The Unicorn Challenge.
A magical new weekly writing opportunity from her – Jenne Gray – and me.
Visit her blog every Friday to see the photo prompt, and post your amazing story in her comments section.
Or on your own blog, and stick the link down in her comments.
The rules are:
Maximum of 250 words.
Based on photo prompt.
That’s it.
To hear me read my story, just click here:
Death
I’m afraid, very afraid.
I’m in ‘The Royal’, a Glasgow hospital, awaiting a minor operation and gazing across the Necropolis, a vast cemetery where Charles Rennie Mackintosh and William Miller, creator of Wee Willie Winkie, are memorialised.
I’m agonising over a recurring dream, graphically set in a war zone.
In it I see a dead child.
In waking life I’ve seen more corpses than I can count; this one is different.
She’s maybe ten years old, her body wrecked by what I guess were heavy calibre bullets.
She has clearly been dead for some time, judging by the state of her flesh, or what remains of it.
Flies, bugs and beetles crawl in and out of her eyes, nose and mouth.
Chunks of her are missing.
None of this is what makes her different.
In this war-ravaged country there are thousands of dead children in various stages of decay.
In this town alone there are hundreds of them rotting in the streets.
In this building, once a children’s hospital, there are probably dozens, some barely identifiable as human.
There are three on the floor between where I stand, trembling, and her scrawny, broken little carcass.
She’s just one more dead child, face contorted into something resembling a smile.
And with, as I say, one significant difference.
She’s walking towards me.
Each time she reaches out her hand, I waken, terrified.
I know if she touches me, I’ll die.
Now I’m about to be anaesthetised.
I’m afraid, very afraid.
really liked the pacing, steady enough to trick the Reader into not giving up… until too late
Thanks, Clark, the slow but steady build-up was quite tricky to accomplish.
Glad it worked enough to draw you in… until too late!
Good grief – that’s terrifying!! but awfully good though!
Thanks, Chris, it did get a bit ghastly, didn’t it!
This is one of the most horrendous things I’ve ever read at The Uni.
I’m quite sure that sleep will not come easily to me tonight.
Bravo, CE, for creating a terrifying masterpiece.
Sorry, Nancy, and thank you for your kind words.
What can I say? So often reality is the stuff of nightmares, in this case, sadly so.
Indeed, Keith, we do horror of war better than any previous generation.
Oh wow. What a nightmare, so like what we’re seeing on our tv news reports all too often. The feeling you’ve built here shows the horror, and then the ending to bring it closer to home. Maybe not just a dream.
As I said to Jenne, below, war is no longer just for soldiers, it’s for all the family.
Thanks for your time and comments, Margaret.
Wow! I can feel his fear. Good one!
Thanks, Tessa
Jeez, so am I!
For me, the dream setting at the beginning and end hold the story, fix it out of reality – well, for everybody except the Narrator!
But I wonder how many other ex-combatants actually do have such dreams
It’s a horrific story, but not any more horrific than the scandal of war which it describes so gruesomely well.
The most powerful line for me?
‘None of this is what makes her different.’
In a civilised world, that just should not be true.
Powerful tale.
Oh wow. I have goosebumps and I’m afraid too. I can feel his fear. What a great job on this story!
Thank you, Rosemary, goosebumps are cool!
Indeed, Jenne, advances in manufacturing and technology mean that we are now equal-opportunity butchers – soldier or civilian, man, woman or child, we don’t discriminate.
I agree that it shouldn’t be true, but we know it is, and getting worse.
Thank you for your thoughtful comments.