Rachael Ritchey

One Year Anniversary #BlogBattle: Blood Moon A Rip of A Ride

Rachael is doing things differently this week as it one year since she started #BlogbBattle so to celebrate this one year anniversary we have been asked to :

  1. Choose one of your #BlogBattle stories from the past year
  2. Edit it however you would like
  3. Reblog/repost it next week on Tuesday, March 15th.
  4. Make sure you specify the genre and the theme word

I just found out about this today so without further ado I’d like to repost one of my old stories which I originally wrote on September 29th. It features Ryder, my male protagonist in the Krystallos Cottage…  flexing his blood moon muscles.  Hope you enjoy…

Genre: Fantasy.

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Title: Blood Moon A Rip of A Ride

It began with a rocking horse, a child’s toy. Ryder discovered this antique treasure in a quirky street window, down ‘the lanes,’ in Brighton. He strolled along, his rocking horse in hand and joined the queue for the busy student bus back to campus. A couple of ladies stared at his greediness, his decadence, taking up two empty seats. Undeterred he smirked, patting the rocking horse’s head. The ladies glared. The corners of his mouth flattened into a sharp line, a knife edge of confrontation.

When he arrived back at his flat his flatmates exchanged knowing glances, cataloguing Ryder and his rocking horse even further in the oddity section. Only Olivia, his recent conquest gave him the benefit of the doubt. He appreciated that and made a mental note to reward her later. A midnight kiss perhaps.

The perhaps became a definite. When he left the warm embrace of slumbering Olivia the moon lay heavy in the sky, its orb a perfect circle of complete mysteriousness. Ryder hung out his bedroom window staring, pleading with the moon to notice him. He dangled precariously, goading the moon to come closer. The pumpkin moon glowed blood red, a bleeding heart, surrounded by an uncaring sky. The rocking horse began to move slowly absorbing the moon’s vital energy. Ryder could hear it’s creaking joints jarring to and fro behind him. Next he heard the sound of an ice cream van, its tune winding its way towards him. He hung further out of the window wondering about this strange phenomenon, an ice cream van in the middle of the night. He grabbed his jacket, rushing to catch the van before it disappeared.

Outside he dashed, his senses overflowing with midnight promises, a feast of sugary ice-cream. But, no van appeared. He waited. Displeased. Again he heard the jingle of the van teasing him, laughing at his foolish, childlike desires. The music grew louder and louder, he covered his ears about to turn away, now desperate to escape. The van came to a screeching halt just as he took his first step. Ryder smiled. The hatch opened, and a man peered out. He had a round face, the roundest face that Ryder had ever seen, vanilla white, pock marked, hair as black as the midnight sky.

There were no signs to indicate what kind of ice cream he sold.  So Ryder waited for him to speak.

“Well, I haven’t got all night, what do you want?” said the man, as his creamy white face turned a surly red.

“I’m not sure,” replied Ryder, “What ice creams do you have?”

“Ice creams? What? No ice creams here young man.”

“But you’re riding in an ice cream van, playing an ice-cream jingle .”

“That’s true, but that’s not what I do.”

“What do you do?” asked Ryder, frowning.

“Hop aboard, ride the van and you’ll find out,” said the man, his face returning to its original brilliant white.

Ryder hesitated. This was strange, but Ryder thrived on strange, so he agreed. The man opened the back of the van and Ryder climbed in.

Inside the van Ryder could see only darkness. Blackness drifted towards him filling his senses with a bleak sense of loss. The man handed him a tiny torch that gave off a brilliant light.

“Come,” he said.

The van was motionless, yet Ryder could swear that he felt movement. They walked and walked further into the darkness.

Suddenly they stopped.

A bright light shone from the torch on to a patch of turf. How curious. This van’s opened doors revealed a vast land which stretched its tendril like fingers, shadows extending everywhere.

Ryder recognised the land. He sighed.

“Home,” he said.

