I grew up always wanting the fairytale life. The whole rags to riches story. The small town girl who moves away to the city to become some highly accomplished and respected woman. To live happily ever after. There were three things my dad did every night religiously when it was just the two of us. He would roll cigarettes, play cribbage and drink coffee. My dad is a very giving man and so, although it was just the two of us, there were always people staying with us. He had an open door policy to anyone who needed a little help, a stepping stone, while they got back on their feet. And, the coffee was always on for those who just needed to chat. At the time, my dad’s best friend, Jim, was our guest. Jim smoked cigars, drank hot chocolate and played crib with my dad every night. During the day, the two of them worked at the mines, just like most of the men in town did. I remember one night I had agreed to play crib with them before bed. It was a small town after all and there really was not anything better to be found for entertainment. I poured dad a coffee and Jim a hot chocolate. It didn’t take long for them to leave me in their dust. They teased me about being “skunked” yet again. The two of them were pretty good at their trash talk let me tell ya. But I took it with grace. Jim took a sip of his hot chocolate and then started to…chew. Dad raised one of his bushy eyebrows and peered at him. “Rach,” Jim said, “not only do you suck at crib, but we need to teach you how to stir.” “I did stir,” I said without looking up from my cards. I had to focus. I had a good hand, but if I didn’t play my cards right, Jim would win the game before I had a chance to count out and pass that dreaded line. “Jim,” my dad said, “What are you chewing on?” I looked up then. “Chocolate,” Jim said as he spit the chunk into the palm of his hand. “What type of hot chocolate is that?” my dad asked him. We all leaned in a little closer to inspect this partially chewed chunk of hot chocolate when Jim dropped it on the table and yelled. “I don’t think it’s chocolate,” I whispered. “The hell it’s not,” Jim yelled at me, “You brat. Why would you put that in my cup?” “Me?” I sat up straight, hand on my chest, insulted that he blamed me. Dad continued to stare at the ‘chocolate’ now on the table. He poked it to roll it over. “Hell,” dad bellowed with laughter, “that’s a mighty big fly Jim.” “No shit,” Jim was angry, “and your daughter put it in my cup.” “Why would she do that?” The amusement in my dad’s voice obvious. “Because,” Jim thought for a moment, “because she’s losing.” I laughed then. I couldn’t help it. “Well, I hadn’t planned on losing when I made you that cup.” Jim was furious. Dad patted Jim on the back, “My daughter is pretty talented old man, but I don’t think she snuck that fly into your cup.” That was the first time I saw a man pout and smile at the same time. Jim sat that way quietly until it was his turn. At the end of his turn he stared at me hard. “You,” he pointed his finger, “are skunked.” “At least I didn’t chew on a fly,” I said under my breath. Before I knew what was happening, Jim had jumped up from his seat and lunged at me. Thankfully my dad was in the way and I ran around the table. Me shrieking, dad laughing, and Jim grunting. I made it to my room safely and they taunted me to come out and play. But, I was happy to be the skunk for the night. I didn’t plant that fly in Jim’s cup. Karma did! (c) Rachel Rennie 2015 As always, thank you for reading and your support.
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This is a Tag Blog, which hops from blog to blog depending on who is willing to carry the tale. “Damn it,” Yossi slams his ale on the bar. The bartender glances over, eyebrow arched. Yossi rubs his five o’clock shadow thinking hard. Where in the world should he start his search for the German. “Excuse me sir, is this seat taken?” a delicate voice asks from behind his left shoulder threatening to interrupt his thoughts. Yossi turns slightly to look over his shoulder. He looks the woman up and down and shakes his head. “No.” He turns back and stares into his ale with intense concentration, showing no interest in the woman. There is no time for fun and games. He has a man to catch. “Thank you sir,” the woman says as she takes her seat. Yossi simply raises his mug to her when a vision hits him. He leans back on his stool, looking up at the imaginary lightbulb shining bright above him. Find the woman, find the man. He has to go to Germany straight away. She would lead him to the German. Anxious to be on the move and determined to make ground, Yossi quickly finishes his ale. He kisses the woman on the cheek, “Thank you miss,” and rushes out the door. At the airport, he catches the first flight to Berlin. ******* Meanwhile, in their London office George and his brother, Thomas, search records looking for any old, semi-retired doctors. Papers strewn across their desks and their computers humming under the strain. “What about we find out who was actually buried there?” “I think it matters not,” Thomas says, exasperated. They had been searching for days already without a lead. “It might,” George protests. “Fine then,” Thomas sighs, “you search for the identity of the woman, I will keep looking for the old man.” Thomas is surprised at how well the government faked the