Category Archives: Fiction

Precipice

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She stands at the precipice.

The dark blue of the ocean stretches out before her, so calm and deep.  The first whispers of the breaking dawn, in the far off horizon. Even the Baracelanra wind, usually brisk this early in the season of Karisnaan, is gentle.

Far off sounds, hidden in the early morning mists of the Asiv forest, loomed nearer.

She couldn’t decide which was worse.  The nightly terrors of the forest, of which she had never encountered before this waning night, the known dangers of the same untamed, dense forest in the daylight, or the far off sounds which she knew better than her own heartbeat.

She breaths deeply of the air, heavily scented of the marlesh blooms native to the nearby mountains.  Even in the near dark the presence of the Mount Lanig could be felt.

For centuries, her people attempt to cross over the near razor sharp edges of the mountain; many die in the attempt. For centuries, her people attempt to pass through the mountain; many die in the attempt. For centuries, her people attempt to till the land at the foot of the mountain; all flora and vegetation except the marlesh died in the attempt. Her people have learned that the Lanig will not be easily crossed over, passed through or tilled on.  Yet, the marlesh thrives.

She listens again to the sounds breaking the quiet of the dawn.  She has time yet to enjoy this view, and sits on the still dew damp grass of the precipice.  Her feet mere inches from the sheer drop to the ocean below.

She had been born on this precipice.  She had frightened her family to no end during her early youth, with her constant wandering to this place; at least until she grew older were certain she would not go over its steep edge.    Here in the Second Coming of her Etol N’gavet she still cannot fathom her attraction to this place.  Like the Lanig – it just is so.

The once far off terrors of sound are now fully upon her and she slowly rises to face its source.

No words are spoken between them.  The time for words had long since passed, when she tore through the horrors of the Asiv itself in her attempt to escape the inevitable.  The expressions exchanged between them however spoke volumes.

Submit!

Never!

What choice have you?

She glanced at her surrounds.  The ocean, an unnaturally brilliant blue in the rising sun of this new day, is to the right of her.  The Lanig, to her left with it beautiful flowers and jagged edges, glinted in the sunlight. The Asiv behind her? She had barley survived her flight through as is trying to reach this precipice.  She knew she would not make it to the terrors of the forest this time, let alone through it again.  And finally, that which she could not escape, unabashedly enjoying this moment of triumph, waited patiently to claim her.

What choice did she have? The alternative was equally final and eternal as far as she was concerned.

Sighing deeply, resignedly, she feels her soul depart from her body as she takes the final step towards her fate…

And leaps…

She relishes in the screams of frustration coming from above her as she sails through the air to the rocks and ocean below, she couldn’t help but smile.

It was a beautiful place to be born, and a beautiful place to die.

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The Daily Post
The Daily Post | Daily Prompt – Precipice

MLMM: Atriocaval Shunt

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Can I live without him? Unfortunately, yes.
Will I want to? No. God, No.

I sit here and listen to the beep of the heart monitor. It used to be a most gall and wormwood noise before – when it was attached to someone else. It is the most wonderful sound in my world right now. For as long as I hear that sound, that beep, I know his heart still beats, and as his beats – so does mine. Because he is my heart and no one ever wants their warm heart to be attached to a frigid heart monitor. It was so touch and go in the beginning, he coded twice in the ER. The damage to him was that massive. And I sit here by his side, again in the fruitless mental exercise of how we got here.

My bike was showing its age; I didn’t trust it enough to participate in the upcoming Annual All City Cycle so he and I were at our favorite bike shop perusing for a new one.  I was looking at a ridiculously expensive silver and carbon frameset when he called my name to check out a vintage apple red Schwinn that was on display near the showcase window facing the street. I turned just in time to see a car careening towards him at a rapid speed. A woman having a massive heart attack, lost control of the vehicle and crashed into the window of the store. It was less than a heartbeat’s pause – just time for me to scream, not enough time at all for him to dive out of the way before the car jumped the curb, shattering glass panes and my world into a million fragments.