“Yes,” said the man.

“Why have you brought me here?”

“It’s nearly Halloween, lad. A time to visit the place of your birth.”

Ryder heard the sound of the fairground, the laughter, candy floss and excitement, but behind it all he knew there was the ride.

There was no point in pleading with the man, asking him to take him back. He had to accept his fate, whatever that might be.

“Come,” said the man.

Ryder lifted his heavy feet, a ghostly chill settling in his bones.

The man opened the door of the roller coaster and let him in. The rollercoaster groaned. Ryder’s soul cried.

A jingle began to play, a cheerful ditty, but Ryder that knew this would be short lived, soon he would hear a tune that would throw him into oblivion, and there was nothing he could do. Nothing at all.

The clamp locked around him. He gripped the sides of his seat, clenched his teeth, and prepared to ride. It started off slowly, a gentle teasing introduction, but soon the ride picked up pace, the jingle attempting to keep up with the speed of the ride.

The ride sped faster and faster, his heart pounded in his chest, sweat dripping from his brow, as his skin pulled and pushed as if dragged from his face by an ever increasing force.

The ride came to a sudden jarring, screeching, halt.  No gentle ending. No time to breathe. No time to think.

Ryder’s head spun. He could only see shadows. No light, no moon, no sun, no happiness only the bleakest most appalling darkness. A blanket of despair.

He shook his head, as if to dispel this vision.

Out of the shadows a person appeared.  At first he was uncertain whether it was male or female, but as his eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light he recognised this bearer of bad fortune.

“Hello mother,” he said.

His mother walked towards him, she unbuckled the clamp, but said nothing. It was not their way, emotion was not tolerated in this land of childlike dreams, and nightmares.

He touched his eye, but knew the answer already, the beautiful crystal had been wrenched, a rip caused by the ride. His eye wept. What price would he pay for its release? Only time would tell.

Hope you liked my story, you may have read it before…..

Do pop over to Rachael’s blog to wish her a happy one year #BlogBattle anniversary or to enter : http://rachaelritchey.com/2016/03/07/blogbattle-one-year-anniversary/

Bye for now,

 

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Marje @ Kyrosmagica.

 

 

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#Blog Battle Week 37: Arrival

 

 

 

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It’s a while since I’ve done a #Blog Battle so today seems a good day to remedy that, the theme this week is  Arrival and my story genre is: Science Fiction, Human Interest. I don’t usually write Science Fiction so this is a bit of a change for me.   I read an article on my plane journey to Glasgow about the advances in technology expected by the year 2035, I found it fascinating so this is why I decided to write a story with a Science Fiction slant, I coupled this with an idea that arose from the recent events and loss of life that tragically occurred  on the weekend of Friday the 13th of November.

So the message behind the story is simply this: if only life could be simpler, perhaps we could live in harmony with each other. This is my dedication to the victims and families of the victims of recent atrocities, my heart goes out to you.

 

 

My Sweet Arrival

I stepped into the True-life booth. The empty booth had no visuals or sound to begin with it, it was dark and devoid of life, but then a cry filled the small booth, tugging at my heart strings; it claimed my heart and set it fluttering with sheer joy. Such a needy cry, a cry I remembered so well. The baby shrieked, its newborn lungs filling the booth with its plaintive cries. I held my baby shielding her from the world, crying into her newborn eyes, sharing my story with her.

