Category Archives: fiction

Through loving eyes – Trifecta Challenge

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My memory is vivid.  Her eyes moved evasively across our dirt-smeared faces and scanned our meager outfits.  Disapprovingly, those eyes formulated an opinion before we even had a chance to speak.  One by one she would pluck us from the line and dismiss us like we were disposable.  The torture of being an orphan was enough of a burden for a child, but living with the knowledge that each of us was special was even worse.  Not one of the couples who came to see us would spend the time to engage us in life, to let our unique qualities shine through the filth that we were subjected to each day.  I vowed to myself that, if I survived this Hell, my life would be about substance and not an outward facade.

The path I followed was no surprise to me.  The girls who live in my child care facility today feel empowered.  They are not concerned with their appearance as much as they are focused on the woman they wish to one day become.  I took my hopelessness and gave them hope.  I took my loneliness and gave them a loving home.  And I took my experience and gave them a chance to see themselves through their own eyes and not the eyes of a stranger.

~~

Written for the Trifecta Weekly challenge:

PLUCK: (transitive verb) 1: to pull or pick off or out 2 a : to remove something (as hairs) from by or as if by plucking    b : rob, fleece 3: to move, remove, or separate forcibly or abruptly 4 a : to pick, pull, or grasp at    b : to play by sounding the strings with the fingers or a pick

Remember: • Your response must be between 33 and 333 words. • You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post. • The word itself needs to be included in your response. • You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above. • Only one entry per writer. • If your post doesn’t meet our requirements, please leave your link in the comments section, not in the linkz. • Trifecta is open to everyone. – See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.YS9z9fyZ.dpuf

Freshly bathed in saline

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I am a churning pool of emotion.  I am one of those people who can put themselves in anyone’s shoes to feel the emotion that pulls on their heart-strings.  Sometimes it is a true blessing and sometimes the catastrophic emotional breakdown is embarrassing.  The control of the outpouring of tears in public has been much improved but behind closed doors all bets are off.

Empathy is a gift that I feel truly fortunate to have.  It is easy to be sympathetic and try to understand what another human being is enduring but to be able to delve into that raw emotion and feel the searing scars of that pain as if it were my own enables me to really reach out to that suffering soul and comprehend what they are going through.

That mutual experience of emotion, for me, is not strictly reserved for direct contact with another human being.  I experience the same overwhelming sensations if I am watching an emotionally charged movie, listening to beautifully composed music or reading a consuming book that drips with powerful sentiment.  Last night my face was awash with tears watching a simple television show.  I’m not sure what came over me but the story was deeply touching and as I felt the first tear caress my cheek I knew there were more to follow.

Perhaps part of my longing to write with such feeling is because I want the person reading to have the same experience I had while writing it.  I want the emotion that held my heart prisoner to be injected into the reader with the same paralyzing sensation that I so easily succumbed.  I can only hope that once my novel is complete, the characters that I birthed will be overflowing with angst, ready to cry on a whim and that I can somehow find a way to make those feelings jump off the page.

The French Maid Connection – TrifeXXXtra Challenge

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She could hear movement inside the cabin and, before she could change her mind, she knocked.  The portal opened and they stood face to face.  Although somewhat shocked, he seemed happy to see her.  For a moment nothing was said.  He simply moved out of the entrance.  As she stepped onto the threshold he caught a glimpse of fish net stockings and smiled as he closed the door behind her.

They stood, no words passed between them.  Their eyes remained locked, a gaze of unspoken feelings, and it was he who made the first move.  He casually closed the distance between them and untied the belt of her overcoat.  With trembling fingers he undid the buttons, slowly and deliberately, never wavering from her stare.  Running his hands down either side of the coat he gradually pulled the shroud from her shoulders and his breath caught audibly in his throat.

He was staring intently taking in the black laced bodice, white apron and collar and he could not contain his smile.  She smiled back demurely and bit her lower lip. He leaned over and his lips swept across her mouth.  Her skin reacted to his touch and her cheeks were ablaze with blush.

