Move it in, move it out, shove it in, shove it out, disco lady
This is where almost everything I write ends up, at some time or another. The dashes signal different stories.
Sanctuary (Complete)
The breeze slipped through the columns of the temple, ruffling the woman’s long, dark hair and tugging gently at the loose ends of her dress. Goosebumps rose on her arms despite the warmth of the evening, and she smiled. Finished with her prayers, she rose and made her way back to the entrance, pausing to take in the scenery. The temple overlooked the entire city from its sacred hilltop, keeping watching over the humble people below. Again, the breeze came, bringing with it a brief feeling of divinity, as if her Goddess had once stood in this very place. She remained there, gazing out at the night, savoring the feeling, with a straight spine and one hand on an intricately carved column. This was her sanctuary.
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Falling at Your Side (Complete)
“Wandering from you
Falling at your side
Wandering from you
Healing my desire
Stumbling in your soul
Give yourself to me
Hurting your desire
Healing mine”
If only it hadn’t been so dark. If only it hadn’t been raining so hard. If only he’d seen the arrow in time. If only…
The knight lay on the chilly, stone floor of his bedroom, staring at the ceiling and recalling the night he’d lost everything. The night he’s lost his hope, his will, and most importantly, the night he’d lost her.
How beautiful she had once been. Long, silky blonde hair flowed down over her shoulders and back, nearly reaching to her curvy hips. Her skin was creamy, and softer than anything he’d ever felt. Her eyes - oh, her eyes! They had been miraculous, marvelous, incredible… he couldn’t find the words to describe them. Their color was a shocking gray-blue, the color of the ocean when a cloud passes over the sun. They had been hypnotizing; he recalled many a time when she had asked him what he was looking at so intently. He had claimed to be amazed by her beauty, but in truth, it had been her eyes that entranced him, her eyes for which he got out of bed in the mornings. Of course, he had loved everything else about her, but just a glance in his direction could set his soul aflame.
He sighed and studied the empty vile in the fading sunlight shining through the window. He knew that he couldn’t have saved her that evening; it was her fate. Still, he was helpless to stop the guilt from overwhelming him. It had been eating him from the inside out now for more than a full cycle of the seasons, and it seemed nothing could quell its hunger. He understood that there was something wrong. It was normal to mourn for a lost one, but the pain should have dulled after such a long time. He accepted the fact that it would never leave him.
He growled in anger and frustration, just as he had done countless other times when he thought of the events that had taken place.
~*~*~*~
The two had been traveling only down to the seaside port, as he had been given orders to round up any fishermen that might remain there and escort them home. If the night had been clear of fog, they could have seen the ocean from the castle; it was not far. But as night fell, so did a thick mist, so heavy that they could barely see the path before them.
He hadn’t known why she’d wanted to come. It was cold, and storm clouds were approaching from the east. The rain was close; the air was damp. Still, she had insisted. He could not have refused her if he had been on his way to the bottom of the sea itself.
So they had gone together, walking at a calm pace, shoulder to shoulder. He wanted to hold her hand in his, to stop and kiss her, but he was forbidden to do so while on duty. Technically, he shouldn’t have been allowed to speak to her at all, but she was the princess and he was in the king’s favor, so the guard captain was told to turn his eyes from the couple’s fraternizing even when the knight was on his post.
When even the bright lights of the castle had faded into the fog behind them, there was a crash in the heavens and the sky opened up upon them. He tried to cover her as well as he could, but she laughed and pushed his cloak away. The two of them were soon soaked to the bone. Neither minded, though, as the water brought a chill that nearly forced them into each other’s arms. Finally, he knew, he was going to get to kiss her succulent mouth.
As he was leaning in, he saw her eyes widen in fear at something behind him. He spun quickly, removing his sword from his scabbard as he did so. He thrust his weapon forward, piercing the shabby chain mail of his opponent. The knight pried his blade from the man now lying on the muddying earth, only to feel something large and heavy connect with the shield resting on his back. He was uninjured, but the blow sent him staggering forward. Lightning flashed and he saw that there were others, perhaps half a dozen. What they wanted with him and his lady he did not know; they may have just been a rogue group of bandits that had happened upon them only by chance.
He felled them all one by one, until the blood on his sword dripped onto his gauntlets. He was sweating and breathing hard, but he had been hit only once, with a small dagger under the hem of his armor. The wound would likely need stitches, but it was not fatal.
He turned back to his love, and enveloped her with the full strength of his passion. Her heart was pounding, but a smile still appeared on her face. He leaned in once again… but she abruptly jolted. Her muscles stiffened, and her grin changed to a slack-jawed look of surprise. She blinked once before slumping in his arms like a rag doll.
His mind went blank in his confusion, and he gaped at her thoughtlessly, until he spotted a movement directly in front of him. A vagrant with a bow stood, glaring at him. The pathetic wastrel reached for another arrow, this one meant for the knight, but froze when shouts were heard in the direction of the castle. He glanced in their direction, pulled out the projectile, paused again, then thought better of it. He dropped his weapon, turned tail, and fled into the darkness.
The knight stared after him momentarily, but his eyes returned to the woman in his arms. He carefully laid her onto the ground, helpless to save her dress from the muck. She coughed weakly and gazed up at him, not needing to squint because he blocked the rain from falling upon her face.
Tears began to course down his cheeks. He brushed some of her hair away, and was surprised to see that she was again smiling. She gestured him closer.
“What is it, my sweet?” he asked while he bent toward her.
“Do not cry.” She brushed some of the dampness from his skin, but the act simply made him cry harder.
“I am sorry.”
She shook her head softly. “Falling at your side was the only way I could ever wish to die. To close my eyes and fall into a forever slumber in your arms is my final wish. Please.”
With a sob, he cried, “No! No, please, you cannot leave me! I need you! I love you!”
“Please. I regret that I cannot be with you for the rest of your years alive, but-“ Her sentence was interrupted as she began to cough again.
The knight wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her to his chest, shaking and crying. He began rocking her back and forth, mainly comforting himself. He whispered, “I wish I could have saved you. It’s my fault, I-“
“Shut your mouth at this very instant,” she said firmly, but her voice was hoarse. “There is no one to blame.”
“But the archer-“
“The archer did not come here with the intent to kill me. Do not allow any hate for him. Simply hold me until my breath is gone. That is all I ask of you.”
So he did. When she had stilled fully, he again laid her on the muddy earth. He took her hands in his and looked into her eyes. Once, they had been stunning and full of life, but now they were cold and empty. He threw himself over her body and sobbed for an uncertain length of time.
He was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. Looking up, he found a group of his fellow knights gathered around him. He examined each of their grim faces one by one. The one who had touched him, his captain, helped him to his feet. When the captain was certain that his friend could stand on his own, he let go. He immediately saw the knight’s face begin to crumble, seeming to fall in on itself in his desperation. The captain caught him as the knight collapsed.
~*~*~*~
Now, the man felt the liquid begin to take effect, coursing through his veins and burning as it went. The stone floor beneath him began to move, rocking him as if he were floating in the ocean. The identical ceiling spun slowly above him. He moaned and grasped his chest as the poison reached his heart. There was a fierce stab of pain, and then nothing.
The knight died as the sun dipped below the horizon.
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She Had Known (Complete)
“What? What?!” the woman cried, her voice rising.
He remained silent.
She desperately grasped at his shirt, tears beginning to form in her eyes. “No, Johnny, you can’t go! It’s suicide!”
“I have to, Angie,” Johnny said. “Duty calls.” His voice was steady, his air calm, but it killed him to watch her face collapse into agony that way.
Angie buried her face into his chest, sobbing and wetting his tee shirt. He wanted to put his arms around her but found he couldn’t move. Guilt seized him; he knew how it must hurt her to receive no comfort or assurance from him.
“You can’t, can’t, can’t go, you can’t,” she was mumbling.
“I’m sorry.”
She suddenly looked up at him, eyes wide. “No, you’re not.” Backing away from him, she repeated, “You’re not. If you cared, you’d stay.”
Taking a step forward, he said, “Now Angie, that’s not-“
“No!” she shrieked. “You can’t abandon us like this!” Before he could interject, she covered her face with her hands and ran from the room.
Sighing, Johnny slumped down onto the couch. She’d taken that much worse that he’d anticipated. Truthfully, he had expected the disbelief and the crying, but anger had never crossed his mind. Did she really believe he was abandoning them?
“Daddy?”
Startled, he looked up and saw his six-year-old daughter, Sarah, standing in the living room doorway. He forced a smile. “Well, hey there, Pumpkin Pie. Come on over here.”
Her pristine white shoes made a soft swish-swish on the carpet. It was a sound that would remain with him until his last earthly moments.
The little girl climbed up onto the sofa beside her father, careful to pull the hem of her dress back down. Always the little lady. She gazed up at him with her big, green eyes. She appeared to be waiting for him to speak.
“Sweetie…” he began. He paused, wondering how to continue while rubbing his cheek pensively. The stubble made a scratching sound under his rough hand.
Abruptly, he jumped, surprised by the weight of tiny fingers on his leg. Sarah opened her mouth and said just what he couldn’t, “You’re going away, aren’t you, Daddy?”
He sighed softly and lifted her onto his lap. “I am, honey. Far away.”
“And you might not come back.”
Shocked, he stared at her, his mouth slightly agape. “W-w…” was all he could manage. She was only six; how could she possibly have known?
“It’s okay, Daddy. I promise I’ll be a good girl. I’ll clean up my toys, and I’ll do what Mommy says. Maybe, if I’m real, real good, God will let you come home.”
Johnny still could not speak. Instead, he hugged her tightly, resting his chin on her head and squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that had begun to bloom there. Sarah seemed unperturbed by this, sitting quietly until his shakes slowly subsided and he had himself back under control. She looked up at him. He kissed her forehead, gently returned her to the couch cushion beside him, and stood.
“I love you, Pumpkin Pie.”
Her eyes were large and clear. “I love you, too, Daddy.”
Months later, as he lay on the battlefield, his vision slowly darkening, he heard the sounds of her shoes on the carpet, felt her tiny fingers. Mostly, though, what he thought about were her eyes. How grown-up and knowing they had been. She had known she would never see him again. She had known.
“I love you, Sarah,” he whispered, and then the darkness was complete.
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Untitled (Complete)
The longing in her gaze would’ve been obvious to anyone that had been watching her; luckily, no one was. This was not unusual. She was generally quiet in groups, knowing that her store of witty retorts only contained lame jokes. But pointless chatter was unnecessary when he was present. All the stimulation she needed was him. Her eyes roaming over his body, his voice in her ears, could keep her happily occupied for hours.
She tilted her head back, and closed her eyes. Suddenly, he was there, right there with her. He eased her back against the wall, pressing his hips into hers and gently kissing her. She parted her lips slightly, and moaned softly when she felt his tongue. His hands roamed, caressing her back, sides, and hips, nowhere else, teasing her in the worst way. She grabbed his ass, pulling him closer, moaning again as their bodies pressed together. Her lust for him was overpowering, spreading through her body like a plague, reaching to her very fingertips. She slid one hand up the back of his neck and buried it in his soft hair, kissing him harder, needing him. His hands still remained placid and polite, now on her waist. With a growl, she reached down and tore the shirt over his head, barely losing contact with his lips in the process. She felt his chest up and down, loving the contact with his skin. Finally, she felt his fingers tickle under the hem of her own shirt. It was removed quickly enough. She pushed him down onto her bed, climbed on top of him, and -
“Did you hear me?”
Her mother was standing in her doorway. “Oh, sorry. I… spaced. What?”
“I said, ‘Dinner’s ready.’ ” The woman turned to go, then paused, and faced her daughter again. “Are you all right, honey? You look flushed.”
“Yeah, Mom. Fine.” She climbed out of her chair and went downstairs to eat.
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Untitled
She put her arms behind her head and leaned back, stretching her sore muscles. Her shirt tightened over her perfect chest, and the hem lifted slightly, allowing a peek at her taut stomach. A sound came from between her silky, red lips -- a soft, sexy sound, a sound that could drive straight into any man’s groin. She purred quietly deep within her silky throat and ran her hands over her gorgeous figure as she relaxed. Her luminous violet eyes searched the room quickly before coming to rest on her target. With an incredible smile and a slight bounce, she squeezed her way between the various, random bodies.
