Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
Love vs Lust
Written by fantastical in portal Romance & Erotica

The Dates

She gasps and delivers me a smile mixed with shock and a need for me not to stop. I smile, trying to smooth out the wickedness of it as my fingers glide within her deeper; exploring, playing, and just simply enjoying the act.

She watches the staff of the restaurant shuffle by our corner table, all a bit too busy to notice what was transpiring or perhaps too busy to care. I watch her watch for us. I marvel at how she struggles to pose a normal look as she flicks moments of uncontrollable pleasure.

I notice our waitress approaching, out of the corner of my eye, with our wine. I let my fingers retreat my lover and watch her contort a smile as our waitress arrives at our table. A look passes between the two of them, it says everything and nothing at all, and tweaks my personal arousal to another level. We order our dinner and as our waitress parts our company, I lift my wet fingers to my lips and watch my lover watch me suck them off and watch her tremble. I slip my hand back under the table, under her dress, and glide my fingers back inside of her.

“I...need you inside me, now,” is her wisping reply to my invasion.

“Seems Iike I am already inside…”

“I NEED you fucking me, now!” she stated, through clenched teeth, cutting me off.

If I was less aroused, I would tease her about not having dinner yet. But, I almost want nothing more than fulfilling her request. We are both too worked up for an encounter in the bathroom. Slipping out to the jeep would be a missed opportunity.

If I push her over the edge now, she will return the favor in one way later. If I leave her to linger on the edge throughout dinner, she will attack me a different way later. I can only have one or the other, and I wasn’t sure which I desired more, because both versions stirred my growing lust.

My fingers swim within her, while I imagine two delicious possibilities.

~~~

The candles flicker on the table, yet they cannot beat the brightness of her deep smile.

“I have never had anyone make me a candle-lit dinner before, can you believe that? Thank you so much!”

“No,” I reply honestly, “but their missed opportunity is obviously my reward. And it is my pleasure, but don’t thank me until after dinner. You might not find my cooking warranted of thanks.”

She blushes and smiles. I love her smile. It is a happy, honest thing. It compliments her eyes and the shape of her face. I love every moment with her. Every date she manages to weave into my soul a bit more. She makes my heart race, no matter how much I try to reign it in. I wonder how all of her exes let her get away. I suppose I knew one reason, but it seemed so superficial. Must be hard in this day and age for a woman to wait until she is married. I admire her more for it.

I watch her take her first bite, watch the pleasure from it paint her face in new, lovely ways. Makes me want to make her meals morning, noon, and night, just to keep getting that wonderful feedback.

“This is absolutely delicious!” she said.

All I could think was how the meal paled to how wonderful she seemed to be. In the moment, I am tongue-tied, so all I can return her is a grateful smile. It is not enough. She deserves so much more.

~~~

“Ohhhh…” she gasps as I circle the ice around her stiff nipple. I look at her blindfolded face and I am torn. I hate not being able to gaze into her eyes as I tease her flesh. I love how she responses to those teases with one of her senses removed.

I yearn to pop either nipple into my mouth. Part hunger, part curiosity if she has reached a point of going over her initial edge from just that act alone.

Her back arches quickly as I blow warm breath on her free, recently iced nipple. So close. So damn hungry. I haven’t even made it any lower than her navel yet. I watch her heavy breathing. I listen to her happy whimpers. I lust for all of her, as I feel her lusts radiate back toward me. Invisible threads hooking in me and slowly weakening any resolve of resistance I have.

I circle her navel once more with the ice.

She swoons.

I trace the ice downward.

She blindly reaches for me, her hand finding my arousal. I groan at her touch. Try to maintain a level of control.

The ice is almost completely melted as it slips further down, her legs part.

Before my cool fingers reach her, she pulls forward and slips me in her mouth. I gasp and as my fingers find she has already gone over her edge. He mouth consumes me with a hunger that translates her illicit desire to me. I look at her blindfolded face and I am torn. It is a small feeling compared to how she draws my lust to the surface of my being.

~~~

“Ohhhh…” she gasps as she tastes the strawberry I hold to her mouth. I smile looking at her blindfolded face while I watch the juice from the berry dribble down her chin. It is both innocent, childlike, and sexy.

“You spoil me so. I cannot wait for what is next,” she says after gobbling up the rest of the berry. I cannot help but laugh at her simple joy.

“All sorts of delicious things,” I reply, as I struggle with which thing would be the next perfect surprise. I hand her the champagne to sip while I ponder my next choice.

I am eager for the moment that I can drop the blindfold and watch her take in the breathtaking landscape around me. I cannot wait to soak in her joy and tattoo the moment to my heart.

I press a piece of smoked gouda to her lips and she takes a bite. So trusting. She gasps, “Wow. That is really good, what is it?”

I smile and kiss her neck lightly, she gasps harder. “A smoked gouda that I found, somewhere along the way.”

She laughs. She loves how I just find things ‘along the way’. I have a number of other things I want her to taste, blinded, but I just cannot wait. I quickly undo the blindfold so it drops off of her eyes. I melt on the inside as I watch her become breathless at the scene all around us. I kiss her cheek softly, catching the single joyful tear in my lips adding the taste of her to the memory that I am burning of this moment.

~~~

She rides me with a desperation that she has never displayed. It turns me on and worries me all at once. It feels like a first time or a last time. I hold her hips as she rides, watching how erotic and gorgeous she is bouncing up and down on me.

She rides with an intensity to send me over the edge first. I resist as long as possible, I have never needed to prolong a moment with her as much as this one.

She begs me, she commands me, she curses to me to fuck her. I have been, but I slowly slip into rhythm with her. I fought against matching that rhythm, wanting to lengthen the moment as long as possible. But she is a woman you can resist for only so long.

I impale her, she engulfs me, over and over. She arches. I grunt deeper inside.

Impales, engulfs, impales, engulf. Moans, screams, curses, whimpers. There is nothing but us. We are everything.

She releases, then I do. Or I do and then she. It is impossible to tell. It doesn’t matter.

“I love you, so, much,” she cries. My throat catches.

She always gave her body so freely, but always guarded her heart. My heart pounds. I pull her down and kiss her tears away. “I love you too.” I do not know if she trembles so because of lustful bliss or utter fear.

~~~

We sit curled under the blanket next to the fireplace, as I stroke her hair, not knowing what else to do. I just let her cry in my arms. This was not how I planned this night to go. I attempted to make another magical moment for her. Another night to feed her sweet heart with. Instead I am left stroking her hair, knowing there are no words to express after the call she just received from her mother.

The cruelty of life slips on you even in the best of times.

“I am so sorry.”

“Shhh...you have nothing to be sorry about,” I whisper.

“I know tonight was suppose to be special.”

“Time with you is what is special. Up until now the times have been sweet…”

“I love you so much! I cannot imagine life without you. I was looking forward to my dad meeting you. He would have loved you.”

My throat catches, and I cannot find the words. It is the first time she said those words to me. My heart pounds hearing them, even as it breaks seeing her broken.

I love her too, but the words catch. It seems wrong to say them with what she is going through in the moment, just learning she lost her father. It seems wrong not to say them. I take a leap of faith. “I love you too.”

~~~

Day 63: I find myself at an impossible dilemma. About seventy days ago, I took up my friend Lisa’s challenge for me and tried to date more than one person at a time. She assured me that I would find it easier to do and have a better chance meeting who I am meant to be with that way.

Ali and I had instant physical chemistry. She was a ‘bad’ girl that tried to be ‘good’ with me and failed, miserably. I drunk her lust in like a man dying of thirst and it unlocked my own lusts in ways I would have never imagined. Ali is addicting, but she was so closed off emotionally. Her lust was almost a defense mechanism. Until her heart broke open on my lap, almost daring me to hurt her. Instead, she entangled me more. As the days go by our lusts grow with our budding love. It would be the sweetest thing, if she was the only one in my life.

Amy on the other hand, I had chemistry in a different way. We snapped together emotionally. We were practically finishing each other’s sentences on the first date. She was way too easy to fall in love with. I could wait until the end of time to be lucky enough to finally have the chance to make love with her.

I assumed one or the other would have found a reason to end things with me. I know I will have to make a decision fairly soon, but I am finding it impossible to do so. I hate that I went down this road. I despair when I finally take one fork in it over the other. I despair even more the possibility of losing both of them. There is no chance of being ‘just friends’ with one. There is no chance of a calm parting with either.

This dating experiment wasn’t suppose to go this way. I am having a hard time imagining life without Ali in it. Just as hard to imagine life without Amy. My friend Lisa just watches me in my agony, and points out that it is proof of just how special a guy I am. She has always tried to convince me of that.

I cannot help but feel anything but that. For sometime soon, I am going to have to hurt someone I would have never wanted to hurt.

Hence, my impossible dilemma.

7
2
4
Juice
53 reads
Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
Love vs Lust
Written by fantastical in portal Romance & Erotica
The Dates
She gasps and delivers me a smile mixed with shock and a need for me not to stop. I smile, trying to smooth out the wickedness of it as my fingers glide within her deeper; exploring, playing, and just simply enjoying the act.

She watches the staff of the restaurant shuffle by our corner table, all a bit too busy to notice what was transpiring or perhaps too busy to care. I watch her watch for us. I marvel at how she struggles to pose a normal look as she flicks moments of uncontrollable pleasure.

I notice our waitress approaching, out of the corner of my eye, with our wine. I let my fingers retreat my lover and watch her contort a smile as our waitress arrives at our table. A look passes between the two of them, it says everything and nothing at all, and tweaks my personal arousal to another level. We order our dinner and as our waitress parts our company, I lift my wet fingers to my lips and watch my lover watch me suck them off and watch her tremble. I slip my hand back under the table, under her dress, and glide my fingers back inside of her.

“I...need you inside me, now,” is her wisping reply to my invasion.

“Seems Iike I am already inside…”

“I NEED you fucking me, now!” she stated, through clenched teeth, cutting me off.

If I was less aroused, I would tease her about not having dinner yet. But, I almost want nothing more than fulfilling her request. We are both too worked up for an encounter in the bathroom. Slipping out to the jeep would be a missed opportunity.

If I push her over the edge now, she will return the favor in one way later. If I leave her to linger on the edge throughout dinner, she will attack me a different way later. I can only have one or the other, and I wasn’t sure which I desired more, because both versions stirred my growing lust.

My fingers swim within her, while I imagine two delicious possibilities.

~~~

The candles flicker on the table, yet they cannot beat the brightness of her deep smile.

“I have never had anyone make me a candle-lit dinner before, can you believe that? Thank you so much!”

“No,” I reply honestly, “but their missed opportunity is obviously my reward. And it is my pleasure, but don’t thank me until after dinner. You might not find my cooking warranted of thanks.”

She blushes and smiles. I love her smile. It is a happy, honest thing. It compliments her eyes and the shape of her face. I love every moment with her. Every date she manages to weave into my soul a bit more. She makes my heart race, no matter how much I try to reign it in. I wonder how all of her exes let her get away. I suppose I knew one reason, but it seemed so superficial. Must be hard in this day and age for a woman to wait until she is married. I admire her more for it.

I watch her take her first bite, watch the pleasure from it paint her face in new, lovely ways. Makes me want to make her meals morning, noon, and night, just to keep getting that wonderful feedback.

“This is absolutely delicious!” she said.

All I could think was how the meal paled to how wonderful she seemed to be. In the moment, I am tongue-tied, so all I can return her is a grateful smile. It is not enough. She deserves so much more.

~~~

“Ohhhh…” she gasps as I circle the ice around her stiff nipple. I look at her blindfolded face and I am torn. I hate not being able to gaze into her eyes as I tease her flesh. I love how she responses to those teases with one of her senses removed.

I yearn to pop either nipple into my mouth. Part hunger, part curiosity if she has reached a point of going over her initial edge from just that act alone.

Her back arches quickly as I blow warm breath on her free, recently iced nipple. So close. So damn hungry. I haven’t even made it any lower than her navel yet. I watch her heavy breathing. I listen to her happy whimpers. I lust for all of her, as I feel her lusts radiate back toward me. Invisible threads hooking in me and slowly weakening any resolve of resistance I have.

I circle her navel once more with the ice.

She swoons.

I trace the ice downward.

She blindly reaches for me, her hand finding my arousal. I groan at her touch. Try to maintain a level of control.

The ice is almost completely melted as it slips further down, her legs part.

Before my cool fingers reach her, she pulls forward and slips me in her mouth. I gasp and as my fingers find she has already gone over her edge. He mouth consumes me with a hunger that translates her illicit desire to me. I look at her blindfolded face and I am torn. It is a small feeling compared to how she draws my lust to the surface of my being.

~~~

“Ohhhh…” she gasps as she tastes the strawberry I hold to her mouth. I smile looking at her blindfolded face while I watch the juice from the berry dribble down her chin. It is both innocent, childlike, and sexy.

“You spoil me so. I cannot wait for what is next,” she says after gobbling up the rest of the berry. I cannot help but laugh at her simple joy.

“All sorts of delicious things,” I reply, as I struggle with which thing would be the next perfect surprise. I hand her the champagne to sip while I ponder my next choice.

I am eager for the moment that I can drop the blindfold and watch her take in the breathtaking landscape around me. I cannot wait to soak in her joy and tattoo the moment to my heart.

I press a piece of smoked gouda to her lips and she takes a bite. So trusting. She gasps, “Wow. That is really good, what is it?”

I smile and kiss her neck lightly, she gasps harder. “A smoked gouda that I found, somewhere along the way.”

She laughs. She loves how I just find things ‘along the way’. I have a number of other things I want her to taste, blinded, but I just cannot wait. I quickly undo the blindfold so it drops off of her eyes. I melt on the inside as I watch her become breathless at the scene all around us. I kiss her cheek softly, catching the single joyful tear in my lips adding the taste of her to the memory that I am burning of this moment.

~~~

She rides me with a desperation that she has never displayed. It turns me on and worries me all at once. It feels like a first time or a last time. I hold her hips as she rides, watching how erotic and gorgeous she is bouncing up and down on me.

She rides with an intensity to send me over the edge first. I resist as long as possible, I have never needed to prolong a moment with her as much as this one.

She begs me, she commands me, she curses to me to fuck her. I have been, but I slowly slip into rhythm with her. I fought against matching that rhythm, wanting to lengthen the moment as long as possible. But she is a woman you can resist for only so long.

I impale her, she engulfs me, over and over. She arches. I grunt deeper inside.

Impales, engulfs, impales, engulf. Moans, screams, curses, whimpers. There is nothing but us. We are everything.

She releases, then I do. Or I do and then she. It is impossible to tell. It doesn’t matter.

“I love you, so, much,” she cries. My throat catches.

She always gave her body so freely, but always guarded her heart. My heart pounds. I pull her down and kiss her tears away. “I love you too.” I do not know if she trembles so because of lustful bliss or utter fear.

~~~

We sit curled under the blanket next to the fireplace, as I stroke her hair, not knowing what else to do. I just let her cry in my arms. This was not how I planned this night to go. I attempted to make another magical moment for her. Another night to feed her sweet heart with. Instead I am left stroking her hair, knowing there are no words to express after the call she just received from her mother.

The cruelty of life slips on you even in the best of times.

“I am so sorry.”

“Shhh...you have nothing to be sorry about,” I whisper.

“I know tonight was suppose to be special.”

“Time with you is what is special. Up until now the times have been sweet…”

“I love you so much! I cannot imagine life without you. I was looking forward to my dad meeting you. He would have loved you.”

My throat catches, and I cannot find the words. It is the first time she said those words to me. My heart pounds hearing them, even as it breaks seeing her broken.

I love her too, but the words catch. It seems wrong to say them with what she is going through in the moment, just learning she lost her father. It seems wrong not to say them. I take a leap of faith. “I love you too.”

