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Category Archives: fiction

One Too Many

mancontemp

Well, hello there friend. Mind if I bum a smoke from you? What? Oh, you thought you’d hidden your dirty little habit? Technically, you have. At least from the mortal world. Ah, thank you. Not much of a talker, are ya. Insert a chuckle here. I don’t possess the actual ability to laugh. One of the curses I get to carry.

I don’t know why these cigs are given such a bad rap. Do they not fulfill their function above and beyond expectations? Think about it. You inhale to feed your addiction. It provides you the relief you seek. Can’t think of a sweeter poison.

Normally, I don’t make personal appearances but your thoughts have been, how shall I put it? Annoying? No, not quite. Alarming? Neh. It’s the ones who never entertain the thought who alarm me. Not interesting either.
Does my candidness offend you? I thought not. No need to feign you’re astride that high horse. No siree bob. You’re pretty mediocre at best, I’d say. If I were judging you on a scale of one to ten, I’d give you a minus three. Insert that chuckle. No my friend, you don’t possess any of that hoopin’ and hollerin’. You almost slipped under the radar. So subtle, you sneaky little bastard. Insert a shit eating grin here.

Did you know your partner suspects you of embezzling? Yeah, yeah he does. Pretty convinced it’s you. Don’t that beat all though? Letcha in on a secret. It’s his mistress robbing you blind. Know how ditzy she plays? All an act. She’s Mensa material, that one. Anywho, she’s setting you up to take the fall. If it comes down to it. Gotta love a girl who plans.
So, there I was, sitting in my flames, minding my own business. Believe that or not. Most folks don’t get I don’t come looking for souls. They come looking for me. Kinda pisses me off how you simple mortals twist facts to fit your limited, inadequate ways of thinking. But whatta gonna do? But I digress. I’m sitting there, going over the month’s quotas. Yes, yes, we do have quotas to meet. Much more competition than one might realize.

I stumble across a little oops in my numbers. I don’t have a lot of room for errors. Everything is carefully planned out. The big guy upstairs knows everything there is to know about you before you’re even conceived  That’s where the challenge for me comes into play. I have to find a way or ways to upset the apple cart, so to speak. Wanna know what the mistake was? Thought you’d never ask!

I have one too many people for the month. Can’t say that’s ever happened in the history of my ruling. Hell, I even shot a quick prayer up to the big guy when I realized what was going on. Wanna hear a funny? I think he answered it. Go ahead, insert a good ol’ chuckle for me. That’s how I started hearing the murmuring of your thoughts.

If I do it, will the insurance pay? What if the insurance doesn’t pay? Will the kids hate me? Will it bail out the business? Will Myra remarry? Should I make it look like an accident? How should I do it? Pain? No pain?

Pretty common thoughts, wouldn’t ya say? Now, as much as I’d like to accommodate your solution to your problems, I have to simply ask that you not follow through on your intentions. I’m not really sure what would happen to the dynamics of heaven and hell if you throw the numbers askew.

How ’bout I have one of my guys seduce the hell out of the mistress, get her to trip up? Set it up to where she takes the fall and you’re in the clear? Once that ball gets rolling, things will start looking up, dontcha think? No pressure or anything for a decision. Just that I need an answer in an hour or so. Gotta get the corrected figures to my accountant so we can close out the month.

I’ll sit over here and letcha think, my friend. Mind if i bum a cigarette? Never a sweeter poison, I say.
For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, Barb Black gave me this prompt: reconsidering.

I gave Jester Queen this prompt: a lingering scent, a bus, a phone

 

Undo The Chain Of Events

scriptstory

Dear Kelley,

It’s hard to believe, as I sit by your grave, we lost you almost a year ago. I know you understand why I haven’t been back to see you since the day we lowered your coffin into the ground. I thought I’d lose my mind the day  your brother showed up at my doorstep, sobbing, tripping over his anguish. Even when I finally understood his words, my mind shut down and refused to believe it was true. All I kept thinking was how much I took you for granted, believing you’d always be there. I lost my best friend, my soul sister, the godmother to my unborn children. Even now, my heart still hurts just the same as that pivotal day. If I could undo that day…. that moment. If I could undo the chain of events which bring me here today.

This is the first birthday we won’t celebrate together but I wanted to keep up with our tradition, although I felt a little……..unsure when I ordered your birthday cake. I avoided our usual bakery so I wouldn’t have to endure the weird looks from old lady Smith. Remember how she use to stare us up and down like we were space aliens freshly transported from our mother ship? What is she, a mere hundred years old? How is it some of us barely live a life and others essentially live a few people’s lives? 