death of Von Schumann. His uncle always spoke of conspiracy theories and this was further proof that a conspiracy was indeed in play. George smiles. He could always convince his brother to let him do what he wanted. However, deep down, he believed that there was a connection between the woman who was buried and the man who should have been. ******* Rebecca grabs her duffel bag by the door and slings it over her shoulder. “Where are you going?” von Schumann beckons from the study. Rebecca drops the bag with an oomph and makes her way to the study. “Funny,” von Schumann doesn’t look up from the documents on his desk, “you can be quiet as a mouse, but sometimes, usually when you have something on your mind, you are loud and clumsy.” Rebecca sighs. She forgets sometimes to keep her emotions in check and remember that she is a spy. One of the best Berlin has ever seen actually. But she’s worried. It has been days since she’s heard form Hans and he always checks in. The last she had heard from him was when he boarded the boat. He told her that a shadow hunter was trailing him. But, Hans, he was stealthier than any Shadow Hunter. “Where are you going Becca?” “I’m going to find Hans.” She places her hand on the back of the chair. “You will not,” von Schumann bellows as he looks up at her, “Hans is capable of handling the hunter on his own.” Rebecca huffs, about to protest. Before she has a chance, von Schumann says, “The last thing I need is for both of you to be hunted.” “You’re right,” she says, “Hans can handle it on his own.” “I hear a but.” von Schuman tilts his head and peers at her above the rim of his glasses, “What is it Becca?” “I don’t think we were alone at the graveyard that night Doctor.” “Someone else?” he frowns, “How many people are involved in this?” “Not a person. But I don't think we were alone.” “Scheisse .” von Schumann waves his hand and dismisses her. Rebecca nods, taking her cue, and leaves the study. She grabs her duffel bag and makes her way back to the graveyard to investigate further. Anyone who thinks they have what it takes to carry this story through the next part, simply comment below. First person to comment that they would like to continue the story, has ONE WEEK to post the next part to their own blog. She sits on the couch sipping a hot cup of tea. She's immersed in a good book when a loud clap of thunder shakes her to the core. She jumps, spilling her tea. Getting up and putting her book onto the couch, she goes to the kitchen. Grabbing a tea towel, she wipes her book off then heads to her room to change. The hallway lights up as she walks towards her room. Just as she blinks, there is another loud clap. It is so close that she feels the floor shake. With a hand on her chest she takes a deep breath. 'I hope that doesn't wake the baby,' she thinks to herself. No sooner than she thinks it, the wailing begins. "Shoot," she breaths. She turns and goes to the baby's room, abandoning the idea of changing her shirt. If she calms the baby quickly enough she can make herself another tea and read her book. When she walks into the baby's room, the motion sensor turns on the soft night light so she can see where she is stepping. "Shhhh," she whispers, "hush now baby. Momma's here." She reaches over the crib railing and starts to rub the baby's hair and forehead. The baby whimpers in response. She smiles, pleased that she made it before it was too late and there would be no hope of comforting her baby boy. She knows not to leave too soon and starts to sing a lullaby. Suddenly the room lights up. She pauses, waiting, hoping that the clap of thunder is not so near or so loud. The storm must be right over the house because the thunder that follows only takes a moment and shakes the crib. Her baby boy opens his eyes wide with fear and takes a deep breath before letting it all out. A tear rolls down her cheek as she reaches in the crib to pick him up. There will be no putting him down in the crib again tonight. "It's ok my baby," she tries to soothe him. She rubs his tiny back and begins to pace the room. He gasps for air and quivers with each exhalation. The room lights again and clings her baby boy closer to her chest. The thunder continues to shake the house. Even her little house creaks under the pressure. When the next lightening strikes, so soon after, she hears crackling in another room of the house. She jumps, her heart racing. The thunder makes the house groan even louder. The baby starts screaming and her tears begin to flow. She leaves the baby's room in search of any damage. She is alone for the night and it is up to her to make sure that they will be safe. She goes to the kitchen in search of a flashlight, not wanting to risk turning on any lights in case there is a short in the house. She checks the kitchen first for any electrical fires or broken windows. Finding none, she moves to inspect the living room. The storm continues to strike with its wicked force and she tries to stay calm. To not jump with every clap of thunder. It is a battle she is not winning. Normally she loves storms, but to be home alone in one with a newborn babe is not nice at all. Curious, she draws back the drapes and looks outside. The sky is bright with purple streaks going in all directions. She has never seen anything like it before. The phone rings making her