Her due date had been the ninth of January but of course this strong minded individual had other ideas, a Christmas baby sounded much more exciting! She arrived early, two weeks before her time, greedy to meet the world. A perfect unexpected gift born on Christmas day, her birth recorded in the local newspaper, already she was a celebrity! The first of many sacrifices began, my schedule was no longer mine to organise, and instead a tiny child stole my heart and my day. I ate mouthfuls of Christmas dinner on the ward instead of a hearty meal with all the trimmings at a neighbour’s house! Yet, this unexpected celebration was altogether more wonderful. Her floppy body, and inability to feed would have fooled many but I was not fooled. A mother always knows her child. From that moment on her strength of character was apparent. She started her quest for liberation, stepping away from me whenever she could, this whirlwind toddler chatted to strangers, hid in shops, sang on stage, and when no stage was to be found she sang wherever she could, airports being her favourite gig. Our holidays away were spent chasing after her, as she scoured the beach searching for mysteries in each and every grain of sand. Her future was mapped, like her grandfather before her, she would travel to the furthest shore, see each and every delight of the world. She knew how to wake us up, shake us into taking notice of her, such power in those tiny lungs, that delicate body. The love was overwhelming, immediate, and everlasting.

But now I fear for every step that she takes, I long for her to stay by my side, because the world has become a volcano of smouldering hate. I return to the booth often to sooth my nerves, to try to take me back to that time when life seemed simpler, kinder, and altogether gentler. Hate roams the world voyaging far and wide it seeks to destroy us all with its evil kiss. We live in dangerous times, the target is our youth, our children who we have nurtured, whom we love.

In this time of unmatched technology, human accomplishments are phenomenal, yet we cannot live in peace. Our intelligence and progress has been our undoing, we have no purpose in life anymore, robots, our very own creation, manufactured to be articulate, clever, and purposeful have ensured that there are no jobs for us. So with nothing to occupy us we set out to destroy what we have built, piece by piece, bit by bit, the earth crumbles. We have been so blinded by our own capabilities, now we must pay the highest price, the loss of our dear children.

Last week my friend’s daughter was murdered. Her demise was bloody, and sudden. So cruel, she had been an angel, a sweet young woman just starting her life. A piece of me died that day, and can never be resurrected, so I go to the booth often to try to remember what it was like twenty years ago before the atrocities began. But try as I might it only gives me temporary comfort, and I leave feeling sadder than before. No advances in technology can sooth my friend, her heart is broken, fragmented by loss, and nothing can restore her to the person she was before. I see it in her eyes, now they stare, holding her suffering in blank pools of sorrow when once they used to sparkle.

They say that life is sweet but for me it has lost its gloss, and this shiny gloss has been replaced by clenched sorrow for my dear friend. The stark line of her tragic lips hold an unspoken story of a living nightmare that no booth however advanced, can ever erase. If this is progress then I long for mankind to return to the simple moments that we have lost, but technology is forever advancing taking us further and further into the abyss. It will be our undoing, I whisper into the booth, but the booth doesn’t respond. I look down at this computer generated baby and realise that we have no true enemies but ourselves, my sweet, dearest, child.

© Marjorie Mallon 2015 – aka, Kyrosmagica. All Rights Reserved.

Do share your views I’d love to hear your opinion on my #BlogBattle story.

 

If you’d like to join in with BlogBattle or vote for your favourite entry here’s the link to Rachael’s blog:

http://rachaelritchey.com/blogbattle/

Bye for now, do come by Kyrosmagica again, I love visitors.

 

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Marje @ Kyrosmagica xx

 

All About Writer’s Groups Plus On-Line Writing Resources

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I found this quote on Pixabay and it seemed oddly appropriate to my intention today which is to share with you some information and advice about joining a writer’s group, and to inform you about Virginia Bergin’s forthcoming scheduled talk at Cambridge Writers, in December, debut author of sci-fi, apocalyptic/dystopian horror-thrillers, The Rain, and The Storm.

Writing Tip: Don’t wait for the storm to pass, don’t wait for the writer’s groups and opportunities to come to you, go out and find them, even if it is pouring with rain and you’d rather stay in and watch telly! Go out, switch the telly off, learn new skills, discover new friends, dance in the rain if need be, sample all there is on offer!!