~~~

Day 63: I find myself at an impossible dilemma. About seventy days ago, I took up my friend Lisa’s challenge for me and tried to date more than one person at a time. She assured me that I would find it easier to do and have a better chance meeting who I am meant to be with that way.

Ali and I had instant physical chemistry. She was a ‘bad’ girl that tried to be ‘good’ with me and failed, miserably. I drunk her lust in like a man dying of thirst and it unlocked my own lusts in ways I would have never imagined. Ali is addicting, but she was so closed off emotionally. Her lust was almost a defense mechanism. Until her heart broke open on my lap, almost daring me to hurt her. Instead, she entangled me more. As the days go by our lusts grow with our budding love. It would be the sweetest thing, if she was the only one in my life.

Amy on the other hand, I had chemistry in a different way. We snapped together emotionally. We were practically finishing each other’s sentences on the first date. She was way too easy to fall in love with. I could wait until the end of time to be lucky enough to finally have the chance to make love with her.

I assumed one or the other would have found a reason to end things with me. I know I will have to make a decision fairly soon, but I am finding it impossible to do so. I hate that I went down this road. I despair when I finally take one fork in it over the other. I despair even more the possibility of losing both of them. There is no chance of being ‘just friends’ with one. There is no chance of a calm parting with either.

This dating experiment wasn’t suppose to go this way. I am having a hard time imagining life without Ali in it. Just as hard to imagine life without Amy. My friend Lisa just watches me in my agony, and points out that it is proof of just how special a guy I am. She has always tried to convince me of that.

I cannot help but feel anything but that. For sometime soon, I am going to have to hurt someone I would have never wanted to hurt.

Hence, my impossible dilemma.

7
2
4
Juice
53 reads
Load 4 Comments
Login to post comments.
Advertisement  (turn off)
Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
Simon & Schuster is one of the world’s leading publishers and we are always looking for fresh new voices. Write a story, chapter, or essay about whatever you like. The 50 best entries will be announced by Prose and read by our editorial staff for consideration.
Written by fantastical in portal Simon & Schuster

A Shade Within a Murder of Crows (S&S Version)

Crow perched upon a high branch, drawn to the fresh corpses below by his gluttonous hunger. He wanted to feast on the pungent flesh, was desperate to do so, but Crow had a wariness toward a dangerous-smelling man sitting at a fire nearby. Instead, Crow pondered if the delicious corpses were some form of trap to catch unclever crows, which he was not. So Crow watched and waited.

Caw!

The dangerous-smelling man looked up and smirked at Crow, as if he was waiting for him. Crow studied the man suspicious, and how the shadows surrounding the man seemed angry. Crow’s desire to steal a taste from the fresh bodies ended up trumping his distrust though. Crow glided down and settled on the human corpse, wings taunt, poised to burst into flight if the man indeed tried to trap Crow. Crow spoke a warning to the man.

Caw! Caw!

The man laughed as if he could read Crow’s thoughts and cawed back, “Go ahead, clever crow. Feast! Leave nothing behind but his fuckin’ bones!” Shadows flickered violently.

Crow responded to the man’s invitation by ripping off a morsel of the sweet flesh from the wounded neck. As Crow ate, slowly another crow flew in to join his feast, then another. In time, the corpses were being devoured by the full murder; the man laughed his awful laugh, and cawed back at them all, “Yes! Leave nothing behind...

The murder of crows cut off the rest of his words:

Caw-Caw-Caw-Caw…

---

Detective Elliot spat in defiant disgust, as he looked up into the trees, never believing so many damn crows could cluster together; cawing their collective rage.

It was ominous to witness. It was damn irritating to listen to. It made the crime scene feel even more grim. Between the morbid display of the bodies and how the lighting threw queer shadows that seemed unbound, the scene didn’t need any help with its sense of grimness.

“Is there anything we can do about the damned birds?”

“Sorry Detective, we figured just working the scene would have eventually driven them all away,” Investigator Kelly responded, leaving the rest of what he wanted to say unsaid.

Detective Elliot gave him a slight nod and turned his focus back to the two corpses. Both more bones than flesh now. The John Doe was left embracing the killed deer. Before Elliot could ask his next question, Kelly answered as if he read the thought.

“Not sure the motive behind the placement, detective. However, it definitely attracted the carrion feeders quicker, surprisingly.”

“Anything of note?” Elliot queried.

“The victim’s ring finger is missing and the bone appears to have been cut.”

“Hmmmm,” Detective Elliot took in the scene, so much familiar, yet so much uniquely out of place. Odd pieces to an otherwise all-too-familiar puzzle. The puzzles compelled him forward. He had a talent making the pieces fall into place. That was as much his drive as seeing justice done.

Caw-Caw-Caw-Caw…

Detective Elliot looked forward to solving this twisted puzzle and finding the bastard that committed this murder. He savored finding the culprit.

Caw-Caw-Caw-Caw…

“Can someone do something about these damned crows?”

---

I can still feel the echo of my throat being slit, as I watch the detective and the other’s study my lifeless body. A body I do not even recognize at this point, no small thanks to the crows.

I can still recall how the blood spilled from my neck as the investigator probes what was once a simple gash.

I can still recall the feeling of trying to take a breath but drowning on my own blood instead.

I can still recall the exact moment of my death. My soul suddenly watching my killer hold my lifeless form, a feral smile of satisfaction on his smug, bastard face. To think I pitied him. To have agreed to take him with me on my usual solitary hunting trip as an act of kindness and fellowship.

The bastard lied about it all! He lied about me being one of his few friends, about his lack of hunting expertise, and about never being to this spot before. Watching him now as a shade of what I was, it was obvious he had an intimacy with this place, with my particular hunting spot. I still shiver at the thought of how long he must have stalked me. He didn’t just have a moment of passion; my murder was something planned, over a long period of time.

I recall when that crow finally chanced to feast upon my dead corpse. Choosing mine over the deer’s. I recall the rage that filled me when I felt the words, “Go ahead, clever crow. Feast. Leave nothing behind but his fuckin’ bones!” How I raged. My rage seemed to ground me. Build until vengeance seemed my only thought.

I think I will follow this detective for a time. Maybe I’ll have a way to nudge him toward my killer, how though, I have no idea.

I recall the haunting sound of the murder of crows when they feasting on my former form.

Caw-Caw-Caw-Caw…

How I would love to deal with the bastard myself though.

---

Detective Elliot exhaled as he listened to Mrs. Losstrum sob as she left his office. Elliot’s John Doe turned out to be her husband, a Mr. Stephen Losstrum. He replayed the conversation he had with her in his head, confirming what his gut already knew. She wasn’t involved.

She didn’t provide much to follow either. Steven was well loved. She couldn’t imagine him having any enemies. She only showed surprise when Elliot suggested it was not a random murder. Supposedly, Mrs. Losstrum didn’t even know where her husband’s secret hunting spot was. He always went alone. A secret from her, but a known secret.

The only tangible clue she did give him was the description of her husband’s wedding band. A simple silver band, marked with only two tiny sapphires. It wasn’t much, but at least he knew what the trophy that was kept looked like.

Elliot exhaled again, pondering his only other memory of the conversation. How the shadows played on the wall, almost as if another shadow was trying to comfort hers.

The illusion gave him a chill down his back and for the first time since visiting the crime scene, he thought about all of the crows and their shrill song, but it came out as:

We know-We know-We know…

---

“...and how well would you say you knew Mr. Losstrum?” the detective asked.

“Not well,” the man lied, while imagining how beautiful it would be to slice open this bastard cop’s neck wide open. The bastard deserved it for interrogating him in Steven’s old office. It was dangerously shrewd, a cruel genius to do it in a room with so much...familiarity. Easy to lie, harder to lie with the feeling of a ghost watching you. “I mean Steven and I obviously worked together and tended to be the last ones out of the office, but we really never socialized outside of the office.”

“Did Mr. Losstrum mention his hunting trip at all in one of those late nights?”

“No,” he lied easily again. Although, it took effort for him not to smile thinking about that first crow eating Steven’s corpse and telling that crow to leave nothing behind but the fuckin’ bones!

“Did you know his wife?”

“No,” he lied again, even as she bloomed fully into his imagination, a forbidden fruit almost in reach now, the last piece of Steven’s life to claim. Steven had everything he ever wanted. Now everything Steven had was slowly becoming his. The wife was the last prize and was only a matter of time, even if she was to be a singular taste.

The detective’s shadow seemed to dance violently.

A picture frame on Steven’s desk suddenly fell over, brushed only by the shadow. The fall drew both of their stares to it. It was a picture of the wife. It was impossible not to look at her for more than just a moment, his final prize, to taste her sweet flesh just once. His lust flowed.

“I mean, I met her briefly at office parties, but that was about it,” the man said, trying to reign in his momentary wave of desire.

“I see,” said the detective, “I suppose there is nothing else to ask. Thank you for your time, Mr. Gilmore.”

“Anything to help,” Gilmore replied, shaking the bastard cop’s hand while dreaming again about slicing his throat. The detective left him wary. So many shadows seem to haunt him lately. Now the detective’s taunted him as well. It made him think the crow cawing:

He knows-he knows-he knows...

Yes, this bastard cop just might know. I may need to rectify that soon, thought Gilmore, followed by imagining slicing the bastard's cop neck clean open. 

---

Detective Elliot looked at the body crumpled like a ragdoll at the bottom of the stairwell. If the poor bastard didn’t die of a broken neck, thought Elliot, he died from every other bone being broken. The wall was nearly as broken as the man. The head resembled a smashed fruit. It was as if someone shot the poor bastard out of a canon from the top of the stairs. It was a scene of disbelief.

“Detective! You’ll want to see this!”

Elliot turned and followed the officer to the landlord’s office. There, they replayed the close-circuit security feeds of the stairwell and the hallway leading to it. He watched the victim leave his apartment alone.

“Pause it! Yeah, right there!”

Detective Elliot studied the face. He knew that face. It was that Don Gilmore that he interviewed a week or so back regarding the Losstrum murder. He got an odd feeling about the man, he seemed a bit taken with Losstrum’s wife. It was a motive. Elliot was planning to have a second interview with him, but had a number of people that seemed to have more motive to weed through first.

“Detective?”

“Oh, sorry. It is just I met this man not too long ago. Go ahead, and continue the video.”

Elliot watched as Don Gilmore got to the top of the stairway. Then, he saw something unbelievable.

“Go back. Play that again!”

“I told you that you needed to see it, detective!”

They played the scene a second time. A third in slow motion. Don Gilmore’s body flails at the top of the stairwell as if he was suddenly pushed impossibly hard from behind. Yet, after his body starts to fly down the stairs, his shadow seemed to stay behind at the top of the stairs.

They watched each feed dozen more times, to see if there was anyone else there. The videos seemed to show no one else, just Gilmore and his queer shadow.

Elliott recalled how shadows seemed to actively haunt the Losstrum case. His gut suddenly screamed a suspicion.

“I would like to look in his apartment, please...”

The landlord lead Elliot and the other officers into Don Gilmore’s small apartment. It didn’t take long to find what his instincts suddenly urged him to look for. Sitting naked, alone on Don Gilmore’s nightstand was a simple ring of silver. Looking closer, a simple ring of silver with two tiny sapphires.

Elliot had a vibe go up his spine. He could almost hear a crow caw:

See...see...see...

Elliot solved one case in that moment. He also believed this was a homicide as well, and who the killer was. Yet, he knew this new case would always be a mystery. Who would believe that a man was killed by a shadow pretending to be his own? A shadow belonging to a man already dead?

6
3
0
Juice
33 reads
Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
Simon & Schuster is one of the world’s leading publishers and we are always looking for fresh new voices. Write a story, chapter, or essay about whatever you like. The 50 best entries will be announced by Prose and read by our editorial staff for consideration.
Written by fantastical in portal Simon & Schuster
A Shade Within a Murder of Crows (S&S Version)
Crow perched upon a high branch, drawn to the fresh corpses below by his gluttonous hunger. He wanted to feast on the pungent flesh, was desperate to do so, but Crow had a wariness toward a dangerous-smelling man sitting at a fire nearby. Instead, Crow pondered if the delicious corpses were some form of trap to catch unclever crows, which he was not. So Crow watched and waited.

Caw!

The dangerous-smelling man looked up and smirked at Crow, as if he was waiting for him. Crow studied the man suspicious, and how the shadows surrounding the man seemed angry. Crow’s desire to steal a taste from the fresh bodies ended up trumping his distrust though. Crow glided down and settled on the human corpse, wings taunt, poised to burst into flight if the man indeed tried to trap Crow. Crow spoke a warning to the man.

Caw! Caw!

The man laughed as if he could read Crow’s thoughts and cawed back, “Go ahead, clever crow. Feast! Leave nothing behind but his fuckin’ bones!” Shadows flickered violently.

Crow responded to the man’s invitation by ripping off a morsel of the sweet flesh from the wounded neck. As Crow ate, slowly another crow flew in to join his feast, then another. In time, the corpses were being devoured by the full murder; the man laughed his awful laugh, and cawed back at them all, “Yes! Leave nothing behind...

The murder of crows cut off the rest of his words:

Caw-Caw-Caw-Caw…

---

Detective Elliot spat in defiant disgust, as he looked up into the trees, never believing so many damn crows could cluster together; cawing their collective rage.

It was ominous to witness. It was damn irritating to listen to. It made the crime scene feel even more grim. Between the morbid display of the bodies and how the lighting threw queer shadows that seemed unbound, the scene didn’t need any help with its sense of grimness.

“Is there anything we can do about the damned birds?”

“Sorry Detective, we figured just working the scene would have eventually driven them all away,” Investigator Kelly responded, leaving the rest of what he wanted to say unsaid.

Detective Elliot gave him a slight nod and turned his focus back to the two corpses. Both more bones than flesh now. The John Doe was left embracing the killed deer. Before Elliot could ask his next question, Kelly answered as if he read the thought.

“Not sure the motive behind the placement, detective. However, it definitely attracted the carrion feeders quicker, surprisingly.”

“Anything of note?” Elliot queried.

“The victim’s ring finger is missing and the bone appears to have been cut.”

“Hmmmm,” Detective Elliot took in the scene, so much familiar, yet so much uniquely out of place. Odd pieces to an otherwise all-too-familiar puzzle. The puzzles compelled him forward. He had a talent making the pieces fall into place. That was as much his drive as seeing justice done.

Caw-Caw-Caw-Caw…

Detective Elliot looked forward to solving this twisted puzzle and finding the bastard that committed this murder. He savored finding the culprit.

Caw-Caw-Caw-Caw…

“Can someone do something about these damned crows?”

---

I can still feel the echo of my throat being slit, as I watch the detective and the other’s study my lifeless body. A body I do not even recognize at this point, no small thanks to the crows.

I can still recall how the blood spilled from my neck as the investigator probes what was once a simple gash.

I can still recall the feeling of trying to take a breath but drowning on my own blood instead.

