WRITE A FAIRYTALE SET HERE – WRITESPIRATION #96

Sacha’s back with a new Writespiration prompt!

This week your task is to write a fairytale, or a part of one, or a fairytale poem set in the photo. Maybe it’s a nightmare tale, or perhaps a happily ever after ending, or maybe a prince’s love monologue. Write a fairytale in less than 200 words. Leave it in the comments or use a pingback so I find it. Due by 23rd October.

fairytale-writespiration

Ok, so I’m not sure this was exactly what you wanted… but here goes!

Candicella – The Party Princess

Candicella looked up. Surely her Prince would arrive soon!

She had been trapped in this woods, where the rave was being held, for the last 2 hours.

Faithfully, she had dressed up in what her Fairy Godmother had assured her were the latest ‘threads’, but looking around her, she realised that old Betty had not quite got it right.  She really needed hot pants and a cropped top! The sneakers were a lovely shade of green though.

She sat admiring them, then winced in pain. Trying to join in with the other party animals had been rather more strenuous than she had remembered from her ‘ball-going’ days, and had resulted in a twisted knee.

Hearing a twig crack as someone stepped on it, she turned.

“Oh thank goodness you’re here!”

In all his princely regalia, Prince Dwayne looked rather out of place, but he valiantly stepped up to his regal duty, to rescue the Princess, again.

Scooping her up in his arms, he teetered slightly, but righted himself, and carried Candicella back to the waiting carriage.

“My dear,” he said as he glanced down at her footwear, “I can see why you needed rescuing…glass slippers are much more ‘you!”

Moonlit #writephoto

Sue’s photo prompt this week…

red-moon-011

Moonlit

Laurence peered out of the window and spotted the moon.
Full again.
Damn!

Why, oh why did he have to born with this affliction that meant he was obliged to go out on these nights?
It was ok in the summer, it was warmer then… but he hated the cold.
Granted, once he was out there, and the transformation took place, the fur was pretty handy.

Usually, he went off to a quiet woods that he had discovered, quite by chance, as a child, and allowed the metamorphosis from human to werewolf occur with no one around. He would then curl up, and wait until dawn, when his form returned to a more acceptable one, and would then go home for a quick kip.
But this full moon was a different one. It was on the eve of the 31st October.

Halloween.

And all of the local werewolves, witches, ghosts, vampires and assorted other scary sorts, would meet to go out ‘a-scaring’. It was the one night they could really be themselves, and be praised for their looks.

Seriously, he’d be rich if he had a pound for every time someone complimented him on his ‘costume’!
The best thing was that at least he was seen as a novelty on that night, rather than a nightmare!

He checked his watch. 7pm. Right, he had a few hours to get to the forest to allow himself to change into his ‘costume’, before meeting with the rest.
Laurence felt a howl bubbling within himself.
He’d better get his skates on, he didn’t want to scare the neighbours… well, not yet, anyway…

#writephoto

WRITESPIRATION #95 KALEIDOSCOPES

Sacha’s back, after a little #Writespiration hiatus, with another cool prompt!

kaleidoscope

Write about a Kaleidoscope – maybe its a kaleidoscopic fantasy world, or a memory, a maze or perhaps a toy. Let your mind wander and see where it takes you. Entries short this week – under 100 words, deadline 9th October. Post entries in the comments or use a pingback.

So, here is my entry!

“Quick Cap’n! They be gaining on us!”

Captain John Bird hurriedly fished his spyglass out of his pocket to see what this vessel was that chasing them.

“It looks like they’re preparing the cannon, and, that be a pirate flag on their mast!”

Focussing the glass, Captain Bird looked out, but all he could see was a rainbow of colours, no ship.

“Damn this thing!” he thought, pulling his handkerchief out to clean the lens.

It was only then that he realised, in the hurry to board his ship, he’d picked up his son’s kaleidoscope instead of his spyglass…

Thank you and Good night!

 

Lights #writephoto

Sue’s #writephoto prompt.

lights

 

It was on nights like tonight that Percy regretted his day job.

You see, his day job meant that he was out on the streets every night too.

He sat there looking out at the snow covered ground, ice forming on the river surface, feeling the chill seep through his skin and deep into his bones.

It wasn’t like he could even buy clothes or a blanket even, to keep warm. The shopkeepers, the customers, children, well, everyone actually, would look at him and scream in terror, closing doors, windows, curtains…

Lights twinkled from the windows of houses. Percy could make out the silhouettes of people, families getting together during this festive time, all merriment and cheer. They were eating and drinking, singing and dancing, and all he could hear was the crack of ice, the howl of the winds picking up.

He settled down to eat his festive meal, well actually it was his usual meal, breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Fish.

Sometimes, if he was lucky he managed to catch a duck, but those occasions were few and far between.

If only he had a roof over his head, and a kitchen where he could actually cook a meal. Instead he was forced to eat the food raw. It was so damp, he couldn’t even get a small fire going.

