Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 2: Damnation in the Living World

This is the second in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing from 2nd December 2012 until the 1st December 2013. It’s intent is to keep me writing throughout the year, and not just in November. you can find out more about the challenge here.

Damnation in the Living World, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 3rd December 2012

Word count: 1,000

Theme: fantasy, sex, devil’s pact

Warning: Some relatively mild sexual content, and gore beyond the read more

The story:

In an inn, a huddled figure wrapped in a hood, drinking from a mug.

A well dressed noble entered the inn and looked around, and walked over to the huddled figure.

“You’ve caused me quite a bit of trouble,” the noble said, his voice was that of a snake’s hiss. “Might be, you can make up for your transgression, Raynard.”

The figure grunted, and suddenly found his mind flying backwards through his recent history, quite involuntarily.

Raynard Climes looked around blinking. He had been lying on the battle field amid a pile of soldiers, all dead or dying, his guts trying to escape from the gash across his belly, trying to hold them in, struggling to stay alive. Now he found himself stood up, on what he did not know, because it was just glowing red, all around. He was still holding his stomach though, he could see the blood still seeping.

“Ah, you poor dear,” a woman’s voice said.

Raynard turned behind him, looking for the voice, as he turned the red gave way to something more solid, a bedroom, the likes of which he had never seen before, a room fit for a noble. In the centre was an ornate four- poster bed, and equally ornate furniture.

Then his eyes focused on a lithe woman dressed in a gossamer gown that seemingly covered her modesty, yet offered tantalising views of the figure beneath.

“Won’t you sit?” she asked, nodding at a chair.

Continue reading

A poem very close to my heart…

This morning, I couldn’t sleep and went for a walk. Up the slanting street I went, and found myself by the field behind Osmondthorpe Lane, facing the bridge I’d climbed up after I came back from hospital, the night my Granddad died.

I wrote a poem for him after that, I’d intended on reading it at the funeral – I messed up though, it was the first funeral I’d ever been to, and I left it at home, and even though I’d practiced it, I didn’t dare stand up and read it, in case I spoiled it.

By no means is technically a great poem, but it’s a poem that means more to me than any other. Since I ended up at the bridge, and the memories and chain of thoughts led me to rekindle my blog, I thought it was fitting I put it out there once more.

One of the last great heroes has gone

One of the last great heroes has gone,
A warrior of sea and life,
Lost to us, but for memory,
And love in our hearts,
He will be there for us in the strife,
And always too when life is merry.

But on that sorrowed night I prayed,
Just for two minutes,
Two minutes, to say my love,
To share my heart,
He had given his all to life’s fight,
And from his body he flew, released like a dove.

I wish I could have said more in the time we had,
How much we all cared for the tailor,
I know, I hope,
With all my heart,
That we loved with out failure,
Only with that faith could I cope.

By Jonathan Lawrence, 5th April 2003