I am neck deep in non-fic work, plus a tutoring gig teaching conversational English. It has been a long and very busy week. This is Good For Me, because it seems the busier I am the more productive. I have edited up to Chapter 10 of “Athena’s Promise” (working title) and I’m happy about that. However, the hard part of plot tweaking is about to come up. Wish me luck.

Anyway, I was poking around in my 3 Words file, and found this story. To refresh your memory, this story is a result of a group of writers who thought it would be fun to write 100 words a day around three prompt words. We all took turns posting the words, and this is one of the results. Here it is raw and unedited, written one day at a time, and I’m actually pleased with how it turned out — I think by this time, I was getting the hang of it. I don’t have a listing of the prompt words, so you’ll have to guess. Enjoy

The Last One Standing

Her pearls are in my jewelry box.

They lay in their velvet prison, reminding me of other days, better days. Lost days.

I’ll light a candle, I’ll open the box, taking the cool pearls and running them through my hands. They’ll warm from my own body heat. They feel like tears.

Comfort? There’s none. She’s moved on and left me behind, waiting and wondering.

#

Her name is Sunny. I loved her from the moment I saw her.

#

It’s like something from an old movie. I was in a video store, looking for something to watch on a lonely Friday night. It’s a small video store, a faded dream in the age of corporate owned places, but very customer service oriented. I like that they call me by name, recognize me.

I said hi to Ray, walking over to the rack featuring movies from the forties and fifties. Not looking at what I was doing, I bumped into this girl.

“Whoops!” she exclaimed, as she dropped a load of video cases on the floor.

A flash of deja-vu swept over me as I stammered my apology. I bent to help her gather up the videos.

I never knew what hit me.

“Oh, it’s okay,” she said, “My fault, really.” I rose and so did she, and we got our first good look at each other.

I can’t tell you what she saw, but I can tell what I did. Short, with long brown hair in a braid. Hazel eyes, cat’s eyes, my mother would’ve said. It wasn’t that she’s beautiful in a conventional sense; it’s something about the configuration of her features that make her seem beautiful.

She literally took my breath away.

The red sweater she wore against the snow of this morning hugged her in all the right places, and although she would tell me later of her battle with her weight, she seemed perfect to me.

“My name’s Sunny,” she smiled, and the world pulsed with her song.

“I’m Jake,” and I offered my hand. I felt my spirits and heartbeat rise when I felt her small hand nestle inside of mine as if it belonged there, as if it had always belonged there. From the widening of her eyes, I was certain she felt it too.

Was I mistaken? Even today, I don’t know the definitive answer to that question.

Her pearls are in my jewelry box.

I had no idea what to say next, so I helped her gather up the videos, too upset with myself to even think straight. I’d spend the next two days arguing with myself, but that was for later. For now, I was tongue-tied and feeling nothing but stupid.

“This is really sweet of you, Jake.”

“Uh, s’ok. My fault.”

“Don’t be silly. It was an accident. Anyway, it was nice to meet you.” She flashed me a funny grin saying, “I’ll see you around, right?”

“I’m in here all the time – I’m sure we’ll bump into each other.”

She giggled.

Even I had to grin at that one. After a final good-bye, she went to check out and I resumed perusing the videos, my mind in a maelstrom. What just happened to me? I felt as breathless as if I had climbed a stairway all the way to heaven. I watched her out of the corner of my eye, not wanting to seem needy or desperate. I stood behind the comedy section (normally I wouldn’t be caught dead in the comedy section, but it gave great cover) and watched her economical movements, her gentle banter with Ray, her graceful exit.

I’m a fool. I can admit to that much.

Once she had gone, I waited a while, moving on to the mystery section. I was trying to be cool, but I wasn’t even fooling myself. I certainly wasn’t fooling Ray. Anyone who thinks they’re going to catch Ray sleeping on the job has a big surprise coming.

I picked a movie at random and headed to the check-out counter where Ray was waiting.

“Dude, you can get picked up for stalking, then you’d be stuck with Bubba as a cellmate.”

I didn’t even pretend to not know what he meant.

“You’re a funny guy, Ray. You should take that act on the road.” I wondered how cooperative he would be if I got the nerve to ask….

As if he could read my mind, he shook his head, long hair flying. “No, buddy, you know I can’t do it.” Ray might look like a dumb, hairy monkey but he’s a sharp guy. He guarded his member’s privacy as if it were his own.

I sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

“Hakunamatata, dude.”

I hated that expression. He considered this phrase the wellspring of wisdom — all it did was piss me off.

Ray grinned. “Don’t look so glum, man. I can tell you she’s applied for a job here.”

My heart jumped like a kite on the breeze. Although I tried to keep my expression neutral, I knew Ray saw right through the façade. It’s like he can feel the same tingle I feel. I think the word is “empathetic.” He’s like that. Can’t hide a damned thing from the guy.

He’s peculiar, but in a good way. At least, most of the time. I don’t think I’d ever want to get on his bad side – but, I’m getting ahead of myself.

“You going to hire her?” Nonchalance was thrown to the wind. What the fuck, I thought.

Ray scooped up a pile of DVD cases from the counter and stacked them on a cart. “Well,” he said, “I do need somebody dependable, and the winter season is fairly busy.” He pulled “Lost Horizon” and “The Green Mile” from the stack. “You ever see either of these movies?”

I watched his reflection in the bank of windows behind him. That’s Ray. He bounces from one subject to another and sometimes it’s hard to keep track of where he’s going. I still try.

“I’ve seen ‘The Green Mile,’” I replied.

He handed me “Lost Horizon.”

“Give me that drivel you have in your hand.” I didn’t even know what movie I had picked up. I was surprised to see “Bring It On,” with a picture of vapid cheerleaders gracing the cover in my hand. Yuck.

“You need to relax, dude. Take it slow. Watch this movie, think about it. Then, if you’re still inclined, when you run into her again, ask her out for a cup of coffee. Take it from there.” Ray bagged up the movie for me, no charge. “Let me know what you think, grasshopper.” He snickered.

