All posts tagged: author

Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt: May 14, 2018

  OPENING LINE(S): “I’m not going to let you drown,” he said, spitting out salted water. His/Her/My limbs felt like sinking lead in the water but the stranger’s grip on his/her/my collar was more than enough to keep them/us afloat. Solid ground was just in the distance promising safety, explaining why they’d/ I’d jumped in the water in the first place was another problem in and of itself.  RULES:  Using the above line and the picture provided, (Or a line of your own choosing) create a story (or even a poem) within up to 20 minutes. Once you have finished your super awesome masterpiece, add a link in the comments section of THIS POST to your story for others to read, as well as a link on your page back to this original post for others to follow along and write with as well. In your “tags” section, add the tag “MondayMuse.” To get the Above Image follow this LINK If you do not have a blog of your own, leave me a comment and send me an email to icameforthesoup@gmail.com and I will post your lovely …

Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt: April 23rd 2018

OPENING LINE (S): “Heat spread across my cheeks as Mama turned and gave me that look, the one that said, ‘Don’t make me turn this car around, missy/mister.’ I choked on the angry retort that tickled my tongue and drew my clenched fist beneath my thighs in an attempt not to hit my sister Harriet across the back of her head. Harriet snickered. ” RULES:  Using the above line and the picture provided, (Or a line of your own choosing) create a story (or even a poem) within up to 20 minutes. Once you have finished your super awesome masterpiece, add a link in the comments section of THIS POST to your story for others to read, as well as a link on your page back to this original post for others to follow along and write with as well. In your “tags” section, add the tag “MondayMuse.” To get the Above Image follow this LINK If you do not have a blog of your own, leave me a comment and send me an email to icameforthesoup@gmail.com and I will post your lovely words here on my blog. (PLEASE …

There Was Room: A Short Story

The door whispered on its hinges as her fingers gently pushed it open, her stomach leaping as the light from the window washed over the scene inside the room.  Tiptoeing as not to disturb the scene, Nyla eased forward. She pressed her eyes closed pushing away the tears that had misted over her vision. Cale, her young landlord, lay across her bed, his eyes racing back and forward behind closed lids, his lips framed with touches of a sandy blond beard, just slightly open. He was sound asleep with Nyla’s baby boy snuggled against his chest, nestled within Cale’s large hands. Nyla hadn’t been gone away that long, maybe an hour or two. She had to make the rush to the market before the sun dipped below the horizon. They were fresh out of flour and salt, and Nyla needed that in order to get supper ready. That was part of her living agreement, she could stay on at Cale’s farm, as long as she kept the house clean, took care of the lighter chores …

Me Too: A Short Story

 She couldn’t stop laughing, not after the words that had just arbitrarily slipped from her mouth, and especially not with him laughing as well.  It was an unfortunate nervous tick of hers–incessant laughter. She’d had it since she was a child. When she was nervous, she laughed. Scared. She laughed. Angry. She laughed. She even laughed when she as sad. Her round of giggles at her grandmother’s funeral had her ushered out of the wake and into the parking lot. Sure, she laughed like most people, when most people laughed, but when she was undeniably embarrassed, she laughed non-stop with horrifying honks and snorts. She didn’t know if he was laughing with her, for nervous sake, or if her mortifying animal sounds were causing him to laugh at her. But what if he was laughing out of pity, laughing because of what she’d said? The thought made her choke and pressed tears from her eyes. They tumbled down her cheeks into the chlorinated water between them. She pressed her eyes closed, too afraid to look at …

More Than Hours: A Short Story

He stumbled through the darkness, the light at his back forcing everything into angrier shadows that toyed with his perception. His fingers curved and clawed at nothing as if to anchor himself to where he was. Where was he? He felt as if he’d been in a terrible accident like his body had been jettisoned, head-first through plate glass, accept there was no road nearby, no sound of distress from on-lookers who’d had the misfortune of watching him play with death. No. He was alone, disoriented and meandering through dark woods with the brightest of light ebbing down into a dim glow around him. He stopped and gulped at air, wishing it was water. How he thirsted. His heart thrumming an erratic tattoo in his chest, he lifted his eyes upward and glanced through the canopy of the trees. Dark foliage and branches like skeletal fingers wove above him, yielding very little ground to the setting sun above. It was dusk here. Here, not where he’d been only moments ago. He’d stepped through time. How much time…he …

