Category Archives: Short Story

30/30 – 18 | Special

Posted on by
2

Below is a carry over of the characters I created in Rebbie, a 30 Days /30 Stories post from a few days ago. Please read the first entry to further get into the character here.

I was about 11 when my whole life got turned upside down.

One Friday night we girls was staying over with Olivia and Alethia at Miss Jackie’s house.  It was late and I woke up having to go to the bathroom.  As I passed by Miss Jackie and Mr. Hal’s bedroom, I heard the bed squeaking and their voices through the half-opened door. I didn’t know grown folks made so much noise when getting Special Hugs as Papa called it.  I tried not to laugh as I closed the door gentle like and went on about my business.

Saturday morning, Miss Jackie was just a smiling and humming all over herself as she made us breakfast.  It weren’t that unusual, she gots like that every now and again.  This day, she just seemed happier than usual. I was asking Olivia why her mama gets so happy like that every so often.  I thought I was talking low, but apparently Miss Jackie heard me and laughed saying it was because Mr. Hal gave her such a special hug she still felt good.  My mouth must have fell open something fierce ‘cause I ain’t even realize it was open ‘til Miss Jackie told me to close it before a fly went in it and why I was looking at her like that.  I told her how Papa told us we ain’t to never ever ever talk about special hugs in front of no one and that I was surprised she was talking about it all easy like that.

I tells you, there must have been something in them damn pancakes ‘cause my mouth was just a going that morning!  Next thing I know I’m telling her about the time Papa slapped May-May something fierce ’cause she mentioned it in the kitchen once and only us girls was there.  He immediately apologized for hitting her, but we were to NEVER talk our Special Hugs again not even with each other.  Something in Miss Jackie’s face changed, I remember it did looking back on it, but I wasn’t old enough then to get it and like I said my mouth was running on it own accord that morning.

“Special Hugs?”  She asked.

“Yeah” I said, stuffing my face with the pancakes she had just placed in from of Olivia and me. “Like the one you and Mr. Hal had last night when I passed your room as I was going to the bathroom.  I ain’t know grown folks makes so much noise with their special hugs.  I closed your door. Papa says the door should always be closed and locked and we need to be quiet when he’s giving us our Special Hugs.  I guess ya’ll forgot.”

That’s when the bowl holding the next batch of pancakes Miss Jackie was mixing hit the floor.  Olivia and I jumped.  Twice.  First from the bowl dropping then again when Alethia, May-May and Cassie came tearing into the kitchen right behind it.

Miss Jackie was staring at me kind of funny like and I think that be about when I got the first sinking feeling that maybe something wasn’t no where near right.  May-May saw Miss Jackie looking at me and asked me what I done did to her.  I told her I ain’t done anything but ask her about her Special Hugs from Mr. Hal.  Then May-May starts in on me on how Papa says we’ ain’t suppose to talk about it at all and now Miss Jackie’s gonna tell Papa and how we three all gonna get it for sure.  I was trying to tell May-May how Miss Jackie done talked about it first, but all Cassie heard was how Papa gonna whup us and she starts bawling.

Cassie’s bawling starts Olivia bawling and I declare that girl is the most sorry-fullest looking thing on this here green earth when she gots her face all twist up in tears like.  Next thing I know we all up in that kitchen crying, Miss Jackie too.  She apologizing to us, we apologizing to her, Olivia and Alethia were apologizing and they damn sure ain’t had nothing to sorry about! It might have gone on like that for another half-hour at least, but then Mr. Hal walked in.

“What in the blazes…?”

Miss Jackie’s head snapped up at the sound of his voice.  It was years before I understood that unspoken language that grown folks who know each other well can speak, but Miss Jackie and Mr. Hal had to be speaking it that morning.  Ain’t nobody said a word as Mr. Hal washed his hands and took over making the pancakes in another bowl, Miss Jackie and us girls cleaned up the mess from the dropped bowl and soon everything seemed almost right back where they were before the bowl hit the floor.

Almost.

There was this hincky feeling that kinda lay over everything.   Miss Jackie and Mr. Hal joked with us and just did all the things they always do with us girls when we all together.  Still,  every now and then I would see Mr. Hal sneak Miss Jackie a look and they would speak that quiet language of theirs and they would both look at me and my sisters for a short moment with this sad look.

They sent us girls out in the front yard to play after breakfast, which we did.  Olivia and Alethia had snapped-out of their crying spell by then, but May-May and Cassie kept giving me dirty looks.  It felt like everybody was a blaming me for something Miss Jackie done started!  I couldn’t see where, but I knew I had somehow messed up Miss Jackie’s good mood and I felt bad for that. I told May-May I was going round back to the kitchen to get some water.  I actually was fixing to tell Miss Jackie and Mr. Hal to go on back in their room and have another special hug if it would make Miss Jackie happy again.

Heavens, I was young!

I was actually going to say that!  I just felt so bad for messing up her good mood and if that was the thing that made her so happy in the first place I figured it would work again.

“Hal you can’t over there!  My God, Hendricks will kill you over them there girls!” Miss Jackie’s voice was all panicky.
“Dammit Jacqueline!  What am I ‘posed to do?  Wait ‘till he gits here askin’ for them and then tell ‘im he can’t have them?  Woman think! All the hell he’ll cause up in here in front of all the girls.” Mr. Hal was mad about something.  “I gots to take the fight to him. It’s the only way.” It was the first time I had ever seen him like that and I stopped in my tracks too scared to go in and too scared to run for fear they would hear me and think I was listening in grown folks business, which Papa always told us never to do.

“’Sides I ain’t going by myself.  I’m taking Patrick  and Rev Emerson with me.  We jus’ gotta pray he don’t come for the girls  ‘fore I gets back with them.” I could hear Mr. Hal walking, no stomping around in that kitchen.  I think he was trying to keep his voice quiet down, but he was just too upset. That made me feel just that much worse somehow knowing I was the cause of this too.  I had just about decided to go on back to playing when I heard the one thing I shouldn’t have.

“It’ll be all that much harder to take the girls away from him if they back in his house.”

I believe I done mentioned how my mouth was on its own accord that morning, because my head just wouldn’t kick in as I tore into the kitchen.

“Whatchu mean take us girls away from him?  Why you wanna take us from our Papa?” I was loud.  I know I was loud.  I’m constantly being told to bring my voice down; it tends to get a little up there and I wasn’t nowhere near trying to keep it down as I ran into the kitchen and got in Mr. Hal’s face like I was grown. I started hollering for May-May, which was kind of a wasted breath since she was already on her way in from when I started yelling in the first place.  Of course May-May running in brought Cassie, which brought Alethia and Olivia.

In less than a minute we had an even worse crying yelling and hollering about than before.  Miss Jackie crying trying to calm all five of us girls down.  May-May at me and me screaming at the top at top of our lungs about how ain’t nobody going to take us from our Papa, Cassie bawling again just because we were and Olivia and Alethia were just standing there tears running down their face.

Men are rarely any good when women starts to crying their heart out.  The poor man had Miss Jackie and the five of us little ones all at the same time. He just looked from one crying female to another and shook his head.
Somewhere in there I got the notion to just go tell Papa what they was trying to do and took-off.  At least I tried to.  May-May was on the other side of the room from me, but I was back in kitchen so fast standing in exactly the same spot I was in before, if I hadn’t heard the slamming of the screen door I wouldn’t have known I moved at all.  I realized it was May-May who held me back as she stood holding my arms now.

