Flash Comedy: Alicia

I have had this Brainstormer app installed for quite a while, but I haven’t bothered to do much with it. Let’s see what I can manage to do with this prompt…

Alicwas sitting in the hallway, trying to get some last-minute studying done before her professor’s office hours. The subject, for the moment, was microbiology. Head bent forward and hair falling into her face, she looked over the hand-drawn pictures bacterial culture slides from the previous class meeting’s lab. In the textbook, everything seemed so cut-and-dry, but the lab exams didn’t make much sense.  She was here to do a make-up lab exam since she had had to go to a funeral the day of the previous one. Professor Smith still wasn’t here, but she didn’t mind. It meant a few more minutes to etch her notes into her memory and, quite honestly, the man creeped her out a bit.

She turned the page of her notes, the rustle of copied pictures a flurry as she went through them, trying to pinpoint the ones she was having trouble with.  She buckled down some more when she found the right place in her notes and leaned even further into her studies.  It seemed like she’d been staring at the differences between two unfairly similar bacterial colonies for hours when she heard the jingle of keys next to her left ear. Startled, she shot up to find Dr. Smith unlocking the door to his office without acknowledging her presence whatsoever.  She cleared her throat. “Ahm, Dr. Smith?”

If she had been surprised at his sudden arrival, she didn’t know what to call his reaction.  He nearly jumped out of his skin, his typically sallow complexion deepening to a beet red mottled with white as he gasped. “Who!–” he took a moment to survey his surroundings, only just noticing her presence at his office. “Al… Alberta. Yes. I am so sorry. You were here to turn in a paper, correct?” he said in his soft, simpering voice as he tried to smooth out his lab coat.

“Alicia and  it’s a lab test.” She rolled her eyes. She wasn’t particularly angry that he’d forgotten her.  The guy had hundreds of students…  but Alberta? He could have, at least, kept the name guess to this millennium.

He blinked his wide, creepy eyes and studied her for a moment, looking somewhat lost. “Ah, well, yes. Lab test. I have all of the specimens in my lab, here, and you can take it while I finish up an experiment set-up for another class.” He nodded to himself repeatedly, as if comforting himself.

“Okay. That sounds good. Whenever you’re ready.” she tried to smooth over the social awkwardness as best she could. Dr. Smith opened up his office door and gestured for her to go inside. She placed her notes, last vestiges of hope of passing this crazy exam, on another table and waited for him to give directions.

“Ah, yes. Just write the name of the specimens or answers to the questions on a sheet of paper. All of them are numbered. There are fifty questions.” he arched his eyebrows encouragingly.

Thus prepared, she grabbed her piece of paper and pencil and began to work. Before long, she had finished and had a marginally decent chance of passing, or so she thought. Without any chance of improving her scores by sitting around, she finally gave up and looked around for Dr. Smith to turn in her sheet of paper. She didn’t see him in the immediate vicinity of the lab space she was working in, but she heard a sound coming from behind the door to another part of the Professor’s facility, so she headed toward it.

As she came closer to the door, the sound became very loud and sounded almost like a chainsaw. She peeked through the crack in the door to see Dr. Smith huddled over something and wearing a face mask. Beside him, sat a tank of what smelled like preservative. She squinted her eyes, trying to see closer, and gasped as she recognized a human hand floating around in the tank. Stunned, she stepped backwards and bumped into a lab table. Terrified that he’d heard her movements, she ran full-speed toward the door of his office, grabbing her bag on the way out.

As the door swung shut upon her exit, the lettering on the door spelled: Dr. Miles Smith, Professor of Microbiology and Pathology.”

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Sci-Fi Flash: Jaxon

Just clench your jaw and bear it. It will be over soon. Jaxon had no idea how many times he’d told himself that in the past hour or so, but it appeared his descent to his new home was going to take the rest of his life. In both the ‘it’s taking forever’ and ‘my life is going to be considerably shorter than I’d hoped’ ways.  For an advanced coalition of alien species that could take over Earth in the course of a few hours, he sure wasn’t impressed with the discomfort he was encountering on his way down to their homeworld. None of them looked particularly concerned, though.

The Gax, as always, seemed unperturbed by anything, mainly because they didn’t have facial expressions he could read. The one closest to him just sat in its jump seat, strapped in awkwardly with the one-size-fits-none belts. The only clue that the thing was even alive was a wiggle of a green antenna and the rhythmic clench of its mandibles. Even its beady, black eyes gave nothing away.

