Category Archives: Blog Hops

Love Bites 2016 – The Winners

We had some amazing tales of vengeance and passion, fourteen in all, appropriate for Valentine’s Day! It was tough but we came up with three great winners.

Love Bites Badge 2016

THE WINNERS 

Third Place: Ailsa Abraham | @ailsaabraham 

  1. Laura – Revenge for Valentines is always good and a 200-year wait made this tale even sweeter.
  2. Lisa – When you plan something, make sure you do it right, especially vengeance.
  3. Lizzie – Loved the dark humour in this fiery Valentine revenge.
  4. Ruth – Aged to perfection, like a fine wine, this tale of revenge is bold and satisfying.

Second Place: Michael Wombat | @wombat37

  1. Laura – This took me on the best dark journey. Loved it!
  2. Lisa – Poetry, ancient history, and a need to sate vengeful passion with a black twist of fate.
  3. Lizzie – A deliciously dark tale right from the poetic start. Loved it!
  4. Ruth – Filled with vivid images, poetic language, and bloody vengeance!

First Place: Eric Martell | @drmagoo  

  1. Laura – Passion, betrayal, and a dead body. All I need in a Valentine’s tale. Excellent story.
  2. Lisa – I was entranced from the title on. A tale of pure evil that teaches me never, ever, to presume. Deliciously dark and twisted.
  3. Lizzie – Ooh, I loved the grim and matter-of-fact way he dealt with his betrayer in this brilliant story!
  4. Ruth – When this apparent grieving widower goes from bitter to vindictive and embarks on a smartly planned journey of payback, the enormity of his monstrosity left me speechless!

Check out the original post at Ink After Dark for all the stories – a great read if you’re plotting revenge or just letting off steam!

Thank you all who wrote for us, especially Eric, Wombat and Ailsa!

Love Bites 2016 – Anti-Valentine Story Contest

I’m teaming up with Ruth, LauraLizzie and Cara at Ink After Dark to offer you
Love Bites 2016
Our Anti-Valentine blog hop, back for a new year!

Love Bites Badge 2016

You know you want to join in…
Open from January 29th – February 12th 2016

So hop over and leave your stories in the comments section of
Ink After Dark’s Love Bites Post (NOT this post).

  • Flash Fiction Challenge
  • Theme: Thwarted Love OR Vengeful Love
  • Submissions Accepted: January 29 – February 12, 2016
  • Word Count: 500 Word Minimum / 750 Word Maximum
  • Prize Package Announced: February 5, 2016
  • Winners Announced: February 15, 2016
  • Post stories in comment box on Ink After Dark’s Love Bites Post with word count and Twitter handle (or other way to notify you of victory).

If you want some inspiration…take a look at our previous years stories… 2013 and 2014.

 

Dirty Goggles: Too Much Torque

This is for the Dirty Goggles Bloghop 2014 put together by JennRuth and Steven…This is my Dieselpunk story…war, romance and lipstick!

Title: Too Much Torque
Word Count: 793 Words
Name: Lisa Shambrook @LastKrystallos
Category: Dieselpunk

Dirty_Goggles_Torque_Wrench_Last_Krystallos

Tools and Wrench © Lisa Shambrook

Too Much Torque

Heavy boots clumped and Ruby’s spanner bounced, clattering onto the dirty floor as she glanced up at the intrusion. She skidded backwards, ducking behind a Spitfire’s propeller shaft as grey-uniformed soldiers swarmed inside the hangar. They’d arrived sooner than expected.

“What have we here?” murmured a voice thick with accent. She jumped as hands rested on her stiff shoulders and began to knead, as if her back was soft, yielding dough – it was not.

She yanked off her goggles just as her oil-smeared fist met with the soldier’s jaw, “Take that as a warning shot!” she cautioned still brandishing her torque wrench like a gladiator’s weapon.

The soldier landed in a puddle of oil releasing a string of vulgar German whilst nursing his chin and wounded pride. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed her hair and yanked her arm up behind her back, roughly frogmarching her across the hangar into the small airfield office. He threw her into the wooden chair by the table then hurried to the door to watch the parade of captured mechanics.

