#ThursThreads Week 632 - “I’ll make it brief"

I've missed a few weeks of #ThursThreads due to work and life commitments, also I've been focusing on working on my current WIP. Sometimes the prompts don't call to me, so I don't try to force it. My better ones have been when an idea comes quickly. 

I've had some conversations with writer friends on just how we come up with our ideas. For some, they are able to curate an idea by asking questions. Others just have the ideas come to them and then its a matter of writing them down. I think I'm somewhere in the middle. 

For short stories or flash fiction, just coming up with an idea is usually enough to encapsulate what I want to write about. Usually. But it's the longer stories, the ones that go over multiple chapters that entails more work. 

When I get an idea, I know how it will start and how I want it to end or resolve. It's paving the way between those two points that I need to figure out. The journey of the characters on how they grow or change or what they experience. That takes asking questions on what they would do, what their motivation would be, etc. 

For the longest time, I had thought myself as a plotter. I had outlines, character sketches, research on locations, etc. It was to help keep me from wandering off from the main plot line. However, recently, I've been trying my hand at pantsing. I know how I want it to end, and usually I already have the ending written, so it's just a matter of getting there. Being able to keep that in mind has helped me from going off the rails... but it also means that the story may end up being longer than I anticipated. 

Case in point, my current WIP started out as a single chapter "one-shot" for a writing challenge in June. It is now six chapters in with an estimated total of 10 chapters and will probably exceed 50k words. I will continue to work on it into Nanowrimo and then move on to my next story idea. 

In the meantime, doing #ThursThreads continues to be a fun writing exercise. I participated last week and didn't realize I modified the prompt. *facepalm*  Still not a bad entry, just not it. I was pretty happy with what I wrote, with the visuals and it is a bit darker than my usual, and not my usual genre (do I have a usual genre?). Next time, gotta pay attention to those details. 

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Week 631: 

The prompt: "So, that was how he ended his life."

The sharp tang of blood, burnt flesh, and gunpower permeates the air. The brick wall is reminiscent of a Jackson Pollock painting. That’s what happens when someone swallows the business end of a sawed-off shotgun and uses their head as a paintbrush. The rest of the body lay slumped against the brick wall. The shotgun rests next to the corpse where it had fallen after being shot.

Detective Jackson flips to a clean page in his notebook and begins taking notes as forensics process the scene, putting down evidence markers and taking photos.

The blue and reds from on top of the squads add to the chaos of the scene, creating disturbing shadows in the corners of the alley.

Jackson’s partner, Martinez, joins him, eyes taking in the carnage. “So…”

“That’s how he ended his life,” Jackson finishes.

“Didn’t think he had it in him.”

“I’m not entirely sure he did.”

Martinez takes a closer look at the position of the body, the weapon, and accompanying splatter. “Looks like it was suicide. What makes you think otherwise? What has forensics come back with?”

Jackson jots a few more notes down, kneeling in front of the dead man. “We know this guy. He had no reason to end his life. There is more here than we currently know.”

“He could’ve been fighting depression or something, Rhys. We don’t know.”

"True, but I still think there is something else going on. My gut says this wasn’t suicide.”

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Week 632:

This week was fun and more successful. Not only did I manage to not mess up the prompt, I didn't flip tenses or change POVs (head-hopping) .... and I won! Check out all the entries here.

The prompt: “I’ll make it brief.”

“I’ll make it brief,” Azrael explained, his voice bored. “You died.”

“What? How is that possible?” The man before Azrael glanced down at himself, looking for some logical explanation for his current predicament, a grievous injury or something obviously wrong. He looked as hale and hearty as one could, as much as a disembodied soul could.

“Your heart stopped. Brain function ended. You ceased to be. Hence: dead,” he replied sardonically, with a wave of his hand.

The man huffed before the Angel of Death. “Yes, but how?”

Azrael rolled his eyes. They always want to know the details. “Is that relevant now? It doesn’t matter how. You’re still dead and will continue to be dead. Neverending deadness.”

The soul sighed. “I guess not.” He looked around at the nondescript large warehouse they were in. There was a large queue of people in front of him. “Where are we?”

“Soul Sorting Center – like Hogwarts but without the magical hat and wizards.”

“What?”

Azrael unfurled his wings. “Look, I must go, more souls to collect. You humans never stop dying. Just get in line and once they call your number, you’ll find out where you’re headed.”

A deli ticker tape number appeared in the soul’s hand. “How many places are there?”