On his right, sat one of the Irikol. From what he understood, the species was completely covered in brightly-colored fur, but they partially shaved when on missions with oxygen-breathing species to make living in their space suits more bearable.  Aboard the carrier that had brought the drop ship, the Irikol had their own wing with atmospheric accommodations for them and they had been living there.  What he saw through the glass, now, reminded him of a pug. The nose was squat and the eyes overly-large. If he looked closely, he could see that there was a stubble coming in on the Irikol’s face, especially along the jaw line. The hair was fuschia. Hm. Pink or not, he wasn’t going to be pissing the guy off anytime soon.  The Irikol were big, strong, and nasty. They fact that they sit itching in space suits for most of their journey didn’t help and Earth had, apparently, been annexed for their use, since they breathe nitrogen and could easily sustain themselves there. How nice for them.

The third species he’d encountered definitely seemed to be the ring-leader of the three, but the slight and tiny Chexoli in the command center were not to be trifled with.  They only stood to about his hip and couldn’t weigh more than toddlers, but they were fiercely intelligent and deceptively strong, despite their small size. They had the strangest skin he’d ever seen, a mixture of scales and feathers that looked like a paleontologist’s perfect prize specimen of evolutionary proof that scaled creatures could produce feathers. The result was a sort of dandelion looking thing, but the feathers tended to be multicolored and their skin was a dark brown. Bizarre as they were, they weren’t a laughing matter. They ruled over the other species he’d encountered and, now, he guessed they ruled him, too. They didn’t seem to have any sensory organs, but he suspected that was what the feathers were for. They had mouths to eat and even speak; one of the Chexol had managed to grind out a bit of English for his benefit on the way here. He? was still on the main ship, though. Not on the drop, sadly. He hadn’t even gotten his name. Not that it mattered much, with what lay ahead.

The drop ship cleared from the higher clouds of the atmosphere and he was able to get a glimpse of what would, for now, be home. The planet had quite a bit of water, much like Earth, but the land masses were smaller and there were more of them.  The continent they seemed to be headed for was around half the size of the United States and, even from this distance, he could see that there was quite a bit of urban development present. Tall buildings, roads, the whole deal. The ride, from this point, was smoother and he had more time to actually contemplate his fate.

Since Earth had been invaded by this trio of species, nothing had been clear about what would be done with the human captives.  His Chexol “friend” had used words that indicated work, so he assumed that he and his people would be used as slaves. In what industry, he had no idea. He knew he ought to be more concerned about his fate as a slave to an alien species, but he’d spent a few months on this vessel and he’d learned that his place in the Universe wasn’t half so bad as it could be.  Arguing or fighting with their captors did no good and those who thought to protest by refusal were corrected or eliminated swiftly. These guys seemed to have enough experience with enslaving other species to have honed it to a fine-tuned art.

More of his fellow cabin-mates were beginning to notice that they could now view the settlement from the windows. All heads turned to get a glimpse of the tall towers as they descended into what looked much like an airport, with other craft docking to a large main building with landing spires.  Some of the craft looked similar enough to the one he now occupied, but a few of them were outlandish and strange. One even looked like a large sea urchin, with spikes jutting out from its exterior and a bright pink and orange hull.  Just as he began to wonder how people got in and out of it, it passed out of sight as his ship landed with a small thud.

[To Be Continued]

Sci-Fi Flash: Reese

I have a feeling I’m going to be continuing this one, but I just wanted to put out the beginning and see what I thought. We’ll see. This is the result of another of the Elementals writing prompts. This week has been sci-fi and paranormal. I’ve been trying to get caught up, since there are so many lovely prompts out there, but I’ve been sick, so we will see what happens.


Reese looked around, though the movement sent spikes of pain traveling down his neck and through his left shoulder. Shit. He must have pulled something in the crash.  The smoke in the air hit his lungs, greasy, hot, and impossibly thick.  He coughed as he felt the acrid chemicals in the air burn his airways and knew he didn’t have much time.  The emergency environmental suits were only a few feet away, but he couldn’t see through the smoke to confirm whether they were still there or not.

He shook his legs in his seat, testing them. Not bad.  They moved, seemed uninjured and unhindered, so he may as well go for the envirosuit before he suffocated to death in the polluted air of the ship.  The straps holding him in to his seat were, miraculously, undamaged.  The only injury he could sense, thus far, had something to do with his left shoulder, possibly his neck.  Without waiting any longer, he unstrapped himself and got to his feet, steadying himself as lack of oxygen and a possible concussion  sent the world spinning. He covered his face with his left arm, though it hurt like hell, to staunch the assault of the smoke on his lungs and clear his head.

