Picture Prompt 27/09/17

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Here is another of my Instagram picture prompts for you to get creative with. I invite you to have a go at writing a sentence/paragraph/short story to accompany the picture. Remember to link your post back to me, so I can read your creations and spotlight them in the next picture prompt post.

You can find me on Instagram by following this link.

Prompt:

Copy of K.J. CHAPMAN.png

“What is the meaning of this, Argento? Why are you shirtless?” grumbles Elder Wendall. He steps up to me, chewing his lips. “And who is this?”

Argento bows to the Wergal. “I apologise for my state of undress. I was sunbathing on the boat before the storm hit. This is Lorelei. I found her in the lake.” The crowd murmurs to each other. “She has a Sacred Sphere. It saved our lives.”

Elder Wendall steps away in surprise. “Impossible.”

I hold open my palm, showing him the orb of swirling colour. “Can you help me get home?” I ask. A loud gasp resounds throughout the hall at the sight of the sphere.

Elder Wendall snatches the sphere from my palm and eyes it eagerly. The colour fades, and the orb in his hand resembles nothing but a smooth, glass ball. “How curious. It reacts only to her touch,” he says, scratching at his wrinkly head.


Content belongs to K.J.Chapman

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Picture Prompt 01/09/17

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Here is another of my Instagram picture prompts for you to get creative with. I invite you to have a go at writing a sentence/paragraph/short story to accompany the picture. Remember to link your post back to me, so I can read your creations and spotlight them in the next picture prompt post.

You can find me on Instagram by following this link.

Prompt:

K.J. CHAPMAN(8)

I wasn’t foolish enough to expect Titan Mount to be deserted. The Hivers are scared of water. Something in their web of minds registers fear of the wet stuff. If the survivors were to stand any chance, it was to hole up on islands. That’s exactly why the mount was heavily populated by the time I arrived.

The problem I didn’t foresee was low tide. The sea recedes, leaving the mount exposed for hours a day. The security procedures are long and extensive. For six hours, twice a day, we have to defend and protect our little, safe slice of the world from the creatures hellbent on eating us. The bodies litter the wet sand, and then the sea returns and washes them away. We sleep, eat, and repeat.

Twelve hours a day – every day – for the rest of my life. No thanks. I’ve been gathering a group of us to head further out to sea. There is an island – Seafarer’s Bay –  about one hundred miles southwest of here. The last anyone heard, they were over-run when the last aid plane landed. If we can keep hundreds of the creatures at bay day in, day out, we can exterminate an island of seven hundred people… Hivers.


Content belongs to K.J.Chapman

Picture Prompt 10/08/17

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Here is another of my Instagram picture prompts for you to get creative with. I invite you to have a go at writing a sentence/paragraph/short story to accompany the picture. Remember to link your post back to me, so I can read your creations and spotlight them in the next picture prompt post.

You can find me on Instagram by following this link.

Prompt:

 

K.J. CHAPMAN(7).png

*This picture was taken at Kynance Cove, Cornwall*

“There’s a boy out there!” I shout, squinting from the glare of the sun on the water.

He appears to be waist deep in the sea, but is surely at least two hundred yards out. He’d be way out of his depth. His clothes are wet, and his hair slick to his face. I know he looks at me for a little hand waves in my direction.

“Where?” Sally asks, scanning the water.

“He was just there,” I reply, desperately searching for the boy. Nothing disturbs the water. How? “I swear, he was right there. He waved to me.”

The elderly metal detectorist not a few metres away from us starts packing his stuff away in a fluster. “Ya girls best be getting back to ya hotel. Go on, now. Do not come back here, do ya hear? Try the north coast. Better waves, so they say.”

Sally scoffs. “Excuse me, why would we not come back here? We’re on holiday, Sir.”

“Just do as ya’r told,” he barks, and we both edge away from him.

“Let’s go,” I urge Sally, pulling her away.

She roots herself firmly in the sand. “I heard the locals don’t like the tourists a whole lot, but that’s just rude. Who does he think he is?” She turns back to the man. “We will go where we like, thanks all the same.”

The man growls in his throat, but offers a shrug. “Ah, do what ya like. Don’t say, Old Tom didn’t warn ya. Once ya have seen him, it’s a watery end for ya.”

“Seen who?” I ask, the hairs on my arms standing on end.

“The drowned boy is who.”


