Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Sheikha A. @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on February 2, 2021 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

001_Jan_LOHLeopard
by Sheikha A.

Thunder-pulse; the roses
on his back glisten –
He was called the predator;
she was the mating pit.
They told him she was seen
on low-rise rocks on full moon
nights – selkie-siren calling
lovers to her lair; her skin
was slate-sheen like the rocks
on which she bedded. He was
the hunger-prowl of centuries
spent wandering jungles
sparse and dense. His desires
celibate; she emerged as enigma
morphing into blood-scent.
He walked far yet never further
than his lifespan; she was gleam
of a thousand jewels, a whorl
of luring peace. She told him
of the spell; that magic makes
her ugly; that he would leave
as the magic bid; that her face
melted; that her hair shed;
that her body lost its goddess
beauty. Her blood smelled of
lavender and rose; his senses
feral, lurking like breath on bait.
Her songs were tantalising wails;
her love the rise and fall of giant
waves shattering on the beds
she burned. She sends the sea
in smooth sweeps to wipe his
prints as he walks in deeper
to where she sits stroking
her hair. She looks like heaven’s
garden in fresh cherry-bloom.
His life will be hers; her death
will be his. He feels his mind
paralyse as his paw draws
their claws to his neck.
The thrust is swift and firm.
Blood curling into roses –
Fiction © Copyright Sheikha A.
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Sheikha A.:

Screen Shot 2019-12-17 at 10.57.17 AM.pngNyctophiliac Confessions:
Poems by Sheikha A. and Suvojit Banerjee

“The night is cold enough to inspire poetry,” says Sheikha A. in her poem, “Reading My Bones.” This is the basis of Nyctophiliac Confessions – poems that are introspective and luminal, poems that require a certain amount of silence and space to be fully formed and appreciated. Reading these poems, I imagined that they were the kind of poems that assert themselves unbidden during a bout of insomnia. (A nyctophiliac being someone who loves the night or loves darkness).

Nyctophiliac Confessions is the 17th installment of Praxis’ chapbook series and contains twenty-six poems written by two poets, Sheikha A. and Suvojit Banerjee, interspersed with abstract paintings by Robert Rhodes.

Available Here!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Asena Lourenco @ElaLourenco @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on February 2, 2021 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

002_Jan_LOHCome My Young One
by Asena Lourenco

His feet were planted into the floor, shiny black boots as still as stone. I couldn’t see his face, but I could picture his terrified features in my mind as if they were a vivid memory. The yellow pullover jacket hugged his cold clammy skin tightly as if it could sense his unease. His hood curled over his matted head of hair, shielding him from the unknown. His figure was unnervingly still. My eyes hurried to find the problem as panic overwhelmed me. I felt my feet carrying me forward before I even knew I was moving. But suddenly, I wasn’t.        
My mind was functioning a million times the speed that it was supposed to be as I struggled to get to him. I ripped my eyes away from my feet as I glared into the night, desperate to find answers. Behind the trees, a sudden brick house appeared, with jaundiced light shining through the thin glass windows. I gazed in shock. Had it been there before? At that moment, I thought I was going mad before I realised that he wasn’t there anymore. I screamed his name, possibly a million times, before meeting his eyes at the highest window of the house. His usually warm chocolate eyes were now a deep black as he read my expression. I whispered his name once more, somehow hoping he would hear, before a tall lean woman appeared behind him with piercing eyes. And they too, were black. 
Fiction © Copyright Asena Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Asena Lourenco:

Asena Lourenco is 13 years old. She loves reading, playing Scottish traditional fiddle music on her violin, dancing, and martial arts as well as writing her own stories.

She would like to be a teacher and writer when she grows up. She also loves cats and babies!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Stephanie Ayers @theauthorSAM @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on February 1, 2021 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

