First and foremost...drumroll please...across the little blog hop giveaway, we had quite a few entries. I want to thank all of you for sharing your stories. They meant a lot to me. But, there can be only...uh, two...winners, and random.org helped me out a little here. Congratulations to Becky Hancock (from Bea's Book Nook post) and Sarah (from the post at Katie Reus's blog). I'll be tracking the two of you down to send you your copies of Badlands.
Thank you again to everyone who commented and tweeted!
.
I'll be honest, I wrote this piece a bit off the cuff because of a conversation with my daughter today. It features Elle and Cass, the foster sisters from Pretty Souls (my new YA release under the name Julie Particka).
There's No Such Thing
Things had been quiet in Portage this summer. Cass and I got in the habit of patrolling, but after the first few nights, everyone seemed to get in line. Which was great, except no supernatural issues meant our lives had fallen into a pattern of TV, pretend to sleep, patrol, sleep, wake up, eat, run, screw around, eat...and do it all over again.
We'd run through our Supernatural DVDs and had moved on to a show called Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Cass hated the similarities: blonde, cheerleader...vampires. I tried to get her over it by reminding her that Buffy was human, but she wasn't biting. (In case I haven't mentioned it, it was also the summer I developed a love of bad puns.) We'd made it to season four and were settled in, watching the Halloween episode.
Everything was going fine and we were sharing quite a few laughs. Then...Anya, the re-habilitated demon, showed up in a bunny suit. Cass grabbed the remote and pushed pause. "She's afraid of...bunnies? What the hell. That's the stupidest thing ever."
"Oh, come on. It isn't like the show is exactly realistic. I mean you don't get funny ridges on your face when you vamp out either. The bunnies are a joke, just take it that way." I reached for the remote, but she snatched it away.
"Even if it's a joke, it should make sense, which means bunnies would have to be scary on some level." She jumped off the couch and held her hands up in front of her, hopping around the living room. "Tell me. How is this scary?"
I can't help it, she looks so ridiculous, I burst out laughing. "Fine. Fine. But you'd make a cute little bunny. Imagine if some huge, evil, muscle-bound demon turned into a rabbit. Like John Cena turning into a wererabbit with giant bloody teeth and claws. That'd be kind of scary."
Cass planted her hands on her hips and made a face at me. "Maybe, but there's no such thing as a wererabbit. As one of the things that stalk the night, it's kind of hard to be afraid of a figment of my imagination."
Looked like TV time was over. Once Cass gets on a roll, it doesn't stop until she's done. I stood and went into the kitchen to hunt up some food. "How do you know there's no such thing?" I stuck my head in the fridge and pulled out an apple.
"Because it's moronic."
Her voice was so close behind me, I jumped and hit my head on a shelf. Rubbing it with one hand and polishing the apple on my shirt with the other, I kicked the door closed. "No. What's moronic is this discussion. It's a TV show."
"Maybe, but couldn't they at least pretend to have it make sense?" Her lips quirked to the side. "I am sorry about your head though."
A headache was building, but I shrugged it off. "It's okay." The doorbell chose that moment to ring, the chimes resonating through the house. "I mean, I wouldn't be afraid of a giant bunny either."
She followed me to the door, her "I told you so" trailing close behind. I rolled my eyes and jerked open the door, freezing as I stared at the biggest pair of buck teeth I'd ever seen. That they were on the face of a six foot tall old guy didn't escape my notice either. Cass stood right next to me, stock still, like she was frozen in place.
I swallowed hard and cleared my throat, the weight of the door growing heavier against my hand. "Can I help you?"
"I'm here to speak to Eric."
"He and Jennifer went out to dinner." I sized him up, just in case.
His nose twitched back and forth like he was sniffing for a lie. "I'll just give him a call later then. Thank you." He turned around, and I noticed a strange lump in the back of his pants. I tried not to stare, but I couldn't tear my eyes away until I'd shut and locked the door.
"Elle?"
I shook my head and walked back into the living room. "It was just our minds playing tricks on us."
"How can you be so sure?"
Settling in on the couch, I set my jaw and hit the pause button again, Buffy the Vampire Slayer coming back to life. "Because there's no such thing as wererabbits--just like you said."
Too bad in my mind, I saw the old guy's buck teeth again, only this time, they were stained with blood.
Showing posts with label Flash Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Flash Fiction. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
2 AM Fix
This story inspired by "2 AM (Breathe)" by Anna Nalick
.
.
I’m staring at the flickering lights on the television, certain they make pictures but not coherent enough to care what they are. Blue. Red. Yellow. White. Black. Colors without form, without meaning. In the midst of taking a drink, the phone rings and my hand shakes, making the ice clink against the sides of the glass. The tang of vodka rises and I suck in a deep breath before setting it down to get the phone.
“Hello.”
“JC, it’s me.”
Dust puffs into the air as my head falls back against the seat cushion. “It’s two in the morning, Lacey.”
“I messed up. I need your help.”
Of course you do. Why else would you call? I raise the glass of vodka, staring into its depths as it reflects the firelight, bending it into shapes…into ghosts. My lips twist into a sneer and I drain the glass, banishing the dead back to the Hell where they belong. “Where?”
“315 Parson Street. Thank you.” Her sigh of relief skips from cell tower to cell tower until it breathes in my ear.
I want to reach through the phone and strangle her. With what she’s asking of me, she shouldn’t get to feel relief. I sure as fuck won’t. But I can’t deny her, and she knows it. Bitch saves my life once and I pay forever. “On my way.” I click off the phone before she can say anything else.
More vodka would make this so much easier, dull my senses, but I can’t risk it. I don’t know what she’s sending me up against. I could have asked, but the less I know, the better I’ll sleep.
My bag slouches next to the door like it’s trying to hide—to disappear through the floorboards. As if that would make a difference. No can do, Lacey. You see, my tools…they just up and vanished. Can’t help you this time. If I said that, I’d just end up with new stuff—things that didn’t fit my hands as well. I shrug on my coat, pick up the simple black bag, and head into the night.
Snow gathers in my hair and the wind bites at my exposed skin as I stand outside 315 Parsons Street. There is a gentle glow from inside, like the entire house is lit by candles. What sort of creature lurks in the near dark?
As I realize the answer, a chill finally settles into my bones. I drag a cross from the bag and drape the chain over my head before fishing out a stake and some holy water. Lacey really did it this time. I stare at the door, wondering how to best enter, and realize I’m probably not going to survive this time.
My heartbeat slows and the chill dissipates as a smile crosses my face. This is for the best. I’ll go out fighting and finally be free of this stupid bond. Time to be bold then.
I race at the door, throwing my shoulder against it. The lock pops open and I fly into a dimly lit foyer. It is indeed candles lighting the front room. The man seated there rises to his feet, consternation writ in the line across his forehead. The simple wrinkle gives me pause.
“What are you doing in my house?” His voice is clear and strong. Dangerous.
I meet his eyes, allowing malice to fill mine. “Lacey Burton sent me.”
He has the audacity to look surprised as I leap at him, both our bodies falling against the couch and overturning it. The holy water slips from my hand, the bottle shattering on the floor. With a snarl, I raise the stake, but before I can strike, he’s flipped me over onto my back.
And then a greater fear than death hits me. What if he turns me? Life eternal. Haunted by ghosts forever.
Faces flash through my mind before I finally settle on the angry gray eyes of the man leaning over me.
No. I can’t.
Adrenaline courses through me, snapping everything into crystal clarity as I wrestle my arm free. His mouth is opening as I plunge the stake home.
His body rolls off me and I lie there for a second, panting. Then I go to my knees, wondering why he hasn’t turned to dust. Or is that just a myth? I kneel in the pool of blood to check his teeth. White, with one slightly crooked incisor, but definitely not abnormally pointed.
But he is also definitely dead. I’ll have to ask Lacey what he was so I know what else dies from a stake through the heart.
A small scuffing noise reaches my ears and I turn around. A child, no more than seven, crouches in the doorway, a worn stuffed bear dangling from her grip. One of its eyes missing, the hole sewn over in a jagged X. “Daddy?” she whimpers.
I swallow hard and will myself to disappear. I don’t have to ask Lacey now. I know the answer. A stake through the heart will kill a man, no matter what he has in his house to protect.
And I know there is one ghost that I’ll never be able to banish with a thought. The wide gray eyes staring at me from the doorway, so like her father’s, will haunt me forever.
.
.
.
.
Other than the first line, the song doesn't correlate to the story, but it is beautiful. Give it a listen here or buy it here (though I honestly recommend the whole cd).
.
.
I’m staring at the flickering lights on the television, certain they make pictures but not coherent enough to care what they are. Blue. Red. Yellow. White. Black. Colors without form, without meaning. In the midst of taking a drink, the phone rings and my hand shakes, making the ice clink against the sides of the glass. The tang of vodka rises and I suck in a deep breath before setting it down to get the phone.
“Hello.”
“JC, it’s me.”
Dust puffs into the air as my head falls back against the seat cushion. “It’s two in the morning, Lacey.”
“I messed up. I need your help.”
Of course you do. Why else would you call? I raise the glass of vodka, staring into its depths as it reflects the firelight, bending it into shapes…into ghosts. My lips twist into a sneer and I drain the glass, banishing the dead back to the Hell where they belong. “Where?”
“315 Parson Street. Thank you.” Her sigh of relief skips from cell tower to cell tower until it breathes in my ear.
I want to reach through the phone and strangle her. With what she’s asking of me, she shouldn’t get to feel relief. I sure as fuck won’t. But I can’t deny her, and she knows it. Bitch saves my life once and I pay forever. “On my way.” I click off the phone before she can say anything else.
More vodka would make this so much easier, dull my senses, but I can’t risk it. I don’t know what she’s sending me up against. I could have asked, but the less I know, the better I’ll sleep.
My bag slouches next to the door like it’s trying to hide—to disappear through the floorboards. As if that would make a difference. No can do, Lacey. You see, my tools…they just up and vanished. Can’t help you this time. If I said that, I’d just end up with new stuff—things that didn’t fit my hands as well. I shrug on my coat, pick up the simple black bag, and head into the night.
Snow gathers in my hair and the wind bites at my exposed skin as I stand outside 315 Parsons Street. There is a gentle glow from inside, like the entire house is lit by candles. What sort of creature lurks in the near dark?
As I realize the answer, a chill finally settles into my bones. I drag a cross from the bag and drape the chain over my head before fishing out a stake and some holy water. Lacey really did it this time. I stare at the door, wondering how to best enter, and realize I’m probably not going to survive this time.
My heartbeat slows and the chill dissipates as a smile crosses my face. This is for the best. I’ll go out fighting and finally be free of this stupid bond. Time to be bold then.
