Brownies!

This was not the day to improvise. This was the day to follow the recipe to the letter. She wasn’t generally much of a recipe follower—or rule follower for that matter—but today, she’d do it exactly as prescribed.

The recipe called for the flour to be scooped into the measuring cup and then levelled off with a knife. Ridiculous, but she did it anyway. Same with the cocoa powder and the sugars.

Next, she cracked the eggs and whipped them gently in a small bowl. She measured out the other ingredients and set them in a row so she would be sure to add them in the correct order.

Melting good chocolate apparently required placing one bowl over a pot with boiling water inside. And not quite a rolling boil, something she’d never heard before but could now identify.

She used the whisk and whipped the chocolate with some butter. It did smell good. Really good. But taking a taste would maybe screw up the final results and that wasn’t acceptable. This had to be perfect. Just like mom used to make.

Once the mixture was in the preheated oven, she set the timer and cleaned up the mess. So many dishes just to make some brownies!

The timer finally beeped and she set the pan to cool. Another timer and when the brownies were cool enough, she cut them and put them on the flowered plate her grandmother loved so much.

Knowing how much the older woman hated a mess, she checked to make sure she didn’t have any stains on her clothes. Between that and the clean kitchen, there was no evidence she’d even been in the kitchen.

Perfect.

She knocked on her grandmother’s door and waited for her reply before entering.

“Those smell like Diane's brownies. No one makes brownies like you do, Diane.”

Her mother hadn’t been home for over a year. Who knew where she was this time. Her grandmother's face fell when she realized she wasn't the beloved Diane. “These are delicious. Tell your mother thank you. Why don’t you leave the plate?”

She smiled and nodded, then stepped out of the room.

When the next timer beeped, she wiped off the doorknob and entered her grandmother's room again. With her gloves on, she wiped off where she'd touched the plate and then checked to ensure the old woman was dead.

Slipping out the back door with her hood up, she headed for the subway. She’d be back in her dorm when someone called with the sad news.

And then she’d be rich.

Tagline: Not quite how mom used to make

***

***

The above is part of the WEP Challenge for August. I hope you'll join in the challenge - we're always eager for more entries!

Obviously you don't have to know the movie (this is another one I haven't seen), but chocolate is a great prompt for all kinds of stories.

Check out the links above for some fabulous stories!

Linca

Linca sighed when Jims entered the lab. He was such a pompous schmuck and she knew today was going to be a bad one because of her report from the day before.

Jims grinned at her. “How are your alien buddies today? Get any pings on the screens last night?”

She ignored him and kept her focus on her data. No one in the community wanted to hear her theories. They were all convinced she was ridiculous and gullible. Too imaginative for science.

She knew better. The data showed too many anomalies to be created by space debris. There were patterns she couldn’t ignore and those patterns weren’t random. Intelligent life had made them. Linca was convinced they were attempts at communication and that they were close.

Jims laughed loudly. “Nothing to say Linca? No incursions from little fuzzy blobs last night? Or maybe they’re slimy talking spheres?”

Linca’s skin flushed but she refused to be baited into a conversation that would only get worse if she responded. Instead she pulled up another screen and input the data she'd gathered from the bursts of light she’d spotted the day before.

Jims kept up his taunting, playing to the audience of other scientists in the room. Most of them refused to get involved, but a few snickered along.

Deciding to try something different, Linca copied the light burst data and sent it out through their own equipment on the top of the facility. Maybe she could record a reaction. When nothing happened immediately, she tried at a different angle. And again. Space was vast and even a 0.001% angle change covered a huge territory.

When her station beeped, it took her a moment to register that she had a response. Coincidence?

She input the data again, but this time she repeated it twice. It came back twice. When she changed it up again, the response changed as well. Was it some kind of echo? Had Jims played with her equipment?

A klaxon sounded and everyone in the room stilled. She sent out another light test. When it came back, Linca whispered into the room. “They’re answering.”

Complete silence greeted her until the klaxon sounded again. An automated voice announced. “Breach in the atmosphere above Quanta Station. Incoming object of unidentified origin and design.”

Linca leapt from her seat and out the door. She heard footsteps behind her as she raced to the lift. Jims squeezed in before the doors shut, his face flushed. “You’ve gone too far this time, Linca. If this is some kind of trick you've set up to make us believe your little theories, you're finished here.”

