Win a Breathless Reads slipcase + other prizes!

*This contest is now closed. Winners will be announced on Monday 11 June. Because you guys rock and the standard is so high, I’ve asked some very special guest judges to help pick the winning entries!!!*

I promised in my last post that I’d be doing an epic giveaway soon, and here it is! YAY! The amazing people at Penguin very kindly sent me some of their limited edition Breathless Reads slipcases featuring the ARCs of BLACK CITY, VENOM, ORIGIN, THE INNOCENTS and FALLING KINGDOMS, and because I’m feeling generous, I’m giving away one of these bad boys! Look how pretty it is:


1st prize – Breathless Reads slipcase

2nd prize – Signed ARC of Black City

3rd prize – 10 signed Black City bookmarks

How to enter

Because Black City was selected as ‘Breathless Danger’ I thought I’d play on that theme. So in the comments section below, write a short scene (no more than 250 words) where your character is in danger! It can be in any genre (sci-fi, contemporary, fantasy etc, anything goes!) – just make sure it leaves us breathless!

At the end of the contest I will select my favourite 3 entries. Don’t forget to add your email address, otherwise I won’t be able to contact you.

You have until 12 midnight (EST) Friday 8 June to enter. The contest is open internationally. You can enter as many times as you like, but each entry must be unique.

Black City is available for pre-order now at Amazon, B&N and The Book Depository.

You can find me on:

Good luck!




  1. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    Echoes ran their way through my head. Every now and then, these echoes amplified a thousand times, into piercing screams. Then nothing. My whole world went silent. Even more so, than a dis-used morgue. Combine this with my vision, which was as black as ever-lasting night and there was only one thing for it: I had to be dead. Thoughts of death trampled all over me, constricting my body- if I still had one- to its very limits. These thoughts cascaded through my mind, turning to vivid images. The eternal blackness, was gradually being overtaken by visions, terrible visions. Images and sounds of people dying, blood spattering into a carpet of red. Blood-curdling screaming, torture and pain. A hand reached out from the Earth, dragging with it a girl, deep into the soil. In another image conceived, a man ended his life head-first in a boiling bath of doom; his body sore and crimson, as if he had laid in a pool of acid. A chill over-took me. Was this how I would spend eternity, seeing how people died? My stomach -or what was left of it- churned. This was worse than hell, it had to be. The sounds faded away, replaced by a pounding, harsh drill of electricity. My once blacker than black surroundings were being replaced by light so blinding, it over-powered life itself. I awoke with a start. The sight before me shook me to the core: I was gazing down at my body.

  2. I twisted my hair into a ponytail, tucking it under my cap and lowering the brim. I took one last look around the room full of strangers, wondering which would help me escape, and which would try to kill me.
    Running had never been my way to take care of things, but even I had to admit, there was no other choice. I tried to concentrate on the voices around me, but my mind kept wandering to the question that had been haunting me: Should I trust them? But it was too late for doubt. This was my last chance.
    Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I watched the room, waiting for just one small movement…CLICK. My stomach plummeted as the sound of a gun invaded my mind. I kicked out without thought, feeling my foot connect with something hard. That was all I acknowledged before I ran straight through the crowd. Which was filled with those who wanted me gone.
    Shouts of surprise and rage filled the room as I flew past them, but I paid no attention. I had to get out of this room, this place, before they destroyed every secret I had kept safe since I had been born.
    I ran up the stairs, panting. Suddenly, I was yanked into a dark room hidden away, barely big enough for two people. I froze, rigid.
    “Where do you think you’re going?” A dark voice asked, chuckling humorlessly.
    I gasped, recognizing him. “You?! You should be dead!”

  3. I shivered as I looked around. Something was following me, but who, or what, I didn’t know. And I didn’t want to know. It want because I knew something. In fact, I knew nothing at all. Or else I would know what was going on here. I would know the reason everyone who was hiding a secret seemed to be at unease. I would know why I was drawn to two.completely different guys. I would–
    A branch snapped. I narrowed my eyes as the wind picked up and suddenly felt as if I was in the middle of a very, VERY, stupid horror film. I started running.
    Flee as fast as you can. Something seeks you, something dark. Fly swiftly, daughter.
    The words were burned into my mind, and I had no idea whose they were, but I wasn’t ignoring it.
    And just like it said, something was seeking me. And had finally found me.
    Something jumped out at me, and, unfortunately, was not a fluffy squirrel gone mad.
    How I wish it was. They were PERFECTLY evil enough.
    Whatever it was wrapped its hands around my neck, its long nails digging into my skin, leaving crescent shaped punctures. I could feel blood running down my neck, undoubtedly mine.
    Then I saw them. Fangs
    This thing was definitely evil. Definitely something to flee from. Definitely something that had been looking for me.
    If only that voice hadn’t been right.
    if only.

    P.s. Hope I win! Awesome giveaway! 🙂

  4. He held the knife to NY throat, tears in his eyes. “Do you know how much you hurt me, Leila? Do you know how you ripped my heart in two? I loved you and you turned your back on me. For him. How could you choose him?”
    I bit my lip and steadily looked into his eyes. “You never cared about me. He did. You weren’t there when I needed you. He was. There was no choice. You. Never. Loved me.”
    He shook me, the knife cutting my throat just enough for a bead of blood to squeeze out. “How could you say that? How could you say that?!? I loved you and you loved me!” he yelled, tormented. His hand wavered, his grip loosened.
    I saw my chance and reached up, grabbing both his hand Ans the blade. Softening NY eyes, I said gently, “You loved my sister, not me. She loved you, not me. But she’s gone. Never get us confused. I gently pulled the knife from his grip and slashed his throat. He fell to the ground.
    “I’m sorry.” I whispered. It had to be done, he would’ve killed anyone, but he had been like an older brother to me once. I turned and walked to the door.
    Heavy footsteps sounded through the room.
    Alarmed, I quickly spun around, the sun glinting off the blade as he brought it down.
    The last thing I heard as the blackness enveloped me was, “You never had a sister.”

    P.S. this one is confusing. O.o Third one!

  5. Excellent. Going to tweet this now. 🙂

  6. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    Run. My life depended on it. Putting one foot in front of the other, I ran through the woods, quite literally for my life. Stealing a quick glance behind me, nothing, no sign of him. I had been running for so long, my head was filled with ghosts and demons. This was the result of not taking my medication. Now my breath was becoming ragged and uneasy; much longer and I would pass out. A sudden noise shook my world off balance. I turned to the source of this vile sound. It was him, it had to be. My energy was slipping. I began to stumble, causing pain to ripple through my skin. Looking in dismay at my arm, I saw a pool of blood had begun to ooze its way downwards like a snake – all the way to my elbow. He would come now. A few more steps, one, two. Nearer to safety… or not. Warm, sticky breath began to wind its way down my neck. It was him. Turning violently, I pushed the creature, thing, whatever he was, with all my might. It was no use. His mouth curled up into a grin, revealing sharp, pearly white fangs. My breathing was shallow. He grabbed my arm and began licking upwards… to my neck. So much for wearing a dress. A yelp escaped my lips as I felt two sharp prods from his fangs, all of my energy draining out of me. This was it. It was certain death.

  7. My life or hers.

    A lifetime’s thought in this one moment.

    I see the woman clad in black, tip to toe, eyes cool and level. As if this were normal. As if this were okay. As if our lives were nothing but two ticks on a record.

    I see the gun, the twitching finger, a gaping barrel aimed at nothing but the two of us.

    And I see her. Brilliant hair, wide eyes, bitten lips. Her guards closing in, fast, faster, not fast enough.

    My life or hers.

    A childhood in my eyes: careless laughter, wild adventures, her family and mine so closely intertwined that you couldn’t see where one ended and the other began. A collage of moments, shifting, overlapping; a million times when our eyes would meet and we’d know there was one person, just one, who would always, always be there.

    I could run. I could run away right now. I could live. All those years spread before me, all those experiences waiting to be had. I could dodge the bullet. I could survive.

    I would survive, and she would die.

    My life or hers.

    A lifetime’s thought in this one moment.

    I leap before the gun.

  8. Desiree Thompson says:

    I looked behind me and the rushing thoughts of just laying down and giving up rushed into my mind. for a second too long I faltered on this thought. The creature, as it could best be described tore one of it’s long tallons through my calf muscle. I could smell the musky scent coming off of its matted fur, the congealed blood still lingering on its jaws from its last victim. I involuntarily cried out in pain, or was it anguish at knowing that this was the end. I would never be able to run fast enough now. I looked behind me again at this seething beast, determined that I would meet my doom head on and with bravery. We locked eyes for the briefest of seconds and I could have sworn that I saw a sliver of humanity there. What was this thing? This time it hesitated a second too long. Out of nowhere an axe came down hard, splitting the creatures head in two. Who was this woman who had just saved my life? I didn’t have a chance to ask her as she was now aiming the axe at me.

  9. She’d always known it would come to this.

    They’d been a constant presence; dancing along the very edges of her sight, whispering sweet nothings in her sleep, darting before her at the most wretched of times. But always shadows; vague, slippery shadows, a cloaked menace, nothing more.

    Until now.

    Until her mother died in her arms, and she lost any semblance of strength.

    Until her mental walls came crumbling down.

    Now, they massed around her; sinuous arms, scarred faces, gaping mouths. And those terrible, terrible eyes. She’d always thought the most awful of eyes would be demonic: a vicious, fearsome red.

    But she was wrong. Color isn’t the horror; it’s the total absence that’s truly terrifying. These massive, gaping pits, gazing sightlessly upon her.

    They were everywhere.

    And they were excited.

    I want to know what it’s like . . . to touch, a shadow hissed. Without a moment’s pause, it sprang to her side, its talons lifting in a gentle caress.

    I want to know what it’s like, murmured another, to fly. And with the same startling speed, it leapt into the air, claws raking her scalp. She screamed, kicked, fought as terribly as she could, but for naught. Blood tumbled down her cheeks, and finally, the end seemed almost peacefully inevitable.

    I want to know what it’s like, whispered a shadow, to feed.

  10. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    Drip, drip, drip. The incessant patter of rain on the outside window ledge, stole my attention. It was late and I was now the only person left in the library, meaning I had to lock up. I sighed: time to go home. As I got up, a fizzing sound almost like a wasp, began to fill my eardrums. I glanced up at the ceiling, the light was flickering. On, off, on, off, in rhythm with the pattering of the rain. That was odd. I stood up and a crack sounded through the air, almost in tune with my movement. The light went out, only beginning to flicker back to life, as I approached the door. This would have bothered me, if it wasn’t for the shadowy figure standing by the bookcase to my right. I turned my head, there was nothing there. Strange… very strange. “Hello,” I called, “Is anyone there?” The only answer came from the sharp shrill of the stormy winter winds, causing my very being to shake. I decided to call it a night. As I walked across the room, something flew past my shoulders. I spun round, stupidly knocking books everywhere. A final howl; I couldn’t tell whether it was the wind or something else and I had grabbed my coat and practically flew to the door. I twisted the knob – it was stuck. The echoes of footsteps behind me told me that something was coming; whatever it was, it wasn’t friendly.

  11. Fear curls around my heart. Where is the Warrior? This was the place he was supposed to be. Something is wrong. I draw my sword slowly and carefully from the sheath and take a step forward, into the doorway. As my eyes adjust I cringe. On the floor is a man lying dead on the floor. The last warrior. Uncle.

    A deep gash on the man’s head is surrounded with dried blood. The man is laying half curled. A spear juts out of his abdomen. I turn away and gag at the sight.

    What had happened? This was not an accident, it was a murder. I force myself to turn back and look for clues as to who could have done this. I take a step closer, trying to keep my eyes averted. I gaze around at the small humble cabin of the man. A small pallet covered in animal skins lays in the far right corner. A table and small cupboard filled with food stand in the other side, They are overturned and ransacked.

    My heart grows cold. This attack is fresh. Which means the attackers must be nearby. They could be anywhere. For all I know I could be surrounded, caught in their trap.

    So that’s my disgusting/dangerous forensic scene. Because I’ll feeling dangerous allow me to share another scene with you (I’ll still count as only one entry)”

    So excited for Breathless Reads! 😀
    Inky @ Book Haven Extraordinaire

  12. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    I mustn’t.. I can’t.. “Do it!” The man screamed in my ears. My mouth was open now, my fangs poking through, begging to pierce fresh skin. The girl’s neck was in my reach, pumping with fresh blood. Two more steps and she would be mine. The thought of blood powered me on. Fresh and dripping; I hadn’t fed for over two weeks. I was becoming desperate but I couldn’t, no, wouldn’t give in. The hooded man slashed at her neck with a sharp claw. She fell to the ground screaming, clasping at her neck. The urge was over-powering; I couldn’t control myself anymore. With one last step, I pulled away the girl’s hand, a simple, “I’m sorry,” the only thing I could manage. My fangs graced her neck. I dug them in deeper and deeper into her artery. The metallic blood filled every inch of my body. Two minutes and she was a limp and lifeless shell of what she once was. I rested her head gently on the ground; the least I could do for her. With my new-found energy, I stood up once more and turned round to face the man. “It is done,” I said.

  13. I refuse to die this way.

    The gallows looms before me; a terrible wooden monster, weighed down with an air of inevitability. As if there is no ending here but the final one. As if no creature has ever walked its lengths and returned.

    One foot in front of the other. Slow, measured. The walk of a queen, not a murderer.

    I will die peacefully or I will die in battle, but I refuse to die a criminal.

    One, two, don’t show anything, don’t say a word, don’t let them see.

    My toes bump the stairs. I take the first step.

    And my foot snaps back, connecting solidly with the guard’s face.

    He is surprised; he did not expect it. He expected me to come along quietly, shuffle docilely to my death. But he is a guard, and this is what he has always trained for, no matter the impossibility. He leaps up, gun ready, finger poised.

    Another kick, and the gun flies from his hands.