Content belongs to K.J.Chapman

Picture Prompt 03/08/17

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Here is another of my Instagram picture prompts for you to get creative with. I invite you to have a go at writing a sentence/paragraph/short story to accompany the picture. Remember to link your post back to me, so I can read your creations and spotlight them in the next picture prompt post.

You can find me on Instagram by following this link.

Prompt:

Copy of K.J. CHAPMAN

“Read the note again.” Denny walks two paces ahead, rucksack hanging from the one shoulder. He has a nervous energy about him, but the fact that he is trying to conceal it puts me on edge.

“I’ve read it ten times already. It isn’t going to have changed in the last five minutes,” I say. He turns and glowers over his shoulder in that big-brotherly way that says ‘don’t make me beat on you’. “Pack a bag, walk to the special place, and find the red amongst the green. The past and future awaits you there.”

Denny brushes his shaggy, blonde hair out of his eyes. “And this was hand delivered?”

“Yes,” I snap, sick of recounting the same thing over and over. “There isn’t a stamp. See?”

He ignores me, choosing to pick up his pace.

We come to our special place; the lake where Dad used to bring us fishing as kids. I usually only come back here on anniversaries: birthdays, the day he died. Instantly, Denny points to the mass of fallen trees. The red leaves on one particular tree jar against the greens surrounding it.

“This is it,” Denny says, rushing to the bushes. He digs about in the brush, pulling out a box wrapped in plastic. “How I have prayed for this,” he cries with delight.

He rips open the parcel, marvelling at an ornate, wooden box. I have never seen it before, but clearly this means something to Denny.

“Prayed for what? What is this? Is this a game- a hoax?”

Denny opens the box, breaths ragged and shallow. Inside is a gold coin- doubloon like in appearance. “I thought they were all destroyed.” He starts half sobbing, half laughing. “I can’t believe it. This means–”

“What is that? Who left it?” I ask. “Denny, you’re scaring me.”

Picking up the coin in the cloth it is wrapped in, Denny grips my arm and pulls me toward him. “This is our ticket home, Tia. It is time for you to remember.”

He presses the coin to my forehead, and a searing pain ignites behind my eyes. I have surely fainted for all is black for a moment before a kaleidoscope of colours rushes through my mind’s eye.

I awake on my back, Denny leaning over me in concern. It is as if I’m am looking at him for the first time. “You’re not my brother,” I whisper.

Denny laughs into the air. “Not by blood, no. I think I’ve earned the title, though. What do you say?”

My thoughts clear a little more. Denny aka Dennison Harvey was on my father’s guard. I was entrusted to his care when… “Oh, shit! I remember,” I gasp out loud.

“That’s no language for a Princess to use,” he says, nudging me playfully.

“He altered my memories, so I wouldn’t return home. That’s why the Queen tried to destroy all the remaining coins. My father must still be alive, Denny.”

I stand, brushing the dirt from my clothes, and Denny kneels with bowed head. The familiarity of such an action is like another piece of the puzzle slotting into place- my memory weaving itself back together.

“Get up, you idiot. You’ve been my brother for the past four years, that doesn’t stop now. Pass me that coin, I’m taking us home.”


Content belongs to K.J. Chapman

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Picture Prompt 09/06/17

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Here is another of my Instagram picture prompts for you to get creative with. I invite you to have a go at writing a sentence/paragraph/short story to accompany the picture. Remember to link your post back to me, so I can read your creations and spotlight them in the next picture prompt post.

You can find me on Instagram by following this link.

Writer Spotlight:

Two writers picked up the last prompt and invented their own story from it.

Check out Dana’s interpretation over on Instagram, and give her a follow while you are at it! Dana Fraedrich on Instagram.

Gabriel also created a brilliant piece. Check it out here in the comments of my last post:  Gabriel’s Interpretation. Head on over to Gabriel’s blog and follow follow follow: A Little Me, Apparently.

This Week’s Prompt:

K.J. CHAPMAN(5)

*This picture is of the old lifeboat station at Lizard Point, Cornwall.*

Jack is a secretive type. I know him, and yet, I don’t. We met by chance when he saved my life when I was caught in a rip current. Since then, we have met up every evening at the beach, but he always rushes off after our meetings, especially if my brother and my friends are due to turn up. Tonight, I was adamant that I would follow him. Keeping a good distance between us, I follow him onto the coastal path. I dont recall any residential buildings on the cliffs, and it’s quite a way to walk to the neighbouring port. He wouldn’t make it before dark.

