sharp teeth. Thank goodness she could see so well but that wasn’t much compensation. She wanted to be a girl again, standing up on her own two feet, rather than hopping about on her hind legs. Being a wild rabbit and smelling of musky deer certainly didn’t make her feel cute like doey-eyed Bambi!

Hope you like my #BlogBattle story. I’m enjoying writing this one. Do let me know what you think.

Marje @ Kyrosmagica xx

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July 21, 2015 15

#Blog Battle Time to Vote !!!!

I just voted in Rachael Ritchey’s Writing #Blog Battle. This week’s theme is Dream.

This morning I was in the deepest sleep when my alarm rang and woke me up. Reckon I was dreaming, sadly I can’t remember my dream, that’s always a shame when that happens. I love it when I can remember a dream in vivid detail. But my hair kind of had this tell-tale wild and crazy dream look, something a bit like this, without the wonderful colours.

I had to brush it a lot this morning, to calm it down, anybody would think that there had been a storm in my bed overnight! Whoa! Back to the hair colouring. Well I fancy some streaks, must get round to that soon! Summer is a fun time for streaks, what with all the natural sunlight and all. Better get a move on it’s July already……

I’m waffling a bit, but it’s a Saturday, you’re allowed to waffle on the weekend. So what about the #BlogBattle. There are many wonderful entries so much variety, something for everyone.

I found it a very difficult decision to choose. I have five favourites, and you can only choose two!

I’m sure you’d like to see the stories and vote. Here’s the link: http://rachaelritchey.com/2015/07/14/blogbattle-week-18-dream-entries-voting/

I’ve entered too! What fun. If you haven’t seen my entry for #BlogBattle then here’s your chance: https://mjmallon.com/2015/07/14/blog-battle-week-18-theme-dream/

The voting closes on Sunday 10 PM PDT, SUNDAY. So still lots of time to vote!

Let the battle commence!

Have a wonderful weekend.

Remember to be good, no fighting, note to self, re-do streaks in hair.

Marje @Kyrosmagica xx

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July 18, 2015 2

Blog Battle: Week 18 Theme Dream

Today I’m taking part in Rachael Ritchey’s Blog Battle.

No it isn’t some kind of martial arts challenge it’s a fun writing battle.

Here’s the link to Rachael’s blog to find out more: http://rachaelritchey.com/blogbattle/

The Week 18 Theme is Dream – this prompt appeals to me so much.

Where would we be if we didn’t dream? A very sad bunch of people I reckon. Sometimes dreams can help us escape from painful realities.

Here’s the rules of the battle:

Date to Post: Tuesday, July 14th, 2015

Rules:
1.1000 words max
2.fictional tale (or true if you really want)
3.PG (no more than PG-13) Content – let’s keep this family friendly!
4.Your story must contain the word(s) from the theme and/or be centered around the theme in a way that shows it is clearly related
5.Go for the entertainment value!
6.Post your story by Tuesday 11:59 PM PST
7.Use the hashtag #BlogBattle when tweeting your story, put a link back to your #BlogBattle Short Story in the comments section of this page, and/or include a link to this page in your own blog post (it creates a “ping-back” which will alert me and our friends to your #BlogBattle post)
8.Have fun!

Each winner will receive an awesome #BlogBattle Winner Badge to display with their winning story on their webpage.

Here’s my entry for the #Blog Battle.

It’s an excerpt from my manuscript, I hope you enjoy:

Amelina couldn’t sleep. The stagnant air in the house felt like a tourniquet tightening around her neck choking her. Opening the windows made no difference whatsoever, feeling anxious; a sensation of dread overcame her. She felt as if she was tiptoeing on a floor of delicate eggshells. Strange voices and a laboured breathing came grumbling from the walls of the house, speaking in whispered unison, “Cursed house, Dreadful misfortune.”

Amelina slipped away from the cursed house into a dream. In her dream the pathway lay deserted, not a soul was about. The very dead of night beckoned. An eerie silence magnified every rustle, and quadrupled every whisper, in the breeze. The gentle sound of trickling water did much to sooth Amelina’s disturbed senses, but she had this strange feeling that someone was following her. Yet when she looked over her shoulder no one seemed to be there. No footprints, no churned up earth. Nothing. She tried to walk faster but her steps kept lagging behind, like a broken jigsaw piece, moving forward and back on a predetermined journey.

The whispering winds grew louder, and louder, until she forced herself to turn round to confront her growing fear. The shadow of an invisible man followed close behind her. Disconcerted, she tried to run, but stumbled as if this shadow’s long limbs were tripping her up. Just when she couldn’t take another step further, the howling winds stopped and the shadow vanished.

With the shadow’s departure, the deep rooted sadness within her soul began to gradually vanish. She breathed in the liberating air, and walked as if this was a path she had taken many times before, but her expressionless face, glassy eyes and outstretched arms suggested that she was in some sort of a trance.

