I'm going to keep this short and sweet this week. (Okay, so maybe not sweet, but definitely short.)
The prompt: Death appeared inevitable ...
Whether you choose to kill off your character or not ... Enjoy!
*****************************************************************************
My response:
Maybe I was too naïve. All I'd ever done was try to serve my people. It was surprising how quickly they turned against me.
I stumbled as I crossed the platform, my hobbled feet tangling and making me lurch forward. My hands flew up, but tied as they were, they only scraped against the weathered wood, picking up splinters, as I crashed to the ground.
Before I managed to reorient myself, a painful vice clamped around my arm and lifted me up, setting me roughly back on my feet. Rotten vegetables splattered where I had just been, the juice spattering my skirt. It was so dirty already, the extra spots didn't make a difference. I stumbled along, stopping beneath the noose meant for me. The man behind me kept walking, pushing up against me. It wasn't a mistake. I caught the look in his eyes just before the soldier wrenched him away, towards his own noose. A chill ran down my back.
I'd fought against the King's orders, against his demand for higher taxes, against his draft of able bodied young men to fight his wars ... and in the end, this was all I gained for it. A noose between a murderer and a rapist.
I didn't want to lift my eyes. I'd seen this kind of crowd before. But I knew my place. I had done no wrong, and I would not hang my head in shame. I lifted my chin.
To my great relief, I didn't see anyone I recognized. I knew quite a few of the local villagers, and they knew me. Before me was a group of lowlifes and vagrants, their clothing ragged and torn. They came to the execution only for the alms the Sherriff would distribute after. Blood money.
There was no grand ceremony, no reading of sentences or last chances to repent. The executioner just started at one end of the gallows and worked his way down. He patiently helped the accused to stand on the tall stood, fastened the noose, kicked the stool away, and made sure they were dead before he moved on. And now he was standing beside me.
I stepped up, careful of my dirt-caked skirts. My head spun, a result of not having eaten in two days, but I clenched my teeth, determined to face my end with all the pride of my family. The last remaining heir of the lands of Cavenah, and we bow only to the rightful King.
The noose dropped over my head, and the executioner pulled it tight. The fraying rope poked and tore my skin. I bit my tongue and tasted blood. One moment passed. Two. Then three.
I heard the scrape of sword against scabbard behind me, then the executioner lay at my feet, his neck sliced neatly through. Then the rope hanging above me dropped from the beam and fell down my back.
In my ear, I heard his voice, like a song of redemption.
Today would not be my day to die.
Showing posts with label blank page. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blank page. Show all posts
Monday, September 8, 2014
Monday, September 1, 2014
The Blank Page
I hate staring at a blank page. When I have a story, and I'm not sure where to start, I can't just sit there and ponder with a clean slate in front of me. It's too stressful. Instead, I jump in and write something ... anything ... to avoid looking at the blank page. (Much like I'm doing now!)
But here's the thing: You can always go back and change it. If you started in the wrong place, no problem. Go back and cut or add more to fix it. If your voice was a little off because you weren't sure where you wanted to be, you can rewrite it after you've finished, when the voice is more concrete in your head. In the end, having an imperfect piece of writing is infinitely better than being stuck on that blank page.
The prompt this week is twofold. One: Follow my writing prompt and post your comment. Two: Go to your current writing project and add 2000 words to it this week. Don't let that blank page or the question of where to go from here stop your progression as a writer. Anything, no matter how imperfect, is better than a blank page.
This week's writing prompt: "It was past crazy. Like ... playing chicken with a gas tanker crazy."
Enjoy!
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My response:
The hole was black as Hell, and we were sure to end up there if we kept on with this crazy idea.
Krista let out an adrenaline-fueled giggle, the notes echoing through the black circle at our feet. Sara punched her in the shoulder, jerking her head towards the ritzy hotel sitting at the bottom of the slope. The hot springs pool was open twenty four hours, and while no customers were there, a pair of bored lifeguards lounged outside the snack shack.
Maggie was the only one not hyped up. She held her phone in both hands, scanning it around slowly. I could see her setting up the video in her mind. It would start with a panorama of where we were, explain the stunt, and then, after she'd signaled us, scan over to four girls in ski masks, hair tucked neatly away and only long, tanned limbs to identify us. The first video had gone viral, the third one made international headlines. YouTube fans clamored for more.
And Sara's ideas, reckless from the start, were getting to be downright dangerous.
I eased up to the edge, careful to stay out of Maggie's shot, but I needed to get a look for myself. This hot spring had been blocked off for years, ever since some kid drowned in it. It was in a hollow cave that went straight down into the granite of the mountain. Ninety feet above, a hole allowed sunlight in. The hotel had carved out a second entrance just above water level and built a dock, but that was all boarded up now. It had taken all four of us to pull the manhole cover off the hole at the top... the cover intended to keep people out.