drop the drapes. She turns to go answer it and on the second ring lightening strikes again. The ring sounds funny, like it has fizzled out. Carefully, she lays her hand on the receiver and finds it hot. She puts her screaming baby in his bouncy chair and quickly runs to the kitchen to grab some silicone tongs to unplug the phone. From there she runs quickly to the breaker box and turns them all off. Wiping the tears from her eyes with the backs of her hand, she takes a deep breath and picks up her now hysterical baby. "I know baby," she whispers, "Momma is scared too." She takes a deep breath and walks back into the boy's room. Sitting in the rocking chair she tries to soothe her baby. After many stuttering breaths, he finally begins to settle and grasps at her, letting her know that he is hungry. "Of course baby," she whispers. Tears still rolling freely down her cheeks, wetting the baby's head. She opens her now tea stained blouse and feeds her baby. She continues to rock as he whimpers at her breast. She has blocked out the thunder. She closes her eyes. The baby falls asleep so she closes her blouse. Not ready to put him back in his crib she continues to rock him in her arms. The rocking eventually lulls her to sleep. "Hey babe," she hears his quiet voice and begins to stir. She opens her eyes slowly and sees her husband bending down in front of her. "Hi beautiful," he whispers before kissing her on the cheek. "Hi," she whispers back. The hint of fear still in her voice. He puts his hand on on the side of her face, tangling his fingers in her hair. His lips brush against hers and she breaths in the scent of him. He moves away from her slowly, rubbing his thumb on her bottom lip, biting his own bottom lip. She sighs. He bends down and kisses his baby boy on the forehead before scooping him out of her arms. "Time for you to go back to your bed little man." He looks his wife in the eyes. "Daddy needs to comfort your momma now." He winks at her and puts the baby in his crib. As he tucks the baby in, the baby lets out a comfortable sigh. "I don't know how you do that so easily," she whispers. "It's easy," he says playfully. "He doesn't want me as much as he wants you." He shrugs as she shakes her head. "He already knows a good thing when he sees it." He reaches a hand out to help her up and she takes it. He pulls her in close, holding her hand to his chest. He rubs his nose on hers. "You're simply irresistible." "You," she pokes his chest with her finger, "are a player." He shrugs, indifferent. "Then," he smiles, "I played my cards right." He runs his hands over her arms before grabbing them and wrapping them around his neck. "Cause, damn, I think I married the hottest woman in the world." She blushes. "And," he continues, proudly, "I can still make her blush." He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her in closer still. Leaning his head down he doesn't simply brush his lips against hers. She tightens her arms around his neck and she can feel him grin. "Come on beautiful," he whispers stepping away from her, "we don't want to wake the boy." He winks at her before leading her by the hand out of the baby's room. (c) Rachel Rennie 2015 As always, thank you for reading and your support.
Feel free to leave a comment below. A little taste of poetry from me.... Her name is Rachel. Just like me. She tries to talk to her mom. We’re in a loud gym. The mom says she can't hear her. Rachel repeats herself a little louder. But not too loud. It's private and there are lots of people here. No sooner does she start and the mom turns away from her. Rachel puts her feet on her chair, pulling her knees to her chest to hide her crying. But, I see it. Mom turns to whisper yell at her to put her feet down. With a little defiance she does as she's told. Mom doesn't acknowledge the tears still fresh on her cheeks. Again Rachel speaks. Again she is ignored. And again she raises her knees. Feet on the chair. When mom turns to whisper yell, the feet go down with a bang. Rachel tries to speak. Mom makes a face. Feet go up. More whisper yells. Another bang. Mom turns to dad to take Rachel out of the room The good husband obeys. Mom laughs about it to the friend. Dad returns with Rachel. Rachel hugs her mom and is told to have a seat. Tears run down Rachel’s cheeks. She no longer tries to hide them. Tapping moms arm to speak. Mom glances and turns away. Once. Twice. Third time she speaks. Rachel goes unheard. Just like me. Inspired by a dream I had... “I’m sorry Mr. and Mrs. Einner, but Sean needs one more procedure,” the doctor looks at us sternly, a look of sorrow and understanding of our emotional struggles. It is all we can do to nod our heads with acceptance. There really is nothing to be done about it. If it means a full recovery for our son, then we must be strong enough to help him through his pain. The curtain closes in front of us, blocking Sean from our view. Together we stand, hand in hand, facing that dreaded curtain, waiting for it to open. Afraid of what will be revealed when it does. What feels like hours go by and still we stand patiently waiting. “Sean will wake up in 15 minutes,” the doctor announces as he comes out from behind the curtain. James kisses me on the cheek before leaving with the doctor. I wait for them to leave before I go in. Sean is sitting, slouched