The doors opened and she didn’t bother answering as she raced for the final staircase. It was fifty steps up but she didn’t slow. At the top, she slipped on the protective breathing apparatus. A few steps behind her, Jims did the same. This time without sneering.

They stepped into the pressurized vestibule and waited while their cleaned air was exchanged for what covered their planet. No longer breathable by any of their species.

As soon as the doors opened, Linca raced forward onto the planet's surface. A huge shadow was the first sign, but it was quickly followed by an enormous shape dropping through the clouds. A huge cylinder surrounded by smaller cylinders on all sides.

She heard Jims muttering behind her but didn’t take her eyes off the enormous cylinder as it rotated and landing gear descended. It settled without a sound.

Linca approached slowly, watching for an indication of the beings that must be inside. Finally a section near the bottom slid away and a staircase lowered.

Three beings appeared. Taller than her species. Bipedal with two upper limbs as well. Similar to her own, but with longer limbs. Their faces in shades of brown sat atop their bodies and they had hair or fur on the tops of their heads.

They wore no protective equipment and didn’t seem bothered by the air as they descended. These beings could breathe oxygen.

Linca approached and stopped when she was close enough to converse. She’d imagined this moment so many times, she knew exactly what she wanted to say. She pointed to herself first. “Linca.” Then she added her species. “Trefalian.” Finally she gestured at the planet. “Trefalia.”

The being who had the most hair nodded and pointed at itself. “Hassan.” Then it pointed at its companions. “Chi. Karla.” Then it circled its hand to indicate them all. “Humans.”

Linca repeated the names as she pointed at each one. Then she used her hands to indicate them all. “Humans.”

The words were odd but easy to say, unlike some of the languages she’d imagined she might hear.

Each humans repeated Linca’s name as well as Trefalian and Trefalia.

Linca turned to bring Jims in on the conversation but he lay on the ground, arms flung to the side where he’d fainted.

With a grin, Linca turned to the humans and pointed backward. “Jims.” She refrained from adding schmuck, but it was a close call.

***

Tagline: Sometimes it's best to trust your gut, not your colleagues

***

This post is part of the June WEP Challenge: Close Encounters. I loved this movie when I was a kid but haven't seen it in years. I mostly remember the music they used to communicate.

I hope you check out the challenge and I really hope you join in. We're always excited to have new people join! It's so much fun to see where the prompts take people. The first draft I wrote for this prompt involved an unexpected encounter with a bear, but that story disappeared somewhere so you get this one instead

WEP & Stories of the Night

Sirens shattered the night.

Nessie leapt from the bed and threw on trousers and a shirt over her nightgown. She rushed into the next room to find George sitting up and little Moira sleeping peacefully.

“Mama? Is it time to go?”

Nessie kept her voice calm and ruffled his hair. “It is. You know what to do. I’ll get your sister.”

George threw back the bedclothes and scrambled out. Her little man quickly pulled pants and a shirt over his pyjamas and then grabbed the small bag from the closet.

Moira kept sleeping while Nessie wrapped her in a blanket and hugged her to her chest. Then she picked up her own bag and slung it over her shoulder.

The blackout curtains were already closed, so less than a minute from the first siren wail, they were out of their tenement and hurrying down the stairs. They quickly crossed their tenement's back yard to the shelter.

An explosion sounded not far off and had George moving closer to her side. He let out a relieved sigh when they crossed into the protected room. They moved quickly to their usual spots and started tracking their neighbours. No one was going to forget a sleeping baby ever again. Even as she thought it, Nessie watched Ivy walk in. George quietly counted the children as they followed their mum. When he got to seven, he smiled at Nessie. “She’s got them all this time,” he whispered with a smile.

When everyone was inside, lanterns were lit and the door was closed. For a while they chatted quietly with each other while everyone settled in. Over the past year, they’d become used to the unknowns.

Were their husbands and sons and brothers safe? How many hours would the bombs rain down tonight? Would their windows be blown out again? Would their tenement buildings be standing when the all-clear siren rang out?

George patted his bag. “Can you read everyone a story, Mama?”

“You choose one tonight.”