“You’ll find out. Enjoy your eternity. Hope it doesn’t get to hot for you.” Azrael disappears in a sweep of feathers.

The soul holds up his number: 65,352

A raspy voice calls over the PA system. “Now judging 7192.”

#ThursThreads Week 625 - "But I heard the system break"

 This week is the official start of YEAR 13 of Siobhan Muir's awesome flash fiction contest. I can't believe she's been keeping it going this long. I can barely handle keeping a blog going with somewhat regular postings. Anyway - she's amazing. Check out her website here for the contest and poke around to learn about her books and where to buy them. 

My effort in last week's prompt was meh. I wasn't really feeling it but wanted to try - and then I noticed after I posted that I switched tenses in the middle. YAY PROOFREADING!

Thankfully I caught my tense-flips this time. I hope. It is one of my more maddening habits. 

This week's prompt for #ThursThreads is "But I heard the system break." Here is my entry:

Jean-Pierre stared at the bank of monitors in front of him, bored and impatiently waiting for the end of his shift. All the monitors were green, nothing out of regular parameters. Perfect way to end the day. He glanced at his watch and willed the minutes to move faster. No such luck.

He pulled out his phone to pass the last few remaining minutes. This was typically a no-no, but he couldn’t see what would possibly happen in the few minutes that were left. Nothing ever happened. In the five years he’d worked here, nothing happened. There had never been an incident on record in the company’s history.

Once his shift ended, Jean-Pierre eagerly signed off on the logbook. Thoughts of what he wanted to make for dinner flit through his mind and whether he’d have to run to the grocery store to pick up any ingredients.

The door to the room slammed open and his coverage for the next shift popped his head in. “JP! What the fuck, man!”

“What? What happened, Martin?”

“You didn’t trigger the alarms!”

“What? Why would I? Everything has been fine all day, like it is every day.”

“Everything’s fucked! How did you not notice?”

“How? I didn’t see anything on the monitors.”

“But I heard the system break,” Martin insisted. “Come on, we got to get out of here.”

Martin grabbed Jean-Pierre’s arm and dragged the man outside. Once there, he heard the alarms and explosions. And the screams. So many screams.

Week 624 and 12 YEARS of #ThursThreads!

So this week celebrates 12 years of #ThursThreads going strong lead by Siobhan Muir. Its one of the longest flash fiction contests I know of (granted my knowledge of flash fiction contests is somewhat limited). Either way, I am happy and honored to be able to participate. Check out all of this week's entries, and prior years entries on her blog: #ThursThreads

I missed last week, but I had the pleasure of winning Week 622 with my little tale of the end of the world. That was very cool. 

Apparently I must be on a theme or trend as this week's takes on a similar but different bend.

Prompt:  “I made that last one up.”

Zakaria’s eyes scan the paper in his hand, his eyebrows raising the farther he went. “This is quite the list.”

Adain rubs the back of his neck and stares at the floor. “Well, you asked for what we needed.”

“That I did.” Zakaria looks it over one more time before folding it up and tucking it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

“No questions?” the younger man asks, still refusing to look Zakaria in the eye. He shifts his weight nervously from one foot to another.

“Should I have any?”

“Uh, um, that is-uh.”

“Out with it, Adain.”

“Imadethatlastoneup,” Adian rushes, looking everywhere except at Zakaria.

Zakaria chuckled and debated whether he should put the younger man out of his misery or not. Watching him squirm certainly was entertaining.

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch.”

Adian sighed and stared at the floor again, his face flushed. A beat later, he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and finally looked at Zakaria. “I made that last one up.”

Zakaria laughed and clapped Adian on the shoulder. “I know.”

The younger man’s eyes bugged out with a look of incredulousness. “H-h-how?”

“I was your age once, a long time ago. I know how it goes.” Zakaria wrapped an arm around the other man’s shoulder in camaraderie. “Now, let’s go see about fulfilling this list. You only take over the world for the first time once.”

#ThursThreads Week 622 - It's the End of the World as We Know It

 And I feel fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.  

Ah yes, that R.E.M song is quite fitting for this week's #ThursThreads courtesy of Siobhan Muir's weekly challenge. 

I've missed the past few weeks due to various conflicts - work being crazy, personal family stuff going on, life in general... but I made sure I was able to post for this week. 

The prompt for this week is:  “We all said it wasn’t enough.”

And the tie in with the R.E.M song? Well, read on, my dear reader and all will be made known. 

It was really happening, The world was ending. The apocalypse was nigh and there wasn’t jackshit anyone could do.

