#SSC 6/ May 1st-May 7th


While there weren’t many participants in #SSC 4, there were quite a few votes. And the final tally has left us with a TIE! It’s the first tie ever for our Sunday Scribble Challenge, and I am proud to extend an invitations for a guest post or reblog to both of the established authors who won.

The prompt that week?


In a single paragraph, describe the turning point where your character must rise to a challenge instilling an emotional investment in the outcome within your reader.


Here’s a quick glimpse at our winners AND there great submissions!

Juliane2

Julianne Hildebrand Winter (J.H. Winter). Julianne is a fantasy writer geared toward Middle Grade and Young Adult readers, and the author of Ink and Stitches: The Writerly and Creative Life of J.H. Winter. She’s also a TWO TIME winner! Check out her guest blog, here, where she talks about finding the time to write in spite of every day life.


“I sat in the cool grass, beneath the cloaking shade of a willow tree. No doubt, they would all be searching for me by now. Expectations were high and I wasn’t sure I was the girl to bring about the change they were speaking of. I mean, who was I really? The daughter of a metalsmith? The one who preferred the company of a forge to the words of men? I wasn’t cut out for the business of marriage, let alone to someone I didn’t even know. When the prince had set eyes on me that day, though, his mind was set, and my future was set with it. I could run, but knew running would get me nowhere but alone. No. I stood up and felt the breeze of change tingle across my arms and through my elven, auburn hair. I would stand with him. I would see this land brought into a better age, for any good man is only as good as the woman who whispers into his ear at night.”


 

ElizabethOur SECOND winner is none other than: Elizabeth Burgess. Elizabeth is a fellow blogger, and the mastermind behind The Waiting Series AND the upcoming novel, Witch Dance, Book 1 of the Hopewell Coven. She lives in Northeast Louisiana’s farming country with her partner Terri, two Catahoula Curs, Bowie and Pike, and host of spoiled cats. Here’s Elizabeth’s winning entry:


“’Are you the same woman who confronted me in the middle of River City Medical Center? Are you that woman? Look deep inside, Ari,’ Millie interrupted. ‘When you opposed me about Sydney, you weren’t thinking about how you couldn’t do it… you were fighting for what you knew what right. That didn’t disappear. You’re a riser, Ari. You will not only survive, you will thrive. Believe in yourself.’
Arianne considered the words. How could Millie be so sure? How could she know? Looking down, she caught a glimpse of the crucifix resting next to her heart and found the answer herself. Faith.”


Thank you to both these outstanding writers for your great contributions to the prompt! You will be contacted shortly about a feature on Scribbles on Cocktail Napkins.


And now for THIS week’s prompt!!

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The Rules for this challenge? You have six days to ruminate if you need them. Post one submission to the prompt in the comment section below this post. DO NOT EMAIL YOUR SUBMISSIONS OR THEY WON’T BE COUNTED.

The deadline? Saturday, May 7th @noon Atlantic Daylight Time.
◾Encourage other Scribblers. Try to comment (reply) to at least three other submissions during the week.
◾After the deadline, VOTE for your favorite submission by emailing: Sundayscribblechallenge@gmail.com. Place the lucky author’s name in the HEADER of your email.

*Remember:

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These flash fiction challenges fuel creativity! They’re also a relatively painless pool for writers who’ve never posted their work to wet those feet, OR for established authors/bloggers to pick up a few new readers.

What are YOU waiting for? This week’s challenge wraps up Saturday. Unleash your writerly self.


Trolls will be escorted back to their bridge along with a flaming stick of dynamite.


 

65 thoughts on “#SSC 6/ May 1st-May 7th

  1. This challenge never ceases to be fun each week. While I think about my response for this week’s challenge entry, I wanted to thank those who voted. I am honored to share the win with Elizabeth Burgess! Congrats to you as well, Elizabeth!

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Thanks so much y’all! It’s an honor!! J.A., I love reading your blog and I’m thankful for all the work you do to help connect readers and writers. And Julianne, I’m a recent subscriber to Ink & Stitches and I’m enjoying your A to Z challenge. Happy to share this win with you too.

