March Writing Challenge | Day 31

Wow! Can I just say how amazed I am to make it all the way through my March Writing Challenge! I have written every day, no post was prewritten or back dated, and I’ve explored so many topics and had so much fun. Also so importantly I’ve grown my little patch of internet along the way and met some awesome writers and poets. It’s lovely to have you guys reading my writing and to be able to be inspired by yours as well. So thank you!

I got to the 100 follower mark! Yay. And hopefully I will keep burrowing into this lovely community. ☺️

Next up is the April A to Z Challenge! Here’s my theme reveal. Let’s hope I can keep up with my new challenge goals and also keep interacting with everyone and joining other prompts along the way. Happy Spring!

Find full details of the challenge here.

“His eyes weren’t normal.”

A shiver crept around the camp fire. We waited, baited for more.

“They were the most beautiful blue, clearer than tropical oceans. I was in love. But when I went closer, they changed. The pearls of blue melted into slits of obsidian. The purest pits of darkness that light itself is not fast enough to escape from.”

Charlotte paused. The crackle of the fire overshadowed its warmth, leaving room for a chill. Charlotte had always been known for her beauty, her confidence. She drew people in to her. Men. Women. Children. Everyone felt comfort around her as if she was the real fire. Her tone was still calm but her words were changing the atmosphere. Just like she’d always created attraction, instead a pulse was emanating from her, almost warding us off.

“When I saw those eyes, I should have known I was already deep in the spider’s web. I should have cowered. But instead, I fled. Or I tried to. But really I had no hope as it was not just his eyes that had now changed. His limbs had lengthened, stretched out and gaunt. They sported dagger claws black as a starless sky.”

“Come on now Char! This is getting really creepy. Even the fire wants to leave.” I gestured at the fire pit, the flames cowering to the floor. The atmosphere was palpable and I was trying to slash through it with a blunt knife.

“I thought you wanted a scary story, I’m nearly finished!” without awaiting approval Charlotte ploughed on. “As I was saying, I knew there was no hope for me. I was lured in by his presence, and now I was lost to life. As I ran, it took only two bounds for him to catch up to me and halt me. His thin nails were so sharp that my clothes were torn without fraying. His scratch down my back held me in place. I was so scared no noise could escape my lips. That’s why none of you heard me… There was nothing to hear. I hope you heed my warning, there really is no point in running.”

Just before the fire finally escaped, the only one of us who did, we could see Charlotte’s friendly eyes turn to piecing black slits. There wasn’t even time to scream.

March Writing Challenge | Day 30

Find full details of the challenge here.

I was happy living once. My home was large and spacious, warm light flooded every nook and I was content. Every morning I would wake in my white linen bedspread and the light would rise to greet me. I was energetic making my mourning routine an engaging ritual. Meditation, washing, yoga, dressing. Fresh faced for breakfast.

The table provided whatever I desired, and along with it a serene corner of my home to eat each meal. The rest of my day was spent reading fantastical fiction about imaginary worlds, cleaning my space, writing my own stories, exercising and then settling down for sleep.

I read about other humans in books, sometimes whole colonies of them lived together, some even sharing beds. I always found this concept hard to consider, the idea of another ‘person’. I’d feel so crowded. I mainly wrote about one person worlds like mine. I was so grateful it was just me.

Until one day my world broke. Or that’s the only way I could understand it at the time. One morning I sat at my table and it didn’t light up. I couldn’t chose my breakfast, I couldn’t understand how table could do this to me. All day I went without food. I’d never experienced hunger before but it reminded me of some of the books I’d read, some people didn’t have food. But they usually didn’t have homes either, living in masses on ‘streets’.

My world didn’t have streets, just my one big home, bed, table, bookshelves, bathroom. I didn’t understand the appeal of empty outdoor spaces, they sounded overwhelming.

The night after the day of hunger I found it hard to sleep. And that’s when the door appeared. My world had never had a door before, and now there was a door and it was opening. Opening to what?! How did a world open. I’d never read or imagined a world opening. The next thing I saw froze me in my bed, if I’d have seen me, I would have looked petrified. Torrents of stillness rolled over me as something else created movement into my home.

The first ever human that wasn’t me entered my world.

To be continued… maybe.

March Writing Challenge | Day 29

Find full details of the challenge here.

Purple neon lights swarm around you, the room you’re in swaying with each beat of the bass. Strangers sip drinks and shout above the tunes to be heard by each other. Multiple archways line the four walls. You need to find your friends or at least a way out of this crazy maze.