I race at the door, throwing my shoulder against it. The lock pops open and I fly into a dimly lit foyer. It is indeed candles lighting the front room. The man seated there rises to his feet, consternation writ in the line across his forehead. The simple wrinkle gives me pause.
“What are you doing in my house?” His voice is clear and strong. Dangerous.
I meet his eyes, allowing malice to fill mine. “Lacey Burton sent me.”
He has the audacity to look surprised as I leap at him, both our bodies falling against the couch and overturning it. The holy water slips from my hand, the bottle shattering on the floor. With a snarl, I raise the stake, but before I can strike, he’s flipped me over onto my back.
And then a greater fear than death hits me. What if he turns me? Life eternal. Haunted by ghosts forever.
Faces flash through my mind before I finally settle on the angry gray eyes of the man leaning over me.
No. I can’t.
Adrenaline courses through me, snapping everything into crystal clarity as I wrestle my arm free. His mouth is opening as I plunge the stake home.
His body rolls off me and I lie there for a second, panting. Then I go to my knees, wondering why he hasn’t turned to dust. Or is that just a myth? I kneel in the pool of blood to check his teeth. White, with one slightly crooked incisor, but definitely not abnormally pointed.
But he is also definitely dead. I’ll have to ask Lacey what he was so I know what else dies from a stake through the heart.
A small scuffing noise reaches my ears and I turn around. A child, no more than seven, crouches in the doorway, a worn stuffed bear dangling from her grip. One of its eyes missing, the hole sewn over in a jagged X. “Daddy?” she whimpers.
I swallow hard and will myself to disappear. I don’t have to ask Lacey now. I know the answer. A stake through the heart will kill a man, no matter what he has in his house to protect.
And I know there is one ghost that I’ll never be able to banish with a thought. The wide gray eyes staring at me from the doorway, so like her father’s, will haunt me forever.
.
.
.
.
Other than the first line, the song doesn't correlate to the story, but it is beautiful. Give it a listen here or buy it here (though I honestly recommend the whole cd).
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Song of the Sea
Death came for me not on black wings, but white. Sunlight reflected off the water and forced my eyes mostly shut again. The infernal gull didn’t care if I was awake or not. Apparently, breathing and heartbeat didn’t matter—I was as good as dead. So it poked at my head, searching for some tasty morsel.
When it targeted one of my eyes, I swung at it. The bird flew off, but the motion upset the wood keeping me afloat. It flipped and sent me under the water, a swell arching over my head as I clawed for the surface. Sputtering, I broke through to the air again. I clutched the wood with both hands and cursed the heavy skirts tangling about my legs, weighing me down.
The ocean stretched in every direction—blue and empty. If any of the others survived the wreckage, I couldn’t see them. In fact, I couldn’t see the deadly rocks either.
I didn’t care.
I was free.
And they deserved to die.
Sadly, God might well have the same fate in mind for me.
I drifted in the middle of the sea, unable to swim, clinging to an unstable float. And weighed down by skirts I couldn’t remove without releasing the board and sinking into the water where I would drown. With every passing second, my thirst grew and the sun beat down upon my once alabaster skin. My flesh tightened painfully and turned an angry shade of red.
But that agony dulled beside my desperate thirst. I tried holding seawater in my mouth, hoping it would help. Even without swallowing, all it did was fuel my craving. I spat it out and cursed the vast, undrinkable ocean.
The sound of my voice made my skull throb and I closed my eyes again. When my head began to spin, even in the darkness, I forced myself to stare at the sea. I couldn’t afford to fall asleep or faint. So I focused on a tiny speck on the horizon that bobbed into view with the undulations of the water.
Another survivor?
The rocks?
I didn’t hear any singing, but that didn’t mean anything.
Over the hours, the speck grew smaller then larger once more—its size ebbing and flowing like the tide.
White flakes began to dance in my vision.
Snow.
I stuck my tongue out, desperate for the tiny drops of moisture.
Nothing.
When my tongue began burning in the sun, I gave up. Everywhere I turned, I saw snow, but none of its chilly wetness touched me. My lips cracked as a hoarse scream wrenched from my throat. Blood welled in the cut; I sucked on it until it stopped flowing. Not enough. The only thing the salty-sweet taste managed was to remind me what moisture felt like.
I stared at my arms. I couldn’t release the board, but perhaps…
Without allowing time to reconsider, I bit down on my wrist as hard as I could. The pain was just one more agony on top of so many others. My teeth tore at the burned flesh, releasing fluid from beneath the blisters. I lapped at it until I’d consumed every drop.
No denying it. The speck on the horizon had grown. I blinked, trying to clear the snow from my vision, but it only served to make the world tip again.
Too tired to try for another section of my arm, I sealed my lips around the wound, praying a few more precious drops would coat my tongue. I stared at the water, watching as it lapped at the edge of my board, caressing it then withdrawing—the bizarre mating ritual of boat and sea.
The snowy expanse of ocean blurred at the edges and sinuous creatures burst from the water, their bodies dancing to a whispered song. Their tails splashed as they dove back in, dousing me in salt spray. Mermaids. The people of the deep. They’d lived in my dreams since childhood—appropriate they would be with me now.
I smiled and allowed my eyes drift shut, fading to almost-sleep on the strains of an imagined song.
The board shifted under me, and my eyes flew open. A ship passed so close its gentle wake pushed my float aside. Then another block of wood splashed next to me—this one attached to a rope.
Rescue.
I reached for the wood but slipped into the sea. A grinning face flashed past mine, followed by a stream of glittering scales. Then a surge pushed me back to the surface just as my lungs threatened to burst. I clutched at the wood, wrapping my burnt arms around the rope. It jerked, and I found myself flying through the air to land on a rough wooden deck.
Glancing up to thank my rescuers, I gaped at the sight of unwashed bodies, shining earrings, missing teeth, and the odd eye patch. Pirates.
Not more pirates.
Fingers bit into my arms and yanked me upright. “Aye, lads, I’ve told ye before—ye ne’er know what you’ll fish out of the drink.” The captain’s putrid breath washed over my face. “So how’d a morsel like you find its way here?”
I peeled my tongue from the roof of my mouth and tried not to breathe. “I was taken by another ship intent on selling me to slavers.”
The captain raised a brow. “Not our plan for you, is it, boys?” A chorus of grunts told me exactly what their plan entailed. The captain rubbed at his beard, his eyes glittering hungrily. “That other ship still around, lass?”
The curious song met my ears again, and I caught the shimmer of scales in the water, heading away from the setting sun and toward the rocks I’d lost sight of until now. My lips split anew as they spread in a quiet smile. “Yes. When I last saw them, they were headed that way.” I pointed toward the rocks and the sirens waiting among them.
When it targeted one of my eyes, I swung at it. The bird flew off, but the motion upset the wood keeping me afloat. It flipped and sent me under the water, a swell arching over my head as I clawed for the surface. Sputtering, I broke through to the air again. I clutched the wood with both hands and cursed the heavy skirts tangling about my legs, weighing me down.
The ocean stretched in every direction—blue and empty. If any of the others survived the wreckage, I couldn’t see them. In fact, I couldn’t see the deadly rocks either.
I didn’t care.
I was free.
And they deserved to die.
Sadly, God might well have the same fate in mind for me.
I drifted in the middle of the sea, unable to swim, clinging to an unstable float. And weighed down by skirts I couldn’t remove without releasing the board and sinking into the water where I would drown. With every passing second, my thirst grew and the sun beat down upon my once alabaster skin. My flesh tightened painfully and turned an angry shade of red.
But that agony dulled beside my desperate thirst. I tried holding seawater in my mouth, hoping it would help. Even without swallowing, all it did was fuel my craving. I spat it out and cursed the vast, undrinkable ocean.
The sound of my voice made my skull throb and I closed my eyes again. When my head began to spin, even in the darkness, I forced myself to stare at the sea. I couldn’t afford to fall asleep or faint. So I focused on a tiny speck on the horizon that bobbed into view with the undulations of the water.
Another survivor?
The rocks?
I didn’t hear any singing, but that didn’t mean anything.
Over the hours, the speck grew smaller then larger once more—its size ebbing and flowing like the tide.
White flakes began to dance in my vision.
Snow.
I stuck my tongue out, desperate for the tiny drops of moisture.
Nothing.
When my tongue began burning in the sun, I gave up. Everywhere I turned, I saw snow, but none of its chilly wetness touched me. My lips cracked as a hoarse scream wrenched from my throat. Blood welled in the cut; I sucked on it until it stopped flowing. Not enough. The only thing the salty-sweet taste managed was to remind me what moisture felt like.
I stared at my arms. I couldn’t release the board, but perhaps…
Without allowing time to reconsider, I bit down on my wrist as hard as I could. The pain was just one more agony on top of so many others. My teeth tore at the burned flesh, releasing fluid from beneath the blisters. I lapped at it until I’d consumed every drop.
No denying it. The speck on the horizon had grown. I blinked, trying to clear the snow from my vision, but it only served to make the world tip again.
Too tired to try for another section of my arm, I sealed my lips around the wound, praying a few more precious drops would coat my tongue. I stared at the water, watching as it lapped at the edge of my board, caressing it then withdrawing—the bizarre mating ritual of boat and sea.
The snowy expanse of ocean blurred at the edges and sinuous creatures burst from the water, their bodies dancing to a whispered song. Their tails splashed as they dove back in, dousing me in salt spray. Mermaids. The people of the deep. They’d lived in my dreams since childhood—appropriate they would be with me now.
I smiled and allowed my eyes drift shut, fading to almost-sleep on the strains of an imagined song.
The board shifted under me, and my eyes flew open. A ship passed so close its gentle wake pushed my float aside. Then another block of wood splashed next to me—this one attached to a rope.
Rescue.
I reached for the wood but slipped into the sea. A grinning face flashed past mine, followed by a stream of glittering scales. Then a surge pushed me back to the surface just as my lungs threatened to burst. I clutched at the wood, wrapping my burnt arms around the rope. It jerked, and I found myself flying through the air to land on a rough wooden deck.
Glancing up to thank my rescuers, I gaped at the sight of unwashed bodies, shining earrings, missing teeth, and the odd eye patch. Pirates.
Not more pirates.
Fingers bit into my arms and yanked me upright. “Aye, lads, I’ve told ye before—ye ne’er know what you’ll fish out of the drink.” The captain’s putrid breath washed over my face. “So how’d a morsel like you find its way here?”
I peeled my tongue from the roof of my mouth and tried not to breathe. “I was taken by another ship intent on selling me to slavers.”
The captain raised a brow. “Not our plan for you, is it, boys?” A chorus of grunts told me exactly what their plan entailed. The captain rubbed at his beard, his eyes glittering hungrily. “That other ship still around, lass?”
