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muchtooarrogantAWOS Timed Writing Challenge
Challenge: Write for sixty minutes, and only sixty minutes, being certain to include the words skateboard and effigy in your piece.
As usual, he couldn't find Megan until she was ready to be found. He had started his search in the house, stopping in every room, extending his senses, putting himself into the semi-trance state his uncle had taught him, but she wasn't there. He could perceive traces, wisps of her essence somehow transmitted to him from the spirit realm, but nothing definite.
When he walked outside, first into the back yard, and then the front, her traces grew more frequent, somehow stronger, a teasing sort of Awareness of "this way." He had never tried doing this before, homing in on her location based exclusively on what he could feel from what he thought of as the other side. Was such a thing possible, or was he just fooling himself?
By the time he reached the park at the end of the street, he was positive he had been imagining things. Everything he had been given to understand said that spirits could be drawn from their realm and subsequently tied to this one, but that they were also bound to one specific location. The idea of a ghost going on holiday to the local neighborhood park just seemed absurd.
Surrounded by the swings and slides of the playground, he turned one last time, surveying the entire park, but the only person he saw was a kid in the parking lot below, playing on his skateboard.
"He's trying to do a pop shove-it," her voice said from behind him.
He spun, and caught sight of her sitting against the trunk of a nearby oak tree, where before there had been nothing except grass and leaves.
"You flip the board up, jump when the tail's down, spin the board around with your foot, and land. I think he's almost got it."
"Damn it, Megan!"
One golden eyebrow raised in mock inquiry, a trait he had heard somewhere was hereditary. Did that sort of thing apply anymore if you were dead?
"You were looking for me, and now you've succeeded. I don't know why you're upset?"
He sighed, walked over, stood beside her for a second , and then sank down to sit at her feet. If there had ever been a time when he'd been more out of his depth than this, he couldn't imagine when it had been. Uncle Chaz always insisted that you had to be in absolute control of any situation where spirits were involved, but imagining himself as the master of this predicament was ridiculous.
"I'm sorry I broke her statue thing," Megan finally said, taking pity on him? "It's an effigy at West Minster!" her voice was suddenly a precise copy of his mother's when she was showing off for friends and family. "I never intended to smash it into the wall, it just ended up being more aerodynamic than I thought it would be. And then," both hands rose, fingers spread in her characteristic half shrug, "pieces everywhere."
He couldn't help it, he laughed. Flopping backwards on his back, the improbable warmth of her supposedly phantom body pressed against his left side, he gazed up at her in helpless adoration.
"And, being who you are, you couldn't have put Humpty Dumpty back together again?"
The fingers of one hand toying with his hair, she answered, "Sorry, not my calling, sport."
Of course, although he sometimes imagined her powers as limitless, she was just a visitor here, called and bound by him to this place. Although, apparently a slightly wider place than he had previously imagined.
None of that was important at the moment however. He hadn't started searching for her because of a bit of mischief involving one statue.
"Megan," he said hesitantly, "I …"
"He hit you, Brandon," she exploded, her voice unexpectedly shrill. "You confessed to both of them for something I had done, and he hit you."
Struggling upright, he slipped an arm around her shoulders, and pulled her in as close as he possibly could. "He wasn't thinking is all," he soothed, "it wasn't a big deal."
"You were bleeding," she hissed between clenched teeth, "I was there. I saw what happened. And, lie to yourself if you want to, but I know he meant to do exactly what he did."
From the parking lot below, there came a sudden scream of triumph, "Yes!" but, staring into each other's eyes, neither one of them looked away.
"He was at the top of the stairs," she whispered, "and I pushed him." Her breathing was faster now, reliving what had happened? "I knew it was wrong, knew I shouldn't, but then … He felt me there, sensed something right before I pushed, and his terror was …" She drew in a long breath, "Amazing!"
"M-Megan," he stammered, horrified, "you can't."
Her eyes sparked, seemed to literally catch fire from within, and for a moment a tendril of fear, perhaps something similar to what his father had felt, touched his own heart. "But, I did." Eyes aglow, she gazed into his resolutely unflinching ones for a time, and then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the light vanished.
"And, that's the problem of course," she continued, her suddenly hushed voice reminding him of a summer wind through fallen leaves. "I did it, and I'd do it again, given half the chance."