over, in a sink with his legs crossed. The procedure they did was on his legs. Anger and confusion flood my mind. In a panic, I struggle to lift him out of the sink. What was the doctor thinking to place him cross-legged in a sink? I try desperately to wake up Sean. A lady comes in, her arms full of boxes. “James will be coming with the children soon,” out of breath, she puts down the boxes, “You will need to hurry to get them ready. There are heavy gowns, socks and slippers in here for them.” The urgency in her voice cannot be mistaken. I am confused. What children? When James comes in he is holding our younger son’s hand, Neil. There are about 10 other children behind them. Everyone crowds into the tiny room. I don’t know where these other children came from or who they belong to. I just know I need to move quickly and do as I am told. -------------------------------- I am standing on the side of a highway. The highway dips and turns. “Why in the world did you choose this place?” a woman says. She has a bad perm, lots of jewelry, and her face looks heavy with makeup. She reminds me of a woman from a television show in the eighties. “Because,” I answer, “you said we had to meet you at the roller coaster. There are no roller coasters around here, but this road,” I point out to the highway, “looks like one.” She shrugs her shoulders, “I guess it will have to do.” “It will. We must save the children.” “Very well. Good job. My driver will meet you back here in two hours.” “Thank you.” I nod. She turns her back to me to cross the road where a silver sedan awaits her. She climbs in the back and opens the window. “Don’t be late. You only get one chance.” I watch as the car quickly drives away. I turn around and find myself back in the hospital room. Sean is laying on a bed as James keeps peeking out the door. “Okay,” I say, “arrangements have been made. Let’s get ready.” I help each of the children get dressed. There are clothes for them to wear under the special gowns. It is cold outside and we have a bit of a walk ahead of us. The children are quiet and help me with putting on the clothes I hand them. “Sean, honey,” I smooth his hair, “it’s time to get up mister.” “Huh?” He is groggy and disoriented. “You need to wake up now. We need to get out of here.” “It’s clear,” James calls from the door. “They round every fifteen minutes. We don’t have much time.” I put on Sean’s clothes and put his arm around my shoulders. “I need you to help now.” “Okay,” he mumbles. As he stands, he stumbles. “My legs,” there is panic in his voice, “they aren’t working.” “It’s okay honey,” I try to soothe him, “they are still sleeping. I will help you. They’ll come back soon.” A tear rolls down his face and he nods. His brows furrow with fear. “It’s okay,” I say again to reassure him. “Come now. Together.” He holds me tight. His brother holds his other hand. James ushers us out the door. Each of the children pair up, holding hands and follow us out. James takes the rear. Half way to the roller coaster highway and Sean’s legs start working. The remainder of our journey goes much faster. We make it to the meeting point with 5 minutes to spare. The children are anxious and cold. We huddle together to keep warm as we wait. A yellow school bus appears right on schedule. James takes Sean and Neil onto the bus first and I usher the other children on. As the last child boards the bus, I grab the handle of the door to pull myself on. “You think it should be so easy?” a velvety voice sneers behind me. I let go of the handle and motion for the driver to close the doors as I slowly turn around to face the voice behind me. As I turn, I hear the doors close. I discreetly wave for the driver to go. “I tried not to think too much about how easy or how difficult it would be actually.” I say calmly, my heart pounding, threatening to give away my fear. I hear the wheels of the bus rolling away. Subtle sounds of crunching gravel. “I just thought about what needed to be done and did it.” I hear James and the boys screaming for me. A tear borders on the edge of my eye. I can’t let it escape. I need to hold her attention; otherwise she will stop the bus. Thankfully, she is so focused on me that she doesn’t hear the bus rolling away. “You know you can never escape me,” she says, a wicked grin on her face. “Perhaps not,” I admit, “but that won’t stop me from trying.” “You are wasting your time. You should just submit yourself to me.” “That, I will never do.” “Ah, but you should. Otherwise,” she moves closer to me, “you could just lose it all.” “Oh,” I say, defeated, “perhaps I just have.” “What?” she asks, confused. The bus is now gone. It went down the first crest and disappeared. I know that James, the boys and all the other children are now safe and far away from here. The woman shoves me but I stand my ground. She walks around me, searching the highway. “Where are they?” she screams from behind me. “Matters not where they are,” I say, “they are not yours.” I turn to face her. Her back is still turned to me. A voice in my head whispers, ‘Run!’ I run straight to her back, shoulder first, I knock her over. I don’t stop running. Her hand stretches out and I feel it grace my ankle, too slow to take hold. I run down the hill, my legs fighting to keep up with the momentum that carries me. A light shines in front of me and I run towards it. Through it. When I stop running I find myself all alone. There is no space that surrounds me. No darkness. No walls of a room. Simple nothingness. (c) Rachel Rennie 2015 If you would like to let me know what you thought of my little piece, please leave a comment below or on my Google+ or my FaceBook. Also, feel free to share it with anyone that might also enjoy it. If you missed Part One, read it here first. Now the young boy has to hear the newest sounds that trickle upwards to his ears. It is a crunching