His six-year old face serious, he looked through the tiny collection and pulled out the worn copy of Heidi that her mother had read to Nessie as a child.

The group fell into a routine of sorts. Nessie read a chapter. Old Bill played his violin. Sadie sang a song. Nessie read another chapter. More songs. More stories.

Moira woke when Kathleen played her harmonica. It was always the little girl’s favourite part.

When the all-clear siren rang out, the adults exchanged relieved looks. No bombs had sounded like they were close enough to harm their homes.

As they trudged out of the shelter, the sun was rising over the tenements, bathing the grey buildings in warm light. George laughed. “It’s so pretty Mama.”

Moira spread her arms wide. “Boo-ti-ful. It’s boo-ti-ful Mama.”

Old Bill patted George on the head as they walked backed to their building with its windows and bricks intact. “You and your sister are right, my boy. It’s beautiful. Life is beautiful. Remember that.”

***

Tagline - Even when sirens shatter the night

***

The above is part of the WEP Challenge for April - Life is Beautiful. This is another movie I haven't seen. (Yes, this is a theme. I don't watch a lot of movies I'm afraid.)

The above piece is based on stories that my mom (Lizzie from Dancing With Dementia) shared. She grew up in Aberdeen Scotland in WWII. She and her family spent a lot of time in bomb shelters during her formative years. The neighbours did indeed forget a baby one time and were unable to check on the child until the all-clear sirens rang. The windows had all exploded that time and the baby had been sleeping near the window in a buggy. The blanket was covered with glass shards, but the baby was unscathed. Life can indeed be beautiful!

I hope you'll check out the other stories through the link and I encourage you to join in the fun. We're always looking for new voices in the challenge!

***

PS - if you missed it, the latest Bloo Moose Romance released yesterday!

Reaching For More

One interfering mom,

one fake relationship,

and one stalker who doesn't like it at all

Get your copy!!

WEP & With The Wind

This was where they’d met. Janie smiled as she looked over the view. It hadn’t changed that much over the decades.

Tom had been hiking with his buddies on their summer break, she'd been alone. They were all on the coast for the summer, working jobs in the tourist town. Tom had been working at a souvenir shop, she’d been at the fudge shop across the street.

But they’d met on the top of this hill. The hike had been worth it for the view alone. Meeting Tom had made it the best hike of her life. They’d often joked about what they’d have missed out on if they hadn’t made that hike at the same time all those years ago.

No holding hands or stolen kisses in the shadows between the street lamps. No dances on the beach or anniversary trips back here. No kids or grandkids.

They’d been so lucky, so blessed. And today was a day to celebrate that. A day to look back on all the kisses, all the stolen moments, all the laughter. Even the tears.

Jane walked to the edge of the bluff and shook the tube the funeral director had given her. Tom hadn’t wanted a fuss. The man had never wanted a fuss.

With a tear slipping down her cheek, Jane opened the tube and watched the last of Tom’s earthly body slip away on the wind.

But he’d never really be gone. How could he be? He’d become a part of her just as she’d been a part of him. She’d carry him along with her and make sure the little ones knew all about their gramps.

Jane blew a kiss to the wind. Whenever she felt the breeze, she’d know Tom was kissing her back.

***

Tagline: Gone isn't always gone

***

The above is part of the WEP Challenge for February's prompt Gone With The Wind.

Confession 1 time: I've never read the book. I've never seen the movie. I doubt I'll ever remedy that 🤷  It's never been something that appealed to me. But I love the title!

For the WEP challenges, I almost always draw inspiration from the title or the words. I've done that again with this prompt and probably will for the rest of the prompts (because I haven't seen most of those movies either!).

Confession 2 time: As many of you know, my mom was placed into palliative care a few weeks ago. She passed peacefully and painlessly shortly afterward. I wrote this piece before any of that happened. I almost wrote a new piece, but decided to leave this as is. I'll be thinking of Lizzie whenever I touch the wind.

I hope you check out the other entries in this month's challenge and I really hope you'll enter your own piece. We're always eager for new writers to join in!

Hey, Thrillers!

 Lindsay swallowed hard and looked into the camera. “Hey Thrillers. It’s been a fun year broadcasting with you. Just wanted to let you know that, in case this is our last video. Ever.”

