The wind was whipping her loosely bound hair in a frenzy. The dark blond tendrils framed her pale heart shape face, smudging the path of drying tears. She came here for the seclusion this forgotten little beach offered the adventurous ramblers that happened to stumble upon her solitary beauty. There were only a few people who could remember that this place was blocked off on purpose by prickly foliage. Jacqueline knew why, it was for the best. If her father learned of her excursions here he would be furious. Oh, she was a grown woman of thirty and two but the mere mention of it dug up buried memories of a bloody past wreathed in screams.
The past was the past, so to hell with it. It was the last time she saw her little sister, a slight figure bundled up but only a bobbing fuzzy dot in the distance as they took her away in that tiny blue boat so long ago. Jacqueline was one of the lucky ones, the fortunate ones. Life was hers to hold and command. Even then … Continue reading “The forgotten shore”
This is my bit for last week Picture It and Write! photo prompts. This is a lengthy one but I’ll promise you that you most likely like it, I know it’s turned out to be one of my favourites. Cheers!
It’s my day off and I’ve been staring at the pastel blue of the sky unblinkingly for long moments at a time. My eyes overflow at the effort and no doubt it would have hurt if the sun was between the delicate looking clouds. As it happened this sky wasn’t authentic but an armature attempt at fresco, Tia’s pride. A decent imitation though I was no expert to really say but an imitation nonetheless; a much better fallacy than the timeline of my life so far. I have to quit thinking about all of that. I’ve put it behind me, or I tried to but it’s so hard to do that when the past is what put me here in the first place.
But it’s not entirely a bad state, to be honest. I grabbed at the chance to cohabitate, it was good rent and surprisingly good company. Tia was the resident artist, wielding paint brushes and words both, but keeps a day job as a florist five minutes away. Kirsty was a chef at a ritzy restaurant in the Bronx, who could probably afford a whole flat but for reasons unknown to me she’d rather share one. I should talk more like I used to, you get answers that way. I … well, I wait tables at Clayton’s mostly the nightshifts; nothing artistic about that if you don’t count the random bad poetry I scrawl on paper napkins leaving them lying on the tables.
I nearly tumbled off of the couch. Tia was at the other end of the living room sitting at the desk, fuming at her laptop. She swiveled around to stare incredulously at me.
“Kyrie, can you believe what that fecker, Tony, told Becky?” she said ‘Becky’ like it was the pigeon crap she was compelled to scrape off the deck.
I tilted my head to the side in silent inquiry.
“He spilled on my next installment of Ricard Octopus. This is a crucial one and I am beyond pissed,” she fumed, pulling at her dark brown hair in utter frustration. Then a maniacal light came into her eyes.
“I know what I’ll do. I’ll name a character after him then they’ll get really attached and then … I’ll go Steven Moffatt all over ’em!” Tia erupted into a cackle the wicked witch would approve of, rubbed her palms together, sent me an conspiring evil grin and swung around to pound furiously at the keyboard.
I felt my eyes slowly open, not that it did any good. Empty blackness engulfed me. I haven’t seen light since I was let out the last time … a good time ago. I was glad all the same, didn’t see that woman again. The dungeon was a classic stone affair with iron in the walls, no windows, and no openings except for the massive door. That made the dripping sounds even more curious. My nose told me nothing other than my filthy state. Oh, but God was it freezing in here.
When I do close my eyes I see her. That woman, so beautiful and tall. It wasn’t long before I saw the cruelty beneath. I remembered when she touched me, I felt the my life being sucked away all the while I saw the fine creases on her face being smoothed out of existence, her body gleaming with health. When they shoved me in this hell hole I’d felt so weak, and so old.
Footsteps. A pause. Then the heavy deadbolt groaned and keys jingled.
I’d thought myself numb of emotion, but my shivering from the cold turned into a violent shuddering punctured with uneven gasps and had everything to do with being scared out of my wits. I curled into myself, anticipating a blow. What will they do to me now? I’ve been beaten once because I dared resisted, and those bruises were still sensitive. Voices in the shadows shouted harsh sounding words in some language unknown to me.
Here I am, with a glaring gap of prompts eyeing me. Here you are, probably unawares of the fact up to the point I gave myself away. Why do I mention this every time? A bit guilty perhaps. But that’s fine. Here’s mine in fifty words!
This is for the current photo up for Ermilia Blog’s Picture it and Write! This time I wanted to try out something new; to write a story in fifty words, a challenge I thoroughly enjoyed! I borrowed this format from Vincent Mars, over at Boy with a Hat, who happens to be one of the most impressive writers I’ve had the luck to come across in this great blogosphere. I do recommend you pay him a visit!
This is my bit for the Picture it and Write! photo prompt, again I’m late (a few weeks) but I’m here😉
My heart was thumping madly in my throat as I was jostled along the angst ridden crowd of humanity and smoke. Shouts and cries permeated the streets like gas, leaving hardly any air to draw into my lungs. My left hand held onto Dani’s, my eldest brother, dirty vest, in the other was an unlit Diet Coke can filled with sulfur and kerosene and a piece of cloth hanging limply from the opening. I dreaded the moment when he would tell me to light it, when he would demand me to.
An explosion went off a hundred feet ahead of us. I shrank back fought against the impulse to drop to the ground in a shivering mess. No matter how many times it happened, I would never get used to this kind of life. I hardly remembered what it was like before the uprising, when I would play with my pretty straw dolls and dressing up to go to the city. That was before daddy was gunned down by the police, before mama became a stranger and before Dani was mad and restless all the time. Before my world came crashing down. I’m too scared to think about what the final after will be like.