Of course, when the news broke of the prophecy, mass anarchy broke out. Looting, rampant crime, the complete and total breakdown of modern society. If the world wasn’t already ending, the current state of the world certainly would do it.

Wait.

The prophecy never said how the world was ending, just that it was. Everyone assumed they knew how, well every religious fanatic nutjob did. Fire and brimstone, hellfire and destruction.

We didn’t have to wait for the end of the world. We did it ourselves.

Shit.

The ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy.

With a long-suffering sigh that only a being who wasn’t quite immortal but certainly older than any human could make, Josiah cracked open a beer.

That first cold, crisp swallow coated his throat and down to his stomach. He sighed again, this time in relief. The fires were getting closer and the ever-present smoke in the air was irritating his throat.

His companion, another quasi-immortal like himself, leaned back in the chair across from him, his boot-clad feet propped up on the table.

"We all said it wasn’t enough.”

Josiah looked down at his dwindling beer collection as the other man grabbed a beer from the cooler.

“I know, but how does one properly stock enough beer for the end of the world? I bought ALL of it.”

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Thanks for reading!

#ThursThreads Week 618 - Drabbles Ensue!

Welcome! 

Another week of participating in Siobhan Muir's #ThursdayThreads flash fiction contest. Week 618 - coming up soon on 12 years of that contest. It's the longest running flash fiction contest that I am aware of. Siobhan has my upmost respect. It takes a lot of time an energy to keep up a blog for that long, consistently week after week. I am grateful for it, and the people I have met along the way. 

This week's drabble doesn't have any affiliation with anything I'm currently working on, just a little fun exploration of a random scene. Still heavily influenced by the show Lucifer, but doesn't necessarily have to be within that universe. 

Check out the other entries on Siobhan's blog here.

This week's prompt: "They can try to kill me."

Walking through his club, most people would make the mistake that he was human, that he was mortal. Sure, there was something usually magnetic about him, an aura that drew people in, but that didn’t mean he was anything more than a charismatic club owner.

They would be mistaken.

He was those things--charismatic, magnetic, the life of the party--but he was not human or even mortal. He rather enjoyed the charade. It meant most people underestimated him, much to their determent.

Leaning against the edge of the bar, he surveyed the dance floor. His patrons were enjoying themselves getting lost in the music, the booze, and whatever extracurriculars they brought with them.

His head bartender tapped his elbow as he deposited a fresh drink next to him. “Hey Boss.”

“Hmm?”

“There’s a group of men at the freight entrance that want to talk to you about a deal.”

The boss sighed and quickly downed his drink. “Took them long enough to show up.”

The younger man looked uneasy. “They are all clearly packing. Do you want me to call the cops?”

Setting his empty glass down, the boss chuckled. “Certainly not. No need to get law enforcement involved in this. They can try to kill me, but they will find it rather difficult.”

The bartender nodded. If his boss wasn’t worried, then he wasn’t either. He had seen too much in his time here to not acknowledge that his boss was extremely capable of taking care of himself.

 

Thanks for reading! Until next week or whenever I post again!

#ThursThreads Week 616

Happy July folks. Another week of #ThursThreads. I missed last week due to the craziness of my work and stuff going on in real life. However, I did win Week 614, so that was pretty cool. It is a nice bit of validation to win. 

I've essentially finished the Mouningstar story - it was a little drabble of Lucifer fanfiction, and the completed story can be found on my AO3 account. In the #ThursTheads bits I have posted, I purposely kept the proper names of the characters out as I wanted the focus to be on the actual story and not that it was fan fiction. I know there is some stigma with fan fiction, but truly there are some absolutely amazing stories out there. And, it helped me get back into my writing. Sometimes its nice to play in another person's playground. The ideas and stories are still new, just not the universe. And in the case of plot holes or things that fans didn't like about a show or series, they can put their own spin on it. In the case of the Mourningstar story, it started based on a #ThursThread prompt and grew from there. The link to my AO3 story is linked below.

For this week of #ThursThreads, you can check out the other entries here.

My entry to #ThursThreads is a continuation of the Mourningstar story - a sequel perhaps? I haven't decided. The prompt made me think of that same story and how/where it would continue. 

The Prompt: “Then you can stay.”

 

His finger drummed on the table, his nerves needing a release.

The receptionist glared at him from the other side of the room.

He stilled his hand. Then his leg started bouncing, his heel of his shoe clicking on the tile floors. He was too wound up to care that he was annoying the receptionist. If she knew what he knew, what had just happened, she would be anxious too.

