In case you're visiting and haven't heard about Romantic Friday Writers, and you happen to be a romance author, take a peek at RFW because you may feel your missing out on a fun thing to do.
RFW hold a weekly challenge (post Friday) which equates to weekly blogfest! Each week we have a set theme (as above) to write to: max word count 400 You can post a snippet from latest novel (released), from ongoing WIP, a piece of poetry, or Flash-Fiction.
Mine this week is a stand-alone piece of Flash-Fiction.
Voices?
She turned over, very slowly, not wanting to make the bed creak, and gently shook Jeff’s bare shoulder. The voices suddenly ceased and he woke with a start, exclaimed, “What the hell?”
She instantly clamped his mouth with hand, and whispered, “Shhh. I can hear voices downstairs.”
He sat bolt upright. “You’re joking?”
They listened, intently.
“You sure you’re not imagining things?” he said, a husky whisper.
But no, the voices were at it again.
“Shit.”
“See, I told you so.”
He threw back the duvet, swung his legs over the bed. Aided by minimal moonlight casting through gap in the curtains he slid from the bed. “Stay here.”
“You can’t go down there.”
“Course I can. It’s my house.”
“Yes, but they might be armed.”
“So?” he said, making for the door.
“You can’t go like that, you’re stark bollock naked.”
“Better like this, nothing to grab hold of.”
“Yes there is, and I value that part of you. Stay here, and let’s call the police.”
A whispered chuckle came back. “I know what I’m doing. Believe it, they’ve picked the wrong house to break into.”
With that he opened the door not a click heard and disappeared.
She sat in silence the voices now quiet, too.
Had they heard Jeff?
Whilst silence hung heavy all around, her heartbeat and pulse likened to cacophony of drums.
How many minutes had he been gone?
Oh God. Voices again. They’re still down there.
She couldn’t bear it. What was going on? Where was Jeff?
All of a sudden he let out a terrible war cry, like he was some mad warrior hell-bent on revenge. Next thing a light went on outside the door, and footfalls heard on stairs. She held her breath, fearing the worst. The bedroom door flew open, her warrior then standing before her.
“What happened?” sounded lame, and her with duvet clenched to breasts.
He laughed. “It was the bloody television.”
“The TV?”
“In the heat of the moment of your wanting a valued part of me, you forgot to switch the damn thing off.”
“Oh . . . Sorry about that.”
“You will be,” he said, taking a lunge toward the bed. “My valued part is primed, cocked, and ready for action.”
“I love it when you talk dirty, soldier boy” She threw the duvet open. “He who Dares, Wins.”
“I love you, too.”
To see entries by other participants go here.
