Awakening #BlogBattle Writing Challenge

Organised by Rachael Ritchey -
Organised by Rachael Ritchey –

#BlogBattle is a weekly writing challenge organised by Rachael Ritchey. You can find more information about it here. It’s a fun battle, and a supportive group – a great place to hang out! The theme this week is ‘ORCHID’

I feel the need to add a note to this story, mainly because I have no idea where I’m going with it! But that’s the fun in Rachael’s challenges – the freedom of going with the flow. You’ll be glad to know it doesn’t end on a cliff hanger, as such, but it will probably continue. So, although it feels strangely like a game of Balderdash, I hope you enjoy!

Charles stumbled along the overgrown path, his eyes burning with unshed tears. The final part of his journey was always the hardest, and this time was no different. He kept his head down and his weight forward, using the momentum to keep his legs moving. They were numb, all but useless, and still he pushed on.

His head came up the moment the trees began to thin. He was close now. He could see the well; a glint from stones he had placed there himself.

At the thought of what lay ahead, Charles felt his hand spasm. He almost crushed the token in his sweaty palm; the most precious of gifts. He didn’t look down, his fear was too great. The responsibility of his task weighed heavily in his heart. It was his turn now. His turn to honour his family in a tradition which spanned thousands of years. Too many to count.

For centuries his people had remained dormant, their power hidden beneath the earth; waiting for their next rebirth. Charles had no idea how long they were required, but a war was coming, so they could sleep no longer. He was their protector, like his father before him, and soon he would be reunited with his ancestors.

Eventually he would pass the mantle to his own children, and in doing so he would sleep. It was not their destiny to remain among the living. They had not roamed freely in this realm since the dawning of time. They existed in another place, and revealed themselves only when there was no other choice.

Charles fell to his knees beside the well, his fisted hand hovering above the opening. For one brief moment his hand remained locked in place, and then, slowly, it opened. He watched in awe as the seed pod slid from his palm, the unearthly glow illuminating the land even as it travelled down the well.

The earth began to shake, the vibration rattling Charles’ bones. But he wasn’t afraid. He was ready for it. Acting quickly now, he withdrew a dagger and scored a line across his palm. His hand curled around the wound and squeezed tight, the small droplets of blood falling into the light and sealing the ritual.

He fell backwards, scrambling to safety when the ground began to break apart. Charles thought he could hear the rumbling from every corner of the earth; he could certainly map out the connections in his mind. The underground system was vast, a system which began with a million seeds.

Charles tried to imagine that first gift, the power it contained. The plant was not meant to survive in this realm and yet, because it did, his people were granted the blessing of travelling through the ages.

It was impossible, though he knew there were thousands of species which descended from the Loamirar. Even bereft of power, the seeds produced spectacular results. One day he would glimpse the beauty of the Loamirar, and he would rejoice in the sight. Until then he would look upon the orchid, and remember where he came from.

Not that he needed a reminder. His people were emerging, and the beauty of it made his eyes overflow. They were tears of joy, of gratitude. He was witnessing an awakening.

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Closing the Distance #BlogBattle Writing Challenge

Organised by Rachael Ritchey -
Organised by Rachael Ritchey –

#BlogBattle is a weekly writing challenge organised by Rachael Ritchey. You can find more information about it here. It’s a fun battle, and a supportive group – a great place to hang out! The theme this week is ‘DISTANCE’

Just a quick note before I begin. For those who’ve been following along with my story a day, I’m taking a break from Missing, but the story will return tomorrow.

Barry looked down into Phoebe’s face and felt a wave of longing. It was sweet agony to see her again, even if it was merely a dream. He knew it to be a dream because the lucidity of it was unmistakable. He also knew because had had been sharing secret conversations with her for months.

For a man with an eidetic memory, he needed an outlet and, for Barry, that outlet was to dream. He didn’t understand it, and he no longer questioned it. His mind replayed and stored an endless stream of information so, when he slept, he was able to process and analyse his reaction to the day’s events. It was a coping strategy, the reason he could start afresh in the morning without being weighed down by the past.

Phoebe started appearing in his dreams the day she left. Now their conversations were a habit, a part of his conscience with which he could interact.

With a jolt of recognition, Barry felt the change to his psyche which signalled the onset of a different dream. He waited for Phoebe’s face to disappear, for the scene to change. Something he could never control. But the scene didn’t change, not completely.

