#WEP #JUNECHALLENGE - Close Encounters of the Third Kind. My #flashfiction, Gone in 60 Seconds

 Hi! Welcome to the June WEP challenge, Close Encounters of the Third Kind using the sci-fi movie as the prompt. 

I'm sharing a nail biter I wrote in 2010 and have never shared on my blog. I think it encapsulates a close encounter. I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think in the comments.

            

 Gone in 60 Seconds

 

I panic.

Forget everything I’ve been taught.

Okay, 60 seconds of free falling has been sweet, but now the parachute is supposed to take up the slack, but guess what? Yep. Just my luck. The shanky thing gets itself stuck and here I go, free falling, free screaming, heading for the ground at a great rate of knots.

Tug! Tug! Tug!

It’s stuck all right! I lose all hope of hearing that thunderous whoosh, seeing that gentle puff of parachute silk billowing above me. Nah, this time it’s just me, the sky and that old enemy, gravity. I’m no longer floating. I’m dropping towards the ground like a lead ball, faster, faster. I force my eyes open again and try to reason with myself. I probably have another 60 seconds before impact.

Think! Think! Think!

 I manoeuvre my body back into the arch position which isn’t easy when my limbs are stiff with terror. In training I’ve been shown how you can direct your flight in free fall, so with a great deal of effort I pull my arms slightly back at the shoulders and straighten my legs as I’ve been taught. My heart begins to thump again. The adrenalin rushes through me.

I know what to do and I do it.

I move backwards by extending my arms and bending my knees like I’m trying to touch the back of my head with my heels. From this position I can make a left or right turn by twisting my upper body slightly. You might be wondering why I’m bothering but I’d been told in training for my solo jump that you can survive a free fall from up to 50,000 feet if you stay in control and hey, I’m only at 11,000 feet so I must be in with a chance, don’t you think? A survival float, they call it. Choose your drop zone. I know I’ll have a better chance of survival if I land on a nice soft spot. Or in deep water. Or even on a car or a rooftop. Anything but cement. God, not that…

 My tactics seem to be working. I have slowed my speed and am heading towards the beach. Of course I can’t hear the waves crashing or the seagulls calling or the surfers cursing when someone drops in—all I hear is the sound of wind screaming in my ears and my desperate prayers ‘…help me, help me, oh God, oh Godddd...’ About 30 seconds to go.

You know how they say your life flashes before you as you drown, well, I’m drowning in wind and extreme velocity. My life is flashing before me like a flickering movie in fast forward.

I see my children, their trusting baby faces. I see my daughter’s triumphant smile smeared with my bright red lipstick. I see my son’s joyous high five when he won his soccer game. I flash on their birthday parties and am sorry I won’t be there to share any more. Nor will they share mine. Today they’ll be waiting for me to come home from ‘Mummy’s air jump all by herself’ so they can yell ‘Surprise! Clever Mummy!’ I see my husband, his face white with shock when I told him I intend to go solo for my thirtieth. ‘That’s far too dangerous!’ he’d yelled. ‘For God’s sake, you have children. You can’t keep jumping out of planes! You’ll be sorry!’

I’m sorry now. I wasn’t then. The one time I’d been determined to do something just for myself, look what happens! Any moment now. Yikes, here comes the ground, faster, faster.

I’m aware of the beach flashing by. It always lifts my spirits, gives me strength.

I won’t make it. The waves, too far away, in and out, in and out, the rhythm of life. Ah, life. Relax! Relax! More chance if you relax! Bend your knees! Aim for that soft, billowy sand just ahead. Dip shoulder to the left, get ready for impact. Drop zone. Drop zone. Sand dune. Yes! Careening towards me-colours blending-whirling-blue-green-sandy-use balls of feet-point toes-swish-thwomp-roll-bounce-cover head-arms-close-to-ears-use elbows-to-protect-head-hold-tight-grassy-knoll-coming-thump-thump-thump-that hurt-ooh-ah-blessed blackness…

 ‘Hey! Over here! Quick! She’s alive! Call Emergency!’

©Denise Covey 2010 – Fast Fiction – Gone in 60 seconds

 

WORDS: 705

FCA

Please click on the list in my sidebar for more entries in our June writing contest. A win could get you published in WEP's 2023 Anthology.

WEP's next challenge is going to be beautiful! Based on the movie Chocolat. Please join us for this sensory feast!