I just nodded, took the bag and wandered home. Sure, I’d been hurt before and there was no sense trying to hide it, at least not from Ray. He sees everything, and he’d call me out on it if he thought it was getting out of hand. He’s a strange guy, I think I mentioned that. Hanging with him for any length of time is like standing in the shade for a bit, then stepping out into the sun. It’s a lot to take all at once; somehow, you feel blinded and disoriented until the world settles back to normal.

That’s how I felt, walking back to my place with my free movie and head filled with the sound of Sunny’s voice, her cool scent, the image of the red sweater baked into my memory. What the hell just happened to me?

The cold November breeze picked up and I shivered. It was a good day to stay inside, pop in the movie and chill out. Of course, I didn’t know at the time it would be the last day of peace I would have for quite a while.

Life is funny that way. One day you’re good – the next….

Again, ahead of myself.

I let myself into my dank, basement apartment. It was a mess, but I had a better idea of how to spend my day off than cleaning it. I work six days a week at a major home improvement store, and I have no interest in improving anything on my day off.

Since it was past lunch time and I was starving, I cut a slice of stale cherry pie for my noon meal, and sat down to watch Ray’s pick.

First of all, it was mis-labeled. The movie was actually titled, “Shangri-La,” not “Lost Horizon.”

The reason this struck me is because Ray is quite anal about labeling his movies. He never makes a mistake, at least not in my experience, so this had to be deliberate. He knows how much I hate seeing dead people in a movie, I thought, so I wonder what this is all about. There’s a message here, I knew it. I also knew if I tried to pin Ray down the next time I saw him, I’d have better luck holding a cup of water in my bare hands. I’d have to figure it out all on my own.

#

It was a typical old Hollywood type of movie, meaning I loved the atmosphere. No special effects, you know, all that hype stuff that’s in movies these days. They take all the imagination out of it. Still, the title thing kept bugging me, until I heard the wails and screams from my neighbors. The slamming door finally drove me over the edge.

I pounded on the thin wall – “Hey! What the fuck over there!”

I heard nothing but muffled sobs. So ended my hard-earned peace. Did I have to go over there? Yes and no. My mama raised me right.

I sighed and walked out my door and knocked on the next one. This was not a new drama, but I wouldn’t feel right if I ignored what was going on over there. I knew someday I would see that asshole Brian’s mug shot on the wall at the post office.

The door opened and Danielle stuck her head out, mascara running from red-rimmed eyes.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She sniffled, and opened the door a little wider. “Yes. Wanna come in?”

“Sure.” Not sure this was a good idea, I took her cold hand in my warm one.

Danielle looked old and tired to me, and she was only six months older. Exotic dancing can do that to a girl, I’ve seen. She’s told me she feels like she’s dancing for vampires; all they want is to suck the blood out of her. It showed in her face today.

As she ushered me inside, darting nervous looks out to the hallway, I noticed she’d dropped weight, and she never had it to lose. Her blond hair seemed brittle, her face gaunt. She had the most marvelous ass, but it was lost in the baggy sweats she was wearing.

She seemed lost all over.

She plucked some Kleenex from the box on the coffee table, blowing her nose. The cupboards in her kitchen were standing ajar; the end table from beside the recliner in the living room — knocked over. Danielle stood wiping her wet eyes as I surveyed the wreckage.

“You don’t have to say it. I won’t make excuses. We weren’t playing tag, and it wasn’t an artist’s tantrum. He’s an asshole. I know it.”

I sighed. What’s the point? It’s a rough life, we’re both aware. I don’t judge. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t pissed as hell.

What I wanted to do was grab Brian by the head, punch him until he screamed like a little girl, then crumple him up, tossing him out with the trash. What I did do was straighten the end table, close the cabinets and kept my mouth shut. I’ve seen Danielle go through guys like this before. There used to be a core of strength inside her, but I see it diminish a little bit with each Brian.

“You gonna be okay?”

“Sure,” she sniffled. “He’ll be back, and he’ll behave. If he doesn’t, there’s plenty more where he came from.”

I grinned at that. It’s such quintessential Danielle at her best.

She brushed her hair back from her face, and asked, “How about a cup of tea?” Not waiting for my response, she went into her tiny kitchen, putting the kettle on. “Thanks for … well, you know.”

I sat on the worn sofa. All her furniture looked blurred around the edges. “Yeah, that’s what neighbors are for.”

“You need a good girl, Jake. You deserve a good girl. Not someone like me, someone with class.” She reached for the kettle and gave a little yelp at the hot handle. “What a day,” she sighed. “When it rains, it pours.”

I just nodded. My head was still in the video store. Sunny’s voice was still in my ears, and it was keeping the regular darkness at bay.

Danielle brought two tea cups and a bowl of sugar cubes over to the coffee table. She picked up her cup, and blowing gently across the hot liquid she studied my face. She smiled as I put two lumps in my cup, stirred, and raised the impossibly fragile and feminine piece of china to my lips. She knew right away something was up.

“Something’s happened to you, Jake,” she said. “You look like you just won first prize in a contest.”

I said nothing. I just sipped my tea.

“All right, I won’t push.” Danielle settled back into her chair. “I guess it’s putting the cart in front of the horse, anyway. You wanna know what I’m gonna to do about this Brian thing.”

I shrugged, my mind a million miles away. What was Sunny doing right now? Could she be thinking about me? Would she say yes, if I were to ask her out? Did I have the balls to do it?

I missed what Danielle said next, until she attracted my attention by punching me in the arm, a typical Danielle move when she felt neglected.

“Ouch! Are you insane? That HURT.”

“Pay attention, then. If you won’t tell me what you’re all in knots about, the least you can do is pretend you’re interested in what I’m saying.”

I blew her a kiss for an apology. “I’m not telling anything. There’s nothing to tell.”