He stared into Phoebe’s eyes and saw the shadow of pain and fear at the same moment his hands settled around her throat. Her face wavered when his mind balked at the concept of hurting her. Except he wasn’t the one hurting her. He was someone else now, and if his history was any indication, this was a premonition.

“No!” Barry threw himself from the dream, unable to watch as the thick, meaty hands of her attacker began to squeeze. In the vision, he had been the attacker, and the idea of it sent him into a blind panic.

He barely gave himself a minute to control the frantic beating of his heart before he was reaching for the phone and dialling. The long distance ring tone grated along frayed nerves.

Pick up. Pick up.

She normally answered on the fourth of fifth ring. He counted them in his head; his anxiety growing with each separate sound; seven, eight, nine.


Everything stilled inside him when he heard her voice. It took a moment to find his. “Yeah, it’s me.” He could understand her confusion, now that he was thinking clearly. In his panic he hadn’t considered the time, in fact, he hadn’t thought about the distance at all.

“What is it? Has something happened?”

“No, nothing happened. Can’t I get the urge to ring you without there being a national emergency?”

“Not when you sound like a cat on a hot tin roof.” There was a beat or two of silence. “And your urges don’t usually strike at three in the morning.”

“Who’s to say which urges strike at this hour?”

She laughed, a husky sound that belonged in the bedroom. “I walked right into that one. I’ve missed you, Irish.”

I missed you too.

“Yeah, it’s been a while.”

“Almost twelve months.”

“Um hm.”

The chuckle made him smile. “Come on, you know you want to say it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“And I have the patience of a saint. Just do it…ball park figure.”

He snorted at that, relaxing into the game. “Forty-three weeks, fifteen hours, nine minutes and…twenty-two seconds.”

Phoebe chuckled. “Ah, but I’m in a different time zone-”

“Do you really want me to talk about time and relativity?”

“Honey, I could listen to that voice all day long, but I’m between jobs so you’re going to have to cut to the chase.” It disarmed him.

“I had a dream.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.” She lowered her voice. “Was I in this dream?”

Her face flashed into his mind, her bulging, startled eyes. “You could say that.”

“Then tell me.”

He did, though his throat wanted to swallow the words. When he was through, he had to ride the long and agonising silence that followed.

“I’m fine, Barry. I get why you called, but I’m okay.” More silence, silence he knew he was supposed to fill. “Listen to me. I’ll be home in two weeks and you can see for yourself.”

“You don’t understand, Phoebe. I have the image in my head, and it felt like me. For a second it felt like me.” He blew out a breath. “I know they weren’t my hands, but-”

“You think it’s a future event, and that someone wants to hurt me.” Her voice held no judgement.

“I don’t know. I joined the scene a little late and I jumped straight back out again.”

“Okay, how about this. I promise I’ll be careful and stay away from men with suspicious looking hands.”

“It’s not funny.”

“No, it’s not, and I’m sorry it freaked you out. I know you, Irish and once you’ve analysed things you’ll figure it out.”

Barry nodded, though she couldn’t see him. “You’re right. I just needed to hear your voice, that’s all.”

“Then I’ll call when I get home and we’ll figure it out together. Get some sleep. I’m fine, I promise.”

He relaxed. “I’ll talk to you soon, Red.”

That made her laugh, as he’d known it would. He could hear the indecision in her voice. She wouldn’t go until he told her it was okay.

“You bet.”

Barry stared at the ceiling when she disconnected, concentrating on the constellation above his head. It was another coping strategy, a distraction. He wasn’t ready to go back into the dream. Not yet.

Only three-hundred and thirty six hours to go. Give or take.

He smiled as he threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. It was time to find another distraction, because he certainly didn’t want to sleep.

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Missing – Part 7 (Day 8) A Story A Day – #BlogBattle Writing Challenge

Organised by Rachael Ritchey -
Organised by Rachael Ritchey –

#BlogBattle is a weekly writing challenge organised by Rachael Ritchey. You can find more information about it here. It’s a fun battle, and a supportive group – a great place to hang out! The theme this week is ‘HEAD’.

As some of you may know, I’m taking part in the ‘A Story A Day September’ challenge. My blog battle entry will serve as my story for today. The prompt for the challenge is related to conflict and tension. To my blog battle buddies, this is a continuation of an ongoing story. It can, however, stand alone. I followed the theme of this weeks battle.