On her feet she spanned the room in only two steps. The soldier whirled around seizing the wrench as she threatened to bury it in his skull. He caught her hands, snatched cables from the shelf and thrust her back onto the seat. His knee pushed up hard against her stomach as he bound her to the chair, and her feral growl was lost amid the hiss of steam and piston thud.

Ruby snarled, and he spat then struck her across the cheek with the back of his hand. “That’s for this!” He pointed at his bloody split lip.

Minutes later the general and soldiers ignored her as they ransacked the office. Papers fluttered everywhere and tools clattered off shelves.

“You won’t find anything here!” Her words earned another cuff across her face.

Angry, exasperated words flew about the room and Ruby grinned. The men left and she strained her eyes past her guard to watch them through the murky window, as the general forced the mechanics across the hangar, towards the Zeppelins and Spitfires out on the airstrip.

“Leaving you behind then?” She sneered as the soldier threw her a dirty look. As he turned back Ruby’s discarded torque wrench crushed his windpipe. An oil-smudged man pushed the limp soldier aside and grinned at Ruby.

“Don’t just stand there, Steve, untie me!”

“I’m surprised you didn’t clock him with the torque wrench the first time!” He smirked, waving wire cutters. “I would have if I was a lady,” he added.

“If I were a lady, he’d still be waiting for it – thankfully, I’m not a lady!” Ruby glowered beneath a layer of engine grease.

“Offering thanks?” he asked, as the cables fell to the floor. “I’ve never seen you as the damsel in distress type…”

“And you won’t again.” Ruby jerked a tool box open and rummaged, retrieving a small black cylinder. “This is what they were looking for,” she said slipping the film canister into her pocket.

Steve grinned again. “I knew there was more to you!”

She peered out of the grimy window and reapplied Scarlet Dawn to her lips. The soldier at her foot moaned and she thrust her steel capped boot into his head. “We have to get out of here, you coming?” She slid past the door and eased behind the water pumps pulling grenades out of an empty barrel. “Take these and throw them when I say.” His fingers brushed hers as he took them, she caught his eye and for a moment energy crackled and Ruby’s defences caved.

She pulled her leather jacket tight across her breast watching his face as she shook out her dark hair. His Adam’s apple bobbed unconsciously in his dry throat as he zipped up his own jacket. She threw him a pair of goggles and slid hers over her head.

The setting sun threw orange blazes across the hangar and he squinted, blinded by the sudden light shining through broken windows. She swung her shapely leg over the customised Indian Bobber she’d spent the last few months working on, and beckoned him, curling her finger in black leather clad hands.

The bike came to life between her thighs, its voice snarling through the empty hangar. Out on the airfield soldiers turned, shouts rang out and gunfire echoed.

Steve leaped onto the back of the rumbling bike tightly gripping her rear with his legs. She squeezed the throttle. Tyres squealed and the low-slung bike screeched through the hangar and out onto the runway. “Now!” she screamed.

Steve pulled out the pins and threw the grenades and as the explosion resonated they were gone, flames licking at their heels, speeding out into the gilded twilight.

Dirty_Goggles_Indian_Bobber_Wiki_Last_Krystallos

Photo Source: wikipedia.org Detail of Indian Larry’s Wild Child bike by Mike Arther. Cropped and customised by Lisa Shambrook with Instagram and Streamzoo

Dirty Goggles: His Little Bumblebee

This is for the Dirty Goggles Bloghop 2014 put together by Jenn, Ruth and Steven…I’m jumping straight in with my steampunk story and my little steampunk bumblebee!

Title: His Little Bumblebee
Word Count: 797 Words
Name: Lisa Shambrook @LastKrystallos
Category: Steampunk

Bumblebee_close_Last_Krystallos_Dirty_Goggles_2014

His Little Bumblebee © Lisa Shambrook (All Rights Reserved)

His Little Bumblebee

Professor Mordecai called Ottavia his little bumblebee because her heart hummed. I think he loved her more because her flaw made her real. I love her because her heart sings.

My heart runs as smooth as clockwork, because that’s just what it is, ticking quietly, flawlessly. Every brass nut and bolt, every piston and gear move in perfect unison. Her flaws led to my perfection.

***

Ottavia stared down at our creator’s limp body, her fingers clasping his hand, and my heart fluttered like the professor’s glass-winged dragonflies darting about the gloomy study. Her shoulders slumped and I recalled his last words as I hurried to her side.