The curious song met my ears again, and I caught the shimmer of scales in the water, heading away from the setting sun and toward the rocks I’d lost sight of until now. My lips split anew as they spread in a quiet smile. “Yes. When I last saw them, they were headed that way.” I pointed toward the rocks and the sirens waiting among them.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Acceptance: Just a Man
This week marks the last in my series on grief. The timing on this is perfect for me, and oddly enough, the character I chose (weeks ago) for this installment is one whose general attitude about life is one I aspire to. She’s Ever, the heroine of my upcoming steampunk/alt-history romance novella Badlands.
.
.
Acceptance: Just a Man
.
Ever paced the length of her mother’s rooms, a faint cloud of dust from her clothes following in her wake. Her eyes flicked to the window, judging the length of the shadows outside, and she clenched her jaw. She had work to do. Whatever this was about, it had better be important.
At last, her mother swept into the room in a swirl of sheer skirts, her face a stoic mask. “Everette, your clothes. Could you not--"
“I was on duty, Mother.”
A sigh shuddered from her mother’s mouth and she laid her palms on her dresser and leaned against it. “Close the door, please.”
Ever sucked in a deep breath to hold back the irritated retort threatening to escape her lips as she strode over and sealed the room. “All right, Mother, what is it that requires such secrecy?”
“Not secrecy, dear,” she said, her voice tired and quiet. “Privacy.” She squared her shoulders and crossed the room to take Ever’s hands.
Ever stared at their entwined fingers, hers rough and callused from years hunting on the borders, her mothers soft…beautiful.
“It’s about your father.”
Jerking her hands back, Ever narrowed her eyes as rage bubbled up inside her. “He’s back?”
“Do not make that face. Your father is…was a good man.” Her mother raised a trembling hand to brush Ever’s long waves back from her face. “He’s dead.”
“Tell me what information we have on his murderer.” She strode toward the door. This at least made sense. She hunted criminals every day. One more would be no different. “I’ll get one of my squads on it immediately.”
Gentle pressure on her shoulder stopped her before she opened the heavy door. “Child, he was not murdered. His horse threw him. He hit his head on a rock and…” The words were strangled by a sob.
Ever shook her head, confused. “And you wish me to…kill the horse?”
Her mother stepped in front of her, blue eyes searching hers. For what, Ever didn’t know. “He died, Everette. I want you to stay with me. To mourn with me.”
“Men die in the Badlands every day, Mother. Many of them by my hand. Why should I mourn this one?”
“He was your father!”
“And still just a man. One I barely knew. He was never part of my life.” Not a complaint, merely a statement of fact. Like other men not residing within the confines of prison cells, her father had worked in the fields or the mines, or…somewhere. Ever didn’t care. She hadn’t wanted anything from him since he left.
Her mother’s hand caressed her cheek. “But he is part of you. Isn’t that reason enough to mourn his passing?”
Pain rose in Ever’s skull as she frowned and stepped toward the door. “You may do what you wish with his memory, Mother, but I am still here and whole. I have lost nothing with his passing.” Wood scraped on wood, protesting as she yanked the door open. “I have work to do.”
As she rode her horse over the rough, desert terrain, Ever’s mind drifted back to her childhood.
She was playing with a pair of wooden horses when a shadow darkened the doorway and drew her gaze. “Papa!
Her father opened his arms wide, and Ever raced to him, throwing herself against his broad chest. His arms wrapped around her, warm and strong as he kissed her hair. “I cannot stay anymore, child.”
Ever’s face scrunched. “What do you mean?”
His voice whispered like a breeze through her hair. “I told you one day I would have to leave, that I couldn’t stay with you and your mother forever. It is not the way things are done.”
Balling her hands into fists, Ever shoved against him. “No”
“I am sorry, Ever. I didn’t want to go without saying goodbye.” He leaned down to kiss her again.
“No!” She raced back into the room, certain if she didn’t say goodbye, he wouldn’t leave.
Sadness darkened his face as he backed out of the doorway.
Ever tried to shake off the memory, but her head began to throb. She pressed the heel of one hand against it; she needed her wits about her. One of the criminals sent across the border had been terrorizing a group of settlements. Her troops had been searching for him for two days, and he was far more likely to kill her than surrender. At last, a familiar shape caught her attention and she swung from the horse, urging it toward the others with a swat on its hindquarters.
The curvy brunette she had spotted stepped from between the boulders and strode forward. “Commander.”
Ever nodded at Catherine, her second-in-command. “Has he been captured?”
Catherine shook her head, tendrils of hair catching in the desert breeze. “No, but we are closing in on him. The women should have him flushed out of hiding by nightfall.”
“Good. We have wasted too much time on this one already.”
Before the last word had left her mouth, Ever caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Bulk, moving fast, with something raised overhead. Without thought, she pulled her pistol, whipped around and fired.
The man’s eyes were wide as the axe tumbled from his fingers and he fell backward, blood pouring from the hole in his face.
Ever crossed the ground between them and kicked at the fallen man’s body. “This is him?”
From the other side of the dead man, Catherine said, “He matches the description. I will fetch someone to confirm.” With that, the brunette was lost in a swirl of dust.
Her head throbbing, Ever examined the man. Perhaps fifty, with hair graying at the temples, tall, muscular build—much like her father would have had by now. He stared back at her with pale green eyes that mocked her darker ones.
Hands pressed to her temples, she backed away as something wet formed a path down her cheek. She glanced at the bright, clear sky, blinking against the sunshine.
Another wet trail blazed down her skin and she wiped the teardrop away, staring as it evaporated in the heat. The pain in her skull abated slightly as another tear fell. She glanced at the body lying in front of her, seeing not a criminal…just a man.
She squared her shoulders, the ache in her head abating. “Goodbye, Father.”
Then she turned to await Catherine’s return. Her heart at peace.
.
.
Acceptance: Just a Man
.
Ever paced the length of her mother’s rooms, a faint cloud of dust from her clothes following in her wake. Her eyes flicked to the window, judging the length of the shadows outside, and she clenched her jaw. She had work to do. Whatever this was about, it had better be important.
At last, her mother swept into the room in a swirl of sheer skirts, her face a stoic mask. “Everette, your clothes. Could you not--"
“I was on duty, Mother.”
A sigh shuddered from her mother’s mouth and she laid her palms on her dresser and leaned against it. “Close the door, please.”
Ever sucked in a deep breath to hold back the irritated retort threatening to escape her lips as she strode over and sealed the room. “All right, Mother, what is it that requires such secrecy?”
“Not secrecy, dear,” she said, her voice tired and quiet. “Privacy.” She squared her shoulders and crossed the room to take Ever’s hands.
Ever stared at their entwined fingers, hers rough and callused from years hunting on the borders, her mothers soft…beautiful.
“It’s about your father.”
Jerking her hands back, Ever narrowed her eyes as rage bubbled up inside her. “He’s back?”
“Do not make that face. Your father is…was a good man.” Her mother raised a trembling hand to brush Ever’s long waves back from her face. “He’s dead.”
“Tell me what information we have on his murderer.” She strode toward the door. This at least made sense. She hunted criminals every day. One more would be no different. “I’ll get one of my squads on it immediately.”
Gentle pressure on her shoulder stopped her before she opened the heavy door. “Child, he was not murdered. His horse threw him. He hit his head on a rock and…” The words were strangled by a sob.
Ever shook her head, confused. “And you wish me to…kill the horse?”
Her mother stepped in front of her, blue eyes searching hers. For what, Ever didn’t know. “He died, Everette. I want you to stay with me. To mourn with me.”
“Men die in the Badlands every day, Mother. Many of them by my hand. Why should I mourn this one?”
“He was your father!”
“And still just a man. One I barely knew. He was never part of my life.” Not a complaint, merely a statement of fact. Like other men not residing within the confines of prison cells, her father had worked in the fields or the mines, or…somewhere. Ever didn’t care. She hadn’t wanted anything from him since he left.
Her mother’s hand caressed her cheek. “But he is part of you. Isn’t that reason enough to mourn his passing?”
Pain rose in Ever’s skull as she frowned and stepped toward the door. “You may do what you wish with his memory, Mother, but I am still here and whole. I have lost nothing with his passing.” Wood scraped on wood, protesting as she yanked the door open. “I have work to do.”
As she rode her horse over the rough, desert terrain, Ever’s mind drifted back to her childhood.
She was playing with a pair of wooden horses when a shadow darkened the doorway and drew her gaze. “Papa!
Her father opened his arms wide, and Ever raced to him, throwing herself against his broad chest. His arms wrapped around her, warm and strong as he kissed her hair. “I cannot stay anymore, child.”
Ever’s face scrunched. “What do you mean?”
His voice whispered like a breeze through her hair. “I told you one day I would have to leave, that I couldn’t stay with you and your mother forever. It is not the way things are done.”
Balling her hands into fists, Ever shoved against him. “No”
“I am sorry, Ever. I didn’t want to go without saying goodbye.” He leaned down to kiss her again.
“No!” She raced back into the room, certain if she didn’t say goodbye, he wouldn’t leave.
Sadness darkened his face as he backed out of the doorway.
Ever tried to shake off the memory, but her head began to throb. She pressed the heel of one hand against it; she needed her wits about her. One of the criminals sent across the border had been terrorizing a group of settlements. Her troops had been searching for him for two days, and he was far more likely to kill her than surrender. At last, a familiar shape caught her attention and she swung from the horse, urging it toward the others with a swat on its hindquarters.
The curvy brunette she had spotted stepped from between the boulders and strode forward. “Commander.”
Ever nodded at Catherine, her second-in-command. “Has he been captured?”
Catherine shook her head, tendrils of hair catching in the desert breeze. “No, but we are closing in on him. The women should have him flushed out of hiding by nightfall.”
“Good. We have wasted too much time on this one already.”
Before the last word had left her mouth, Ever caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Bulk, moving fast, with something raised overhead. Without thought, she pulled her pistol, whipped around and fired.
The man’s eyes were wide as the axe tumbled from his fingers and he fell backward, blood pouring from the hole in his face.
Ever crossed the ground between them and kicked at the fallen man’s body. “This is him?”
From the other side of the dead man, Catherine said, “He matches the description. I will fetch someone to confirm.” With that, the brunette was lost in a swirl of dust.
Her head throbbing, Ever examined the man. Perhaps fifty, with hair graying at the temples, tall, muscular build—much like her father would have had by now. He stared back at her with pale green eyes that mocked her darker ones.
Hands pressed to her temples, she backed away as something wet formed a path down her cheek. She glanced at the bright, clear sky, blinking against the sunshine.
Another wet trail blazed down her skin and she wiped the teardrop away, staring as it evaporated in the heat. The pain in her skull abated slightly as another tear fell. She glanced at the body lying in front of her, seeing not a criminal…just a man.
She squared her shoulders, the ache in her head abating. “Goodbye, Father.”