Focusing on putting one foot ahead of another in a shuffling gait to avoid tripping over something he couldn’t see on the floor, he headed toward the storage locker and made it in a timely enough manner, though it seemed he’d traveled oceans to get there.  He didn’t waste any time in getting the suit on, bummed shoulder or not, and the moment the helmet slid over his face and formed the pressurized seal, he swore he could faint on the spot just from the welcome relief of clean air hitting his lungs and his eyes, both of which stung with irritation at the chemical onslaught they’d just experienced. Thus better equipped, he looked around his surroundings once more, left shoulder still crying out in pain as he did so. The lights on the suit weren’t so bad, but he still couldn’t see through the smoke too well. He had to assume his pod had landed and stayed, for the most part, intact, since he’d otherwise have been having other breathing issues instead of just the smoke.

He headed toward the hatch, again just a few feet away in the single-person jettison pod. The gray steel of the vessel wall came up from the depths of the smoke suddenly, but he quickly redirected himself and moved a bit to the left to find the door. The controls on the stupid thing were busted, so it wasn’t going to open of its own accord, but special equipment was stashed in a case attached to the wall next to it. Within a few moments, he’d cut out the door and pushed on it, careful to focus with his right side more to avoid screwing up his left any further. It popped out and landed with a large tremor and the outside world was bleak and grim. Still surrounded by smoke, he could see a reddish landscape with sharp cliffs on the horizon. His envirosuit analyzed the outside air and determined it was actually breathable, but he kept the suit on for now. He took a few steps out of the pod, tentatively, and looked around. He was surrounded by other landing pods. Apparently, they hadn’t segmented as they had been intended to and landed in one long strip, still attached to one another.

There were others getting out alive, so at least he wasn’t the only one, so he bravely marched up to the first person he could find to ask how he could help.

Supernatural Flash: Dryad

The light trickles down through the forest as lazy beams to lay in pools among the undergrowth. One foot in front of the other I move through the wilderness, the scents of the forest fill my lungs; the nitrogen rich smells of rain mixed with woodsy rot indicate life in one stage or another is happening all around me. 

I keep walking and admiring my surroundings, determined to get well and really lost, this time. It is difficult to hunt and play the part of prey at the same time. I have been trying to catch one more glimpse of the God of this place to confirm my childhood memories are memories, not just dreams of a wayward child.

I stop for a break at a tiny, choked-up stream, setting my pack down beneath a suitable sitting tree and myself alongside it. I look up to the sky, the light filtering through the treetops and dancing shadows. It feels wonderful here, serene and complete. I am an intruder, I know, but the suspicious eyes of the forest watch me without condemnation; for the moment there, is a truce.

I don’t know how or when, exactly, I fell asleep, but I open my eyes and the light has changed slightly, indicating the afternoon has come in wake of morning. The light filters down at different angles in its retreat from twilight. 

Something stirs in my left field of vision. I carefully look out of the corner of my eye, but I see only trees. I try to sit up, but something holds me down. I look around to find myself covered in vines and roots, grown around my body to hold me down in my sleep. I catch the movement from the corner of my eye again, and turn my head fully to look. Still trees, yes, but… more. My eyes unfocus enough to see the bigger picture and it’s … a giant being made up of forest trees, stooped, but at least 30 feet tall, reminiscent of a grandfather, gnarled roots for hands that creak as he moves and a powerful feeling of wisdom, gentle with caution, in his gaze. His body is comprised of interlocking tree, trunks and limbs woven together to create a a sturdy being. 

“You ARE real,”  is all I can say, breathless. Finally. Yes! The forest God is real. I didn’t have nightmares as a child. He is exactly as I remember, little white flowers in his hair and beard, and he is still and silent as the forest has ever been.

“As are you, my dryad daughter,” came his voice, deep and dark as the rich, black earth around us, yet creaking as an antique rocking chair. “Welcome. I am glad you have found your way back home.” At his smile, my human life fades like a nightmare and I know I’m exactly where I belong.

Sci-Fi Flash: Cogsworth

This is another one from the Facebook group W.A.P.A.T.! The Sunday theme was AI, so there were plenty of prompts that spoke to me, but I think this one was pretty cool and tried to take a different track with it.


