Wednesday, 31 August 2016

Wordy Wednesday!

This weeks Wordy Wednesday word is;


- To regard as worthless or as having little value.
- To weigh or estimate a person or thing and find them not worth considering.
- To vilify, depreciate.

This word comes from the Latin word vilis which mean cheap and the Latin word pendere which meant to consider. It would have entered English around the 1500's and was used until around the 1900's.
This is where it is believed the modern English word vile comes from.

'Although he should have been grateful for the gifts he received, the Prince was stubborn and foolish, and he treated the gifts in a vilipend manner, barely even deeming to mutter thanks to those who had presented them.' 


Comment a short piece of prose, flash fiction, or even just a sentence, using this word!

Tuesday, 30 August 2016

Writing Prompt!

Today's writing prompt is a person, a place, and an emotion.
You must use the given person, place, and emotion, but it is up to you how you use them and where you take your character. Your story can be any length and any genre.

A twelve year old girl, an old cottage and anxiety.

If you would like to share your writing please leave it in the comments section for more fantastic inspiration, or if you would like to submit any of your work to this website please visit the submissions page.

Happy Writing

Rach x

Monday, 29 August 2016

Motivational Monday! Hysteria Writing Competition

Hysteria Writing Competition

This weeks Motivational Monday! post features The Hysteria Writing Competition.

If you fancy entering this one you'll need to think and write fast as the closing date is the 31st of August!
It's also only open to women... sorry guys!
But apart from that there are no restrictions on nationality or age and they'll accept a story, poem or piece of flash fiction in any genre except erotica or horror.

So. For short stories there is a word limit of 2000,
For flash fiction the word limit is 250,
& for poetry there is a line limit of 20.

They are looking for works that appeal to their website visitors, which is mostly women between the ages of 25 and 65.

There is a small entry fee for each category, short stories are £5 each,
flash fiction is £3 per piece,
& poetry is £3 per poem.

There will be three winners in each category,
1st place wins  £150,
2nd place wins £75,
& 3rd place wins £75,
9 runners up in each category will also be published in their next anthology and receive a free copy of the anthology when it is published.

There is a full list of guidelines and rules for entries available to look at on their website, always remember to read the entry rules to look for formatting instructions or guidance, many competitions will not even consider your work if it's not formatted in the way that they asked for!

To read the competition rules, find out more and to enter the competition please visit Hysteria Writing Competition.

Happy writing

Rach x

Friday, 26 August 2016

Artel - Hole

Artel blinked as the harsh sunlight hit his face, cutting through his eye lids. For a moment he felt confused, unable to understand the bright forest world around him. He shook his head and pulled his stiff body into a sitting position, trying to remember the events from the night before. On the opposite side of the now smouldering fire Millon lay fast asleep, snoring lightly. Artel looked down at the sword he held in his right hand, it was his sword but he could not remember how it had gotten there. His eyes slipped from the sword in his hand to the dark scuff marks in the grass that surrounded the fire and a queasy sense of unease washed over him, settling in the pit of his stomach. Sheathing his sword Artel stalked around the fire and shook Millon roughly awake.
The smaller man murmured incoherently and rolled over as he opened his bleary eyes and looked up at Artel, a puzzled expression on his face.
"Wh-what?" He grunted as he pulled himself into a sitting position.
"Get up Millon, something happened here last night, I do not feel good about this place, we need to leave."
Millon looked around the campsite, something had definitely happened, and in the back of his mind he thought he could almost remember.
"Th-there was a... a darkness, a thing... it..." He trailed off as Artel shot him a dangerous look.
"Yes Millon, I can't be sure of it either, but what I can be sure of is that there is an evil in these woods and we must leave as soon as possible."
Millon nodded dumbly as he watched Artel walk back round to his sleep sack and begin to pack away. As quickly as he could he roused himself and followed suit.

It took the two men a remarkably small amount of time to pack away their small camp and before long they were heading through the trees again. They walked in silence, both of them pondering the strange half-remembered events of the night before and neither of them knowing quite what to say to the other.
The morning passed in the way that time often passes, neither fast or slow but somewhere in between, like an elderly man on a leisurely walk in the evening sunshine.
It was mid afternoon and the two men were fighting their way through an unwelcoming thicket of brambles when a loud clunking sound filled the air. Both men stopped to listen, poised in the middle of their actions. It sounded like the cogs of a great machine, clunking and bashing as they slowly turned. Millon shot Artel a concerned look, a look that was returned in equal measure. Neither man knew what they may end up having to deal with after their encounter last night. What they both knew but neither wished to say was that, whatever it was, they were most probably unprepared for it.
For a few long seconds they stood, frozen to the spot, listening intently to the sounds. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the sound stopped, leaving a heavy silence in it's wake. The two men stayed still for a moment longer but the sound did not start up again and the forest stayed silent and still.
"D-do you think it's gone Sir?" Millon's voice wavered slightly, showing his nerves.
"I don't know, but I believe we should tread carefully from here. Whatever it was may still be close by."
"Y-yes Sir."
"And Millon? Keep your wits about you, it is not natural for any forest to be as still and silent as this."
Millon nodded as he looked around. Artel was right, the forest was eerily silent, no thing moved and no thing called or cried. The silence hung in the air, pregnant and oppressive. He looked at Artel again, waiting for the other man to make the first move. Artel nodded and took a step forwards. A loud clunk filled the air and Millon just caught sight of the shocked expression on Artel's face as the floor beneath the knight gave out and he plunged into the ground, leaving the terrified Millon alone in the forest.

