Into Darkness – #writephoto



Tabitha gazed out over the land. Darkness was descending, painting the valley in a palette of smudged grey-blues and faint iridescence. The navy silhouettes of ghostly trees breached an eerie fog that had rolled in with the twilight. Tabitha knew that this was no natural fog; its milky thickness and defined shape indicated the presence of magic, there to conceal all manner of Dark deeds. She felt her skin prickle and fingertips tingle anticipatively.

Her mother had warned her not to come. Sure, her powers were strong, but they were uncontrolled, and that made them corruptible. But for many weeks Tabitha’s prophetic dreams had shown her the nightmarish consequences of acquiescing to her mother’s pleas, and she was not prepared risk her future by reining herself in. She would go out in a blaze, be it of glory, or of her own destruction.

Creeping through the trees, Tabitha felt icy tendrils of vapour caress her face and wind around her limbs, chilling her to the bone. Her path ahead was claustrophobic and cloudy, a dense wall of fog bearing down upon her. But she urged herself onwards, determined to master her fear and uncertainty. After some time, the mists evanesced, revealing a large clearing embellished with floating candles. In the centre stood the man she sought: the Dark sorcerer Noch-ri. Eyes closed, he was dressed in a granite-coloured robe, unkempt silver beard resting on his chest. He muttered incantations beneath his breath, violet sparks erupting violently and intermittently from his hands. Tabitha approached stealthily, footsteps hushed by moss, heart in her mouth. Her destiny would be defined by this very moment.

Suddenly the hovering candles roared with pillars of flame. The sorcerer’s eyes snapped open, locking onto Tabitha’s with an intense stare.

“I knew you would come,” he whispered.

For a few moments Tabitha was silent, willing her pounding heart to calm. Then her face broke into a sly smile.

“It was never in doubt.”

The Dark warlock nodded and motioned for her to come closer.

“Let me show you the true depths of your power,” he urged, “Together, we will be unstoppable. Don’t hold back, set yourself free!”

Tabitha strode forward, indigo irises afire, and allowed her irrepressible magic to course through her veins, bursting from her fingertips in streaks of purple lightning. She raised her hands triumphantly causing amethyst flames to rain from the skies, igniting the skeletal trees. The ground shook and rumbled as she rose into the air on a throne of acrid black smoke, embracing her fiery chaos, her cataclysmic power.

This was going to be fun.

Emma H, age 26, 21/06/2017


Sue’s beautifully mysterious Twilight photo prompt this week prompted me to think of evil and magic… I rushed this piece out last night so it’s not my greatest work, but hopefully you’ve enjoyed it 🙂

The Unmarked Obelisk – Part 2 – #writephoto


Ronat smiled. Everything was just as she remembered.

The brisk coastal breeze whipped her bare skin, fanning out her shining raven tresses. It was sunset; a ribbon of golden light adorned the crisp horizon, glazing the crests of the breaking waves with molten gold. The stony cove carved itself into the rugged coastline, overlooked by a towering obelisk. Ronat took in a deep breath laced with the tastes of salt and seaweed, and her heart pounded wistfully. Her thirty-two years as a land-dweller were almost at an end.

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The Unmarked Obelisk – Part 1 – #writephoto


“Remind me again what we’re doing here, Fergie?” Liam panted.

The last shard of sunlight wavered on the horizon, painting the shadowed skies with a spectrum of obscure shades. The full moon had already captured the sun’s place in the heavens, challenging the west’s waning golden glow with a stark white brightness to the east. Bikes abandoned and wielding torches, the two teenage boys skidded down the scree-scattered slopes toward the coastline, Liam desperately trying to keep up with the determined step of his best friend.

“I told you,” Fergie replied, “Proving that mermaids exist.”

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Hartling Hall – #writephoto


Eyes brimming with apprehension, Beth gazed upon her new home. In all honesty, there was very little about it that she thought of as homely. The monochrome façade was sparse and spotless, the curtains in most windows were brusquely drawn, and the monstrous building blocked the midday sun, casting sombre shadows across the driveway. The driver ushered her in and Beth gripped Mr. Teddy tighter to her chest as she stepped across the threshold, the humungous doorway swallowing her small, trembling figure.

In the cavernous entrance hall stood a tall woman, dressed in black cotton, light grey hair neatly coiffed. Beth could make out her piercing blue eyes even through the gloom. They were the eyes of someone you daren’t cross.

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Back In Town – A short story

The below short story was written in response to Nicola Auckland’s Show vs. Tell writer’s workshop. The challenge was to rewrite a short passage in a less “telling” or explanatory style, but in a more “showing” style, thus allowing the reader to infer that which is not explicitly said. I strongly recommend that you give her post a read, Nicola gives some great advice!

Back In Town

She was back, or so he had heard. Joe didn’t doubt the rumours, although the sound of her name made his skin crawl. Six years had passed since he last saw her guilt-ridden yet determined face flouncing out the church doors with his best man in tow. The scene could have been taken from your typical Eastenders storyline. But the raw emotion that resurfaced with the memory was inescapably real.

Laden with groceries, the automatic doors slid open, and Joe’s veins instantly flooded with ice. There she was – shimmering into view through the sunshine haze, approaching fast. His fists tightened their grip on his flimsy carrier bags. Unprepared, conflicted, he ducked into the bakery next door, camouflaging himself behind the freshly-baked loaves. Had she seen him? Would she even react if she had? Joe breathed a huge sigh as she sauntered past, oblivious. He watched her curvaceous figure continue down the street in those familiar crimson heels, and he felt his cheeks start to burn. ‘Next time’, he promised himself, ‘Next time I’ll confront her. She needs to know…’. He gathered the beer bottles that had rolled from his bags and hurried out the shop, ignoring the perplexed look of the boy behind the counter. She was twenty metres away now, vanishing into the crowd, still a six-year mystery. ‘Who am I kidding?’ he thought, ‘I need to know.’

Emma H, age 26, 15/04/2017

Sweethearts – #writephoto

stones.pngIt took them a solid twenty minutes to reach the peak, wending their way up snaking slopes and steps crudely hewn into the hillside. The grassy plateau atop the hill was oddly deserted; even the most intrepid tourists chased back down to the promenade by the merciless coastal breeze. Continue reading