SepSceneWriMo

• SepSceneWriMo: One (9/1/2019) - Bay the Hunting Hounds The desert sand cooled as the night wore on. Imkep struggled behind his brother, Teth, who frequently paused to support him. The wound in the younger’s calf, a slice delivered by a poorly shot arrow from a guard’s bow, seeped little now that a crust had formed. In the east the …
• SepSceneWriMo: Two (9/2/2019) - Steely Thorson fingered his winnings. Within just an hour he’d accumulated three times his stake. His competitors shuffled anxiously around him. They can wait, I’m in command, now. He readjusted the rolled-up sleeves of his green plaid shirt, stretched out the kinks in his neck and placed one knee in the dirt beside the mostly-round …
• SepSceneWriMo: Three (9/4/2019) - Rosie Dorothy plucked another plastic bottle from the dumpster behind the Classic Town Mall. The bottle still held three quarters of its brown-colored fluid and her cheap trigger-handled claw slipped and let it drop. Damn kids can’t finish what they buy. She tried again and this time used two hands to pinch it and releasing …
• SepSceneWriMo: Four (9/5/2019) - Long Pig The King’s cook thrashed about the kitchen seeking inspiration, a sign, a clue of any kind that might, by the end of the day, afford him his life. An emissary from a distant province had arrived the evening past. Notice had filtered down that the King required a fitting banquet. The oaken backdoor’s …
• SepSceneWriMo: 5, Six, 7 (9/7/2019) - Orbital Odyssey “What’s the count?” Dicky sat scrunched into the corner of the capsule trying to speak calmly. Mel Falori, Dicky’s co-worker, tapped the digital read-out, habit from decades of watching space exploration movies, the numbers held firm. “Over a thousand, now.” Dicky tried to slow his breathing, but the building CO2 tricked his mind …
• SepSceneWriMo: Eight (9/8/2019) - Missing “She’s this tall,” Tooq held his brown hand up to his chin, “and she laughs like a goat when you tickle her. And… and she’s all I have left.” When the bomb detonated beneath the fruit seller’s stand during Tuesday morning’s market, Tooq and his sister had been two stalls down, hunkered in a …
• SepSceneWriMo: Niner (9/9/2019) - Lacy’s Run Lacy’s grip on the polished brass pole held her like a bronco rider beyond her mandatory eight seconds. The calliope music didn’t help. Neither did the rotational momentum nor the pumping motion—up down, up down—like she needed her bucket filled during the Dust Bowl, and her well had run plum dry. “Lacy dear, …
• SepSceneWriMo: Ten (9/14/2019) - 10 X Down range the flagman, hunkered below the 1000 yard berm, stood and waved the black signal flag—another “X”. He lowered the four-foot wide target, taped over the pinky-thick hole with a circle made for the task and hoisted the target back up for Riccards’ last shot. Riccards, sharpshooter for the Army’s 103rd, let the …
• SepSceneWriMo: Eleven (9/14/2019) - Drought The floodwaters receded months ago leaving carcasses drying beneath an unrelenting sun. A burning eye that baked cracks in the mud-pan flats, deep crevices where even the tadpoles became stuck, rigid in their slow desiccation. While they could, magpies gorged themselves. Within a week the birds moved on, their black and white feathers kiting …
• SepSceneWriteMo: 12,13,14 (9/14/2019) - Memento Mori It should always rain for funerals. Bobby rode his bike to the cemetery. I bet I’m the only kid there. The plot had been dug at the far edge, nearly into the woods that surrounded the lonely graveyard. She probably likes being separated from the others. At least a dozen folks gathered around the hole; …
• SepSceneWriMo: Fifteen (9/15/2019) - Food of the Gods Chaco pinched the joint from El Hefe’s nimble fingers. He set the point to hover near his lips, disappearing beneath a draping mustache and inhaled a stream of reefer smoke into his barrel thick chest. “Yo, Chaco. Save some for us, cabrone.” Miguel the interpreter, sleek with words and gracious, empty …
• SepSceneWriMo: 16…21 (9/21/2019) - 16 The far side beckoned, a lover’s glimpse, but between the river’s banks fierce rapids churned. Slick rock promised a deadly fall, while the sucking water, forever folding onto itself, rumbled tympanic threats. To cross here was suicide. Yet, retreat offered a worse fate, the admission of failure, his dreams of conquest ruined. 17 A …
• SepSceneWriMo: Catcha-22 (9/22/2019) - “She’s not taking your calls or email.” “No shit. You guys took my phone.” I scratched at imagined flea bites. “Will she see me?” “Sorry, no direct communication of any kind. ” “What? How can I explain or defend myself?” “Defend? ‘Guilty as a scorpion’, she called you.” I considered the imagery and realized she …
• SepSceneWriMo 2021 (10/2/2021) - September Scene Writing Month has come and gone. Here are the scenes compiled into a single document. View the scenes in a new tab: here.