Lucky Seven Meme

I was recently tagged by Paul D. Dail for the #luckyseven meme. In fact, I stole his instructions instead of rewriting them….hope that’s ok.

If you haven’t seen this meme before at other blogs… well, I’d be shocked. In fact, I was wondering if I was going to be tagged for it, but as I don’t normally participate in memes, I wasn’t terribly surprised that it had been floating around so long without hitting me.

Anyway, the longer it stays out there, the more flexible the rules seem to get. But two things remain:

1- You’re supposed to go to something you’ve written (be in WIP or already published) and then post something to do with 7’s. Either your 77th or 7th page, then a 7th paragraph, or line 7, followed by 7 sentences or lines. Your choice of formatting will affect this, but…

2- (and this isn’t really a rule) it should hopefully be interesting. Because that’s really the idea behind this, right? Writers are always told to make sure to grab a reader with their first page, but what about those readers who pick up a book and flip to a random page. What if it was page 77 of a novel? Or page 7 of a short story? Or whatever.

So here goes…I am going to use my WIP (AKA not yet completely polished and edited) to come up with my selection. The title of my WIP is The Rise of the Wenchiron Zombies….enjoy!

Page 77:
As the villainous pack of mysterious creatures vanished into the dark woods, Trent popped out of the vegetation like a slice of toast in a toaster. “Did you see that?”
“I don’t know what I saw.”
“That—that, whatever it was, was wearing my brother’s baseball cap.” His anger was making him shake, fighting the the urge to just blow them all away. Or drink. He wondered where that bottle of vodka ended up and if there was anything left it in.
“Holy shit,” Steve gasped. ““Son of a bitch, what are they?”
“Freaking murders, that’s what they are,” Trent snapped a cattail between his fingers and squeezed the cottony bulb.
“Where do you think they are headed?”
Trent looked into the darkness and thought of their vehicles sitting out in the open and vulnerable to sabotage. Screw the cars. “Where did they come from, that’s what we need to find out. Come on.”
Steve stood frozen as Trent shouldered past him, trotting along the sand. “What?”
Trent turned around when he realized he was alone and saw his friend, a shadowy figure in the distance.
Steve finally decided to catch up.
They stopped when they were at the place Trent guessed was where the creatures had first appeared. They flipped on their flashlights, searching the root-covered cliff, which rose about two feet above the water. Tall grass was surrounded them like an angry mob, jutting from the center of the patch was a rotting gray branch. The type of natural protrusion he would have used as a diving board when he was younger. Trent tracked the limb with his beam, it lead nowhere interesting.
Steve spotted the tracks first.

Then….step three is to nominate 7 people to do likewise, so no fair ducking and hiding or pretending you don’t hear me asking you to do this…besides its harmless fun!

Gina Penn
Robert Wilson
Ian Woodhead
Armand Rosamilia
Christine Sutton
Lori Lopez
Marcia Carrington

Hope you rise to the challenge! Looking forward to reading what you come up with.


17 thoughts on “Lucky Seven Meme

  1. Thanks Erik! Honored to be called out! Here is my submission. This is from page 70 of my short story collection: Killers. The title of this story is Killers Anonymous.

    “I called 911. When they got there, I wasn’t crying anymore, I was just sitting there, staring into space. They checked me for injuries. They took Emma from me. All I could say was “She killed Emma, so I killed her.” They took me to jail; I had my trial and got convicted because Sheila hadn’t fought back. I was sentenced to nine years. I served my five and got paroled. That’s it.”
    Jack wiped his eyes and looked around again. Susan and Abbie didn’t look so disgusted now. Mark and Mr. Silva were just staring at him with what he thought was pity. Jonathon was still sitting with his head in his hands. Dylan was still pointing the gun at him, smiling.
    “Can you lower that thing, now?” Jack asked him.
    “Sorry man, that was just so touching. Emma! Emma!” Dylan mocked him as he lowered the gun.
    Mark decided that was his cue. He jumped up from his seat and started to rush Dylan, but he was a little too far away. Dylan raised the gun and fired. Mark stumbled backwards as the bullet penetrated his chest.
    Silva started to run over to him, but Dylan raised the gun to him and said, “Unh, unh, unh.”
    Silva backed up and they all sat and watched Mark bleed to death in silence.
    “One down!” Dylan sang. “Who’s next?” He moved the gun around the room, pointing it at each person as they cringed.
    He settled the gun on Silva. “How about you, Mr. Di-rec-tor?”
    Silva stared at him and said flatly, “Please, don’t.”
    Then without a word or a sound, Dylan shot him in the head. His head snapped back and then he fell forward on top of Mark. Susan screamed.
    “SHUT UP, BITCH!!” Dylan screamed and put his hand over his ear. Abbie was trying to calm Susan, but it wasn’t working.
    Susan was saying “Please don’t hurt us. Please don’t hurt us.”
    “You did this to yourself, bitch. You shot your boyfriend in the head while he was sleeping! You planned it, but you still got manslaughter! All because you cried at your trial, and probably claimed battered woman syndrome. Bullshit!” Dylan was getting angry and Jack knew that was dangerous. He had to do something to distract him, and fast.
    “What makes you any better, Dylan?” Jack asked him, calmly.
    Dylan turned around. “Nothing. Except that I’m not sitting her crying like a little pansy bitch. I am taking action and taking control. By the way, shut the fuck up.”

