SHELF LIFE

This 200-word flash fiction piece was runner-up in the 'One Word Challenge' on the UK's Writing Magazine online forum Talkback.

SHELF LIFE  by Lily Childs

She kept it in a jar.

Every day, Cecile held her breath and snuck into the larder whilst Madame Severin took a nap. The thing was safely hidden behind three rows of Duck Confit, indeed it resembled the meat that wallowed in pale yellow fat, barely distinguishable.

Cecile stopped to wipe the condensation away, as had become tradition. The warmth beneath her fingers grew as she stroked, and she smiled.

“Not long now, little one.”

The jar juddered on the shelf causing a minor kilner cacophony.

“Sshhh.” Cecile leant in and patted the container’s lid. “Don’t let Cook hear you, or she’ll serve you up for supper.”

The jar’s contents shrunk away from the sides. Its flesh quivered, bones poked at the glass in accusation. Cecile stared at the ceiling as the bare bulb flickered and sparked.

“Don’t!”

Her call came too late. The pantry disappeared, drowned in darkness. Cecile ran for the door. Glass smashed and metal erupted all around her. She slipped in a mess of preserved meat and vegetables, her knees slamming onto hard quarry tiles.

Tentacles tore at Cecile’s throat.

Madame Severin arrived. She cursed, scooped up her child, and left Madamoiselle Cecile to flounder in fat.

_____________________________

New Flash - RESCUE MISSION - and a Writing Group Recommendation

I belong to Talkback, the online forum from the UK's popular Writing Magazine. Every month the forum runs a 'One Word Challenge' whereby the winners from the previous month provide a single word which acts as a theme for the new challenge, they then judge and give constructive feedback on the entries. Entrants can write a prose piece up to 200 words and/or a poem up to 40 lines.  

The theme for January was 'stark' and the following piece Rescue Mission was my entry. It didn't win but got positive feedback, and I rather enjoyed writing it so thought I would share. 

But the key reason for posting about this is, if you don't belong to a writer's group, don't have an outlet for your writing and/or are looking for support and guidance then Talkback is a well-established, free forum that I would recommend joining. Its friendly members include published writers of fiction, non-fiction, poetry and screenplays as well as non-published and new writers. There is much discussion about competitions, story/novel/article structure, traditional versus e-publishing and grammar questions plus industry news.

Why not nip over to Talkback and join up. You might even want to have a go at the new One Word Challenge.

RESCUE MISSION

It takes will and effort to bury a man, even in the desert. Now the corpses are outnumbering us we’ve been forced to leave them strewn across the sands to nourish more rapacious survivors, all dignity lost.

***

There are eight of us left. The Frenchman and Russian made some kind of pact this morning. We’ve left their bodies in the cockpit.

***

Strobel died. An hour after he announced “I’m going on a quick recce,” we ventured out into the starless darkness only to find him sucking moisture from the aircraft’s underbelly, convulsing as he held on fast. Did he know the poison in the rains would be enough to kill him? We never had time to ask.

***

We’ve given up questioning the cause. Bomb? Meteorite? All we know is there is no horizon, no sunrise. Occasional lightning staggers across the skies but it throws no clues. The cloying air remains thick with billowing green cloud.

***

Reeves took the risk. I packed sugar cubes into his pockets and let him leave, two oxygen bags strapped to his back. He shook my hand and we wondered who would die first.

***

It’s just me now.

***

I don’t think Reeves is coming back...

Plans... and a little piece of horror

Yesterday, the first day of 2012 I discovered I'd won a monthly writing challenge on Talkback, the online forum of the UK's Writing Magazine. Not only was that a great start to the year, but the piece I'd written was adapted from the novel I put to one side early last year. I'd been toying with picking it back up again, and winning the comp has given me the kick up the backside to finish it during 2012.

Wish me luck!

To celebrate this positive plan, I wrote the following horror drabble this morning. I hope you enjoy it...

Silence of a Bloody Drum

“Once you sign up you can’t back out.”

Boyd didn’t hesitate.

“Where’s the contract?”

“Nod three times and we have an agreement. Un, deux, trois...”

Pain seared through Boyd’s skull. Ear wax melted and dripped like water as the creature held him to its mouth and sucked the molten liquid onto its pointed tongue. It spat the clod onto a mound and immediately attacked the other side to repeat the process.

Boyd screamed.

As he left the room the demon added a further squat tentacle to its sculpture.

“Same time next week,” it whispered.

The words rang in Boyd’s ears.

____________________________________

Rest In Peace

I'm very touched that my poem 'Rest In Peace' has won Writing and Writers' News Magazine's monthly One Word Challenge on their online forum Talkback for December 2010. The theme was 'Peace'. I had several ideas for the challenge and particularly toyed with words about worthy Nobel Peace Prize winner Liu Xiaobo - but the poem wouldn't write itself. I guess, for once, I felt too emotional about it.

So I returned to the darkness, took a suck of a Grimm lozenge and spat out a character, Benjamin Spinks - who may well take on a life of his own if I don't rein him in.

Rest In Peace

Benjamin Spinks is the prick
to my finger,
his spindle - the weaver
of darkness and spite.
He lingers at noon
with a love declaration.
The door to my boudoir
is locked and shut tight.

At night when he croons
with a howl through the mist
I cry
“Leave me in peace!”
He laughs in my face, his voice
creeping tendrils from
outside the gate.
I am trapped by his cruelty.
A victim of hate.

I’ve no turret, no secret,
no fine golden thread.
I’ll be dead before morning,
his chains round my wrists.
He answered my prayer.
Five long days he’s been gone.
Not a drop of cold water,
no food’s touched my lips.

I whisper my last breath,
watch skin leave my bones.
Benjamin Spinks
has left me alone.

___________________________________________