Flash Fiction – Old Friend

We scrambled up the familiar trail, shale cascading from beneath him like marbles. We’d reach the summit to stand and gander. Such views from the rim. Cobalt skies and red rock and always a vulture making his lazy circles.

I dropped to the ground 100 yards from the top, his breath too labored. I waited while he recovered, my hand on his shoulder.

Once arrived, we stood. I turned to see him kneeling; before he went down I slid the Winchester from the leather scabbard. Thirty years of these rides. It was time. I owed him this much.

 

December 8, 2016 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write using the word gander as a verb. A gander is a male goose, yet the Old English etymology of the word suggests it was once gandra which described a waterbird with a long neck (like a crane). In 1912, it became the act of taking a long look. What is the long look your story or character is considering?

Unbearable

SoCS

 

“I can’t bear it.”

“Bare it?” his eyes sparkled. “Of course you can, it looks lovely bare.”

“No, don’t!” She tried to laugh, wanted to laugh at him, and knew he was just trying to make her feel better, to lessen the burden of the coming days. But it wasn’t laughter that came out.

“Oh baby girl,” he sighed and pulled her into a bear hug. “I know. I do. It’s hard for me too.”

“Really?” Her words muffled against his rough coat lapel. She breathed his scent, lightly mingled with the heavy odors of diesel and cold.

“Of course. Being away from you is almost impossible.”

“I’m not being a baby?” She sniffed.

“You’re my baby. But no. It is hard to bear, for sure. But you know what?”

“What?” She leaned back and looked into his face.

“It will be over before you know it. You’ll be right back here, where you belong. Because you’re MY girl.”

She smiled as she always did when he said that. Somehow those words made everything a little easier.
 

Thank you to Linda for a great prompt. Head over to SoCS to be inspired and for the participation rules!

Accepted

Fill me with words of lust and care, of tenderness and need; of raking touches and tongues, of praying and fucking. Worship my body, let me worship yours. Running fingertips over your skin, over your scars, touching your flaws with reverence and wonder. Everything and nothing inside this moment against your vibrating body, and the sensations sing like tenors. Taste your sweat, your blood, your tears and fears and all those years of nothing. We’re found falling into this embrace and perhaps we’ll never let go, never wash it off, never be free of the mark. Eyes like tar, a smile like hunger. Surrounded by stars and satin, push me into the goose down with the hardness of your body, trap me here, eyes blind and limbs bound and make me yours as you are mine.

Cherish me and I will honor you. Fuck me and I will follow you. Make me forget and I will hold you here with my lust, my cunt, my lips. Stolen moments hidden from lives of normalcy. Do not let me down. Do not allow my fear. I will shelter in your breast, a secret you hold, and we’ll find it; our acceptance.

Coming Home

A story that chilled me right to the bone…

Kittykat-bitsandbobs

“Will you just GO?!” she giggled, pushing him away as he leaned down to kiss her one more time, “You’ll miss the train!”

“Ok, ok! There’s always another train anyway… but ok,” he smiled and lifted his bag, turning to unlock the front door. A blast of icy air hit her bare legs; she hopped and jogged on the spot.

“Fuck! Gotta scrape the windscreen,” he sighed.

“See? Now you really will be late! You should listen to your wife… she always knows best.”

“He! Yeah I got a genius one. Get your ass back up to bed, it’s cold.”

She reached up and squeezed him in a hug, “I love you, have a good day.”

He kissed her, not allowing the fact that she tried to wriggle out of his embrace because she hadn’t brushed her teeth stop him, “Love you too, gorgeous.” He locked the door behind him…

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June 1944

SoCS

 

“Shush!”

“What do you mean, ‘shush?’ Don’t shush me.”

“Would you prefer I do this?” She clapped her hand over the other’s mouth, and promptly got bitten. “OW! Heavens, Marcy.”

“Well. Don’t shush me. Or touch me.”

“I can’t hear a word if you keep nattering on. You never did know when to shut up.”

“Shouldn’t be eavesdropping anyway. You were always a nosy bitch.”

“You need to watch your language!”

“Make me.”

“What pushed you out of the wrong side of bed this morning anyway? You’re a crank pot.” Then she held up her hand, the one with the reddening teeth marks, and leaned her ear against the door.

“What are they saying?”

