Tag: writing

#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.

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No, this creature staring back at her 

had the definite air of a wild rabbit,

a dirty and downright ugly, wild rabbit.

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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://atomic-temporary-67364188.wpcomstaging.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

 

On Editing

Reblog of some great tips on editing writing from Rachel Carrera.

rachelcarrera's avatarRachel Carrera, Novelist

A while back, I posted a call to all writers who wanted to share their editing tips, and the first to take me up on my offer was my good friend and blogging brother, Craig, known to many as C.S. Boyack.  If you don’t already follow Craig’s blog, you’re missing a real treat.  And if you haven’t read any of his books yet, you don’t know what you’re missing.  (And I’m not just saying that because I got to design the cover to his most recent outstanding publication, Will O’ the Wisp.)  So without further ado, here’s Craig:

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rachel invited me over today to post about editing. (Like I know anything about it!) I’m fumbling along, learning as I go.

I’ve learned a few things along the way, and I’m willing to share these bits. I do my own editing for financial reasons. I know many…

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Blog Battle: Week 18 Theme Dream

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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.

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Bye for now, time for dreaming…

Marje @ Kyrosmagica xx

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

Words good or bad, are my very own!

The 777 Challenge

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I’ve been nominated to take part in the 777 Challenge by Candice Coates.

Here’s a link to her awesome blog, do check it out:   http://icameforthesoup.com/2015/07/09/entering-the-777-challenge/

 

Whatever could the 777  be?  It sounds a bit mysterious. Is it some kind of origami challenge?

 

No it isn’t origami. It is where you share a snippet from one of your recent WIP (Works In Progress.)

 

The rules are simple:

•Go to page 7 of your WIP (Or an older work that you have done and just love.)
•Scroll down to line 7
•Share the next 7 sentences in a blog post.
•After the excerpt tag 7 other writers to continue the challenge.

 

Just below the following short description you’ll find my selection from my first manuscript. It is a short excerpt from my fantasy novel set in Cambridge, UK.

Amelina is a young Krystallos, a girl with magical powers awakened by crystals, and art. There are many themes within the story, the main ones being: secrets, magic, deception, hypnotism, attraction, a hidden mystery, and the interplay between darkness and light.

Excerpt:

Amelina walked faster, her heart pounded in response trying to match the speed of her footsteps until it felt like it was stepping into a unified bursting point. The sound of their approaching foot-steps just behind her quickened, getting closer and closer.

As soon as they reached the tracks she heard the sound of a train thundering down. It silenced and stopped them all from moving an inch.

The tall boy sniggered, “Saved by the train.”

His friend laughed. The train thundered on.

My Nominees:

https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/

https://rebirthoflisa.wordpress.com/

http://mythsofthemirror.com/

http://silverthreading.com/

https://stacecampbell.wordpress.com/

http://carolinepeckham.com/

https://authoradamgainer.wordpress.com/

 

I’d recommend that you check out the above blogs they are great!

Thanks for stopping by. Do leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you.

kk

Marje @ Kyrosmagica xx

 

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

Words good or bad, are my very own!

 

Writer’s Quote Wednesday: Isaac Asimov

It’s Writer’s Quote Wednesday, via Colleen at Silver Threading.

Here’s the link to her blog if you’d like to join in her open invitation to take part in Writer’s Quote Wednesday: http://silverthreading.com/2015/06/24/writers-quote-wednesday-silver-inspiration/

 

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It is the writer who might catch the imagination of young people, and plant a seed that will flower and come to fruition.
– Isaac Asimov

Such wonderfully inspiring words from Isaac Asimov. Let’s take this dandelion, blow gently and scatter its tiny but powerful seeds of creativity far and wide. If we can nurture the imagination of our youngsters then indeed we have achieved something worth celebrating.

Writing for children and young adults is so inspiring and exciting too. This is the age when there are so many possibilities, and opportunities for growth. That’s not to say that there aren’t a multitude of difficulties too, growing up is never easy, and the teenage years can be particularly challenging. So many issues can and do rear their heads, bullying, gender and sexuality, peer pressure, these are just some of the obvious ones that come to mind. But if we allow children and young people a chance to dream beyond their current capabilities then who knows what they can achieve? My husband is always saying, “Reach for the stars,” to my two daughters, it may sound a bit over the top but it’s such sound advice. Yes, reach for those twinkly stars!