I am very fortunate, as there are several Writer’s groups here in Cambridge. I joined Cambridge Writers over two years ago, and I’m so glad that I did, I have found it a wonderful source of help and support.  I’m coordinator of the Children’s Writing Group, and the go to person if you’d like to find out more about the group: http://www.cambridgewriters.net/members/51_marjorie_mallon

So with this in mind I’d like to share with you my twelve reasons why I think it is important to join a writer’s group.

Reasons why you should join a Writer’s group:

  1. It enables you to meet with and share ideas with other writers on a regular basis.
  2. There are often special evenings with visiting authors coming to discuss their novels/writing.
  3. As well as this you might find there are discussion sessions on particular topics which may be of interest to you.
  4. You will meet with a wide range of people, this is a certainty, writers tend to be an interesting bunch of people!
  5. It tends to be a supportive environment, with more experienced writers, (some of whom have been published,) giving invaluable advice and help to new writers.
  6. Yes, Positive criticism is offered, but it will be done in a way that is constructive and helpful rather than upsetting and demotivating.
  7. You have the joy of reading out your masterpiece in front of a small select audience of fellow writers who listen attentively and then pass comment.
  8. No 7. may sound a bit daunting. I have to confess this was a bit scary the first time I read out my story  but you will soon find that it doesn’t bother you anymore. It is such a confidence building exercise!
  9. Often there are differing groups which you can attend, depending on the size of the writer’s group. Cambridge Writers caters for poets, writers of long prose, short prose, travel writing, and children’s writing. You may try forms of writing that you have never tried before, in my case I am now finding myself drawn to short prose, travel writing, and I’ve even written a few pieces of poetry!
  10. There are all sorts of ways to get involved, in my case I have taken over as coordinator of the children’s writing group. In my new role as coordinator I have been able to use my social media contacts to find a speaker for the next author’s event, Virginia Bergin debut author of The Rain,  and The Storm is coming to speak at Cambridge Writers on Tuesday 1st December:  http://virginiabergin.com/
  11. It is fun! You will meet new friends, drink lots of tea and coffee, consume a ridiculous amount of biscuits, cakes, and crisps, and might even go to the pub afterwards!
  12. It is far better than watching the telly, if you join I promise that you will never be bored again! Boredom what is that?
If you are in the vicinity of Cambridge, do come along to meet Virginia. Here’s a link to find out more: http://www.cambridgewriters.net/meetings
As well as this we are also very fortunate to have a wonderful script writing group in Cambridge that you can get involved in if drama is your thing. I have been along to this a few times and sampled what they have to offer and have to say I was very impressed. I even had a go at some acting, which was such fun: http://www.writeon.org.uk/

There are also a plethora of on-line writing groups too, one that comes to mind is Rachael Ritchey’s Weekly Writing Blog Battle.  I’d definitely recommend this friendly bunch of Blog Battlers, do join in the fun:  http://rachaelritchey.com/blogbattle/

Esther Newton is a writing tutor that I met with in person this August at the Bloggers Bash event in London. She has a great blog with lots of writing prompts, a weekly writing challenge, and writing competitions, and markets for writers. Check out her current Flash competition, get your skates on if you want to join in, the deadline is this Sunday, 15th November: https://esthernewtonblog.wordpress.com/flash-fiction-competition-2015/

Sacha Black, one of the principal organisers of the Bloggers Bash, also has Writespiration prompts, writing tips, and resources on her blog. Here’s the link to her current writespiration prompt:  http://sachablack.co.uk/2015/11/11/writespiration-66-2-sentence-horror-story/

Via Esther Newton and Sacha Black I found out about the Guardian Stephen King Short Fiction Competition, up to 4,000 words. The closing date for this competition is 18th December: http://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2015/oct/30/stephen-king-short-fiction-competition-send-us-your-stories

Dan Alatorre offers a Flash Fiction Challenge which you can get involved in: http://danalatorre.com/2015/10/09/flash-fiction-challenge/comment-page-1/#comment-2547