“That they’re going to put you up for adoption if you don’t smarten up.” There was a dark twinkle in Janie’s brown eyes. But suddenly it left. Her young face fell into an expression the younger sister perceived like a cold hand around her heart.

“What? What is it, Janie? Tell me! Is he coming home?” she hissed.

Janie looked at her with welled eyes and shook her head.

Marcy touched her shoulder. “It’s okay. Don’t cry.”

Janie kept shaking her head, the tears now spilling over her pale cheeks, and the cloud that descended on 1414 Chatham Street that day smothered them in a permanent hush.

 

Thank you to Linda for a great prompt. Head over to SoCS to be inspired and for the participation rules!

Flash Fiction – Wild Fire

It was the kind of kiss that started wild fires. He took her hand and held it with his in her lap. He leaned across the console. “Every touch is a promise,” he said, and his voice was soft and deep and warmed her like aged whisky. His lips brushed her nose, and she closed her eyes and instinctively tilted her head. How did she know to do that? It was not only their first kiss…

“But you’re not allowed,” he said, and the tip of his tongue brushed the cupid’s bow of her lip. “To fall.”

 

December 2, 2016 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about something or someone not allowed. Maybe it’s about gender, race or other intolerance. Maybe it’s the cat who paws at the door, but not allowed inside. Maybe it’s a trail where dogs are not allowed. Go light, go dark, go where the prompt leads you.

Observer

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Mindlovemisery’s Writing prompt #187

Upon awakening each morning she wondered who she would be. For this day, a gust of wind past a yawning window. Or something small and beautiful and dying, going nowhere at all.

She bathed and dressed in solitude, taking great care with an appearance that would go unacknowledged. Small tasks completed gave a sense of satisfaction while awaiting the arrival of the soul she would be today. How that arrival might color her view of the world, the one she sat in the shadows and quietly observed. In the blazing Technicolor of a fantasy dream-coat? Or bleak grays, inky blacks and washed out whites? In the sepia tones of memory? Or the pastel gossamer and silk of youth and hope?

Upon awakening each morning she felt the temporary flutter of her heartbeat and wondered how many she had left. She awaited the arrival of the soul to tell her how to feel about this one. Whether it was dark and sad or bright and lustful, she embraced each as the feeling of being alive, an observer of the life outside.

a bizarre, bleached pantomime — Peedeel’s Blog

The porn films are not about sex. Sex is airbrushed and digitally washed out of the films. There is no acting because none of the women are permitted to have what amounts to a personality. The one emotion they are allowed to display is an unquenchable desire to satisfy men, especially if that desire involves […]

via a bizarre, bleached pantomime — Peedeel’s Blog

Friendship

This blog has been quite the experience. I know I’ve said it before, but I’ve been with WordPress for almost a decade. I’ve run four different blogs and the longest one I kept running for about eight years. It was under my actual name, and was a way to keep widespread friends and family informed. It served as a farm journal, a picture journal, a horse training journal, a cookbook, a public sketch pad and a year long Christmas letter for whoever wished to drop by.

Then I launched Felicity. Felicity was a way to shed the expectations of a small community, and a smaller family. I found myself needing to express thoughts and ideas that wouldn’t be acceptable to those who knew me. I know that may sound harsh, and you may be thinking, well those people love you, and will love you no matter  what, for who you are.

The real world doesn’t work that way. They may still love you, but in my case, I would no longer be acceptable to them, and I would need to be fixed. Changed. Remolded into that neat little Christian package so I could sit on the front pew with the rest of the preacher’s family.

Felicity happened because I was no longer able to squeeze myself into that rigid expectation. I felt myself bursting, needing to stretch and pull things out into the light for my own sake and no one else’s. And I have made some amazing discoveries on account of it.

Not only that, I have made some amazing friends. And today is a special day for one of them, my girl Kat. We’ve known one another for two years now, and we’ve been through some rough shit together. Kat is one of the first people (my DH aside, but he’s under contract 😉 ) who met me on my own ground, and accepted me for who I am, not who I was supposed to be. She has supported me, championed me, propped me up, mowed me down, and sent me pictures of really fucking big spiders (thanks a lot for that, sis 😉 )

Today is her birthday. And I wanted to publicly wish her a happy one, filled with all the best things life can give her. I hope all you folks will stop by her corner of wordpress and do the same.

Thank you, Kat, for being here for me. Happy birthday!