But who would house him? The Landlords were the same as the rest of the world, slamming doors in his face. He’d tried that long ago, before he realised the ‘free fish’ perk of his job was pretty much the only one.

“Great Prospects!”

That was what had caught his eye in that advert 15 years ago.

“Live-in job, own property included. All the fish you can eat. Respect from the community.”

Sounded ideal, especially since he had been struggling, since the wife left him…

“Strict manner required, adherence to rules.”

Oh yes, he was a man of honour, and knew exactly how to stick to rules, and how to enforce them too.

He’s gone off to the address at the bottom of the advert, and without any interview, or checking of references, the strange woman had given just looked at him, nodded and given him the job, and sent him on his way to a specific location.

Reaching the bridge, he looked around. No house here, but maybe that property across the way was the promised home he would have.

A little wizened old man had beckoned him under the bridge, “Percy? You took your time, I have been expecting you. It’s time to pass on my duties to someone else. He took off what looked like a fur coat and draped it over Percy’s shoulders.

Things started to tingle, and Percy felt a funny turn coming over him. He must be getting hot with this coat. Trying to take it off, he pulled at the sleeve, but it seemed to stick to him. It was like pulling a fistful of hair from his arm.

The old man turned to him, with a little smile, “25 years, that will keep you company Percy. My time is up now, just be guardian of the bridge, it made a great home for me, it will for you too.”

And with that he had disappeared.

Percy looked at his hands, which appeared to have sprouted extra hair. He looked at his reflection in the flowing river.

A hideous face looked back at him, not his own. What was happening to him? And what was his job? Guardian of the bridge? He looked around for the man, who was sure to explain in more detail, but there was no sign of him.

But it didn’t take long to find out what he was meant to do.

“Aaaaargh!” a scream sailed through the air. Percy looked up to see three figures running away. They were shouting as they ran. The words slowly reached him, and it dawned on him what he was now destined to be…

“Troll! The Troll is back!”

#writephoto

Thursday photo prompt – Gate – #writephoto

Sue’s photo prompt this week…

gate

The Gate

Every day we walked to and from school past this gate. Large, foreboding, and always locked.

The walls surrounding the house were of a high stone variety, offering no more glimpses of what was inside, so we would peer through that wrought iron clad entrance, imagining who lived there, and why we never saw them.

The garden appeared unkempt, but someone definitely tended to parts of it, so we knew someone lived there. Grass overgrown, hedges taking over, but stray branches clipped to leave a clear path.

One morning as we trod our regular path, something appeared different.

The perpetually locked gate was… open!

My friends and I stood at the open mouthed entrance temptation so strong to go in, but a fear much greater as to what we’d find inside.

We decided to err on the side of caution. Our parents were always harping on at us about safety, stranger danger and sticking to the paths we knew, so we turned towards school and made off in that direction.

I couldn’t help it, I had to turn back, just once, to glance at the, for once, clear view of the grey mansion that rose up at the end of the path. My eyes were drawn to a window upstairs.

I stopped.

Someone was looking back at me.

A small figure, a child, with what appeared to be blonde curls stood at the window, staring out at me.

I called to my friends to come and see, but when they turned to look, the figure was gone.

We went off to school, but my mind kept wandering back to that figure at the window.

On our way home that evening, the gate was closed tight. I peered through and looked up at the window where I had previously seen the figure but the curtains were drawn tight.

Over the next few months, we noticed that the gate remained steadfastly shut, and the gardens were more unkempt than usual. The path was no longer visible. Those curtains never opened again.

Then, one day, as we neared the gate, there appeared to be a hive of activity surrounding it. Men bustling in and out with boxes, and furniture. Large gardening machinery was digging through the forest that the garden had become.

I overheard mum and dad talking over dinner that evening.

“”I can’t believe anyone would want to live there,” Mum was saying. “what with all the rumours and stories attached to that place.”

“Nothing but rumours Claire,” Dad replied “The Smythes left ages ago, after all that nasty business with their little boy, poor child. I imagine the memories were too much to bear.”

“But what about the ghost! I’ve heard so many people talk about the face they see at the window, when no one is meant to be living there. I know Old Jim still went there to tidy the garden up a bit, out of loyalty to the family, and he pooh poohed the idea, but after he passed away, they can’t get anyone to tend to it. Pauline’s boy went for the job, and he said he got chased out by something, and when he looked back all he saw were these two little eyes looking back at him from an upstairs window, the eyes of a little boy. Apparently Little James, rest his soul, loved old Jim. I heard he was named after him too!”

“Oh stop your nonsense Claire! There is no ghost, the place was just going to rack and ruin, Poor Old Jim couldn’t cope with looking after such a big property. It’s a good thing the house is sold now, hopefully the new owners can restore it to its former glory. Now you keep your nose out of others business, and stop filling our boy’s head with silly stories.” With a shake of his newspaper, Dad signalled the end of the conversation.

I excused myself from the table and went to my room…

So who exactly was that who I saw at the window….?

 

#writephoto

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