Recap: Justin Chambers, part of the team at Morgan & Fairchild, is approached by a friend who needs a favour. Justin accepts the missing person case, and agrees to look into it in his own time. Elsewhere in the story, a girl named Holly wakes up without any memory of the night before. She soon discovers she has been kidnapped and is being held in an abandoned airfield.

Andrew slipped out of the shadows and approached his contact. Gary Jones was a weasel of a man, but he was also predictable and would do just about anything for a fast buck. Tonight he had information Andrew needed, information which might lead to his client’s missing daughter.

Gary startled when he saw Andrew; eyes large in a long, narrow face. “Shit, why do you have to do that, man?” He snorted. “You’re like a ninja or something.”

“Or something.” Andrew didn’t have the time or patience for chitchat. “What do you have for me?”

“Word is that the Pintus family are branching out. Seems there’s a need for organs and they’re in the retrieval business.”

Andrew’s expression didn’t change. He knew all about the family, he’d been gathering intel on them for months. “That better not be all you have.” He took a step forward. “You know how I feel about time wasters.”

A growl punctuated the words. It made Andrew smile. He looked down briefly, nodding to Blue. The move was almost imperceptible. Blue was a Utonagan, bred to resemble a wolf but deemed a failure due to his piercing blue eyes. Andrew had saved his life or, more accurately, they had saved each other.

“I hear they’re snatching street kids. Mainly near Chapel Market.” Gary glanced nervously at Blue. “That’s all I have right now. But I’ll put feelers out. They’re holding them in a central location, I just don’t know where. Yet.”

Andrew pulled an envelope from his inside pocket, and made a show of removing some of the notes. He handed the rest over. “If you get me a location I’ll triple your reward.”

“Reward.” Gary snorted. “Yeah, right.”

At the low growl from Blue, Gary stuffed the envelope in his jeans and darted off in the opposite direction. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, before disappearing into the night.

Andrew backtracked to his truck. “The weasel actually came through for us,” he said, glancing at Blue. The dog cocked his head as if to question the validity in his statement. “We have somewhere to focus our attention.”

Inside the dark blue BMW, Andrew touched base and reported in. He had another job to do tonight, but he had a little time. The temptation to visit JJ was strong. They were working out their differences, or so he’d been told. The thought made him grin. JJ hadn’t forgiven him for checking out the way he had. Nor had Ellen for that matter. They were his closest friends and he had shut them out. All the way out.

Andrew sighed and let his head fall back against the seat. He had always been a stubborn fool. His time within the Special Reconnaissance Regiment had been the hardest in his career, a career that almost ended in his death. Andrew had spent weeks in a coma, and longer still in recovery.

The first few months had been hell on earth. He had relived the mission over and over, focusing on the death of his friends and torturing himself because he had made it out alive. The doctors had referred him to a therapist, a man who wanted to get inside his head and analyse his feelings.

The problem was, Andrew didn’t want anyone else to see his failings. Including JJ and Ellen. He didn’t want to think, or feel, he just wanted to escape. It was the first time in his life Andrew had taken the coward’s way out.

He had travelled England, working out his tension with manual labour, and suffocating his ghosts with scotch – just to get him through the nights. After a while he began to heal, first physically, and then mentally. He hadn’t managed to let go of the guilt, but his head was clear of nightmares and Andrew had learned to forgive himself for surviving the attack.

The low whine from Blue dragged him back to the present. He sat up, and looked across at his companion. “What do you say we drive by Chapel Market and scope out the place?”

Blue answered with his usual enthusiasm, eyeing Andrew with what looked suspiciously like impatience.

“Okay, I hear you, buddy. We won’t find Holly sitting in the dark.”

Andrew started the truck, and felt energy course through his veins. He would find the girl. Losing wasn’t an option. Not this time.

Teamwork #BlogBattle Writing Challenge

Organised by Rachael Ritchey -
Organised by Rachael Ritchey –

#BlogBattle is a weekly writing challenge organised by Rachael Ritchey. You can find more information about it here. It’s a fun battle, and a supportive group – a great place to hang out! The theme this week is ‘LEGUMES’.

The temperature in the small room dropped to bearable as Darren Yates gave his presentation. It was a practice run, and Sean had heard a variation of the pitch a dozen times. He was tired of listening to his colleagues gripe at each other. All he wanted was a long, hot shower; a cool, tall beer, and a long, interrupted sleep. That’s what he thought about as Darren droned on about marketing and production. Sean hadn’t slept in thirty six hours. He was still wearing yesterday’s suit, and had breathed the same air as these bozos for long enough. All they needed was a name. A simple name, and he could get the hell out.

