Continuing on from last Sunday. Abby's story has been picked up by a publisher, so I'll keep going with this one until I reach the end of the chapter. That should be right around the publishing date in late summer. lol
The man’s eyebrows lifted.
“I like a woman who reads every day,” he commented as though I would care what he thought. (I did.) “Do you work or go to school or…?”
Ah, the million dollar question. “I’m a masseuse,” I said, and it was a half truth. My hands were marvelous and I had taken a free class or three on massage techniques. “I work off and on.”
29 January 2011
23 January 2011
Six Sentence Sunday!
Continuing on:
Well, wasn’t he cute up close and didn’t he smell good, and didn’t he have a cute trace of an Irish accent. His dimples popped out as he smiled at me, and I replied, “I’m not sure. I haven’t read it yet.”
“Do you read often,” he countered, obviously probing. Any blonde standing in the history aisle must be out of place, you know.
“I read every day.” It was something to be proud of, that I had more books than the library. A girl who didn’t even graduate high school had more books than the library. My school career was cut short by the unexpected trip to Mexico when I was fifteen.
Well, wasn’t he cute up close and didn’t he smell good, and didn’t he have a cute trace of an Irish accent. His dimples popped out as he smiled at me, and I replied, “I’m not sure. I haven’t read it yet.”
“Do you read often,” he countered, obviously probing. Any blonde standing in the history aisle must be out of place, you know.
“I read every day.” It was something to be proud of, that I had more books than the library. A girl who didn’t even graduate high school had more books than the library. My school career was cut short by the unexpected trip to Mexico when I was fifteen.
19 January 2011
Wicked Wednesday
Here's a piece drawn from a story which sits long idle. Words are in bold. This one is lighter than yesterday's, but not rainbows and sunshine, either. Enjoy!
Sweaty, tangled limbs; soft kisses; rough hands. These are the images that haunt Mel as she snaps out of sleep at three in the morning. Chest heaving, she runs a hand through her tangled hair as her mind orients itself to the chilling silence in the hour of the dead.
Mel sighs and lets her feet hit the cold hardwood floor. Who is she kidding? Ben is gone, and she’s sure he has long forgotten her. Their last fight was a real doozy. Mel was irrational and angry because he said he had to leave. Mel cracks open a beer as the memories flood back. It was right there in her living room where it started.
Ben came in, shut the door softly. Said he had something to talk about. Mel already knew it was coming. He had to “move on”, needed to find the next big thing. The words cut into her like a razor blade. Mel immediately fell into an emotional train wreck, and all Ben did was stand there listening. She wanted him to yell, to fight back, but he just stood there stoically.
When she collapsed onto the floor a sobbing mess, he simply knelt in front of her and slid a chain around her neck. “I’ll never be far,” he whispered and left her with a kiss to the forehead.
No, Mel thinks bitterly, he’s not ever far. He won’t leave her be. He haunts her. Mel tries day after day to wrap her head around it. Why did he leave if he wasn’t going to actually leave? Of course, their relationship was never normal. Mel came out of a bad one and fell into Ben’s open arms. He was always there for her.
Not anymore. Mel changed after that night. She is now a jaded, bitter woman with nothing to show for three years of her life but a stupid chain. It doesn’t even have a locket. Just a single amulet at the end, one single Ankh.
Oh, how Mel researched that. She pored over it for hours, looking for a hidden meaning. But all it means is eternal life. She snorts and opens another beer. It’s her day off, damn it. And if inhaling beers makes her feel better, then so be it.
After the third beer, Mel collapses on the couch and falls into a deep sleep. When she finally awakens, it’s already the next evening. Her curtains are closed and blinds drawn. She frowns and sits up, rubbing the sleepy haze from her eyes. “The hell,” she mutters. “I left those open.”
A bang from the bedroom makes Mel’s head whip around. She tentatively leans over the couch to look down the hall. There’s a flickering light in the bedroom. Holding her breath, Mel grabs a lamp and tiptoes to the edge of the hall. With the lamp light, she notices a trail of rose petals. Mel creeps along the wall to the doorway and sees a figure in the bedroom among two candles and roses. He’s folding the bed back and straightening it out in the relative darkness. “Ben?”
The man stiffens and looks over his shoulder. He says nothing but moves to the other side of the bed to face the doorway. Mel abandons the lamp in one shattering motion and steps over the threshold. His face is shrouded in shadow, but Mel knows the body. She doesn’t even care that he left anymore, only that he’s there with her.