Deb waited until Maggie stepped back, then knelt down next to me. She pulled a handful of light sticks out of her bag. Glancing behind her, she made sure her body was between the lights of the hotel and what she was doing. I maneuvered myself to make sure no one on the road could see. She snapped a stick and tossed it down towards the side where we suspected the dock would be.
The light fell too quickly, faster than my eyes could adjust. All I saw was the glimmering of moist walls before the plop of the light stick into water, then darkness. Three more times we tried before she found the dock. Then we peered down.
"Is that only ninety feet?" Krista whispered, the shock of it squelching her giggles.
"Don't be a baby, Krista." Sara growled, shaking out her hair and pulling it back into a ponytail.
Deb looked up at me, her eyes dark in the moonlight. "Do you think it's possible they drained it?"
I shook my head slowly, trying to think. Could you drain a hot spring? Did it just look bad because we were at the top looking down? Was it me, or did that dock stick out awful close to where we'd be falling?
I caught Sara's eye on me. "If it had been drained, we'd still be able to see the light sticks that fell in the water, right?" I returned her glare. I wasn't afraid. Or at least, I wouldn't give her any reason to call me on it. "I'm sure it's fine." I forced my legs to straighten and strode back over to our stuff, stripping off my t-shirt to reveal my black cami and running shorts, our trademark outfits.
It's go time.
But here's the thing: You can always go back and change it. If you started in the wrong place, no problem. Go back and cut or add more to fix it. If your voice was a little off because you weren't sure where you wanted to be, you can rewrite it after you've finished, when the voice is more concrete in your head. In the end, having an imperfect piece of writing is infinitely better than being stuck on that blank page.
The prompt this week is twofold. One: Follow my writing prompt and post your comment. Two: Go to your current writing project and add 2000 words to it this week. Don't let that blank page or the question of where to go from here stop your progression as a writer. Anything, no matter how imperfect, is better than a blank page.
This week's writing prompt: "It was past crazy. Like ... playing chicken with a gas tanker crazy."
Enjoy!
******************************************************************************
My response:
The hole was black as Hell, and we were sure to end up there if we kept on with this crazy idea.
Krista let out an adrenaline-fueled giggle, the notes echoing through the black circle at our feet. Sara punched her in the shoulder, jerking her head towards the ritzy hotel sitting at the bottom of the slope. The hot springs pool was open twenty four hours, and while no customers were there, a pair of bored lifeguards lounged outside the snack shack.
Maggie was the only one not hyped up. She held her phone in both hands, scanning it around slowly. I could see her setting up the video in her mind. It would start with a panorama of where we were, explain the stunt, and then, after she'd signaled us, scan over to four girls in ski masks, hair tucked neatly away and only long, tanned limbs to identify us. The first video had gone viral, the third one made international headlines. YouTube fans clamored for more.
And Sara's ideas, reckless from the start, were getting to be downright dangerous.
I eased up to the edge, careful to stay out of Maggie's shot, but I needed to get a look for myself. This hot spring had been blocked off for years, ever since some kid drowned in it. It was in a hollow cave that went straight down into the granite of the mountain. Ninety feet above, a hole allowed sunlight in. The hotel had carved out a second entrance just above water level and built a dock, but that was all boarded up now. It had taken all four of us to pull the manhole cover off the hole at the top... the cover intended to keep people out.
Deb waited until Maggie stepped back, then knelt down next to me. She pulled a handful of light sticks out of her bag. Glancing behind her, she made sure her body was between the lights of the hotel and what she was doing. I maneuvered myself to make sure no one on the road could see. She snapped a stick and tossed it down towards the side where we suspected the dock would be.
The light fell too quickly, faster than my eyes could adjust. All I saw was the glimmering of moist walls before the plop of the light stick into water, then darkness. Three more times we tried before she found the dock. Then we peered down.
"Is that only ninety feet?" Krista whispered, the shock of it squelching her giggles.
"Don't be a baby, Krista." Sara growled, shaking out her hair and pulling it back into a ponytail.
Deb looked up at me, her eyes dark in the moonlight. "Do you think it's possible they drained it?"
I shook my head slowly, trying to think. Could you drain a hot spring? Did it just look bad because we were at the top looking down? Was it me, or did that dock stick out awful close to where we'd be falling?
I caught Sara's eye on me. "If it had been drained, we'd still be able to see the light sticks that fell in the water, right?" I returned her glare. I wasn't afraid. Or at least, I wouldn't give her any reason to call me on it. "I'm sure it's fine." I forced my legs to straighten and strode back over to our stuff, stripping off my t-shirt to reveal my black cami and running shorts, our trademark outfits.
It's go time.
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