I can still recall the exact moment of my death. My soul suddenly watching my killer hold my lifeless form, a feral smile of satisfaction on his smug, bastard face. To think I pitied him. To have agreed to take him with me on my usual solitary hunting trip as an act of kindness and fellowship.

The bastard lied about it all! He lied about me being one of his few friends, about his lack of hunting expertise, and about never being to this spot before. Watching him now as a shade of what I was, it was obvious he had an intimacy with this place, with my particular hunting spot. I still shiver at the thought of how long he must have stalked me. He didn’t just have a moment of passion; my murder was something planned, over a long period of time.

I recall when that crow finally chanced to feast upon my dead corpse. Choosing mine over the deer’s. I recall the rage that filled me when I felt the words, “Go ahead, clever crow. Feast. Leave nothing behind but his fuckin’ bones!” How I raged. My rage seemed to ground me. Build until vengeance seemed my only thought.

I think I will follow this detective for a time. Maybe I’ll have a way to nudge him toward my killer, how though, I have no idea.

I recall the haunting sound of the murder of crows when they feasting on my former form.

Caw-Caw-Caw-Caw…

How I would love to deal with the bastard myself though.

---

Detective Elliot exhaled as he listened to Mrs. Losstrum sob as she left his office. Elliot’s John Doe turned out to be her husband, a Mr. Stephen Losstrum. He replayed the conversation he had with her in his head, confirming what his gut already knew. She wasn’t involved.

She didn’t provide much to follow either. Steven was well loved. She couldn’t imagine him having any enemies. She only showed surprise when Elliot suggested it was not a random murder. Supposedly, Mrs. Losstrum didn’t even know where her husband’s secret hunting spot was. He always went alone. A secret from her, but a known secret.

The only tangible clue she did give him was the description of her husband’s wedding band. A simple silver band, marked with only two tiny sapphires. It wasn’t much, but at least he knew what the trophy that was kept looked like.

Elliot exhaled again, pondering his only other memory of the conversation. How the shadows played on the wall, almost as if another shadow was trying to comfort hers.

The illusion gave him a chill down his back and for the first time since visiting the crime scene, he thought about all of the crows and their shrill song, but it came out as:

We know-We know-We know…

---

“...and how well would you say you knew Mr. Losstrum?” the detective asked.

“Not well,” the man lied, while imagining how beautiful it would be to slice open this bastard cop’s neck wide open. The bastard deserved it for interrogating him in Steven’s old office. It was dangerously shrewd, a cruel genius to do it in a room with so much...familiarity. Easy to lie, harder to lie with the feeling of a ghost watching you. “I mean Steven and I obviously worked together and tended to be the last ones out of the office, but we really never socialized outside of the office.”

“Did Mr. Losstrum mention his hunting trip at all in one of those late nights?”

“No,” he lied easily again. Although, it took effort for him not to smile thinking about that first crow eating Steven’s corpse and telling that crow to leave nothing behind but the fuckin’ bones!

“Did you know his wife?”

“No,” he lied again, even as she bloomed fully into his imagination, a forbidden fruit almost in reach now, the last piece of Steven’s life to claim. Steven had everything he ever wanted. Now everything Steven had was slowly becoming his. The wife was the last prize and was only a matter of time, even if she was to be a singular taste.

The detective’s shadow seemed to dance violently.

A picture frame on Steven’s desk suddenly fell over, brushed only by the shadow. The fall drew both of their stares to it. It was a picture of the wife. It was impossible not to look at her for more than just a moment, his final prize, to taste her sweet flesh just once. His lust flowed.

“I mean, I met her briefly at office parties, but that was about it,” the man said, trying to reign in his momentary wave of desire.

“I see,” said the detective, “I suppose there is nothing else to ask. Thank you for your time, Mr. Gilmore.”

“Anything to help,” Gilmore replied, shaking the bastard cop’s hand while dreaming again about slicing his throat. The detective left him wary. So many shadows seem to haunt him lately. Now the detective’s taunted him as well. It made him think the crow cawing:

He knows-he knows-he knows...

Yes, this bastard cop just might know. I may need to rectify that soon, thought Gilmore, followed by imagining slicing the bastard's cop neck clean open. 

---

Detective Elliot looked at the body crumpled like a ragdoll at the bottom of the stairwell. If the poor bastard didn’t die of a broken neck, thought Elliot, he died from every other bone being broken. The wall was nearly as broken as the man. The head resembled a smashed fruit. It was as if someone shot the poor bastard out of a canon from the top of the stairs. It was a scene of disbelief.

“Detective! You’ll want to see this!”

Elliot turned and followed the officer to the landlord’s office. There, they replayed the close-circuit security feeds of the stairwell and the hallway leading to it. He watched the victim leave his apartment alone.

“Pause it! Yeah, right there!”

Detective Elliot studied the face. He knew that face. It was that Don Gilmore that he interviewed a week or so back regarding the Losstrum murder. He got an odd feeling about the man, he seemed a bit taken with Losstrum’s wife. It was a motive. Elliot was planning to have a second interview with him, but had a number of people that seemed to have more motive to weed through first.

“Detective?”

“Oh, sorry. It is just I met this man not too long ago. Go ahead, and continue the video.”

Elliot watched as Don Gilmore got to the top of the stairway. Then, he saw something unbelievable.

“Go back. Play that again!”

“I told you that you needed to see it, detective!”

They played the scene a second time. A third in slow motion. Don Gilmore’s body flails at the top of the stairwell as if he was suddenly pushed impossibly hard from behind. Yet, after his body starts to fly down the stairs, his shadow seemed to stay behind at the top of the stairs.

They watched each feed dozen more times, to see if there was anyone else there. The videos seemed to show no one else, just Gilmore and his queer shadow.

Elliott recalled how shadows seemed to actively haunt the Losstrum case. His gut suddenly screamed a suspicion.

“I would like to look in his apartment, please...”

The landlord lead Elliot and the other officers into Don Gilmore’s small apartment. It didn’t take long to find what his instincts suddenly urged him to look for. Sitting naked, alone on Don Gilmore’s nightstand was a simple ring of silver. Looking closer, a simple ring of silver with two tiny sapphires.

Elliot had a vibe go up his spine. He could almost hear a crow caw:

See...see...see...

Elliot solved one case in that moment. He also believed this was a homicide as well, and who the killer was. Yet, he knew this new case would always be a mystery. Who would believe that a man was killed by a shadow pretending to be his own? A shadow belonging to a man already dead?

6
3
0
Juice
33 reads
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
Written by fantastical in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Shadows, Shades, and Twilights

The shadows slip

  Through panes of light

  To sip upon the joys

That fall in between

The shades caress

  Under the darkness

  Where stars are blind

To such endeavors

The twilights whisper

  From dusk to dawn

  Of all they have witnessed

The intimate forgotten.

10
3
4
Juice
44 reads
Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
Written by fantastical in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Shadows, Shades, and Twilights
The shadows slip
  Through panes of light
  To sip upon the joys
That fall in between

The shades caress
  Under the darkness
  Where stars are blind
To such endeavors

The twilights whisper
  From dusk to dawn
  Of all they have witnessed
The intimate forgotten.

10
3
4
Juice
44 reads
Load 4 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
Written by fantastical in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Fires of Anguish, Winds of Grief (Raw Draft)

It begins with joy, always

The deepest sort

A sort that shapes your soul

Into a better being

In such a way that was impossible

to do on your own.

That joy becomes inverted

In a sudden, violent shift.

Not quite the Tarot opposite

But altogether quite worse

A harbinger of grief, not grief itself.

The merest, beginning ember.

Feel all of your hope peeled away

Every layer, dried dust blowing away

From a field where nothing takes root.

Still clinging to the memory of the joy.

The hope eventually is extinguished

Yet, the peeling continues slowly.

Trapped between what the joy was to be

And the reality that will become

One can feel each grain of sand

Slowly drift to an ultimate conclusion

The agony of it feels never-ending

Yet cling to it, for the anguish will be much worse.

The dusk of the journey approaches

The son you ached for is born

The briefest reminder of joy, tasted

Until you see the wound, the flaw

Destined to end his fragile life

To end all of your simple dreams.

You hold him, watching each breath

You share him, yet not wanting to let go

Selfishly waiting to embrace him again.

You hold him, 'til his final breath is exhaled.

You think the sand has run out.

You are still so very wrong.

You watch your wife sleep,

Exhausted from her own journey

While you cradle you dead son in your arms, alone

A brief, reprise of peace.

A quiet requiem 

A time you can finally weep alone.

You take your hardest step,

Then another, then one more.

A repeatable pattern, yet one that approaches an ending

You feel the stares, yet they do not know,

Save for the pain etched in your face.

Every step, the sound of a grain of sand falling

in the hourglass

There are so few left.

You lay the baby down,

Blanketing him as if it is for a nap.

A parental, instinctual thing.

For he hasn't breathed in an hour

Every movement of fatherhood,

There are so few left.

You feel other's try to pull you away.

You are not ready to part,

You were never ready to let go.

You were never truly given a choice.

You hear the door to his chariot close.

You hear a wailing, your own.

Yet it seems like a stranger.

The anguish, an acid on the soul.

Dissolving.

A few days later, 

A few lifetimes of torment,

You bury your son

That you knew for minutes

Yet forever.

You say your words,

For either no one else had them

Or no one else could.

The wind blows in the yard

Grief finally introduces itself.

Yet, It takes Its time to get acquainted

It shows you all that has become broken

The depths of the holes left in anguish's wake.

The deep, gouged changes within

The vast, smothered changes without

It is in the aftermath, where grief is truly felt.

In the ruins of life,

Where ashes and dust remain,

And the bitter knowledge that

You must rebuild

Something in this sacred space.

2
1
2
Juice
74 reads
Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
Written by fantastical in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Fires of Anguish, Winds of Grief (Raw Draft)
It begins with joy, always
The deepest sort
A sort that shapes your soul
Into a better being
In such a way that was impossible
to do on your own.

That joy becomes inverted
In a sudden, violent shift.
Not quite the Tarot opposite
But altogether quite worse
A harbinger of grief, not grief itself.
The merest, beginning ember.

Feel all of your hope peeled away
Every layer, dried dust blowing away
From a field where nothing takes root.
Still clinging to the memory of the joy.
The hope eventually is extinguished
Yet, the peeling continues slowly.

Trapped between what the joy was to be
And the reality that will become
One can feel each grain of sand
Slowly drift to an ultimate conclusion
The agony of it feels never-ending
Yet cling to it, for the anguish will be much worse.

The dusk of the journey approaches
The son you ached for is born
The briefest reminder of joy, tasted
Until you see the wound, the flaw
Destined to end his fragile life
To end all of your simple dreams.

You hold him, watching each breath
You share him, yet not wanting to let go
Selfishly waiting to embrace him again.
You hold him, 'til his final breath is exhaled.
You think the sand has run out.
You are still so very wrong.

You watch your wife sleep,
Exhausted from her own journey
While you cradle you dead son in your arms, alone
A brief, reprise of peace.
A quiet requiem 
A time you can finally weep alone.

You take your hardest step,
Then another, then one more.
A repeatable pattern, yet one that approaches an ending
You feel the stares, yet they do not know,
Save for the pain etched in your face.
Every step, the sound of a grain of sand falling
in the hourglass
There are so few left.

You lay the baby down,
Blanketing him as if it is for a nap.
A parental, instinctual thing.
For he hasn't breathed in an hour
Every movement of fatherhood,
There are so few left.

You feel other's try to pull you away.
You are not ready to part,
You were never ready to let go.
You were never truly given a choice.
You hear the door to his chariot close.
You hear a wailing, your own.
Yet it seems like a stranger.
The anguish, an acid on the soul.
Dissolving.

A few days later, 
A few lifetimes of torment,
You bury your son
That you knew for minutes
Yet forever.
You say your words,
For either no one else had them
Or no one else could.
The wind blows in the yard
Grief finally introduces itself.

Yet, It takes Its time to get acquainted
It shows you all that has become broken
The depths of the holes left in anguish's wake.
The deep, gouged changes within
The vast, smothered changes without
It is in the aftermath, where grief is truly felt.
In the ruins of life,
Where ashes and dust remain,
And the bitter knowledge that
You must rebuild
Something in this sacred space.
#grief  #loss  #anguish 
2
1
2
Juice
74 reads
Load 2 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
Written by fantastical in portal Romance & Erotica

Whiskey with a Smile

John did not know what the hell he was doing here; or perhaps he knew all too well. He sat as he watched the woman fix him a drink at the bar. The woman, a mere stranger an hour ago, flashed him a perfect teeth smile. A perfect smile, yet he could not overlook that her nose and teeth were not aligned. It didn’t matter, somehow this woman made him more horny than he has been in years and harder than he ever remembered being as a teen.

She strolled over to him, her natural gait both predatory and sexual. She handed him the tumbler and flashed her smile, “Here dear. Your poison with one less rock, but I assure you, the bourbon is of finer stuff than that swill you were drowning yourself in back at the bar.”

Her name was Joy, or that was at least what she told him it was. John felt that it was a lie or at the very least a feint. He was still puzzling how she stirred this level of lust within him. He has been around women that have been more attractive, he had passes made toward him by women that were willing to be mistresses, yet he passed each and every time. Why stray now? Why her?

Joy sat across from him, legs spread. John’s eyes stayed on hers though, even as his mind played out how if she lifted her legs just a few inches more, he would be able to gleam the type of panties she was wearing, or if she was wearing any at all. He was surprised by how turned on he was just to uncover that simple mystery. When was the last time he cared what his wife wore underneath her clothes. He figured that sort of sexual tease died in him a long time ago. Why did he stir to know what Joy had under her dress?

“John, do women in general get soaked under your gaze, or is it just me?”

Joy’s comment caught him off guard. “Excuse me?”

Joy laughed easily, it tasted of honey and sex, “Your eyes. Your penetrating stare. Within ten minutes talking to you in the bar, my thighs were soaked, just from you looking at me with those gorgeous eyes. I cannot recall the last time someone could fuck me with just their eyes. It is a rare and wonderful thing.”

John dusted off all of his memories of his old lovers. None reminding him of his eyes playing an overly important part of their couplings. He thought of all of the times making love to his wife, when they still made love. He thought of all of the times when they just fucked, then the times when they just fucked around, never a mention of his eyes doing anything to stir her. For a moment, it seemed like something was missed. Was he looking at Joy in a different way? He didn’t think so. “I’m afraid that has never happened,” John replied a bit chagrined, “or somehow I was never aware of their effect.”

Joy laughed in disbelief. “Well, go ahead, sit there, sip on the whiskey, and please keep fucking me with those fucking, gorgeous eyes.” With that, she reached down and in a single, fluid flourish, she pulled off her dress. All she was left in were her heels, her perfume, and her smile. No panties to removed. Her thighs did seem to glisten.

John felt his heart pounding in his ears. Felt his cock trying to pound free from his pants, twitching in a way as if reaching for her. Felt the memory of his wife and felt his guilt for being here melt away. All of their years of blissful matrimony, followed by all of the years of painful matrimony, followed by all of the years of indifference and reflex mechanics of marriage, melted away. If Harriet ever found out about this, she would probably barely care, or so he tried to tell himself. All that was left of the passion in their love was embers, if that. No, an ember, that John finally grew too tired of trying to shelter so it didn’t die.