    There is shouting, chaos, barked orders, deafening clicks.

    I refuse to die this way.

    One more kick, and he is down.

    I run for my freedom.

  14. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    Pain travelled through every bone and muscle, ripping and tearing apart at the skin. I screamed out in pain. My skin was stretched and thin, barely covering the bone. I dropped to the floor in agony, my spine cracking and twisting from left to right. Peering down at the river, I looked at my face, it had become long and pointed. A snout had formed, making me look like a dog, or even a wolf. No more time to think; the pain took away all my thoughts. A howl formed its way in my lungs, calling out to all other creatures in the forest; calling out to the full moon above. As I finally transformed in full, I took off into the height of the night.

    8 hours later

    I awoke, my eyes blinking in the sunlight. I looked around; I was lying in the middle of the woods. What had happened last night? I had absolutely no recollection of previous events, but when I turned to face the left, the sight of a girl’s body sent shockwaves through me. Who was she and why was she here? A terrible thought suddenly entered my head: was I the one who killed her?

  15. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    Thunder and footsteps filled me with dread. I had been locked up for 5 months and now, only now there was light. Light and the sound of shouting. Men filled my vision, tugging and pulling me out of the cell. My head hit the floor with a bang. Blurry shapes danced around my head. I saw nothing, felt nothing until a shock re-awoke my senses.

    Water. Someone had soaked my head. My vision was coming back to me. I was no longer in the cell or even in the castle. Now, I was in a different kind of cage. A cage filled with nothing but flesh-eating beasts…

  16. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    Shoved to my feet, I was forced to stand in front of the jury, alongside ten others. If found guilty, I would face death, by what means, no-one knew. The crowd hummed with anticipation; this was hugely entertaining for them. My weak knees almost gave in, but I was kicked upright by a guard. We had to stand and see our punishment. A man pointed, choosing his victims. I was too tired to hear. Two people are chosen annually to face their death. This time, I was not one of them. I lived to face another day of uncertainty and torture.

    As the gavel fell, two innocents died.

  17. “Kiss me,” he said.

    She smiled; he’d want a smile, bated breath, flushed cheeks. She giggled, the high, grating giggle of an anxious girl in love. Slowly, they leaned towards one another, foreheads bumping, lips searching.

    Then she socked him in the face.

    And just as she’d expected, he changed before her eyes. Pearly whites made way for slavering fangs. Pupils expanded and contracted like twin hearts, slowly growing until his eyes were nothing but the solid, awful black of an insect. His head whipped back and forth, neck contorting impossibly until it had nearly doubled its size.

    “I knew it,” she breathed.

    He blinked, seeming to notice her for the first time since he’d transformed. His lips twisted in some mockery of a grin, fangs poised and dripping.

    “You really should’ve taken the kiss,” he said.

    That was when she stabbed him in the heart.

  18. Desiree Thompson says:

    Scrunched in upon myself in this tiny black space I couldn’t help but remember the last time I was in here. I don’t know how I had discovered this hidden place but in a long ago game of hide-n-seek I was gleeful that I had. my best friend Brennan would never find me in this pitch black crawl space behind the bathroom cabinet. Its door was nearly indiscernable from the wood of the cabinet itself. Years later I led Brennan in her again to discuss in great detail and then very sloppily execute our first and last kiss. We were only seven then and there was barely enough room for us to crouch together without every muscle cramping. Now, ten years later and twice the size I have no clue how I slithered my way in again, however I am very grateful that I did. I know that I would be dead right now if I hadn’t thought of hiding here. Another crash sounds from somewhere in my room and put my hand over my mouth to stifle any sound that might give me away. I have no idea why these men are here and even less of an idea why the want me dead but I now know that all of those threatening notes and messages were not some elaborate prank from my friends. I know that the feeling of being watched was not me just being paranoid as Brennan had said but real. Thinking of Brennan now makes a tear come to my eyes, I wish he were here to comfort me. After a few more moments of terror I hear a loud boom and see blinding light as the door to my hiding space is torn open. For a split second I feel overwhelming relief as Brennan’s face swims into focus and then a terror like I have never felt as he smirks at me and rises a syringe of god know what. I only have time to cry out his name before I feel the sting of the needle and blackness envelopes my mind.

  19. booksbonesbuffy says:

    Griff’s boots kicked up red dust as he skidded down the side of the forest hill. The looming redwoods offered some camouflage, but the sky was lightening quickly and he could not use the darkness as cover much longer. Griff had been running for almost an hour, and even though he was naturally athletic and fit from training, his throat and eyes were full of dust, and that was slowing him down.

    A high-pitched keening came from behind and above him. Griff whipped his head around, trying to locate the source of the terrible sound. Between the dense branches of the trees two lava red eyes glowed angrily down at him. That was the first thing he saw, and the next was the creature’s immense black body, leopard-like and twice as tall as Griff. It was close enough for him to see its open maw, dripping with saliva and crowded with sharp teeth. Panicked, he ran faster, dodging trees and low-hanging branches. Ahead was a raised outcropping of boulders, but beyond that, nothing. A drop-off of some kind, he thought.

    He didn’t have much of a choice. The thing was almost upon him, and he was damn well not going to let it get him. He skidded to a stop at the top of the rocks and peered over the edge. Far below, too far, was a churning pool of water. Griff closed his eyes and jumped.

  20. Choices, he had countless of. Unfortunately, none were in his favor at this moment.

    Each step took him farther from the glorious sun offered on Earth and led him to the desolate underworlds intertwined, forming the dimension, Hell. Only the foolish would run toward eternal suffering, but he was not one of them.

    His crimes were few in number, but great in price. The vengeance sought by those who were known as Furies in one aspect and demons in another. Their cries, beyond the scopes of mortal alchemy, instantly burst the cavern of ice to flames, to give him eternal burnings in the first tunnel of Hell. Plenty more of the punishments would be attempted to be enforced if he continued to fun. Easily, he could give into the temptation of avoiding the worse to come, but he was innocent, so he continued to dodge the forces thrown to end him.

    Crimes committed by him were of the body, not the soul. The uncle, whom he had once trusted, raised demons of all realms of Hell to allow him to preside as ruler of the Earth. Proven to be irrepressible by any, including their summoner, those demons possessed those were nearest to the greedy man and destroyed their very lives. Actions of the demons, proved to be too heinous and sinful to allow pardoning. Most were sentenced to death penalty or life imprisonment, except him. Only he, who had yet to pay for his crimes was going to Hell..

  21. I honestly don’t think I’ll win, there are so many awesome writers who entered. Lol. Blogger! Writing is…fun. I have no patience for it though. Lol. Anyways, #4!

    I cooed, petting the wild horse that had approached me. “Aren’t you beautiful?” The black mare tossed its shiny mane and snorted softly, looking at me. I smiled and reached up to stroke it again, but the horse bent on its front knees before me.

    I gasped. “You want me to ride you?” I asked breathlessly. Shaking my head almost as soon as the words were out, I muttered, “I can’t. I never learned…” my words trailed off as it bumped its head against my arm gently. “But…” Giving in, I scrambled onto its back, squirming until I found a comfortable position. “Is this all right?” I asked, afraid to hurt it. It just started to walk, buliding into a trot, and eventually in a run. The wind whooshed in my ears, making my hair stream back. I closed my eyes, my very core thrilled to be atop such a beautiful creature.

    Opening my eyes, I saw a murky green lake that was fast approaching. Panicked, I screamed and tried to make the horse stop. It wouldn’t. Didn’t it see it? I shrieked as loud as I could, but the beast paid no attention. Filled with fear and adrenaline, I prepared myself to jump. 1, 2, 3! I tried to push myself of its back, but my legs were stuck like glue. What was happening? Before I could think, the horse splashed in, neighing almost…gleefully. My vision turned black.

    I wonder what the horse was…;)

  22. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    Beautiful: that’s what he was in Emily’s mind. The boy had an illuminating glow around him, following him wherever he went. He was golden to the eyes, covered in a ring of fire, only a long-lost dragon could of otherwise beheld. The glow was like a siren, calling all those nearby to its magnetic touch. Emily came close, too close. Reaching out her hand, she could do nothing but touch the magnificent fiery skin of the strange boy. She was entranced by his beauty and he could do nothing to stop her. At the touch, her skin sizzled and filled with the heat of a thousand suns. The warm touch filled with energy; it brought a new meaning to life. “Don’t,” was the one word the boy said, but it was too late. Emily reached out again, this time the touch knocked her off balance, sending a thousand sparks of electricity jolting through her body. She was knocked unconcious at the far end of the room. As the boy approached her limp body, sparks flew between them; Emily was now connected to the boy and he was her one chance of survival. The buy muttered to the silent girl, “I told you not to touch me. No mortal can survive my touch, not if they want to stay human.”

  23. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    The waves crashed and churned around Lucy’s feet. A storm had been brewing for quite some time and now the sea was having no mercy. It was the weather people hid indoors for, locking all their windows; not Lucy, she loved the sea. The smell of the salty water filled her with hope and renewed her; it was like she somehow belonged to it. Taking a step forward, Lucy couldn’t help but notice a shell, crispy and new, lying on the shore. Her innocence and inquisitive nature led her to pick it up. As she turned, a tugging caused her to drop the shell in horror. Someone – something, was pulling her into the ocean. She swore under her breath and it took all her effort to grab and clasp at the tiny grains of sand under her hands, but it was no use. The sand slipped between the cracks of her fingers, her hope disappearing with it. Lucy’s legs were being pulled further and further into the velvety mass of water; the ocean was taking no prisoners. Sure enough, a figure was emerging from the murky depths, a figure with a strong tail only comparable to a shark. The strangest part was: he had a human face. The same merman from her nightmares was dragging her under; her dreams were coming true. For somewhere in an underwater kingdom, the Sea King was waiting for his Queen and he would get her, whatever the cost.

  24. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    A clink and the door was open. I ran, almost forgetting about the past, about why I had been locked up. Turning round, I grasped Matt’s hand; I would not lose him again. If one thing was for certain, it was this: I loved him and if it wasn’t for his presence in the cell, I would have lost my mind. A guard approached, gun in hand.

    They would not hurt him, I couldn’t let them.

    I spun round, knocking the gun from his hand. As he bent down to retrieve it, I punched him in the face, instantly leaving him breathless.

    We were far from safe.

    Another guard appeared. Two, three.

    We were surrounded.

    Our only chance was to run and run like the wind we did.

    The elevator marking the way to safety grew closer and closer in my vision. One more step and-
    Gunshots rippled through the air.

    I looked over my shoulder, petrified of what I would see. Beside me lay Matt, blood seeping through his shirt; he had been shot in the heart. Not knowing how to live without him, I refused to run. “Go, you must go,” he told me weakly, gasping for breath.

    I couldn’t leave him.

    A guard appeared from around the corner.

    It was now or never.

    With Matt’s words ringing in my ears, I ran. The corridor seemed longer now than ever before.

    Gunshots resounded in the atmosphere I breathed. To my surprise, it wasn’t me who was shot. It was the guards, all of them. I turned round to face my saviour: it was Jack, my past love.

  25. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    “I love you,” I told him, moving my mouth slowly closer to his. The thought of the approaching passionate kiss filled me with desire. As our mouths closed in, his jerked away, towards my neck. “What are you doing?” I asked. No reply. I stood up and moved swiftly towards the door.
    “I’m sorry,” I didn’t mean to- I need to go,” he said finally. I stood unmoving by the door. He wasn’t getting out of here, without telling me what was going on. “What is wrong with you?” I asked him, “You’ve been acting really strange lately.”
    “I know, that’s why we can’t be together.” As he said this, my heart sank, but I was not going to let him win. I walked over to him and forced him to look at me. He pulled away from me, his skin cracking up, veins becoming yet more apparent. I walked backwards. What was wrong with him? His eyes had become blood-shot and ravenous; rings, red and raw covered them. I took another step back; he took two forward. I was at the door; it wouldn’t budge. He was by my neck a second time. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two of his teeth were growing and changing in both length and shape: two fangs. I screamed. I couldn’t help myself, is this what my boyfriend was? A monster? I found out the answer, when those fangs found their way into the side of my neck.

  26. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    “Do you want to live?” The man boomed in Ryan’s face. Ryan began muttering under his breath, unable to form perfect speech. The man towered over him, his steel grey eyes burning deep into his flesh. “What are you, a man or a mouse?” At this, Ryan’s face grew pale and lost.
    “What should I do, master? Please tell me,” Ryan begged. He did not want to die, not now or any time. Everyone he knew had been killed by the Horde, a group of vile cannibals, who locked onto their victims and wouldn’t stop until they were dead. His master continued, “You will kill the girl who goes by the name Violet Wood.” His mouth tipped into a sly grin. “If she is not dead by sunrise tomorrow… Well, I think you know what will happen.”
    Ryan looked up at his master and nodded. He already regretted what he would have to do, but if it was his life or hers, he picked his. He was pulled to stand by the man, who would give no indication of who she was or why she had to be killed.

    Little did he know, killing her would be his worst mistake.

  27. My boots were loud and harsh against the metal floor. I ran through the tunnel weaving through as many corners as possible. I had to get away from this thing. Sweat gathered at my forehead, slowly dripping down my nose. My mask prevented me from wiping it away.
    I breathed in the clean air from the mask. Taking deep gulps, they might be the last breaths I ever take. I stopped crouching down. My suit crinkled and tightened against my skin. My heart thudded against my chest. Boom-boom. I listened but there was nothing. The sound of nothing was more alarming than the sound of something.
    I closed my eyes and began to count. One, two, three, four, five…
    Air whooshed as the vents above me opened, taking away all the air in the tiny tunnel. Footsteps clanked around the corner. I looked around. My breath caught, I struggled for more air but none would come.
    The thing walked towards me, a giant man in a dark suit that was the colour of shadows. I looked through the vents at the night sky, watching the stars glow. Somewhere one of those stars was dying, its light finally blinking for the last time. Just like me.
    The boots stopped next to me. My head was light, feeling like a weight tugging down on my body. Stars twinkled at the edge of my vision. As the hand reached out, I gasped for the final time.


