Slowtime: Episode 1 – "Waking" – Anna Meade

I am doing my best to write more regularly, so I entered Siobhan Muir’s Thursday Threads challenge. This stretched my comfort zone significantly, as you only have 12 hours to enter and I worked nine of those.

Nevertheless, I jotted down 250 words based on Slowtime, an amazing concept soundtrack album by my friend Paul Ramey.

Every Waking was the same. Adrenaline forced through his veins woke him from enforced sleep. Enu’s lungs spasmed; the first gasp after a year was always the sweetest. He vaulted from his cryochamber, shaking off dreams dark and restless.

The chronometer read ‘Next Sleep: 29 days, 23 hours’.

He hummed as he crossed to Elaida’s cryochamber, entering the code. The unbreakable crystalline cover slid back with a soft phoosh. He stared in horror at the body. Her pale hair fanned out on the pillowslip. Her features were almost identical – snub nose, pointy chin. Could this be Elaida? He’d heard of the Sleep corrupting memory.

Her eyelids fluttered and opened. Brown eyes. Elaida’s were blue. Her eyes were cornflower blue, though they had only ever seen pictures of cornflowers in books.

He stared down at this woman, this stranger who was his wife.

She sat up, “Enu, darling. I missed you so much.”

She smelled false. His bare toes dug into the soft dust. Non-Elaida clambered out easily and wrapped her arms around him. This woman’s muscles were not cramped from long disuse. She had not Slept; she had been placed in Elaida’s box.

The woman sensed stillness, “Enu?”

“Just tired from Quietus.”

“Sleeping a year will do that,” she said, patting his bottom.

Far above him, on a plateau overlooking the blasted landscape, the Keepers stood silhouetted against the harvest moon.

“He knows,” said one, glasses glinting.

“He only has 29 days left. What can he do?” said the other.

250 words

I did win an honorable mention, which is quite exciting. Below is my snazzy badge and the comments from judge Cara Michaels:

Anna Meade | @ruanna3

Cara says: Best ‘Story I Want Moar Of. Now, Plz. K, Thx.’ I loved the concept, the setting, the MC that just knows something is wrong… and then these mystery figures watching over him. Great stuff. Deliver the whole story to my inbox ASAP.

Interested? Why not go read Slowtime: Episode 2

The Fairy Ring Writing Contest Submission – Paul Ramey

 A few of you have contacted me about entering the writing contest without a blog. If you do not have a blog, just email me your entry at annabbps at I will be happy to post it on my blog so that others may read your work. Of course, you retain all rights to your work.

Here is the latest entry to The Fairy Ring Writing Contest, courtesy of Paul Ramey. If you enjoy, please comment.

Between Pages

By Paul Ramey
At first I mistook it for a pressed flower.
It was frail and dry, and as I opened the pages of the book it stood up slightly, caught deep in the fold. On either side was a slight silhouette, a delicate shadow of the form frozen on the parchment.
It was one of my grandmother’s books. I’d been in her study for the past hour, escaping from the cold reality of her funeral. She’d been laid to rest that very morning, and now people were milling around in the living room and kitchen, reminiscing over the many ways they missed her.
“What is this doing here?” I whispered as I gently pried it out. The tears had not yet come to me, and I hated knowing that I’d failed to mourn properly at the funeral of someone that I loved so deeply.
What was wrong with me?
I gave a slight tug to part of the tissue-thin material that seemed entwined with the pressed flower.
It was then that it winked at me.
I was looking at a little, living thing. It wore threadbare clothing, and had wispy, dragonfly wings. It began to unfold and expand, like an origami shape, and buzzed its wings intermittently, testing them.
Satisfied, the little figure pulled away from my fingers suddenly and took flight, coming level with my eyes. Then, buzzing around to my ear, I heard a very tiny, insect-like whisper.
“Thank you, dear.”
And then it was gone, the light breeze carrying it right out the open window and back into the world.
I walked over to the window, and I couldn’t help but smile as sudden tears lifted off my cheeks and followed the little spirit to wherever the winds decided to carry it next.