sound that could only be coming from the piles of dust that his feet appear to be making footprints in. The eerie acknowledgement that no other footprints aside from the one he and his parents are making makes his stomach a bit queasy. “Don’t think,” he whispers under his breath and his mother seems to wonder aloud what he just said. The boy was done speaking and concentrating on things other than the noises under his feet, which for all he knows could be the floor boards ready to collapse. Yeah stop thinking. Of course you can see the kitchen through the lack of walls but the boy still doesn’t want to go in there. It’s got to be worse once you get in there, and thinking about this brings the odor from out of there, as his mother’s firm grasp drags him closer to the kitchen. Secretly the boy is already wishing that there isn’t a bathroom down here, despite the fact that he suddenly feels the need to use one. The doorway, we suppose, as there really isn’t much distinction between doorways and missing walls, to the kitchen brings that odor sweeping into him, and now he could actually be sick. His eyes are watering. The stove is a nightmare, the refrigerator looks like something out of a black and white movie, but unfortunately the rust and grime on both bring the only color to them both. Inwardly the boy is begging his mother not to open the refrigerator door, but she keeps firm her grasp as she walks towards it. What could she be thinking? There couldn’t be anything worth looking at in there, and even a small child who knows nothing about home ownership can tell that the thing needs to be removed unopened, and replaced, by whatever insane hermits own this home. Her hand is on the handle and the child cannot free himself from the grasp in her other hand. The door swings open. Nothing. The relief washed over the child as apparently whoever had left this home to die had taken everything out of the refrigerator, and even the musty smell that came from it wasn’t as horrifying as the child’s mind had taken him. He still can’t pry his hand from her grasp as she looks over at the nasty stove, covered in paint from the ceiling and grease from eons of use. Why does she feel the need to walk anywhere near that stove? The pleasant surprise of an empty refrigerator, is waning as the lure of a disgusting oven drags his mother and in turn, him over in that direction. How long have we been here now, an hour, two, perhaps four? Sweat literally trickled down the little boy’s nose as he watched his once proud and tidy mother wipe her index finger across the top of the stove leaving a trail of grease and the ridges of it sliming away from the sides of her fingers. She held it up to her nose and took a deep sniff of whatever odor must have been emanating from that disgusting smudge of goo on the end of her finger. The boy knows that he will finally lose the remnants of the pizza he ate for lunch should she put that finger anywhere near his nose. His heart starts hammering as she reaches for the door to the oven and starts to pull it open. He can’t help but think that something evil had been burned in that oven and she was willing to let it escape. Her hand takes hold and swings the door downward. Nothing. A deep exhale left the boy’s mouth as another tragedy is averted. The oven needed a good cleaning, but aside from that there was nothing inside of it, and it could even be said that it was a lot cleaner than the rest of this catastrophe in the middle of nowhere. Now the fear of all fears comes across the young boy as his mother looks towards the corner of the room where, the only door left standing in the entire house blocks, something. Realizing that they aren’t actually moving now, the boy practically jumps when he hears that strange crunching noise under his feet but not actually from his feet. His feet haven’t moved. Now a squeak, then a bang, and it is all coming from underneath them. Is the house about to collapse? Where is his father? He hasn’t heard anything from his father in what, an hour, two, maybe four? No more is the boy leaving footprints, the trail behind him is solid drag marks, because that is what his mother is doing to him now, dragging him by his weak hand grasped tight in her much stronger one. He even tried to give a pull out of her hand and she paid him no notice, no firmer, no softer the grasp that she has on his little fingers. She drags him, less willingly by the foot along to the door, which the boy has decided must go down to the basement, the basement where all that noise is coming from. The fear and now the anger, that his mother has lost all common sense as she drags him along to that door, that probably could be kicked in as easily as it could be opened. Her hand is now around the handle, and the boy is tugging on her other