“You’re gunning for a black eye, my friend,” she sniffed. “Fuck’re you doin’ here, anyway, if you’re not gonna listen to me?”

I had to laugh. The woman’s a nut case, this is true, but we’d been neighbors for over a year, and we looked out for each other.

“Okay. Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I said I’m sick of working, paying all the bills just so Brian can go out and play, having a good time.”

“And?”

“And what?” she retorted. She shifted in her chair and crossed her magnificent legs. Although she was my friend, I could still appreciate a good set of gams.

“What are you going to do about it?” I picked up the teacup and took another sip of tepid tea. Gah, I hated the stuff. The things you do for friendship.

“You know, Jake, when we first started seeing each other, sparks flew. He didn’t mind me dancing for a living, and I didn’t mind he seemed to be the comforter for other girls. But now, well, it’s different.” She nibbled on her forefinger, a nervous habit she’d had ever since I’d known her. “It’s like real life slaps you right upside the head, and you never know what hit you.”

Is that how it would be with Sunny? I thought. Fine at first, then a slow decline? What’s worse? Living through the death of something fine, or being alone with your dreams?

“Look,” I said, “I can’t make a decision for you. Here it is, straight up — either you’re going to put up with this fruit loop or you’re not. I think you’re better than this, but if you don’t, I’m just wasting my breath.”

Some balm for the soul I am, but I confess I was getting irritated.

Danielle blinked her great blue eyes, becoming all teary again. “You do? Think I’m better?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. What do you think?” I sighed and stood. “Dani, I love you, but you need to get your head out of your ass and face your gorgons. Small things turn into big things, and next thing you know your heart’s turned to stone.” I knew she had no idea what I was talking about, but I could feel a sense of purpose forming. I reached out, stroked her creamy skin, and she smiled. She’d be all right.

“There’s a girl, isn’t there?”

“Not yet, but I think…I think it’s a possibility.”

“I’m glad. She’s a lucky girl.” Danielle stood and took my hand, walking me to the door.

#

I walked back to my apartment, thinking about Danielle and Sunny. Thinking about how life sometimes kicks you in the balls. About how sometimes when you meet someone special, you can almost hear an audible “pop’ and your heart feels as warm as a southern breeze. Thinking how sometimes it seems only the stars in the sky understand how you feel.

When I walked in the door, the phone was ringing. Its shrill peal sent goosebumps up my spine. The last thing I wanted to do was pick it up. It refused to stop, so I picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Jake?”

“Yes.” I knew it was Ray immediately, even though he had never called me before. The skin on my skull suddenly felt too tight.

“I thought you’d want to hear it from me, dude. Sunny came in just after you left. She wanted your phone number, but you know me.”

Yeah, I know Ray.

“Still, I gave it to her. I don’t know why I did, I normally don’t do that, you know.” His voice was shaking, and I knew I didn’t want to hear what was coming next. My legs felt heavy and there was a metallic taste in my mouth.

“She was acting a little funny, like she knew something was going to happen.”

“What happened, Ray? Stop fucking around and tell me.” I had to sit down, my legs wouldn’t support me any more.

“I’m trying to, man,” and I realized with some horror Ray was crying. He was crying.

“She took your number and left a box for you. She called them her ‘precious memories’ and said you would understand. Then she…she…left to catch the bus. You know the stop is right across the street.” Ray was practically blubbering by now, and I could see her as if she were standing right across from me, curls escaping the tight braid and that smile. My heart clenched and I was sure it was going to stop beating.

“Go on, Ray. Just spill it,” I said, my voice unwavering.

“It…it was a truck, Jake. A young kid, just got his CDL. I’m so sorry, man.”

I hung up the phone. What else was there to say, after that?

#

After I picked up the package Sunny had left for me, I didn’t go to Ray’s much. Actually, I’ve not been back. It’s not Ray’s fault, but it is hard for me to take.

Inside Sunny’s package were her pearls. I hold them in my hands, feel them warm against my skin and sometimes I can feel her close. Time ticks by and I’m left behind, wondering what could have been, what should have been, and what will never be.

It’s hard to be the last one standing.

…there was a group of writerly friends — you know the type. Friends who had aspirations to literary greatness. One of these friends had the brilliant idea of posting three words as a prompt every day, and those participating would write 100 words of an ongoing story incorporating those three words. The friends thought that was a marvelous idea, and all took turns posting three words. At the end of a month, each friend ended up with an unusual and entertaining 3k word story.

Here it is naked. It was a blast to write, and I hope it’s as much fun to read.

Transmigration

By Nayskya

Marissa put the fish in his sock and sunk it down the well like the witch had told her. The full moon shone brightly in her liquid eyes, pulling out tears like strings of pearls.

She swayed to an unearthly lullaby, stretching her slim arms over her head towards the unbelievable moonlight. Her small feet moved in an intricate dance over the fragrant petals of gardenias, tissue-soft against her soles.

Marissa danced in mystery against the infection in her head. She danced in supplication, for mercy, until her feet throbbed with weariness. She bent, scooped up a handful of colourless sand and clenched it tightly.
She released the sand into the cool night air, watching it shimmer and fall to earth. “Thee art my ticket,” she whispered, while her heart railed against the black bitch-witch working the intricate, delicate spell.

Moving to the beach, Marissa retrieved a cushion of sea teeth she had fashioned from a worn pair of her beloved’s work pants. She held it close and inhaled, his masculine scent filling her nostrils.

From her hiding place beneath the banana-shaped rock, she pulled out her velvet spell bag. She knew it was a race to finish in time. He was depending on her; she couldn’t let him down.

Rummaging in her velvet bag, her trembling fingers closed upon the potion bottle wedged sideways between his picture, framed in tiny bones, and the spell book. Waves pounded a musical rhythm against the sandy beach.

She drank down the secret potion and chanted the words of power, the cumbersome syllables falling like stones from her dry lips. She drew the ancient symbols of protection and invocation with her pointed dagger.
The spell completed, seawater swelled until it exploded, drenching Marissa in salty tears cried over millennia.