I have been here nearly every day and night for over three weeks now. Our assistant Margie has been such a godsend, showing her talents by holding down the fort at the office in a cinch, but I can see the strain is beginning to get to her. We will give her one hell of a raise once we are back at the office. I will feel so guilty if the business falls into a less lucrative position that what it was before all of this happened. However, its potential failure will not appease the guilt I will feel if he awakens and I am not here. I have only left his side to shower because it drives me more than halfway insane – the grimy feel of being in a sterile hospital 24/7, and yes, I appreciate the irony of it.

There is a difference between sympathy and empathy and you learn it at times like this. Most of our clients are sympathetic, but business is business – they want theirs taken care of, and logically, I understand that. Yet I take one look at him lying there and I could not possibly care less right now.  One of our overseas clients, who had gone through what I’m going through now, sent over a nature sound machine. When I called to thank him and ask why, he says that he had used one when his wife was in a coma a few years back.  He does not know if really worked, but what could it hurt, right? I checked with his doctors first, who also agreed it couldn’t hurt, so I have played different sounds over the past few days.

Tonight, to accompany the palinoia of the heart monitor, I chose wind and rain sounds as it reminded me of our last trip to the coast a few months back for a different race.  A really great picture of us leading a pack of cyclists had made the papers and I pulled out the folded-up copy I always carry with me and grin. I remember the moment the shot was taken, the concentration on my face was less about the race and more about me not stopping to cuss him out yet again. That day had started out with rain and a three hour long argument, but ended with sun and our engagement.

Listening to the sounds and reminiscing, I fall into an exhausted sleep. I wake with him holding my hand.

Wait…he’s holding my hand…

I slowly move my hand to be sure and feel the grip tighten more.

My head pops up to see him smiling at me and I hear the raspiest, but most wonderful sound in three weeks, outside of the heart monitor.

“It’s about time you woke up.”

mlmm-cyclists

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Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie | Weekly Wordle #143

Apple, Frigid, Pane, Gall and Wormwood, Dive, Cinch, Halfway, Grime, Wind, Vintage, Palinoia, Pause

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form, in any order that you like.

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Writing Prompt February 19th – Randomize!

For this week, we are asked to seek inspiration in random places. What does that mean?

1st  – Use the Wikipedia! Random Article button, and the article you get, is the title of your write, in my case Atriocaval Shunt.

2nd – Go to http://writingexercises.co.uk/random-image-generator.php, to receive a random image. Post this image and connect it with your written piece. I feel the Muses, especially Calliope, were being ridiculously generous to me when the bike race image came up. Thus the above story.

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Real Toads : Tuesday Platform

MLMM’s Wordle # 139 – The Coroner’s Tale

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“How she lay sprawled across the triptych. A human pupa awaiting the sweet kiss of Thanatos, but getting the cruel tongue lashing of Keres instead. The triptych itself, a most ghastly thing, was pinned to the wall as though it were a bed, and she to it.  Had I only seen the drawings, I would have sworn she lay across a divan in repose. Except for the missing toes, the only part of her the mice could easily reach I suppose.  As we came to collect the remains, I had wished it were only a mere image as opposed to the horror that was before me. There is a reason that was my last case.”  The ancient gnarled hands of the erstwhile coroner lit an equally ancient pipe.

“You know I am not a man prone to pleonasm, so forgive me this if I tend to such now. I must detail this as I recall it, or not as all, for the image of her like that sears my mind still. I remember I had to quickly grab hold of the nearest door jamb to steady myself it was such a shock.” I think it was not until he lowered his hand again that he realized it was raised to his nose as though to somehow ward off the stench of the scene then. Even his nose twitched in memory. “You sure you want to hear this, son?”

I nod and settled back in my chair waiting for the rest of the tale, somehow knowing it was going to take a while.

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Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie | Wordle #139 “January 23rd, 2016”

Bed, Pupa, Image, Pleonasm, Nose, Sear, Mice, Collect, Grab, Ward, Triptych, Pin

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form, in any order that you like.