Do what you love, follow your dreams, and enjoy life to the full. Those stars may seem far away but with hard work and dedication, encouragement and belief in yourself those stars may not be as far as you think.

DREAM BIG…….

 

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About Isaac Asimov (Courtesy of Goodreads)

Isaac Asimov was a Russian-born, American author, a professor of biochemistry, and a highly successful writer, best known for his works of science fiction and for his popular science books.

Professor Asimov is generally considered the most prolific writer of all time, having written or edited more than 500 books and an estimated 90,000 letters and postcards. He has works published in nine of the ten major categories of the Dewey Decimal System (lacking only an entry in the 100s category of Philosophy).

Asimov is widely considered a master of the science-fiction genre and, along with Robert A. Heinlein and Arthur C. Clarke, was considered one of the “Big Three” science-fiction writers during his lifetime. Asimov’s most famous work is the Foundation Series; his other major series are the Galactic Empire series and the Robot series, both of which he later tied into the same fictional universe as the Foundation Series to create a unified “future history” for his stories much like those pioneered by Robert A. Heinlein and previously produced by Cordwainer Smith and Poul Anderson. He penned numerous short stories, among them “Nightfall”, which in 1964 was voted by the Science Fiction Writers of America the best short science fiction story of all time, a title many still honor. He also wrote mysteries and fantasy, as well as a great amount of nonfiction. Asimov wrote the Lucky Starr series of juvenile science-fiction novels using the pen name Paul French.

Most of Asimov’s popularized science books explain scientific concepts in a historical way, going as far back as possible to a time when the science in question was at its simplest stage. He often provides nationalities, birth dates, and death dates for the scientists he mentions, as well as etymologies and pronunciation guides for technical terms. Examples include his Guide to Science, the three volume set Understanding Physics, and Asimov’s Chronology of Science and Discovery.

Asimov was a long-time member and Vice President of Mensa International, albeit reluctantly; he described some members of that organization as “brain-proud and aggressive about their IQs” He took more joy in being president of the American Humanist Association. The asteroid 5020 Asimov, the magazine Asimov’s Science Fiction, a Brooklyn, NY elementary school, and two different Isaac Asimov Awards are named in his honor.

 

Hope you enjoyed Writer’s Quote Wednesday.

Thanks for stopping by.

Please do leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you.

 

kk

Marje at Kyrosmagica xx

 

20 Symptoms of Writeritis

Writeritis I’m a sufferer are you? All Writeritis suffered may find this a compelling Reblog from Myths from The Mirror.

D. Wallace Peach's avatarMyths of the Mirror

image from pinterest.com image from pinterest.com

As some of you know, a pervasive syndrome has troubled a segment of society for centuries. After years of research, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders finally classified these symptoms under the diagnosis: Writeritis. 

Writeritis is defined as a persistent, maladaptive pattern of writing that leads to clinically significant impairment or distress, as manifested by six (or more) of the following within a single month:

  1. A marked craving for increased amounts of writing, and longer periods of time to write.

  2. An unquenchable thirst for coffee.

  3. Repeated efforts to cut down or control word count are unsuccessful.

  4. Withdrawal occurs when writing is discontinued or suddenly reduced. Symptoms include shakiness, moodiness, and/or irritability.

  5. A tendency to rapidly relapse into extreme patterns of excessive rewriting – even after periods of abstinence or control.

  6. After writing, a compulsive urge to return and edit.

  7. An inability to initiate household chores until a plot hole is resolved.

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5 Photos – 5 Days Challenge Day 5 – Serena’s Bubble Monster

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I am currently taking part in the 5 Photos – 5 days challenge after being nominated by Annika Perry from

https://annikaperry.wordpress.com/

Here is my photo and writing for Day 5.

