Tuesday, 12 April 2011

Don't Say The Word Contest

My fabulous fellow Wench, Rain, did something very cool on her blog the other day.

She posted a challenge that she took part of - write a 500-700 word story about a werewolf without ever saying 'werewolf' in any way.

Sounds easy? Try it! You must tell your readers what you are talking about without saying the obvious - and yes, that includes shifter, any latin or other language.

I loved the challenge and tried to post my take on it in her comments box, but it was obviously too long!

We decided to link blogs. So, if you fancy doing the challenge, keep the link going! Post it on your blog and let us know!

Read the original post here.
Here is my take:

Never Say Werewolf


She stared at me; eyes challenging with a hint of superiority – the kind popular girls seem to perfect by the tender age of seventeen. I squirmed under her gaze; ironic given the fear I have long been accustomed to.
            Try as I might, tonight had been unavoidable. Stupid photography professor insisting on night shots. Usually I loved the class. It suited my personality to remain on the periphery of society without being under the damaging stare of those who could learn too much. Yeah, I loved the class. Until we were assigned partners on this assignment.
            Cara Walker, so hot she makes steam look frosty and all around badass, had the stellar idea of capturing tonight’s full moon…a night I preferred to spend as far away from civilisation as possible.
            I told her to stay away from me – warned her I wasn’t safe to be around. Something in her glare even made the beast inside me terrified to defy her.
            We drove in her car to the lookout where she said we’d get the best shot. My fists clutched the edge of my seat as I forced down the animal rising in my throat, clawing at my insides to be set free.
            There had never been reason to keep it inside before – never reason to try. Maybe I could do it. Maybe I could stop the inevitable from happening.
            It feels worse outside as though the frame of the car kept the moon from penetrating my skin and awaking the beast. Oh, it was awake now alright, and it wanted to run.
            Things always feel different when I give in to the urge, simplistic; eat, hunt, run. I couldn’t hunt here, not with Cara around. What if I didn’t remember who she was? What she was?
            My stomach plummeted as I met her gaze. My warning hung in the air around us, mixing with the stench of animal seeping from my skin. Her eyes laughed at me, looked at me like the freak that I was.
            For a heartbeat her gaze softened and I dared to believe she not only saw the skin that often felt easier to wear than the one with the face of a boy.
            In that heartbeat my tender grasp on my rigidly held control slipped. I felt it dart away from me and no matter how hard I tried to get to get it back, it was gone.
It was coming.
It was here.
My bones cracked, the sound distant in my ears as the pain ripped my body apart. I buckled, collapsing on all fours as my spine arched into a new shape. My groans turned guttural, finally no longer even sounding human. With human hands I tried to hide my snout before the paws fell from my face and whine rolled past my muzzle.
Eat
Hunt
Run
The smell of fear hung in the air. It tasted different, not familiar. It tasted delicious. The hungry snarl amped the fear and I watched the girl stand before me – not moving, not running, not trying to hide.
She stretched out a hand and the hunger disappeared from my belly.
I crouched low to the ground, wanting to run from her and wanting to stay all at once. Her hand shook before it stilled and she touched my snout.
The girl smiled and sat and ran her fingers down my flank. Unease slipped from my blood, acceptance taking its place. 

0 comments:

Related Posts with Thumbnails

Wench Writers

Wench Writers

My Awards

My Awards

  © Blogger templates The Professional Template by Ourblogtemplates.com 2008

Back to TOP