“His heart gave out!” I hissed, “I have to get you away before the Regent claims you!”

She ignored me, burying her face in his dusty and worn brocade robes. I had no intention of ever letting the Regent anywhere near enough to listen to the hum of her heart, or even to touch the wiry golden curls that fell around her face. “We have to leave!”

Her hand leaped to her breast and her eyes glistened in the gas-light. “I can’t, not without my key!”

She lifted the ribbon that hung around her neck and its frayed empty ends whispered in the breeze.

A terrible sound echoed down the vast university corridors as the gas-lamps flickered. My heart pounded as I listened to the clickety-clack of a thousand wings. “There’s no time!” I muttered, grabbing her arm.

“I need my key!” she protested, digging into the professor’s pockets.

A horde of mechanical mosquitoes struck the ancient oak door like metal woodpeckers. I peered through the keyhole as wood splintered. “I need to get you to Professor Greenfire, before they destroy the door!” I desperately combed the room as Ottavia scurried about searching for her key. I yanked open the lid of an intricately decorated box revealing a pulsating mass of gold and steel bumblebees. Wings whirred into action as I released them. The tiny bees swarmed through the keyhole and sped into the fray of long legs and tin wings. Sparks flew and metal clattered.

“I’m not even going to make it out of here…” She dropped to the floor with a clatter.

I watched the curve of her breast rise and fall as she stared up at me. I could hear it, the heavy thump, the easing of pistons, the wisps of steam curling from her ribcage beneath her bodice, her mechanism slowing, running down. “I need my key!”

Acrid smoke spiralled through the keyhole as the clangs and clashes of metal echoed. “And there’s no way out up here anyway!” she cried, staring up at me through sparkling topaz eyes.

I whipped her cloak away from her shoulders. “There’s always a way,” I murmured, brushing my fingers over the delicate wire-framed wings protruding from her shoulder joints. I flung open the window. “I sent dragonflies ahead and Greenfire will meet you down by the forest.”

Her brass curls bounced as she shook her head. Her breaths shuddered and jerked as her cogs and gears slowed down.

I tore my key from the string around my neck and thrust it at her.

“It won’t fit!” she smiled. “And even if it did, you can’t live without it.” Her limbs shuddered and her eyes dulled, and desperation echoed inside my clockwork heart.

Our keys didn’t match, but sometimes, as Professor Mordecai once told me, magic happens when love exists. As her breaths faltered and her frame jerked, I untied her corset ribbons and reached up beneath her stays. Her ribs juddered and her heart stopped singing.

My shaking fingers located the keyhole beneath her breast-work but my key wouldn’t fit. I jiggled it delicately, and as my heart began to fail, it slotted right in! I wound it, listening to the barrel click, and watched a pale light fill her eyes once more.

I tied my key to her ribbon.

Her fingers trembled and jolted as they curled around mine and her cut glass eyes shimmered with tears that could not fall.

“Now go…” I listened to the whirring buzz of mechanised insects outside the disintegrating door.

She touched a lever at her waist. Her wings vibrated and her heart sang as she stood upon the windowsill. Morning rays glimmered against her fragmented glass wings, and they fluttered gently as tiny pistons pounded, flywheels spun and gears shifted. Ottavia dived from the window and I leaned across the frame.

She plummeted and my heart slipped into my mouth, and then she swooped and her wings bore her away, away to safety. I smiled as she disappeared behind cotton-wool clouds and automated bugs broke through the door. I still had enough fight left, enough to save my precious bumblebee.

Bumblebee_Last_Krystallos_Dirty_Goggles_2014

© Lisa Shambrook (All Rights Reserved)

Love Bites: Anti-Valentine Blog Hop 2014 WINNERS

Love Bites 2014We invited you to put Cupid on notice and you met the challenge with gusto! You gave a schmaltzy holiday some kick and some kink. Bravo!

Thank you to everyone who took the time to write, comment, and blast the challenge across social media channels!

If you haven’t had a chance to read the entries, we’ve included the links at the end of this post so you can curl up and enjoy them over the weekend.

Now then, once we put the votes in a hat and let the chocolate gremlins do their magic, here’s how the winners shook out:

First Place = Eric Martell

A tale of pure unfettered revenge served with a huge helping of contempt!