Then she turned to await Catherine’s return. Her heart at peace.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Anger: Over You
Hi everyone! I'm back to my series on the stages of grief. This one passed with one of my awesome OWG Rebel friends, so I figured I should post it before I started second-guessing myself. Unlike the rest of the pieces, this one comes from a character in the YA urban fantasy novel (Pretty Souls) I have coming out soon under my other name. This story actually takes place right around the beginning of what would be book 4 in that series (and might even end up included in the manuscript when I get that far). I had to be really careful not to include stuff that would be spoilery for the novel. I hope you enjoy this taste of Elle, my favorite teenage werewolf :)
Anger: Over You
I clicked the phone off and threw it on my bed hard enough it bounced twice before landing.
“Still no answer?” my foster sister Cass asked from the desk as she poked at keys on the laptop.
“No. He isn’t picking up. Isn’t responding to texts. It’s been two weeks.” I stalked across the room, wanting to throw something else.
Cass lobbed a stuffed rabbit at me, and I snatched it out of the air. “I get that you miss him, Elle, but he warned you he’d be off the grid for a while.”
I wanted to rip the damn bunny’s ears off. Instead I chucked it at the wall with all my strength. It hit our striped wallpaper with an unsatisfying thump and slid to the floor, still grinning. Mocking me. “He’s been gone for almost two months, Cass. Two months! All that time I got vague phone calls and texts that said nothing. He’s fine. He’ll be back soon. Of course he misses me. Maybe it’d be different if we’d been in a great spot when he left, but he wasn’t exactly all here then either.”
“Stop it.” She shoved the chair back, legs rubbing against the carpet, like nails on a chalkboard to my werewolf hearing. The next thing I knew, five-foot-nothing of platinum blonde cheerleader was right in my face. “He’s loves you. He just needs time to deal with—”
Still wanting to lash out, I balled my hands into fists to keep from shoving her out of my way. “I gave him time, Cass. I gave him three months. And then he left. He walked out.”
She laughed and her lips twisted into a sneer. “His grandmother was dying. Of course he left. You need to stop this. You’re being stupid. He loves you.” Like it would do any good, she reached out and ran her hand up and down my arm.
My voice came out tight and quiet. “Then why doesn’t he say it?”
“What?”
I bit my lip, trying to keep from crying. I didn’t want to cry over him anymore. I was done with that. “In all this time he’s been gone, not once, Cass. Not in a call, or a text, or an email. Hugs and kisses maybe. If I’m lucky. But love? I think he stopped loving me a long time ago. I’ve just been too blind to see it and holding onto him anyway.”
Cass dropped her hand and took a step back, tipping her head up like she needed to see me clearer. “Elle, what did you do?”
As I stared at the phone on my bed, all I could think was that people who said breaking up long-distance was easy were full of shit. Unless they’d never cared at all. Then maybe it wouldn’t hurt. “I decided to see again.”
Her fingers brushed my arm as I turned and headed out the door of our bedroom, but she didn’t try to stop me.
The beast inside me howled a mournful song as she guided me out of our neighborhood. I didn’t fight her; I was still too hurt to see straight. All this time I’d believed in him, believed in us. That we were strong enough to move past the stupid roadblock thrown our way. But he didn’t want to. He’d made that abundantly clear by taking off. For all I knew, he’d already moved on to someone else out west and was just waiting to come back and break it to me. Maybe making plans to go to college out there. I squeezed my eyes shut against the image of his face and crooked smile.
When I opened them, I found the beast had led me to the park. With a sigh, I sat down on one of the swings. The chains creaked overhead, the sound an angry screeching in the calm spring air.
“Need a push?”
I almost jumped at the voice behind me. Neither the beast nor I had heard him approach, but the guy I’d seen pounding up the court during basketball season stood right there, all sandy brown hair and green eyes. Cass had introduced us once, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember his name. Kane. Lane…
“Hello? Earth to Elle. We met after regionals? I’m Zane.”
That was it. “Hi, Zane. Sorry, you just spooked me.” I twisted the swing around to see him better, tugging long strands of hair from my face. Like me, he wore only a t-shirt and jeans, even though it was definitely chilly enough for a jacket, his muscles long and lean as they held the chains over my head. For some reason that made me shiver.
He smiled and it lit up his face. “Don’t get spooked often, do you?”
A laugh bubbled up inside me. “No, I don’t.” Then the wind shifted, and his scent hit the beast and me full force. My nostrils flared and eyes went wide as I met his unblinking gaze.
Rosemary. Grass. Trees. Dirt.
Werewolf.
He leaned down, his face hovering an inch away from mine. “Got you again.”
And he had too. I was frozen under the weight of his twinkling eyes and the headiness of his scent.
I gave my now ex-boyfriend a fleeting thought but clenched my jaw tight against it. If he was moving on, then damn it so could I. Screw him. And screw the tears the tried to spring up in my eyes.
With the beast already straining toward his scent, I closed the distance separating me from Zane.
Anger: Over You
I clicked the phone off and threw it on my bed hard enough it bounced twice before landing.
“Still no answer?” my foster sister Cass asked from the desk as she poked at keys on the laptop.
“No. He isn’t picking up. Isn’t responding to texts. It’s been two weeks.” I stalked across the room, wanting to throw something else.
Cass lobbed a stuffed rabbit at me, and I snatched it out of the air. “I get that you miss him, Elle, but he warned you he’d be off the grid for a while.”
I wanted to rip the damn bunny’s ears off. Instead I chucked it at the wall with all my strength. It hit our striped wallpaper with an unsatisfying thump and slid to the floor, still grinning. Mocking me. “He’s been gone for almost two months, Cass. Two months! All that time I got vague phone calls and texts that said nothing. He’s fine. He’ll be back soon. Of course he misses me. Maybe it’d be different if we’d been in a great spot when he left, but he wasn’t exactly all here then either.”
“Stop it.” She shoved the chair back, legs rubbing against the carpet, like nails on a chalkboard to my werewolf hearing. The next thing I knew, five-foot-nothing of platinum blonde cheerleader was right in my face. “He’s loves you. He just needs time to deal with—”
Still wanting to lash out, I balled my hands into fists to keep from shoving her out of my way. “I gave him time, Cass. I gave him three months. And then he left. He walked out.”
She laughed and her lips twisted into a sneer. “His grandmother was dying. Of course he left. You need to stop this. You’re being stupid. He loves you.” Like it would do any good, she reached out and ran her hand up and down my arm.
My voice came out tight and quiet. “Then why doesn’t he say it?”
“What?”
I bit my lip, trying to keep from crying. I didn’t want to cry over him anymore. I was done with that. “In all this time he’s been gone, not once, Cass. Not in a call, or a text, or an email. Hugs and kisses maybe. If I’m lucky. But love? I think he stopped loving me a long time ago. I’ve just been too blind to see it and holding onto him anyway.”
Cass dropped her hand and took a step back, tipping her head up like she needed to see me clearer. “Elle, what did you do?”
As I stared at the phone on my bed, all I could think was that people who said breaking up long-distance was easy were full of shit. Unless they’d never cared at all. Then maybe it wouldn’t hurt. “I decided to see again.”
Her fingers brushed my arm as I turned and headed out the door of our bedroom, but she didn’t try to stop me.
The beast inside me howled a mournful song as she guided me out of our neighborhood. I didn’t fight her; I was still too hurt to see straight. All this time I’d believed in him, believed in us. That we were strong enough to move past the stupid roadblock thrown our way. But he didn’t want to. He’d made that abundantly clear by taking off. For all I knew, he’d already moved on to someone else out west and was just waiting to come back and break it to me. Maybe making plans to go to college out there. I squeezed my eyes shut against the image of his face and crooked smile.
When I opened them, I found the beast had led me to the park. With a sigh, I sat down on one of the swings. The chains creaked overhead, the sound an angry screeching in the calm spring air.
“Need a push?”
I almost jumped at the voice behind me. Neither the beast nor I had heard him approach, but the guy I’d seen pounding up the court during basketball season stood right there, all sandy brown hair and green eyes. Cass had introduced us once, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember his name. Kane. Lane…
“Hello? Earth to Elle. We met after regionals? I’m Zane.”
That was it. “Hi, Zane. Sorry, you just spooked me.” I twisted the swing around to see him better, tugging long strands of hair from my face. Like me, he wore only a t-shirt and jeans, even though it was definitely chilly enough for a jacket, his muscles long and lean as they held the chains over my head. For some reason that made me shiver.
He smiled and it lit up his face. “Don’t get spooked often, do you?”
A laugh bubbled up inside me. “No, I don’t.” Then the wind shifted, and his scent hit the beast and me full force. My nostrils flared and eyes went wide as I met his unblinking gaze.
Rosemary. Grass. Trees. Dirt.
Werewolf.
He leaned down, his face hovering an inch away from mine. “Got you again.”
And he had too. I was frozen under the weight of his twinkling eyes and the headiness of his scent.
I gave my now ex-boyfriend a fleeting thought but clenched my jaw tight against it. If he was moving on, then damn it so could I. Screw him. And screw the tears the tried to spring up in my eyes.
With the beast already straining toward his scent, I closed the distance separating me from Zane.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Worse Than Death
My attempts at the next part of my series were...not working, so I decided to step away and do something different. Thanks to @Fictdoodles for the prompt! (Oddly enough, this is going to prove useful in my other writing too :) )
.
~*~*~*~
.
Worse Than Death
.
After digging out the last shard of glass from my heel, I stalked through the kitchen and into the living room. Bloody footprints trailing behind me like morbid breadcrumbs. More blood dripped onto the off-white carpet from the knife in my hand.
The stains didn’t matter. Odds were no one was in the house to care—most houses were empty now. The only ones interested in the blood were those who followed me. Fresh blood drew them like flies to honey.
If I’d had shoes left, I could have gone farther without drawing them in. Too bad my last altercation had forced me to choose between my shoes and my life. I’d kicked the sneakers off without a second thought. Anymore, pieces of glass outnumbered blades of grass, even in suburbia—my feet never stood a chance.
Time was something I couldn’t afford to waste, and I prayed luck had brought me to a house with bandages, shoes near my size, and bullets. Bullets would be good. The gun tucked into my jeans didn’t weigh nearly enough for my taste. Filling the clip or finding a new weapon tied in importance with my need for something to cover my bloody feet.
The first door in the hall opened to a bathroom. The peach towels and bright yellow tile screamed of happy times. Times too far in the past to remember without pain.
Then a flash of joy so profound I wanted to kiss someone hit when I found salve and gauze wrap in the medicine cabinet. My feet were covered as quick as I could manage. The bindings weren’t pretty, but they’d hold for a while. I tucked the rest of the salve into my pocket.
A low moaning met my ears through the window I’d cracked open. It might have just been the wind, but as fortunate as I’d been with the bandages, I knew my luck wasn’t that good. There’d been too much blood.
