Writespiration #39


I always write from the same perspective – human, and in the first person. In my novel, I have shape shifters. One of the pieces of feedback I had was to explore further what being in another form would feel like to all the senses. Hence this weeks writespiration was born. I thought I would keep it narrow, hence the restriction to insects, but hey, there are millions of species…

Here’s mine:

“Those humans are idiots, Mike, I’m telling you,” I said, enjoying the stretch of ruffling my wings through the cold air.

“What makes you say that?”

Mike hopped off the wall and straight onto the plate below us. His sucker pummelling the juicy morsel on the plate. My own sucker tingled at the thought. My legs twinged and I flew after him.

“Because they want to ‘be’ us. They’re giants, have it all, long lives, plenty of food, yet they want to be us.”

“Be us? Are you sure your not high on sugar, Joe? This is a pretty intense crumb were on. Maybe you should get some juice,” he said, nodding to the glass a short flight away.

“Mike, seriously, haven’t you ever heard em’ say, ‘I’d love to be a fly on the wall?'”

He jutted his sucker out a few times, and sat back on his back legs.

“You’re right, they are idiots.”


Now to last weeks writespiration, we had some seriously scary entrants last week. I have to say, despite some minor protest about the difficult prompt, I think we have a bunch of secret horror writers in our midst, you guys are beyond terrifying!

 First – Ali who left me terrified of all my ex’s!:

“I did it for you,” he whispers, his eyes swirling pools of desolation in the shadows.

I sigh. “No you didn’t. You were thinking only of yourself, like you always do.”

Of course, his mouth is full of protestation. “But I love you.”

I close my eyes. I don’t want to see, be what we have become. “I just wanted to go to where all puppets go when their strings are finally cut.”

He shudders. “But he would have just chopped you up, made firewood of you, or recycled yo into someone else.”

“Better that than this.” I stare sadly into the mirror.

“But now we can always be together,” he whimpers, and I shake my head in despair.

Except that I can’t. It’s hard to move your head at all when it has been screwed onto the chest of your psycho puppet ex-lover.


Next up Jane – NEVER get in a fight with Jane…

“Isn’t there anything else to watch?” she said and snatched up the remote. “What is it with people and their obsession about clowns being creepy?”
He shrugged. “It’s because they smile all the time when you know they don’t really mean it.”
“Like your mother, you mean?”
“Mine? You think I don’t know what yours says about me, the two-faced cow?”
They glared at one another, she holding the remote as if it was a detonator, he with a plate he’d been drying, balancing in his hands.
“If that’s a taste of the conversation I can expect this evening, I’d rather find a stray cat to talk to. Don’t wait up.”
“Ah, go to hell!” he hurled after her along with the plate.
She grabbed her jacket from the stand in the hallway and flung open the front door.
A boy was standing on the step, a mask in one hand, a hatchet in the other. He had taken off his smiling face and turned the real one to her, the one with empty eyes. They were beyond sadness, beyond caring.
“He’s through there,” she said and held the door open.
The boy nodded and walked in. She slammed the door closed behind him. A cat watched her from the top of the wall, but slunk away into the shadows when she caught its eye.


Now to Geoff, who… I don’t even know where to go with this – it’s proper scary, will definitely leave you wanting more, and probably a bit less sane!