May-May had turned thirteen a few of months before and had her monthly for a while now.  The women folks were all “…youse a young womans now” when they be seeing her and she done gone and let it get to her head .  She started to boss me and Cassie around like she as grown as Miss Jackie. Calling us “dumb little girls who ain’t know nothin’ ‘bout nothin’!”, especially when Papa wasn’t around to hear her. I was so sick of her trying to be all big on me, like she grown too I turned on her.  I was yelling at her for being all mad because Papa just told her a couple of months ago that she be too old for special hugs from him now and she can’t get none no more and how she ain’t wanting me and Cassie to get none either.  Miss Jackie groaned and suddenly sat down like somebody done dropped the heaviest of loads on her shoulders -which looking back on it now is kind of exactly what happened- and started whispering the Lord’s Prayer.  May-May turned on me then and screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Rebecca in Jesus’ name will you just Shut. The.  Fuck.  Up!”

And for the first time in my life I understood what folks meant when they said the words, the earth stood still.

Nobody, but nobody called on the name of the Lord like that! Mr. Hall and Miss Jackie looked at me and May-May with this – this look.  I was some years older before I could fully understand the level of shock they must have been going through at that table to look like that and it had nothing to do with May-May cursing, but at that moment all I could think was: Now what I done did?

“You know don’t you, Myrna-May? That it’s not right?” Mr. Hal’s voice was so soft, barely above a whisper, but we all heard him right clear.  I ain’t realize how quiet it was in the kitchen again until I saw Livvie asleep in his arms at the table. I don’t even know when all of us sat down, but we all were.  May-May just hung her head down with these tears coming down her face.  It was a real quiet kind of cry. I ain’t never known Myrna-May to cry like that.  She always made noise.  She was either really happy, really sad or really mad. Even when she herself didn’t say anything, her face said everything. These quiet tears was something new to me and it scared me to the core. It scared me to the point that I was finally, finally did something I ain’t been able to do up to that point.

I shut-up.

“I hear some of the older girls talking about it. It took me a while to figure out it was the same thing.  It took me even longer to figure out what was supposed to be right and wrong.” Myrna-May’s voice was low.  It sounded like she was talking from way cross the room through some kind of fog, but I was sitting right next to her. She was speaking loud enough though because neither Mr. Hall nor Miss Jackie asked her to speak up.
“They make jokes about doing – it – with someone’s papa, but I could kinda tell by the way they talked that it really wasn’t right somehow.  They made it sound all nasty and everything but…” Myrna-May stopped and looked from Mr. Hal to Miss Jackie who nodded at her for her to keep talking.

”But if it’s supposed to be all bad and nasty, w-why does it feel so-so…good?”

Mr. Hal’s neck actually made a snap like sound when it popped-up.  We all heard it and turned toward the sound. I truly believe the ONLY reason Mr. Hal didn’t completely explode at the moment was his girl asleep in his arms.  Miss Jackie had jumped-up quick like, ready to catch Olivia if he had, but he stayed in his chair.  Even so, the look on his face just before he looked down at the floor again scared Myrna-May and me so bad we grabbed each other’s hands.  Miss Jackie came and put her arms around me and Myrna-May.  Alethia came and rubbed May-May’s arm.  I ain’t quite sure how, but everything clicked at that moment for me.  It all just sort of came together.  I looked up at everything and everyone around me and as usual I said the first things that came out of my heart.

“Our Papa’s not suppose to give us special hugs is he, May-May?”  I asked Myrna-May.

“No, Rebbie honey, not like that.”  She squeezed my hand.  She had stopped crying, but she was still speaking in that far away voice.

“It’s something grown men folk only supposed to do with grown womenfolk only.  Never, ever with children.”  Miss Jackie added and there was something – final – in her voice.

“We ain’t ever going back to our Papa is we?”  I guess there was something final in my voice too because they both looked at me kind of hard, but soft and Mr. Hal sighed real hurt like.

“No, Rebecca honey, you can’t.”  Miss Jackie stroked my face speaking in that that same low across the room sound that Myrna-May had. Miss Jackie ain’t never used my whole name unless it was something really good or really bad.

I ain’t have to ask which one was what .

To this day, I have yet to decide if it was for better or for worse.  Way, way, way down deep, where I don’t want to really even admit it to myself, if I had to do it over again, even knowing all that I know now all these years later, I think I would have made more of an effort to keep my mouth shut.

30/30 – 16 | Card

Posted on by
Reply

The only thing I ever got off my old man was a birthday card when I was like, twelve. He’d run off when I was six. leaving me, Mama and Sis to fend for ourselves. He had stayed in my life just long enough to make memories for me, but not solid ones.  Mama never talks about him, but being a few older than me, my sister remembers him.

“Tell me about Papa.” I remember I asked Sis a few years back.

“Huh?” She looked at me, pushing her dank hair back from her eyes.  She was already small in build, but looked down right emaciated in the wife beater that was way too big for her frame.   The strap slid and I saw a little too much of her breasts as she took the near empty bottle of vodka from between her legs and leaned forward to put it on the table. I move my eyes to look look at her arms instead. The inside of her forearms  by were scabbed from all the scratching she did and I noticed she had two new perfectly mean looking fresh ones to match all the rest.

“I said, what was Papa like?’

She smiled at me, her eyes not really seeing me at all.  I realized then just how drunk she was, again, and should probably ask later if I can catch her sober.

Anyhow, the only thing I ever got from him was a birthday card when I was twelve. I remember it was addressed to me, it was the first piece of mail I received that was not junk. It said “Happy Birthday Son!” on the outside it, with some little boy younger than me wearing a grown man’s suit and carrying a brief case. Printed on the inside of the card was a sad little rhyme:

You were once so small, I know
Now look at you, so big and strong now!
Though you’ve got more growing to go,
until you’re a man, won’t be so long now.

The excitement of my first mail crashed immediately as my first thought was how would he had even known if I’d gotten big or tall.  It’s not like he had ever come by to see me or Sis. But the killer was, at the bottom of the card, below the rhyme, he wrote:

Keep your chin up and your back strong, see you around.
Pops

I studied the card on several occasions, trying to work out the meaning to what he was telling me. To this day, I still didn’t know. I showed it to Mama who looked at the card long enough to verify the writing before she drowned herself in Jack Daniels for the day.

“What was Papa like?’ I asked again a few days later. I

I had caught Sis at the sink washing dishes, trying to be being the dutiful daughter.  That probably meant she must have needed money, again, and was sucking up to our mother.  She looked up a little, thought about my question for a moment and then said, “Strict.”

 

“Strict?” I prompted her when she fell silent.

“Not strict as in mean, just like you know rigid. He had his way and that was it. His way was usually right, but I remember wishing he would at least listen sometimes first you know. Listen to see if I was right because I was right, not because he was.  Come to think of it, it where you get being so headstrong from when you think you’re right.  Only he was better looking.” She winked at me and smiled that lovely smile she only had when she was happy and sober.