To her credit she continued her chanting, never stopping even as she ducked the worst of the deluge.
Out of the heaving waves appeared the face of a man, framed by sea-foam, with dark hair and large, expressive eyes. His mouth was a rictus of agony as he fell back into the water.

“From the grip of she that holds you, I command thee!” shouted Marissa over the scream of the waves. “From the ash of a seared heart, as cheese from the wheel, I do claim thee!”

The man’s face reappeared, scarred with pain, his arms flailing. “Your friend needs thee – the grave plot closed to thee – return to those that love thee most!” Marissa’s voice was hoarse with salt and heartache.
Pulling out her jewelled dagger, she drew it down the inside of her left arm, a long line of heart’s blood dripping to the damp sand that shifted beneath her feet. The demon wind howled.

As soon as her blood hit the sand, the wind hushed to a murmur. Marissa’s body went stiff, locked to the earth. The angry sea disgorged its prisoner; a single tear snuck down Marissa’s cheek.

Unable to move, Marissa watched as a luminous ball of blue light danced over the still water and over the prone figure of the man. She saw him breathing as the light winked over him.

The clear blue light brushed over his hair and down the length of his body, illuminating the bleached pieces of driftwood strewn about. A mild breeze caressed Marissa’s skin; dried the tears upon her cheeks.

Marissa tried to move but the solid earth held her fast and all she could do was watch and wait. Months of preparation and sacrifice had sucked tears of blood from her. Her world trembled.

The light emitted a bright ray that struck Marissa resulting in her silhouette appearing as a shadow on the sand, bookmarking her place in one reality when another beckoned, seduced and demanded payment in full.

She heard the man pull in a tearing breath, saw him raise his head and blink furiously against the light. Her heart pumping double time, she became aware of an unexpected and heart-stopping call.

A crystal horn sounded as the man gained his feet. The blue light caressed him still, as if loathe to give up according to plan. He leaned his head back and voiced a thrilling answer.

A loud moan escaped him as the blue light fondled him. A red floor of tiny sea creatures formed under the man and flowed over his legs, up on to his torso. The light pulsed.

The sea creatures covered the man completely. Marissa was torn between loss and hope, watching this transformation. The selfish side of her dreaded this drastic resolution, knowing deep down inside there was no other way.

As the man changed, creatures swarmed, creating a new schnizzle. He sneezed several times, shaking the creatures but not dislodging them. “Gesundheit,” Marissa whispered, wishing she had become a wino before getting to this point.

The man continued to writhe, and Marissa knew she would remember how the red sea creatures fluttered against his flesh for the rest of her life. Oops – that probably wasn’t going to be for long.

She had not lost all – he’d survive. This was her purpose, why she’d paid the price demanded of her. The wind freshened and feeling returned to her numb body. She lunged toward where he lay.

Marissa screamed at the searing pain in her legs, as she bumped her toe against a half-buried rock in the wet sand. Her heart wanted to fly to his side, but her body betrayed her.

As bad as she wanted to reach his side, a giant ladybug trundled onto the beach and barred her way. Marissa fell to the sand as her reality started to fray at the seams.

She became blind to any and everything around her as colors merged and textures faded. The only thing that was left was love… she clung desperately to that in her journey to the next awaiting reality.

~ * ~

BIO: Nayskya is a four hundred year-old Russian mermaid who has given up her career of inseminating oysters to produce pearls in order to pursue a caree in fiction. She has no legs but has been known to knock out ten men at one blow of her powerful tail. She enjoys listening to the song of the whales and her hobbies include seduction, swimming with the dolphins and diving wrecks. She prefers swimming in cold waters, is studying English as her seventy-seventh language, and her greatest wish is for world peace.

~*~

Sock, fish, sunk
Unbelievable, tissue, lullaby
Mystery, head, infect
Bitch, ticket, shimmer
Cushion, teeth, pants
Banana, bag, race
Sideways, bottle, frame
Point, cumbersome, secret
Explode, duck, credit
Out, fall, boys
Cheese, grip, ash
Plot, friend, scar
Shift, damp, long
Lock, snuck, hush
Dancing, wink, balls
Brush, mild, bleach
Suck, wait, try
Result, bookmark, silhouette
Pump, blink, tear
Plan, horn, lean
Fondle, moan, floor
Torn, side, cover
Wino, gesundheit, schnizzle
Remember, oops, flutter
Lunge, wind, lost
Bump, fly, scream
Bar, bug, bad
Blind, love, any

The only excuse I have for not getting to this review sooner is – life. Things have been really hectic in Netta-land, but when The Desert Spear by Peter V. Brett hit the shelves in April of this year you can bet my ample behind was in my favorite Borders, getting me some of that.

You may ask why a dead-broke, struggling writer hack shelled out a nice chunk of change for a hardcover book. Even if you don’t ask, I’m going to tell you anyway. Because I’m worth it! After the fantastic debut of The Warded Man in March of 2009, which I also have in hardcover (signed, too, nyah nyah) there’s no way I was going to miss the release of TDS. (You can read my review of TWM here.) It is so seldom in fantasy literature I find anything that piques my interest, keeps my interest, or actually inspires anything but dead boredom. Does The Desert Spear deliver? (No pun intended.)

It does. Brett takes us deep into Krasia to get to know Jardir, a contender for the title of “Deliverer” and an ex-friend of Arlen’s, a bit better. The Krasian way of life is harsh reality in a warrior culture, and Jardir’s childhood in this culture explains a great deal. Peat’s details and characterizations bring Krasian ways into sharp focus, offering a look into a warrior-dominated culture and strict caste system, and how it shapes events and lives. I don’t want to post any spoilers here in case you haven’t read it yet (and what the hell are you waiting for??) but suffice to say although I may understand Jardir a little better, I still don’t like him and one of his decisions in the first book still irks me.