  28. Desiree Thompson says:

    I couldn’t stop staring at her, this girl with the full lips painted red, the eyelashes made twice their size by mascara. Her perfectly straightened long dyed blonde hair. She held a hint of recognition in her eyes that she glared past, like I was a memory she wanted to forget. She didn’t take those hateful eyes off of me either. I glanced down and saw that her boobs were perked up to the point of almost reaching her chin, this was done by the use of a powerful and expensive push up bra. The longer I looked at her the more uncomfortable I became. I couldn’t take it anymore, I heaved a long sigh and looked away from the mirror. I was in serious danger of losing myself. For what? The privelidge of sitting with the “right” people at lunch, The sought after opportunity to give a varsity football player a blow job after homecoming? This is not me. I attacked my makeup with as much face wash as I could squeeze out of the bottle and collapsed on the bathroom floor to cry.

  29. The barrel was aimed steadily at her face. Tom eye looked down the barrel at her smirking face.

    “You wouldn’t do it Tom. You couldn’t kill you own sister,” She said curling a piece of her hair around her finger. Her painted nails reflecting the dull glow of the one light bulb. She didn’t belong here, she never had and she never would. Tom was going to make sure of that.

    “You’re not my sister, you’re a spoilt little bitch,” He spat, lip curling just at the look of her. Time ticked away, his watch making the annoying tick-tock every time the hand moved.

    Tom lowered the gun, popping open the barrel. He picked two cartridges out of his pocket, slipping them into the barrel making sure they were secure. Closing the gun he flicked off the safety. Kristie had suddenly gone pale. Her brother wasn’t that crazy was he?

    “Tom,” She mumbled. “What are you doing?” Her voice squeaked. Tom lifted the gun again. He closed one eye, letting the other look down the barrel. It would be a close range shot and would make a mess but as long as she was gone, that could be taken care of.

    He aimed at her forehead, just between the eyes. His finger curled around the trigger. Tom took a deep breath. This was it.

    Kristie shook where she stood. Tears rolled down her face. Sobbing she pleaded with him.

    Her words where cut off with a loud bang.


  30. Breathe in.

    Take a moment. Glance to the right. There, right there. Just a foot away is another ledge. Blink twice to remove the blood and sweat from the eyes. It is becoming harder to see. But sight is not as important as strength right now—both mental and physical strength. Must hold on.

    Breathe out.

    Gripping with one scrapped and wounded hand, slowly move the right hand one finger at a time. The blood is making it harder to hold on with the left. Nails digging in, the pain is immense. As the right hand is finally lifted, the left foot slips with the added weight.

    Breathe in.

    Breathe out.

    The shock sends vicious quakes all over, heart pounding. The right hand grasps for the ledge. Blindly, it seeks to regain support —YES! It finds the ledge and holds tight. Nails dig in once more.

    Breathe in.

    Breathe out.

    Don’t look up. The distance to the top is overwhelming. Don’t look down. The deep abyss is vast. No knowledge of how this situation came to be—or of how it will end. The only certainty is that death is not an option. Time to move on.

    Breathe in.

    Advancing means pulling up with the arm muscles. Sweat beads on the forehead. Blood pours from an infinite number of wounds. Sight is lost completely. All at once, the ledge under the right hand crumples. Feet slip. The left hand follows.

    Falling, falling…

    Breathe out.


    And then I awake.

    Jenna DeTrapani
    imakethegrade at gmail dot com

  31. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    Thump… and again…. thump.

    Something was hitting the top of Jessie’s car.

    A creak of metal twisting and contorting above Jessie’s head and she knew that whatever was on her car… it was larger than a mere squirrel.

    The roof came down, near enough hitting her on the head.

    In a fit of panic, she attempted to open the door.

    Come on.

    A face pressed against the windscreen, smoky breath misting the glass.

    Shattering glass…
    Shattering hopes…
    Shattering dreams…

    As the glass shattered, so did Jessie’s fragments of hope; her fragments of life.


    The door was open.

    Jessie scrambled out, gasping for breath.

    She made it to the edge of the woods and stopped to reach in her pocket.

    No phone.

    How could she find help?

    Two strides. The man was next to her now.

    He bent down to her level…

    Crows scattered as screams filled the forest.

    She was never seen again…

  32. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    I opened my eyes.

    A hooded figure stood in front of my bed, dagger poised and ready. I stifled a scream, this is what the man would have wanted.

    To torture me.
    To scare me.

    I fought with the man, pushing away his hand. The dagger sliced into my skin. A sharp throbbing sensation over-took my arm. I couldn’t move for fear and pain. Blood drenched my duvet, its stench so putrid, I wanted to hurl.

    The look of horror in my eyes, made the man gleeful; his job was done. He had hurt me, just like he had done year after year.

    The dagger came closer; this time to my face. As it approached my left cheek, I blinked.

    The world melted away.

    I opened my eyes as fast as humanly possible; the man was gone.

    I thought it was just a dream. A wet sensation, made me look down at the duvet.


    Everything was soaked.

    If it wasn’t a dream, then where had the man gone?

  33. Katrina tried to process the scene in front of her: the shredded corpse of her boyfriend Keith, the foam dripping from the mouth of the growling mountain lion, the blood coating everything.

    She and Keith had gone camping for the weekend in the woods. This was their first overnight trip, which was only possible because she had a friend covering for her with her strict parents. The trip was perfect, even if she’d had to use a leaf as toilet paper (yeuch) and there were bugs everywhere. They’d had some good times in that tent. The weekend was perfect.

    Until, on the hike back to the car, they were attacked by a mountain lion. They hadn’t seen it coming. Katrina stopped to tie her shoe, and Keith continued on, caught up in his story about football. Just as she stood, shoe safely tied, Katrina saw something tawny drop onto Keith. He was crushed under the giant cat and could barely fight. Mountain lions rarely attack humans, and bears don’t either. That’s what Keith told me, she thought frantically.

    Katrina edged behind a tree, trying to separate herself from the big cat, moving slowly and quietly as possible while the cat was feasting on her boyfriend. Tears would come later. As she backed away, she considered the cat’s motives and had a flash of inspiration. She recognized rabies from Old Yeller. She never did like that movie.

    A growl resounded from behind her. Turning slowly, she saw a froth-mouthed wolf.

  34. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    As it was Memorial Day yesterday, I decided to write a poem about it. After all, soldiers face some of the greatest dangers out on the battlefields and their bravery should always be remembered.

    Red: the colour of poppies and blood
    On the battlefield, a thump and a thud
    The soldiers fought with all their might
    Each seeing in their sight
    Signs of their country’s pride.

    Brave, heroic and wise
    The soldier’s lost all ties
    Everyday belongings such as kettles
    Were swapped for armours made of metal
    Ready for the battle to begin.

    The war was bloody
    The battlegrounds muddy
    But they fought on for future peace
    They knew that when the war would cease
    To their families they would return.

    Soldiers like Sam, who fought in a trench
    Out in all weather, he often got drenched
    His bravery was rewarded and proved
    Leaving us all feeling moved
    We will never forgot these heroes of ours

    Some died in the war
    Leaving their families torn and poor
    The battle was too strong
    Their enemies in the wrong
    But their duty never faltered.

    To all those who have died
    Many tears have been cried
    Plaques and poppies were built
    I’m sure many felt guilt
    Rest in peace our saviours.

    We will never forget you.

  35. I turned abruptly. I saw a shadow in the night. No, it can’t be him. How did he know? I grabbed my whip that was strapped perfectly between my legs, and lashed out into the darkness. The whip latched on to someone, but a force tuck so instantly that I stumbled forward, and fell into Night. Night narrowed his eyes.

    Night pushed me against the brick wall as I heard a loud BANG! The air escaped my lungs as I hit the cold, smelly wall. Night was pressed right against me, his body heat warming my wet, exposed arms. A loud chuckled came from the direction of the bang. I pushed Night aside and charged at Fabio. I landed a punch left, then right on his face, sending him backward. He was a thief, and traitor. Suddenly, he grabbed my arm and threw me aside. I gasped as I hit the wall. I pushed myself up from the damp ground and looked at Fabio. Flink, flink. The sound of Night’s knives hitting Fabio’s armour. I quickly get up, then the rush of nausea hit me. But my left fist crashed onto Fabio’s stomach then my right knee jabbed his face as he doubled over.

    Unexpectedly, I ducked with both hands on the wet ground and my legs spread aside. Then -whoosh-, a movement just right above my head. Night’s right leg came directly behind me and landed straight onto Fabio’s chest, instantly knocking him out cold.

  36. “You’re not . . . you.”

    Those were his words. Sharp, halting, full of utter disbelief. Accompanied by that look she’d always prayed she’d never see: a look of pure betrayal.

    “No, not quite,” she said.

    He blinked. Shook his head. Repeated, “You’re not you.” As if he needed to be sure. As if, perhaps this time around, the words would be false.


    He nodded: a quick, definitive nod.

    Then, dagger in hand, he lunged for her throat.

    She knocked his hand aside, sending the dagger flying. Undeterred, he rushed forward, jaw tight, fists flying. She dodged one . . . and stepped right into the other. It hit her square in the face, sending her sprawling. She shook her head, bit her lip, not aware that her fangs could easily slice through the soft flesh. A drop of blood trickled down her chin, crimson and porcelain, a perfect contrast. She stared, transfixed, the fight momentarily forgotten.

    Until he leapt before her, armed once more. She’d thought there might be pain, anger, regret; but no. His face was calm, still, as though he weren’t about to kill his closest friend.

    “Why?” she whispered. “Why do this? Why me, when there are so many others? Why me, when there are hundreds of unfamiliar faces?”

    His clenched his jaw, glanced away. “Because you’re a murderer,” he said.

    And in that moment of distraction, her foot swept out, landing forcefully behind his knees. He crumbled, and with a second kick to the head, he lay still. Stunned, not dead.

    She paused, bending till she met that slack, familiar face. “I’m a survivor,” she breathed. “There’s a difference.”

  37. His arms were wrapped around my waist, mine around his neck. It was the perfect setting for a first kiss, the sun setting, water lapping at our waists. I leaned forward, eyes fluttering closed. Just as our lips met, his arms suddenly tightened around my waists to the point of pain and he was dragging us farther into the ocean. I yanked my head away and saw his eyes turn from a turquoise color to a dark, dark black. I screamed and tried to pull away, but his arms were locked around me in an iron grip and he wasn’t planning on letting go.
    “What are you doing?!” I yelled, panicking. He smiled slowly and whispered, “Just having some fun.” Then he dragged me under the water. I kicked at him as I tried to hold my breath, lungs burning. I had never been the best of swimmers and now it was coming to haunt me. I couldn’t hold it in any longer and my mouth opened instinctively, trying to gulp in air, and instead choking on water. Even as my vision started fading to black, I wrapped my hands around his neck tighter, trying to choke him. He just laughed. Stupid little Ell, don’t you know I’m not human by now? A voice whispered in my head. I shook my head, confused, and glimpsed a gleaming silver something out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head one last time, and saw what I hadn’t before. A tail. A freaking fish tail. Finally, I slipped away. Slowly, slowly. Gone.

    Don’t be mean! I hate kissing scenes. 😛

  38. The ship horn blew its final cry as if it had given its last breath. Fast foot steps echoed the dock. Dark, cold, wet. I crouched behind a wooden crate. The ugly yellow light reflects off the sea puddles. A commotion on the east side of the dock. Then click, click, the sound of a gun loading, rang right next to my head.

    I twisted, and swung an arm at what I presumed to be his face.

    In a shower of sparks from the overhanging electric poles, I saw his face. Dark, contorted, textured. Fire blazed around us as our dance continued. The sparks overhead must have triggered a fire.

    As I dodged his electric hand, I overstep back and step into the inferno. I cried out in pain. In the slits of my eyes, I saw the zigzagging lightning coming right at me. I arched my back just in time to avoid it, but I knew my hair was on fire. I can smell it. The horrid smell crawled into my nostrils as if the air had small tiny hands. I quickly flipped my body back up and used the momentum to cartwheel right into him. Our bodies collided. Sheer pain ignited everywhere. Have I finally gone mad?

    I used my final strength to flip myself up. The fire burning bright as sea sprays crashed up the dock. He lay unconscious in the land of fire and water.

    Bright yellow eyes illuminated the night. Blockers.

  39. OMG these are all so good. I do NOT envy my Breathless sister Ms. EvilRedPen for having to choose betwixt them all. Never fear. If you aren’t victorious here, I’m going to start my own contest for the oh-so-Breathless slipcase as her contest comes to a close.

  40. They knock when darkness falls, the lidless ones. The moon pinned to the sky illuminates their skin, paler than starlight.

    “Come,” they whisper. Their knobby fingers stretch from turquoise silk.

    I let them take my arms, though my hands tremble and my pounding heart will not quiet.

    I go because I remember what they did to Sister when she struggled. I go because I cannot escape the lidless ones, nor what they will change me into. A half-life; a hollow mind for Saoire and his men.

  41. It wasn’t so much seeing the blade as it whizzed past her left ear – no, it was the sound of it: the quick, precise slice as it zinged by. She knew people said you could cut tension with a knife, but she never thought her pulse would race with the sound of one.

    Alexa spun and cut back around the corner as fast her clunky, too-big-for-her-feet boots would let her. “You’ll never get away! He’ll find you!” the voice screeched from somewhere behind her, raising goosebumps on the back of Alexa’s neck.