You feel like no matter which door you take you’ll just end up back in this same purple blur. You stumble forward anyway and choose a way at random, defeat in your eyes. Your hopelessness triggers an awe in this world that gives you a lifeline. You’re no longer fun to play with. The house throws you up. Vomit discarded on the path. You pull yourself away. One of the lucky survivors.

March Writing Challenge | Day 28

Find full details of the challenge here.

Jason’s skinny jeans creased as he crouched to examine the mustard glow. A small pot of gold stared up, as surprised to see him as he was to see it. He’d ended up in a different building to normal, although grungy as the rest. Another swig of JD and coke sweetened his throat and he thought of all the ways this gold could sweeten his life. How many bottles of his favourite spirit he could buy! Some top notch tobacco, not this shit cheap stuff. Oh and he’d pay his Mum back too, she could stop moaning. He’d pay her back so he owed her nothing and then he’d be out of there…

He took another drag making him heady, too light to hear other sounds.

But it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d turned around at the footsteps, the owner of those footsteps would have acted the same either way. The dark suited heavy walked swiftly up to the scrawny youth. One pop to the back of the head. He guided the body down so the blood would not tarnish the gold. With the silencer on, no sound marked the end of Jason’s life, just like his life hadn’t made much noise itself.

March Writing Challenge | Day 25

Find full details of the challenge here.

Purple clouds brewed in anticipation
Teetering on the edge of their stadium
With a view of the world they lingered to witness
A story so repetitive is it even worth telling?

Yet the storm impatiently sat and waited
Buzzing, heavy, breath bated
As they did with every child who’s time it was to join them
Just in case
They were wrong.

Like an heirloom precious only to one who had long ago died
This child sat dusty among a collection of discard
An antique store that never sold a thing
But was kept out of nostalgia, like all the items inside

Home had no meaning in this child’s eyes
Only existence, a passage of time
That traversed so slowly when there was no food
And so quickly when warmth caressed the city
That it always seemed cold, and they always seemed hungry

For all children are special when they’ve parents to love them
When they’ve a bed under which monsters could hide
But monsters can’t fit under paving stones on dirty streets
They’re real, mean people, despise in their eyes.

So the thunder cursed the world yet again
And the clouds spilled tears that cried from the skies.
Whilst the wind wrapped the child in a warmth it struggled to muster
And carried the child from this hell of injustice and lies.

A descendant finally jingled the bell of the antique store door
In search of an heirloom once dearly held
Reuniting it would not erase the dishonour of its abandon
But it glinted a chance of peace on the horizon.

March Writing Challenge | Day 24

Find full details of the challenge here.

Layla lay there. In her mind grassy hills surrounded her creating a sense of serenity. Outside of her mind she lay in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, crammed with beeping machines and too many bustling people.

Six others lay with her in similar positions. All in their own clouds of thought, some calm like Layla, some traversing nightmares. They would all be deep in nightmares by the end, except for her of course.

Seven bodies fallen into slumbers, all reported at the same time without any connections. None that those awake knew of anyway…

Layla felt life surge into her, more life than she’d dared hope for. Artificial lights replaced emerald landscapes as she came to. Her eyes opened. One of the white coats noticed and all other bodies started flocking around her. Just before the room exploded with beeps, causing the doctors to disperse and try and save the six people Layla had just killed. But their years were gone, they’d been taken, delaying death for the seventh patient by another three hundred and fifty years. On the outside Layla didn’t smile, but her inner mouth shone a satisfied grin. Wide enough to fall into.

March Writing Challenge | Day 22

Find full details of the challenge here.

A haunted horseshoe,
Into the cauldron to stew,
heart of kangaroo,
Sizzles in there too,
Turns the faintest powder blue,
Last stir, that will do.

Yet these are fantasies that were never true.
And based on those lies, crimes we can’t undo.
Burning and hanging and drowning, all undue.

For a witch was just a woman, who couldn’t be controlled.
For a witch was just a woman, who didn’t fit your mould.

Now think to the future, where women are still sold.
We’re still told,
We can’t be bold.
Achieve goals,
Without struggles of olde.

Now think to the future. How do we change the future?

I really enjoyed writing this.

March Writing Challenge | Day 21

Find full details of the challenge here.

Their curtains have been closed, thick mustard drapes that irregularly twinkle light in as eyes peer out. My neighbours have been acting shady. Normally full of quiet acceptance that we neither talk to each other or actively avoid each other, I know very little about them. But I know they’re up to something.