002_Jan_LOH

The Red Balloon
by Stephanie Ayers

Rory accepted the red balloon from the stranger in the park, but before he could clasp the string between his fingers, it floated to the sky.
“What goes up must come down,” his mother always told him, so he followed the balloon into the woods behind the park, not noticing the darkness creeping in. He followed it through the woods until he came to a clearing and the big house that dwelled there. The wind tossed the red balloon back and forth, and the iron spike along the top of the gable grabbed the string and held the balloon captive.
Rory licked his lips and swallowed hard. His eyes wandered from the balloon to the front door, and his feet froze in place. He was in The Forbidden Place. With a backwards glance, Rory wiped his sweaty palms against his jeans and took a small step forward. The balloon still teased him from its lofty perch. He took another step forward. His eyes pinched shut. His hands trembled, and his heart threatened to burst from his chest.
Nothing happened. A sigh of relief disturbed the silence, and he made his way to the door.
“Maybe it’s not haunted like Mom says. Maybe vampires don’t live there like Bobby said,” Rory said aloud.
Another voice entered his head, an unfamiliar yet friendly voice.
“Or maybe they do, but they’re just sleeping. It is daylight, after all. Go on, don’t be shy. Get your balloon.”
Rory searched for the source of the voice and found no one, but that didn’t scare him. He was used to voices in his head. He’d heard many different ones over the past eight years he’d been alive, and this one was comforting. This one understood he needed that balloon.
“Yes,” the voice said again. “You’ve worked so hard and come all this way. Don’t be shy now. Get your balloon.”
A smile broke through the fear on Rory’s face, and he tapped on the door with enthusiasm. No one answered the first time he knocked, so he knocked a little harder. The sound of footfalls echoed through the door, and Rory’s heart raced as he waited for someone to answer.
The door creaked open, and a stale, rancid odor emanated from the house. Rory’s nose crinkled, and he choked.
“Oh, a small boy. You sounded much bigger from your knock.” The voice was gentle but harsh.
Rory recovered by clearing his throat and looked at the speaker for the first time. The old woman was barely taller than he was, and he was short for his age. Her wiry hair was mostly white and stuck out in patches all around her head. She grinned, revealing her yellowed teeth, most of which were missing. A lump rose in Rory’s throat, and he swallowed hard.
The woman cackled. “What’s the matter, boy? Cat got your tongue? Speak up. You knocked, and I ain’t got all day.”
Rory’s eyes left the woman’s face long enough to stare at the balloon still floating above him. The woman followed his gaze and cackled again.
“Oh, I see. You want your balloon.” She held the door open for him. “Come and get it then.” She pointed up the staircase just beyond the door. “Go on.”
Rory hesitated. The nasty smell was gone, but the house was dark, except for a spot of sunlight at the top of the stairs.
The woman’s foot stomped. “Well, do you want it or not? You came all this way. If you want it, you must get it. I ain’t getting it for you. And I ain’t going to wait. I have supper to fix.” She opened the door a little wider and took a step back.
Rory licked his lips again as his eyes studied the balloon. The string slowly slipped through the iron grip, and if he didn’t hurry, it would be gone. He blinked and his feet carried him over the threshold. As he entered, she held her hand out, directing him to the staircase.
“Up you go, first door on the left. The window is easy to open. You ain’t the first to lose your balloon here. You won’t be the last. We keep it oiled. Won’t even squeak as it opens. Just mind the stake and watch your balance. I ain’t cleaning up your bones from my front yard,” she said, a strange smile replacing the friendly one.
Rory breathed hard. His heart thundered as he raced up the stairs with his eyes closed. When he opened them, they gazed into an empty room with a single window—the big window at the front of the house. He could see the string of his balloon at the top edge of it. A sigh of relief led him forward. He slid the window open, but he was too short to reach the string. His heart fell. He really wanted that balloon. He stuck his head out the window and pulled himself up to sit on the sill. He stretched so far his back muscles ached and pinched the bottom of the string between his two longest fingers. A gentle tug set the balloon free, and Rory smiled as he climbed back inside the house with his prize.
The foul stench almost knocked him out as he entered the hallway. The hair along his spine rose, and he cast a glance over his shoulder. Nothing was there, but he couldn’t shake the sudden feeling of doom that devoured him. He stared down the steps. The door was shut, and the foyer was shrouded in shadows. The old woman was nowhere to be seen.
The unfamiliar, friendly voice comforted him.
“She said she had to get supper started. Just go on, back down the steps, and out the door. Easy, peasy. Never mind the smell.”
Rory licked his lips again and clutched his balloon a little tighter as he moved down the steps slowly, one foot at a time. He took a deep sigh as he reached the door and opened it. The stranger who’d given him the balloon stood there, a sick smirk on his face.
“Ma! I brought supper home,” he said as he wrapped the red balloon around Rory’s neck.
Fiction © Copyright Stephanie Ayers
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Stephanie Ayers:

The 13: Tales of Macabre

Can you survive all 12?