After a visit to Krasia, fascinating as it was, I was eager and very happy to meet up with Arlen, Leesha, and Rojer again, among others. It is interesting how their lives remain deeply connected, even when destiny takes them in different directions. Arlen continues to evolve, and he just gets more interesting with every sentence. Although, I will say his self-sacrificing ways can be annoying. Leesha is her capable self, but I find one particular action on her part had my jaw hitting the floor, especially with her background. No spoilers, but I felt as if one particular aspect of Krasian culture should have affected her more than it did. This is my own personal opinion, mind. I didn’t like one specific situation, but I don’t have to like it to love the story. And the story rocks.

We learn more about the corelings and we meet with old friends and acquaintances. Brett is a master at pacing, and I spent too many nights staying up way past my bedtime because I couldn’t wait to turn the page. Was The Desert Spear as good as The Warded Man?

I think that’s like comparing apples to oranges. Not only that, but I have to admit to a personal connection with The Warded Man which renders me unable to be objective about this topic. I will say The Desert Spear is different from TWM, and there’s nothing wrong with that. As a fan, it may have been a bit disconcerting in places, but I like being pushed from my comfort zone.

I tried to take my time reading it, but I’m not that disciplined. It came too soon, but the end of The Desert Spear is not really the end at all, but a beginning of Sharak Ka. I almost wish I’d waited longer to pick up TDS, because that would make waiting for The Daylight War , next in the series, seem a little shorter. The upside is I can read TDS over and over until The Daylight War appears. It can’t come soon enough.

I wasn’t sure I’d get to post this, since the website is still acting wonky and I don’t have the time to work it out. Money first, yanno…and I’ve been fortunate to have non-fiction work to pay my bills and, not so fortunately, eat my time. However, I was challenged by a dear friend – you can check him out here – to write and post this week. And so I have. (Thanks, Mr. Haines.) For this story, I blame Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” video. Heh.

Mark used his key to open the apartment door, and stopped short at the sight of a mountain of boxes blocking the entrance to the living room. What the hell is this? he thought, his pulse quickening and stomach clenching. Just what the hell is this?

“Joey?” he called. “Joey, where are you?”

“In here.”

He picked his way carefully through the maze of cardboard, and made it to the back bedroom without knocking anything over, although he felt like grabbing a baseball bat and smashing it all. He tried to swallow, but was only rewarded by a dry click in his throat. He stood in the bedroom doorway knowing the shit was about to hit the fan. His stomach clenched so hard he thought he was going to hurl.

Joey looked up and smiled. “Hey, baby.” She folded a sweatshirt and placed it deliberately in the box on the bed and reached for another. Mark smiled back, but the muscles in his face felt like distended rubber bands. He noticed blank spots on the walls where there were once pictures of the two of them.

“What’s going on?” It was a herculean effort to get out those words, but he managed. He braced himself. Sooner or later, he thought. Sooner or later. I had to pick a smart one.

Placing the next folded sweatshirt in the box, Joey crossed the room to the closet for another load. Her voice was muffled, but Mark felt every word like a poison-tipped arrow. They burned and they clawed.

“Packing, dear. I’m out.” She emerged from the closet, her hair charmingly mussed and her eyes fixed firmly on the box. She can’t even look at me, Mark thought. He shuddered.

“Out? What do you mean, out?” His phone vibrated soundlessly in his pocket, but he ignored it.

“Out. Kaput. I’m done.” She looked up briefly and he saw reddened eyes and puffy lids. His heart thumped.

“D-d-done? What does that mean? What’s the matter?” He tried to swallow the lump in his throat so it could join the rock in his stomach.

Joey dumped the new load of clothes next to the box, put her hands on her hips and met his eyes directly. He felt their power all the way to his balls. He’d loved her eyes from the beginning, but he didn’t love what he was seeing in them now.

She sighed. “You know. What kills me is you think I didn’t. Don’t play dumb.” She crossed her arms over her chest and said, “I had a visitor today. While I can see your reasons from our…encounter, truth is, she had you first and that’s really all there is to it. I’ve suspected from the beginning, but I can’t ignore this anymore.”

He was afraid if he took a step forward he’d fall on his knees. He was afraid if he opened his mouth he’d either vomit or blubber, and he didn’t want to do either in front of her. He took a deep breath and said the only thing he could think of.

“But, I love you.”

Her face started to crumple, but he saw her dig her fingernails into her elbows and gain control. Mark started to speak again but Joey held up a hand and he stopped. He didn’t know what was going to come out of his mouth next, anyway.

“Don’t.” Joey turned slowly and sat on the edge of the bed, and kept her face averted. “I know you love me,” she said quietly. “And I’ve loved you for two years, Mark. Now you’ve put me in this position. Do I stay or do I go? Either way, it’s an unasinous decision from my point of view, you understand?”

He crossed the room on shaky legs and knelt in front of her, taking her cold hands in his. “No, I don’t understand,” he said. “You can’t use big words with me, I can barely handle words with single syllables. All I understand is I love you and I can’t live without you.” Tears burned in his eyes but he babbled on. “Don’t leave me. I know I fucked up but I’ll fix it. Just don’t leave me.”

Joey reached out and brushed the hair from his forehead. “You don’t have to live without me, baby.” His heart lifted at her words as her cold fingers left a hot trail tracing the contours of his face. Mark’s chest hitched, and he felt the tears start to fall. Her expression was implacable, and he knew what was going to happen just before the knife slipped between his ribs and sliced into his cheating heart.

Had to pick a smart one, was his final thought.

I looked up from sweeping the floor in the cavernous warehouse, and saw something I never expected to see. Something that made me rub my tired eyes and wonder if I had been smelling too much solvent.

Sure enough, it was a cowboy leading a horse and I could have sworn something about him was familiar. Of course, I grew up around a few cowboys, but that was a long time and a whole life ago. They weren’t great memories he was stirring up.