His wife, his dead wife, had returned. Not just returned, but seemed like she was in perfect health. It shouldn’t be possible. It wasn’t possible, and yet, she was back, like nothing had happened.

Now, she was at her doctor’s office getting checked out. How does one restart their life after being declared dead? There had been no mistake. He identified her body at the morgue. Her fingerprints and dental records confirmed it was her. Yet, here she was, alive and well.

The door next to the receptionist opened and his wife stepped through with a smile on her face. Her doctor followed behind her with the same shock and bewilderment on his face that his own had when he first saw her. They talked quietly for a moment before she joined him by the table.

“So, what did he say?”

“That I’m perfectly healthy. He can’t find a thing wrong with me but wants a run some additional tests. Said I’m as healthy as a middle-aged woman could be.”

“Then you can stay.”

“As long as you’ll have me.”

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Here is the link to the completed Mourningstar story: Created For a Purpose

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The #Mourningstar drabbles are based on the Lucifer TV show. While my story is original and divergent from canon, I am playing in another creator's sandbox. 

#ThursThreads Week 614 - The Mourningstar

 Not going to blather on much today. This week's installment in my The Mourningstar drabble courtesy of the #ThursThreads prompts hosted by Siobhan Muir. 

You can check out the contest rules and other entries on her blog, as well as check out her books and other things she is working on. 

This week's prompt is "The clock was ticking." 

My entry:

He knew he couldn’t hide forever. As much as he tried to re-enter society—re-enter reality, he found it was nearly impossible. Doing so would make it real, acknowledging her death happened, that she was irrevocably gone.

Everyone kept telling him that everyone handles grief differently and to take all the time he needed to process her death. There would never be enough time for that.

He would stop time if he could.

Despite his wishes, the clock was ticking. Time continued to move forward, steadily and sure, tick tick tick.

He poured himself another whiskey, having stopped counting them a long time ago. The alcohol did little to assuage the pain, no matter how much he drank. If she was here, he’d be right well drunk, but she wasn’t, so he wasn’t.  

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, a familiar wisp of golden blonde hair. The scent of the ocean soon followed.

“Come to torture me some more?” he asked her ghost. “Thought you had enough fun toying with me already.”

His wife stood there with the same sad expression that she had the last time he saw her ghost. She looked perfect, not a single hair out of place. No broken bones or fractures or blood, unlike the day he had to identify her body at the morgue, mangled and lifeless.

“Why are you here?”

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The #Mourningstar drabbles are based on the Lucifer TV show. While my story is original and divergent from canon, I am playing in another creator's sandbox. 

#ThursThreads Week 613 & Other Musings

 The #ThursThreads flash fiction contest was off last week so there wasn't a prompt, but I've been busy writing other things in the meantime. I've been pretty successful in writing nearly every day. Sometimes it's only for an hour or less, other times a few hours. Some of the time is more productive in word count, but all of it is productive in some manner. Either outright writing or going back and fixing a section. 

A writer friend gave me a great piece of advice a few weeks ago that has really struck with me, especially while I work through a thorny part of a story I'm in the middle of. She told me "If you find yourself really stuck, chances are whatever it is that's gone wrong is actually at least a few scenes earlier if not more."

As I sat at my laptop and realized that my characters didn't have the same information I had in my head - that they should, or at least one of them should have that information as a source of their motivation, I went back a few scenes and saw where a slight tweak to dialogue and adding a bit more to the scene solved the issue of the missing motivation. Some truly great advice that I am sure I will use many, many times in the future. 

My #ThursThreads story 'The Mourningstar' continues this week. I barely posted the prompt in time, but it got in before Siobhan closed it. Now we wait for judgment from the guest judge. You can check out the other great entries at her website here. 

The Prompt: “Only one minute remained.”

Time seemed to come to a standstill as his brother manifested from the shadows, his boots echoing across the cement floor. It had been years since he had last seen his brother and he looked exactly the same. Of course he would. He didn’t age unless he wanted to age.

“Brother, you have five minutes to divulge what you know before I make you regret your ill-advised scheme.”

“I’m sorry about C-“

“Don’t you dare. You don’t get the privilege to say her name,” he snarled.

His brother held his hands up in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry all the same. I always liked her.”

“If you liked her so much, why wouldn’t you just tell me what you know? Or was that just a ploy to get me to come meet you?”

“We both know you wouldn’t have come if you knew it was me that reached out to you.”