Second Place = Michael Wombat

A story that was going somewhere certain until the baseball bat came into view!

Third Place = Alex Brightsmith

Effortless story telling from the fabulous build up to the final line reveal!

Runner Up = Jeff Tsuruoka

For sheer in-your-face fun and irreverence!

Cheers to everyone who participated!
Choosing winners from such stellar stories wasn’t easy, thanks for making it so much fun!

Winners: please Facebook PM Lisa Shambrook and Laura Jamez to discuss particulars.

Love Bites 2014: No More

Love Bites 2014 200 Pixels Badge for Blogs

As one of the hosts for Love Bites 2014, I feel compelled to join in and write, even though my entry is inadmissible…so here is my story on Love Gone Bad, Bad Valentine and Cupid Screwing Up His Shot:

Hair Gold

Photo by Lisa Shambrook
(Please do not use without permission)

No More 

She clamped her mouth closed, biting on her lower lip to keep it from trembling. She gripped her loose dress, clutching a handful of printed flowers adorning the soft material in her hand over the pit of her churning stomach. Brows furrowed above wide, hazel flecked eyes and she flinched as spittle and words sprayed across her face.
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat as he swallowed and scowled at her. She glanced away as his glare speared her, but her neck snapped upwards as he grabbed and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger.
Her tooth pierced her bottom lip and a bead of ruby grew spilling inside her mouth.
The veins in his neck stood out, pulsing to match the throb of the vein that tremored on his forehead. His nostrils flared and his eyes bulged as she met his stare.
She swallowed hard, blood leaving a thick metallic taste on her tongue. Fear seeped through her bones, a cold sweat blooming over her alabaster skin.
“Don’t you ever look at another man…” he sneered, alcohol tinging his breath. “You’re mine.”
She shook her head, leaning back against the wall as sweat prickled her skin. She closed her eyes, unable to stare into his any longer. His finger and thumb gripped tighter and slid down her smooth neck pinching her windpipe.
“If you do, you’ll never look at another man again.” His words swam inside her head. “Not ever.”
Inside her brain latent emotions kicked in, supressed desires and hidden urges took hold. For too long she’d given everything to this man, to this pig, and as fog coursed through her mind her mouth dropped open, trying to gain breath. Blood from her bitten lip trickled onto her tongue and her skin tingled.
Desire swayed through her body, she arched and she licked her lips.
“You like that do you?” he smirked, “A bit of rough, well I can give you more of that!”
She fought the urge to vomit as he leaned against her, his body hard and obvious. His spare hand dropped to his belt, loosening it as he grinded against her. “That’s more like it…” he leered, releasing her neck and winding his fingers in her golden mane. His lips crushed hers and her eyes flashed open.
She stiffened and pulled her hand away from her stomach, wedged between their bodies. She swallowed again tasting her blood and her vision blurred as the flavour lodged inside her brain. She turned her head, letting his slobbery lips slide across her cheek, and as he breathed in to release the zip on his jeans, she opened her mouth against his neck. His breath rasped and caught as her hand moved down his thigh, and he pushed harder.
A smile tickled her lips. “No more…” she whispered.
“Uh?” he panted, sliding his hand through her hair, and trying to shrug out of his trousers.
“No more…” she murmured against his stubbled neck and sank her teeth into his bulging jugular.
“No more,” she whispered as she wiped the blood from her lips with the back of her pale hand. “No more,” she breathed, sated and full. She grabbed her leather jacket, zipped it up, flung her golden hair over her shoulder and stepped out into the chill of the night. “No more.”

(559 Words)

There are four more days left to write your own story…go write yours and link up here!
Have fun with Cupid!

Love Bites: Anti-Valentine Blog Hop 2014

Love Bites 2014

February is here and with it comes the influx of red roses, declarations of lurve and schmaltz as well as inflated prices. Yes, February brings Valentine’s Day, the day of love and with that comes our second Love Bites Blog Hop.

This is your chance for revenge on Cupid.
Your chance to stick it to St Valentine.

The rules. Yes, even Anti-Love needs rules to keep us all in check

1. 250 – 700 words
2. Post to your blog
3. Link your post to the Linky tool (between 4th and 11th February)
4. Pimp/share/brag about your story on social net working sites.
5. Pimp/share/brag about the Blog Hop to all who will listen.
6. Judged by Ruth Long, Lisa Shambrook, Laura Jamez and Lizzie Koch.
7. Winner announced on that most lovey dovey day of the year, St Valentine’s Day.