Wordle #137 – Early Morning Meeting

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I knew picked a bad time to quit cigs when my scapegrace of a boss texted, and emailed, at 1am to come in for a 7am meeting. FFS, none of us called into this farce needed to be here this damned early and he knew it. The latest ad campaign was in its fifth day of stellar reviews. Even better, fortune shined its loving beam upon us when an unfortunate comment sparked an internet and news firestorm. The fusion of the public parapraxis of a well-known, but well- hammered, celebrity and our tagline exploded across the Twitterverse three days ago. I know a couple of our competitors considered it mealy-mouthed for us to not enact actions of our own at a such an easy target, but this campaign was my baby; I stuck to my guns at taking the high ground and it has paid off.  We have been praised for our restraint, especially with such an easy target. The good news for this quarter is  solidly rising, and hints of possible awards in our future beginning an early buzz. We were sitting so golden; this meeting was simply a stroke to his meager ego, flexing his boss muscle to show he could.  So here I am, nicotine patch on my arm and much-needed coffee in hand as I pass the wall of windows on our floor overlooking downtown, dawdling, before I head in to the shenanigans.

The early morning sun was slowly rising along the jagged horizon of skyscrapers. Its shine, reflecting off nearby windows, was near blinding.  I rarely have time, correction – I rarely give myself time, to take notice, so on a rare whim I allow myself to stand there, forehead resting on my arm against the glass and just day-dream for a moment. No censure, just letting my mind flow where it may while watching the burgeoning dawn. Naturally my mind floats to the object who-has-yet-to-know-the-depth of my affections. I sigh, thoughts of her turning my soul gelatinous in a warmth that is no longer surprising to me. I smile as my emotions leak out in the relative dark of the office floor.

Aurora is so wonderful and smart and beautiful. What would she say to married life with an average smuck like me?

A soft gasp to my side turns my soul so queasy I nearly drop my coffee. Oh dear God! Had I said that aloud?! I slowly turn with dread, relaxing as I face Aurora.

“She’d say that you’re far from average and hardly a smuck.” Aurora takes my hand, grinning at what I know had to be a happy, yet stupefied expression on my face.

“She’d say Yes.”

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Wordle #137 “January 9th, 2016”

Enact, Parapraxis, Scapegrace, Meager, Spark, Day, Mealy, Quarter, Gelatinous, Queasy, Nicotine, Fusion

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form. Use the words in any order that you like.

If You Look

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Photo Credit: Lorraine (MLMM)

I see this decaying Mother Mary and burgeoning plant daily. It reminds me death can be found anywhere, but if you care to look, so can life.

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In a New Year’s Eve Flash Bash at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, we are  offered various photos and methods as inspiration for Flash Fiction to close out the year. The above photo spoke to me in a Flash Two: Tweet-tweet: write a tale of no more than 142 characters.

Weekly Wordle #135: Goodbye

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I tug at the fabric of my blouse with impatience. All this gloss and glam really is not my thing for travelling, but a gal’s gotta do, you know?  I’m more a jackboots, jeans and t-shirt type of gal, but I can’t lie; I do look seriously good in this silky top and slacks. Yeah, I definitely learned how to dress better from all this, I’ll give it that much. I frown at my reflection turning my face at different angles in the light. It was a stroke of luck that I have my gear with me instead of having it shipped as I first wanted to do. Luck my ass! The goddesses-that-be who look over foolish gals like me knew I would need my good makeup to fix my face, so I thank you dolls! I ply on a little more foundation, to hide the discoloration trying to peek through. Sonavabitch!  The mirror in here sucks like a mutha for this, but I work with what I have. It’s an airport terminal after all, not like there is going to be a Hollywood dressing table in here.

Hollywood. L.A.

Who knew a chance meeting in the ladies’ room, a fist-fight, an emergency make-up session and some word of mouth would get me a call to go on a world tour with the crew for one of my favorite singers for an eighteen-month run. Eighteen. Months. World. Tour. I knew he was not going to like it at all, but it was an opportunity of a life time. There was no way in hell I was ever turning it down. Mama didn’t raise no fool, well, not too much of one anyway. He’s cheating on his wife with me and she knew it. I had no illusions about him faithfully waiting for my return. Still, he’s not the type of man you just walk away from. I had to make him do it.

