This picture inspired the beginning of a chain story that numerous people participated in. Now, I would like all the participants, and anyone else who would like to, to finish the story. Let’s see how many different endings we can get. This has been so much fun, when this one is completed, we might just begin another! Wouldn’t that be great? By the end of 2015, we could have 12 completed stories, and then we could publish a chapbook, giving credit to all the participants! Think about it, and let me know how many would be interested in doing this.
Thank you one and all for participating –
Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour, Cavern of Dreams Publishing
Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour I wouldn’t have had to do what I did had they not been so vile toward my
Lisa Cornell slave. She does belong to me and I solely will decide how she will be treated by the
Brenda Danson townspeople. I had loved her so deeply. Although I owned her, she had owned my heart. The problem began when
Taylor Beal the rumours started. At first there were voices talking of a terrible travesty, now only whispers. Some say
Vickie Vandry-Stam nothing can change the fact that
Ellie Stortini we laughed and laughed well into the night as he falsely assumed he was in control of any outcome the evening would bring, unaware of the predetermined turn of events that were to follow!
Tatiana Fomina She has never been in that part of town and was not sure where the road would take her to, yet,
Betty Patton Why do I get myself into these things, it wasn’t my fault and now with this turn of events this body has to disappear. Now, where does this path lead?
Brenda Wright Moon shadow feline, the wispy grey of her velvet coat in the howl of the full moon,
Brenda Danson The leafless branches ominously grabbing at her coat, tearing at the velvet of her coat as she went about her horrible task, fear written in the lines of her face and
Vickie Vandry-Stam she felt her heart going crazy because of something she had done, some act of vengeance
Brenda Danson an act of vengeance so heinous that she herself could not fathom why she had even thought of it. Now, her heart raced as
Vickie Vandry-Stam if someone might discover her secret. She grew increasingly insecure
Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour as she trudged along the forest pathway, the body becoming increasingly heavy. Would the saints in heaven or the demon in hell come to her aid? Which would she prefer? Which did she deserve?
Vickie Vandry-Stam If she had to make a choice, she would prefer a second chance. A chance to do it differently. She silently prayed for a gathering of angels to
Brenda Danson hear her prayer. A lose branch swept her face, scratching her deeply. She winced as she wiped the blood dripping down into her torn velvet coat. The body was becoming more difficult to drag, and
Vickie Vandry-Stam she felt uncomfortable. She loosened her grip, letting it fall to the ground. Something like this could not be rushed. She neither had the strength or the stamina to
Brenda Danson drag it further into the darkened, misty woods. Tears flowed out over her cheeks, making her cut sting more. The cut was deep and bleeding still. Glancing at the body, she thought
Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour about Dalia, her slave––her love––of what that beast had done to her. She crumbled to the ground beside the body, tired and broken, her reason for living having been plucked too soon from life by the beast. She felt her anger rise within her again, and she began to beat the stiffening body. Her cold hands began to crack, and slivers of blood ran down her fingers dripping onto the dead body. The forest was becoming increasingly dark, and the shadows
Vickie Vandry-Stam interrupted her moment of grief. She hesitated to move or even blink. She fixed her gaze on the trees, desperate to see if someone was watching her.
Brenda Danson The shadows of the forest thicket and the guilt of what she had done played tricks with her mind. Looking down at the body she noticed her slave’s opened eyes. They appeared to be staring accusingly at her. Again, she
Taylor Beal thrashed at the lifeless body, screamed that it wasn’t her fault, but no one heard. Anger poured out of her hands faster than the blood from her cut, until
Brenda Danson she saw the reddened eyes in the fog-like mist observing her from ahead. A cold chill ran through her as she shook in fear. Trembling, she
Vickie Vandry-Stam called out, “Who are you?” The silence was deafening. She closed her eyes and tried to rub all evidence of the red eyes she saw ahead, but upon opening them, she saw the glow of the stranger’s eyes had not diminished in the least. She whispered under her breath, “What should I do?”
Brenda Danson She couldn’t run ad she wouldn’t leave the body. Again, she called out nervously: “Who are you?” still, there was only an eerie silence. The menacing eyes seemed to sear through her soul. Turning, she
Vickie Vandry-Stam clenched her teeth and gripped the rope that was tied around the feet of the dead body. She dragged it only a short distance when she realized she was too tired to go on. She knew she had to find someplace nearby to
Brenda Danson rest. The searing eyes continued to watch her every move. Frightened, she felt compelled to continue, but now her quest was to find somewhere to ease her struggle. But where…where could she safely hide the body and herself? And, who or what was behind the blood red eyes in the distance? It was time to
Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour call upon her inner strength, the one that had gotten her through life so far. She began to move forward, ever watchful of the red eyes that were following her, ever prayerful that something, or someone would happen along to end her misery. She glanced quickly at the body. It was not her beloved Dalia, as she had thought moments before––it was the beast. His dark eyes glared at her, leering their defiance, even in his death. He didn’t deserve…
Please write the balance of your ending for the story in the comment section…