#IWSG June 2023 - ...if I could no longer write.

 "You are hereby sentenced to ten years' hard labor."

My fingers clenched into my palms. My heart hammered in my ears. What did 'hard labor' mean? Would I be roused from my bed each morning at dawn in the freezing snow and chain-marched to a field to smash rocks?

"Your imprisonment will be a warning to all those who hold seditious thoughts, who write seditious thoughts. Activists like you will be silenced."

Yes, silenced so dictators like you can wreak havoc on my beloved country, with no oppositional voices heard.

"Every book you  have written, every placard that bears your name, every podcast, every social media post will be eradicated in this political purge. Every dollar you have made from your heinous words will be taken from you as the spoils of crime. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Nothing," What was the point? Anything I said would be twisted and turned against me. 

"During your imprisonment you will have no access to pens, pencils, paper, iPad, laptop or any other writing paraphernalia. I repeat, your voice will be silenced. You will have ample time to think, to attend reinvention classes and change your ways."

The judge's vicious words flowed over me. I was already in my head, imagining what I would uncover in ten years and write about, exposing this dictator and his henchmen to the world. They could take away what they saw as my 'writing paraphernalia' but they could never take away the most important, the thoughts in my head. 

•.¸¸.•´¨* •.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`•.¸¸.•´¨* •.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`•.¸¸.•´¨* •.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`

Thanks for visiting for the IWSG. Please click HERE to read more entries.

The awesome co-hosts for the June 7 posting of the IWSG are Patrcia Josephine, Diedre Knight, Olga Godim, J. Lenni Dorner, and Cathrina Constantine!

  Be sure to visit the
Insecure Writer’s Support Group Website!!!

And while you're here at mine, please consider yourself invited to write for the WEP June challenge. DETAILS HERE on June 1.

Do anything you like with the movie challenge, Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Ideas HERE. Guidelines only.

#guestpost - May 10 - #SupernaturalCreatures in Literature - L Diane Wolfe

Welcome!

Those of you who know me know I love my supernatural creatures, especially vampires. Today, L Diane Wolfe is going to educate us on supernatural creatures. People in times past and in the modern age, really do believe in these supernatural creatures and love to read about them. Exotic creatures such as the leviathan/behemoth, cockatrice, dragons, unicorns, satyrs, demons and others appear in the Bible, in books written by Job (the oldest in Scripture), Moses, King David, Isaiah, Ezekiel, and even the apostle John mention them! 

Supernatural Creatures in Literature

 Denise asked me to cover supernatural creatures. You would be really surprised how many are out there. If you’re writing a supernatural tale, the sky really is the limit.

 

If you go to the Mythical Creatures Guide (http://mythicalcreaturesguide.com/list-of-mythical-creatures) you will be stunned. I had no idea there were so many! Everything from mermaids to dragons. Many of the Greek monsters were on the list, too.

 

According to Collins Dictionary (https://www.collinsdictionary.com/us/dictionary/english/supernatural-creature) :

Supernatural creatures, forces, and events are believed by some people to exist or happen, although they are impossible according to scientific laws.

 

So, they can’t be proven, but people still believe. Or want to believe.

 

Technically, only two of my supernatural creatures are on any of those lists. But I can explain why the other two qualify.

 

The first book in the In Darkness series was The Vampire. Now, vampires are certainly a supernatural creature. The idea of vampirism has existed for centuries. The word itself first appeared in Europe around 1732. An eternal creature that feeds on blood has since cemented its place in our folklore.

 

The third book is The Werewolf, another supernatural being. Werewolves can be traced back almost 2000 years ago.  Those inflicted with lycanthropy can shapeshift into a wolf. Lycanthrope is an ancient Greek term, and it’s amazing how many words in various languages are related to werewolf.

 

Now, the second book, which was just released, is The Shark. There is no shark listed as a mythical or supernatural being. The closest is the Kraken. However, I made my shark a bit supernatural by giving him the gift of speech. Yes, Clarence the great white shark  from Australia can talk! There aren’t too many talking fish unless you count The Incredible Mr. Limpet or Jabberjaw.

 

The fourth book will be The Alien. While they can’t be proved, they don’t exactly fall under supernatural or paranormal. More science fiction. However, I came up with a way to make my alien more paranormal. A unique ability that can’t be proven by science. Which makes it paranormal.

