Writing Wednesday ~ December #5

New Year's Resolutions 2016

That's where she stopped, her pen in the air waiting for inspiration.

Nothing

What could she do in 2016 to better herself? To show she had advanced? To show that she was growing, as a person in her own right?

No clue

Her resolutions from 2015 had gone completely ... incomplete, it was embarassing. Which was exactly why she didn't share her resolutions with anyone, as she was sure to have somebody on her back about one thing or another.

In the last year, she had loved, she had lost, and she had learned. It's better to love and lose, because it's only then that you know you have experienced, and only then that you know you have learned.

She had learned to love her flaws, many and all-encompassing as they may be; she had come to terms with the idea of potential anxiety, with stress and its backlashes, with public speaking being a no-go. Acceptance was a thing,and it had happened, and she was proud.

Somehow, she had grown, and was expected to grow further in the next year.

So why not write what she thought? What she thought was best for 2016?

Her pen dipped towards the paper, scratching against the page in true biro fashion.

Her New Year's Resolutions for 2016?

Be happy

* * *

I had a different prompt for this, but it required much more fleshing out than I currently have creativity for, so this is what you get!

Not gonna lie, it's based on my year, what I've learned about myself,and stuff, and it's short as hell, I'm so sorry!

Now Imma work on my TV favourites, so I'll go do that!

Writing Wednesday ~ December #4

Prompt stolen from the depths of tumblr, because I had to throw a soulmate AU in.

AU where everything is black and white until you meet your soulmate

There was an appeal to Christmas, obviously, but there’s only so much you can enjoy when you can’t even tell what colour the tree in your living room is. Or when your mother asks you to hand her the purple box of baubles, and all you can do in return is ask whether that’s the set of baubles that’s darker than the other.

You wouldn’t believe it, but it also makes Christmas shopping one of the worst experiences; sure, your older sister’s favourite colour is pale blue, but from experience, it’s also surprisingly like grey when in grayscale. Yet shopping with your mother is only a reminder that you haven't found them yet, and no, mother, for the last time I’m not going speed dating to try and find them.

That was how she ended up spending a good five minutes in front of the jumpers, debating whether it was that grey one or whether it was that slightly lighter grey one. Goddamn Lucy, couldn’t you just like black like everyone else in this generation? Or even white, although it’s hardly very functional, what with spillages and stuff.

It was with regret, then, that she turned to the woman beside her, tapping her tentatively on the shoulder. “Excuse me, sorry to bother, but can you tell me which of these is pale blue? Last year, I somehow ended up with green…apparently.”

“Well, I wish I could tell you,” the other woman offered, removing her glasses to wipe them clean, “but I suppose you could say I’m in the same situation as you.”

The pair smiled in tandem, glancing up to find acknowledgment in each other’s eyes.

And colour

“Did you know your eyes are green?” The other woman asked with the widest of smiles.

“I’ve been told. Did you know your glasses are purple?”

“So it said when I paid for them.” The other woman reached past her, picking a shirt up from the rack, pressing it into her arms. “This one’s pale blue, and my name’s Jenny.”

Gripping the shirt, she smiled for Jenny. “Am I glad I didn’t go speed dating! I’m Beth.”

* * *

Let's be representative, because everyone deserves love at Christmas, including the love of friends and family, people!

This is actually my 99th post, which means my 100th will be the start of

*drum roll*

My 2015 favourites week!

5 days, 6 categories of favourites all smooshed together into 5 posts to ring in the New Year!

That starts on the 27th all the way through until the 31st if my writing works! I will make myself, don't worry!

Therefore, this is my last post before Christmas, so have a brilliant weekend, whether you celebrate or not, spend time with the people you love, and just...

Happiness, for everyone!

Writing Wednesday ~ December #3

It was then you realised that hell was winter, and you were in love with it

If you were to pick a season to represent hell, it wouldn't be winter. Summer perhaps, with its fiery days that never seem to end, but winter? Its heavenly backdrop of white would be enough to dissuade, but under the powder lies the hell of which you are so fond.

Winter carves a path for loneliness to enter the hearts of many, for the freedom of dark nights to inspire isolation.

Winter shows itself as a time for yourself, time spent by a fire, curled up and warm. Times for yourself, however, end only in desolation, and where will that land you, my dear?