“So,” Darren said, reaching the end of his presentation. “It’s entertaining, commercially viable and, most importantly, it’s unique. We did it.” His smile was a touch on the manic side. “I think we have ourselves a hit.”

“Let’s not get carried away.” Gordon stroked the rough stubble on his chin.

Sean’s gaze followed the action; the grating sound seemed to punctuate his feelings exactly. His colleagues were getting on his last nerve.

“Do I have to remind you that you came up with the Beetroot Parade?” Gordon continued, hiding his smile behind his hand.

Darren’s colour turned a shade to rival the vegetable. “It was a good idea.” He slammed his hands down on the desk. “I’m so tired of your sanctimonious bullshit. The beetroot is a titan, and the concept was solid. You wouldn’t know how to appeal to kids if I bought you a red suit and gave you a set of instructions.”

“Have you both finished?” Sean asked. “We were given forty eight hours and our time is almost up. All we have to do is come up with a name.”

Gordon narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger at Darren. “If you say anything related to pod people, so help me god, I’ll-”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Darren waved the comment away. “It needs to be something simple, something catchy. What about….Legumes?”

Silence descended on the room, a blessed relief from all the griping. Then Gordon began to laugh, the sound so genuine Sean could only blink in surprise. He waited for the other shoe to drop, for Darren to jump over the table and shove the pitch down Gordon’s throat. But in never happened. In fact, Darren started laughing too, and pretty soon they were all howling like lunatics.

“It’s perfect,” Gordon said, rising to clap Darren on the shoulder. “This will be the best damn series we ever wrote. I mean it fits. The whole leguminous thing, it’s genius. If you think about the-”

“All right. Save your enthusiasm for the execs.” Sean smoothed down his jacket. “Let’s go pitch the hell out of this show.”

They walked out of the office together, Darren already rabbiting about a tagline. All Sean heard was evolutionary crop and his brain tuned out again. There would be time to celebrate when they sold their crazy plot.

“Best team ever,” Gordon said, shooting a thumbs up to the receptionist.

Until we have to write the damn thing, Sean thought, but he smiled and followed his friends.

I’m not sure where I was going with this! Legumes as the name for a TV show, even if some crazy alien/horror plot doesn’t exactly strike me as a hit (though writers can pitch just about anything!) Lucy had a much better idea for the name – you can find her story here. It’s hilarious!

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Hope #BlogBattle Writing Challenge

Organised by Rachael Ritchey –

#BlogBattle is a weekly writing challenge organised by Rachael Ritchey. You can find more information about it here. It’s a fun battle, and a supportive group – a great place to hang out! The theme this week is ‘OASIS’.

“Please. Stop this.” My words were barely coherent; my throat raw from my protests, from screaming so long and loud I’d bruised my vocal cords.

I didn’t expect an answer; knew the cool liquid mixing with my bloodstream would soon become an inferno which burnt my skin. My eyes were closed, but I knew what I would find when I opened them. A cold, sterile room. My prison.

“I’m here.”

But you’re not.

I raised my lids, staring into Sam’s familiar face. Instead of hope, I felt pain; the kind which bruised my heart. She was a mirage and, like a watering hole in my own barren landscape, Sam became my oasis. The one who sustained me during my torture, the one just beyond my reach.

My eyes filled with tears, and Sam’s features wavered. I saw a pair of cold, expressionless green eyes staring back at me.

“If you tell us what we want to know, all this goes away. You’ll be free.” The words were without emotion; the voice as cold as the eyes.

Laughter broke free, the sound eerie in the small room. My sanity had fractured long ago, left as broken as my body. Still, they could not win. The secrets they wanted were hidden behind an impenetrable wall inside my mind.

My captors had tried everything. There were so many drugs in my system it was a wonder I still lived, though I hoped for death. It wasn’t the pain I sought to escape. I was prepared for that. It was the hope. The hallucinations were far more dangerous than their devices of torture. I didn’t know what was real anymore.

Even now I could hear the sounds of battle; gunfire echoing through the room. I started to laugh again; the walls of my prison vibrating with the violence in the air. What new reality had my mind conjured this time?

My tormentor was screaming at me, but I couldn’t make out his words over the din.

“Just kill me already,” I said, blinking until the green eyes faded and the deep brown of Sam’s eyes came back into view.