    Liked by 3 people

  3. Karen lay in bed, her body riddled with an unseen age. Though her frail form told a tale of a mere fifty years, her eyes had laid witness to hundreds. She had lived countless lives, and taken part in countless more. She lived, but growing old; an arduous task, for as long as the house she inhabited still stood, her age would stand to match. She was tired of faking her death, tired of hurting those she allowed to get close, tired of making widowers.
    “Yes,” Karen croaked into the phone, “I am sure.”
    The voice coming from the other end was static and confused. “Karen, I hear what you’re saying, but you have to understand.” There was a breaths pause. “What you’re asking me to do is ludicrous. I can’t just send my guys out to tear down your house with everything in it.”
    “Do you love me Paul,” Karen asked softly, her eyes locked to the fading wallpaper across the room from her.
    “Of course I do Karen.”
    “Then please, help me.”
    Silence replied from the other end.
    “There are things that you could never understand, things about me that you wouldn’t.” She took a deep breath, shuddering on the exhale. “I need your help.”
    Karen’s son stayed quiet for a moment longer. “What about your things?” He paused. “Where are you going to stay?”
    “I have that arranged,” she replied, her eyes falling to her feet on the bed.
    A long exhale flowed through the line.
    “I’ll send the demo team tomorrow mom.”
    “Thank you Paul,” she replied, hanging up the phone and letting her eyes fall to the painting on the wall, one that had been given to her two centuries prior.
    * * *
    A week later one of the crew from Paul’s demolition company began shouting hysterically. He blasted out of the crumbled remnants of the three story Victorian estate. He ran up to Paul, his words lost in a jumbled train wreck of syllables.
    “What the hell is going on Jim?” Paul asked, pulling his hard hat of and wiping the dust from his forehead.
    “There’s a body!”
    “What!? The hell are you talking about?”
    The man turned and pointed.
    Paul slowly made his way into the dwindling pile of rubble past the two massive waste containers sitting behind the hulking backhoe. As he made his way carefully through the splintered wood and childhood memories he saw the edge of his mother’s bed sticking up through the carnage. He slowly approached and pulled a the thin plank of wood that was covering it back and froze. Lying in the bed was the corpse of a woman, dressed in the nightgown he had given his mom for Christmas that year. Beneath the dirty white cotton lay the long decomposed remains of a century year old corpse.

    Liked by 6 people

  4. He was an evil man. He knew that much. He couldn’t help himself.
    He smiled as he wiped the blood from the blade, kneeling next to his latest victim. She wasn’t dead yet and he cherished the last moments of another person’s life. He felt alive as they fight for survival, gurgling through their last breath.
    There was something strange about this one. She didn’t look frightened. She kept on looking at him as she bled out. He didn’t like it. Most of them close their eyes or start to panic when they realise they’re dying. Then she broke the silence and spoke in a clear voice: “I’m coming for you.”
    The words made his blood run cold and a chill ran down his spine.
    He got up and left her, tugged his coat against the sudden chill that filled the air. He left the ally, turned left into the empty street, trying to act normal. He quickened his pace. Something was amiss tonight. He turned the corner and immediately knew why.
    She was standing in front of him, clear as day, wearing the same blue jacket stained with her blood. She was pointing a finger at him and mouthed the words: “I’m coming for you.”
    He wanted to run but couldn’t. She was looking at something behind him. He found the courage and slowly turned around. He screamed when he saw seven of his victims standing there, staring at him. Then he ran.
    Four days later the land lady found his body with a self-inflicted gunshot to the head.
    “He acted very strange during the last couple of days. It was like he was scared of something.” she told the police.

    Liked by 5 people

  5. First time here, but here goes for my contribution to this week’s prompt:

    Claire leaned close enough she felt her mother’s last breath on her ear, “I lied to you, he didn’t die,” she said, “find him.” Claire gasped and stumbled back away from the bed and out of the room. Unable to breathe she stumbled toward the exit before crumpling in the stairway. She said he. Somewhere Claire had a son.