    Just as she was about to duck through another doorway in the endless maze of corridors, a black shadowed figured tumbled in front of Alexa, making her trip and swallow the cry of surprise as she slammed hard to the floor. “No no no no!” she cried out, kicked blindly in all directions. Hands clamped on her ankles with a crushing grip as a sob escaped her throat, the figure pulling her closer, inch by inch. Alexa grappled desperately, feeling her nails scratch and break against the coarse, disgusting rug, desperation cutting off any words trying to plea.

    She had the fleeting thought that dying in this decrepit, abandoned hospital was a terrible place to go – it almost made her laugh that something so trite could be her last earthly thought, but the glean of another blade quickly silenced everything else. This wasn’t the prophecy.

    This wasn’t how she was supposed to die.

    ashleylovesbooksblog [at] gmail [dot] com

  42. Cold, thin stainless steel is pressed against my throat. I can’t help but thinking what I did to deserve this? How could one night spiral down so quickly? I just couldn’t piece together the pieces. So much for my relaxing high because it was fucking gone now. But this scene would make a killer self-portrait if these two muscle heads didn’t slaughter me.
    “What element do you possess?” Said the one just standing there. He was wearing a black track jacket and jeans and was squinting his eyes slightly at me.
    Element? Possess? What the fuck? “I don’t know what drug you two are smoking tonight, but mind if I do it with you? It’s been a rough night.” Track jacket continued to watch me, and with a slight tilt of his head he seemed to make a decision.
    “He isn’t who we’re looking for. And he doesn’t know a damn thing.” There was no hesitation when he harshly spoke. “Kill him.”
    It was the last thing I heard before I felt slight pain on the side of my throat. And the only thing going through my brain was that I didn’t deserve to die, but it was what I wanted at one point tonight wasn’t it? And then my life shaded into darkness.

  43. The barking silences and the front door closes with ease. I run my finger over my laptop’s blue light to turn off my music. “Kent?” I call out.
    I didn’t think he would be home tonight.
    There’s no answer to my call. A moment later the dogs comes bolting into my room and squeezes herself under my desk. Something’s not right.
    My breathing is loud, it echoes inside of my skull. I creep down the stairs. Ascending each one with the utmost care. Silent. So Silent. The dog follows slowly behind me. I round the corner into the dark living room lit by the full moon outside of the bay window. Cell phone clenched in my sweating palm. Ready to dial 911.
    My heart is colliding against my rib cage as I get closer to the hall. Debating if I should turn towards the kitchen or towards downstairs bedroom. Stay Silent. Each step is heavier that the last. Each shiver throughout my body more nerve-wrecking than the previous. I’ve taken two steps towards the bedroom when I hear a low growl.
    I made a mistake. I’m too afraid to move. Too frightened to turn around. My eye lids close, eyelashes dipping to meet my pale cheeks. My breathing is quicker, my heart heavier. A fluffy tail brushes across my legs.
    Painstakingly, I twist my head to look over my left shoulder. A shadow of a figure flutters across my vision behind me into the kitchen. My worst fears have come alive. Someone is in my house.

  44. “Come out, darling,” a male husky voice floated through the door. Even from inside the room she could smell the thick cigarette smoke. She could picture it curling up in the air, swirls that looked harmless but were oh so dangerous.

    A fist hit the door, shaking it in its frame. Kat was shaking; she perched on the edge of the bath tub. She cuddled her arms closer. Who was this man and why did he want her? She sat waiting for him to leave but he wasn’t going anytime soon.

    “Sweetheart,” He said with spite, the world rolled off his tongue like poison. “Your boyfriends not coming so come out now and it will be over so quickly,” he finished with a throaty laugh. A sob escaped Kat’s throat, her eyes welled up. How could such a normal day turn into this terror? A tear dropped. She listened for the man but he was silent.

    “KAT?” a young female voice shouted. Steps followed shortly after. Panic bubbled up in Kat’s chest, No. This couldn’t be happening; she knew that voice as well as her own. She wouldn’t let someone else get hurt because of her.

    The footsteps stopped. “Well, well who is this beauty?” he said. Kat could just imagine the way his eye’s rolled over her friend like she was an appetising snack. There was a soft cry then a loud crack, “Goodnight darling,” Kat heard him whisper.

    A scream clawed its way up her throat.


  45. Bring it.

    I’ve got a life time of experience watching horror movies, so I’m totally sure I can take this asshole behind me out. He may have a wicked looking garotte, covered not with rust but with congealed blood. Not good. Clearly, this freaking psycopath has killed before. That means this is for real.

    Step 1: Don’t enter any buildings. High ground is good in an even fight, but it can also be a trap.

    Step 2: Don’t waste any time knocking on doors hoping for a savior. If someone finds me and saves me, awesome, but I’m not going to count on it.

    Step 3: Be a virgin. This is horror movie rule #1. I’m not sure why it matters. Is it because God likes virgins? Or, maybe a unicorn will come run this guy through for me. Hmm.

    Step 4: Focus.

    Step 5: Run faster than that guy. Unfortunately, speed is not my thing. Head towards a place likely to be crowded. Sudden turns can be good, but make sure you don’t risk wandering into unfamiliar territory and winding up trapped down an alley.

    Step 6: Don’t fall down.

    Step 7: Never wear heels when you’re going to be attacked by a maniac. I kick my stupid goddamn torture devices off as quickly as I can, sweep up a stiletto, and continue barefoot. I lost time, but it was worth it. Now I’m armed and slightly faster.

    Step 8: Avoid glass when you’re barefoot. FUCK.

    Step 9: If it becomes apparent that flight is no longer a valid option, save your strength.

    Step 10: Fight. DO WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO. I’m not going down like this. Or, at least, I’m not going down easy.

  46. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    Alice climbed into the bathtub, looking forward to the tranquilizing calm. Putting her mug of coffee on the side, she allowed her whole body to become one with the water. Deeper and deeper, calmer and calmer. Her whole body was sedate and at peace.

    Suddenly, she was suffocating. Her head was trapped under the water and she could not bring herself to surface. It was as if she had been buried alive, the sheer force of imaginary dirt compressing her. As she tried to breathe, bubbles of air shot up her lungs making her want to scream out, but when she tried, more water wound its way up into the back of her throat. Her eyes stung worse than bee stings; her whole body was alive with pain. She tried moving her hands, but it was as if they were no longer attached to her body, for they were numb; her whole body seemed almost anesthetized with fear. After an eternity of drowning – she was so sure she would die – the presence vanished and she shot her head up, gasping for air. Her lungs greedily consumed the surrounding oxygen; it was as if she had never breathed before. Alice looked around. No-one. The door appeared locked. When she glanced at the mug of coffee, nothing remained but a white, powdery trail… On the wall in front of her, what she saw made her gasp in terror: a single wet hand-print graced the wall. She had not been alone.

  47. You know how they say teens are so self-absorbed and we totally think nothing bad could ever happen to us? We sort of think that we’re invincible and that we think bad things always happen to other people. It’s kind of true. I mean, intellectually, I always knew that I was just as likely to be hit by a car or bullied or whatever as anyone else. Still, the idea of it never felt real. I really never expected anything bad or serious or out of the norm to happen to me. Maybe if it had, I would have been more careful. Then maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

    It’s kind of funny the things you find yourself thinking about while drugs slowly impact your consciousness. I’m remembering that boy who had a crush on me in fifth grade, how I liked him too, but my friends called him a dork and so I made fun of him until he cried. I remember that time my mom made chocolate chip pancakes for Thanksgiving dinner because the turkey wasn’t thawed yet, and how that turned out to be the best Thanksgiving ever. What’t the point of tradition when the strangest memories are often the best?

    I feel really woozy. I wish I hadn’t let that guy lead me into this room to lie down when I first felt tired. At first, I thought I was so exhausted because of the all-nighter I pulled to finish my paper for theology. But it just didn’t feel right. And by the time I realized, I could no longer stand. I did manage to roll off the bed, fat lot of good it did besides giving me a bruised hip. Now I can’t even open my eyes.

    Why did I take that damn drink? I watched him make it, but I guess I missed something. I thought that was all you had to do to be safe. Maybe the drugs were already in the cup. Who did this to me? And what are they planning? Will my friends notice I’m missnig?

    Is there…any…way out…of…this…situa…………..

  48. (A/N: This is an entirely fictional pharaoh. Just roll with it!)

    Married at 12, dead at 16. This is really how my life is going to turn out?

    My parents were utterly thrilled when they heard the pharaoh, Horus, was looking for a new wife. His previous wife died in childbirth while bringing their thirteenth child into the world. She was his second wife. Needless to say, Horus is older than the Nile.

    Through some miracle, they managed to get me into consideration for the honored position of Horus’ wife. Every woman’s dream. Servants, wealth, power, fame, jewels, everything. Well, other women were welcome to him. He was old and disgusting and rude (he ate us almost literally out of house and home every time he visited and I once saw him slap one of his servants). Besides, I have someone already. My beautiful Bast. His family lived nearby. They fished, so he always had a slight fishy odor, but I didn’t mind. It went perfectly with his blue-green eyes like the sea.

    Of course, my parents cared not for my hatred of Horus or my love of Bast. What could I do? The real truth: NOTHING.

    Horus and I were wed in midwinter. It was freezing and dreary, exactly like my heart. Old though he was, he still managed to impregnate me immediately, a small mercy because it kept him away from my chamber. You’re supposed to love your children, but when I looked at them all I see is him and I wanted to shake them until they stop moving.

    Well, now they all will stop moving. So will I. Horus has finally died, leaving this world a better place just for lack of his horridness. His coffin shall be my coffin, because, apparently, he wants to be able to rape me in the afterlife too. They’re bricking us (myself, my two daughters –the boy gets to live and rule via a regent–and all of his servants) into this tomb.

    I claw at the walls of the pyramid, desperate for freedom. Why should I have to die with that monster? I LOATHED him with every single fiber of my being.

    There must be a way out. There must. Ra help me, I will get out of here.

  49. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    “Stop, please!” The girl begged as yet another spade of dirt fell on her skin. The dark, grainy solid made her skin itch with uncontrollable fear.

    Another, then another. One, two, three.

    More and more dirt piled on top of her, making it hard for her to breathe. ‘This is the end’, she thought, ‘I’m going to die’.

    Claire knew John was angry but she never expected him to react like this.

    “You expect me to show you mercy after you broke up with me?” The anger in John’s voice made her feel like a frightened child. As John continued in his malicious rant, his arms shook with anger and frustration. “You’re scum, I hope you rot in Hell.”

    Claire was whimpering by now, tears uncontrollably flooding out of her eyes. “Please, I-I’m sorry. We can get back together if you want.” The desperation was present in her pleading voice.

    Dirt flew around her like shrapnel, explosive and merciless. A wall had built around her now, entrapping her, making her feel like a mouse in a cage. She spat dirt out of her mouth, whilst her eyes clouded up like a storm. All because of her ex-boyfriend’s violent fit of rage.

    A gunshot came next. She half-expected it to be her who was shot. In a way, it would put her out of her misery. But it wasn’t. Grunting sounded from outside: someone else was there. A final gunshot sounded and a body fell on top of her. In her blindness, she wondered if it was John.

  50. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    “You will marry him,” the woman commanded.
    The girl replied in a cocky, arrogant voice: “What happens if I don’t?”
    Sick, twisted laughter filled the room. It was villainous, fairy-tale laughter.
    The woman answered, “Then I will have no choice but to kill you.” With this she smiled, an insane, wicked smile.

    What sort of life is this? The girl thought. She had never once dreamed of marrying so young. As far as she saw, she had one choice: to run.

    “Come back here this instant, you stupid child!” The woman called out to her, expecting the girl to follow her every whim and kneel by her, like she was a queen. The girl knew that in this world, she was nothing more than a puppy, a pet. She dreamed of what it would be like on a different planet, a different universe, unexplored and full of adventure. Anything had to be better than here.

    These thoughts inspired her to keep on running down the winding corridors.

    A flash and her mind went numb. The woman was beside her now. One touch of her hand and the girl was no longer a girl; her skin had begun to melt away like cooked cheddar. Oozing piles of flesh and burnt clothes folded themselves onto the carpet; the only remainder of the girl. The steam could be seen from metres away, but no one took any notice. They knew better than to mess with that woman, for she was the girl’s mother.

  51. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    Footsteps slammed down the alleyway.

    Kathy rounded the corner, stealing a quick glance behind her: no-one was there. Breathing heavily, she took a much-needed gasp of air; her heart was pounding like a bass drum.

    The same man had been behind her for her whole journey home. Now, trying to get away, she had found herself wound deeper and deeper into an alleyway: no-man’s land.

    Silvery, clinking rattles forced her to look behind a second time: he was there. The man was back.

    “What do you want,” she called, tears biting her throat.

    “Your body,” he replied in a sinister tone. A malicious grin covered his face.

    As the mad-man stepped closer, Kathy backed further down into the alleyway. Further and further. A thump stopped her in her tracks. Behind her was a solid brick wall: she was trapped.

    Edging closer, the man bided his time, clearly wanting to savour the moment.

    Cold sweat beaded Kathy’s neck. She wiped it away, wanting to appear braver than she was.

    The man approached, placing an ice-cold hand over her forehead.
    In an instant, he had vanished and Kathy began blinking rapidly, her whole body twitching convulsively, as if with rabies.


    I stretched inside the new body, feeling every bone crack into place. It was different being inside a girl; her thoughts and emotions were powerful, it took me a while to learn to shut them out. As the final muscle pulled, the body was ready. Time to claim a new identity, to keep me going for the next 20 years.

  52. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    “What do we have here?” I asked, kneeling beside the body.
    “The victim is a Caucasian male, around his 30s, with 9 stab wounds to the upper torso. No signs of ID or a murder weapon. He also appears to be blind in both eyes. See what you can find out about him, Gary.”
    “Alright boss.”

    Waiting for my boss to walk off site, I bent down to touch the murder victim. This was my special talent, I could find out how someone died just by touching them. Nothing could prepare me for this, however.

    I closed my eyes and the flashback came to me.