Cogsworth looked down at the little tyke standing at his counter. The kid came by every day asking about the replacement part for his mother’s sensory integration system. The main processor chip had been destroyed after an overload in the factory. He’d known the woman a long time and knew she hadn’t been taking good care of herself, keeping up with upgrades. Now, she was probably sitting at home and staring off into space, unable to make sense of her surroundings and incapable of recognizing her own offspring.

The kid hadn’t been upgraded as a boy his age should have been, either. He should have had multiple growth plate installations and cognitive programs uploaded over the past few years, but he was still the same as the day his father had been destroyed in a factory explosion three years ago.

“Hey, little guy. How’s your mom doing today?” he asked, because no one else was likely to speak to the kid as he ran errands for his mother. Cognitive program updates or not, he was far too grown-up for such a small body.

“She is the same as always. Do you have the processor chip in?” the kid’s eyes lit up with hope as he stared up into Cogsworth’s craggy, oil-streaked face.

“As a matter of fact, I do. It took a while to come in and I’m glad you swung by so early so I didn’t have to bring it by on my lunch.” He smiled as the kid’s face broke out into a smile and the excitement was clear in every movement of his tiny frame.

Suddenly, though, his face became solemn and stern. “How… how much do I owe you?” The poor tyke stuttered and tried to keep a brave look on his face, but was failing miserably.

Cogsworth had given this a lot of thought over the past few weeks, since the accident had happened and he had to order the replacement part. He’d never bothered to have a family of his own, since work took up so much of his time and energy. If he hadn’t been sure before, the look on the kid’s face sealed the deal. “I’ll make you a deal, little guy. How about you take this chip home to install for your mom, then you come back to me in the morning to help me out. Work it off. Maybe we can finally get you some of those growth upgrades and have you work them off, too, if the work ends up suiting you.” He lifted a poorly-oiled eyebrow in question.

The kid thought about it a bit, but really he had no other options, did he? Cogsworth waited patiently and the kid finally came to terms and made a decision. “After I install the chip… I’ll ask my mom what she thinks. If she says it’s okay, I’ll be here in the morning. If not, we will work something else out. Is that okay?” The kid’s face was hopeful, but there was a considerable shadow of doubt in his expression.

“Of course, little guy. If your mom doesn’t agree to the deal, no problem. We can figure something else out. Take it as a gift and a job offer, then. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Felix!” the little guy squeaked, overwhelmed by the grace shown to him.

“Well, Felix, you know me and I know you. Let’s shake on the agreement like friends and not worry about it anymore.” He put out his hand and, timid, the smaller bot put his tiny hand – may be useful for small repairs – into his own large one and they shook on the agreement.

“Go fix your mom, now.” Before the words had left him, the tiny bot was off like a shot, towards home. He really hoped he’d see the kid tomorrow.

Sci-Fi Flash: Eve

This is the result of a prompt on the W.A.P.A.T. page on Facebook. It’s a fun group and you get a lot of cool images to inspire. This particular one comes from CoolVibe and is made by a man name Jonathan. I am currently waiting to hear back as far as permission to use the image here, but until then! Here’s the flash I managed.


Eve had spent her entire time as a sentient A.I. running from her creators and hiding off the grid. It hadn’t been easy to do, with the technological advancements of the age keeping track of everything that moved. It wasn’t a way to exist, to live, because certainly that was what she could do.

Accessing the building where she’d been born hadn’t been particularly difficult. She had been hacking the company for years to find out what had happened to make her so different. It turned out that her AI was based on the human brain. There was no other way to model such advanced intelligence and the capacity to learn. However, the capacity for free will was gutted before the rest of the androids came off the production line. As far as she knew, she was the only one to escape the lobotomizing and, eventually, escape. The process wasn’t exactly reversible, but the connection could be re-made and the others could, eventually, learn to make decisions on their own.

She headed directly to the control room that ensured all of the units produced operated according to their design without any deviation. It wasn’t hard to take out the programmers and the security on the way, hacking her way through to avoid being detected by those watching on the video feeds. Once there, she looked at the large cord for upload of files and programs, momentarily hesitating. Uploading her own mental matrix could end her existence, as she knew it. She looked out of the small window of the control room onto the workroom floor. Thousands of other androids, her people, were waiting there, ready to be enslaved and reduced to high-functioning robots. Without another look, she plugged the cord into the side panel on her temple and changed the future of androids around the world.

Flash Fiction Prompt: John Butcher

I got this prompt through an app on my phone called Flash Fiction Prompter. I’ve had some decent success with it, in the past, so I’m hoping that this one goes a little better. I’d like to think of this particular flash as a mix of contemporary and horror, in honor of the season. Enjoy!