I swear to God, I’m not lying. He had on boots, chaps, and a big old dirt-colored cowboy hat. I could hear the heels of his boots clocking against the cement floor and his spurs jingling.

“Hey!’ I cried. “Why the hell have you got a horse in here? The damned thing is shitting all over my floor!”

“Darlin’, don’t be so fussy. You always were a fuss-budget, Jamie,” was the answer.

Oh, I knew that hateful voice and my face flushed.

“You asshole,” I hissed. “What the hell are you doing here? I’m the janitor of this building but I’m ain’t picking up your horse’s shit. Git out. And take the shit with you.”

Lord a’mighty, it was Percy McGill, and eternity wouldn’t have been long enough for me to never see his face again.

“Jamie, darlin’, I’ve come to get you and take you away from all this,” Percy drawled. He lifted his head slightly as he came near, and I could see that smile, those eyes, through a red mist.

I stood there in my janitor’s coveralls, ball cap on my head and dirt under my fingernails. I could feel my face starting to crumple, but I wasn’t going to let it. I smelled the odor of horseflesh, and shivered.

“If I need rescuing, I can rescue myself, pal. This ain’t cow country and you ain’t no shining knight on that horse. You’re a horse’s ass, and you can kiss mine. Now git on out, a’fore I call the cops.”

Percy stopped where he was and the horse stopped behind him, as well behaved as Percy wanted his women to be. He didn’t expect this kind of response, I could tell, and I was glad I had him off-kilter. I had to keep it that way or things could get ugly.

“You’re a feisty lil’ filly, I’ll give you that. Not such a fine lady now, are you?” He sniffed. “Your daddy sent me to find you and I aim to bring you back where you belong. I’m your destiny, Jamie , so come on and fulfill me.” The snide smirk on his face was more than infuriating.

“I’m not sixteen anymore, you idiot. This is a free country. You been fulfilling yourself for so many years what’s a few more? I’m happy where I’m at, and tell Daddy I ain’t a bale of hay to be tossed around with no never-mind.” I could feel my pulse throbbing in my temples.

Do you think any of this pierced that hide of vanity this jerk carried around? Hell no, his skin was as thick as a rhino’s and he was just as stupid.

“C’mon Jamie, you know there’s something here and you want it. Stop fightin’ and come on home back where you belong.” He looked disdainfully at the overalls I was wearing and the cap on my head, and my blood started to boil.

“You’re not fit to lick my boots,” I told him. “You just want me for the ranch, and believe me when I tell you, you’ll never get it. I’m off limits to you. I’d rather marry that horse.” I gritted my teeth.

Percy flushed and looked murderous. “Now Jamie, that was mean. What did I ever do to you that made you feel this way?”

That opened the floodgates, and ten years of pain and regret came rushing out.

“Remember a certain innocent sixteen year old girl, Percy? Remember the promises you made to her?” I stood, trembling, my hands wrapped around the broom with a death grip. “Remember what she did when she realized you wanted me instead, all for the ranch?” Tears threatened and that made me even madder. “Becka was my best friend and you used her and tossed her aside. Do you even visit her grave? You should. You’re the reason she’s there.” I felt like stomping my foot, but I was a woman now, not some stupid little cowgirl. “Now git on out of here. You ain’t never gonna be nothing but a lousy ranch hand because you ain’t never getting me.”

He didn’t even look ashamed. He looked pissed and I dropped the broom and stood fast, just like my daddy taught me, because I knew what Percy was capable of. He swung himself up on the horse, and came to get me. I felt the adrenaline pumping, making my legs feel like lead. I pulled the pearl-handled snub nose .38 my momma gave me for my sixteenth birthday from my back pocket, and fired. Right between the eyes. The horse reared and Percy fell off.

Percy is now at rest in a tiny plot behind the warehouse, covered by the new dumpster that came in last week. When he didn’t return, I’m sure Daddy got the message. I sent a card to Becka’s mother, and I bet you’re wondering about the horse.

I sold him for a pretty penny, and I daresay he don’t miss Percy neither.

This has been a crazy-insane work week. I’m not complaining, but it really has cut down on fiction time and I HATE that.

Sometimes, as we all know too well, it’s not the work that interferes but the muse. She has this annoying habit of sticking her nose in when you’re most involved in other things, then taking off for parts unknown when you need her most. Here is a conversation I had with my muse. It’s a love/hate thing we have going on. Heh. Yeah, her name is Al. Don’t ask.

Rotten bitch.

Say what?

You heard me. I didn’t stutter. Where the hell have you been?

Hey, I have a life. You think you’re the only one in this relationship? You don’t tell me where and when to go.

I have needs! Needs that you don’t seem to care about!

So what? I have needs too, and you’ve been totally ignorant of that fact.

Like what? You never say anything, how am I supposed to know what your needs are if you never say anything? You’re so frustrating.

Like, you never feed me anything but junk, and then complain because I’m out of shape. You don’t take me anywhere, we don’t do anything – I get no exercise. You expect me to do all the work then sit around and whine because you don’t think I’m living up to my end of the bargain. I’m sick of it.

That doesn’t tell me where the hell you’ve been. You’ve been gone for *weeks*, not even a phone call , an email, or even a damned postcard. People are starting to talk.

I couldn’t care less what other people say. You used to think that was part of my charm.

Again, you sidestep the issue! Where have you been?? Please tell me you haven’t been…

I don’t answer to you or anyone else. Where I’ve been is none of your business – I came back, didn’t I?

Yeah, but for how long? And for what? To bitch at me for my shortcomings, most of which I know only too well? What kind of help is that?

There you go again, whining, always whining.

Roll your eyes at me one more time….

And what? You need me. Aww, don’t cry. Come here, let me dry those tears. Maybe we can work something out.

I’ve missed you.

Well, I’ve missed you too. That’s why I’ve come back. No one executes my suggestions like you do. Now, come here and sit on my lap and let me whisper in your ear….