Mama had kind of folded in on herself when Papa left. She crawled into her own bottle and never really came out. Only doing just enough to keep a roof over, fridge partially filled and clothes on. Sis was really my my mom and my pops.  All the important things I learned, I learned from her. Sometimes by good example stay in school and get good grades, or by horrible warning, don’t drink, don’t do drugs. I’m still trying to work out how Sis who was once smart enough to be class salutatorian in middle school, was too messed-up to listen to her own advice by sophomore year of high school. Then again she is my mama’s daughter. Sometimes, I see a strange man sitting at the kitchen table and I honestly won’t know from which bed he crawled. And going by age don’t help none. Mama was once dating hah! a guy who wasn’t much older than me and I was all of sixteen then. And hell, if sis is almost twenty-seven now, then she could not have been more than seventeen that time she had to give her man at the time the dentures he left in her bedroom so he could eat breakfast. And me? I’m twenty-two now, transferring to State on scholarships just to get the hell out of this town. I got a good future ahead me, so they say. Though they been saying so for years  now and I haven’t seen this good future yet.  But I digress…

Anyway,  I got that one card from my pop. I found half of it while I was cleaning my room as I was packing. I had forgotten I had ripped it in half in anger when I was fifteen or so I was so angry with this unknown specter that somehow had more a presence in our lives in absentia than he probably would have had were he there.

Keep your chin up and your back strong,

Like this was some sage mystical wisdom passed down through the ages.  I didn’t know who he was, or where he was  or what he did or anything much beyond a name. But he knew where I was to send the card.  Why couldn’t he have actually been a father for one extra minute? Or better yet, had taken one extra to think about it and not send this shit card in the first place.  We don’t hear a thing from him for years, until he sent this shit and I haven’t heard jack shit from him since. So what the fuck was that about anyway? I was twelve years old for fuck’s sake! I was his son! Was it easy for him to just keep going the fuck on like I didn’t exist? I remember raging to Sis just before I let her rip, literally. The riiiiiiiip was loud in the immediate silence following my tirade as I threw the pieces to the floor. Sis took the torn pieces, taped it together and gave it back a couple of days later. I was grateful, then. But that was then.

A nearly full year sober Sis was sitting on the bed helping me pack. She smiled a sad little smile and chuffed me on the arm as I reached for the other half of it, then held the two pieces together to read it once more.  I spoke to the specter one last time.

I spent years, years,  waiting for another sign of your acknowledgement of my existence that never came.  Do you know how long that fucked with me?  No more. 

I let the pieces fall into the garbage bag on the floor.

30/30 – 15 | Rebbie

Posted on by
Reply

My mama died about two days after Cassalinda was born. Yeah, I know, but that was Mama’s mama’s name.   My papa hated the name, but ’cause he got to name me and May-May, he promised Mama she could name the next one. I think she done picked Cassalinda just to spite him. He might have convinced her later to change it to something else, but once she passed on, he ain’t have the heart to go ‘gainst it.  We just call her Cassie.  And May-May is short for Myrna May – my Papa’s mama’s name.  I accidentally nicknamed her ‘cause I couldn’t get my tongue working around Myrna right when I was little and always wound up calling her May-May and it stuck. Me? I was named after some woman in a movie Papa saw.  He thought the actress was beautiful – I was told Mama thought the actress was pitiful looking. I ain’t never saw the movie, and don’t know the name of the actress; so I never could form my own opinion on it.  I just know Mama hated that not only was I being named after some homely strange woman but not even a real one at that. All that just to say, I’m Rebbie, short for Rebecca.

Anyway, I was all of three years old and May-May was six when Mama passed.  Papa raised us girls by his lonesome.  Well, not quite lonesome, our neighbor down the road some, Miss Jackie, came over Saturday nights to do our hair for church and whenever else it was needed.  Since Papa had to leave for work before the bus showed up, she also made sure we got off to school on time. Mr. Hal, Miss Jackie’s husband, and Papa was good friends from work.  Miss Jackie was our Godmama.  We spent nearly as much time at her house, playing with her girls, as they spent at ours. Still, I think he tried to make up some for us not having our own mama by spoiling us a little. Okay, a lot.

We got all the pretty dresses we wanted for church and good dresses for school.  We had all the toys we wanted.  And no one would mess with us.  One, because Papa taught us how to hit like the boys so we usually handled our own problems.  And two, most folks didn’t like how it all end up the couple of times Papa did to get in it.  Like when Ray Porter Jr. hit May-May with a glass soda bottle.  He was something mad because she beat the devil out of him when he “accidentally” tried to trip her up three times the day before.  I guess she ain’t beat him enough to keep the devil out, because he then “accidentally” spilled grape soda on her new yellow dress. He knew to run before she got her hands on him. I think he just threw the bottle to slow her down, but it hit right on the head and broke. When it broke, it cut her good. She’ll always have a little scar right on her left temple going just into her hairline because of it. Twixt the soda and the blood, May-May was fuming and when she got her hands on Ray Jr that time he come as bloody as she be. I probably should let you know that May-May was barely nine and Ray Jr. was a good ten or eleven at the time. When Papa saw her cut, I swear he liked to die from the mad of it. Ray Jr.  mayhap just been a boy, but Papa whooped that boy, pants down, not just in front of Ray Jr.’s own mama and papa, but also on their own front porch where everybody else got to see and hear it.  We girls heard about it second hand ’cause Papa ain’t want us to come with him,  but the kids who saw talked all about it come that Monday.

Now, Papa goes to Yarrow Junction every third Saturday of the month for whatever shopping he needs to do. Sometimes we girls get to go; sometimes we don’t.  Miss Norma is our local seamstress. She likes to get her goods from Yarrow Junction because she say they got better quality.  One day she took a stubborn notion to walk to Yarrow, which is nearly an hour’s drive mind you.  And on a hundred-something degree-day to boot!  Woman could have died in all that heat, trying to carry her goods home by foot. Papa and Mr. Hal found her sitting  by the side of the road that Saturday afternoon about nearly ready to pass out.  All because her husband, refused to help her get her own car and refused to take her himself while always zipping around in his own new car. He was always saying the material in our little ol’ hole in world was just fine for “them po’ ass niggas”.

Well, after a bunch of fussing’, Papa and Miss Norma worked out a deal, where he’ll take her to Yarrow Junction when he goes and he get’s one free shirt, dress or whatever, whenever he asks.  They’d been doing this for a couple of years by this point in the story and I believe she still  waiting for Papa to ask for something.  Anyway, this one Saturday, Papa tells her he gotta go to Yarrow Junction a week earlier than planned and if she want her ride she had to go then or wait until the next month.  Of course, she went with him.

This just happened to be the same day that Papa got into it with Big Ray Porter, Ray Jr.’s papa.  Big Ray told Papa, that Ray Jr. should have cut up May-May’s “little spoilt ass” more than what he had and Papa wound up knocking him out. I guess I should also mention that it be in right in front of the James Street Hotel in Yarrow Junction and Ray Porter Sr. was just coming out of the place with a “too friendly type woman that ain’t his wife” as I heard old Mrs. Tenney tell it later. Papa had asked him why he ain’t done nothing about Ray Jr. cutting up May-May’s face when Big Ray done said what he said and Papa hit him.  I’m thinking now that’s probably why Big Ray ain’t had nothing to say when Papa whupped Ray Jr. on own his front porch the next day. Miss Norma is  Mrs. Norma Porter, as in Big Ray’s wife. She had just came out of Brennan’s Drugstore next door, to meet Papa at the agreed upon time to leave, right after Papa done hit Big Ray.  Big Ray’s unconscious head was being cradled by a half-hysterical woman who ain’t know the why Miss Norma woman was suddenly taking a purse upside her head. I later heard Miss Jackie tell old Mrs. Tenney that she thinks Papa went into Yarrow that exact Saturday on purpose, just so she could see.  Looking back on it, I believe that be true too.