I quickly folded my hands in my lap as she approached. Damn it, this happened every freaking time she stretched! Well, actually, it happened every time she stretched, danced, licked her lips, bent over…
“Jason?”
Surprised, I shook my head and found her standing over me. “Oh, hey.” You fine, exotic, lust-inducing creature, you. I cleared my throat, embarrassed at the way my voice had cracked.
She smirked; I watched her luscious mouth move. “Day-dreaming about sexy women again, aren’t you?” She nearly had to yell to be heard over the deafening music.
“Of course. Does anything else ever pass through this thick skull of mine?” I managed to muster up a grin of my own, but felt the weakness in it as it crossed my face. How pathetic.
My goddess laughed, and I actually felt goosebumps begin to rise on my flesh. “No, I suppose not. But you are a guy, after all, so I guess I can forgive you.” She glanced around at the swarm of writhing bodies around us, then grabbed my hand and tugged. “C’mon.”
Climbing out of my chair a bit unsteadily, I asked, “Where are we going?”
“To dance.”
The obviously-you-jackass tone in her voice made my cheeks burn. What a dork. Luckily, she didn’t see, as she had already turned her back to me while leading me to a free spot on the floor. I mentally kicked myself in the ass anyway.
She turned to me abruptly, apparently satisfied with the position. If we had been any closer to the speakers, my eardrums might have imploded and shot drum shrapnel into my skull, killing me immediately. But they didn’t.
Before I had time to react, she had pulled me against her and was rhythmically grinding and rubbing her pelvis against mine. Oh dear God, oh dear God, what do I do? I can’t take this, she’s so hot, I want her, her boob just touched my arm I can see down her shirt oh dear God I could cum in my pants right here and now she’s going to notice how excited I am any second she’ll slap me and call me a perv and oh God she grabbed my ass she’stouchingmyassohGodwhatdoIdo-
“Am I turning you on, Jason?” she whispered in my ear.
Absolutely flabbergasted, I said nothing, only continued to babble incoherent thoughts in my head.
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You Know (Complete)
You know.
I can see it in your face, in your eyes. You don’t try to hide it, the same way I don’t try to hide my need for you. You study me, watching my movements with an incredible perceptiveness that I alone seem to notice. You read me like the fine print in a contract that most people miss. You know me.
You know what I want.
This doesn’t mean that I myself am oblivious. I feel something in you. I notice when you stand too close, when your hand brushes mine, when you go out of your way to run into me. I think, though, that you want me to see these things. Are you teasing me? I don’t know. All I know is my inner hunger, the torturing desire that I perpetually savor.
Tonight is no different.
Tonight it’s my living room and our usual group. A cliché horror movie is in the DVD player, but I’m not watching it. My attention is on you. You, always at the other end of the room, unreachable. Unattainable.
Your eyes slowly move around the room, observing everything, seeing nothing. They meet mine, pausing for a moment, then return to the television. My cheeks are suddenly burning. I stand up, unheeded by the others, and leave the room. I cross the kitchen, open the front door, and step out into the night.
The air is comfortably cool. The sky is fairly clear, but there are clouds here and there, casting misshapen shadows onto the ground. My bare feet are chilled by the pavement of the walkway, so I take a few steps into the grass. A smirk abruptly crosses my face in the darkness as I hear the front door open and close. In a moment, I sense you directly behind me. My muscles tense a bit as your breath hits my cheek. Your arms envelop me, and I lean into your warmth. Your mouth goes to my neck, your heavenly lips brushing my skin. Goosebumps cover my body and a shiver races up my spine. A familiar heat begins to burn in the pit of my stomach, spreading simultaneously down to my groin and up through my abdomen. I tilt my head back and you leave gentle kisses up my jawbone. I turn and our mouths meet. I close my eyes, but I can still feel your gaze, watching me, always watching.
You pull me closer, pressing our bodies together, drawing me into your web. You are the predator; I am the prey. I sense the chemistry between us; its very essence seeps into my veins, racing to my thudding heart like a poison no medicine could stop. Your presence is encircling me, clouding my thoughts, taking me over.
Using my last sliver of willpower, I pull away. Once out of your grasp, I am myself again. Your expression shows no surprise, anger, or confusion. All I see is that cleverness, that brilliant perceptiveness.
Staring into your eyes, I smile. You understand, and nod. I smile because tonight I am the victor. Tonight, I am still free.
I step around you and re-renter the house without looking back.
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Untitled
The fire crackled and popped, freeing tiny, dancing sparks up into the flue. A gentle heat emanated from it, bathing Emma’s face in warm, glowing light. She sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, sorting through an old shoebox of photos, sipping occasionally from a mug of hot chocolate, which would soon be only warm chocolate. A few tears left shiny trails down her cheeks.
Emma’s fluffy kitten clumsily trotted up beside her, purring and nuzzling her side. Smiling a little, she stroked the animal’s soft, white fur. “What is it, Lucy?” The kitten mewled and rubbed her skull against Emma’s palm. “Ooh,” the woman cooed knowingly. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?” Lucy gazed up at her, ears adorably flattened under her master’s hand.
Emma stretched, using her knuckles to place a gentle pressure at the base of her spine. As she climbed to her feet, both knees cracked. I’m getting too old for this, she thought, though she was only in her early thirties. She crossed the large, high-ceilinged living room and headed into the kitchen. Her feet received a shock upon touching the tile - it was freezing.
She proceeded to snatch a paper towel from the holder, mopped her face and wiped her nose, then tossed the sodden thing into the garbage. Lucy, meanwhile, trotted over, around, and between her feet, turning an ordinary kitchen floor into something of an obstacle course. Emma carefully made her way over to the counter, where a dish and a fresh can of Friskies stood. With Lucy mewling excitedly, aware that food was coming, Emma emptied the can’s contents onto a small dish and set it down by the wall, where it was immediately set upon by the hungry kitten.
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Untitled
“My father has always been stubborn in that way. It always made me feel so… Oh, doc, I believe our time is up.”
The psychologist shook her head and waved a dismissing hand. “No, no, Michael, go on. There’s no rush; I don’t have any other appointments scheduled for today.”
Michael smiled. “Well, that’s unusual for a shrink. I think any other would’ve pointed out that we were five minutes over our limit.”
“I care about what my clients have to say.”
“Don’t you mean patients?”
“That makes you sound like you belong in a hospital.”
“Maybe I do,” he said with a laugh. He climbed to his feet, took his jacket from the nearby coat hanger, and began to pull it on. “Anyway, I really appreciate the offer, but I have to pick up my kids from school. Tammy is visiting her mommy today.”
“Until next time, then, “she replied, standing and reaching for his hand. After the shake, he offered his farewell and exited her office.
Alone again. She supposed some of her reasons for extending appointments without charge were selfish, but she had meant what she’d said about caring about her clients. Since she’d been a little girl, she had always wanted to help people. Psychology had given her a way to make a living doing so,
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Untitled
Their eyes had met several times over the course of the day. This was not unusual; she was obviously attracted to him even though he was a married man. He was friendly enough to her, but he didn't want to give her any ideas; he simply wanted to maintain an amiable workplace.
He glanced at the clock, and was pleased to see that it was time to leave -- six minutes past, in fact. She had left hours ago, long before he had even come in, and he hadn't thought about her much. As a manager, he was always busy, usually "dialing three-oh" or helping satiate some irate customer. He didn't mind, though; he liked his job.
Everyone else was gone, as he was the only one closing tonight. Everything was done; he just needed to lock up. Then, he could go home. It had been a long day.
He stepped out into the cool night air, pausing to lock the door behind him, and goosebumps rose on his arms. A sore spot made itself known when he stretched, and he rubbed it languidly while he traversed the sea of asphalt known as the parking lot. Halfway across, he looked up -- and stopped. Someone was leaning against his car. Oh god, he thought. It was her. What was she doing there?
He resumed walking, forcing a friendly grin. She nonchalantly continued to watch him approach, apparently in no rush. He found himself studying her jeans. They seemed awfully snug, the type of pants that showed the undesirable underwear lines. His thoughts continued to what kind of underwear she had on.
Knock it off, he told himself. After a walk that had lasted miles, he finally stepped in front of her. "How're you doing?" was the only thing he could think of to say.
"Steve." Her voice was low and husky.
He swallowed past a new-found lump in his throat. "Yes?"
She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, then laughed. He jumped a little, surprised and confused.
She noticed the expression on his face. "Sorry. It's just, well, I realized how weird this must be. It's not everyday you come outside to find a strange girl waiting for you."
"No, this is a first for me, rest assured." He was starting to relax. He leaned against the car beside her and crossed his arms. "Was there something you needed?"
Her easy grin faded. "Well, yes, I... um..." She broke eye contact; it appeared that there was something incredibly interesting on her sneaker.
"Hmm?"
"I just..." She looked up again, and a flush had crept into her cheeks. "I wanted to do this." She stood on tiptoe and, before he could resist, kissed him. It was quick, and over before he had even realized what happened. There was nothing extraordinary about it, not for either of them. There were no stars, no fireworks.
Still, he gaped for a moment, utterly taken aback, then his stunned mind cleared, and he took a step back. "Hey, look, you're a nice girl but," he held up his left hand, "I'm married."
"I know that, I know," she said, distressed. "I just want you so bad."
He blinked, surprised yet again, and suddenly her body was pressed against him, her arms encircling his waist. He leaned back, at a complete loss. Things were happening so damned fast.
"Please," she begged, and the pleading in her voice was almost painful to hear.
"Please what?"
"I need you."
He meant to say no, to stop her, but instead found his lips on hers, his arms pulling her closer. She kissed him hungrily, unbuttoning his work shirt. She slipped her hands inside and caressed his bare skin greedily. He felt ashamed at the way his lower body reacted, but all thought ceased once her fingers dropped lower. Her mouth moved to his neck as she massaged him, and he leaned his head back, intaking a sharp breath through clenched teeth when she squeezed. His eyes began to slowly flutter closed, and his willpower drained away...
Abruptly, he stopped her. She looked dismayed, and started to say something, but he stopped her. He fished his keys out of his pocket, opened the driver's side door, and unlocked the back door. He opened it, and motioned for her to enter.
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Untitled
1
Lydia slumped over her chaise longue, bored. The view from the balcony was, of course, gorgeous, but she was not in a lounging mood tonight; she wanted some action and adventure, perhaps even some excitement. She wanted fun.
With a pout, she turned to her left. "Winston, I'm quite bored. What would you suggest for entertainment?"
Winston, an older man with white, neatly groomed hair, leaned forward slightly and offered, "Mayhap Madame would care to add a new recruit to our ranks this evening? You do seem to enjoy those outings, if I may say so."
She pondered this for a moment. Winston had been in her service the longest of her current servants, and was currently her personal assistant. She never took his word lightly.
"Mayhap, yes..." she mumbled, tapping her finger on her lower lip thoughtfully. After a short time, a hauntingly beautiful smile lit up her equally beautiful face. "Once again, Winston, you know me better than I know myself. That is exactly what I want to do." She stood and entered the large, glass door, her silky blue evening gown trailing elegantly behind. Winston, too, slipped inside, closing the door against the chill night air, though he knew his mistress could not feel it.
Without pause, Lydia gracefully slipped out of her dress, never breaking stride, stepping out of it and into her large closet. Following faithfully, Winston scooped it up and folded it over his arm. He would bring it down to the cleaners later, when Madame dismissed him.
Index finger to her lips, Lydia now mulled over an appropriate outfit. She owned thousands of pieces of clothes -- a woman's dream. As she reached to feel the fabric of a particular shirt, she was distracted by a nearby mirror. She paused, looking blankly into the reflection, then turned back to her assistant. "I'm still beautiful, aren't I, Winston?"
"Absolutely, Madame," he answered immediately, not at all swayed by her nudity. "There is no one more lovely in all the world."
With an indulgent grin, she placed a light kiss on his cheek, then went back to her search. In no time, she found something that suited her -- a pair of black leather pants that accentuated the right places, and a red, silk button-up. She added a pair of strappy black heels and grabbed a tight-fitting leather jacket for the ride. Winston brushed her long, blonde hair while she sat on her enormous bed to put on her shoes. She stood and headed for the double french doors, but stopped with her hand on one of the solid gold handles. "Thank you, Winston. You are dismissed for the rest of the evening. You know the drill -- if I come home with a guest, make yourself scarce."