Killer watermelons, murderous jewelry boxes, centenarian sea whisperers, creatures of myth/legend, and more…

This supernatural story collection will make you reconsider everything you thought you knew. At night you’ll hover under your covers while looking over your shoulder in the day. Down, down in the depths they fell; bodies in the dark of a liquid hell. Can you survive all 12?

This is the second collection in The 13 series. Will you survive all 13?

With forward by JM Ames and poetry by Stacy Overby.

Available on Amazon!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Bailey Hunter @DarkRecesses @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 30, 2021 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

002_Jan_LOH

Transitions
by Bailey Hunter

Grandma Lily has dreamed of death over and over. It fills her nights, and wakes our slumber.
She says she has dreamed of death too many times to count, or care. She tells me stories in her crisp linen voice as rain beats down hard upon lead window panes. She says the dreams speak of change flying hard upon due winds and warns me, “Beware. Prepare.”
I hear Grandma Lily as she takes each breath in the night.  When I don’t hear her, I want to tip-toe into her room and stare at her birdlike frame to see if she has finally sprouted wings and flown away.  I have many times, with flashlight gripped tightly in hand, crept up to her door–but I don’t dare open it.  Somehow I think the light will burn her; or perhaps it will reveal what I don’t want to know.  An unveiling of that part of her which only comes out when the world slides low into dark comforts. 
I’m not a child, and Grandma Lily sees this.  Mama and Daddy don’t, but she does. She tells me things about the family, how it was, how it is…. She tells me in grown words I would not expect from her thin, rose-drawn lips.  She surprises me sometimes with her language.  She speaks in ways I often hear in the halls at school.  I hide my shock, but I know she sees that too.  I am certain Grandma Lily sees beyond the thick, slow substance of reality. Her dreams are more than neurons firing and only a fool ignores her.  I’m in a house full of fools.
I don’t believe Grandma Lily eats any more.  She pushes her food away and in perfectly poised words says, “I am not hungry.  I have no need to eat this.”  Of course Mama and Daddy try to argue with her, but she will have none of it.  They always lose.  
It makes me wonder sometimes if Grandma Lily is a giant trapped in a tiny frame.  Like if I looked at her long enough I could see the giant squatting inside the faded green orbs that float in her wrinkled face.  Even the wrinkles look as if time itself makes love within those folds of skin.
***
It’s the rainy season around here.  Storms roll through on heavy horse trampling the fields, turning the roads to slick greased snakes coiling through the countryside.  I like to gaze at them when the grey light dims to black.  Our old home gives me a front row seat to this war of the Gods. 
Tonight, after Grandma Lily and Mama and Daddy have gone to bed, I take in the show. Lightning splinters on the bleak horizon. It cuts sharp shapes into the corpse of the rusted Impala which died years ago up on the hill by my old tire swing.  I watch as the night strobes in and out to the beat of Thor’s hammer.  Electricity courses through me as Grandma Lily’s words slip through my veins. I can feel those winds and they make the hairs on my body all stand tall reaching out to grab a hold of, something…
The storm fades off into the next county and I sit still as the air around me. I listen for Grandma Lily’s breath.  It travels the halls in soft rasping steps and I smile. 
***
Grandma Lily dreamed to death last night. She said goodbye as I slept. I said, “until then” and awoke with new eyes.
Fiction © Copyright Bailey Hunter
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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More about Bailey Hunter:
Bailey is a publisher with Dark Recesses Press.

Dark Recesses Press is a publishing house dedicated to providing high quality dark fiction in its many forms to the reader. Our end goal is to impress and entertain, no matter what dark recesses we dare shine our light on.

DarkRecessesPress.com

 
Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Ela Lourenco @ElaLourenco @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 30, 2021 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

001_Jan_LOHWhen You Close Your Eyes
by Ela Lourenco

I am the shadow
I am the night
I am the thing that lurks in the darkness
The creature who hides in your closet
Under your bed
I am all your nightmares woven into one
The faceless one
The one you ignore in the light of day
The one invisible in the warmth of the sun.
Ignore me, turn your back on me
Pretend not to see me all you want
Yet here I will remain
Always with you
Forever imprinted in you
I am all that you fear and hate
And yet I am you: your inner shadow self.
Fiction © Copyright Ela Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Ela Lourenco:

awakeningDragon Born: Book Three
Awakening

The Royal tournament, the Karnac, is fully underway. But there is deception and betrayal at every turn. Unseen dark forces are at play, both within the school grounds and out with. Even the Gods are unable to help when a new threat looms over them all.The very existence of Azmantium depends on Lara fully becoming the Child of Fire and casting aside the Shadows lurking in every corner of her beloved planet.Can she overcome the challenges that await? Will the Shadows cover the world in darkness? Only Lara and her friends can change the fate of Azmantium.