I have a tremendous secret I’m keeping from everyone. I’ve even tried to keep it from you. I imagine you looking down from Heaven, shaking your head, your halo shimmering with each shake. I picture your wings trembling from anger and betrayal. I can almost taste the tartness of your tears, as they splash onto my guilt. I’ve resisted your presence in my dreams.

I know everyone thinks he’s a monster. So did I at one time. I had weeks of nightmares about him. Always chasing me, yelling he needed to make us angelic sisters. I’d wake, my heart slamming against my throat. I could never shake him, even in my waking hours. It became unbearable. I wanted answers. I wanted the truth as only he could confess. I fought it, denying the hell living within my soul. I pretended not to feel his pull, the weight of his need to answer.

When I was on the edge of my mind snapping, needing to know if he took you from us, I went to see him. Over and over I pictured us sitting across from each other, me demanding to know the truth. Him staring back at me. No matter the different ways I played the scenario in my mind’s eye, he could never quench my thirst to know quick enough.

I wanted to be free from the unknown. To have my pain eradicated within the breath it takes to create a mere moment of time. I wanted to be able to lay my head down at night and find you alive and well in my dreams. He gives that to me, Kelley. He releases the demons from within and takes them on as his own. He loves me in a way that proves he wasn’t the one to take you from us. I believe that within the entirety of my existence.

I don’t know if I will be back to see you again, Kelley. I’m torn. Conflicted. I think, sometimes, I can almost sense your presence, hovering, stalking. Maybe it’s guilt. I can’t say for sure. He calms me when I tell him of these feelings. He is not what the world seems to think he is. He is the man who loves me.

Sarah

Happy Birthday, my dearest friend. 

For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, Kirsten gave me this prompt: A birthday cake, a forbidden love and this quote by Carrie Fisher : “instant gratification takes too long.”.

I gave Andrea this prompt: It isn’t every day you trip and fall into the arms of…………….

 

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The Story Circle-The Forest King (Part 2)

I was surprised and excited when Sam from My Write Side invited me to participate in a writing circle.

Check out this amazing first part of the circle: The Forest King, Part One, Sam tagged me for the second part.

I’m very excited to share my part of The Forest King, Part Two. I’ve tagged my friend, Jeannie, for the third part.

Thank you so much to Cameron Garriepy for her patience and support.

Story-Circle-Button

 

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Acceptance Is The Key

The doctor woke up afraid. The woman beside him stirred. He froze, shame flooding his existence. In one night, he’d obliterated a lifetime dream. Feeling the pull of her stare, unable to resist her power, he swung his eyes towards her. He wasn’t surprised to find her lips curled in victory, mocking his defeated existence.

In the beginning of their acquaintance, she’d appeared as a desirable, tantalizing creature, teasing him with her charms. How quickly he’d been seduced. Oh, she could make a man feel good, on top of the world. What’s one time? What can it hurt? I’m in control, he’d convinced himself. When had wanting slipped into needing?

No matter how he’d tried to dodge her, she’d snake her way back in. Sometimes, she changed her appearance to represent an old familiar friend stopping by to relive the long passing of glory days. Nothing wrong with a trip or two down memory lane, she’d whisper.

When his wife began complaining about his frequent absences as a father and husband, she was right there, comforting him, nursing his wounded ego. Such an ungrateful wife, she’d cluck. Tsk, tsk, tsk. She doesn’t deserve you. I’ll be your wife. You don’t need her.

The partners at the clinic began to assault him with complaints regarding his shoddy work and lack of concern for the patients. You’ve changed, they admonished. What’s going on with you? You’re not the doctor we recruited. You don’t need them, she reassured him. They’re nothing without you. Good old-fashioned jealousy is all it is, she’d hiss in his ear.

However she appeared, she’d always managed to lure him back.

Until he was faced with the threat of losing his family and career. Ultimatums from his wife compounded by the termination of his contract with the clinic broke her spell.

He’d hoped, believed he’d finally erased her from his existence this last year. His wife supported his decision to relocate across the country, leaving everything and everyone she knew. An old college friend gave him a chance and benefit of the doubt he could beat his problem, bringing him into a well established practice. Yes, the last twelve months boasted a stronger marriage, a second child on the way, along with a town full of adoring and grateful patients.

