Dance Into Darkness

This is another of my flash fictions. I even edited it before posting, so enjoy!

With dark hair and even darker eyes, she invites you to dance in darkness. You know such a dance offers so much more. Dark eyes glitter like onyx as dark lashes sweep down to cover them not once but twice. Take that hand, pull her close, hold her until the dance is done. How can she feel so warm? Cheeks catch fire. Hands ache to touch her more intimately. Your lips long to feel hers. You want to taste her, to see if she tastes like sugar.

Your hands move slowly. She does not resist. She smiles. The coquet laughs as she throws her head back. Her head tilts forward enough for your eyes to meet. Two pairs of lips meet and are locked together. Surely, she
should have stopped this by now. Ah, but the power is in your strong hands. Entrapment is caused by such fascination that your face is always before her. You inhale sharply as her hands caress your cheeks, drawing you deeper into the darkness.

"Are you okay?"

Her voice interrupts the visions before your eyes. Shame pervades the darkness. Light comes through. Eyes blink and then her face looms out of the darkness suffused with light. How can one face such concern? Reality compares harshly to the fantasy. Honesty can do no good here.

"I'm fine. Just fine."

Surely she believes. Yes, she believes. Or she doesn't and says nothing as her heart bleeds. It doesn't matter. The light fades out and darkness beckons again.

Any Excuse Will Do

In a fiction blog, any excuse for not having a new entry will do, won’t it?

As I sat down to write a tale to make the world weep, erratic knocking interrupted my thoughts. The story fled my mind. I rose to see what was causing such a commotion at such an early hour. I opened the door to find no one on the other side of the threshold. I leaned out to look up and down the narrow porch. I even peered at the bushes at the end of the driveway, but they were too scraggly to hide even the thinnest slip of a prankster.

I slowly regained solid ground and paused to look out the door a few seconds longer before I pulled it closed and slipped the deadbolt into place. The knocking resumed. Now it vibrated the floorboards under my feet. I looked down, bewildered. Dust bounced along the floor as the knocking continued. With swift strides, I crossed the floor to the door to the basement.

I paused in the doorway. The dank smell of mold wafted out to deter me, but curiosity beckoned me onward. I cringed as the first step creaked but found the courage to continue down each creaking step. The light from the single bare bulb blinded me as I flipped the switch on the wall at the bottom of the stairs. As my eyes adjusted, I scanned the barren room. Only cobwebs and a few boxes against one wall broke the monotony of chipped concrete and bare rafters. In fact, no way existed for someone to bang on the ceiling. Not even a long-handled broom had been tossed aside in this room of stale air and neglect.

Satisfied, I turned back to the stairs. I took a deep breath before switching off the light. My footsteps pounded on the stairs to announce my return to the living room, yet I still heard a soft giggle as I stepped out into the brightness of the room. As my eyes adjusted to the bright light, the lights went out. I turned toward the light switch. A movement caught my eyes for a second before it disappeared. My attention was drawn to my desk by repetitive clicking.

A tiny little figure crouched over my keyboard. In the glow of the monitor, her frilly skirt sparkled. I could make out tiny flowers twined in the two braids that held her hair back from her thin face. She looked up at me long enough to smile devilishly as she clicked the delete button. Then she was soaring across the room on gossamer wings. I tried to catch her but she managed to slip through a window left ajar to allow the cool night air to wash over me as I worked.

I sat down at my computer, clicking frantically. She had successfully deleted all of my most recent works of fiction. I did not know why. I probably never will, but I knew my readers would not accept such an excuse. What can I do but slave over a better piece for next week?

Apple of His Eye

I mentioned that I had another take on the previous writing assignment. Enjoy!

Members of the plant kingdom were never meant to understand those of the animal kingdom. The flow of communication doesn’t work any better from the opposite side. The woman at the sink has certainly never asked if I like the bowl that I have been sitting in for the past couple of days. I’d surprise her if I thanked her for picking one of clear glass so I can observe the world around me. But I can’t say anything to her. I am only capable of observing her.