I can hear extra voices through the tissue paper walls. They normally speak in English even though it’s not their first language, but now I hear hushes in words I can’t comprehend. There’s someone new in their home. Why are they hiding them? My slender fingers cover a gasp as I conclude they must be illegal! An illegal immigrant on the other side of my wall, here in an English city suburb. No! These are things you see on the news, not the kind of thing to happen to people like me.

I consider phoning the police. They’d know what to do, send them back to where they belong. Maybe I’d get a reward? I doubt it but it’s worth a try?

I press a glass tumbler against the white paint and strain, but the foreign words just sound more alien now I can hear them clearly. I pick up the corded phone, would this be a 999 situation, it’s not exactly an emergency… A concern meanders in to my mind forcing a pause. What if this brings unwanted attention to my neighbourhood? I don’t want to look bad! And I don’t want to cause any trouble for us law abiding citizens. Don’t want to be getting caught up in that hoo hah!

The phone hovers in my hand, my mind not made up yet. My decision. A thought that I would never have sits quietly in the corner, it can’t penetrate my gossip-fearing law-abiding soul. The thought: that illegal immigrants are human beings. I wonder what they’ve been through to finally end up here.

The thought watches me. As if looking into my eyes will help it travel behind them, and squeeze its way into the jumble of self absorbency that is circling. But it’s not magic. And I’m not that person.

I put the phone down. I don’t want the neighbours to be able to trace this back to me. They might terrorist attack me or something…

March Writing Challenge | Day 20

Day 20! Are you kidding me, I’m so chuffed that I’m still writing everyday! Another Saturday night brings another two for one special as me and my husband both spent twenty minutes writing short stories for this prompt. If I’m gonna be honest I like his more than mine! Very creepy pasta vibes which is something we like to read together. ☺️ Enjoy.

Find full details of the challenge here.

My Story | Fun

“Have you tried ‘F’?”

“No, what’s it do?” I ask, alcohol slurring my words, intending to take it no matter the answer.

“Fun, makes everything seem fun.”

“I need that,” I say, drowning the little purple pill with bourbon. Sceptical at what effects it may or may not have. But I’ll try anything once.


Dawn follows dreams of strobing rainbows and ‘90s cartoons. I must have blacked out. As expected. I see myself on a faded red couch in a sandy field, not too far from the warehouse of raves and broken hearts. The sea battles the coast line below. The cliff wins for now, keeping my body dry.

My body.

That I can see.

From above.


Abandoned on the sofa. Abandoned by my family that I will unjustly blame for the lifestyle I chose. Abandoned by my friends who gave me ‘F’. Most noteworthily, abandoned by me. I stopped taking care of my body long ago; drugs, alcohol, unwanted men. I didn’t care.

Finally last night my body had had enough. It gave up on my soul like a plant that I forgot to water. Everything dies without nourishment. I now knew the full meaning of those words. Too late.

I drifted off, caught on an ocean breeze, leaving behind little impact on this life. I wish I’d had more fun.

Jon’s Story | YOLO

“Wow Dude, where did you get this stuff?”

“It was on offer on Silk Road, and besides, I thought you guys might appreciate something new,” four of him told me, his shouting barely audible over the pounding bass of the new Wellerman remix.

“I don’t feel like myself.”

“That’s pretty normal man, enjoy the buzz.”

I stumble into a few more quadruplets of friends, my senses bombarded with the smell of JD, strobe lights and raised voices. Finally coming out of the chaos I fall into the disabled bathroom, dropping my beer.

“Fuck this has got me trippier than that molly Jess gave me at Sundown!”

I look into the mirror, there are not four of me as there are of my friends. There are two of me. There’s the me me then there is this other skinnier, frailer looking figure that hunches over with age. The other me winces as though in pain and looks me up and down from the mirror.

“I remember those parties, best years of my life,” he says as he runs his hands over his bald head, grey hairs dull in the low-lit bathroom.

“Fuck, dude, are you my grandpa or something? Jesus this is good shit”
My humour is quelled by a serious grating voice.

“I’m not your grandpa, I’m you,” it says. “You never should have dumped Jess, she was the best thing that ever happened to you,” it continues. “Well now I can make those choices for you, but better this time.”

I’m starting to get confused.

“It doesn’t matter how many times we go through this process, that look on your face never changes.”

I feel weak and fade to nothing.

My hair turns from grey to a lush bouncy brown, my back straightens. I step outside of the bathroom to go and meet with my friends.

“Hey lads what you guys drinking? Next rounds on me,” I shout into the circle.

“Shit dude, did you find some cash in the bathroom or something?” I hear.

“Nah man, just wanna have a good time, you only live once!” I say with a glint in my eye.