Thursday, 25 August 2016

8. Unborn Rising

We three Sisters are the root. Chi, Ti and Ki.
Enik knew even in the earliest times, that there would be a necessity for discipline but he has never applied it hard enough to the lineage.
As you see children grow, they may be separated into two groups.
Firstly we see “The maker group”, those who wish to build and craft and to discover new things with the assistance of their peers. These types of children will refine the things around them to make tools and develop their progression and understanding of their worlds for themselves.
Then we have “The player group”, those children tend to prefer to have things which have been given to them, rather than objects of their own crafting. They would rather spend time alone, dreaming and playing in an internal fantasy world, than taking the initiative to create something better for themselves.
When one encounters an individual of our cosmic succession, one must first ask -
Who am I dealing with?
A Maker - or a Player?

Reckoning.” - The Journal of the Holy Mothers.
Ishtar Prime.

The net was closing in. Brindi had been sat in her Planetology lab at the Lunar Keep for forty hours frantically reviewing and cataloguing the latest batch of samples from Habber’s village. The same three Gobots had meticulously gathered every last shred of evidence from the burn scene on the surface and they were positive that there was nothing more to be gleaned from the Levyethin death site.
She was desperate for some kind of instruction from the clutch but had, up to now, only found one coded shred to appease her.
“What is the meaning of this message?” She thought to herself. She had crossmatched all of the burned Copper specimens in the first eleven hours of her vigil, yet she had only deciphered one single pheromone code, which had been sprayed on an abandoned hunter’s spearhead.
It simply read, “Be silent and return.”
Brindi was now becoming so worried about her involvement in this treacherous espionage that it was only a matter of time before she would be compromised. She could not relax, sleep had escaped her for weeks and she was noticeably perspiring with the anxiety of her betrayals.
As she closed her most recent test dish and opened the filing unit her wrist pad bleeped and the voice of Lemin Tarapel echoed trough the lab.
“Good morning Brindi. The drop team will be assembling in the main hangar at last quarter. Please attend.”
Brindi wiped the sweat from her temples and forehead and straightened her hair.
‘Enik will be there - and the Spymaster too!’ She thought. ‘How can I maintain this subterfuge around such adept foes? Damned Meateaters!’
The tightness in her chest became more noticeable as she became more and more aware of her own quickening heartbeat.
‘I MUST calm myself.’ She thought as she made for her desk and took out a small container of Still tablets. She removed two pills, poured a glass of cold Apple juice from the decanter in her restroom and drank them down greedily. She then took a sequence of seven, ten second breaths, slowly, in and out. Each time she exhaled, she felt her composure returning little by little.
The left hand medicine cabinet door slid open with the touch of Brindi’s finger. She continued to regulate her breath as she reached inside the shelf housing to unfasten a small field shot of Woundmorphen that had been secreted there for the last two months. The dose was loaded in an anciently designed, steel booster pen, an elegant, shiny device which had been received in a dead drop container which Brindi had covertly retrieved from the surface of Gia long ago.
She pushed the booster into the inside of her wristpad strap and pulled her sleeve down to render it hidden.
‘This is enough.’ She thought to herself. ‘It’s time.’
She stared at herself in the mirror, finalised her breathing mantra and shook her left wrist to open a return message. “I will be there Lemin. Thank you.” She said in her regular clear voice.
Looking in the mirror, she straightened her tunic before walking to her laboratory door.
‘Gods below’. She thought. ‘I may not survive this.’

After a short walk from the Planetology section laboratory to the stores, Brindi had managed to calm herself in the colder air of the corridors. As she entered the Quartermasters mess she could see Lemin’s young assistant, Dolan Yin, seated and comparing pad data with two tech engineers and a Pilotbot.
“Good morning doctor Enikson.” Said Yin, as Brindi smiled and sat down next to him.
“You are a little early for the final checks I’m afraid. Lord Enik will be here at last quarter for the mission launch but please make yourself comfortable. Is there anything I can get you?”
Brindi placed her left hand on Yin’s right forearm and smiled.
“You are one of my favorite Acolytes Dolan, You know that don’t you?”
The young man blushed and smiled.
“I try my hardest to serve you all here at the keep Doctor. If my efforts please you then I am humbled by your favor.”
Brindi’s hand moved from Dolan’s arm down underneath the table where she began to softly caress his inner thigh.
I would like to see the inside of one of the new Angels before the drop team is deployed if possible Dolan?” She spoke matter of factly as her hidden caress became more intense.
Yin cleared his throat nervously as he turned to his two engineers and said, “That will be all for now thank you gentlemen, I should make some time for the good doctor here.”
Yin stood and gestured to the secure hangar doors. “Doctor, if you will?” He said with a broad grin.
“Thank you Dolan. You are a good boy.” replied Brindi as she led the way out of the mess hall.

