A Place to Rest Your Head – 33 word prompt


Down the wheezing stairs–to the right, the moth-eaten sack hangs on a hook.  Every night I crowd into the moldy burlap and hug my knees until my stomach aches me to sleep.

My prompt came from Trifecta Writing Challenge.  



A Prequel To: The eyes of fire, the nostrils of air, the mouth of water, the beard of earth.


It’s been a great couple of days for writing.  I got a prompt from another blog I stumbled across Master Class  the prompt was “Desperation had given him authority.”  It reminded me of my recent story about Gregorim, so I thought I’d expand on the universe a bit.  Let me know what you think :).  Here’s a link to the other story 




The flames licked at the edges of his vision.  Smoke hung thick in the air, carrying with it the smell of burning wood and flesh alike.  His mind was frenzied.  His breaths came in ragged choked gasps.  His eyes stung with the combination of smoke and tears.

He hadn’t meant for it to go so far.  He hadn’t meant to do all of this.

He gaze drifted from the husk of one building to the next.  The shells of what used to be homes and shops leering at him, flames staring from behind the empty sockets of their sagging window-frames.  There was no movement in the streets aside from the hungry fire.  The screams had stopped.  The only thing to be heard was his own heart, sounding like an army of angry blacksmiths, destroying his ears.  The time passed with the slow crawl of tar on a cold day.  He was numb.

Finally he looked down at his hands.  They were covered in blood so thick it looked black.  His once white clothing was also mostly reddish-black.  He let his focus slip for a moment, at his feet were three torn and battered shapes.

Small shapes.

Children. Continue reading


His fingers rested on the rosewood handle, absently following the intricate lines. It was new, at least to him, but from the moment he picked it up, his hands had been on it.  He couldn’t help it.  He didn’t even really notice it at first until someone had mentioned it.

“Earl, we got a problem?”  The way his brother asked the question made him wonder if they did.  He was a little guy who was always hunched over, and now that he was spooked, his hunch had him doubled almost in two.

“Wha’choo mean, Jim?” He asked, confused.  “I ain’t got no problem.  You?”

Jim watched his brothers hand as he spoke.  “Well you keep fingering that pistol like you mean to use it.”  He swallowed before looking back up to  Earl ‘s face.  “And I don’t think I said nothin’, but I know how you get sometimes.” Continue reading