This piece was inspiration for the WIP (now working on Chapter 22, can you say hallelujah?), but more for the “voice” than the actual story, although one of the characters does make an appearance, and their storyline is slated for one of the books in the series (did I just say “series”?? Someone call the men in the white jackets with the good drugs!). I take names and their meanings very seriously, if you want a clue.

Titles are important in flash, and I think this one implies a lot more than the simplicity indicates.

Long Time

“Long time, no see,” she said.

Upon hearing that voice, my whole body stiffened, including Mr. Happy. What can I say? I’m a guy, and that’s what happens to guys when a beautiful Goddess sneaks up behind you and whispers something like that in your ear.

I didn’t turn, because I didn’t want her to see how she could still affect Mr. Happy that way. Although, I’m pretty sure she was more than aware.

“Lilith. Wouldn’t you know it. I knew this was going to be one of those days when I cut myself shaving.”

“Aw, Samuel,” she breathed in my ear. I could feel the heat of her body steaming. Christ, what did I do to deserve this? Okay, I should probably go to church every Sunday, but it’s not like I kick puppies or slap old ladies. “You’ve missed me, I can tell.” Her evil chuckle, for some reason, made Mr. Happy even more happy. Shit.

I resumed bussing the table and tried to speak as if all the blood in my body had not just pooled into my groin area. “Nope. Haven’t spared you a thought since…well, since the last time I saw you. Whatever you want, I’m not interested. See ya.” I wiped off the table and picked up the tub of dirty dishes and finally turned with the tub strategically placed for maximum coverage.

She looked exactly the same. The woman oozes sensuality like a fat man sweating in a sauna. It should be illegal, and I expect it is in many states. Including my state of confusion and arousal. “Go on. Leave me alone, I’m not interested. Once was enough.” I attempted to push by her, but she put her hand on my arm, stopping me dead in my tracks. What’s a guy to do, I ask you?

“Please. Just five minutes. Surely you have a break coming.” She batted her eyelashes, the green of her eyes sparkling like shards of glass. Then, she smiled. Oh, shit. I could feel the swelling of Mr. Happy becoming painful, and I almost dropped the tub of dishes. I didn’t even hear the clattering of the diners anymore, and I think I might have drooled. Just a little, though.

I never thought I’d say this, but thank the Gods my boss came walking up. “What’s goin’ on here? C’mon Sam, there’s three tables at station 12 that need…oh.” First time I’ve ever seen the old bastard derailed. It was kind of funny, actually. “Who’s this pretty lil’ girl?” Hah. If he only knew.

“Lilith, meet Bob. Bob, Lilith.” I took advantage of the distraction to ease around the two of them, leaving Bob to Lilith’s tender mercies. She never could resist an easy mark, as I knew all too well. I took off for the kitchen, tossed the tub of dishes in the sink and shed the crummy apron. On my way out the door for the last time, I saw Lilith draw Bob over to a quiet spot of the restaurant, and counted my blessings.

The bus station is just down the street. I’m on the very first one out of here, destination unknown and I don’t care. Oh, she’ll find me again. But, just because you have a Goddess hunting you down doesn’t mean you have to make it easy for her.

It’s #FridayFlash! Check out the link for even more flashy goodness and visit the House of Archives. Please visit these talented writers, and leave some comment love if you are so moved. This is a very talented bunch, and you’re sure to find something that speaks to you.

Enjoy the scenery.

****

I wrote this as an experiment in literary devices. Not that I’m literary, but it seemed like a fun idea to play around with some of the toys laying around that I normally don’t think of when I’m actually writing. This piece has gone through several edits, and I really struggled with a title. I’ll let you decide if I got it right.

****

She’s lonely and she doesn’t want to be lonely. You look at her and see a successful, sexy woman with a hard exterior and that’s all you see. You don’t see the little girl inside whose daddy didn’t think she was good enough, or whose mother was eternally disappointed and indifferent by turns. She hides the damage done by the nasty “uncles” that came and went and by the bad choices made for her and the ones she made for herself. You see the chip on her shoulder but not the huge wound in her heart. You don’t think she has a heart.

Why should you see it? She doesn’t see it herself, and she has been building the layers, one at a time since she can remember. The layer of sarcasm, of indifference, the layer of cruelty all building up until she can’t feel anything anymore.

The little girl cries inside, inconsolable and alone.

“I love you” is meaningless and there is no such thing as permanence.

#

He sees her from across the bar, a cigarette in one hand and a martini in the other. She looks provocative; he takes a chance, little knowing she eats his kind for breakfast. His pick-up line is neither original nor funny.

She takes his measure through slitted eyes and watches him squirm. She isn’t afraid he will walk away; to the contrary, she knows she’s even more of a challenge in his eyes and she yawns. She is so bored by it all, the same routine. They’re all alike.

His ego stung by the yawn, he blurts out the unforgivable:

“What has happened to make you so cruel?”

She freezes, her eyes locked on to his. The jukebox blares on, unheard by either of them. He looks deep, and she flinches. He sees too much; that too is unforgivable. She’s angry with herself for being caught off-guard. She tries to tell him to move on, but to her horror, the words are stuck in her throat and won’t come loose.

He asks her to dance.

They move to the dance floor as if in a dream. She breathes in his scent. It triggers a feeling that is unfamiliar and yet most familiar; she avoids categorizing it, sensing it’s dangerous to do so. The arms around her are warm and comforting.

He’s careful to make no threatening moves. It’s rather like holding a tiny sparrow in his hands, and he sees her heart beating in the hollow of her throat. He’s intrigued and curious; she’s frozen and bewildered.

The music envelops them and she closes her eyes. He holds a little tighter and she allows this. The swaying motion is soothing to her, and she decides to enjoy it this once, for the moment. She lets her head drop to his shoulder.

For some reason his heart thumps in answer. He’s touched and somehow knows how difficult this is for her. He wonders what life has done to her to make her so afraid and raw. He’s unsure if he wants to know. He feels if he gives his heart to this one, she’d shred it without thinking twice, instinctively, and may or may not be sorry later.