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I’ve had this photo in my mobile phone for ages. Why did I photograph my foamy bubble bath ? I was astonished at how big this foamy bubble bath had become, and as you can see it had quite a distinct shape. I’m glad I did because it became quite a stimulus for this little story below.

I’m ending the five day challenge on a light-hearted note, here’s my cheeky story of Serena’s Bubble Monster!!!

Serena’s Bubble Monster

Serena turned the tap on full blast. The candles flickered creating a relaxing ambience. Serena poured herself a large glass of wine, and gulped it down in one big glug. Then she poured another. Continuing in the same vein she tipped the whole bottle of her favourite scented apple bubble bath in. No half measures. Not tonight. The bubbles grew and grew until they resembled a very large foamy marshmallow, the aroma reminding her of the imagined scent of a delightful apple orchard.

Serena was very hungry and would have been tempted to eat this apple marshmallow feast if she wasn’t certain that it was made out of soap. The white bubbly marshmallow spread out in a most peculiar way, whipping around like an enormous candy floss generator growing bigger and bigger. Boy her low blood sugar level was getting to her! Serena tried to turn the tap off but it seemed to be stuck. The water just kept on coming, gushing out faster and faster. Serena dashed around the bathroom, desperately looking for something to grip the tap with. In the process the towel that she had secured around her body nearly fell off. She found a hand towel and tried turning the tap off again. Still no luck. If the water wouldn’t stop it would start to flood the house, and this foaming marshmallow bubble would keep on growing and growing.

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Serena sensed this was beyond the scope of her normal realm of experience. She couldn’t google this. In desperation she shouted for her husband but he didn’t come. He must have fallen asleep in front of the TV,  been listening to loud music, or gone to the pub without telling her. That sounded more likely. Ugh. Men!

She shouted again, and this time, she got a reply, a response she wasn’t expecting.

‘Stop shouting can’t you see I’ve got an important job on. You’re agitating me, and agitated bubbles make for an agitated fellow, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want that!’

The bubbles could talk? How peculiar!  They sounded like a gush of water you might hear at the end of a very long ride at your favourite water park.

This fountain of exploding bubbles waved his soapy arms about in distress, sending little clouds of foam tumbling in all directions.

Serena gasped. The bubbles were frothing and foaming and getting more distinct by the minute. The bubble creature was now the size of a little man, who appeared to be frowning.

“Oh, stop it! Will you stop it! Just for a minute, please, Mr what can I call you?” shouted Serena.

“I’m forgetting my manners, do accept my apologies, my dear, I’m …… Mr. Fuming Bubble Monster,” he replied with a soapy frown.

This was the last straw, Serena found herself on the verge of tears. It had been a particularly stressful week, she had run up a huge phone bill, been involved in a minor accident, and had a row with her husband.

“Stop creeping me out, Mr Fuming whatever you are,” she cried.

“Creeping you out, heavens to soap suds, I’m just teasing! Come now, can’t you take a joke? How could a Bubble Monster be creeping you out? I’m just made out of hot steamy water, and friendly bubbles!”

Serena saw her mistake, really it had been an overly stressful week. “Now that I look at you more closely I don’t think you look frightening, but I’m not sure what you are. You’re flicking bubbles everywhere, and if you keep this up you’ll flood my house.”

“I don’t flood houses, well not often, only when I’m very cross. Today I’m in a good mood. I loved your apple bubble bath by the way, what a lovely smell, so fresh and inviting. Lovely candles too, just what the doctor ordered, Serena, you have a great taste in bubble bath. I love your name by the way, Serena, very Serene. It’s just about good enough to eat, oh, not you, my dear, your bubble bath. I feel like a new, improved Bubble Monster now. I needed that so much, and lots of hot water, it’s so important, you’ll see, just one second,” the bubble monster  reached over with his foamy hand and turned the tap.

The tap groaned, and shrieked as if it was in terrible pain and then the water stopped.

“How did you manage to do that?” asked Serena, her forehead creasing with confusion.

“Bubble magic. Next time you run a bubble bath, remember my motto: Bubbles are magic, and magic must never ever be wasted.”

“Oh, now I see, you’re cross with me for emptying the whole of the bubble bath in.”