I ain’t quite sure if it was May-May’s or Papa’s whupping that eventually did it, but Ray Jr. sure ain’t wanted nothing to do with any of us girls too much after that.  Yes, we was spoilt, I can see that now looking at from this end of the lifeline.  But, what does a little girl-child know about being spoilt?

We just knew our Papa loved us.

30/30 – 6 | Plan

Posted on by
2

          The Mont Blanc taps on the blotter.

          At first in a rapid staccato, then slows to a more mundane tap of someone who’s bored. The more minute details of the latest plan being finalized in a brilliant mind.  Renior to Romare  hang on the walls. Queen Anne furniture, East Indian carpets, Tiffany lamps, Lenox crystal, all the proper status symbols abound. The Mont Blanc tapper looks around the opulent living room, picking up the telephone.

          “Yes, this is Langston, Mr. Cedric Warren’s Executive Assistant . . . Yes, he wishes to order one ticket to the Eastshore Charity Auction . . . That’s correct, just one ticket for will call.  You have his account number on file, correct? . . .Yes, that is the account. Draw the funds from that account and fax a receipt to the  home fax for his records…Yes, he somewhat old-fashioned that way. I will hold for the confirmation fax.”
          An expansive view of the city’s skyline is seen through the floor to ceiling picture window. Monied means lives here.  A errant strand swaying in the air-conditioned current is pushed back in place as the time is checked on the Breguet until the fax arrives.

          “Yes, the conformation is transmitting through now . . . Everything appears to be in order, thank you . . .You have a good day, also, thank you.” A small smile plays upon the assistant’s lips as the fax is read and then put through a shredder.  A photographic memory does have its uses.

          The plan is starting to get underway.

          It is one of those low ninety-something degree NYC days that feels more like a low one hundred and something degree day with the humidity. As usual there is a line on the TKTS booth. The clerk in the ticket booth stares incredulously at the customer before him.

          “You want to pay cash?  You do realize that the tickets are fifteen hundred dollars – each?”
          “I’m aware of what it cost.”  The customer responds testily, “But thank you for putting my business all out in the street, yo.”
          “Yes, of course, excuse me. One ticket to Eastshore Charity Auction. That will be $1500, plus the processing fee please.” The clerk is taken aback, returning to the transaction. His eyes admiring the way the t-shirt clung to her body in the heat; the woman before him barely looked as if she owned one hundred dollars, let alone fifteen hundred. She was a looker though. Hell, as long as the ticket is paid for, he couldn’t care less.

          “Thanks you.” She pushes an errant strand of hair back into place as she carefully puts the ticket in her purse and checks the time on the Breguet.   The same small smile plays upon the lips as she walks away.

          The plan was definitely underway.

30/30 – 5 | Score

Posted on by
2

Janelle looks at her reflection as she ran her fingers over the wool of the coat. The lines fit her lush form perfectly. With the collar popped up, her dark sunglasses on and her gloves she knew it was a combination that would look so good on her. It was more than she wanted to spend on a coat just then, but it would be worth it for the perfect fit alone. She just could not get past the color. Red.

And not just red, but a THAT’S RIGHT WORLD! LOOK AT ME! HERE I AM! R-E-D!, red.

As if her size alone wasn’t attention-getting enough. She could all but hear the derision of her sister Grace couldn’t you find it in black or at least navy? To be fair Janelle had initially looked for a coat in a darker *cough-slimming-cough* color, but then her eyes saw the red and that was it. Janelle sighs taking off the coat. She puts it back on the hanger, buttoning it back up perfectly before returning it to the showroom floor. It was the third time this week she came in and tried on the coat. It was the third time this week she was going to walk out without it as she slips on her navy coat. It was a little out of my price range anyway she consoles herself picking up the fabulous leopard print eternity wrap she spied earlier instead.

She sees her new neighbor Chris pass by the boutique as she stands on the line to make her purchase. Janelle could not help but smile. Tall, solid build and a very nice ass to boot. The gods were at their A game when they created that one. Janelle had done the new neighbor deed of showing up with a cake that second night after move in. Chris had invited her in, but there were still a ton boxes everywhere and they wisely decided to move it over to Janelle’s apartment where they got into a surprisingly good political discussion though they differed in some views.  They ran into each other a couple of days later at the local Asian fusion place. The next evening Janelle slipped a handful of menus for the best places that delivered under Chris’ door without a note. Much to her delight she found a note of thanks from Chris under her own door the next morning. That was a week ago with little more than a head nod in passing a couple of days ago. Janelle decided she was going to ask her new neighbor over for dinner once she got home. She then pseudo plotted ways to get Chris’ shirt wet just so she can profusely apologize while using the smallest towel possible to dry off those abs she had spotted on move-in day.  The discussion was even better than the abs and those were some nice abs Janelle had to laugh to at her own silliness.

“Aw, you’re not going to get it?” The cashier broke through Janelle’s day dreaming.

“Huh – er what?” Janelle stepped up to the register.

“I saw you trying on the red coat. Most woman try, but really can’t work a color that intense, but you do.” The cashier smiled, starting to ring up Janelle’s purchases.

Grace would not think twice about wearing such a bright-colored coat. In fact, she showed-up for Sunday dinner last week in a peacock-blue number. It looked divine on her, but not as good as this coat looks on me. Besides, she was just so tired of wearing the black and navy and charcoal grey coats she has worn for years trying to fit in some other person’s mold of what she should wear for her size. As if wearing those colors would make her less noticeable. Make her disappear.

Well she wasn’t going to disappear dammit!

“Be right back.” She nods once with conviction.

Upon Janelle’s return, the cashier slides a piece of paper for Janelle to see; a coupon for 30% the purchase of that specific brand’s coat. “Would this help?”

“Why yes, yes it would! Thank you! Oh, and I want to wear it now.” Janelle was almost giddy at her good fortune. A few minutes later, with her old coat in the store bag, leopard scarf draped around her face and sunglasses on, Janelle waltzed out in her new coat. Score!

Feeling like a million bucks, she decided to celebrate by picking up a couple of bottles of wine for dinner from the wine shop down the block and walks straight into Grace at the door.

“Oh good God girl!  What the hell possessed you to get that? Where are the cops?” Grace looked her up and down in disbelief.

“Why? Because it’s against the law me to look this fine in it?” Janelle retorted. Score!

“No, because that coat is so red and your ass so fat you look like a siren.” Grace rolls her eyes, pleased as punch by her presumed wit. Before Janelle could respond a pair of hands squeeze her shoulders from behind.

“I know, Jay is seriously working that film noir, bad ass siren vibe hard isn’t she? And with that body, she’s doing a fine job of it too. Good call! Hi, you must be Gracie.”

