Sunday Inspiration – Week Six

This weeks Sunday inspiration is inspired by an ongoing debate I’ve been having, so we’re going to be doing something a little different this week. I want all you male writers to use the Sunday inspiration to write using a female protagonist and all you female writers to write using a male protagonist.

This weeks one line inspiration is:

I pulled Robin towards me away from the crackling of the inferno of wood that was once our home

burning-house 21.07.13

Rules: Hints and handy tips:

  • Use this weeks image and one line to inspire you in a creative endeavour
  • You can use them to write in any style, genre, or form
  • Enjoy, get creative, have fun
  • Come back and share the link to your blog where your work is posted or post using the comments section here. Normally I say post by close of play the following Saturday (close of play being midnight in your time zone)

Have a grand week everyone and look forward to reading your contributions next Saturday.

About V C Willow

V C Willow has always loved to write and read for pleasure. During her teenage years she wrote a lot of poetry but graduated to writing Science Fiction, Fantasy, Epic Fiction, Urban Fantasy and Suspense as she reached her twenties. She is a geek and comic nerd. A very keen reader, an enthusiastic cook and gardener and loves to craft. She's even been known to get down and dirty and do some DIY. V.C live in Manchester, England with her ball of cat fluff, Willow. She is currently writing her début fantasy novel. You can follow her authors page on Facebook at: Connect with her on Linked in at: Follow her on Twitter: Follow her on Goodreads: )O(
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One Response to Sunday Inspiration – Week Six

  1. G.R. (Gary) Miller says:

    Sorry I missed a couple weeks of contributions. Here’s my effort toward the week six edition of Sunday Inspiration. Again, thanks for the opportunity.


    The House of Flame
    I pulled Robin toward me, away from the crackling inferno that was once our home. Flames danced, stabbing mocking fingers to the heavens. Intense heat drove us backward, toward the one lane, dirt road that led to the old house. The house that had incarcerated me and my sister. The only house we had known for the past ten years.
    He had staggered when he returned for his daily routine of food, water and abuse. Whiskey had been part of his defiling ritual with both of us. This time he reeked of the stuff and forgot to lock my door. Before he reached my baby sister’s room I smashed the empty bottle over his head. Robin and I escaped through the front door.
    At the bottom of the steps Robin jerked to a halt. She’d forgotten her beloved Teddy bear, Morty. I begged her to leave Morty behind but she persisted and ran back into the house. When she reappeared with the bear I began breathing once more. We ran hand-in-hand toward the road and salvation.
    The house erupted into flame behind us. Robin and I stood in the field below the house, mesmerized by the funeral pyre to the painful memories of our previous life burning before us, embraced by each other’s arms and the heart wrenching reality that sudden homelessness can feel so liberating. But where would we go? How did the fire start?
    I gazed at my little sister. In the red-orange glow her face bore a wry grin. Her hand revealed an empty match box. Except for a siren now wailing in the distance we were on our own.

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