The Word Cloud

This month's theme is tension. How do you make someone curled up warm and safe in their favourite armchair reading, tense? How do you make them want to know what happens next?

Here is your opportunity to achieve exactly that by writing about a rescue. It can be a rescue of anything or anyone by anything or anyone but it must have tension and at least one character the reader will care about, so your character sketch is important.

To keep things tight the word limit is 300. Your rescue doesn't have to be epic, just tense.

Good writing, everyone!

Malcolm

Dawn Horizon

With squinted eyes he scrutinised the horizon, from the eastern side of the atoll. The plastic sheet protecting his clipboard fluttered and flapped, in contrast to the slow monotonous sound of waves washing onto sand.

Scattered around him were a large rucksack, a box of equipment and six containers of samples. His research cut short, by the broken message he’d received during the night via his faltering receiver:

“Earthquake 8.5 Richter… Evacuation… Dominguez Archipelago…”

He pondered how he would be evacuated. A sea plane? More likely, the research vessel would return, two days early, to collect him.

He was momentarily blinded, by some sand. As he rubbed his eyes, some gulls hollered behind him. They flew in random directions over the lagoon, as if panicked. His attention returned to the horizon, which now seemed less defined: a blurred division separating shades of blue. And, strangely, it was moving.

He jumped up, and stared with great concentration. His body froze in horror, as his brain processed the unclear line into an unmistakeable form: a ridge of sea, rolling slowly towards him. He held his face in his hands and breathed heavily, not daring to look. The air became thick and cloying.

He suddenly snatched his hands away from his face. “My samples!” He gathered the plastic containers and pushed them up the front of his cagoule. He clutched the protruding mound, bent his knees, and braced himself.

His eyes focused on the ground at his feet, but something beyond his control drew his head upwards, compelling him to confront the awesome hill of sea, that rose higher and higher as it approached the land, foaming and frothing ominously.

The wave’s crescendo and the high-pitched squawks filled his ears. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

I’m warm. I try to roll over but the walls are restricting, keeping me in this uncomfortable position. Every day for as long as I can remember, my room has been getting smaller, the walls have been closing in, keeping me warm and restricting my movement. I used to be able to stretch my legs, to push them against the walls but now I’m becoming cramped.

The walls shook for the first time, a sharp tremble that woke me. I tried to rub my eyes but the walls had almost closed completely, I could hardly move any of my limbs. Ever since that first time, the walls have been shaking at regular intervals. Each shake seems to pull the walls in against my naked body, crushing me.

The intervals between the shakes become shorter, I try to push against the walls to allow myself breath but I can’t. I’m getting warmer.

I sense movement behind me, I sense light. I struggle with all my might against the pressure of the walls, I use all my strength and I manage to twist my body round to face the dazzling light. I try to scream but something has grabbed my throat. My chamber wants to hold onto me, it doesn’t want me to escape.

The grip on my throat gets tighter, I again let out a breathless, silent cry. I don’t know whether it’s the tightness of my room or the lack of breath but everything goes black. Then I feel something, fingers, a hand, a giant hand, a hand much bigger than my own, pulling me, turning me and saving me. The walls shake one final time as the air floods into my lungs and the light engulfs me and I am finally able to scream.

‘It’s a boy, Mrs Gallagher.’

He knew it was there. He’d suspected for a while but this was the first time he’d actually spent time to concentrate on examining the area. He was alone in the house, a rare moment of calm in a hectic life.

He ran his fingers over the surface. He didn’t need to see what his hand was doing, trusting his sense of touch to locate any change in contour.

At first, he doubted himself, but then, there it was, mocking him from a few millimetres beyond his reach. A mix of emotions skipped through his mind. What if it wasn’t what he thought? It could be something else, something worse.

He knew he had to act, and act quickly. If he did nothing, things could go badly and the longer he ignored it, well, he didn’t want to think....

Gingerly he pushed two fingers between the raw edges he’d created moments before. “See? A Swiss Army Knife DOES come in useful after all”, he silently told his absent wife.

Warm in here, he thought to himself, and pushed farther. The cut should’ve been longer to provide better access but he didn’t want to have to stitch too much for fear of leaving an ugly mess.

Almost there, the tips of his fingers brushed the hard round object. He attempted to get hold but with its slick surface it skipped from his grasp.

One more try, the opening stretched now from his exertions. He hoped it wouldn’t tear.

Then, he had it. Yes! He willed it to stay between his fingers as he withdrew into the air. Yes. Yes. Yes! It was intact. He tested it between his teeth and was proven right.

Undetected, toffee Revels can make such a mess in the lining of a jacket.

Rescue

I had the razor blade, he didn’t. Life or death…

His eyes locked on mine. I could see the terror reflected. His body froze: his chains clanked against the stone flagstones where I had hidden the blade in a crack; where I had honed it to a deadly sharpness. I felt his fear whisper through the hairs on my arm; smelt his sweat dribbling down his cheek. I moved closer.