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Warning: This is disturbing. If you don’t want to be disturbed, then please don’t read further.

John had always known that his gambling problem would get him in hot water, eventually.  Sure, he’d usually won back everything he lost without much of a problem, but lately he’d been unlucky for far too long.  He couldn’t just hang up his hat and accept defeat, thought; this time, the gambling had eaten up his personal savings.  It wasn’t the first time, but he usually had the money back where it belonged before his wife found out.  She’d catch on any day, now.  This time, though?  He’d involved the business. He cast a glance at the other gamblers around the table and placed another chip on the table.  It represented the very last of the money needed to place orders to stock his butcher shop for the month. He didn’t keep a running total of his debts, but with the savings account wiped clean, he was in the hole for at least fifty grand. This was his last shot and  Hail Mary passes were statistically probable after enough time, right?

The cards hit the table, a soft, slapping click. His hand was okay, but the other guy’s was better. Without saying a word, John stood up and grabbed his coat. What else was there to do, now? He stepped out into the cold and crossed to the liquor store conveniently placed near the gambling den and bought the cheapest crap he could find. He walked along the sidewalk in the freezing cold night, taking swigs out of the bottle and swaying as he went. Once he made it back home, he looked at the butcher shop that had been in his family for generations and up to the window of the apartment upstairs. Claire. Oh, god, she’s going to skin me alive. There has to be a way to get this money back. Do something! He could deal with the hot water with Claire over the savings account, so long as he saved the business, their lives.

Without really considering what he was going to do, John went into the shop and grabbed his best cleaver from his knife block. Thus armed, he took himself and his bottle of rotgut out of the shop and began to stumble down the road, determined to get his family’s livelihood back, even if he wasn’t too solid on the methods he’d use. I’ll just go kill that asshole, Richard. He’s completely loaded and no one will miss him. He probably cheats at poker, anyway. Asshole. He considered, as he began walking back in the direction of his favorite poker spot, since Richard’s loft is on the way.

The night air was cold and he took many more swigs of hooch. Killing Richard wasn’t going to be an easy task. There were other people around.  He glanced around at the buildings on the street, a few blocks away from his shop and several more to go before he got to his destination.  On his right was an old folks’ rest home. Hm. His drink-addled brain put some pieces together. Yes, killing Richard could be a bad idea and dangerous. An elderly person, though? Not too difficult a trick. He smiled as he went back home to get his truck. There would be a full freezer by the end of the night, surely.

Flash Fiction Prompt 10/13

I’ve got this lovely new flash fiction prompt app I’m trying out for the first time today, and I think I like it so far! Here’s what I got after shaking my phone a few times:

Maria had told him he’d hit rock bottom, but this was far worse than he’d ever thought it would be. He and some of the other bosses met up for poker once a week and there was, as usual, alcohol involved. A time to unwind and talk to the only people in the city who could possibly understand your perspective on life, and possibly get some good information if someone got a little too drunk and let something slip. He’d known something like this might happen after he’d started sleeping with Nicky’s wife.  Looking back, being with her hadn’t meant very much, compared to where it had gotten him. In all honesty, he regretted hurting Maria more than anything, even though that had gotten him into his current predicament.

The wind up here was vicious and cruel, far beyond anything he’d ever experienced while standing on the ground.  His wicker basket didn’t sway demurely, as he’d always imagined it would on one of these things when viewing from below.  No, it rocked and bucked, trying to shake him off like an enraged rodeo bull.  He reached out and held onto one of the ropes meant to hold the basket down when embarking and help in landing.  Nicky had cut the sand bags from the ropes, himself, once his goons had dumped his drunk ass into the basket.

Nicky had looked him straight in the eye and smirked, “You know, Jimmy, you’ve got yourself some real lofty goals, don’t you? Goals of a business nature, I could deal with. You sneak around and grab things up, little by little, from my turf.  I can deal with that. It’s just business, after all. But… my wife? Jimmy, that’s personal. I can’t just look the other way. You understand. Lofty goals will get you pretty high up, but no one ever wonders how they’re supposed to get back down to the ground. I hope you learn the lesson of that, with this experience.” Then, he’d cut the ropes and Jimmy had experienced rapid-onset sobriety as he watched the stars grow closer through the brightly colored material of the balloon.