“Move. Find the shoes.” I stood, wincing—the pain somehow more intense now that the blood wasn’t an immediate issue.
I poked my head out of the bathroom, looking both ways and sniffing. Nothing yet. Maybe I had enough time to get out of here. Hell, maybe there was a car in the garage with gas left. No. I couldn’t allow myself the luxury of that much hope.
The next door opened to an office…with a gun safe. I staggered to it and jerked on the handle. It swung open, not latched the last time someone went into it. Too many times, I found them like that. As well as how I found this one inside—empty. Grabbing the guns as a last hope, and maybe never even having the chance to fire them before…
I shook my head hard. There were no guns or ammo. Time to move on.
Opening the third door in my search for shoes, I found something else. The missing shotgun—pointed right at me.
“What are you doing here?” The old man’s voice was steady and strong…and human.
“Oh shit. I didn’t know anyone was here. You have to get out. They’re coming—“
“Get out of my house! I won’t let you lead them to me!” Fire and fever blazed in his eyes and his hands shook, sickness and panic making him jumpy.
He needed my help even more than I needed his. When they came, he wouldn’t stand a chance. “We need to go…” I reached for the gun, and he jerked back, pulling the trigger.
My ears rang with echoes of the gunshot as I stumbled, hand pressed to the hole in my stomach. Blood gushed from the wound with other, more solid pieces of me as I fell. The stench of rotting flesh hit me as I lay in the doorway. Liquid burbled up in my throat as I tried to tell the man to shut the door and hide, but no sound came out.
Eyes wide and clear for a moment, he knelt next to me, his ear close to my face. “What’d you say?”
And then it was too late. The zombies didn’t run, but they didn’t shamble either. The man must have finally smelled them because he tried to move, but with my body in the doorway, they were on him before he even raised the shotgun again.
The screams couldn’t drown out the growls and squelching of their teeth rending his flesh. Then one of them turned and noticed me lying there. Its one remaining eye locked on me, and I knew they wouldn’t pass me over as dead. Like the old man, I’d feel them eating me.
As the zombie stood, I bit my tongue to keep from screaming. With blood filling my mouth, I raised the knife, and slid the blade across my throat.
.
~*~*~*~
.
Worse Than Death
.
After digging out the last shard of glass from my heel, I stalked through the kitchen and into the living room. Bloody footprints trailing behind me like morbid breadcrumbs. More blood dripped onto the off-white carpet from the knife in my hand.
The stains didn’t matter. Odds were no one was in the house to care—most houses were empty now. The only ones interested in the blood were those who followed me. Fresh blood drew them like flies to honey.
If I’d had shoes left, I could have gone farther without drawing them in. Too bad my last altercation had forced me to choose between my shoes and my life. I’d kicked the sneakers off without a second thought. Anymore, pieces of glass outnumbered blades of grass, even in suburbia—my feet never stood a chance.
Time was something I couldn’t afford to waste, and I prayed luck had brought me to a house with bandages, shoes near my size, and bullets. Bullets would be good. The gun tucked into my jeans didn’t weigh nearly enough for my taste. Filling the clip or finding a new weapon tied in importance with my need for something to cover my bloody feet.
The first door in the hall opened to a bathroom. The peach towels and bright yellow tile screamed of happy times. Times too far in the past to remember without pain.
Then a flash of joy so profound I wanted to kiss someone hit when I found salve and gauze wrap in the medicine cabinet. My feet were covered as quick as I could manage. The bindings weren’t pretty, but they’d hold for a while. I tucked the rest of the salve into my pocket.
A low moaning met my ears through the window I’d cracked open. It might have just been the wind, but as fortunate as I’d been with the bandages, I knew my luck wasn’t that good. There’d been too much blood.
“Move. Find the shoes.” I stood, wincing—the pain somehow more intense now that the blood wasn’t an immediate issue.
I poked my head out of the bathroom, looking both ways and sniffing. Nothing yet. Maybe I had enough time to get out of here. Hell, maybe there was a car in the garage with gas left. No. I couldn’t allow myself the luxury of that much hope.
The next door opened to an office…with a gun safe. I staggered to it and jerked on the handle. It swung open, not latched the last time someone went into it. Too many times, I found them like that. As well as how I found this one inside—empty. Grabbing the guns as a last hope, and maybe never even having the chance to fire them before…
I shook my head hard. There were no guns or ammo. Time to move on.
Opening the third door in my search for shoes, I found something else. The missing shotgun—pointed right at me.
“What are you doing here?” The old man’s voice was steady and strong…and human.
“Oh shit. I didn’t know anyone was here. You have to get out. They’re coming—“
“Get out of my house! I won’t let you lead them to me!” Fire and fever blazed in his eyes and his hands shook, sickness and panic making him jumpy.
He needed my help even more than I needed his. When they came, he wouldn’t stand a chance. “We need to go…” I reached for the gun, and he jerked back, pulling the trigger.
My ears rang with echoes of the gunshot as I stumbled, hand pressed to the hole in my stomach. Blood gushed from the wound with other, more solid pieces of me as I fell. The stench of rotting flesh hit me as I lay in the doorway. Liquid burbled up in my throat as I tried to tell the man to shut the door and hide, but no sound came out.
Eyes wide and clear for a moment, he knelt next to me, his ear close to my face. “What’d you say?”
And then it was too late. The zombies didn’t run, but they didn’t shamble either. The man must have finally smelled them because he tried to move, but with my body in the doorway, they were on him before he even raised the shotgun again.
The screams couldn’t drown out the growls and squelching of their teeth rending his flesh. Then one of them turned and noticed me lying there. Its one remaining eye locked on me, and I knew they wouldn’t pass me over as dead. Like the old man, I’d feel them eating me.
As the zombie stood, I bit my tongue to keep from screaming. With blood filling my mouth, I raised the knife, and slid the blade across my throat.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Bargaining: Devil's Bargain
Welcome back to my #FridayFlash posts and thanks for coming.
If you're new to my stuff or you didn't remember, I'm doing a series for five weeks showing the five stages of grief, each one from the perspective of a different character.
The third stage is bargaining. Only two characters came immediately to mind for this stage. Both characters come from my Blood Kissed series (Of Course I Try, The Ghost of Vampire Present, and future tales), but one of their stories would have greatly spoiled the end game of the series, so the decision was easy. We're sharing another visit with Max, but for this one, we're traveling back in time about a hundred years.
.
.
There are certain things they don’t tell you about the military when you sign up. For instance, when you’re in battle, you follow your commanding officer’s orders, even if he’s sending you to your death.
The hardest part about that is simply the knowing.
The machine gun fire ripping through your body follows as a close second.
Lying in a pile of corpses praying for death to take you isn’t too far behind either.
.
.
When darkness fell the first night and I still had some strength left, I tried to drag myself back toward the allied lines. My staunch refusal to accept that I was dying lasted until I passed out from the pain, blood filling my mouth from how hard I bit my tongue to keep from screaming.
I woke the next day to more gunfire. Always more.
Only now I’d ground dirt through my shredded uniform and into the wounds that oozed a constant stream of blood. Had I pulled myself into the damnable Somme, at least the blood would’ve run clean again. And I probably would have drowned rather than lying there, waiting for infection or blood loss to take me.
Soon, the smoke and dirt and blood blurred in my sight and images of Lily took over. My wife—standing in the kitchen over a sink full of soap bubbles, sunlight glinting her blond hair as she sloshed water all over her apron and burst into laughter.
That was the moment I realized I couldn’t die. I had to get back to her. Back to the life I’d promised when we’d said “I do.”
As the sounds of fighting quieted a bit and darkness descended again, I began whispering prayers. “God, just let me get home to Lily—let me tell her I love her one more time—and I promise to be a better man. Just let me live.” I didn’t know how long I lay there saying the same things over and over, begging for another chance at life.
Then a lightly accented voice came from right next to me where only the dead had been a moment before. “Will you really do anything to go on living?”
I opened my eyes to a night lit by the glow of the moon and the flash of gunfire. There wasn’t much to see on the ground besides shadows, but a man with long hair completely at odds with current fashion knelt beside me, utterly calm in the madness of the battlefield. “Are you an angel?”
He shifted, and I swore I could hear him smile. “Something like that. What is your name, soldier?”
“Shaw. Sergeant Maxmillian Shaw.”
“A pleasure, and you may call me Remus.” He settled on the ground next to me. “So would you truly do anything to live again? Because I must tell you, you have about five excruciating hours left otherwise.”
I didn’t bother to ponder how he’d come up with the number. “Yes! I want to go home to my wife,” I cried, my voice so weak I didn’t think he could possibly have heard me.
“It is somewhat complicated. I can save you, but you’ll have to spend some time with me before I can send you home.” He leaned closer, the soft blackness of his hair tickling my neck.
“As long as I can see her again. Make her happy.”
Remus laughed and the sound danced in the night like fireflies. “I’m afraid it won’t be quite as simple as you want. You’ll get back to her, but you will never have the life you lived before again. You will have to hide things from her, from everyone you know. Everything will change. Are you certain it’s a sacrifice you can make?”
An icy chill started to seep into my veins, burning its way through my body, and shivers wracked my frame, making every pain flare to life again. And I said what he demanded, even though I knew I’d never lie to her. “I love Lily. Of course, I’ll sacrifice whatever I have to for her.”
“I’ll say this much for you Americans, you have strange ideas about what love means. But so be it—I will save your life.” Fire lit the sky as he threw his head back. And though he may have had the face of an angel—long black hair framing sparkling, intelligent blue eyes—I found myself staring down a demon. His fangs flashed in the light, and before I could say anything, he was on me.
His teeth pierced my flesh, and for a moment new pain blossomed there, and I felt certain it had all been a trick. Some test to get into heaven that I was sure I’d failed. Then, even as I felt my heart slowing, a rich fluid filled my mouth, salty, but sweeter than anything I’d ever tasted. The moment it hit my tongue, the darkness of death retreated, leaving only hunger behind. I latched onto the thing pressed against my lips and drank and drank.
I don’t know how long I stayed there, but with every swallow, the pain lessened, and my strength returned. When at last I opened my eyes once more, I found myself not on the battlefield, but in a cave, the sun casting a circle of light near the entrance. He’d done what he promised—I was whole again. Pushing to my feet, I reached toward the light. Before the glow even touched my skin, the flesh on my fingers erupted in flames. I yanked my hand back, batting the fire away.
“Lesson number one—“ the melodic voice said from behind me, “—daylight is no longer your friend.”
Turning, I found the demon, Remus, in the recesses of the cave. His fangs gone, but the gleam in his eyes the same as I’d seen as I lay dying. And in that moment, I knew I had indeed failed the test, because I’d wakened in hell.
