The Long Journey

We are pleased to annouce that all the pieces for the anthology have now been selected!

*dances*

HUGE thank-you to all those who submitted to Bleeding Ink. Whether you were chosen for publication or not, we were honoured for the opportunity to read and share in your work.

We are now in the process of editing and compiling the accepted submissions and author bio’s as we prepare them for publication. Also working on a bloody good cover etc. *evil grin*

Our release goal date is June 1st so stay tuned for further updates!

Ever Yours,

The Ink Babes

Pat/Tammy/Lisa

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The Beast

The Beast lies within me. Building, growing.

I feel her.

She waits for her release so that she may have her way with my hand.

Begging me now. Pleading to do as she pleases, say what she wants, be who she is, to be free.

I try to fight her, but I know I will lose. She always wins.

Sweating, I try to continue to read the pile of submissions but it’s a useless effort. No longer can I focus on the words scrawled upon the pages. All I see now is red. Loving, blissful, red.

Let me out

No!

You will, I can wait

My hand tenses and begins to twitch, this way, then that. I’m losing control. It’s winning. She’s winning.

NO! You cannot, I will not let you!

Yes, you will. And you love it too, you know you do.  

The grimace on my face is bitter and yet hopeful at the same time. Of course she’s right. I do want it. I want it so badly. My palms are sweating now, moist, like my lips. My breath is quick.  

Ever so slowly, my fingertips creep their way down.

Nearly there. Yes. I can feel it now. Warmth, heat, until…

Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh please, yes!

Deep inside my secret place fingers delve and plunge, seeking what they crave until, at last, release. Triumphant and spent I pull the red pen from its hidey place at the back of the hidden compartment in my desk drawer.

Free at last

My fingers hold the pen as the proper treasure that it is. A gift beyond all gifts.

Impatiently I grab the closest stack of papers and begin to release its power one cruel edit at a time. 

Slash, stab, slash, edit, stab, slash, cut, delete, correct, slash, hack, slice, edit, stab some more….

Oh the joy of it!  How foolish not to see me for what I really am.

We belong together, you and I.

Yes, we do. I will never store you away like that again.

From now on I will only use that hideyhole for a proper purpose,  like, eyeball collection storage.

Submission deadline is looming, March 31st! Get your ghoulish goodies in before it’s too late. We promise to be gentle. 😉

Ever yours,

The InkBabes

Green…with Envy

“It’s not yours, you selfish, black-Irish lass,” he grunted, slamming his body against mine.

“Well, it’s certainly not yours, you little fairy,” I said, elbowing him and then reaching out to pull his top hat over his eyes. He cried out an obscenity as I pried his fingers loose from the coveted prize.

“How dare you speak to me in that tone and how dare you accost me?” The leprechaun’s beady, red eyes met my gaze with contempt. “I am Gareth the Great. Haven’t you heard the stories about me? How I’ll go to great lengths to get what I want.” The wee-one cocked his head, giving me a sneer. “You should be quivering in your shoes.”

“Me? Afraid of you? You’ve got to be kidding,” I said. “You’ve no idea what I do or what I’ve seen. Believe me, I don’t scare easily.”

“I warn you, you should be frightened, lass.” He righted his hat and straightened out his black velvet vest. “Very frightened.”

“Is that so? Well, Gareth, you don’t know how far I’d go to keep your grubby hands off what’s mine. And yes, I have heard the stories. I’ve read a few submissions featuring you.”

“Really?” The leprechaun glanced at my hands, their contents glowing in the lamp light. He licked his lips. “I’ll give you my gold,” he whispered, jingling coins in his pocket.

“I don’t want it.”

“What do you mean, you don’t want it!” He shouted, glaring at me. “Everyone wants my gold. They sing about it, make movies about it, some have even died for it!”

“Well, I’m not everyone.”

“You wicked wench!” His face reddened as he fisted his hands and stomped his feet in an angry jig. “Then. What. About. Wishes?”

“What about them?” I shrugged.

“I’ll give you three,” he said, clenching his teeth, “in exchange for that draft of the Bleeding Ink Anthology.”

“I don’t want your wishes and this draft is for the InkBabes’ eyes only, buddy. Oh, by the way, I’m more than just an editor, you oaf! I’ve a talent for brewing up deadly potions that can take care of the likes of you in a blink of an eye, so you’d better check your temper little man, and back off.”