Warm golden hair tumbles past thin shoulders to her waist. Glistening slender fingers pause in midair as she tosses those golden locks back from her face. She begins to cry again. The tears never end, so what brings them on remains mysterious. The most peculiar aspect of the tears is how she smiles, shakes her head, and rests at least one hand on her belly every time one of these fits takes her. She does this now, paying no heed to the fact that dishwater still covers her hands.

Even if we don’t understand each other, it comforts me to know that someone understands her pain. The clearest case of cause and effect is that every time her sobs reach a point where she gasps for air, her husband comes running. Sometimes, the carpet on the stairs muffles his footsteps. Other times, each footfall resounds through the house as he races across the hardwood floor.

This time he responds from the direction of the living room. I bounce against the glass as his footsteps beat upon the floor. He pays no attention to the soap bubbles on her hands or the green and white plaid kitchen towel over her shoulder. He pulls her into his arms. She cuddles into his embrace and almost disappears in the circle of his muscular arms.

“Shh, darling. Everything is okay,” his voice soothes her.

“I’m sorry,” her words are muffled by his arm, “I don’t know why I keep doing this.”

“The doctor said it’s normal. It’ll be okay.”

“But I don’t want you to think you make me unhappy.”

“I know. I know,” his fingers gently run through her hair.

They remain entwined like this for some time without speaking. They communicate now through touch. Occasionally, she kisses his chest. He responds by leaning in to kiss the top of her head. Her sobs fade away.

“Better now?” He pulls her away gently so he can look into her tear-streaked face.

She nods gently and forces a smile, “Yes, go back to work. As you said, the doctor said it is normal.”

“You’re sure?” His hands loosen their grip on her shoulder.

“Yes, love,” her toes straighten as she stretches up to kiss him on the cheek.

He smiles. Two sets of hands slowly slide back down to their respective sides. They gaze at each other for a moment more. Then the spell breaks. She turns back to the mountain of dishes in the sink. Two wet handprints cause the shirt to cling to his back as he turns away. She hums softly as she finishes the dishes.

She finishes drying her hands on the kitchen towel over her shoulder before reaching toward me. Slender fingers circle around my round form. Warm breath moistens my skin. She rubs me vigorously with the damp towel before biting into my skin. The air rushes in to my exposed flesh. A part of me is slowly merging with her as she chews noisily. In two places at once, I finally feel that I have offered her comfort. Members of the plant kingdom can comfort those of the animal kingdom after all.

Apple of Her Eye

I promised an entry today, and an entry will be had. This was another story idea that I received in my inbox. After writing this little snippet, I had another idea as to how to address the topic, so I may be revisiting it next week. So here is one way to address the world through the "eyes" of an apple.

I could have become something to be remembered. When you grow to fruition on a small farm, you expect to make more of your life. You expect to be found. You want to be appreciated for your uniqueness. You desire an existence that will leave a mark on the world. Sadly, some of us are not equipped to make our own dreams come true.

My luck placed me in such a situation. Bad luck cannot be fought nor conquered. It must be accepted. It must be obeyed. Whether you realize it or not, you are always obeying your luck whether it is good or bad. I wish I could tell this to the woman who placed me in this bowl. I am the only one of my kind, forced to share my accommodations with a bunch of long skinny guys with thick yellow skins and a couple of perfectly round midgets with bumpy orange flesh. She really should have known I deserved better companions than this, but she didn’t.

She doesn’t even remember I am here. Most of the time, she seems more interested in what is behind the white doors of the large plastic box on the other side of the room. Creams and meats always have more appeal than apples and oranges. She’ll regret it someday, but I shall not be here to see her regret.

I take solace in knowing the duration of this torture will be short. My rosy flesh already softens as I ponder my surroundings. The juicy white flesh underneath begins to brown. My flavor will never be enjoyed. My last moments will probably be spent rotting away in a black plastic bag, but I will know that I could have been so much more if I had attracted the attention of someone who really saw me as the apple of her eye.

As you can see, this apple doesn't have the best view of the world around him. See you next week.

A Chance to Wish

Too deep? Not deep enough?

Sunlight falls into the stream where wishes can be granted once a
year, but only once in a lifetime for each wisher. The stream of tears
trickles endlessly down the face of the land, washing away the filth
that has accumulated over the year. Now the wishers come to lay their
desires before the well of these tears.