    I was in the head of the murder victim, Paul Litner. He was a bar manager in East London, who on his way home, had been jumped on by a gang of 5 youths, in a seemingly random knife attack. However, something stopped them in their tracks. A flash of blinding, white light and they fell to the ground; collapsed or dead, I wasn’t sure. One thing was for certain: the man was still alive. A second flash of light and everything went as black as night. Whatever this flash was, it had blinded him. My guess is that afterwards, he slowly bled to death. From the look of things, there could be another 5 murders to investigate. Whoever or whatever was out there, they were dangerous; a serial-killer.

    I opened my eyes and walked to the next evidence marker. A chilling cold swept down my spine, which was odd considering it was the middle of July. I turned round suddenly, getting the feeling that I was being watched. Nonsense. Or was it? I looked closely at the bushes in front of me, they appeared to be shaking.

  53. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    Walking through the cemetery at night, always provided me with more thrills than goosebumps. There was something about being all alone in the dead of night, that made me seem to come alive. It was midnight and I perched myself carefully on top of a tombstone. Taking out my favourite read and a torch, I settled down for some late night reading. I was interrupted mid-sentence by a slow creaking. Gently placing down my book and torch, I turned to the direction of the noise. The wind was howling now; it must have been that. Just as I was about to pick up my book again, further creaking ensued. I sighed; I was not one to read whilst there were distractions. Picking myself up off my perch, I walked round the graveyard, trying to see if I had any company. From a distance, it looked as if one of the tomb doors was ajar. I walked forward, sure enough the door was indeed open and a light was shining in the tomb. Grave-robbers? I wondered. Keeping in the shadows, I approached the tomb and taking a deep breath, peered inside. There was no-one. As I entered, the light went out, leaving me in complete darkness. Sighing heavily, I sat on the floor, contemplating the night’s events. As I sat, the door to the tomb slammed shut. I crawled to the entrance and pushed and pulled with all my might. It was no use, the door was stuck and I was trapped.

  54. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    The house was more like a palace: regal and majestic in nature. Long, robed curtains covered the windows, made from the purest of velvet. On the floor, fine silk carpets garnished the solid wood beneath, like the topping of a flamboyant dessert: perfect in every way. Even the ceiling above my head was laced with swirls of gold. As I walked down the long hallway, I couldn’t help but think, this was the stuff of dreams. How could someone like me, end up being invited to a place like this? It was simply spectacular. The beauty continued as I headed to my quarters for the night. A servant kindly showed me the way inside, before leaving me to enjoy the splendour.

    As I sat down on the mattress I had been provided, the floor beneath my feet seemed loose and wobbly. I stood up and walked round the room, finding the exact spot that was creaking. As I stepped to put both my feet on that section of floor, the ground gave way and I was falling.

    I hit my head with a thump. I was no longer in the bedroom but in a wooden hole beneath it. In fell the rug that had been covering the weak floor. The hole above my head was surprisingly square, as if it had been perfectly cut like a trap door. I told myself not to be silly and decided to call for help: no-one came. Looking around, I saw a door hidden in the side. Pulling it open, I dived in. One thing was for certain: appearances could be deceptive.

  55. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    The sky was falling. It was the same every time in the dream, the world was crumbling around us. City walls were falling down like elephants breathing their last breath. They were coming. A horde of zombies were breaking into our once secure little city, leaving devastation wherever they went. No-one was safe. The worst part: this was no longer a dream: everything was coming true.

    I ran. In front of me, a child sat clutching what looked like a small teddy bear, as if that could save them from imminent death. As I approached, I realised there was nothing but pools of gushing blood where her legs should have been; it was now only a matter of time before she turned. In the distance, a bell chimed; the only break in the surrounding quiet, it indicated the end of life. I was one of the last few remaining in the city. Now nothing was left but the sombre, menacing black of the fast-approaching night sky. The one spot of colour coming from a tiny, crushed daisy, crumpled into pieces on the ground, indicating all loss of hope. It was a sorry state of affairs. My surroundings were so quiet, that the wind could be heard from miles away, whistling through the trees. That’s how I knew instantly that they were coming: the zombies. Their groans could be heard from miles away. Moans, powerful enough to match the sounds made by dying animals: wild and uncertain. I wouldn’t die like this, I couldn’t. I’d rather stick pins in my eyes or jump off a bridge than let myself be ravaged by these beasts. I dreaded the thought of becoming one of them. I would fight for my life, my future and those I loved, no matter what the cost: humanity had to win. Or else this would have all been worthless. I would never let this become: the end of civilisation.

  56. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    My skin was see-through, like some kind of beast or supernatural being. When I tried to speak, the sounds coming from my mouth sounded more like thoughts, rather than spoken language. Everything I tried to say, was incoherent and barely audible. As I ran my hand down the arm of my boyfriend Alex, I knew that he did not feel me, for my skin sank right through his, as if I didn’t even exist. I had been stuck this way for 3 months now, unable to cross-over to the other side. I had never believed in ghosts, till the day I died and realised – whilst hovering over my own body – that I myself, had become a ghost. Now, I longed to be reunited with my love. I wanted to feel his warm embrace, to hold him close once more. I would give anything for one more chance at life. Tears rolled down Alex’s eyes, shooting prickles down my spine. I placed my hand over his cheek, I wanted him to feel me, to let me comfort him, but I knew that I never could. I just hoped he wasn’t sore about how I had left this world, for I couldn’t stand the thought of him hating me. Alex was my one true love and now, I may be dead but I will do whatever it takes to watch over him and protect him.

    True love can never be forgotten.

  57. Desiree Thompson says:

    I have heard many times that when a person is faced with death their life flashes before their eyes. If only I could be so lucky. The only image swimming around in my head is his snarling face. It’s there when I close my eyes and it’s even worse when I open them. His matted black hair falling down in clumps around his chin, his beady eyes are so pale that they almost hold no color at all. These eyes are what scare me the most. they hold no emotion except for the thrill of the hunt. I’m going to be one fine trophy when he’s done with me. He holds a long serrated knife to my throat and I can smell the decaying teeth in his rotting mouth. His body weight is begging to suffocate me, I guess he notices my laboured breathing because he shifts so that I can take in a deep shuttering breath. My surprise at this gesture must show because his mouth takes on an obscene grin “make no mistake, you will die here tonight. I just want to play with you a little bit first.” He simultaneously presses the knife harder into my throat and his hand up my skirt. this gesture is what brings back my clarity of mind. I bring my knee up into his groin. I’m unable to knee him nearly as hard as I would like to because his body on top of mine is blocking my momentum but it’s enough to make him slacken his hold on the knife just enough for me to roll away. I clumsily get to my feet and start to run. I don’t look back but I can feel him only seconds away. I trip over something in the darkness and fall to the ground. I look around to find the culprit of my demise and find a palm sized rock. I quickly scoop it into my hand and he lunges on top of me once again, only this time I’m prepaired. I bring it down on top of his skull as hard as I can and he immediately goes slack. I wiggle my way out from under him and get up. Only now does my body start to shake. I spit on him and run away once again.

  58. On my 33rd birthday, I was miserable and alone, having divorced months ago; she took most of the money and all of our friends with her in the divorce. Perhaps needless to say, but I was several whiskeys into the day by 5:30 when my doorbell rang. I stood, blearily, whiskey still in hand, and stumbled my way to the door, the stumbling only partially because of my somewhat inebriated state; my small apartment was a mess and so was I.

    When I opened the door, I saw the package lying on the mat. It was rather innocuous, plain wrapping, printed label, and no return address. The package was fairly small, roughly the size of a tissue box.

    Naturally, I was intrigued, and hoping to find that someone, somewhere still cared about me. I opened the box slowly, savoring the possibility of a present. Opening the box revealed the usual wasteful packing: packing peanuts surrounding another, smaller box of about the size of a necklace box, like the one I got my ex-wife for Christmas last year—there’s money I’m never getting back.

    Opening that box, I found a black, leather case with a silver clasp. Inside this, on a plush, velvet bed, rested the most exquisite pen I’ve ever looked upon. Seriously I’ve never been one to give a damn about writing utensils, but this one was like nothing else. I cannot even begin to describe it, but to say that it was a deep, dark red, the color of blood. I stared at it in sheer admiration for what must have been an hour. When I picked it up, it felt like sheer bliss in my hands. No pen has ever been so comfortable, and I shudder to think what it cost, though there’s no way I could return it, even if there were a return label.

    Holding the pen, I was suddenly overcome with the urge to write. Being an author was a desire of my youth, one long-since given up on, my first manuscript having achieved as much interest as a blind man streaking, which is to say no one noticed.

    Pen in hand, I located a notebook and set myself down at my kitchen table. The words flowed from the pen so smoothly, with nary a blot or a hesitation. When I stopped writing, it was morning and my notebook was full, and my story was good. I could feel it.

    Days passed like this until my story was complete. I shipped it off to the Big Six without even an edit. They fought for the rights and I made millions.

    I wrote more, new books ready in a matter of weeks. I did little but write.

    The more I wrote with the pen, the more my health declined. It felt like I was drying out from the inside, as though the words were being taken from me, but stopping was impossible.

    One year later, the pen ran out, and so did I.

    • This is too long, but I wanted to share it, anyway! I may try to pare it down.

      • Wow. So much respect for authors having to cut words. I just had to cut half of that and it was SO DIFFICULT. I like the longer version better, but I still think it deserves entry!

        On my 33rd birthday, I was alone, as my ex-wife took my money and friends in the divorce. I was already drunk when my doorbell rang.

        Opening the door, I found the package. It was rather innocuous, plain wrapping, printed label, and no return address.

        It contained a black, leather case with a silver clasp. Inside this, on a plush, velvet bed, rested the most exquisite pen I’ve ever looked upon. It was a deep, dark red, the color of blood. I stared at it in sheer admiration for what must have been an hour. The pen felt like sheer bliss in my fingers.

        Holding the pen, I was suddenly overcome with the urge to write. Being an author was a youthful desire, one long-since given up, my first manuscript having achieved as much interest as the invisible man streaking: none.

        Pen in hand, I located a notebook and sat at a table. The words flowed from the pen with nary a blot or hesitation. When I stopped writing, it was morning and my notebook was full.

        In days, my story was complete. I shipped it to the Big Six without editing. It sold promptly and I made millions.

        I wrote more, new books ready in weeks. I did little else.

        As I wrote, my health declined precipitously. It felt like I was drying out, as though the words were being taken from me. Nevertheless, stopping was impossible.

        One year later, the pen ran out, and so did I.

  59. Here’s a scene I just wrote in my WIP, edited slightly so it makes sense to people who haven’t read they book!

    “OK well… It’s been great reminiscing, but I think I’ll be going now.” My feet spin on the roof’s gritty surface as I turn my back on her. I don’t even know where I find the self-control to pretend like I don’t care what will happen to Sani.

    “No!” the kitsune yells.

    I keep walking until I hear Sani’s feet slipping on concrete.

    I spring up and back flip three times across the length of the roof. The fourth back flip sends me sailing into the kitsune, knocking us both off.

    Airborne, I kick the kitsune in her gut before she has a chance to voodoo me. I shift to dragon form for what I hope is the last time today and propel myself down.

    Sani is too far away, bound and plummeting towards the asphalt. Two point five seconds doesn’t seem like a lot of time until the love of your life is falling to his possible death just out of your reach, hours after you finally admit how you feel about him. Then two point five seconds is an eternity.

    I’m getting closer to him, but he’s getting closer to splatting on the street below. His eyes are wide open, staring into mine with complete confidence and trust. Not even a hint of terror. The strength of his stare seems to pull me closer, giving me an extra burst of speed.

    With three tenths of a second to spare I swoop underneath Sani, catching him in my coils.

    sarah.nicolas.ya at gmail dot com

  60. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    A pulling sensation was tugging at me, bringing me closer… to what? Across the road was a boy. His eyes shone like emeralds dazzling in the sun; his skin smooth and delicate, matching the rest of his porcelain face. He was too perfect. His chestnut brown hair was wind-swept and I wanted nothing more than to run my fingers through it. I couldn’t help but stare; too bad he noticed. His eyes met mine and held their gaze. A lopsided smile, sweet and innocent filled his face and made his eyes light up, even brighter than before. I couldn’t help but wonder if I knew him. The boy gestured me closer. As I walked, the pulling sensation grew stronger, it was as if the boy was tugging on my heartstrings. I wondered if he felt it too, or maybe I was just losing my mind. I crossed the road. As my foot landed on the pavement on the other side of the road, my smile dropped and so did his. Two thugs, gorilla-like in appearance appeared next to the beautiful boy. I should have known it was to good to be true. Their eyes were covered with dark sunglasses, hiding their identity; the grin they gave spelling trouble. I walked backwards; it didn’t work. Two more men appeared behind me and grabbed my arms. They were taking me away… where?

    I should have known that even beautiful things can be treacherous.

  61. On my way to London to stay with my father over the holidays, I am listening to my head phones cranked all the way up to drown out the loudest child in the world sitting three rows behind me, when the turbulence begins. At first, I’m unconcerned. Actually, I’ve always kind of liked turbulence, because it gives me that stomach-dropping feeling that roller coasters do. I close my eyes and enjoy the sensation.

    Until the screaming starts, that is. When I hear yelling emanating from more than just the kid, I whip off my headphones. The man next to me isn’t screaming, though his face was drawn and his knuckles are white where they grip his knees. I ask why everyone was freaking out, because the turbulence really doesn’t feel much worse than normal; we aren’t plummeting or anything. He says the pilot made an announcement: some crucial part (he doesn’t know what part and, honestly, it doesn’t matter) had broken or fallen off or something. The essence of the message: we’re screwed. Okay, well, maybe not. We will be making an emergency landing in the Atlantic, though.