Hell is winter, and you love it only because the feeling is there. Is it not better to feel the solitude, feel the hellish, oxymoronic cold, than to feel nothing at all, no singularity of the season, no defining moments, nothing to remind you that you do, indeed, feel.

If hell were winter, then that was fine, because summer was heaven, and there's only six months in between.

* * *

The most random thing in the world, but I didn't want to be doing cutesy things the entire way through December, so have a slightly philosophical prompt that I obviously can't write for.

It was nice seeing the responses to the Empathy Talk, methinks I will be doing another of those sometime soon. I also, surprisingly enough have a poem of sorts in the works, which is partway done, so that should be up soon.

I now have 1 1/2 days until the end of school for Christmas, and on Friday I'm going out with my friends after school, so I'm just excited, full stop.

See you at the weekend, people!

Writing Wednesday ~ December #2

Write a story about a child who wishes that his or her parent will find a spouse for the holiday season. The child decides to create a contest so that his or her parent will find the perfect partner.

* * *

Two weeks before Christmas, and all through the house, a creature stirs in discomfort, the man of the house. Well, that’s what his mother calls him. James had decided that his mother deserved a partner for Christmas, and he had tried everything; every single dad at school had been asked, every blind date perfectly scripted (to begin with). However, it was with a sigh that little James resigned himself to wishful thinking, and hoping that there’d be somebody stood on the doorstep come Christmas day.

Mum had said that dad had gone away, a long time ago, and he wasn’t coming home. Every so often, she’d look away, into a distant memory, and James knew, she was thinking of him.

Maybe that was it, he little boy decided as he rolled over in his bed, maybe she just loved dad too much. Maybe.

* * *

Natasha didn’t know whether to celebrate the fact that the competition for her affections had stopped, or worried by the downhearted look that had harboured itself in her son’s eyes. So young, he didn’t understand, love doesn’t disappear just because the person does. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?

Yet, on Christmas Eve, the idea of laying out presents for two was none too appealing. Perhaps wishful thinking was the way to go.

* * *

The next day, Christmas, the man of the house bounded down the stairs, a winter’s fire in his step. That same sentiment lay in his eyes, however, whilst watching his mother unwrap presents on her own.

It wasn’t until the toys had all been played with, the turkey eaten until they were the ones who were stuffed, that Natasha asked her son about the contest he had created.

He wanted her to have someone, he told her, twiddling his thumbs. “Just like you always have had someone on Christmas.”

She hugged her boy then; he may not understand the mechanics of love – then again, who does? – but, he could understand that people need it. Kissing his head, she smiled, concealing the tears. “I always have you, baby.”

It was from this embrace that they broke at the sound of the doorbell, a man dumping his kit bag outside the door, arms spread for the two that he loved most.

* * *

And here we have ... more fluff, because Christmas, and fluff seems to be quick to write, this was done in about 20 minutes.

Exams are over, hooray! Now the wait for results! I've done better in the last few days than I did last week, which is a plus. However, I'm doing a controlled assessment in English and have done no planning, so that is now going to have to be tomorrow morning's job!

I'll see you this weekend with a post about something or other, hopefully!

Writing Wednesday ~ December #1

I see you've decorated

He'd left that morning with his house a cornucopia of 'spooky', orange and black, and all things haunted.
Now decked in festive reds and greens and all things jolly, the only thought available to him was: My girlfriend has far too much time on her hands."At last, he returns!"She descended, obscured by the piles of tinsel amassed in her arms. Smile as bright as winter sun, she leaned forward from the bottom step to kiss him, proceeding to dump the coarse glitter heap into his arms, outstretched for a hug.
With a huff and an accommodating roll of the eyes, he trails after her into the living room, where the festive extravaganza continued to make itself at home. She'd staved off on the tree - he would have protested that addition in his absence - but other than that, there wasn't much she'd missed, stockings on the mantle, pillows covered appropriately on the couch, even a sprig of mistletoe in the corner, ready to be unleashed on any unwitting guests in the doorway.
"I see you've decorated."
"Can't say I'm not organised," she returned with a shrug, holding a string of tinsel up towards the back wall.
Stepping forward to wrap his arms around her waist, he rested his head on her shoulder. "Sweetheart, it's November," he smirked, turning his lips into her neck.
"You wouldn't complain if I started celebrating your birthday a month early." Her gaze turned to the ceiling, "I want to make it the best."
"In years to come, he probably won't remember that his mother decorated a month early."
"We'll remind him. It's the first year he understands what Christmas is, let me enjoy it."
"You're still worried about him growing up."
"Isn't every mother?"
Spinning her in his arms, a hand shot towards the table, plucking the mistletoe from it, holding it above their heads. "Don't. Enjoy it. Enjoy this."
Most men would protest, coming home to find a veritable Christmas invasion just past their doorstep, but he hadn't exactly married her for anything else.
"Merry Christmas."