The desire in his eyes made her melt and his blue eyes bore into her.  His hands gently cupped the sides of her breasts and traveled up to hold her face.  He pulled her closer and, for the first time, their lips met.  The kiss began sweetly, mouths tentatively meeting for the first time, their tongues apprehensively touching but, as the intensity increased, the urgency became overwhelming.

She pulled away first, panting, trying to catch her breath.  He leaned over and once again their lips met, but this time was much more tender and affectionate.  The slow burn of yearning finally erupted and bodies became cloaked under a blanket of heat.  She moved with him in a rhythm she had never known before.

The music of love was written that night.

~~

My 333 words written for the TrifeXXXtra challenge: And now on to a completely different type of prompt. As you may or may not know, November 15 is National Erotica Day.  Trifecta is not an erotica-specific type of place, but we never shy away from a chance to stretch our creative limbs, and we hope you’ll join us as we dive in to celebrate this quirky day. We are asking for an open write this weekend–33 to 333 words of erotic writing.  No specific words need to be used, and we aren’t necessarily banning any either.

Taking the time

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Here is my post for the writing challenge I put up this morning, originally inspired by The Cutter.   See this post for more details if you want to join in the challenge.  El Guapo entered his in the comments section of my earlier post and the link to Janna’s post is below .

****

Amy was juggling too many things at one time.  She knew that.  The hours she was spending at the office were eating into her social life and causing a huge strain on her relationship.  She had promised herself she would spend more time at home, be the doting wife she had professed she would be in her vows, but her sunken eyes and dark circles under those eyes did much to disprove her intentions.  She was a workaholic.

As she trudged along the sidewalk to head towards the bus shelter she passed the same store windows she did every day.  She had never really taken notice of what the stores offered because it never occurred to her to care.  The flashing neon signs had never distracted her before but today she decided to lift her head and see what the flashing pink lights were telling her.  Her eyes strained to see the woman behind the counter and she immediately noticed how radiant she seemed.  Amy deviated from her routine and went in.

The first thing that hit her senses was the smell of cheap perfume.   Her favorite Led Zeppelin song, Going to California, was playing in the background so she took it as a good omen.  She had no idea what this place was all about but she felt drawn here so she continued to the counter.

Amy realized her mistake halfway through the makeover.  Her hair had been teased so much it  reminded her of when she was a kid and she created static electricity by rubbing a balloon on her head.  The blue eye shadow and pink blush had been applied so liberally she began to look like Mimi from the Drew Carey show and her red lips would give Angelina Jolie a run for her money.  All she needed now was a spray-tan and a tiny dog in a purse and she could be a Beverly Hills housewife!

Tissue in hand, Amy did her best to remove the offensive pastels and tame her hair into submission.  She left the shop bereft of her dignity and wondered how she would explain the lingering color palette on her face to her husband.  She was only doing it for him.

The bus ride home seemed to take twice as long and, after doing her best to become as infinitesimal as possible on the bus, she was only steps away from home.  She could see the candles flickering through the window and the shadow of her husband moving from room to room.  His movement took her off-guard since he was always comfortably ensconced in his recliner, usually asleep, by the time she got home.

He was there to open the door before she had time to fumble with her keys.  The dulcet notes of The Tenors caressed her ears as she took off her coat.  A medium boat of sushi was on the coffee table and the wine had already been poured.  He understood.  He knew her hard work was for a purpose.  As he leaned in to kiss her his eyes caught a glimpse of the make-up residue.  She simply sighed and shook her head.  He knew her well enough not to ask, wiped off some of the leftover lipstick with his thumb and his lips met hers.

Later, as she began to drift into a peaceful slumber, wrapped in the warmth of his arms, she only had the strength to whisper four words, “I’m taking tomorrow off”.

****

Other stories for the Random Selection:

Good Ol Days – JannaTWrites

Blind Date – The Cutter Rambles

Random selection – Are you up for a challenge?

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Back in June, The Cutter gave me a writing challenge.  Four random ideas were chosen and I had to write a blog including all four – my attempt is here.  I then threw the gauntlet back and offered up five random ideas and the result is here.