Prizes – oh yes we have prizes.

This year, all the stories entered will be turned into an eBook by the magic hands of Laura James and Ruth Long for the viewing pleasure of 1st, 2nd and 3rd placed winners.

1st place will also win a gorgeous note book
and 
2nd and 3rd places will each receive two twig pencils.

'London' A5 Notebook and Twig Pencils

So what are you waiting for? Get writing, plotting and give Cupid what for. xx

Add your story to the linky and grab the badge below for your blog if you wish…

Love Bites 2014 200 Pixels Badge for Blogs

Love Bites Badge 200 Pixels

Bad Santa: Santa Sleighn

After some lovely Christmas tales in Tales by the Tree, Ruth over at Bullish Ink has thrown down the gauntlet to tarnish Santa in her third Bad Santa Blog Hop.
So, Santa is hereby tainted…

Santa Sleighn
The newspaper crinkled in his hand, and he shook it out, folding it to the front page story. His eyes skimmed the headline and the photograph, and moved to the story below.  He read, his eyes moving fast over the page then he rested his gaze on the old man in the photo. His blue eyes gazed back, twinkling, even in the grainy black and white newspaper picture. He sighed and leaned back in his sun lounger. 
The pool sparkled as the rising sun spilled fiery rubies into the water and he reached for his tequila.
‘Santa Sleighn: Friendly Fire’ the headline rang inside his head, and he lifted the paper again. 
‘It was no Enchanted Evening this Christmas Eve over the South Pacific, as Santa was struck down by an ATD (automatic targeting defence weapon) over the Ocean. Incidentally, the French are desperately refuting responsibility for the assumed destruction of Santa and his sleigh. Seven of his nine reindeer survived the incident, but both Blitzen and Rudolph are still missing presumed dead, as is old St Nick himself.’
The loss of an icon rocked the entire world grabbing headlines every day for two weeks.  He shook his head and sipped his drink. The wireless crackled and he adjusted the aerial, chinking the ice in his drink as he leaned close.  The tequila mimicked the sunrise and he twirled the cherry on a stick in reflective silence. 
A voice on the radio caught his ear and he listened to the woe of Mrs Claus. She complained bitterly about press intrusion and the final calling off of the search for her husband’s body. She spoke of the wretched disappointment of children across the globe, and the grief in far flung places as well as in Scandinavia. Her voice grated and he could well imagine her brash insistence to search every Polynesian island beach and South America’s entire Western seaboard. He flinched as her voice raised an octave and shrilled through the speaker. He clicked the radio off.
He grunted, brushing a newly manicured hand across his freshly shaven face and stared across the pool at the white villa. He flexed his toes, enjoying the early morning heat that warmed his white mop of wavy hair, and pushed his wire rimmed glasses up his nose. 
Though he was truly grief stricken at the thought of Blitzen and Rudolph lost at sea, he didn’t spare a thought for his wife, or the whining pack of freeloading elves left at home. He’d paid the mercenaries handsomely, and the peace and quiet was well worth the expense. The sea rescue had been hit and miss, a bit choppy, but they’d pulled it off and now Nicholas relaxed in Argentinian splendour.
A barely dressed nymph wandered across the tiles, her hand stroking a well-toned thigh, below a pale blue bikini. He grinned. “Sweetheart, just one thing…the bikini, could you wear the red one instead, with the white fur trim? I’m quite partial to it…”   
(498 Words)

Pop over to Bullish Ink’s Bad Santa Contest to read the other entries and sully Santa yourself!