* * * * *

Guess who's doing Christmas themed Writing Wednesdays! Well, they're festive, really, so you can change this if you celebrate something else! I'd love to know!

5 Wednesdays, hopefully 5 Writing Wednesdays, we'll see. 

Currently on my second day of mock exams here, 3 down and another 8 to go, but by this time next week, I will have completed them, and have celebrated that with an awards night for Duke of Edinburgh, so the countdown will continue.

So yeah, fluffy writing every Wednesday this December, let's see if I can beat last year for cuteness.

Have a good week if I don't reappear!

NaNoWriMo 2015

As I mentioned in my last post, I aim to at least better my attempt at NaNoWriMo, hopefully from Camp in April, seeing as I managed about three sentences this time last year.
I have three ideas currently. More titles, really. One of them doesn't even have a title, so I can't even say that.
I'll just describe them already instead of debating what to class them as.

- Eyes of the Reaper

I've actually got a tiny bit down for this. Basic idea is, as I described it to a friend:
Say there were a reaper, sent to collect by a higher power. He does so obediently, for centuries unbothered, until he recognises the face of the one he's collecting. He's seen it before, several times in fact, how has he collected the same person so many times?

And because stuff it, here's what I wrote the other night.
* * *

You're not supposed to interfere, it had been drilled into him since he started. You go, you collect, you return; three steps, that he had followed to the letter since he turned; three steps he would follow to the letter until his sentence was served; three steps he'd never seen the need to disobey. 

A routine. If he were to call it anything, it would be a routine. He listened for his orders, grim as they were. Then again, it was in the job description. A description of the scene, exactly who he was collecting, and he was gone. 

'Better to forget' 

Since he began, it had been better to forget that it was people, like he had been. Better to forget that they had lived lives, be they long or short. Better to forget that the souls he was collecting were dead. 

- When Call My Demons

So this doesn't necessarily have an idea attached to it, so is subject to change. My thought is that maybe it could be about a demon (I'm all about the hellbeings apparently) who's assigned to a family, or a lineage, or something of that style. I feel like this demon would be the kind who's not tied by their own will, more cursed to be, and is called upon by the family members whenever they require some 'assistance'.

- ???

It doesn't have a title, but I just generally want to play with a fairy tale, twist it and mould it into something completely else than its original state, like Chanda Hahn's UnEnchanted (also originally a NaNo project), and the TV shows Grimm (David Giuntoli though), and Once Upon a Time; these two shows kind of contradict each other, as one shows the dark side of the creatures from the Grimm brothers' tales, whereas Once Upon a Time, whilst attempting to feature darker themes, doesn't really manage it.

Writing Wednesday #18 ~ Railroad

It was the railroad, he decided, that brought them together. A hodge-podge team who you wouldn’t see together on an everyday.
They were made up of a self-taught website hacker, a personal training nut, a frantic commuter, an army dropout, and a single mother of two.
He liked to think of them as the civilian Avengers, except the only thing they had avenged so far was a morning coffee run.
They had all met before; he had asked the hacker for laptop recommendations when he had needed a new one; the gym nut and army drop out had bonded over juice cleansing; the commuter and the mum had met in the ice cream aisle after a shared bad day.
They came together for the first time in the coffee shop, offered nods of acknowledgement, smiles tainted by 8am yawns of ‘what am I doing in civilisation at this hour’, raised eyebrows of agreement.
It was after that that they noticed each other’s presence in their lives; his niece was in the same class as the single mother’s twins; the website hacker’s brother had served alongside the dropout; the commuter and the gym goer worked only two buildings apart.
They didn’t do much; they weren’t the Avengers, much as he wanted them to be; they met for coffee whenever they could, arguing over this and agreeing over that.
Until the day it crashed, with him on it; the smiling high school teacher.
It was the railroad that brought them together, and it was the railroad that tore them apart.