    I guess I’m good in a crisis, because I don’t cry or yell (what would that accomplish?). Instead, I pull the airline manual out of the seatback, revisiting how exactly I turn my seat into a flotation device.

    As prepped as I can be, I turn my iPod on (Muse makes an excellent you-might-be-dying soundtrack by the way) and shut my eyes.

  62. Because I’m really cool, this one’s inspired by a kdrama:

    All of this for my damn phone. I forgot it at work, so I headed back to the restaurant. I’m a chef at a classy Italian place. When I went back, I noticed the assistant hadn’t gotten his shit done. He’s so damn lazy, and this is the last straw. Tomorrow, his ass is getting fired, and the rest of him too.

    I hurriedly finished the prep work for the next day and put it away in the freezer, which is roughly the size of my bedroom at home. The door locks when it shuts, so we always prop it open with the mop bucket. Works great, except that I trip, knocking the bucket into the kitchen and falling on my ass.

    The door swings shut, locking me in a frozen prison. Remember my phone? The one that got me into this mess. Of course it’s still on the goddamn counter where I left it.

    After about five minutes, I’m seriously feeling the cold. At thirty, my teeth start to chatter. I pace past the meats and vegetables, rubbing my hands up and down my arms. I’ve got to keep moving. It’s the only way to stay alive until someone shows up to let me out. It’s 1 AM now. Someone should be in at 9 to prepare for lunch, except, FUCK, it’s Saturday, and we only have dinner hours on Sunday.

    How long does it take to die of exposure?

    The cold saps my energy, and I lay down.

  63. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    Thump. Glass shattered, flying aggressively at the car-passengers. The driver’s head had smashed through the windscreen, a ring of blood leaving only one certainty: he was dead. As the heavy lorry continued battering the car, the wheels of the vehicle began skidding and sliding as if on ice. The passengers could do nothing but watch as their car spun round in a circular motion. A splash and it had dived off the edge of the bridge, into the wintry depths below. As the car sank deeper and deeper, more and more water swam in, leaving the doors as good as dead-locked. Only bubbles could be seen floating from the passenger’s mouths, as water entered their lungs.


    The driver slammed on the brakes; it was too late. The girl toppled over the car bonnet, her limp body falling on the other side of the road. In her white dress, she looked nothing more than a crumpled rabbit. The driver sped off, just as the girl managed to force open her eyes. On the side of the road, lay a newspaper. The main headline was: ‘rate of car accidents worldwide has increased by 200% in the past week’. Before her world died out, she spotted this: ‘it seems over 5 million people have died, all at the exact time: 2:00pm’.

    All round the world, people were dying in car accidents; more than ever before. All at precisely the same time. Was it merely a coincidence… or something more sinister?

  64. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    Stranded in a desert after a plane crash, you realise just how little the quantity of necessities are that you carry.

    One bar of chocolate, one change of clothes, one bottle of water.

    Opening the bottle, you eagerly pour what’s left down your throat; only a mere drop remains.

    You are thirsty. No. Dehydrated. Your whole body aches, craving the revitalising feeling fresh water provides. But there is none.

    If only you had paid more attention to Bear Grylls, it could have really come in handy.

    One step, two steps.

    Each step echoes in you head, seeming heavy and full of effort. Your head begins spinning now, a dizzy never-ending whirlwind of pain to match the vast desert of sand before you. Dust sticks in your eyes, clogging them up like a blocked drain. The thought of water makes your heart yearn for a drink. A bottle of whisky perhaps? Never mind, you’ll carry on the search for some water.

    One step, another step.

    Ahead… is it your imagination, or a hallucination perhaps? A pool of water so deep and dreamlike; beautiful and resourceful, lies before you. Around it, sit palm trees. You approach and the trees fade into thin air; it was nothing more than a mirage. Gasping for air in the hot, bone-dry environment, you sit for a moment. ‘I’ll just rest my head’, you think to yourself. You lay down for a nap.

    This is the last time you will ever open your eyes.

  65. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    Frost bites at your fingers, turning your extremities blue with cold. A chill creeps slowly down your spine, making you shiver. How long will it be till your blood stops flowing; your whole body surrendering to the cold?

    Blue lips… exposed veins… pink face.

    Shaking violently, you try to find a way out. Being trapped in a walk-in freezer was not your idea of fun. The only company you have is a loin of lamb to your right. How lonely it is, you suddenly think, being a leg of meat, stuck in a freezer all day. You must be going mad, after all, who else would start personifying chunks of meat? Sighing, steam comes flooding out of your mouth, so thick it’s almost liquid. Your blood is slowing now, you can feel it. Soon it will become ice; you will be ice. Everything in the freezer is white, an avalanche of snow. If only you were stuck in a snowstorm, anything had to be better than this.

    You try to move but your muscles are stiff with cold. Panic rises in your chest, as your heart slows; its beating becoming less and less frequent. This is it. You curl up into a ball on the floor, hoping to provide your body with a quick flush of warmth. No such luck. All of a sudden, the door opens: it’s your co-worker, rack of beef in hand. He looks just as surprised as you feel.

    You want to hug him but you can’t move.

    Your limbs have turned to stone.

  66. All she faced in her entire life seemed paltry. That is, in comparison to what she was facing.

    The decision is impossible. She knew that the right wish would rid the world of this evil, yet the wrong wish would force her into oblivion, eternally fighting the poisonous aura that lingered in the hidden dimension where she currently was.

    Alone in this world, she felt as if all hope she once possessed was drained. Nothing in her allowed her to believe that she could succeed in defeating this malignancy. The same malignancy that her past incarnation was killed for. The very same one that killed her past and true love. If she could not defeat this before, what would allow her to defeat it this time?

    Could she defeat this being and gain back what she lost thousands of years ago? What was the right wish? She wanted to return home to those who cared about her, to him. He who lost her thousands of years, yet still awaited her return.

    She asserted herself once she finally came to an understanding. To the glow of light enticing her to wish selfishly to gain her soul, she told it, “I have no wish. I have everything I need. As long as I have him by my side, I live. My wish is for you to disappear.” The light started to fade along with the lost souls.


    The light vanished completely along with the lost souls. Now, she was truly alone.

  67. The streets are silent. No one risks going out to the grocery store in the daytime anymore—not since the Diseased arrived and started feasting on our flesh. But my family is starving; we haven’t had food in—what? Five days? My father is home, ill, veins showing under his translucent skin, while my mother cares for my siblings. I’m the only one left, and we need the food.

    I run silently across the road to the rundown Wal-Mart with its broken windows and doors. There’s a high chance I won’t find anything, but I have to try.

    When I step into the store, I know instantly that I’ve made a mistake. I can smell rotting flesh and dried blood: their scent. I hear the shuffling of feet. I turn around, reach for the gun on my belt.

    There are four of them. I turn to run, but it’s too late. Another two have blocked my path. I try firing at one, but it’s useless. Holes appear in their shriveled bodies, but it doesn’t stop them. Desperately, I look at the rows and rows of empty shelves, while the Diseased stumble closer, their mouths wide open. I don’t think the shelves will hold my weight, but I grab hold of the highest rack anyway and haul myself up.

    One of them grabs my foot and yanks me down. I can’t help it—I scream.

    The last thing I see are their broken teeth as the Diseased bend down over me.

    P.S. Thanks for this awesome giveaway! I hope I win!

  68. Flord Naezel says:

    The hours of darkness seemed infinity. It was intimidating yet shushed. Upon the sky, the clouds have exposed the lustrous moon after a long time of dimness. Time to escape. Run. She sprinted along the side of the road heading for the woods and finally entered the forest safely. Except that she felt that something was chasing her. Don’t look back.
    She rushed as fast as she could though the stems of the shrubs cut her skins. She was still crying not minding her wounds. Passing through a plain steppe, she came across on a narrow route which she didn’t even mind where it would bring her. Only the moonlight guided her way.
    After a long run, she landed her knees into the ground, weeping. She was absolutely lost staring at the view of a deep valley. The wind was gusting harder that made her chill. As she wiped her tears, she sensed that something was looking over. When she tilted her head, the beast was slithering, creating a stealthy pace near her. The girl intensely flinched and unintentionally kicked hard some small stones which plunged into the cliff just behind her – even she knew only few steps would cause her to fall. She glimpsed at the empty space and swallowed her throat. Swiftly, big claws thumped her right arm that made her lurch to the edge. The slash was sore but it was not the right time to cry again because in any minute the animal would slaughter her.
    Thanks for the giveaway!

  69. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    The ouija board lay on the table, its presence ominous. Ever since her sister had died, Meg believed that there was something else out there. Something more than human. Now Meg, Josh and Harry, were going to find out what.

    One, two, three.

    Off went the lights. As they sank down, so did Meg’s heart.

    One single candle sat in the middle of the table.

    One, two, three.

    Hands clasped, eyes closed.

    “We pledge to honour and respect the dead.” The candle wavered. “Is there anybody here?”

    A swoosh and the candle was out. There was no breeze in the room.

    “I can’t do this,” Meg protested, standing up from the table. Harry pushed her back down. “You can do this, I know you can.”

    Their hands connected on top of the planchette. Slow movements began to surface. Meg took a deep breath, icy chills filling the atmosphere.

    The planchette swirled with speed; the presence was desperate for communication.


    Meg let go rapidly. “I hate you Josh, you did that didn’t you?”
    “No, I swear I didn’t.” The look in his eyes was of pure bewilderment. As a chill tip-toed down Meg’s back, she regained her hold on the planchette. “Who are you?” Harry called out, daring the ghost to reveal its identity.

    Letters flooded across the board.


    Meg gasped. It couldn’t be. Her eyes, stung with tears, held a look of sheer terror.

    One fell swoop and she had left the room.

    Harry and Josh glanced at one another:
    Terry was the name of the man who killed her sister.

  70. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    “Blood Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.”

    Beth opened her eyes and looked around Alice’s bedroom. “See? Nothing happened. It’s just a game.”

    Alice shuddered; she wasn’t convinced.

    “I-I need a drink. I don’t feel too well,” she replied, already halfway down the stairs.

    As she washed her face in the kitchen sink, her necklace hung dangerously close to the plughole. Lifting up her head, the chain caught and she was left gurgling water in her mouth. Tugging didn’t work; it was as if something was holding her down. Sure enough, through the plughole, two bony fingers protruded. She tried to scream. No sound. Water was filling her lungs.

    Talking came from the staircase; her friends were coming down. Just as they reached the kitchen, Alice broke free. She gasped for air, desperately clutching at her neck; her friends were staring.

    “What happened to your eyes?” They asked in unison.
    “What?” Alice sounded shocked.
    “They’re black!” Beth replied, her and Amy nodding violently.

    Despite the dread in the pit of Alice’s stomach, she walked over to the mirror.

    The face that greeted her wasn’t her own. Its deep-set eyes, were as black as coal and its face was pasty; as pale as a sheet. She screamed. The reflection stayed deadly still. As she ran to her friends, the face turned; its eyes following her down the hallway. Putrid blood almost black in colour, flowed like a river down its eyes. The hair on its head had fallen out, leaving its skull protruding through the paper thin skin.

    The skeleton spelled grave danger.

  71. She lies between the lines. The euphoria, the danger, braces her to face the fears chaining her to her past. Gone is the debris of sorrows; she has nothing left to hold dear. All that was once gained was lost when abandoned. Furious thoughts take her longing, replacing it with the optimism she is famed for.

    It can not be said about him. Bloodthirsty, murderous, wicked was he. An assassin, an involuntary one, who knows nothing of the world beyond the power of death can never be human. Humanity is famed for its savagery, yet he did not belong. Pure souls who committed heinous crimes surpass those of sinfully black nature by eons of light.

    He, himself is ensnared in the passage between the worlds. HIs true love is out in the ether, waiting for him to rescue her. Weak, she is not, but trapped with him between two dimensions, she is.

    The existences of between the lines and between the worlds are separate entities, yet the same. A curtain of wishes discourage the paths from joining. If they cannot break the circle of events, then all hope is lost as well as their freedom.

    Calling out to each other, the veil shows the other as it dilutes to a clear color. The two lean on the curtain, close, yet disjointed by the veil of magic, the two can only wait. Wait until their other selves are ready, ready to fight.

  72. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    Poison poured out of the vial. The peasant boy mixed the lethal concoction into a drink. ‘Crap,’ the boy thought. This didn’t appear as easy as he had previously assumed. A few more tweaks were needed before his work would be complete.

    Slipping the empty packet of powder into his pocket, he turned to enter the Great Hall. As a servant, he was expected to provide the Queen with her meals. Not this time.

    Using a humble approach, with his head down to the ground, he entered the Hall. This was his way of showing false gratitude to the Royal Family. In reality, he was grateful to demolish the Queen’s reign; she was the only thing stopping him from being with his true love: Princess Cecilia.

    Placing the drink on the tremendously large table in the center, the boy sat down to see the outcome. Cecilia entered and his head shot up, entranced by her beauty. She turned to talk to the Queen who had just picked up the mug. When she approached the table, it was her who held it and not the Queen. The boy’s mouth was agape. He shook his head at the girl, mouthing ‘no’ under his breath. She never saw. As she placed the glass on her lips and slowly drank, the boy fell numb with fear; his complexion pale.
    In a mere matter of seconds, the poison had worked. Cecilia sat still in front of the boy, mouth agape in a little ‘o’.

  73. The sword in my hand felt slick as I watched him put the blade to her neck. Her head was held high though as blood started to seep from the small cut that was being made.
    “Here’s your precious Pan, as useless as all girls are, and you can’t even save her. What kind of a man are you?” Hook snarrled, digging the knife deeper into her skin.
    My throat closed up and the sword finally slipped from my grasp, hitting the floor of the cave with a resounding CLANK and washing away all hope.
    “Girls are NEVER useless,” she said, and in a moment the tides had turned, Hook was pressed up against the wall and she had her small dagger pointed up under his chin. “Make so much as one move and we’ll see how far into your mouth it takes to poke your brain.”
    Hook’s knife falls into the water below, startling Smee, who’s still sitting in the small boat, a pistol in his hands, pointed at the stuffed bear bobbing in the water.

