Stoker by Carolyn Glass

I never realised what a dirty job it was. I had always wanted to ride in a steam train, not in the carriages you understand, up front with the driver, wind in my hair type of scenario. So when a mate said his dad could get me a ride on the local Steam Railway, I was mega excited. I was told I needed overalls and sturdy boots, but that was fine, I was fulfilling a long held ambition. So I pitched up on Sunday morning, all smiles and reported to the driver, he thrust a shovel in my hand and said, the coals their (and pointed at a truck behind the engine) get shovelling. I didn’t see a thing the whole trip, I was shovelling the whole time with my head down, I was glad to get off at the end of the journey, I was completely knackered, and black from head to foot! They wouldn’t even let me get in a carriage for the return journey, “how do you think we can make the return journey without a stoker?” They laughed. I’ll bet the last guy is in prison for bashing the drivers head in with a shovel!

Stoker by Lesley Whyte

I walk around and around the dregs of the fire. The heap of ashes are hot, I can feel the heat on my legs from a foot away. They're smouldering gently. I drag the poker behind me, drawing an almost-perfect circle in the black sand. My feet itch and sting, but I have to draw the marks while the ashes are still hot. I can't wait for them to cool. The circle is drawn. I take a breath and then close my eyes as I cross it, my feet sinking into the burning dust. It has to be done. It has to be done. I cross the circle again and again, dragging the poker behind me until a star is drawn in the ash. A pentagram. I stand in the centre and drop the poker. I open my eyes and look up at the starry sky.

And then I wait.

Day Twenty-Eight

And today's prompt is...

Stoker

The Sound of Silence by Lesley Whyte

Can you hear it? Tell me you can hear it. Please. Please tell me you hear it. I can't be the only one. Don't you hear it? Can you hear me? Hello? Am I talking to myself? Why can't you hear me? Guys, if this is some kind of joke, it's not funny. It's not funny at all. It's sick. Stop it. Stop it! Guys? Guys? Oh, God. Why can't they hear me?

The Sound of Silence by James D. Irwin

The last two days had been hard for Jakob. But now he was finally home again, and the sound of his own front door was faintly reassuring. But then he was hit by the thunderous, deafening silence. It was impossible to ignore. Jakob missed her, and thought he probably always would.

The Sound of Silence by Sara Travis

In restless dreams you walk alone. But open your eyes, let the daylight in, and there you will find me. A nameless face to you, but yours smiles from photographs lining the walls, the mantle. A gentleman in a suit and tie, clutching the hand of a smiling young woman in white. Leaning over the bow of a ship, flashing a smile back at the camera. Cradling an infant in strong arms, lips puckered, eyes watery. On horses, in cars with the top down, grinning in bowling alleys, cooking Sunday brunch, picnics and bike rides and parties and bedtime stories and anniversaries and Christmases.

I will preserve your memories, my love, for they are all that’s left you. Through the fog you battle on, and every day I will pretend your indifference to my presence doesn’t hurt. Because I am here and you are not alone. You are never alone.

Day Twenty-Eight

And today's prompt is...

The Sound of Silence

Moonlight Bay by Emily Chadwick

The sound of gunfire cracked across the bay.

Before the fighting had started, it had been a quiet evening. The water was unusually calm, waves lapping gently at the shore as they glistened in the moonlight. The sky was a clear, inky blue, and the stars were scattered like glitter over the dome of the heavens.

It was a still night, a perfect night.

And then the guns shattered the silence.

The gunfire was followed by screams, panicked, frightened screams that rose in number. Every so often, there was another burst of gunfire, and the screams spread.

Then the docks caught ablaze. Dark smoke filled the sky, blocking out the stars, and the light from the fires swelled hungrily.

It seemed as though the whole world was falling apart.

Moonlight Bay by Sam Smith

Whenever I get scared or worried or anxious or depressed or tired or uncomfortable or ill or feel emotions that I do not want to feel at all, I remind myself of things that I enjoy but can’t have at the moment, as it reminds me that I am only human and sometimes humans will not always be happy and want things that we are not allowed to have all the time. Being reminded that I am human makes me feel better. Two days ago I was sat on a bus and it was a very hot day and the bus was very busy because it was late and everyone had finished work and was going home and suddenly there was a wasp on the bus and people started to panic because of the little bug, especially one woman who said loudly that she was allergic to wasps and it was very loud and I was anxious so I started to make a list again. Here is the list.

The colour blue. Televisions. Plug sockets that look like faces. Books on tape. The sound of static. Hypothetical situations. Dogs wearing hats. Spiderman. The sky. The sky. The sky. The sky. The sky. The sky. The sky. Long movies about journeys to unknown lands. Icing sugar. Evaporation. New socks. When I smoked a cigarette. A moonlight bay that I visited once in Spain as a child with my mother and my big brother who said that he was bored and wanted to go exploring but I liked sitting near the end of the bay looking out at the sky the sky the sky and the sea and not being able to see a difference between the colour of the sky and the sea because it was so dark that they were the exact same colour even thought I tried very hard to explain this to him. Equal numbers of pens. Wolves. Myself. BLOCK CAPITALS. Right angles. Leaves. Two and a Half Men. Religious imagery from the 17th century. When magazines have CDs stuck to the front cover. Dice.

An old man hit the wasp with a rolled up copy of The Times and everyone had calmed down.

Moonlight Bay by Lesley Whyte

This whole trip was a mistake. I knew that now, though it didn't really help me. I'd realised about four minutes after the plane left the ground that I was setting myself up for three miserable weeks. When we landed, I didn't even leave the airport, I went and found the airline's desk and tried to change my return ticket for the next flight home. They were happy to help, as long as I was prepared to pay $3000 for the privilege. Bastards.

So I came to the hotel, which actually turned out to be a bunch of little villas. Perfectly designed for honeymooning couples. Less so for men who had just been abandoned at the altar and were looking for some time to process the fact. Every evening, I'd sit outside, it was too hot to sit in the villa, and look out over the ocean. The moonlight glittered on the lilac water. I sipped a beer and wondered why the water was such a peculiar colour. Must be a trick of the light. As usual, the still night air was filled with the sound of lovemaking from the other villas. Have you ever noticed that sex actually sounds quite unpleasant?

It was worse during the day, when you'd go to the hotel restaurant to eat and they'd clear away the second place setting at your table. When you'd go to one of the activities and find out that it was designed for couples. When you'd wander down to the beach and say an awkward hello to a couple from the hotel and realise you knew exactly what they sounded like when they were fucking. The whole place was designed for couples. And I hated it. In fact, there was only one benefit to the whole thing. My father-in-law, well, he was supposed to be my father-in-law, paid for the whole thing. And encouraged me to go on the trip after his bitch of a daughter ditched me. Yeah, that was the only good thing about it.

That and all the drinks were included. That was pretty cool, too.

Day Twenty-Eight

And today's prompt is...

Moonlight Bay.