A Cherokee Rose Blog Hop: Rose

In the lead up to the US getting Season 4 of The Walking Dead, Ruth at Bullishink has joined with cohorts and massive Daryl Dixon fans, Lisa McCourt Hollar and Sarah Aisling to give us a Zombie/Daryl themed Blog Hop. The criteria: up to 1000 words, zombies and Daryl Dixon…not my comfort zone…but I’ve managed to create a piece with Daryl and zombies and cuteness…he he…

Rose

“Shhhhh…” Carol whispered.
“Like hell!” Merle scowled, “Let ‘em come!”
Carol ran her fingers through her short hair and glared. Daryl glanced back from the clearing and motioned lifting his crossbow into the air.
“See, nuthin’ there, just your imagination lady!” Merle quipped striding to his brother.
Carol sighed and followed, stepping lightly through the long grass, casting watchful looks over her shoulder despite the all clear.
She cautiously backed up to the brothers, squinting at the trees, until she reached Daryl’s shoulder.
Merle swung his knife.  “So, what we doin’ out here? Can’t see nuthin’.”
“Something in the far trees. Maggie said something glinted,” Carol whispered.
Merle’s voice raised a pitch. “And she saw that glinting somethin’ from the lookout did she? Wild goose chase, if you ask me!”
“No one asked you…” muttered Carol.
“Still gotta look, even if it’s nuthin’.” Daryl kept to the line of trees. Carol followed, grasping the knife at her hip. Only Merle, wandered out into the sunlight, ignoring his brother’s warnings. “It’s quicker to go across, quicker there and quicker back again!”
“He’s gonna get us killed one of these days,” hissed Carol.
Daryl paused, glancing back. “Get hi’ self killed, not us.”
Merle continued across the grass. Daryl bent forward hurrying along the edge, muscles taut, ready, ears listening and eyes darting. Carol followed close.
The breeze sang through the canopy and Merle’s boots thumped across the dry field. “Wait!” Carol hissed, “Listen…”
Daryl and Carol stopped. “You hear that?” she whispered.
A mewling whine rose over the wind and Carol grabbed Daryl’s arm. “Something’s hurt.”
“It’ll attract attention…” murmured Daryl.
“Coming from over there…” Carol pointed. They moved towards the whimper.
“Oh, joining me now are you?” Merle chuckled and ducked as Daryl swatted at him. “Shut it Merle!”
They ran guardedly into the shadowy trees. “Fan out…” said Daryl, clutching his bow to his chest.
They moved slowly apart, stopping as the whine began again. “This way…”
They trod carefully, until Carol released a cry of surprise. “Down here!”
She crouched in the long grass.
“Dinner!” cried Merle ignoring Carol’s glare.
“So tiny!” cooed Carol, “No…” Tears welled as she parted the grass revealing a forgotten hunter’s trap. The puppy whined and Daryl sank to the grass. “Keep watch,” he muttered, “blood will attract walkers…” He pulled out his knife and worked on the trap, until the metal jaws snapped open and Carol moved the pup’s hind leg. Fresh blood spurted and Carol tore a strip of her shirt to bind around the pup’s wound.
“Too small for dinner anyways…” said Merle.
“We’re not leaving it.” Carol tucked the tiny creature into the crook of her arm. “Maggie must’ve seen the trap glinting…” She backed away from the twisted metal.
“All this for a dog!” Merle waved his arms. “Thought we’d get a real fight out here!”
“Let’s just get back,” said Daryl.
Midday sun glared through the dappled shade, and they began to run through the undergrowth. Carol stayed close to Daryl, until he pulled up suddenly and wrenched up his bow. An arrow flew, swift and straight, hitting a walker between the eyes.
Rattling moans rode on the wind and the putrid stench of rotting flesh filled the air. Zombies emerged from the trees, stimulated by the metallic aroma of fresh blood…and wild, dark eyes fixed on the living.
Merle swung, lifting his newly equipped right arm, thrusting his blade up through a walker’s chin. Satisfaction blazed in his eyes and he whirled towards another zombie, driving the knife cleanly into its skull. Daryl fixed another arrow taking out a decrepit creature and immediately moved to a third walker lumbering close, slamming his knife through its throat and up into its brain.
Carol held the puppy close, brandishing her hunting blade, her eyes wild and alert. No one spoke. Merle’s brow furrowed in determination as walkers leached from the woods, and Daryl grabbed his spent arrows, tearing them out of the finished walkers’ brains.
The three moved close together, dodging walkers, bolting through trees and out into the clearing. They ran, pounding across the dry earth, until a cry lodged in Daryl’s brain.
His breath caught in his throat as he turned. Carol was down on the ground, a zombie clawing at her. She held it off, kicking and thrusting with her knife, but more lumbered out of the trees, and the puppy lay at her side. “Leave her, it’s the dog they want, we’re good!” cried Merle.
Daryl cast Merle a withering look and raced towards Carol.
Merle threw up his arms and launched back into the fray. Arrows whizzed past Carol’s ear and the walker fell at her side, blood and ichor splattering down upon her and the pup. She twisted and was felled by another unwieldy walker. She screamed and seized the pup, tucking it down inside her shirt. The walker grabbed her leg and hungry moans assaulted her.
Daryl strode forward, arrows flying from his bow, until the walkers lay totally dead and finished. Merle let out a whoop and thrust his blood spattered fake arm in the air. Daryl moved to Carol.
His eyes roamed up and down her body. “It’s alright, I’m not bitten,” she assured him as he dropped beside her.
A wry smile played on his lips as he caught her eye and his hand lingered, brushing against her thigh. She stared into his eyes, and as his brother whooped, he relaxed. He dropped his crossbow and Carol rose on her elbows. Daryl lifted his hand and gently touched her face, wiping a splash of black ichor from her chin. He glanced away, his eyes trailing down her neck, across her torn shirt and down to her breast. She giggled, an usual sound in the eerie silence, and he rested his hand on her wriggling stomach.
“So what you gonna call him?” he asked stroking the puppy through the thin cloth.
“Rose,” she answered, “I’m gonna call her Rose.”