* * *

I liked the idea of a railroad being the kind of catalyst that brings a group of people together, kind of like in the Railway Children, so I wrote it! Sorry about the ending, I just kind of felt it fit, and I couldn't shake myself from writing that last line, so it went in.

Got to take some pictures at some point tomorrow and Friday for posts to work on.

Also, if you haven't noticed the picture to the right, I am now on Bloglovin', which if you haven't heard of it, it's essentially a platform where you can save all the blogs you read, whilst also saving the posts you like into collections!

You can find my account here. Combining the followers I have on blogger, and on Bloglovin', we're up to around 44 followers, and no I'm not going to cross match followers, just let me be happy with my numbers :)

So, yeah, love you <3

Writing Wednesday #17 ~ X-Ray

His gaze was an x-ray, however instead of stripping her of her clothes or a layer or two of skin, he saw beyond the facade, so skilfully crafted, yet so easily broken.
Was it wrong of her to want someone to see through it all? She had spent so long creating this persona, could she really throw all that time away the minute a person strolled by who knew what she was doing?
The first time, he asked her what her real life plans were, having listened to her drone on to a friend about studying something like law, or maybe human nature. He had leant over to her once her friend had turned away to natter on to somebody else, requesting the truth. One look told her he knew, and she might as well not bother lying when they both knew it.
That day became the first of many; whilst one answer was given, he would request the truth, and she would willingly give it.

The time they spent together was honest, until the time came whence she must choose.
While her suitor had already been chosen, he begged to know whether she would truly marry one who she did not love.
Her answer, her truth, was seen by his eyes in her regretful tears, that fell behind her bridal veil, as she said 'I do'.

* * *

This took a different turn to when I started writing this, but that was something like three weeks ago, so I'm sorry for that, the end of school and work experience had me busy, and I needed a week afterwards just to get myself together.
And then I went and missed Wednesday to post this, FFS Eve!

Writing Wednesday #16 ~ Punch

It was the other girl that threw the first punch, Holly swore it. Then again, it was hard to pinpoint exactly when the spat began; had it been with the first hurled insult, or the haphazard slap, or even with the boyfriends appearing to break it up?
Holly had escaped the brawl with her scars, as well as a bust lip, black eye, and the four stitches in her cheek. The sense of accomplishment, however, was astonishing. The other girl certainly didn't come out so lucky, with a fractured wrist, a considerable chunk of hair missing from her head, and was a ripped dress classed as a casualty?
Oliver couldn't decide what to do with her; his girlfriend knew how to throw a punch, and was that really a bad thing? She did start a bar fight though, and he couldn't exactly advocate that.
Once out of the hospital and showered, Oliver turned to his girlfriend as she dragged a comb through her bedraggled hair. "So what was that?"
"What was what?" Holly returned, pulling out a particularly nasty knot.
"You know what Holly. You just started a bar fight with another girl. What was it about?"
Holly placed the comb down, having pulled her hair into her customary bedtime ponytail. "I am sorry, Oliver, but she said Twilight was better than Harry Potter."

Crappy bit of humour this week; I realise that a subject like 'punch', but I really couldn't think of anything. This was written during a day of tedium at the Sage Gateshead. We're performing in a Catholic Partnership event, which is fun, but spending an entire day at the venue isn't the most exciting of things.
Anywho, should have a couple of posts up soon enough, my Ireland blog and hopefully a favourites!
Also, it's thundering where I am, and the library lights keep flickering, this looks promising for DofE tomorrow :)
Eve <3

Writing Wednesday #15 ~ Quill

A wise old bard once said that the pen is mightier than the sword. I don't suppose he was thinking of people like me when he was saying that, for I am mightier than a pen can ever be.
The quill of an author fits only he chosen to bear it, and only those worthy of bearing such a burden are chosen to carry it. The ink that flows into words in our pages is not made of the blood of animals as it once was, but rather the blood that our stories shed, the tears that fall in our tragedies, the pealing laughter that rolls from our comedies.
The story an author details upon the pages of his book are his entirely, from the first to the last and all that reads in between. The words that spill from the quill are crafted from nothing, coming to life on the page with a burning intensity.
My story has only just begun, my words are few, but my ideas are many. My life is defined by a book that remains in its first pages.
My quill chose me and my story, and I hope to fulfill its expectations.