John watched Joy’s fingers explore all of the parts of her he wanted to explore. Her mouth, her shoulders, her breasts, her thighs. He watched her tremble, as if somehow his eyes were groping her, fondling her, were indeed fucking her.

She gasp before her fingers entered her sex. Her wetness was audible. John growled at the thought of a woman being that wet for him, and he hadn’t even done anything yet watched her. He took a sip of the whiskey and Joy whimpered. She was right, it was good poison, but his hunger now was the poison between her legs.

“Tell me,” she panted, “what you want…”

John could barely hear her request over the pounding rush of blood ringing in his ears. It was almost an anger that he had never felt such lust before. So much wasted time. “I thought you said you wanted my eyes to fuck you? Haven’t they made it…”

Joy let out a high pitched sound. It wasn’t a moan, it wasn’t a scream per se, but the sudden tremor of her thighs mixed with flow of sweet fluid pour over her fingers from her sex told John all he needed to know. He tried to take a sip but all that was left in the glass was the water from the ice. He set the glass down ready to get up as he watch her prop herself up, dangling wet fingers as evidence of his crime.

“Well, what I want,” Joy mummered in wanton tones, “is for you to show me if more than just your eyes want to fuck me.”

John stood, undid his belt and fairly slowly pulled down his pants. He let out a sigh being free from their constraints, feeling the cool air engulf his hot, engorged cock as it sprung free. Joy took a few steps toward him and pushed him lightly, a lead to fall back into the chair. Her eyes were all lust and hunger and wantonness. For the first time, he felt like he was being fucked by a lover’s eyes. He would never forget the moment.

“Stroke it,” she whispered, as she fed him her fingers.

His hand followed her command, slowly stroking his cock as he always stroked and John moaned in a way he never did when he masturbated alone. He moaned because he couldn’t remember the last time touching himself ever felt this fucking good. He moaned because he couldn’t remember how sweet a woman could taste. Harriet was always uncomfortable being tasted.

Joy moaned and pulled her fingers free and laughed, “I believe I am more of a glutton than you.” She kneeled down, making damn sure her breasts pressed against John’s legs, making damn sure he felt how soft they were. She pulled his hand away from his cock and replaced it with her own. They moaned together when she brought her lips around his head. She sucked and stroked him in want over obligation. She feasted on him as if he was doing her a favor by letting her. Her lust poured over her lips, until she was overwhelmed with it.

Joy broke away from her sucking and awkwardly climbed into John’s lap, slapping her sex against his; kissing him hard and deep. Before John had a chance to gain another breath, Joy worked his cock into her. They fucked with everything they had. Their cock and cunt, their hands, their eyes, their lips, their moans. John didn’t know where the orgasms started and ended. For the first time for as long as he could remember, he couldn’t tell where he ended and his lover began.

When it all subsided, Joy kissed him softly, yet even deeper. When she finally broke it, she looked deep in his eyes, “I hope you don’t need to leave soon. I want to know how tenderly your touch can be, even if your eyes cannot stop fucking me.” Joy got up and walked back over to the bed, fell on it, turned and waited to see if John would join her. Joy cooed at the first of his tender caresses once he did join her and smiled.

~~~

John watch Joy slip her dress back on as easily as slipping on a second skin. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, John. I wish we could do this again.”

John was still drunk on the magical, lust-filled night, “So I assume this was a one time thing, then?”

“I’ve only had my heart broken once. I how found flash fires of sex preferable to the complications of love. I will admit though, I will miss how well you fuck with those lovely eyes of yours. I still don’t believe you that no one else has ever mentioned it.”

“Nope, before you, I am not sure I was ever aware that such a thing was possible, especially by me.”

Joy smiled, stepped closer, caressed John’s cheek, and gave him a final kiss. “I am positive I will never forget them. Your eyes fucking me will haunt me ‘til I’m old and grey.”

With that, she left him alone, with a new found arousal, but nowhere to direct it.

~~~

John looked in his glass of bourbon, swirling it slowly, feeling frustrated and empty and alone. He didn’t want to go home yet, there was nothing waiting for him there but silence or empty conversation. John had half hoped that he could find some way to bring some life back to his marriage with Harriet after his tryst with Joy. There were a few moments where they almost found something lost, but too soon they fell back to old routines. Joy was true to her word, he had never come across her again. Never at this bar, where she first introduced herself after catching him take her in. He thought it was just a glance, “With eyes like yours, you can fuck a lady like me with just a glance.”

He remembered her whisper that to him, while they were in between sessions on that hotel bed oh so long ago. He ordered another drink. It had been about a year, it could not have been already two. He let his eyes wander. He suddenly wanting to feel...something again. They fell on the various women drinking their sorrows away, or drinking to amplify the joys of their moment. His eyes didn’t feel like they were doing anything though.

The door to the bar opened and he watched a couple of women walk in, joined at the hips and their shared kiss. When they broke their kiss, the pair showered the bar with their joyful laughter. One of the women was his wife, Harriet, the other, he had never seen. His heart caught in shock and surprise. John’s mind replayed the last few decades of his life with this now stranger. How did he miss this? When did it start?

There was a fluid of emotions rushing through him. Harriet seemed so...happy. When was the last time she seemed that happy with him? He felt a pang of guilt. How much of that was his fault? Neither of them ever recovered from being childless. They both wanted a family so bad. When they ran out of options to have their own biological child, he could never convince her to adopt. He could never get her past feeling broken. She closed him out.

John turned into the dutiful husband. Tried to be supportive. Tried to understand her pain. Tried to reach her. The chasm slowly grew though, whether they wanted it to or not. How many years have gone by since they’ve truly shared happiness. When was the last time they shared some of the ‘for better’ and ‘in health’ over the ‘for worse’ and ‘in sickness’.

John looked down at his empty glass, he didn’t dare to have another one here. He watched his wife and her lover until he was sure they didn’t see him. He thought it was a kindness to let Harriet have her happy moment and not confront them here. A part of him envied and wished he still had the means to give her that raw joy she showered the bar with. He almost forgot just how lovely she was when she was happy and reachable. He almost remember what made him fall in love with her so long ago in the first place. He paid his tab and slipped out of the back door. More lost than he had felt for a long time and he has felt lost and alone for far too long.

~~~

John sat in the kitchen, nursing a drink, wondering if the pair would come back here. He wasn’t suppose to be home for another couple of days. The meeting in Atlanta was such a failure that it ended prematurely. He almost went to a hotel instead, but in between the bar and where to go, he thought home was the best choice. Either she wouldn’t come home tonight and have one last night of believing she had a secret or she would come home and they would face it together. Suddenly knowing a hard end was coming was not comforting. Funny that he should dread this, even though their marriage has been on life support for years. John heard the garage open and felt the lump in his throat grow. He suddenly wish he did go to a hotel. He was not ready for this. Not ready for the end. Not ready for letting that final ember he has painfully kept burning alive to finally be extinguished. Yet he knew it was over. Forcing the marriage forward would truly be a lie now. Perhaps it has been all these years anyway.

Harriet was standing in the doorway. Even though there was a look of worry and guilt on her face, he could still see the happiness from earlier radiate from her. It crushed him that just seeing him erased that joy and replaced it with worry and guilt.

“John, why are you home? I thought you were gone until Sunday.” John swallowed down the bile rising in his throat as he took in not her words, but the tone. A mix of shame and concern and even a bit of anger. It crushed him, and he wasn’t sure quite why.

“The meeting was an absolute failure,” John said, it came out as almost a laugh, “and yet in hindsight it perhaps was the better part of the week.”

“I am sorry John...do you need to talk about it?”

John took a breath and cut to what the conversation needed to be about, “I saw you tonight Harr, at the bar. I was there when you entered.”

“Oh…” the sound came out so small, soft, meek, and ashamed.

“How long, Harriet?”

“With her?”

“With anyone,” John tried to sound calm.

“Too long,” she whispered, tears welling up, “but with Jill,” she said the name as if forced to, “nearing four years.”

Four years with such a secret. How did he miss this? John thought to himself, only to follow it by perhaps just not wanting to see.

“I am sorry, Harr,” John replied, with a sorrow too deep to understand, “sorry that you had to try to keep such a secret from me. Sorry for whatever went wrong with us.”

She was crying true now, but they were tears of guilt and shame, she mistook his words.

“Harriet, I am not mad. A bit surprised, more than a bit sad, but it is a sadness that I think we both have suffered for too long.”

“But, I cheated…”

John, held up a hand, “I am no saint. I did too.”

Harriet looked surprised and suddenly hurt, “Really?”

“It was a one time event. I am not quite sure what happened, yet it did.”

Harriet chewed on her lip, “You were tired of being alone. I shut you out and you were one to crave intimacy even if your eyes always hungered for a bit more.”

John laughed, “My eyes hungered for more?”

Harriet smiled, “You have dangerous eyes, John. You always have.” She smiled again, and then she frowned, “but those eyes could cut in their hunger too. After a time, they can become a weight on the soul. Your actions may always been noble, your eyes always screamed what you needed or wanted though.”

John lost his smile. One last shared moment. One like it use to be.

The silence remained until it was too awkward.

“Where do we go from here John?” She was leaving it to him.

He chewed on the word. What he wanted was gone a long time ago.

“I want you to be happy, Harriet. If that is not with me, so be it. Perhaps this way, we can at least salvage a friendship of a sort. Better that than what we’ve let us become. I miss you being my best friend, if I can get a facet of that friendship back, well at least that is something. Tell me, now that I know you’ve been with Jill, do you have any desire not to be with her? Hell, it’s been four years, Harriet.”

“No, I care for her deeply. I...love her in a way I never thought I would ever feel again. We helped each other heal in ways neither of us thought could heal.”

“Then, that is what matters, Harr.”

“What will we tell the family?”

“Whatever the hell you want to tell them. Tell them it was my fault if it lessens the blows on your end. I’ll tell my side whatever you are the most comfortable to tell them. They don’t matter. You matter.”

Harriet started to cry, “You can still surprise me, John.”

“I try,” was his only reply. He tried to smile, even though his heart still broke for them, for her, and for himself.

~~~

John took a sip of the whiskey and let it burn his mouth before swallowing it. He was surprised how lost he was in the world two months after the divorce. He was tired of the questioning from both his siblings and his in-laws. Harriet wanted to wait to tell her family everything, knowing some of them wouldn’t understand, but she felt guilty knowing John was being beaten about it, blamed for it.

“Hey stranger, mind if I join you?”

John looked over and saw Joy. In spite of himself, his heart pounded a bit.

“The seat is yours, although I believe you said I would never see you again?”

Joy shrugged, “Surprises happen. I see your hand is lacking a ring now.”

John looked down, his thumb still missed fidgeting with it, “It seems my wife had another love. Life goes on.”

“Sucks doesn’t it. Letting them go even when you still love them in your broken way?”

“Exactly.” John wondered if Joy’s broken heart she hinted about required her to let go her old love as well.

“That is the other reason I liked you, John. Your eyes and that you would eventually do the right thing and let Harriet go and be with Jill.”

John paused, and looked at her, “I do not believe I ever mentioned my wife to you and I definitely know I didn’t mention Jill.”

Joy actually blushed, “Well, Jill is a friend of a friend. I met the pair of them at a party. I am sorry to say I knew of your wife’s affair before you probably did. Like I said, I’ve had a broken heart before. I pick my lovers by knowing if they have broken heart themselves, even if they do not know why they are broken.”

John didn’t know what to say to that, so he took another long sip of his drink.

She put her hand on his thigh, damn it that it felt wonderful to be there. He didn’t want it to feel wonderful. He didn’t want what Joy seemed to too easily stir within him. He wanted to cradle his pain and loneliness.

Joy laughed, “If you trust nothing else from me, trust that our night together was not out of pity. By the way, my real name is Hope, my middle name is Joy. My parents each wanted to name me each of those name. My mother wanted Hope. They struggled to have kids. I was their only one.”

John’s heart lurched. Wondering what the world would have been like if Harriet and he did successfully have a child. They probably would have fought over names similar to Hope-Joy’s.

“Well Hope, would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”

“How about right now? I’m famished! But, is it possible for you to calm your eyes down?”

“Not sure. Since I don’t know that I am doing it, and my ex-wife confirmed I had dangerous eyes, and the fact that whether I want to or not, I find you irresistible, probably not.”

“Well, in that case John, perhaps room service would be the better way to go,” Hope said with a sultry smile.

“Perhaps you are right,” John replied, laughing an honest laugh for the first time in a long time, “but what about the complications of love?”

“Who said anything about love, John?” Hope smirked, “That said, perhaps dreaming about those eyes of yours have left me pondering if they would stare at me with the same intensity when I am old and grey?”

Hope seemed to almost blush at the thought. John’s heart skipped a beat. He quickly paid the tab and they left the bar hand in hand. As they walked through the doorway, John kissed Hope deeply, suddenly feeling that the doorway was just as good of a place to let a relationship begin as it was a place to end one.

11
4
4
Juice
119 reads
Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
Written by fantastical in portal Romance & Erotica
Whiskey with a Smile
John did not know what the hell he was doing here; or perhaps he knew all too well. He sat as he watched the woman fix him a drink at the bar. The woman, a mere stranger an hour ago, flashed him a perfect teeth smile. A perfect smile, yet he could not overlook that her nose and teeth were not aligned. It didn’t matter, somehow this woman made him more horny than he has been in years and harder than he ever remembered being as a teen.

She strolled over to him, her natural gait both predatory and sexual. She handed him the tumbler and flashed her smile, “Here dear. Your poison with one less rock, but I assure you, the bourbon is of finer stuff than that swill you were drowning yourself in back at the bar.”

Her name was Joy, or that was at least what she told him it was. John felt that it was a lie or at the very least a feint. He was still puzzling how she stirred this level of lust within him. He has been around women that have been more attractive, he had passes made toward him by women that were willing to be mistresses, yet he passed each and every time. Why stray now? Why her?

Joy sat across from him, legs spread. John’s eyes stayed on hers though, even as his mind played out how if she lifted her legs just a few inches more, he would be able to gleam the type of panties she was wearing, or if she was wearing any at all. He was surprised by how turned on he was just to uncover that simple mystery. When was the last time he cared what his wife wore underneath her clothes. He figured that sort of sexual tease died in him a long time ago. Why did he stir to know what Joy had under her dress?

“John, do women in general get soaked under your gaze, or is it just me?”

Joy’s comment caught him off guard. “Excuse me?”

Joy laughed easily, it tasted of honey and sex, “Your eyes. Your penetrating stare. Within ten minutes talking to you in the bar, my thighs were soaked, just from you looking at me with those gorgeous eyes. I cannot recall the last time someone could fuck me with just their eyes. It is a rare and wonderful thing.”

John dusted off all of his memories of his old lovers. None reminding him of his eyes playing an overly important part of their couplings. He thought of all of the times making love to his wife, when they still made love. He thought of all of the times when they just fucked, then the times when they just fucked around, never a mention of his eyes doing anything to stir her. For a moment, it seemed like something was missed. Was he looking at Joy in a different way? He didn’t think so. “I’m afraid that has never happened,” John replied a bit chagrined, “or somehow I was never aware of their effect.”

Joy laughed in disbelief. “Well, go ahead, sit there, sip on the whiskey, and please keep fucking me with those fucking, gorgeous eyes.” With that, she reached down and in a single, fluid flourish, she pulled off her dress. All she was left in were her heels, her perfume, and her smile. No panties to removed. Her thighs did seem to glisten.