Dolan followed Brindi silently through the familiar hallways that lead to the main hangar. He walked slightly behind her, admiring her confident form as she lead the way. He had never been with a woman yet he found himself increasingly aware of the subtle way Brindi’s hips swung as she walked. His eyes followed the curve of her back, from the strong form of her slight shoulders down towards the inviting curve of her buttocks. He shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts from his mind. He knew he should not be thinking of his superior in such a way.
The pair reached the door to main hangar and Brindi entered the code that unlocked the imposing silver doors so that they slid silently open. She turned to him and smiled as she took his hand and lead him through the doors and into the main hangar. The doors closed behind them, locking them in. The hangar was silent, the only sound their soft footsteps as they walked towards the stationary Angel. When they reached the great disc shaped ship Brindi entered another code that opened the metallic door with a soft swish, she offered Dolan a sultry grin as she stepped over the doorframe and pulled him after her.
Brindi had never been inside an Angel and it took her a moment to take in the large room fitted with chairs and control panels that all appeared to be worked from the same smooth silver metal. A slight hum filled the air and a dim light shone from the cockpit, informing its passengers that the craft was in standby mode.
Dolan’s attention was pulled back to Brindi as she took his other hand and pulled him gently towards her. She was leaning casually against the silver table stationed just below the control panels set into the wall and Dolan could not help but admire her figure. As he moved closer to her he felt his heart begin to race and a strange carnal feeling stir in the base of his stomach. He opened his mouth to speak but she placed a soft finger over his lips, making a soft shushing sound as she did so. She smiled and leant forward, brushing a soft kiss against his lips. He felt his body tighten and his desire rise and he leaned forward to kiss her back but she had already moved back, a sly smile flickering across her face.
Tentatively Dolan placed his hands on her hips and ran them across her firm stomach. She pulled him closer and reached up to undo the silver clasps on the front of his tunic. The clasps came undone easily and she pushed the fabric up over his shoulders and down his arms, revealing his bare sculpted chest. Dolan felt his heart beating faster, he was nervous but also excited and the feeling made him brave. He shook the sleeves of his tunic from his arms, discarding the blue and white garment on the floor and placing his hands back on Brindi’s body. This time he moved them up across her stomach until he reached the curve of her small breasts which he cupped with his hands. He felt himself harden as he gave in to the carnal desire erupting inside of him and leant forward, planting small kisses along the soft skin of Brindi’s exposed neck and inhaling her sweet musky scent.
She slipped her thumbs into the back of the waistband of his trousers and he felt her hands sliding around his hips to the front, where she deftly released the button and began to slide the garment down, revealing his desire as she did so.
Needing no encouragement Dolan kicked off the black work boots he wore and pulled the trousers over his feet with one hand, the other still cupping Brindi’s left breast and his mouth still leaving traces of soft kisses across her neck and jaw.
Standing naked before her he felt afraid but he also felt excited, the mix of emotions and desire curdled in his belly and made his hands shake slightly, but it was a feeling he liked, a feeling he never wanted to leave. He pulled his face back from Brindi’s, fixing his dark eyes on hers. She held his gaze for a moment before sweeping her eyes across his naked body. For a moment he felt shy and embarrassed, but as soon as the feeling had come it changed and he found the desire in his stomach increasing.
Brindi smiled slightly and pulled him towards her. Their lips met in a soft kiss that grew as Dolan’s desire fueled him took over. He was passionate, he was lost, consumed by the feeling that grew and spread through his body as all his senses focused on the woman in front of him.
Dolan barely noticed the thick needle that pierced the skin at the base of his neck. Shock registered dimly as the anaesthetic worked through his bloodstream and he lost consciousness.

Brindi stood over Dolan’s unconscious body. Her eyes roved across his pink, naked body, and she wondered how he had been so overcome by desire that he had lost his senses. She shook her head slightly as she flipped the booster pen in her right hand, catching it deftly each time. Her left hand moved to her face, wiping the spent kisses from her neck and jaw.
Working quickly Brindi pulled Dolan’s crumpled naked form into a more workable position. She paused before she began, it was a shame really, he was a fine specimen, but that was irrelevant.
Brindi straddled Dolan’s inert form, leaning over his chest and breathing hard as she brought the sharp nib of the booster pen down towards the soft skin of Dolan’s chest.
The nib pierced the skin easily, leaving a deep angry wound stretching from one of Dolan’s nipples to the other. Brindi stood back to admire her work. The word UNBORN, written in crimson blood, made a stark contrast against Dolan’s pale skin. There was no chance anyone would mistake this message.
Brindi opened the craft’s metallic door and kicked Dolan’s inert form from the ship’s gang ramp, watching with some satisfaction as it hit the floor of the hangar with a sickening crack.

Leaving Dolan’s unconscious body sprawled out on the hangar floor, Brindi closed the boarding ramp of the Angel and powered up the propulsion. Seated in the central pilot’s seat she opened the exterior dome of the hangar to expose the glistening starscape above. The harsh whine of the warning sirens immediately rang out throughout the deck as she gripped the control yolk and drew the Angel upwards into space and clear of the hangar.
“UNBORN!” She screamed with elation as she threw the Angel into slipsend and took off into spacefold with a loud crack and a ripple of spiralling darkness.

As the launch dome sealed again the loading doors burst open and Tackle, Aethian and Jinder, sprinted into the now empty hangar, stopping short as they met the bloodied and vulnerable form of Dolan Yin on the launch pad floor.
Enik, Lemin and Laesia, followed just behind as the shocking reality of the situation became clear.
Enik shook his wrist and shouted into his Comm Pad. “Flight control! Where is the drop team Angel?”
The controller’s voice came back, “The Angel has slip launched with the code of Doctor Brindi Enikson Sire. Is there a problem?”
“No! No! Impossible!” He cried.
Laeisa fell to her knees to attend to the passed out Acolyte. Wiping the blood from his chest she gasped, “This wound, there is writing in the cuts!”
“What does it say?” Roared Aethian as he loaded up the security footage of the launch on the deck monitor.
She threw up her head to face the Spymaster. “It says, unborn.” She muttered nervously.
“What does it mean?” She asked as Aethian Slammed his fists hard on the controls of the monitor.
“It means we have a fucking defector!” Seethed Jinder through clenched teeth.
Lemin and Enik shared a look of shock and disgust.
The internal rage of Aethian’s failure had come to a head. He marched across to Tackle. Turning to face the blank, convex, mirror surface of his assault Gobot’s face, he stared deeply into his own eyes as they shone back at him.
“Tackle - it is time to give you a purpose!” He said as he drew his poniard and cut himself deeply across the back of his own left wrist.
Sheathing his blade once more, he took the tip of his right index finger and dipped it into his wound to soak it with blood. He then drew two eyes and a smiling face on Tackle’s silver cover visor, tracing the form of his own reflection.

“Mark my words Tackle! Either my face, or yours - will be the last thing that cunt ever sees!”

Wednesday, 24 August 2016

Wordy Wednesday!

This weeks Wordy Wednesday word is;


- To make something ridiculous
- To cause something or someone to appear foolish or ridiculous
- To lose enthusiasm or initiative as the result of a tedious routine

This word comes from the Latin word Stultus which means stupid or foolish. It would have entered English in the late 1760's.

'No matter what I do for you you always find a way to stultify me!' 