"Yes, Madame," he promised, bowing deeply.
She grinned again. "You should go out, Winny. Get yourself a hot young escort for the night."
Smiling politely, he shook his head. "That life is not for me, Madame."
"Alright," she said with a shrug. "Suit yourself." She turned the handle, pulling one of the big doors open. "But you know the combination for the safe if you change your mind." With that, she was gone.
Winston relaxed when the door swung shut again. He did adore Madame, but he would never willingly bring another into her servitude. It just wasn't right.
He rubbed his cheek where her lips had touched. It was still cold.
2
Even over the din of the lounge, the motorcycle could still be heard. Many of the patrons paid no attention; many of the nighttime visitors had bikes. But many a head turned when the door opened and a woman stepped in. Her leather looked expensive, and clung to her body so tightly that it seemed almost a second skin. Her helmet didn’t move, but those watching felt her gaze peering out from behind the mirrored visor, surveying the scene.
After a moment, she reached up and pulled the helmet off. A few men involuntarily gasped, not used to such beauty, as she shook her golden hair out before letting it finally fall into place, not a strand astray. Without meeting anyone’s gaze, she strode purposefully over to the bar and took a seat, quickly and discreetly ordering something from the female bartender, whose fair body and pretty face were easily eclipsed by those of this new woman.
Lydia spun the bar stool around when she received her drink, sipping it while nonchalantly surveying the affairs of those around her. Someone crossed her path, his eyes meeting hers, and in that brief moment, there was an acknowledgement that they were alike, though she was the only one left of her kind. Still, they were both here for the same thing - prey.
Turning back to the counter to wait, it wasn’t long before she sensed a presence approaching directly behind her. She smirked into her glass, waiting. After a moment, he slid onto the stool beside her. She continued staring at the bottles arranged on shelves against the wall, paying him no mind. Following a short hesitation, he cleared his throat. She did not move.
A coy one, she thought. Those are the most fun.
Finally, he timidly said, “Pardon me.”
Allowing only her eyes to move, she met his stare to show she was listening.
“I, erm,” he mumbled, unnerved by her composure. Clearing his throat again, he managed to raise his voice a bit, bringing it the slightest bit over that of the dreadful music filling the smoky air. “I couldn’t help but notice that you are the most beautiful woman in here this evening.”
Her eyes returned to their forward position. Pathetic.
“Also, I… I know what you are.”
Unusually shocked, her head jerked slightly around to face him, her eyes appraising him sideways. After a time, she asked, “And just what am I, little boy?”
Her voice was like velvet; regardless of the insult, he felt shivers run up his spine. “I think you’re a lonely, married woman, in desperate need of love and affection.” Growing slightly more bold, something that was almost visible, he added, “Love and affection from someone like me.”
She tossed her head back and laughed. He winced, and seemed to wither further every second she continued to laugh. Once she regained a hold on herself, she at last turned directly to him. Leaning close and feeling his excited breath on her neck, she whispered, “That’s exactly what I am,” in his ear.
Settling back, she barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes at the ridiculous grin on his face. It was sort of cute, though, wasn’t it? For the first time, she inspected him, like a hawk sighting a mouse on the forest floor. He had dark, shaggy hair that hung over the tops of his ears and in his eyes. He was almost constantly blinking at it or brushing it away. He had steel gray eyes, still alight with the exhilaration of her words. His lips were thin, but his skin was very smooth and clean. He was wearing a black tee shirt advertising a band she had never heard of, a pair of plain jeans, and black boots.
“Would you want to, you know, get out of this hole and go somewhere where we can talk?”
His nervous question brought her eyes back to his. A slow smile spread across her features, and she nodded. His delight lit up his entire face, and she snickered quietly to herself at his childish ways. Rising to her feet, she motioned for him to follow her, weaving with balletic grace through the bodies.
She didn’t glance back - she knew he was right behind, eager as a puppy.
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Untitled
A man sat on a hard, cheap motel bed in a room dark except for the faint glow of a streetlight outside. A cigarette burned in the ashtray, half smoked; he’d never smoked before that night, and found that it made him dizzy and nauseous. Or, more likely, his symptoms came from the alcohol. A bottle of vodka, nearly empty, stood beside the ashtray.
He reached for the cigarette, but realizing it was ash all the way to the filter, detoured his hand and grabbed the vodka instead. He took a swig, grimacing as it burned its way down his throat and into his stomach, then lowered his head onto his left hand. This wasn’t going to make things any better, he knew. What he needed to do was call her. Then, they could talk everything over and -
He stopped, the phone out of its cradle and halfway to his ear, his index finger hovering over the keypad. Sighing, he slowly replaced it. He threw himself back on the bed, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. A telephone call could not fix what had been broken.
He rolled onto his side, slipped one arm under the pillow, and hoped for the mercy of sleep.
Miles away, she was in the same position as him - she even had the same arm under the pillow. Unlike him, though, she had not been drinking, so she was quite awake. Her eyes were red, puffy, and sore; her nose was in much the same state. Instead of an ashtray, a box of tissues sat on her nightstand. Replacing the bottle was her cordless phone. It had not made a sound all night. She told herself that she had not expected it to, that she didn’t even want it to, because she was better off without him.
With an audible snort, she sat up, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on her knees. She was better off without him? Right. She was certainly at her best lying in her room, looking like she’d been hit by a train, not eating, and crying herself to what little sleep she did get.
She struggled to her feet - so exhausted - and exchanged her sweats for jeans and a tee shirt. She trudged into the kitchen, grabbed her keys, pulled her shoes on, and exited the apartment. The hallway, as always, was musty and too warm; she hurried down the two flights of stairs and outside. The night air was comfortably cool, and more soothing than she had expected.
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The Red Letter (Complete)
The countryside was powered with a light dusting of snow, but she wasn’t cold. She was wearing a silk kimono of a brilliant red, with golden stitching and a glorious flower pattern. The pink and white cherry blossoms on either side of the cobblestone path did little to blend with her outfit - she stuck out amongst the snowy plains like a fresh splash of blood.
Her hands tucked into either sleeve to keep warm, she continued on, eyes to the ground. The ornaments in her hair jangled with each step she took, playing a solemn song that was as somber as it was lovely.
Taking a quick glance up, she saw him, heading toward her. He had a deliberate, steady stride that was a clear mark of his profession. His standard uniform was completely black, neatly pressed and clean, with a red sash across his chest. He, too, stood out against the snow… as the bringer of death.
She returned her eyes to the ground. Her sandals were making a scraping sound as she dragged her feet. It was improper behavior for a lady, but she was having difficulty bringing herself to care. With an inner pause, she gathered herself. She straightened her back, held her head high, and tried to seem as though nothing was out of the ordinary.
Finally, in the middle of the long path, she and the man in black met. The each bowed and, at last, she was able to look up into his eyes. They were blue, cold and hard, showing just a hint of the steel inside him. He was strong, unfeeling. Just as she had expected.
He handed her an envelope - red, something she had also expected. And dreaded. She took it and thanked him, accompanying it with another, slighter bow. This, he did not reciprocate.
With trembling hands, she broke the official wax seal of the military. She held her breath, unfolded the paper, and quickly read through the letter, one hand raising to cover her mouth. Vision rapidly blurring with tears, she could still see the black uniform of the messenger over the top of the page.
“I knew,” she whispered, not necessarily for him, but more for her own sake. Her shaking knees gave way, and then she was down on the cold stone, the pain caused by it’s roughness quickly going numb. She felt ashamed at acting so improperly, at being unable to control her emotions. She worried about her kimono - it was her best one, she shouldn’t be kneeling on the ground; it would be ruined.
She looked up, choking back sobs, makeup running down both cheeks. She looked up into the cold blue eyes of the messenger, the man in black. The bringer of death. She looked up, seeking comfort, seeking anything, begging for it with her own dark eyes.
After a time, what seemed an eternity, he shifted, removing his gaze from her pathetic form, crumpled on the ground. “Get a hold of yourself,” he growled in a low voice. Then, without a farewell, he continued on his way, just as deliberately as before. He had many other red letters to deliver.
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Untitled
Prologue
Just before dawn, I stopped at the opening to the tunnel between Zone 3 and Zone 4, squinting suspiciously down the walkway. Shiny metal gleamed silently back at me; nothing more. They only clean it once every twenty-four hours. I guess it’s enough. They close down each tunnel in turn for fifteen minutes, going in numerical order until all six have been scrubbed down. Big, metal doors slide down and seal the tunnels off, locking the water and cleaning solution inside. I have an insane fear of being caught in one, although they have sensors that scan the area first, to make sure that never happens. There haven’t been any deaths that way… yet. One guy did get caught in there and was flushed out into the ocean along with the dirty water, but he was rescued and resuscitated. That was in the beginning, though, before our scientists had thought of such trivial things as safety.
Verifying once again, that no one was around, I shook my arms and legs a bit to loosen up, and took a deep breath. Then, I burst into a run, charging through the tunnel as fast as I could. The distance between the two Zones was never terribly far to begin with, and I reached the other side in no time at all. I never mourned for my lost energy; those tunnels are just too creepy.
In any case, I had finally made it to my favorite place in our little world - what most people thought of as the slums of our little civilization. The buildings were small, rundown, and situated close together; the artificial plant life was brown and dying; even the streetlamps only threw off a feeble glow in the midst of the simulated night. Night and day mean little at the bottom of the sea; the sun cannot reach us, so we have a simulated spatial rotation sequence that follows time, including waxing and waning and the seasons. Anyway, few people actually lived here anymore, after the Rebellion of 2167, thirteen years ago. Since then, wages and real estate have become much more fair, and those still residing here are generally unable to work, due to some illness or disability. They get food, clothes, and other essential things from the nearby churches.
It’s one of these churches that I come to visit. It’s in terrible shape - holes in the roof, broken windows, missing pews; the works - and it was abandoned quite some time ago. Half of it was burned down shortly after the parish left, but no one was ever caught. Not that it really matters in the slums. Justice turns a blind eye on those without wealth.
There’s just something about the place. I can’t put my finger on it. It just draws me. That’s why I was there on that particular day, when the real planets aligned or something, and put fate into motion, or whatever hibbiddy-jibbiddy you want. All I know was that became the most important day of my seventeen years of life.
And you know, important does not always mean good.
Chapter 1
I slipped through the large, slightly ajar double-doors of the church, getting my hands and clothes dirty where they touched the grime and ashes, and pulled my backpack in after me. I ducked under a fallen beam, rising to my full height on the other side, stretching and looking around. Ignoring the old spray paint on one wall (“Carlos wuz here”), my eyes passed over the blackened wood and gray stone and the piles of rubble, coming to rest on one of the things that made me come back time and time again - the only stained glass window that had remained whole. Its entirety was made up of glass dyed many shades of blue, entwined together to make a random, but beautiful, jumble. How spectacular, right? Actually, what made it so incredible was that a street lamp happened to be just outside, turning the window into a great, blazing blue eye. The back of the church, where I had come in, was lit from top to bottom, shining with all those lovely blue hues.
I crunched across the floor - thank goodness for hiking boots - and stopped in front of the few stairs up to the altar. Setting my pack down again, I pulled out a flannel blanket and laid it over the dust and dirt. I sat there, my feet on the stair, and took out my sketchbook. I came here to draw, as well as ponder over things like the meaning of life, and why those little hotdogs are so delicious.
Unfortunately, today didn’t seem like an art day, as the only thing my pencil seemed to be producing was ridiculous doodles, and in large amounts. Though I was partial to the cartoon pig in the blanket, I realized that I was getting nowhere, and went to put the sketchbook away. As I was bending forward, though, something to my left caught my eye. Had something moved?
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Untitled (zombie story)
1
The burning desert sun relentlessly beat down on the highway, and in return, the asphalt soaked in the heat and slowly released it upward, making the damned basin all too closely resemble a convection oven. No plant or animal life inhabited this area, it seemed, aside from the occasional cactus or tumbleweed.