He stared at his brother, his arms loose at his sides, his weight on the balls of his feet. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he would be prepared for whatever happened. The minutes ticked by until only one minute remained.

“Time’s almost up, Brother. Tell me what you know about my wife’s death or we are done here.”

The screech of metal startled both men, as a large freight door at the back of the warehouse slid open, a figure illuminated in the doorframe.

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Thanks for reading and leave a comment if you feel so inclined. :)

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The #Mourningstar drabbles are based on the Lucifer TV show. While my story is original and divergent from canon, I am playing in another creator's sandbox. 

ThursThreads Week 612 & The Mourningstar

 Happy Thursday folks. Another week almost done. This is the most I've blogged and wrote in years. I still can't believe it. 

Last week's entry to #ThursThreads won me an honorable mention. I'm glad this story seems to be resonating to people. It isn't quite coming together yet but that's what is great about these snips is I am able to build the story piece by piece and can work through issues step by step. 

I'm still working through the Mourningstar story right now. Not sure how I feel about this particular week. It's not rushed, it's just not hitting me right. I like elements of it, but maybe it will become more clear the more I work in this story. 

For anyone curious about the other great entries for this week, you can check them out on Siobhan's blog here: #ThursThreads

And here's my entry for this week's #ThursThreads:

Prompt: "He knew the end was coming."

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It didn’t take long for him to gather what the alleged informant wanted. He was not a poor man and had multiple resources available to him, some less savory than others. However, this was important enough to call in a few of the more colorful favors. What was telling wasn’t so much what information they were offering, but what they were asking for in return. He’d laugh if he wasn’t so filled with rage.

The location of the hand-off was fairly non-descript: the stereotypical abandoned warehouse. Places like that didn’t scare him, and he wasn’t about to walk in without taking some precautions of his own. He had learned very early on in his long life what happens when you don’t.

He arrived at the given address at the exact time requested. A single light shone from overhead illuminating a partially open steel door. He pushed the door the rest of the way easily, the well-oiled hinges silent. His footsteps were the only sound as he walked into the middle of the vacant warehouse. There was no other illumination present but he didn’t need them to see the interior.

It was several minutes before he heard another soul. A gust of air behind him was the only indication he was no longer alone. He didn’t bother to turn. He didn’t need to. He knew the end was coming. The end of this charade that his family actually cared about him and his life.

“Hello, Brother.”

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The #Mourningstar drabbles are based on the Lucifer TV show. While my story is original and divergent from canon, I am playing in another creator's sandbox. 

Week 611 of #ThursThreads - The Mourningstar Part ??

Last week's entry to #ThursThreads wasn't one of my best. It was rushed and felt like it. I had a busy day at the day job on Thursday then immediately travelling after I was done. Trying to type out a story on my phone wasn't the easiest, and I ended up trying to crank out an entry with only minutes to spare before the cut-off time. Not sure if I will scrap the whole thing or just try to redo it once I have this all complied into one cohesive thing. Thus far, I've bene enjoying just doing the bits every week as the story somewhat comes together in my head. I'm enjoying the angsty bit that my main character is in right now so I may just make him suffer a bit longer. Angst certainly makes the HEA's better - if there is even going to be a HEA. Heh.

Anyway, for those who have been following along can check out all of today's entries can be found on Siobhan's blog here. There is also information on that page about entering #ThursThreads yourself. The more the merrier with these flash fiction prompts. If you want to see my earlier entries into #ThursThreads and specifically this story, look for the #Mourningstar label.

Without further ado, here's my entry for Week 611 of #ThursThreads.

The prompt is: “You need to pay the reward.”

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‘I have information regarding your wife’s accident.’

He stared at the text that came from an unknown number. What information? The police reports were already out that clearly described the nature of the accident and how it happened, resulting in her death. Fury coursed through his body at this paltry attempt at baiting him. He barely controlled his eyes from flashing.

His fingers hovered over the face of his cell phone as he deliberated in responding. Ultimately, he couldn’t let it go and quickly typed out a response. ‘Who is this? What kind of sick joke are you trying to pull?’ ‘All good things must come to an end.’

What was that supposed to mean? The only good thing he ever had in his long, lonely life was his wife (and her child). His simmering fury bloomed into rage. Was her death truly not an accident after all? He had finally started coming to terms with her death and to discover that it may not have been an accident after all. Why?

Was she killed because of her association with him? It wouldn’t have been the first time she was targeted since they met years ago. Was his stepdaughter now in danger? Ice filled his veins as he looked around the apartment for her. She was just here.

