Mid-Week Blues-Buster Week 3.15

Welcome to the Mid-Week Blues-Buster Flash Fiction Challenge, Year 3, Week 15.

This is a flash fiction challenge. The prompt is a song. You are not required to write about or even mention the song. It’s there only to get the ideas moving around in your brain pan. If you want to write about the song (or the video- it’s all good here) go for it but don’t feel like you have to.

The rules;
500 words, but it’s a slushy 500, meaning you can go up to 700 or as low as 300.
Post your entry right in the comments section of this post.


The challenge starts whenever I post this on Tuesday and ends at MIDNIGHT PACIFIC TIME on Friday. You read that right. Pacific Time.


Because I forgot to post this last night, this week’s challenge will run through MIDNIGHT PACIFIC TIME on Saturday instead!

We’re going to pick it up a little with this week’s song prompt.

It’s back to the ’80s with… The Cult!

The tune is, “She Sells Sanctuary”. Here’s the link; https://youtu.be/8I8mWG6HlmU

This week’s Judge is… it’s still me. We got six entries last week, so we’re getting there…

The challenge opens the moment you read this post and for this week only runs through MIDNIGHT PACIFIC TIME on Saturday September 12th.

Now… Go write!!!!


Posted on September 8, 2015, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 5 Comments.

  1. @Harmony77uk
    word count: 532

    He smiled at me as he pulled up the car. “Are you ready to do this?”
    It took me awhile to realise that the question was serious. He was actually asking my opinion on what had been agreed by family and friends despite my own misgivings. They had called it an intervention. I just called it interference. So, I looked at him now with, what I hoped, was a cold hearted stare. “Do I have a choice?”
    He sighed and began to play with the leather bound steering wheel. “Darling, I just want you to be happy, and you have to admit, you are not happy at the moment.”
    “Well, no. I am being pushed into a therapy session against my will. What part of that is going to make me a happy person?” I did not stop glowering at him, even after he looked away to watch his own fingers picking at the leather. “I just fail to see how this is going to make everything better.”
    “Can you not just give it a go? For me?” He looked back at me then, and the usual sparkle in his eyes was present, although this time it indicated that there were tears behind them.
    I could never resist that look. I began to toy with the sleeve of my peach cardigan before I glanced quickly at the open door. Who knew just what awaited me inside? My suspicion was that they were going to pump me with drugs rather than try and work out the root of the problem. I was paranoid that everybody was looking at me, that they would even turned to look at me on the street, and this made me unwilling to leave the house very much at all. Staying in, in turn, was making me depressed. The world was just bringing me down.
    My husband took my silence as an agreement, and so he opened his car door and slid onto the road beyond. There was nothing left for me to do but watch as he walked around the car to open the door on my side.
    I looked up at him. “I’m scared,” I told him eventually.
    Roger put his hand onto my shoulder and squeezed the skin softly. “So am I. But, I am not so much afraid of what is going to happen today, more like I am worried about what will happen to you if we don’t get you some help.”
    “We all know you are against that, so we are not about to let that happen unless you actually ask. Today, you are just going to talk to her and make up your own mind. Apparently, she is the best at what she does.” He put his arm around me as he led me towards the imposing building.
    “I am not mad!” I cried out, as the familiar burning sensation tingled up my back indicating that somebody was looking my way.
    There was a warm chuckle beside me. “This is not the loony bin, and I am certainly not leaving you behind.”
    I walked to the reception desk to check in, hoping that inside these walls I would find some sanctuary.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Sanctuary

    He’d outrun the wolves, though not by much, and he’d made it to the cathedral, grey and black against the azure sky. Martin had been baptized in this cathedral once upon a time, and he’d heard stories of redemption and vengeance shouted throughout its close as long as he could remember. But the priests had been the first to leave when the wolves had come, followed by the police and the mayor. God had no place in a world with the wolves, and neither did man, it seemed.

    Martin had always been a loner, even as a kid, and he’d survived the wolves not by being faster or stronger, but because he was camping in the mountains when they came, and it took weeks for the wolves to move beyond the cities. Wolves were natural herders, though, and rather than hunting down stragglers one by one, Martin, and anyone else who’d been out on their own, had been forced to come back to the jetsam of civilization for their reckoning.