“Of course, I am, well said,” said the bubble monster as he started to slowly dissolve, his foamy body disappearing one bubble at a time down the plug hole.

“Hey, don’t go,” said Serena, dashing forward as if she was about to catch him.

“Sorry I’ve got to rush. Shame really. Tut Tut my soapy radar tells me someone else is up to bubble mischief.”

The Bubble Monster shook his soapy head, sending specks of bubbles everywhere.

The Bubble Monster began to shrink in size. Soon there was nothing left of him but his neck, chin, and his head, all of which were resting right by the plug hole.

‘We’ll meet again, my dear,” replied the Bubble Monster, his words barely audible, as parts of his head  started to disappear.

“When?” asked Serena.

The Bubble Monster had to race to answer, his words speeding up, faster, and faster.  “Soon. I’m sure of it. Buy more bubble bath. Light more candles.  Atmosphere is everything. Don’t use it all, but don’t be stinggggy.  I’ll check. Take care, Serene Serena. Have a nice bath…..     YIKES…….G O O D B Y E EEEEE…………”

He managed one final lop-sided grin, and a mischievous bubbly wink, and then he was gone.

© Marjorie Mallon 2015 – aka, Kyrosmagica.
Words good or bad, are my very own!

Now for the rules of the challenge:

‘Post a photo each day for five consecutive days, and tell a story about each photo.  The story can be truth or fiction, poetry or prose.  Each day one must also nominate a fellow blogger to participate in the challenge.’

Today I would like to nominate:https://ladyleemanila.wordpress.com/

I hope you might like to join in this challenge and I look forward to seeing your post if you do.

Well, that’s me I’ve completed the challenge. Here’s the links to the previous posts if you’ve missed them:

https://atomic-temporary-67364188.wpcomstaging.com/2015/06/25/5-photos-5-days-challenge-day-4-the-green-cap-man-meets-a-sticky-end/

https://atomic-temporary-67364188.wpcomstaging.com/2015/06/24/5-photos-5-days-challenge-day-3-wi-fi-red-phone-box-dating/

https://atomic-temporary-67364188.wpcomstaging.com/2015/06/23/5-photos-5-days-challenge-day-2-kings-college-sundial-clock-tower/

https://atomic-temporary-67364188.wpcomstaging.com/2015/06/22/five-photos-five-days-challenge-day-1-lost-dreams-drug-oblivian/

Thanks so much for dropping by. Please feel free to leave a comment, I’d love it if you do.

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Bye for now!

Marje @ Kyrosmagica  x

5 Photos – 5 days Challenge Day 4 – The Green Cap Man Meets A Sticky End

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I am currently taking part in the 5 Photos – 5 days challenge after being nominated by Annika Perry from

https://annikaperry.wordpress.com/

Here is my photo and writing for Day 4.

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This photograph seems to have triggered something quite peculiar in me, which is really strange if you consider it is a very nice looking photograph of a sweetshop.

Anyway, apologies to the shop owners – This is no reflection on their shop which I hasten to add is awesome. And to the random stranger  I photographed, no doubt you had a nice day and nothing strange happened to you, and I’m sure you’re not a Grandfather, please forgive me!

Warning: This short piece of writing is a bit creepy, in a tongue and cheek way. I’ve no idea why this ended up like this but anyway, hope I don’t give you nightmares!

 

 

 The Green Cap Man Meets A Sticky End.

A man in a pastel green cloth cap walks by oblivious to where he’s standing. His name is Archie. Archie is a School Lollipop crossing guy.  He likes to wear bright colours, in his job this is a necessity, but some might say that he will regret wearing what he’s chosen today. That jaunty cap was a bad idea. Archie is about to cross the threshold but he doesn’t know it. The threshold looks innocuous, it’s just a crossing, a long black and white liquorice pole with a yellow bonbon on top. The shop’s exterior windows are hot pink cerise, everything on display is magnified, there are gigantic love hearts, enormous lollipops, massive angry birds, huge chews, and all manner of mouth-watering sumptuous delights.