“Ben?” she repeats, hoping for an answer.
“Mel.” His voice is gruff and thick. “I made a mistake.”
“I know, Ben.” She stands on the opposite side of the bed awkwardly. “Are you back now?”
“Yes, Mel.” He extends a hand across the bed, and Mel takes it. She crawls onto the bed and his hand falls limply away. Mel kneels in the middle of the bed and spreads her hands in a welcoming motion.
“Forever?” He shifts and grabs her arms to pull her closer. Mel’s breath quickens feeling his body against hers. He kisses her hard before laying softer ones along her cheek, temple, jaw. His hands roaming freely across her body make her moan with pleasure.
His languid journey to her throat has Mel melting in his arms and she lets her head hang limply back. “Forever,” he says softly, and Mel feels a sharp pain as teeth sink into her skin. She gasps and pushes against him, but Ben isn’t moving.
When she stops struggling and goes limp Ben raises his face in the candlelight, blood dripping from his chin and fangs, and whispers, “Forever.”
Sweaty, tangled limbs; soft kisses; rough hands. These are the images that haunt Mel as she snaps out of sleep at three in the morning. Chest heaving, she runs a hand through her tangled hair as her mind orients itself to the chilling silence in the hour of the dead.
Mel sighs and lets her feet hit the cold hardwood floor. Who is she kidding? Ben is gone, and she’s sure he has long forgotten her. Their last fight was a real doozy. Mel was irrational and angry because he said he had to leave. Mel cracks open a beer as the memories flood back. It was right there in her living room where it started.
Ben came in, shut the door softly. Said he had something to talk about. Mel already knew it was coming. He had to “move on”, needed to find the next big thing. The words cut into her like a razor blade. Mel immediately fell into an emotional train wreck, and all Ben did was stand there listening. She wanted him to yell, to fight back, but he just stood there stoically.
When she collapsed onto the floor a sobbing mess, he simply knelt in front of her and slid a chain around her neck. “I’ll never be far,” he whispered and left her with a kiss to the forehead.
No, Mel thinks bitterly, he’s not ever far. He won’t leave her be. He haunts her. Mel tries day after day to wrap her head around it. Why did he leave if he wasn’t going to actually leave? Of course, their relationship was never normal. Mel came out of a bad one and fell into Ben’s open arms. He was always there for her.
Not anymore. Mel changed after that night. She is now a jaded, bitter woman with nothing to show for three years of her life but a stupid chain. It doesn’t even have a locket. Just a single amulet at the end, one single Ankh.
Oh, how Mel researched that. She pored over it for hours, looking for a hidden meaning. But all it means is eternal life. She snorts and opens another beer. It’s her day off, damn it. And if inhaling beers makes her feel better, then so be it.
After the third beer, Mel collapses on the couch and falls into a deep sleep. When she finally awakens, it’s already the next evening. Her curtains are closed and blinds drawn. She frowns and sits up, rubbing the sleepy haze from her eyes. “The hell,” she mutters. “I left those open.”
A bang from the bedroom makes Mel’s head whip around. She tentatively leans over the couch to look down the hall. There’s a flickering light in the bedroom. Holding her breath, Mel grabs a lamp and tiptoes to the edge of the hall. With the lamp light, she notices a trail of rose petals. Mel creeps along the wall to the doorway and sees a figure in the bedroom among two candles and roses. He’s folding the bed back and straightening it out in the relative darkness. “Ben?”
The man stiffens and looks over his shoulder. He says nothing but moves to the other side of the bed to face the doorway. Mel abandons the lamp in one shattering motion and steps over the threshold. His face is shrouded in shadow, but Mel knows the body. She doesn’t even care that he left anymore, only that he’s there with her.
“Ben?” she repeats, hoping for an answer.
“Mel.” His voice is gruff and thick. “I made a mistake.”
“I know, Ben.” She stands on the opposite side of the bed awkwardly. “Are you back now?”
“Yes, Mel.” He extends a hand across the bed, and Mel takes it. She crawls onto the bed and his hand falls limply away. Mel kneels in the middle of the bed and spreads her hands in a welcoming motion.
“Forever?” He shifts and grabs her arms to pull her closer. Mel’s breath quickens feeling his body against hers. He kisses her hard before laying softer ones along her cheek, temple, jaw. His hands roaming freely across her body make her moan with pleasure.