It was an awesome challenge and one I have been thinking about since then.  It was great having to really dig deep into my imagination and string a group of completely unrelated subjects together in one post and I wanted to put the challenge out there to anyone who is willing to participate.  Please feel free to pass this on to those in your blogging circle as well – the more, the merrier.

  • static electricity
  • Led Zeppelin
  • sushi
  • juggling
  • spray tan

Be as creative as you want and write in any form you want.  There is no word limit.   Link back to here so I can mention your post for the challenge.

Have a great weekend.

100 Word Song – Opportunities

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Did the money really matter? They were selling themselves short, losing sight of their true strengths. The opportunity had presented itself so innocently but the cost of their choice was epic.

Both educated and inclined to succeed, they relied on their looks to pave the way to their future. They completely negated their worth as human beings. Not only were they selling their bodies, they were selling their souls for the almighty dollar.

That money took the best part of them. It threw away their innocence and replaced it with bitterness and contempt. The adage lies – money can’t buy happiness.

two_prostitutes_by_cellar_fcp

(image credit: newyorkdailysun.com)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Written for the 100 Word Song Challenge: Opportunities, Pet Shop Boys. Lance and Leeroy at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog came up with this new challenge.  Go and check it out!

The Silver Lining – 100 Word Challenge

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“What will Heaven be like?”  Her youthful eyes looked to him for answers.

His breathing tubes got in the way when he tried to speak to her. “You know when you see a really dark rain cloud and most of it is black?”

She nodded her agreement.

“Well, Heaven will be like those glorious slices of silver light that radiate around the cloud. Those little pieces of light give everyone hope for something better.”

She curled up under her Grandfather’s arm and held him as closed his eyes. She knew he was on his way to find that silver light.

clouds 008

Written for the 100-Word Challenge over at Julia’s Place.  Photo credit is all my own.

Needles and the damage done – fiction

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I will apply dietetic measures for the benefit of the sick according to my ability and judgment; I will keep them from harm and injustice. ~excerpt from the Hippocratic Oath

***

Danny Jenkins could not shield his discomfort.  Lying on the gurney in the hospital hallway was exacerbating, even more so considering the paper-thin sheet was barely enough to disguise his torso from the sight line of people passing by.  His Intravenous line had almost been yanked out of his skin several times as crash carts and trauma teams raced to the Emergency room.  He was living in his own personal Hell.

Danny hated hospitals.  The mere fact that he agreed to this procedure was beyond his realm of comprehension but it was time to face reality.  At his last weigh in he had tipped the scales at 468 pounds and it was time to get his life back.  His doctor had pleaded with him to consider Gastric Bypass surgery and he knew it was the only way to forge ahead into the life he dreamed for himself.

After what seemed like an eternity, Danny was wheeled from the hallway into the operating room.  Faceless doctors and nurses shrouded by masks performed their macabre pre-surgery dance around him as monitors came to life and created a sinister orchestra of metallic sounds.  Voices abraded his ears as they went step by step through the procedure that was about to take place but Danny paid no attention.  He didn’t care.  He just wanted to go to sleep and wake up to his new beginning.  A warm sensation began to flood his veins and Danny slowly slipped into a reversible loss of consciousness.

***

He could hear the pinging of the machines as his eyelids fluttered open and the recovery room slowly swam into focus.  He anticipated mild to moderate discomfort in his abdominal cavity but he felt none.  The anesthesia must have been a more potent cocktail than he imagined.  He tried to adjust his position on the bed, fully expecting his stomach to refuse any agitation, and the movement was somewhat fluid and manageable.  Strangely, there was no soreness at all.  

The call button hung lifelessly on the bed rail and he repeatedly pushed the button until a nurse entered the room.  Before even engaging Danny in post-surgery banter she glanced at his hospital wrist-band, diligently checked all of the monitors and made notes in the chart that hung from the foot of his bed.  She lifted the bedding from the bottom of the bed, inexplicably checked his legs and tenderly replaced the covers.

“How are you feeling?”, she finally asked.

Danny spoke through his dry mouth, “I thought this would feel much worse.”

Her response baffled him.  “You will think you can feel your toes for a while.  They call it phantom pain.”