If you're new to my stuff or you didn't remember, I'm doing a series for five weeks showing the five stages of grief, each one from the perspective of a different character.
The third stage is bargaining. Only two characters came immediately to mind for this stage. Both characters come from my Blood Kissed series (Of Course I Try, The Ghost of Vampire Present, and future tales), but one of their stories would have greatly spoiled the end game of the series, so the decision was easy. We're sharing another visit with Max, but for this one, we're traveling back in time about a hundred years.
.
*****
.
There are certain things they don’t tell you about the military when you sign up. For instance, when you’re in battle, you follow your commanding officer’s orders, even if he’s sending you to your death.
The hardest part about that is simply the knowing.
The machine gun fire ripping through your body follows as a close second.
Lying in a pile of corpses praying for death to take you isn’t too far behind either.
.
.
When darkness fell the first night and I still had some strength left, I tried to drag myself back toward the allied lines. My staunch refusal to accept that I was dying lasted until I passed out from the pain, blood filling my mouth from how hard I bit my tongue to keep from screaming.
I woke the next day to more gunfire. Always more.
Only now I’d ground dirt through my shredded uniform and into the wounds that oozed a constant stream of blood. Had I pulled myself into the damnable Somme, at least the blood would’ve run clean again. And I probably would have drowned rather than lying there, waiting for infection or blood loss to take me.
Soon, the smoke and dirt and blood blurred in my sight and images of Lily took over. My wife—standing in the kitchen over a sink full of soap bubbles, sunlight glinting her blond hair as she sloshed water all over her apron and burst into laughter.
That was the moment I realized I couldn’t die. I had to get back to her. Back to the life I’d promised when we’d said “I do.”
As the sounds of fighting quieted a bit and darkness descended again, I began whispering prayers. “God, just let me get home to Lily—let me tell her I love her one more time—and I promise to be a better man. Just let me live.” I didn’t know how long I lay there saying the same things over and over, begging for another chance at life.
Then a lightly accented voice came from right next to me where only the dead had been a moment before. “Will you really do anything to go on living?”
I opened my eyes to a night lit by the glow of the moon and the flash of gunfire. There wasn’t much to see on the ground besides shadows, but a man with long hair completely at odds with current fashion knelt beside me, utterly calm in the madness of the battlefield. “Are you an angel?”
He shifted, and I swore I could hear him smile. “Something like that. What is your name, soldier?”
“Shaw. Sergeant Maxmillian Shaw.”
“A pleasure, and you may call me Remus.” He settled on the ground next to me. “So would you truly do anything to live again? Because I must tell you, you have about five excruciating hours left otherwise.”
I didn’t bother to ponder how he’d come up with the number. “Yes! I want to go home to my wife,” I cried, my voice so weak I didn’t think he could possibly have heard me.
“It is somewhat complicated. I can save you, but you’ll have to spend some time with me before I can send you home.” He leaned closer, the soft blackness of his hair tickling my neck.
“As long as I can see her again. Make her happy.”
Remus laughed and the sound danced in the night like fireflies. “I’m afraid it won’t be quite as simple as you want. You’ll get back to her, but you will never have the life you lived before again. You will have to hide things from her, from everyone you know. Everything will change. Are you certain it’s a sacrifice you can make?”
An icy chill started to seep into my veins, burning its way through my body, and shivers wracked my frame, making every pain flare to life again. And I said what he demanded, even though I knew I’d never lie to her. “I love Lily. Of course, I’ll sacrifice whatever I have to for her.”
“I’ll say this much for you Americans, you have strange ideas about what love means. But so be it—I will save your life.” Fire lit the sky as he threw his head back. And though he may have had the face of an angel—long black hair framing sparkling, intelligent blue eyes—I found myself staring down a demon. His fangs flashed in the light, and before I could say anything, he was on me.
His teeth pierced my flesh, and for a moment new pain blossomed there, and I felt certain it had all been a trick. Some test to get into heaven that I was sure I’d failed. Then, even as I felt my heart slowing, a rich fluid filled my mouth, salty, but sweeter than anything I’d ever tasted. The moment it hit my tongue, the darkness of death retreated, leaving only hunger behind. I latched onto the thing pressed against my lips and drank and drank.
I don’t know how long I stayed there, but with every swallow, the pain lessened, and my strength returned. When at last I opened my eyes once more, I found myself not on the battlefield, but in a cave, the sun casting a circle of light near the entrance. He’d done what he promised—I was whole again. Pushing to my feet, I reached toward the light. Before the glow even touched my skin, the flesh on my fingers erupted in flames. I yanked my hand back, batting the fire away.
“Lesson number one—“ the melodic voice said from behind me, “—daylight is no longer your friend.”
Turning, I found the demon, Remus, in the recesses of the cave. His fangs gone, but the gleam in his eyes the same as I’d seen as I lay dying. And in that moment, I knew I had indeed failed the test, because I’d wakened in hell.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
This Week's Schedule...
Today (Sunday): I have a post up at 30 Days of Decadence about some of my favorite off-beat holiday things. Come check it out, I'm giving away a copy of The Ghost of Vampire Present and something special for one Max fan.
Monday: Day off unless something changes (woohoo!) However, Holiday Story Time starts today at Robert's place.
Tuesday: Interview at the blog of the wonderful and funny Deanna Wadsworth(POSTPONED UNTIL NEXT WEEK!). We'll be drinking and laughing and having a good old time. Join us! AND Deanna is also doing her Holiday Story Time today!
Wednesday: I'm going to be at the Harlequin author post-party chat. I'll be popping on periodically from midnight until 10 pm so stop in and say hi :) Also today, PJ is up for Holiday Story Time!
Thursday: It's my day up for Holiday Story Time! There'll be a video of me reading an excerpt from The Ghost of Vampire Present and giving away a copy to one lucky commenter!
Friday: I'm at the Daily Dose of Decadence with ten interesting things about the Blood Kissed series. Also posting my next Friday flash in here (psstt..... it's a Max story, don't miss it!) And, Clarissa is up for the last of the Holiday Story Time videos.
Saturday: I'm on video again and babbling about the holidays over at 13 Wicked Days of Christmas. (Have I mentioned I hate being on camera? I'll probably hide under a rock again until next year LOL.) Another giveaway here of digital copy of either The Ghost of Vampire Present or 'Twas a Dark and Delicious Christmas.
Huge and busy week. I hope you are all willing to stick with me and check out all the posts and giveaways! I promise to tone it down for the rest of December ;-)
Monday: Day off unless something changes (woohoo!) However, Holiday Story Time starts today at Robert's place.
Tuesday: Interview at the blog of the wonderful and funny Deanna Wadsworth(POSTPONED UNTIL NEXT WEEK!). We'll be drinking and laughing and having a good old time. Join us! AND Deanna is also doing her Holiday Story Time today!
Wednesday: I'm going to be at the Harlequin author post-party chat. I'll be popping on periodically from midnight until 10 pm so stop in and say hi :) Also today, PJ is up for Holiday Story Time!
Thursday: It's my day up for Holiday Story Time! There'll be a video of me reading an excerpt from The Ghost of Vampire Present and giving away a copy to one lucky commenter!
Friday: I'm at the Daily Dose of Decadence with ten interesting things about the Blood Kissed series. Also posting my next Friday flash in here (psstt..... it's a Max story, don't miss it!) And, Clarissa is up for the last of the Holiday Story Time videos.
Saturday: I'm on video again and babbling about the holidays over at 13 Wicked Days of Christmas. (Have I mentioned I hate being on camera? I'll probably hide under a rock again until next year LOL.) Another giveaway here of digital copy of either The Ghost of Vampire Present or 'Twas a Dark and Delicious Christmas.
Huge and busy week. I hope you are all willing to stick with me and check out all the posts and giveaways! I promise to tone it down for the rest of December ;-)
Saturday, December 11, 2010
The Good, the Bad and the Sickie
No real post this week, sorry. Things have just been crazy. If you noticed, there was no Friday Flash, no Tuesday Teases...nothing. Yeah...
Anyway, the long and short of it is I've been sick for about a month now, still fighting this cough, intermittent fever, and other stuff, and it all finally caved in on me this week. I managed to get a couple video blogs done that'll go up before the holidays without any choking fits (WIN!), but other than that and a couple promo things, this week was a wash on me and the blogosphere. Hope you'll forgive me, but odds are I'm just going to use Tuesday Teases to point you to the other places I'm going to be during the week for the rest of December. With the holidays and stuff, I figure that's more than enough keeping up with me for people to do. I'm going to try to get back on the Friday Flash bandwagon next week though so keep an eye out for those on Thursday or Friday.
There is actually a lot of good news though. As I mentioned last week, 'Twas a Dark and Delicious Christmas is out AND it is also available in print. And just a couple days ago, The Ghost of Vampire Present came out. Both have gotten reviews already--YAY!
In other Blood Kissed news. I've received the last of the feedback from my alpha reader, so I have what I need to get started on the first round of revisions. The bad news? Until at least a little more of the sickies leave my brain, I'm not sure about tackling them yet. Don't know how long I want to leave them sitting though either. Anyway, it's one step closer to being done, which is a good thing.
So...that should update you on what's going on here. Now I'm off armed with many cough drops to see a movie with my kids.
Anyway, the long and short of it is I've been sick for about a month now, still fighting this cough, intermittent fever, and other stuff, and it all finally caved in on me this week. I managed to get a couple video blogs done that'll go up before the holidays without any choking fits (WIN!), but other than that and a couple promo things, this week was a wash on me and the blogosphere. Hope you'll forgive me, but odds are I'm just going to use Tuesday Teases to point you to the other places I'm going to be during the week for the rest of December. With the holidays and stuff, I figure that's more than enough keeping up with me for people to do. I'm going to try to get back on the Friday Flash bandwagon next week though so keep an eye out for those on Thursday or Friday.
There is actually a lot of good news though. As I mentioned last week, 'Twas a Dark and Delicious Christmas is out AND it is also available in print. And just a couple days ago, The Ghost of Vampire Present came out. Both have gotten reviews already--YAY!
In other Blood Kissed news. I've received the last of the feedback from my alpha reader, so I have what I need to get started on the first round of revisions. The bad news? Until at least a little more of the sickies leave my brain, I'm not sure about tackling them yet. Don't know how long I want to leave them sitting though either. Anyway, it's one step closer to being done, which is a good thing.
So...that should update you on what's going on here. Now I'm off armed with many cough drops to see a movie with my kids.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Depression: What Have I Done?
Welcome back to my #FridayFlash posts and thanks for coming.
If you're new to my stuff or you didn't remember, I'm doing a series for five weeks showing the five stages of grief, each one from the perspective of a different character.