Julie laughed and switched the feed to her own camera. “Hey everyone. Can you believe the woman who dove with hungry sharks and climbed into a derelict mine in search of treasure is afraid of a cemetery?”

“Those are thrills. This is spooky stuff. Not my thing at all.”

Julie lit up her face with the flashlight beneath her chin. “But it is mine. And you lost the coin toss.”

All true.

Julie smirked. “Okay, Thrillers, you’ve been watching the live stream of the cabin for hours now. No one has entered or exited since we checked it out together before sunset. Now, it’s five minutes before midnight.”

Lindsay sighed heavily. “On All Hallow’s Eve, when the veil between worlds is at its thinnest. When spirits have the best chance of crossing that veil with a full moon to light their way.”

Julie made a Wooo sound and Lindsay glared at her. Julie lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper while she looked at the camera. “Okay, Thrillers, we’re moving in. Approaching the cabin as the clock ticks closer to midnight. Lindsay, remind our viewers about the legend.”

Lindsay blew out a breath and steadied her voice. “Here, deep in the swamps surrounding New Orleans, the line between reality and the supernatural is always thin. Voices lure you in far deeper than you planned to go. Mists rise from the ground, sneaking between the plants and reaching ever upward.”

Lindsay panned her camera down and around, showing the old forest and the mists. The full moon made the pictures perfectly creepy and she had to work to keep her voice level. “On this night seven times seven times seven years ago, in 1679, a family lived here. The youngest was the seventh son of a seventh son.”

Julie grinned and picked up the tale. “The number seven has power. Young Caleb Bouchard felt it growing inside. He’d told his parents but they urged him to keep it quiet, to never use his powers, to never let others know. But Caleb was two times seven years of age and oh, so sure of his control. Sure that he was a good person and that the power would do as he commanded.”

When Julie nodded to her, Lindsay continued. “Caleb decided the night of All Hallow’s Eve would be the day he’d show them all that his power was good. He waited for the stroke of midnight, waited for the moon to shine. And then he called for the spirits to cross. Called for them to rid the world of those who would harm others. Called for them to spare those of good heart.”

Julie whispered. “Witnesses heard terrible screams and saw flashing lights, but there was no evidence of fire. No evidence of anything. Not Caleb. Not his family. Not a trace.”

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and Lindsay took over. “It’s almost midnight. Count it down with us.”

Julie put her hand on the door and slowly twisted it as Lindsay counted. “Five, four, three, two, one. Midnight.”

Julie threw open the door and light bloomed from inside, flashing and changing. A hideous howl filled the night and Julie jumped back with a shriek.

Then the iconic first beats of Michael Jackson’s Thriller filled the air and Lindsay couldn’t keep in the laughter anymore.

It took Julie about three seconds before she joined in. Then she moved to stand beside Lindsay with a playful swat on her arm. She tapped her hand over her heart and then smiled at the camera. “She got me. Just remember, payback is coming. Happy Halloween, Thrillers!”

***

Tagline: A legend of a Seventh Son of a Seventh Son

The above is part of the WEP Challenge for October! Be sure to click the links to get to more entries for the Challenge. This is always a favorite time of year for flash fiction. I hope you join in for this round!

WEP & Brat

 Rain fell and fell and fell.

Brat wondered if it had got into her skin and replaced her blood. She hoped it would keep falling.

When she’d snuck out of the hole she’d dug, he’d been heading for his bottle. She hoped he drank it all the way to the bottom. Even if he went looking for her, he wouldn’t be able to chase her. His thinking wouldn’t be clear enough to find her hole.

He would think demons were messing with him again and hiding her.

Then when he’d recovered enough, he wouldn’t remember.

If the rain kept falling, he wouldn’t be able to follow her. She knew he tracked animals for food. He always complained about how the rain messed up the tracks.

She tried to hide on those days, but her closet wasn’t big enough to hide.

He told her she was lucky. He fed her, gave her a home.

She didn’t feel lucky.

But how was she to know?

Maybe all the places were like this one. Maybe some of them were worse.

If it was worse, she didn’t know how it could be.

But he told her it was.

She knew trees because they were everywhere she looked when she got to look out the window. Was there anything else?

Brat slipped on the mud again but didn’t stay down. She had to keep moving.

And moving.