The woman shifted, sitting up. Reaching for a cigarette, she ignored him. Swallowing fear, he instantly understood. Sensing his new-found knowledge she turned towards him, smiling. How stupid of him not to have known, even sensed she’d been behind the success of the last year. She’d never really left, only giving the illusion of disappearance. She’d been silently building him up, biding her time for the very moment he was convinced he had it beaten.

Acceptance is the key, she’d always whispered into his drug induced mind.

Acceptance is the key, he told himself as he stuck the needle into his eagerly awaiting vein.

I came across the Master Class while reading one of the stories on Sam’s blog, My Write Side. This is my first time participating and I look forward to future prompts. As I wrote the doctor’s story, my mind delved into the people who are affected by his story and will be adding a couple of more stories, using prompts from Bloggy Moms Writing Workshop. Stop in and check out Sam’s blog and the writing prompts.

 

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Recipe For Love


No need to scream in such terror, my love.

I only want the best of you

to be with all of me for eternity.

Dry your

salty trails

of frustration, my love.

I only want you to see

the beauty I see in you.

Stop your quivering lips, my love.

I only want to taste

of your sweet innocence,

the very aroma which led me

to you.

Ah, the pounding of your racing heart, my love.

Fuels my everlasting desire

to combine our souls,

twisted as one.

Save your strength for our union, my love.

Oh, how you disappoint me!

This is my first time participating in the 100 Word Challenge.

This week’s challenge is to ‘create a recipe of a dish fit for a witch.’

 

Forever Hold Your Confession

As I watch Corey Eisner setting up a poster size picture of Kevin, my mind slips back to my first night in jail.

I was exhausted after what felt like hours of relentless interrogation. I’ll tell you now, the movies don’t exaggerate the mental beating detectives put you through. There truly is a protocol for good cop, bad cop. Detective Spencer played the good cop. I’m sure his boyish good looks serve him well not only in his chosen field but his personal life. I trusted him far less than Detective Kray who exuded a genuine dislike for his fellow mankind. The more exhausted I became, the greater their resolve to reduce me to a puddle of tears. I held firm to my determination not to cave by remaining silent. It was Detective Kray’s raised fist flying towards my face which put an end to the interrogation. His partner narrowly missed deflecting the blow to my jaw before angrily shoving him towards the door. Both men shot me a dirty look as they nodded to the startled rookie to escort me to my cell.

After the humiliating experience of being stripped searched and deloused, I was led to my new home. And my new cellie. Wanda wore the air of someone who was old school in the ways of being a criminal. I watched as her eyes grew wide with greedy delight as I hesitated at the entry into our cell. She appeared to be in her mid-forties, although I suspected she was probably younger. Her hair wore the disheveled style of a woman who had no time to worry about outside appearances. Her brown eyes were etched deeply with weariness displayed in the form of wrinkles. Her mouth formed into a grotesque smile of sorts, showing random missing teeth.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Ice Princess herself,” she cackled with glee. “I have me a real life bona fide celebrity right here in my cell. Come on in, sugar. Old Wanda ain’t gonna bite you. Not unless you ask real nice.”

I stood frozen in my spot, willing myself to wake up from this horrible nightmare. It was in this moment Kevin’s death and the reality of my situation hit the center of my existence full force. There was no turning back the hands of time. No undoing the actions which drained Kevin’s life from his body. No escaping the bitter truth of what my life was to become. Had become. The rookie gave me a gentle push, telling Wanda to play nice, before chuckling as if he were comedian of the year.

Drawing myself up, I pretended not to feel intimidated as I went to put the sheets on what I assumed was my bed. My stomach gagged at the strong smell of urine embedded in the mattress. I contemplated the choice of sleeping on the floor, deciding it was my best option. Taking my time, I refused to look in Wanda’s direction until I sat down on the bed mere inches from her. She gave a little snort as she swung her heavily tatted legs on the floor.

“So, it’s gonna be like that, is it?” Her eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. A mental image of a bull with her face jumped into my mind. For the first time in my life, I truly understood the concept of fear.

“I guess they was right to give you that name. Ice Princess.” She drew the ‘s’ out sounding much like the serpent who tricked Eve into taking a bite of forbidden fruit. “Suits me just fine. Ice Princessssssssss. Makes no never mind to me. Cuz in this cell block, I’m the Princess. I call the shots but you’ll figure that out.”

She stood, surprising me with how petite she was in build. Leaning towards me, she grabbed my face, squeezing hard. “You best play nice with Old Wanda. I’m the best friend you got now. What’s that girl’s name? The one they call the Little Girl Lost?”

“Angela,” I gasped. “Her name’s Angela.”