John felt his heart pounding in his ears. Felt his cock trying to pound free from his pants, twitching in a way as if reaching for her. Felt the memory of his wife and felt his guilt for being here melt away. All of their years of blissful matrimony, followed by all of the years of painful matrimony, followed by all of the years of indifference and reflex mechanics of marriage, melted away. If Harriet ever found out about this, she would probably barely care, or so he tried to tell himself. All that was left of the passion in their love was embers, if that. No, an ember, that John finally grew too tired of trying to shelter so it didn’t die.

John watched Joy’s fingers explore all of the parts of her he wanted to explore. Her mouth, her shoulders, her breasts, her thighs. He watched her tremble, as if somehow his eyes were groping her, fondling her, were indeed fucking her.

She gasp before her fingers entered her sex. Her wetness was audible. John growled at the thought of a woman being that wet for him, and he hadn’t even done anything yet watched her. He took a sip of the whiskey and Joy whimpered. She was right, it was good poison, but his hunger now was the poison between her legs.

“Tell me,” she panted, “what you want…”

John could barely hear her request over the pounding rush of blood ringing in his ears. It was almost an anger that he had never felt such lust before. So much wasted time. “I thought you said you wanted my eyes to fuck you? Haven’t they made it…”

Joy let out a high pitched sound. It wasn’t a moan, it wasn’t a scream per se, but the sudden tremor of her thighs mixed with flow of sweet fluid pour over her fingers from her sex told John all he needed to know. He tried to take a sip but all that was left in the glass was the water from the ice. He set the glass down ready to get up as he watch her prop herself up, dangling wet fingers as evidence of his crime.

“Well, what I want,” Joy mummered in wanton tones, “is for you to show me if more than just your eyes want to fuck me.”

John stood, undid his belt and fairly slowly pulled down his pants. He let out a sigh being free from their constraints, feeling the cool air engulf his hot, engorged cock as it sprung free. Joy took a few steps toward him and pushed him lightly, a lead to fall back into the chair. Her eyes were all lust and hunger and wantonness. For the first time, he felt like he was being fucked by a lover’s eyes. He would never forget the moment.

“Stroke it,” she whispered, as she fed him her fingers.

His hand followed her command, slowly stroking his cock as he always stroked and John moaned in a way he never did when he masturbated alone. He moaned because he couldn’t remember the last time touching himself ever felt this fucking good. He moaned because he couldn’t remember how sweet a woman could taste. Harriet was always uncomfortable being tasted.

Joy moaned and pulled her fingers free and laughed, “I believe I am more of a glutton than you.” She kneeled down, making damn sure her breasts pressed against John’s legs, making damn sure he felt how soft they were. She pulled his hand away from his cock and replaced it with her own. They moaned together when she brought her lips around his head. She sucked and stroked him in want over obligation. She feasted on him as if he was doing her a favor by letting her. Her lust poured over her lips, until she was overwhelmed with it.

Joy broke away from her sucking and awkwardly climbed into John’s lap, slapping her sex against his; kissing him hard and deep. Before John had a chance to gain another breath, Joy worked his cock into her. They fucked with everything they had. Their cock and cunt, their hands, their eyes, their lips, their moans. John didn’t know where the orgasms started and ended. For the first time for as long as he could remember, he couldn’t tell where he ended and his lover began.

When it all subsided, Joy kissed him softly, yet even deeper. When she finally broke it, she looked deep in his eyes, “I hope you don’t need to leave soon. I want to know how tenderly your touch can be, even if your eyes cannot stop fucking me.” Joy got up and walked back over to the bed, fell on it, turned and waited to see if John would join her. Joy cooed at the first of his tender caresses once he did join her and smiled.

~~~

John watch Joy slip her dress back on as easily as slipping on a second skin. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, John. I wish we could do this again.”

John was still drunk on the magical, lust-filled night, “So I assume this was a one time thing, then?”

“I’ve only had my heart broken once. I how found flash fires of sex preferable to the complications of love. I will admit though, I will miss how well you fuck with those lovely eyes of yours. I still don’t believe you that no one else has ever mentioned it.”

“Nope, before you, I am not sure I was ever aware that such a thing was possible, especially by me.”

Joy smiled, stepped closer, caressed John’s cheek, and gave him a final kiss. “I am positive I will never forget them. Your eyes fucking me will haunt me ‘til I’m old and grey.”

With that, she left him alone, with a new found arousal, but nowhere to direct it.

~~~

John looked in his glass of bourbon, swirling it slowly, feeling frustrated and empty and alone. He didn’t want to go home yet, there was nothing waiting for him there but silence or empty conversation. John had half hoped that he could find some way to bring some life back to his marriage with Harriet after his tryst with Joy. There were a few moments where they almost found something lost, but too soon they fell back to old routines. Joy was true to her word, he had never come across her again. Never at this bar, where she first introduced herself after catching him take her in. He thought it was just a glance, “With eyes like yours, you can fuck a lady like me with just a glance.”

He remembered her whisper that to him, while they were in between sessions on that hotel bed oh so long ago. He ordered another drink. It had been about a year, it could not have been already two. He let his eyes wander. He suddenly wanting to feel...something again. They fell on the various women drinking their sorrows away, or drinking to amplify the joys of their moment. His eyes didn’t feel like they were doing anything though.

The door to the bar opened and he watched a couple of women walk in, joined at the hips and their shared kiss. When they broke their kiss, the pair showered the bar with their joyful laughter. One of the women was his wife, Harriet, the other, he had never seen. His heart caught in shock and surprise. John’s mind replayed the last few decades of his life with this now stranger. How did he miss this? When did it start?

There was a fluid of emotions rushing through him. Harriet seemed so...happy. When was the last time she seemed that happy with him? He felt a pang of guilt. How much of that was his fault? Neither of them ever recovered from being childless. They both wanted a family so bad. When they ran out of options to have their own biological child, he could never convince her to adopt. He could never get her past feeling broken. She closed him out.

John turned into the dutiful husband. Tried to be supportive. Tried to understand her pain. Tried to reach her. The chasm slowly grew though, whether they wanted it to or not. How many years have gone by since they’ve truly shared happiness. When was the last time they shared some of the ‘for better’ and ‘in health’ over the ‘for worse’ and ‘in sickness’.

John looked down at his empty glass, he didn’t dare to have another one here. He watched his wife and her lover until he was sure they didn’t see him. He thought it was a kindness to let Harriet have her happy moment and not confront them here. A part of him envied and wished he still had the means to give her that raw joy she showered the bar with. He almost forgot just how lovely she was when she was happy and reachable. He almost remember what made him fall in love with her so long ago in the first place. He paid his tab and slipped out of the back door. More lost than he had felt for a long time and he has felt lost and alone for far too long.

~~~

John sat in the kitchen, nursing a drink, wondering if the pair would come back here. He wasn’t suppose to be home for another couple of days. The meeting in Atlanta was such a failure that it ended prematurely. He almost went to a hotel instead, but in between the bar and where to go, he thought home was the best choice. Either she wouldn’t come home tonight and have one last night of believing she had a secret or she would come home and they would face it together. Suddenly knowing a hard end was coming was not comforting. Funny that he should dread this, even though their marriage has been on life support for years. John heard the garage open and felt the lump in his throat grow. He suddenly wish he did go to a hotel. He was not ready for this. Not ready for the end. Not ready for letting that final ember he has painfully kept burning alive to finally be extinguished. Yet he knew it was over. Forcing the marriage forward would truly be a lie now. Perhaps it has been all these years anyway.

Harriet was standing in the doorway. Even though there was a look of worry and guilt on her face, he could still see the happiness from earlier radiate from her. It crushed him that just seeing him erased that joy and replaced it with worry and guilt.

“John, why are you home? I thought you were gone until Sunday.” John swallowed down the bile rising in his throat as he took in not her words, but the tone. A mix of shame and concern and even a bit of anger. It crushed him, and he wasn’t sure quite why.

“The meeting was an absolute failure,” John said, it came out as almost a laugh, “and yet in hindsight it perhaps was the better part of the week.”

“I am sorry John...do you need to talk about it?”

John took a breath and cut to what the conversation needed to be about, “I saw you tonight Harr, at the bar. I was there when you entered.”

“Oh…” the sound came out so small, soft, meek, and ashamed.

“How long, Harriet?”

“With her?”

“With anyone,” John tried to sound calm.

“Too long,” she whispered, tears welling up, “but with Jill,” she said the name as if forced to, “nearing four years.”

Four years with such a secret. How did he miss this? John thought to himself, only to follow it by perhaps just not wanting to see.

“I am sorry, Harr,” John replied, with a sorrow too deep to understand, “sorry that you had to try to keep such a secret from me. Sorry for whatever went wrong with us.”

She was crying true now, but they were tears of guilt and shame, she mistook his words.

“Harriet, I am not mad. A bit surprised, more than a bit sad, but it is a sadness that I think we both have suffered for too long.”

“But, I cheated…”

John, held up a hand, “I am no saint. I did too.”

Harriet looked surprised and suddenly hurt, “Really?”

“It was a one time event. I am not quite sure what happened, yet it did.”

Harriet chewed on her lip, “You were tired of being alone. I shut you out and you were one to crave intimacy even if your eyes always hungered for a bit more.”

John laughed, “My eyes hungered for more?”

Harriet smiled, “You have dangerous eyes, John. You always have.” She smiled again, and then she frowned, “but those eyes could cut in their hunger too. After a time, they can become a weight on the soul. Your actions may always been noble, your eyes always screamed what you needed or wanted though.”

John lost his smile. One last shared moment. One like it use to be.

The silence remained until it was too awkward.

“Where do we go from here John?” She was leaving it to him.

He chewed on the word. What he wanted was gone a long time ago.

“I want you to be happy, Harriet. If that is not with me, so be it. Perhaps this way, we can at least salvage a friendship of a sort. Better that than what we’ve let us become. I miss you being my best friend, if I can get a facet of that friendship back, well at least that is something. Tell me, now that I know you’ve been with Jill, do you have any desire not to be with her? Hell, it’s been four years, Harriet.”

“No, I care for her deeply. I...love her in a way I never thought I would ever feel again. We helped each other heal in ways neither of us thought could heal.”

“Then, that is what matters, Harr.”

“What will we tell the family?”

“Whatever the hell you want to tell them. Tell them it was my fault if it lessens the blows on your end. I’ll tell my side whatever you are the most comfortable to tell them. They don’t matter. You matter.”

Harriet started to cry, “You can still surprise me, John.”

“I try,” was his only reply. He tried to smile, even though his heart still broke for them, for her, and for himself.

~~~

John took a sip of the whiskey and let it burn his mouth before swallowing it. He was surprised how lost he was in the world two months after the divorce. He was tired of the questioning from both his siblings and his in-laws. Harriet wanted to wait to tell her family everything, knowing some of them wouldn’t understand, but she felt guilty knowing John was being beaten about it, blamed for it.

“Hey stranger, mind if I join you?”

John looked over and saw Joy. In spite of himself, his heart pounded a bit.

“The seat is yours, although I believe you said I would never see you again?”

Joy shrugged, “Surprises happen. I see your hand is lacking a ring now.”

John looked down, his thumb still missed fidgeting with it, “It seems my wife had another love. Life goes on.”

“Sucks doesn’t it. Letting them go even when you still love them in your broken way?”

“Exactly.” John wondered if Joy’s broken heart she hinted about required her to let go her old love as well.

“That is the other reason I liked you, John. Your eyes and that you would eventually do the right thing and let Harriet go and be with Jill.”

John paused, and looked at her, “I do not believe I ever mentioned my wife to you and I definitely know I didn’t mention Jill.”

Joy actually blushed, “Well, Jill is a friend of a friend. I met the pair of them at a party. I am sorry to say I knew of your wife’s affair before you probably did. Like I said, I’ve had a broken heart before. I pick my lovers by knowing if they have broken heart themselves, even if they do not know why they are broken.”

John didn’t know what to say to that, so he took another long sip of his drink.

She put her hand on his thigh, damn it that it felt wonderful to be there. He didn’t want it to feel wonderful. He didn’t want what Joy seemed to too easily stir within him. He wanted to cradle his pain and loneliness.

Joy laughed, “If you trust nothing else from me, trust that our night together was not out of pity. By the way, my real name is Hope, my middle name is Joy. My parents each wanted to name me each of those name. My mother wanted Hope. They struggled to have kids. I was their only one.”

John’s heart lurched. Wondering what the world would have been like if Harriet and he did successfully have a child. They probably would have fought over names similar to Hope-Joy’s.

“Well Hope, would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”

“How about right now? I’m famished! But, is it possible for you to calm your eyes down?”

“Not sure. Since I don’t know that I am doing it, and my ex-wife confirmed I had dangerous eyes, and the fact that whether I want to or not, I find you irresistible, probably not.”

“Well, in that case John, perhaps room service would be the better way to go,” Hope said with a sultry smile.

“Perhaps you are right,” John replied, laughing an honest laugh for the first time in a long time, “but what about the complications of love?”

“Who said anything about love, John?” Hope smirked, “That said, perhaps dreaming about those eyes of yours have left me pondering if they would stare at me with the same intensity when I am old and grey?”

Hope seemed to almost blush at the thought. John’s heart skipped a beat. He quickly paid the tab and they left the bar hand in hand. As they walked through the doorway, John kissed Hope deeply, suddenly feeling that the doorway was just as good of a place to let a relationship begin as it was a place to end one.


11
4
4
Juice
119 reads
Load 4 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by fantastical

The Doorway

“You ready, Alex?” Evelyn asked, as much to get his attention as she was anxious to finally see the result of years of work and research finally prove their theories.

Alex snapped out of his deep-thought trance and smiled back at her. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Love.”

Evelyn pushed the button and the engineered door hummed to life and opened. Opened to to another place, not of Earth. She looked in wonder while Alex looked in concern, because the air didn’t change or vacuum away like he predicted.

Evelyn removed her helmet, took a breath, and gave Alex a look to to prove that everything was ok. He still looked concerned. Evelyn slipped out of her suit, giving up its safety and walked toward the doorway, knowing Alex would follow, if for no other reason than his cavalier romanticism.

Peering through the doorway revealed a near blackness beyond, with only a dull white object about yards ahead. She took a step forward.

“Ev’yn, don’t you think…”

“Alex, we been working endlessly toward this. You have to want to see!”

“But…”

“No, I am going, this is as big as the first steps on the moon. Bigger. We will be the first.”

When they reached the white object, they found it was a cylinder platform, etched in glyphs of nothing familiar or ancient. Atop of it was a darkened spheroid looking of smoked glass.

Evelyn lifted the object up and studied it. “It almost looks like an apple. Alex take a picture.”

Evelyn smiled and brought it to her lips with a smile. The place shifted as if a wind came from nowhere and everywhere. The door slammed shut, causing Alex to turn his head to see that they were suddenly cut off. Evelyn gave out a familiar, ecstatic scream, causing Alex to turn back toward her. The ecstasy was deeper than any he ever brought her.

“ALEX! I Understand now…”

“What? Are you ok?”

“Everything!”

Alex watched as Evelyn started to glow, almost blindingly bright. In her bright form, the spheroid absorbed her until it became a perfect, bright sphere. In turn, the sphere was pulled into the cylinder replacing its dull whiteness to the same brilliant glow.