Among the wishers is one who holds back. Her golden curls fall in
front of her face, covering the scars upon her cheeks. Those in front
of her move aside as if they feel her need is greater than theirs as
she walks to the waters edge. She dips a finger tentatively in the
water and raises it to her cheek, dabbing a single drop on each before
bowing her head and letting her own tears slide down her cheeks to
drip into the pool. Then she rises and walks away.

They watch her go. Those she passes on her way from the water examine
her face. Everyone awaits the miracle. They all expect to see her
scarred face returned to a former beauty. Their desires are not her
own, for she smiles as she looks at them. Her scars shall go nowhere,
but her heart shall be full. She shall love and for every ounce of
love she gives, love will be returned to her.

Thus she shall be loved by those who truly see her. The waters
diminish and fade away. The scars still grace her cheeks. Those who
made their wishes glory in their wealth, health, and wisdom. Time
makes wealth disappear, health fail again, and robs wisdom from fading
minds, but one's love is renewed each year as the spring wells up
again. Her face is marred but her heart beats with a beauty that draws
in anyone who is touched by it.

Dirty Secrets

I think there is more of this story that wants to be told, but we shall see. I was thinking about how sometimes when we care about people, we try to help them even when the help they need is clearly outside our ability to provide, particularly when it is emotional or spiritual help that they need.

Sunlight breaks through the clouds, pouring out light and warmth for the first time in weeks. The playground is empty except for two figures that stand just inside the gate. The man and woman stand surveying the swing set and jungle gym as if deciding which to visit first. As the beams of the sun reach them, the woman looks up, sending a tangle of golden curls back from her round cheeks. Full lips part to let forth the hint of a smile and she loosens the arms, which were locked across her chest.

Sensing her movement, the man turns to her. His eyes sparkle with admiration at the face hidden behind her hair. One of his hands, which until now hung limply at his side, slowly rises upward as if he would touch her cheek. As she turns to face him, his hand falls away. She does not notice the motion of his hand. Her eyes scan his face so intently that she can see nothing else.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Her voice gives away her anxiety about his answer.

“Let’s climb on the jungle gym,” he evades her question but reaches for her hand.

She lets him take it. He leads her to the jungle gym and places her hand on the gleaming metal of the ladder. Her hand shies away from the cold metal as dark eyes question him.

“Go ahead,” he nods to the ladder and flashes her a smile.

Her grip tightens on the metal bar. Her heart flutters. She looks away from him, turning her attention to the short climb that will take her up to the monkey bars. He watches her in silence, his eyes scanning the length of her body now that her head is turned away. She can feel his eyes and her face flushes as she puts one hand on the first monkey bar. Her eyes remain on the ground as she raises her other hand to take the next bar and pull herself forward.

A flash of light draws her eyes away from the ground. She looks up to see he is smiling at her with a camera held out far enough to view the screen on the back. She smiles back without thinking and the flash goes off again. He extends his hand with the thumb pointed up.

“Looking good, girl,” his voice is laced with more lust than admiration.

She blushes and turns her head again, focusing more intently on the other end of the monkey bars. When she reaches the last bar, he is already there, holding out his hands to help her down.

“Are we going to talk now?” Her words dissolve into a squeal of surprise as he grabs her by the waist.

He lifts her with ease swinging her away from the jungle gym as if she weighs nothing. As her feet touch the ground again, she lets out the breath she was holding in a long sigh. She turns to walk toward the swings, hiding her face from him with a curtain of hair. He hesitates a moment before following her lead.

“So we should talk,” his voice is so low she has to turn back toward him to catch the words.

“Yes. You’ve said that,” she sits on the swing pushing off until metal squeals on metal.

“Have you ever been in love?” He asks the question shyly, watching her intently.

“Yes, I have.”

Her response seems to hit him like a slap. He takes a step backward.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“How did you know you were in love?” He recovers his composure.

“I just did. I felt it.” She shrugs her shoulders, watching him intently as questions wheel through her mind.

“And what changed that?”

“We wanted different things.” She forces the words out through the tightness in her chest.