Comment a short piece of prose, flash fiction, or even just a sentence, using this word. It would be great to see what you come up with!

Tuesday, 23 August 2016

Writing Prompt!

Today's writing prompt is a picture.
Your story can be any length and any genre as long as you have used this picture for inspiration.

If you would like to share your writing please leave it in the comments section for more fantastic inspiration, or if you would like to submit any of your work to this website please visit the submissions page.

Happy Writing

Rach x

Sunday, 21 August 2016

A Small Poem About Treasure Hunting on the Beach

Ash and I have been holidaying at the beach in Cornwall this weekend, and earlier today while we were treasure hunting along the coastline I came up with this little poem :)

'All that glitters is surely gold,
to any poor fools mind,
And all the secrets beaches hold,
are meant for better eyes than mine.'

Rach x

Thursday, 18 August 2016

7. Train Hard - Fight Easy

'This week we have had a guest writer and fight consultant who has very generously offered his skills in writing the fight scenes within this chapter. Randy Williams is an internationally renowned Wing Chun Master and published Author.' 

Raethal was training them hard. Their first week at the temple had been fitness orientated. Seventeen hour days of hand to hand combat, combined with running, crawling, swimming and climbing. Jachin had twisted his ankle on the fourth day but continued to plough through it with only the occasional grimace. The Iron Palm training had been hard on all of them.
“When you are practicing a highly evolved, tried and tested martial art such as this, the end result is that the techniques will work. You're going to hit each other from time to time, maybe even spill a little blood, but if you train hard you will fight easy!” Shouted Raethal across the practicing range.
“As soon as you have an opportunity to strike, take it! If something is coming towards you, bring it in and away from you with your guarding hand as you hit them with your attacking hand! Mind your footwork! If your opponent takes a back step rush him to his core and close the gap with violence!”
The shouts of these training maxims had started ringing in each of the students ears as they bedded down each night.

On the fifth day, the three pairs of students had spent the morning being split up and re-paired over and over again for hundreds of punching and blocking drills. After a short food break they now all faced an afternoon of full contact sparring. They had all been told to dress in their normal single suits and boots and to put away all gloves and head gear. The crash mats that had previously lined the floor had now been removed.
“Here are the rules – and believe me Brothers and Sisters, I hate rules.” Said Raethal as he paced calmly up and down the line of students.
“You will each fight your designated partners in individual rounds of three minutes each. I will step in and stop you only if there is something life threatening happening. The first contender to yield or be knocked out is the loser.”
“Sir?” Shouted Althea from her calm stance of attention. “I thought you said there would be rules?”
“Ha ha! Althea, dear Sister – they ARE the fucking rules!” Said the Master, beaming with delight.
Althea swallowed deeply and replied, “Yes Sir!”
Raethtal stopped and turned to face them all. “We begin in five minutes!” He shouted.

As the Master beat the ceremonial drum to signal the beginning of the match, the first two young men stepped into their respective doors to enter the circular ring, fully enclosed in transparent plasteel, which not only allowed the Master to watch all of the action through its rounded surrounding wall and from every angle above and below via monitors in the floor and ceiling, but also to hear the sound of every blow of the hands, feet, elbows, knees and head landing with bone-crunching thuds as they smashed into their targets.
Jachin, the smaller of the two boys, showed no signs of fear, knowing that he was outweighed and less experienced than his opponent, for he had all the confidence in his own strength, skill and cunning.  He entered the ring and danced lightly upon the balls of his feet, rolling his head from side to side and working his jaw as he flexed his cat-like muscles and threw punches that scudded through the air and snapped like whips.  Ibenjin calmly entered from the other side of the ring, his gaze fixed intently upon his opponent and Brother, his face expressionless and inscrutable.
Although there were to be no rules in this match, the two boys had become accustomed to a certain civility between fighters, and so approached each other, bowed and touched fists. At that exact moment, the cadence of the drum beat accelerated, and Ibenjin stepped back and let fly an angular Serpent’s Tail kick that lightly touched the smaller boy’s nose, but did not follow through.  “Remember, my friend, no rules,” he said quietly.
Having been thus humiliated, the smaller boy launched a blindingly fast chain of six straight vertical punches at the head of Ibenjin, who just as quickly parried each high-speed strike with a stream of slapping, chopping and wing-like deflections.  But as the last two punches extended, Ibenjin used his left to first palm-down parry Jachin’s right Vertical Fist and then used the same hand to whip-grab Jachin’s left punch out of thin air, using that arm to pull him into a devastating right Phoenix-eye Punch to the left temple, then immediately followed up by releasing his left grip on Jachin’s left arm while using his right to trap and hold his opponent’s left shoulder, in effect pulling him forward and into a palm-up Spade Palm attack to the throat, which Ibenjin quickly converted to a neck grab that pulled Jachin forward into a sharp headbutt that landed squarely upon the same left temple that had only just been punched a split-second earlier.  
Jachin crumpled to the floor and Ibenjin leapt upon him, straddling Jachin’s prone form.  Grabbing his opponent by the throat with his left hand, Ibenjin quite theatrically chambered his right elbow high in the air in preparation for a downward-arcing Hacking Elbow Smash that would surely destroy his semi-conscious foe, but he did not bring the blow down, for the Master had ceased to beat the drum, signaling that the match had come to an end.  Ibenjin released his grip on the throat of his defeated opponent and left the ring, his once expressionless face now showing signs of grief and a certain disgust, not for his opponent, but for what he had just been forced to do, knowing full well beforehand that his lesser-experienced adversary was no match for his own natural skills.