"No," he rasped, desperate to stop her, "you wouldn't."
"The girl I was wouldn't," she agreed, "but that's not who I am anymore."
As the afternoon edged towards twilight, Jake, the boy on the skateboard, decided it was time to head home. Glancing up, he saw the teenage guy who had walked passed him about an hour ago sitting under a tree, but the pretty girl who had been there before he had arrived was gone. Too bad, she was definitely out of his league, but once or twice, looking up after one of his failed attempts, he had imagined that she might be cheering him on. Weird, how had she left without him seeing?
Author's Note: I think the most challenging aspect to a timed writing prompt, at least when you're writing fiction, is to squeeze in enough detail so that the story in your head makes sense to the reader. I've been told that I occasionally leave my readers fishing for details at the best of times, so here's some of the background I had in mind for this piece.
Brandon's Uncle Chaz was the one who realized early on that his nephew had a talent for sensing beings in the spirit realm. Deciding that it was better for his power to be focused and trained instead of being left unattended, he taught his nephew the basics of interacting with "the world beyond." During one of these training sessions, Brandon managed to swipe one of his uncle's books on the occult, and learned how to actually summon a spirit. Megan was the spirit he connected with, and eventually managed to bind to his reality.
At age fifteen, Megan was trapped inside her family's home when it caught fire, and died from smoke inhalation while trying to escape. Given the choice of passing on to the next plain of existence or remaining close by her surviving family, she chose to stay with her family, and was therefore available for Brandon to find when he began searching the spirit realm.
As should be obvious from my story, Brandon's parents are unaware of his special talents, not to mention his uncle's training. Brandon's father is not killed by his fall down the stairs, although he does spend a few days in the hospital.
Dan
Challenge: Write for sixty minutes, and only sixty minutes, being certain to include the words skateboard and effigy in your piece.
As usual, he couldn't find Megan until she was ready to be found. He had started his search in the house, stopping in every room, extending his senses, putting himself into the semi-trance state his uncle had taught him, but she wasn't there. He could perceive traces, wisps of her essence somehow transmitted to him from the spirit realm, but nothing definite.
When he walked outside, first into the back yard, and then the front, her traces grew more frequent, somehow stronger, a teasing sort of Awareness of "this way." He had never tried doing this before, homing in on her location based exclusively on what he could feel from what he thought of as the other side. Was such a thing possible, or was he just fooling himself?
By the time he reached the park at the end of the street, he was positive he had been imagining things. Everything he had been given to understand said that spirits could be drawn from their realm and subsequently tied to this one, but that they were also bound to one specific location. The idea of a ghost going on holiday to the local neighborhood park just seemed absurd.
Surrounded by the swings and slides of the playground, he turned one last time, surveying the entire park, but the only person he saw was a kid in the parking lot below, playing on his skateboard.
"He's trying to do a pop shove-it," her voice said from behind him.
He spun, and caught sight of her sitting against the trunk of a nearby oak tree, where before there had been nothing except grass and leaves.
"You flip the board up, jump when the tail's down, spin the board around with your foot, and land. I think he's almost got it."
"Damn it, Megan!"
One golden eyebrow raised in mock inquiry, a trait he had heard somewhere was hereditary. Did that sort of thing apply anymore if you were dead?
"You were looking for me, and now you've succeeded. I don't know why you're upset?"
He sighed, walked over, stood beside her for a second , and then sank down to sit at her feet. If there had ever been a time when he'd been more out of his depth than this, he couldn't imagine when it had been. Uncle Chaz always insisted that you had to be in absolute control of any situation where spirits were involved, but imagining himself as the master of this predicament was ridiculous.
"I'm sorry I broke her statue thing," Megan finally said, taking pity on him? "It's an effigy at West Minster!" her voice was suddenly a precise copy of his mother's when she was showing off for friends and family. "I never intended to smash it into the wall, it just ended up being more aerodynamic than I thought it would be. And then," both hands rose, fingers spread in her characteristic half shrug, "pieces everywhere."
He couldn't help it, he laughed. Flopping backwards on his back, the improbable warmth of her supposedly phantom body pressed against his left side, he gazed up at her in helpless adoration.