 

I hope I’ve given you some ideas for other supernatural creatures and the resources to build them. And remember—any creature can be supernatural with the right touches.

A professional speaker and author, L. Diane Wolfe conducts seminars, offers book formatting, and author consultation. She’s the senior editor at Dancing Lemur Press, L.L.C. and contributes to the Insecure Writer’s Support Group.

http://www.spunkonastick.net/ - Spunk On A Stick
http://www.circleoffriendsbooks.blogspot.com - Spunk On A Stick’s Tips
http://www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com/ - Insecure Writer’s Support Group

 

 

In Darkness: The Shark

By L. Diane Wolfe

Souls shrouded in darkness…

Focused on her studies and duties at the aquarium, Jewels prefers her solitary life. Burned many times and short on trust, she has more in common with her aquatic friends than the people around her. But she never imagined coming face to face with a shark named Clarence…a shark who talks!

As their friendship grows, Jewels must overcome her deep set mistrust. There are dangers, both in the Australian ocean and on dry land. Can Jewels depend on the great white or will his animal nature betray her?

Romance/Paranormal - Fantasy/Paranormal - Fantasy/Romance
eBook ISBN 9781939844910 $3.99

Buy Links:
Amazon - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BKTLKMG4
iTunes - https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6444053123
Barnes & Noble - https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/2940165956393
Kobo - https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/Search?Query=9781939844910
Scribed - https://www.scribd.com/search?query=9781939844910&language=0
Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/63208820-in-darkness

 

BLOG TOUR STOPS

May 3

Lynda Young

https://lyndaryoung.blogspot.com/

IWSG Anthologies

http://iwsganthologies.blogspot.com/2023/05/rapid-release-of-series.html

May 5

Australian Romance Readers

http://www.australianromancereaders.com.au/

 

May 7

I Smell Sheep

http://www.ismellsheep.com/search/label/Policies

 

May 8

Alex J. Cavanaugh

https://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/

 

May 9

Tyrean Martinson

http://tyreanswritingspot.blogspot.com/

 

May 10

Denise Covey

https://dencovey.blogspot.com/

May 12

Elizabeth Seckman

http://eseckman.blogspot.com/

 

May 15

Jemi Fraser

https://jemifraser.blogspot.com/

#IWSG post - #Found #manuscript inspires me!

____________________________

A QUICK NOTE FOR BLOGSPOT BLOGGERS INTERESTED IN THE COMMENT DEBACLE WHICH MAY HIT A BLOG NEAR YOU.

____________________________

If you're not the patient type, stop reading and keep on using pop-up. 

Many blogspot blogs have had problems with replying to comments due to some Google messing around months ago and the only fix was to return to the old pop-up type comment where you have to do a roll-call of replies in several sessions - ugh - hate that. 

MY FIX:

- Go to Settings and change back to 'embedded' comments.

- To Reply individually to comments, hover over 'Reply'. It will be live, but not quite - wait for the cursor to show the 'hand'. 

- In a little while (this is where patience is required) you'll sing a song of joy when the little 'hand' shows up. (I go read blogs while I wait for this miraculous event).

- Click on Reply again and you can then reply individually. Woo hoo!

(You can't hurry the process but it works!) For me anyway. Check my comments! Just thought I'd share something I've discovered.

Hello there! Welcome to the May 3 IWSG  posting. 

Love this badge!

Let’s rock the neurotic writing world!
Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.

The awesome co-hosts for the May 3 posting of the IWSG are Joylene Nowell Butler, Ronel Janse van Vuuren, Meka James, Diane Burton, Victoria Marie Lees, and M Louise Barbour!


Here's the May question. Remember, the question is optional!

May 3 question - When you are working on a story, what inspires you?

Well, this question should be easy to answer, but I found it difficult. Each story inspires in a different way. But I'll tell you something related. In 2013 I worked on a manuscript set in Fiji after spending 6 weeks housesitting for writer friend Nas Dean. 

Cover mocked up on Canva in 5 minutes.

After paying for a full manuscript assessment (and cringing at the results) I was given a romance writing mentor at the Romance Writers of Australia. It all got a bit too exhausting. I felt so insecure it was ridiculous. I couldn't even finish reading the comments from my ms assistants. Stop kidding yourself, Denise, you're no romance writer, I told myself. 

I didn't bin the story, but I left it wallowing on my computer - well, it got carried forward as I've bought 3 new laptops since then.