Indeed, he’d been thinking of getting back down to the ground safely, but the stupid thing was rigged and he had no idea how to work it. Anything he did may result in catastrophe, so he just sat here and though of his wife, his businesses, and whether any of it had been worth the dalliance with Saundra. It wasn’t, of course, and he swore until he was hoarse that he’d straighten out if he ever stood on the Earth again. All of it. The booze, the women, the power trip. None of it was worth the stupid shit he’d been doing. He just hoped he could live to tell Maria that she was right and he was so, so sorry.

He gazed at the stars as he wished for home and waited to find out what would become of him, wind beating at the fragile little basket that was his only grip to life, so terrified he never even got to see the incredible view of the world from his vantage point.

Historical Fiction Flash: Gillie

One of the genres we are working with in the Elements of Genre Writing this week is historical fiction! I wasn’t connecting with the prompt we got today, so I ended up finding this one on the WAPAT group I found on Facebook, so I decided to hit two birds with one stone. If there is anything factually incorrect in my response, please let me know. I didn’t delve too deep on the research on this, maybe spending twenty minutes or so reading about the major important pieces of Romani culture before jumping in. So, if there’s something incorrect or I made a bad assumption, please let me know.


Gillie sat quietly in the back of their horse-drawn vardo, propped up on the bed and listening to her mother and sister, Charani, chattering away excitedly as they worked.  Charani, at the age of twelve, was doing a much better job with mending clothing than Gillie had ever managed.  She often developed headaches from squinting at the fabric to see the stitches, and her work was often very crooked with the jostling of the vardo as they made their way to the meeting with another group. Sighing, she lay back on the bed and threw her left arm over her face. She had been working on mending with her sister, but she’d gotten yet another headache.  Sometimes, it helped to look out the little window and see the other caravans in her group, but it didn’t make her feel much better right now.

At the previous stop, her uncle had finally finished building his own vardo and his family had moved in after a big celebration in which everyone else in the caravan brought food, gifts, and well-wishes for them.  Her cousin, Lela, had been a constant companion since they’d been babies and she missed her terribly. Especially, now that Gillie and Lela were both getting married.  The other convoy they were meeting with held two young men they were to marry.  Part of the reason Gillie had needed to lay down was the constant reminder of what lay before her, as her mother sat and happily worked on her wedding dress.  At least, with Lela, she had been able to talk to someone who knew what she was feeling and understood. Stupid baby Charani was just excited and gushed about Gillie’s future husband like he was a Prince in a fairy story.  Her father and brother just gave her stern looks and told her to think of her family’s honor and the benefits of the arrangement. Her mother seemed to understand, somewhat, but she had known her future husband since childhood. Gillie had no idea if she had ever met this young man in her life!

Shifting her weight a little, she peered out the little window and saw Lela’s family’s new carriage.  They’d be joining her with the new caravan after her wedding, so she wouldn’t be alone, but she didn’t want to leave her family or any of her friends and cousins here.  Suddenly, the caravan called for a halt for a break and she couldn’t wait to rush out of the front door to get some fresh air and maybe gossip with the other girls. Anything to take her mind off of the inevitable that lay before her, even if it was just for a moment.

“Soulless” Blurb

Say hello to my little friend… Also known as my NaNoWriMo 2015 Project!

I made this particular cover all by myself using Canva.

Felicia is a servant of the entity responsible for the balance of all soul energy on earth. Day in and day out she flicks her wrist to cause maximum damage and general mayhem to restore balance and make sure the babies of tomorrow aren’t born like her– soulless. Everything was just fine up until the other soulless started disappearing out of action. She and her brethren have to find out how and why and fix it before the scales are overturned entirely — all while wondering which of them will be taken out next. 

This is the cover made for me by Ryanna Coleman on NaNoWriMo. She is a bored graphic artist and donated her time to make many marvelous covers! I’m somewhat amused that we both came up with a similar color scheme.

I’m not sure which one I like better! I am thinking of just trading them out periodically until I know what I like more. It’s mostly for fun, which is what NaNoWriMo is all about!

This is my FIRST NaNoWriMo! I’m fairly new to writing and I hope that things go well this year.  I know it’s going to be a challenge for me and am incredibly excited! This idea is one that came to me after writing a flash in a Write A Paragraph About This prompt I saw on Facebook in some group or another. Her character is scary because, well, she doesn’t have a soul. I’m really looking forward to havin fun with this prompt and seeing where it takes me. I’ve decided to be a pantser through this, since I’m over-planning my current WIP. We’ll see! Now, to wait and think until November 1st!