“But, I can’t,” he whined, clicking his heel against the floor. “I’m dying to read it!”

“And you will, soon enough. Just like everybody else.” I grabbed the shamrock plant sitting on the end table and took aim. “Now, get out of my house before I crack your skull!”

“Ooh you temperamental writer!” He took a step back. “Okay, I’m going, but you haven’t heard the last from me.” He shook his finger. “I’ve sent in a little ditty, meself, I did. Expect to find my submission in your inbox.”

And with that, the Leprechaun stormed out of my house, slamming the door behind him.

Who knew the wee-folk wrote dark fiction?

If any of you have a dark tale to share, send it in to us at Bleeding Ink.  Like Gareth the Great, we’re dying to read them!

Submission deadline, March 31st 2012

We at Bleeding Ink wish you all a lucky St. Patrick’s Day!

Ever Yours,

The InkBabes

Those Poor Bloody Babes

So the other day I’m reading through a pile of submissions to Bleeding Ink Anthology (yes I actually print them off to read them), anyways I pick up this one particular story and get this nasty paper cut from it. Like, really bad. So immediately I look around for sparkling vampires, cause ya now, you can’t be too sure in my line of work, anyways, no such luck.

So I grab a Band-aid and find myself thinking Wow this must be a really AWESOME story, it made me bleed! I lcheck the title and it’s called One Babe At A Time, and the author? Yours truly. ME. Um ya, except for one little problem, I didn’t write it.

Naturally I’m curious so I carry it with me down to the basement, curl up under the sofa light, and begin to read;

Once upon a time there were three bloody babes…

Well, it was a long story, I’ll sum up; A macabre tale describing how I was going to kill off my two fellow Ink Babes in a big bloody mess during which I did A LOT of evil cackling until they were dead dead dead. Good times. Well at least until the next day when I apparently died of a paper cut I received whilst reading their obits in the local news rag.

At the time I thought it all very ironic but now that I’m here writing this letter from the ‘other’ side, I’m rather less than amused. I’m sure you can imagine why. I’m also sure you’re wondering why I’m telling you all this and where you fit in?

Well you see it’s like this, I stumbled across another story shortly before my untimely death and um, apparently it was written by yourselves. It went something like this;

Once upon a time there were a bunch of bloody blog readers…

The clock is ticking people and time is running out, closing date for the anthology is March 31st!!! Be sure to get any outstanding submissions in to us pronto!

Ever yours,

The Ink Babes

Forever My Valentine

Here’s a little dark flash fiction in honour of Valentine’s Day. Yes, of course it’s a little twisted, but then would you expect anything else from us at Bleeding Ink?

A quarter mile off the main road, where only hunters ventured to wander, Gage Sanders led a group of officers through the forest searching for the missing woman. Gage was known as the best tracker in the area and knew these woods like he knew his home. He’d helped the police on more than one occasion. Walking ahead and alone, he didn’t talk. He preferred it that way. The officers following him discussed what could have happened to the woman and observed his tracking skills. He zigzagged through the bushes, doing his job, leading, and listening.

Gage stopped at the edge of a small clearing and put his hand up. The officers looked beyond Gage to a large tree where a woman hung from a branch ten feet high. 

Her shredded shirt was twisted tight and caught in the rope that hung around her neck knotted at the back, exposing plenty of bare skin. Captain Andrews pointed to the scratches and dirt on her back and the bruises on her arms and legs. Gage walked the perimeter. Captain Andrews watched him studiously.

Blood had dripped down her legs and pooled onto the ground, but most of it had dried now. As Gage and Andrews walked around in front of her, Gage stared at the hole in her chest where her heart had been. He’d never been squeamish, having gutted deer, bear and moose most of his life. He’d seen some gory things, this didn’t make him flinch. Andrews covered his mouth and watched the absence of reaction in Gage.

Gage squatted down, took off his green John Deere cap, scratched his bald head, and surveyed the area with narrowed eyes, looking around microscopically for clues.

Captain Andrews observed the tracker. “Do you see something Gage?”

“In the bushes.” Gage pointed. “Tracks.”

“I don’t see anything…” Captain Andrews eyes darted to the bushes, back to Gage, then back to the bushes again.  He walked over and parted the branches with his gloved hands.

On the ground was a half-eaten heart, taken from the woman still hanging from the tree. A hunting knife stuck out of what was left of the heart and held a note in place. He tipped his head sideways to read the note, careful not to disturb the evidence. ‘A piece of your heart will always be mine. If I can’t have you no one will.’ Andrews stared intently at the bloodied knife.