  2. I’m in… page 77 of “Dying Days” for ya…


    The road ahead was desolate, the pounding waves to their left and hulking, silent condominiums to their right. The nearest condo, its windows destroyed and doors flung open, looked ready to crash into the dirty swimming pool. A mangled corpse on a lounge recliner still took in the sun.
    Darlene wondered how much longer she could go on like this. Running from the dead, going meal to meal and wondering if it would be her last, meeting the living and watching them die around her and then try to kill her. Was it all worth it anymore? Her stomach growled in answer. Even though she’d been eating better since joining this group, her weight was still down and her strength not what it once was. She felt like she was running out of time.
    A zombie stumbled out from the dunes and was quickly dispatched with minimal effort from Eric.
    Will I ever get back home? Is home still Maine, or is home wherever I stop? Is Maine still there at this point? Darlene felt a headache coming on and decided to live in the moment, as if that were possible. Shutting out the bad thoughts and the hopeful thoughts was sometimes just as hard as living this nightmare day to day.
    John edged up to Darlene as they paced. “I’m sorry.”
    “For what?” Darlene smiled at him.
    She knew she’d confused him and he stopped walking. “Huh?” he finally managed.
    Darlene looked away from him. “You have to know that I care about you.”
    “I care about you, too.”
    She looked at him and dropped her smile. “You know that I care about you.”
    It was his turn to smile. “And I care about you.”
    “Are you this stupid?”
    He stepped closer to her. “Right now, with everything going on… let’s just get through today.”
    “How do we know there’s going to be a tomorrow, John?”
    He shrugged. “I guess we don’t. But we have to try.” John looked away at the ocean. “If I give up hope that my family is out there, somewhere, alive, what do I have?”

  3. All right, this is Page 70 of my story collection OUT-OF-MIND EXPERIENCES, an excerpt from “Bedeviled”:

    The cat meowed. Glory giggled, then dragged Damion by the hair. Grasping her arm, the bug expert wished he knew martial arts. His grandfather, who sold herbs, wasn’t a kung fu master. Oh well, according to Pitz it was in his blood.
    Forceps in hand, nose smarting, Damion improvisationally flipped his aggressor like Bruce Lee.
    Glory thumped carpet. Damion snagged her left ear, penlight trained. Nothing. What did he expect? It was a ridiculous theory. Of course, the goblin could be
    in the other side! He labored to examine her right ear but the woman hurled him off. Standing shakily, the wimp scrunched his face. Okay, he was more of a funny guy like Jackie Chan. The ninja-slash-harlequin defensively mimicked a judo pose, forceps and penlight dropped, karate hands high.
    His adversary sneered. Adrenaline-fueled, she launched him down the corridor. Damion yelped, tobogganing, and scudded to George.
    “Don’t let it get away!” wheezed Pitz.
    Wong gazed up, his abdomen rug-burned. “I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
    The Fox, the monster, and the Persian cat paraded toward an exit labeled STAIRS. Hounding them, Damion ricocheted off the door, tripped through, then cartwheeled five flights. “Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiit!” His petition unscrolled, cracked bottom.
    The possessed damsel absconded to the street. He stumbled after, a weeping willow of despair. “I can help you!”
    A window budged. A large billious saucer parachuted, hailing mushrooms.
    Glory entered a pawnshop as fungus pelted pavement. Pizza bombed Damion. The gray cat cringed against the building.
    Gymnastically hurdling a counter, Glory swept an electric guitar at the surprised pawnbroker. A glass cabinet splintered.
    Mantled by tomato, cheese, and toadstools,
    Damion traversed the shop’s threshold resembling an accident victim with his cerebrum unglued.

  4. Thank you very much for this. I will be posting p.7 of my young adult romance e-book, THE GREAT HIGH SCHOOL LOVE GAME, which I hope you enjoy reading.