Available on Amazon!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi @ErinAlMehairi @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 29, 2021 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

004_Jan_LOH

Beneath the Surface of Us All
by Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi

She has no cares for earthly exploration whether land or water. Mired with no focus, her mind races with anxiety and pain and chaos enough to fire several universes. She floats through life peering through blinking eyelashes and wondering about the tangible dirt most people grab and can feel running through their fingers. She’s been freed from topography constraints and has submerged into a realm saved for a chosen few in which maps aren’t needed, time doesn’t exist, and movements are fluid.
But she’s cold. Cold of heart, stoic of mind, narrow in her observations. It’s a dichotomy but it’s also a trauma effect. She needs my warmth, my clarity. When I reach out my hand to her, she touches only my fingers briefly and I shiver as electrons shoot up inside me. In her own quest for feeling, she opens the darkest places within me, pulls and widens and prods, but I’m not fearful, as instead I crave it.
I start to question my own world, my life, my surrounding stimuli. I sink into her. And then, she opens her maw, and she eats me whole.
Fiction © Copyright Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi
Fiction Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi:

Breathe. Breathe. 

BreatheBreathe. is a collection of dark poetry and short fiction exploring the surreal depths of humanity. It’s a representation of how life breaks us apart and words put us back together. Purged onto the pages, dark emotions flow, urging readers into murky seas and grim forests, to the fine line between breathing and death.In Act One, readers are presented with a serial killer in Victorian London, a lighthouse keeper with an eerie legacy, a murderous spouse that seems to have walked right out of a mystery novel, and a treacherous Japanese lady who wants to stay immortal. The heightened fears in the twilight of your minds will seep into the blackest of your nights, where you have to breathe in rhythm to stay alive.

In Act Two, the poetry turns more internal and pierces through the wall of denial and pain, bringing visceral emotions to the surface unleashing traumas such as domestic abuse, violence, and illness.
In the short stories, you’ll meet residents of Valhalla Lane whose lives are on a violent parallel track to collision, a man who is driven mad by the sound of a woodpecker, a teenage girl who wakes up on the beach and can’t find another soul in sight, a woman caught in a time shift pitting her against the Egyptian goddess Anuket, and a little girl whose whole world changes when her favorite dandelion yellow crayon is discontinued.
Amid these pages the haunting themes of oppression, isolation, revenge, and madness unfold through folklore, nightmares, and often times, raw, impulsive passion crafted to sear from the inside out.
With a touching foreword by the Bram Stoker nominated author Brian Kirk, Breathe. Breathe. will at times unsettle you, and at times embrace you. Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi, a veteran writer and editor of the written word, offers up a mixed set of pieces, identifying her as a strong, new voice in dark fiction that will tear the heart from your chest, all the while reminding you to breathe.

Available on Amazon!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kendra Hale @DevourAllWords @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 29, 2021 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