  74. He was the last person Ellen had expected to see in the nightclub. He wasn’t even supposed to come anywhere near her, according to the restraining order that had been enforced last month. “Wha-what are you doing here?”
    “I wanted to be with you.” Neil stared at her with wide eyes, and spoke in a cool, matter-of-fact manner, as if his reasoning for being there was obvious.
    “I- I think you should go.”
    “And why would I want to do that? I paid to get in, just like you, so I have every right to be here.” Neil stroked a sweaty hand along Ellen’s flushed cheeks, and she pulled away, her breathing rapidly increasing.
    “Go before I scream.”
    “Ah, but you won’t.” Neil leant in and pressed his mouth against Ellen’s, pushing her against the wall with his body close to hers. She couldn’t move, as every struggle was met with a stronger resistance. She felt Neil’s hand tug at her skirt waistband, and as she realised what he was trying to do, she summoned all the energy she could to try and push him away. He stumbled back a step, momentarily unsettled by the sudden movement, but he seized her arm in retaliation and forced her against the wall. Head met brick with a thump, and the last thing Ellen felt before passing out was a slap against her cheek.

  75. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    Pinks, oranges and browns: the colours of the fairground. Around me: birds chirped, mimes entertained and children played on the rides; all seeming so happy as if nothing could ever go wrong. If only. Foods and flavours called out to me, enticing me with their fragrance. The fairground however, had much more hidden potential to uncover; its magic buried deep within.

    Before me laid a tent, ominous yet somewhat enticing. The sign above said: ‘enter if you dare.’

    Stepping inside the pitch-black surroundings, an old lady summoned me to a seat. Her clothes were tatty, making her look like a beggar. This didn’t boost my confidence. “Cross my palm with silver,” she said in a raspy voice. Sighing, I pulled out £10, then gave her my palm. Hurriedly, she snatched it from across the table, before her head shot to the ground. When her gaze had returned, her eyes were black. Gasping, I lent back on my seat. As she spoke, her voice turned deep and confronting. “Young girl, you are doomed. I know what you did to James and now you shall get your comeuppance.” How could she possibly know that I had done anything to my brother? How did she even know his name? In shock, I stood from the chair; the wooden feet screeching against the floor. Tearing my hand from her iron grip, I disappeared from the tent; just as a cacophony filled the air.

    If the truth got out, I hate to think what would happen.
    I could only pray that no-one ever found out.

  76. Thrown backwards by the force of the blast, she found herself sprawled in the entrance to an alley. Screams deafened her as buildings began to crumble, bricks collapsing into the street. Flames began to lick at shop signs. She could see men, women, children all running in terror. Some, like her, were on the floor, barely unable to move. Some were probably dead already.
    She, though, was alive, and was determined to keep it that way. She tried to push herself to her feet but winced as her arm gave way. Broken, or at least fractured, she though. Bricks began to pound the ground beside her as she rolled onto her front, trying to push herself up with her knees. She looked up as she tried to use the nearby dustbin to pull herself to her feet, and saw the building above her crumble brick by brick.
    Terror gripped her as she tried to run. One brick caught her by surprise and she tripped. Scrabbling at the earth to get up, it was to no avail with an injured arm. She conceded death would take her here and now as the whole building collapsed on top of her.

  77. airlia2012 says:

    Nearly one-third of my scene is in italics, but when I pasted my story into this comment box, all the italics disappeared. Can anybody tell me how to use italics or bold? You’d be an absolute life-saver!

    • To put something in italics you should place in front of the sentence/phrase and then close it with same thing but with a / in front of the i>. Bold is the same but would be to open and then close the word/phrase with a / in front of the b>.

      • I knew it wouldn’t work! Try this website.

      • airlia2012 says:

        Thank you, thank you, thank you! I’ve checked out the website, and hopefully all that formatting will work (I was never that good with computers). You’re like my guardian angel 😀

  78. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    Fire blazed around me, heat penetrating my once smooth skin. Looking around, there was a small section of floor untouched by the volcanic heat of the fire. Choking, I stumbled and yelped as I tried to make my way across. Stairs blocked my way to the exit. Using most of my remaining energy, I ran down them with the speed of an antelope when it knows it’s being hunted, trying desperately to escape. I leaped down the final stair and was confronted by a curtain lying on the floor, emblazoned with orange sparks, almost like electricity. Seeing a towel, currently untouched by fire, I picked it up and began beating the curtain. The towel caught in flame, sending a pulsing, burning sensation down my arm. I dropped it with a little yelp. My skin was red and sore, itching with pain. My throat needed water to quench the flames within, for it felt like rough gravel beneath bare feet. Coughing and spluttering, I made the decision to leap over the curtain. Realising the door was locked, I scrambled around; it was surprisingly dark despite the light provided by the flames. Finding the key, I unlocked the door with all the speed I could summon and stumbled outside. I took a momentary glance behind, the entire building had been engulfed by parasitic flames. A mere second more, and I would have been burning in the fiery pits of Hell.

    The building began crumbling into piles of debris. The ash left on my clothes was the only remainder of this tragic event.

  79. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    My body was trembling.

    I looked around, beneath me lay miles and miles of ocean.

    I was not alone.

    The man came to the edge of the cliff, bending down to my level. As he looked into my eyes, I’m sure I saw the smallest sliver of a grin, poke through on his otherwise stern face.

    “No, please,” I begged as he edged somewhat closer.
    The man paid no attention.

    “I shall enjoy this,” was his short and anything but sweet reply.

    I edged to the side, legs dangling off the edge like insects caught in a fine web. My fingers slipped a centimetre, stones falling between the cracks. I could barely hold on.

    The man came closer still. His leg reached in the air and before I knew it, he was treading on my hand.

    Gasps of pain flushed through my arm.

    I wanted to move; I feared for my poor hand. There was only one place I could go: the sea.

    My will-power could no longer hold out.

    I was falling.
    No-one was there to catch me.



    3 seconds.

    I hit the water with a splash.
    It felt like I had hit a brick wall.

  80. Rebecca Hipworth says:

    Whenever Faye touched fire, it didn’t burn with pain, like it would with a normal person.

    Faye wasn’t normal.

    Fire coursed through her veins, giving her a surge of power; all the control she could ever want.

    She had the power of telekinesis and telepathy, but only if she had recently been in contact with fire.

    These powers came at a cost, however.

    Faye realised that when she touched her boyfriend, Rick.

    Sparks, almost like those from a burst fuse, transferred from herself to Rick. In an instant, Rick began having what looked like an epileptic fit on the floor.

    Without explanation, the fit stopped and so did Rick’s heart.

    This happened again and again with other people Faye loved. As it happened, her addiction to fire increased until she could now no longer be without it.

    The price she pays for her gifts is eternal loneliness. If she touches someone – anyone – they will die.

    Her touch is lethal and yet she is the only one out there with these powers. Or is she?

  81. There wasn’t much time left. He could hear it tick as his hands hovered over the several different coloured wires. Yellow? Green? Blue? The wrong one and he wouldn’t be the only one dying. They had evacuated the school, but he didn’t know the bomb’s capabilities. What sort of range did it have?
    He didn’t have time to ponder that as the wire cutters trembled in his hands. He had to make a decision, and fast. There was no point him being there if he wasn’t even going to make an attempt to defuse the bomb.
    Taking a deep breath, he opened the wire cutters and moved towards the blue one. A hesitation – he wasn’t ready to die if this went wrong. But then again, who would be? No. He had a job to do, a duty, and if it meant his death prevented hundreds of innocent children from the same fate, then what was his life worth in comparison?
    He clipped the blue wire.

  82. Parking lots and garages have always creeped me out. Tonight was no exception with the rain pouring down and clouds covering what little light the moon would have provided. My English Lit class had just finished, and I was drenched as I walked through campus towards my car.

    “Why did I sign up for this night class?” I think to myself. When you get here late in the day, you park where you find a spot. They’re huge buildings with no personality, and you never really know when someone else is in there with you. Tonight, with the rain and no moon to guide me, I feel as if I am being watched. When I get to the parking garage, the elevator is broken.

    “Fine, the stairs won’t kill you.” I push open the door and start walking up the stairs. Halfway up the light in the staircase goes out.

    “Not good.” I fish my cell phone out of my purse and use its light as a guide the rest of the way. I push out onto my floor to discover more darkness. I continue walking toward my car, shining the light left and right, even behind me. The feeling of someone watching me has never left. Just as I spot my car and hurry to it, I hear footsteps right behind me. With my heart beating in my ears, I turn as fast as I can, gripping my cell phone tightly. The last thing I see are bright eyes…

  83. airlia2012 says:

    The Black Prince
    Rather than sitting amongst his brothers he sat at his father’s right hand-side, a position which, until recently, had remained unoccupied. His beautiful face was cold and empty as he stared unseeingly into the seething crowd where both nobles and peasants alike had gathered to witness my execution. My heart palpitated wildly when he gazed down upon me and I found myself staring into the burning silver eyes of my seducer, my lover and my betrayer.

    Is being named your father’s Heir enough? I wanted to ask him, Will it fill the hole in you I alone could never fill?

    And finally, With my death, will you finally be happy?

    He tore his eyes away from me, his pained expression swiftly shuttered.

    He pressed soft, trailing kisses to my eyelids, my nose, my lips, leaving a blaze of heat wherever he touched…

    We were happy together, weren’t we?

    “Happy?” he asked, faintly bitter, “I don’t know the meaning of the word.”
    He sighed, gently stroking my cheek.
    “Go back to sleep, Melisandre…”

    Tears spilled down my cheeks, the irregular beat of my heart drowning out the executioner’s gravely intoned words.

    “… as daughter of the Heretic Priest and follower of the Old Religion, she is hereby sentenced….”

    Yet as the noose tightened around my neck and shadows danced across my vision, I prayed not for myself, but for my lovely, lonely, broken Black Prince.

    Forgive him Lord, I whispered, For he does not know what he is doing.

    Then darkness.
    Sorry if this scene is a tad— or very— confusing, but I had to cut out more than a hundred words so my entry would qualify within the 250 word limit. I wanted to show more about Melisandre’s past and the reason why she’s being executed, but that all become collateral damage when I was editing. I honestly have no idea how you professional writers can go through that process for a full-length novel! Anyway, hope you enjoyed it, and thanks for hosting this lovely giveaway 😀

  84. The mermaid’s icy grip tightened around my wrist as it brought me down further into the near-frozen lake. I struggled to free myself, but it was useless. She was too strong.

    And I was running out of oxygen.

    I kicked wildly, knowing how futile it was, but still not being able to accept my death so easily.

    My foot made contact with something, and a loud ear-splitting screech filled me. My eyes, which I had kept closed to protect it from the dangerously cold water, shot open.

    I regretted it as soon I did. The water was painful in my eyes, more so than I ever thought possible.

    “Nooo….” the mermaid hissed, “you will never see the light again.” Already, I could feel my lungs burning, yearning for air. “You will rot… down here.”

    I couldn’t… breathe. I… was… dying. The… mermaid… was right.

    I… would never… see… the light.. aga…


  85. airlia2012 says:

    “What the hell are you doing here Galen?” I asked, “I assumed you would be lurking somewhere in the Emporium at the beck and call of your Imperialist masters.”

    “They sometimes let me off my leash,” he smiled ironically, “They know they’re lucky to have my services and pay dearly for my loyalty. I’ll live in luxury for the rest of my life, which is—”
    He cast a disparaging eye over my apartment.
    “More than I can say for yourself.”

    “Careful,” I bit off, “You’re in the heart of Reformist territory. If anybody recognises you, you’ll be in deep shit.”

    He smiled, a smile that said I’m-the-biggest-badass-there-is-and-I-know-it.

    “I think I can take care of myself,” he said arrogantly.

    And dammit, he had the right to be condescending. He was the deadliest man I knew, and I lived on a planet housing some of the galaxy’s most dangerous mercs.

    “So what are you doing here?” I asked warily, “It’s been nearly eight years and during that time I didn’t hear a damn peep.”

    “Don’t tell me you’re pissed I didn’t call,” he said.

    “I’m not,” I laughed, “Simply curious as to why you’ve shown up.”

    “Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?” he enquired, changing the subject, “It’s only common good manners.”

    I rolled my eyes and twisted round to grasp a bottle of cognac, only to have pain explode through the back of my head.

    Dammit. I should have known better than to turn my back to him.

  86. I really can’t write fiction. In fact, I just wrote a post explaining how bad I am at writing fiction :P. But the prize here is so amazing that I thought I might as well give it a shot! Though I spent a good twenty minutes debating whether or not I should actually post this. It’s embarrassing. Okay, I’ll stop now :P.

    It was not raining.

    The clear blue skies and high temperatures seemed to contradict everything she had been told. Had they not said her future was nothing but storms and shadows? Had she not been forewarned that her life would end before she ever felt the warmth of the sun again? It seemed they were wrong, however, for the sun’s rays scorched her back as she walked across the town-centre. The shoppers hurried along the streets, the workers greeted customers with a fake smile and tired eyes and all the while the sun continued to shine through the windows and doors, casting shadows and silhouettes that seemed so dark in comparison to brightness outside.

    She paused in front of a clothing store and sat on the bench facing the road. Consumed by her thoughts, she did not notice the stares she received from those passing by. She was alive. She had felt the sun. She was not confined to clouds and fog and mist. The air was clean and fresh and she was not going to die.

    Why had she believed the absurdities she’d heard? The future could not be foretold. Seers and diviners and fortune-tellers – they were all liars and frauds. She was not going to die.

    And as she smiled and prepared to stand, she noticed something strange. The shoppers had all stopped to forage around in their bags and jackets. One by one, umbrellas burst open, a sea of black and blue. She looked up.