Well, at least I won’t die of dehydration. I wonder what cactus water tastes like.
Andy pushed himself on, trudging on the shoulder and sweating bullets. His car had broken down a few miles back. He’d been going along just fine, but then it started sputtering. Next, came the smoke, a huge, billowing mass of it, and then, it just died all together. He managed to coast it over to the side
not that anyone ever comes down this cursed road
and after a bit of unsuccessful under-the-hood detective work, he remembered he knew nothing about cars and had no hope of repairing anything. So the sweltering journey had begun, with nothing but the wind blowing sand into his face and the promise of a severe neck burn from the sun.
His shirt was stuck to his back, soaked through with his perspiration. His baseball cap gave him some shade, at least. Looking up, he thought he could vaguely see a few buildings ahead through the shimmering heat, but he had no idea how far away they were. His shoulders slumped with the realization that he was likely hours away from the town. He let his eyes drift closed.
His thoughts drifted to home, to his family. He was on his way back there, having finished a business meeting that the boss had sent him to. He couldn’t wait to be back with them. Emily, his daughter, was his pride and joy, an adorable little thing of only four years. She had beautiful ringlets that fell to her shoulders, though where the blond came from, he had no idea, since he was a brunette and his wife was a redhead. Recessive genes, he supposed.
Emily always insisted on wearing pretty dresses and clean, shiny shoes. Most of the time, she liked ribbons in her hair, as well, as long as they matched her outfit. Still, they had dozens of pictures of her outside in the summertime, playing in the dirt or helping mommy in the garden. As particular as she was about her clothing, she seemed to have no qualms about getting messy.
When Andy’s father had died, Emily had been there to witness the phone call, watching his reactions with wide-eyed and unabashed curiosity. With a stony countenance, he had tried to send her out to play, but for one of the few times she ever outright disobeyed, she refused to move. Finally, he couldn’t maintain his calm façade any longer, and had sunk down into a chair, cradling his face in his hands. A moment later, a small, warm hand on his arm caught his attention. He looked up to find Emily studying him with those piercing blue eyes that had always seemed so much brighter than his own. Without a word, she climbed up into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. He returned the embrace, quickly dissolving into tears and helpless sobs. They remained that way for a long time, father deriving comfort from daughter. Emily never mentioned it again.
God, he couldn’t wait to get home.
Opening his eyes again, he squinted against the glare of the late afternoon sun. It would be dark before long; he was well aware of how much the temperature would drop after sunset, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be outside, in shorts nonetheless, when it happened. He forced his already weary legs to pick up the pace, carrying him toward the small town
or mirage
that got closer with every painstaking step.
2
He was shivering slightly when he reached what appeared to be the town’s main street. Night had come about a half hour prior to his arrival, and though he had begun jogging in order to stay warm, goosebumps had perpetually raised themselves on his arms and legs. He was just barely able to see his breath.
He spotted a convenience store, but even from so far away, he could see that the lights were out. Apparently, they weren’t open. Surveying the street, he noticed that not only were the lights in the store not on, but no lights appeared to be lit. Was it some sort of power outage?
Figures. Well, maybe someone will have a cellphone I can use.
He’d brilliantly left his own back in the car. Damned thing got no service way out in the middle of nowhere anyway.
Hesitantly, he started down the street. A few simple-looking buildings made of brick were on his right. They looked like the kind of stores rented out by hicks, going under in a few months, only to be rented out by another hick with a plan. Andy felt only the slightest bit of shame for the contempt he was feeling toward this little town with the inability to provide itself with electricity.
An intersection was ahead. The traffic lights were dark, but it didn’t much matter; there was no traffic to govern. Another oddity. Despite his growing trepidation about the place, Andy continued along the sidewalk, took a right, and was relieved to see houses. Once again, he didn’t see any lights, but he was becoming accustomed to that - it was obviously some mass power problem.
At the first house he came to, he only paused for a moment before heading up the front walk and stepping up onto the porch. He wiped his hands on his khakis, though those, too, were covered in dust from the blasted wind, and rang the doorbell. The chimes echoed loudly throughout the building.
A minute passed. Then two. He rang again. This time, he let five minutes pass, using his watch to clock it. Still nothing.
Well, why would anyone be home? It’s summer, and they probably have kids. Probably in Disney-fucking-land.
Just for the hell of it, he tried the door handle, and was shocked to find it unlocked. It swung open easily, and he took a shaky step inside. Immediately, a horrid, choking stench flooded his nostrils, causing his eyes to water and his throat to close up. Gagging, he clamped a hand tightly over his nose and mouth.
Jesus Christ, what the fuck is that?!
He grabbed a wad of his shirt and pressed it to his face, blocking out the worst of the overwhelming smell before stumbling back outside. On the porch, he sucked in a deep breath of fresh air, then succumbed to a painful bout of retching, hands resting on his knees for balance.
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Post-Nasal Drip
Post-nasal drip is one of the most annoying afflictions known to man.
Chuck Derry was well aware of this. During the day, he found it wasn’t much of an issue. At night was another matter. The moment he began to so much as think about going to bed, that thick feeling would take over the back of his throat. No amount of swallowing helped. Gargling did nothing. Drinking water provided a temporary relief, but it seemed to return after only a few seconds.
The simple thing would be for Chuck to make an appointment with a nose and throat doctor. That was something he had to forego, though, as he had no insurance and could barely afford to pay both his rent and his car insurance each month. Most likely, the doc would make him stick out his tongue and say, “Ahh,” and then slap him with a six hundred dollar bill.
Fucking quacks.
All he could do was lie awake at night, swallowing almost constantly, and praying for his exhaustion to finally knock him unconscious.
Chuck was not what many would call a happy man.
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Untitled (post zombie apocalypse story)
The rifles clanked as their barrels met, crisscrossing in the doorway.
I eyed the guns, then the two soldiers holding them. “Excuse me.”
“No admittance,” the one on the right growled, staring straight ahead.
I almost laughed, and perhaps would have, had we been under different circumstances. “But this is the only way out of the city.”
The soldier didn’t reply, only stood with his back straight, staring in the direction we had come with stony countenance. Pleadingly, I looked to his partner, whose posture was similar, but his face didn’t look as weathered. He looked too young to be in the military.
“Let us through.”
The kid’s eyes flickered briefly in my direction, but he said nothing.
“We can’t go back; it’s a disaster. Everyone’s dead, or crazy, or… worse. We’ll die if you send us back.”
His lips twitched, as if he were wrestling with some internal demons, but he was saved by the first soldier, who pressed the butt of his rifle against my chest and forced me back a step. “Back off. We’re not letting you pass. We have our orders.”
“Hey, you can’t just-” I began, but the words died in my throat as I found the other end of the gun level with my face.
“I will not hesitate to shoot you, sir.”
My jaw moved as I stared in shock. Finally, I felt little fingers wrap around my wrist, tugging gently. “C’mon, Jimmy. Let’s go. These men are scary.”
I blinked and looked down at the top of Suzette’s blond head. She’s only seven, but she’s smarter than most people I know and you can just tell that she’s going to end up a real beauty. If she gets the chance, that is.
“Jimmyyyyyy,” she whined, and as her gaze met mine, I could see the tears brimming in her eyes. “Please?”
“Okay,” I nodded. “Okay, honey.” I squatted down to pick her up, my joints popping and my spine creaking. I settled her on my hip, and ignored the worried look her mother, Kay, gave me. She’s neurotic about anyone touching her baby, which is exactly how she treats the poor girl. I think that’s why Suzy likes me; I note her intelligence and speak to her like a fellow adult. She might as well be after all she’s been through.
We approached the small group waiting a few yards away. Their faces fell after one look at us; I couldn’t hide my dejection. Kay snatched Suzette out of my grasp when we were close enough, falling into the high-pitched cooing language she used on the girl. The other seven people stood watching me expectantly.
“It seems that… we need to find another way,” I said quietly.
Immediately, and not unexpectedly, everyone burst out in protest, causing enough of an uproar to catch the two guards’ attentions. After throwing them a wave and a smirk, I held up both hands to the crowd to signal quiet. It took a few minutes, but they finally settled down.
“Alright, now, I know you’re all upset-”
“Upset?!” shouted Melissa, a twenty-something, pretty brunette with striking green eyes. The only thing more vivacious than her peepers was her mouth. “Upset isn’t the word! I don’t know if you’re aware of this, O Great Leaderman, but that pass is the only way out of this godforsaken city! If you couldn’t get us through there, you’ve condemmed us to death. Thanks for all your help.”
As she huffed and crossed her arms over her sizeable rack, her shorter, quieter, far less glamorous sister, Mary, stepped forward. Shyly, she paused a moment to push her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose, averted her identical eyes, and asked, “Mr. James, sir… is that the only way out?”
Sonny, our toothless old geezer, shuffled a bit, leaning more weight onto his cane in order to look Mary in the eye. “This valley is surrounded by mountains on all sides, and that there pass has been the only way in or out for longer than I’ve been alive.” He turned to Jimmy. “Boy, you’d be well advised to git’cher ass back there and convince them servicemen to let us through.”
The uproar began again.
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Untitled
Their romance was sizzling, abrupt and unexpected, a welcome change from the drudgery of everyday life. She was like the summer: bright, expectant, fun, and beautiful. Her hair was the same color as the season’s sun, and as radiant as the light itself. Her smile was as welcoming as the gentle breaking of waves on a sandy shore, when the temperature was high and all anyone wanted was a long, cool swim. And her eyes were amazing; they sparkled like the stars on a quiet, cloudless evening, when the night is still warm, but a soft breeze caresses the skin - the perfect night.
Oftentimes, they met in secret, not because they were ashamed, not because they wanted to hide their togetherness, but simply because it added yet another element of excitement to their already exhilarating affair. They would dine in fancy restaurants while giggling like children and sneaking sensual touches when no one seemed to be looking. They would go to plays and sit in the highest balconies, ignoring the actors and focusing only on each other, never seeing the endings to great works of literature. They would take clichéd walks on the beach, holding hands, chasing and running from the ebb and flow of the waves. They would watch fireworks, take boat rides, drink wine, watch movies, and kiss in the rain. They did all the things a young couple in love should do, never far from each others reach, never deaf to each others words.
But as the turn of the wheel of time goes, the months moved on, and summer soon gave way to fall. Things began to change. Suddenly, she could see the coming winter in him
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Untitled
Oh god, she thought. Oh god. I love him.
"Melissa? Are you feeling okay?"
Melissa shook herself out of her thoughts to find her English professor regarding her with a concerned expression. His head was tilted to the side, and his eyes, oddly magnified, blinked at her from behind the thick lenses of his glasses. She became aware that her face was contorted in a look of shock, mouth slightly ajar and brow creased.
She opened her mouth to speak, produced nothing, swallowed, and tried again. "I… Excuse me." She gathered her books and backpack and was out the classroom door before he could say anything else.
She hurried down the hallway, turning into the stairwell to the second floor. She'd known for some time that she'd cared strongly for him, had worried that she was becoming too dependent on his presence. She had assumed that one day, during some romantic occasion, perhaps a picnic in the summer or a candlelit dinner, she would have no choice but to fall for him, and give herself over completely. Never would she have imagined being struck with the realization that, unbeknownst to her, she'd already done so, unwittingly. And right in the middle of class, nonetheless! Who would've thought that memories of the sex they had last had before he left to return to his semester-long internship hundreds of miles away could produce feelings other than lust?
At the exit from the building, she paused, a feeling of nausea threatening to overwhelm her. She quickly changed routes and ended up in the women's bathroom, slamming the stall door shut behind her, violently throwing her books to the floor, and falling to her knees before the porcelain basin. There, she vomited up the hearty breakfast she had consumed before class. Bits of egg, barely begun to digest, floated in the water, and seeing this caused her to empty the rest of her stomach. Finally, she hit the button to flush and collapsed with her back against the wall, breathing heavily.
Shakily, she pushed herself to her feet and shuffled to the sink, grateful that no one else occupied the restroom. She sipped some water from cupped hands, swished it around, and spit before catching a glimpse of her own wide eyes in the mirror. Startled, she did a double-take, unconsciously reaching slightly toward her reflection. Her resemblance to a frightened child was shocking.