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields has a Friday Fictioneers event, a 100 words writing challenge: https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/friday-fictioneers-2/

I’d recommend popping over to see The Secret Keeper’s wonderful blog and Writing challenges: http://thesecretkeeper.net/writing-challenges/

A flash fiction challenge from Carrot Ranch, this one has been recommended to me by fellow WordPress blogger Geoff at Tangental:  http://carrotranch.com/2014/11/06/flash-fiction-rules/

If you are inclined to writing poetry there are also lots of ways to get involved.  I’d recommend Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge : https://ronovanwrites.wordpress.com/category/haiku-prompt-challenge/

Ronovan is also starting a new prompt this Friday, Friday Fictions Challenge, I must be psychic!! Here’s the link to his blog to find out more about this too : https://ronovanwrites.wordpress.com/2015/11/13/friday-fictions-challenge-1/

Also there are sites such as Wattpad, a free writing community for writers and readers: https://www.wattpad.com/

Describli, too, an online community “that uses writing prompts to spark creativity and connect readers and writers.”  https://describli.com/

And of course there is Nanowrimo, which I must confess I have never done!! One day perhaps, here’s the link to find out more about this online National Novel Writing Month: http://nanowrimo.org/

So what are you waiting for!!! No excuses there are lots of ways to get involved, either to start writing or to progress your writing.

No doubt numerous other bloggers offer word prompts and a range of ways to get involved, so if I haven’t mentioned you here and you would like to be on this list do leave a message in the comment field below, and I’ll add you too.

Hope you found this list of resources and advice helpful.

Bye for now, I’d love to hear from you!

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Marje @ Kyrosmagica xx

#Blog Battle. An Exercise in Fun: Orchid Girl

This is my entry for Rachael Ritchey’s writing Blog Battle: http://rachaelritchey.com/blogbattle/

Week 28 Theme is Orchid and the genre of my short story is Paranormal Romance.

Date to Post: Tuesday, September 29th, 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.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!

Orchid Girl

The heady exotic scent of the orchids reminded him of a time long ago. On that particular day he had filled his living room with a floral tribute to a past life which he celebrated each year without fail. But this time it was different, he had made special plans and now they were about to come to fruition. He waited nervously for the clock to announce that it was time for him to pick Suzie up. He could hardly contain his excitement; he set about making his house as beautiful as he could so that it would meet Suzie’s expectations. But would Suzie meet his?

He had been met with derision when he told his friends and family about his plans, a mail order bride how ridiculous! A middle aged, lonely old man, exhibiting signs of desperation that’s what they’d said, or intimidated.

He greeted his bride at the airport with a shy hug. An almost perfect vision of beauty, her petite frame, and jet black hair gleamed with a glossy, playful youthfulness but her delicate features couldn’t conceal a tragic expression that seemed irreversible.

He wondered how he was to bear looking at such a sad face for the rest of his life. He prayed that he could turn the sharp downwards turn of her lips to a smile.

The journey back to his house was more or less silent apart from short bursts of conversation, in which she replied with a yes or a no.

But when she walked into the living room, she couldn’t contain her enthusiasm.
“This pretty,” she said, pointing at the orchids, a hint of a smile playing seductively on the edge of her lovely lips.

The orchids had won a tiny place in her heart, orchids always did.

As the day departed and evening began to suggest itself Alfred’s nervousness increased. It was such a long time since he had gone to bed with a woman. So many years, he did not care to count how many. He worried about his wobbly tummy, his hairy chest smattered with tiny grey hairs. Would this young woman cry and sob into his sheets, would he be the cause of a further sharp downturn of her sweet lips?

He gave her privacy to get undressed, imagined her placing a silky negligee on the bed, slipping into it, and laying her head on his pillow. He imagined her black hair fanned out on the pillow, a sharp contrast to the crisp whiteness of the sheets. He plucked one of the orchids from its stem, and took it up to her intending to pop it into her hair.