Hello there, this is my bit for this week’s Picture it and Write! photo prompt entry. It was certainly a challenge.
I was garbed in white from head to toe, a shade similar to the crystals that covered the plain and delicately draped the mountains. My eyes were the only part of me revealed, thinly veiled against the biting cold and the glaring reflected light. Crouched atop a dune I saw them, there were two. Vibrating against my leg followed by the steady low purr, my leonine companion affirmed that he saw them too. Easy targets especially to toothy predators, the nastiest of which were snow leopards like my friend beside me. Foolish pawns. Ill adapted to this terrain they were forced to trudge in the open. I know the helplessness, the hollow alcove the tundra carves into the soul with every glimpse to the endless horizon and up at the haunted peaks.
These won’t last long. Their faltering steps were pierced with tiny blades, scraping a numbing trail along their heavy limbs right about now. The frozen wasteland claimed countless prey over the centuries; the lost, the desperate, arrogant and prideful. Many a man had gone insane, the echoes of their screams return in mocking jeers. These were assassins sent to capture the princess. I will not allow it. Aspiring usurpers will be reminded of the wrath the Ice Kingdom is capable of. Each transgression, each attempt against the crown will not go unpunished. They seem to forget. I will happily refresh their memories.
Five years. It has been five years since I last woke, and my, how things have changed. Frail. The doctors said I was too frail to stand on my own, much less walk. I’ll hear none of it. After half a decade on my back, not quite living, I open my heavy eyes then to be denied my freedom from the chains that bound me to that bed, but it’s not as if they could restrain me. It disgusts me that I must steal into the night like a thief. I do it anyway. The walls were far too familiar, their embrace was like that over an obsessive mother, suffocating and mad. It was surreal, asleep one moment and awakened to another time. Unbelievable but I cannot deny the reality that pressed down upon me, and the one that stands wearily before me now.
Finally, I’m back on Picture it and Write! and not surprisingly to those who read my stuff, this is a lengthy one. This is last week’s entry, and it gives you a peek at the other side of these magnificent structures, often romantic but seldom seen as sinister. I had fun with this one, I hope you do too!
The fluorescent bulb began its frantic flickering dance over two hours ago and was now taking a toll on my dusty eyes. Lifting my gaze up from the stacks of bills perched precariously along the edge of the desk’s age old surface. I did a full body stretch tilting the chair along with me, managing just barely not to tip it over. By the looks of it, this is the newest addition of furniture to the office in years. Fredrick gave a new meaning to frugality, and it’s beyond me how he intends to ‘start fresh’ and ‘renovate’.
An impulsive shout of laughter escaped my mouth recalling his animated speech in the lunchroom yesterday and his flat refusal to invest in a new stapler after, but I don’t care, Mrs. Uptight and Womanly wasn’t in today. I heard a rustling sound above my head. Chester, a smile crept along my lips. He was the resident time keeper, and apparently found me amusing. I wonder how many people the old coo-coo clock, perched on the topmost shelf Chester called home, had seen hunched over indecipherable handwriting that somehow managed to pass for legit receipts. Everyday I am losing faith in people, if they can’t write a darn how can I trust anyone, I’m weird that way I guess.
Without a warning there was an almighty crash outside and I ended up on the floor anyway. Gingerly, I stood up and made sure nothing seriously injured and it was no laughing matter. Little Jimmy popped a knee cap last week just by carting up a refill for the water dispenser, but then, it was widely agreed upon that ‘little’ Jimmy need to go on a diet. With everything intact I padded bare foot to the window and was greeted with great swirling clouds, dark phantoms against the twilit sky as if someone was stirring an electric concoction for a malady unknown. The impending storm came out of the blue as its often expected but there was something in the air, something other.
This is my piece for this week’s Picture it and write! entry. I wanted to write fiction on the following themes for a long time this prompt gave me an opening. It has a lot of teenage sentiments thrown in and a couple of names girls would throw around. In other words, it has a few swears in here. No F-bombs, be assured, and also one R rated scene. Be warned.
One more year. It was a chant at the back of my head that kept me moving along to the motions of the living for the past two years. High school takes a toll on everybody and it was killing me like slow poison. Labels, labels, labels. The hate was a stale perfume in the air but it gets intense when the rival cliques pass each other in the hall or the cafeteria. Jerk jocks, hulking around like they were God’s gift to us fawning women. I’d really like to think about the good parts of these people but they prove me wrong. Just one more year. Twelve months and twenty days, fourteen hours, twenty five minutes and 30 seconds, give or take a few, and counting.
I have two best friends, both of whom were guys, and as time crawled on I learned it wasn’t something that was very common these days unless you were a tomboy which I suppose I was but not in the strictest sense, or if you were gay. The other kids call me names I don’t care for, Don and Patch were just friends. We would all laugh about it at the end of the day, it’s something you learn to live with and it’s not that hard once you know yourself but I came a long way from the insecure girl I once was, the world was way scarier then.
I was in the locker room washing off from tennis practice. I stepped out of the shower and reached for my towel. I wasn’t alone as I thought I was. I hurried up and dried off, not wanting anyone to see my nakedness and make use of some snarky comment they no doubt practiced a hundred times in their little heads. I grabbed my things but my glasses were clouding up with the steam and by the time I got them reasonably clear I realized I was heading in the wrong direction.