A Changeling King

A new version of the Minotaur story. I hope you enjoy the read.

World's in the making

I dream of the world outside, of trees.

People say they are green, some say they are brown.

I think they are both.

Like I, both human and a monster.

I live below the dungeons, below the royal kitchen and way below the throne. That is where my family sits. Ruling over a whole kingdom hiding a secret.

I am their secret.

A maze created explicitly for a beast like I. A monstrosity concocted by my own mother and father. An accident. From birth, I was raised to be better, to be faster to be the best. A son worthy of a King, a God but I was neither.

So here I sit on a wooden stool throne, a disfigured prince in the centre of a maze, alone.

A murderer.

Every first day of a new month. A new group of young men and women shall enter my maze and…

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Watch shield

A multi-layered story of creation from Sonia. I hope you enjoy it. Have a great week ahead and Happy Reading!

Postcard from life lately

It’s time again! Thank you for this prompt Diana! I’ve decided to let my imagination run freely! Come with me! Let’s open this time capsule together!😉

Written in response to Diana Peach’s prompt: May Speculative Fiction #Writingprompt

steampunk-black-man-brigitte-werner_pixabay-1

Pixabay image by Brigitte Werner

I stroke the blank page in fury. He was an intruder in my dreams after all.
For months he would visit me every night, no days off, or holiday, or any disappointments!
I would open the door for him every time.
The nonsensical segments of a sketch progressively became more refined.
I am creating life from a blank page.
His curls were midnight black.
His shirt was torn apart.
His prominent bones in his shoulders and face, and a thickness to his skin.
His chiseled and rippled muscles across his chest…
He was a dreamy part of my imagination, simultaneously a love and an unreachable man within my…

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Is This The Future #Writingprompt

A cautionary poem from Deepa Kadaakat. I hope you enjoy the read.

Pixabay image by Brigitte Werner

Is This The Future?

by Deepa Kadavakat

You told everyone this is what I am made of:
Levers and Axles and Nuts and Bolts.

Replacing one with another when there was a problem.
Injecting chemicals and metals, even when not necessary.

Yes, you did a great job in saving lives and protecting them
I wish you had stopped there and not become greedy

Playing around with placebos and nocebos
Without a thought about where it leads.

You made me look like something you could create.
Convincing everyone around you to believe it…

 

(Continue reading: Is this the Future)

The Bone Forge

A wonderful story from HRR. I hope you enjoy it. Have a great weekend!

Let Me Tell You the Story of...

steampunk-1809590_960_720Hot.  Flames singed at his flesh.

Pain. His arm ached when he tried to cover his eyes, and his side throbbed with constant, stinging pain.

Alfred whimpered and remained lying down.  “Oh God,” he asked, “My God, why did you forget me?”

“Forget who?” asked a voice.

The light in the room changed as an old woman with wild, grey curls sticking from her messy bun pulled a curtain open.  She placed a hand on Alfred’s head, taking the chance to examine him.  She grabbed a pen light and tested his pupils’ dilation.  “Hmph.  That bootup was supposed to be a test.”

Alfred’s rapid heartbeat and breathing slowed.  “Where am I?” he asked.  “I take it I’m not in Hell?”

“Depends on how much and what kind of Hell you believe in.”  She flipped a switch, and the gears behind Alfred slowed.  The hot fire dimmed.  “This is The…

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The Robot in me

A story from Betul that asks some timely questions. Enjoy!

To Write or not to Write and What to Write

steampunk-1809590_960_720This story is a response to the May Speculative Fiction Prompt by Diane Wallace Peach

It has been a long time since I started feeling this weird thing in me. I am becoming more ruthless. I started feeling less and less empathy for people. I am not sure where this is coming from, how it started, why it started. But it sure freaks me out. Not feeling sad for a kid who fell and hurt was not my thing. Now, this has become my usual reaction. Or rather, I have become reactionless. Heartless.

Sometimes, I still feel some pity for people and whenever I feel this, it makes me happy. But then, I remember the other times when I do not feel this and become unhappy again.

I think about this change in me all the time. Maybe I should not. Maybe I can sit down and just watch a…

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Wicker #Writephoto

copyright Sue Vincent

My mother despised the wicker witches on the neighbor’s farm. She made the sign of the cross when we scurried by on the straight and narrow path to church. Evil things. Satan’s work.

She wrenched me by my wrist, muttering prayers, refusing to raise her gaze from the dirt, grip so tight she left fingered bruises. Crushed violets on my skin. She heard the Devil in the wind on holy days.

I bent beneath God’s almighty eyes. He spied from my closet, prowled under my bed. Tallied transgressions like a spider weaving a child-size web. A tattletale, he caressed the pale shell of my mother’s ear, whispered lists of my depravities, filthy dreams. Collected my impious cravings like bright pennies from a well.

His flaming brand, his righteous redeemer, she blamed the stick witches, wielded the switch, and lay bloody creases of repentance across my spine. Grace earned with pain, not tears.

A wicked girl, I slipped my bed when the Devil beckoned. Irredeemable. An unholy thing. I ghosted across the porch beneath a gilded moon and fled to the neighbor’s field. The witches of sticks clutched hands and danced. Heads tossed back. Skirts swirling. I, the child in the center of their circle. For those moments. Safe from the shining sword of God.

**

An experiment with broken sentences. Did you like it or was it annoying? Would love your thoughts.

A completely fictional response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto prompt

“Metaman104” for a Diana Peach Photo Prompt:May Speculative Fiction #Writingprompt

Jen Goldie took up the prompt at my nudging. I hope you enjoy her story. Happy Reading!

Jen Goldie - A little this, a little that, some real and some imaginings.

steampunk

Diana Peach May Speculative Fiction #Writingprompt

METAMAN104

It was bad enough that they made him sleep in

bails of hay and have no connection to the outside

world, but the half chest and new arm were

alarming. This hadn’t been part of the deal. He

was desperately trying to hang on to the last breaths

of his former life and it was getting increasingly

difficult by the minute. As he stared down at the gold

plating and began examining the intricacies of his

new arm, he got lost in, thought? He could feel

strange twitches of memories? He concentrated.

These were strange and powerful longings.

He knew somehow these yearnings would

never cease, though his desires were fading.

He remembered a word. Love.

He vaguely remembered, feelings? hurt?

these….

were… important… thought?

passion?  

pain?

name…. Love.

Patricia. Pat ricia.  Pa tri cia, Pa………………h.

©J.E.Goldie May 12, 2019

-Meta (from…

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