I no longer cared she was an illusion. It hurt to look at her, and yet, even a phantom was better than being completely alone.

“It’s okay, we’re going to get you out of here,” she said. It’s what she always said.

I smiled, humouring us both. “I’m ready.”

This was not my first rescue, though the details varied in each case. Sam would start by unhooking me from the table. Sometimes she had to support my weight, other times my body was strong enough to make it across the room on my own. We would open the door to the white, sterile room and escape for a time.

“We need to hurry.”

That was new. Sam was usually confident, so sure of her movements. This time she fumbled with my wrist restraints, her eyes darting to the door.

“Dex!” She screamed the name, her breathing ragged.

“Hey, it’s okay. Everything will be okay,” I tried to reassure her, but she didn’t respond.

Dexter hurried to the table, a new addition to my hallucinations, but a welcome one. Dex was a good man; solid in a fight. This was going to be fun.

“I need your help,” Sam said. “You’ll need to carry Bailey out of here.”

“Wait, I can-”

Dex looked straight at me, his fingers prodding at my neck. “Shit, Sam, I can barely feel a pulse.”

“What?” My mind balked at that. Why weren’t they listening to me? What kind of crazy hallucination was this? I couldn’t even be a part of it.

A scream tore from my throat when Dexter lifted me off the table and threw me over his shoulder. I tried to squirm in his strong grip, but I was too weak – my body refused to cooperate.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Bailey,” Sam said from somewhere behind me, a second before Dexter moved.

I groaned in response. This illusion was no fun at all. Maybe that’s what happened when you lost all hope.

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What’s in a name? #BlogBattle Writing Challenge

#BlogBattle is a weekly writing challenge organised by Rachael Ritchey. You can find more information about it here. It’s a fun battle, and a supportive group – a great place to hang out! The theme this week is ‘EYE’.

I’m working on the third novel in my Morgan and Fairchild series. It is taking longer than it should to get back into the right headspace, so writing a short story using one of the characters really helped. Here is my contribution to the challenge. I hope you enjoy.

Andrew Butcher was stuck between a rock and a hard place. The hard being his buddy, Dom; the guy was one tough son of a bitch. He was also out cold and, judging by the head wound, would be for a while.

Andrew squinted into the dark, listening to the sounds of pursuit. He didn’t bother trying to radio for help, his team wouldn’t get to them in time; they were on their own. He glanced at the blood, which still trickled down Dom’s face; despite his efforts to stanch the flow. There was a nasty cut, running from Dom’s left eyebrow to the centre of his nose, dangerously close to his left eye.

Removing his helmet, Andrew slipped off the bandanna. In a few swift, decisive movements he secured it tightly around Dom’s head. The material covered his left eye completely, but it did the job.

That done, he angled his body beneath Dom’s and, gritting his teeth, Andrew stood. His muscles protested, a complaint Andrew ignored; though he did curse his friend to hell and back. He should have known their intel was too good to be true. Extractions were always the worst assignments, there were just too many variables. Now Andrew’s team was scattered, and his only choice was to try and make it to safety with a dead weight on his back.

The thought filled him with a sense of unease. If he didn’t get Dom out safely, it was on him. But at least they didn’t have to rely on blind luck. They had an exit strategy, one which helped Andrew to circumvent the enemy. His instincts didn’t let him down either, even with the heavy load.

After almost a mile with Dom on his back, Andrew finally began to relax; or his legs were feeling particularly free and loose. He paused to catch his breath. The darkness slipped around them like an old friend. Andrew was comfortable in the shadows. He used them now to lower Dom to the dry, cracked earth. It was either that or drop him on his head; Dom was thrashing like a fish on a hook.

“Jesus, Butch. I feel like I was hit by a truck,” Dom muttered.

“Try carrying one on your back.”

Dom snorted, pulling at the bandanna. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

Despite their situation, Andrew laughed. Dom’s nickname within the team was Cyclops, so he understood the reference. “Forgive me for wanting to keep the brains inside your skull.”

Dom grinned, waiting just long enough for the customary, ‘What brains?’ which they voiced at the same time.

Of course the moment was ruined by the arrival of their enemy.

“How you feeling, Dom?” Andrew asked, assessing the threat; only two of the men were armed.

“Like I could go another few rounds with that truck.” He didn’t pause for effect. Dom knew Andrew had his back, and would cover him. He engaged with the enemy before they even raised a weapon.

