FSF Challenge - Sparks

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Writers! Share the best blog post, story, or poem you've written in 2013 here: Best of 2013

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This week's writing challenge from Five Sentence Fiction ( Lillie McFerrin Writes ) is based upon the prompt: Sparks

What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week Lillie posts one word for inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word.

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Shameless plug section!

The horror anthology, Gothic Blue Book III - Graveyard Edition  by Burial Day Books, includes my poem, The Ballad of Drunken Jack. Available on Amazon for Kindle or in paperback.

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This is Part III of a Five Sentence Fiction story I wrote some time ago called Wardrobe Malfunction. It was based on a dieselpunk/steampunk story from another FSF writer, Rogue Tinker. It was followed by Part II, called Escape. And by continuing the story, I get to use the word dieselpunk again, which for reasons unknown, excites me.

When we last left our heroine, she was hanging on to the side of the enormous analog computational engine that controlled the city's infrastructure, and though having freed herself, was still in danger as the section she was holding on to was slowly rotating.... What will she do?

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Buckle Down!

     As the section of machinery to which Ysabelle was clinging slowly rotated, she heard a metallic ping as the buckle from the goggles that had held her captive fell into the huge clockwork, finally depositing itself in the small area between one of the precisely balanced flywheels and its supporting structure, alerting the world to its location by a high-pitched squeal emanating from within the shower of sparks produced as the metal of both ground away. Easing her way to the edge of the moving section, careful to keep her feet under her while holding tightly to the framework high above the ground, she hoped to be able to dislodge the old buckle as the rotation brought her close the whining flywheel before it became unbalanced, destroying the entire device like some huge demonic dreidel. As it passed in front of her, Ysabelle took her knife and deftly flicked the errant bit of metal from its lodgings, ending the noise and fireworks, and bringing a bit of surreal peace to her lofty perch. Taking advantage of her location at the edge of the rotating section, she slipped the knife back into the sheath within her boot and reached out for the relative stability of the adjacent framing, stepping off onto the solid beams that held the heavier pieces in place with a nonchalance that defied the altitude at which the acrobatics took place. Quite pleased with herself, and finally able to rest her weary body, Ysabelle didn't seem to mind what felt like a few drops of rain on her arm—until she looked up to see oil dripping from a gearbox even farther above and realized her job was just beginning.

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