    @sheilamgood at Cow Pasture Chronicles

    Liked by 6 people

  6. “They are still among us…” another coughing fit overcame my mother as she lay back against the pillows of her deathbed. Her chest wheezed as she struggled, gulping for the air that she couldn’t grasp.

    “What are, Mom? What are you talking about?” This was the first I’d heard of such things. She opened her mouth to continue, but instead of words, her last lungful of oxygen left her body and with it my unanswered questions.

    I lay my head against her hand and wept for the mother I had barely known. A sound, as a rock falling on wood flooring sounded to my right. Looking into the room, there was nothing to see. As I turned back to grieve, a shudder ran down my spine.

    There was something here, I could feel it. Before the thought could leave my mind, the screech of a single talon ran down the inside of her closet.

    Liked by 5 people

  7. Pingback: I’m Batman and This is Why I Write | J. A. Allen

  8. “Finish it,” my father said as he breathed his last.
    I knew exactly what he meant.
    After giving myself a moment to grieve, I reached under his pillow and there I found it. It was his Baby Glock. The cold steel felt right in my hands.
    I left my father’s bedroom and went into his library where I found my brother going through his desk.
    “Is the old bird dead?”
    “Yes. And now you will pay for speeding it along.” I raised the gun.
    He started to stutter, “I…only..did…it…for…you…and…me.”
    I responded by pulling the trigger.
    He fell to the ground with a loud crash and as I approached him, he whimpered, “Please, sister, I…”
    I pulled the trigger one more time. I did not care about the consequences. I only cared about justice or maybe vengeance.

    Liked by 4 people

  9. The monitors and machines played their lullaby in hums and beeps as my mom lay sleeping. She would be only be 40 later this year, but I knew her time had come. Cancer sucks like that. Her eyes fluttered so I sat in the chair beside her bed and waited for her to wake. She smiled when she saw me. “Claire. You’re still here.”
    “I’m not leaving you, mom.”
    “What about your boyfriend?”
    “Craig? He knows where I am if he needs me. Besides he’s working overtime this week. ”
    “I’ve got something to tell you.”
    “It can wait, mom. You’re tired and need your rest.”
    “26 years ago I met this great man. We were young, only 14. But we thought we knew what love was.
    “I know this story, mom. You two fell in love. He got you pregnant then left. Nine months later I was born.”
    She smiled weakly at the memory. Then took a raggedy breath and continued, “I thought he was gone forever. He’s come back. I didn’t recognize him at first, but I’m sure it’s him.”
    “Who, mom?
    “Craig. Craig is your dad. Only he used to be called Henry.”
    I stood, my mouth agape, my voice speechless and I rubbed my very pregnant belly.
    My mom closed her eyes and sighed. The heart monitor stopped beeping and the ventilator stopped breathing.

    Liked by 4 people

  10. Mrs. Winters was dying. I knew it and she knew it. She was my favorite old person. For the last five years, I’ve taken care of her on my shift at the nursing home. The graveyard shift. When I first started this job everyone told me how difficult she was. She was mean and sharp-tongued. And she was. I just ignored her attitude. Anyone who had to spend their last years in a place like this deserved to be mean.

    This place was the worst of the worst. It’s where the state sends the poor and destitute. The ones that don’t have the money to pay for the little luxuries in life. Like good food and care. I work here because I’m poor too.The people who live here and I have that in common. We’re poor.

    In this year of 2060, it’s almost a crime to be poor. So I work here to try and ease some of the suffering of the aged. It’s not much but I try. After all, I will probably be here myself one day and I hope some young person will take care of me as I take care of my old people.

    Mrs. Winters grabs my hand and stops my wandering thoughts. She pulls me close and whispers in my ear.

    “It’s all yours now. I never had kids and I have no one left now. So, it’s yours now.”

    “What’s mine? I don’t understand.”

