Humanity’s last

A sudden persistent gust of wind pushes against her figure and she rebalances her feet. Looking over the edge, not to see where she’s going but to encourage the excitement that is sinking into her skin and tickling her muscles, readying for the descent.

Remembering the feeling of excitement gripping her heart like a child getting excited over a new toy. She can practically feel her feet twitching. This time is different though. This time she’s completely alone. There is no safety net and no way back. Maybe if she focuses on the thrill she won’t focus on the reason why she’s there. The sounds are hard to ignore though. Thousands of growls, screams, and footsteps as the hoard draws in. They scream at her. She’s done this so many times before, but she has never felt so lost or scared than in this instance.

Brown hair, an unfortunate shade of burgundy in places, sticks to her head in clumps and hangs, sticky and lifeless on her shoulders. The rope in her hands leaves an imprint. Forming blisters on her palms, she’s holding it so tight. The loud thump in her chest indicates her overexertion and her clothes feel heavy, the weight of her travels. Suddenly she wishes she had more layers on. The comfort of a warm jumper would feel nice against her skin despite her body’s warmth.

The noises are getting louder. Occasionally, there’s the sound of a scuffle as they fight or fall in their haste to get to her. She can’t bear to turn around and see. She knows what death looks like. It’s too familiar for comfort. Toiling with her emotions and her own grasp on reality.

Her name used to be Amelia. Before all of this. Now she’s just flesh, food for the world. There’s not much left of the girl who went seeking for the thrill of excitement. Amelia Sanders, once an adrenaline junky who avoided conflict, a stranger to her family. Who knows what she is anymore. The temptation to jump is more of a whisper in the wind now. The sounds are too loud to focus. They chatter their teeth as they get closer to their meal. She can smell death.

A single tear slides down her cheek and the name ‘Rianne’ escapes her lips as she leans into the wind. Unwilling to enjoy the thrill but very willing to let grief overtake her this time. Gravity pulls her the rest of the way. Guiding her hand.

Closing her tortured eyes, Amelia falls toward the dead world below.

Copyright, Charlie Wright. All rights reserved.

A Florist’s Dark Desires

I’m currently working through a short course with Open Learning titled ‘Start Writing Fiction’ I believe I already know the basics of writing pretty well but it’s good for a recap as a part of me trying to give my self a restart. It’s actually a lot of fun going back to basics and focusing more on just playing with words a little. This story took about 5 minutes to write.

I would love to hear what you think and any ways I can improve.

A Florist’s Dark Desires

Darla arranges the flower stems until perfect, the Roses romantic against the Dahlias, the Dahlias whimsical against the intricate detailing of the Iris’s and the Iris’s simple against the slender cleverness of the Tulips. Not perfect enough though. When a single petal falls from a rose, unable to hold on any longer, the vase is thrown against the nearest wall.

Breaking into shards of glass that Darla doesn’t rush to pick up. Her hands shake, and she struggles to control the anger bubbling away at the surface. She must make it perfect. Nothing out of place. Her anger is still uncontrolled, spinning around she guides her fist into the wall the vase hit moments earlier – water still lingers, sliding down the elegant gold wallpaper – and after three heavy-handed hits, she steps back and stares at the blank space. A water stain creates a circle on the paper and it’s peeled in a few places. Her hand is bleeding but she doesn’t feel the sting or the ache in her bones. Only the need for perfection.

Leaving the ugliness on the marked shop floor, Darla reaches for another Vase and starts over. Everything must be foolproof tonight, if just one iota of the plan is out of place then everything could collapse around her. Tonight is the night she can finally get her revenge on the man who hurt her but it has to be absolute in every detail. She imagines her husband laid in a pool of his own blood as she begins again, arranging the perfect flowers, now with a quaint smile on her parched lips once again.

Copyright, Charlie Wright. All rights reserved.

Writing – The Hard Parts And Hates

1. It never stops
Once you adopt that writer’s mindset, it doesn’t stop. You could be watching a film, doing your business on the toilet, eating at a nice restaurant with your family. It makes no difference. You will have random thoughts about ways to fix a storyline, things to add to a character’s development or plot at all the times of the day.

2. Procrastination
You never realise how many distractions there are around you until you sit down to work on your book or even a blog post. Technology is an obvious distraction but I’m talking about that plus others. Others like the sun shining through the window, your own hunger because you forgot to eat lunch. Sometimes, my own thoughts will distract me from thinking about another book or plotline for something I’m not working on right that second. Sometimes it’s really easy to write but most of the time it can feel like the world is working against you.

3. Getting it down on paper
Picture this, you’ve just imagined the most amazing plot line, characters and pretty much much of the story down to the little details, but, writing down is a whole other order of business. Describing what you imagine can be half the work in writing. It can take endless amounts of reworks, drafts and edits to get it to sound how you imagined.

4. Revisions and Drafts
The best feeling for me is when you finish writing a book, unfortunately, that’s only the beginning. Writing the first draft is the easy part. It’s the revisions, drafts and edits that are killer. Overhauling the whole book, taking chunks out here and there, putting chunks back in, checking for grammatical errors, punctuation. It takes so long and it makes you want to pull your hair out. You can have your book written in 3 months but it might take you another 6 months to a year to get it ready for publishing.

5. Reading is research
Once you become a writer you get a writer’s brain, like I was saying at the beginning, it never stops. That includes reading I’m afraid. If anything reading is the worst for getting your writing brain going for obvious reasons. You compare, critique and get ideas for your storylines from others works. Reading becomes your research. You will enjoy the books you read but you can’t sink into the pages like you once did.

6. Marketing
Once you’ve written your book, gone through a crazy amount of drafts and revisions, you finally get to publish it. But, now you have to spend the rest of your life marketing that book alongside working on others and every new book you release is just another to focus on marketing while writing another…see where I’m going with this? It’s endless. Plus…you also have to know how to market your books and who to market them too which can be a challenge in itself. With the number of marketing tools we have to hand, the options are endless which can make it tough making decisions.

If this put’s you off ever trying your hand at writing then fear not, I have an obvious post coming up about the things I love about writing because despite the annoyances involved, I love writing.