The anonymous person responded again before he could formulate a reply. ‘You need to pay the reward.’

He gripped his phone so tight the glass began creaking. ‘How much and where?’

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The #Mourningstar drabbles are based on the Lucifer TV show. While my story is original and divergent from canon, I am playing in another creator's sandbox. 

#ThursThreads Week 610 and 'The Mourningstar' continues.

 It's Thursday so that means #ThursThreads from Siobhan Muir's flash fiction contest. I should put more on this blog than my entries, but trying to post on here weekly is about what I can manage right now. It's just great to get into the habit of writing again, even if I don't actively write every day. Even on my off days, I still have these stories in my head and try to work out a section or concept, or just let an idea marinate to see what comes out of it. 

For some encouraging news, last week, I WON #ThursThreads with my latest segment of The Mourningstar. I had won ThursThreads once before, probably a decade ago or nearly so. Its nice to win again, and also makes me feel like I'm going somewhere in the right direction with this story. The comments from the judges really help too. I'm glad I came back.

So this story I've been pecking at - totally pantsing it (flying by the seat of my pants for anyone who isn't familiar with the term pantsing) instead of following an outline or even a suggestion of a story. I have been letting the prompts guide me. Thus far, they have led me to what I think is an engaging story. I haven't named my characters yet, and eventually I am going to have to name names as just using pronouns will get confusing if I add too many more characters. 

For now, I'm just enjoying the experience. The story hasn't been beta'ed or read by anyone else to polish for grammar or structure, so the whole thing is very raw. I do try to clean it up as I go, but any story is always better when someone else is able to look it over. I think once it's complete, I'll compile all the weeks together into one cohesive story and then fill in the blanks and add whatever is needed to make it come together. 

If you are curious about the other entries into #ThursThreads or want more information about it (or if you want to participate yourself), check out Siohban Muir's blog here.

 (for full disclosure, I did make a few tweaks to what I posted on #ThursThreads as once I looked it over, I wanted to fix a few things. I was running against the clock on getting my submission in and my entry was a little sloppier than what I would have preferred. So I cleaned it up before I posted it here)

x-x-x

Today's prompt was "His cell phone vibrated" and my latest segment of The Mourningstar:

He barely reached the piano bench in time before as his knees buckled, saving him from landing on the glass and whisky strewn floor. He knuckled his eyes in disbelief then stared at his very alive wife through the glass of the balcony. When she had appeared before, he knew she was just a figment of his imagination, a manifestation of his grief. This was different. She seemed much more solid and real. Something was very different.

“How- Wha?” he choked, as he tried to gather his wits.

She pulled open the balcony door and stepped into the room as he stood on trembling legs. This wasn’t possible. He saw her dead body at the hospital. He saw the injuries that ultimately ended her life. He was the one that removed her wedding ring from her lifeless and cold finger.

“Hey baby.”

He never thought he’d hear her voice again. He knew it wasn’t possible. Hearing it now had to be some kind of sick joke put on by his Father.

“This can’t be real. You’re just a ghost like all the other times.”

He wanted her to be real. He so wanted her to be real-to have her back again in his arms.

She smiled softly as she took another step toward him. “It’s real. I’m real. I’m back.”

His cell phone vibrated from the other side of the room where he had thrown it. He ignored it.

“How? What did He do? What did He make you do?”

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The #Mourningstar drabbles are based on the Lucifer TV show. While my story is original and divergent from canon, I am playing in another creator's sandbox. 

#ThursThread - The Mourningstar

Today is Thursday, so it means an entry into Siobhan Muir's #ThursThreads weekly flash fiction contest. I'm continuing the story that I've been picking at and finally decided on the name. Instead of the Man in Mourning, I decided on The Mourningstar. It seems more catchy and more fitting. I also received another honorable mention last week with some really awesome comments from the judge. 

I also had some great conversations this week with a writer friend who had some great advice to help me with my writing. I find myself re-invigorated and looking at my writing in a different light then before - just looking at it differently and being able to make edits that the stories flow better and draw the reader in more. 

For the flash fiction contest, you can see all the other entries on Siobhan's blog here.

This week's prompt:

"She's missing."

And without any further ado - my entry for the week: 

    The preparations for her celebration of life continued around him. Calling it a celebration felt like a punch in the gut. He answered questions when they were posed to him robotically, barely remembering his responses as soon as he uttered them. Except when they asked about music. There would be no pre-recorded music played through speakers to fill the background noise. No, he would play one final time for his love.