I’m contemplating turning back when he diverts from the coastal path and heads down the slip to the old lifeboat station. Ignoring the warning signs, he brazenly sprints across the rickety platform. I watch him disappear inside. Could he be living here? Is that why he’s embarrassed to meet my friends, or tell me much about himself? By confronting him, I hope to ease some of his worries. He’s a good guy, a gentleman, and if its help he needs, perhaps I am the one to give it to him.

Slipping and sliding my way down the seaweed covered slipway, I gingerly make my way over the platform. A blinding light glares from within the station, but only for a moment. The noise of Jack clanging around inside disappears, and I have the oddest sensation of being totally alone. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Jack?” I call, the heebie jeebies getting the better of me. No reply. “Jack?”

Rushing inside the old station, I clamber over bits of drift wood and good knows what else in search of the man I saw run in here just moment ago. “Jack! This isn’t funny. I know you’re in here. If you’re embarrassed–”

Another flash of light burns at my retinas. I stumble backward, sprawling over the mounds of debris. Jack reappears out of thin air, only now, he is accompanied by two men. The three of them tap at the metal bands on their wrists; the metal band that Jack always wears, and I thought was a bracelet of some kind. What the hell is happening? Where did they come from? Jack isn’t comfortable around these people. I can sense the hesitation in his body language. I’m too frightened to move. My mind is swimming with questions, and trying to think up a logical excuse for three people to just pop out of thin air. I should have minded my own business and kept well away.

I shrink back as they pass, trying to make myself as small as possible. One of the strangers shoves Jack ahead of him, nearly toppling him in the process. As he rights himself, his eyes meet mine. The shock on his face is quickly replaced with worry. Placing a finger to his lips, he pleads with his eyes for me to remain quiet.

“You’ve been posted here for a month, and you’re telling me that you’ve not even managed to talk to the girl?” The other guy asks him.

Jack’s eyes flit to my hiding spot. “I don’t think she’s the one, Franky. I did some digging, and her Dad died in a machinery accident when her Mum was pregnant with her.” My stomach swoops. He’s talking about me. “There’s a grave and everything–”

Franky clouts him around the head. “Oh, you’ve done some digging. Did you dig up that bloody grave? Did you find out who, if anyone, is buried there, because it sure as hell ain’t her old man?” Jack recoils from him, positioning himself between them and me. “You’ve spoken to her, haven’t you?” Franky says, gripping at the scruff of Jack’s top. “You’re protecting her.”

Jack pulls himself free. “I won’t let you take her back to him.” The pair laugh, but Jack draws himself up taller. “If Lana was here right now, I’d tell her she is in danger, and to get to that clear space at my nine o clock. Trust me.” He whispers those last two words. Franky and the other guy look at him bewildered. “Now, Lana!” Jack shouts.

I have to do what he says. Every fibre in my body urges me to move. Jumping up from my position on the floor, I hurdle the debris and land in the open space beside Jack. He turns on his heels, sprinting toward me, tapping at his watch as he runs. The two men draw guns, but they don’t have the time to use them. Jack body slams me, wrapping his arms around me, and then shouts at me to close my eyes. Another final blast of light ignites the air around us, and in the next split-second, we sprawl onto a cool, metal floor. As Jack hoists me to my feet, my first sight is the most spectacular and daunting sight I have ever seen. I’m looking at the Earth from space.


Content belongs to K.J. Chapman

 

 

Picture Prompt 29/05/17

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Here is another of my Instagram picture prompts for you to get creative with. I invite you to have a go at writing a sentence/paragraph/short story to accompany the picture. Remember to link your post back to me, so I can read your creations and spotlight them in the next picture prompt post.

You can find me on Instagram by following this link.

Prompt:

K.J. CHAPMAN(4).png

“There is a shrine of sorts upon the cliffs. I saw it this morning when I was walking. There are dates carved into the wood,” I say, helping myself to a cup of milk. Something bristles in my cousin, Lizbeth, but she composes herself before turning back to me, offering a smile.

“Oh, you mean The Wrecking Post. Yes, that is a shrine to the ships and boats wrecked on the rocks below. The date of the wreckage is carved into the wood, and a piece of debris is added to the collection.” She takes a cup from my outstretched hand, and despite her smile, her hand shakes.