A strange creature appeared his body and features were held together with rotten, matted mud, skin and bones. He said nothing. His presence didn’t frighten Amelina; on the contrary her serene face gave the impression that she was staring at a glowing candle light.

The creature stood motionless. He pointed at the ground.

A tremor shook Amelina’s body, her teeth chattered and her ears rang with the sound of earth cracking below her feet. It seemed as if the whole world was tilting on its axis, and the only way out was via a slide with a beginning but no visible end. As soon as she put a tentative step onto the slide, it was over. No time for fear. Every emotion had compressed into seconds. It had been the ultimate adrenalin rush, blood pounding, heart ripping, ears splitting, and stomach churning.

She came crashing off the slide and landed onto a sparkling stone floor, instead of hurting her it cushioned her landing, like a silky feather down quilt. No longer afraid of the shadows, she felt welcomed.

At home.

What a magnificent sight. Crystals on the walls of the buried cottage lit up in a myriad of welcoming shades, purple Amethyst, white Quartz, red Jade, blue Topaz, each colour announcing her long overdue welcome. Then as if this was not enough, lights twinkled and burst forth from each crystal in a jubilant display, a veritable firework extravaganza. Amelina sparkled from head to toe, light bounced off the walls of the stone cottage, finding a resting place on her face. She willed this spectacle to carry on, and on, but the glowing display began to taper off. In fact the colours became darker, glimmers of the crystals’ bright lights darkened to a menacing black and then lightened to a grey, washed out colour before turning a muddy brown. She could feel the skin on her face pucker, an orange peel texture stripped of all moisture, her body began to shiver and shake.

In desperation she lifted her head and looked up. All she could see before her was the strange creature; he stood some distance above on the open ground waiting. Waiting for what? To bury or help her? He held a rope ladder of skin and bones, which he began to lever down. She grimaced, but reached out and latched on to it. The creature hoisted her out effortlessly. They stood side by side for a moment. No time remained for them to exchange any words. The ground beneath Amelina’s feet shuddered, and cracked, she stepped back just in time. The creature was sucked into the depths of the earth, extending his arm in warning as he fell. The Cottage grew a distant memory swallowed in its entirety, each stone, pillar, and column buried. The further away it was, the smaller the Cottage had become, until it became no more than a tiny speck of inconsequential dust. An unnatural silence visited the abandoned ground in which the Cottage had been hidden. The mound of unsettled earth closed. The Creature and the Cottage were gone. No signs remained that they had ever been there.

Her body shifted a fraction as she stirred. She opened her eyes. Amelina’s heart fluttered like a caged bird. Then a brooding sense of darkness enveloped her, this blackness settled in her mood, taking centre stage in her thoughts. She sighed, a resigned note of melancholy. The disappointment was tangible. She couldn’t believe this strange episode could be so cruel, a dream that had teased her but had felt so real. She shrunk back down into her sheets, collapsing into life’s bittersweet reality.

Bye for now, time for dreaming…

Marje @ Kyrosmagica xx

Words good or bad, are my very own!

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July 14, 2015 14

Blog Battle Creative Writing Challenge: Spaghetti

Today I’m taking part in author Rachael Richey’s Blog Battle Creative Writing Challenge: http://rachaelritchey.com/2015/06/30/blogbattle-week-16-spaghetti-entries-voting/

The challenge word this week is spaghetti. Ah this conjures up messy eating habits, and trips to Rome, well in my mind it does anyway!

The rules and details of joining in this blog battle are at the end of this post.

Here’s my entry. It’s about Spag and Hetti, twin pieces of spaghetti who are made out of the same piece of pasta but are very, very different!

The Spag and Hetti Twins

“Hey Spag what you think about those diners last night talking about punting in Cambridge?’ asked Hetti.

“You won’t catch me a punting Hetti I’m too bendy, I’d be all over the place, toppling those fine people into mucky water. I ain’t no punting pasta,” replied Spag.

“Yeah, you said it! And you’d be messing up the punt with your tomato sauce, me brother.”

“I’m not a messy punter, don’t get all posh Fettucine, Rigatoni on me,” said Spag with a chuckle.

Hetti looked at his brother and smiled. Spag had always been a straight up spaghetti boy, served with Mama’s fine Italian sauce whereas Hetti preferred to be shaped into something different, moulded into a new style. Hetti had ambitions. He wanted to grace the finest Italian restaurants and be served all round the world.

“Hey Hetti you remember that time we were the centre piece in a messy party?”

“Yeah how could I ever forget! That’s ingrained in my pasta memory me brother.” Hetti winced. “The pasta sauce was all over their faces, dribbling down their mucky chins. It was everywhere.” replied Hetti.

“Yeah. The kids were cracking up, giggling non-stop. Then their mama she laughed so much she started clutching her chest. I thought she was going to have a heart attack,” said Spag talking faster and faster as if his pasta sauce was about to boil over.

Hetti put on his disapproving face. Spag knew that tell-tale look so well.