     Alone again, he sat at his beloved Steinway and let the music flow through him as his hands swept up and down the keyboard. He played familiar songs, some of her favorites, then segued into something new but never to be heard again. The music discordant and melancholy echoing his emotions.

    His cell phone vibrated across the top of the piano, distracting him. He answered blindly, then stood abruptly, pushing the piano bench back with a screech. “What do you mean, she’s missing? How do you misplace a body?”

    The answer he received infuriated him more. “That’s my wife you lost, you incompetent imbecile! Find her!” He threw his phone across the room, not caring that it broke on impact.

    Pent up full of fury, he roughly grabbed his bottle of whisky. As he turned to the balcony, the decanter slipped from his fingers, shattering on the ground. The expensive Macallan splashed over his shoes and pantlegs, but he paid it no mind. 

    She was staring back at him from the other side of the balcony door.

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If you want to check out my previous entries into this story, read my prior blog entries for the past several weeks (basically ALL the blog posts for 2024).

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The #Mourningstar drabbles are based on the Lucifer TV show. While my story is original and divergent from canon, I am playing in another creator's sandbox. 

#ThursThread continues with the Man in Mourning

 So that's what I'm calling it for now. Not really sure what else to call it or where I am going with it. 

I received another honorable mention last week for last week's entry in ThursThreads. It is definitely helping encourage me to stay on the band wagon and keep writing. I am not always able to write every day but I try not to skip more than one day without writing something, even if its only for 15 minutes or a half hour. 

As always, you can learn more about the #ThursThreads flash fiction contest HERE. All of this week's entries will be found there. Sometime in the next 48 hours or so, the winner will be selected. 

This week's prompt was "So what do you suggest"

My entry: 

x-x-x-x

    She slumped down into the soft leather of the couch in the living room as she watched her stepfather through the glass of the balcony. His tall frame was cowed in grief, rigid and radiating a cloud of despair that sucked the warmth out of the air around him. She had never seen him in such a state before.

    Her mom and stepfather had gone through a lot before they met and had gone through even more after. Perhaps that is what made their bond so strong – and her mother’s passing that much more painful. Her stepfather had lost his first and only love. She wasn’t sure if he’d ever get over it.

    She had never seen the kind bond that her mom and stepfather shared with anyone else. It was unique. It was more than just love or just marriage, but something deeper and stronger, like their souls were connected. It was scary how intertwined two people could be, how powerful their devotion to one another was, and the power that they held over one another. She wasn’t sure if she envied them such a connection or pitied them.

    Sometime later, her stepfather came back inside and went straight for the whiskey bottle sitting on the table. He poured a fresh glass for himself and one for her. Taking both in his hand, he joined her on the couch with sigh and handed her the other glass.

    “So what do you suggest we do now?” he asked quietly.

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The #Mourningstar drabbles are based on the Lucifer TV show. While my story is original and divergent from canon, I am playing in another creator's sandbox. 

Another Week's Entry to #ThursThreads and Other Musings...

    I came to a realization earlier this week while in a discussion on Discord that perhaps I'm trying to control my muse a little too much. I get so fixated on having an outline to write from to keep the story on pace and not veer off and jump the shark that I'm not allowing for happy accidents or true creativity. Most ideas that come to me, I know how they start and how I want it to end, and a few key moments in between, and perhaps that should be enough. I don't have to nail down every single thing between those moments and just let the word flow and see how the characters speak to me. 

    I'm going to try this new thought process on my current WIPs. I haven't actively written in a very long time, much to my shame, but I find my mind being full of ideas again. I may not go back to my old WIPs from ten years ago, but that's fine. It's all a part of the process. I'm glad to just be writing again. 

    My #ThursThread entries these past few weeks are starting to form a story, and has grabbed a hold of me. There is no outline, no character sketches, none of the typical preparations I do. This is 100% pants-ing, flying by the seat of my pants, writing. Last week's entry to #ThursThreads won honorable mention! That was a great source of encouragement for me that my creativity and my muse haven't completely gone away. 

    If you haven't seen my previous entries, you can check them out here on this blog or on the #ThursThread blog. I don't have a name for this collection of drabbles yet. It's angsty, that's all I have so far. 

This week's #ThursThreads prompt is "I don't need answers."

My entry: 

    He tried to get into a new routine, but everything reminded him of her. Their lives had become so intertwined that there wasn’t a facet of his life that she wasn’t a part of in some way. He never minded it, he relished it. He had been alone for so long before they met that having her in his life, in every aspect, was a novelty that he never ever got tired of having.