hand as hard as he can, but it won’t free him. The door swings out towards them. Something. It was the most horrible yard attached to the most unattractive house. Most people would have sped along past this house as the river behind it appears to be doing. Miles upon miles of tranquil river beside the long winding road that followed along it, and as the car pulls over to the side of the road in front of that hideous house, you can see the water trying to escape its space. The boy in the back seat of the car could understand what the water knew and his oddly fascinated parents could not. The amount of coercion it took the parents of a growingly terrified boy, just to get him out of the car, and onto the lawn, would have been quite a site, if anything or anyone had been within miles of this house. Looking down the young boy could see nothing but a mass of poison ivy that crawled throughout the yard, where a normal house would have grass. There was nothing normal about this house, and the boy was at a loss for words, on the off chance that his parents were even listening. Dead center in the middle of the swarm of poison ivy stood a big hideous tree, that had spent centuries at least dominating this spot in the middle of nowhere. Strange old ropes hung from the largest branch, like once there was a swing, but in this scenario it could have been the noose to hang the old owner from. The boy looked past the ropes to the river, the strange river that hit maximum speed from where there wasn’t even a ripple. It was very intimidating, despite all else that seems to be so horrible in this spot. The last sign the boy had seen was the one that said Selinsgrove and before that he had seen one that had said Shamokin Dam, which coincidentally was where his parents had stopped to get pizza. They seemed so normal back then, all 30 minutes ago, as they drank an elixir called “birch beer” and ate pepperoni pizza. Now they are in the middle of nowhere for no reason, standing in front of the ugliest old house, in the worst lawn, under the shadow of a dark and scary tree. Yeah the boy was quite convinced that the river had the right idea as it tried to escape this place as he wished he could. Dragged along by one arm, the boy starts realizing that he probably had seen the best of this house, the minute his parents got him inside of it. The paint hung from the ceiling like moldy bats, and the walls had been torn down leaving exposed blackened moldy beams. Not a single bit of this made his parents wary of what an awful place this truly was, which stunned the poor child, who had always thought his parents a practical pair. Even if he didn’t know at this young age what practical was, the absolute lack of it, made the definition of practical seem pretty obvious, despite his knowledge of the word. Every third stair appeared to be intact, and every first and second one seemed to be dangerous. The parents were practically giddy and dancing through the house, like they had never seen a more beautiful place. One of them managed to make it up the stairs and was shouting down the instructions of what is needed on the second floor. The boy was terrified of this floor as it was and wanted nothing to do with the second floor, when the parent upstairs yelled down about a third. Now the boy just wished they had never left New York, regardless of how much he enjoyed that birch beer with his pizza, in what has become a lifetime ago. The house even appeared to make noises, the most hideous noises, as it sat there being disturbed for the first time in God knew how long. The boy has deduced that it isn’t an animal, or even the wind. There is no wind, so despite all of the open access from room to room with no walls it definitely isn’t the wind. It is more of a sound of despair, the sound that the young boy would be making if he wasn’t afraid of being heard. Heard by what or by who he doesn’t quite understand but there is something here that can hear him, and it probably knows all too well that the boy is afraid. The parents appear to have no fear, but they also appear to have no sanity, and haven’t from the moment they looked at this house. Jeremy Crow is the nom de plume of Jeremy Fink, who has been writing blogs entries for almost a decade now. He has had varying degrees of success along the way, several nervous breakdowns, a few “I quit and I’ll never do this again!” moments, and so many get rich quick ideas that you couldn’t count them on two hands. None of any of this has been a failure it’s just been a trial run, for what, he does not know, yet. His brain doesn’t turn off, and he loves to see his own words. To read more of what Jeremy has to say, please visit his site. He writes about fitness, blogging, politics and MORE!
I was given this as a prompt by one of my readers on Google+, DJ “The Trainman” Walker I hope you enjoy it! It is every girls dream to be invited to the grand ball. Of course, this ball it isn’t what it seems. There is no modern day prince to be found at this ball. She stands in the middle of the main hall underneath a glorious chandelier. The light sparkles off her magnificent dress cascading rainbows on the floor. She holds the wand of her feathered mask over her eyes and looks at the crowd with curiosity. She is surrounded by beautiful men and women, some couples and some singles.