“But there is so much there: ropes, drift wood, pieces of metal. How many ships have been wrecked upon those cliffs.”

“Many,” she replies, taking her shawl from the hook and hurrying out of the door. “I shall be late if I stand conversing about shipwrecks, Jenna.”

“Then, tell me why my asking has affected you so.”

She stops in her tracks, her back going rigid. “Do not speak of this again, Jenna. Hold your tongue on this subject with the villagers. It is not something talked of in an informal fashion.”

“Lizbeth, my stomach has sunk like a stone. Why have there been so many wrecks on those rocks? You must answer me.”

She sighs heavily, rubbing a hand over her face. “How do you think this village has flourished, Cousin? Your father was one of the first group of men to partake in such acts. It has become necessity. You mustn’t judge, for you have benefitted as much as the rest of us over the years. You were just never made aware, living with Aunt April in the city.”

I feel faint, slumping into my chair with all the grace of a sitting heifer. “Oh, Lord. We are a family of wreckers,” I say.

“We are a village of wreckers,” Lizbeth corrects.


Content belongs to K.J. Chapman

Picture Prompt 09/05/2017

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Here is another of my Instagram picture prompts for you to get creative with. I invite you to have a go at writing a sentence/paragraph/short story to accompany the picture. Remember to link your post back to me, so I can read your creations and spotlight them in the next picture prompt post.

You can find me on Instagram by following this link.

Prompt:

K.J. CHAPMAN(2).png

When I was a child, I would sneak out of the farm on a full moon and run all the way through the woods to the lake. As an adult, I still do. Not because of the way the moonlight reflects off the calm water, or the majestic sound of the owls calling to the night, but because of the strange crafts that rise out of the depths in the middle of the lake and fly off into the stars. I have been watching them for twenty one years, and tonight is the first night that I’ve signalled to them using my torch. Why? Because it seems I’m not the only one who has been watching them, and now, they’re in danger.


Content belongs to K.J.Chapman

Picture Prompt

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Here is another of my Instagram picture prompts for you to get creative with. I invite you to have a go at writing a sentence/paragraph/short story to accompany the picture. Remember to link your post back to me, so I can read your creations and spotlight them in the next picture prompt post.

You can find me on Instagram by following this link.

Picture Prompt:

K.J. CHAPMAN(3)

Not a soul had touched the water from the lake in almost a century. The last to plummet into the crystal clear depths suffered the consequences- a cruel, painful death. Only one elder remains who remembers that tragic day, and despite his age, his stories are still as vivid as ever.

The water of the lake is sacred. The stories passed down through the years insist that the lake was blessed by a High Priestess after a dream in which the Almighty Overseer instructed her to act upon his command. After the blessing, anyone who swam or drank from the lake withered like dried bark, screaming all the while until finally giving their last breath. It is believed that the one who survives the lake is the blessed Child of the Almighty Overseer. We shall never know the truth in this, for we are prohibited from going near the lake.

Although it is forbidden, it is a right of passage for a child turning the age of adulthood to jump the waterfall. It is not a large jump, but one shaking foot, or a meek run up would inevitably see them plunging into the water below. It hasn’t happened, yet.

Exhaling to calm my frantic heart beat, and clenching my fists tight, I run toward the waterfall. Harrow and the gang cheer and whoop as my feet thunder toward the jump. They have all made the jump in recent months; I am the youngest of the group and the last of us to prove myself courageous… or stupid.

“Go on, Baby,” Harrow calls, and his voice gees me on.

As my foot lands upon the last rock before the rushing fall of water, I launch myself into the air, keeping my eyes on the rocks on the other side.

Just as a howl of applause echoes around the forest, a gale of wind rips through the trees, extinguishing the camp fire. The impact of the wind is enough to knock the air out of my lungs, and as the force spirals me away from the rocks, I cry out for Harrow.

“Lenna!” he roars, as I tumble toward the water.

Oh, Almighty. This is how I die.

Hitting the water, I flail to the surface, awaiting the inevitable. Harrow and the others look over the edge, crying and screaming my name. How long does this thing take? With a lurch, I’m sucked down into a vortex of current without a shred of air in my lungs. Perhaps drowning is the lesser of two evils. The water feels like hands upon me, forcing me anyway it pleases, and with one forceful gush, I’m propelled from the lake and land heavily on the bank. Harrow is already running toward me after bravely scaling the rock face.

