the weather has been glorious here for a good two or three weeks, now.  and today was no exception.  so when i came to do this week’s #WeekendWriter challenge, i was somewhat stumped, since my lazy-ass muse was busy topping up her tan.

when Aisling posted the first of these challenges, i was having a little inspiration issue.  i.e. i didn’t have any.  but when i saw those wonderful story cubes, i just rushed right out and got me some. (well – logged on to Amazon, anyway…)  and there i found not only the twin of Aisling’s set, but – joy – one based around actions, too.  so, i confess, i cheated a little this week, and used the action cubes as well as the object cubes.  here’s the original challenge:

and here’s what i used:

aaaaannnndddd…. is being a bitch and won’t let me cut and paste.  here’s the link to see it

so, without further ado, here’s my offering for this week….


Her tears were a fountain, splashing, uncontained, down her ravaged cheeks.  Desolation clawed at  her entrails, tearing with barbed hooks.

A tower of strength she was not.

The well of sorrow yawned beneath her, dug with the bright, shiny spade of scorn.  Sticks and stones will break your bones, but the names?  Oh, gods.  The names could hurt so much worse.

Names have magic, but the magic that had bourne her up had turned dark, leaving her hanging.  Tied to her feet, it weighed her down until she hung by her fingertips, slipping…  slipping…  The well ready to swallow her up as no more than a morsel.  A mere scrap of flesh and despair.

Entering the house of love, she had been warmed by it’s fires.  Seared by the passion that dwelled there.  Building, or so she thought, a towering edifice that would last through the ages.  Raised high above the world, she felt she could see forever.  The joining of two, henceforth to be one.

Or so she thought.

Through her tears, bitter laughter scratched her throat raw.  The pretty box with the oh-so-shiny bow had been opened, only to reveal the crawling of beetles and maggots through the rotting heart of what she once thought so fine.

Why did she never learn to hide her soul?