Good evening, I’m not feeling fantastic but I’m willing to give today’s exercise a go. Today’s is a game of Scrabble Fiction. Using all the words on the Scrabble board pictured in the book I have to write a story. This may take some time.
Here’s my pitiful attempt.
The zombies rise, spinning upright from the earth with a pop, like a cork from a champagne bottle. One by one the soldiers melt out of the trees, ready to attack the grave pit and its hideous inhabitants. Their timing had to be exact; if they failed the Tower would be abandoned, the town it guarded, Bow, overrun by the hungry dead.
The soil stopped its rolling, churning groan; the dead had risen.
Commander Whelan gave a last silent signal. Fifty flame throwers whooshed, roared into life. Molotov cocktails arched through the night. The dead burnt.
And continued to seek food. The plan wasn’t working.
Cursing under her breath Commander Whelan yelled the order to retreat. “Back to the Tower.” Her men turned and ran, crashing through the trees all thoughts of care and stealth forgotten as they raced the burning monsters and smouldering woodlands.
A watchman waited for them by the gate, too injured by previous encounters to join the final hunt.
“Count off.” Whelan ordered as the last man charged through the gates and turned to help slam the massive wooded leaves shut.
From high on the curtain wall another injured watcher called down, “I see her!”
The Commander sighed with relief. “How far off?”
“A hundred yards.”
From behind Commander Whelan a voice spoke confidently, “She’ll make that easily.”
“Are you sure Captain, in her condition?” Whelan’s tone made plain her worry and almost suggested that Captain Michael Scott was entirely to blame if anything should happen to Lilia.
The Captain rolled his eyes at his mother-in-law. “I’m sure.” though his face was pale with worry. He climbed the steps to the wall and looked out for signs his wife was close.
The Watchman called out the distances, marked by whitewashed stones edging the road.
“Fifty yards…Thirty yards…Ten. Get the gate open now.”
Scott tore back down the steps and joined Commander Whelan in dragging open the heavy zombie-proof gates. It swung inwards and Lilia Whelan-Scott staggered inside.
“Shut the gate,” she gasped out, “Mother, we need to get up top.” she pointed to the Tower roof, “As quickly as possible.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No you’re not Captain, I need you down here.”
Scott ground his teeth slightly but nodded in agreement; there’d be time for argument after they’d survived the attack.
The Commander followed her daughter into the Tower. Moments later a string of oaths and curses floated down from on high. Whatever Lilia had wanted her Mama to see hadn’t made Commander Whelan at all happy.
On the Tower roof the architects of the night’s desperate gamble watched the woodlands burn and drive a horde towards them.
The morning came in stink and smoke. The men of Bow searched the ruins of the fire ravished fortification, once home to the local garrison and police force.
“Shame we lost the Tower, it would have been useful. But it would appear both our problems have been solved.”
The mayor of Bow grimaced at the Necromancer, who sketched something like a bow and muttered, “We shall see.”
Didn’t turn out too badly I suppose, I’ve changed it ever so slightly from my first draft in my notebook.
And now it’s time for Sherlock Ep 2 S3. Laters.