When Archie takes that step, it happens, he wasn’t to know. Nobody seems to notice. Everybody is way too pre-occupied. It’s Saturday and the shop is flooded with busy. The shop assistants are pricing up items on tills, or replenishing stock, and parents are keeping their children from putting too many sweets in their bags, or their mouths! The childrens’ alert eyes pretend that they don’t see Archie’s foolish move, but of course it’s a sugar coated lie, and they do nothing to stop him. To them it’s as if he has always been there. The children think Archie’s rightful place is right here. Grandfather Archie with his pastel green cloth cap holding a huge packet of yummy sweets. He’s encased in the window now, his foot raised slightly as if he’s about to move forward. The movement is a hint of his former ebullient self. He’s a well-placed mannequin, no doubt the display artist would have been proud. Archie can’t take another step, he’s stuck, but at least he’s up there with the other award winning display items. Poor Archie, he’s now blind, deaf and dumb. But it’s no Who concert, no Rock tragedy, he’s not Tommy. This total loss of his senses lasts only a moment. His finely tuned sense of smell returns to him first. He’s surrounded by the most profound aroma of sweetness. Forever. Then it hits him. He can hear children laughing, giggling in their childish way, but don’t let it fool you. The sound is loud, over inflated so many times he’s almost sure that a pumped balloon is about to explode in his head. Archie’s vision begins to return. His eyes are wide, and startled looking. His vision is impaired as if he’s been looking through a sugar coated lining, now fast becoming a growing telescope of fear. The joke’s on him, his false teeth chatter. Nothing else moves, his lips are still, stuck together with layer upon layer of candy chews. He can’t speak. His throat is stuffed, with blasts of popping candy.

© Marjorie Mallon 2015 – aka, Kyrosmagica.
 Words good or bad, are my very own!

I hope you might like to join in the challenge and if you do they are as follows:

‘Post a photo each day for five consecutive days, and tell a story about each photo.  The story can be truth or fiction, poetry or prose.  Each day one must also nominate a fellow blogger to participate in the challenge.’

http://wordsandimagesbycynthia.com/

I look forward to seeing her posts.

Thanks for dropping by.

kk

Kyrosmagica xx

 

5 Photos – 5 days Challenge Day 3 – Wi Fi Red Phone Box Dating!!!

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I am currently taking part in the 5 Photos – 5 days challenge after being nominated by Annika Perry from her blog: https://annikaperry.wordpress.com/

Here is my photo and writing for Day 3.

Well, when I saw this Red Wi-Fi box it took me back to the days of red phone boxes, and this kind of inspired this little piece of flash fiction:

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https://kyrosmagica.wordpress.com

Wi-Fi Red Phone Box Dating.

Fifty, Fifty, Fifty, Fifty. Fifty. Five times, that’s enough. I don’t want to be reminded about my age. I’m going to the gym, hanging out in all the cool roof top vistas, and sipping gin and tonics in the sun. Who knows? I might even end up raving in a nightclub somewhere. I’m fascinated by this little red box. Apparently these used to be red phone boxes, how quaint!   Nowadays these red boxes house Wi-Fi hot spots.

It’s tiny. Dark inside. There’s a light switch, click. If I touch this button I wonder what will happen? My hands tremble as my fingertips linger over the device. I give in to temptation. Oops, someone’s knocking on the door, wanting to come in and share my Wi-Fi dream. I wonder if I should let them in? What will he be like? If I don’t find him appealing can I lock him out with a key? Or would that be too cruel?

Then my babbling thoughts are thrust into a hasty retreat as I hear the sound of his voice.

“Hi, I’m Pete,” he says. I can’t see him yet but his voice is promising, nice.

“I’m Liz,” I reply.

“This is different,” says Pete, stepping into the box.

“Yes, it certainly is. Wi-Fi dating. A box of dreams,” I say smiling.

“It’s all new to me,” he says, but his eyes look away.

“Yeah, me too. The red box crew got it more or less right, the roof top vista, overlooking Cambridge city centre looks wicked, and I don’t mind a gym session, but I’m not too sure about the nightclub.”