‘Don’t,’ he said.

I took no notice; drew the blade across his cheek; smiled. He recoiled.

‘Sam...Please don’t.’

I watched the red droplets ooze from the cut.

Enough time before the guards returned.

I circled the blade emulating a hypnotic trance, saw him fixate on it. ‘Remember our pact? Remember, damn you.’

He shook his head; slowly, as if trying to erase the memory. A look of despair crossed his face. ‘I can’t.’

‘Yes you can.’

His eyes searched mine for a glimmer of hope. ‘Matthew will come.’

‘He won’t.’

He turned away, wouldn’t accept it had to happen. Not now.

I sighed: tried once more. ‘John...you have to be strong.’

I heard laughter outside in the courtyard: they would be returning soon; starting again, inflicting more pain and suffering upon our tortured bodies.

It was time.

John was crying, but he didn’t resist; couldn’t resist. I straddled him. The blade sliced through his neck; I felt blood pumping over my hands. Warm and wet.

No time left. I sawed through my wrists, forced open the arteries, blood spurted. I felt my eyes close, succumbing to my fate. They wouldn’t be able to hurt me anymore. I wouldn’t smell their filthy bodies; feel them prising my legs open...

I heard explosions, gunshots, loud voices...it was getting dark...I was sinking.

I felt someone near. An exclamation: horror.

‘Oh, God...Samantha.’

Matt...

Ok - I'll have a blast:

Kerr awoke in the dead of night, curled up under his blanket that kept out the cold, damp breeze, his breath warming the trapped air underneath. Something was wrong. Silence reigned outside the confines of his makeshift shelter. He could not hear the small noises of his family’s slumber. His father’s gentle snores were absent; there was no scrunching of leaf litter as his mother shifted with her dreams, twitching like a spaniel asleep on a fire-side rug. In place of these comforting sounds was… nothing. Wait, not quite nothing – he strained his ears, slowed his breathing, tried to ignore the pounding of his heart, silence the blood screaming through his veins.

Frightened, he was about to lift the blanket from his face and call out, ask where everyone had gone, scan the glade by the light of the camp fire’s embers, but something stopped him.

And then his heightened hearing picked something out. A stirring as if something heavy was moving cautiously through thick, sucking mud.

His eyes darted about in the darkness, desperately trying to pick up movement through the warp and weave of the woolen blanket that he now clung to with all the strength of his small fists.

He heard a dull crack, a low moan.

His heart fought to escape his chest and exit through his windpipe. His breath came in ragged gasps. This was wrong, awfully wrong. His mind screamed at him to run.

A hand closed over his mouth. He tensed, too panicked to struggle.

“Mortleeches,” his sister’s strained, muffled voice in his ear. “They home in on your breath. Stay under cover.”

Slowly, she dragged him away from the camp. In the darkness, she sobbed and held him close. “They’re eating mum and dad!”

He never forgot those soft sucking, cracking noises.

Rosemary snuggled down in her bed having turned of the night light. She found her comfy spots and warmed upp the bed to the cosy feel. She always turned over numerous times before drifting off to sleep. Not quite asleep but very nearly there.
What Was That? She shot up to sitting position fast. Heart pounding and dry mouth. Blood noisly rushing in her ears. Deep breath! What was it? She looked around the dark room. Everything in the room seemed to be normal. She stuck her foot out of bed trying to brave herself to investigate. "eeeeee" The noise happend again only this time Rosemary is very much awake. Foot shot back under the warm duvet. Heart pounding even faster and sweat running from her forehead. Pulse beating rather on the wild side.
But I have got to go and look. It not my cat, Tabitha. She don't make those kind of noises! Take a deep breath and invistigate.
She forced her feet out of the duvet and firmly stood up onto the pink carpet. She shivered through leaving the warmth of her bed and the tension from the unexplained creepy noise. Deep breath and count to 10. If it happens again I will know where to look....
It came from the window didn't it? So I will look there. Going to the window and hesitantly, Rosemary drew back the curtain and heaved a big sigh of release as at first there appeared to be nothing there. No face looking back at her or anything. She very nearly let the curtain drop back into its place when "eeee" noise happened again. Heart pounding, Rosemary stuck it out, determined not to budge. So close it was but it not some prankster she felt sure. Once her heart rate returned to normal again she closely searched the window and found the culpritt.....

A snail

Inside, the burning building was a labyrinth of dark corridors filled with rows of identical looking doors. Frantically I banged on each as I battled past. Rivers of sweat soaked my back and stung my eyes. On I struggled searching for souls we had heard from broken windows outside. The redundant lift at the end brought my search to a halt. I whipped around as fast as my cumbersome breathing equipment would allow. With the gaping maw of the shaft at my back spewing forth more black plumes of smoke I dropped to my knees deciding to crawl back to the foyer and begin my search elsewhere.

