The Hunted

Whispered words jolted Sayre awake. A twig snapped, then another. He surveyed his surroundings. The thick bush chosen during the black was now riddled with holes of light, its arms reaching to embrace him.

One touched his leg, its beam spotlighting cracks in the dried muck coating his body.

Sayre’s camouflage would last one more day at most. He frowned. He couldn’t risk returning to the rotting bog. The last time stole what little food he’d eaten and left him weakened for days.

“Why are we stopping?” The voice was high, laced with impatience.

“Quiet Ayan! Never raise your voice when in Seilgie lands!” The harsh whisper was low, the stillness of the forest and proximity allowing Sayre to decipher the words.

This was not the warlord’s hunting party, but a mentor and youthling—likely in the lands for an aging ceremony.

A smile spread across Sayre’s face, adrenaline surging as a he plotted his path to freedom.

He moved to a crouch, thankful practice bathed his motion in silence. He stretched his senses, targeting the pair’s location as power coiled in his muscles.

They were perhaps ten paces away. Sayre waited, needing one within reach.

“Ayan, do you hear it?” The low voice spoke again, so quiet Sayre found himself leaning into the words.

“I hear nothing.” The youthling matched the mentor’s volume, but the words arrived clear.

Sayre’s smiled twisted. The youthling was closer.

“That is my point. Be on guard. A predator hunts.”

Spots of boots and leather leggings peeked between the leaves. Sayre analyzed his exit point, choosing where the branches grew thin. They would tear his skin, but he had little choice. He sprang from cover, tackling the child. The body beneath him went limp and laughter hit him. Stunned, he looked up at the cackling ancient woman—the mentor.

“Do what I say or—,” Sayre’s words stopped as fire sliced his throat. He looked down, barely registering the grinning youthling before the black took him.

* * *

Today’s piece is inspired by two writing prompts:

Write on Edge: “This week I’d like to give you a snippet of lyrics from FUN. “Some Nights”. I’ve included the official video for the whole song if you’d like to hear the lyrics in context of the song, but definitely feel free to read the lines without listening to the song.”



My first link up with Trifecta: This week’s word is:

1: a trodden way
2: a track specially constructed for a particular use
3 a : course, route
b : a way of life, conduct, or thought

Please remember:
Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.
You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.
The word itself needs to be included in your response.
You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.

* * *

I always welcome concrit. What worked for you, what didn’t? Do you want to read more?

Based on some concrit I have updated and given the “he” a name to avoid confusion.

I am knew to the Trifecta challenge, but this week’s challenge is community-judged.

  • For the 12 hours following the close of the challenge, voting will be enabled on links.
  • In order to vote, return to this post where stars will appear next to each link.  To vote, simply click the star that corresponds with your favorite post.
  • You can vote for your top three favorite posts.
  • Voting is open to everyone. Encourage your friends to vote for you, if you wish, but please don’t tell them to vote on a number.  The numbering of the posts changes regularly, as authors have the ability to delete their own links at any time.
  • You have 12 hours to vote.  It’s not much time, so be diligent! We’ll send out reminders on Twitter and Facebook.


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Good-bye, Mr. Dick

“Come on Ree, live a little.” Jackie waved the shot of tequila in front of me—my third—and smirked. “Mr. Dick would have hated it.”

“Jackie, I don’t think—,” Livvy said, stopping as I tossed the burning liquid down my throat. Her shoulders shifted, signaling the sigh of frustration I couldn’t hear over the 80’s one-hit-wonders blaring in the background. “How is puking her brains out going to make her feel better?”

Jackie waved to the bartender for another round. “She’ll be fine. I’ll give her my hangover remedy. You know without any liquid courage she’ll just hide in the corner all night.”

I swatted Jackie’s arm. “Hey bitch, I can hear you.” Was it my imagination or were my words slurring already? I repeated the phrase, taking special care to enunciate.

Far from being offended, Jackie threw back her head and laughed. “Now we’re getting somewhere! This last one should do it.”

A fourth shot appeared and Jackie raised her glass. “To Ree’s first night free from Mr. Dick. May it be the unforgettable night we can’t remember.”

“Whoohoo!” My voice rang through the silence between songs and several people turned our way. For the first time in years I didn’t care. “Fuck you, Mr. Dick, and the paralegal you rode in on!” I downed my drink with such zeal a good portion spilled down my cheeks and onto my new peekaboo cleavage shirt.

Jackie whooped in response and Livvy smiled. “You two are nuts, you know that?”

Jackie tucked us under each arm and gave a conspiratorial wink. “Then let’s get crazy.”

* * *

My shirt was missing. And my bra. A giant Devil’s jersey draped my body down to my thighs. My just-bought-yesterday black lace panties remained. Thanks to Jackie’s insistence on purchasing the thong version, my butt bore the imprint of the black leather couch.

And this was not Livvy’s apartment, though something struck a chord of familiarity. Connecting the dots proved to be impossible through the raging headache.

Hangover cure my ass.

I pulled on my pants, the act complicated by my sweat laden legs—thanks to sleeping on leather—my compromised balance, and the urge to pee.

I’ve seen this couch before. Where?

I needed the bathroom so I stumbled across the carpet, my bare feet sinking into the softness, instinctively knowing where to go.

How the hell—?

I finished crossing the living room and found a door ajar, the room dark. A snore echoed through the opening and I hesitated.

“Waking up my sister is dangerous,” a deep voice rumbled from behind. “Jackie isn’t a morning person.”

Sam’s apartment. I was at Sam’s.

I whirled and dizziness washed over me. I swayed and warm hands gripped me, holding me steady.

“Take it easy. You worshiped the porcelain goddess enough last night. Besides,” Sam added with a grin, “if you puke on my favorite jersey, I might have to turn down your intriguing proposal.”

~ *~ *~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*~

Write at the Merge will provide you with two… somethings… to spark your creativity. You have up to 500 words to write a creative writing piece inspired by the prompt. Some weeks both things might speak to you but some weeks your piece can be solely inspired by one of the offerings. It’s your prompt, so use it in a way that works for you.

This weeks prompt was based on the quote:

“When you’re in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will bein the cell next to saying, ‘Damn, that was fun’.” – Groucho Marx 

I’m trying to dust off the writing cobwebs and would appreciate any concrit you can give me. What worked, what didn’t?

Posted in Fiction, Writing Prompt | Tagged , , , | 17 Comments