“Sometimes I think people are kind of silly, laughing so much, why can’t they eat pasta properly? They don’t have a clue, they got no pasta etiquette.”

“Hey stop being such a stuck up kill joy Hetti, they were just having a laugh. Those moments are the best, real family times, rare, just natural like, no TV, no outside stuff just being together sharing moments. Those are the memories they’ll remember when the kids are long gone and all grown up. They’re precious those special times.”

“You’re such a big softy Spag, no wonder your pasta’s prone to being soggy,” said Hetti playfully punching his brother in the tummy.

“Huh, just because you’re always so Al Dente, Hetti. Why you got to be so perfect? Sometimes it gets on my nerves. For pasta’s sake Hetti just let your hair down.”

“You’re telling me to let my hair down, that’s rich. You’ve got to stop being a mummy’s boy Spag. Don’t you want to explore, see the world?” asked Hetti looking at his brother curiously.

Spag raised his voice slightly, his pasta adam’s apple wobbling as he spoke. “I see and hear all I gonna see and hear every day in Mama’s restaurant. This is the best, nothing like it. Nowhere else compares. ”

“Huh, Mama’s restaurant, you and I we may be twins cut from the same piece of pasta but I just don’t understand you. When the nurse cut our spaghetti cord she did me a big favour, she made sure that I was the more handsome longer half, me brother.”

“More handsome longer half. What a cheek! Hetti don’t you go a winding me up, twist me around your annoying fork I’m not playing that game me brother.”

“You play the Spaghetti game every day Spag, you’re all meat balls, and tomato sauce you are. Where’s your imagination? Why you not come with me? Try something different, go somewhere different. It’ll be a blast. Let’s go exploring.”

“Where you going Hetti?” asked Spag raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

“I’m going to Italy me brother to the finest city, Rome. There we can learn all about the finest pasta, culture and history. ”

“How are you going to get to Rome, this cultural oasis Hetti?” asked Spag looking at his brother’s legs. “Those bendy legs won’t carry you further than your next serving plate, you’ll need crutches, better still a wheelchair. If you’re not careful they’ll feed your sorry ass to the lions in the Colloseum.”

“Ha Ha. Stop looking at me legs. I can’t help it if they’re long and thin. Anyway I’ll show you Hetti, we’ll get there you’ll see.”

“How me brother? On a helicopter, a speed boat, a jet ski, or what about one of them posh cruise ships? That sounds more your style, or maybe you’re thinking of a flight on a pasta passport? You got your passport photo yet? That I got to see!”

Hetti laughed. His long thin pasta body wiggled. “I’ll find a way Spag. I always find a way, it’s a long challenging piece of pasta to get there but I’ll get there in the end.”

“Yeah, I can just see it now Boomerang Airlines, twirl your pasta around the boomerang and you might go as far as Australia, return trip the same day.”

“Ha Ha very funny. I’ll surprise you, you’ll see. I’m the final bite ain’t I?” said Hetti standing up taller, stretching to his full height.

“That you are me brother, that you are. I tell you what, you’re me brother and I love you like we’re the same piece of pasta so if you can get to Rome I’m a coming with you. I’ve heard all about Rome, the Colloseum, The Pantheum, The Spanish Steps, The Trevi fountain.

“The beautiful Italian ladies!”

Spag sighed. Hetti sighed.

“I knew it. Never mind about family love. The ladies. Now, you want to come with me brother!”

Hetti inspected Spag as if he was searching for some magical secret ingredient. “You may be a bit on the small side but the ladies love you. I never figured that out me brother! How come? What you got that I lack?”

“You know the saying, size don’t matter. It’s me charm.”

Hetti grinned. “Yeah, and all of those lovely ladies they always smile real wistful like when they finish a plate of your finest Spag, you pasta devil, Spag!”

Here are the Voting rules, and rules of participating in Rachel’s Challenge:

Everyone, regardless of participation, who reads ALL the stories for the week may vote.

PLEASE VOTE for your top TWO favorites (not two for the same, though!).

Vote by 10 PM PST on SATURDAY so Rachel can announce the winner on SUNDAY!

Rules:

1000 words max
fictional tale (or true if you really want)
PG (no more than PG-13) Content – let’s keep this family friendly!
Your story must contain the word(s) from the theme and/or be centered around the theme in a way that shows it is clearly related
Go for the entertainment value!
Post your story by Tuesday 11:59 PM PST
Use the hashtag #BlogBattle when tweeting your story, put a link back to your #BlogBattle Short Story in the comments section of this page, and/orinclude a link to this page in your own blog post (it creates a “ping-back” which will alert me and our friends to your #BlogBattle post)
Have fun!

Thanks for stopping by, I hope you liked my #BlogBattle story, maybe you might like to join in Rachel’s challenge too.

Do comment, say hi, I’d love to hear from you!

Kyrosmagica xx

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July 1, 2015 16