* * *

I went with a Once Upon a Time series 4 spin on this, and I know it's short, but it was either this or more Harry Potter *shrugs*

Currently working on a massive post about where I was at the weekend, so look forward to that :)

Love, Eve <3

Writing Wednesday #14 ~ Photograph

It was always close, for those times. Times when it gets hard, or times where it hurts. The photograph holds the memories so that they can remember, times where their eyes don’t close, where they’re wide and full of laughter; times where their hearts are never broken, where they’re intact and burning bright with passion. In these memories, time stands still.

Keep it close to your heart, this photograph of memories; hold it close, these eyes full of laughter; may you never be alone, not with a full and loving heart. These memories will bring you home, my dear, let them carry you.

Let it heal, let it mend all the holes that have been left by the empty spaces of your memories. I can be kept, like a photograph in your pocket, where you can keep me close, and when you meet my eyes, know you won't be alone.

If my photograph tears, know that's okay, after all, it is only your words that make me bleed. Hold me close sweetheart, and remember that as long as you hold me, I'm not letting you go.

Remember that necklace, the one from 10^th grade? It rests above your heart, above where you fit me, breathing in time with your heartbeat. I’ll be home soon sweetheart, but until then, remember that night, the kiss under the lamppost back on sixth street. Until then, wait for me to come home.

Writing Wednesday #13 ~ Crime

When she moved into the house on Fulbright Street, she couldn't help but fall in love with her little corner of heaven (or Darlington, however you pronounce it). The neighbours actually smiled when she was hauling box after box into her house, with a few approaching her to express their welcome.
Next door, James debated going out and helping his new neighbour with her furniture and things. A small part of him held him back, she was living in his ex-girlfriend's house, after all, and he dreaded the memories the house held, so he stayed put.
Boxes littered every surface, from the living room floor to the kitchen island, from the bathroom shelf to the bedroom cupboard. It had taken hours to simply organise the boxes into their rooms. Unpacking them was another story altogether, and could definitely wait until tomorrow. Clearing the rubbish she'd had to unpack in order to get to her pyjamas in one fell swoop from the bed, Kate promptly collapsed onto it, the excitement of a new house fading into exhaustion.

* * *

James wasn't expecting to be awake at 3 o'clock in the morning, nor did he expect to see somebody sneaking into his new neighbour's house. At first, he thought it was just a boyfriend, but the waiting van down the street and noticeably dark clothing said otherwise.

Debating what to do, James looked to the keychain of mementos his ex had left him to dwell upon, from which hung a spare key to her house. He could always let himself in to check on her, make sure she was alright and then explain himself later. Conscience weighing upon him, he snatched the keychain from where it lay, resolved to care for his neighbour, whether he'd said hello to her yet or not.

The key worked; he wouldn't put it past his ex to change the locks when she left. All was quiet in the house, if he knew better, he'd say the intruder had left. This, however was proven wrong, when a crash came from the room opposite him.

Kate emerged from her room at the sound, dozy but ready to investigate, because god help her if a stray cat had waltzed in. Trooping downstairs, she certainly didn't expect to find her neighbour with a face that clearly gave away the fact that he'd been caught, his eyes wide and sufficiently 'caught in the headlights'.

Stood in shock for a few moments, James hadn't even had chance to move before Kate went for the phone, nimble fingers calling the police. He wanted to run, really he did, but he had to warn her, there was somebody in her house, she needed to know. Such a thought had barely crossed his mind before he was shoved forcibly into a cupboard and locked in.

"Wait, wait!" His fists pounded against the door. "It's Kate, isn't it? Kate, you have to listen to me, there's somebody in your house!"

"Yes, you!" was the reply from the other side of the door.

He tried to tell her, oh he tried everything to get her to listen, but by the time the police got there, he hadn't convinced her at all. He tried one last time as he was dragged from the house, trying to say that he wasn't the one they should be after, that there was somebody else in the house, that he'd been trying to help. His voice was drowned, however by the glass of the car window.

Kate returned into her home, not noticing the door of the spare bedroom that she'd definitely not left ajar earlier that night, nor did she notice the being hidden just in the shadows behind it.