When she couldn’t walk anymore, she crawled.

And still the rain fell. Hiding her path. Hiding her.

Her hands bled so the rain hadn’t changed her blood yet.

She pushed to her feet again and kept walking, never looking back.

When the trees disappeared, she stopped. This was new. She didn’t know what it was. Didn’t have the words to tell.

The rain kept falling. Brat kept walking.

When she fell again, there was no mud for a soft landing. It was hard and more blood came from her knees and hands.

Brat swallowed hard and then pushed to her feet. Kept walking.

A noise broke the air and light broke the rain.

Brat couldn’t make her feet move. More noises she didn’t know.

Then a voice. “Are you okay? What are you doing out here? Are you hurt?”

It wasn’t him.

Was it worse than him?

Another voice. “You’re bleeding honey. Come on in the car. We’ll get you to the hospital and get you some help. Don’t worry.”

Brat didn’t know all the words, but the hands on her didn’t hurt.

Brat went with the voices while the rain continued to fall.

***

Tagline: A hard rain is just what she needs

The above is part of the #WEP April Challenge: A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall.

I have to admit I'd never heard of this song before the challenge. It's an intense song with some pretty dark lyrics. I struggled for a bit. And listened to it several times. And still struggled.

The song reminds me of court jesters who were allowed to speak harsh truths disguised as entertainment. We all interpret songs/poetry differently, but this song broke my heart. There's such cruelty in the world.

All of this finally brought me to the story above. I'm a romance author, I'm a teacher, I'm a believer in the power of hope and love and kindness. There will always be a light at the end of my tunnels.

I hope you'll check out the link to find the other stories written for this prompt. And I hope you'll join in!

WEP & Grams

 “Hey, Grams.”

“Good morning, Trav. Isn’t it a gorgeous day?”

Trav moved to the chair beside the bed, trying to ignore the antiseptic smell and the plain room. Grams loved colours and sunshine, not this crap.

He kissed her papery cheek and sat on the chair, keeping his eyes on hers. Her body was shrinking, weakening. But her eyes remained hers. Strong, vibrant. But he could see the pain. The acceptance lurking in the shadows.

He swallowed hard and pulled out his phone. “Which playlist today, Grams?”

“It’s a Beatles kind of day, Trav.”

That made him smile. It was a Beatles kind of day at least four days a week. He hit shuffle, knowing that was the way she liked it best. Always a surprise around the corner, Trav.

Her eyes lit up when Imagine started to play.

Trav set the phone on the blanket and while they listened, he lifted the bag he’d brought her. Another surprise.

“You finished it?”

Grams didn’t even know what he’d been working on, but she was excited. She’d asked him to draw her something, didn’t care what. She’d encouraged his art from the day he picked up his first crayon.

Trav pulled out a sketchbook, light enough for her to hold, large enough for her to see.

The vibrant eyes clouded with tears, but the smile told him everything he needed.

“You drew for me.”

“Not just for you, Gram. Of you.” Because she’d been his person since day one.

He helped her flip to the first page as the playlist shifted to Here Comes the Sun.

Grams laughed. “Perfect timing.” She was a big believer in fate and karma and all that hippy stuff.

The first sketch was Grams dancing in the kitchen, his earliest memory of her.

Happy tears trickled down her cheeks as she brushed her fingers lightly over the page. “Well, she was a bit of a firecracker, wasn’t she?”

“Was? No was about it. You’re still the brightest firecracker in the sky.” Her dimples flashed, reminding him she’d once been young. “I bet you had men fighting for a dance with you.”

Her laughter filled the sterile room. And his heart.

She flipped through the pages in time with the music. He’d drawn his favourite memories.

Hotdogs over the campfire.

Picnics at the zoo.

Trips to galleries and museums.

Painting on easels together.

Graduation day. She’d nearly burst with pride over his valedictorian speech.

As she flipped to the final sketch, the playlist clicked to All You Need Is Love. He caught Grams' eye and they both smiled. Trav lifted her hand and kissed it.

“I guess they’re right. All I needed was you. Your love has got me through the very worst of times. You’ve been everything to me and I don’t know how to tell me how much you mean to me.”

