Creativity Brews

Telling stories is a passion of mine. Like art, fiction paints a tale with strokes of anger, sorrow, joy, and fear. My dream is to go big or to go home, but my skills are no where near where they need to be. Sometimes I have an entire novel length story roiling in my head, but I can't ever seem to craft that first sentence.
That's why I've begun this challenge.
Over the next 100 days I will be writing a flash fiction based on prompts or on my own whim. Each day I will limit myself to no more than 1500 words, but with a goal of 750-1,000.
Many people pursue their artistic passions through these challenges through painting, drawing, photography, or even reading a new book. I venture into the magical world of words where I can conjure emotions through letters and phrases. I will endeavor to bone the skill of telling a story in a breath so that I can begin weaving that novel.

Buckle up and enjoy the ride!

-Kevin

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When Laughter Fades

Jimsonweed whipped at my legs as I ran through the treacherous fields. I could hear him yelling behind me, stumbling over the hidden pits and snares. We had been playing this never-ending game of cat-and-mouse for several years; however, this would be the end of senselessness. No more pleasantries. No more silence. No more running around trying to not be killed. No, today I wouldn’t miss the boat to victory like my leaders had. They had faced this man head on when I was just a child. I saw him slit their throats without a second thought. They tried to reason with the devil, but I knew only bringing hell would ever stop someone from the depths of darkness. I would become the predator with my minefield of traps beneath the foliage of red and green. The murderer would be the one slain tonight. The moon would put a spotlight on my heroism. The storm clouds would applaud my bravery. The grass would bow in respect. I ran into the abandoned warehouse that crumpled beneath the weight of years ...

A New Human

The sounds of the fracas were muffled against the panic swelling in her mind. The swarming mob surrounding her blurred into one motion as the captain punched in the code to the garbage chute. The space crew cornered her, pressing her into the small room, emptied clean since the last vacuum-drop. Despite the fact every noise on the space ship sounded like she was floating out there in the void, she could hear the jabs of their insults and the searing pain of their ridicule. She was the pariah of the ship. Somehow, her efforts for the sake of humanity were misconstrued as being crimes against humanity. And as such, her punishment was anything but lenient. The outrage snaked throughout the entire spacecraft, especially the Medical Bay. The chute doors closed in front of her, officially silencing the fray of the outcry that continued to rise opposite the glass panes. She placed a hand against the window, bracing herself as the sounds of a piercing alert reverberated against the b...

Holy Witches: A Salem Retelling

We were hunted for our spells. They accused us of using black magic; they torched our sisters for their involvement in witchcraft. Our flesh burnt while children and other villagers watched through the haze. We were monsters, deviants, devil-worshipers. We were the bane of the sanctity of our village. We were humanity’s last hope. Salem was a hallowed land, endowed by the auras of the ancient ones to protect the world from the dark void that threatened to devour all life. The void vacuumed the life from our sister planet, Mars, several centuries ago. Only we witches knew of the fate of the ancient world. We saw through the cosmos and mourned for Mars. We began practicing a holy art that would wrestle against the void. We sang enchantments beneath the full moon; we infused nature in our alchemy cauldrons. We sought to create, to nourish, to rejuvenate. We were the ambassadors to the sacred life that breathed in every part of Mother Earth. But the mortals of Salem were the ...

Creativity Brewing

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