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Weekend Writing Warriors: #8 Sunday

Welcome to the Weekend Writing Warriors challenge. The challenge is to write a story or excerpt from a story you’ve been working on in 8-10 sentences. Take the time to check out other writers at the link above! After this snippet, you can find earlier links to this story. This piece is entitled “Castille’s Stone.”

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“Fuck nah, Reven, I am not gonna clean up any mess that this fool makes in your life again,” Porsche says.

“Thank you, Reven,” Liam pants after being dropped on the floor by the man in green and his partner in orange.

“You better say, ‘Thank You,’ to me, piece of shit,” Porsche growls, pushing one of her six-inch heels into his back.

“Porsche, stop,” I say, turning away from his pained squeals.

“Nope, you’re not getting started with this again,” Porsche snatches the small bottle of Belladonna from my grip. I didn’t even realize I’d picked it up.

“Now that I have your word, let’s talk about that spell,” Elise says before throwing back a double shot of flaming crimson liquid.

Maybe I should run to my mommy.

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Previous snippets of “Castille’s Stone”

  1. Part One
  2. Part Two
  3. Part Three
  4. Part Four
  5. Part Five
  6. Part Six
  7. Part Seven
  8. Part Eight
  9. Part Nine
  10. Part Ten
  11. Part Eleven
  12. Part Twelve

Thanks for coming to check out my #8Sunday submission.

Check out the dcedwards.com site for other #8Sunday pieces.

Also, if you want to check out my completed novel, Bright City, it’s available on Amazon.

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Weekend Writing Warriors: #8Sunday

Welcome to the Weekend Writing Warriors challenge. The challenge is to write a story or excerpt from a story you’ve been working on in 8-10 sentences. Take the time to check out other writers at the link above!

*********************************

When she was alive the pulsing lights would have given her epileptic fits. Her last one remains a part of her morning nightmares. Perry promised her beauty and power. He hadn’t completely lied. She’d been narrow like an exclamation point but chunky around the waist, a bit pimply on her cheeks and forehead—even though she was in her mid 20’s, and often her rich ochre skin dulled against most of her clothes; causing her to look sickly even with make-up.

Now, after her death, her chunky tummy seemed to have migrated to her boobs, hips, ass, and thighs—Perry said in the 70’s they’d have called her a “Brickhouse,” her skin cleared of blemishes glows–no makeup required. In the six weeks since her death, she’s managed to bed a bevy of bad and bougie women who wouldn’t have looked in her direction when she was alive. And she could lift cars, actual cars; in life, she could barely lift a 20lbs dumb bell.

But he didn’t tell her that human flesh tastes like chicken; she never liked chicken and now she has to eat it forever.

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Thanks for coming to check out my #8Sunday submission.

I’ve done a few of these before so feel free to roam the dcedwards.com site for other excerpts.

Also, if you want to check out my completed novel, Bright City, it’s available on Amazon.