Grams laughed and patted his cheek. “You’ve told me every day, Trav. Every day in all the best ways, just like this.” She patted the final sketch, one of the two of them hanging out in their favourite spot. Sitting on the porch swing looking out over the river.

“This is perfect, Trav. I’m so proud of you. This is the best gift ever. Well, until you get me a great-grandchild. I’ll be hanging around until then.”

They both knew that wasn’t true, but he grinned at her, going along with the running joke. “And you’ll be the best Grams to the kid ever.”

Which she would be, because his kids would always know they were loved. They’d always know unconditional love and support. Because Grams had taught him well.

***

Tagline: Lessons from the Beatles and Grams

***

The above is part of the WEP February Challenge All You Need Is Love.

The link is open until Feb 18 - I hope you'll join up. WEP is open to everyone and is a whole lot of fun. Follow the links for the rest of the stories in the challenge. I can't wait to see how everyone interprets this prompt!

WEP Challenge and Little Tommy

“You have the cutest baby ever. He should be in those commercials. They could sell anything using that face.”

Cindy and Tom smiled at each other. It seemed they weren’t just proud parents with a huge slice of bias. Their baby boy truly was adorable. Everyone said so.

Those big blue eyes. Jet black curls. Beautiful.

***

“Candy. I want candy.”

Little Tommy’s pout warned of stormy tears as Cindy stood in the checkout line. Her beautiful boy stared up at her from the grocery cart, those blue eyes shining. Cheeks rosy.

“You have such a handsome son. You’re a lucky mom.”

Tommy smiled at the cashier, and the woman smiled back.

As he charmed the lady, Cindy reached out and added a candy bar to her order.

***

“I want the blue one.”

Tom looked at the red shirt he’d picked up for his son and then to the blue on the rack. “I thought you’d like the dinosaurs on this one. You’d rather have the blue?”

Tommy nodded seriously. “Yes. It matches my eyes.”

Tom laughed, ruffled his son’s curls, and changed out red for blue.

***

Tommy held the truck behind his back. “It’s mine.”

“I had it first!”

Tommy shook his head. “I have it. It’s mine.”

“Now, boys. No fighting. Tommy will have the first turn, you can have it next, Kev.”

***

“Tommy has been struggling to keep his attention on his studies this term.”

Cindy and Tom exchanged a look. “How can we help?”

The teacher smiled. “Well, if you could keep the girls away from him, that would probably help.”

Everyone chuckled. “The girls are always calling the house as well. One even dropped off cookies for him on the weekend.”

“He’s a good-looking kid. There’s probably more of that in his future.”

***

Tommy checked his hair in the mirror he’d installed in his room. The bathroom had better lighting, but his parents were always complaining he spent too long getting ready for things.

They didn’t get it. It was important to always look his best.

***

Tommy gave his best smile to his grandparents. They liked to see him smile.

He even let them pinch his cheeks.

They always slipped him money when they visited.

***

“I prefer to be called Thomas.”

“But, Tommy, you’ve always…”

“I will no longer answer to that name.”

“Okay, Thomas.”

***

“My eyes are halfway through a blink. I need you to retake the photo.”

The clerk frowned at the picture and pointed to the sign that stated unless eyes were fully closed, the picture couldn’t be retaken.

Thomas smiled the way he’d perfected in the mirror. The smile that gave him the maximum results.

The clerk smiled back and the second picture was perfect.

***

Thomas checked his appearance one last time before heading out to pick up the girl. He’d told her to leave her hair down. When she wore it that way, she was the prettiest girl in the school.

He’d told her to choose a blue dress so they would match. His shirt and tie were the perfect shades. They would make a striking couple.

Their pictures would be the best.

***

Thomas selected his courses carefully. All it had taken was a bit of research to find the perfect professors.

It was an easy thing to cruise the internet, find their bios, and check out their pictures.

Adults were easy to figure out. He knew which ones he could work with and which ones would be more difficult. His degree would be a piece of the proverbial cake.

***

Thomas looked out the windows of his penthouse.

Christmas lights were lit across the city. Cindy and Tom had wanted him to cross the state to visit with them. Spend a day traveling to put up with annoying small talk and overcooked turkey.

He’d rather be exactly where he was. He had a dozen invitations but had yet decided which would be most beneficial and least annoying. He might stay in and enjoy his own company. It was far better than idiotic small talk.