003_Jan_LOH

Out There
by Kendra Hale

They say we are all reaching out for something in life. Whether it is a purpose or a driving force, a goal, there is something for each of us. I must have been the exception to this calling, to the drawing of the soul. No siren sang for me, hoping to hold me close, leading me down the beautiful disastrous path to my end. Even the reaper abandoned me in my greatest need for at least one person to be there in my greatest hour. 
Isn’t it fucked that that is what people consider the last time our blood pumps? The last time our lungs will fill with oxygen, that our eyes will open searching for this supposed purpose. This greatest hour rhetoric is for fools, with a fool’s purpose. It is blackness and cold. But at last I am not alone. 
For we are many. 
What they reach for is beyond me though I hear their hushed whispers in gravelly voices that are harsh even when soft. It is so hard to make out anything but maybe that is the point of us. We are the unfulfilled. The forgotten. This is the true island of misfit fucking toys. All of us reaching for something that was never in the scope of our realms to begin with. 
Isn’t that just the cosmic joke of the afterlife? No flashing lights, or warmth. No pearly gates await our souls. Is that even what we are? Are we shadows? Are we what these ghost hunters call echoes? Are we the goosebumps of cold you feel as we reach for something…someone…just to feel like we mattered? To feel like that existence that felt like just a moment ago has not been lost to us? 
I wish I could say that I would have lived my life differently, that those choices that confound and are often shied away from I would have grabbed with the certainty that nothing would be more important then in that moment. This is a lie. A massive one. I would have changed nothing for even with this knowledge…nothing mattered. 
But that is the past life and this is my now. This is OUR now. This mass of squirming want. Just reaching out and wanting to connect. I can’t speak for any of the souls around me…but I miss warmth. I miss the heat. The blood rushing through my pink skin and pumping with life. 
I can’t break free…there are no shackles yet my form is stitched in with these other damned souls. I can only come to that conclusion that we are damned, but there are so many. So many and yet it is so cold. What I’d give…just to have one second of warmth. I want this with all of what is left. 
I just keep reaching…
Fiction © Copyright Kendra Hale
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Kendra Hale:

je


Just Emotions:
A Gothic Bite Magazine Anthology

A collection of poetry.

 Available on Amazon!  

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Scarlett R. Algee @ScarlettRAlgee @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 28, 2021 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

002_Jan_LOH
Yellow Light
by Scarlett R. Algee

It’s partially overgrown; the roof gapes in spots, splintered timbers sagging inward. Ivy swarms the brick, engulfing the edge of the warped wooden door with a leafy green maw.
It had looked so different when I was six, gleaming and splendid, the path from the street up to the door lined with roses, the lintel angelically white. Tim had been three then, my brother’s hand gripped firmly in mine until the door had swept open and he’d ripped away to run in—
—and the walls inside, oh God, the walls were so wrong, golden and odd-angled and flecked with beads of blood; and as I’d torn from room to opulent room, screaming for Tim, searching in closets and under furniture because I knew I’d be in so much trouble, the floor had shifted and swayed beneath my feet until I’d realized the house was breathing—
—and I’d come out, with red splotches on my yellow coat, but Tim had not.
Twenty years later, that house is still here. That door is still open.
And now, there are lights on inside.
I stare for a long, long minute before I zip up my jacket and crunch across the lawn.
I’m going back in, and this time I’ll find my brother.
Fiction © Copyright Scarlett R. Algee
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Scarlett R. Algee:

The Lift: Nine Stories of Transformation, Volume One

The hall is dark and the overhead light flickers. Sounds echo, and there’s a creaking and clanging that gets louder as you stand in the semi-dark. The elevator opens and you’re offered a ride. Step inside and ride it to the story chosen for your transformation. Don’t be afraid, for Victoria, the mysterious girl who operates The Lift, waits to guide you. Set in the same world as the award nominated audio drama, The Lift’s first written anthology features nine all new stories by fan favorite writers and special bonus content by creators Daniel Foytik and Cynthia Lowman. The collection is brought to life with beautiful illustrations by Jeanette Andromeda for each story.

Available on Amazon!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author R.A. Clarke @RAClarkeWrites @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 28, 2021 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

