Speeding Horror

People had been complaining about the late running of the service, even though they were still making good time. That was until they were jerked forwards at the sound of a loud crash. The train came to a painfully slow stop as people that had been sitting in the same direction of travel began standing, trying to see where the noise had come from.

"A car's been hit!" someone yelled, pointing to what was left of a crumpled, smoking car. Some people were gasping, others screaming or crying. She just stared, shocked, out the window as the sound of sirens filled their ears and they remained stationery, wondering why anyone would try and race a train a million times their size. They wouldn't have survived. No way. But you couldn't stop yourself from hoping.

[134 words]

Brush Away A Smile

"Uncle T," he smiled a grim smile as the girl raced up the hall to meet him, embracing him in a hug. He picked her up and spun her around, smiling for real when she laughed, her silky hazelnut hair spinning with her. "Uncle T," she said again, "Can you brush my hair? Mummy's taking me out to night."

"Is she now?" he asked, curious and putting her down, "And where might she be taking you?"

The girl was home schooled and as far as he knew, she had no friends her age, too busy hanging out with her evil mother and her coworkers. Of course, Chloe didn't realise this she just went along happily with them all. If only they could appreciate her love and happiness as he did... Gosh, he treasured her. Sometimes he wondered if it was too much, but he always tossed ti aside. It's not like she had anyone else.

[155 words]

World of Imagination

They said to be your characters. That was one of their tips of advice, truly. Although I don't know if I can' go quite to that extent (yet), I can get very emotionally attached to them, as most writers do. You can pretend to picture yourself in certain scenarios, put yourself in their shoes, smile with them and cry for them. They're not even real, and yet they are more than just words on a paper or screen. They are living, breathing things, and it's amazing to watch them come to life. Which is why I enjoy to write The Story Of Isha for a change on some days - because it tells of how someone's character truly does, quite literally, come to life. Our imaginations can get a little out of hand some days. Movies play on a repeating reel in our heads. But I wouldn't trade it for the world.

[152 words]

Writing Sequence

It was brilliant when you got that spark of imagination, that unstoppable writing splurge where you just wrote and wrote and wrote, for once without the hesitations and writers blocks and you just wrote stuff that actually sounded good, too. The words would flow one after the other in almost perfect sequence, until the time when you would have to stop. To eat, to sleep. Then there was always that worry the spark wouldn't return again for days or weeks or months, but it was a risk you had to take, unfortunately. Hopefully it would come again tomorrow, and the day after. But there were never any promises, even to yourself.

[111 words]

She's Dreaming

She would stand around and greet people with welcome, almost clear of nerves and worries. She would talk with them about their interests, and introduce them to the book. She would sit at a table with posters and things surrounding her, piles of books being passed through, pen in hand, each copy being signed with a loopy signature that was her own. She would smile and laugh and ask how to spell their name, then make lots of fans and friends and sales. The day would go well and make her happy, and things would be great as she worked on the sequels... Ah, to dream.

[106 words]

Scheme

I watched her from afar as she ran up to her mother and embraced her in a mother daughter hug. I cringed away. I was making a big assumption to say that this mother cared nothing of her child, but deep down, I truly believed it. It was wrong on so many levels. Such a precious girl, so beautiful... to have that taken away, to have those eyes filled with tears for a love that may or may not be there... I almost hoped to be wrong, but then... if I was wrong, then this mother was deliberately putting her child at risk... which just bought the circle back again. If only I could take her away from all this. Even if I could, would she follow my lead? Leave her mother for some kid she met two weeks ago? Damn, why didn't she notice the scheme her mother was involved in? And more importantly, why was I the central part to that scheme?

[164 words]

Wiffle Waffle

The frustration of knowing there's something there but not being able to write is quite... frustrating, to be honest. It doesn't help when you have people at your ear saying they've written more than you, that you should be writing, that if you wrote more, you wouldn't have a problem... but that didn't solve the fact that she had to write one now, before sleep, before uni the next day, before a long weekend... and the inspiration wasn't really there at all. But the words still tumbled out. What if she were to write, like that exercise they had to do last week, without stopping? Just whatever nonsense came to your head? What a boring few dailies that would be. She still didn't know what to write, and yet she could see a paragraph fully formed above. It was strange, that. A yawn escaped her, and the music drummed, and there was a blue flashing on the screen. She would have to leave this window... this site... and return again tomorrow. Pointless load of waffle.

[171 words]