Picture This

Picture This: Episode 4

I saw this stock picture and just had to use it. It jumped out at me for being equally amusing and creepy.

Feel free to join in with your own interpretation.

Picture Prompt:

My Interpretation:

The thought of going into work again makes me feel physically sick. I can’t look at that building and not regret the live I should have… still could have if I had the balls and the devil may care attitude of someone ten years younger and no mortgage.

I don’t even like my colleagues. Pretending to be happy advising the rich what to spend their money on when our salary barely affords us a weekend break away every two years.

I tell myself the same thing every morning. ‘Go in, do my job, get paid.’ I am saving for early retirement, every extra pound goes toward getting out of the rat race. And that means not spending my lunchbreaks down the pub with the team.

Suki invites me every day, and every day I tell her the same excuse. ‘Thanks, but I have got to pop home and let the human out.’

As if I own a human. Those things are way to high maintenance. My mum’s human still hasn’t learnt to shit on the garden yet.


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Picture This

Picture This: Episode 3

Welcome back for another Picture This post. Please, feel free to join in with your own interpretation of the prompt. Be sure to tag me in your post, so I can have a read or leave it in the comments.

Prompt:

My Interpretation:

I should have paid more attention to when he held my hand. That may sound silly and trivial, but looking back, it was vital.

The first time he held my hand was when I accompnaied him on his business trip to London. I thought it was sweet, walking down the road hand in hand, making a point of our love to those passing by.

But a pattern quickly was established. He took me on a mini break to Scotland and his hand never left mine. A long weekend in the Lake District. Two nights in a cottage in Cornwall. He was so much more affectionate then… when we weren’t at home.

I did notice, but I put it down to him not wanting to be affectionate in front of people he knew. I mean, he was a private man, very private it seems. Still, I should have paid more attention, but you know how those rose tinted glasses can be.

Of course, there were other signs I missed, but the hand holding thing now bugs me and taunts me, letting me know I was a fool.

However, I was ignorant until the last sign – the smack in the guts sign- the sign that finally knocked those glasses clean off my face. Well, perhaps not so much a sign as a nasty, devastating realisation.

His wife.


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Picture This

Picture This: Episode 2

Thank you for coming back for another episode of Picture This. Remember, you are welcome to join in and create your own interpretation of the prompt.

Prompt:

My Interpretation:

I have laid the trap just as he asked. I daren’t do otherwise. I hate this, I hate this stupid cape, and this stupid game.

He calls himself The Wolf. I know him by no other name, but he must have had a mother, a real name, no matter how far he has fallen since.

The door to the cottage is flung open and he prowls down the steps snarling in my direction. “Is it done?” I nod in reply. “And they followed you?”

I nod again.

He cranes his neck as if sniffing the air. “Get inside and keep your mouth shut.”

He need not say it out loud. I know the drill. Lure them, trap them, and leave the rest to him. I also know I am an accomplice to murder, but if not them it will surely be me.

The poor lady that stopped for me when I fell at the side of the road… a little bit of vomit catches in my throat at the thought. I’m a pro at making it look realistic. She offered me food and water, and I ate it so quickly my famished stomach cramped from the sudden intake of food.

When I spun her the story of my living in the woods alone, she looked genuinely concerned. I mean, they all look concerned, but she actually offered to take me back to the city and call the police.

I cried as I jogged back into the woods, knowing she followed. I cry now as I hang my cape on the hook outside the door as a beacon in the gloom before I head inside. I cry as I burrow into my blankets and hold a pillow over my head to block out any sound other than my own heartbeat and sobs.

I will cry all night because there is never an end. For next week, The Wolf will make me do it all over again.


I went with this twist on the Little Red Riding hood faitytale as the gloom and sinister feel to the image inspired me.


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Picture This

Picture This: Episode 1

Thanks for joining me for my last blog series of the year, Picture This. This series is all about picture prompts, writing inspiration, and short stories.

Each week, I will share a stock photo and write a short story inspired by it. You can join in if you wish. Just tag Writerly Bookish Stuff, so I can have a read.

Prompt:

My Interpretation:

Half the world has been destroyed and we are about thirty minutes away from extinction. They said a war in the twenty first century would end this way… they were right.

If they push the button that’s it for the world we know. We saw what happened to the southern hemisphere ten years ago. In thirty minutes, we’ll see the rest of humanity wiped out. No country is going to back down, no country will let the other win.

Hundreds of beams of light dot the night sky, flying toward the ground with such speed that they appear to have a comet tail. This is it. Civilians scream, pray, pointlessly run in every direction.

“They’re not missiles!” my squadron leader calls, trying to calm the furore, but his voice is muted by the noise of panic.

“Then, what are they, Sir?” I ask.

He shrugs and licks the sweat off his top lip. “God knows.”

The flying lights disperse through the night sky like rockets, leaving just one hovering above us. As it draws closer, the light spreads like sheet lightning until I have to shield my eyes with my forearm.

After what feels like an eternity of blinking away spots in my eyes, the light forms a shape in the sky… an angel shape I know how crazy that sounds. An outline forms with the clear shape of outstretched wings. The longer I look, the more it forms a solid humanoid shape and descends to the ground not one hundred yards from our convoy.

“Cease,” says a silky yet authoritative voice.

“Who are you? What are you?” my squadron leader asks the vision before us. I say vision because the creature – human – is andogynous in apppearance yet stunningly beautiful. So beautiful.

“I am a Messenger. You know us as angels. And we have been sent to clean up your fucking mess.”