Janelle grins recognizing her new neighbor’s voice, reaching up to squeeze Chris’ hand in gratitude. That her sister cannot stand to be called Gracie, and though Janelle knows she’ll be blamed anyway, the fact that she never told Chris about the Gracie thing makes the use of it all the more perfect. She could not help but enjoy watching the wind knocked the hell out of her sister’s sails as introductions are made. Grace looks from Janelle, still holding Chris’ hand, to Chris who winks at Janelle and back to her sister.  Janelle raises her sunglasses visually daring Grace to say anything else. Grace wisely chooses to make her exit. Score!

“Wow you’re right, she is lovely, and a bitch, and it should be against the law for you to look this fine and not go out to dinner with me tonight.” Chris pushes a stray hair back while picking a bottle of wine to consider then placing it back.

“Excuse me?” Janelle laughs surprised.

“I was debating if I wanted to ask you out on a date. The debate ended when I saw you in that coat, as you passed the coffee shop next door. My sister is a big gal too and she would run for the hills from such an attention-getting color. That you have the moxie to do it and do it well makes you a woman I want to know more.” Chris smiles her megawatt smile.

“Well so much for my picking up wine to invite you to dinner tonight. I accept.” Janelle lowers her glasses and grins.

Oh sweet, sweet score!

====================
30 Stories in 30 Days | Day 5

30/30 – 4 | The Papers

Posted on by
3

He did not mean to eavesdrop on her conversation as he stepped outside.  He simply could not help grinning as he enjoyed the sound of her voice in business mode as she conversed with someone from an office on the coast. He stood just behind her, leaning against the wide column of the restaurant’s portico and waited. She had finished the conversation and was about to turn around when another call came in and stopped her.

“Why are you calling me now? You know I am out with him.”

What the hell?

“I was going to tell him at dinner, but it was likely to be an ugly scene if he doesn’t take it well.  I could not risk that. I’ll give him the papers when we get home. Handle it in a private setting.”

Give him the papers? What papers? Divorce papers? Why? They’ve been married forever, well nearly twenty-seven years anyway. He was happy. Had you asked him five minutes ago he would have sworn on a stack of bibles that she was also. Granted she had seemed a little distracted these past few days. He knew they were in a crunch another cycle at her job and she was always a little more tense then. He simply contributed it to that. Taking her out to dinner tonight, to one of her favorite places, just a little something to help ease some of the stress. But this? No, he was not expecting this.

The lovely voice becomes more and more dreadful as he listens to her speak to what has to be her lover.

“I know, hon. It is insane for this to happen now at this point in our lives, but I have to tell him. The sooner the better. It’s past the point where I have a choice and I’ve put it off long enough already.”

His head spins as he tries to quickly process what he was hearing, but his mind can’t do it. He moves to the side and waits for her to turn around.

“Look, he’s going to be out any minute, I have to hang…Oh dammit!” She turns and saw him standing there.  He has no idea what his expression looks like, but it must be something fierce gauging her reaction to him as she slowly shuts the cell off putting it in her purse.

There is the most uncomfortable silence as they stare at each other for a brief eternity.  Slowly, he holds out his hand.

“What…?” She looks genuinely puzzled by his gesture.

“You have papers? Divorce papers?” He could barely get the words out.

If she was taken aback by his expression upon seeing him, it was now his turn to be so as her expression morphs from surprise, to confusion, to comprehension and then giggles.  The giggles quickly became peals of unbridled laughter as she sees the incredulous look upon his face.  Unable to speak she simply reaches in her over-sized purse and hands him an envelope.

The envelope had no outer markings, he has no choice but to open it. Inside are what looks like printouts of a couple of Polaroid photographs of orange aliens. No, it was one of those 3D ultrasound images of a fetus, but why would she…? Then he sees the patient’s name on the side.

Oh…

They had tried to conceive. It turned out they both had medical issues that would make it hard, but not impossible to have children. They went for it full tilt, spending serious amounts trying various technical and medical treatments, homeopathic remedies etc. Nothing seemed to take.  When he once suggested adoption she was adamant against it; she had wanted their child or none at all.  For nearly fifteen years they tried and failed.  As their chances grew slimmer with age, they officially gave up trying a couple of years ago when she went into early-menopause. He mind reels anew at the thought as he continues reading the information on the paper.

Estimated 17 weeks.

Oh holy…

No wonder she was worried at what he would think. They were past the point of having a choice, they were having this baby. She stops laughing, for once unable to read his feelings in this, and places a tentative hand on his. He looks from the papers to her, only then remembering how she did not want wine at all during dinner tonight and slowly breaks into self-depreciating laughter feeling incredibly stupid.  That is an expression she can read and falls into a gentle teasing laugh of her own.

“A divorce you dolt, really? After all this time, really?” She punches his arm playfully.

“A baby you doll, really? After all this time, really?” He retorts grinning.

“A baby…?” She stops; arching an eyebrow.

He looks at the papers again. Twins.

Oh holy God!!

<>==========<>==========<>
30 Stories in 30 Days | Day 4

30/30 – 3 | Watering Hole – Mevralaud

Posted on by
4

          Mevralaud pushed Finiadd to his limits. He knew he was seriously pushing his luck with the temperamental beast, but he was in no mood to be rebuked by anyone, least of all by an animal destined to be under his command. Oddly enough, if he didn’t know better he would swear the damned creature was actually enjoying this all out, full tilt run. Mevralaud knew he left his brother and Amrieux in the dust. He could not even hear their yelling anymore. He knew his father will not be pleased at all with his current behavior, but for these brief moments he would try to enjoy this rare moment of complete solitude.

          Solitude.

          Ydarkra!

          When last had he a moment all unto himself in the daylight hours? In the nighttime hours? The moments lying in bed before sleep envelopes him? Surely that cannot be considered a true solitary moment. Even his time in the privy chamber was subject to interruption if deemed he was taking too long to conduct his business. Not for the first time he wondered what he would be were he not DarkraSeco. At ten and three reaagons, only a member of Lead Court seemed remotely appealing. All the glory of royal court, without feeling as though the entire kingdom will fall into the brimstone pits of Briellekok should he so much as sneeze in the wrong direction.

          Mevralaud reigned Finiadd in to a slower run as he headed towards the watering hole. Both he and Finiadd could benefit from a cool sip. He noted the pull of the material around him as he shrugged his young shoulders. He was outgrowing yet another coat. His mother had jokingly predicted Mevralaud would be larger in stature than the Darkran himself one day. At the rate he was growing, he was not entirely sure it was a joke anymore. It certainly was not to the seamstress, who had presented this very same coat to Mevralaud barely a half-reaagon ago and it fit quite loosely then. Though he knew from experience his father would never allow something as trivial as a man’s size to belittle him in any manner, the thought of one day having mass and height greater than that of his father did bring a fleeting moment of amusement.

          Sudden sounds of female shrieking caught his attention as he neared the watering hole. The watering hole was actually an extension of the massive M’Kairoo River to its east. Its waters were much tamer than the M’Kairoo, renowned for the lives it has taken. Many of those unsuspecting lives were fooled by the calm top waters that disguised its powerful undercurrents. Ydarkrans know to stay within certain bounds of watering hole; for it will willingly feed you to its more powerful sibling should you stray too far from the shore. Locals occasionally swim there on hot days. From the shrieking sounds it seems the current locals were all female. He pulled Finiadd to a slow trot as he passed the copse of trees that surrounded the watering hole. Slight glimpses of running skin flashed in the distance. Females and apparently very naked were in the cool waters of the watering hole if the one or two stray articles of clothing are any indication. Belatedly he realized they had spotted him before he spotted them and were running away.