His look of complete bewilderment took her by surprise.  She guessed his silence was just his way of processing his loss.  She regarded the monitors one more time before leaving with the promise of returning with ice chips.

As the anesthesia began to clear his system he began to feel the after effects of the four-hour surgical procedure.  He could feel the dull ache beginning to throb but the pain was coming from his knee.  More than slightly disconcerted he reached for the call button once again.  This time a doctor entered and performed the same ritual with the monitors before beginning his communication.  Immersed in the chart in front of him, he absently began to speak.

“Okay Ms. Jenkins.  The procedure went extremely well and the lower part of your right leg was successfully amputated.  You will feel some discomfort but you have the ability to give yourself a dose of morphine……”.  His voice trailed off as he lifted his head and his vision of the patient in front of him finally swam into focus.  He looked directly at Danny and immediately re-examined the chart in front of him.  The doctor said nothing more.

Danny finally spoke,  “Did you just call me ‘Miss’ Jenkins?”

“Would you excuse me for just a moment?”, the doctor’s words were rushed as he left the room.  Danny incessantly pushed the call button with no response.

The doctor’s footsteps echoed through the hallway as he raced to the operating room.  As he pushed the doors open and entered the sterile room all eyes turned and fell heavily upon him.  Ms. Dani Jenkins lay sedated and poised for Gastric Bypass surgery.  Not one medical practitioner had commented on the unnecessary procedure but merely followed the direction on the chart – the wrong chart.

His words reverberated in the surgical chamber, “Look very closely at that medical chart.  You were about to make the second biggest mistake in the history of this hospital.”

Love and Loss – Trifecta Challenge

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The markings were crude at best.  Pagan symbols written in blood on the wall were meant to portray a cult following but their vulgar simplicity meant only one thing, Victor was not taking his medication again.  She knew he had been acting strangely but she dismissed the possibility that his anger had escalated.  He was her only child and she would not see him incarcerated.  He would never survive containment.

She tugged at the rubber gloves until they snapped just above her wrists and her hand plunged into the tepid water to reach for the scrub brush.  She had lost count when it came to the number of times she had scoured these cellar walls.  The stench of decay was overwhelming and it permeated her nostrils.  Her senses adjusted once again and her muscles ached and objected to the physical labor.  The vast field beyond their home was filled with too many unmarked graves but she would never see Victor left as a mere number in a row of inmates.

Victor’s father had left only minutes ago with shovel in hand to turn over the newest patch of earth.  She could hear Victor’s sobbing in the distance.  She was sure the tears were a sign of remorse and that is the belief she would take to her grave.  If only she could see that her husband was not  just digging a single grave.

~

Written for the Trifectra Challenge – (perhaps I should have written this when I wasn’t thinking about the dark character in my book)

This week’s one-word prompt was suggested to us by Ritu from Things To Rave About in our Meet Your Fellow Trifectans meme.  If you’re not linked up there, you should be.  Click through and give us your details so we can get to know you a bit better.

CRUDE
1: existing in a natural state and unaltered by cooking or processing <crude oil>
2 archaic : unripe, immature
3: marked by the primitive, gross, or elemental or by uncultivated simplicity or vulgarity <a crude stereotype>
4: rough or inexpert in plan or execution <a crude shelter>
5: lacking a covering, glossing, or concealing element :obvious <crude facts>
6: tabulated without being broken down into classes <thecrude death rate>

Remember:
  • Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.
  • You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.
  • The word itself needs to be included in your response.
  • You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.
  • Only one entry per writer.
  • If your post doesn’t meet our requirements, please leave your link in the comments section, not in the linkz.
  • Trifecta is open to everyone. Please join us.

– See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.PNRbwkef.dpuf

Lucky number three – Trifextra post

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She waited at the gates for her turn.  She had been reincarnated twice before and found him late in her last life.  Their souls were destined for love.  Third time is the charm.

~

Written for the Trifextra post: On to the new prompt.  This weekend we’re asking for 33 of your own words inspired by the idiom, third time’s the charm.  This familiar phrase may have an indeterminate origin, but its meaning is clear.  Whether or not you include the phrase itself is up to you.  Just make sure to use exactly 33 words.  And, as usual, have fun with it!