As the Gobots carried Jachin out of the ring and tended to his injuries, Leon and Welsen were called for their match.  
Leon entered first, and his audible gulp at the sight of Jachin’s blood upon the floor in the centre of the ring was amplified and echoed throughout the chamber.  Sweat was already dripping from his forehead, but it was more from nerves than any pre-fight warming up he had done.  Welsen also looked down at the blood with a sense of foreboding, and his eyes shifted from side to side. He dreaded having to unleash violence upon an ally, but realized it was a necessary evil to prepare him for the evil environment they would soon be thrust into.
To the sound of Master Raethal’s drum beat, the two fighters warily closed upon each other, bowed quickly and assumed their preferred right-lead strong side forward battle stances.  Although the cadence of the drum increased, neither fighter took the initiative immediately.  Instead, they began to circle each other in an anti-clockwise attitude, both having been trained never to walk towards the opponent’s rear hand and leg, which could deliver devastatingly powerful blows that could incapacitate the receiver in an instant.
Leon threw the first punch of the battle, a half-hearted pawing right jab that seemed only to test the water and possibly induce a counterpunch from Welsen, from which he could borrow the power, grab, parry or otherwise trap and use to his own advantage.  But rather than take the bait, Welsen merely leaned back and let fly a vicious Intercepting Side Kick from his leading right leg that sailed in just below Leon’s fully extended right arm and caught him square in the solar plexus, its power magnified by Leon’s oncoming weight and momentum, which was considerable, but could have been much greater had the punch been a fully committed one.  Still, the blow landed with a hard slap, accompanied by Leon’s grunt as most of the air was knocked out of him.
Although there were no rules, Welsen mercifully relented in his attack in order to give his opponent a moment to regain his breath – a violation of one of the basic tenets of his Iron Palm training, which dictated that no quarter be given, nor none expected.  And for that mistake, he paid dearly.  For Leon took full advantage of his opponent’s caring nature, and by way of thanks for the momentary respite from attack, Leon began to sink to his knees as though collapsing, but instead sprang forward to grab Welsen’s leading right leg with both arms, slamming his own right shoulder hard into Welsen’s groin to assist in the push-pull leverage of the takedown, which brought his fitter, more experienced opponent down to the ground with the combined weight and momentum of both boys, which amounted to nearly thirty stone travelling at ten to fifteen knots per hour.  Welsen’s back and head took the brunt of the force, which would have been bad enough had there been a mat beneath them.  But the impact against the plasteel ground sent his head reeling and caused his vision to blur.  He instinctively scissored his long legs around Leon’s waist, and was only just able to lock his ankles to Close the Guard and get his hands up close to his face, palms out to protect against the downward punches that were sure to rain down upon him.  And rain down they did.  But Welsen with his superior ground game was able to avoid most of them by swiveling his upper torso from side to side as he used his hands to slap away and deflect each punch to his opposite flank.  Seeing his straight punches so deflected, Leon changed his attacking method to launch a looping right Hook punch, forcing Welsen to change his blocking method into a spearing left palm-up wedge that made contact at the elbow of the punching arm, causing it to slide off aimlessly to the outside as Welsen converted it to an enveloping wrap that encircled and clamped Leon’s right arm tight to his ribs while releasing his locked ankles and wrapping his own left ankle over Leon’s right calf and round his ankle to lock it in place and prevent him from jumping over and taking the Mounted position.  With no other recourse but to punch, Leon began to swing wildly with his left fist, but Welsen, who had by then began to recover his senses, was easily able to block each punch with his own right hand by chopping it into the crook of Leon’s elbow as the strikes came in.  After the third such attempt had been foiled, Welsen brought his right knee up to blockade any further punching attempt at Leon’s left shoulder then used his right hand as a pincer to trap Leon’s triceps between his raised right knee and his cupped right hand, effectively preventing any action on his opponent’s part.  Then, with snake-like speed, Welsen slid his right hand down along Leon’s left arm and grabbed the wrist.  Pushing Leon’s bent elbow as high as possible in the air behind his back, Welsen brought his right knee up to his own chest and kicked out his right foot into Leon’s elbow, still grasping the wrist fast, and still maintaining the wrapping left arm trap.  The elbow broke with a sickening snap, and just as quickly as the kick had shot out, Welsen brought his right leg over the back of Leon’s neck, then threw his left foot over ankle and hooked it at the hock of his left knee.  Welsen then released Leon’s trapped right arm and arched his back to assist the two-handed grab and swing of that arm over to his own right side.  He then dropped his hips back to the ground and grabbed Leon by the back of his neck with both hands, once again arching his hips upward to create a nearly hydraulic leverage upon his opponent’s neck and throat.  In a normal sparring match, Leon would be expected to signal defeat with a physical or verbal surrender, but Welsen heard the Master continue to drum, and thus did not release his deadly Leg Triangle until he felt Leon’s body go limp, and the drumbeat finally ceased.
“Medibot please!” Shouted Raethal as two Gobots dashed in to assist the two boys.

“Now Sisters, your turn!” he said as he sat back down and began to pound the beat once more.
Ki’entha and Althea both entered the ring from their respective sides and stood two body lengths apart to face each other.
“Begin!” Shouted the Master.
Immediately, both young women snapped into fighting stances and began to circle the ring, clockwise, each watching the other fervently for the slightest window of opportunity for a first strike.
Althea took the initiative as she threw her left hand side into a cartwheel at Ki’entha and finished with a Crashing Waterfall kick on to her right shoulder with her leading heel. Ki’entha, mewed in pain as she recovered and instantaneously dropped to her left knee to sweep Althea’s supporting ankle and bring her down to the ground next to her. Althea was quick enough to use the majority of her falling energy to strike Ki’entha in her left collar bone with the tip of her elbow as she landed. As the nauseating crunch reverberated around the ring, Ki’entha’s face paled and Althea kick flipped gracefully back onto her feet.
“Do you yield Sister?” Althea said as she rubbed her elbow and looked down at the wounded Ki’entha, “I have no desire to injure you any further and this match is already mine.”
Ki’entha, promptly deposited a small amount of vomit on the ground, cleared her throat and spat what remained of it onto Althea’s Left boot. She then pulled herself into a crossed legged sitting position and took a deep breath as she closed her eyes.
“Well?” Shouted Althea “DO YOU YIELD?”
Ki’entha threw her head up to face her opponent as her eyes flicked open and began to stare coldly into Althea’s face with a certain degree of malevolence.
Althea began to sweat profusely as she suddenly collapsed to her knees and let out a shrill and agonising scream as her nose began gushing with blood.
Ki’entha’s gaze sharpened and her face contorted into an expression of evil satisfaction as her eyes bored deeper and deeper into Althea’s mind.
“I YIELD! I YIELD!” Screamed Althea spluttering and writhing on the ground.
Ki’entha released her opponent from the grip of her mental Deep Sight attack.
“Thank you for going so easy on me Sister.” Ki’entha said as she failed to regain her composure and was flooded with pain from her broken Clavicle. Ultimately, both girls lay broken on the ground as the medical Bots attended to them.
Raethal stood and clapped his hands slowly.
“Harsh but fair Sister!” He said eyeing Ki’entha with a stern grin.
“I think we have a winner!”

