#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)

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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: 

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    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.