The Box by Geoff Le Pard

Gran said ‘don’t touch’ in that way she had. Like with kitchen knives and the matches. Like she wanted it to sound not so important when it really was. Jordi wasn’t tempted. ‘She said NO.’ I’d not seen him so upset and I admit there was something about it, not exactly a smell, more a sense of a smell. Like when you think you’ve smelt something bad and get down to sniff and it’s not there.
We’d only gone in the attic because the builder left the ladder down. Usually we couldn’t get there. It was full of Grandpa’s stuff from his days running the circus. Mum told us about it once, after this programme on the telly; she was sort of dreamy but after she told us she said not to mention it to Gran. ‘It’ll just upset her, you know?’ Everything about Grandpa upset her.
Jordi wanted to wear his ringmaster’s hat but I went straight to that box, even though it was tucked in the corner. It looked really old. I suppose Jordi didn’t see it; he’d only just got his glasses, see and he wasn’t used to them.
We thought, after what Mum had said, about not mentioning the circus, Gran would be cross but she wasn’t. Dreamy really. Like Mum. She told us about the travelling while she made tea – macaroni cheese – and the animals. She said about the fun. But as we had our ice cream for afters, she seemed to lose track. That’s when Jordi asked ‘Why did he stop?’
Gran picked up the one picture of him and traced his face. ‘It was the fire. People said… people blamed him. He lost so much. His beloved…’ Her tears splashed the glass in the frame and she wiped it away. ‘Losing his circus killed him, see. He couldn’t see a future.’
Jordi stopped asking questions but I couldn’t. I wanted more but she just shook her head. So when Jordi broke a tooth – I pushed him over but he knew better than to say – and Gran had to take him to the dentist, I was alone. I went into the attic to find that box. It was still there.
When I tried to pick it up it was too heavy. On the side there was a label. My name. For a moment I was stunned until I remembered I’d been named after Grandpa’s youngest son who’d died before I was born. This must have been his toy box.
Eagerly I opened it; it wasn’t locked. As the lid came off I sat back horrified. A burnt boy with no eyes stared blindly at me before jumping out. We fought but he was too strong. He ripped and ripped at my face, prising first one and then the other of my eyes from the sockets. Even though I was screaming and could feel the blood on my cheeks, I could hear his cackling, his scurrying steps on the ladder, the door to the attic being closed. And then I tried to stand and felt the box lid pressing the air on my face. I was shut in and at that moment I knew, just knew that no one would think to come and look for me in that box.



  1. My god Geoff! That IS proper scary! Think I just changed my mind about the Bloggers Bash!
    On the plus side, I know exactly what I’m going to write about this time…

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Just One Day

    I knew it would be tough, getting out of the chrysalis – you know it will be a struggle, but you’re ready for it. Just before the skin cracks you don’t want it to happen but the air is on your eyes, the light – sharp, caustic – is like a magnet and you pull like you’ve never pulled.
    This is your time. This is why you’ve been kept boxed tight for so long. The new wings, freed of their wrapping unfurl alone and you sit on the reed, exhausted, happy, dizzy as you dry.
    Vaguely you become aware of others, spiralling about you, a dusty cloud of other May Flies – a dance of daring and death.
    Seeing them draws from you a new strength, you let go and…
    I’m flying, spinning and twisting. And I have one thing on my mind. The only thing that matters. The only reason I’m here. The only thing that I will have time for. No eating, no sleeping, no rocket science or choosing which socks to buy my dad for Christmas. My life is the envy of every living thing. It’s the reason I have two penises. Today is my day and my day will be full of
    And then I’ll die. The French for orgasm is La Petite Mort. They know something, those Frenchies…

    Liked by 1 person

  3. The horror ones gave me the creeps. Yikes!

    Here’s my first attempt at joining the fun, with a story originally written for Valentine’s day…


    “How about sex and dinner?” she asked, her throaty voice sending tingles to play on the fine hairs on his neck. She rubbed one fine, slender foot on her lengthy leg, to stress her point.
    Her audacity caught his breath. They hardly knew each other, having met only a few minutes earlier. And yet here she was, her naked flesh provoking him into a frenzy. There was no mistaking the hunger in her eyes; the need for his body; her desire for his flesh.

    He swallowed and tried to look away, to avoid her burning stare. She snickered at his discomfort as he lowered his eyes to examine his trembling fingers. Speak! Say something! His mouth obeyed the mental command and opened, but words failed him. His gaze caressed her nude body to linger once more on trim legs that seemed to go on forever. He bit his lip, his heart skipping a beat. She had him now; he would stop at nothing to slither between her mounds, to experience the ecstasy promised by her inviting, crooked smile; consequences be damned.

    His determination slipped fast. With the last remnants of his strength, he made a final, desperate attempt to negotiate. To save himself. “Why not dinner first?” he croaked, a thick bead of sweat trickling down his forehead.

    Her raspy laugh made his knees tremble. He leaned against a tree to stop himself from shaking. A delightful, mortified shiver travelled through his body and onto the wrinkled bark at her next words.

    “Don’t be silly,” she said with a smirk. “Who’s ever heard of a praying mantis eating before sex?” She inched closer, her faceted, emerald eyes gazing softly at his smooth skin. He closed his eyes as her mouth brushed against his ear. Her hot breath tickled him, made his heart race. A long tongue slithered out of her lipless mouth to lick his slender neck. “That would ruin my appetite.”

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Haha this is truly brilliant. I love the build up to the ending, the humour and the choice of insect too. And the characterisation of the male was fab thought the snickering at his discomfort line was amazing. 😊 thanks so much for joining in.

      Liked by 1 person

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