Wednesday, 17 August 2016

Wordy Wednesday!

This weeks Wordy Wednesday word is;


- An action that entices, flatters or coaxes.
- Speech that entices, flatters or coaxes.

This word comes from the Latin 'Blandiri' which means to soothe or flatter, it would have entered English sometime in the 1500's.

'She had been talking to him for what felt like hours, but Rosie's blandishment had had no effect on James, who was still as miserable as ever and no more willing to follow her advice than he had been before he had landed himself in such a mess.' 


Comment a short piece of prose, flash fiction, or even just a sentence, using this word. It would be great to see what you come up with!

Tuesday, 16 August 2016

Writing Prompt!

Today's writing prompt is a series of six words.
Your story can be any length and any genre as long as you use all six of the words listed here. You don't have to use the words in the exact order they appear here, as long as you use them all.

Box, Seven, Potential, Oval, Mainstream, Whack

If you would like to share your writing please leave it in the comments section for more fantastic inspiration, or if you would like to submit any of your work to this website please visit the submissions page.

Happy Writing

Rach x

Monday, 15 August 2016

Motivational Monday! Five on the Fifth Annual Short Fiction Contest

Five on the Fifth (1).jpg

This weeks Motivational Monday! post features The Five on the Fifth Annual Short Fiction Contest.

This competition is completely new, and I don't mean new to us here on Breathing For Words, I mean this is the first time they have ever run the competition!

So. Anyone can enter, and there are no theme restraints, as long as your story is previously unpublished fiction and is between 1,000 and 4,000 words you will be in with a chance of winning.

Entries to this competition can be made online via submittable and there is an entrance fee of $6.50.
You are welcome to make multiple submissions however for each submission you make you will have to pay the entrance fee again.
This entrance fee goes towards the running costs of Five on the Fifth and the costs of the contest.

For this competition there are five winners!
Each winner will be notified around the 1st of October 2016 and will then have his or her story published in the November issue of Five on the Fifth.
The five winners will also receive cash prizes of; $150, $100, $75, $50 & $25.

The closing date for entries for this competition is the 31st of August 2016, so not much time to get writing if you want to enter!

There is a full list of guidelines and rules for entries available to look at on their website.

To read the competition rules, find out more and to enter the competition please visit Five on the Fifth Annual Short Story Contest.

Happy writing

Rach x

Friday, 12 August 2016

Artel - Fighter

The pitch dark figure moved slowly towards the frozen forms of Artel and Millon, each step seeming to take an eternity. Time itself seemed to slow so that each moment was a year passing, and Artel could feel the cold sweat dribbling down his back, drip by drip by drip. He shivered as he watched the creature made from the very darkness that surrounded it move closer. He longed to look at Millon again, he longed to unsheathe the sword that lay innocently on the floor next to him and use it to bite into the entity before him. He longed to move but every muscle in his body was pulled tight, rigid and unmovable, as if he had been turned to stone.

Artel had never been so scared, and with his fear came shame. He had always been a fighter; the Lord Commanders son could be nothing less. He had held a sword since he first learned to walk, shipped off to one combat school after the other until his prowess with a blade became known throughout the land. He had improved with growth, until the other students were barely a match for him. It was then that he had begun to travel, going from school to school, castle to castle, competing in dual's, melee's and jousts. He rarely lost. As he had moved into manhood, swiftly leaving the turmoil of adolescence behind him, he had quickly found his place in the legion, as captain. Already a fierce fighter, deadly with a blade and fearless in battle, he was was both feared and respected, commanding an authority over his men that it had taken other men years to build.
But frozen with fear in front of the strange creature advancing upon him Artel felt far away from the man he had known, the man he had been. Inside his chest his heart beat like that of a hummingbird, faster and faster. His hands shook and he could feel the cold beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. He longed to blink his dry eyes but found that he could not, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and his throat itched painfully. Terror filled his belly, forming a small tight ball that sunk like an anchor thrown from a ship. He felt sick.
He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye but couldn't concentrate on it, couldn't register it in his fear locked brain. He tried to swallow but his dry throat only closed and opened again with a soft smack. The creature was almost upon him now, it's fiery eyes holding his, mesmerising him. He held it's gaze and felt as if it were sucking all the light, all the life, from his body, slowly blotting out the world around him until there was nothing left but darkness. Shades of black upon black upon black.

Suddenly the creature reared it's head, stepping backwards and away from Artel with a terrible shriek that echoed through the woods, startling nearby birds who took to the skies in droves. The spell was broken and Artel shook his head, the weight lifted from his chest and the ball in the pit of his stomach lightened. The world came slowly back into focus. He reached for his sword but found the space it had occupied empty. He looked back at the rearing creature, blinking in disbelief. The great form shook itself, turning and bucking like an unbroken horse desperate to fling it's rider. It shrieked again and whipped around, leaving trails of dark mist in it's wake and revealing the small figure clinging to the sword that had been embedded up to hilt in it's back.