“Yeah, Angela was your best friend but mark my words, when you least expect it, she’ll turn on you quicker than a snake in a hen-house. Yep, you best mark my words. Ice Princessssssssssssssss.” Letting go of my face, she adorned me with another smile. A smile I soon learned meant someone was to pay hell for the demons raging in Wanda’s mind.

Write in the “close” first person:

John Updike’s short story A & P is a great example of writing from this close “I” colloquial (spoken) point of view; it is through the spoken tone here, that we come to know this character as a teenager:
Link up with us HERE

Curious about the Ice Princes? Catch up with her story.

 
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Posted by on October 11, 2012 in fiction, Sandra's Writing Workshop Hop, WIP

 

Do As Mother Says


Everybody said the old Bosworth mansion was haunted. At this very moment, standing before the door, I’m inclined to believe the rumors I’ve heard throughout my childhood.

My phone rings, announcing ‘Mother is calling’. I look around nervously, half-expecting someone to hear it. I chide myself for such a silly thought. At most, I might be disturbing a ghost inside but other than that, I don’t think I have anything to worry about. My eyes scan the darkness as I put the receiver to my ear.

“Yes, Mother,” I hiss.

“Are  you in yet, dear? Have you made it inside? Oh, this is so exciting! I can’t wait to tell my friends how brave my daughter is!” her voice babbles in my ear.

“Exciting, Mother? I am breaking and entering. That is not exciting. I’m breaking the law and I don’t need you telling your gossiping cronies. Besides, isn’t Ingrid’s grandson on the police force?”

“Oh Ingrid smingrid. She isn’t going to tell her grandson one word. She’s mad at him for marrying that floozy. So, are you inside yet, dear?” her excitement bubbles over with each word.

“Not yet. I’m at the front door.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Open the door!” she practically yells in my ear.

“Okay, Mother. I will call you when I get inside.” I hit the disconnect button with triumph. I shake my head and put the phone in my pocket. I still haven’t figured out how Mother has managed to talk me into checking out the Bosworth mansion.

I stare at the front door with its black paint peeling. I lean in closer and think to myself, even in ruins this house holds a certain standard of elegance. I reach to pull a paint chip from the door when it swings open by itself.

Run, run like hell, the common sense in me yells. Get out of here. Are  you crazy? If your mother wants to know about the haunted mansion, tell her to come here herself!

No, no, I promised Mother I would find out if the rumors are true. Surely they aren’t. Just a little town gossip embellished over the years, the more practical side of me counters.

Either way, I gulp, I have to go in.

I hesitate before pushing the heavy door open further. It does enter the back of my mind a door so sturdy and heavy shouldn’t open on its own. I turn to look behind me. The leaves in the trees aren’t moving from any type of wind. In fact, this is one of the more peaceful nights courtesy of mother nature. Pushing aside the fear mounting in my heart, I take a step forward.

“Hello?” I whisper. “Is someone here?”

I hold my breath, counting to twenty. My ears take on the uncanny ability, much like a dog, to pick up sound. The stillness echoes off my skull as I strain to catch any noise that might resemble a ghost or footsteps. Although, truth be told, I have no clue what a ghost sounds like. I exhale quietly, feeling light-headed. My heart is galloping at full speed and I feel it smashing against my chest. I look down expecting to see it trying to escape through my black jacket.

My phone rings again. I let loose with a full-fledge scream. Between the insistent ringing and the new location of my heart pounding in my ears, I can’t hear anything else. I reach for the phone, dropping it from my shaking hands. As I step forward to retrieve the phone, my left shoe kicks it out of reach. I stay put. I swear I can hear laughter muddled with whispering.

I review my two choices in bionic mode.

I can grab my phone and run out the door.

I can forget my phone and run out the door.

The phone stops ringing. Silence amplifies even more but I’m having a hard time distinguishing between my heart beat, my breathing and what I think is supposed to be silence. I nervously scan the entry way, straining my  near-sighted eyes for clues to run like hell. I make a mental note to call for an appointment for my over-due yearly eye exam.

As I grab my phone, it starts ringing. I click the on button to hear my mother yelling.

“Get out of the house now!”

The call drops as the front door slams shut.

I do what any sane person would do.

I faint.

SAM at BMWW has put a different spin on things this month. I like it. A Lot! We’re given 5 different prompts to link up for the month of October. This is the first prompt I picked out of the five.

Everybody said the old Bosworth mansion was haunted … is behind this short story. I don’t really have any plans to do anything further with this piece. I’ve been a little blah with writing lately so this is me dipping my toes into the writing pool.

 

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