When he walked into the bedroom the humid room reminded him of a stifling greenhouse. He opened the window to let in some fresh air. He daren’t look at her, not yet, that magical moment would come later. As the fresh air drifted into the room, he turned to undress her with his gaze, but he saw his foolishness straight away.

He sat on the edge of the crisp bed, his eyes brimming with tears. He deserved this. It was always the same, she never came. He wept, picking up his wedding picture, his wife Grace stared back at him. Grace’s smiling face could match the most beautiful of sunsets. He couldn’t bear it, why did he torture himself this way? She had died without his saying goodbye. No final farewell.

Every year it was the same, on the anniversary of her death, he always bought orchids, her favourite flower and he filled their home with them. But she didn’t come. He had resorted to shock tactics, imagining a fantasy to bring her back to him one last time. His fantasy scenarios never worked, he sensed her presence in their room, but she didn’t return to him. Why would she?

He didn’t deserve her. He cried, and cried. He lifted up the tiny bottle of pills, his hands trembled as he tipped them out. Such tiny pills, he thought, so harmless looking. The water next, one big gulp and it would be all over, no more suffering. But as he turned the lid of the bottle, he thought he saw a tiny movement. The glass had moved, it was no longer on his bedside table but appeared to be hovering before him. As he looked at the glass more closely he saw the sweet semblance of his wife, a shimmering sunset glow, holding death away from him. The water tipped, evaporating as it splashed.

Alfred couldn’t believe his eyes. She had come back, his Grace, his love. “It’s you,” he said, his voice cracked, breaking with emotion.
“Yes.”
“My Gracie, I’ve missed you so much. Why have you taken so long to come back to me?”

“Hurt lay heavy in my heart, so my friend time, became my healer. Now the time is right for you to live and love again. Now I can rest forever.”

  “No, Grace, please, there’s something I must tell you.”

“There’s no need, it has taken me a long while, but I forgive you Alfred. I always knew that you didn’t mean those hurtful words.”

“I’m so sorry Grace, I was stressed. I lost my temper, shouted at you, when I shouldn’t have. I blamed myself for your heart attack.”

“You’re not to blame Alfred. My heart attack wasn’t caused by anything you said. But all this crazy fantasising is giving me a ghost of a second heart attack! Promise me this Alfred, live your life. Let your fantasies become realities. Maybe not that mail order bride, that’s preposterous, but you know what I mean.”

“I promise, Grace.”

He tucked the living orchid in the wispy suggestion of her sunlit hair. She gifted him one last sunset smile, a whispered farewell, and the sweetest hint of a lover’s kiss.

© Marjorie Mallon 2015 – aka, Kyrosmagica. All Rights Reserved.

Thanks for reading my blog battle entry I hope you enjoyed it. Do comment and let me know what you think.

Bye for now,

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Marje @ Kyrosmagica xx

 

#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://kyrosmagica.wordpress.com/2015/08/04/blog-battle-week-21-writing-theme-eye/ and https://kyrosmagica.wordpress.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.  

© Marjorie Mallon 2015 – aka, Kyrosmagica. All Rights Reserved.

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.

kk

Marje @ Kyrosmagica xx

 

 

 

#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:

  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!

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://kyrosmagica.wordpress.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.

© Marjorie Mallon 2015 – aka, Kyrosmagica. All Rights Reserved.

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.

kk

Thank you for stopping by.

Marje @ Kyrosmagica xx

 

#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:

  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!

 

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.

lop-eared-314881__180

No, this creature staring back at her 

had the definite air of a wild rabbit,

a dirty and downright ugly, wild rabbit.

rabbit-740869_640

 

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.

kk

Marje @ Kyrosmagica xx

 

© Marjorie Mallon 2015 – aka, Kyrosmagica. All Rights Reserved.

 

#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.

dream-153263_640I 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://kyrosmagica.wordpress.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.

kk

Marje @Kyrosmagica xx

 

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