          All but one of the females had made it to hiding in the dense trees. She immediately dropped to the ground, curling upon herself to hide as much of her body and face as possible. Her dark, thick curling hair, wet and hanging about her back and head helped considerably. Still the curve of her spine and rear were in full view. For once he actually wished Waidelm was with him as he dismounted, walking the rest of the way towards her until he stood in front of her. She was younger than he, but not by much. Ydarkra! Why could she not have been a full woman? Now, that would have been an interesting sight to behold! Still what he could see told him she was tall for her age.

          “Hello, there.” He stood in front of her. She did not answer. He called to her again, still no response.

          “Are you aware that it is unlawful to not acknowledge a greeting by one of the Royals? Not to mention just plain lacking in respect from Ydarkran to another.” He asked bemused. A deep racking sob was his response as the tears she had been obviously holding back came out in force.

          “By Ydarkra girl you can at least look at me!” Mevralaud’s amused state was quickly fading as the girl adamantly shook her head in the negative.

          “My, my, my, what is this?” Waidelm’s voice boomed in the opening. Mevralaud groaned inwardly, knowing he would never hear the end of this! Have caution for when what is wished is granted – indeed!

          “Captured a maiden have we? And a wet one at that.” A very amused Amrieux pulled his horse along beside Waidelm’s. “She is not a mermaid from the looks of her. No fins that I can see.” Mevralaud bit his lip to keep from snickering as his best friend made rounded gestures with his hands approximating the girls exposed buttocks.

          “You can speak can you not?” Mevralaud asked, “You cry quite well for one presumed voiceless.”

          “Yes, I can speak and mocking me does not bode well on your insistence of respect.” Came a hissed response.

          “Alas! The maiden does have a tongue and a stinging at that!” Mevralaud smirked. “Now that you have graced us with the melodious tones of your voice, perhaps now you can explain your total lack in response to one of the Royal Court.”

          “I do not know if you are in fact one of the Royal Court.” The girl replied.

          “You would know, if you would simply lift your head and look.” Mevralaud chided.

          “I am sorry I, I cannot do that.” She shook her head.

          “Lyishar!” Waidelm gasped “Is the little nymph denying a direct …”

          Mevralaud made a quick motion with his hands silencing his brother. Waidelm looked at Amrieux in surprise.

          “Explain yourself.” Mevralaud gently ordered.

          “I have never been to the Ydarkra Rohn proper. Nor have I been to Festival; my Adonii says I cannot go until my fourteenth reaagon. I have only seen the Darkran himself on the times he sojourns this far. I have not seen anyone else of the Royals. Therefore looking at you would not necessary prove who you are.” The girl explained matter-of-fact, head still downcast.

          “It is safe to presume, you are at least familiar with the Ydarkra Honrae Dresht, is it not?” Mevralaud asked.

          “It is” Even through her quiet tears, her reply was in a tone that indicated it was an incredibly dumb question. Even Waidelm barely contained his snort of derision at the asking.

          “And you are aware that only the Royals can bare the Ydarkra Honrae Dresht?”

          “Yes. However, I cannot verify your wearing of the Ydarkra Honrae Dresht without looking at you.”

          “So why won’t you look at me?” Mevralaud asked a lot more politely than he actually felt; still the effrontery of her actions intrigued him.

          “For you will then see me.” She responded as though it were obvious.

          “And why is that a problem?”

          “I have already shamed myself by being caught like this and that is on me for taking the chance. Must I be further shamed by having witnesses to my lack of discretion?”

          “There is no one here but us. Who would know?” Mevralaud asked

          “We would.” Amrieux replied. Mevralaud gave his best friend a withering look.

          “I am simply curious. Upon my word, I will not tell of this.”

          “I do not know of you to know whether your word is trustworthy EnCourt.”

          “If I am presumed worthy of being addressed as “EnCourt”, should not my word as EnCourt be as worthy?”

          “You sound young, but you also sound old enough to know that the integrity of a man’s title and the integrity of a man’s word are not one and the same.”

          Mevralaud could not help but acknowledge the truth in her logic.

          “You realize we could simply just snatch you by your hair and simply take a look at you.” Waidelm offered.

          “No!” The panic returned to her voice and if were possible, she shrank further into herself. She truly did not wish to have her identity known.

          “Why should I not?” Mevralaud came to one knee before her. He would have sworn upon the Ydarkra soul itself that she somehow shrank even more at the closeness of his voice.

          “The greater shame would then be on you.” She had not otherwise moved since she dropped to the ground. Mevralaud realized she was holding a perfect PlearKesk form. She was being well-trained in the forms of Ombeyant and could easily outlast his patience from that position.

          “And how do presume that to be so.”

          “You can force me to do that which I do not desire. You claim to be of the Royal Court, it is well within your right to do so. However, so bold a move would make you considerably less than a gentleman and even less of one as one EnCourt. It would be a sin against your people as one of the Darkran.”

          “What makes you think I am of the Darkran?” Mevralaud asked.

          “You stated earlier that you could show the Ydarkra Honrae Dresht. Unless it was an empty threat to trick me into exposing myself, I presume you are one of the sons; for you definitely do not sound old enough to be the Darkran himself.”

          “Yet you risk insulting a Darkran then? For what? Vanity? Pride?”

          “Family honor.” She was crying anew and shivering more. “For now, I have only shamed myself. To expose my face and make myself known brings that shame upon your house for sharing in this with me. It will also bring shame upon my family and that is not a price I am willing to have them pay.”

          “Perhaps you should have considered these possible ramifications beforehand.” Mevralaud chided.

          “The look backward is always more clear than the look forward EnCourt.” She admitted grudgingly.

          “So the question becomes: how do I satisfy my curiosity and you keep your family honor?” Mevralaud mused. “What if you closed your eyes and look up? Then you still will not honestly know if you have personally insulted a Darkran.”

          “But if you see my face, you may recognize family semblance and thus know who I am now. If not so now, should we meet again in the future, you may then know who I am and my family is still dishonored. Moreover, with my eyes closed I cannot prove true of the identity you claim.” She sounded almost smug near the end of it.

          “Ydarkra! Do you have an answer for everything girl?”

          “No, EnCourt.” She sniffled. “You simply have asked questions I have answers to.”

          Amrieux snorted in mirth.

          “Deyvra! Enough already!” Waidelm started to come towards her. “Let’s just have a look at her and be gone!”

          “NO!” Mevralaud and the girl cried out in panicked unison.

          Everyone momentarily froze as a large bolt of lightening followed by an appropriately loud crack of thunder broke upon the quickly darkening skies.

          “It is going to rain and soon. How long will you stay like this?” Mevralaud stood.

          “Twice I have held SittanKesk outside from mid-rise to mid-fall in full storm these past rains.”

          Mevralaud whistled at her response. He could tell from the tone of her voice that it was not a boast on her part; just a simple statement of fact; even Waidelm eyes widened in appreciation. If she could hold the SittanKesk from the middle of the day to the middle of the night in a full storm, her current position was much easier to bear. Mevralaud could not help but be impressed, but he simply had to know who raised such a young girl with such quiet and fierce dignity.