“Baby, we knew from the beginning that I was not going to be here for a long-term thing.”

It really knifed him, my saying goodbye. He wasn’t expecting it and I wasn’t expecting him to come at me like that, but he did.

“You think you can just leave me! Leave me like a, like a, a fucking rum cull! You guttersnipe bitch!”

As soon as the words left his mouth I knew he regretted it, as I would immediately regret mine. I mean, I knew my role in his life, but I was furious! He had never said anything like that to me before, so I dropped a bomb in kind.

“But that’s all you ever were to me. Didn’t you understand that?”

He fell to his knees, staring in disbelief, as if it were all something alien to him. Maybe it was, I don’t know. I guess I should not have been surprised it happened, but I was. Hell, I was stunned. We both were. I expected to hurt, but Lord knows I didn’t expect to hurt so much. Not like this!

I hear the chime sound over the PA system and listen for the message; yes, it’s my flight preparing to board. The bruise on my cheek was now a ghastly faded yellow; my eyes were still a little red-rimmed from all the crying, but the swelling had gone down and the contouring hid everything else. I check one more time to make sure I got it all covered before I grab my satchel to join the passel of travelers like me heading for the west coast.

And I try not to think of the completely crushed look on his face, as I held mine. He knew better than to try to stop me as I quietly stood and walked out.

The backhand was easier to bear than that.

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Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Wordle #135

wordle-135

Sound, Terminal, Rum Cull (A rich fool, easily cheated, particularly by his mistress.) Knife, Gutter, Fabric, Discolor, Gloss, Jackboot, Passel (a group or lot of indeterminate number) Stroke, Impatience

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form. Use the words in any order that you like.

Fourth Rule

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In a posh hotel that all but has avarice etched into its über sophisticated decor, a very shapely body in an expensive little black dress, with very shapely gams in equally expensive high-heels, sits legs crossed at the bar in all her expensive glory. Her ebon mane is relentlessly coiffed in an updo that looked like it took some time to accomplish. Naturally long lashes hood piercing eyes that seem to see everything and zilch simultaneously. Other than her sanguine lips she is barefaced. Beauty such as hers, really doesn’t need much else. One set of red taloned fingers lay casually on her sparkling clutch, the other holds a drink, its contents mini tidal waves of motion as she swirls it idly.  The drink could have been premium top-shelf or basement level swill for all the attention she appears to give it.

The bartender tries to strike up a conversation. I can tell his sandpaper voice is as grating to her as her voice is dripping with honey to him as she politely, but firmly blows him off.

Everything about her says bored sophistication.  The been there / done look that of one who truly has  been there and done that repeatedly. Even as she sits in a casual lean, there is a correctness in her posture. For all her apparent boredom, there was a remoteness about her. Something irrevocable, festering just beneath the surface. I know that look.

Crap. Not tonight.

Taking a seat two empty stools away from her, I curse under my breath while ordering a club soda for myself. Without a word or looking, I slide the small bottle with Amphetamine towards her. Just as silently and blindly she stops it before it crashes into her hand. She downs a couple of pills, downs her drink and slides the pill bottle back to me, her motions full of the apology she can’t speak. I pocket the bottle and shrug taking my drink back to a side table to observe.

In the mirror behind the bar we see when her date-to-be enters the lobby.  It’s not even five minutes before he hits on her. I’m sure the mark thinks it’s his charm, but I can see when the pills start to take effect. The remoteness morphs into a subtle wildness that adds to her appeal as they chat aimlessly for a few minutes more. Eventually he offers a gentlemanly elbow and she accepts. She nods at me once nonchalantly in passing. It is the only direct look my partner and I have exchanged since first entering the bar, signaling the sting is a go as she head to his room, hopefully to arrest him.  The pills rattle in my pocket as I stand to follow them a few moments later. Rules are rules – I know it’s wrong, she knows it’s wrong, but it’s Fourth Rule time, we need to get through this. We’ll deal with her possible addiction tomorrow.