She feels privileged to be here. An invitation slipped under her door two nights ago. She is surprised she was able to find a dress on such short notice. This was an exclusive ball and she had no idea who she even knew in these circles, let alone someone who would invite her. A lady swept past her with a swish of her gown. She wore a lace mask on her face that appeared to be painted on. A man in a tuxedo handed her a tall glass of champagne. She took it and was about to say thank you when he quickly shook his head with a finger pressed to her lips to shush her. She quietly nodded her understanding and sipped her champagne. She was really at a loss of what to do. As she examined the room it was clear that although the others were mingling, there was no talking. At least, she didn’t see their lips moving and the big band music was playing too loudly to hear anything at all. She decided to simply stand there and sip her champagne. She would patiently wait for the one who invited her to approach. After two glass of champagne, she was feeling a little warm and her vision was a little fuzzy. The smiles surrounding her felt suspicious. Half way through her third glass and he approached, grabbing her by the elbow and leading her to the dance floor. He took her champagne from her and put it on the platter of a butler passing by. He moved her so quickly that she didn’t have a chance to look at him. That was until she found herself face to face with him, her nose mere inches away from his. After spinning her around for what seemed like hours, she felt desperate to get outside for some air. She moved her hand off his shoulder and put it on his chest in an attempt to gently nudge some distance between them. He would have none of it. Now that he had her in his home and the champagne was doing its job, he was not letting her go. He knew if he had she would surely fall prey to all of the other eyes that were on her. But she was relentless and she tried harder to pull away. He was prepared for this, and he was very strong. The grip on her elbow frightened her and she tried harder to work her way out of his grasp. “Please,” she whispered, “I need air.” All eyes turned on her at the sound of her voice. There was to be no speaking here. She looked from her dance partner to those around her as panic started to bubble through her veins. Her instincts told her to break away and run. But she simply could not. She was too weak and no match for this man. The air was harder to breathe as she sensed the others moving in closer. He growled then and dragged her by the arm out onto the balcony. It was on the balcony that he kissed her. It was a quick and forceful kiss. One that she had not been expecting. And, it hurt. She put her fingers to her lips. They were bleeding. She was about to say something when he began to lean in to her, more slowly this time. His lips brushed past hers as he moved closer to her cheek. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of something flash brightly. She turned her head just slightly and saw fangs. ‘Fangs?!’ she thought to herself. Her heart beating so fast now that she was afraid it would come right out of her chest. He smiled. He could feel her blood coursing through her veins. Hear her heart thumping madly like an animal in danger. And that she was. But he vowed to himself he would keep her safe. Just as his teeth touched her skin, the balcony door flew open. He spun around in anger. He knew that her wildly beating heart must have attracted the others. She felt his grip loosen just a little bit. She took her opportunity and jumped off the balcony onto the lush green grass below. She could hear the fight from the balcony above. There was no time to waste. Although she was in pain, she kicked off her beautiful, and now ruined, shoes and ran. --------------- “Time to wake up Aaron,” her dad called from the doorway of her room, “I can’t be late for work today.” She stretched, wishing for just five minutes more. “That’s ok dad,” she said through a yawn, “I think I’ll walk today.” “Are you sure?” “Ya, thanks.” “Ok,” he came to her bedside and kissed her on the forehead, “don’t be late though.” “I won’t dad.” She smiled up at him. ----------------- As she walked to school that morning, she passed by the big mysterious house on the corner. There were rumors of a new family moving in there soon. It had been vacant for most of the year already. Something in the grass sparkled and she walked towards it. On the grass was a shoe. An awfully familiar shoe. She picked it up to look at it closer and then looked up to the balcony doors where a curtain fell quickly shut. © Rachel Rennie 2015
I wear foolishness well. Almost like a badge of honour. Where others exercise prudence and sensibility, I run headlong into situations doomed...that's when I ride the waves... Waves Sit here feeling the breeze that gives birds flight Wondering to myself if today is real or just an illusion Like the pinpoints of stars in the depth of night Listening to my own thoughts come to an orchestral conclusion Does the mind register truth or just the emotion it perceives In the cacophony of psychological silence another symphony starts Every synapse misreading the impulse it receives Like the percussive pounding of a thousand hearts A rhythmic beating of tympani and snare An overture of pure emotional delight Operatic displays of happiness you can't help but to share Time proving relative as days last minutes at the speed of sight This Wagnerian sensation of riding the winds of emotion As this feeling of elation is both surreal and sublime in turn My thoughts are scattered like debris in an ocean Waves of thought extinguishing fires of doubt before they burn © Christian Touchet Please comment below and tell me if Christian's poetry has touched you, as it so often does for most of his readers.