That's a lot of words. But not too many words. Just enough words to be more than a few words.
Sanctuary (Complete)
The breeze slipped through the columns of the temple, ruffling the woman’s long, dark hair and tugging gently at the loose ends of her dress. Goosebumps rose on her arms despite the warmth of the evening, and she smiled. Finished with her prayers, she rose and made her way back to the entrance, pausing to take in the scenery. The temple overlooked the entire city from its sacred hilltop, keeping watching over the humble people below. Again, the breeze came, bringing with it a brief feeling of divinity, as if her Goddess had once stood in this very place. She remained there, gazing out at the night, savoring the feeling, with a straight spine and one hand on an intricately carved column. This was her sanctuary.
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Falling at Your Side (Complete)
“Wandering from you
Falling at your side
Wandering from you
Healing my desire
Stumbling in your soul
Give yourself to me
Hurting your desire
Healing mine”
If only it hadn’t been so dark. If only it hadn’t been raining so hard. If only he’d seen the arrow in time. If only…
The knight lay on the chilly, stone floor of his bedroom, staring at the ceiling and recalling the night he’d lost everything. The night he’s lost his hope, his will, and most importantly, the night he’d lost her.
How beautiful she had once been. Long, silky blonde hair flowed down over her shoulders and back, nearly reaching to her curvy hips. Her skin was creamy, and softer than anything he’d ever felt. Her eyes - oh, her eyes! They had been miraculous, marvelous, incredible… he couldn’t find the words to describe them. Their color was a shocking gray-blue, the color of the ocean when a cloud passes over the sun. They had been hypnotizing; he recalled many a time when she had asked him what he was looking at so intently. He had claimed to be amazed by her beauty, but in truth, it had been her eyes that entranced him, her eyes for which he got out of bed in the mornings. Of course, he had loved everything else about her, but just a glance in his direction could set his soul aflame.
He sighed and studied the empty vile in the fading sunlight shining through the window. He knew that he couldn’t have saved her that evening; it was her fate. Still, he was helpless to stop the guilt from overwhelming him. It had been eating him from the inside out now for more than a full cycle of the seasons, and it seemed nothing could quell its hunger. He understood that there was something wrong. It was normal to mourn for a lost one, but the pain should have dulled after such a long time. He accepted the fact that it would never leave him.
He growled in anger and frustration, just as he had done countless other times when he thought of the events that had taken place.
~*~*~*~
The two had been traveling only down to the seaside port, as he had been given orders to round up any fishermen that might remain there and escort them home. If the night had been clear of fog, they could have seen the ocean from the castle; it was not far. But as night fell, so did a thick mist, so heavy that they could barely see the path before them.
He hadn’t known why she’d wanted to come. It was cold, and storm clouds were approaching from the east. The rain was close; the air was damp. Still, she had insisted. He could not have refused her if he had been on his way to the bottom of the sea itself.
So they had gone together, walking at a calm pace, shoulder to shoulder. He wanted to hold her hand in his, to stop and kiss her, but he was forbidden to do so while on duty. Technically, he shouldn’t have been allowed to speak to her at all, but she was the princess and he was in the king’s favor, so the guard captain was told to turn his eyes from the couple’s fraternizing even when the knight was on his post.
When even the bright lights of the castle had faded into the fog behind them, there was a crash in the heavens and the sky opened up upon them. He tried to cover her as well as he could, but she laughed and pushed his cloak away. The two of them were soon soaked to the bone. Neither minded, though, as the water brought a chill that nearly forced them into each other’s arms. Finally, he knew, he was going to get to kiss her succulent mouth.
As he was leaning in, he saw her eyes widen in fear at something behind him. He spun quickly, removing his sword from his scabbard as he did so. He thrust his weapon forward, piercing the shabby chain mail of his opponent. The knight pried his blade from the man now lying on the muddying earth, only to feel something large and heavy connect with the shield resting on his back. He was uninjured, but the blow sent him staggering forward. Lightning flashed and he saw that there were others, perhaps half a dozen. What they wanted with him and his lady he did not know; they may have just been a rogue group of bandits that had happened upon them only by chance.
He felled them all one by one, until the blood on his sword dripped onto his gauntlets. He was sweating and breathing hard, but he had been hit only once, with a small dagger under the hem of his armor. The wound would likely need stitches, but it was not fatal.
He turned back to his love, and enveloped her with the full strength of his passion. Her heart was pounding, but a smile still appeared on her face. He leaned in once again… but she abruptly jolted. Her muscles stiffened, and her grin changed to a slack-jawed look of surprise. She blinked once before slumping in his arms like a rag doll.
His mind went blank in his confusion, and he gaped at her thoughtlessly, until he spotted a movement directly in front of him. A vagrant with a bow stood, glaring at him. The pathetic wastrel reached for another arrow, this one meant for the knight, but froze when shouts were heard in the direction of the castle. He glanced in their direction, pulled out the projectile, paused again, then thought better of it. He dropped his weapon, turned tail, and fled into the darkness.
The knight stared after him momentarily, but his eyes returned to the woman in his arms. He carefully laid her onto the ground, helpless to save her dress from the muck. She coughed weakly and gazed up at him, not needing to squint because he blocked the rain from falling upon her face.
Tears began to course down his cheeks. He brushed some of her hair away, and was surprised to see that she was again smiling. She gestured him closer.
“What is it, my sweet?” he asked while he bent toward her.
“Do not cry.” She brushed some of the dampness from his skin, but the act simply made him cry harder.
“I am sorry.”
She shook her head softly. “Falling at your side was the only way I could ever wish to die. To close my eyes and fall into a forever slumber in your arms is my final wish. Please.”
With a sob, he cried, “No! No, please, you cannot leave me! I need you! I love you!”
“Please. I regret that I cannot be with you for the rest of your years alive, but-“ Her sentence was interrupted as she began to cough again.
The knight wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her to his chest, shaking and crying. He began rocking her back and forth, mainly comforting himself. He whispered, “I wish I could have saved you. It’s my fault, I-“
“Shut your mouth at this very instant,” she said firmly, but her voice was hoarse. “There is no one to blame.”
“But the archer-“
“The archer did not come here with the intent to kill me. Do not allow any hate for him. Simply hold me until my breath is gone. That is all I ask of you.”
So he did. When she had stilled fully, he again laid her on the muddy earth. He took her hands in his and looked into her eyes. Once, they had been stunning and full of life, but now they were cold and empty. He threw himself over her body and sobbed for an uncertain length of time.
He was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. Looking up, he found a group of his fellow knights gathered around him. He examined each of their grim faces one by one. The one who had touched him, his captain, helped him to his feet. When the captain was certain that his friend could stand on his own, he let go. He immediately saw the knight’s face begin to crumble, seeming to fall in on itself in his desperation. The captain caught him as the knight collapsed.
~*~*~*~
Now, the man felt the liquid begin to take effect, coursing through his veins and burning as it went. The stone floor beneath him began to move, rocking him as if he were floating in the ocean. The identical ceiling spun slowly above him. He moaned and grasped his chest as the poison reached his heart. There was a fierce stab of pain, and then nothing.
The knight died as the sun dipped below the horizon.
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She Had Known (Complete)
“What? What?!” the woman cried, her voice rising.
He remained silent.
She desperately grasped at his shirt, tears beginning to form in her eyes. “No, Johnny, you can’t go! It’s suicide!”
“I have to, Angie,” Johnny said. “Duty calls.” His voice was steady, his air calm, but it killed him to watch her face collapse into agony that way.
Angie buried her face into his chest, sobbing and wetting his tee shirt. He wanted to put his arms around her but found he couldn’t move. Guilt seized him; he knew how it must hurt her to receive no comfort or assurance from him.
“You can’t, can’t, can’t go, you can’t,” she was mumbling.
“I’m sorry.”
She suddenly looked up at him, eyes wide. “No, you’re not.” Backing away from him, she repeated, “You’re not. If you cared, you’d stay.”
Taking a step forward, he said, “Now Angie, that’s not-“
“No!” she shrieked. “You can’t abandon us like this!” Before he could interject, she covered her face with her hands and ran from the room.
Sighing, Johnny slumped down onto the couch. She’d taken that much worse that he’d anticipated. Truthfully, he had expected the disbelief and the crying, but anger had never crossed his mind. Did she really believe he was abandoning them?
“Daddy?”
Startled, he looked up and saw his six-year-old daughter, Sarah, standing in the living room doorway. He forced a smile. “Well, hey there, Pumpkin Pie. Come on over here.”
Her pristine white shoes made a soft swish-swish on the carpet. It was a sound that would remain with him until his last earthly moments.
The little girl climbed up onto the sofa beside her father, careful to pull the hem of her dress back down. Always the little lady. She gazed up at him with her big, green eyes. She appeared to be waiting for him to speak.
“Sweetie…” he began. He paused, wondering how to continue while rubbing his cheek pensively. The stubble made a scratching sound under his rough hand.
Abruptly, he jumped, surprised by the weight of tiny fingers on his leg. Sarah opened her mouth and said just what he couldn’t, “You’re going away, aren’t you, Daddy?”
He sighed softly and lifted her onto his lap. “I am, honey. Far away.”
“And you might not come back.”
Shocked, he stared at her, his mouth slightly agape. “W-w…” was all he could manage. She was only six; how could she possibly have known?
“It’s okay, Daddy. I promise I’ll be a good girl. I’ll clean up my toys, and I’ll do what Mommy says. Maybe, if I’m real, real good, God will let you come home.”
Johnny still could not speak. Instead, he hugged her tightly, resting his chin on her head and squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that had begun to bloom there. Sarah seemed unperturbed by this, sitting quietly until his shakes slowly subsided and he had himself back under control. She looked up at him. He kissed her forehead, gently returned her to the couch cushion beside him, and stood.
“I love you, Pumpkin Pie.”
Her eyes were large and clear. “I love you, too, Daddy.”
Months later, as he lay on the battlefield, his vision slowly darkening, he heard the sounds of her shoes on the carpet, felt her tiny fingers. Mostly, though, what he thought about were her eyes. How grown-up and knowing they had been. She had known she would never see him again. She had known.
“I love you, Sarah,” he whispered, and then the darkness was complete.
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Untitled (Complete)
The longing in her gaze would’ve been obvious to anyone that had been watching her; luckily, no one was. This was not unusual. She was generally quiet in groups, knowing that her store of witty retorts only contained lame jokes. But pointless chatter was unnecessary when he was present. All the stimulation she needed was him. Her eyes roaming over his body, his voice in her ears, could keep her happily occupied for hours.
She tilted her head back, and closed her eyes. Suddenly, he was there, right there with her. He eased her back against the wall, pressing his hips into hers and gently kissing her. She parted her lips slightly, and moaned softly when she felt his tongue. His hands roamed, caressing her back, sides, and hips, nowhere else, teasing her in the worst way. She grabbed his ass, pulling him closer, moaning again as their bodies pressed together. Her lust for him was overpowering, spreading through her body like a plague, reaching to her very fingertips. She slid one hand up the back of his neck and buried it in his soft hair, kissing him harder, needing him. His hands still remained placid and polite, now on her waist. With a growl, she reached down and tore the shirt over his head, barely losing contact with his lips in the process. She felt his chest up and down, loving the contact with his skin. Finally, she felt his fingers tickle under the hem of her own shirt. It was removed quickly enough. She pushed him down onto her bed, climbed on top of him, and -
“Did you hear me?”
Her mother was standing in her doorway. “Oh, sorry. I… spaced. What?”
“I said, ‘Dinner’s ready.’ ” The woman turned to go, then paused, and faced her daughter again. “Are you all right, honey? You look flushed.”
“Yeah, Mom. Fine.” She climbed out of her chair and went downstairs to eat.
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Untitled
She put her arms behind her head and leaned back, stretching her sore muscles. Her shirt tightened over her perfect chest, and the hem lifted slightly, allowing a peek at her taut stomach. A sound came from between her silky, red lips -- a soft, sexy sound, a sound that could drive straight into any man’s groin. She purred quietly deep within her silky throat and ran her hands over her gorgeous figure as she relaxed. Her luminous violet eyes searched the room quickly before coming to rest on her target. With an incredible smile and a slight bounce, she squeezed her way between the various, random bodies.
