The 7/7/7 Snippet Challenge

I was tagged by the lovely  Nicolette Elzie and the lovely Natalie K. to do the 7/7/7 snippet challenge – in other words find page 7 of your manuscript, scroll down 7 lines, and then share the next 7 lines in a blog post.

Then tag 7 other writers with blogs to continue the challenge.

This is from #The Making of Gabriel Davenport, which is now in its final editor revisions, and will be flying the nest in 2016!

The house dozed, warmed by the sun and sleepy shadows cut across the floors from the odd shaped roof and internal walls. Everything was soft and golden and safe.

She shivered as she carefully closed Gabriel’s door. A cold draught licked at her ankles again and she didn’t have to search to know where it came from.

This was the ideal time to empty the suitcases and sort all the things they had bought on their holiday. The time management part of her brain whirred into action. Maybe Stu opened the window before he went off to work? But she couldn’t come up with a reason why.

 

Tagging the following talented writers/bloggers!

Matt Rydeen

Nadia

Sarina

Chiquandra Cross

Martin McConnell

Nina Lake

Martina McAtee

Please don’t feel pressured to do the tag, but if you do let me know so that I can devour your words!

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200 Words

Another snippet of something that may become something else, but for now is content to be 200 Words.

*

The land of the midnight sun. But not what you are thinking.

This sun, raging and pink tinged, glows continually. But there is little heat. There are no days and no nights, only this gloom of time. It is broken like the land we live in. We live on dust and the meagre seeds of hope.

This valley I gaze upon is sacred ground. And forbidden. For that is where the Fire War blazed. The last great war which shaped my future and the future of the handful of us that are left.

It is a crater now, empty and brooding, remembering its history in the pock marked landscape. The peaks at the eastern side stand proud against the broken blister sky. One day I will travel there and stand gazing up at them. I know they will be too tall for me to see the tips. They will pierce the pink like knife points in a wound.

But for now I am waiting, hoping, crouched in the red dust, chilled to the bone and listening for the heavy flap of a leather wing. The echo of yesterday’s kingdom in the silent wilderness.

Waiting for dragons and wishing for fire.