The man was a whirlwind and, even with the injury, he fought with a brutal kind of grace. His sharp focus, size and strength had earned him the name Cyclops in the field. Watching him in action, Andrew knew the only way he’d been able to carry him so far was a result of the adrenalin coursing through his system. Pure and simple. Dom wasn’t a truck, he was a tank, and he was pissed.

He made it look so easy, Andrew almost took a load off. Still, a part of him waited for the other shoe to drop – or Dom – one or the other. The big guy was swaying a little by the end. Not that they had anything to worry about now. Andrew could feel his team, moving silently towards them in the dark.

“Maybe you should carry me for a while,” Andrew said, when Dom turned in his direction.

Dom’s gaze dropped to the dark red stain on Andrew’s shoulder. “You’ve been hit.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know. The bullet’s the least of my problems, I think you dislocated my shoulder.”

“More like acted as a tourniquet.” They laughed again, as Dom swung an arm around Andrew’s shoulders. “Let’s get the hell out of here, Sarg. This heat is giving me a headache.”

Andrew groaned. Not that it was the worst joke he heard on the way back to base. Cyclops was also king of the one liners.


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P395 – #BlogBattle Writing Challenge

#BlogBattle is a weekly writing challenge organised by Rachael Ritchey. You can find more information about it here. It’s a fun battle, and a supportive group – a great place to hang out! The theme this week is ‘PROPHET’.

Here is my contribution to the challenge. I hope you enjoy.

The sun was setting as I reached the brow of the hill. The sky drew my attention like a moth to a brightly coloured flame. For a moment I stood, watching the colours bleed together; reds, and oranges, and a fading blue.

I knew what I would find when I turned, had seen it as a moving picture predicting future events. It’s what the facility expected of those like me; a personal viewing of what was yet to come.

When the sky no longer held my interest I turned, finally ready to face what had to be done. I barely registered the cabin as I walked towards it. It was exactly how it was supposed to be, down to the smoke rising from the chimney. The bright blue curtains were closed, their shade darker now the sun no longer lit the glass. Glancing down I was not surprised to see the worn boots by the door, or the shovel resting against the doorjamb. Everything was at it was supposed to be. All except me.

This was David’s path, not mine; a path which was set to end in exactly two hours. That’s how long I had to change my friend’s future, to save the leader of our kind.

David and I were born in a facility, one he had managed to escape. Most saw his freedom as a symbol of hope. All I felt was loss. I knew what would happen before I saw his path. If things had been different, if I had been different, I might have let it play out and accepted my life in a cage. But it was a test, one set by those in power; the monsters who studied our kind like lab rats, and forced us to predict the future of strangers.

My pulse jumped when the door cracked open. This was the part I hadn’t foreseen; from here on out it was unscripted.

“Joseph?” I had only a second to process David’s words and then I was dragged across the threshold, into the room in which my friend was meant to die. “What are you doing here?”

“Buying you a little extra time. I hope.”

We stared at each other, pale gold eyes clashing with pale gold.

“You saw my future.” David dropped his head in defeat. “This was a test.”

“It will be the last. Whatever happens, I can promise you that.”

Where did such conviction come from? I wondered. I had always been the weak one; the runt of the litter. Yet David had never viewed me that way. I was never P395 to him. He had named me Joseph, selecting a prophet because it amused him. In the facility we were known only by our designation.

“You’ve seen my path, haven’t you?” David said.

For the first time in my life I lied to my friend, or perhaps it was bending the truth as David often saw it. “No. When they strapped me to the chair, and brought up the candidate, I saw only you. Finding you was easy.”

I don’t remember whose face had been on the control screen; not their race, their age, or gender. I had no intention of connecting with them.

David blew out a surprised breath. “But how-”

“I made it up.”

“You made it up?”

I glanced away so he couldn’t detect the emotion behind my words. “I put on quite a show. Stuttering through the horror of what I’d seen.”

David was nodding. “You knew they wouldn’t share a negative result with the candidate.”


I didn’t tell him that my anguish had been very real. That watching my friend die almost tore a hole in my sanity.

“But if you didn’t see my path, how did you know where to find me?”

My pulse kicked up, the guilt like acid in my gut. “I saw all I needed to see, that you were allowed to escape. It was all the incentive I needed.”

I could feel David’s gaze burning into the side of my head. If I looked at him, eye to eye, he would see straight through me.

“So what happens now? How do you know your escape isn’t part of the same test?”

