Tag: creative exercise

“You selfish bitch,” she managed, jaw still gripped in rigor mortis.

Natalie stood, shocked, silent and shaking, as she regarded the mud-covered figure in her dining room. Charlize had returned to her.

She took two quick steps forward, tears in her eyes and joy in her heart; Charlize backed away.

“Why did you do this to me?” Charlize choked. “Why did you bring me back?”

“I wasn’t ready, Charlie,” Natalie whimpered. “I couldn’t—”

“But I was!” Charlie reached for the steak knife laid out beside Natalie’s dinner. She tightened her death-stiff fingers around the handle. “I was done! At peace. Resting.”

“Charlie, please.” Natalie’s tears soured, no longer revelling in a miracle but drowning in shame. “I couldn’t live with you gone.”

“That’s why you’ve always been the selfish one.”

Charlie took the blade to her throat and slashed.

Loretta Lynch spends her mornings grinding bones and it’s not to make her bread. She’s not a giant, or a witch, or any other of those silly creatures you might have read about in your fairy tales.

Loretta Lynch is an alchemist, and she knows how to live forever.

It hadn’t been easy, finding the recipe. A life time of work, quite literally. She’d poisoned herself once or twice and quit much more often. But just days before her fifty-third birthday, Loretta tried one last formula. She clutched the phial to her chest and said a prayer to the nameless gods.

Down her throat it went.

That was many years ago now. I was but a boy then, you see. And you were likely not even born.

Yes, you can buy her panacea, if she happens to like your face. But visit her store with care, good child: she charges more than coin.

Selina had a habit of drawing pentagrams on the soles of her shoes. A habit that started as an edgy facade and soon became an obsession.

‘Aces high,’ Deb exclaimed, turning out her hand to reveal a three-of-a-kind windfall.

Jack threw his kings at the couch.

‘Sssh,’ Selina barked; she was getting nervous. The tip of the Sharpie bore deep grooves in the soles of her turquoise Connies where she traced the five-pointed star over and over again. Now her teeth bored grooves in her lower lip, too.

‘Chill out, Sel,’ Deb shrugged. She reached for a bag of marshmallows buried amongst the pile of junk food they’d assembled for the sleep over. ‘Nothing’s going to happen at midnight.’

‘Why midnight anyways?’ Jack crunched a mouthful of Pringles.

‘Because that’s what he told me,’ Selina muttered through clenched teeth. Told being spelt-out on the crude, hand-drawn Ouija board last weekend. ’12. 12. 12 — 12 o’clock on December 12.’

‘How d’you know it wasn’t noon?’ Jack asked.

‘Because it’s dinner time and I’m still alive.’

Gunfire and smoke — that was all there was. Laynee sheltered her head with her arms and shook. There was hay up her nostrils, in her mouth, her ears; diving into the haystack wasn’t the brightest idea she’d ever had but it’d kept her safe and out of the hitman’s sight.

There’d never been a hit in her village. Noelyn Downs was the smallest township in the whole fiefdom and they rarely drew the interest of the high lords much less their ire. They were farmers, after all. They spent their days breeding horses and baking bread without the slightest concern for the happenings in the capital.

And yet … someone had ordered old Len Tomlin dead.

Laynee poked a tunnel through the hay, just wide enough to catch a glimpse of the hitman in his long black coat. A wisp of smoke snaked from the barrel of the flintlock cocked over his arm.

Len Tomlin was at his feet. He bent down and searched for something inside the collar of the old farmer’s shirt. With a tug he pulled the necklace free, stepped over the corpse and carried on his way.

Nathan didn’t mind detention when Simon was there too, even though it meant he missed kicking the footy around with his mates and his usual sneaky ciggy behind the bike sheds with Taylor.

They’d played up in fourth period maths, and now the two of them were alone in the classroom until Ms Dean returned at the halftime bell to check if they were done. Nathan would’ve been finished ages ago if it weren’t for his too frequent glances at Simon, who had slid so far down in the chair his butt was on the edge of the seat.

‘Aren’t you going to do anything?’ Nathan asked.

Simon shrugged. ‘She just said we had to finish, not that it needed to be correct. I’ll scribble down some numbers when the bell rings. I’m in no hurry.’

A ghost of smile.

Nathan closed his book.

She trembled.

Face pressed to the pine needles, Stephanie willed herself invisible. Her breath was little more than a shallow necessity, her only movement as she willed her quaking limbs still.

Footsteps crunched by.

Heavy boots paused by her face. They stunk of sap and kangaroo shit.

The felled tree hid her shadow. Even with the full moon and starry night sky above, the thickness of the forest distorted the light penetrating the world below the trees.

The boots moved on.

She could breathe again.

“Floor it,” Dane said, slamming the car door. “Go. Get out of here. Now.”

Heath hesitated for a moment and waited for Dane to buckle his seat belt. He didn’t, just stared out the window with his head lowered so his straw-like hair covered his eyes.

“Where are we going?” Heath asked as he reached across to buckle it for him.

“Anywhere.” Dane tried to mask his sniffle with a cough. “Just … drive.”

Turning the ignition, Heath nodded. He slipped the car into gear then his hand into Dane’s.

“Lead the way.”