“I’m not like you. I don’t know that I have ever been in love.” He lowers himself into a half crouch so he 

can look into her eyes as she answers him.

“Well, I can’t tell you if you have been in love.” Her words are pinched by the irritation that overtakes her as a flush creeps into her cheeks again.

“Don’t get mad. I just wanted you to know where we stand.” He steps closer to her, looking down at her with more to say written in his eyes.

She waits. She knows that look, but she can’t place it. So many thoughts rush into her head, but none that she would dare share with him. None of her thoughts are what he wants or needs to hear.

“So you told me once that you had made mistakes…” His words trail off to leave his unasked question hanging ominously in the air between them.

Her eyes narrow and her hands tighten on the chains as she stops swinging. “We have all made mistakes in the past…”

“I mean, mistakes that got you into trouble.”

“Yes, when I was younger.”

“So how did you get through it?”

“I changed who I was and what I wanted and worked to become a better person with some help from people who love me.” Her voice is low but her eyes bore into his.

“That’s it?” Disappointment mars his face as he starts to sneer.

“I didn’t say it worked out overnight.”

“So what kinds of things did you do to get in trouble?” His eyes light up as he asks this question and kneels before her in the dirt close enough to touch her knee with his hand, but he doesn’t reach toward her though his hand twitches.

“It doesn’t help either of us to talk about it. It’s the past.”

“Well, if you didn’t enjoy what you were doing…”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” she stands up and steps away from him.

“Come on. Don’t be like that. I need you to talk to me. You said you’d help me.” He gets up off of his knees, towering over her.

“You don’t need help or you would be talking to your brother.”  She brushes past him only to find his hands on her shoulders.

He turns her to face him. “But I like it. How can I stop doing things that I enjoy so much?”

“Asking me to talk about my mistakes won’t help you. You have to want to stop.”

“How can I want to? Can you tell me that?” The pitch of his voice belies the forced smile on his face.

She shakes free of his grip, frowning at him. “I reached a point where doing what I knew was wrong made me cry. Things I used to enjoy made me feel sick.”

“What kinds of things?” He probes for more details.

Her eyes widen, “You don’t want help, you want to swap stories.”

“But it would help me,” he holds out his hands imploringly.

“Knowing my dirty secrets can’t possibly help you,” she backs away from him now.

“But aren’t they fun to share?”

“How about you tell me more of your dirty little secrets…” A wry smile punctuates her words but as he opens his mouth to speak, she turns and walks away.

He stands watching with his mouth still agape, but no words come forth to call her back. He knows she 

is gone. He always knew she would be but he had hoped it would not be so soon. It can’t be. He runs to catch up with her, but she has already reached her car.

“Wait,” he calls out to her, but she ignores him.

Her hands are clenched on the steering wheel as she backs away from him. He throws a punch at the passenger door, reveling in the crunch of bone on metal. She doesn’t stop. She doesn’t even look toward the sound. She leaves him to nurse his wounded hand and watch her taillights disappear in the distance.

Invisible...No More

This is just another snippet (flash fiction) from my mind in days gone by...

They can't see you. Don't worry. You're invisible, completely beyond their sight. Sightless eyes can not see what they can not understand. So there you sit, so calm and quiet. You listen to every word they say. You've been listening for years. Your own words are lost until someone else regurgitates them later. So why don't you do anything about it?

Ah, yes, that's perfect. Even if they can't see you, surely they'll see the gun. Maybe they will finally notice you before it's too late and the spiral brings you to the bottom. It's a perfect day to be seen. Look at how lush the green grass looks. Look at all those women pushing strollers with that glow on their face that only mothers have.

There he--right where you knew he would be. He has his back against the tree, leaning ever so slightly as he watches them all walk by. His eyes follow even if his head doesn't. That doesn't matter because if he doesn't see you at last, well...

Barrel to his head, he can't miss you. His eyes widen for a second. He goes to speak. Oh, who cares? The trigger resists, but it's resistance is not enough. BANG! Those eyes go dark and whatever words finally wished to come are gone. The only problem is that now you're not invisible. You knew this would happen though and you just smile to yourself as the cold metal caresses your wrists and you are led away.