“You’ll just have to trust me,” I said, my words punctuated by the sound of an approaching engine. All we had to do was evade the team who were closing in on David’s location. I hadn’t been quick enough to stop them.

I looked across at him, meeting his eyes again. “We’re not alone. The others came with me.” I nodded towards the headlights. “That’s them.”

“The others?” David took a step closer, his gold eyes lit by too much knowledge. “What did you do?”

“I told you. I bought us a head start.” I glanced at the door and back again. “And the others are here because we all earned our freedom.”

“Joseph.” David stepped out into the night with me. “Tell me what you did.”

My gaze roamed the sky, recalling the colours which had drawn my attention earlier. “I burnt the facility to the ground.”

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Follow Your Nose – #BlogBattle Writing Challenge

#BlogBattle is a weekly writing challenge organised by Rachael Ritchey. You can find more information about it here. It’s a fun battle, and a supportive group – a great place to hang out! The theme this week is ‘MUSK’.

Here is my contribution to the challenge. I hope you enjoy.

James knew something was wrong as soon as he entered the house. The tension was a living, breathing thing; strong enough to touch, loud enough to have a voice. He went directly to Jessica’s office, following his gut. The emotional intensity in the air could only belong to her – to James she was a beacon and he followed willingly.

In the doorway to Jessica’s elegant office, the smooth lines and soft colours at odds with the sharp, bitter taste of dread in the air, James watched her. Of course she sensed him. But there was no smile tonight, only a pained expression she couldn’t hide from him.

“What is it?” He stepped into the room, wanting to be near her; to offer his support.

“Sophie is missing.”

James frowned. He wasn’t familiar with the name. The home Jessica provided housed many children, and though he didn’t know them all well, he knew Sophie wasn’t part of the family.

She answered his silence with a slight wave of her hand. “She was adopted a few years ago, but I kept in touch with her parents.”

“Of course you did.” He moved to the desk, and rested his hip against the corner. “Tell me.”

“She was camping with Scott, her father and…I don’t know, they got into trouble. He was found this morning, unconscious, and so far he doesn’t remember his own name, let alone where…” Jessica broke off to rub her hands over her face. “It’s so dark out there, Jamie. What if they don’t find her?”

James closed his eyes. He knew what he had to do, but it didn’t mean he liked it. “Do you want me to help?”

“You’d do that?” Her blue eyes were huge. “That’s not why-”

“I know.” He took her hands and pulled her up so he could wrap his arms around her. “But we both know it’s worth a shot.”

Jessica was silent for so long he knew she had to be thinking about the risk of using his gift; weighing it up against the danger to the child. There was no contest. “I could take you to Rebecca.”

“Then let’s do that.”

James’ abilities were not an exact science, and yet there were times he could touch an object belonging to another and feel a connection beyond the physical. See things others couldn’t.

It was why, forty minutes later, he was sat in a hospital room, avoiding the gaze of Sophie’s distraught mother, and clutching a teddy bear that belonged to the missing child.

At first he felt nothing at all. He sat, staring at the beady eyes of the bear, willing it to tell all its secrets. Out of desperation he crushed it to his chest, and was hit by a smell so strong he almost blanched and gave the game away.

James waited for something else, anything other than the curiously familiar scent clogging his nostrils, but he got nothing. Nada. Zip.

Looking across at Jessica he shook his head. She smiled sadly. Her voice overly bright when she addressed Rebecca.

“We’ll do everything we can, Rebecca. Everything. If we get any leads I’ll call you right away.”

“It’s not an exact science,” he found himself adding, hating to give the woman false hope.

James couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. He didn’t speak again until they were on the way back home. As Jessica drove his Audi with her usual sense of caution, he looked out of the passenger window and caught a glimpse of yellow.

“Monkey flowers!”

Jessica glanced across at him. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.” He closed his eyes, brought the smell to mind from memory. “When I was holding the bear, I was hit with a really strong musk. It’s monkey flowers.”

He heard her breath rush out in relief. “I thought…never mind. What do we do now?”

“I’m not sure. I guess we could join the search. Get out there at first light and see if I can follow a trail.” He thought it over in his mind. “Maybe rouse Barry from his morning slumber. It can’t hurt, right?” His friend had an eidetic memory, and when it came to the area there was little Barry didn’t know.

The energy in the car changed dramatically. Jessica’s hope was like a touch along his skin.

“Thanks, Jamie.”

He reached across to take her hand. “Don’t thank me yet.”