    Running from the wolves was an exercise in instinct and action, not thought. There wasn’t time to formulate plans or consider strategy. You just went where your gut told you to go as fast as you could. And Martin had come to the cathedral.

    The face on the Sanctuary knocker mocked Martin. It promised salvation, but how could salvation lie within when all the world was death? Snarling, the wolves closed in on him, cutting off all avenues for escape save through a massive wooden door that he couldn’t hope to move. He almost gave up, but the instinct to survive was strong, and pounding the knocker against the door at least didn’t feel like surrender.

    The wolves howled at the sound of the knocker and grinned at him when he began calling for sanctuary. But their howls turned to whines when the door swung open, allowing Martin to scramble inside.

    Transitioning from the afternoon sun to the gloom of the cathedral blinded Martin temporarily, and the only sound he could hear was his own rasping breath. Who had saved him? Who was left to even bother?

    As his vision returned, he saw the outline of a woman in front of him, indistinct and hazy in the light refracted by the ancient stained-glass windows. She moved without a sound towards him, her legs motionless, and he screamed when she floated through a railing.

    Now he could hear her, a polyphonic laugh which rang through the cathedral without joy. And as she drew closer to him, he realized he could smell her as well, a mixture of cloves and rotten meat. The wooden door was as solid behind his back as it had loomed in front of him while trying to escape from the wolves, and Martin wept. But only for a time. When the damned give you sanctuary, you no longer have a need for tears.

    486 words


  3. To Love a Warrior Woman

    Five years.

    Five years of fighting for our people.

    Five years of learning how to fight next to a warrior woman out of legend.

    I thought I knew what I was doing when I chose her, when she chose me. I thought I knew what courage was when I held out my hand to her. But I had no idea. Courage is measured by the depth of your fear and the quantity of possible loss. I have now learned what is required for true courage.

    She smiles at me over our cooking pot and once again I am renewed by the sparkle of love in her eyes.

    “Jeresh, what on earth are you thinking about? You have the oddest look on your face.”

    “My face always looks odd Mari. You can’t have this many face tattoos and not look odd.” I proceed to cross my eyes at her. She laughs which was my goal.

    “No one believes me when I tell them you are silly.”

    “Of course they don’t believe you. I am not silly. I am a fierce, relentless warrior who is serious and constantly considering important issues and strategies for conquering our enemies.”

    I rise to gather our eating gear and promptly shake my rear end at her. She howls with laughter. I hide my grin.

    She leaps onto my back, managing to tangle my legs so that we both go down onto our still folded up tent. The horses nicker but are not truly disturbed. This is not an uncommon occurrence in our camp. She is trying to tickle me but I manage to rise to my knees and get my fingers into her ribs first. She squeals with laughter and tries to jump off but I have a hold of one of her wrists and swing her around in front of me. Her eyes, my god her beautiful dancing gold and green eyes. I perform a mock body slam, pinning her under me but I only have one hand pinned and she manages to get her wicked fingers to my ticklish spot and I jump, laughter roaring out of me. She manages to flip me over onto my back and pins both my hands over my head. We are both grinning and in a split second it all shifts from silly fun to the heat of passion.

    She grabs my face in her hands and kisses me so deeply it leaves me breathless, I pull her strong lean body to me and once again marvel at how perfectly we fit together. Our love making is always a mixture of tenderness and rough demand. We are warriors no matter what we are doing. It is one of the many reasons we are so well matched. I don’t really know how I lived before Mari chose me.

    Being loved by her, and loving her, is my greatest challenge. It requires more of me than I ever could have imagined.

    Every time she wades into battle with those evil wraiths that threaten the borders between life and death in our world my heart attempts to claw its way out of my chest to try and stop her. But then she turns her fierce grin towards me, fire in her eyes and death to our enemies slick on the edge of her sword and my warrior’s heart sees the sanctuary that is my warrior woman.

    Words: 564 not counting title


  1. Pingback: Sanctuary | AngieTrafford

  2. Pingback: Mid-week Blues Buster, 3.15 | Project Gemini

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