Alex ran toward it, seeing the surface revealed a hole that was deepening from the sphere. In desperation he reached in, trying to grab the sphere back. At touching it, he could almost feel her still. The sphere was impossibly heavy, he could not lift it out.

“YES! Alex. Come with me...Forward, not back. Come with me forward…”

Alex succumbed to her words. Alex pushed his hand against the sphere. The sphere grabbed hold and pulled him toward it, pulling him into the platform.

Everything was suddenly blindingly white. Everything was perfectly black. Alex thought he was blind. Until he saw the sphere. Saw it shrink to almost nothing as it ripped away his humanity, until all that was left of him was his flawed soul. He touched it, he understood then the ‘Everthing!’ Evelyn referred to. The sphere shattered in a bang, filling the void they now existed in with the energy Evelyn became. They started a new universe, together. They now understood how beginnings began. She now scattered giving raw energy its first types of form. He was to set the forms into motion, over eons, until he could slowly weaver her together again and they could share in the new universe they birthed.

“Let there be light!” Alex said, and laughed. He could almost hear Evelyn’s laugh echo his, within the newly forming cosmos.

6
1
3
Juice
118 reads
Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by fantastical
The Doorway
“You ready, Alex?” Evelyn asked, as much to get his attention as she was anxious to finally see the result of years of work and research finally prove their theories.

Alex snapped out of his deep-thought trance and smiled back at her. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Love.”

Evelyn pushed the button and the engineered door hummed to life and opened. Opened to to another place, not of Earth. She looked in wonder while Alex looked in concern, because the air didn’t change or vacuum away like he predicted.

Evelyn removed her helmet, took a breath, and gave Alex a look to to prove that everything was ok. He still looked concerned. Evelyn slipped out of her suit, giving up its safety and walked toward the doorway, knowing Alex would follow, if for no other reason than his cavalier romanticism.

Peering through the doorway revealed a near blackness beyond, with only a dull white object about yards ahead. She took a step forward.

“Ev’yn, don’t you think…”

“Alex, we been working endlessly toward this. You have to want to see!”

“But…”

“No, I am going, this is as big as the first steps on the moon. Bigger. We will be the first.”

When they reached the white object, they found it was a cylinder platform, etched in glyphs of nothing familiar or ancient. Atop of it was a darkened spheroid looking of smoked glass.

Evelyn lifted the object up and studied it. “It almost looks like an apple. Alex take a picture.”

Evelyn smiled and brought it to her lips with a smile. The place shifted as if a wind came from nowhere and everywhere. The door slammed shut, causing Alex to turn his head to see that they were suddenly cut off. Evelyn gave out a familiar, ecstatic scream, causing Alex to turn back toward her. The ecstasy was deeper than any he ever brought her.

“ALEX! I Understand now…”

“What? Are you ok?”

“Everything!”

Alex watched as Evelyn started to glow, almost blindingly bright. In her bright form, the spheroid absorbed her until it became a perfect, bright sphere. In turn, the sphere was pulled into the cylinder replacing its dull whiteness to the same brilliant glow.

Alex ran toward it, seeing the surface revealed a hole that was deepening from the sphere. In desperation he reached in, trying to grab the sphere back. At touching it, he could almost feel her still. The sphere was impossibly heavy, he could not lift it out.

“YES! Alex. Come with me...Forward, not back. Come with me forward…”

Alex succumbed to her words. Alex pushed his hand against the sphere. The sphere grabbed hold and pulled him toward it, pulling him into the platform.

Everything was suddenly blindingly white. Everything was perfectly black. Alex thought he was blind. Until he saw the sphere. Saw it shrink to almost nothing as it ripped away his humanity, until all that was left of him was his flawed soul. He touched it, he understood then the ‘Everthing!’ Evelyn referred to. The sphere shattered in a bang, filling the void they now existed in with the energy Evelyn became. They started a new universe, together. They now understood how beginnings began. She now scattered giving raw energy its first types of form. He was to set the forms into motion, over eons, until he could slowly weaver her together again and they could share in the new universe they birthed.

“Let there be light!” Alex said, and laughed. He could almost hear Evelyn’s laugh echo his, within the newly forming cosmos.
#scifi  #fiction  #romance  #flashfiction 
6
1
3
Juice
118 reads
Load 3 Comments
Login to post comments.
Advertisement  (turn off)
Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by fantastical

The Cuts of Laughter

Their laughter cut Daniel, he could feel its edge as if the blade of it kept cutting over his flesh, again and again and again. He almost wished he took the coward’s way instead and stayed silent, yet he knew the hurt of never knowing an answer did cut a lot deeper than the three girls laughter. Still, the bitter taste of rejection was harsh if it was thrown in your face or if it was a mystery that haunted you your entire, adopted life.

He tried to imagine, or perhaps hope - a bit foolishly - that Debbie did laugh a little bit less than her friends, that she was being cowardly by doing so, but deep down a part of her was at least touched that he asked her to the dance. A foolish hope perhaps.

Daniel lived in a world of foolish hopes though. He had parents that loved him, yet few days have gone by where he didn’t hope his biological mother or father would show up at his door. He was ready to forgive them for tossing him away, he just wanted the chance to do so.

There was a guilt that went along with that need though. The guilt that somehow by wanting to meet the ones that rejected him, that he was now rejecting the only parents that he ever knew and loved. Two people that loved him more than he probably deserved. But, they didn’t understand. How could they? There was a pull of invisible strings. There was a need to know. A need that cut deeper than bone.

A need that felt just as random as the pull Debbie had on him. Her smile, her kindness - up until now anyway. Even with the laughter, and the humiliation, this part of him still was drawn to her. It was just like being drawn to the parents that never wanted him. An irrational need to have a love that was...unattainable.

Daniel would head home later, his dad would know of Debbie’s answer before Daniel even got two words out. He can almost hear his dad’s response.

“You tried and perhaps I was a bit wrong, for laughter is a bit worse than a simple ‘no’, but time will pass. Your young heart will slowly move on to another girl to fancy and try to woo. Perhaps then you’ll see that you are a better man for the laughter. Perhaps the laughter showed you a side of yourself you needed to see?”

His words would make perfect sense to Daniel’s mind, even as his heart would reel from them, for his heart has been haunted by rejection for as long as it has missed the rhythm of a different heart; the heartbeat of the woman that birthed him. A sound that still haunted him beautifully in his dreams each and every night. A sound to take the edge off of three girls’ laughter, only to cut in a deeper way.

20
7
3
Juice
161 reads
Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by fantastical
The Cuts of Laughter
Their laughter cut Daniel, he could feel its edge as if the blade of it kept cutting over his flesh, again and again and again. He almost wished he took the coward’s way instead and stayed silent, yet he knew the hurt of never knowing an answer did cut a lot deeper than the three girls laughter. Still, the bitter taste of rejection was harsh if it was thrown in your face or if it was a mystery that haunted you your entire, adopted life.

He tried to imagine, or perhaps hope - a bit foolishly - that Debbie did laugh a little bit less than her friends, that she was being cowardly by doing so, but deep down a part of her was at least touched that he asked her to the dance. A foolish hope perhaps.

Daniel lived in a world of foolish hopes though. He had parents that loved him, yet few days have gone by where he didn’t hope his biological mother or father would show up at his door. He was ready to forgive them for tossing him away, he just wanted the chance to do so.

There was a guilt that went along with that need though. The guilt that somehow by wanting to meet the ones that rejected him, that he was now rejecting the only parents that he ever knew and loved. Two people that loved him more than he probably deserved. But, they didn’t understand. How could they? There was a pull of invisible strings. There was a need to know. A need that cut deeper than bone.

A need that felt just as random as the pull Debbie had on him. Her smile, her kindness - up until now anyway. Even with the laughter, and the humiliation, this part of him still was drawn to her. It was just like being drawn to the parents that never wanted him. An irrational need to have a love that was...unattainable.

Daniel would head home later, his dad would know of Debbie’s answer before Daniel even got two words out. He can almost hear his dad’s response.

“You tried and perhaps I was a bit wrong, for laughter is a bit worse than a simple ‘no’, but time will pass. Your young heart will slowly move on to another girl to fancy and try to woo. Perhaps then you’ll see that you are a better man for the laughter. Perhaps the laughter showed you a side of yourself you needed to see?”

His words would make perfect sense to Daniel’s mind, even as his heart would reel from them, for his heart has been haunted by rejection for as long as it has missed the rhythm of a different heart; the heartbeat of the woman that birthed him. A sound that still haunted him beautifully in his dreams each and every night. A sound to take the edge off of three girls’ laughter, only to cut in a deeper way.
#prosechallenge  #adoption  #rejection  #Itslit  #getlit 
20
7
3
Juice
161 reads
Load 3 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
Challenge of the Week #57: you’re god; rewrite the creation story. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by fantastical

The Story of Dot (a revision)

.

Once upon a time there was just Dot. Dot was literally everything there was, save the void Dot existed in. The void, Dot supposed, was everything else. But since everything else was essentially nothing, the void, there really was just Dot. (But, even nothing can sometimes be something.)

Dot just was, if you were there too, no matter how close or far from Dot you would get, Dot always would look the same. A perfection in the art of singularities.

Dot liked to move, or at least believed to like it. It was hard for Dot to tell if it could move since the void had no points of reference. It made Dot a bit sad to consider it.

That sadness lead to wanting a change. Dot wasn't content with just being Dot any longer. Dot wasn't content to just existing in one dimension. So Dot stretched one moment, for what seemed to be forever and became Line.

-

Line, that was once Dot, was a slightly happier thing. But since that was the first stretch of happiness as well, it was a infinitely happier thing. At least for a while. So Line decided one moment to stretch again, but this time bowing out in the middle. Initially, Line turned into Arch, but Arch was curious what happened if it kept going and eventually brought both ends of itself together.

c

Something magical happened when Arch did this, Arch became Circle.

o

Now Circle was very happy. Circle felt a bit as it did when it was it was just Dot, but now just more. After a time though, Circle missed the some of the wonders of being just Line. So Circle tried become Line again, but didn't want to let go of the ends of itself that created Circle in the first place. So it tried to make multiple lines instead. It couldn't just form two connecting lines, but it could form three! When Circle finally did this feat, it became Triangle.

Triangle was ecstatic! That feeling was greater than any happiness it had known before. Once again, it had the nice straightness of Line, but repeated two more times. Even more amazingly, it possessed these new things which it decided to call sides and angles. The tips of each angle was almost like being Dot again, times three!

Triangle was so excited, that it wondered what would happen if it formed more sides and angles.

Triangle became Square. Square became Pentagon. Pentagon became Hexagon. Heptagon...Octagon...Nonagon...Decagon...

It kept adding sides to for an infinite time, until magically, it was Circle once again. Circle was amazed! That it could add so many sides and have so many angles and still become Circle again.

Circle was happy and felt it knew all there was to know. Until it wasn't. Circle wanted not to be alone in the void any longer. In a moment that could only be called sadness, by someone like you and I, Circle twisted. For the briefest of moments, Circle became Lemniscate (If you were to look at the symbol we use for infinity today, that is what Lemniscate looked like.)

Lemniscate, in that briefest of moments asked itself, "What happens if I let go, to become two? Do I die or become something more?"

Lemniscate let go...and became Circle again. But, Circle wasn't alone anymore. Circle had a clone now.

Circle laughed and spun around the other, finally realizing just how fast Circle could move! They were both happy. Until one moment Circle watch the clone become a Lemniscate, only to split and become two new Circles. Now there were three Circles. The two newer ones laughed, both lemniscating again. Split again. Three became five. The one, the original, was 'larger' than the other four, but just sat back and watched the others laugh at their new life. Two of them played the becoming Triangle game. While the other two lemniscated again. Circle was having a hard time keeping track of them all. They were all changing and lemniscating too fast.

Soon, where there was once just Dot (and everything else, that was really nothing else), now there were shapes of all types. Some were perfectly content to be just Triangles or just Octagons. Some Triangles were perfect, in that each side was the same length. Others liked to make one or two sides a bit longer. That went with the other shapes as well. Some Circles added a wave to their single side. Other Circles twisted at two points to become Crescents. Circle never thought about doing that before.

Now Circle watched as some of the Shapes formed partnerships and collectives. Six of the meaner Squares formed a ganged named Cube, for example. It was an amazing time. Yet, it was scary in so many ways.

Soon Circle witnessed the creation of a collective called Letters by a few of the more anarchist shapes.

Soon Circle witnessed some of the other Shapes team up to form Art. Some from the Letter collective left to join the Art collective, creating sub-collectives called Poetry and Stories. Some in the Art collective went back to the Letter collective to show Letters how to be more stylish. The Letter-Artists refer to it as being Typographically gifted.

Circle watched in wonder, but Circle missed its original friend, its original child. So Circle decided to Lemniscate once more. But, the new Circle watched what all of the other Shapes were doing, and went to join them, leaving old Circle alone once again.

Frustrated, Circle would Lemniscate, again, and again, and again. Each time, hoping the new Circle would want to stay and watch with Circle. They never did.

Circle decided to Lemniscate once more. But this time, Circle didn't do it symmetrically, one side of the Lemniscate was infinitely large, the other side infinitely small. When this somewhat odd Lemniscate let go, all that was left was Dot and a new Circle. The new Circle quickly left Dot to go play in the chaos and order of all of the other Shapes and Letters and Art.

Dot watched all it created, realizing it inadvertently became a god doing so. Dot was happy for what it started, yet always a bit sad for being always a bit alone.

One day, Dot was observing an offshoot of Letters and was amazed at what they were doing, suddenly wanting to join in.

You might wonder whatever happened to Dot after that, and let me tell you. Dot is here, right now, looking right at you. Dot goes by a different name today though. That name is called Period. And Period now lives at the end of Dot's story, this story. Here .

17
5
9
Juice
138 reads
Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
Challenge of the Week #57: you’re god; rewrite the creation story. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by fantastical
The Story of Dot (a revision)
.

Once upon a time there was just Dot. Dot was literally everything there was, save the void Dot existed in. The void, Dot supposed, was everything else. But since everything else was essentially nothing, the void, there really was just Dot. (But, even nothing can sometimes be something.)

Dot just was, if you were there too, no matter how close or far from Dot you would get, Dot always would look the same. A perfection in the art of singularities.

Dot liked to move, or at least believed to like it. It was hard for Dot to tell if it could move since the void had no points of reference. It made Dot a bit sad to consider it.

That sadness lead to wanting a change. Dot wasn't content with just being Dot any longer. Dot wasn't content to just existing in one dimension. So Dot stretched one moment, for what seemed to be forever and became Line.

-

Line, that was once Dot, was a slightly happier thing. But since that was the first stretch of happiness as well, it was a infinitely happier thing. At least for a while. So Line decided one moment to stretch again, but this time bowing out in the middle. Initially, Line turned into Arch, but Arch was curious what happened if it kept going and eventually brought both ends of itself together.

c

Something magical happened when Arch did this, Arch became Circle.

o

Now Circle was very happy. Circle felt a bit as it did when it was it was just Dot, but now just more. After a time though, Circle missed the some of the wonders of being just Line. So Circle tried become Line again, but didn't want to let go of the ends of itself that created Circle in the first place. So it tried to make multiple lines instead. It couldn't just form two connecting lines, but it could form three! When Circle finally did this feat, it became Triangle.