He stood up then glanced at Gage and the other officers. “I know who did it, and now I know why.”

Gage put his cap back on, and stood. “Are we done here?”

“Just about,” Captain Andrews answered. “Handcuff him.” He nodded toward Gage prompting the other officers to grab the tracker.

“When did you know?” Gage asked, no emotion in his dead eyes.

“There were no tracks into the bushes. Only you knew what was there. You wanted us to find this.”

“I loved her.”

“A little too much, I’d say,” Andrews answered. “Read him his rights,” he said through gritted teeth.

 

Here at Bleeding Ink Anthology, we love dark tales. The sinister, the wicked, the morbid, the supernatural, and anything that makes you wonder how or why this story happened, and makes you think about a story long after reading it.

If you have a dark story, flash fiction, or poem send it to us. We’d love to read it and consider it for our anthology.

May the dark muses continue to inspire you and bless you with creative thoughts.

Ever Yours,

The Ink Babes

Twitter Results!

Huge thanks to those who submitted and played along in the Twitter challenge, we love your spirit and appreciate it. 🙂

In no particular order, here are your own darklings we’d like to share on your behalf;

M_Gideon Aaron ConawayYour neighbor always watched you. Did you know? He decided to do it while watching you sleep. They’ll find your body. Eventually

writerlouise Marianne Su: A flame slithered like a ghost at the end of a match. She let it fall, smiling as the fire spread, flames cackling with laughter.

falcatatimes Gareth Wilson: The Vampire Press had never had such a good run thanks to the fat human who’d been “pressed” into service. 

Dannigrrl5 Danielle La Paglia: Suffocating darkness. I scream w/no sound. I hear the tears, the last rites read, & the scrape of a shovel in freshly turned earth.

Really wonderful submissions and perhaps we’ll do this again sometime, cheers!

Ever yours,

The Ink Babes

Twitter Contest!

So it’s my turn to come up with our next blog post and I’m thinking to myself, hmm, what to do, what to say…and then it hits me; I don’t have to say anything at all, next week I’m going to let YOU do all the talking!

How you ask? Well it’s like this, you tweet @inkbabes a dark twisted tale, story, poem, prose, musing, all under 131 characters no less (leaving room for our name) and we pick our favs and post them here on our blog this coming thursday! Sound fun? Hope so!

We’re excited to see what little darklings you can conjure up. Ready…..set…….TWEET!!!!

Ever yours,

The Ink Babes

Old Man Winter

Old Man Winter’s frosty fingers

Touch the writer’s soul

He marks the hearts of poets

With his scintillating storms

His frigid breath blows fierce

O’re all the weary world

The icy winds spark deep, dark thoughts

Of tales to be told

While you’ve been cuddling up in front of a blazing fire with your journal and quill, thawing out from Old Man Winter’s chill, have you been writing deliciously dark tales?

The InkBabes would love to read them.

Submit your dark tales today!

Ever yours,

The InkBabes

What IS this thing called Dark Fiction

Truthfully, it varies across the web by definition, but here’s our general take on what it means to us.

Dark Fiction can be highly entertaining, funny even, BUT it should always maintain an element of depth. It should be thought provoking enough to accomplish one thing; make us stew over it for days!

In the hands of one writer, it could be full of blood and guts and gore, while in another’s, a quietly creepy emotional journey.

Long story short, dark fiction should leave us feeling disturbed, but in all the right ways.  So send in your submissions that’ll make us quesy, make us cringe, surpise us, make us a little green around the gills.

Do your best make us sleep with one eye open…or better yet, not at all.  

We DARE you!

Happy writing Darklings and may your words make you unforgettable. 

Ever yours,

The Ink Babes

Bleeding Ink Giveaway Update, the Winner is…..

The winner of the Bleeding Ink giveaway is Terry Erwin

Congratulations Terry and thank-you for your submission to Bleeding Ink!

Bleeding Ink Book Bling

Book Bling Giveaway!

And thank-you to all those who partcipated by sending in your submissions. We are busily reading away and will have responses sent out to you all soon. 🙂

So remember my darklings, keep your eyeballs peeled for further fun events to be held here at Bleeding Ink Anthology.

Ever yours,

Ink Babes

 

Cold breath making shapes ~ A world captured in crystal ~ Winter wonderland

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