          It was starting to rain and heavily. The girl’s full head of dark curls were now plastered flat to her back and head. Mevralaud took off his coat, tossing it to Amrieux and removed the symbols of his status from his shirt before gently laying it across her still bent back. It was a symbolic gesture at best. The fine material would be no match for the sudden storm, but he knew she understood.

          “Thank you EnCourt.” She her voice was barely audible, using one hand to reluctantly slide the garment from her back and held it out to him all without moving her head, so not to be seen. “You are most gracious, but I cannot accept this.”

          “You truly test the limits of your fortune, do you not girl?”

          “I am sorry if I offend, and I know I do by now, but to accept this only worsens my shame. I could never be as ungracious as to discard this, but to keep it means I will have to explain how I came about it. As you will have to explain its absence and your complicity in this matter, such as it is.”

          Mevralaud shook his head as his brother grinned at his obvious frustration with this girl.

          “If it is destined for us to know each other, nothing we do will keep the knowledge from us.” The girl continued her reply. “All that is meant to be known to us, Ydarkra will make known to us, in a time of His own choosing.”

          “So what are you going to do EnCourt?” Amrieux teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm on the use of the lower title.

          “We’re going to leave her be.” Mevralaud shrugged. “She will stay like that as long as we stand here. Look at her form. It is a perfect PlearKesk. She is young, but already she shows skilled. She will not move. She will catch her death of ill in this rain. Do you want to be the one to explain how this occurred? You know something like that would surely reach Father. Her current shame will be nothing compared to ours then. We will not touch her and we will not let her suffer more than I have already put her through.”

          “Then can we please depart?” Waidelm gave a much exaggerated yawn.

          “Lyishar! Let us go then.” Mevralaud walked to Finiadd, mounting him. Amrieux followed suit with his mare.

          Waidelm paused for a moment too long looking at the girl.

          “Brother…” Mevralaud’s voice held clear warning.

          “We’ve stood here watching this insipid exchange between you two. I want to see who she is to bare such insolence to us.” Waidelm walked toward her.

          “You will not touch her!” Mevralaud dismounted, his voice holding no room for compromise.

          “I am eldest!” Waidelm turned on Mevralaud. “You dare to command me!”

          “I dare heed the covenants that we all honor the heart and soul of Ydarkra Rohn, which are His people. To force her to expose her identity betrays the spirit of that covenant in every way!” Mevralaud stood directly in Waidelm’s path. “Brother or no. Title or no. I cannot in all that we are vowed to uphold allow this!”

          For the first time Mevralaud noticed he was exactly his brother’s height. He used it to full advantage. The effect was not lost on Waidelm. Amrieux watched with interest at the unexpected change of events until Waidelm shoved Mevralaud to the ground and headed towards the girl.

          Mevralaud brought Waidelm down before he could touch the girl, but his efforts caused both brothers to crash into her. To her credit, she righted herself and had re-assumed the PlearKesk before either brother could stand, but not before the spur on Mevralaud’s heel scratch her arm. Both brothers stopped cold when she cried out in pain.

          “Ydarkra! Are you hurt?” Mevralaud touched her back. She shrank from the touch before realizing which brother touched her. She held out her injured arm and showed the small wound.

          “Deyvra! You’re bleeding!” Mevralaud cursed “Hold still.” He inspected the cut just inside the crook of her arm. It wasn’t very deep, but it felt it might scar. Spotting his shirt that fell in the tumble, he pointed to it, visually ordering Waidelm to give it to him. Surprisingly, his brother complied, by throwing the shirt at him as he walked to his horse and rode away. Mevralaud ripped the shirt, making an impromptu bandage, apologizing for their very un-EnCourt like behavior. Her thanks came out hoarsely. She was indeed going to be ill. He started to offer her the rest of the shirt again, but it was dripping wet itself and she had already stated her wishes, so he took it with him.

          “We will leave you now so that you may tend to yourself.” Mevralaud stood and bowed to her.

          Her head was as close to the ground it could possibly get without actually touching it, yet somehow he knew she saw him and returned the bow via a deep single nod of her head.

          He ran to Finiadd, leaping into his mount, slipping on the leather coat he had removed to give the girl his shirt. It fit much better against his bare, albeit wet skin.

          “Let us go and get the truth to Father before Waidelm can twist it.” He called to Amrieux before goading Finiadd into another full run. He gave the girl once last glance and as he suspected, she had not moved. He prayed for her well being and Ydarkra’s forgiveness for his folly in this before crashing through the forest after his brother.

<>==========<>==========<>

30 Stories in 30 Days | Day 3 – Okay, I’m done with this scene, but these characters will return later.

Daily Prompt: Good-bye

Posted on by
11

.
Early autumn.

Click.  Click.

He stands in front of the floor to ceiling picture window in the living room that faces the water.  Being near the apex of the hill gives him a nearly unobstructed view of the river, the bridge and the rest of the city spread out before it.  The glittering effect of the sun on the water is as picture perfect as the fluffy cotton candy clouds breaking the monotony of the azure sky above.

He does not see this.

Click.  Click.

The leaves are mostly green, but you can see the first of fall’s leaves on the lawns and sidewalks. A perfectly shaped, beautifully russet leaf lazily drifts from a tree in front of the brownstone to the street.  Even this early in the season you somehow know autumn is going to show off in a blaze of glorious color at its peak.

It does not so much as invite a shrug from him.

Click.  Click.

Children play on the sidewalk or in front yards enjoying the last vestiges of the day. Their occasional high peals of laughter break the relative silence of the late afternoon. It is a good hour before the streetlights come on and another half hour at least before the sun noticeably sets.

He does not notice.

Click.  Click.

The gentle swish-swish, swish-swish of leaves brushing against a window is somehow rhythmic.  It is the same gentle breeze causing the light curtains to sway in front of open windows as evening approaches.  Somewhere down the block just out of the line of vision the happy tunes of an ice cream truck are heard.

But not by him.

Click.  Click.

He has stood by the picture window long after the brilliant red, gold and indigo of sunset have paved the way for the now diamond studded navy night.  The grandfather clock in the front hall again chimes the passing hour.  The stereo is just barely audible above the regular sounds of the house.

The only thing he has heard and continues to hear in his mind is click.

Click.  Click. 

Click.  Click.

Click.  Click.

In reality, each click is no louder than of that of an old-fashioned typewriter key strike.  For him each is as loud as a cannon blast.

The sound of stiletto heels clicking against a marble floor of the foyer as they walk out of the door and his life.

Good-bye.

<>==========<>==========<>

Daily Prompt | What A Twist!

Where’s Tippi Hedren When You Need Her?

Posted on by
8

As a New Yorker, and I’m sure this holds for most urban dwellers, we take the sightings of the local fauna of squirrels and pigeons that manage to make the minuscule patches of green dotting the vast urban jungle landscape home in stride. It is a tenuous relationship at best. They cannot get rid of us and we cannot get rid of them. The childhood penchant for chasing and on rare catching pigeons is their burden to bear. Walking down the street knowing there are constant invisible concentric circles above our heads and it is a veritable hit or miss crapshoot every time we deign to step outside the door, is ours. These are hazards where both sides of the genus gap take loses as a survival of the fittest raw deal. Still, for the most part there has existed an unspoken, yet generally binding mutual agreement once we humans reach puberty that if we stay out of their way, they will stay out of ours.