Miraculously, there came a respite to the roar of the inferno and I located the screams.

They raised the hairs on my neck as I recognised a child’s terrified shrieks coming from a solid door on my right. Gripping my axe, I smashed the handle and tore into a service corridor. It seemed this part of the hotel had not escaped the explosion but at least here the air seemed clearer than where I’d just searched. I hurled myself through the splintered frame and hurried toward those awful sounds.

My heavy boots scuffed the concrete floor and I powered my legs despite the pain in my lungs. I scanned every shadow as I wound through the dark corridor: they sounded so close; just around every bend. I sensed they were right beside me but then a building shattering explosion robbed me of my senses. The walls shook as the entire far end of the passageway lit in a blinding yellow light. The thunderous roar that ensued crushed my ear drums and I feared the worst: all was lost.

I scrabbled away from the fireball, but then something in my periphery made me stop.

THE GOAT TRACK Mary disentwined herself from Will’s lithe body and stretched. She brushed the sand from her legs as she sat up. ‘The sea looks much closer.’ Will’s eyes were closed against the brightness of the sun. ‘Will, wake up! We’ve been cut off!’ Mary jumped to her feet. They had discovered the isolated cove when they’d rounded a cliff promontory at low tide. Thoroughly enjoying the seclusion it offered, they’d lost track of time. Mary saw Will staring aghast at the incoming tide and the strength of the waves. He turned and craned his neck to look up the cliff face behind them. A perilous goat-track of a path zigzagged to the top . The red sign warned “Danger, path liable to crumbling.” ‘Oh no. I’m not going up that.‘ Mary hated heights. ‘We’ll be fine.’ Will took her hand and almost dragged her up to the first bend; the easy stretch. Mary’s nervousness increased the higher they climbed. The tiny beach was now far below. In places the path was barely wide enough for their feet and Will had to let go her hand. She thought the thumping of her heart, itself, would overbalance her. She forced herself to move on, hugging the cliff face, hearing nothing but the screech of gulls below and the crashing sea. Will’s cry cut across the seagulls’. She heard the scurrying of stones falling from under his feet. His arms flailed as he slid downwards. Mary screamed. She saw only Will’s hand clawing at the path to find a grip. Somehow she nerved herself slowly to kneel and reach over the side. Will’s other hand grasped hers, pulling hard. She was going to topple over! His voice reached her: ‘Come, sleepyhead. If we don’t go back now we’ll be cut off by the tide.’

Sorry - stupid formatting! Try again.

THE GOAT TRACK

Mary disentwined herself from Will’s lithe body and stretched. She brushed the sand from her legs as she sat up.

‘The sea looks much closer.’

Will’s eyes were closed against the brightness of the sun.

‘Will, wake up! We’ve been cut off!’ Mary jumped to her feet.

They had discovered the isolated cove when they’d rounded a cliff promontory at low tide. Thoroughly enjoying the seclusion it offered, they’d lost track of time. Mary saw Will staring aghast at the incoming tide and the strength of the waves. He turned and craned his neck to look up the cliff face behind them. A perilous goat-track of a path zigzagged to the top . The red sign warned “Danger, path liable to crumbling.”

‘Oh no. I’m not going up that.‘ Mary hated heights.

‘We’ll be fine.’ Will took her hand and almost dragged her up to the first bend; the easy stretch.

Mary’s nervousness increased the higher they climbed. The tiny beach was now far below. In places the path was barely wide enough for their feet and Will had to let go her hand. She thought the thumping of her heart, itself, would overbalance her. She forced herself to move on, hugging the cliff face, hearing nothing but the screech of gulls below and the crashing sea.

Will’s cry cut across the seagulls’. She heard the scurrying of stones falling from under his feet. His arms flailed as he slid downwards. Mary screamed. She saw only Will’s hand clawing at the path to find a grip. Somehow she nerved herself slowly to kneel and reach over the side. Will’s other hand grasped hers, pulling hard. She was going to topple over! His voice reached her:

‘Come, sleepyhead. If we don’t go back now we’ll be cut off by the tide.’

Ok I'll have a bash too!

They tumbled out of the nightclub, three young women ending a night of re-union and catching up. Under the neon light of the doorway they hugged and promised to call each other.

Emma had bought her new apartment last week, and its proximity to the shops and clubs were factors which helped to make her decision easy.

She had not been walking for long when she heard them; footsteps echoing behind her. Emma did not look around initially being used to life in the city, but the seclusion of the area and its unfamiliarity sent a tingle of unease fluttering in her tummy. She passed under a low bridge which during the day would have been busy with traffic, but in the early morning was silent.