She’s hoping the only thing he is after is what’s between her legs, and not between her ears or in her heart. She’s hoping that this longing for something indefinable by her standards will pass with another martini, or two, or six. The music ends; they stand locked in their embrace for a few beats longer, then part. She avoids his gaze and walks slowly back to the bar, wondering what to do. She knows deep down what she is going to do, struggling with what deep down in her heart she wishes she could do.

He follows her back to the bar, watching her hips swaying and her hair moving gently across her shoulders. He’s remembering a girl he once knew, a girl who needed something at one time and couldn’t find it with him. This girl finally found what she needed in a bottle of pills and a quart of vodka. The young man of yesterday dreams of redemption. He’s thinking over what he should do, struggling with what he knows he could do.

They take their seats at the bar. He studies her face and she avoids his gaze. She looks at the bartender and gives a tiny nod of her head, and the bartender starts to make her another martini. The bartender glances at the man at her side, and he nods. They wait in silence. It hangs between them, pregnant with the promise of something. Hope? Redemption? Atonement?

Her face is impassive, but he can see in the planes of her face both pain and eternity. The bartender brings their drinks over; she swallows half of hers and finally looks back at her companion. Now, he sees defiance and the demon inside waiting to break free in defense of its territory. He says nothing; after all, he approached her.

She sees understanding in his eyes, and it scares her. She doesn’t want anyone to understand, it means they have gotten too close. Close means access, and access means revelation, which in turn means vulnerable. She feels the warmth of his gaze upon her, and drawing on some small reserve of strength, meets it head-on.

He is impressed.

The alcohol burns in her stomach but the acceptance in his eyes burns hotter. She’s at a loss and he sees this, and takes her hand. He speaks softly, but the words are loud and reverberate in her heart.

“I want to know you.”

Tears start in her eyes, and myriad emotions tear through her.

#

You see a man and a woman seated at a bar, smoke dense in the air and the music blaring. They are both well dressed and you assume they’ve just gotten out of work. You figure they are just another professional couple, ready to take off and do the dirty dance of anonymous sex. You don’t see the potential or the hope of the situation; you can’t see the little girl yearning for validation or the young man needing redemption.

They are lonely, but they don’t want to be lonely.

I had to pull this out of the vault, because I’ve been buried in work this week. While this is a good thing, it meant I couldn’t devote time to fiction. *Sniffle*

This story was a result of a writer’s prompt. I love prompts — some of my best work has come from them. Don’t ask me where the rest of this came from, because I couldn’t tell you. All I can say is maybe I watch too much CSI. Heh.

Wickedly Smooth

Amy sits on the floor, her blonde hair falling in a curtain around her face. Her hands are busy, always busy at some invisible task. She rocks back and forth, sometimes in slow motion, sometimes so fast it’s a blur to the eyes.

I watch her. Every chance I get, I stop by the door and peer through the barred slit. My heart beats in time to her rocking.

****

Five years I’ve worked here. Amy arrived in my second week, so we’ve known each other a long time. In the beginning, she was feisty and irritated. Now she’s under control. Some may credit the medication, the therapy, or even her sessions with the shrink. Both she and I know the truth.

I saved her.

I’ll save more, but she’s my first. That makes her special.

****

Many nights I’ve pulled overtime. It’s an enormous undertaking — a calling, I guess you could say. Until I was hired here, it was difficult to fulfill that call.

It makes me feel good, to know I’m helping others less fortunate than myself. Since I started, the dreams of white, wicked teeth and rough passages have faded. As I slide in, I can feel the power of their insanity diffuse and dissipate. With each stroke, I release the demons within, and my seed sedates the evil that has possessed them.

Gender doesn’t matter. What matters is expelling the darkness. What matters is banishing what infects the helpless in order to facilitate their healing.

No one can do what I do.

****

I often wonder what task Amy is trying to accomplish. Her hands are constantly busy, but it’s the rocking that tips me off it’s almost time for another session. The faster she rocks, the more I know she’s in need. The invasion has begun again, and I feel her hunger.

****

I’ll nap before my shift. I’ll dress in my white uniform. I’ll check on Amy as she sits and rocks, gauging when the time is exactly right. I’ll secure her wrists to the bed with leather cuffs. Her face will be covered with the curtain of her silky hair, but it doesn’t matter. Each ankle will be restrained, her unholy transgressions totally exposed. I’ll gag her mouth with her panties, for Amy’s own safety. To cry the demon’s name aloud would be dangerous.

I could do this in the outside world. There are many who need my services.

But, the insane are so wickedly smooth.

Fresh out of high school with a crappy fast-food job frying chicken, flipping burgers, and moonlighting as a giant dancing hamburger on Saturdays to entice children and their hapless parents to partake of Grease and Fat Wrapped In A Bun, life should have sucked, but somehow didn’t.

Although, all my giant hamburger costume did was scare kids into screaming fits of frightened hysteria, and my friends into screaming fits of laughing hysteria.

At eighteen, we are invincible and will live a thousand years.

Reeking of hot chicken grease, my friend Carla invited me to meet some friends of hers on a Saturday night. One special friend she had in mind – his name was Todd.

Living in a beautiful house, he had the basement to himself and his girl. Wood paneling, comfortable couches and an odor of…sadness. I remember the lights being dim and The Cars shaking it up and crying Since You’re Gone. They played on the stereo all night long.

Todd and Emily were high-school sweethearts since their freshman year. She was blond and petite; he was tall and frail. Tears filled her eyes every time she looked at him.

Carla was gentle with the introductions, and when I saw Todd’s bald head, bruised shadows, and skinny frame, I understood why. When I saw how Emily clung to him, anguish lurking deep in the cushions of the furniture, I understood why.

Leukemia. He was nineteen, and he never saw twenty.

Since you’re gone, moonlight ain’t so great.