Writing Wednesday #12 ~ Vault

They thought they were safe; it was in the vault, what could go wrong? They thought it would be any other day; it was in the vault, what could go wrong? They thought life would go on just as it had been; it was in the vault, what could go wrong?
18 months ago, it had arrived. Borne on solar flares, it ravaged the desert lands, laying waste to all it touched before it could be contained. The few who came into its violent contact were better left dead.
It took two months of failed attempts to finally contain it, two months of evacuation, circulating warnings, and fear of all those with enough status to know what was going on.
From then on, the virus thereby known as the Ravage, was classified, its information hidden behind countless intel levels, and the virus itself buried in a vault that was never meant to be opened.
16 months of silence. 16 months of open ears and pursed lips. 16 months of falsified hope.
Only those of the highest scientific status knee that, even in its containment, even whilst hidden away from society's knowledge, it was mutating. It grew into something more than a virus. It transformed into something more - something to truly be feared.
No one could see it coming, who would? It was in the vault, what could go wrong? Nobody heard the creaking of the door opening who would? It was in the vault, what could go wrong? Nobody felt its sentient tendrils creeping up on them, who would? It was in the vault, what could go wrong?
As it turned out, everything could go wrong. That day was thereby known as the day of Downfall.

Writing Wednesday #11 ~ Name

Sorry for not posting for a couple of weeks. I haven't got much of an excuse other than I've been trying to get to bed earlier on a night, after a particularly bad day on Tuesday, which I will probably blog about at some point. Also, there's a show my mum and me have been watching on Wednesday nights called Messiah. It's a crime drama, which I think can be found on youtube; it is however gruesome and graphic when showing murder victims, so if you're averse to that sort of thing, I advise you don't watch it.

What's in a Name?

His name was Bucky, but he didn't know that. Her name was Lucy, but he didn't know that either, or the man from the bridge. He had called him Bucky, then recited a name he must have known from heart. James Buchanan Barnes, a name that fell so familiarly from swollen lips. And the girl, young as she was, the gaze that held his was withered, the words she spoke weary.

"I love him too, Bucky, you know that, or at least, you did."The soldier barely had a moment to contemplate her words before her hand slipped from his grasp, allowing herself to fall after the already plummeting patriot.

He couldn't think when she fell, nor did he think when he too let go of the helicarrier. He was thinking as the air flew past; his superiors would be angry, he hadn't completed his mission. Looking back at the helicarrier, still under fire from its peers, the winter soldier realised that maybe, just maybe, this was his way out. Maybe this was his chance to learn, more than just a name, learn who this Bucky was. Eyes following the girl into the water, searching the depths for his mission, he thought maybe, just maybe, he could learn who they were too.

* * * * *

There we go. This one's for all my Marvel fans. I only joined the fandom a month ago, but I'm in pretty deep. I saw Age of Ultron on Saturday, and it was brilliant, such a good film, I now cannot wait for Civil War, which isn't for another year (D:) but at least there'll be Fantastic Four to fill that gap! This is yet another fanfiction-based WW, which I'm researching at the minute. I might make a wattopsd or something, I don't know, I might just leave them as fantasies like normal, I don't know.

I should have a few posts up in the next few days, tomorrow there's going to be a tag, then an award on Friday, Saturday I might talk about my bad day last Tuesday, and I'm due to do a favourites post, so that'll be Sunday methinks. Should be fun getting all this out! Ser you all then, Eve x

Writing Wednesday #10 ~ Rich

I've done 10 of these! It's only taken me 6 months! This may seem rushed, as I literally have half an hour to write this in to still qualify as a Writing Wednesday. I will endeavour to make this as good as I can, time allowing!
Also, I started NaNoWriMo today, I changed my word goal to a semi-realistic 20,000 in a month, rather than 50,000, now that would be optimistic. I currently have 484 words written, out of a daily expectation of 667, so I'll go work on that now.

Rich

The Rich side of the wall felt infinitely different to my home in the Poor. No, I berated myself, I had been Exchanged, my home was the Rich now. There was a harsh contrast between my old home and my new; the Rich was colourful, not a single shade of grey in sight; it was welcoming, all of its buildings tempting you to enter. However, it was quiet, there was no bustle of the Poor, no companionship in the air, no sense that you are in the same boat as everybody around you.

