Be Very, Very Quiet

This one was written for the six sentence story prompt of range, and the idyllic picture that was posted by Sarah for our weekly picture prompt on The Writer’s Mess. I am back from my hiatus for Nanowrimo, and will be posting regularly. Follow a hunter, as they make this season, their season. Note I was personally aiming at Christmas this week, I completely missed. If you are squeamish, read the tags. Bonus points if you get the title reference.


He sat perfectly still in the blind, having waited far too long for this opportunity to let it escape him now. 

He could see his target, just out of range, and he took long slow breaths to keep his heart rate down as his excitement grew, knowing that this year he would finally get one.

They had been hunting for years, and he had never hit anything, it was always Rick that brought in a kill, sometimes two if it was a good season.

This was it, it would be his year, and he fought down his own impatience, as a shot too early would cause his quarry to flee, leaving him the laughingstock of the lodge.

She was heading his way, and he waited until she was well within range, making sure that when he pulled the trigger she would go down cleanly, all he had to do was squeeze.

It was over in an instant, with the twitch of a finger, the body dropping like a marionette with it’s strings cut, laying there with her ski’s askew, blood splattered on the snow, and he felt giddy with adrenaline, as he had done it; he had finally made his first kill.

What a Difference a Day Makes

Welcome to this weeks response to the Friday Picture prompt on The Writer’s Mess! With Halloween on the brain, and this weeks image being that of a full moon, it doesn’t take a genius to realise where this weeks prompt was heading.  Follow the story of our narrator, who get’s in a car accident the week of the full moon…


Getting in a car accident sucked.

Getting in a car accident and healing so fast that they thought they mixed up her scans with another patients, really sucked.

Getting in a car accident, and being in a coma for an indeterminate time, that sucked the most.

Losing track of time wasn’t that big of an issue for most people, but when you turned into a bloodthirsty monster on the full moon, keeping an accurate calendar was key.

She only realised that the moon was rising full, when her bones started to snap, startling the nurse who was taking her vitals.

They thought it was tetanus, and so they ignored her pleas for them to leave.

They all died. 

The doctors, the nurses, the other patients, all of them died in that hospital, because she had a brain injury and couldn’t remember the day of the week.

It was a massacre, plain and simple. 

It the morning she called the council, and explained what happened.

The hospital burned, the investigators were bribed to look the other way, and the survivors didn’t retain the title long.

She was tried, and found innocent in a court of law, despite the body count. 

The judge looked at her with sympathy as the verdict was delivered, because she would have to live with the weight of what she had done for the rest of her life.

She never lost track of her dates again.

True Love’s Gift

This was written for the challenge on the Where Words Grow discord server. The challenge, less than 400 words on Valentine’s Day in any way shape of form. This is my response, a couple in love, a ritual murder, and the ultimate sacrifice. Warnings for death, murder, general ick. I know this is off season, but I wasn’t allowed to post until the challenge was over so I decided Halloween month was the next best thing.


There was something powerful about standing over a man whose whole heart was in your hands.  He had knelt before her, trusting her to take care of him, to do him no wrong, and she would have sooner tore out her own heart than betray him

She stepped into the ritual circle, blood still dripping warm between her fingers, and made the offering of her true love’s gift.  She felt the power burning its way through her, more excruciating than anything she had ever experienced and knew that it was working.

As quickly as the pain had started, it was over, and in a flash her hands were empty.  She collapsed to her knees, energy gone, and crawled to the still form of her lover.  She placed her right hand over the hole in his chest, and the left over her still flat stomach. The end of his story had become the beginning of hers, a Valentine’s day gift of a life, and really could anything be more romantic.

Divine Retribution

The word of the week is BEAT for the six-sentence challenge by Girlontheedge. Today we follow the continuing story of Lottie, who has stopped trying to repent for her sins. This is going to go as dark as you may think, and I suggest you read the tags if you have triggers because they abound in this one. It works as a standalone, but you might want to go back to the beginning of Lottie’s story if you haven’t read it: Part One


The beat of Lottie’s heart in her ears almost drowned out the jeers of her classmates as she left the school for the last time.

All she had wanted was a friend, just one person not to make fun of her, and they had hurt her for it, made her suffer in ways no girl should be made to suffer.

Limping in from the football field after that lunch three weeks prior had been the tipping point, that moment where this went from possible to inevitable, and when the stick turned pink, she knew their days were numbered.

She pulled the supplies out of her locker, the chains for the doors, the gasoline, the matches, and she started her mission.

The halls were deserted, and there was no one there to ask questions as she walked down the hallways, a jerry can in each hand, chain draped around her like the parody of a necklace, accelerant pouring onto the floors. 

When the doors were sealed, it only took her a single match to light the thing up, though she made sure to use another at the other side, just in case, and she walked away from the screaming of her tormentors, never once looking back to see the vengeance she had wrought.