Millon hung on desperately, his feet no longer touched the ground and as the creature bucked and twisted he was swung wildly from side to side. He knew he could not hold on much longer. He could feel his grip loosening as a layer of sweat built up between his hands and the hilt. He knew when he let go he would fall and the ground would hurt, sending jolts of pain through his unfit body. But that would be nothing compared to the pain the creature would inflict upon him when it realised he was the bug that had stung him. His fingers slipped further down the hilt as the creature shook itself, shrieking again in it's terrible unearthly voice that seemed to ricochet through Millon's body, shaking the particles that held him together.
He did not know why he had stabbed the creature, he had certainly not planned to, he was not that kind of man. He didn't know what had come over him. Some sense of duty perhaps, duty to protect Artel, to serve him, to be useful somehow. Or maybe it had been some sense of self preservation, desperate in the knowledge that without Artel he would not last more than a few days in the forest. He had moved as if in a dream, leaping, almost elegantly, across the green space between him and his master. Gripping the sword hilt and pulling it, almost regally, from it's heavy scabbard. He had dropped the scabbard but that had been the least of his worries. How the creature had not noticed him he did not know, but he had been grateful for it. And before he had plunged the heavy steel weapon into the creatures back he had whispered a silent thank you to the Gods, an unusual practise for him but a sincere one none the less.
There had been a tension between the creature and Artel, a strange tension that had leaked into the wilderness around them. But it had broken the instant that the blade pierced the creatures... what... it did not have skin, only darkness that seemed to curl around itself like so many shadows.

Millon felt his fingers slipping again and one hand left the hilt completely, dropping uselessly to his side. He knew he could not hold on for much longer now, he did not posses the strength to hold himself up with one arm for long. He was hardly a warrior after all.

Gathering himself, Artel faced the creature and ran, his injured pride giving him a burst of adrenaline that made him faster and stronger than usual. He ran and then leapt at the creature, his feet clearing the fire by a good inch and his outstretched hand clasping the hilt of the sword in a firm grip, just above the hand of Millon, who finally let go at almost the same instant. Using his momentum to ricochet off the strange substance of the creature, Artel leapt backwards, sliding the sword out of the creature and bringing it with him so that he landed in fighting stance, knees bent and sword held in front of him.
Behind him Millon pulled himself into a sitting position, staring in disbelief as the creature turned and faced them, it's fire eyes glowing and strange body shaking. It shrieked at them again, the sound seeming to pierce their bodies as if it were somehow inside of them. Then it turned and melted into the darkness leaving the two men alone in the small circle of firelight.

Thursday, 11 August 2016

6. Reconnoitre

Aethian had been awake for two days straight, but found that he wasn't feeling fatigued. He sat quietly in the guard room of the inner Keep with his Gobot, whom he had now named “Tackle.”
His initial request to put Lars Reathal on his drop team had been rejected, although the man would be available in three weeks time after serving out a prior commitment on Ishtar. What could be more important than this?
Lars was the man for the job but he would have to wait.
The outstanding remaining shortlisted Master to serve as his Second Blade was Jinder Sondeus,  - an interesting and capable alternative.

Jinder and Aethian had quartered together at the Temple as Acolytes but had only seen action together once, twenty eight years ago at Strekenhaunt. - Now,  - That was a battle.
Jinder Sondeus, had negotiated a last minute treaty with the Sword Monks of Hessen, allowing an alliance between themselves and the Makers which had tipped the balance of power for the entire campaign.
During the final battle for Mount Kasbek, he had fought single handedly, with just a land crawler and an energy poniard, against five mercenary Captains and a troop of support Gobots.
Jinder had lost his left hand in the process.
He had wasted them all. They lay dead and broken at the entrance to the bunker and the image of Jinder’s carnage had been spread far and wide. The same image that headed the Strekenhaunt entry to the Encyclopaedia Galactica.
Jinder had then powered down the planetary defence network to allow the Maker army to subdue the dissidents. He was awarded “The Dark Star” for it. One of only thirty nine Masters ever to receive the medal without dying in the process.

Aethian sat restless in the chair behind his desk as he scanned over the personnel reports for the Lunar Keep.
Well then Tack, that's you, me, and Jinder, to cover surveillance, tactical and covert operations. If it were down to me, that would be all - but Enik is insisting that we take an Exobiologist too.”
A reasonable request sir.” Countered Tackle. “I have worked with her. Laeisa Danis, is an excellent scientist and has been here on the Gia project since it began fifty years ago. The natives down on the surface are difficult to coordinate with. Having Laeisa with us will be an asset.”
Aethian scratched his stubble and sat back. “Tarapel assures me that when the Shem is activated the Apes are more malleable. It will put them into a semi trance state, at least that way they won't panic when they see us all. We are at least twice their height and they've only ever seen Gobots. The Elish did a good job. I'm intrigued to meet them and see what they are really like.”
Indeed sir.” Replied Tak in his metallic timbre. “They are quite inquisitive and eager to assist us.”
“That's a good start.” Said Aethian. “All I need is a guide for two hours, ideally Habber, the elder who witnessed the mouth breather's death.”
“He lives to serve us commander.” Said Tackle.
“Excellent. Let’s get this briefing out of the way then shall we?”
Aethian stood up and made for the tube link gate in the opposite wall.
There's no time like the present Tack.” He said as he and his Gobot entered the sphere.

When Tackle and Aethian arrived at the briefing room, the remainder of the drop team were already waiting for them. Jinder Sondeus and Laeisa Danis were sat at the conference table along with the head Quartermaster, Lemin Tarapel, and his Acolyte assistant Dolan Yin.
The Holoframe at the head of the table was occupied with the image of the head and shoulders of Enik the Ancient.
Tackle marched to the head of the table next to Enik and stood to attention. Aethian sat at the opposite end of the table so as to face Enik as the doors sealed and locked behind them.