Triangle was ecstatic! That feeling was greater than any happiness it had known before. Once again, it had the nice straightness of Line, but repeated two more times. Even more amazingly, it possessed these new things which it decided to call sides and angles. The tips of each angle was almost like being Dot again, times three!

Triangle was so excited, that it wondered what would happen if it formed more sides and angles.

Triangle became Square. Square became Pentagon. Pentagon became Hexagon. Heptagon...Octagon...Nonagon...Decagon...

It kept adding sides to for an infinite time, until magically, it was Circle once again. Circle was amazed! That it could add so many sides and have so many angles and still become Circle again.

Circle was happy and felt it knew all there was to know. Until it wasn't. Circle wanted not to be alone in the void any longer. In a moment that could only be called sadness, by someone like you and I, Circle twisted. For the briefest of moments, Circle became Lemniscate (If you were to look at the symbol we use for infinity today, that is what Lemniscate looked like.)

Lemniscate, in that briefest of moments asked itself, "What happens if I let go, to become two? Do I die or become something more?"

Lemniscate let go...and became Circle again. But, Circle wasn't alone anymore. Circle had a clone now.

Circle laughed and spun around the other, finally realizing just how fast Circle could move! They were both happy. Until one moment Circle watch the clone become a Lemniscate, only to split and become two new Circles. Now there were three Circles. The two newer ones laughed, both lemniscating again. Split again. Three became five. The one, the original, was 'larger' than the other four, but just sat back and watched the others laugh at their new life. Two of them played the becoming Triangle game. While the other two lemniscated again. Circle was having a hard time keeping track of them all. They were all changing and lemniscating too fast.

Soon, where there was once just Dot (and everything else, that was really nothing else), now there were shapes of all types. Some were perfectly content to be just Triangles or just Octagons. Some Triangles were perfect, in that each side was the same length. Others liked to make one or two sides a bit longer. That went with the other shapes as well. Some Circles added a wave to their single side. Other Circles twisted at two points to become Crescents. Circle never thought about doing that before.

Now Circle watched as some of the Shapes formed partnerships and collectives. Six of the meaner Squares formed a ganged named Cube, for example. It was an amazing time. Yet, it was scary in so many ways.

Soon Circle witnessed the creation of a collective called Letters by a few of the more anarchist shapes.

Soon Circle witnessed some of the other Shapes team up to form Art. Some from the Letter collective left to join the Art collective, creating sub-collectives called Poetry and Stories. Some in the Art collective went back to the Letter collective to show Letters how to be more stylish. The Letter-Artists refer to it as being Typographically gifted.

Circle watched in wonder, but Circle missed its original friend, its original child. So Circle decided to Lemniscate once more. But, the new Circle watched what all of the other Shapes were doing, and went to join them, leaving old Circle alone once again.

Frustrated, Circle would Lemniscate, again, and again, and again. Each time, hoping the new Circle would want to stay and watch with Circle. They never did.

Circle decided to Lemniscate once more. But this time, Circle didn't do it symmetrically, one side of the Lemniscate was infinitely large, the other side infinitely small. When this somewhat odd Lemniscate let go, all that was left was Dot and a new Circle. The new Circle quickly left Dot to go play in the chaos and order of all of the other Shapes and Letters and Art.

Dot watched all it created, realizing it inadvertently became a god doing so. Dot was happy for what it started, yet always a bit sad for being always a bit alone.

One day, Dot was observing an offshoot of Letters and was amazed at what they were doing, suddenly wanting to join in.

You might wonder whatever happened to Dot after that, and let me tell you. Dot is here, right now, looking right at you. Dot goes by a different name today though. That name is called Period. And Period now lives at the end of Dot's story, this story. Here .
#prosechallenge  #fictionOrIsIt  #Itslit  #getlit 
17
5
9
Juice
138 reads
Load 9 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
Challenge of the Week #56: Write the beginning of a story about a tyrannical king who threatens the entire realm. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by fantastical

A King's Enemies

King Kavan sat both bored and impatient, listening to the the farmer petition him over his ruined crops. Kavan had much more important things to deal with this day. Today was a day to see if his destiny was still the same, a day to talk with his oracles, a day to important to care about an lowly farmer’s ruined crops. If he ever succeeded to raising himself to godhood, he would more easily hand off the audiences of petitioners to some underling, but for now, some traditions still need to be kept.

“So, what, pray tell, would you have me do to bring back your crops?” Kavan asked, not trying to cover his disdain.

The farmer cringed, “How am I to feed my family? How will I pay my taxes?”

Kavan looked at the man, weighing him with his eyes. Kavan thought to himself, This man has something to contribute to my realm still and because it is a day to face enemies, perhaps it will be to my good fortune to give some kindness to my loyal subjects. “Olivar! Give this man 50 crowns and a wagon to store whatever food he buys with it…”

“Oh thank you, most graciousness…”, the farmer prostrated toward the king, in a grateful and humble way.

Kavan sneered at being interrupted, “I am not done! Olivar! Take note of this farmer’s name…”

Olivar gulped and meekly interjected, “Your Majesty, he gave you his name, it’s…”

Kavan turned his steel-cold eyes onto his steward, “I SAID, ‘YOU TAKE NOTE of his name’ if this farmer dares to petition the court ever again, it will be his last time. Understood?”

Olivar bowed, “Of course your Majesty. My humblest apologies, your Majesty.” Olivar stepped down the dais and paid the farmer, Kavan smirked and wondered how far the poor bastard would get before someone was crazy enough to rob him. Perhaps the farmer would be lucky, such crimes did not happen often, but for a pleb to walk out of the palace with more money than he would make in half a lifetime, it would make him a tempting target in the eyes of those that were not so lucky petitioning the court.

“Olivar, the next petitioner please. And for all you hold dear, let the court know this will be the last one I hear today.”

Olivar cleared his throat and called out, “Vanessia the Fuller would like to claim a grievance done against her family by Captain Montan of the city guard. This will be the last petition the King will hear today.”

Now this should be interesting, thought Kavan as he listened to the slight moans and grumbles of Olivar’s proclamation. Kavan took note as the woman and his captain approach. His captain looked snide and annoyed, probably rightly so, rarely were any so bold to bring a charge against the city guard. Those that did rarely enjoyed the outcome. The woman, Kavan thought to himself, was way too pretty to be working with urine all day. She had pretty eyes, eyes that had a fire for life and didn’t show the toll that life eventually brought to all common folk. She had a shape that would stir most men, as it was stirring him. This should be interesting indeed.

“Your Majesty,” she began, with a voice of honeyed smoke, and an intoxicating confidence, “the captain gravely injured my husband. I could barely support us alone without him working, but with his injuries as well, we are literally starving trying to pay the street healers to try to fix him up.”

“Captain. Did you injure her husband?” Kavan asked, trying to sound generally concerned.

“Yes, your Majesty. In self defense, your Majesty.”

“My Captain claims self defense. Do you call my Captain a liar?”

Vanessia spoke boldly, Kavan enjoyed her spirit, and watching her lips shape words, “Your Captain,” it came out like a hiss, “struck me, so my husband came to my defense, your Majesty. Your Captain and his men, beat him within an inch of his life.”

“Is this true, Captain?”

“She was charging an unfair price for my piss, beg your pardon, your Majesty.”

“Captain! That is not what I asked.”

Captain Montan shrank, “Yes your Majesty, I struck her. I was rash, I admit, however…”

“Silence! Olivar! Get Captain Esterton to send some men to fetch the lady’s husband and have them bring him to my personal healers. Captain Montan, for your actions, you and the men that were with you will be flogged in public display on the morrow, to a point deemed equal to injury inflicted. Obviously you will go without pay until you are back to work. Is this fair, Captain Montan?”

Captain Montan swallowed hard. “Of course, your Majesty. My deepest apologies, my lady. For the injury I caused you and your husband.”

Vanessia’s eyes welled up with tears.

Kavan smiled and turned to Vanessia, “My dear Vanessia. While your husband is healing, you will take residence in the palace. Olivar! Have Vanessia taken to my bed chambers, clothed accordingly, and fed whatever her heart desires.”

The hush in the audience chamber was a tangible thing. Vanessia responded to the final part of the proclamation, “but, I am married…”

Kavan responded calmly, enjoying the way her lips flushed and moved, “perhaps if you take a liking to me, you will beg me to void your marriage? I can have Captain Esterton called back and you can go back dealing with the street healers if you prefer?”

Whatever courage Vanessia showed before, it was gone now. There was no malice in her stare, just the weight of her world. “No, your Majesty. You are kind to offer your esteemed healers to help my...love.”

So there is a hint of defiance in her! Kavan smiled. She would be a fun challenge then, his blood warmed at the thought. He would have to order his healers to take their proper time with her husband.

Kavan watched Olivar usher Vanessia away while watching the guard usher the remaining petitioners out of the chamber. As the room cleared, he saw Lieutenant Paxia approach the throne with a pair of soldiers. Paxia bowed and spoke, “Your Majesty! I bring great news from the front. The siege at Rainmere is fairing well. The castle should be ours within the fortnight. More importantly though, our thieves acquired the stone.”

One of the soldiers approached and unwrapped a piece of silk, showing a stone rod, granite veined in a metal of the rarest sort. Kavan smiled as the soldier handed it to him. There was only one left to get now. This day could not get much better.

“You will be quite rewarded, Lieutenant! Have a runner return to the front to inform your General that I am very pleased. You and your men I am sure have pressed hard to get here so quickly. You will stay in the city as long as you desire. Enjoying all that it has to offer. I will let Olivar know the three of you are to be well compensated. When the army returns from their assured victory, we will have a festival in your honor that will dwarf all that have occurred before.”

“We are humbled by your generosity, your Majesty.”

Kavan barely heard him, he was lost in thought. In dreaming what it will be like to become a god as he cradled the relic in his hands that got him one step closer to that reality.

~~~

The druid chanted over the new rod, it started to glow like the previous ones did. Kavan felt the power that pulsated through it.

“Yes, this is one we’ve seeked, Kavan’ti. Now we wait for the final acquisition. Once they are all together, we can make you a godking in truth.”

Kavan thought about it. How long has the world gone on without one? How long has it gone lost and fractured? He already set so much to rights. He wondered if once he was a god would he still care about such things. The legends of the godlings of the past seemed to make it so. Kavan smiled. So close now. So close to more easily shape the world to his desire, to its proper form.

~~~

Kavan sat impatiently, waiting for any of the oracles to speak. They never spoke in any order. Big change happened today, he needed to know did it bring change to his destiny. He needed to know if anything was at risk.

The lost oracle spoke out in a violent tremor, “The enemies. The enemies. Two must become one.”

The balanced oracle spoke next, as if she suddenly saw a new future. “The woman that weeps in your bed, if she is to love you, will save you. If she is lost to you as a man, will end you. If she is lost to you as a god, will end us.” The oracle wept.

The sage oracle shivered, then spoke, “Ask your questions, my King. I can give only two answers.”

Kavan asked, “So I am still destined to be a god?”

Her metallic reply, “Still. So long as you still trust in the druid completely. This weepy woman changes things though. She was not in the stream before. The water ripples with change from her.”

Kavan hated the days he only got two answers. He hated symbolic water ripples even more. He wondered if his lusting of the fuller woman would unravel anything. Kavan twisted the cryptic words in his head, trying to phrase the next question just right. He still trusted the druid because he knew what the druid got if Kavan did become a god. The druid would never betray him.

“How do I not lose her?” He asked, bracing that he didn’t make a mistake with the question.

“Two must become one. In your enemies. In each other. She must become the queen of your heart. You must become the king of hers. The druid knows. It is how his kind wed, not yours.”