The key words being for the most part…

I pretty much walk the same path to the train each morning for work. I have an early schedule, so I may see only a handful of people on the streets before I reach the station. Therefore, certain portions of my path can have a gathering of avian. If there are less than ten birds together, I may give a modicum of space to their gathering and not disturb them. This morning, what looked like a platoon of them had gathered, enough that it would have given Alfred Hitchcock pause. There was no going around them. I had no choice but to stake my claim as the higher species. They were going to get out of my way this time, dammit!

I was fully prepared to plow right through them and they must have sensed it as a sizable amount took to flight. I was counting on this, thus I was not surprised by their sudden take off. Nor did the two or three stalwarts who were not leaving their breadcrumbs for anything surprise me. Hard cases exist in all species and I get it. What got me was this one pigeon crossing my path instead of the other way around. Dude was determined he was going thataway and not even this human was deterring him from his chosen path. I actually had to stop short, nearly stumbling, to keep from accidentally punting the flying frack to the tracks of the elevated train platform some fifty yards ahead. I stood there with my arms partially open in a dude seriously? pose. The damned thing had to nerve to cock its head at me in a whaat? stance as it kept going.

“Damn, he could have at least said excuse me.” Was the laughing commentary from a guy who was standing outside and witnessed the whole exchange.

My opinion exactly; the nerve! Apparently this hard case didn’t get the higher species memo.

The Raivenne-0 / The Pigeon-1

<>==========<>==========<>

Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Story Challenge

Untitled…(excerpt – Assassin)

Posted on by
6

        Mevralaud tries to open his eyes in the dark.  The effort feels tremendous. His head feels as though a thousand Gheysharran drums were pounding inside. He tries again, this time slowly and realizes the darkness is not him; the room was near pitch black.  The only light came via the scant moonlight from the window in the far corner.

        That should not be.

        Where were the delightful sisters, Cheriana and Charliana? What happened to the fire that blazed so hotly in the hearth before? It was put out somewhat recently for the room was still warm.

        Instinct alone made him lay still in the dark.

        Instinct alone made him listen to what he could not see.

        Instinct alone told him he is not alone in the room.

        And instinct alone saves him, as the all too familiar sound of swinging steel gives him the warning needed to roll away from the blade crashing down to take his very life.

        He is fully awake now.

        Mevral feels the air of the blade brush his skin as he dives from the bed.

        Barely dodging another attack, he slides on what he knew had to be blood before he trips over a body and finds the unfortunate answer to his question of the sisters, as he crashes into a table along the wall.

        The table.

        Mevralaud has his full bearings now.

        He slides under the table, coming out from the other side swinging on the pure instinct alone as broadsword meets broadsword.

        Noise erupts from outside the room and Mevral cannot help but grimace at the familiar bellow that comes with it. Amrieux was immersed in his own fierce battle from the sound of it, doing everything in his might to get to his best friend and DarkraSeci.

        Lyshiar! If it had not registered before, it hits Mevralaud like a physical blow now.

        This is an assassination attempt!

        He has only one question, but dares not ask for fear of the answer.

        Though Mevralaud has yet to fight his first full on battle of war, warrior instinctively understands warrior and he knows no words will be spoken between the two of them.

        The assassin steps up his pace with a furious volley of attacks, throwing Mevralaud off balance.

        Ydarkra! Sparks fly as metal slids against metal.

        The continuous clang of their respective swords is near deafening as both men fight hard.

        Whoever this assassin may be, he was good!

        Mevral feels as though he is moving through sludge and can barely keep pace with the assassin’s attacks. He understands now why Charliana insisted he try the new ale the barkeep created. It was just as well that she was likely the body he tripped over; it spared having to kill her himself once this was over.

        Mevralaud misses a parry and pays for it dearly when the assassin brings the flat of his sword down hard on Mevral’s wrist.  The shock of it runs straight up Mevral’s arm, numbing him and he drops his sword. The assassin swings quickly and Mevralaud swerves, the blade tip catching him just under his jaw.

        First blood.

        Mevral drops to the floor and rolls.  Hearing the assassin right behind him, he kicks out hard.

        The satisfaction of hearing the breath leave the assassin’s body as it hits the floor is only temporary. He cannot get to the dropped sword and back on his feet fast enough.

        Mevralaud hears the whoosh of the assassin’s blade just as he takes his own sword in both hand and swings.

        Blindly.

        Wildly.

        Desperately.

        The two swords swinging in opposite arcs pass each other by a hairsbreadth.  He could sense the assassin’s surprise at what both knew should have been Mevralaud’s death.

        Instead, it grazes across Mevral’s chest drawing blood.

        Mevralaud was slow, but not slow enough.

        The assassin was fast.

        But not fast enough.

        Mevralaud, with the longer arm reach, cuts true.

        The assassin acknowledges his death with a nod to the better man, dropping his sword.

        There is an eerie silence as Mevralaud completes his swing, drawing his broadsword through, letting the body fall.

        “Lyshiar!” Amrieux crashes through the door, with others of Mevralaud’s cadre right behind him flooding the room with light, just as the body landed.

        Mevralaud stands and looks around the room. Both sisters were naked, their throats cut, their golden beauty, now a ghastly shell of their former selves, lying in pooled blood. The small telltale mole on the hip identifying Charliana from her twin looks garish in the sudden light.

        Mevral looks down at the liquid warmth touching his toes. He steps away from the flow, reaching down to remove the hood that covers his would-be-assassin’s face. Amrieux curses at the revelation; the name repeated to those men who cannot see into the room.

        Amrieux, silently signals for the men to stay were they are as he steps into the room, leaving the door only slightly ajar to provide light.

        “Mevralaud?”

        Mevralaud hears his best friend, but cannot speak. He simply shakes his head.

        The light catches something glittering in the corner.

        His sword.

        Not the sword he currently holds, snatched from its hidden spot in a specially carved groove under the table, in case it was ever needed for a time such as this, but his own royal sword, D’Uralaive. Mevral casts aside the sword in hand and goes for his own. It is then he realizes he is naked.

        Amrieux watches as Mevralaud dresses quickly, but silently.

        It is a deadly silence.

        Fully dressed, Mevralaud touches his own sword, at last. The sword given to him by his father when he reached of age two reaagons ago, its jewels and carving so familiar to him as he unsheathes it. He turns and faces his best friend, D’Uralaive extended directly in front of him.

        Amrieux immediately falls to one knee as he calls out to the men in the hall. The door opens wide and, they follow suit.

        “My Darkran,” Amrieux bows his head solemnly, “we must go.”

        Mevral wants to fall to his knees and roar in grief at the confirmation.

        He cannot; there is no time.

        Instead, he orders the body of the assassin brought with them as he sheaths his royal sword, then picks up the one he cast aside and hangs it from his opposite side. He will continue to fight with that sword for as long as possible. He promises himself D’Uralaive’s first kill by him will be in vengeance of his father.

        Amrieux called him Darkran.

        My Darkran.

        The unasked question, answered; his father was dead.

        Mevralaud the DarkraSeci is now Darkran Mevralaud Takrioh Ydarkra Rohn.

        He just has to live long enough get back home and claim his throne.

        “We ride!”

>==========<
Just a little fiction, just because I was dared to write a sword fight scene several years ago. I finally started seriously expanding on this last year when I challenged my self to do NaNoWriMo. I am no where near finished with this, but I may post more scenes here and there. Or I may not.