ticklishscribe
3rd Level Violet Feather
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Tickling fiction abounds on TMF, but what about non tickle fiction. Here's the chance to post your stories in this genre. Keep it to no more than 5 pages max. Here's one of mine
Sunset Strip.
Keri’s eyes opened and the foggy blur of a neon sign flashing “Paradise Hotel, greeted her with an ominous enchantment. She groaned and went to rise, but waves of exhaustion swept over her. Longitude, latitude, exhaustion and lassitude. She felt as though she were half buried up to her neck in sand, laying in paradise.
She could see the flashing palm tree and sunset; on, off, on, off, on, off, on, but slowly linking into the distance. The palm tree was swaying, she was swaying. A parrot in the tree was echoing, “Polly wants a cracker, Polly wants a cracker, Polly wants a crack-“
Her mind wandered down to the beach and she turned and saw a beacon, a light flickering in the distance. She flickered. The candle burned low, but it’s reflection shone brightly in the bowl of the spoon lying on the bedside table and the light blinded her when she looked at it. Paradise flashed again and again. She wanted to rise, but the grains of the sands of time were spilling from the top of the hourglass that covered her, burying her even further. The sun continued to fall.
“Polly wants a cracker, Polly wants a cracker, Polly wants a crack-“ the parrot continued to call and Keri began to feel the heat from the candle. She was hot and went to reach for some ice, but it wasn’t there. She had melted it, the last meagre supply she had. She had been spoon-feeding herself with it and now it was gone.
The waves returned and a storm followed, with the water now cold and unrelenting. The parrot who wanted a cracker, wanted a crack had flown from paradise and the beach was deserted; she was deserted.
She looked down at some lifeless, bleached, white driftwood and tried to move it, but it wouldn’t budge. She was drifting on and off the beach, but the wood wasn’t. She wanted to stand, but the wood wouldn’t budge. Her arms wouldn’t move either, more driftwood to contend with, more driftwood.
The parrot was now gone, but still echoing its cries in her subsiding consciousness; “Polly wants a cracker, Polly wants a cracker, Polly wants a crack,“ was now returning as a screaming gull. She was now screaming, echoing the parrot.
The sun was below the horizon now and the water subsided to a cold constant lapping. The sky was bright with a ghostly moon and a single falling star descended into the heavens. The candle flickered out, but the neon sign continued to flicker paradise, paradise, paradise and the parrot continued to call from another beach.
C.
Keri’s eyes opened and the foggy blur of a neon sign flashing “Paradise Hotel, greeted her with an ominous enchantment. She groaned and went to rise, but waves of exhaustion swept over her. Longitude, latitude, exhaustion and lassitude. She felt as though she were half buried up to her neck in sand, laying in paradise.
She could see the flashing palm tree and sunset; on, off, on, off, on, off, on, but slowly linking into the distance. The palm tree was swaying, she was swaying. A parrot in the tree was echoing, “Polly wants a cracker, Polly wants a cracker, Polly wants a crack-“
Her mind wandered down to the beach and she turned and saw a beacon, a light flickering in the distance. She flickered. The candle burned low, but it’s reflection shone brightly in the bowl of the spoon lying on the bedside table and the light blinded her when she looked at it. Paradise flashed again and again. She wanted to rise, but the grains of the sands of time were spilling from the top of the hourglass that covered her, burying her even further. The sun continued to fall.
“Polly wants a cracker, Polly wants a cracker, Polly wants a crack-“ the parrot continued to call and Keri began to feel the heat from the candle. She was hot and went to reach for some ice, but it wasn’t there. She had melted it, the last meagre supply she had. She had been spoon-feeding herself with it and now it was gone.
The waves returned and a storm followed, with the water now cold and unrelenting. The parrot who wanted a cracker, wanted a crack had flown from paradise and the beach was deserted; she was deserted.
She looked down at some lifeless, bleached, white driftwood and tried to move it, but it wouldn’t budge. She was drifting on and off the beach, but the wood wasn’t. She wanted to stand, but the wood wouldn’t budge. Her arms wouldn’t move either, more driftwood to contend with, more driftwood.
The parrot was now gone, but still echoing its cries in her subsiding consciousness; “Polly wants a cracker, Polly wants a cracker, Polly wants a crack,“ was now returning as a screaming gull. She was now screaming, echoing the parrot.
The sun was below the horizon now and the water subsided to a cold constant lapping. The sky was bright with a ghostly moon and a single falling star descended into the heavens. The candle flickered out, but the neon sign continued to flicker paradise, paradise, paradise and the parrot continued to call from another beach.
C.
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