Writing Tip: 179#

When writing I do the unforgiveable thing of editing what I wrote the day before writing the next piece. I usually do this by leaving comments on sentence and character motivations.

stationary

 

 

Advertisements

“Who’s Your God?”

Helen hissed and raised her gun to the knight who was now standing opposite her. He was faceless, his helmet twisted and like the rest of his armour, it looked melded to his very skin. His sword was thin and poised in his left hand.

“This isn’t cornering you solider!”

He didn’t move, still ready to attack. Helen sighed and fired. The knight only left a cloud of dust in his place as he leapt over the yellow explosion left by the Magma powder. Her gun was slow to reload and the solider came down on her, sword raised. But the gun proved to be sturdy as well and as the man’s sword hurtled toward her, the flank of her gun came to meet it. The force behind the blade shot through her so powerfully, that once it racked its way out of her body it shattered the earth beneath her.

She groaned as the solider jumped away and stood with his back towards her, standing like a dancer, barely effected by the fight, while Helen stumbled.

The guard had made a good choice when choosing his God. Her legs shook, and her skin now felt like it was burning. Where was hers? Quiet as always.

She stood straight and cocked her gun again. She aimed and shot before the solider had turned around. The red shot of lightening scattered as it hit the blade now between it and its target. The sound of the clash reverberated through the small village and Helen was sent backwards by the force. She groaned again as the sand burnt her eyes and she spat it to the ground. By the time she looked up the knight was already over her, pressing his foot into her chest.

She huffed, “fine you win, happy?”

The helmeted man cocked his head, “who is your God?”

Helen raised her eyebrows: woman, helmeted woman. She was only baffled for a second before her gun was taken from her clutches by one of the townspeople and her hands were taken by another.

“Hey! Get off of that! I have no God! The weapon is just mine.”

The woman solider was unphased and stepped off her chest, allowing Helen to be taken.

“Mine is the God of Fire…you probably want to start using ice powders if you’re going to defeat me next time.”

Next time.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Helen yelled as she was dragged away.

“It’s Lucy!”

“I’m Helen, see you around Luc’.”

She broken out of cells before, she hoped this time was a little more eventful.

Hitching a Ride

Hitchhiking

Emily wondered if a thumb could be worn out. Hers certainly felt tingly as she stuck it out again. The car past her without it’s brake lights even flashing. She sighed stuffing her hand back in her jacket.

“Fuckers,” Michelle grumbled, mimicking Emily’s action.

“They don’t have to stop, they don’t know who we are.”

Michelle huffed. She was still frustrated at Emily for turning down a car a few miles back.

“She had kids in the back,” Emily had reasoned.

Michele was still grumbling. The sound of the wet gravel being turned up behind them made her stick her thumb out again. This time the car did slow, and she leant down to the open window. No kids this time. Three men and a woman dressed in ironed dress wear.

“Need a lift,” the driver said, he looked old, at least older than her, with thinning hair and deep wrinkles under his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m heading to Merryside, you heading that way?”

“Ah there about,” the man beamed, “we have room for one more.”

Emily smiled, “thanks.”

She opened the door and squeezed in next to the two in the back of the car.

Michelle huffed, “bit tight.”

“Oh, don’t complain now,” Emily hissed.

“Sorry?” the man said.

“Oh, nothing.”

They couldn’t let these people think she was mad now that they were in the car. She felt nervous.

“Oh, you can’t chicken out now,” Michelle said, “it’ll be fun.”

Emily felt the butcher knife in her jacket pocket and squeezed the hilt.

Yes, it would be fun.

Wrapped Up Warm

Wrapped in layers of warmth.

The dim rustle of movement outside,

Rocks me in the softness of my carriage.

I hear voices familiar and gentle.

Only darkness exists here,

Far away from the bright world above.

Slowly, surely, I rest,

Drifting away to a better place than this.

Writing Tip: 176#

If I’m anywhere public, whether it be at a park or my workplace, sometimes I’ll eavesdrop on people. Not because I’m nosy but because listening to actual conversation can really help in writing flowing dialogue.

Eavesdropper

But also because I’m nosy.