His languid journey to her throat has Mel melting in his arms and she lets her head hang limply back. “Forever,” he says softly, and Mel feels a sharp pain as teeth sink into her skin. She gasps and pushes against him, but Ben isn’t moving.
When she stops struggling and goes limp Ben raises his face in the candlelight, blood dripping from his chin and fangs, and whispers, “Forever.”
18 January 2011
Tuesday's Maniac Story
Yesterday, I asked for two random words on Twitter. The words flooded in, and I now have a sufficient amount to make devious stories every Tuesday for three months. Here's the first one. It's a lot darker than my typical writing, and likely slightly disturbing. Hope you don't take offense! The random words are in bold.
drip The singular sound reached the young girl’s ears as she came out of a sleepy haze with her head spinning. drip She blinked hard, trying to bring her surroundings into focus. drip The vague memories of the night before tried to filter through the pounding hammer tapping on her skull. drip
She struggled to sit up, but suddenly realized her hands were bound behind her back with some sort of hard, rough plastic. drip As the panic set in, she struggled against the bonds and rolled off the hard metal bench jutting from the wall. thud The floor met her face and she whipped her head into the air. drip drip drip drip drip Her face was coated in a slimy substance that reeked of urine and cow shit. It fell from her chin in a steady stream as she struggled to spit it from her mouth. drip
The girl steadied her breathing to allay the offensive odor and thought intently for a moment. Her forehead hit the floor, intentionally this time, to give her leverage and force her to her knees. drip Her eyes adjusted to the dark room slowly. The bench was to her back in the windowless space and straight ahead was a door with a tiny barred window, providing only the smallest strip of flickering light. drip She struggled to her feet and looked out of the window. “Hello?” she called tentatively. The only reply was the steady drip and a moth that fluttered out of sight.
“Shit,” she whispered and turned back towards the room. A figure standing in the far corner watched as she gasped and fell backwards against the door in shock. She screamed loudly, but still no one came from the outside.
The tall and bulky figure approached slowly and murmured a quiet, “Shut up, bitch,” before he stuffed a ball gag into her open mouth and sealed it quickly behind her head. The girl stumbled away along the damp wall towards the bench again. She had no idea what was going on, but she knew she had to distance herself from this man-beast, or create a diversion to make a possible escape.
But there was no way out. drip The water drop landed on her hair and streamed down her forehead as the man approached again. A glint of silver reflected off a long sword as he unsheathed it from a cover attached to his belt. He turned to look at it, and she caught his profile just long enough to make a connection. drip An image flashed into her mind: Her car, careening madly on black ice, and a man staring down at his dead dog under her tire.
Fear struck through her, a long chord of black and grey and everything that goes drip in the night. He chuckled softly, as though sensing the change in her. drip “You remember, don’t you?” The girl could do nothing but shake fearfully and slide down the wall in an effort to protect herself. “That was my dog you hit,” he said softly, and twirled the sword in the light. “He was my friend, my only friend, and you killed him.” The man knelt down close to her and ran the sharp blade along her cheek. drip She felt a trickle of hot red blood make a free fall onto her shoulder.
He laughed, a soft and maniacal sound from deep in his stomach. “Since you killed my only friend, it’s only appropriate that you pay.” The sword drove deep into her thigh and the girl made an attempt to scream. drip The pitiful sound was blocked by the ball gag.
drip He turned and walked to the door quietly. “Welcome home, Fido.”
drip The singular sound reached the young girl’s ears as she came out of a sleepy haze with her head spinning. drip She blinked hard, trying to bring her surroundings into focus. drip The vague memories of the night before tried to filter through the pounding hammer tapping on her skull. drip
She struggled to sit up, but suddenly realized her hands were bound behind her back with some sort of hard, rough plastic. drip As the panic set in, she struggled against the bonds and rolled off the hard metal bench jutting from the wall. thud The floor met her face and she whipped her head into the air. drip drip drip drip drip Her face was coated in a slimy substance that reeked of urine and cow shit. It fell from her chin in a steady stream as she struggled to spit it from her mouth. drip
The girl steadied her breathing to allay the offensive odor and thought intently for a moment. Her forehead hit the floor, intentionally this time, to give her leverage and force her to her knees. drip Her eyes adjusted to the dark room slowly. The bench was to her back in the windowless space and straight ahead was a door with a tiny barred window, providing only the smallest strip of flickering light. drip She struggled to her feet and looked out of the window. “Hello?” she called tentatively. The only reply was the steady drip and a moth that fluttered out of sight.