I quickly folded my hands in my lap as she approached. Damn it, this happened every freaking time she stretched! Well, actually, it happened every time she stretched, danced, licked her lips, bent over…
“Jason?”
Surprised, I shook my head and found her standing over me. “Oh, hey.” You fine, exotic, lust-inducing creature, you. I cleared my throat, embarrassed at the way my voice had cracked.
She smirked; I watched her luscious mouth move. “Day-dreaming about sexy women again, aren’t you?” She nearly had to yell to be heard over the deafening music.
“Of course. Does anything else ever pass through this thick skull of mine?” I managed to muster up a grin of my own, but felt the weakness in it as it crossed my face. How pathetic.
My goddess laughed, and I actually felt goosebumps begin to rise on my flesh. “No, I suppose not. But you are a guy, after all, so I guess I can forgive you.” She glanced around at the swarm of writhing bodies around us, then grabbed my hand and tugged. “C’mon.”
Climbing out of my chair a bit unsteadily, I asked, “Where are we going?”
“To dance.”
The obviously-you-jackass tone in her voice made my cheeks burn. What a dork. Luckily, she didn’t see, as she had already turned her back to me while leading me to a free spot on the floor. I mentally kicked myself in the ass anyway.
She turned to me abruptly, apparently satisfied with the position. If we had been any closer to the speakers, my eardrums might have imploded and shot drum shrapnel into my skull, killing me immediately. But they didn’t.
Before I had time to react, she had pulled me against her and was rhythmically grinding and rubbing her pelvis against mine. Oh dear God, oh dear God, what do I do? I can’t take this, she’s so hot, I want her, her boob just touched my arm I can see down her shirt oh dear God I could cum in my pants right here and now she’s going to notice how excited I am any second she’ll slap me and call me a perv and oh God she grabbed my ass she’stouchingmyassohGodwhatdoIdo-
“Am I turning you on, Jason?” she whispered in my ear.
Absolutely flabbergasted, I said nothing, only continued to babble incoherent thoughts in my head.
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You Know (Complete)
You know.
I can see it in your face, in your eyes. You don’t try to hide it, the same way I don’t try to hide my need for you. You study me, watching my movements with an incredible perceptiveness that I alone seem to notice. You read me like the fine print in a contract that most people miss. You know me.
You know what I want.
This doesn’t mean that I myself am oblivious. I feel something in you. I notice when you stand too close, when your hand brushes mine, when you go out of your way to run into me. I think, though, that you want me to see these things. Are you teasing me? I don’t know. All I know is my inner hunger, the torturing desire that I perpetually savor.
Tonight is no different.
Tonight it’s my living room and our usual group. A cliché horror movie is in the DVD player, but I’m not watching it. My attention is on you. You, always at the other end of the room, unreachable. Unattainable.
Your eyes slowly move around the room, observing everything, seeing nothing. They meet mine, pausing for a moment, then return to the television. My cheeks are suddenly burning. I stand up, unheeded by the others, and leave the room. I cross the kitchen, open the front door, and step out into the night.
The air is comfortably cool. The sky is fairly clear, but there are clouds here and there, casting misshapen shadows onto the ground. My bare feet are chilled by the pavement of the walkway, so I take a few steps into the grass. A smirk abruptly crosses my face in the darkness as I hear the front door open and close. In a moment, I sense you directly behind me. My muscles tense a bit as your breath hits my cheek. Your arms envelop me, and I lean into your warmth. Your mouth goes to my neck, your heavenly lips brushing my skin. Goosebumps cover my body and a shiver races up my spine. A familiar heat begins to burn in the pit of my stomach, spreading simultaneously down to my groin and up through my abdomen. I tilt my head back and you leave gentle kisses up my jawbone. I turn and our mouths meet. I close my eyes, but I can still feel your gaze, watching me, always watching.
You pull me closer, pressing our bodies together, drawing me into your web. You are the predator; I am the prey. I sense the chemistry between us; its very essence seeps into my veins, racing to my thudding heart like a poison no medicine could stop. Your presence is encircling me, clouding my thoughts, taking me over.
Using my last sliver of willpower, I pull away. Once out of your grasp, I am myself again. Your expression shows no surprise, anger, or confusion. All I see is that cleverness, that brilliant perceptiveness.
Staring into your eyes, I smile. You understand, and nod. I smile because tonight I am the victor. Tonight, I am still free.
I step around you and re-renter the house without looking back.
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Untitled
The fire crackled and popped, freeing tiny, dancing sparks up into the flue. A gentle heat emanated from it, bathing Emma’s face in warm, glowing light. She sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, sorting through an old shoebox of photos, sipping occasionally from a mug of hot chocolate, which would soon be only warm chocolate. A few tears left shiny trails down her cheeks.
Emma’s fluffy kitten clumsily trotted up beside her, purring and nuzzling her side. Smiling a little, she stroked the animal’s soft, white fur. “What is it, Lucy?” The kitten mewled and rubbed her skull against Emma’s palm. “Ooh,” the woman cooed knowingly. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?” Lucy gazed up at her, ears adorably flattened under her master’s hand.
Emma stretched, using her knuckles to place a gentle pressure at the base of her spine. As she climbed to her feet, both knees cracked. I’m getting too old for this, she thought, though she was only in her early thirties. She crossed the large, high-ceilinged living room and headed into the kitchen. Her feet received a shock upon touching the tile - it was freezing.
She proceeded to snatch a paper towel from the holder, mopped her face and wiped her nose, then tossed the sodden thing into the garbage. Lucy, meanwhile, trotted over, around, and between her feet, turning an ordinary kitchen floor into something of an obstacle course. Emma carefully made her way over to the counter, where a dish and a fresh can of Friskies stood. With Lucy mewling excitedly, aware that food was coming, Emma emptied the can’s contents onto a small dish and set it down by the wall, where it was immediately set upon by the hungry kitten.
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Untitled
“My father has always been stubborn in that way. It always made me feel so… Oh, doc, I believe our time is up.”
The psychologist shook her head and waved a dismissing hand. “No, no, Michael, go on. There’s no rush; I don’t have any other appointments scheduled for today.”
Michael smiled. “Well, that’s unusual for a shrink. I think any other would’ve pointed out that we were five minutes over our limit.”
“I care about what my clients have to say.”
“Don’t you mean patients?”
“That makes you sound like you belong in a hospital.”
“Maybe I do,” he said with a laugh. He climbed to his feet, took his jacket from the nearby coat hanger, and began to pull it on. “Anyway, I really appreciate the offer, but I have to pick up my kids from school. Tammy is visiting her mommy today.”
“Until next time, then, “she replied, standing and reaching for his hand. After the shake, he offered his farewell and exited her office.
Alone again. She supposed some of her reasons for extending appointments without charge were selfish, but she had meant what she’d said about caring about her clients. Since she’d been a little girl, she had always wanted to help people. Psychology had given her a way to make a living doing so,
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Untitled
Their eyes had met several times over the course of the day. This was not unusual; she was obviously attracted to him even though he was a married man. He was friendly enough to her, but he didn't want to give her any ideas; he simply wanted to maintain an amiable workplace.
He glanced at the clock, and was pleased to see that it was time to leave -- six minutes past, in fact. She had left hours ago, long before he had even come in, and he hadn't thought about her much. As a manager, he was always busy, usually "dialing three-oh" or helping satiate some irate customer. He didn't mind, though; he liked his job.
Everyone else was gone, as he was the only one closing tonight. Everything was done; he just needed to lock up. Then, he could go home. It had been a long day.
He stepped out into the cool night air, pausing to lock the door behind him, and goosebumps rose on his arms. A sore spot made itself known when he stretched, and he rubbed it languidly while he traversed the sea of asphalt known as the parking lot. Halfway across, he looked up -- and stopped. Someone was leaning against his car. Oh god, he thought. It was her. What was she doing there?
He resumed walking, forcing a friendly grin. She nonchalantly continued to watch him approach, apparently in no rush. He found himself studying her jeans. They seemed awfully snug, the type of pants that showed the undesirable underwear lines. His thoughts continued to what kind of underwear she had on.
Knock it off, he told himself. After a walk that had lasted miles, he finally stepped in front of her. "How're you doing?" was the only thing he could think of to say.
"Steve." Her voice was low and husky.
He swallowed past a new-found lump in his throat. "Yes?"
She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, then laughed. He jumped a little, surprised and confused.
She noticed the expression on his face. "Sorry. It's just, well, I realized how weird this must be. It's not everyday you come outside to find a strange girl waiting for you."
"No, this is a first for me, rest assured." He was starting to relax. He leaned against the car beside her and crossed his arms. "Was there something you needed?"
Her easy grin faded. "Well, yes, I... um..." She broke eye contact; it appeared that there was something incredibly interesting on her sneaker.
"Hmm?"
"I just..." She looked up again, and a flush had crept into her cheeks. "I wanted to do this." She stood on tiptoe and, before he could resist, kissed him. It was quick, and over before he had even realized what happened. There was nothing extraordinary about it, not for either of them. There were no stars, no fireworks.
Still, he gaped for a moment, utterly taken aback, then his stunned mind cleared, and he took a step back. "Hey, look, you're a nice girl but," he held up his left hand, "I'm married."
"I know that, I know," she said, distressed. "I just want you so bad."
He blinked, surprised yet again, and suddenly her body was pressed against him, her arms encircling his waist. He leaned back, at a complete loss. Things were happening so damned fast.
"Please," she begged, and the pleading in her voice was almost painful to hear.
"Please what?"
"I need you."
He meant to say no, to stop her, but instead found his lips on hers, his arms pulling her closer. She kissed him hungrily, unbuttoning his work shirt. She slipped her hands inside and caressed his bare skin greedily. He felt ashamed at the way his lower body reacted, but all thought ceased once her fingers dropped lower. Her mouth moved to his neck as she massaged him, and he leaned his head back, intaking a sharp breath through clenched teeth when she squeezed. His eyes began to slowly flutter closed, and his willpower drained away...
Abruptly, he stopped her. She looked dismayed, and started to say something, but he stopped her. He fished his keys out of his pocket, opened the driver's side door, and unlocked the back door. He opened it, and motioned for her to enter.
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Untitled
1
Lydia slumped over her chaise longue, bored. The view from the balcony was, of course, gorgeous, but she was not in a lounging mood tonight; she wanted some action and adventure, perhaps even some excitement. She wanted fun.
With a pout, she turned to her left. "Winston, I'm quite bored. What would you suggest for entertainment?"
Winston, an older man with white, neatly groomed hair, leaned forward slightly and offered, "Mayhap Madame would care to add a new recruit to our ranks this evening? You do seem to enjoy those outings, if I may say so."
She pondered this for a moment. Winston had been in her service the longest of her current servants, and was currently her personal assistant. She never took his word lightly.
"Mayhap, yes..." she mumbled, tapping her finger on her lower lip thoughtfully. After a short time, a hauntingly beautiful smile lit up her equally beautiful face. "Once again, Winston, you know me better than I know myself. That is exactly what I want to do." She stood and entered the large, glass door, her silky blue evening gown trailing elegantly behind. Winston, too, slipped inside, closing the door against the chill night air, though he knew his mistress could not feel it.
Without pause, Lydia gracefully slipped out of her dress, never breaking stride, stepping out of it and into her large closet. Following faithfully, Winston scooped it up and folded it over his arm. He would bring it down to the cleaners later, when Madame dismissed him.
Index finger to her lips, Lydia now mulled over an appropriate outfit. She owned thousands of pieces of clothes -- a woman's dream. As she reached to feel the fabric of a particular shirt, she was distracted by a nearby mirror. She paused, looking blankly into the reflection, then turned back to her assistant. "I'm still beautiful, aren't I, Winston?"
"Absolutely, Madame," he answered immediately, not at all swayed by her nudity. "There is no one more lovely in all the world."
With an indulgent grin, she placed a light kiss on his cheek, then went back to her search. In no time, she found something that suited her -- a pair of black leather pants that accentuated the right places, and a red, silk button-up. She added a pair of strappy black heels and grabbed a tight-fitting leather jacket for the ride. Winston brushed her long, blonde hair while she sat on her enormous bed to put on her shoes. She stood and headed for the double french doors, but stopped with her hand on one of the solid gold handles. "Thank you, Winston. You are dismissed for the rest of the evening. You know the drill -- if I come home with a guest, make yourself scarce."