Please show your support and read more of Christian’s work on his blog. I decided that for this writing prompt I would try to write outside of my romantic genre. I added some suspense into this flash fiction piece, but of course, my flare for romance was still there. Enjoy my little story about a couple and their encounter with a beast. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears as her feet slammed into the ground. Every laboured step brought them closer to their escape. He urged her to run faster. Her lungs couldn’t seem to get enough air and her legs couldn’t move any faster. Still, he grasped her hand with such force that her fingertips were throbbed. He all but dragged her along. Behind them, the grunting didn’t tired at all. It just kept moving forward, getting closer. Gasping for air he urged her on, “Come on baby,” he squeezed her hand, “look there. The bridge is just ahead.” She nodded. Too tired to speak. Together they ran, him always a step ahead. The beast just a few steps behind. The bridge creaked when they jumped on it. “Are you sure?” She asked, daring not to tell him now of her fear of heights. “What choice do we have?” He pulled her further onto the bridge. Her breathing staggering with fear and exhaustion. Not even halfway across the bridge and they felt themselves lift into the air as the beast stepped on. His yell of frustration shook the mountains and the trees surrounding them. “Shit,” he hadn’t thought the beast would step onto the bridge. They never did in the movies. “Where are we going to run to?” she sobbed. “We’re just running baby,” he tried to soothe her. He couldn’t afford her having a meltdown now. With each step the beast took, the bridge swayed. The beast had slowed down, hesitant and unsure of being on the bridge. But it was determined. Its dinner lay just ahead, within reach. As they kept running and the beast slowed, they were making distance. The beast, frustrated that they might get away, grabbed the rope railings of the bridge and shook with all of his might. Not realizing its own strength, the bridge groaned under the strain. She heard a crack and almost stopped had it not been for him pulling her forward. “We can only hope it breaks once we’re across,” he said, “so we better not slow down yet.” “Ok, ok,” she said, grunting as she pushed herself to keep going. She wasn’t sure how she kept her legs moving, but she did. Their lives depended on it. They had been running for miles with no end in sight. The bridge collapsing was their only hope of survival. Unless of course, it broke while CRACK Their screaming vibrated through the valley, echoing back to them. The forest seemed to yell back as though having been rudely awakened from a deep slumber. It was a good thing he held her so tightly and had quick reflexes. He grabbed the rope railing of the bridge just as they began to fall. She tried to grab the other rope railing, but it was just out of her reach. When the bridge slammed against the mountainside, it knocked the wind out of her and almost knocked her unconscious. He held on tight, determined to get them to safety. She heard the pop of his shoulder when it came disconnected, but she didn’t hear him scream out or even whimper. Shaking her head to refocus, she got her footing on the bridge that had now become a ladder. She was able to reach out with her other hand and get a good grip on a piece of rope. Grunting, he pulled on her arm to get her to look up at him. All he could manage was a nod towards the top of the mountainside. It was time to climb. When she was beside him they heard a loud thump of what must have been the beast hitting the valley floor. She looked back over her shoulder, surprised at the delay of the sound. Below them, she could see tops of trees and rocks. They were up a lot further than she realized. She swayed with dizziness. He put his arm around her waist. “Don’t look down,” he said, his voice tired and strained, “we go up now.” A tear rolled down her cheek. She took a deep breath and began her climb. She was thankful for all of the chin ups she had done. Her arms were strong enough to carry her forward. She could feel his breath on the small of her back all of the way up. He refused to be out of arm’s reach of her. When they reached the top of the bridge he held her in a tight embrace. Finally out of danger, she let her tears fall. “You’re hurt,” she whispered as she touched his shoulder and he flinched in pain. “I’ll heal,” he tried to laugh it off. Still, she took off her sweatshirt and made a sling for him. They kissed before once again holding hands. They entered the forest in search of their way to safety and civilization. The forest was dark and had a funny smell to it. “Next time,” she said quietly, “we’re booking a resort.” “Most definitely,” he agreed. Hideous laughter broke out all around them and they froze. They looked at one another, both trembling. Out from behind the trees stepped an army of beasts. Bigger than the one that fell off the bridge. Angrier than the one that fell off the bridge. Panicked, with nowhere to run, they were quickly surrounded. Then darkness came. (c) Rachel Rennie |