Fan-Voted Story: Part 4

What? It’s back?

Yes, that’s right! Part 4 of the Fan-Voted Story is back with a vengeance.

Unfortunately, no one voted last time, so I continued on my own. So, if you want to help shape the story about what is going to happen to Kayla, please vote down below. If you like someone’s suggestion, like it! I’ll choose the highest voted suggestion or, if there isn’t one, the suggestion that I like best.

If you want to catch up with the story, please go to the Evan Elias section of the Living Author’s Society page.

Back to the action!

Advertisements

Fan Voted Story: Part 3

Hello everybody!

It’s been a long time coming but Part 3 of my Fan Voted Story is here!

The winning suggestion from last time was made by Mandibelle16. Thank you for the suggestion that the ring was dark magic and there were consequences for using it.

If you need to catch up on the story, feel free to go back on the Evan Elias section of the Living Author’s Society page. While you’re at it, feel free to check some of the other authors as well, they’re very talented.

As always, please comment down below about what you think should happen and what you thought. The winning comment will dictate where the story goes from here!

Now, without further ado, let the story continue…

All Part of the Job

Screeching horns. Crashing metal on metal. Squealing tires. Glass splintering in spider-webs of shards.

And over it all, the thunder of gunfire and the smell of gunpowder.

After, they sit on the curb, staring at the wreck of the car: windows blown out, tires flat, mirrors snapped off like old branches.

“Could have been worse,” Aaron says, taking a long draw from his cigarette.

“Car’s a wreck,” Dave says, cradling his bloodstained arm. “I’ve got a bullet in me. How could it be worse?”

“Could be dead.” Aaron stands. “Come on. Job’s not done yet.”

---

Word Count: 95

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and providing the photo prompt! 

In the Freight Yard

Line after line of freight cars filled the space under the bridge, a maze of towering boxes, waiting to move. She drifted through them, light on her feet, trying not to make a sound. Each time she passed between cars, she knew she might see her pursuer’s bloodshot eyes staring at her across the tracks.

There was a loud groan and the crane swept down upon her like an eagle. She barely had enough time to recognize what it was before it hit her like a brick, knocking her unconscious, and scooping her up in its metal talons.

---

Word Count: 98

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and C.E. Ayr for providing the prompt photo!

Tranquility

The road wound like a snake over the treetops. A soft wind blew through the leaves. It was a lonely spot, tranquil and serene.

The cars raced in, streaks of red and blue, tires etched black trails into the road, engines roaring and squealing. The trees quivered like frightened children.

Eve’s foot was pressed to the floor; her messy blonde curls were pinned to her forehead with sweat. Her empty holster pressed into her side as she swung her car into another turn.

She saw her pursuer leaning out through the window, firing a handgun whilst keeping her other hand on the steering wheel. Black hair trailed over a scar and piercing eyes.

A bullet struck the body of Eve’s car, a black mark ripping through the paintwork. Eve knew that it could easily have hit the tires or the engine – or the back of her head.

The cars raced out of sight just as swiftly as they’d entered, passing beyond the line of trees and the curve of the road. The roars of their engines faded into the distance and it seemed as if every tree breathed a sigh of relief as all became silent and tranquil once more.

---

Word Count: 200

This is for Flash Fiction for Purposeful Practitioner. Thanks to rogershipp for running the challenge!

A Brush with Death

Hooves sinking deep into wet sand, the two horses raced through the surf. The riders were drowned in sounds of thunderous horseshoes, ragged breaths, booming heartbeats, crashing waves, and the fierce war cries of their ten pursuers, who wore black robes and black mail upon black horses.

“They’re gaining!” Alida shouted to her companion.

“We’ll lose them at the river mouth!” Inga replied, urging her horse onwards.

The mouth loomed ahead, the sea waters flowing around jagged rocks as they became fast-flowing river rapids.

“We’ll lose ourselves!” Alida snapped.

But Inga ignored her, riding into the roaring rapids, her horse protesting, the ten riders hot upon her trail. Alida raced after her.

Moments later, they were on the other side, their horses drenched and terrified, their pursuers left behind.

“Why do you always lead me so close to death?” Alida asked.

Inga smiled. “But I always lead you back.”

---

Word Count: 149

This is for Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Iain Kelly for providing the prompt photo!

Four Minutes

The image flashed on the screen: the palacae, the golden statue, the green of the trees. It all seemed so quiet, so serene, so normal.

“You understand, of course,” the man in the golden mask explained, turning to look at his bound prisoner, “that they will not even have the time to feel fear before the end comes? It will just be a blaze of light and then…” He tapped his fingers on a computer and Eve imagined a smug smile spreading beneath his mask. “Boom.”

“You’re a lunatic,” Eve said.

“Come now,” the man replied. “Be fair. I’m a genius. Wars are very profitable if you happen to be in the arms business. And there’s nothing quite like a terrorist attack to kick off a war.” He put a hand to his mask, almost revealing the face beneath. “And, of course, it gives me a chance for revenge. Revenge on the country that cast me out like a leper.”

He pressed a red button.

“You have four hours, Miss Westby.”

Eve smiled as the ropes that had bound her fell to the floor, leaving only thin red lines around her wrists and ankles.

“You have four seconds,” she replied.

---

Word Count: 200

This is for Sunday Photo Fiction!