    “Talk to Mr. Reynolds. He’ll tell you.”

    With that last directive, I hear her breath rattle in her chest. The nothing. She’s gone. Now she will be at peace.

    I wipe a tear and step out the door to let the death crew know. It’s their job now.

    ******************************************

    I found the number for Mr. Reynolds and called him. Now I’m standing in front of his desk and I can’t believe what I am seeing. Mr. Reynolds was Mrs. Winters attorney. I thought they were just friends.

    When I came to his office this morning he handed me a sheet of paper. It was Mrs. Winters will. She left everything she owned to me. Everything.

    All one hundred million dollars worth.

    Liked by 4 people

  11. He gripped her hand. “You must lie, you must say I lived, or our cause will be lost.”

    Saoirse shuddered, but she agreed. She sat with him long after his hand grew cold in hers; banishing her grief somewhere it could not consume her. Some place he had never been her lover.

    At last she rose. She stepped out onto the balcony as a trusted few smuggled the body out of the castle. Below her the tents of the rebels sprawled across the landscape. Thousands of battle weary faces watched her every move.

    Saoirse pushed her fists into the air. “Fellow warriors! The queen’s assassins have failed! Our king lives!”

    Cheers flowed across the army and soon they took up their old battle chants again, hungry to fight. “Death to the false queen! Long live the king!”

    Liked by 2 people

    • Very nice, Jennifer.
      It seems like this lie might rally the troops into a victory.
      “She sat with him long after his hand grew cold in hers; banishing her grief somewhere it could not consume her. Some place he had never been her lover.”
      –I just love this part. Excellent job.
      Saoirse is a beautiful name. Is she a character from any of your other works, or an original?

      Liked by 2 people

      • Thank you for the encouraging words! I have long loved the name Saoirse (once I learned how to pronounce it, that is!). She was created for this challenge. I’d like to use her again, I enjoyed writing her tiny story quite a bit.

        Like

        • It took me forever to figure out how to say that name too. It is a beautiful name though once you get it straight 🙂 I loved your story! They can find out after the war is done that he’s dead. For now, the battle continues!

          Like

  12. Her heart felt heavy. It was too long. She had waited for too long to visit him again. He was only a shadow of himself. His eyes were still crystal blue, in a way they still seemed sharp. Everyone told her that he was “gone”, that his mind was somewhere deep inside of him, not able to be reached anymore. Dementia’s a bitch.
    But somehow she didn’t believe them. Somehow she felt his presence. And she couldn’t understand that they wanted her to leave again only minutes after she arrived. She didn’t understand why her step-mom started talking to him whenever he tried to mumble something. She had to see him without the others around.
    Now was the time. She had told the receptionist that she had left something in his room and was granted access. After all she was his daughter.
    It was getting dark outside, her step-mom sure she was on her way back to the airport. His hands were cold, the color of his skin not the way it was supposed to be. They had told her he would not react anymore. And yet he was squeezing her hand and she thought that there was smile on his face.
    Gently she caressed his forehead.
    “I’m so sorry it took me so long to come see you. So sorry! So many things I would love you to know. Most importantly how much I love you!” Was it her or did he blink with his eyes while again smiling?
    “Can you hear me?” Again he blinked.
    “You can! Do you know who I am?” He blinked again!
    “You can’t talk though?” He blinked again and the smile disappeared.
    “I’m wish I could help you! I hate what this disease does to you!” She didn’t want to say it out loud, it just slipped out. He looked at her in a very weird way. Suddenly there was a thought coming up, almost like a dark realization.
    “It’s not the disease! You are not as sick!” Again he blinked.
    “Is it her?” He blinked again, his eyes wide open for a moment.
    “Is she poisoning you?”
    Just in that moment the door opened and the step-mom stood there.
    “What are you doing here?”
    She looked back at her Dad, his eyes wide open, his hand cold and his soul gone forever.

    Liked by 3 people

  13. Pingback: #SSC 8/ May 16-22nd | J. A. Allen

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