I looked towards the Mediator's podium for guidance, but he was gone for another year. Where were the people who must have seen my predecessor off? Were the Rich really as isolated as this?

An urgent hiss came from my right. The boy hidden in an alley motions for me to go towards him. Seeing no other option, I stepped towards him, as he took a step back, further into the alleyway.

"This isn't the best of welcomes, you know," I pointed out to the boy, who, in the darkness, appeared to be the same age as me.

"You just replaced one of our own, my sister, I don't think you get much say in how good a welcome you get." He continued into the alley, one hand reaching backwards and catching hold of my wrist. "I need to get you away from their eyes," he whispered urgently, plunging us deeper.

"Whose eyes?"

"The Mediator's. He may be gone from his little pedestal, but he's certainly not done with you yet. It just keeps getting worse." The last was muttered with a shake of the head, a glance back at me before picking up his pace.

"I thought this was the Rich, that everything is fine here."

"You keep believing that. Why do you think it's colourful out there? To keep you Poors from guessing. To keep you interested. To pacify you."

"Is it not colourful everywhere? What are they stopping us from guessing?"

Finally emerging from the tunnel he was dragging me down, we arrive in a world of grey; grey buildings and equally grey faces greet us.

"That we have it as bad as you do."

Writing Wednesday #9 ~ Poor

So, seeing as next week is entitled 'rich', I'm going to make this a 2-parter, a 'Prince and the Pauper' style, really. So look forward to that next week!

* * * * *

In a world where there is no middle, you are caught at an impasse. Either Rich or Poor, you are one or the other.

We didn't want to be in this situation, no one in our district did, but that was our lot. We all looked to the district wall wishing we could be on the other side, but that's not how it works, you see. You don't get to work towards the wall, that would be too easy. Instead you must be chosen for your place on the other side. Once that happens, you don't return to the side from whence you came, only if you are chosen once again in the exchange.

That's what they call it. The Exchange. Sounds harmless, right? Each year, the Exchange occurs, one 'rich' for a 'poor' as we're all called.

Me, I'm a Poor. Compared to statistics of the old world, we aren't actually poor, but in today's money, we ourselves are impoverished.

The Exchange is tomorrow morning. We all wait for our chances, and yet we don't want to be chose. A rich and lavish life against leaving all we have behind weighs upon each of our shoulders. We feel guilty for wanting to move on to something better, as that means we can't return to our families.

And yet, the thrill of the Exchange grips us in its claws, and we sit in anticipation, wasting the night away, dreaming that it is our name that is called, and it is our life that is changed by crossing the wall.

When morning arrives, we line up, scrambling to see the Mediator. The Mediator is required to call our names from their prestigious place on the wall.

When my name is called, the entire district turns to me, waiting for me to say something, do something. Most shout, some cry, whereas I stand numb. Shoves come from every side. urging me towards the wall, towards my fate.

Taking my place before the wall, I wait for the doors to open. When they do, I take a final glance towards my family behind me, who watch me with both joy and fear; they are losing their only daughter after all. I catch my mother's whisper of 'be safe' before the familiar crunching of gears alerts me to the opening of the door before me.

As I take my first steps towards the Rich, I can't help but look to the girl I am replacing. Her eyes convey her utter disdain for me, envy rolling off of her in waves. Looking towards my future, I take my place on the side of the Rich.

Writing Wednesday #8 ~ Race

Just Another Race

It's just another race, I remind myself, feet slapping against the floor as I continue to run, hardly daring to look back, just in case I don't like what I see. Some days I wonder just when my stupidly stubborn head will actually get me killed. A low, rumbling growl sounds behind me, sending a tremor  through the ground. By the looks of it, that day might not be that far away.


It wasn't supposed to go like this, this was not made to kill. We were just playing, another game that had a cool prize at the end. That prize seemed so far away now.

We were together at first, the sinister being who had set the lot of us off, his resounding countdown reverberating through the clearing in which we stood. He gave us 2 minutes' head start, 2 minutes to run before he began the hunt.

We thought it was a game. We think we're all grown up, but like children, we were too transfixed by the end to consider the complications of the middle.

The growl is louder now, gaining on me rapidly. I'm next, I realise. There's no point in ignoring it. I'm going to die, another casualty of the game.

All fight dissipated from my being, slowing my legs to a stop, allowing me to look to the sky as the growling stalks closer. Here's hoping somebody wins this in my place.