"Yes, Madame," he promised, bowing deeply.
She grinned again. "You should go out, Winny. Get yourself a hot young escort for the night."
Smiling politely, he shook his head. "That life is not for me, Madame."
"Alright," she said with a shrug. "Suit yourself." She turned the handle, pulling one of the big doors open. "But you know the combination for the safe if you change your mind." With that, she was gone.
Winston relaxed when the door swung shut again. He did adore Madame, but he would never willingly bring another into her servitude. It just wasn't right.
He rubbed his cheek where her lips had touched. It was still cold.
2
Even over the din of the lounge, the motorcycle could still be heard. Many of the patrons paid no attention; many of the nighttime visitors had bikes. But many a head turned when the door opened and a woman stepped in. Her leather looked expensive, and clung to her body so tightly that it seemed almost a second skin. Her helmet didn’t move, but those watching felt her gaze peering out from behind the mirrored visor, surveying the scene.
After a moment, she reached up and pulled the helmet off. A few men involuntarily gasped, not used to such beauty, as she shook her golden hair out before letting it finally fall into place, not a strand astray. Without meeting anyone’s gaze, she strode purposefully over to the bar and took a seat, quickly and discreetly ordering something from the female bartender, whose fair body and pretty face were easily eclipsed by those of this new woman.
Lydia spun the bar stool around when she received her drink, sipping it while nonchalantly surveying the affairs of those around her. Someone crossed her path, his eyes meeting hers, and in that brief moment, there was an acknowledgement that they were alike, though she was the only one left of her kind. Still, they were both here for the same thing - prey.
Turning back to the counter to wait, it wasn’t long before she sensed a presence approaching directly behind her. She smirked into her glass, waiting. After a moment, he slid onto the stool beside her. She continued staring at the bottles arranged on shelves against the wall, paying him no mind. Following a short hesitation, he cleared his throat. She did not move.
A coy one, she thought. Those are the most fun.
Finally, he timidly said, “Pardon me.”
Allowing only her eyes to move, she met his stare to show she was listening.
“I, erm,” he mumbled, unnerved by her composure. Clearing his throat again, he managed to raise his voice a bit, bringing it the slightest bit over that of the dreadful music filling the smoky air. “I couldn’t help but notice that you are the most beautiful woman in here this evening.”
Her eyes returned to their forward position. Pathetic.
“Also, I… I know what you are.”
Unusually shocked, her head jerked slightly around to face him, her eyes appraising him sideways. After a time, she asked, “And just what am I, little boy?”
Her voice was like velvet; regardless of the insult, he felt shivers run up his spine. “I think you’re a lonely, married woman, in desperate need of love and affection.” Growing slightly more bold, something that was almost visible, he added, “Love and affection from someone like me.”
She tossed her head back and laughed. He winced, and seemed to wither further every second she continued to laugh. Once she regained a hold on herself, she at last turned directly to him. Leaning close and feeling his excited breath on her neck, she whispered, “That’s exactly what I am,” in his ear.
Settling back, she barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes at the ridiculous grin on his face. It was sort of cute, though, wasn’t it? For the first time, she inspected him, like a hawk sighting a mouse on the forest floor. He had dark, shaggy hair that hung over the tops of his ears and in his eyes. He was almost constantly blinking at it or brushing it away. He had steel gray eyes, still alight with the exhilaration of her words. His lips were thin, but his skin was very smooth and clean. He was wearing a black tee shirt advertising a band she had never heard of, a pair of plain jeans, and black boots.
“Would you want to, you know, get out of this hole and go somewhere where we can talk?”
His nervous question brought her eyes back to his. A slow smile spread across her features, and she nodded. His delight lit up his entire face, and she snickered quietly to herself at his childish ways. Rising to her feet, she motioned for him to follow her, weaving with balletic grace through the bodies.
She didn’t glance back - she knew he was right behind, eager as a puppy.
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Untitled
A man sat on a hard, cheap motel bed in a room dark except for the faint glow of a streetlight outside. A cigarette burned in the ashtray, half smoked; he’d never smoked before that night, and found that it made him dizzy and nauseous. Or, more likely, his symptoms came from the alcohol. A bottle of vodka, nearly empty, stood beside the ashtray.
He reached for the cigarette, but realizing it was ash all the way to the filter, detoured his hand and grabbed the vodka instead. He took a swig, grimacing as it burned its way down his throat and into his stomach, then lowered his head onto his left hand. This wasn’t going to make things any better, he knew. What he needed to do was call her. Then, they could talk everything over and -
He stopped, the phone out of its cradle and halfway to his ear, his index finger hovering over the keypad. Sighing, he slowly replaced it. He threw himself back on the bed, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. A telephone call could not fix what had been broken.
He rolled onto his side, slipped one arm under the pillow, and hoped for the mercy of sleep.
Miles away, she was in the same position as him - she even had the same arm under the pillow. Unlike him, though, she had not been drinking, so she was quite awake. Her eyes were red, puffy, and sore; her nose was in much the same state. Instead of an ashtray, a box of tissues sat on her nightstand. Replacing the bottle was her cordless phone. It had not made a sound all night. She told herself that she had not expected it to, that she didn’t even want it to, because she was better off without him.
With an audible snort, she sat up, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on her knees. She was better off without him? Right. She was certainly at her best lying in her room, looking like she’d been hit by a train, not eating, and crying herself to what little sleep she did get.
She struggled to her feet - so exhausted - and exchanged her sweats for jeans and a tee shirt. She trudged into the kitchen, grabbed her keys, pulled her shoes on, and exited the apartment. The hallway, as always, was musty and too warm; she hurried down the two flights of stairs and outside. The night air was comfortably cool, and more soothing than she had expected.
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The Red Letter (Complete)
The countryside was powered with a light dusting of snow, but she wasn’t cold. She was wearing a silk kimono of a brilliant red, with golden stitching and a glorious flower pattern. The pink and white cherry blossoms on either side of the cobblestone path did little to blend with her outfit - she stuck out amongst the snowy plains like a fresh splash of blood.
Her hands tucked into either sleeve to keep warm, she continued on, eyes to the ground. The ornaments in her hair jangled with each step she took, playing a solemn song that was as somber as it was lovely.
Taking a quick glance up, she saw him, heading toward her. He had a deliberate, steady stride that was a clear mark of his profession. His standard uniform was completely black, neatly pressed and clean, with a red sash across his chest. He, too, stood out against the snow… as the bringer of death.
She returned her eyes to the ground. Her sandals were making a scraping sound as she dragged her feet. It was improper behavior for a lady, but she was having difficulty bringing herself to care. With an inner pause, she gathered herself. She straightened her back, held her head high, and tried to seem as though nothing was out of the ordinary.
Finally, in the middle of the long path, she and the man in black met. The each bowed and, at last, she was able to look up into his eyes. They were blue, cold and hard, showing just a hint of the steel inside him. He was strong, unfeeling. Just as she had expected.
He handed her an envelope - red, something she had also expected. And dreaded. She took it and thanked him, accompanying it with another, slighter bow. This, he did not reciprocate.
With trembling hands, she broke the official wax seal of the military. She held her breath, unfolded the paper, and quickly read through the letter, one hand raising to cover her mouth. Vision rapidly blurring with tears, she could still see the black uniform of the messenger over the top of the page.
“I knew,” she whispered, not necessarily for him, but more for her own sake. Her shaking knees gave way, and then she was down on the cold stone, the pain caused by it’s roughness quickly going numb. She felt ashamed at acting so improperly, at being unable to control her emotions. She worried about her kimono - it was her best one, she shouldn’t be kneeling on the ground; it would be ruined.
She looked up, choking back sobs, makeup running down both cheeks. She looked up into the cold blue eyes of the messenger, the man in black. The bringer of death. She looked up, seeking comfort, seeking anything, begging for it with her own dark eyes.
After a time, what seemed an eternity, he shifted, removing his gaze from her pathetic form, crumpled on the ground. “Get a hold of yourself,” he growled in a low voice. Then, without a farewell, he continued on his way, just as deliberately as before. He had many other red letters to deliver.
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Untitled
Prologue
Just before dawn, I stopped at the opening to the tunnel between Zone 3 and Zone 4, squinting suspiciously down the walkway. Shiny metal gleamed silently back at me; nothing more. They only clean it once every twenty-four hours. I guess it’s enough. They close down each tunnel in turn for fifteen minutes, going in numerical order until all six have been scrubbed down. Big, metal doors slide down and seal the tunnels off, locking the water and cleaning solution inside. I have an insane fear of being caught in one, although they have sensors that scan the area first, to make sure that never happens. There haven’t been any deaths that way… yet. One guy did get caught in there and was flushed out into the ocean along with the dirty water, but he was rescued and resuscitated. That was in the beginning, though, before our scientists had thought of such trivial things as safety.
Verifying once again, that no one was around, I shook my arms and legs a bit to loosen up, and took a deep breath. Then, I burst into a run, charging through the tunnel as fast as I could. The distance between the two Zones was never terribly far to begin with, and I reached the other side in no time at all. I never mourned for my lost energy; those tunnels are just too creepy.
In any case, I had finally made it to my favorite place in our little world - what most people thought of as the slums of our little civilization. The buildings were small, rundown, and situated close together; the artificial plant life was brown and dying; even the streetlamps only threw off a feeble glow in the midst of the simulated night. Night and day mean little at the bottom of the sea; the sun cannot reach us, so we have a simulated spatial rotation sequence that follows time, including waxing and waning and the seasons. Anyway, few people actually lived here anymore, after the Rebellion of 2167, thirteen years ago. Since then, wages and real estate have become much more fair, and those still residing here are generally unable to work, due to some illness or disability. They get food, clothes, and other essential things from the nearby churches.
It’s one of these churches that I come to visit. It’s in terrible shape - holes in the roof, broken windows, missing pews; the works - and it was abandoned quite some time ago. Half of it was burned down shortly after the parish left, but no one was ever caught. Not that it really matters in the slums. Justice turns a blind eye on those without wealth.
There’s just something about the place. I can’t put my finger on it. It just draws me. That’s why I was there on that particular day, when the real planets aligned or something, and put fate into motion, or whatever hibbiddy-jibbiddy you want. All I know was that became the most important day of my seventeen years of life.
And you know, important does not always mean good.
Chapter 1
I slipped through the large, slightly ajar double-doors of the church, getting my hands and clothes dirty where they touched the grime and ashes, and pulled my backpack in after me. I ducked under a fallen beam, rising to my full height on the other side, stretching and looking around. Ignoring the old spray paint on one wall (“Carlos wuz here”), my eyes passed over the blackened wood and gray stone and the piles of rubble, coming to rest on one of the things that made me come back time and time again - the only stained glass window that had remained whole. Its entirety was made up of glass dyed many shades of blue, entwined together to make a random, but beautiful, jumble. How spectacular, right? Actually, what made it so incredible was that a street lamp happened to be just outside, turning the window into a great, blazing blue eye. The back of the church, where I had come in, was lit from top to bottom, shining with all those lovely blue hues.
I crunched across the floor - thank goodness for hiking boots - and stopped in front of the few stairs up to the altar. Setting my pack down again, I pulled out a flannel blanket and laid it over the dust and dirt. I sat there, my feet on the stair, and took out my sketchbook. I came here to draw, as well as ponder over things like the meaning of life, and why those little hotdogs are so delicious.
Unfortunately, today didn’t seem like an art day, as the only thing my pencil seemed to be producing was ridiculous doodles, and in large amounts. Though I was partial to the cartoon pig in the blanket, I realized that I was getting nowhere, and went to put the sketchbook away. As I was bending forward, though, something to my left caught my eye. Had something moved?
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Untitled (zombie story)
1
The burning desert sun relentlessly beat down on the highway, and in return, the asphalt soaked in the heat and slowly released it upward, making the damned basin all too closely resemble a convection oven. No plant or animal life inhabited this area, it seemed, aside from the occasional cactus or tumbleweed.
Well, at least I won’t die of dehydration. I wonder what cactus water tastes like.