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Prompt Me Series

Prompt Me #10

Thank you to everyone who has popped by over the last 10 weeks to read my Prompt Me posts. Can you believe that 10 weeks have gone by already?

However, week 10 also means that you can only get my ebook, Prompt Me, at the sale price of 0.99p for one more week.

Next week, I will announce the new series starting in four weeks. I like a little break in between series for my own sanity. It also gives me scheduling time.

To replace this post for the next four weeks there will be a little post with information about my published books.


Prompt:

Black velvet is never used by the light occult. It is said to be a bad omen.

My Interpretation:

It’s after dark, and definitely after curfew. I could have been seriously punished just for coming here. To find that Fenrin isn’t here doesn’t sit well with me. The warning bell is guaranteed to sound within the next five minutes, and no one is stupid enough to go out after that.

The only place Fenrin would go after dark is to my hut, it’s the only reason worth the punishment. Staying out in the dark after the bell is certain death.

Not only that, his door was unlocked too. That alone puts a knot in my tummy. They can work doors. God knows where those things came from or how they have any form of consciousness. It is said that they are just minions to a darker force. The only ones to find out are the unlucky ones. The truth will die with them.

We have been terrorised by them for the past five winters. Each night they prowl. Each night they look to our community as a source of food. Not in the flesh and bone sense, but in the sense that they feed off of our essence. The light occult is a powerful source of magic, and somehow, they feed from it. Only a being of the dark occult would or could do such a thing. You feed from an essence, you kill the being.

Where are you, Fen? The warning bell sounds and my stomach sinks. Hopefully, he made it to another hut. Perhaps he went to my hut. I lock the door with iron, and then with magic. Then, I snuff the candle.

I sit for what feels like hours staring at the door. I hear no screams, so that’s a good sign. If everyone is safe, they’ll move on. Please, move on.

There is a bang against the door and it shudders. I clasp my hand to my mouth to muffle a scream. How can they know I’m in here? Another bang. I scuttle back toward the pantry incase my magical protection fails.

The handle turns, the lock clicks, and into the hut flies Fenrin. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees me. I stumble backward in fear and shock for he wears a black velvet cape that reaches to the ground. Black velvet is never used by the light occult. It is said to be a bad omen. The irises of his eyes are nonexistent. It is in that moment I know the truth.


Thank you again for following my Prompt Me series. Remember to grab your copy of Prompt Me via the link above whilst it is still just 99p.


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Prompt Me Series

Prompt Me #9

Did you know that I have a writing prompts ebook available from Amazon? Prompt Me is the basis of this series and will be just 99p for the duration.

This series will run for 10 weeks. Each week, I take a different prompt from the book and expand on it.

You can join in too. Whether it be a paragraph or a short story, follow me in getting creative, tag me to let me know, and I will feature a snippet of your interpretation on Writerly Bookish Stuff and send my readers your way.

If you are just here to read and not partake, that’s great too. Thank you for stopping by.


Prompt:

What would you do if the news reporter on your television started talking directly to you?

My Interpretation:

I don’t like this reporter much. She always fumbles her lines, and reporters read off an autocue for Christ’s sake. Today, she fiddles with her prop papers like she’s either scared for her life or totally tripping out on drugs.

That’s odd, she keeps looking to someone or something behind the camera. Her eyes keep flicking just to the left. There! She did it again. How unprofessional.

I head to the kitchen to get a bowl of cereal. I can’t listen to her waffle on. Just having it as ambient noise winds me up.

“Okay, you want me to read this? Yes, I will. Please, don’t hurt us.”

What the hell? I race back into the lounge, hurdling the coffee table in the process. It’s all kicking off down at W.R.S News. I knew something was more off than usual.

The reporter’s hands shake uncontrollably as she reads the first line from a sheet of lined paper.

“Sandy Mellor of 143 Abbott Drive, you have 14 minutes to get to the W.R.S News studio or everyone here will die.”

I stumble back onto the couch. How is this possible?

“Thirty lives are in your hands.”

The woman starts sobbing and pushes the paper away in disgust. Then, she looks at me, really looks at me. It’s as if her eyes bore into my soul through the screen. “Please, Sandy, whoever you are… help us.”


Next week is the last episode in the Prompt Me series. Make sure you pop in to see the finale.


Content belongs to K.J.Chapman

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Prompt Me Series

Prompt Me #8

Did you know that I have a writing prompts ebook available from Amazon? Prompt Me is the basis of this series and will be just 99p for the duration.

This series will run for 10 weeks. Each week, I take a different prompt from the book and expand on it.

You can join in too. Whether it be a paragraph or a short story, follow me in getting creative, tag me to let me know, and I will feature a snippet of your interpretation on Writerly Bookish Stuff and send my readers your way.

If you are just here to read and not partake, that’s great too. Thank you for stopping by.


Prompt:

“Please, tell me you did not just polish the silver with my grandfather’s ashes?”

Interpretation:

“I’ve apologised, what more do you want?”

“My grandfather’s ashes! I can’t believe you polished the silver with my grandfather’s ashes. What are you, some Victorian house-maid?” She shakes her head and growls in her throat. “You’re a total idiot!”

“Hey, now there is no need for that. I said I am sorry, but maybe next time, don’t keep your grandfather in a coffee tin on the hearth.” She looks about to explode. I hold my hands up and make my way to the door. “Just saying.”


Remember, if you are joining in with this series, let me know in the comments and tag me in your posts. Whether they be blog or social media, let me have a read of your interpretation. It can be anything from just a paragraph to a short story.


Content belongs to K.J.Chapman

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