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This one is actually alright for once! It's kind of a Hunger Games hybrid, I know, but it's a random thing! Hop you enjoyed this week's theme of Race. It's still Wednesday (It's 11:42 pm). I'm actually doing better at getting these up each week, I'm quite proud of myself :)

Love, Eve <3

Writing Wednesday #7 ~ Fish

Something in the Water

You wouldn't be able to tell what's wrong with us, not from the outside. Even some people on the inside don't understand.

There's something in the water, you see.

Not the water we drink, nor the water we bathe in. It's in our rivers, and in the ocean that boxes us in, keeping us here.

The fish don't swim beneath the waves as they would in your world, but rather, they glide along the ripples, leering over the water, waiting to strike. Our fish can fly, can yours?

It's not just that, though. Our fish, though not sharks or any other type of predator species, are carnivorous. However, only do they show this vindictive trait when the moon shines its light upon their scales. Only in the twilight can they reveal their fangs. Only in darkness can they show appear in their true light.
* * * * *
I'm going to stop that there, otherwise, it'll end up too much like my original Writing Wednesday, Shark Woods.
So, yet another disappointingly short Writing Wednesday, I'll just let myself out now.
Eve <3

Writing Wednesday #6 ~ Bread

You wait for your moment, standing proud your brothers. One of them got lucky the other day, leaving you next in line.

You were created to seduce, you were created to satisfy, you were created to tempt.

You were made for midnight feasts and 3 pm snacks; you were crafted for the morning rush and the lunchtime lull. 

You were not created to display your age with splotches of green, marring your bright surface. You were made for the sweet tooth, for the savoury touch; you were made for whatever you were needed.

As the bag opens, allowing light to illuminate your perfect body, you know that it is your turn, and you are ready.

* * * * *

A really weird one this week. A friend of mine suggested I write about the life of a piece of bread on a counter, so I kind of took it a little bit further. Thank you for the suggestion :)

I'll be posting an award on Friday, then hopefully a Favourites on Saturday or Sunday, if I get around to thinking about what I'd class as my favourites.

Bye, Eve <3

Writing Wednesday #5 ~ Clip

“You’re not scared of a few YouTube clips, are you?” He slid onto the couch, laptop in one hand, the other resting on top of her shoulders.

“Only you would find it funny to look up jump scare videos.” Although she didn’t mind jump scare videos herself, there was only so many times you could watch someone play Five Nights at Freddy’s before you started contemplating working there.

“There’s a rumour going round that these phantom clips are appearing. There’ve only been a few reports of it, but apparently they’re just a minute long, and when they’re done the video you actually clicked just starts playing.”

“I think they’re called adverts,” she quipped with a smirk.

“No, no, no. They’re different, they appear with no warning, then they’re gone. No title, no channel; people try and search them and they don’t exist. People who find them, they test their computers for bugs, search their files for phantom downloads. I want to find it!”

The maddened glee in his eyes was slightly perturbing, in all honesty. He was never particularly enthused by anything, but this, it brought an excitement into his voice, a gleam in his eyes, and she couldn’t deny him that.

He set the first YouTube video playing, sat enthralled, quickly switching to another video as soon as this phantom video did not appear. His eagerness dwindled with each passing video.

Two hours of browsing had left the two weary, her head drooping against his shoulder as the skies darkened outside. Finally, 150 minutes after that first video was set away, he shook her awake, pointing manically at the screen.

“There it is!” The black screen, dark as the room around them, was slowly filled with words, stark white, blinding them momentarily.

You shouldn’t be sat in the dark

He sucked in a breath, she looked blearily at the screen, eyes barely adjusting to read the words before they changed.

You never know what could be lurking

His eyes darted around, hands searching for his phone to add some light to the room, but he was caught by a changing of words once again.

I hope you don’t mind

A knock sounded against the door.

You looked like you needed some company

The word company graduated into red, painfully accompanied by the screeching sound of fingers on a blackboard. The phantom video ended with a picture of a sightless woman, eyes nothing but pitch voids that nonetheless seemed to be staring straight into his. With a click, the lights in the room awakened as the video switched to another gameplay of Outlast: Whistleblower.

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I know it's not exactly the season for this sort of thing, but it was the first thing that came to mind when 'video clip' was suggested for this week's prompt!