Short fiction challenge
In my series of short fiction challenges, I post short pieces I wrote for my Masters in Science Fiction and Fantasy at Anglia Ruskin University. We were set a challenge every fortnight, to practise writing in a particular style or genre, and (with permission from my tutor) I’ve decided to share them here.
This week’s challenge was to write a new scene, experimenting with point of view, sentence length, diction etc.
Calico padded leisurely through her gardens and came, crouching, to a halt by the ornamental lake. Idly she watched a couple of skimmers flit to and fro about the reeds: not big enough for a meal, not threatening enough to attack, the creatures nonetheless held her attention for a few seconds while she took in the soft evening air. Sniff, sniff; purr, purr. Not for the first time, she praised the goddess Bastet for her good fortune: it had been three years since she’d been rescued, and although she tried not to dwell on her days in the Centre, every now and then a faint recollection flickered across her mind, causing her to shiver.
She still wasn’t sure of the Thunderers’ true intentions, but so far they had shown her the respect and consideration that was her due, and life in this rural retreat was certainly better than behind the bars of the Centre. Calico knew that the time would come when she must act – had not Bastet herself told her so? – but for now she was biding her time, getting the measure of the Thunderers, all the better to devise her plan: the perfect plan that would overthrow the two-legged ones for good and ensure the dominion of her own kind for all time. Mrriaaow!
Out of the corner of her eye she caught a sudden movement in the trees, and instantly her face was pointed upwards, nose twitching and whiskers quivering, to see what she could scent. A flutterer was perched on a branch, out of reach as usual, and she champed her jaws in annoyance. The skitterers were easy to catch: a careful stalk, a calibrated wiggle, a sudden pounce, and they were pinioned under her sharp, silken claws. But the flutterers were a different matter, high up in their treetop realm. This one was known as Pijin, and he was a particular thorn in her paw. Even now he was staring at her with hard, glassy eyes, as if she were no more important than a beetle.
Calico uttered a low yowl – aaaaaaaaaoww – and shifted on her haunches. How she longed for the day when Pijin and his like would flee before her, when she would be followed to the ends of the earth by her trusty disciples, and when cats would rule the world! But she knew she had much work to do before then.
From inside her palace, a dinner bowl clanged. Calico’s ears pricked up; she leapt to her feet, turned and trotted towards the entrance. Pijin would have to wait. She had noms to attend to.
© Gwyneth Marshman 2018.