Today starts the second challenge of the Writer's Platform Building Campaign. It's a bit of a dozy, five prompts were given as well as five different guidelines of what to do with them. Participates can use one, all, or some of the prompts, with same rules applying to what to do with them. With the added challenge where if you do more than on option you can have a common theme.
I tried to use all of the prompt for both challenges. The first is flash fiction, 200 words or less as usual. The second is a poem, 200 words or less, that had to end with a twist. I went with the theme of 'escape'. If you guys like my entries, go ahead a vote for me. I'm number #38. And if you want to view other entries, you can head over to the blog list.
I'd also appreciate any critiques you guys can give me, especially on the poem. I'm not very good at those. :/
Hunter tried to convince Allison that the cut on his leg was small; he'd be kicking a ball around on the bridge soon. He failed.
They knew shifting through the dump behind Soltech Industries was trespassing, but it was worth the risk. The money they would have made on the black market would have fed them for a week. Maybe cover some of Hunter's med bills too, stupid virus.
His wife leaned him against a rusted bridge support, searched the area, and came back with a ratty infant's onesie. Hunter tried not to wince as she pressed it to his leg. The guard's battery sword had cut deep, and the leg had stopped supporting him.
"Dive," Allison whispered in his ear. "Go surf. It'll push away the pain."
He tried to avoid surfing the Web, it was how he got the virus, but she was right. So he dived, and like a water balloon filling with water until it burst, his mind grew and grew the deeper he dived until his world burst into the yellow lights of moving data packets. He dived into a familiar stream - photos collections of long dead friends from a happier time.
It is the right of Gods, to view their domain
And view their domain only
For part of the beauty is watching one’s work
Create and live on it’s own
From their high lofty vantage points, beyond stars
They can see time merge
Lights of orange and yellow crossing and looping
To weave through the universe
And from lower perches, less breathtaking
But no less important sights
Can be seen and treasured and recorded
As proof of good planning
There are children to be found anywhere
Whose spirits are happy
Paying attention not to the ocean and sky,
But to the toy before them
There are reuniting couples with distressless damsels,
Where he needs care
For miscompleted deeds of impression, so she heals
With her tender touch and sea watered hair
And from lower perches still, tiny and small
Gods can see the result
Of all the work put into creating clear water
And the art of droplets
Closer still, beyond the fantastic space and view
Is the cast aside reality
Or three small children pretending to have the power of Gods
Because they lack any