    “Amy was curious to see what the weather was like, and walked towards her bedroom window, pulling open the curtains, and keenly looking outside. The sun was gently nestled amongst several clouds, peering down on the earth like an inquisitive child. While it was not the sunniest day around, there did not seem to be the promise of rain, which made Amy happy. Amy did not enjoy the rainy times of the year, but only whenever she had the urge to curl up and read a good book.
    After viewing the weather outside, Amy sensed a beautiful, contented feeling sweep through her body. As if in a fantasy, she began to get ready for school, uplifted by the scene outside her window. After making her bed, Amy quickly had a shower, and prepared herself for school.
    After getting dressed, Amy descended the stairwell, and went to the kitchen for breakfast. She was warmly greeted by her parents, and ate breakfast with them at the table. The comforting aromas of freshly brewed coffee, bacon and eggs, and luscious croissants filled the air, and Amy sighed at this idyllic atmosphere, thoroughly enjoying her breakfast as she always did. Amy especially loved croissants, as they were easier, and more interesting to eat, than normal toast, which could sometimes be dry if cooked too much.
    After finishing breakfast, Amy looked at her watch. It was already 8:00AM, with the school day beginning at 9:00AM. Although there was still plenty of time before school began, as she lived close by, Amy decided to leave home earlier today. Amy did not want to rush to school, and become all puffed out from the walk, but arrive there comfortably. She felt in too good a mood today to let anything spoil this, especially the hassle of being late for school.
    After chatting with her folks, Amy bid them farewell, and walked out of the kitchen into the lounge room. Amy quickly went upstairs, brushed her teeth, and raced back downstairs. She collected her school bag from the clothes hook, and made her way out the front door.
    As Amy walked to school, taking in the fresh early morning air, she remembered Carrie’s confidence in her finding a date for the fancy dress gala, and smiled slightly. Amy contemplated whether anyone really would ask her to the gala, but as no one had yet asked her, there was no promise that they would, anyway. Amy believed she would have to attend the gala alone, or, be escorted by her younger brother, and this made her downhearted.
    Amy considered how some of her other friends already had dates for the gala, and felt even worse. What were they doing that she was not? Was it her fault, or were guys just not interested in her? Amy stewed on these thoughts for a few more moments, and could not come to any satisfying conclusion. Amy’s mood took a turn for the better, though, when she spied Carrie waving to her.
    Carrie was waiting for Amy at the school gate, with her regular friendly smile. Amy waved back, and excitedly sped up her walking pace to approach Carrie. If there was anyone Amy wanted to see first thing in the morning, it was Carrie.
    “Hey Amy.”
    “Hi Carrie.”
    “What you been up to?”
    “Nothing much,” Amy stated, with a blank expression. “The same old stuff.”
    Carrie swiveled her head to face Amy, which took her by surprise.
    “No, I dunno,” Carrie said, looking annoyed with Amy. “What’re you telling me? Haven’t you found a date for the gala yet? Thought that was your permanent job from now on.”

  5. The seven people I nominate to participate are:

    Penelope Crowe
    Sarah Baethge
    Frank Marcopolos
    Coral Russell
    Shani Bush
    David Bain
    L. Vera

    • This looks fun.
      I’ll post the first 7 sentences from my WIP Escaping the Eclipse (a prequel to my book, The Speed of Darkness)

      ‘Until that day, I had always simply called myself a human.
      I’m not a moron, I realize that most other human people lack wings; but that’s the only difference, I swear. As the wings have no feathers, bystanders don’t tend to call me an angel; but I’ll thank you not to call me some sort of devil-spawn. The simple fact that my wings exist has no grand religious overtones that I’m aware of.
      I have wings because my parents had wings, just as their parents did, and probably theirs did before that.
      Up until that point in time, the whole wing-thing had been something of a non-issue. So, the standard science most are taught in school doesn’t cover everything! ‘

      and for nominations:
      Harlow Coban
      Robin Waldrop
      Steven Lytton
      Maria Thermann
      Edward McKeown
      Michelle Horst
      Aubire Dionne

  6. Thanks Lori,
    Page 7 of Enter Vampires

    After some trial I realized I could pop a small piece of myself into the moth and see what it was seeing, and feel what it was feeling. I gasped and tried the moth again. Once inside of it I could make it move right or left, I could make it do anything I wanted and it couldn’t stop me. I wondered what it would feel like to take over the vampires.
    “Holly, stop it. We can feel you using the power. It crawls along our skin like ants. If you try to use it on one of them either Gunter or Skagerrak will kill you. Leave it with the moth.” I opened my mouth to ask him how he could feel it when he answered me. “We are magic ourselves, the dead who come back to life. We can feel magic as surely as a man in a bath can feel the water pressing against him.”
    “Oh.” Yeah that was me, Miss Eloquence. Gunter began speaking what may have been German (I couldn’t hear it clearly) and he must have received a positive response from the other end because he ended the call with a simple
    “Ja.” He hung up the phone, tossed it back to Victor and looked at me with a mixture of horror and fascination on his face. “They agreed. But you must bring her in before she comes into her second phase of power. Before the next midnight.”
    “I give my word.” Victor was such a gentleman, if only everyone honored their word like that.

    I call
    Jeffrey Kosh
    Jerry McKinney
    Suzi M
    Billie Sue Mosiman
    Eric S Brown
    Rebecca Besser
    Robert S Wilson

  7. Awesome lines. You have definitely succeeded in part 2 of the rules. Some great small details. Not sure why, but I loved the cattail. I think it triggers that very real physical sensation for anyone who’s actually taken one apart. But there was other good stuff as well.

    Paul D. Dail A horror writer’s not necessarily horrific blog

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