001_Jan_LOHBeautiful
by R.A. Clarke

Janna’s Journal Day 1:
I arrived today. Pharmantis set me up in a private room with a soft, warm bed and three gourmet meals a day—a huge step up from the shelter. 
They promised I’d be beautiful again. That the burns covering my body, and the crash that caused them, would become worries of the past. My hair might even regrow.
I know there are risks… untested drugs and all that. But more than anything, I want my life back. To feel normal. To walk in public without staring or laughter. I have nothing to lose. 
I still can’t believe I got selected!
Every participant in the trial (30 of us) has to wear tiny monitors and report daily to the testing lab for skin cream application. Pretty straight forward.
Day 2:
It’s odd not having any windows. I mean, I get why—no outside access equals no leaked information. But it’s still weird. 
The cream tingles, but no allergic reactions. So far, so good.
Dare I hope?
Day 5
Holy shit, it’s a miracle! My scars are gone—like, GONE! They just sloughed off like snakeskin. I can’t stop staring in the mirror. 
Pharmantis says full treatment is required to ensure lasting results.
Fine by me!
Day 10:
Something’s not right. My skin looks pale, almost grey, and I’m exhausted. No! 
The Pharmantis doctors assure me these side effects will dissipate after full treatment. 
I’m trusting they know what they’re doing.
Feeling uneasy. 
Day 12:
Pain meds are useless. I’ve had a pounding headache for two days and I’m too nauseous to eat.
What’s worse, my skin looks darker every day, and the doctors keep saying it’s all part of the process. Seriously?
They won’t even let me make a phone call!
This is so messed up. I’m walking.
Day 13:
WTF! I tried to leave, but Pharmantis said, “The trials are going as planned. As per contract, you can’t revoke consent unless something goes wrong.” I lost my shit. 
I kicked and screamed as they held me down to apply the cream.
Day 14:
They’re watching us all very closely now, limiting participant contact.
But we’ve got a plan.
Day 16:
Today we revolted, storming the doors. It was a solid attack, but it’s like Pharmantis knew. They used stun guns, and now we’re all confined to our rooms.
This headache is making my eyes bulge. I swear my limbs are elongating, there are two nubs forming on my back, and… I’m growing a tail!
What am I becoming?
I’m freaking out.
Day 18:
Everything hurts so bad. All I feel is rage. They had to sedate me to apply the cream.
Memories keep fading. I can’t remember where I grew up. 
These “drugs” are messing with my head.
Day 20:
My fingers fused overnight. I planned to use these new pincer-like appendages to my advantage—but Pharmantis is always one step ahead. They fired a tranq dart through the slot in the door. 
I feel so helpless…
Day 22:
My eyes popped out, finally. They’re huge and turning black like my skin, but at least this horrendous headache is fading.
I worry I’m running out of time. Unwanted thoughts keep sneaking in… horrible thoughts.
I need to escape… before it’s too late.
Day 23:
Today I smashed the mirror, stabbing broken shards into my wrists. I’d rather die than become a monster. But my skin was too tough—hard, like a shell. I don’t know what to do anymore.
Sometimes I don’t know who I am.
I have so little energy.  
Day 24:
A plateful of grasshoppers slid under my door this morning. They looked disgusting… yet, hunger gripped me for the first time in weeks. 
I couldn’t help myself… 
They tasted so good.
Day 25:
Wow, I slept all day—must’ve needed it. I feel refreshed, yet also confused. Why are the first 23 pages of my journal missing? Why can’t I remember what I wrote?
And, where am I?
Day 26:
All this food has given me strength. I feel amazing—powerful. Yet still so hungry. I crave the taste of something bigger. Something I can hunt. 
My caretakers promise that all my questions will be answered soon.
I have this bizarre feeling I should hate them, yet I can’t imagine why… 
Day 27:
My wings finally sprouted! They’re so gorgeous, I actually cried. The creators even gave me a special name to celebrate: Butterfly.
They think I’m beautiful.
Day 28: 
Today, I met 29 others just like me. My family. I’m not alone anymore. 
The creators say our insectile DNA makes us special—superior warriors. 
My stomach growls as they explain our sacred duty.
Let the cleansing begin.
Fiction © Copyright R,A. Clarke
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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About author R.A. Clarke:

bobThe Big Ol’ Bike
Oliver is small, from footprint to glasses. He gets an old bike for his birthday and loves it, but not everyone does. Challenged to a race by the meanest bully in school, will Oliver be big enough to prove heroes come in all sizes?

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Angela Yuriko Smith @AngelaYSmith @Darc_Nina #LoH

Posted on January 27, 2021 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

004_Jan_LOH

Perspective
by Angela Yuriko Smith

he: astronaut high
more far out than a rocket
lost and outer spaced
numb and comet cold
a warp speed drift to nowhere
alienated.
she: drowning girl deep
buried under the abyss
blind and untethered
drift in the current
coming apart like a corpse
a monstrosity.
they: two broken cogs
no truce,
no quarter given
fighting each other
a broken machine
sum of dysfunctional parts
systematic fails.
they made a good match
to light their world into flame
burning everything
different perspectives
could only see I to I
but neither could breathe.
Fiction © Copyright Angela Yuriko Smith
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Angela Yuriko Smith:

Angela Yuriko Smith is an American poet, author and co-publisher of Space and Time magazine, a publication that has been printing speculative fiction, art and poetry since 1966. Together we build a poem as a community each month. Visit “Exquisite Corpse” at SpaceandTime.net to submit.

Catch up with Angela here!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 5 Comments