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Written for Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie – Wordle #134 “December 19th, 2016”

Relent, Wildness, The Fourth Rule (There is an exception to every rule.), Barefaced, Amphetamine, Swill, Tidal, Sanguine, Irrevocable, Avarice (greed), Zilch, Sandpaper

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form. Use the words in any order that you like.

Weekly Wordle #133 – Irrevocable

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With an annoyed gnash of teeth, he swept the flower from the table. He heard her gasp at the door, saw her crushed face as the bloom sailed through the air.

Too late he remembered…

Knowing nothing could be done, they watch the snowy edelweiss float for the briefest moment, like birdseed tossed into the air, then seemingly hurtled towards the uncovered lantern for a curl of fire to capture it.

A sudden hollowness fills him – and he knows – his heart is gone.

He had scoffed at the old gypsy woman a year ago he rode away with his prize, her granddaughter.

Not anymore.

With an askance glance the charred remains of what could have been, the descendent simply turned walked away. It was his third warning. They both know, this time, it is irrevocable.

Smoky whorls landed oh so softly in his palms, soft like a kiss. Like the kiss of love he will never get to know.

…when her heart is gone, you will lose yours –  forever.

He stood there transfixed for a long time. A ludic Narcissus, staring into his tear-stained hands long after the ashes were gone.

That was his curse.
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Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie – Wordle #133 “December 12th, 2016”

Gnash, Lantern, Edelweiss, Birdseed, Capture, Heart, Askance, Descendent, Irrevocable, Ludic, Ashes, Curse

You can use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form. Use the words in any order that you like.

I challenged myself to a- use all twelve words b- use them in order given and c- write a story in under 200 words

 

FOF: It’s Time!

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hay
Overnight, giant snowballs of hay appeared in the field.

Well, maybe not overnight, but as a kid who didn’t have to do the work, it felt that way each harvest season.

There’s something in the annual sighting of those stacks. It’s a visual nod to that the family has made it through another growing season; that the farm animals will make it through the coming winter. Most important, once the last bale was done, Papa would walk into Mama’s kitchen looking like a scarecrow and announce “It is done!” Somehow my young mind associated those giant bales of hay as a harbinger of the coming holiday season, all the joy they bring, and would ask “Is it Christmas yet?”

Now, it is my job. My wife and kids smile annually when I step onto the back porch, brush off hay and shout “It’s Christmas Time!”

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Written for:

Finish Off Fridays #3: Snowballs of Hay & Garden Gargoyles (09.12.16)

Weekly Wordle #132

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I know all of the windows are down and locked; that the shutters are closed against the harsh wind blowing. The torrential rain that drenched so thoroughly late in the afternoon has turned to chilling huffs of air drying by force, regardless of those who of us would prefer a traditional drying via the sun’s warmth.  I know cannot actually feel its chill while safely ensconced inside, but, its howl seeps into my emotional marrow and I pull the quilt tighter around me in physical protection from its presumed frost. I imagine the wind as malevolent bellwether to the coming winter. Its simple breeze of earlier gathering a nuanced force – going from breezes, to winds, to gales that make weapons of weak branches and blow through fallen leaves causing haphazard grooves to chart our paths to the fence and beyond once the snow starts to fall.

It is late, past the witching hour, everyone has long since retired to the warmth of their beds. I am restless, so I choose to read. The soft bluish flame of the kerosene lamp on the table lights the nuanced world of words before me warmly. I pick up the lime half on the table near me to suck. Landlocked as I am, I flatter myself as the protagonist of the novel I read; lying about on a sunny beach with cool lime libation in hand.

Only to inhale and taste petrol instead.

I have been up so long I’ve become near nose blind to the gasoline scent of the lamp, never a good sign. Its scent is what reminds me of its presence and that it, like me, is not inexhaustible. I smile at my own little Faustian folly as I mark my place, put the book away and turn down the lamp.

I glance around the darkened room as I rise for my own slumber. The worries of the previous day now clutter at the bottom of a handbag to be dealt with on the morrow.

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Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and Wordle

wordle-week-132

Gasoline, Lime, Bellwether, Late, Nuance, Marrow, Flattery, Clutter, Groove, Inexhaustible, Handbag, Faustian

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form. Use the words in any order that you like.