He stops in his tracks, eyes wide, and mouth open. “Your skin,” he gasps.

Every inch of my skin is covered in delicate, black symbols.

Dropping to his knees, Harrow lowers his head in a bow. “Child of the Almighty Overseer.”


Content belongs to K.J.Chapman

Picture Prompt

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Here is another of my Instagram picture prompts for you to get creative with. I invite you to have a go at writing a sentence/paragraph/short story to accompany the picture. Remember to link your post back to me, so I can read your creations and spotlight them in the next picture prompt post.

You can find me on Instagram by following this link.

Writer Spotlight: The talented Katie Masters tried her hand my last picture prompt. Find her enthralling story in the comments of the last post.

Picture Prompt:

K.J. CHAPMAN(2).png

The view from the cottage offers the first sighting of any ships and boats heading toward the coast. Everyday, for hours on end, I stand at the bottom of the garden, watching the horizon span out from the jut of rock that shields the cove. Alfred no longer scolds me for my time wasted in such a task, and where he’d once reprimand me for standing in the rain, hail, and gales atop the cliff, he now merely brings a a blanket without a word.

I await the Black Whisper. It has been fourteen months since she left under attack, leaving me here with Alfred. Fourteen months of me acting the lady with no family save an elderly manservant. I long to shun the corsets and petticoats for my britches and coat. I wish to not have to keep my gun and sword hidden in case of visitors.

Alfred fears she will never return, but that doesn’t stop him from watching and waiting in the night. I know she will return, for the captain would not abandon us…me.

“Supper is ready, Lass.” Alfred’s frail hand on my shoulder startles me. “As I am a soul, you’re wet through.”

“I shall be along, Alfred.”

“Tis misting today. You shan’t see a bloody thing unless it is upon our door. How shall I explain to the Cap’n, when he does return, that you caught your death upon the cliffs? He’d tie me to the rope and use me as the fecking anchor!”

Turning foot, I head into the cottage. “Your skinny arse as anchor, pah!” Wisecracks are what get us through the long days. Alfred’s rebuffs are so sharp and witty, yet he says nothing. “Alfred?” Still nothing.

The old man splutters, but no words surface. Instead, he points to the mist. Sails break through as if cutting at the air. The Black Whisper sails into the cove with a familiar, burly figure at the bow.

“The Cap’n has returned for the lass who waited,” Alfred guffaws.


 

 

Picture Prompt

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Here is another of my Instagram picture prompts for you to get creative with. I invite you to have a go at writing a sentence/paragraph/short story to accompany the picture. Remember to link your post back to me, so I can read your creations and spotlight them in the next picture prompt post.

You can find me on Instagram by following this link.

Picture Prompt:

K.J. CHAPMAN.png

“Is that it? Is that all we fucking get?” Caine shouts into the air. Tears leave streaks through his muddy cheeks as he pummels the wall. “We have been trapped inside that maze for seventeen months, and that pathetic exit is all we get?”

“What were you expecting?” I ask. The sense of claustrophobia that I have lived with for nearly a year and a half melts away from me and I starfish in the grass.

“A fucking fan fair! I don’t know…I just thought it was all for something bigger, something greater. Freddie died in there, and for what? Nothing!”

He’s bloodying his knuckles up, much like he did when Freddie died. If he’s not careful he’ll get another infection. Throwing my arms around him, I drag him away from the wall. “Stop, Caine! We’re out. It’s okay, we’ve made it.” He sags against me and weeps.

“No, you haven’t,” says a voice behind us. Both of us spin around, drawing our knives. A tall, skinny man wearing only a loin cloth and holey running shoes approaches. He is  accompanied by at least ten others, all in a similar state of dress; dirty, bedraggled, and famished. I thought we were filthy, but these guys look positively feral. “That was just part one.” He hands me a pair of muddy binoculars. “Just look.”

Caine snatches them from my hands and scours the horizon. He staggers backward, grasping at me to ground him. “There are more walls. No! No! Seventeen months! We’ve been in there seventeen months!”

The man hangs the binoculars around his neck. “We’ve been here ten years. No one has made it through part two.”


Content belongs to K.J.Chapman