Kavan smiled. A cryptic answer, but an answer with a path to another question. The druid knows. He would have to see the druid again. But, something more pressing required his attention first.

~~~

The gaoler pulled at the rusted door and it creaked open, like the sound of a dying breath. Kavan stepped inside and looked at the man glaring at him. The man that tried to kill him once. One of the few men that had the means of being able to easily, if he wasn’t so sloppy in his attempt. He looked at the man, at his more haggard face, at his dimmer eyes. They didn’t burn with as much hate. Or at least the man would have Kavan believe.

“So,” Kavan said with a mirthful smile, “How is my failed apprentice today?” Kavan was answered with silence. “Very well. Again, why did you try to kill me?”

“Because, our kind kill tyrants. You were not suppose to become one. Once you did, you left me no choice.”

“Am I one? Surely you would have succeeded if I were a tyrant. That is our order’s charge. To remove the tyrants of the world and set their nations on a more proper course by any means necessary after.”

Their order was an nearly forgotten one, supposedly set by the last godling before he vanished. Assassins, groomed to be drawn to kings. Befriend them only to remove them from the game if they show themselves to be tyrants.

“Come, let me show you of the mistake you made. Let me show you that because of your rashness, you failed learn some of the final lessons of our cause. Gaoler! Bring him.”

The gaoler was a huge man, he unchained the apprentice from the wall and dragged the weakened man - still locked in his manacles - from his cell. Almost carrying him like a sack of flour. They walked down the musty, dark corridor to the door at the end. The gaoler handed Kavan the key to the door. Kavan unlocked it, and pulled it open. This door didn’t make a sound. It wasn’t rusted like the others. It was made out of a metal more ancient than iron, one that worked correctly never gives away to rust. It is a door to hold the most precious of things within.

A man leaped at them like a beast as soon as the door showed a hint of freedom. He reeked, yet showed a strength he shouldn’t have. His hair was unkempt and filthy. His grizzled beard was brittle gray and hung down to his waist. He snarled and pulled at the chain just holding him back.

“Now this is someone with some fight left in him. This is what I expected of you actually,” Kavan said toward his former apprentice. “Recognize him?”

The apprentice looked closely at the crazed man. At first he didn’t, then recognition set in. “But you killed him!”

“No, my old friend. My dearest brother. I removed him. You believed that I killed him. Yet, it seems you might finally get your deepest desire. You might finally get to kill a king today.”

The apprentice looked at the crazed man, the former king, with a mixture of awe and disgust, then turned to Kavan, “What do you mean?”

“The two of you are to share this cell. Neither of you will have a meal until only one of you is still has a heartbeat.” The former king looked at the former apprentice with a glare that he was ready to kill the man as soon as he was within reach. The former apprentice looked at the former king with a sense that he was barely a man anymore.

Kavan spoke, almost solemnly, “Goodbye brother. Even if you are the fortunate one to eventually have another meal, we will not meet again. Two must become one. Gaoler, toss him in.”

The gaoler did as was ordered and closed the door, locking it behind him with cold finality. The door muted the screams to almost a whisper.

“Now to learn how druids wed,” Kavan said to no one in particular, a smile creasing his lips, he had a feeling he was going to enjoy the answer, barbaric he may be, but his kind enjoyed life in the earthly ways that the more civilized envied.

10
3
0
Juice
137 reads
Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
Challenge of the Week #56: Write the beginning of a story about a tyrannical king who threatens the entire realm. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by fantastical
A King's Enemies
King Kavan sat both bored and impatient, listening to the the farmer petition him over his ruined crops. Kavan had much more important things to deal with this day. Today was a day to see if his destiny was still the same, a day to talk with his oracles, a day to important to care about an lowly farmer’s ruined crops. If he ever succeeded to raising himself to godhood, he would more easily hand off the audiences of petitioners to some underling, but for now, some traditions still need to be kept.

“So, what, pray tell, would you have me do to bring back your crops?” Kavan asked, not trying to cover his disdain.

The farmer cringed, “How am I to feed my family? How will I pay my taxes?”

Kavan looked at the man, weighing him with his eyes. Kavan thought to himself, This man has something to contribute to my realm still and because it is a day to face enemies, perhaps it will be to my good fortune to give some kindness to my loyal subjects. “Olivar! Give this man 50 crowns and a wagon to store whatever food he buys with it…”

“Oh thank you, most graciousness…”, the farmer prostrated toward the king, in a grateful and humble way.

Kavan sneered at being interrupted, “I am not done! Olivar! Take note of this farmer’s name…”

Olivar gulped and meekly interjected, “Your Majesty, he gave you his name, it’s…”

Kavan turned his steel-cold eyes onto his steward, “I SAID, ‘YOU TAKE NOTE of his name’ if this farmer dares to petition the court ever again, it will be his last time. Understood?”

Olivar bowed, “Of course your Majesty. My humblest apologies, your Majesty.” Olivar stepped down the dais and paid the farmer, Kavan smirked and wondered how far the poor bastard would get before someone was crazy enough to rob him. Perhaps the farmer would be lucky, such crimes did not happen often, but for a pleb to walk out of the palace with more money than he would make in half a lifetime, it would make him a tempting target in the eyes of those that were not so lucky petitioning the court.

“Olivar, the next petitioner please. And for all you hold dear, let the court know this will be the last one I hear today.”

Olivar cleared his throat and called out, “Vanessia the Fuller would like to claim a grievance done against her family by Captain Montan of the city guard. This will be the last petition the King will hear today.”

Now this should be interesting, thought Kavan as he listened to the slight moans and grumbles of Olivar’s proclamation. Kavan took note as the woman and his captain approach. His captain looked snide and annoyed, probably rightly so, rarely were any so bold to bring a charge against the city guard. Those that did rarely enjoyed the outcome. The woman, Kavan thought to himself, was way too pretty to be working with urine all day. She had pretty eyes, eyes that had a fire for life and didn’t show the toll that life eventually brought to all common folk. She had a shape that would stir most men, as it was stirring him. This should be interesting indeed.

“Your Majesty,” she began, with a voice of honeyed smoke, and an intoxicating confidence, “the captain gravely injured my husband. I could barely support us alone without him working, but with his injuries as well, we are literally starving trying to pay the street healers to try to fix him up.”

“Captain. Did you injure her husband?” Kavan asked, trying to sound generally concerned.

“Yes, your Majesty. In self defense, your Majesty.”

“My Captain claims self defense. Do you call my Captain a liar?”

Vanessia spoke boldly, Kavan enjoyed her spirit, and watching her lips shape words, “Your Captain,” it came out like a hiss, “struck me, so my husband came to my defense, your Majesty. Your Captain and his men, beat him within an inch of his life.”

“Is this true, Captain?”

“She was charging an unfair price for my piss, beg your pardon, your Majesty.”

“Captain! That is not what I asked.”

Captain Montan shrank, “Yes your Majesty, I struck her. I was rash, I admit, however…”

“Silence! Olivar! Get Captain Esterton to send some men to fetch the lady’s husband and have them bring him to my personal healers. Captain Montan, for your actions, you and the men that were with you will be flogged in public display on the morrow, to a point deemed equal to injury inflicted. Obviously you will go without pay until you are back to work. Is this fair, Captain Montan?”

Captain Montan swallowed hard. “Of course, your Majesty. My deepest apologies, my lady. For the injury I caused you and your husband.”

Vanessia’s eyes welled up with tears.

Kavan smiled and turned to Vanessia, “My dear Vanessia. While your husband is healing, you will take residence in the palace. Olivar! Have Vanessia taken to my bed chambers, clothed accordingly, and fed whatever her heart desires.”

The hush in the audience chamber was a tangible thing. Vanessia responded to the final part of the proclamation, “but, I am married…”

Kavan responded calmly, enjoying the way her lips flushed and moved, “perhaps if you take a liking to me, you will beg me to void your marriage? I can have Captain Esterton called back and you can go back dealing with the street healers if you prefer?”

Whatever courage Vanessia showed before, it was gone now. There was no malice in her stare, just the weight of her world. “No, your Majesty. You are kind to offer your esteemed healers to help my...love.”

So there is a hint of defiance in her! Kavan smiled. She would be a fun challenge then, his blood warmed at the thought. He would have to order his healers to take their proper time with her husband.

Kavan watched Olivar usher Vanessia away while watching the guard usher the remaining petitioners out of the chamber. As the room cleared, he saw Lieutenant Paxia approach the throne with a pair of soldiers. Paxia bowed and spoke, “Your Majesty! I bring great news from the front. The siege at Rainmere is fairing well. The castle should be ours within the fortnight. More importantly though, our thieves acquired the stone.”

One of the soldiers approached and unwrapped a piece of silk, showing a stone rod, granite veined in a metal of the rarest sort. Kavan smiled as the soldier handed it to him. There was only one left to get now. This day could not get much better.

“You will be quite rewarded, Lieutenant! Have a runner return to the front to inform your General that I am very pleased. You and your men I am sure have pressed hard to get here so quickly. You will stay in the city as long as you desire. Enjoying all that it has to offer. I will let Olivar know the three of you are to be well compensated. When the army returns from their assured victory, we will have a festival in your honor that will dwarf all that have occurred before.”

“We are humbled by your generosity, your Majesty.”

Kavan barely heard him, he was lost in thought. In dreaming what it will be like to become a god as he cradled the relic in his hands that got him one step closer to that reality.

~~~

The druid chanted over the new rod, it started to glow like the previous ones did. Kavan felt the power that pulsated through it.

“Yes, this is one we’ve seeked, Kavan’ti. Now we wait for the final acquisition. Once they are all together, we can make you a godking in truth.”

Kavan thought about it. How long has the world gone on without one? How long has it gone lost and fractured? He already set so much to rights. He wondered if once he was a god would he still care about such things. The legends of the godlings of the past seemed to make it so. Kavan smiled. So close now. So close to more easily shape the world to his desire, to its proper form.

~~~

Kavan sat impatiently, waiting for any of the oracles to speak. They never spoke in any order. Big change happened today, he needed to know did it bring change to his destiny. He needed to know if anything was at risk.

The lost oracle spoke out in a violent tremor, “The enemies. The enemies. Two must become one.”

The balanced oracle spoke next, as if she suddenly saw a new future. “The woman that weeps in your bed, if she is to love you, will save you. If she is lost to you as a man, will end you. If she is lost to you as a god, will end us.” The oracle wept.

The sage oracle shivered, then spoke, “Ask your questions, my King. I can give only two answers.”

Kavan asked, “So I am still destined to be a god?”

Her metallic reply, “Still. So long as you still trust in the druid completely. This weepy woman changes things though. She was not in the stream before. The water ripples with change from her.”

Kavan hated the days he only got two answers. He hated symbolic water ripples even more. He wondered if his lusting of the fuller woman would unravel anything. Kavan twisted the cryptic words in his head, trying to phrase the next question just right. He still trusted the druid because he knew what the druid got if Kavan did become a god. The druid would never betray him.

“How do I not lose her?” He asked, bracing that he didn’t make a mistake with the question.

“Two must become one. In your enemies. In each other. She must become the queen of your heart. You must become the king of hers. The druid knows. It is how his kind wed, not yours.”

Kavan smiled. A cryptic answer, but an answer with a path to another question. The druid knows. He would have to see the druid again. But, something more pressing required his attention first.

~~~

The gaoler pulled at the rusted door and it creaked open, like the sound of a dying breath. Kavan stepped inside and looked at the man glaring at him. The man that tried to kill him once. One of the few men that had the means of being able to easily, if he wasn’t so sloppy in his attempt. He looked at the man, at his more haggard face, at his dimmer eyes. They didn’t burn with as much hate. Or at least the man would have Kavan believe.

“So,” Kavan said with a mirthful smile, “How is my failed apprentice today?” Kavan was answered with silence. “Very well. Again, why did you try to kill me?”

“Because, our kind kill tyrants. You were not suppose to become one. Once you did, you left me no choice.”

“Am I one? Surely you would have succeeded if I were a tyrant. That is our order’s charge. To remove the tyrants of the world and set their nations on a more proper course by any means necessary after.”

Their order was an nearly forgotten one, supposedly set by the last godling before he vanished. Assassins, groomed to be drawn to kings. Befriend them only to remove them from the game if they show themselves to be tyrants.

“Come, let me show you of the mistake you made. Let me show you that because of your rashness, you failed learn some of the final lessons of our cause. Gaoler! Bring him.”

The gaoler was a huge man, he unchained the apprentice from the wall and dragged the weakened man - still locked in his manacles - from his cell. Almost carrying him like a sack of flour. They walked down the musty, dark corridor to the door at the end. The gaoler handed Kavan the key to the door. Kavan unlocked it, and pulled it open. This door didn’t make a sound. It wasn’t rusted like the others. It was made out of a metal more ancient than iron, one that worked correctly never gives away to rust. It is a door to hold the most precious of things within.

A man leaped at them like a beast as soon as the door showed a hint of freedom. He reeked, yet showed a strength he shouldn’t have. His hair was unkempt and filthy. His grizzled beard was brittle gray and hung down to his waist. He snarled and pulled at the chain just holding him back.

“Now this is someone with some fight left in him. This is what I expected of you actually,” Kavan said toward his former apprentice. “Recognize him?”

The apprentice looked closely at the crazed man. At first he didn’t, then recognition set in. “But you killed him!”

“No, my old friend. My dearest brother. I removed him. You believed that I killed him. Yet, it seems you might finally get your deepest desire. You might finally get to kill a king today.”

The apprentice looked at the crazed man, the former king, with a mixture of awe and disgust, then turned to Kavan, “What do you mean?”

“The two of you are to share this cell. Neither of you will have a meal until only one of you is still has a heartbeat.” The former king looked at the former apprentice with a glare that he was ready to kill the man as soon as he was within reach. The former apprentice looked at the former king with a sense that he was barely a man anymore.

Kavan spoke, almost solemnly, “Goodbye brother. Even if you are the fortunate one to eventually have another meal, we will not meet again. Two must become one. Gaoler, toss him in.”

The gaoler did as was ordered and closed the door, locking it behind him with cold finality. The door muted the screams to almost a whisper.

“Now to learn how druids wed,” Kavan said to no one in particular, a smile creasing his lips, he had a feeling he was going to enjoy the answer, barbaric he may be, but his kind enjoyed life in the earthly ways that the more civilized envied.
#prosechallenge  #Itslit  #getlit 
10
3
0
Juice
137 reads
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
As the spirit sat and watched the girl on the other side of the mirror, he felt such sadness. Despite being dead for only a short time, it felt like an eternity. He watched his wife with loving eyes and watched as she.......
Written by fantastical

The Other Side

Death was a strange thing. There was life after death. Life of a sort anyway. I died in my bedroom. Supposedly a heart attack. When I woke from my death, I found myself still in my bedroom, yet, not. I found myself in a dull reflection of my bedroom. I found myself on the other side of the mirror. It wasn't as magical a place as the Alice visited through her looking-glass, but it was my own.

I would watch my wife weep, everyday, through the mirror, into what was our real bedroom. Her tears seemed to never end. I wanted to comfort her. I tried to whisper to her to no avail. Her woe became my woe, my afterlife, a form of hell.

Days turned into weeks turned into months. My life was empty save for when she was in the bedroom. I tried to leave my version of the bedroom, but it was hard. It seemed like it was my anchor point. The farther I tried to get away, the darker my world got.

I learned how to read all of my books that were printed in reverse. They gave me a little distraction. They helped to pass the time between seeing my beautiful wife.

Her tears subsided, even if her sadness did not. Her friends tried to get her to go out more. Over time, she did.

A part of me was shocked when she brought a man into our bedroom for the first time. I watched them couple anyway. I yearned for it to be me with her, and when I heard her accidentally whisper my name as she climaxed, I realized she still yearned for me. The man left with little said, and she cried in guilt.

For a while, after that, she slept alone. The times she would pleasure herself, she still called out to me, but the acts she fantasied us sharing were not ones we shared in when I was alive. Did her desires change with my passing or did she always keep them from me. Regardless, the acts both stirred me and left me sad, that we would never be able to share them.

The next man she brought to the room she loved like she never loved me. My name was never whispered. I felt my room dull a bit. I was becoming forgotten. A part of me yearned for that oblivion.

They married. Eventually, I stopped watching them. It hurt too much, yet I was happy her heart was not burdened by me any longer.

One day I noticed her brushing her hair. When did she get so old? She hummed and smiled. Then her eyes closed and I watched her slip into death.

She was suddenly sitting in the chair on my side of the mirror. She turned to look at me and smiled as if the sun arose. I kissed my wife. She kissed me back, like she had never had before. Our room became our heaven.

 

10
3
9
Juice
134 reads
Donate coins to fantastical.
Juice
Cancel
As the spirit sat and watched the girl on the other side of the mirror, he felt such sadness. Despite being dead for only a short time, it felt like an eternity. He watched his wife with loving eyes and watched as she.......
Written by fantastical
The Other Side
Death was a strange thing. There was life after death. Life of a sort anyway. I died in my bedroom. Supposedly a heart attack. When I woke from my death, I found myself still in my bedroom, yet, not. I found myself in a dull reflection of my bedroom. I found myself on the other side of the mirror. It wasn't as magical a place as the Alice visited through her looking-glass, but it was my own.

I would watch my wife weep, everyday, through the mirror, into what was our real bedroom. Her tears seemed to never end. I wanted to comfort her. I tried to whisper to her to no avail. Her woe became my woe, my afterlife, a form of hell.

Days turned into weeks turned into months. My life was empty save for when she was in the bedroom. I tried to leave my version of the bedroom, but it was hard. It seemed like it was my anchor point. The farther I tried to get away, the darker my world got.

I learned how to read all of my books that were printed in reverse. They gave me a little distraction. They helped to pass the time between seeing my beautiful wife.

Her tears subsided, even if her sadness did not. Her friends tried to get her to go out more. Over time, she did.

A part of me was shocked when she brought a man into our bedroom for the first time. I watched them couple anyway. I yearned for it to be me with her, and when I heard her accidentally whisper my name as she climaxed, I realized she still yearned for me. The man left with little said, and she cried in guilt.

For a while, after that, she slept alone. The times she would pleasure herself, she still called out to me, but the acts she fantasied us sharing were not ones we shared in when I was alive. Did her desires change with my passing or did she always keep them from me. Regardless, the acts both stirred me and left me sad, that we would never be able to share them.

The next man she brought to the room she loved like she never loved me. My name was never whispered. I felt my room dull a bit. I was becoming forgotten. A part of me yearned for that oblivion.

They married. Eventually, I stopped watching them. It hurt too much, yet I was happy her heart was not burdened by me any longer.

One day I noticed her brushing her hair. When did she get so old? She hummed and smiled. Then her eyes closed and I watched her slip into death.

She was suddenly sitting in the chair on my side of the mirror. She turned to look at me and smiled as if the sun arose. I kissed my wife. She kissed me back, like she had never had before. Our room became our heaven.


 

#challenge  #death  #love  #flashfiction 
10
3
9
Juice
134 reads
Load 9 Comments
Login to post comments.
Advertisement  (turn off)