Wednesday, May 09, 2012

Agentversary Entry: Day 3!

Sorry for the late post.  I was away from the computer and this didn't auto-post!

The rules are simple. Write a caption of no more than 150 words for this photo. It can be a beginning or a middle or a fleeting glimpse of the literary. It must be based on the image and it must be your original work!

You may enter once each day/once each photo entry.

This is open worldwide, but entries must be in English. The query critique prize must be for a manuscript in English.

I will choose a selection of my favorites and utilize a panel of secret judges to help me choose the winner. The winner gets a query critique from Mollie Glick of Foundry Literary (to be awarded in late June/early July.)




  1. Until just this moment, I hoped someone would tell them a mistake was made, that it’s not my time. Beseech the Otherworld on my behalf, let them know something’s been left undone.

    That didn’t happen.

    I’m in this place just like everyone else. My life abrupt, uneventful, and tragically pathetic in its end.

    Proof that I'm nothing special.

    Despite the inevitability, I can go of my own volition or be compelled. I’ve never had much say in life or death. Now here, in-between, a choice must be made.

    What remains of me grows dim. My scarred limbs wispy and gray as the encroaching fog. My ruined face blows away with the breeze.

    I must decide.

    The voice-waves return, lapping against the weathered bridge like the tide:

    Choose well.

    Choose wise.

    Choose fast.

    I didn’t resist before. I need to now.

    I choose to fight.

  2. Everyone has to walk the test. Everyone faces the bridge.

    The eyes of the clan are multiplied into a thousand gnawing fireflies at my back. This is as far as they'll come - the guardians, my betrothed. My brother. It's forbidden to look back. A keening wind trembles up from my feet, shivering the narrow slats into a strange, hoarse singing. And everywhere, the cloud.

    This is where it gets tricky.

    I walk into the cloud; I grip my courage in my fists. When the first hand lays clammy and cool on my shoulder, I keep my eyes forward. I know better than to look at the dead. Soon, I am gloved in a murder of hands and voices. I ignore their whispers. But then one says something that grips at my heart. I know that voice.

    I stop. And I do the unthinkable: I turn to face my soul.

  3. Rebecca HipworthMay 10, 2012 at 6:19 AM

    As I approached the bridge, my vision blurred. Before me lay a wall of thick fog, as thick and heavy as bodies piled up in a mortuary. Trembling, I took my first few steps. The bridge swayed dangerously from side to side, faster and faster till it ever so slowly came to a creaky halt. I edged forward. Wait! What was that? There was a shadow in the corner of my eye. Turning around to see what the mysterious form was, I almost lost my balance. It must have been a figment of my imagination. I continued on more wearily this time. There it was again, a moaning, the sound of a thousand dead souls. I ran. I had to get to the other side of the bridge before it was too late. That's when I saw him. A figure dressed all in black. As I stared, a sly grin slowly spread its way across his face. "Hello Lucy." What? How did he know my name?

  4. I am the first to make this journey. Someday, generations of passing feet will smooth the rough boardwalk. The railing is still full of splinters. With each small jab in my palm, I almost flinch.

    On each side, the trees are stripped of leaves; their only color is black. Naked I walk, my skin newer than the spring flowers soon to burst from those bare branches.

    I turn to see how far I’d come. Already the way closes behind me. Curtains of mist drop as if to a stage. But this is not an ending for me.

  5. Many have wondered about this pathway, where it goes as it snakes into the mist. But there is only one who know the answer: The Dead.

    And, well, me. No, I'm not dead. Sometimes I wish I were, but that's not the point. I'm The Dead's escort. They pay me that gold coin and I let them cross. And if they don't have the gold coin? The mist claims them. Their screams still give me nightmares.

    But even as much as I wish I could leave, be relieved of my duties, I can't. I traded my life long ago for a dead man. A dead man I loved.

    A dead man who had abandoned me.