(1000 Words)

Creating a Superheroine: Snowfire

This is my entry into Becky Fyfe’s challenge over at Imagine! Create! Write!, to create a Female Superhero. Go take a look and enter, if there are enough stories Becky is hoping to create an anthology with the proceeds going to a girls charity. So here’s my tale…

Author: Lisa Shambrook
Wordcount: 997
Anthology: Yes
Charity: Because I Am a Girl

Name of female superhero: Snowfire 

Name of human alter ego, if different: Neva Brant

Superhero Appearance (hair, eyes, body type, etc.): Hair shimmers with a coating of frost, fringe flicks back. Eyes glint ice green and her skin pales.

Human alter ego appearance (if she has an alter ego): Dark brown hair, just below shoulder length with a long fringe which often covers half her face. She has green eyes, pale skin and an average body she hides in jeans and t-shirts, beneath a worn leather jacket.

Costume: When Neva uses her ability her dark brown hair shimmers with ice, her skin pales even further and an aura glows about her person. She chooses to wear black jeans and a black leather jacket, with black leather boots.

Personality: Neva is shy, doesn’t like attention, but cannot abide cruelty or injustice. She won’t seek attention, but when opportunity arises she fights for the underdog.

Brief description of how the superheroine gets her powers (i.e. born with them, radioactive accident, mad scientist experiments on her, etc.): Neva was born with her powers, but they were latent until an incident when she was fourteen.  

Powers: Neva can freeze and thaw objects on demand, but she needs to touch her target for the power to be effective. 

Anything else important: A frozen ‘object’ can be shattered and destroyed, but if left alone will thaw at a normal rate. A frozen person’s heart rate will drop and hypothermia will set in, but survival is likely if medical attention is sought fast. 
Neva is learning to develop her ability and her father, a doctor, discovers her freezing technique can be honed to do good in the medical world. If she concentrates deeply enough she can freeze and destroy individual cells, when this ability becomes known, Wolfe Pharmaceuticals CEO, Professor Archaleaus Wolfe, becomes obsessed with obtaining Neva, codename Snowfire.