Monday’ Muse Writing Prompt: March 19th, 2018

OPENING LINE (S): “He silently watched the car shrink away, eaten up by the distance. Strange. Although his lips were unmoving, he had so much he wanted to say.” RULES:  Using the above line and the picture provided, (Or a line of your own choosing) create a story (or even a poem) within up to 20 minutes. Once you have finished your super awesome masterpiece, add a link in the comments section of THIS POST to your story for others to read, as well as a link on your page back to this original post for others to follow along and write with as well. In your “tags” section, add the tag “MondayMuse.” To get the Above Image follow this LINK If you do not have a blog of your own, leave me a comment and send me an email to icameforthesoup@gmail.com and I will post your lovely words here on my blog. (PLEASE KEEP ENTRIES THAT NEED TO BE POSTED ON THIS SITE WITHIN A PG13 RANGE. THANK YOU) ~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt: March 12th, 2018

OPENING LINE (S): “I really can’t tell you what fragrance she wore, but I remember it was beautiful, and it was sweet, like jazz, on a Sunday morning.” RULES:  Using the above line and the picture provided, (Or a line of your own choosing) create a story (or even a poem) within up to 20 minutes. Once you have finished your super awesome masterpiece, add a link in the comments section of THIS POST to your story for others to read, as well as a link on your page back to this original post for others to follow along and write with as well. In your “tags” section, add the tag “MondayMuse.” To get the Above Image follow this LINK If you do not have a blog of your own, leave me a comment and send me an email to icameforthesoup@gmail.com and I will post your lovely words here on my blog. (PLEASE KEEP ENTRIES THAT NEED TO BE POSTED ON THIS SITE WITHIN A PG13 RANGE. THANK YOU) ~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Illusions: Flash Fiction by Candice Coates

They were still following behind. Good. Just a few more miles and all of this would be over soon. She gripped the steering wheel with her lambskin gloves and resisted the urge to gun the gas. Patience, she told her self. She could hold out a little while longer. It also wouldn’t make sense to lose control of the car just because… She blew out another strained breath and peered out her side mirror.  Guilt niggled at her insides. It had been doing so since that entire time and nothing she did could drawn out it sound, not even the radio. She’d long since turned that off. It wasn’t helping. If anything it was making her anxiety worse and the edge to be on the other side of this stretch of road sharper than an executioner’s blade. She eased on the gas as the destination grew larger and the car behind her pulled closer to her bumper. Almost with a battle cry, she thrust her hand beneath her car seat and pulled it out again, …

Certainly Absolutely: Flash Fiction

This wasn’t like the last time he’d kissed her. This time, something about the play of his lips against hers had changed. The gentle ebb and flow between give and take made her toes curl in her ballet flats. She placed her hands on his shoulders to keep herself balanced, lest she melt like a puddle of wax at his feet. The heady scent of his cologne and his masculinity mixed and mingled only to intoxicate her senses further. Oh, but how this moment awakened her and frightened her with the same power. The last time, the first time he’d kissed her, it was little more than a peck on the lips, accidental really. This time he’d slowly snaked his hands around her waist, gazed into her eyes with a mixture of confidence and uncertainty before pulling her into his embrace with his wordless question heard only by her lips. Certainly. Absolutely. The words whispered without sound. She would love him…because she already did. THE END *Every now and again, touches of romance are required to sprinkle the pages …

The Fog: Flash Fiction by Candice Coates

I’m not lost, I just don’t know where I am. I’m not lost, I just don’t know where I am…yet.” He whispered his mantra several more times over, hoping that if he said it enough that the words would become true. Still, the panic that tightened around his throat like a noose would not give. This happened to him occasionally, the mental fog that dropped him into thick darkness only to clear when he was somewhere completely unknown to him. It was his fault, he knew that. He’d gone to a place he’d been warned not to go. To him, however, the warning seemed more like a dare and just couldn’t resist the urge to rebel. “Put to death the flesh…” The fraction of a scripture he’d heard his father pray echoed in his heart, rippling against the pools of panic that sought to drown him. Fidel had allowed his flesh to rule him that night, the night he’d first stepped into the fog. The Stone Room. So many different hidden meanings the name of the …