The second stage is depression. This was one that I battled choosing a character for because so many of them could fit this at different times. In the end, I decided to go with the best known one: Jocelyn. This takes place immediately after the events in Of Course I Try (available from Decadent Publishing and other online retailers). If you're looking for backstory but don't want to buy, the final scene of OCIT was re-done from Max's point of view in The Cost of Love (my first #FridayFlash) on Danielle LaPaglia's blog
Depression: What Have I Done?
I make it out the door and to my car before the shakes hit me. The keys tumble from my grasp as I try to put them in the ignition, clinking against the steering column before they fall onto the floorboards. Denial takes a breath and screams, “He’s not really dead!” But I know better—I felt his body disintegrate beneath my hands. I don’t get the luxury of pretending.
My eyes turn toward his house—a place that had been my refuge for when the rest of the world became too much. More than the house though, he’d been my savior, my protector, my everything.
“Oh God, what have I done?”
The only bad thing Max had ever really done was hide the truth. He lied. And I hadn’t even given him a chance to explain himself.
The pain and horror choke me, sucking the life from my body more thoroughly than Max ever did. I claw at the door handle, wanting to go back inside, absurdly thinking I can take it back somehow. My body sags against the door, the glass cool on my cheek as I realize I have no right to go back in his home. I’ve betrayed everything it stood for.
I am alone…and it’s my fault.
A sob catches in my throat, I’m too weak to even cry. Light and color are leeched from the world with every breath, bathing me in darkness and despair. I stare at the house, willing it to come back to life, but knowing in my heart it can’t happen. I killed the only man I’ve ever loved, took the very life that gave everything in my life meaning.
With him gone, I want to die too.
Daylight comes and darkness falls, and still I sit and wait. Death is too good for me now.
If you're new to my stuff or you didn't remember, I'm doing a series for five weeks showing the five stages of grief, each one from the perspective of a different character.
The second stage is depression. This was one that I battled choosing a character for because so many of them could fit this at different times. In the end, I decided to go with the best known one: Jocelyn. This takes place immediately after the events in Of Course I Try (available from Decadent Publishing and other online retailers). If you're looking for backstory but don't want to buy, the final scene of OCIT was re-done from Max's point of view in The Cost of Love (my first #FridayFlash) on Danielle LaPaglia's blog
Depression: What Have I Done?
I make it out the door and to my car before the shakes hit me. The keys tumble from my grasp as I try to put them in the ignition, clinking against the steering column before they fall onto the floorboards. Denial takes a breath and screams, “He’s not really dead!” But I know better—I felt his body disintegrate beneath my hands. I don’t get the luxury of pretending.
My eyes turn toward his house—a place that had been my refuge for when the rest of the world became too much. More than the house though, he’d been my savior, my protector, my everything.
“Oh God, what have I done?”
The only bad thing Max had ever really done was hide the truth. He lied. And I hadn’t even given him a chance to explain himself.
The pain and horror choke me, sucking the life from my body more thoroughly than Max ever did. I claw at the door handle, wanting to go back inside, absurdly thinking I can take it back somehow. My body sags against the door, the glass cool on my cheek as I realize I have no right to go back in his home. I’ve betrayed everything it stood for.
I am alone…and it’s my fault.
A sob catches in my throat, I’m too weak to even cry. Light and color are leeched from the world with every breath, bathing me in darkness and despair. I stare at the house, willing it to come back to life, but knowing in my heart it can’t happen. I killed the only man I’ve ever loved, took the very life that gave everything in my life meaning.
With him gone, I want to die too.
Daylight comes and darkness falls, and still I sit and wait. Death is too good for me now.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Denial: Sea Born
When trying to decide whether to continue with #FridayFlash, I realized I wouldn't stick with it without a plan. Last week's character study gave me an idea though, and I've decided to take a page from my friend, Danielle's, book and do a series for five weeks showing the five stages of grief, each one from the perspective of a different character.
The first stage is denial, and who better to show this than the woman whose dream she gave up her life for was torn away by the very home she left. With that I give you the scene that precipitated my mermaid novel-in-progress, Surrender to the Tides.
Sea Born
From a chair ten feet past the high tide line, Liera watched as waves licked the shore. The salty tang on the breeze brought back memories of seashells and coral reefs and she smiled, wishing she could frolic in the water with Joshua and the kids. Andrew dunked his sister, and Alicia sprang up, water spraying in a cascade as she flipped her long auburn hair. They were glistening, beautiful, like they belonged to the sea. Liera’s lips curled into a smile at the thought.
“Liera!”
She turned toward the voice, catching sight of a round little woman waddling up the beach, her salt and pepper hair sprayed so heavily the breeze didn’t touch it. “Sonya, hello.” Brushing herself off, Liera embraced her. “Looks like your arthritis is doing better today.”
Sonya shrugged from her arms. “Better than most. Why are you on the sand again? You should be in the water with your children. They won’t be young forever.”
As much as Liera agreed with her, joining them in the ocean was impossible. “The sea frightens me too much. I don’t want them to live in the shadows of my fear, so I stay here while they have their fun.”
Shielding her eyes from the glare, Sonya frowned. “But you trust them out there? Even though you’re afraid?”
“Joshua’s with them. I know he won’t let—”
“Andrew, no!”
The scream turned Liera’s blood to ice. Her head twisted in slow motion as if her spine had frozen in place. She saw them just as the water covered her son’s head and Joshua dove under after him. Alicia was nowhere to be seen. Hand clutching at her heart, Liera staggered toward the surf as a young man--a lifeguard--threw himself into the water.
Liera’s toes crossed the high tide line and curled against the sensation while a battle raged in her head.
It isn’t safe here.
I have to go.
Someone else will save them.
They’re my family.
Not if you go in the water.
The warning didn’t matter. Liera was halfway down the beach before hands grabbed her, hauling her away from ocean that had come an inch from licking her toes. A horrible keening rent the air, like the song of the sirens if heard true. Through her thrashing, Liera vaguely realized it came from her throat. Her lungs.
She remembered feeling water rush into them when they'd formed, the searing pain and pressure as she tumbled in the waves, searching for the surface.
Her body crumpled as the seconds ticked by, the terror replaced by something quieter, something deadlier.
“No. Not my babies.” She shook her head, staring at the crashing waves. “This can’t happen to them. They were born for the sea.”
But you denied them that birthright when you became human, little mermaid. You cost them their gills and flippers.
Liera trembled in Sonya’s arms, trying to banish the inner voice as the old woman rocked her back and forth and slid a hand along her hair.
“No. They aren’t gone. They can’t be gone. They are my children,” She whispered, still staring wide-eyed at the water. “Swim, little mers. Swim for all you’re worth.”
In Liera’s mind, slits formed in her children’s necks, letting the water rush out from their bodies even as scales erupted from their skin, sealing their legs together in long, glorious tails. They weren’t dead. Couldn’t be.
She sighed as certainty took hold. It was simple then. If Joshua couldn’t be saved, she’d return to the sea and find her children. Reject the very wish that had brought them to her and go back from whence she came. A tear caressed her cheek as she thought of Joshua and the years they’d shared. Not nearly enough, but he’d given her the life she’d dreamed of and two beautiful children who even now waited for her in the sea’s depths.
Soon, she would join them. No one would question her disappearance. They’d be a family again and she would introduce Alicia and Andrew to all the wonders of the ocean. They would survive this.
Relaxing in Sonya’s arms, she gazed anew at the water as they head of the young lifeguard broke the surface, seafoam coating his body like glitter. Someone ran into the water toward him, reaching out…
And lifting the limp body of her daughter in his arms.
Her eyes shifted back to the lifeguard, who hauled her son’s still form ashore.
Liera’s screams carried over the surf, touching the ears of the denizens of the sea and making them mourn along with her.
The first stage is denial, and who better to show this than the woman whose dream she gave up her life for was torn away by the very home she left. With that I give you the scene that precipitated my mermaid novel-in-progress, Surrender to the Tides.
Sea Born
From a chair ten feet past the high tide line, Liera watched as waves licked the shore. The salty tang on the breeze brought back memories of seashells and coral reefs and she smiled, wishing she could frolic in the water with Joshua and the kids. Andrew dunked his sister, and Alicia sprang up, water spraying in a cascade as she flipped her long auburn hair. They were glistening, beautiful, like they belonged to the sea. Liera’s lips curled into a smile at the thought.
“Liera!”
She turned toward the voice, catching sight of a round little woman waddling up the beach, her salt and pepper hair sprayed so heavily the breeze didn’t touch it. “Sonya, hello.” Brushing herself off, Liera embraced her. “Looks like your arthritis is doing better today.”
Sonya shrugged from her arms. “Better than most. Why are you on the sand again? You should be in the water with your children. They won’t be young forever.”
As much as Liera agreed with her, joining them in the ocean was impossible. “The sea frightens me too much. I don’t want them to live in the shadows of my fear, so I stay here while they have their fun.”
Shielding her eyes from the glare, Sonya frowned. “But you trust them out there? Even though you’re afraid?”
“Joshua’s with them. I know he won’t let—”
“Andrew, no!”
The scream turned Liera’s blood to ice. Her head twisted in slow motion as if her spine had frozen in place. She saw them just as the water covered her son’s head and Joshua dove under after him. Alicia was nowhere to be seen. Hand clutching at her heart, Liera staggered toward the surf as a young man--a lifeguard--threw himself into the water.
Liera’s toes crossed the high tide line and curled against the sensation while a battle raged in her head.
It isn’t safe here.
I have to go.
Someone else will save them.
They’re my family.
Not if you go in the water.
The warning didn’t matter. Liera was halfway down the beach before hands grabbed her, hauling her away from ocean that had come an inch from licking her toes. A horrible keening rent the air, like the song of the sirens if heard true. Through her thrashing, Liera vaguely realized it came from her throat. Her lungs.
She remembered feeling water rush into them when they'd formed, the searing pain and pressure as she tumbled in the waves, searching for the surface.
Her body crumpled as the seconds ticked by, the terror replaced by something quieter, something deadlier.
“No. Not my babies.” She shook her head, staring at the crashing waves. “This can’t happen to them. They were born for the sea.”
But you denied them that birthright when you became human, little mermaid. You cost them their gills and flippers.
Liera trembled in Sonya’s arms, trying to banish the inner voice as the old woman rocked her back and forth and slid a hand along her hair.
“No. They aren’t gone. They can’t be gone. They are my children,” She whispered, still staring wide-eyed at the water. “Swim, little mers. Swim for all you’re worth.”
In Liera’s mind, slits formed in her children’s necks, letting the water rush out from their bodies even as scales erupted from their skin, sealing their legs together in long, glorious tails. They weren’t dead. Couldn’t be.