"And, being who you are, you couldn't have put Humpty Dumpty back together again?"
The fingers of one hand toying with his hair, she answered, "Sorry, not my calling, sport."
Of course, although he sometimes imagined her powers as limitless, she was just a visitor here, called and bound by him to this place. Although, apparently a slightly wider place than he had previously imagined.
None of that was important at the moment however. He hadn't started searching for her because of a bit of mischief involving one statue.
"Megan," he said hesitantly, "I …"
"He hit you, Brandon," she exploded, her voice unexpectedly shrill. "You confessed to both of them for something I had done, and he hit you."
Struggling upright, he slipped an arm around her shoulders, and pulled her in as close as he possibly could. "He wasn't thinking is all," he soothed, "it wasn't a big deal."
"You were bleeding," she hissed between clenched teeth, "I was there. I saw what happened. And, lie to yourself if you want to, but I know he meant to do exactly what he did."
From the parking lot below, there came a sudden scream of triumph, "Yes!" but, staring into each other's eyes, neither one of them looked away.
"He was at the top of the stairs," she whispered, "and I pushed him." Her breathing was faster now, reliving what had happened? "I knew it was wrong, knew I shouldn't, but then … He felt me there, sensed something right before I pushed, and his terror was …" She drew in a long breath, "Amazing!"
"M-Megan," he stammered, horrified, "you can't."
Her eyes sparked, seemed to literally catch fire from within, and for a moment a tendril of fear, perhaps something similar to what his father had felt, touched his own heart. "But, I did." Eyes aglow, she gazed into his resolutely unflinching ones for a time, and then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the light vanished.
"And, that's the problem of course," she continued, her suddenly hushed voice reminding him of a summer wind through fallen leaves. "I did it, and I'd do it again, given half the chance."
"No," he rasped, desperate to stop her, "you wouldn't."
"The girl I was wouldn't," she agreed, "but that's not who I am anymore."
As the afternoon edged towards twilight, Jake, the boy on the skateboard, decided it was time to head home. Glancing up, he saw the teenage guy who had walked passed him about an hour ago sitting under a tree, but the pretty girl who had been there before he had arrived was gone. Too bad, she was definitely out of his league, but once or twice, looking up after one of his failed attempts, he had imagined that she might be cheering him on. Weird, how had she left without him seeing?
Author's Note: I think the most challenging aspect to a timed writing prompt, at least when you're writing fiction, is to squeeze in enough detail so that the story in your head makes sense to the reader. I've been told that I occasionally leave my readers fishing for details at the best of times, so here's some of the background I had in mind for this piece.
Brandon's Uncle Chaz was the one who realized early on that his nephew had a talent for sensing beings in the spirit realm. Deciding that it was better for his power to be focused and trained instead of being left unattended, he taught his nephew the basics of interacting with "the world beyond." During one of these training sessions, Brandon managed to swipe one of his uncle's books on the occult, and learned how to actually summon a spirit. Megan was the spirit he connected with, and eventually managed to bind to his reality.
At age fifteen, Megan was trapped inside her family's home when it caught fire, and died from smoke inhalation while trying to escape. Given the choice of passing on to the next plain of existence or remaining close by her surviving family, she chose to stay with her family, and was therefore available for Brandon to find when he began searching the spirit realm.
As should be obvious from my story, Brandon's parents are unaware of his special talents, not to mention his uncle's training. Brandon's father is not killed by his fall down the stairs, although he does spend a few days in the hospital.
Dan
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no subject
Date: 2012-09-03 01:35 am (UTC)Sorry -- I unsubbed from the AWOS group. I found that I just didn't have the resources to sit down and write... maybe the brain cells that used to let me do that have shut down, or maybe I'm just too scattered.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-03 01:40 am (UTC)No worries about unsubscribing from AWOS. Frequently, the only free time I can find to write is after midnight, and I realize that schedule wouldn't work for most people. *grin* Still, where ever your writing muse has gone, I hope you're able to find it again.
All the best!
Dan
no subject
Date: 2012-09-03 02:00 am (UTC)But it's very well-written. It really got to me emotionally.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-03 03:49 am (UTC)Thanks for the comment, and I'm glad you enjoyed the story.
Dan