This briefing is now in session.” Said Enik. “We shall begin with each of you giving an introduction of yourselves please, starting with you, Master Sondeus.”
The Master stood up.
“My name is Master Jinder Sondeus, I am a tactical combat specialist attached to Stellaris Millitia Intelligencia.” He said. “Lord Enik has asked me to attend here today. I have served with Master Korbandin before,” he gestured to Aethian, “My skill set is flexible and I serve at my best when I am in the field. It is a pleasure to be here and I am eager to find out what the situation is and how I can assist with it.”

Thank you Jinder.” Said Enik. “Lemin?” Jinder sat down as the Quartermaster stood up to address the room.
Good morning. I am Lemin Tarapel, most of you know me as the head Quartermaster here at the Keep. I am the leading authority on advanced technological research to the Maker army. I have served three hundred and two years with Lord Enik and I have held my current office for the last one hundred and sixteen years. I have recently made some modifications to the arsenal here, along with the standard survival gear with which some of you are acquainted. Any further equipment or modifications of existing kit that you may require - I am your man. Along with my assistant here, Dolan,”  - The Acolyte stood and bowed from his shoulders, - “I have also recently brought a new cutting edge Angel fleet into production. Each new Angel, of which we currently have forty units completed and hangared here, has slip send capability, phasing shields and a built in tactical scout tank which can be detached and deployed to land, sea or air. I am at your disposal and am honoured to serve as always.” He bowed briefly before reclaiming his seat next to Dolan.

Thank you Lemin.” said Enik with an approving nod. “Now our Exobiologist please.” He said looking at Laeisa. She stood up and activated a viewer on the side wall of the room which she stood next to.
My name is Laeisa Danis.” Her voice was soft and calm, like a musical note.
Enik smiled at her and said, “Speak up Doctor Danis, some of us are a little battle worn and hard of hearing!” This was a ploy to bring out a more assertive side from her. It was clear to Enik that the Doctor was not entirely comfortable here amongst both soldiers and royalty, she would have to be far more sure of herself than this to gain respect from the Masters.
Apologies my Lord.” She continued in a louder, clearer tone. “My name is Laeisa Danis, I am the lead Exobiologist here at the Keep and I am an expert on the existing life down on the surface of Gia, including flora, fauna, megafauna and the Ada'Maya Apes.”
She manipulated the viewer to zoom in to the centre of the Ed'n enclosure, bringing the Ziggurat into focus.
This clearing here, just outside the Ziggurat wall,” she continued, “Is Habber's village. There is a population of sixty eight individuals, twenty nine males and thirty nine females all of varying ages. Their general life expectancy at this point is around thirty five solar years although this will be shortly improved. They are omnivorous hunters and gatherers. They have rudimentary tools and primitive metalworking knowledge. They build mainly with clay and stone and have a good working knowledge of pot firing. Since the recent Elish treatment, they have ceased fighting with the nine other surrounding settlements and have been worshipping our Gobots while assisting with some of the more simple finalisation building at the Ziggurat. The quantum sync has also given them the Telspek tongue, which they now speak. Their old language remains but they seem only to use it in their homes. When the fire stone at the centre of the surface Keep is lit, they are completely in tune with the Shem and very eager to assist. They will address us all as Gods – it will be best to encourage this view to make way for Adoni's return and placement on Gia. I should also note that ALL of the Apes in the entire Ed’n basin drink from the same water table and as such, the Elish has had the same basic effects on the other nine villages too.  - The Holy Mothers have cleared the way for us.” Her voice held an air of reverence as she finished.
Walking to her seat calmly, she then leaned on her fingertips as she stood poised over the table to address the room clearly. “I am not a fighter, gentlemen, I am one hundred and eleven years-  a scientist - and a bloody good one too. But anything you can demonstrate to me with the use of weapons, I can assure you I will mimic perfectly.” She said.
Swift and fluid, Aethian leapt out of his seat, and in a single swooping motion drew his Poniards, activating their Whipping Energy setting and cracking the molten blade whips through his end of the table, causing it to slide, burning to the floor. In the blink of an eye, the Poniards were sheathed back in his belt as he stormed across to the Doctor.
“Have you ever used a Poniard Doctor?” He barked at Laeisa.
She had recoiled in shock to the wall but recovered a second later.
“Master Korbandin,....I.”
“Never mind!” Said Aethian sternly as he kicked what was left of his end of the table aside and straightened his collar.
Enik smiled and sat back in his holoframe.

“I am Commander Aethian Jentha Korbandin, - Spymaster, Blademaster and servant of the Makers. For the purposes of this mission, it would be best if I do not even exist - that goes for the rest of you too! I will be leading this reconnaissance mission to the surface. We have reason to believe that there are at least two, and maybe as many as five, reptilian entities down there which will stop at nothing to kill the Adoni, poison the stem, or do fuck only knows what else to destroy our efforts here. They are invisible for the best part and they would kill you as soon as look at you if it suited them Doctor!”

Laeisa sat quivering in her chair. “Then we should find them and kill them Commander, wouldn’t you agree?” She said earnestly.
“A good attitude Doctor! And a good attitude, is a good start. You will stay within the live monitoring range of my Gobot, Tackle, at all times while you are on the surface. Understood?” He squatted down to look her in the eyes.
Laeisa swallowed and stared back at Aethian.
“Am I to understand that there is a species of hostile reptile on this planet that I do not know about Commander?” She said sternly.
“Most certainly Doctor!” replied Aethian. “Not just on this planet but throughout the universe - you just never had the clearance to hear about them until now. They are called the Levyethin. And remember this well Doctor,  - They mean to kill every last one of us!”

With a huge smile on his face, Jinder Sondeus clasped his remaining hand with his Gobot prosthetic and leaned over what remained of the destroyed conference table as he looked at Aethian and said,  - “I have missed you Brother.”