“Shit,” she whispered and turned back towards the room. A figure standing in the far corner watched as she gasped and fell backwards against the door in shock. She screamed loudly, but still no one came from the outside.
The tall and bulky figure approached slowly and murmured a quiet, “Shut up, bitch,” before he stuffed a ball gag into her open mouth and sealed it quickly behind her head. The girl stumbled away along the damp wall towards the bench again. She had no idea what was going on, but she knew she had to distance herself from this man-beast, or create a diversion to make a possible escape.
But there was no way out. drip The water drop landed on her hair and streamed down her forehead as the man approached again. A glint of silver reflected off a long sword as he unsheathed it from a cover attached to his belt. He turned to look at it, and she caught his profile just long enough to make a connection. drip An image flashed into her mind: Her car, careening madly on black ice, and a man staring down at his dead dog under her tire.
Fear struck through her, a long chord of black and grey and everything that goes drip in the night. He chuckled softly, as though sensing the change in her. drip “You remember, don’t you?” The girl could do nothing but shake fearfully and slide down the wall in an effort to protect herself. “That was my dog you hit,” he said softly, and twirled the sword in the light. “He was my friend, my only friend, and you killed him.” The man knelt down close to her and ran the sharp blade along her cheek. drip She felt a trickle of hot red blood make a free fall onto her shoulder.
He laughed, a soft and maniacal sound from deep in his stomach. “Since you killed my only friend, it’s only appropriate that you pay.” The sword drove deep into her thigh and the girl made an attempt to scream. drip The pitiful sound was blocked by the ball gag.
drip He turned and walked to the door quietly. “Welcome home, Fido.”
15 January 2011
Six Sentence Sunday!
Meet Abby, whose story I'm currently revising based on some editor feedback:
About three weeks into 1999, I was standing in Barnes and Noble and browsing through the History section to find a book on Greek Gods and Kings of Britain and France, and history of the Anglo-Saxons, when I realized there was a young man edging closer to me by the minute. He kept glancing sideways at me while “browsing” the books and I couldn’t suppress the small smile that escaped my lips. He was cute and innocent and everything I should have been at 18 or 20 or however old he was.
He finally made it to where I standing reading the flap of a book on King Henry the VIII and made a big deal out of reaching for the same book. He flipped it open and looked at me as though he hadn’t known I’d been looking at the f'ing book and said:
“I wonder if this is any good?”
About three weeks into 1999, I was standing in Barnes and Noble and browsing through the History section to find a book on Greek Gods and Kings of Britain and France, and history of the Anglo-Saxons, when I realized there was a young man edging closer to me by the minute. He kept glancing sideways at me while “browsing” the books and I couldn’t suppress the small smile that escaped my lips. He was cute and innocent and everything I should have been at 18 or 20 or however old he was.
He finally made it to where I standing reading the flap of a book on King Henry the VIII and made a big deal out of reaching for the same book. He flipped it open and looked at me as though he hadn’t known I’d been looking at the f'ing book and said:
“I wonder if this is any good?”
02 January 2011
Here I go again...
Forgetting I have this blog. lol, not too much to report since I last posted. Have a new website -see the link to the left- and the book release date got pushed up to March 19th. I'm also waiting on pins and needles for word on a requested manuscript.
*fingers crossed*
In addition, I'm anticipating seeing the artwork for Delila's book from the ever talented Reese Dante. You'll notice I refer to all my books by the title character name. It's much easier for me to remember who I'm talking about when using their names. Delila is upcoming March 19th, Abby is the full request I'm waiting to hear back from, Charlie is festering in the backlog of my devious brain (I have to modify her a bit), and Beth is in progress. On top of that, I'm going to be doing a few guest blogs here and there. See you around the vast interwebz!
*fingers crossed*
In addition, I'm anticipating seeing the artwork for Delila's book from the ever talented Reese Dante. You'll notice I refer to all my books by the title character name. It's much easier for me to remember who I'm talking about when using their names. Delila is upcoming March 19th, Abby is the full request I'm waiting to hear back from, Charlie is festering in the backlog of my devious brain (I have to modify her a bit), and Beth is in progress. On top of that, I'm going to be doing a few guest blogs here and there. See you around the vast interwebz!
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