    Now that it was gone. If he thought his loneliness was bad before they met, it was so much worse now. Now he knew what it was like to be loved, truly loved and to love in return. A soulmate. And now he knew what it was like to lose it.

    He sighed.

    She found him standing on the balcony nursing his usual glass of whisky. Her daughter. His stepdaughter. Home from college for the summer. She looked too much like her. It was painful. Her eyes red-rimmed and sad looking as she gazed at him. He knew she was hurting too. He wanted to comfort her, but his grief was so all-encompassing he found it nearly impossible to reach out to anyone. Especially her. He was a shit stepparent.

    “The final reports from the accident came in,” she offered quietly.

    “I-I don’t need answers.” His voice caught as he spoke. The first words he had spoken aloud in days. “Nothing will change what has happened. Nothing will bring your mom back.”

               

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The #Mourningstar drabbles are based on the Lucifer TV show. While my story is original and divergent from canon, I am playing in another creator's sandbox. 

Two weeks in a row - yay me! 

Taking a stab at #ThursThreads again and I felt drawn back to the snip I started last week with the man in mourning. Last week's prompt and this week's seemed to play nicely together. Not sure if this will eventually become something or not, but just getting the words out as they come. 

All of the entries to #ThursThreads can be found here: ThursThreads

-x-

My entry:

Their penthouse held too many memories, so he stayed away. Without her there, the dwelling was lifeless shell of where they had built their life together. He couldn’t even call it a home anymore. His home died the day she did.

Standing on the balcony of his Hills property where they would often go to get away from the city was no different. It felt cold and lifeless, despite the warm California sun. His only company was her ghost, always lingering near him but never making a sound. Her voice, her touch, all memories now. At least he had an eidetic memory so he wouldn’t forget a single moment he had with her.

“It’s quiet here,” he said to her. “Too quiet.”

She nodded but said nothing.

“What I would do to hear your voice again, your touch.”

Her ghost looked at him sadly but made no move to try to touch him. Like it would matter anyway. She was just a figment of his imagination, his grief manifesting.

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it, like he had all of the other calls and texts from his friends -their friends. They were concerned, but he was beyond caring. There wasn’t anything any of them could do. She was gone. He hadn’t talked to anyone since her funeral, unless shouting at God counted. Not that even doing that mattered, since he knew God wasn’t listening. God hadn’t listened for a long time. Why start now?

-x-

Find me on Twitter/X or whatever it's called this week: @mlgammella

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The #Mourningstar drabbles are based on the Lucifer TV show. While my story is original and divergent from canon, I am playing in another creator's sandbox. 

Hey Look, I'm Back

Well... it has been some time since I've graced my own blog, but even after a hiatus, it's like riding a bike - you just hop back on and start peddling.

I was able to submit an entry into this week's #ThursThread for the first time since December of 2019. Let's hope my next entry isn't four and a half years from now. The blogpost and all of the other entries can be found here: https://siobhanmuir.com/thursthreads-tying-tales-together-week-605/

For those unfamiliar with this particular flash contest, you are given a prompt and a word count to craft something new. It can be from a current WIP or just something that pops in your mind. I went with something new. 

My entry is below:

The Prompt: 

"I don’t really know how.” 

Word count 100-250 words

It was a beautiful day in Los Angeles, for all that he noticed. The warm ocean breeze ruffled his hair as he stood lost in his thoughts. It could be Hell on Earth and he would remain unmoved. Instead, his focus was on the wedding band he held in his fingers. The delicate platinum band matched the larger one he wore on his ring finger of his left hand. The ring he never ever expected to have to remove from his dead wife’s hand.

“I don’t really know how to do this alone,” he said to her, her ghost in his mind standing next to him.

She smiled sadly but didn’t say anything. How could she? She was a figment of his imagination.

“I never knew how to truly live until you came into my life. How can I go on living now without you?”

His body shook as he tried to contain the despair that ravaged him down to his soul. He fell to his knees, the sand of the beach cushioning his landing.

“Why?” he screamed up to the heavens. “Why her?”

His shouts garnered some odd looks from nearby beachgoers, but even they seemed to pick up on his pain and didn’t disturb him.

“Why did it have to be you?” he asked her ghost.

She knelt next to him but remained silent. If she had the answers, she wasn’t divulging them.

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The #Mourningstar drabbles are based on the Lucifer TV show. While my story is original and divergent from canon, I am playing in another creator's sandbox.