“Maybe that’s an optional extra, you could opt to press shift?” replies Pete raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. I may do. But maybe we should be adventurous,” I suggest waiting to see how he will react.

“Yes why not. I’m up for an adventure.”

I’m beginning to flirt. I remember the signs.

I like that a lot.

“And I’m treating you. I’ll pick up the tab,” replies Pete.

The word tab cuts it dead, and so does treating you. I’m not some sort of invalid. Two slices threaten the circuitry of the red box dream.

“There’s no need,” I reply my voice rising shrilly.

“Don’t worry I don’t possess that key, the one you’re worried about,” his eyes twinkle in amusement, flickers of blue, green, light.

I sigh. “That’s a relief, I wasn’t sure if all my requirements had been noted. How thoughtful of you to say.”

“It’s my pleasure,” his cute accent sends my mind reeling.

I forget all about the tab gaff.

A smile lights up my face as if I’ve pressed the page up and page down key and the smile doesn’t quite know where to stop. Where will it end? Which key will we end on? End, Home or Shift? At least I don’t have to worry about Control (Ctrl.) I don’t want anyone controlling me. No. Not after the last one, the one I had to delete. Fast.

There’s a pause in the conversation, the system’s doing an update. I wait until it’s finished and then I check him out. Boy, this updated verson ticks all my compulsory Wi-Fi boxes, and more. He’s tall, dark and handsome. Not short, pale, bald and pasty. No need to press the up arrow or the right, left key. His proportions are perfect. He’s got an enhanced smile too, even better than before and he isn’t a day over fifty. In fact he appears a lot younger. A lot, lot younger. Twenty years younger. He looks like he goes to the gym. Regularly. So my hands stay well away from the delete key.

“I hope you’re happy with the update?” asks Pete, breaking into my thoughts. He frowns a little as if he’s not sure if  his asking is correct protocol.

“I am.” I find myself blushing.

His tee-shirt rides up a little, my eyes linger, on taut, well toned muscles. For a second or two I seem to have stopped breathing. I remember to breathe.

“Happy Birthday,” I say, with a grin, aware that if I don’t say something quickly my eyes will bore an exploratory hole through his tee-shirt.

“How did you know it was my birthday?” asks Pete.

I frown a little.

“It was a 50/50 chance I was right. These boxes are birthday dates sometimes.”

“Oh, yes I see. Silly me. The fifty slogan on the box, I’m being a bit dim,” says Pete, a flicker of anxiety crosses his face.

“No worries,” I say.

My frown melts. I can update again if need be, no cause for concern.

‘Happy Birthday to you too!”

“Thank you!” I reply with a smile.

“So you’re following the red box’s advice, no right clicks or left clicks? You’re going to the gym, then a drink in the rooftop bar, plus a night club?”

“Yes, might as well, let’s keep it simple. Would you care to join me Pete?”

“Yes lets, what a wonderful idea, I’d love to.”

Pete appears relieved, I notice his shoulders relaxing,  a moment ago they seemed to be hitched up to his ears. I suppose he must have been worried that his birthday was about to be blown out, all  fifty candles no longer flickering.

I press the escape key. He doesn’t sigh but I know from the expression on his face that he wants to. We leave the red box and step out into our date. I need a cool shot of alcohol, all this dating internet shenanigans makes me anxious. Who knows what may happen? But one things for certain, fifty is the new thirty. Maybe we might end up together in the love zone, or even find ourselves at home, no shift key required. Sweet.

© Marjorie Mallon 2015 – aka, Kyrosmagica.
 Words good or bad, are my very own!

 

Article about converting red phone boxes to Wi-Fi spots: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/technology/3110726.stm

 

 

I hope you might want to join in the Challenge and if you do here are the rules:

‘Post a photo each day for five consecutive days, and tell a story about each photo.  The story can be truth or fiction, poetry or prose.  Each day one must also nominate a fellow blogger to participate in the challenge.’

Today I would like to nominate Julia at My Red Page: https://myredpage.wordpress.com/to take on this challenge, if she would like to.

I look forward to seeing her post.

Thanks for dropping by.

kk

Kyrosmagica x