    If only she’d seen the weather forecast…:P. Thanks so much for the giveaway!


  87. She was not the perpetrator of the catastrophe of December 32, the day omitted from history. The day when half of the world was destroyed, massacred by its own people. The memory of the incident was burned from the memories of the few survivors left, except her, whom the memories were actually scorched in her.

    Only she could reveal the truth of the killing spree the government had committed twenty years earlier. The same government who still held control over the minds of its constituents, the same ones who paid them taxes each year were now being led to a death pool in the Middle East to feed the hunger of the corrupt.

    The intelligence agencies knew of her knowledge, pursuing her, the last one who remained with this censored memory. She ran, not to avoid death, to avoid the loss of such great importance.

    Never did she reveal this to anyone. Not to her past friends, her future friends, enemies, anyone. The time would tell when she should destroy them, they who raized her family.

  88. He began to move. Panicking, I became dead weight in his arms. Not prepared for that, Romulus stumbled back, letting me go in the process. I fell to the floor lightly on my back since Romulus held on to me for most of the awkward fall. I began to scramble across the floor, not having enough time to get to my two feet. I heard him growl in anger and crawl after me.
    I screamed in pain.
    He held my entire ponytail in his hand. The pain was truly insufferable. Romulus pulled me up, using my hair as a conductor. He let go of my poor hair and began to push me towards the banister that separated safety from a lethal fall. What was he thinking? What was he trying to prove to me?
    I couldn’t do anything to stop him. I was too weak compared to him. He hefted me over the banister and let me down. I screamed as I started the terrible fall to my death.

    Well, erm, after all of that, uhh, drama, here’s my email! It’s

  89. Hands surround me, tearing at my clothes. I am bare.
    Those transparent clothes, my security barrier lays on the floor, crumpled. Huge hands lift me and drops me on an oval stage.
    The stage curves upwards, as if engulfing me. The flowery patterns around the stage mocks me. I am terrified, but I stay stationary. It is a law I must obey. The floor shakes, I look up to see the world moving. The world grows dark .The ceiling glows red. The air becomes hot, too hot. My skin is on fire. The warmth scorches me. After a minute or two, I feel cool air rush in, and I am taken out of the oven. My ears pick up the whisper “mmm, deliciousss”. My world grows dark. The end.

  90. Just a bit more…
    I pushed my toes up, reaching my heighest height possible.
    Just a bit more…
    The blue thing entices me, tempting me.
    I can’t possibly reach it with my height!
    I pushed a chair towards the jar.
    I slowly climb up the squeky chair.
    My hands stretch towards the blue treasure.
    My fingers touch the tip of the cool porcelian.
    Sweat glistens on my forehead. My leg muscles strain and hurts me.
    I take a risk.
    Nothing touches the chair except my toes. My hand reach up
    to grab the shelf, barely. My other hand tries to get a hold
    of it. I feel sweat glide down my back.
    My fingers slowly itch towards the treasure. Got it!
    My eyes slowly moves up and down the treasure. Finally, you are mine!
    That’s when the light blinked twice and lightened the room.
    No, this cannot be happening.
    I planned everything right!
    I stood still like a dear caught in headlights when a six-feet tall being entered the room.
    She took one look at me and hollered “Ethan, stay away from the cookie jar!”

  91. “How long more?” I yelled into the wind.

    My brother looked at me with a hard-set jaw. “Turn around the bend and we’ll be safe from them.”

    Them. Those cruel assassins guided singularly by the hands of our cunning emperor himself. Their leader alone had killed thousands, and not once had any been able to escape with their lives untouched. And now, all seven were after us.

    The seven black dots behind us grew larger, and my heart began to pound as the wind brought the sound of thunderous hooves to my ears. Beside me, my brother cursed as he spurred his stallion on.

    No no no. We can’t come so near to freedom only to be captured again.

    Then, suddenly, my mare lurched violently forward and threw me into the air. Bam. My body slammed onto the rough ground. Yet, before I could even think about the pain, my eyes widened at the distinct shapes of the seven riders coming in my direction.

    In a flash, I rolled into the bushes, desperately trying to collect back my wits. My horse had galloped around the bend without me. My brother had ridden on too.

    I was alone.

    Cold beads of sweat broke out on my forehead. There was no time for rational planning. I took one last look at the road that could have led me home, and plunged into the dark forest.

    I had taken no more than five steps when they paused by the bushes. I froze. They urged their horses on again, but just when I thought I was safe, one of them spoke.

    “Kill her.”


    Thanks for having such an epic giveaway! Those slipcases look amazing! 😀

  92. airlia2012 says:

    Then I felt it; a whisper of movement, a slight shift in air currents, and without conscious thought I drew upon my vast reserves of power. I was a heartbeat away from releasing that magick when my perceived attacker spoke.

    “Be calm, Princess,” he said in a voice rich with shadows and power, “I come in peace.”
    I shot him a dirty look and dropped my outstretched hand, letting the glow of magick fade.

    “What are you doing here, Lord Albion?” I asked coldly, “My father swore to me that I would be allowed to remain separate from Unseelie Court politics. Would you make your King an oath-breaker?”

    “He did not make this decision lightly,” he said gravely.

    The grimness of Albion’s expression filled me with dread.

    “What’s happened?” I asked flatly.

    “Your brother was attacked and your father fears you’ll be next. He bids you to return to Court as swiftly as possible,” he replied.

    “Why would anybody want to attack me?” I asked scornfully, “I cut all ties from the Unseelie Court many years ago. Although I may be Royal, I’m still a bastard.”

    Albion shook his head.

    “You do not understand,” he said, his voice touched with sorrow, “Your brother has been grievously wounded and we are no longer sure whether he will survive the night. If your brother’s condition continues to worsen, you will not only be your father’s ‘spare’, as the humans put it, but his Heir.”

  93. airlia2012 says:

    When I awoke I found myself chained in silver restraints which, although not lethal, reduced my strength to that of a human.

    “How dare you!” I hissed, calling upon my power so it flowed across my skin in a hot rush.

    I was unable to Shift however; the silver chains must’ve been charmed by a very powerful witch.

    “You’re already awake?” he asked indifferently, “I thought that blow to your head would have keep you under for at least another half an hour.”

    “I’m a fast healer,” I growled through gritted teeth, “Now answer this, vampire. Why have you kidnapped me?!”

    “The correct term to use is Sangre, not vampire,” he reminded me, his tone detached.

    He was beautiful, as all Sangre were, but that was what made them the most lethal of predators.

    “Hush,” he finally said, “Your curses grates on my ears.”

    “As if I give a damn!” I screamed, knowing my eyes had partially Shifted to the glowing gold of my animal form.

    He watched my eyes with fascination. I continued to test my restraints, but knew struggling would be futile. Instead, I knew I should conserve my energy on the possibility an avenue of escape presented itself.

    “Why are you doing this?” I repeated.

    “Tyger, tyger,” he whispered, “You burn so brightly.”

    He smiled at me, a singularly sweet smile that simultaneously attracted and repulsed me.

    Then he reached for me.

    • airlia2012 says:

      “Tyger, tyger,” he whispered, “You burn so brightly.”

      He smiled at me, a singularly sweet smile that simultaneously attracted and repulsed me.

      Then he reached for me.

      “Tyger, tyger,” he whispered, “You burn so bright.”

      He smiled at me, a singularly sweet smile that both attracted and repulsed me.

      “Won’t you scream for me tonight?”

  94. Falling Into History

    I fell out, out of you and me
    You’re fading from view,
    and you’re falling into history…
    -Falling into History,Avril Lavigne

    I struggled to go back, to reach the opening of the plane,which was now a tiny figure dotted with inferno.But no matter how much I tried,I kept going in the opposite direction.I was no match for gravity and air resistance,and the sane part in me knew that very well.After all, I was a student of physics.But the part of me, the insane one,refuses to accept the fact.Which is the reason why I’m kicking and screaming, who knows how many thousand feet above ground,trying to reach the emergency exit of the plane several meters above.All I know is that the other passengers are dead, and that I’m most probably the only survivor, for now.I start wondering whether the pilot was able to get out with a parachute on time when my mind interrupts and says,
    Screw the pilot!It’s your survival that matters right now!
    I try to ignore it.I don’t know how long it will take for my body to hit the ground and separate from my soul.I give up kicking and screaming.My body becomes numb.Just like the sane part of my mind, it has stopped struggling as well.I close my eyes,tears pricking at their corners,and think about all the things I will be missing out on.Joshua’s birthday,college graduation,interning, and so much more.The memories flash through my mind as I make my unfortunate descend to the ground below

  95. Storm ran until her legs ached in pain.When she thought that she had finally lost them,she finally stopped running,drawing in heavy breaths while resting her hands on her bent knees.It was then when she saw something silver glittering on the pavement.Curiosity getting the better of her,she bent down to pick it up.The silver thing appeared to be a bullet.Strange,she thought.Where would a bullet come from?Unless….

    She moved away just in time to avoid a second bullet which hit a tree instead.The tree caught fire,and fell,blocking her way.She whirled around,looking frantically for another way out,when she heard footsteps behind her.She stiffened,then turned around to see whom the footsteps belonged to.

    He was wearing a black suit and his hair was shorter than before.Suede shoes replaced his worn-out Nikes.But he still had those green cat-like eyes,and that smirk which she and her friends used to swoon over.

    “Please don’t move.I promise to make this as less painful as possible.”He said.He almost looked as if he felt sorry for her.

    But she knew better.He is a traitor, a monster.One that killed it’s own parents.He can never feel sorry for anyone.

    So instead,she pulled her gun out from her holster.Tears pricking at her eyes,she held it out with shaking hands and aimed for his heart.

  96. Desiree Thompson says:

    I felt that familiar tingle in the tips of my fingers, the tingle that let me know that I was about to open my eyes and find myself in some unknown time and place. I slowly opened my eyes while hoping that this time it would be different, this time my hands would just be falling asleep and I was still tucked safely in my bed. I finally looked out into a crowd of cheering and spitting men. Of course the universe couldn’t be that kind to me. As soon as the shock of what seemed like thousands of dirty, disgusting and stinking men looking at me started to wear off I felt the noose around my neck. They were all staring at me and cheering for my impending death. Terror took over every fiber of my being as the hooded man approached. He put his covered face as close to mine as he could before he whispered something about my time in hell and kicked the stool out from under my feet. I felt my breath waning and my tears falling. I prayed for a quick death so that I could wake up in my bed and start over again but it wasn’t going to happen that way. This was going to be a long and drawn out hanging. Just as my eyes felt like they were going to pop out of my head and I was about to pass out the hooded man grabbed my waist and lifted me up. I gasped in the rotting air as quickly as I could then I looked to him with a thank you in my eyes before he sneered and dropped me again. After a few horrifying moments I finally lost consciousness and started awake in my bed. I tried to cry out but no sound came and my neck hurt something wicked. I stumbled to the bathroom and flicked on the light. When I stared in the mirror what I saw horrified me. My neck was one huge and angry bruise. I tenetively touched it and winced at the pain. I needed to figure out what I had done in some past life that was so terrible that I was doomed to repeat these horrible deaths in my dreams, deaths that were starting to have physical consequences in my waking life. I needed to correct whatever it was before it was too late. Just a month ago that same dream would have left me with a scratchy throat at worst, never anything like a bruise. Never any outward signs of my craziness. It was getting worse and if I didn’t figure this out soon than I’m afraid I could end up dead in one of my dreams with no way to return to my life.

  97. The knife in his strong hand glistens with my bright blood. “I don’t have a choice Asia.” His voice thrums through my ears. He takes another heavy step towards me. My back is pressed against the wall. I’ve got nowhere else to hide.
    Inhale. Exhale.
    And, what’s worse is that you can’t even begin to realize how painful it is to look into eyes that used to stare at you full of love and now see a monster. To have rivulets of blood tracing tracks down your arms and know that he put them there. My heart, it aches in my chest. My nerves silently spiking, but I won’t cry. I won’t.
    His intensiveness crumbles like a game of Jenga. His dark emerald green eyes turning heartbreaking. And, no matter how much my body shakes, my eyes never leave his pale, perfect face.
    The space between us is deteriorating. He’s tormenting me with his slow movements as he presses the flatness of his chest and stomach against the swells of body. Pressing his lips against my collarbone and gradually moving in a line up my neck. The fear in my system spilling into his kisses just as he reaches right below my ear.
    His breath hitches. The words are so soft, spoken like a low haunting melody. “I’m sorry.” And then he’s gone.
    That’s when I take in my surroundings. Realizing he’s transported us. Leaving me in a midnight black dungeon, surrounded by murderers.

  98. We walked closer than friends should walk, but didn’t touch. My arm hung stiffly by my side. I suddenly couldn’t remember how a normal person is supposed to walk. I attempted to swing my arms in what I hoped was a natural fashion.

    The more I attempted to walk like a human, the more I was certain I resembled some sort of ape. Up until that moment, I hadn’t realized how complicated potential hand-holding could be. I resisted the urge to fold my arms across my chest, instead opting for what I hoped was a casual thumbs-in-the-pockets approach.

    Honestly, I probably looked like I was doing a shoddy John Wayne impersonation.

    I was so heavily focused on my useless arms that I didn’t notice we had approached the end of the block until I stepped heavily off the edge of the curb. I stumbled out into the street and hopped awkwardly on one foot, trying desperately to regain my balance.

    This is probably not winning me any points.

    I finally found my footing and glanced sheepishly up at John, grimly anticipating the embarrassment sure to be plastered across his face at my impromptu dance.

    But he stared back at me, eyes wide and mouth open in what looked oddly like terror. I glanced around in confusion, trying to interpret his odd reaction, when the truck slammed into me.

    As I flew through the air, the thought flashed through my head, now he’ll never hold my hand.

    Then nothing.

  99. Thank you for the good writeup. It in fact was a amusement account
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