Art work ‘Snowfire’ by Lisa Shambrook 
(Please do not use, though permission is given for the Anthology!)
Snowfire 
As Neva crouched waiting, her mind wandered…the moment of recognition was one to be remembered…
Neva’s childlike tears fell and clinked on the garden paving like lost diamonds, shattering on impact. Her fingers recoiled as she stared in horror at the butterfly on her arm. Fragile wings stood erect and unmoving, coated with icing sugar frost. Antennae no longer wavered in the light breeze and ice crystals danced up Neva’s arm, glazing each tiny hair with frost, and butterfly legs remained stuck fast to her skin. She shivered and shook her head, and tiny crystals flew from her locks.  Shock radiated through her body as beneath the early evening twilight she noticed her shimmering fingertips, and a quick, impatient movement broke her heart. 
Her hand unconsciously brushed the frozen butterfly from her arm and the delicate creature crumbled into a million sparkles. 
Neva brushed the memory from her mind and allowed the familiar chill to creep into her fingers. She squatted on the narrow sill, peering through the grimy window, and when ice hit her heart, biting like a twisting knife, she placed her hand on the glass. White, feathered fissures spread across the pane from her iridescent fingertips. One tap and the frozen window shattered, and Neva dropped to the floor inside. 
Footsteps echoed and she slid to the shadows. She crept along the wall, leaving a frost trail glistening in the moonlight. Linoleum squeaked as shoes scuffed outside and Neva tensed. 
Two armed men slipped into the room, but barely had time to register the drop in temperature before her touch set them into glacial sculptures.
Without a backward glance, she padded softly down the hall, ignoring the hum of flickering fluorescent lights.  She sprinted down gloomy corridors until her hands slammed into a solid door that barred her way.
Her fingers hurried over smooth metal, her eyes searching for a keyhole, a numerical security pad, a door handle…nothing. She stepped back and stared then she placed both hands on the door, spread her fingers and pressed with all her weight. Her fingers tingled and frost formed, glittering on her fingernails, spreading across her hands. She concentrated, feeling the familiar rush of ice flood through her veins and sent it all through her fingers. 
Nothing happened and she pushed harder, before the effort flung her away. She scrambled to her feet and stared in confusion at the door that refused to freeze. Neva lifted her finger and traced the rime coated metal until her finger lead her to the door’s internal locking system. She fixed her mind to the mechanism and dragged her finger to the fine gap between door and frame. She sent all her power to the main locking bolt, furrowing her brow as she focused, injecting microscopic crystals into the mechanism. 
Within moments tiny sparks shot through the gap and a spiral of smoke twirled around her freezing fingers as the door clicked open.
As Neva pushed the door, echoing applause assaulted her ears and her hands flew up to cover her squinting eyes. Light blinded her as she entered the laboratory and rejected the impulse to turn and flee. 
“I knew, if you got past that door my dear, that all my research in you was well-founded and worth the effort…” the voice had no body, but it chilled Neva. 
Spotlights swivelled away. Neva blinked and rubbed her eyes, trying to rid her vision of a million blue afterimages, before focussing. She gasped and ran to the man in the hospital bed, his wrists and ankles secured by thick leather straps and buckles. 
“Dad!” She stroked his cheek, her fingers brushing against his stubbled, unshaven face, and tears slipped down her own. Tears that fell solid and melted against his warmth.
Her eyes took in his calm, sleeping features and followed a drip, attached to his arm, to a bag held aloft above the bed.  “What’s in that?” she demanded, trying to allay the fear that crept unbidden into her words.
The owner of the voice stepped out of the shadows and Neva did nothing to hide her look of contempt. “Highly manipulated carcinoma…of the fast growing type, my dear,” Professor Archaleaus Wolfe grinned.  “You have exactly, well, about six minutes to defuse this bomb, or the results will be terminal.” His shoes clacked across the floor as he joined father and daughter. He reached up to turn off the drip. 
“And, what if I decide to terminate you at the same time?” she snarled, moving to block the septuagenarian as he took down the drip bag. 
“My dear, you can freeze me if you choose, but my medics up on the scaffolding will down you in a millisecond…your father will ultimately die and I will wait patiently to defrost…” he cackled, “Your choice.”
Neva stiffened as the professor began to remove the cannula from the back of her father’s hand and settled to concentrate on an imaging device. With no choice, she bent to kiss her father then spread her hands across his chest. 
Ripples of fear swept through her body as she concentrated and her fingers shook. Then a chill rose from her fingertips and ice streaked through her veins. She bowed her head and closed her eyes and let her fingers wander, an innate sense guiding her to the blackness abiding within her father. Her dad’s lessons came back to her, biology and physiology flooding her visual cortex, and suddenly she could see inside his chest cavity. Her frost-coated fingers tensed then released a deluge of infinitesimal crystals into his body to freeze the tumour. 
Inside her mind the tumour sat, caressed by frost and its filigree beauty stunned her…for a moment she stared, admiring, and the memory of the butterfly returned.  This time she consciously brushed the intricate ball of cells and watched in deep satisfaction as they crumbled into a million sparkles.  
Archaleaus Wolfe smiled, “Well done, my dear Snowfire, we have much work to do…”