I've just realised these posts are listed with the most recent first. (Well duh!) Obviously my story will appear back to front. Does anyone know if I can reverse the presentation of posts?
If not 'Welcome to my serial in reverse.'
Sync
Smoke billowed out the top of the door. He took a deep breath, held it and bending low walked toward the screaming and crying. He quickly looked in each room as he passed the doorways. All clear there. The cries of distress changed to coughing. Thick smoke filled the top half of the room. Sync got down on hands and knees. The mother lay on the floor clutching the small child both coughing, gasping for oxygen.
“Give me her,” he shouted above the crackling roaring flames. She let go of the child and grabbed Sync’s t-shirt and pulled. It tore open from side to side. “Roll over, onto your knees. We have to crawl out.” The woman, though tiny, had a big baby bump. She struggled to her side. Sync grasped her clothes in the middle of her back and heaved. She was over.
Angry flames lashed the wall above the stove and across the ceiling. Spitting and popping sparks sprinkled the three as they crawled to the doorway. Scorching heat seared the floor under their hands, their skin, their breath. Sync held the child to his chest with one arm and crawled with the mother. They both passed through the doorway together. His knee found a nail-head sticking up from the board. It stung as it went in. He kept moving. His jeans caught on the nail and ripped down to the hem.
“Keep crawling,” he shouted. Smoke crowded the hall down to their backs. Near the front door he heard sirens and bells getting louder.
Continued…
By Diane L Wood
Writer
Click on tomorrow for the next exciting episode!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Episode 2: ... and there's more ...
And the name for my serial is:
(Drum roll please.)
Synchro
He showered stale smoke from his hair and body, and wrapped the towel around his hips. Torn t-shirt and jeans hung from his hand as he strolled to the rubbish bin.
Sync wanted to forget today. The clothes dropped in, he secured the bin lid.
It started out like any other day. Up early, a half hour run, breakfast and off to work. Then the world turned upside-down.
His mobile phone rang. It was Judy. She blasted him and told him to drop dead. She never wanted to see him again. He wasn’t sure why.
Then he stopped at traffic lights and two smart arse kids broke his passenger side window and stole his wallet. It had been on the seat. He was in shock from the phone call and not quick enough the grab the little mongrel.
Then the fire thing.
He drove down a side street and parked. He rang Judy. She didn’t answer. At the same time an old dear, waving her arms about, ran from the front door of the old weather-board house beside him.
“Fire! Fire in the kitchen,” she yelled in his broken window. “Please help. My daughter and grand-daughter are in there.”
Sync jumped out the car and raced to the front door.
Continued…
By Diane L Wood
Writer
(Drum roll please.)
Synchro
He showered stale smoke from his hair and body, and wrapped the towel around his hips. Torn t-shirt and jeans hung from his hand as he strolled to the rubbish bin.
Sync wanted to forget today. The clothes dropped in, he secured the bin lid.
It started out like any other day. Up early, a half hour run, breakfast and off to work. Then the world turned upside-down.
His mobile phone rang. It was Judy. She blasted him and told him to drop dead. She never wanted to see him again. He wasn’t sure why.
Then he stopped at traffic lights and two smart arse kids broke his passenger side window and stole his wallet. It had been on the seat. He was in shock from the phone call and not quick enough the grab the little mongrel.
Then the fire thing.
He drove down a side street and parked. He rang Judy. She didn’t answer. At the same time an old dear, waving her arms about, ran from the front door of the old weather-board house beside him.
“Fire! Fire in the kitchen,” she yelled in his broken window. “Please help. My daughter and grand-daughter are in there.”
Sync jumped out the car and raced to the front door.
Continued…
By Diane L Wood
Writer
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Episode 1: Passing the first post...
Wha-hoo! Off and running.
Hi all.
I'm a writer and this is my serial spot.
I'll add to it everyday, just a paragragh or two,
and comment on anything else relevant to the moment.
Hope you enjoy my ramblings.
Episode 1
The Un-Titled Serial
Sync wasn't used to all the attention. He tried to move away from the group. The cameras and reporter moved with him.
"How does it feel to be a hero?" said the red head poking a microphone at his face.
He looked around checking she wasn't talking to someone else.
"Me?"
"You saved a baby and her pregnant mother from incineration. How does it feel?" she persisted.
"It's good they're ok," said Sync.
The police said he could go. They'd taken his details and he wanted to leave.
Firemen had extinguished the fire. Smoke clogged Sync's nostrils. Screams from mother and baby echoed in his ears. His body was heavy. His stomach growled. His torn clothes needed replacing. He turned and strode toward his car down the street.
"Our modest hero is welcome to park his car in my drive-way anytime he wants," he heard the red head tell her camera-man.
Sync flushed and kept walking.
If only they knew.
by Diane L Wood
Writer
Hi all.
I'm a writer and this is my serial spot.
I'll add to it everyday, just a paragragh or two,
and comment on anything else relevant to the moment.
Hope you enjoy my ramblings.
Episode 1
The Un-Titled Serial
Sync wasn't used to all the attention. He tried to move away from the group. The cameras and reporter moved with him.
"How does it feel to be a hero?" said the red head poking a microphone at his face.
He looked around checking she wasn't talking to someone else.
"Me?"
"You saved a baby and her pregnant mother from incineration. How does it feel?" she persisted.
"It's good they're ok," said Sync.
The police said he could go. They'd taken his details and he wanted to leave.
Firemen had extinguished the fire. Smoke clogged Sync's nostrils. Screams from mother and baby echoed in his ears. His body was heavy. His stomach growled. His torn clothes needed replacing. He turned and strode toward his car down the street.
"Our modest hero is welcome to park his car in my drive-way anytime he wants," he heard the red head tell her camera-man.
Sync flushed and kept walking.
If only they knew.
by Diane L Wood
Writer
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