She sighed as certainty took hold. It was simple then. If Joshua couldn’t be saved, she’d return to the sea and find her children. Reject the very wish that had brought them to her and go back from whence she came. A tear caressed her cheek as she thought of Joshua and the years they’d shared. Not nearly enough, but he’d given her the life she’d dreamed of and two beautiful children who even now waited for her in the sea’s depths.
Soon, she would join them. No one would question her disappearance. They’d be a family again and she would introduce Alicia and Andrew to all the wonders of the ocean. They would survive this.
Relaxing in Sonya’s arms, she gazed anew at the water as they head of the young lifeguard broke the surface, seafoam coating his body like glitter. Someone ran into the water toward him, reaching out…
And lifting the limp body of her daughter in his arms.
Her eyes shifted back to the lifeguard, who hauled her son’s still form ashore.
Liera’s screams carried over the surf, touching the ears of the denizens of the sea and making them mourn along with her.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
All We Knew
Last week I had the pleasure of doing a #FridayFlash post at Danielle LaPaglia's blog. I enjoyed it so much, I've decided to participate as the mood and ideas strike. But since I'm so focused on my novels right now, I don't want to stray too far from those characters. Therefore, I've decided to use my #FridayFlash time for character studies, delving a little more into their emotions and histories. These will be very inconsistent and only go up when I have the inspiration, but I will always put them up on Thursdays if I have one.
Because I don't want to split my energies (or confuse my new #FridayFlash friends), I'm not separating the YA from the adult stuff. It'll all go here. This week I'm focusing on Elle, one of my teen characters. This would be between books one and two of the series (maybe later, but for now, I'd say there).
.
All We Knew
The air hits my back, pushing against me unevenly and I tumble. My lungs burn as I struggle to breathe. There is nothing around me but the darkness, I only know down because I feel the pressure as I fall. My heart thuds in my chest, terror taking hold.
I reach out, grasping for something—anything—to slow my descent. Hopeful fingers brush against flesh that is not mine, and I latch onto you. Without warning, you pull me in and wrap me in your warm embrace, sheltering me from the biting air. With you there is light. Looking into your eyes, I see friendship…love…hope…
In your arms, the fear evaporates; here I am strong. Everything else disappears into the darkness, leaving only us and the falling. Your touch draws out pieces of me better kept hidden, but in your light they are beautiful.
Then the darkness grabs hold of you, wrenching you from my grasp. I scream your name as you fade into the black.
My arms are empty and the air buffets my body once more, all pretense of safety gone.
.
All we knew was falling.
.
And now I fall alone.
Because I don't want to split my energies (or confuse my new #FridayFlash friends), I'm not separating the YA from the adult stuff. It'll all go here. This week I'm focusing on Elle, one of my teen characters. This would be between books one and two of the series (maybe later, but for now, I'd say there).
.
All We Knew
The air hits my back, pushing against me unevenly and I tumble. My lungs burn as I struggle to breathe. There is nothing around me but the darkness, I only know down because I feel the pressure as I fall. My heart thuds in my chest, terror taking hold.
I reach out, grasping for something—anything—to slow my descent. Hopeful fingers brush against flesh that is not mine, and I latch onto you. Without warning, you pull me in and wrap me in your warm embrace, sheltering me from the biting air. With you there is light. Looking into your eyes, I see friendship…love…hope…
In your arms, the fear evaporates; here I am strong. Everything else disappears into the darkness, leaving only us and the falling. Your touch draws out pieces of me better kept hidden, but in your light they are beautiful.
Then the darkness grabs hold of you, wrenching you from my grasp. I scream your name as you fade into the black.
My arms are empty and the air buffets my body once more, all pretense of safety gone.
.
All we knew was falling.
.
And now I fall alone.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Tuesday Teases: Danielle LaPaglia
You are in for a special treat today, but only if you are 18 or over. Got that? Adults ONLY, so all you dirty-minded teenagers, move along.
Anyway, Danielle LaPaglia, one of my fellow Rebels from writing group is honoring us not only with the pleasure of her beautiful company, but also with an excerpt from her erotic story Should Have Said No. Danielle is a master of flash fiction, specializing in horror, and her series on the seven deadly sins isn't to be missed. She participates in Friday Flash every week, and this Friday is being kind enough to allow me to post a piece of flash that will be recognizable to anyone who has read Of Course I Try (those of you who wanted more Max, he'll be there). Please check out her flash fiction on her blog and follow her on Twitter. She's funny and brilliant, and a little scary sometimes (but only in the best way). Without further ado, here is her excerpt from Should Have Said No.
.
It was painfully clear that she wasn’t getting back to sleep so she tossed the blanket aside and went to wash her face. Her long hair pulled back in a low-ponytail, she slipped on her sports bra, shorts and running shoes. The beach was only two blocks down; a morning run was just the thing to clear her mind. She chugged a half a Gatorade from the fridge, stretched and headed out the door, not bothering to leave a note.
The street was quiet, the air cool against her skin, but the run would warm her in no time. A wide sidewalk stretched between multi-million dollar homes and the open beach. She turned South, toward Balboa, and took off. Later in the day this same stretch would be crammed with bicycles and roller-bladers, but for now she was alone. A few surfers waited in the water, but the beach was deserted. Pale light edged brighter between the homes on her left, turning the sky a beautiful pale blue as it pushed back the twilight.
A light sweat broke across her skin, cooled by the breeze coming off the ocean. She ran, not thinking about the man from the bar last night, or her heart-broken friend passed out in her room. She concentrated on the rhythm of each step slapping against the sidewalk, each breath passing in and out. Everything faded, the houses on her left, the ocean on her right; it was her and the pavement and nothing else. Forty minutes later, she was standing beneath a stream of hot water. It poured over her skin the way his gaze had the night before. She closed her eyes and saw him again, standing confident and gorgeous before her. Instead of reaching for the chair, this time he reached for her. His fingertips trailed across her skin.
Mimicking her vision, she smoothed her hand across her body, up her arm, across her shoulder and down to cup one breast. Despite the heat of the shower, her nipple was a hard bud. She rolled it between her finger and thumb, teasing it. Her other hand trailed lower, gliding across her stomach and down between her legs. She parted them slightly, allowing better access for her finger to slip between the soft folds.
Her breath caught. She squeezed her nipple almost to the point of pain, and drove her finger inside, imagining it was him, the beautiful stranger from the bar. She could almost feel his breath on her neck, his cheek against hers. Her movements became more rapid, urgent with the need to climax. It built inside; she slid her finger up, circling her clit again and again. A white heat burst between her legs, flooding through her core and into her limbs. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.
The sensation ebbed; her muscles relaxed and she gave a final stroke, sending a last jolt through her nerves. One hand on the wall, she leaned into the spray. It poured down her scalp, caressing her tingling flesh before disappearing in the drain.
.
.
.
Danielle is an urban fantasy junkie whose favorite fix comes from the likes of Kelley Armstrong, Rachel Caine, and Patricia Briggs. She writes horror of every kind: ghosts, werewolves, vampires, and even monsters of the human variety. She is a member of Kelley Armstrong’s online writing group and participates in #fridayflash on Twitter where she posts weekly flash fiction on her blog. She is completing edits on her first novel, The Watchers, and is hard at work outlining her next urban fantasy project. Danielle is also the last Jedi warrior to study under the nearly extinct Scotnadian Yoda.
Anyway, Danielle LaPaglia, one of my fellow Rebels from writing group is honoring us not only with the pleasure of her beautiful company, but also with an excerpt from her erotic story Should Have Said No. Danielle is a master of flash fiction, specializing in horror, and her series on the seven deadly sins isn't to be missed. She participates in Friday Flash every week, and this Friday is being kind enough to allow me to post a piece of flash that will be recognizable to anyone who has read Of Course I Try (those of you who wanted more Max, he'll be there). Please check out her flash fiction on her blog and follow her on Twitter. She's funny and brilliant, and a little scary sometimes (but only in the best way). Without further ado, here is her excerpt from Should Have Said No.
REMINDER! NO ONE UNDER 18 PERMITTED BEYOND THIS POINT!
.
Should Have Said No – Excerpt – by Danielle La Paglia
It was painfully clear that she wasn’t getting back to sleep so she tossed the blanket aside and went to wash her face. Her long hair pulled back in a low-ponytail, she slipped on her sports bra, shorts and running shoes. The beach was only two blocks down; a morning run was just the thing to clear her mind. She chugged a half a Gatorade from the fridge, stretched and headed out the door, not bothering to leave a note.
The street was quiet, the air cool against her skin, but the run would warm her in no time. A wide sidewalk stretched between multi-million dollar homes and the open beach. She turned South, toward Balboa, and took off. Later in the day this same stretch would be crammed with bicycles and roller-bladers, but for now she was alone. A few surfers waited in the water, but the beach was deserted. Pale light edged brighter between the homes on her left, turning the sky a beautiful pale blue as it pushed back the twilight.
A light sweat broke across her skin, cooled by the breeze coming off the ocean. She ran, not thinking about the man from the bar last night, or her heart-broken friend passed out in her room. She concentrated on the rhythm of each step slapping against the sidewalk, each breath passing in and out. Everything faded, the houses on her left, the ocean on her right; it was her and the pavement and nothing else. Forty minutes later, she was standing beneath a stream of hot water. It poured over her skin the way his gaze had the night before. She closed her eyes and saw him again, standing confident and gorgeous before her. Instead of reaching for the chair, this time he reached for her. His fingertips trailed across her skin.
Mimicking her vision, she smoothed her hand across her body, up her arm, across her shoulder and down to cup one breast. Despite the heat of the shower, her nipple was a hard bud. She rolled it between her finger and thumb, teasing it. Her other hand trailed lower, gliding across her stomach and down between her legs. She parted them slightly, allowing better access for her finger to slip between the soft folds.
Her breath caught. She squeezed her nipple almost to the point of pain, and drove her finger inside, imagining it was him, the beautiful stranger from the bar. She could almost feel his breath on her neck, his cheek against hers. Her movements became more rapid, urgent with the need to climax. It built inside; she slid her finger up, circling her clit again and again. A white heat burst between her legs, flooding through her core and into her limbs. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.
The sensation ebbed; her muscles relaxed and she gave a final stroke, sending a last jolt through her nerves. One hand on the wall, she leaned into the spray. It poured down her scalp, caressing her tingling flesh before disappearing in the drain.
.
.
.
Danielle is an urban fantasy junkie whose favorite fix comes from the likes of Kelley Armstrong, Rachel Caine, and Patricia Briggs. She writes horror of every kind: ghosts, werewolves, vampires, and even monsters of the human variety. She is a member of Kelley Armstrong’s online writing group and participates in #fridayflash on Twitter where she posts weekly flash fiction on her blog. She is completing edits on her first novel, The Watchers, and is hard at work outlining her next urban fantasy project. Danielle is also the last Jedi warrior to study under the nearly extinct Scotnadian Yoda.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)