After telling a writer friend only recently that this manuscript was going nowhere, I was scrolling through my Kindle and by accident or design I started reading this story. Geez, I thought, this is pretty cool. Who wrote this? You guessed it, I was reading one of the iterations of my story I'd uploaded to Kindle years ago when I knew how to do that, LOL.

Long story short, I then hunted for the ms assessment and my mentor's Track Changes document. And voila! It wasn't as bad as I thought! 

I'm editing this baby while my cookery school novel settles. I'll publish both this year! Fijian Princess is my only ever pure romance - most of my work is women's fiction with romantic elements. The romance tropes are there - hero and heroine meet practically on the first page - told from both POVs - Romeo and Juliet story - happily ever after ending! So as soon as it's tidied up, it's off to a romance editor. Then we'll see ...

Feeling so insecure about my writing cost me ten years with this story! But it'll be much better with what I've learned since 2013!

- How about you? Ever come across an old manuscript and see some merit? 

Thanks for coming by! 

I'm heading off on a holiday, driving 1200 klm to North Queensland. I'll be by to comment when I can!

We at WEP are waiting for the winners to be chosen for Life is Beautiful. 

Next challenge in June -  COME WRITE FOR US!

#WEP #AprilChallenge - my #flashfiction - The Reunion (#fantasy)

____________________________

A QUICK NOTE FOR BLOGSPOT BLOGGERS INTERESTED IN THE COMMENT DEBACLE WHICH MAY HIT A BLOG NEAR YOU.

____________________________

If you're not the patient type, stop reading and keep on using pop-up. 

Many blogspot blogs have had problems with replying to comments due to some Google messing around months ago and the only fix was to return to the old pop-up type comment where you have to do a roll-call of replies in several sessions - ugh - hate that. 

MY FIX:

- Go to Settings and change back to 'embedded' comments.

- To Reply individually to comments, hover over 'Reply'. It will be live, but not quite - wait for the cursor to show the 'hand'. 

- In a little while (this is where patience is required) you'll sing a song of joy when the little 'hand' shows up. (I go read blogs while I wait for this miraculous event).

- Click on Reply again and you can then reply individually. Woo hoo!

(You can't hurry the process but it works!) For me anyway. Check my comments! Just thought I'd share something I've discovered.

Time to publish my #flashfiction for the WEP Life is Beautiful challenge. 

POST April 19 - 21

 Here I offer one of my few forays into #fantasy. Written many moons ago, I think it encapsulates the theme. 

Enjoy my story. Click on names in my sidebar to read more.

 

The Reunion

 

Charlotte scarcely remembered the long bus ride from Sydney through the rugged countryside, so focused was she on seeing Jack again.

 ‘We’re here.’ The driver pulled his lumbering vehicle to the side of the road. ‘You’re being met?’

 ‘Yes.’ Charlotte slashed her lips with the bright red shade Jack loved.

 Slinging her black tote over her shoulder, she walked carefully down the aisle and thanked the driver who helped her alight.

 ‘Are you sure about this?’ he asked. ‘People who wander into the Australian bush, often never wander out again.’

 Charlotte was the happiest she’d been for years. Her heart thumped in her ears when she said, ‘I’ll be fine.’

 The driver’s eyes roved the empty road. ‘No luggage then, love?’

 ‘Not this trip.’

 ‘There’s no one here to meet you.’

 ‘He’ll come.’

 ‘But who? The houses were bulldozed years ago.’

 Charlotte smiled, turned away, slipped a pill under her tongue. ‘Thanks for bringing me so far out of your way, young man.’ She handed him a tiny red rose from the posy she carried.

 He twirled the flower. ‘I’ll come back. One? Two hours?’

 ‘Thanks, but no. Be on your way now.’

 ‘I really don’t mind.’

 ‘It’s fine.’ Charlotte walked away, tugging her bright red coat around her shoulders. She was relieved when the bus’s engine ticked over. 

~*~

 It was hard going on a track that was no longer maintained, but she made it to Gulliriviere, the tiny settlement where she once lived with Jack and their friends. It’d been named by Irish ex-convicts who were used to plentiful rains in their home country. How flummoxed they were by a river that bore nothing but gravel year after bitter year.

 Leaving the abandoned shacks behind, further into the bush she trudged. Her steps slowed as she put distance between her and the desolation of the little street where houses were sacrificed for a lumber mill that was never built.

