Countdown- Writing Prompt

This past week I went through a brief spasm of writing prompts. :) Pinterest was fantastic.

I decided to post the shortest one I wrote (post above).

Countdown

A green glow emanates from my watch. I press start.

TEN

I’m the last one left.

We ran for years. We denied them the right to our blood by hiding in cement walls that dripped with moisture; or clutching the ground under an acrid truck (most of them were rigged).

NINE

I am the silent one. I am the deadly one with the black knives and the one with the lack of sympathy. I spared no one. They will not spare me.

EIGHT

It began with a war from years ago; a war which has never ended for me. Every night I dream of drowning. I wake up to phantom blood running down my face.

SEVEN

I had a team once. They weren’t my friends, but the occasional word that might have been a joke gave us the feeling of belonging. They’re all gone.

SIX

Now it’s just me.  Running is the last thing in my life that’s consistent. I think if I were to stop, I would die.

FIVE

I’ve killed people. It’s something I’m not ashamed to admit. I could have been an assassin with my clean kills and dark eyes.

FOUR

They would not spare me for my crimes. That’s what I am counting on.

THREE

I brush my hair back and tense before releasing a choked breath. I prepare myself mentally with the same words I’ve always used to focus and relax. I clutch a small explosive rigged to set off on contact. “Ready when you are.” I murmur absently.

TWO

“Come out of there and put your hands up!” Thudding feet and clicking guns arrange themselves.

“Here we go.” I grin and launch out to meet them, my hands held high. I will have myself one last run. Running is all I know. Without it I will die.

My watch beeps frantically and my hands thrust down. The guns come up.

ONE

I am not running. I am flying.

ZERO

First Lines (story starters)

Who doesn't love messing with Siri? That's pretty much the only thing she's good for. ^_^

Today in drivers ed (last day Woooo!!!) I had some free time because I finished early. So I decided to come up with some "First Lines," what I could picture as being good openers for a story/book. I also dug up some first lines from other things I've done in the past.
I figured they would be acceptable for today's post which had to include writing of some kind.
Enjoy! :)
_____

-The color of the sky on the day we died... That's difficult to say, it was a sunset, and there's always more than one color in those, usually.

-Do you think joy is real? Or is it really just chemical interactions like the books say? I have proof that joy is real. But I can't tell you what it is, because nobody believes what they're told. You'll just have to listen.

-Once upon a time there was a river. The sun boiled it into roiling steam and captured its sound with the wind.

-Perhaps being the last person in the world has made me lonely and slightly paranoid.

-Children learn their ABC's and how to count to ten. I learned how to Shift.

-The lonely god tossed stars over the world.

-The shadows rose up and screeched.

-Pale faced warrior why do you laugh?

 -A milennia ago, there was peace, a lifetime away, I ended it.
_____

In the room the voices resemble what ghosts in a cathedral must sound like. It must be what grey curtains of rain sound like.

Feet cross and shift on the streaked, hardwood floors.

“When is the event over?” Red hair tumbles over freckled shoulders.

“When the music stops.” The two women, one with red hair and the other black, move away.

From room to room the polished glasses clinking together sound.

Someone laughs.

A beautiful woman sits at the piano. Music dances its way out of the glowing instrument. It is awake. It is singing.

IN THE BLEAK MIDWINTER
FROSTY WIND MADE MOAN
EARTH STOOD HARD AS IRON
WATER LIKE A STONE
IN THE BLEAK MIDWINTER
LONG AGO

Inside the instrument she wanders. Faces with deep eyes sing to her.

“Play something cheerful now my dear.” A warm hand clasps her shoulder.

Out of the misty world she stumbles. She nods quickly and abruptly begins to play. Slowly falling back into her own heart where winter remains.
_____

And that's all for today. The scene at the end is something from a short story from awhile ago.I hope everyone is enjoying this glorious autumn weather. :)

Blood Always Tells

Heyloeth guys,

'Tis Thursday so a writing piece is due. :)

This week for American Lit. I had to read a short story titled "The Telling-Heart" by Edgar Allan Poe. It's an unnerving tale told with an insistent voice.

The basics of the plot are that a young man murders an older man. What I wrote is told from the perspective of the old man after he's murdered. However the route I decided to go is different, because there's no human conscience present, it's just his body and his blood and how they "react."

It's very... disconnected, because there's no one being to control and direct the thoughts.

While it would mean more to you if you read "The Telling-Heart," hopefully this will be an interesting way to spend a few minutes of your time.

To find out why the younger man murders the older man, click here: The Telling Heart

(the last part in italics is from "The Telling-Heart," I own none of Poe's characters or his words, no copyright infringement is intended and I make no profit from this)

Blood Always Tells

At first silence is the only sound.

Red rivers flood and collide with twisting rushes of dark water. Red rivers roll and submerge themselves in the essence of simply being. They no longer belong to anything or anyone, they are themselves.

Now they are thinning and running apart until they vanish in the wisps of rusted drains and porcelain bodies.

The blood of the murdered has already been lost. Nobody remembers it anymore.
_____

The bones and flesh lie in condemned shadows.

Abandoned… but are they forgotten? Whispers of life still wets their thrumming shapes.

The murdered is gone. And yet they quiver in remembrance, of what it was to move and feel stone and glass.

Now all they feel is each other.

And hate.

Frantically the bones sing out and snatch at the life misting away into the clotted air. Flesh cries out.

The final traces from the vanished rivers of red stir in agony.

All together they give a final push.
_____

A ringing beat.

One. Two. Three…

The heart is alive.

It is a slow and ponderous beat… It quickens.

It dips, it pounds, it marches as if to rise out of the earth where stained hands laid it.
_____

It grew louder --louder --louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! --no, no! They heard! --they suspected! --they knew! --they were making a mockery of my horror!-this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! and now --again! --hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!

"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! --tear up the planks! here, here! --It is the beating of his hideous heart!

-THE END-

marker and pencil - quote from Evanescence's song "My Immortal"
edited in Pixlr-o-matic

Thinking

Today my mind is consumed with these things...

Believe me I'm just as curious as you.