But the following morning, as soon as he stepped out into the early morning light, he caught the scent. It was calling to him, showing him the way like strong-smelling bread crumbs. He’d dreamed of her during the night; seen Sophie in a sea of red. At first he thought it was blood, and he had bolted upright, drenched in sweat, more determined than ever to find her.

It turned out to be patch of flowers, just as he’d predicted. Sophie had crushed them beneath her small body, and although the aroma was long gone by the time they arrived, it had led James directly to her.

Thanks for stopping by.


The Chamber – #BlogBattle Writing Challenge

#BlogBattle is a weekly writing challenge organised by Rachael Ritchey. You can find more information about it here. It’s a fun battle, and a supportive group – a great place to hang out! The theme this week is ‘DREAM’.

Here is my contribution to the challenge. I hope you enjoy.

The buildings pressed in from either side; empty window frames like gaping mouths seeking their prey. Glass littered the ground, shining like diamonds from the glare of a god’s unrivalled power. Joshua stood in the centre of the chaos. As the structures groaned around him, perhaps in protest, he fought the urge to bow as they were to Viala’s will.

The glass began to vibrate, the music as fragile as the splinters at Joshua’s feet. He anticipated the god’s next move and hugged his wings in tight. Tiny missiles shot toward him, ripping into the flesh of his exposed arms and face.

“Give it up, young warrior. Let me pass.”

Joshua had his eyes closed. He opened them now, unsurprised to discover his partner had landed directly in front of them. Nevaeh had no fear. It made her a force to be reckoned with.

He ignored the blood trickling down his cheek and reached to touch a hand to Nevaeh’s shoulder. The hand passed straight through her body.

There’s no pain.

The scene dropped away a moment later, rebuilding itself to resemble another battle. Joshua allowed his lids to lower shut. He was dreaming. The first scene was unfamiliar, perhaps a premonition – a foretelling. The second, a memory, was pain personified. Joshua had barely escaped with his life.

His thoughts coalesced until he remembered where he was, why his dreams were so vivid. They were part of the healing process; a side effect of the chamber. As was the light. Joshua felt it now; pressing in on him as the buildings had done.

The moment full consciousness returned, Joshua felt the light recede. His cells reacted to the change, his senses returning one by one until he was alone in the dark. He didn’t need to see what his mind already knew. He was healed.

Joshua’s wings twitched, anxious to be free of their binds. He dissolved the fastenings with a thought, allowing his wings to unfold; to stretch up and out at a slow, leisurely pace. He embraced the freedom, felt it in every fibre of his being.

He knew how close he had come to true death, to having the light within snuffed out. His soul forever lost to the eternal darkness. His right wing had been torn clean off, preventing his escape, and weakening him beyond hope. A witch had come to his aid, buying him the time he needed to return home.

Joshua had survived the treacherous journey; bruised and battered he had cursed himself for stepping onto the battlefield alone. He was a warrior, an angel of the Battalion, and he would live to fight again. But first he had to face his partner’s wrath. Nevaeh would likely put him back in the chamber for his foolishness alone.

Satisfied when he detected no weakness in his body, Joshua stepped out into a long corridor of bold, stark white. His eyes adjusted to the stimuli in seconds, and he had no desire to fill his environment with colour, though he could have conjured any scene he chose. What he needed was a few more minutes of serenity. Of peace.

The moment Nevaeh stepped into his path, he knew he wasn’t about to get it. She didn’t speak right away. She stepped around him to examine his right wing, the silence stretching between them as familiar as the scent of her concern.

“It’s at least seven inches shorter than the left, but it’ll have to do,” she said, stepping forward so she faced him.

Joshua didn’t take the bait. “In that case, maybe you want to focus your energy there.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? It would make you feel better about playing lone wolf.” Her smile held no humour.

“You’ve already thought of another way to punish me, haven’t you?”

Now the smile lit her indigo eyes. “You’d better believe it.” She flicked a wrist and the walls dropped away to reveal his dream from earlier. The buildings were stood to attention, the glass still in their frames; the battle was yet to unfold.

Joshua flexed his wings. “We have our next assignment.”

A decisive nod. “I’ve been waiting for hours.”

Joshua didn’t say anything. He fell into step beside her to walk the corridor. His gaze never left the image painting the walls, searching for clues; for an advantage in the fight yet to come. Whatever the outcome, at least he wouldn’t face it alone. He had learned his lesson the hard way.

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