Writing Exercise….

So a while back I did this thing that I do from time to time. Pick 3 random words and use them as the basis for a story.  Got occult, spaceship, organic. Now, I’ll admit I pull words from genres I’m interested in. There is no point in doing an exercise writing about something I’m not interested in. The whole point of this is to be fun.. This is still in mostly in raw form, But I thought it came out well given the words I was using:

Michael’s head was reeling. He strained to pull his limp body from the deck.  Around him, warning klaxons screamed, fire suppressors hissed and the smell of charred metal clawed it’s way into the back of his throat.

Brimstone glowed, white hot,  inches from his face. Scorching the deck-plates where it touched the metal.

He rolled onto his stomach slowly and attempted to get to his hands and knees. The instinct to breathe was drowning out his senses and his ability to recover the situation.  Every nerve fiber in his body was screaming for him to take air into his lungs.

It was still over there, towering above him.  He could hear the guttural snarl, feel the vibrations of it moving, just out of his line of sight.  It was massive, and angry….and worst of all it was “free.”

 

Suddenly, the air around him stirred and became cooler with the passing of something…. Someone.

 

Murdock stepped over him. The tail of his long coat creating a draft that swept away the choking smoke and for a moment his head cleared.  He felt the leather hem drag across his back and he cranes his neck to the side to peer up out of the corner of his watering eyes.

 

Zev Murdock looked down at him with an annoyed shake of his salt and pepper locks.  There would be hell to pay when this got put right. But he didn’t want to think about that now.  He had to get to his feet.

 

A memory flashed in his mind:  Years ago, a white nondescript room. Murdock jabbing his finger into his chest to emphasize each word. “They can smell fear on you, son. Like dogs. Big 5 ton dogs that can rip your soul out and swallow it before you ever know what happened.  Always stand your ground, intimidation is their biggest weapon.”

 

The present day swam back into focus.

A blast rocked the wooden frame of the containment structure.  Runes, scrawled around the seemingly  endless web work of beams and trusses,  flashed an angry red.   Something between a screech and a roar sounded from the billowing black smoke within that lattice work.

Zev Murdock had disappeared into that smoke only moments before.  Driving back the source of the harrowing noise.

 

Saving the ship.  Saving  her crew and even Michael’s life.

 

Murdock was a fearless and defiant foe.  He was also a Master Shackler.

There was no scenario that Michael could contrive that placed the daemon as the victor in this.  They would be ok.

 

The anti-gravity system of the ship must have been damaged when they lost containment.  Pieces of charred wood and brimstone spun in slow circles inches from the floor.  Sam could feel his stomach heaving a little as he took a step forward.

 

The canister of lamb’s blood lay shattered where he had dropped it.  The liquid slowly melded together into globs.  Sam reached out his hand some of it bounced away from his fingers and scattered to the far side of the deck.

As it slowed, it skipped once off the plating  and splattered into the lifeless form of one of the deck hands.  Her own blood had finished pooling around her body minutes ago from the gaping wound in her chest where a chunk of wood had torn a hole through her heart.

 

Sam shuddered to look at the lifeless eyes.  Instead he scrambled to gather up what was left of the blood into a broken half of it’s original container.  There was still time, he could get the sigil drawn and at least containment would be reestablished.

 

The deep base of a man’s shout echoed from the plasti-steel walls.  Murdock was winning.

But for how long…. and at what cost.

Every time a “Shackler” had to rebind a daemon,  Something of themselves was lost.  Sam hoped that he could make it to that rank one day. But for now, he only hoped that Zev Murdock would not pay too heavy a price for his mistake.

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About Eric

Writer/Plumber/Poet/Father/Gentleman/Romantic
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5 Responses to Writing Exercise….

  1. cool! how’d you go about picking your 3 words

  2. rosie49 says:

    WOW… all that from 3 little words.

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