Her footsteps sounded loud to her, yet not loud enough to mask those behind; slow and heavy, a measured tread laden with menace. ‘This is ridiculous’ she thought. ‘I am only minutes from home. Get a grip girl.’

Yet the faster she walked, so did those behind. She could feel her heart pounding, her eyes looking for the lane leading to her flat. ‘It must be here somewhere’.

Emma risked a glance behind and increased her pace again. She could not see anyone but the footsteps were quicker. Emma began to run, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the path began to climb to the lights of her apartment block.

Strong arms grabbed her and she screamed.

“Hey, it’s ok,” said the voice.

“Oh God,” she said. “There was someone following me along the path.”

“Well you’re ok now. Do you live near here?”

“Yes just there,” said Emma. “God I can’t stop shaking.”

“Well you are safe now,” said the man. “Come on, I’ll see you home.”

i bez in Grinitch Park, wehn it havs rainage. Orl teh hyoomins r sezs "o no! it rainings!" an goze away, so no mor pnutz 2day, hissboo.
Tehn i seez taht a pnut havs forl in a pudl. It r drownings! Pnut Cat r dives heroical in teh pudl an getting nasti wet furrage, but r savings teh pnut, yay me! i giving teh pnut teh kissy ov lifes, but i r acksidently nom it, oops.

teh endage.

ROFLMAO!!!

I shut off the Nissan’s lights and turned off the road, pulling over onto the track that led to the cottage. Straight ahead a single light glowed from a small window, an unblinking yellow eye staring out into the dusk. I killed the engine and stepped from the truck.

I took a cigarette from the pack in my shirt pocket. The flare from my Zippo briefly illuminated the trees around me, their ancient fingers clawing the air, come hither, my pretty, step into the dark. Somewhere in the distance an owl screeched. Taking my mobile from my pocket, I glanced once more at the two messages that had brought me to this isolated, forgotten place. The first, from her. HELP. The second, an unrecognised number. TOO LATE. SHES MINE. I took a drag on my cigarette. How did I even know they’d be here? But I knew. I knew.

I started up the track, each footstep sounding like a cavalry charge. As I neared the cottage I quickened my pace, half crouching, half running, darting between shadows. At the window I stopped, orchestral cannons of blood pounding in my ears, and allowed myself a sideways glimpse through the glass. Two figures in the half light. A man, standing, pacing, a shotgun under one arm. And, seated, her. Her.

I crept around to the back of the house. I scrabbled on the ground until I found a fist-sized stone. Holding the stone in my hand, I kicked with all my might against the stable door. The wood splintered and a pane of glass shattered. I heard motion inside the house and then he appeared, throwing open the door.

‘Who’s there?’

I brought the stone down against his head and as he fell I rushed past into the cottage. ‘Run! Run!’

My apologies for the delay in awarding a winner. I'm in the middle of selling my house atm and I've been a little distracted. I promise to get to this in the nxt day or so. Its going to be a tough choice I think...

I'd have to say that judging is even harder than writing. Too many excellent entries to choose from. I was hoping for just one, it would have made it so much easier to find a winner.

Pnut Cat, I'm sorry but your entry was something of an exception. While the tension of the rescue was palpable, I did say that the character sketch was important. I'm sorry but I never got a feel for the peanut at all!

But for sheer desperation, the extreme effort required and the delicacy of the moment, I think Peter George's toffee rescue was half a nose ahead of the rest. In truth, I could have picked several of these with barely a quivver of hesitation and found myself changing my mind several times.

Congratulations Peter.

Bravo, Peter, Revel in your win!

Congratulations, Peter George!

A worthy winner x

Congrats, PG.

Good on you PG. Now it's your turn in the saddle.

A worthy winner Peter!...here's to the next one now!
Mac

i didn winned it? it r mi bestest stori 2. o wel, congratchilashunz 2 petr 4 winz it ennyway!

Wow! I never win anything. Actually, that's not true, I once drive to see a friend's band perform at a pub and entered a raffle. My number was called. I'd won a pint of beer from the bar. I told them I couldn't accept it because I was driving, so they said 'How about a pack of cigarettes?'
I don't smoke. I think I took the drink and gave it to a member of the band.
So, far from that hollow win, this is wonderful, and it's mine, all mine!
Thanks Malc, and thanks everyone for the acknowledgement.

I agree with Malcolm, the other entries were all worthy, so let's pretend I've accepted a large drink as my prize and I'll offer everyone a sip - Pnut Cat, you can have two as commiserations and, well, you have a smaller mouth.

DROVE to see, dammit! Is there any way of editing these posts? *hangs head in typographical shame*

well done peter George. I didn't expect to win anything as I didn't spend time on it or anything as when I go home, I kind of forget to write....
But I would value some positive criticism on the short piece I did submit as I have lots and lots to learn. I am in the process of slowly writing a book and slowly saving up too. I want to keep my writing fresh? new? without it being niave?
well done Peter George.