Thomas lifted his wine glass and toasted his reflection in the window.

Tagline: Bringing up Tommy, the tale of a narcissist. 

*****

The above is part of the WEP Challenge for December. I really struggled with a story for this prompt! It's always interesting to see which prompts bring stories quickly to mind and which have me really reaching for an idea!

I hope you join in the Challenge for the month! Because it's a busy season for many around the world, we've extended the posting dates from December 1st to the 15th. That will give everyone time to write, post, and enjoy the other stories.

I'm looking forward to seeing how others interpreted the prompt!

We've decided on the prompts for next year and I think you're going to love them!

WEP Challenge & Predator

Predator

Nella squeezed her eyes shut and opened her mouth slightly. She couldn’t make a sound, not even the sound of a breath.

Her blood roared through her veins and every muscle strained to move. Run. Get away. Go!

But there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.

Adrenaline surged and bounced around inside, making her fingers twitch where they hugged her knees into her chest.

No movement. No sound.

Air in, air out.

Slow the breathing. Slow the blood. Slow the brain.

She had to listen, had to hear. But the white noise of panic filled her head.

In and out.

Nella squeezed her toes and relaxed them. The quietest way she could think of to use up some of the adrenaline-fuelled energy.

Slowly, the panic flashes behind her eyes receded and the white noise ebbed. She only hoped it wasn’t too slowly.

She opened her eyes a slit and then a little more. Blackness surrounded her. She couldn’t see. No one could see.

Could it see in the dark? Could it smell her fear and her panic? Were her tiny breaths audible?

A scrape cut the air.

The smallest of sounds. The largest of threats.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Curl the toes, relax. Look. Don’t move.

Blood raced again. Air thickened and refused to process.

Another scrape.

Nella squeezed her lips together. Pressed down hard.

Her breathing quickened and tears built in her eyes.

When light blazed around her, into her, through her, Nella released the scream.

But the predator was the only one who heard.

***

Tagline: When there's nowhere to run

***

The WEP Challenge for this month is The Scream!

You can join the challenge until October 22. We'd love to have even more writers participating!

There are so many ways to interpret a prompt and the WEP writers always produce entertaining stories!

We're asking writers to include a short tagline/blurb with their stories. But, we'll write one up if you struggle to find one or forget!

Looking forward to the entries!

WEP: Red or Green?

Update!

Red or Green was chosen for the Encouragement award by the WEP team. Thanks so much and congrats to the others. It was great to read new voices in the challenge this month and I hope those writers continue to join in the fun!

***

It started in her toes.

A tingle that ran from the baby toe on her right and grew across her body until it hit the final toe on the left.

The next wave reached her ankles, then legs. Each wave of tingles higher and stronger until her entire body shook with them. And it took only seconds.

When she’d lived on planet, she’d experienced earthquakes. This disorientation was similar but the specific directionality differed.

Momentum wanted Liane to move left, but the cause had to be on her right. At the rate the waves were growing, if she didn’t find and fix the cause soon, she’d be space dust before she handed over command to the next shift.

By the time she reached the engine room, the deck was buckling beneath her feet, comms were inoperative, and panic was trying to claw its way up her throat.

The door had been cracked and as she approached, the deck rolled in another wave and the door fractured into pieces.

The engine room itself was unrecognizable. Metal lifting and rolling. 

Screens shattered. And bodies trapped in the debris.

Grief and despair battled against her control but she moved forward into the chaos.

Walls weren’t supposed to buckle, floors weren’t supposed to roll.

And the engine wasn’t supposed to pulsing with an angry orange glow.

Nothing she’d seen in any of her decades had prepared her for this and Liane wasted precious seconds simply staring.

The next wave threw her into the bulkhead and brought her focus back. From this angle she could see the body of the engineer, arm outstretched toward the wall.

Crawling to the body of her friend, Liane saw he’d been reaching for a panel with two buttons.

Engineering gobbledygook covered the wall and she wished she’d paid more attention during those classes.

More waves. More cracks and breaks. More screams and anguish.

Red or green? Stop or go?

Which button was he trying to reach?

The entire ship shuddered around her.

Liane closed her eyes and pressed red.

***

This story is part of the WEP Challenge.

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