 Logging.

 Controversial even then.

 The ‘greenies’ had chained themselves to the trees and no one could budge them.

 As she passed by, the eucalyptus trees rustled their arms in salute.

 Home.

 But home had left. Only the scraggly beauty of nature remained. Where once their cabin stood smugly, framed by the white picket fence Jack built and the fragrant flowers she planted, there was … nothing.

 ‘Jack,’ she whispered, ‘there’s no clue we ever lived here … Oh … but I’m wrong. Look!’

Charlotte creaked to her knees in front of her tatty rose bush, surviving after all these years. She tugged out weedy grasses, revealed tiny closed buds, then inhaled the earthy smell. ‘Not everything’s gone, darling Jack.’ She lay the posy beside the rose bush, memories rushing through her head.

 She recalled her twenty-three-year old self following her love to his rough-hewn shack in the Outback, two hours’ drive to the nearest town and a light plane trip to Sydney. She loved the koalas who lived in the trees nearby, she loved the solitude and yes, she even loved the big red kangaroos who nibbled the green shoots in her garden, looking cheekily at her over their shoulders as they loped away.

 She’d set her easel amongst the trees and paint miniatue bush flora until the sun set on the faraway horizon. Her paintings would continue to hang in art galleries in Australia and the Musée du Quai Branly in Paris long after she was gone.

 Living in the bush had been good.

 Leaving it had not.

 After their cabin had been razed to the ground, they’d relocated to Byron Bay. Plenty of flora for her to paint, but Jack had to fly in/fly out to continue his work on the western Droughtmaster grazing property.

 ‘Hello, Madam Charlie,’ Jack would greet her at the airport. Tossing his duffle bag in the trunk, he’d hurry to the passenger door, wrench it open. ‘Come here,’ he’d growl, kissing her over and over much to the delight of the traffic inspector.

 Their only argument was over his retirement.

  ‘No, Charlotte, I won’t retire. I’m only sixty-five. Our experiment with the new Droughtmaster breed is ongoing. Perhaps when it’s done …’

 

~*~

 Midnight.

 Phone call.

 Frank Mangin, Jack’s co-worker.

 ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Sandilands ... Jack’s gone ... heart attack.’

 The bed caught her as she fell.

 ‘We were working in the study.’

 Garbled noises from her mouth.

 Clunk! The phone hit the floor; Frank yabbered on. 

 ‘Mrs Sandilands? I’m calling someone.’

 ‘No!’ No one could put her back together. 

 ‘Mrs Sandilands! Jack had a message for you. He said, and I wrote it down—um—When it’s time, tell Charlie to come to the shack.’

 ‘Are you sure?’

 ‘Yes. I know your home at Gulliriviere is long gone. But that’s the message.’

 ‘Thanks, Frank.'

 If Jack wanted her at the shack, to the shack she would go …

 

~*~

 Still kneeling at the rose bush in front of the shack’s foundations, she took the gold fob watch from its pouch and let it drop into her palm. She’d bought it years ago to give to Jack when he retired. It was a work of great artistry, with minute patterns painstakingly etched into every chain link. She read the inscription: 

To Jack, my wild Colonial Boy! Yours ever, Charlie. XX

 She brought it to her lips, kissed it.

 The first pain hit.

It's time.

 

~*~

 

The rose bush bloomed with blood-red roses. The fragrance enveloped her as it mingled with sweet summer smells.

 ‘Charlie!’

 With the sweet fragrance of roses whirling around her, she ran through the tall grasses, trailing her fingers over the white, silky flowers. He’d be waiting by the creek just ahead, beyond the grey houses.

 She hesitated at the stand of weeping willows, their lush tendrils like dishevelled hair as they caressed the surface of the water.

 Then she saw him—her Jack—running through the willows, pushing aside the graceful drapery. He hurried toward her—arms outstretched—welcoming her home.

 She beckoned her love.

They gazed into each other’s light-kissed eyes, marvelled at their sun-painted limbs, overjoyed at their reunion. He took the fob watch from her soft, smooth hand, then they strolled away hand in hand across the sparkling water, fading from sight in a gentle swirl of silvery mist.

 Life is beautiful, Charlotte mused.

TAGLINE – Life is beautiful, but death can be even better.

 

©DeniseCCovey2016

 WORDS: 1049

FCA

Be on the lookout for the June WEP challenge -