Andy pushed himself on, trudging on the shoulder and sweating bullets. His car had broken down a few miles back. He’d been going along just fine, but then it started sputtering. Next, came the smoke, a huge, billowing mass of it, and then, it just died all together. He managed to coast it over to the side
not that anyone ever comes down this cursed road
and after a bit of unsuccessful under-the-hood detective work, he remembered he knew nothing about cars and had no hope of repairing anything. So the sweltering journey had begun, with nothing but the wind blowing sand into his face and the promise of a severe neck burn from the sun.
His shirt was stuck to his back, soaked through with his perspiration. His baseball cap gave him some shade, at least. Looking up, he thought he could vaguely see a few buildings ahead through the shimmering heat, but he had no idea how far away they were. His shoulders slumped with the realization that he was likely hours away from the town. He let his eyes drift closed.
His thoughts drifted to home, to his family. He was on his way back there, having finished a business meeting that the boss had sent him to. He couldn’t wait to be back with them. Emily, his daughter, was his pride and joy, an adorable little thing of only four years. She had beautiful ringlets that fell to her shoulders, though where the blond came from, he had no idea, since he was a brunette and his wife was a redhead. Recessive genes, he supposed.
Emily always insisted on wearing pretty dresses and clean, shiny shoes. Most of the time, she liked ribbons in her hair, as well, as long as they matched her outfit. Still, they had dozens of pictures of her outside in the summertime, playing in the dirt or helping mommy in the garden. As particular as she was about her clothing, she seemed to have no qualms about getting messy.
When Andy’s father had died, Emily had been there to witness the phone call, watching his reactions with wide-eyed and unabashed curiosity. With a stony countenance, he had tried to send her out to play, but for one of the few times she ever outright disobeyed, she refused to move. Finally, he couldn’t maintain his calm façade any longer, and had sunk down into a chair, cradling his face in his hands. A moment later, a small, warm hand on his arm caught his attention. He looked up to find Emily studying him with those piercing blue eyes that had always seemed so much brighter than his own. Without a word, she climbed up into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. He returned the embrace, quickly dissolving into tears and helpless sobs. They remained that way for a long time, father deriving comfort from daughter. Emily never mentioned it again.
God, he couldn’t wait to get home.
Opening his eyes again, he squinted against the glare of the late afternoon sun. It would be dark before long; he was well aware of how much the temperature would drop after sunset, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be outside, in shorts nonetheless, when it happened. He forced his already weary legs to pick up the pace, carrying him toward the small town
or mirage
that got closer with every painstaking step.
2
He was shivering slightly when he reached what appeared to be the town’s main street. Night had come about a half hour prior to his arrival, and though he had begun jogging in order to stay warm, goosebumps had perpetually raised themselves on his arms and legs. He was just barely able to see his breath.
He spotted a convenience store, but even from so far away, he could see that the lights were out. Apparently, they weren’t open. Surveying the street, he noticed that not only were the lights in the store not on, but no lights appeared to be lit. Was it some sort of power outage?
Figures. Well, maybe someone will have a cellphone I can use.
He’d brilliantly left his own back in the car. Damned thing got no service way out in the middle of nowhere anyway.
Hesitantly, he started down the street. A few simple-looking buildings made of brick were on his right. They looked like the kind of stores rented out by hicks, going under in a few months, only to be rented out by another hick with a plan. Andy felt only the slightest bit of shame for the contempt he was feeling toward this little town with the inability to provide itself with electricity.
An intersection was ahead. The traffic lights were dark, but it didn’t much matter; there was no traffic to govern. Another oddity. Despite his growing trepidation about the place, Andy continued along the sidewalk, took a right, and was relieved to see houses. Once again, he didn’t see any lights, but he was becoming accustomed to that - it was obviously some mass power problem.
At the first house he came to, he only paused for a moment before heading up the front walk and stepping up onto the porch. He wiped his hands on his khakis, though those, too, were covered in dust from the blasted wind, and rang the doorbell. The chimes echoed loudly throughout the building.
A minute passed. Then two. He rang again. This time, he let five minutes pass, using his watch to clock it. Still nothing.
Well, why would anyone be home? It’s summer, and they probably have kids. Probably in Disney-fucking-land.
Just for the hell of it, he tried the door handle, and was shocked to find it unlocked. It swung open easily, and he took a shaky step inside. Immediately, a horrid, choking stench flooded his nostrils, causing his eyes to water and his throat to close up. Gagging, he clamped a hand tightly over his nose and mouth.
Jesus Christ, what the fuck is that?!
He grabbed a wad of his shirt and pressed it to his face, blocking out the worst of the overwhelming smell before stumbling back outside. On the porch, he sucked in a deep breath of fresh air, then succumbed to a painful bout of retching, hands resting on his knees for balance.
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Post-Nasal Drip
Post-nasal drip is one of the most annoying afflictions known to man.
Chuck Derry was well aware of this. During the day, he found it wasn’t much of an issue. At night was another matter. The moment he began to so much as think about going to bed, that thick feeling would take over the back of his throat. No amount of swallowing helped. Gargling did nothing. Drinking water provided a temporary relief, but it seemed to return after only a few seconds.
The simple thing would be for Chuck to make an appointment with a nose and throat doctor. That was something he had to forego, though, as he had no insurance and could barely afford to pay both his rent and his car insurance each month. Most likely, the doc would make him stick out his tongue and say, “Ahh,” and then slap him with a six hundred dollar bill.
Fucking quacks.
All he could do was lie awake at night, swallowing almost constantly, and praying for his exhaustion to finally knock him unconscious.
Chuck was not what many would call a happy man.
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Untitled (post zombie apocalypse story)
The rifles clanked as their barrels met, crisscrossing in the doorway.
I eyed the guns, then the two soldiers holding them. “Excuse me.”
“No admittance,” the one on the right growled, staring straight ahead.
I almost laughed, and perhaps would have, had we been under different circumstances. “But this is the only way out of the city.”
The soldier didn’t reply, only stood with his back straight, staring in the direction we had come with stony countenance. Pleadingly, I looked to his partner, whose posture was similar, but his face didn’t look as weathered. He looked too young to be in the military.
“Let us through.”
The kid’s eyes flickered briefly in my direction, but he said nothing.
“We can’t go back; it’s a disaster. Everyone’s dead, or crazy, or… worse. We’ll die if you send us back.”
His lips twitched, as if he were wrestling with some internal demons, but he was saved by the first soldier, who pressed the butt of his rifle against my chest and forced me back a step. “Back off. We’re not letting you pass. We have our orders.”
“Hey, you can’t just-” I began, but the words died in my throat as I found the other end of the gun level with my face.
“I will not hesitate to shoot you, sir.”
My jaw moved as I stared in shock. Finally, I felt little fingers wrap around my wrist, tugging gently. “C’mon, Jimmy. Let’s go. These men are scary.”
I blinked and looked down at the top of Suzette’s blond head. She’s only seven, but she’s smarter than most people I know and you can just tell that she’s going to end up a real beauty. If she gets the chance, that is.
“Jimmyyyyyy,” she whined, and as her gaze met mine, I could see the tears brimming in her eyes. “Please?”
“Okay,” I nodded. “Okay, honey.” I squatted down to pick her up, my joints popping and my spine creaking. I settled her on my hip, and ignored the worried look her mother, Kay, gave me. She’s neurotic about anyone touching her baby, which is exactly how she treats the poor girl. I think that’s why Suzy likes me; I note her intelligence and speak to her like a fellow adult. She might as well be after all she’s been through.
We approached the small group waiting a few yards away. Their faces fell after one look at us; I couldn’t hide my dejection. Kay snatched Suzette out of my grasp when we were close enough, falling into the high-pitched cooing language she used on the girl. The other seven people stood watching me expectantly.
“It seems that… we need to find another way,” I said quietly.
Immediately, and not unexpectedly, everyone burst out in protest, causing enough of an uproar to catch the two guards’ attentions. After throwing them a wave and a smirk, I held up both hands to the crowd to signal quiet. It took a few minutes, but they finally settled down.
“Alright, now, I know you’re all upset-”
“Upset?!” shouted Melissa, a twenty-something, pretty brunette with striking green eyes. The only thing more vivacious than her peepers was her mouth. “Upset isn’t the word! I don’t know if you’re aware of this, O Great Leaderman, but that pass is the only way out of this godforsaken city! If you couldn’t get us through there, you’ve condemmed us to death. Thanks for all your help.”
As she huffed and crossed her arms over her sizeable rack, her shorter, quieter, far less glamorous sister, Mary, stepped forward. Shyly, she paused a moment to push her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose, averted her identical eyes, and asked, “Mr. James, sir… is that the only way out?”
Sonny, our toothless old geezer, shuffled a bit, leaning more weight onto his cane in order to look Mary in the eye. “This valley is surrounded by mountains on all sides, and that there pass has been the only way in or out for longer than I’ve been alive.” He turned to Jimmy. “Boy, you’d be well advised to git’cher ass back there and convince them servicemen to let us through.”
The uproar began again.
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Untitled
Their romance was sizzling, abrupt and unexpected, a welcome change from the drudgery of everyday life. She was like the summer: bright, expectant, fun, and beautiful. Her hair was the same color as the season’s sun, and as radiant as the light itself. Her smile was as welcoming as the gentle breaking of waves on a sandy shore, when the temperature was high and all anyone wanted was a long, cool swim. And her eyes were amazing; they sparkled like the stars on a quiet, cloudless evening, when the night is still warm, but a soft breeze caresses the skin - the perfect night.
Oftentimes, they met in secret, not because they were ashamed, not because they wanted to hide their togetherness, but simply because it added yet another element of excitement to their already exhilarating affair. They would dine in fancy restaurants while giggling like children and sneaking sensual touches when no one seemed to be looking. They would go to plays and sit in the highest balconies, ignoring the actors and focusing only on each other, never seeing the endings to great works of literature. They would take clichéd walks on the beach, holding hands, chasing and running from the ebb and flow of the waves. They would watch fireworks, take boat rides, drink wine, watch movies, and kiss in the rain. They did all the things a young couple in love should do, never far from each others reach, never deaf to each others words.
But as the turn of the wheel of time goes, the months moved on, and summer soon gave way to fall. Things began to change. Suddenly, she could see the coming winter in him
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Untitled
Oh god, she thought. Oh god. I love him.
"Melissa? Are you feeling okay?"
Melissa shook herself out of her thoughts to find her English professor regarding her with a concerned expression. His head was tilted to the side, and his eyes, oddly magnified, blinked at her from behind the thick lenses of his glasses. She became aware that her face was contorted in a look of shock, mouth slightly ajar and brow creased.
She opened her mouth to speak, produced nothing, swallowed, and tried again. "I… Excuse me." She gathered her books and backpack and was out the classroom door before he could say anything else.
She hurried down the hallway, turning into the stairwell to the second floor. She'd known for some time that she'd cared strongly for him, had worried that she was becoming too dependent on his presence. She had assumed that one day, during some romantic occasion, perhaps a picnic in the summer or a candlelit dinner, she would have no choice but to fall for him, and give herself over completely. Never would she have imagined being struck with the realization that, unbeknownst to her, she'd already done so, unwittingly. And right in the middle of class, nonetheless! Who would've thought that memories of the sex they had last had before he left to return to his semester-long internship hundreds of miles away could produce feelings other than lust?
At the exit from the building, she paused, a feeling of nausea threatening to overwhelm her. She quickly changed routes and ended up in the women's bathroom, slamming the stall door shut behind her, violently throwing her books to the floor, and falling to her knees before the porcelain basin. There, she vomited up the hearty breakfast she had consumed before class. Bits of egg, barely begun to digest, floated in the water, and seeing this caused her to empty the rest of her stomach. Finally, she hit the button to flush and collapsed with her back against the wall, breathing heavily.
Shakily, she pushed herself to her feet and shuffled to the sink, grateful that no one else occupied the restroom. She sipped some water from cupped hands, swished it around, and spit before catching a glimpse of her own wide eyes in the mirror. Startled, she did a double-take, unconsciously reaching slightly toward her reflection. Her resemblance to a frightened child was shocking.
That's a lot of words. But not too many words. Just enough words to be more than a few words.